Murder at Locke Abbey

by Winchester, Catherine

  Thea returned quicker than he expected, dressed in a very chaste night gown, buttoned up to the neck and so long she had to hold the skirt up as she walked. Over that, she wore a floor length dressing gown.

  Copley nodded to her as she entered, so she had parental approval, no matter how unusual and scandalous this arrangement. Thea placed a hair brush on the table beside her then sat down. Reaching over to him, she grasped his shoulders and angled him away, which confused him, until she tried to pull him backwards.

  “Thea-”

  “Ssh,” she said, continuing to apply gentle pressure.

  He leaned back and found that his head came to rest in her lap. Looking up at her gave him a quite shocking (but very pleasing) view, so he turned his head to the side slightly. One hand came to rest across his shoulders, while the other began combing through his hair.

  Despite the odd and to be frank, scandalous position he was in, he slowly begun to relax; the gentle, almost hypnotic movement of her fingers through his hair, soothing him.

  He didn’t know how long they had been sitting there but eventually she removed her right hand from his shoulder, although her left remained in his hair. He twisted slightly to see what she was doing, and she smiled, showing him the pins she had removed from her hair. He took them from her and they began a pattern, she removing each pin and handing it to him, until finally her hair fell from the bun and she ran her hands through it a few times, making it cascade over her shoulders.

  “Well, I think I shall turn in,” Copley said, getting to his feet. “Please feel free to remain for as long as you want, Cole, although I will be leaving my door ajar.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Goodnight, Thea.”

  “Goodnight, Papa.”

  Cole sat up as Copley entered his bedroom.

  “You don’t have to go,” Thea assured him. “I don’t think you should be own your own right now and Papa’s fine with it, as long as we remain in the living room.”

  “Thank you but I wasn’t actually going anywhere.” He reached over her, pausing with his lips millimetres from hers.

  He heard her breath hitch but given how tumultuous his mood was at the moment, he daren’t kiss her. Instead he placed her clips on the side table and retrieved her hair brush.

  “What are you doing?” she asked as he moved away, reaching for the brush he held.

  “I’m returning the favour,” he told her, holding the brush out of her reach. “A hundred strokes, you said?”

  “Yes but-”

  “But nothing. Turn around, darling.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You have taken wonderful care of me and it would make me very happy to take care of you. Now, turn around.”

  Hesitantly, she did so, and he fanned her hair out with his hands. A gentleman rarely got to see a lady’s hair down (his sisters didn’t count) so this was a rare pleasure. Before she could try and stop him again, he took the brush and began to pull it through her silken locks.

  After a dozen or so strokes, her head began to lull slightly, then she began to give some breathy sighs. He had a feeling that her eyes were closed and he smiled as he imagined the look of bliss on her face.

  “How many is that?” she asked in a drowsy voice.

  “I haven’t been counting. Sorry.”

  “No, no, I usually count but for some reason, I’m a little distracted.” She turned slightly and gave him a wry smile, which he returned.

  “I can keep going,” he assured her.

  “It’s late, why don’t we settle down and try to rest.”

  “Your father won’t mind if I stay here?”

  “He didn’t before.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “I am. Would you like to change?”

  He stood and removed his waistcoat. “I think that will do.”

  She patted her lap. “Then by all means, come rest your weary head, Sir.”

  He smiled. “Will you be comfortable?”

  “You were, so I’m sure I will be too. Come on.”

  He settled against her, this time, his head resting on her stomach. Her fingers again ran through his hair and to his surprise, he soon found himself drifting off to sleep.

  ***

  “Cole? Cole!”

  He opened his eyes to see Thea staring down at him.

  “I think someone’s knocking on your door, and they’re being fairly insistent about it.”

  He listened and as she said, could hear a muffled knocking. There was light coming in the windows but the sun was obviously not very high yet.

  “I’ll find out what they want.” He got to his feet and pulled his waistcoat back on. “You’d best go into the bedroom, in case anyone catches a glimpse of you.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Once her door was closed, he went into the hall to see the butler outside his door.

  “Black, I must have dozed off while talking with Lord Copley last night. Is something wrong?”

  The look on the butler’s face told him that the news was grave indeed, but he needed to hear the words none the less.

  “I’m sorry to have to be the bearer of bad news, but the nurse just informed me that your father passed in the night. My condolences, Sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  Thea’s bedroom door opened and she came into the hallway.

  “I thought I heard voices.” She must have noticed their grave expressions although like him, she surely already knew the news. “Is something wrong?”

  “My father has… passed, Lady Thea.”

  “Oh,” she closed the space between them and only a cough from Black stopped her throwing her arms around him. Instead she reached for his hand. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It was inevitable,” he told her, although that actually did little to lessen the pain.

  “Let me come with you.”

  Black coughed discreetly again. “Perhaps the young lady would like to dress first.”

  “It’s seven o’clock in a house that doesn’t rise before ten, I think my attire is perfectly suitable to visit a dead man. Oh!” she looked to Cole, shocked at her own insensitivity.

  “You speak the truth and yes, your attire is fine. I would appreciate your company, if you are up to it.”

  “Death is the domain of women, is it not?”

  “Indeed.” He turned to Black. “Thank you for informing us. Please send someone for the doctor and have Lord Copley’s valet informed of events, so he can tell his master when he awakes.”

  “Of course, Sir.” He bowed and left.

  With a heavy sigh, Cole led Thea to his father’s room.

  ***

  Patrick ‘Beau’ Cole’s room faced west, so was darker than Thea’s had been, but there was enough light to see by without needing candles.

  He was lying on his back, the covers pulled up to his chest, his arms resting either side of him, over the covers. Clearly he had been posed. The nurse was still sitting vigil by the bedside, as someone would have to be until the funeral.

  It occurred to her that it was odd that women prepared the body and often sat with the deceased, yet were deemed too delicate to attend funerals.

  “Mrs Lawes,” Cole nodded to the nurse, who had risen when they entered.

  “Sir. Mr Cole passed peacefully in the night. He did not suffer.”

  “Thank you,” Cole said,

  Thea wasn’t sure if she believed the nurse. Even if his father had died a horrendous death, she would likely have said the same.

  “I’ll give you a few moments.” Mrs Lawes said. “Just ring the bell when you’re ready.” She left the room.

  Cole dropped her hand and stepped up to the bed.

  “He would have liked you,” Cole said. “If you had met him before his illness, I mean; he always liked strong women.”

  If that was true, Thea wondered what it was about Selena that had attracted him to her.

  Cole sat on the side of the bed and gazed at his fat
her’s face.

  She wasn’t sure what drew her forward, but she found herself approaching the bed. She didn’t usually feel odd around dead people, at least, not since her anatomy lessons. She felt very strange now however.

  “He looks peaceful, doesn’t he?” Cole asked.

  “He does.”

  She mirrored Cole and sat on the bed. He did look at peace, she thought. She took his hand.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to know you,” she told the dead man.

  The medical students had told her to talk to the dead as if they were alive, it helped to do away with nerves and to show respect for them, the cadavers had been real people after all, with families who loved them.

  “From what I know of your son, he’s a fine young man, which I’m sure he learned from you.”

  She pulled Cole Senior’s hand onto her lap, rubbing the back of it with her other hand. She looked over to Cole, who’s eyes were swimming with tears and feeling her own eyes well up, looked down at the hand she clasped.

  “Oh, I’m such a fool.” She murmured softly. “Cole.” Her voice was filled with dread.

  “Thea?”

  She looked up at him. “Your…” The pain in his eyes made it hard for her to say what she had to, for it would only increase his misery, not ease it. “Your father, he… He did not…” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, Cole, there’s no easy way to say this so… your father was poisoned.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cole froze for a few long moments, then asked. “I’m sorry?”

  She took a deep breath. “I think that your father was poisoned.”

  He stared at her, uncomprehending. “You… Why… What would make you say that?”

  “His nails, do you see the milk spots?”

  “What of them?”

  “They can be a sign of arsenic poisoning. When Dr Kerridge listed the symptoms, it didn’t occur to me to think of poisons. I’m so sorry, if I had thought of it, perhaps… perhaps we might have saved him.”

  “Arsenic?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I’ve had these spots myself and I can assure you, they weren’t caused by poison.”

  “No, but did you have them on every nail, running in stripes perpendicular to the nail bed?”

  “But…” He picked his father’s other hand up and examined every fingernail.

  “I’m sorry.” Thea felt awful for not having recognised the symptoms, and for having told him the truth. Perhaps a lie would have been kinder.

  Cole got up from the bed and began to pace the length of the room, back and forth. Watching him made Thea feel guilty so she looked back to Cole Sr.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. I should have paid more attention the day we met, then perhaps… well, we might not have been able to reverse the damage but perhaps I could have saved you. I’m so sorry.”

  “How long?” Cole asked, his voice harsh enough to make her flinch.

  “Uh, it’s hard to say with certainty, nail growth slows with age and during ill health. It takes roughly four to six months to grow out a finger nail completely, given the part of the nail bed we can't see, and how far up the striations are, perhaps two to three months, possibly less. The earlier stripes are more faint though, so he was probably being given a lower dose at the beginning.”

  “He became unwell about two months ago.” He continued to pace back and forth. “I can't believe this!”

  Thea had never seen Cole angry before and she wasn’t enjoying it now.

  “Is there any way to be sure?”

  “Yes actually, there is a test we can do. It hasn’t been tested in a court case but the results are conclusive. It can even tell us how much arsenic the victim- I mean, how much arsenic your father ingested.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Need?”

  “For this test.”

  “Acid, zinc, sodium hypochlorite, a glass vessel, tubing, a candle...”

  “I’ll get you what you need.”

  “I’m sure Dr Kerridge will have anything that I don’t.”

  “He’ll be here soon.” Without warning, Cole turned towards the door and with a roar of anger, slammed his fist into it.

  “Cole!” Thea jumped up from the bed, frightened and worried.

  She approached him with caution; his fist was still on the door and his face screwed up with pain.

  “Cole?”

  Suddenly his anger fled and he fell to the floor, cradling his injured hand to his chest. Thea knelt beside him, wondering what she could do to help him. When he lunged for her, she recoiled, afraid of his rage but instead of harming her, he pulled her to him and began to sob.

  “I’m so sorry,” she told him, her own tears falling in sympathy as she stroked his hair and back. “So sorry, my darling.”

  When his tears abated enough to let him speak, he pulled away slightly. “Don’t apologise,” he said as he wiped at his eyes. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

  “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “No, you should have told me, I’m glad you did; this way, his murderer can face justice.”

  “I should have realised sooner though.”

  “How could you? Neither I nor the doctor said anything about his nails.”

  “But the symptoms still fit, I should have suggested it.”

  “You are not infallible, Thea, and none of this is your fault. I’m sorry if I frightened you.” He reached up with his left hand and wiped her tears away with his thumb.

  “Can I see your hand?” she asked.

  Reluctantly he took his right hand away from his chest and she cradled it in her hands, gently feeling the knuckles.

  “You haven’t broken the skin but this will bruise terribly.” As she gently palpitated the fingers, she became aware of being under close scrutiny. “You may also have cracked a knuckle, so it could hurt for weeks.”

  “The prognosis?” his voice was warm again, with no trace of his earlier fury.

  “As long as you’re easy on the joints and don’t pick any further fights with doors, you’ll be fine. Applying ice will help keep the swelling down and I have some powders that will help to dull the pain a little.”

  She raised his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. It was a silly gesture, one you would make to a child, but he seemed touched by it nonetheless.

  “We should probably get up off the floor before we’re discovered,” he said.

  “We should,” she agreed, although held in his arms as she was, she had no desire to ever move again.

  His brief improvement in temperament suddenly seemed to deflate.

  “She did it,” he said.

  “Who did what?”

  “Selena. She’s the only person who has anything to gain from my father’s demise.”

  “You’ll inherit the estate,” she said without thinking. She blundered on as soon as she realised how her words must have sounded. “Not that I think you did this, you didn’t, you couldn’t, well, you probably could, you had the opportunity certainly but what I’m trying, very badly, to say, is that I don’t think for a moment that you did this, so I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  The ghost of a smile graced his lips.

  “You are adorable when you’re flustered,” he told her.

  “Good, because it’s something I’m prone to, especially around you.”

  “So guileless,” he said. “And you’re correct, Selena isn’t the only possibility. Or rather, I must consider all possibilities. What is it that you say? Assumptions lead to incorrect conclusions?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we will consider every possibility.” With surprising grace, he jumped to his feet, then offered her his uninjured hand to help her up. “So, let’s approach this logically. His (much younger) wife will gain her freedom, she can marry again, or live out her days here; my sister already told me that Selena has put ideas into h
er head of leveraging her children for a better lifestyle. Equally, if a better marriage did present itself, I’m sure she would have no qualms leaving the girls in my care.”

  “What about an inheritance?”

  “I have no doubt father made provision for her, but I don’t know the details. He may have left her a sum of money, and he will certainly have left a trust for the girls, but he may just have given instructions that Selena is to be taken care of.”

  “He never discussed his Will with you?”

  “Never.”

  “Do you know where he keeps it?”

  “His lawyer will have a copy but he probably keeps his own copy in his study.”

  “The contents will tell us who has a financial motive but there are other possible motives.”

  “Such as?”

  “Jealousy, vengeance or revenge, possibly to cover up a scandal.”

  “What kind of scandal could my father be involved in.”

  “He needn’t have been involved, he could have been killed to silence him and his confusion of late would help to discredit him if he should tell anyone.”

  “There are too many possibilities.”

  “I agree. We would be better to look at each person who has been here within the past two months. Has your father been given, or does he regularly purchase a treat?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Is there anything he eats, regularly, that no one else does, boiled sweets perhaps, a liquor or other food stuff?”

  “He’s partial to sugared almonds on occasion, but it’s not a regular indulgence.”

  “We must ask the servants. If there is nothing, then we know the poisoner has been here with relative frequency over the past two months.”

  “You don’t think the poison was constantly administered?”

  “No, if that was the case, he wouldn’t have appeared to recover, then relapse. When he wasn’t being given the arsenic, he began to heal the damage it did.”

  “Do you think that was planned?” Cole asked.

  “Hard to say. It could be planned, drawn out to look like old age and a gradual decline, or it could have been that the culprit didn’t have the opportunity to regularly dose your father.”

  “There are a lot of unknowns,” he agreed. “Where do we begin?”