by Mae Ronan
Those next weeks spent at Hanover were identical, really, to those spent at any fine house, by any respectable guests, anywhere that time of year in all of England. There were rich meals every day; horse-riding in the mornings; billiards in the afternoons; charades, singing, piano-playing and other such things in the evenings. After about a week, though, Korbes advised Gwen to press upon Toby a little harder: to take him more often on walks through the garden, to sit with him longer in his fire-lit study.
So she did. She spent more time, that October with Toby Markus, than she could remember ever having spent with herself. They did just about everything together; and, while it was true that Toby was not the sharpest of tacks, he was by no means a disagreeable companion. He had a very pleasant face, and a very pleasant laugh. His eyes were large and bright; his mouth was full and red. His skin was white, and his hair was yellow. He had a very deep voice, but was, strangely enough, the tenor of Hanover’s drawing-room duets. Everything about him seemed just enough; never too much.
And so, when Gwen began to realise that she was indeed swaying his favour ever more near to herself, she began almost to be afraid. She wished sometimes that Toby would not ask her to marry him; and even when she thought of the fifty thousand pounds, she still could not shake her fear.
Therefore, when the day finally came (October the thirtieth, to be precise), Gwen knew hardly at all how to act. Toby called her downstairs late in the evening, and ushered her out into the great back garden, where he had set up a pure white arch between two oak trees. He had settled a little white bench underneath it; and here he led Gwen to sit, while he got down on his one knee, and removed a soft little velvet box from his coat pocket.
“Gwendolyn Isles,” he said warmly, “will you do me the utmost honour of becoming my wife?”
He flashed her a dazzling smile. His eyes glittered, and his hair sparkled silver in the moonlight. He put a hand to Gwen’s face, as a shower of orange leaves fell down over them.
“It’s a sign!” he exclaimed. “That oak tree must know. It knows that you are meant to be Mrs Gwendolyn Markus!”
Gwen swallowed thickly, and smiled thinly; for she felt as if she were in pain. But a string of perfectly round zeroes flashed behind her eyes; and she imagined the reality of fifty thousand pounds. She turned her face aside, and thought for a moment. What did Toby Markus mean to her, anyway? Not very much. So he was handsome, so he was kind – what matter? She had met beautiful people before. There was her aunt Gertrude, whom she resembled exactly; there was Mr Brian Egan, who had rented the little back bedroom of 45 Bering Street last April, and whom Gwen had admired greatly; and then there was the magnificent Isabela DiBarconi herself, who stood at that very moment behind the curtain of the hall window, watching Gwen and Toby down in the garden.
“Yes,” Gwen said flatly, looking without expression into Toby’s face.
“Yes?” he said. “Oh – how wonderful! Thank you, Gwen! You’ve made me a very happy man.”
He took her by the hand, drew her to her feet, and kissed her cheek tenderly. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered.
But you will, Gwen thought sadly.
***
She wrote home next day, in a letter that explained she would be spending some time more at the house of Jonah Korbes’ friend. They knew not, of course, which friend; and they knew nothing else, either. All they would know, come the new year, was that their daughter had somehow come into possession of fifty thousand pounds – that was, Korbes said, if she even intended to share that news with them. Why go back at all? he asked. She could live wherever she liked.
Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, Gwen slipped out of her room, and went down to the end of the hall – where she stood standing before the window, looking down into the garden, just as Isabela had done the night before. Still the white arch stood between the trees. Toby vowed that he would never take it down.
As she turned away from the window, Gwen caught sight of Isabela’s closed door. The hall was dark; and so she could see the dim light that glowed beneath the door. She moved near to it; and then moved away. But then she went back again, and knocked softly.
“Not tonight, Jonah,” Isabela called. “Entertain the old fool by yourself.”
This was, Gwen thought, only the second time that she had heard Isabela’s voice. The first had been down in the drawing-room, just the night before, when she offered her false congratulations concerning Toby’s and Gwen’s engagement. And now she heard it again: rich, sweet, and soft; touched undeniably with the strong flavour of her native tongue.
“It’s not Jonah,” said Gwen. “May I come in?”
A brief hesitation; and then, “Yes.”
Gwen pushed open the door, and saw Isabela sitting up in bed, with a book lying open in her lap.
“What are you reading?” she asked.
“The Odyssey,” Isabela answered. “I never much cared for it, really – but it is the only book I could find in Italian.”
“Can you not read English?”
“Not very well.”
Gwen nodded, and leaned back against the wall. She looked first to the ceiling, then to the window; and then dropped her eyes to the floor.
“Come and sit,” Isabela offered, patting the bed beside her. “I do not mind the company.”
So Gwen sat. She leaned back against the headboard, and looked to the book that Isabela had taken up again. But of course she could not understand the words.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said softly.
“You are working,” Isabela answered, without raising her eyes. “We all are.”
“For fifty thousand pounds. Each.”
“Yes.”
“Does it not bother you?”
“No.”
“Not at all?”
“No.”
Gwen sighed, and hid her face in a pillow.
Isabela closed her book, and set it aside. “Are you all right, Gwen?”
“No,” said Gwen, as a short procession of tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Can you go on with it?”
“I don’t know.”
Isabela shook her head. “You should decide the answer to that question,” she said, “just as quickly as you can. Should you fail Jonah now, after all of this, well . . .” She spread her hands. “I do not know.”
“He doesn’t seem so terrible,” Gwen argued. “If I only went to him, and told him the truth –”
“No,” Isabela said quickly. “Jonah is a greedy man, Gwen. Trust nothing he says; nothing he has said; and nothing he will say.”
Gwen bit her lip. “If he is as you say,” she began, “and I have no trouble believing you – well, then, I just don’t see why he would involve you at all. Surely he could think of some other way – some other way to gain himself an extra fifty thousand pounds?”
“I would not know about that.”
Isabela’s voice had grown terse. She turned from Gwen, and took up her book again.
“Does he really – does he really make you do those things?” Gwen asked. “With Mr Markus?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you do it?”
“I must live,” Isabela answered simply. But her lips became thin, and her knuckles turned white, as she clutched at the hard cover of the book.
“Why not live some other way?”
“Why do you not live some other way?” Isabela asked loudly. “You are here,
too – just the same as me. Do not judge me.”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry, Isabela.”
Isabela turned her head slowly towards Gwen; and then offered her an unexpected smile. “It is time for sleep,” she said. “Will you stay, or will you go to your own room?”
“I would like to stay, if that’s all right with you.”
“It is fine. Goodnight.”
She extinguished the lamp; and they both laid back against the pillows. Gwen, whose anxious heart was beginning
again to beat rather quickly, reached for Isabela’s hand.
“It will be all right, Gwen,” said Isabela. “Sleep now.”
Gwen shut her eyes, and drew several long, deep breaths. But her eyes only sprang open, as her heart began to hammer again in her chest.
“I don’t know if I can do it, Isabela.”
She began to cry in earnest now; and shook miserably with her sobbing, wetting the pillow with her tears.
“You have time to gain courage,” said Isabela. “Time to gain strength. Now, only sleep – and think of other things.”
Gwen moved nearer to her; and sighed with relief, as Isabela took her head under her cool hand. “Sleep now,” she repeated.
Gwen could feel her breath begin to slow. Her heart beat less thickly, less like a foot in sticking mud. And so she slept.
IV.
Three weeks later, Gwen and Toby were married. Korbes and Isabela left Hanover; and the days of Gwen’s real agony began. She was stricken with trepidation and guilt. Her health began to deteriorate. She could not eat, and she could not sleep. She could not do much of anything, without thinking of Toby’s death.
Mr Roderick Markus died on December sixth. He spent three days in a high fever, delusional and delirious. Come his last night, at around midnight, Toby left the sickroom for a pitcher of cold water. Mr Markus died while he was gone; and the last thing upon his lips, was the name of Isabela DiBarconi. Gwen slapped him across the face, though she was not sure whether he was already dead when she did it.
Toby was terribly distraught, when he returned to the room. He spent the next two days locked alone in his study; and would only admit Gwen to the room, at nine o’clock on the second night.
“I loved him very much,” he told her.
“I’m sure you did,” Gwen answered; though she could not for the life of her understand why.
“He was my best friend,” said Toby; “before you.”
Gwen swallowed her distress, and went to him instead, to put her arms about his neck, and stroke his hair. He fell asleep that way, and slumped down to his desk, with a small hint of a smile upon his pallid face.
The very next day, Gwen left Hanover House in the afternoon, with the excuse that she was off to her uncle’s for an early supper. Toby, still thoroughly depressed, made no argument. He only kissed her cheek, and trudged on up the stairs, to lock himself again in his study.
Even after the door had closed behind him, Gwen stared long at the staircase, quite as if his footsteps had left a set of visible, shining prints behind.
She wondered if she would still see them, after he was dead.
She met Korbes and Isabela at Bluebeard’s Castle. They sat at their usual table in the corner; and each of them had several drinks, before they began to converse.
“When will it be done?” Gwen whispered finally.
“On Christmas night,” Korbes answered. “When the servants have all gone from the house.”
Gwen returned to Hanover just after dark. She put her ear to the door of Toby’s study, and heard him sobbing. Then she made her own weary way to bed, and fell asleep to the comforting thought, that Christmas was still sixteen days away; and that any number of things could change, in that amount of time.
***
But of course nothing changed; and the night of December twenty-fifth came upon her, all too soon.
Gwen was sitting alone in her bedroom, watching the snow swirl all around outside the window. Cold currents of air lifted it off the ground, and sent it kicking up all over the gardens, only to slam heavily afterwards against the window, and turn the room chilly.
The last of the servants had departed at noon. The house was empty, now, and silent. There was nothing but the howling of the wind all round the house, and the whispers of dark demons in the air about Gwen’s head. No angels in this place, on this night, to bring the warmth and joy of the Christmas season. There was only the devil himself, speaking softly into Gwen’s ear. Finally she clapped her hands to either side of her head, and bent down to hide her face in her knees.
But it was not long ere the midnight hour began to chime. Every clock in the house started up its twelve-part cry. Gwen tried to catch her breath, for she felt as if she might faint.
She sat quiet for a few moments more, after the chiming of the clocks had ceased. But finally she could put it off no more; and so rose up from her chair, and quit the room, feeling as little more than a wandering ghost.
She knew that she shouldn’t – but she could not keep from looking in on Toby, before going down. She almost wished that he would be awake, sitting up at his desk by the hearth. Should that have been the case, she was nearly certain that she would have told him; would have told him all that she had planned. But, alas – he was asleep. He slept soundly in his favourite armchair, with his feet propped up on a velvet ottoman, and a book lying open on his chest. The fire burned low, emanating nothing but a soft red glow. Toby sat perfectly still, with his head resting back against a small pillow. The coloured light fell down upon his peaceful countenance; fell down like blood; and he seemed, already, as nothing but a corpse.
Gwen went down, then, and opened the kitchen door unto Jonah Korbes. He stood waiting impatiently, rubbing his gloved hands together, and pulling the collar of his greatcoat tight round his ears. He glared at Gwen when she opened the door, and swept past her moodily.
Isabela entered more softly, treading lightly in the mess of snow that Korbes had tracked over the floor. “You should not have waited so long,” she said, watching Korbes warily.
“I’m sorry,” Gwen whispered; though indeed she could barely speak, what with the thick tears that clogged her throat. “I just – I just didn’t know if I could do it. I looked in on him, before I came down . . .”
Isabela frowned, and laid a gentle hand on Gwen’s face. “You should not have done that,” she said. But her sympathy was evident; and she led Gwen over to the table, where she sat down beside her, and took both of her hands up in her own.
Gwen, who thought that Korbes had gone already upstairs, was scared nearly out of her senses, when she saw him standing by the cupboards. He had taken down a bottle of gin, and was sipping thoughtfully from a crystal glass, with naturally a very serious expression upon his face.
“What are you doing?” Gwen cried. “Go and do it, already!”
“Quiet!” he warned. “I’m already disappointed in you, Gwen. I beg you – give me no more reason to be.”
He stood quiet for a few minutes, emptying out steadily the bottle of gin. Gwen sat much discomposed, breathing heavily, with her head laid down on Isabela’s shoulder.
“All right,” said Korbes finally. “Let’s get on with it, Gwen.”
Gwen sat up quickly, her eyes standing nearly out of her head. “What do you mean?” she demanded. “I want nothing to do with it! This is where you come in – don’t you remember?”
Korbes smiled grimly. “Calm yourself,” he said; and his voice was filled with condescension. “I’m not asking you to kill him. I only want you to draw him out to the head of the stairs. Tell him – oh, I don’t know, tell him you saw someone stalking about the grounds. A housebreaker, or something. He’ll come when you call.”
Gwen shook her head. “I can’t do it, Jonah. I can’t.”
He strode quickly across the room, and took firm hold of Gwen’s collar. He shook her mercilessly. “You listen here,” he growled, pressing his face up close to hers. He seemed very ugly, and very black, in the dim moonlight. His breath was filled with the fiery scent of gin. “If you want those fifty thousand pounds, you’ll do exactly as I tell you. You’ll come upstairs with me, and go to your little husband – get him to come to the staircase. I’ll be waiting in the shadows on the landing. Just as soon as you come to me, jump out of the way – and I’ll knock him down. That’s it. Now come on.”
He yanked her up out of her chair, and began dragging her across the kitchen. But she made so much noise in her panic, that he w
as forced to stop. He let her go, and she fell down to the floor, sobbing.
“Leave her,” said Isabela. “You can do it alone.”
Korbes turned a hateful look upon her; but finally shook his head, and quit the room in a huff. For he knew just as well as Isabela, that the quicker the thing was done, was all the more well for everyone.
After he had gone, Isabela came to help Gwen to her feet. “Come on,” she said softly, wrapping her arms round Gwen’s shoulders. “Come and sit. It will be all right.”
So they took up their seats again. They waited through the long minutes of the silent night, till there came the blood-curdling sound of Toby’s scream. It was so horrible, even Isabela started, and began to tremble. But Gwen could hardly stand it, and had to stop her ears, while she buried her face in Isabela’s neck.
From their place in the kitchen, which sat almost directly at the foot of the main staircase, every little sound could be heard. There came another cry from Toby, followed by several loud grunts from Korbes; and then a series of noisy crashes, as Toby’s body tumbled down the steps.
Gwen could not help it. When she heard this last sound, she went running out into the entrance hall; and saw Toby lying crumpled, broken and bloody, at the foot of the stairs. He had rolled across the shining parquet floor, and his back was pressed against the clean white wall. He lay with his face to Gwen. His mouth hung slightly open, and his eyes shone like orbs of glass – pointing, accusing.
Gwen cried out, and fell fainting into Isabela’s arms.
***
She woke to a bright light, and a dull scraping sound. She opened her eyes slowly, and looked all around the kitchen. Korbes stood beneath the row of cabinets, sharpening a long knife upon a little whetstone. Isabela was bound to a chair at the table.
