“But she is Reid’s daughter,” Barnes said. “She may have reason to.”
“She’s still wanted for questioning,” Wicksy said. “Have you seen or heard from her?”
“No,” I shook my head. I didn’t believe Amy could be part of the Reid’s plan to kill me, but it did cross my mind for a split second.
“Well then, let’s pack it up here. We’ll be on our way back to London in no time.”
54 Run Off the Road
Paul Watson’s Journal September 2, 1927—Fragments. The taste of blood in my mouth. Blurred vision. Sound restoring to my ears. Gunshots. Incredible pain. I lifted my head a little to see half my body was outside of the overturned motor car, the other half was pinned inside. I vaguely heard Wicksy’s voice yelling for me to stay down. I looked to my right. The police man Geoff lay lifeless and covered in blood next to me. The driver of the car was dead too, shot to death. Barnes lay on the ground, alive, but barely. More gunshots. Then nothing. That’s when I realized I wasn’t dreaming. This ambush was all very real.
We were travelling home on the narrow winding road when the car came out of nowhere. First, it ran us off the road, and our driver swerved. Our car flipped. That was all I remembered. When I awoke, chaos surrounded me. The only one who seemed able to function properly was Wicksy. He wasn’t badly hurt, but still, he was bleeding.
“Came right out of nowhere,” he said to me, as he held pressure on Barnes’ wounds. Barnes, who drifted in and out consciousness, had a gunshot wound to his abdomen. I told Wicksy Barnes would be okay, hopefully, anyway, but we needed to get him to a hospital as quickly as possible.
I couldn’t even assist Barnes since I was hurt pretty badly. My leg was cut, and I was still foggy from passing out during the crash.
“Who was shooting at us?” I said.
“Got one of the guys. He’s dead. Over there.”
Wicksy pointed behind the car, but I couldn’t stand up to look yet.
“Who do you think...”
“Bandits of some sort?”
“Please...help...” Barnes’ croaked.
“We’re hear with you, Barnes, and we won’t let you die.”
“What are we going to do now?”
Wicksy looked around.
“We’re about a mile from Dalwhinnie. I could walk to town, but...it would be easier if someone passed through this way. I don’t want to leave Barnes, you see. Not in his state.”
I groaned as I pushed myself to my feet.
“I’ll go.”
“You can’t.”
“Then I’ll stay with Barnes.”
“Are you well enough to help him?”
“I’m regaining my strength. Let me see...”
I used the car as a brace to help me stand and made my way over to Barnes. I applied pressure to his wounds now. Wicksy stood and was about to take off in the direction of Dalwhinnie.
“Was there someone else...with the man you murdered?” I asked.
“I thought it was a woman, but I’m not sure.”
“Rosalind?”
“What?”
“If it was a woman, it likely was her,” I said, finally regaining some strength. “If what you said is true, that the Reids believed that the fortune was theirs, then they’re still after me, especially now. And Rosalind is a Reid.”
Wicksy nodded.
“Well, if you’re right Doctor Watson, I won’t stop until she’s behind prison bars.”
Just then a passing car screeched to a stop. A man got out of it.
“Everyone all right here?”
“We’ve been in an awful crash. We need police assistance and someone to get my colleague to the nearest hospital.”
“Of course, of course,” the older gentleman said, and he helped us load Barnes into the car.
“Take him. Doctor Watson, you go with him.”
“I’d prefer to stay.”
“As soon as I get to town, I’ll take your friend to the hospital and then send the police,” the man replied.
“Very good. Many thanks to you, sir. You saved us a long walk.”
The man turned his car around, and with Barnes inside, headed back toward Dalwhinnie.
Meanwhile, I was up and standing.
“Shame about Geoff.”
“Yes, I will have to tell his family when we return.”
“What about that guy? The one you shot.”
I hobbled across the street and came upon the lifeless body. I recognized him instantly. There before me lay Edward Fitch, the asylum inspector for Kolney Hatch. I was sure during my time at the asylum that Mr. Fitch was working for Reid, and now I knew I was right.
Most people rejoiced when blessed with riches, but I had a feeling I would be looking over my shoulder more than I would be enjoying my inheritance.
55 A Loxley Engagement Party
Mrs. Wendell leaned into Petunia and said, “I’m so sorry for you loss. It must be difficult to be here, and I am an expert on being a widow. But at least you have your Peter back. Of course, his name is Guy now, and it’s a terrible name.”
“Thank you, Tessie,” Petunia answered. The two women sat in the drawing room of the Loxley mansion, each with a cup of tea. Mrs. Wendell stared at Petunia’s son as she spoke.
“He is a quite handsome young man. And it appears the rumors are true. He seems to fancy that Claire Baker.”
Mrs. Wendell gave a flat pan smile of disapproval, and Petunia looked through the crowd of people to see Guy Finlaw, her son—a word she still could not grasp—leaning into Claire Baker’s ear and whispering something to her as he kept his hand on her back.
“I cannot be held accountable for what he does,” Petunia stated. “I simply can assure you...I didn’t raise him.”
“Oh no,” Mrs. Wendell agreed. “First of all, poor boy. He was not raised as a proper Englishman. There’s no hope. And he’s famous, so you know there’s absolutely no hope.”
“Still, I am so, so thankful to have my Peter back. Every time I see him, my heart aches that I missed so much of his life. But all that matters is that I have him back now. That’s all I ever wanted in the whole world was to see my boy again.”
Petunia felt tears come to her eyes. Mrs. Wendell patted Petunia’s hand and gave her a sympathetic smile.
Petunia watched as Richard Baker intervened between Claire and Guy. Paul Watson stood a distance away from them and scowled. Petunia was surprised to see Paul with such a distressful expression.
“I can’t believe Richard Baker and Paul Watson are brothers,” Mrs. Wendell continued, once more giving a flat smile. Petunia knew Mrs. Wendell was trying to lighten the mood.
“That, I can believe,” Petunia said through sniffles. When Mrs. Wendell’s eyes widened, Petunia said, “Even I knew how in love Oscar and Wendy were. And the boy, he looks so much like Wendy. William would’ve never known.”
“I realize your appreciation of scandal has lessened in the last year. Don’t think I didn’t notice it. But to approve of such a scandal, to reduce your moral standard to almost nothing, is beyond my comprehension, I’m afraid.”
Petunia shrugged.
“Here they come,” Mrs. Wendell said, looking toward the door. Roger and his fiancé, Vivian, entered and the crowd clapped. Roger with his fierce dark eyes and his bucked teeth looked so homely next to the petite, beautiful Vivian. Mrs. Wendell whispered. “Could you imagine if he did turn out to be Wendy’s murderer?”
“I don’t know how it would be exposed without a murder weapon,” Petunia whispered back.
“He should’ve married an English woman,” Mrs. Wendell murmured. “She would have kept his secret and buried the body if need be.”
“And you say I’ve reduced my moral standard,” Petunia said, as she sipped on her tea.
“Thank you, thank you,” Aldous said as he tapped a glass of champagne with a fork. “I would just like to welcome you all here tonight to Roger and Vivian’s engagement party. We are so thrilled. And I
wish them all the happiness in the world. Please, enjoy yourselves. Drink. Make merry. I have a surprise for all of you later and do hope you’ll stay to see it.”
“A surprise,” Mrs. Wendell said. “I wonder what it could be.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. But with the Loxleys you just never know what you’re going to get.”
56 Guy Finlaw
Paul Watson’s Journal
September 20, 1927—When I arrived at Roger’s engagement party, I immediately felt overwhelmed. It took all of my strength to put what had happened behind me.
I still wasn’t speaking to Richard, even though I wasn’t as angry with him. Oscar made sure to stand by my side and kept Richard and me a healthy distance apart. I told him I wasn’t ready to mend my friendship with Richard yet, and he was understanding.
What bothered me most, however, was seeing Claire clinging to Guy Finlaw. I could not tell if she was purposefully trying to anger me or if she truly liked Mr. Finlaw and no longer felt anything for me.
“Claire,” I said, making an attempt to speak with her. She was mid last sip of a glass of champagne when I walked over. Mr. Finlaw was getting them both another glass.
“Hullo,” she answered reservedly.
“Do you think we could speak alone? I have something I want to share with you.”
I hadn’t told anyone about my fortune yet, and I wanted Claire to know first.
“Well...”
“Please, Claire. It’s really important...”
Just then, Guy returned.
“Here you are. One glass of champagne for the beautiful lady.”
Guy handed Claire her champagne and she nervously smiled as she took it. When she looked back at me, I saw guilt behind her expression.
“Hi there, old chap.”
He stuck out his hand for a shake, and I reluctantly shook it.
“Nice to see you again,” he said.
I nodded but didn’t say a word.
Awkward silence passed among the three of us, and then Guy smiled.
“My mother speaks highly of you and your mother. If only I had known sooner, old chap, we would have been great friends from a young age. Of course, my name would have been Peter.”
He laughed.
I didn’t know how to respond. I hated Guy Finlaw for stealing Claire from me, but I couldn’t consciously be unkind to him when he hadn’t been unkind to me. And knowing what Petunia went through losing Peter and finding him again, I could not be rude. But still, a part of me was annoyed by his happiness.
“Anyway, it looks like we’re neighbors now, so you’ll be seeing a lot more of me.” Guy looked from me to Claire. “You’ve been so lucky to know this goddess standing next to me. If only I had known her earlier. Richard is the luckiest man on this earth.”
“Oh Guy,” Claire blushed. “That’s so sweet of you.”
“Well, it’s been wonderful to see you again, Watson. I really do hope to see more of you. But now, I must confess, I hear fine music, and I’d like to dance. Claire, would you care to join me?”
“I would,” Claire nodded. Guy extended his arm for Claire to wrap hers around. He nodded towards me, and they turned to leave. My heart sank, and I watched as Claire turned her head to give me one last glance. I don’t know what that look in her eyes said, but one thing was for sure. Claire felt something for Guy Finlaw, and I was losing her faster than ever.
“Paul,” Aldous interrupted. “May I borrow you for a moment?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” I said, regaining my composure.
Still sour from watching Claire and Guy Finlaw acting like lovers on the dance floor, I followed Aldous into the spacious library with wooden bookshelves and hardwood floors covered by red tapestry rugs. Aldous motioned for me to sit down, and I took a seat on a leather chair by a world globe. Aldous waited to close the door until Richard, Roger, and Oscar also filed into the room. Detective Wicksy followed, and once everyone was in the room, Aldous shut the door and locked it.
“What are we all here for?” Richard’s pompous tone asked. Now that he had his money, he was less patient with his time. I thought it funny since I had just inherited more money than I could ever imagine, and I didn’t feel any different.
“Be patient, Mr. Baker, Aldous said. “You will all know the truth soon.”
57 The Secret Meeting
Paul Watson’s Journal
September 30, 1927, continued—An eerie silence filled the room as we all sat in the Loxley library watching Detective Wicksy pace back and forth in front of us. After several minutes, he spoke.
“We have very good reason to have you all here,” Wicksy stated. He looked at Richard. “Richard Baker, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Sergeant Wicksy.”
When Richard heard the word detective, he sat up straight and uncrossed his arms.
“All right,” Wicksy began. “I suppose there’s no easy way to start. This case, the death of Wendy Watson, has been particularly trying for me. I spent seven years investigating her death with not a single trace of her murderer. No fingerprints, no murder weapon.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “The only thing I had was a gun shot that first came from Richard Baker.”
I glared at Richard who shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the mention of his name.
“A second gunshot,” Wicksy continued, “That came at nine in the evening with not a single witness. This troubled me. As a private detective on this matter, I could not fathom how this was possible. A second and similar murder presented itself to me, reigniting my investigation. When I found out that you two...” he motioned to Oscar and Aldous, “administered an illegal drug that could have killed Agatha, stole the poor girl’s body and decided to rehabilitate her without telling me, I was livid. The legal consequences are enormous. But...I am sympathetic to your cause. I thought, if only Agatha was able to remember something, anything, about that night that was imperative to the case, and one could prove that Agatha’s life was in danger at the hospital, then perhaps you both would not go prison.”
I looked at Oscar and Aldous. They were emotionless, unafraid, and certain.
“And then with your help, Oscar, Agatha has finally remembered something,” Wicksy continued. “She told you she was in a brothel and worked there as a prostitute with Louisa Stilwell. She explained that a woman, Rosalind Reid, came to her and promised her and Louisa money, each a respectable reference letter and a good word at the employer of their choice, if they promised to help her with a simple job.”
I glanced at Richard who stared intently at the detective with his arms crossed.
“Agatha and Louisa were to befriend Roger Loxley. You see, the money that Rosalind Reid promised Louisa and Agatha was going to come from you, Roger, via blackmail.”
“What was the job?” I asked.
“Oh yes, the job...well, it was to kill your mother, Paul. You see, Rosalind was a Reid, and she, her uncle and her father, worked very closely to eliminate all the possible heirs, which you already know. When your mother went to Whitemoor, your Aunt Greta told her a secret...a few secrets. She knew about the twins, Edan and Thomas, and about the murders they committed. She knew about their plot to kill. And she learned all of this from Mary Loxley.”
“My aunt...?” Roger asked.
“Your....aunt, yes,” Wicksy said, flashing a look at Aldous and then back to Roger.
“So my mother knew everything and they killed her because they were afraid she would expose them?”
“Yes, and they were afraid that your mother would come into possession of some of their fortune. Is not greed the driving force of many men? So, the girls agreed to help Rosalind. Louisa convinced Roger to bring out the gun, and while he wasn’t looking, she loaded it. They drugged Richard and Roger and it was Agatha who put the gun in Richard’s hand. Feeling remorseful at what she’d done, Agatha fled.”
“So it was Louisa who killed my mother.”
“Th
at’s the thing. It wasn’t.”
“Was it Thomas Reid?”
“He was at Kolney Hatch.”
“Then it was Rosalind.”
“No, Rosalind wasn’t in London.”
“How do you know?”
“We have her in holding at the headquarters in Whitemoor.”
“Why?” Richard asked.
“She confirmed everything Agatha said. She’s quite willing to talk.”
“Rosalind?” I scoffed. “Why is that?”
“Oh she’s very interested in cutting a deal, Doctor Watson,” Wicksy said with a smile. “You see, we found she was involved in the shootout in Whitemoor, so we were keen to put her behind prison bars. But we see no reason to now that she’s being overly cooperative.”
“I still don’t understand why she’s being cooperative after all this time?”
“Because she’s pregnant,” Wicksy said. “As I said, once we have her full account of what happened, we will have no reason to keep her any longer, so don’t worry Richard.”
I casually looked over toward Richard who wore a ghostly expression.
“Richard?” I inquired.
“Oh yes, hasn’t he told you all the good news? Rosalind is sure the baby is Mr. Baker’s.
58 The Reveal
Paul Watson’s Journal
September 30, 1927, continued.—Detective Wicksy planned to use Agatha’s recount of what happened in conjunction with Rosalind’s account to shelter Oscar and Aldous from any legal action for taking Agatha’s body. Because Detective Barnes was still recovering in the hospital, Detective Wicksy was going to visit Constable Wyatt directly after the meeting to reveal everything that he learned and partner with him to find the true murderer. Meanwhile, once we left the library, I confronted Richard.
“We need to talk.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Claire told me about your affair with the housemaid. It was never the housemaid was it? Poor Mrs. Bitts.”
Richard didn’t say anything. We reached the drawing room then, and he folded his arms.
Kolney Hatch: Buried Secrets (The Secret of Kolney Hatch Book 2) Page 19