The Ruby Locket

by Anita Higman

  Wyatt’s eyes darted around again. “Possibly. I was only ten when she died so the details aren’t clear anymore.” He looked at me, his gaze unblinking. “But I know this. She would never have left me here. She used to tell me being a mother was her greatest dream. Why would she abandon it—abandon me?”

  The anguish in his face pricked at my heart. And it dug up the hastily buried pain of my dad’s passing. A lump formed in my throat. “I know what it’s like to lose a parent. The senselessness of it. Like the whole earth has been pulled out from under your feet.” I fiddled with the sleeve of my dress, choosing my next words carefully. “And I also understand the need to make sense of her death. To have it fit in a box that you can wrap your mind around a little easier. Even if it means bending the truth.”

  “You don’t believe me.” Wyatt pulled away, anger flickering in his eyes.

  “That’s not it. It’s just I think you might be jumping to some pretty drastic—”

  “Forget it.” He snatched a cleaning rag off the counter and turned to leave. “I have to go clear the dining room table. You can find your own way out.”

  As the door swung shut behind him, I moaned and leaned my head back. I seemed to have a knack for sending people storming out of the kitchen tonight. Whatever progress I had made toward forging a friendship with Wyatt seemed to have just crumbled. It disappointed me more than I would’ve thought. But hopefully he wouldn’t stay mad forever. Besides, I was curious to hear what his evidence was. Did he believe Ivan murdered his mom? I mean, I wasn’t a huge fan of the guy but calling him a murderer was a hefty accusation. Or maybe Wyatt suspected one of the household staff?

  I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. Rising from the stool to make my way back to the guest house, one thought blazed across my mind, leaving a red trail of fear in its wake.

  What if Wyatt was right?

  The next morning after another massive breakfast buffet, Miss Easton ordered Mom upstairs to the sewing room so she could measure her for her wedding gown and I decided to tag along. Besides, my ankle felt better and I wanted to be there for Mom in case Miss Easton decided to make her feel unwelcome. If anyone was worthy of marrying Ivan, it would be my mom. I needed to make sure Miss Easton knew that.

  The sewing room was surprisingly cheery compared to the rest of the house, with natural light streaming in through three large windows overlooking the greenhouse. Against one wall there were large bolts of rich fabrics in every color and texture: velvet jewel tones, gauzy pastels, and bold prints.

  As Mom held out her arms for Miss Easton to measure her, she said, “Well, this is certainly a lovely room. It’s nice to know there are bright pockets of light in the abbey.”

  Miss Easton grunted, moving her measuring tape around Mom’s slim waist. “This was Madam Helsburg’s favorite room. She enjoyed painting here because of all the natural light.”

  I ran my hand along a bolt of dark plum chiffon. “You mean Celeste?”

  “Yes,” Miss Easton said.

  “That’s weird,” I said, tilting my head, “because last night Mr. Helsburg said that Celeste was drawn to the catacombs and liked to paint there.”

  Miss Easton paused in her measuring and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  “Anne, maybe we should talk about something a bit merrier,” Mom said, oblivious to the housekeeper’s unease. “Like the dress you’re going to wear at the wedding. It’s only a few days away after all.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe my silky green dress.” Miss Easton went back to her measuring, but there was a slight tremor in her hands. Weird. She seemed like the type of woman who could handle the coming of the apocalypse, but my comment had unsettled her.

  My guess was there was more to Celeste’s story than Ivan told us.

  Mom interrupted my thoughts. “Yes, that would be perfect. Since you’re the only bridesmaid, you won’t be clashing with anyone. That’s the nice thing about an intimate ceremony.”

  Miss Easton stepped away from Mom and coiled the measuring tape around her hand. “All finished, madam.”

  Smiling, Mom said, “Please, call me Dauphine. Might as well get familiar with each other.”

  Miss Easton sniffed, her cloudy brown eyes shifting to the floor. “I prefer formality over familiarity, madam.”

  Mom deflated a little, which I hated to see. “All right then. It seems I have a lot to get used to.” Walking toward the fabrics, she caressed a bolt of ivory tulle. “Should I pick out the material for the dress now?”

  “There’ll be no need, madam. Master Helsburg has it all arranged.”

  “Oh. My dress has already been picked out?” She deflated even more.

  The housekeeper gave a curt nod. “Yes. Selected by Master Helsburg. I’ll make sure it fits, don’t concern yourself on that front.”

  Mom lifted her hands in surrender and glanced at me. “I suppose it’s a blessing I’ve already had a wedding where I got to choose the dress and everything else. None of those things really matter anyway. Besides, I trust Ivan’s taste.”

  “Good,” said Miss Easton, the iciness in her face melting a little. Then a new expression took its place—something like resolve. “One more thing. I know Master Helsburg suggested the gazebo for the wedding ceremony, but there is a lovely chapel just outside of the gardens, close to the woods. It’s rather lonesome and out of the way, but I think you should take a look to see if you prefer it over the gazebo.”

  Clasping her hands over her heart, Mom said, “Oh, that sounds wonderful. Thank you for the tip. I’ll have to go see it.”

  Miss Easton dipped her head and strode past us to put away the measuring tape. I caught a whiff of her perfume and it again reminded me of overripe fruit—sickly sweet.

  As Mom and I left the sewing room, I couldn’t help remembering Wyatt’s comment about how Miss Easton didn’t believe anyone was good enough for Ivan. I had to wonder…did her blatant disapproval have anything to do with Celeste’s death?

  Chapter Twelve

  Dauphine

  The storm clouds—which now boiled with sound and fury—seemed to grow closer by the minute. My hair slapped at my cheeks as my shirt billowed around me. Red lightning, something I’d never seen before, streaked in front of me against a slate gray sky. A clap of thunder startled me, jarring me all the way to my bones.

  But the weather didn’t matter. I was determined to drive into town to order some flowers for the wedding. I had to have something about the wedding that was mine. Didn’t I? And yet Ivan had been so good to me, arranging everything. Paying for everything. I didn’t deserve all the attention. And yet a woman wanted to put her signature on such an important event. Perhaps I was just being childish. Too bad Anne was busy. She could have come along. But I would go and order something wonderful. Maybe hundreds of antique roses with loads of baby’s breath. Yes, sounded lovely.

  With that promise encouraging me on and my spirit brightening with every step, I made my way along a brick pathway to a large garage on the estate where all the cars were housed.

  Out of the blue, an older man barreled out of the garage dressed in plaid lumberjack clothes and approached me with enough spit and bluster to put the storm to shame. I pulled to the side on the path, thinking he would collide right into me. “Hi.”

  “You must be the new mistress of Belrose.”

  “Well, not yet. I’m Dauphine…Ivan’s fiancée.” I stuck out my hand to try to get started on the right foot with the man.

  “I’m Marley. Just Marley.” He spit a wad of something brown and slimy on the ground, and it landed a smidgen too close to my shoe.

  That gesture was truly disgusting, not to mention rude. I wanted to recoil, but I held my ground and then lifted my chin—a bit of body language I’d recently borrowed from my daughter.

  A flicker of something passed over his countenance. Was it a pang of guilt? I hoped so.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I live out here in the shed, and I’m not very used to t
he dainty manners of the female species.” He chuckled, revealing a mouthful of stained teeth.

  I tried to laugh, but it sputtered out too soon. “You’re fine,” was all I could think to say. I wanted to tell him I hoped we could be friends, but realistically, that didn’t seem likely. “By the way, I would love to go into town and order some flowers for the wedding. So, I’d like to use my car.”

  “Your car.” The man made a snuffing noise. “Didn’t Mr. Ivan tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “I was told to sell your car. Got a pretty good price for it too.” He scratched his balding head and then returned his cap.

  “But why would you do that?” And how did he do it so quickly? I’d only just arrived!

  “I do whatever Master Ivan tells me to do. Always have. Always will.”

  “Oh.” I wilted. Ivan’s employees certainly were a loyal lot. “I loved that old car. We had a lot of good years together.” Why had Ivan not even asked me? “Well, maybe I could borrow one of the other cars. I’m determined to go into town…right now.” My voice shimmied.

  Marley looked up at the sky. “You shouldn’t be going anywhere with a storm like that coming. If my mother’s name ain’t Geraldine Skelton that cloud up there is packed with hail. Master Ivan wouldn’t take kindly to me letting you go when some harm might come to you.”

  As if on cue, a bolt of lightning sliced through the charged air. Feeling defiant, I held out my hand, catching tiny droplets on my palm, and said, “But it’s just rain.”

  “When we get a heavy rain it means that Old Worry Road Bridge might get washed out. Two people died last year, trying to make it across that old rickety thing.”

  Considering Ivan’s wealth, I had to wonder why he couldn’t pay someone to install a safe bridge. “I’m touched that you’re concerned about my well-being, but…” I let my voice trail off in the wind, since I could tell from the man’s pigheaded demeanor that he wasn’t about to budge on his stance. “Thank you. I’ll find another way to get into town.” How, I had no idea. I could always hitchhike I guess. I chuckled.

  “Something funny?” he asked.

  “No, not at all. I was just thinking.” Something I actually did from time to time, if no one minded, that is. I gave him a quick thank you and strode off before he told me to go into the house and sit in a corner. My mood had obviously turned sour, and I still could hardly believe that Mr. Marley had sold my car without even asking me.

  In the distance I could hear the man call to me, “Need to be careful out there. There’s—”

  “Yes, yes, I know. There might be hail.” There might be pestilence. There might be earthquakes. That is, anything and everything to keep me from going into town! I didn’t call back to him again. I didn’t turn around. I just kept walking.

  Marley yelled some other kind of warning but the words got swallowed up by the wild winds. Good. I didn’t want to hear another word.

  My brisk walk turned into a jog. I’d made it all the way to a bank of eucalyptus trees when I finally slowed down. That felt good. I lowered my hands to my knees to catch my breath. Ahh, one of my favorite scents—eucalyptus. I yanked down a few leaves from the tree, crushed them in my hand and lifted them to my nose. The thunder lessened, giving me a reprieve from its wrath. I might survive this day after all. As my spirit unwound a little, I began a gentle stroll through the woods.

  I plucked a fern—one that had an intricate primeval design to it—and twirled it in my fingers. What beauty here in the woodlands of Belrose Abbey. On impulse I lowered myself to the ground and lay back on the blanket of green with my arms resting above my head.

  A sunburst streamed out from one of the billowy clouds and flickered like lacework on the forest floor, warming my face. Intoxicating. I could grow to love this. My eyes drifted shut, and I would have fallen into quite a blissful dreamland had I not heard the faintest sound—a sound that almost hinted of a growl. I raised my head. A throng of dragonflies whorled around my head, their delicate wings glistening as they lighted on a patch of poppies. All was well. No snarls. Just the kiss of dragonflies.

  Then I let myself enter that slumber that was beckoning. Mmmm. There was almost a whisper in the air. Come, Dauphine. Come find your rest.

  Come…

  Chapter Thirteen

  Anne

  I found Wyatt polishing silver at the dining room table, his curly black hair falling over his eyes as he scrubbed at a punch bowl.

  Leaning against the doorway, I said, “Ivan makes you do that?”

  Glancing up, Wyatt’s sharp blue eyes fixed on me. “What do you want?”

  Biting my lip, I entered the room and sat across from him. “Listen, I’m sorry for writing you off in the kitchen last night. What do I know, after all? You’re the one who’s lived here for years.” I rubbed my eyebrows with my fingers. “And besides, I have to admit, this place is pretty creepy. Dark passageways, catacombs with psycho graffiti, a housekeeper who seems stuck in the 1800s. Much as I hate to admit it, you could be right.”

  Wyatt went back to his polishing, but the edges of his mouth softened a little.

  I wasn’t exactly sure I really believed the things I just told him, but I hated the idea of Wyatt thinking that I was insensitive to his grief. I understood his pain and I wanted to be there for him, even if he sounded a little unhinged. Looking up at the large oil painting of the woman hung high on the wall, I asked, “That’s your mother, isn’t it?”

  Without looking, he said, “Yes.”

  The woman had heaps of thick black curls and piercing blue eyes. “You really take after her.”

  Wyatt glanced up at me, and I could tell he was letting his steely guard down. “Thanks.”

  Feeling that our tentative friendship was partially restored, I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the sailboat I’d found in the catacombs. “I’ve been wanting to show this to you, but I haven’t had the chance.” As Wyatt took it from me, I said, “Check out the writing between the sails.”

  He angled the boat in his hands. When he saw Ivan’s name, his eyebrows shot up. “Where did you find this?”

  “Down in the catacombs. In that creepy room. At first I thought it was just a random toy, but then I saw the name.”

  “And you said the room was full of weird markings?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Pretty disturbing.”

  Wyatt stood and shoved aside the half-polished punch bowl. “We need to go down there. Maybe we can find out something about Ivan’s past.”

  I swallowed. “We?”

  He handed the sailboat back to me. “Well, yeah. The only way in is through the hole in the floor, and we’ll need each other to get back out.”

  “Why do you want to investigate Ivan’s past?”

  “I’ve lived here for seven years and that man is still a mystery to me. Let’s just say I’m rabidly curious.” Instead of walking around the long table to get to the door, he vaulted up onto the tabletop and slid across it to the other side, brushing past me. When he reached the doorway, he looked back at me. “Well, come on.”

  Drawn almost against my will, I stood and walked over to him, like he was some sort of magnet pulling me along. Right as we left the dining room, I caught a fleeting glance of the portrait of Wyatt’s mother. It felt like her eyes were trained on me. There seemed to be a gleaming awareness in them that wasn’t there before.

  But the strangest thing of all was that the vibrancy of her blue eyes had faded into a dull brown. A chill washed over me as I followed Wyatt down the hall.

  By the time we reached the boardroom, I’d convinced myself it had just been shadows playing on the wall.

  We slipped through the hidden entrance to the passageway from the boardroom. When the panel clicked shut behind us, I could almost feel my pupils widening in the total darkness of the passage. Wyatt felt along the wall for the switch and flicked the lights on, the bulbs winking on along the corridor, making a metallic whir.

  As we made
our way toward the hole in the floorboards, I attempted conversation. “So, where do you go to school?”

  Wyatt shot me an incredulous look, as if he thought we were somehow past mundane chatter. “Private tutors come to the abbey to teach me. I assume Ivan will do the same for you.”

  “So that’s how you know French?”

  “Yeah, and some Mandarin and Spanish too.”

  I gaped. “Whoa. Impressive. Is Ivan preparing you to inherit Belrose Abbey?”

  “I thought maybe he was. Until he told me he was marrying your mother.” His face held an expression I couldn’t read.

  I fell silent. I hadn’t even thought of that angle. We’d be dispossessing Wyatt of his role as future master of the abbey. Sweat prickled on my palms. Was it possible that Wyatt was resentful? I barely knew him, after all. Who knew what sort of emotions were seething beneath the surface? Suddenly, exploring the dark catacombs alone with him seemed like a pretty risky move.

  Before I could decide if I wanted to turn back, we reached the shelving that hung above the spot I’d fallen through.

  But the hole was boarded up with rough plywood, stark and new against the worn original flooring.

  Wyatt groaned. “Ivan got here first.”

  Relief surged through me. “Man, he’s fast.” I shrugged. “Well, we tried. Head back?”

  But the words were barely out of my mouth before Wyatt strode toward the edge of the shelving and picked up a hammer, holding it up like a trophy. “But he made the mistake of leaving the hammer.” He knelt down and began to pry up the hastily-nailed boards with the back of the tool.

  I brought my hand to my forehead. “Seriously? Are you sure we should be doing this?”

  “Completely. Don’t worry, I’ll nail them back down later.”

  I watched him pry up the boards one by one, a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead. His determination to discover something—anything—about Ivan was almost feverish. Without thinking, I blurted, “Do you think Ivan killed your mother?”