Seven Steps to Murder

by Benjamin Ford

  Was she referring to the way in which Cuthbert Waterfield had treated her? Or did she mean someone closer to Herbert than even his brother? Is he perhaps married? There’s so much I don’t know about the group of visitors among us.

  Herbert’s also clearly none the wiser, asking: “What’s that supposed to mean, Mrs Draper?”

  The woman looks at him sternly. “Do I really need to tell our new young friend here about your guilty secret?”

  Herbert holds up his hands in a defiant gesture. “Since I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mrs Draper, perhaps you’d care to enlighten us?”

  Mrs Draper smiles wickedly. “You want me to tell him, so that he can tell your brother – your surviving brother?”

  I gasp at the veiled threat, for it’s not so veiled that I cannot decipher its hidden meaning, and for a moment I see a slight tremor to Herbert’s hands, and a twitch to his eye. But then he laughs. “Tell him what you want; you have no proof of anything. I have nothing to fear from you.”

  “Fine. Have it your own way,” says Mrs Draper, and turns her back on him once more to continue with her breakfast preparations.

  I have an uneasy feeling that we’ve not heard the end of this conversation.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It’s nearer to half-past-eight when Mrs Draper and I bring into the dining room the trays filled with scrambled eggs, bacon and toast, placing them on the buffet table to one side of the room, along with a large quantity of apple juice and freshly brewed tea.

  Already gathered in the room are Herbert, Major Simmons and Dr Runcible. There’s no sign yet of M. Rashid or Mrs Hardcastle, and I see through the open doors that our host is just coming down the stairs.

  “Good morning all,” Waterfield says, striding into the dining room with veritable aplomb. “I trust everyone slept well?”

  “Adequately,” Herbert sighs in a manner that would indicate that he slept soundly and wants to make out his martyrdom.

  “Adequately?” scoffs Dr Runcible. “I could hear you snoring from the next room.”

  “I think you’ll find that was the Major,” says Herbert testily, glancing askew at Major Simmons. “I was awakened by the sound of snoring, and I believe it came from his room.”

  Major Simmons sniffed heartily. “A man can’t help it if he snores.”

  “You could ease up on the booze,” says Herbert, vocalizing what the rest of us have been thinking.

  The Major declines to respond, choosing instead to grab a plate and fill it with food. “This all smells so good. You two must have been up at the crack of dawn to prepare it all.”

  Mrs Draper acts as if it’s been no hassle at all. I on the other hand choose to vent my irritation at the inconvenience of having to cook so early in the morning. “I was planning on leaving as soon as I got up, but Mrs Draper corralled me into helping.”

  “And your assistance was very much appreciated, Wilbur,” comes Mrs Draper’s voice from behind me.

  “Well, I’m very grateful to you both,” says Waterfield, inhaling the smell of fresh toast and bacon. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

  “Honestly, Mr Waterfield, Sir, it was no trouble at all,” Mrs Draper simpers. If she’d still been in Waterfield’s employ, I’d wager she’s angling for a raise. She’s after something from our host, that’s for certain.

  “Well, why don’t you join the others and enjoy your breakfast? You’ve done far more than I could have asked of you these past two days, considering I didn’t invite you.”

  “So you still maintain that the invitations didn’t come from you, Mr Waterfield?” I say as I settle down at the table to eat only plain toast. I’m not a breakfast person as a rule. I’d be happier eating around eleven o’clock for the first time each day, so it’s as much as I can do to force myself to eat even just a slice of toast. I’m actually feeling rather queasy – which might be the toast, or it might be the smell of the bacon.

  “Do you think someone should go and wake M. Rashid and Mrs Hardcastle?” I say a few minutes later. As everyone else is still eating, and Major Simmons is back at the buffet for a second serving, I stand and make the decision to go myself. “I’ll do it. I’m not that hungry anyway. Perhaps someone could pour me a cup of tea whilst I’m gone. Milk and two sugars.”

  I don’t know if anyone’s going to make my drink, but I leave the room anyway. If it comes to it, I’m perfectly capable of pouring myself a drink, but considering what I’ve done for everyone this morning, it would do one person no harm to make an extra cup of tea.

  I knock gently on the door to Rashid’s room first, since his is the closest. There’s no answer, but I can hear noise from within. I open the door cautiously. “Hello. M. Rashid?” I call his name quietly. If he isn’t awake yet then I don’t wish to startle him.

  He’s sat on the bed, tying his shoe laces.

  “Good morning,” he says with a scowl. “Honestly, our host could have provided some clean clothes. I must wear yesterday’s underwear, and I now feel grubby.”

  “I turned mine inside out,” I reply, which elicits a grimace from Rashid. “What’s wrong with that? No-one’s going to see them.”

  “Each to their own,” he says, standing now that he’s fully dressed to his inelegant imperfection. “Are the others not up yet?”

  I nod. “They’re downstairs eating breakfast that Mrs Draper and I prepared. All except Mrs Hardcastle. I’m just going along to fetch her.”

  Already at the door, Rashid holds out his hand to restrain me as I’m about to go towards the end door. “It is all right, I shall wake her,” he says with more than a glint to his eye. “You go on back down and rejoin the others.”

  I cannot help but smirk. It’s obvious that Rashid likes Mrs Hardcastle on more than one level. I then shudder at the thought of him walking in on her – or any lady – should they be in a state of undress, and stop him. “Actually, I’ve already eaten my breakfast. You go on down, and I’ll wake her.”

  I walk towards Mrs Hardcastle’s room without waiting for a response. I’m relieved to hear his heavy footsteps clomping loudly down the stairs in clear annoyance.

  I knock on the door at the far end of the passage. There’s no response, so I knock again, opening the door slowly. “Mrs Hardcastle, are you awake yet?”

  I step into the gloomy room. The drapes are open, revealing the dreadful weather beyond. I move further into the room, expecting to see Mrs Hardcastle perhaps tidying her hair in the dressing table mirror. She’s not in the room, and unless she’s made the bed immaculately after getting up, she hasn’t slept here all night either. There’s no indication at all that she’s even set foot in the room.

  I retreat from the room and return down to the others.

  “Is Mrs Hardcastle awake?” says Rashid through a mouthful of food, seated in my space and drinking what was probably my tea.

  “She’s not in her room. She’s not down here with you?”

  “No,” says Waterfield, frowning.

  “Perhaps she’s in one of the bathrooms?” I suggest.

  Waterfield shakes his head. “I’d clean forgotten that when I was showing you all to your rooms last night, we hadn’t seen Mrs Hardcastle and assumed she was in one of the rooms.”

  “You didn’t check to make sure?” My voice betrays my outrage. “What sort of host are you?”

  Waterfield stands up sharply, sending his chair shooting backwards. “I’m the sort of host who’s still annoyed at having seven people turn up, unannounced, and claim that I invited them – which I didn’t!”

  I catch Rashid’s eye, and it’s clear we share the same notion. Should we mention it? Rashid takes the choice out of my hands.

  “Last night, young Wilbur here thought he saw someone outside,” he says somewhat snidely. It’s almost as though he thinks he’s the school sneak and will be getting me into trouble by telling on me.

  “It was just a flash of movement outside,” I say, facing the others. “M. Rashid sai
d anyone would be mad to be out there, so we dismissed it.”

  Waterfield straightens from righting his toppled chair. “This was last night you say? Before you retired to bed?”

  I nod. “Yes. It was when M. Rashid and I first went up to the bedrooms, when you found me and told me all those things.”

  “And you didn’t think to mention this last night?”

  I feel my defensive nature coming to the surface and clench my hands tight to stop myself from slamming them down onto the table. “It didn’t seem important as between us, M. Rashid and I decided it was just a trick of the lightning.”

  “But what if you really did see someone outside last night? At the height of the storm, that wind and rain were both very strong and heavy. If Mrs Hardcastle was out there at that time, she might have had an accident.”

  I look directly into Waterfield’s eyes. “You think she might have been blown over the cliff?”

  Waterfield nods and the look on his face is not a happy one. “We need to search the house, make certain she’s not anywhere in here first. But we should be quick about it.”

  Major Simmons snorts, jerking his thumb in my general direction. “If the young man thinks he saw someone, and Rasher here says he probably imagined it, I know who I’d believe.”

  “Now just wait a minute,” I expostulate indignantly. “Just because you served together during the war, that doesn’t make M. Rashid more reliable than me.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant. Rasher here was never a reliable lookout when we were in the army together, and he always dismissed things that were important.”

  “You never did like me, did you Julie!” snaps Rashid, rising to his feet. “If you think I’m going to sit here and listen to you demeaning my good name, then you’re mistaken.”

  “Your good name?” scoffs Herbert derisively. “You’re a convicted burglar. That hardly stands you in good stead with the rest of us.”

  “Nor you,” says Rashid through clenched teeth. “If I’m a bad egg, then so are you. You were in prison with me, don’t forget. And remember some of the things you told me? Oh no, you wouldn’t would you – because you talk in your sleep. Did you know that, Herbert?”

  “Gentlemen, please!” Mrs Draper bangs down her cup loudly onto the dining table so sharply that I’m surprised she hasn’t broken it. “This is not the time to be arguing amongst ourselves. If Mrs Hardcastle is outside then she might be injured. We should check both inside and outside at once.”

  “I agree with Mrs Draper,” I say. “Rashid and I will check outside, The Major and Dr Runcible can check down here, and you brothers Waterfield along with Mrs Draper can check upstairs.” I grab Rashid’s arm roughly. “Come on, let’s go.”

  I don’t quite know where my sudden bossy streak has come from, but the others go about their searches without question, leaving Rashid and myself to search the grounds.

  “Sorry about back there,” Rashid says as we exit the house. “That bloody man annoys the hell out of me. He always has.”

  “Which one?” I ask lightly.

  Rashid chuckles. “Both of them!”

  I laugh heartily. “Were they at each other’s throats in the army?”

  “Before the war, yes, and after it too – before we were discharged, Herbert and I. During the war, I guess because of the circumstances we got on with our duty, but they both used to order me about, which I put down to my skin colour.”

  I nod in understanding. “They didn’t consider themselves equal to someone of Arab extraction?”

  “No. Everyone felt they were superior to me. My time in the British army wasn’t happy. It is why, when I got out of prison, I fled to the French Foreign Legion, because I knew my skin colour would matter not.”

  “You fled? That makes it sound like you escaped? Were you released from Prison, or is that where you escaped from?”

  “Oh, I was released all right, thanks in no small part to Cuthbert Waterfield’s kindness.”

  “How so?”

  “He agreed to drop all charges against me if I told him all about my time in prison with his brother. He knew I had shared a cell with him, and he knew I served in the army with both his brothers. And I suppose he also knew that Herbert talked in his sleep.”

  “So Herbert said certain things in his sleep, which you told to Cuthbert?”

  Rashid nods. “Precisely. I knew if Herbert found out what I had told his brother that he would come for me and I would be a dead man, so I fled and put my skills to good use. Despite what the Major said, I was reliable, and I never dismissed anything important.”

  We’re walking around the small area of grounds that surround the house, squinting against the rain as it pelts us. Neither of us have coats on, and very quickly we are soaked to the skin.

  A few times in-between our conversation we call out Mrs Hardcastle’s name, but there’s been no response so far.

  “You won’t be seen as reliable if she is out here,” I say as we head down towards the steps that lead down to the beach. “I said I saw someone and you dismissed it as my imagination.”

  Rashid nods sadly. “Perhaps that was rash of me, but you have to admit it was highly unlikely anyone would have been out here in last night’s dreadful weather?”

  He has a point, but Mrs Hardcastle had taken the tablets given her by Dr Runcible, and had also had a glass of wine. The doctor had warned her that the tablets might make her drowsy, and with the wine that might have made her too drowsy to actually know what she was doing.

  “I have a horrible feeling,” I say as we approach the steps.

  “What sort of horrible feeling?” asks Rashid anxiously.

  I shiver. It’s like someone has walked over my grave, but I put it down to the wind and the fact that I’m soaked through from the rain. “I just think we’re going to find her, and she’s going to be dead.”

  Rashid nods in agreement. “I fear you may be correct.”

  We start to walk down the wooden steps at the side of the cliff-face. I can see the rocks and beach below: the tide has gone out. Holding tightly onto the balustrade I lean over, which elicits an alarmed gasp from Rashid. I can see the sea way off in the distance, with the waves lapping at the rocks.

  “Tide’s gone out, so we can get down to the beach,” I call back.

  The wind snatches my words from my mouth and I move back away from the balustrade, feeling a little nauseous. Perhaps leaning over the edge wasn’t such a smart move.

  We haven’t gone more than a few steps further down to the first of three platforms that create a breathing space from the steps, when I cry out. Rashid rushes to my side to see what has alarmed me.

  The rest of the steps beneath the platform are no longer there. They lie smashed to pieces on the rocks below.

  “The storm must have destroyed them,” I say in a whisper. “It was pretty ferocious.”

  “What’s that?” asks Rashid, pointing to something red in the midst of the wreckage.

  I crawl to the edge of the platform, with Rashid telling me to be careful. As if I would throw myself off!

  “Can you see what it is?” Rashid demands, coming to kneel recklessly beside me.

  We both crane our necks over the edge. My nausea returns. I’m not especially good with heights, and leaning over the edge like this, staring down at the rocks below, is making me dizzy.

  “I think,” I say, taking a very deep breath to quell the nausea, “that it’s a body.”

  With a gasp of horror, Rashid leans back against the rock-face.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “What was Mrs Hardcastle wearing last night?” queries Rashid solemnly.

  I don’t have to struggle to recall. “A red dress and shoes,” I say. She was the epitome of the scarlet woman; the type of woman Grandmamma was always warning me about. I know what Rashid’s going to say, and so I steel myself, turn around and lean over the edge again.

  I look down at the twisted red shoe, sticking out from beneat
h the jumble of shattered wood on the beach. There’s red fabric showing through too, and red hair.

  I lean back against the rocks next to Rashid, breathing hard.

  “Is it?” he says cautiously.

  Taking a deep breath, I nod. “Yes. I think it is. I think we’ve found Mrs Hardcastle.”

  “Is she – dead, do you think?”

  “I doubt anyone could have survived a fall like that. So yes, I’d say she’s pretty well dead!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Having led a somewhat distraught Rashid back up to the house, I call out to the others that we’ve found Mrs Hardcastle. I escort the Arab back into the drawing room, and watch as he lowers himself shakily into the nearest fireside chair. We’re both soaked to the skin, and even I’m trembling with cold.

  As Major Simmons and Dr Runcible come out from the dining room and across the hall to join us, I hear the clattering of feet from upstairs, and moments later Mrs Draper hastens into the room, closely followed by Cuthbert and Herbert Waterfield.

  “I thought you said you’d found Mrs Hardcastle,” says Mrs Draper shrilly. “Where is she?”

  I glance across at the others, standing in the doorway. Water drips from my nose and my ears, and runs from my hair down my back. No-one offers to get a towel for either Rashid or myself.

  “There’s been an accident,” I say in a matter-of-fact manner, unable to hide my shivering. “The steps down to the beach are gone – washed away by last night’s storm I shouldn’t wonder.”

  There is a collective gasp.

  “How are we to get off this rock if the steps are gone?” demands Major Simmons.

  Cuthbert Waterfield holds up his hand, calling for silence. “You said you’d found Mrs Hardcastle?”

  I nod solemnly, unable to meet his gaze. “I think she must have been trying to get down the steps when they were washed away.”

  Mrs Draper emits a noise akin to a high-pitched squeal and clamps her hand to her mouth.