by Joan Smith
He strode from the room. After the front door slammed, we all looked at each other in a frightened way. For a moment, there was not a sound in the purple saloon but the snapping of the logs. The unspoken idea had taken wing—one of us had killed her. Which one? The question hovered in the very air we breathed.
Then Gregory said, “For God’s sake, let us have something to drink,” and went to the wine table to pour himself a full glass of claret. “Otto, does that demmed fool doctor know what he is talking about? Can they keep our money from us until this thing is solved?”
“I rather think they can,” Otto answered.
I decided we all needed bracing, and served wine to the rest of us. Everyone, including myself, took a long deep draught and sighed in dismay.
“Thing to do,” Horatio said, “send off for Bow Street. Look odd if we don’t. Don’t want a dashed cloud over our heads.”
“That will be for Croton to decide,” Otto said. “I doubt he will do it against our wishes. Let us put our minds to the problem. I cannot believe any of us poisoned Hettie. It must have been an accident. Or had she any enemies in the neighbourhood, Jessie?”
“She hardly even had friends. No one called yesterday.”
“Mr. Weldon called,” Horatio said, and received bewildered looks from all of us.
“Weldon did not leave the study. He was with me all the time,” Felix said. “Besides, what reason could he possibly have for harming Auntie?”
“He was a caller is all I’m saying,” Horatio pointed out. “Jessie said there were none. Any others, Jessie?”
“Perhaps Cook received someone in the kitchen. Hettie had ordered in special supplies from the village for this visit, but I cannot think a merchant murdered Aunt Hettie.”
“Let us get back to the idea of an accident,” Otto said.
“Cook did not send any servants up to the cheese-room,” I reminded them. “She got the belladonna herself, and left the half-full bottle on the shelf. She brought down the Stilton for dinner while she was there, so there was no reason for anyone else to go up. Cook certainly had no reason to kill Auntie. She will be out of employment if we sell Downsview.”
“Mrs. Manner might know something,” Otto said. “When she awakens, we shall ask her if she sent anyone to the cheese-room. She might have sent off for headache powders, or some such thing.”
I shook my head. “The headache powders were not kept there. Just the dangerous drugs—laudanum and so on.”
“Who took laudanum?” Otto asked with quickening interest.
“It was only used for emergencies—a toothache or some such thing. No one has a toothache at the moment.”
“Still, we should speak to Mrs. Manner before letting Croton send for Bow Street,” Greg said. “No point making a mountain of a molehill. They would have to give us our money if we could make them believe it was an accident.”
“Are we not trying to discover the truth?” I asked him. “You sound as though you want to fool the authorities.”
He looked around the room slowly. “It’s pretty clear one of us did the old girl in. What’s done is done, and I for one do not wish to look a gift horse in the mouth. She cannot be brought back to life, but we can all be dragged through the mire if we don’t get our heads together and come up with a good story. Now, say Aunt Hettie had a ripping headache, and went up to get the laudanum. By candlelight, she might have mistaken the dose.”
“Really, Gregory. I am ashamed of you,” Felix scoffed.
“It could have happened that way for all we know,” Gregory said.
“She died of belladonna poisoning, not laudanum,” I said.
Gregory dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “Culpepper is a simple country sawbones. What does he know?”
“Gregory’s suggestion would certainly simplify things,” Otto said pensively. I was disappointed in him. When he saw my frown, he did not push this notion any further. “We shall speak to Mrs. Manner before proceeding. Are we all agreed on that?”
Everyone agreed, but I think in our hearts we knew Mrs. Manner did not hold the answer to this problem.
I went upstairs to see whether she was awake yet. She heard me enter her room, but was still drowsy from her draught. “I had such a horrid dream, Jessie,” she mumbled, trying to sit up. Then she noticed she was fully dressed. I watched as her vague blue eyes darkened with memory. Then her eyes closed and she lay down again, moaning in her grief. “Poor Hettie.” It was a soft croon, as if she were already wafting off to sleep.
“Do you know if anyone went to the cheese-room yesterday afternoon or evening, Mrs. Manner?” I asked.
“Cheese-room,” she said, in a muffled, sleepy voice. Her eyelids fluttered. “Oh yes—I remember.” Her voice was fading away as sleep overtook her once more.
“Who? Who went to the cheese-room? Was it you?”
“I saw ... him.”
“Who? Who did you see?”
She stirred restively, but did not reply. I nudged her shoulder. “Who, Mrs. Manner? Was it Gregory?
“He—murdered—”
I shook her shoulder, trying to rouse her from sleep. But it was too late. She was past hearing. I knew she had not even heard me say the name Gregory. But she had seen someone at the cheese-room, a man. One of the four nephews. Gregory, Felix, Horatio, or Otto. One of them had murdered Hettie, and I had to go below and face them, I did not have to tell them what Mrs. Manner had said, however. She had been drowsy. She had probably not heard me, or understood my question. I would say nothing until she was fully awakened, and had given an account of what she had seen.
For one weakening moment, I almost thought Gregory was right The thing was done. Why stir up a hornet’s nest by insisting it was murder? Then I remembered Otto’s unexpected words, “It would certainly simplify things,” if we all got together and pretended it was an accident. Surely it was not Otto?
That was when I knew the investigation must proceed. We could not all go through life with people saying, “Surely not Otto; surely not Horatio; surely not Jessica Greenwood.” We who were innocent deserved the truth, and so did Hettie.
Chapter Six
I returned below and told the gentlemen only that Mrs. Manner was still sleeping. They seemed almost relieved.
“Let her rest,” Otto said. “It is the last peace she’ll have for some time, poor girl.”
Felix said he would return to writing the obituary, and went to the library. Gregory said, “I need a breath of fresh air,” and also left the saloon.
Horatio waited until Gregory had got beyond sight, then said, “He’ll be jogging into the village to see Rampling, I daresay. There’ll be no mourning in that quarter.” He refilled his glass and settled in at the grate with a recent journal.
Otto gave me a commiserating smile. “Our drive must be postponed until another time, Jessie.”
I no longer saw any charm in him. His dark eyes were not glamorous, but dangerous. Like everyone else, he was tainted with suspicion, “Why did you not want a Bow Street officer sent down, Otto?” I asked.
“For purely selfish reasons. A suspected murderer will not receive a fair hearing at my upcoming trial.”
“All the more reason to clear your name, then.”
“The Clarion trial begins next week. From the shambles we are faced with here, I doubt any conclusion will be reached in that time. But you are right; we must find out what happened to Aunt Hettie.”
I did not think Horatio was even listening, but he said over his shoulder, “Gregory did it. Stands to reason.”
“He is the obvious choice,” Otto agreed. “Do you have anything concrete to go on, Horatio?”
“Mrs. Rampling. ‘Twas Gregory instigated that duel, though he did not fire the killing shot. Stands to reason he ain’t above murder.”
As this sounded like an interesting tale, Otto and I joined Horatio by the fireside, and he continued. “I heard the story at my club half a year ago. She had been seeing another chap, young H
enredon, a month before. Then she met Gregory and dumped Henredon. She stayed out all night, or until five o’clock in the morning, with Gregory. Her husband was waiting up for her. Went storming over to Henredon’s place and challenged him. The duel wasn’t fought for another twenty-four hours, but neither Mrs. Rampling nor Gregory said a word to save Henredon. They just let the duel go forth. Henredon shot Rampling, and Gregory waltzed off with the widow. Henredon ran to ground at a friend’s place in the Cotswolds until things cooled down.”
“What an awful thing to do!” I exclaimed.
After a frowning pause, Otto said, “That speaks to Gregory’s character, or lack thereof, but does it have any immediate bearing on Hettie’s death?”
“He needs the blunt, doesn’t he?” Horatio asked in a rhetorical spirit. “He won’t hold on to Anita Rampling long if his pockets are to let.”
“Hettie had promised him five hundred,” I pointed out.
Horatio gave a mirthless snort at my naiveté. “Five hundred ain’t ten thousand. Anita bankrupted her husband. She would go through five hundred in a week—or a morning, if she was let loose on Bond Street. She’ll beggar Gregory, then toss him aside like an old shoe.”
“Someone should warn him!” I said.
“I expect he is acquainted with the lady’s ways,” Otto said with a shrug. “They are no secret.”
Auntie’s murder was sitting like a thundercloud over our heads. “I shall go speak to Cook about lunch,” I said. “I suppose we must eat, even if—” A sob caught me unawares.
Otto placed a comforting arm around my shoulder. “Why don’t you go upstairs and have a good cry?” he said gently. “You’ll feel better for it.”
I dabbed at my moist eyes. He took out his handkerchief and blotted away the incipient tears. When I rose, he accompanied me to the hallway. “I must notify my lawyer of this turn of events,” he said. “Hansard won’t like it. He most particularly warned me to stay out of trouble, and thought Downsview the best place for me. Of course that is not the only reason I came.” His look was not exactly quizzical, but it seemed to imply some special reason.
“You always come for the New Year.”
"True, but on this occasion I had an excellent excuse to beg off, had I been looking for one. I most particularly wanted to come.”
“I cannot imagine why.”
“Can you not, Jess?” he asked softly.
His dark eyes lingered on my face in a peculiarly tender way. It was the sort of look that had often caused my heart to flutter in the past, but after ten years I had learned it meant nothing except that Otto was a flirt. This did not seem a proper time for flirtation.
“Downsview is coming to seem a horrid place,” I said, and went upstairs—not to cry, but to see how Mrs. Manner was. I was surprised to see Gregory in the east wing.
“What are you doing here, Gregory?” I asked.
“I was looking in on Mrs. Manner. She is sleeping soundly.”
“We thought you had gone to see Mrs.—that is, to the village.”
“Is that what the delightful Farr brothers have been telling you?” he asked. There was an angry glint at the back of his pale eyes, though he was smiling. “As I told Auntie, Mrs. Rampling is a friend, nothing more. I had no intention of calling on her. Let me take you out for a spin, Jess. You need to get away from this wretched atmosphere for an hour.”
“I could not possibly leave. With Mrs. Manner unwell, I must look after her, and the house.”
“Let me help you. What can I do?”
“There is nothing you can do, Gregory. You might as well have your spin.”
He reached out and touched my cheek. “I would rather be here, with you,” he said, in lover-like accents. This was such a startling change from his usual manner that I could only stare in wonder. “Poor Jessie,” he said. “I wish I could take you away from all this unpleasantness.”
“I am fine,” I said stiffly, and hurried away from him.
I watched from Mrs. Manner’s door as he turned the corner to the stairway. I wanted to see for myself that she was sleeping. It occurred to me that Gregory might be eager to hear what she had to say, if he was the one she had seen at the cheese-room. A terrible alarm seized me. He might want to do more than hear her story. He might want to prevent her from telling it! I flung open the door and went inside. Mrs. Manner was sleeping peacefully.
My imagination had momentarily convinced me I would find another corpse, but if Gregory meant her any harm, he had had a chance to silence her, and had not taken it. The possibility was still there, however, that someone might silence Mrs. Manner before she could speak, and I rang for a servant to sit with her.
It was Mary, the upstairs maid, who was free at that hour. I found her just finishing her work on the guests’ rooms. I remained with Mrs. Manner myself until Mary could speak to Cook, who was more or less in charge of the girls’ time. Mary was a good, sensible girl who knew how to look after herself. She was pink-cheeked and bright-eyed, and as strong as most men. I suggested that she keep the door locked, and pull the bell-cord to summon help if anyone but myself tried to get in.
“Lordie, you don’t think someone will try to kill her too?” she asked, eyes goggling.
“I shouldn’t think so, but it is best to take no chances at this time.”
“He’ll have to kill me first!” she said, and picked up the poker from the grate to defend herself and her charge. Mrs. Manner was a great favourite belowstairs.
When I went to speak to Cook, I found Hodgkins tucking into a piece of apple tart and a wedge of Cheddar, discussing not the case, but Henry Milliner, who had beaten his wife the night before and was sobering up in the roundhouse. Doctor Cullpepper was right. We required a proper investigator.
We settled on a cold nuncheon and a bowl of Cook’s beef-and-barley ragout “to warm our vittles,” as she put it. I kept thinking of Gregory’s sudden change in attitude towards me. Was it possible he wanted two shares of Auntie’s fortune? Was he making up to me? I did not know whether to laugh or be angry. I was curious to test my theory, and went back to the saloon to see if he had gone off to visit Mrs. Rampling.
He had not. He sat in the saloon with Horatio. They were not talking, but sat apart, Horatio still reading, Gregory doing some ciphering on a piece of note-paper at the secretary desk in the corner. He immediately put away the paper and turned a smile on me.
“Have you changed your mind, my dear? Shall we have our spin after all?”
Horatio looked up from his reading and cast a surprised glance at me.
“No, I have not changed my mind,” I said curtly.
I was about to turn and leave the room when Otto came back. “I mean to run this letter to Hansard into town at once. Is there anything else that needs posting, Jessie?”
“No, thank you. We have not gotten around to writing the notices for the relatives yet.”
"Would you like to come with me, to get a breath of air? There is time before lunch.”
I wanted to go, but as I had twice refused an outing with Gregory, civility prevented my accepting. I did accompany him to the door, however, using the excuse of asking him to pick up some black-edged cards at the stationer’s shop.
Weldon and Felix came down the hall from the library as I spoke to Otto. Their smiles indicated they had reached agreement on whatever point of Felix’s translation they had been quibbling over. I was surprised Felix had kept the appointment at this time, but perhaps Weldon had arrived before he could be put off.
“I take it you scholars have settled your differences?” Otto said. “Tell me, what was the subject of dispute? I always like to stick my oar into an argument.”
“We were just discussing a passage in my translation of the life of Caesar,” Felix said.
“What passage was that?” Otto persisted, turning to include Weldon, but it was Felix again who replied.
“Mr. Weldon questioned my interpretation of certain words—I used the phrase ‘broke out in
tears,’ in the passage comparing the accomplishments of Caesar and Alexander. Mr. Weldon felt it too strong. He suggested something along the lines of ‘drew a deep sigh’ might be more realistic.”
“One can hardly picture Alexander the Great breaking into tears,” Mr. Weldon said with a laugh.
“Nor Caesar either,” Otto replied with a bland smile. “Can I give you a lift, Mr. Weldon? I am going to the village.”
“I rode, thank you all the same, Mr. Farr.”
Otto said adieu to me and to Felix, and held the door for Weldon. As they went out, Duke came in. He usually used the kitchen door, but today was a day like no other. I felt sorry for him, and patted him a little.
I overheard Otto say, "Tell me, Weldon, what do you think of that story in the life of Pompey—”
Felix suddenly remembered something and called Weldon back. “I was going to loan you my translation of Cicero,” he said. “‘Better not wait, Otto. The book is in the library.”
Otto left, Weldon came back in, and Felix darted back to the library to get the book. Duke recognized his former master and demanded a little attention. Weldon had a way with dogs. Duke became quite frolicsome. When he began barking in pleasure, Juteclaw took the dog away. I invited Weldon to wait in the saloon, but he preferred to remain in the hall. He said a few words in commiseration of my aunt’s death, then Felix returned and gave him the book.
“Thank you. I look forward to dipping into this, Mr. Chapman,” Weldon said, and left.
Felix strolled into the saloon to chat to his brother. I was surprised that Weldon had an interest in scholastic matters, although his papa had been quite an expert, so I ought not to have been.
I went to the dining-room to see that the table was properly set up, as an excuse to keep away from Gregory. I did not want him making advances to me. The table was fine, and I went to the library to think and grieve in solitude until it was time for luncheon. The reek of cigar smoke lingered on the air. Weldon smoked cigars. Some ashes were in a dish on the table.
