The Grenadillo Box: A Novel

by Janet Gleeson

  The other, standing slightly behind her, was no less distinctive. She was wearing a tall black hat, veiled to mask her face, and a cloak of oxblood red. Who was she? I looked down at the letters which I still held in my hand. Dreadful conviction gripped me. The person with Alice was the person to whom Partridge had addressed this letter. The person who had promised to help him. I knew her identity with as much certainty as if she had been standing barefaced not two feet distant from me.

  “Dear God, I thought you said the other ladies would not return till this afternoon?” I cried out. “I thought you told me Miss Goodchild had gone out alone?”

  Connie looked askance at the sudden change of my tone. “I said nothing of the sort. Miss Alleyn and Elizabeth Montfort altered their plans. They arrived early this morning, just in time to see Miss Goodchild going out for her walk. One of them must have taken it upon herself to accompany her. I can’t tell from this distance which of them it is. Why do you look so pale, Nathaniel? You told me it was Robert you feared, not one of them.”

  By now Alice and her companion had followed a narrow winding path that bordered the reed beds on the edge of the lake and arrived at the bridge leading to the island and the tower in its midst. At the center of the bridge I saw them halt and lean over the balustrade to gaze at a pair of swans gliding beneath them. I saw the veiled figure gesture to draw Alice closer towards the edge. I saw Alice lean further over to see more clearly what her companion pointed out. Then, horror of horrors, I watched the scene unfold as in a dream. I saw her companion move behind her, hunching her shoulders purposefully, raising her hands as if she would thrust Alice over the rail. Instinctively I opened my mouth to shriek out a warning: Alice, come away! Beware of your treacherous companion! But the window was closed fast, and even if it had been open the distance was too great for me to make myself heard.

  I was quite unable to help her.

  But perhaps the strength of my feeling reached her on some mystical level, or perhaps some kind angel watched, for just at that moment Alice’s attention was drawn by a bird taking flight. She raised herself, looking upwards, stepping away from the edge, colliding with the figure behind her. I could see Alice’s jolt of surprise, her bow of apology, and the other figure nodding and patting her arm, as if to reassure her she’d taken no offense. But even as I sighed with relief, another dreadful threat became manifest.

  Instead of returning the way they’d come, the two women turned in the opposite direction. The veiled figure signaled towards the wooden mound on the island and the tower that rose from it. Alice nodded her acquiescence. The next thing I saw was the two of them strolling off arm in arm over the bridge, towards the tower, out of sight.

  I knew then with absolute certainty two things. First, Alice remained utterly oblivious to the danger she was in. Second, what was about to happen. Alice had stumbled upon information that would identify the killer, but she didn’t yet know it. Once Alice reflected on what she knew, or discussed it with me, her identity would become clear. For that reason she intended to kill Alice as a matter of urgency.

  “Dear God!” I shouted. “I know who it is. And Connie, I must stop her! Did you not see her try to push Miss Goodchild over the parapet? Go immediately to find Foley. Tell him I know the answers now, and to send someone for Westleigh. Do it quickly, for pity’s sake!”

  Even while I was gabbling these instructions, I’d grasped the late Henry Montfort’s sword from its mounting on the wall, buckled the belt round my waist, and gone out of the door, down the stairs, bounding through the corridors, almost running John the footman through with the sword before I heard her screeched assent. I hollered back and charged off again through the kitchen. With the clumsiness of haste I stumbled into the table, sending a bowl of goose fat flying across the flagstones. But I ignored Mrs. Cummings’s cry of “Where has Connie got to, and what in heaven’s name are you about?” For by then I was already in the yard, racing towards the tower.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The lake lay in a saucer of ground, surrounded by thickets of firs and deciduous trees, towards the southern boundary of the estate. In its center was a steep, densely wooded island with a gothic tower rearing from its summit. The only access to the island was via the Palladian bridge, which spanned two small promontories where the gulf between island and shore was narrowest.

  When I began to sprint across the grass, I caught occasional glimpses of the tops of the ladies’ heads bobbing through the trees. But soon, as I descended lower and they progressed deeper into the woods on the island, neither woman was visible.

  I gulped great breaths of air, all the while praying to God to protect Alice by aiding me on my way. But my prayers went unanswered. The deeper I descended towards the bridge, the more hostile the landscape became. The grass was meager; the path meandered among bare willow trees and tufts of reeds taller than I. The ground here was soft and marshy; oozing mud gripped my soles in heavy clods, making every step feel as if the soil itself were intent to hinder my progress.

  After what seemed an eternity, at last I came to the bridge and crossed to the island. Once on land again I followed a leaf-strewn path that ascended through the undergrowth towards the lonely tower. Now the ground rose steeply and grew firmer. Surely, I told myself, I must be gaining ground on Alice and her companion; but if I was I had little sense of it. All around me the trees formed a dense wall. Dwarfed by proximity to one another and molded by exposure to the wind, they were strangely misshapen, bowing over the path with intertwined branches, allowing no glimpse of the route ahead or the tower, and only the slenderest of openings to the sky. Thus it seemed I had traced the dark meandering tunnel for an interminable distance when the woods abruptly ceased. I emerged into a grassy clearing suffused with brilliant winter sun. The tower stood a few yards away, a slender construction with narrow pointed windows punctuating smooth walls and a battlemented platform at the top. An arched door had been flung open to reveal a shadowy staircase leading to the top.

  I could see no sign of Alice or her companion, but I could hear their voices echoing from within, and halfway up I thought I glimpsed a shadowy figure flash past the tracery. Without pausing to recover my breath, I clambered to the door and began to scale the spiral staircase three steps at a time, holding my sword tight against me so it didn’t clank against the stone wall and alert them to my presence.

  All the while I ascended I could plainly hear the voices of the women above me growing closer. Snatches of their conversation were audible. I caught Alice, oblivious to the danger she was in, saying, “So kind of you to take the trouble…the greatest gratitude…” To which her companion answered, “The panorama…so splendid…you will be enchanted.”

  There was no mistake. I could not avoid the chilling intention in the voice of Miss Alleyn.

  I acknowledged then how foolish I’d been, how dangerous an emotion compassion can be, how Miss Alleyn had beguiled me. Her financial dependence on her relatives had reminded me more than a little of my own situation with Chippendale, and I’d sympathized with her predicament. By treating me with kindness, by making concerned inquiries, by seemingly helping me in my quest, she’d nurtured my solicitude, and I’d never considered the possibility that she alone might be responsible for these dreadful crimes.

  I scaled the corkscrew steps, and little by little the dark became less profound. By the time I drew near to the top, dizzy with turning, shafts of light speckled with motes of dust streamed down on my head. I staggered molelike out of the stairwell and stood for a minute watching. Neither Miss Alleyn nor Alice had suspected my approach. They stood with their backs to me. Miss Alleyn had Alice by the elbow and had led her to the very edge, to a place where the battlement dipped no higher than her knee. She pointed down at something beneath, as I’d seen her do on the bridge. Beyond their heads, in the far distance, the silhouette of Horseheath Hall stood black and dismal against a bright blue sky.

  Horror overwhelmed me, but I dared not shout. To do s
o might precipitate Miss Alleyn into acting too swiftly for me to intervene. “Do you see the hall?” she was saying. “Is it not a spectacular prospect?”

  Those words caused my hands to tremble and blood to pound as if driven by a piston through my skull. I unsheathed Montfort’s sword and rushed headlong towards them.

  “Good day to you, ladies,” I cried out.

  Both women spun round. Alice looked first at me and then at the sword with openmouthed astonishment. Beneath the dense black veil Miss Alleyn’s face was invisible, but I believed I could sense her hatred.

  “You? Why do you come here? What does this mean?” she spat.

  “What it means,” I said, lowering my sword and stepping neatly between Alice and the parapet, “is that I have discovered your evil secret.”

  “I’ve no notion to what evil secret you refer,” said Miss Alleyn. Abruptly, she released Alice and strode some distance off. She surveyed the silent landscape, the glittering lake, the skeletal trees, the sullen mass of Horseheath Hall beyond. “I didn’t kill my brother, if that’s what you’re implying. What reason could I have to wish him dead? I do not profit from his demise, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  “I know you did not kill him,” I replied softly. “But I also know what malevolent deeds you did perpetrate. And what evil is in your mind now.”

  “What is in her mind?” interposed Alice, who was clearly still baffled by my presence. “Tell me instantly, Nathaniel. I believed her to be a gentle soul. Does she mean me ill?”

  “Alice,” I replied, “before I explain any of this, there is one thing I have yet to prove and I would ask you to answer me plainly. When you discussed pastimes with Robert Montfort, did he chance to mention his aunt?”

  “What?” said Alice in puzzlement.

  I repeated myself more slowly. “The conversation between you and Robert Montfort—it took place at Bradfield’s reception. I believe it was crucial, and that something said then was the reason Miss Alleyn intended to kill you. I recall you discussed pastimes with Robert. Was mention made of Miss Alleyn during that conversation?”

  “Why yes,” she replied, “I believe he did mention her. He said he enjoyed shooting, then he laughed and I asked him why. He commented then that the entire family partook of the same sport, including his aunt, Miss Alleyn. He said that it was a most curious hobby for a woman of her demure and timid appearance. No one would suspect her of squashing an ant, let alone brandishing a pistol.”

  I nodded heavily. “And where was Miss Alleyn during this conversation?”

  “I don’t rightly recall, but I suppose she must have been nearby, for it was not long after that she invited me to Horseheath.”

  Here was confirmation, though by now I scarcely needed it. The flaws in many of her explanations were now all too obvious: she had concealed Partridge’s visit on the day of his death from me; she had told me the gun that shot Montfort was his own; she had pretended to know nothing of Madame Trenti. The gun that shot Montfort must have belonged to her.

  Alice opened her eyes wide. “Do you truly believe Miss Alleyn brought me here to kill me?”

  “Yes, for ever since this business first began she has become increasingly fearful of apprehension. It was that fear which propelled her most brutal actions.”

  Until now Miss Alleyn had stood rooted to the spot. My mention of her viciousness seemed unaccountably to agitate her. She began to circle Alice and me. “Hopson, didn’t I tell you already I didn’t kill my brother?” she screamed.

  “Hush, Miss Alleyn,” said I to her. “Did I not tell you I believed you? I know you were not responsible for his death, but what of the other two? What of poor Partridge, whom you murdered so brutally? What of Madame Trenti, whom you told me you didn’t know, yet strangled in her bed?”

  Alice gave a short gasp. “Nathaniel, can you be sure of this? Only yesterday you declared it was Robert Montfort who was responsible for Trenti’s death.”

  “And you were right to disbelieve me, Alice. As to Miss Alleyn’s intentions—there is no doubt in my mind. I saw her try to kill you on the bridge. If I hadn’t arrived, I believe you would already be lying dead at the foot of this tower.”

  At this Alice’s face became so pale I feared she was about to faint. Seeing her predicament, Miss Alleyn gave a short burst of laughter and moved towards us both, until she was standing no more than two feet away.

  I addressed her directly. “Madam, you should understand the time for subterfuge is over now. Come with me back to the hall. We will call for Westleigh and Foley, and you can explain your actions honestly to them.”

  Still Miss Alleyn said nothing, but her head was now bowed, as if she were considering her position. An instant later and her emaciated shoulders began to shudder, her bony fingers twisted at her veil. Then with a swift gesture she threw back her veil and revealed herself. The expression on her face was such as I had never seen before, and hope fervently never again to witness. Her eyes were wild, the nostrils of her long nose flared, her lips no more than a line. “My actions were the only solution,” she hissed. “What fate decrees I should endure being treated as a servant? Why should I be denied my right? Why should I not reclaim it?”

  With this she fixed her eye directly on Alice. Before I realized what brutality was in her mind she swooped towards her, grabbed her by both elbows, and hauled her backwards to the edge of the tower. She was a tall woman, far stronger than she had previously appeared. Alice struggled, wrenching her arms in frantic efforts to pull free. She surveyed the dizzy drop beneath and stared back at me in bewilderment. I began to inch forward, but as I did so Miss Alleyn moved a step closer to the edge. “Stay away!” she howled. “Any nearer and we’ll both fall.”

  “What do you want?” I said quietly.

  “What Foley promised me. What is mine by right!”

  Alice tugged at her captor’s grip, her face contorted with effort.

  “Release Miss Goodchild and I will do what I can to assist you.”

  Miss Alleyn gave a hysterical laugh, tears now coursing down her cheeks. “Never.”

  “You must know that what you ask is impossible to provide in an instant.”

  Alice was still writhing and twisting vainly.

  “Then this is all the choice I have!” Miss Alleyn screamed.

  I was already raising my sword. Alice was so preoccupied by her struggle to be free she was taken by surprise to find herself suddenly released. She lost her balance at the very moment Miss Alleyn gave her a firm push.

  I thrust Miss Alleyn out of my path and ran to Alice. I recall the cunning in Miss Alleyn’s eyes at the instant she eluded me, seized Alice again, and hurled her in the path of my sword. I dropped my weapon; it clattered to the ground and Alice tumbled alongside it, shrieking in pain at a wrench to her ankle. I recall then the triumphant gleam in Miss Alleyn’s eyes, swiftly followed by a very different expression. She lost her footing and tumbled backwards over the parapet. Sheer terror was writ upon her face as she fell, openmouthed, howling. Until her body hit the ground with a final thump, and the landscape was once more silent.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Beyond the library windows the last rays of afternoon sun streaked the park with gold as a carriage set out for the apothecary’s shop in Cambridge, bearing the injured Alice. Inside, a somber group—Foley, Bradfield, Elizabeth, Wallace, and I—waited for the arrival of Westleigh and Robert. In a turmoil I strode the length of the room, at once anxious to avoid the attentions of others and yearning to unburden myself. Up and down, back and forth I went, head bowed, pondering, shaking my head as I reflected on each strange feature of these events, marveling at how each piece that had once so confounded me now fitted so easily into place.

  My ruminations were still under way when we heard footsteps in the hall and Robert Montfort entered, accompanied by Westleigh. They had been cursorily apprised of recent events, and their faces revealed candid astonishment and a hunger to know the details of all that had
passed. Robert, still dressed in his caped surtout and outdoor boots, glanced at me with what seemed a conciliatory air. I wondered briefly if Foley had pacified him as he’d promised, or whether I’d misread his mood and was about to fall prey to a violent assault.

  “So, Mr. Hopson, I gather you have finally concluded this matter in the most dramatic manner and desire to explain it to us,” he said, addressing me with customary hauteur but no obvious menace. “My aunt is dead. I understand she was the murderess you sought.” He began unbuttoning his coat as he spoke. “I confess her duplicity still astounds me. How inconceivable to think she killed her own brother! My aunt was evidently lunatic. Would you not agree?”

  I shook my head grimly. “Your aunt was a murderess, sir. She murdered my friend Partridge and she murdered Madame Trenti. But I do not believe she was lunatic—indeed there is a warped logic to all her actions—nor did she kill your father.”

  Bemusement flitted over Robert’s face. “I don’t take your meaning, Hopson.”

  “He did it himself. I mean, my lord, that your father took his own life in a fit of melancholy brought on by his gambling losses. Miss Alleyn found his body and tampered with it to make it appear he had been murdered.”

  Robert Montfort regarded me distrustfully. “And why should she kill two people entirely unconnected with her?”

  “May I suggest, my lord, that before we consider the murders we begin with the death of your father, Lord Montfort. For therein lies the key to this entire tragedy.”

  There was no mistaking his readiness to protest. “I see you still insist upon ignoring the directions of those of superior rank, and give yourself the airs of a gentleman,” he said.

  “That was far from my intention, my lord.”

  Robert’s expression darkened. Observing the rapidly deteriorating situation, Westleigh held up his right hand. “One moment please, gentlemen. Robert, I pray that you give Hopson leave to explain these events as he thinks fit. For like it or no, it is he who’s apparently unraveled them.”