A Final Rest

by Blythe Baker

  My hands were red and tender, small bumps covering my skin from wrists to fingertips. I turned on the faucet and ran my hands under the cool water, feeling momentary relief.

  What was happening? A reaction to the grass or the heat, perhaps? I’d never had any issues before, but it was all I could think of. Besides that, the itching feeling seemed to invade my mind and wipe away thoughts of anything else.

  After washing my hands several times and gingerly patting them dry, I walked back outside and caught Dr. Shaw’s attention. Lady Harwood narrowed her eyes at me, bothered that I would disturb her personal physician, but Dr. Shaw pushed himself to standing and followed me beneath the shade of a large tree, anyway. I could feel Alice’s eyes on me the entire time.

  “Is something the matter?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said honestly, pulling my hands from behind my back. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I think I may be having a reaction to something. I’m not sure what.”

  Dr. Shaw blinked and then leaned closer, widening his eyes as if to see better. “When did this appear?”

  “Just now. While we were out in the grass.” Dr. Shaw was tilting his head from one side to the other and furrowing his brow. I’d never seen him so animated before. My heart began to race. “Do you know what it is?”

  Suddenly, Dr. Shaw grabbed my elbow and pulled me closer to the house, safely out of earshot of the other guests. He stopped in a thin strip of shade that ran along the back of the house. It would disappear as the sun rose higher in the sky, but it was cool and damp while we stood there.

  “Just this morning I was consulted by the local coroner to examine Augusta Whitlock’s body,” Dr. Shaw said, his voice low and urgent.

  “I thought you’d already examined her?”

  He shook his head. “I checked her pulse and her vitals. I observed her body for any obvious signs of trauma, but I did not look beyond the layers of her clothing. That was for the coroner here to do, but when he did, he found something concerning.”

  A cool dread slipped down my spine, goosebumps creeping outward from the center of my back. “What did he find?”

  Dr. Shaw tipped his head down, his eyes moving to my hands. “A rash very similar to the one on your hands.”

  I stuck out my hand to catch myself on the stone wall. The brush of the stone against my fingertips stung, and I hissed.

  “But worse,” Dr. Shaw added quickly. “Much worse. This rash covered her entire body. From neck to ankle and shoulder to wrist. She was covered in red, angry welts. Neither of us could make sense of what it was. I still don’t know. The only thing I do know is that it is no coincidence you have the same rash.”

  I shook my head, trying to make sense of everything. Aunt Augusta wore thick velvet clothing that covered every inch of her body. Like me, she could have been suffering from some sort of adverse reaction to the heat. Or something in the grass.

  Or, I could be the next target of the killer. My heart leapt in my chest, and I took a deep breath to calm myself.

  “Did she have the rash on her hands?” I asked. “Or her face?”

  Dr. Shaw shook his head. “It stopped at her wrists and her ankles and the base of her neck. It was only where her clothes touched her skin.”

  My forehead wrinkled as I tried to put together the puzzle pieces forming in my mind. They fit together, I just had to figure out how.

  Aunt Augusta’s rash was only under her clothing, while mine was on my hands. It meant that we had not come into contact with the irritant in the same way, which suggested I was not under attack but had simply come into contact with the poison by accident.

  Suddenly, I remembered the powder on the floor of Miss Brown’s closet. I’d massaged it into my fingers and both of my hands had touched the floor of her closet. It would explain why I only had the rash on my hands. But how had it appeared in the closet in the first place?

  “It was almost as though her own dress had poisoned her,” Dr. Shaw said, shaking his head. “It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I could see Miss Brown’s closet in my mind. Except, this time, her things were still in the room. Her Bible was on the nightstand and her three simple dresses were hanging on the right side of the closet. And on the right…one of Aunt Augusta’s gowns.

  When questioned, Miss Brown claimed the dress had mud on the hem and she’d simply brought it to her room to clean it. I could see Nicholas pulling it from the closet directly above where I’d seen the powder.

  The only way for Aunt Augusta to be covered in the rash would be for her entire body to have been coated in it. Which it was. Because the poison had been on the inside of her gown.

  The same gown Aunt Augusta wore to the garden party the day she died.

  The puzzle pieces in my mind locked into place, and I could finally see the answer.

  Miss Brown killed Augusta Whitlock.

  16

  I couldn’t remember saying goodbye to Dr. Shaw. I wasn’t sure that I said anything to him at all. As soon as the reality settled over me, I ran into the house to find George. He wasn’t in the kitchen talking with the staff or in his room in the servant quarters, so I walked through a side entrance and out towards the garage. The large wooden doors were thrown open, and I could see George inside cleaning the car.

  When I called his name, he stood up, his head popping up from behind the car, and held a hand to his forehead, squinting into the sun.

  “Miss Beckingham?”

  George knew me well enough to call me Rose. He had worked for me, but he had also saved my life. We had been on adventures together, and yet he insisted on the formality. It was a comfort I would not deprive him of.

  “Yes. George. Hello,” I said, out of breath. My hands were still aching, but it was a dull pain, easily pushed aside in favor of the excitement I now felt. “I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

  He came around to the front of the car and leaned against the shiny hood. “All right. What about?”

  “Miss Brown.”

  He frowned. “I told the police all I know. I wish I knew more. She looked suspicious when I saw her here the day of the garden party, but I really don’t know anything else.”

  “But you saw her here that day?” I asked. “The day after she was dismissed from her duties?”

  He nodded. “I did.”

  “She didn’t stay at Ridgewick that night, so if she was here the next day, then she had to have stayed somewhere close by.”

  “I thought of that, too,” he said, taking off his driver’s cap and running a hand through his gray hair. “Before we came to Ridgewick, I spoke with Miss Brown. She was excited about the trip because of Miss Catherine’s wedding, of course, but also because Miss Brown’s sister lived in the near village. She was looking forward to visiting her, so I would bet she is staying there.”

  “Did she mention her sister’s name?” I asked excitedly.

  George screwed up his mouth to one side in thought and then shook his head. “I don’t believe she did. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right. I’m sure I can still find her.”

  George frowned. “You won’t be able to leave the property, Miss. Not with the police officers on watch.”

  I’d forgotten about the guard entirely. That was yet another hurdle I would need to face.

  “Oh, of course. I forgot about that. Oh well,” I said, acting as though it didn’t really matter. “Thank you for your help, George.”

  “Not sure how much help it was,” he said, shrugging and going back to cleaning the car. “But I’m happy to have done it.”

  The table was being set for dinner when I made it back inside. Catherine and Charles were huddled together in the sitting room while Charles Barry eyed them from where he was leaning against the dining room door, waiting for the kitchen staff to finish readying the table. Alice was talking with Nicholas, who had finally found his way downstairs for a meal, and Lady Ashton was whispering with Lord Ashton in the corn
er. If there wasn’t so much on my mind, I would have been worried about Lord and Lady Ashton. Ever since they arrived in Ridgewick, Lord Ashton had been withdrawn and quiet. He hadn’t seemed interested in anything, and he hardly paid attention to Lady Ashton. I knew it was because being in Ridgewick Hall reminded him of their last trip here with Edward and everything that had happened afterward. But there was too much I needed to do to worry about that now.

  “How are you this evening?” Dr. Shaw asked, shuffling over to stand next to me. He glanced down at my hands, and I folded them behind my back.

  “Well, thank you,” I said, not feeling well at all. I needed to get out of the house. I needed to get past the officers and into the village. I needed to see Miss Brown.

  The household staff finished setting the table and walked briskly back into the kitchen. The guests descended on the table, but I held back. Once everyone was seated, Lady Ashton looked over at me, beckoning me towards the table, but I took a step backwards and shook my head.

  “Actually, I’m really not feeling well,” I said.

  Lady Ashton frowned and made to stand up, but I waved her away. “I’m fine. Really. I think I will just forego dinner and go lie down instead.”

  Before anyone could argue, I left the room and slowly walked up the stairs.

  From the window in my room, I could see the officers standing watch at the doors. Even if I crawled out my window, they would see me. I needed to somehow draw them away from the doors long enough for me to escape. I was standing at the window, staring down at the top of the officer’s heads, when the door creaked open. I turned to see Alice slipping inside.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked quietly. “I came to check on you. Nicholas was very impressed with my thoughtfulness.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and got to the point. “I need to leave the house. Tonight.”

  “Leave?” Alice asked, forehead wrinkled. “You can’t leave. I told you, Rose, I’ll stand behind you when you tell Mama and Papa about your identity and—”

  “I plan to return,” I amended. “I just need to get into the village to talk to someone.”

  I expected a rush of questions and for Alice to beg to accompany me, but instead, she simply nodded once and lifted her chin, looking much more mature than I’d ever seen her. “What do you need me to do?”

  I looked back out the window and then shrugged. “I need a distraction. Something that will pull the guards from the door.”

  She took a step forward and leaned through the window to see the officers. Then, she stood tall, placed her hands on her hips, and walked back towards the door. When she turned back to me, there was a mischievous smile on her face. “Run when you hear the screaming.”

  Before I could ask what she meant, she was gone.

  I followed after Alice several seconds later, but she was already moving down the stairs. From the second floor landing, I could see her walk through the entrance hall towards the dining room. Someone—Lady Ashton, I presumed—asked her if I was all right. Alice began to answer, but halfway through the words, her voice cut out. Then, there was a thud. And then a scream.

  “Alice?” Lady Ashton cried.

  Chair legs scraped against the wooden floor and people gasped.

  “She fainted,” Catherine said.

  Lady Harwood called for Dr. Shaw and Lord Ashton bellowed something to the servants about water and towels.

  Then, just as I’d hoped, the officers standing guard opened the front door, and upon seeing the commotions, abandoned their posts and ran inside. As soon as they were in the dining room, I ran down the stairs, through the front door, and down the center pathway that led to the road.

  I’d never been in the village before. It was quaint with stone streets and sidewalks built into the hillside. Bakeries, shops, and schools dotted the roads, closed in by wrought iron gates. Lights and fires blazed behind windows and laughter floated out of the local inn as I passed.

  The only tip I had to go on was Miss Brown’s surname. It was a common name, so I did not have much hope at all as I opened the door to the local pub and walked up to the bartender. He was wiping out the inside of a glass with a rag. His head was bald, covered by a hat that looked to be several sizes too small, and he smelled of liquor and smoke. Still, when he looked up, he gave me a gruff smile.

  “Can I help you?” he growled.

  “Actually, yes,” I said as politely as I could. “I’m looking for someone, but I’m afraid I do not have much information to go on.”

  He placed the glass on a shelf behind him rim down and then turned back to me, threw the towel over his shoulder, and crossed his arms. “You came to the right place. I know everyone in this town. My family has owned the pub for fifty years. I’ve grown up here.”

  “Wonderful,” I said, truly meaning it. “I’m looking for a Miss Brown. The woman I’m looking for is new in town—mousy brown hair, medium-height. I believe she is staying with her sister who lives in the village. I’m not sure of her name, so—"

  “It is Brown, too,” he said, cutting me off. “The new woman came into the pub with her sister just the other day. She didn’t look well. Crying and moaning about losing work. I gave her a drink on the house.”

  “Do you know where I can find her?” I asked.

  My excitement was clearly more than the man was accustomed to, and he pulled back, eyebrows pinched together. “Are you a friend?”

  “An acquaintance,” I admitted. “Though, I do not mean them any harm.”

  This seemed an appropriate enough response for the man because he directed me to the end of the block and two streets over. “A small cottage with a wooden bucket of flowers on the front porch. You can’t miss it.”

  He was right. I couldn’t. The cottage was small, but well-kept. Prior to living with the Beckinghams in India and then in London, I would have called it an oasis. It was far nicer than the New York City apartment where I’d grown up.

  There was a light shining through a heavy curtain over the front window, and I stood outside on the sidewalk for a moment, trying to wait for any sign of movement. There was none. Finally, I crossed the narrow street, mounted the two steps to the front door, and knocked.

  My hands, still burning slightly from the contact I’d had with the poison earlier, trembled at my sides. I did not know what I would say to Miss Brown. I could not confront her with the accusation of murder because I had no proof. If I let her know I suspected her, she could run, and justice would never be served. Really, I just came for more evidence. For some sense of a motive for the crime. I didn’t know Miss Brown well, but from what I did know about her, she was a kind, helpful woman. She did her best to make life easier for those around her and did so with a smile. So, could Augusta Whitlock really have bothered her enough in one day to lead her to murder?

  The door opened and a woman who looked remarkably like Miss Brown stood in the doorway. She had on a simple dark dress that hung past her knees and a sweater over the top. Her brown hair was twisted into a bun at the base of her neck.

  “Yes?” she said in lieu of a greeting.

  “Hello, I’m looking for…Miss Brown,” I said, realizing at once I had no idea what Miss Brown’s first name was. “I believe she is your sister.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder, and then turned back to me. “And who should I say is here?”

  “Rose Beckingham.” I almost extended my hand but quickly thought better of it. Evening was coming on quickly, but there was still enough light to see the rash across my fingers and the palms of my hands.

  Miss Brown’s sister nodded, disappeared inside for a few seconds, and then returned and pulled the door wide. “Come on in, Miss Beckingham. I’m Emma Brown.”

  The house was even smaller inside than it looked from the outside, but it was bright and cozy. The fire in the hearth filled the room with a warmth that was almost overwhelming, and directly in front of the fire was Miss Brown.

  I nearly gasped w
hen I saw her.

  She had always been plain looking, but lying on the sofa in front of the fire wrapped in a blanket as she was, she looked ill. Her skin was pale and her brown hair hung around her face in limp strands. And despite the warmth of the room, she seemed to be shivering.

  Despite my suspicions about her, I drew near and knelt next to the sofa. “Miss Brown. What happened to you?”

  She turned to me, her lips chapped and cracking. “Call me Rebecca, please.”

  “Rebecca, what happened?”

  Miss Brown lifted herself out of her cocoon of blankets and propped herself up. As she did, her hands came out from under the blankets, and I saw the blue tint to her fingertips. “I’m not sure. A few days ago, I became suddenly ill.”

  “After you left Ridgewick Hall?” I asked.

  She nodded. “The very day. I came to my sister’s house to figure out what to do next and a rash began to form on my arms and my hands and my neck. It became worse and worse. I wanted to go back to the house to apologize to everyone and beg for my job back, but the rash was overwhelming. I had to be seen by a doctor.”

  I glanced down at my hands and wondered how much worse my own rash would become. Would it spread? I tried my best to push the thought from my mind.

  “The next day, the rash had subsided, and I felt good enough to walk back to Ridgewick Hall,” she said, her voice growing faint with every word as though it took a great deal of energy for her to speak with me. “I arrived in the afternoon and planned to find Lady Ashton, but from the dining room, I saw Augusta Whitlock fall. I heard everyone scream, and I became frightened. I had threatened her before I’d left, and I worried what would happen if anyone knew I’d come back, so I grabbed a few things from my room and ran.”

  I studied Rebecca’s face, trying to determine how much of what she was telling me was the truth, but it was impossible to say. She was weak and her usual demeanor was lost beneath a haze of illness.