Murder by Midnight

by Blythe Baker

  He tensed immediately and closed the journal he’d been writing in, tucking it against his leg. “I was actually thinking about heading back up to the house soon. It’s becoming a little too cool outdoors for me.”

  “Oh, of course. This will only take a second,” I assured him.

  He pulled on his jacket, adjusting the collar around his neck and nodded with a quick sigh. “All right. Yes, you may ask.”

  “Since you have forgiven me for listening in,” I said, reminding him of his forgiveness in the hope he would not repeal it once I asked my question, “I suppose I will be frank. I overheard mention of your daughter?”

  Samuel glanced down at the grass and then seemed to follow the slope of the hill down and back up to the horizon. “Yes,” he breathed. “I had a daughter.”

  “And you don’t still?”

  “No,” he said, turning to me with a polite smile. “I don’t.”

  “How did she die?” I asked quietly.

  Mr. Rigby breathed in as though he was about to speak, but then nothing came out. We just sat in silence that stretched on for seconds, growing more uncomfortable with every moment. Then, he shook his head. “You overheard that my daughter was dead and that I blamed Alastair for it, correct?”

  I turned to look at him. His face was red, eyes downcast. “I did.”

  He sighed. “Well, let me make it clear right now that I do not believe Alastair had anything to do with my daughter’s death.”

  “All right, but why would you have blamed him in the first place?”

  “Miss Alice,” he warned. I recognized the tone in his voice. It was the same way my father would say my name when I became too passionate at the dinner table or asked too many questions of our guests. It was meant to calm me down, but instead only made me more determined to do or say whatever I’d been planning to.

  “I am not trying to pry, Mr. Rigby,” I added quickly. “I hope I am not making you uncomfortable.”

  “Well,” he said. “It is not a very pleasant topic to discuss.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t.” A particularly cool breeze moved through, making me clutch my skirt around my legs and Mr. Rigby shiver slightly. I had to act quickly if I wanted to get any information from him. I shifted my body towards him, head and voice low. “I would never want to abuse the information I overheard this morning, but the fact of the matter is that I heard a compelling argument for why it is you could have been angry with Alastair, and I only wonder—”

  “Did you say anything to the police?” he asked suddenly, eyes narrowed.

  “No,” I said truthfully. “I wanted to give you the opportunity to explain the other side of the situation before I said anything.”

  He leaned away from me, his mouth a hard, flat line. “So, you do intend to share what you heard?”

  I opened my mouth to explain, to try and gather up the broken fragments of this conversation and piece them back together, but before I could, Samuel stood up, brushed off his trousers, and looked down at me.

  “Forgive me, Miss Beckingham, but I believe you have heard as much on this particular subject as you are going to from me,” he said sharply. “I realize we do not know one another well and what you think of me, I have no idea, but for what it matters, I would prefer if you did not mention what you heard to anyone else.”

  “I think highly of you, Mr. Rigby,” I said desperately. “I hope I did not imply otherwise.”

  “Regardless,” he said, holding up a hand to quiet me. “The matter you overheard was a sensitive subject to both families. Mr. Drummond has only just lost his brother and anything he said surely came from a place of grief and distress and should not be taken seriously. Just as what I said to Gordon all those years ago was nothing more than a wild accusation born from a weak mind and heart.”

  I stood up, moving towards Mr. Rigby, but he backed away from me quickly and shook his head. “I’m sure you do not mean any harm, Miss Beckingham, but these questions you are asking stem from baseless accusations on both accounts. I have long since buried any ill will I might have briefly held against Alastair Drummond, and Gordon will soon see that his accusations are unfounded, as well. It would be a shame if you held the conversation you overheard against either of us.”

  Before I could say anything, Samuel Rigby tipped his brown bowler hat and hurried up the lawn towards the castle, leaving me alone.

  12

  Dinner was a quiet affair.

  Lord and Lady Drummond remained upstairs, taking their supper separately from the rest of the household. Gordon did the same. Meanwhile, in the dining room downstairs, Sherborne Sharp took up a conversation at the far end of the table with Mr. Rigby, which Vivian Barry interrupted often. And Charles sulked quietly over his plate, probably still distressed that he had found himself in the midst of yet another murder investigation.

  I spoke only with my mother, listening to her recounting of how the Drummonds were doing on the first day without their son.

  The quiet meal was interrupted only once by the arrival of a stranger, a middle-aged man dressed in tall boots and outdoor clothes. He came into the dining room just as the final course was served and cleared his throat.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I am Mr. Kentworth, the estate manager.”

  Sherborne was so deep in conversation with Samuel Rigby that it took the two of them a moment to realize the newcomer was trying to get their attention.

  “I believe Lord Drummond mentioned a hunt to you all upon your arrival,” Mr. Kentworth said, looking around the room in search of some kind of recognition. “Under the circumstances, he will be unable to accompany you, and so I have been summoned to the castle and asked to do so. I will be heading out early morning just before dawn, and you are all welcome to join me.”

  There was something absurd in the suggestion that we should go about our leisure activities as if a death hadn’t just recently taken place in our midst. Still, it seemed that Lord Drummond remained determined to try and create as normal an atmosphere for us all as possible. I supposed in such a tense situation, it might even be wise to try and keep everyone busy and our minds off more unpleasant matters.

  Samuel Rigby had a few questions for the estate manager about where everyone would meet and where they would be going, but I didn’t pay any attention. I had no desire to join the hunt and even if I did, it was rather clear the invitation extended only to the gentlemen.

  When Mr. Kentworth left after reminding everyone to meet him in front of the castle before sunrise, Sherborne turned to Charles and shook his head. “Hunting seems like a dangerous activity when one of us might be a murderer, does it not?”

  “You don’t really think that, do you?” Vivian asked, laying a hand on her chest.

  Sherborne shrugged. “I’m not sure what to think. I just know I wouldn’t want whoever hurt Alastair to be walking around with a gun.”

  “If the person wanted to kill you, Sherborne, I’m sure they would have by now,” I said.

  The entire table turned to me, eyes wide. My mother gasped. “Alice. That is hardly appropriate.”

  But Sherborne only laughed. “No, she is right, Lady Ashton. And really, her words are a comfort to me.”

  “How so?” my mother asked, still nudging my knee reproachfully under the table.

  Sherborne puffed out his chest and smiled. “Because I am the most aggravating person here in the castle. If the murderer hasn’t killed me yet, then it has to mean there isn’t a killer at all.”

  Charles snapped his attention from his plate to Sherborne. “You believe Alastair killed himself, then?”

  Vivian hit her brother’s arm with her closed fist. “This is not something we should be speculating about. It is crude.”

  “I suppose I should have said ‘there isn’t a killer in this house,’” Sherborne amended. “If the murderer has not come after me then it means he must be from outside the castle.”

  “Or she,” I offered.

  The table turned to me ag
ain as though they were all individually shocked I knew how to speak at all.

  “We do not know the killer was a man,” I said.

  “I can’t imagine a woman doing something like that,” my mother said, wrinkling her nose.

  Sherborne looked down the table at me, winking when no one else was paying attention. “I don’t know. I’ve known a number of women who could be capable of such a thing.”

  I couldn’t help but notice that Samuel Rigby turned his gaze to me, as well. I put my head down and avoided joining the conversation until everyone retired to their rooms for the evening.

  The men were gone by the time I woke up. Off to hunt. Or rather, shoot at the clouds, like my father always said.

  So, I readied slowly. With no plans to leave the property, I put on a simple cotton dress. It was mauve with small embroidery around the white collar and the sleeves, but otherwise it fell in a straight line to my knee with no other adornment. The plain outfit seemed appropriate for the somber situation at the castle. I paired the dress with brown shoes.

  My mother had wanted me to share her room, but I had insisted we would be fine. So, when I walked into the dining room for breakfast, she visibly sighed with relief, presumably pleased that I had not been murdered in my sleep.

  Vivian Barry was already there, sipping on a steaming cup of tea.

  “Good morning, Alice,” Vivian said, drawing out the chair next to her. “Sit with me, won’t you?”

  “How did you sleep?” I asked, nodding to each of them.

  “I don’t think I slept a wink,” Vivian said. “It was impossible. What with what happened last night. I couldn’t stop thinking I heard movement in the halls.”

  My mother agreed, explaining that a branch from a nearby tree hit her window and nearly sent her running into the corridor screaming.

  “And when the gentlemen left this morning,” Vivian said, rolling her eyes. “Or rather, in the middle of the night.”

  “They woke me up, too,” my mother said. “I thought there was a stampede moving through the castle.”

  I nodded in agreement, though, truth be told, I had slept like a dream. Despite everything that had happened in the castle since our arrival, I didn’t stir once.

  Breakfast was a simple meal of bread and fruit as well as some kind of sausage I didn’t fully recognize, and then we all moved into the largest sitting room.

  Since our arrival at the castle, Vivian had mostly conversed with her brother and Samuel Rigby, and my mother spent her time with Lady Drummond. So, once we were all in the same room together alone, we realized very quickly we had little to discuss. It wasn’t long before my mother broke away to check on the Drummonds and did not return for a long while.

  “Your mother is kind to tend to Lord and Lady Drummond the way she has,” Vivian said.

  Considering I had no interest at all in talking with the bereaved parents, I had to agree. “She is the kindest person I know.”

  Vivian smiled and then looked towards the cold fireplace. If it was lit, it would give us something to do aside from stare at one another in uncomfortable silence. However, it wasn’t, and neither of us seemed eager to jump to the task of summoning a servant to build a fire.

  I considered excusing myself and going upstairs to get into Alastair’s room to search it myself, but even with the men out of the house, there was still too much movement. Besides, I didn’t know if Sherborne had already searched Alastair’s room yet. I would have asked him that morning had they not left for the hunt so early.

  The police seemed to think the one valuable item missing from Alastair’s room was important. And it made sense. A thief would usually steal more than one item, so either the item had sentimental value to the murderer or the thief was caught in the middle of the crime and killed Alastair to keep him quiet.

  The image of Sherborne hunched over in my mother’s room flashed in my mind.

  I didn’t trust Sherborne Sharp, but I couldn’t quite imagine him as a killer. Still, it would be dangerous not to keep an eye on him. The deceased had something stolen from his room, and Sherborne was a confirmed thief.

  Or could the one item that was stolen have something to do with Samuel Rigby’s daughter? I couldn’t imagine what it would be, but based on the conversation I’d overheard between Gordon and Samuel, Alastair had been at least loosely involved with Samuel’s daughter. Could the item have had some sentimental value to Samuel? Maybe it was an item of his daughter’s that Alastair had kept over the years? It was a stretch, but something worth looking into.

  Still, none of that explained Alastair’s final words about a weeping woman in white.

  Had that been the nonsensical ramblings of a dying man or was it a clue?

  My mother swept into the sitting room in a flurry, dropping onto the sofa cushion next to me and laying a piece of paper out on the coffee table. She was breathing hard like she was out of breath.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes, yes,” she said, patting my knee. “I’ve just come from Lady Drummond’s room. She was rearranging some of her furniture.”

  “Rearranging her furniture?” Vivian asked. “Shouldn’t the staff take care of that?”

  “And why now?” I asked. “It seems an odd time to redecorate.”

  My mother shook her head, voice low. “She is beside herself with grief, so anything I can do to keep her mind busy, I will do.”

  She put pen to paper and began writing a letter. “Though, I did need to pull myself away to write a letter to send home.”

  “To Papa?” I asked.

  “He needs to know what is going on here.” Then, she looked up at me, her eyes betraying the tiniest hint of nerves. “He needs to know there is a possibility we might not be home when we said we would be.”

  Vivian gasped. “Do you really think this investigation could take three more days?”

  “It is best to be prepared,” my mother said, smiling to comfort both me and Vivian.

  She began to write, the scratch of her pen on the stationary the only sound in the room until Vivian sighed and dropped her head back on the sofa, a hand pressed to her forehead. “I just cannot believe anyone would do such a thing to Alastair. He seemed like such a friendly man.”

  “Beloved, according to his parents,” my mother added.

  Vivian nodded, her blonde curls bouncing. “He had such a good temperament. Very charming.”

  Despite the generous picture so many people painted of Alastair, I couldn’t help wondering whether he made such a good impression on everyone. People below him, people he had no cause to be charming to might have glimpsed a different side of him.

  I noticed the skinny housemaid, Hester, lingering nearby with a fresh tray of tea. Deciding to test my theory, I caught the girl’s eye and signaled her to come closer.

  “Hester, isn’t it?” I greeted her.

  “Yes, Miss,” she answered nervously. She was probably unused to being addressed by the guests, unless they needed something.

  “Have you worked here at the castle for very long?” I asked.

  “Going on five years, Miss,” came the response.

  “Then I suppose you must have known young Mr. Drummond very well, having served his family for that long,” I said. “Tell us, what sort of employer was he? Was he liked by the household staff?”

  “Oh, everyone respected him, Miss. He was quite generous and fair-minded.”

  I noted that being respected and generous wasn’t necessarily the same thing as being liked, but held my tongue on that.

  “I was right then,” Vivian said. “I knew he was a kind sort of person.”

  “He was indeed, Miss,” the maid agreed softly. “And he was thoughtful. Even when I first came to work here, he took notice of me and remembered my name.”

  “That was good of him,” my mother said. Then she nodded to the tea. “Thank you for the fresh pot.”

  Apparently, the girl didn’t recognize this as a dismissal, because
she lingered still, as if there were something more on her mind.

  “Young Mr. Drummond was terribly clever,” she volunteered. “I heard it said that he hardly had to study at all to pass his exams at Oxford. He knew a great deal about the history of the castle and about the oldest buildings at the near village, as well. It is rare for a man to be clever, good, and kind, but Mr. Drummond was all three.”

  Briefly, her face took on a far away expression, as she recalled the many virtues of her former employer. When her expression cleared again, her eyes came to rest on me, and I was startled by the sudden resentment in them. What could the young woman possibly have against me? Surely, she did not blame me for Alastair’s sad fate?

  Before I could attempt to pry any further information out of her, we were interrupted by the arrival of a plain faced, older woman in a dark dress, who ducked her head in through the doorway. Her straight posture and stern expression signified her position of authority as clearly as the ring of keys dangling from a belt at her waist. I seemed to recall Lady Drummond having introduced her as the housekeeper, at some point.

  “Hester,” the woman said sharply, obviously displeased to see the maid shirking her work to engage in conversation. “Get back to your duties, girl.”

  The maid started guiltily, and hurried from the room. That brief flash of resentment I had seen was gone from her eyes, replaced by a meek bearing as she disappeared through the doorway.

  The housekeeper’s gaze took in the rest of us and her demeanor immediately became respectful. “I hope Hester was not disturbing you ladies with her idle chatter?”

  “My daughter was just asking the girl a few questions,” Mama answered. “She was not disturbing us at all.”

  The housekeeper nodded, looking relieved. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m afraid none of the staff are quite themselves at this time. Poor Mr. Drummond was popular with all of the servants and everyone, especially the young female staff, are unnerved by recent events.”

  “Of course,” Mama said with a gracious nod. “It is only natural.”