Accomplished In Murder

by Dara England

  And Drucilla hadn’t even wept at the terrible news. Perhaps it was her ingrained sense of propriety that prevented public tears or possibly it was only because the reality of her loss had yet to strike her in all its force. She suspected it was both. A deeper grief would doubtless come later.

  For now, she tried on the idea of life without Celeste as experimentally as she might slip on a new glove. How exactly would the loss of her friend affect her? True, they had been apart for months anyway, since Celeste’s wedding. But there had always been the comforting notion in the back of Drucilla’s mind that she might leap aboard a train at any time and make the daylong journey to Morcastle.

  Aunt Bridget had upheld the spirit of solemnity as long as possible but she was clearly unable to maintain her silence any longer. “Well, isn’t this an unpleasant turn of events?” she asked, apparently mindless of the housekeeper walking ahead. “This is the first time I have visited someone only to find on arrival they have had the insensitivity to die.”

  “Aunt, please. I am sure Celeste’s death had nothing to do with a wish to inconvenience you.”

  “You are probably right.” The older woman sounded mollified. “She was much too thoughtful a girl to do anything so inconsiderate if it could be avoided. I always liked her.”

  “Everyone did.”

  They paused before a sturdy door, which Mrs. Portillo opened.

  “This is your room, miss. A maid will be up momentarily to see you have everything you require.”

  Drucilla noted with relief she seemed to have risen a little in the housekeeper’s eyes now her presence had been welcomed by Lord Absalom. There was still a certain coldness there, but at least the woman now appeared mindful of their contrasting stations.

  As Mrs. Portillo and Aunt Bridget moved on down the hall, Drucilla could hear the old lady beginning a litany of complaints about the intolerable traveling conditions between the village and Blackridge house. Not even death could achieve the monumental task of subduing Aunt Bridget for long.

  It was a relief to close the door of the guest chamber behind her and shut out the rest of the world, if only for a brief time. This visit was proving so unlike anything she had expected. She had imagined by this time tonight she and Celeste would be sitting together giggling and gossiping the way they used to in finishing school.

  Drucilla’s moment of solitude wasn’t to last long as a soft knock at the door announced the arrival of a pair of servants, delivering her belongings. It seemed the second wagon from the village had arrived, bringing with it Aunt Bridget’s maids and the baggage.

  Her luggage was followed by the coming of a housemaid, a chatty girl named Rosie, who spoke in the peculiar way of the locals from the village. Under less sobering circumstances Drucilla would have been amused at the difference between her dignified London staff and the servants here at Blackridge House.

  Drucilla sent back the promised tray of food the girl brought. She was far too unsettled to think of eating, though she’d had nothing since lunching on sandwiches while aboard the train.

  Rosie returned shortly with warm water for washing, for even in a house that had lately been visited by tragedy the proper rituals could not be neglected.

  Drucilla had to admit it was a relief to freshen up while Rosie chattered on about inconsequential things and unpacked her bags.

  “Please lay out my dark merino, Rosie,” Drucilla requested. In the absence of proper mourning clothes, the simple, deep blue dress would have to do. It was the most subdued costume she had brought.

  When she had finished washing, she felt almost normal again; the gravity of circumstances, if not eased, was at least temporarily set aside. There would come a time for mourning later. For now, she must get through the days ahead.

  “I will undress myself. Thank you, Rosie,” she said, dismissing the maid.

  But the girl seemed to hesitate.

  “Yes, Rosie? Was there something you wanted?”

  The maid’s face was openly curious. “I reckon it must’ve come as a terrible shock to you, miss, learning of Lady Celeste’s awful death so sudden like.”

  So she was that sort of servant. Well, that was all right. It occurred to Drucilla she might be able to ask a gossipy maid questions it would not be tactful to ask Lord Absalom. She did need to learn more about Celeste’s death. Only when she knew the full of it could she accept the tragedy and move forward.

  “You say the death was very awful?” she asked casually. “Lord Absalom neglected to tell us the details.” It wasn’t subtle but it was all the prodding the maid needed.

  She said, “I reckon anybody’s death be awful, leastways for them that love them. But Lady Celeste, her end weren’t like other peoples’. It weren’t normal the way it happened.”

  “What do you mean, not normal?”

  “Well, they say it was a ghost that killed the lady. That’s the word from below-stairs anyway.”

  “What nonsense. Why would a ghost wish to kill Lady Celeste?”

  “Pardon my asking, miss, but why does a ghost do anything at all? Because it’s evil. And this particular ghost, she’s an especially wicked one. They say she was the mistress of the house in ages past, who died by foul means at the hand of her own lord. And it’s said she returned to Blackridge House to do away with the new mistress when Lady Celeste arrived.”

  Drucilla frowned but played along. “Has anyone actually seen this terrible ghost of yours, Rosie?”

  “Yes indeed, miss. Lots of the servants has seen her flitting down the halls in the night and hovering around the family cemetery in the moonlight. Even Lady Celeste herself seen the ghost. She used to ask me about it.”

  Drucilla was suddenly alert. “Lady Celeste saw this ghost? You’re certain of that?”

  “Aye, miss, sure as I can be. She was as afraid of it as anybody, too.”

  Drucilla was silent. Celeste had been a very sensible girl and not at all given to flights of fancy. If she professed to have seen a ghost, to fear it even, that was a claim Drucilla was prepared to take seriously. Of course, Rosie may have got it wrong. She did not seem the most reliable of sources.

  And yet, portions of Celeste’s letters came back to her. Hadn’t Drucilla sensed an underlying fear there? The problem was never directly stated, but it was clear something had troubled Celeste in her last days, something important enough to make her write Drucilla, urging her to come. Had she foreseen her own demise?

  “Rosie.” Drucilla returned to her previous question. “Precisely how did Lady Celeste die?”

  “Why, I thought you knew, miss. She fell from the topmost roof of the house. Fell or was pushed, folk say. And who else would do the pushing but a vengeful ghost? Plunged clean down to the jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff, she did. They found her in the wee hours of the morning but she must’ve lain there all night. If the tide had come up any higher, the sea would’ve carried her body away and we might never have known what became of her.”

  Drucilla felt faint. Knowing of Celeste’s death was entirely different from imagining it in all its gruesome detail. No wonder Lord Absalom had not given a very thorough description.

  Rosie seemed not to notice her reaction. The servant was clearly enjoying the tale. It couldn’t be often she had such an interested listener.

  “See here,” she said now. “Come to the window and you can look down to the cliffs and the shoreline. If we had a brighter moon, you’d be able to see the spot where they found her. She probably streaked past this very window on her way down.”

  Drucilla had heard enough.

  “I’m ready to sleep,” she said, bringing the conversation to an abrupt end. “You may return to your other duties, Rosie.”

  After the servant had gone, Drucilla moved to the window and looked down into the darkness. The moon had scuttled behind a veil of clouds, but when she pressed open the casement she could hear the crash of the sea waves against the cliffs far below.

  “Oh Celeste,” s
he whispered. “What really happened to you?”

  Chapter Seven

  Drucilla spent a restless night haunted by nightmares. In her dreams, she stood on a stormy rooftop, feeling the wind tug at her and the sea waves crashing in the distance. A figure stood before her.

  “Celeste!” she called out to her friend, but the other woman appeared not to hear or see her.

  A second figure appeared, the shadowy form of a man whose features were obscured in shadow. Drucilla watched as the man approached Celeste and the two spoke briefly, their words lost beneath the howl of the wind.

  The man suddenly took Celeste in his arms and, as Drucilla watched in horror, began to lift her over the railing lining the roof of the house. There was a brief struggle, during which Drucilla tried to run, to cry out, to do anything that might save her friend. But her feet wouldn’t obey her commands and her screams died in her throat. It was too late anyway.

  Drucilla could do nothing but look on, a helpless spectator, as Celeste was dropped over the roof’s edge to fall to her death on the craggy rocks below.

  “No!” This time her scream found voice as Drucilla bolted upright in bed. Her heart thundered, and her hair clung to her face and neck in sweaty tendrils.

  It took her a moment to shake off the remnants of the dream and remember where she was and what she was doing in an unfamiliar bed in a strange house.

  Golden sunlight slanted through the window to lend the room a cheery glow but Drucilla felt scarce comfort as she performed her morning ablutions in the cold wash water left from last night. It seemed somehow inappropriate to ring for Rosie to wait upon her on such an unhappy morning as this. Doubtless the servants had other tasks to attend, in preparation for the funeral guests who would surely be arriving soon.

  Dressing herself in the blue merino she had chosen earlier, Drucilla swept her hair into a loose knot and decided she was as dark and drab looking as it was possible to appear on short notice.

  As she peered at her refection in the mirror over her dressing table, her stomach gave a dissatisfied grumble, reminding her how long it had been since her last meal.

  Rosie had explained it was the custom of the family to rise and filter down to the dining hall at whatever hour they pleased, where they would help themselves from the sideboard.

  On her way out of her room, Drucilla gave brief thought to asking Aunt Bridget if she would like to go down together. But no, the old lady would probably not be awake for hours yet and Drucilla was too famished to wait. Besides, she’d had all of her aunt’s company she could abide for the present.

  Descending the same sweeping staircase she had climbed the night before, Drucilla was now in a better state of mind to examine her surroundings. She found the place aroused her curiosity to such an extent she could almost forget, just for a moment, the gloomy circumstances surrounding her visit. How she should have liked to have seen Blackridge House under happier conditions, to have Celeste showing her around the house and its gardens and outbuildings.

  On entering the great hall that morning, she found it to be exactly as she had imagined it from Celeste’s descriptions. The beamed ceiling soared high overhead and the dark paneled walls were covered with tapestries that gave the room a distinctly medieval feel. Drucilla could almost imagine herself in an old-fashioned court instead of a present day house in Cornwall.

  The atmosphere was enhanced by an enormous fireplace which took up half of one wall and was surrounded by heavy, unadorned furnishings which gave the appearance of relics left over from another century.

  Curious whether parts of the house more utilized by the family had been modernized, she peered into a smaller room, opening into the great hall. The door had been left slightly ajar and Drucilla’s probing gaze quickly discovered the room was not empty.

  Two gentlemen inhabited the room and she recognized one of them as Lord Absalom. The other faced away from the door so that she was presented with nothing more than the view of a broad back and a dark head of hair, lightly streaked with grey.

  “I do not know how long I can keep up this pretense, Father,” Lord Absalom was saying, his tone muted but his expression perturbed. “It would be so much simpler had Celeste’s friend and her old aunt not shown up at our door.”

  Neither man seemed aware they were the objects of watching eyes.

  Mortified, Drucilla moved into the shadows. She could no longer see the men but could still hear their voices.

  “I should not think keeping up the pretense of grieving widower would be too difficult for you,” the man Lord Absalom had named as his father said dismissively. “We both know you’re capable of much deeper deceptions than that. Besides, I do not require you to make a show of mourning for a lifetime. Once the funeral is over and its attendees sent packing, you and that woman of yours can dance on your wife’s grave for all I care. But while there are prying eyes in the house and loose tongues to wag, you will be discreet.”

  “Why are you so concerned with discretion?” Absalom asked. “What is it you’re so afraid of? You are the magistrate in these parts. Surely that must be worth something. If you explain the accidental manner of Celeste’s death, then who would combat your word? Anyway, I’m done following your orders. You’ve pulled my strings quite long enough and it’s time you learned Evita and I aren’t your puppets.”

  “If you’re referring to my intrigues behind your marriage to your departed wife—”

  “Celeste had a name, in case you never noticed.”

  “Interesting you should accuse me of that. I was under the impression it was you who failed to notice her.”

  Absalom made an angry noise but his father didn’t pause.

  “As I was saying, you ought to be thanking me for my marital maneuverings on your behalf. It was a convenient marriage, followed by what you must admit to be an even more convenient death, and look at you now. A much wealthier man for it. Confess! You know that foreign trollop you’re so enamored with could never have brought you the money your wife did.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t speak of what happened to Celeste so coldly. It’s true I didn’t marry her for love but that doesn’t mean I was waiting for her to die.”

  “Of course you were. Do not confuse me with those silly London women upstairs. I know what really goes on behind that polished veneer of yours. Anyway, I’m not chiding you for it. There’s no shame in marrying one woman for her money while loving another. It’s what any man of sense would do. Particularly a man whose family is of dwindling means.”

  “I don’t think you care anything about my means. You only want to sink all Celeste’s money into keeping up this house. You and Southorn, you’re obsessed with this place.”

  “You’d do well to imitate your brother in that respect. He gives his all for the estate. I only wish you would take as much interest.”

  “I’ve done quite enough for the family. All I want now is to put this whole business behind me and move on. With Evita.”

  “That, I can promise you, will never happen. I’ve told you, I don’t care if you want to keep your mistress around but never think of her as anything more than that. Such a marriage would be unacceptable, both socially and—”

  “I know, I know. The money again.”

  “Just think on what I’ve said. This is a dangerous period for us and not the time to court scandal, not with your wife’s corpse barely cold.”

  His words appeared to sober the mood of the room and silence descended.

  The sound of footsteps approaching the door was the only warning Drucilla had the men were about to exit the room.

  Scurrying away, she ducked into the next open doorway, which happened to lead into the dining hall.

  The conversation she had just overheard left her with such a knot in her stomach food was now the last thing she wanted. Nevertheless, she could hardly leave the dining hall right away, lest she collide with the men outside and they guess her trespass. Best to busy herself, to appear as if nothing
out of the ordinary had occurred.

  She filled a plate with eggs and ham from the sideboard and sat down alone at the long table.

  It was an immense relief when neither Lord Absalom nor Lord Litchfield joined her in the dining room. Instead, it was someone more unexpected who shortly joined her.

  “So. What do you think of the old man now that you’ve had a peek at him?”

  Drucilla jumped, for the newcomer had slipped into the room as quietly as any ghost. She looked up to meet the mischievous eyes of the young man she had met in the hall the night before. His riding cloak was gone now and he seemed in less of a hurry.

  “To whom are you referring?” she asked cautiously. His sly manner made her uneasy.

  He said, “Lord Litchfield, who else? I saw you looking in on him and Absalom while they were having their spat. No, it’s no good denying you snooped. I see everything around here you know.”

  “How convenient for you,” she said coolly.

  “Yes it is, actually. Knowing everyone’s little secrets is a means of gaining leverage over them and I never pass up an opportunity for that. We younger sons need all the advantages we can get.”

  “I should like you to know I was merely pausing outside that door to get my bearings in this big house. It isn’t my custom to listen in on other people’s conversations.”

  “Of course not. Most of them are not worth hearing anyway. I can tell you, most of the chatter that goes on in this house is deadly dull. Speaking of which, the place is a regular mausoleum today, isn’t it? I’m for some fresh air and sunshine. What do you say to a stroll through the rose garden?”

  She considered it. “I’d say that’s an unexpectedly charming offer, considering the source.”

  He laughed. “I’m not as bad as all that. Besides, it’s my duty to play the genial host while my father and brother are occupied.”

  “I’ve seen nothing of the grounds,” she admitted.

  “Then it’s imperative I show you around. We wouldn’t want you losing your bearings again, would we?”

  Despite his needling, his enthusiasm was at least refreshing. And he was right. It would be a relief to escape this house of tragedy.

  She allowed her young host to lead her through the house and outdoors, where they entered a garden of meandering paths and twisted shrubbery. The plot was in a shocking state, the surrounding walls crumbling and the way overgrown with weeds. Drucilla couldn’t help but be reminded of what she had overhead about the family’s dwindling finances.