Shadows of Madness

by Tracy L. Ward

  By the time they stepped out onto the kerb in front of Jonas’s house, the crowds had dispersed once and for all, leaving only garbage and litter in their place. Ainsley used his shoe to push aside a mound of cabbage leaves from the front step so Margaret could get to the door.

  “At least it’s quieter,” she remarked as they walked inside.

  The voice of Mrs. Crane bellowed from behind the kitchen door. “’Tisn’t proper! I cannot have her sleeping in that attic. Not another night!” There came a loud bang as if something sturdy had hit the table or counter. “They must be taken to a hotel.”

  “Mrs. Crane, calm yourself.”

  Ainsley recognized Giles’s voice coming from the other side of the door.

  Margaret had to round two large trunks left in the hallway in order to make her way to the kitchen. There was an off-white envelope balanced on the curved top of the one closest to Ainsley. Ainsley realized the name scrolled on the outside of the envelope was his.

  “Calm myself? Calm myself? If they stay here another night, I will quit. I cannot have this on my conscience too!” Mrs. Crane sounded completely irate and inconsolable.

  The door to the kitchen opened and John slipped out while the argument between Mrs. Crane and Giles continued. Even in the dim light Ainsley could see John was forcing back tears. When he saw Ainsley and Margaret in the hall, his face went slack with the shock before morphing into concern. “I would not go in there, Lady Margaret, if I were you,” he said, placing himself between the door and Margaret.

  Margaret looked over her shoulder to Ainsley, who flashed the envelope.

  “It’s from Cutter,” he said.

  When it looked as if Margaret would obey him, John moved from the door and headed straight for the stairs. Ainsley watched as John circled the bannister, keeping his head low, and jogged for the next floor. The commotion in the kitchen continued even as Margaret came back to her brother in the foyer, a look of utter confusion on her face.

  “What has gotten into everyone?” she asked.

  Ainsley shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Cutter sent our trunks back once they reached York.”

  “Oh, thank heavens.”

  “And Elmira has taken leave of us,” he added. “It would seem our unorthodox manner is too much for her sensibilities.”

  Margaret chuckled and pulled the letter from her brother’s hands. “I can’t say I am distraught at the notion. I feel liberated actually,” she said. “She was a good-intentioned woman, even if a bit old-fashioned for our tastes. We should tell Cutter that we’d be happy to provide her with a reference.”

  Before Ainsley could nod in agreement, the kitchen door opened and Giles escaped as the voice of Mrs. Crane followed him out into the hall.

  “I won’t be quiet, Dr. Grant, not this time!”

  When he saw Margaret and Ainsley in the hall he contemplated a return to the kitchen for a quick second before deciding against it.

  “That woman has worked herself into hysterics,” he said, quickly finding his composure. He marched toward them. “You’ve discovered your belongings, I see. Peter and Jonas will have to help you take them to your room, Miss Margaret. I have an appointment with the dean of medicine and I mustn’t be late.”

  “Of course …”

  Giles was quick to head for the stairs.

  “But Giles …”

  He stopped and looked down at her.

  “Would it be better if Peter and I went to a hotel?” Margaret glanced to the kitchen door. “Perhaps Mrs. Crane would be happier with such an arrangement.”

  “Nonsense,” Giles said, somewhat unconvincingly. “You both are perfectly welcome to remain here.”

  He passed Jonas on his way up the stairs, but didn’t bother giving the man a sideways glance.

  “What’s the ruckus?” Jonas asked, coming down the stairs. He paused at the midway point and looked over his shoulder as Giles charged ahead before coming all the way down. “I’ve never known him to argue with Mrs. Crane before.”

  “It’s about us, I’m afraid,” Margaret said. “Peter, I think we have outworn our welcome. We should return to the hotel.”

  Ainsley eyed the trunks between them.

  “I wouldn’t hear of it,” Jonas said. He reached over and took Margaret’s hand, sandwiching it between both of his. “Your presence here has been a better help to me than I realized.” Margaret’s chin elevated a notch, and an endearing smile came to her lips. She did not say she had been justified to defy them or anything so self-righteous, and that was a credit to her character. Instead, she regarded him squarely and squeezed his hand.

  “Very well,” she said, struggling to hide her pleasure at such an invite. “I believe we can manage to stay. Perhaps we can find a way to make it up to Mrs. Crane somehow.”

  Ainsley nodded but wasn’t exactly sure how that could be accomplished.

  ***

  Ainsley and Jonas removed Margaret’s trunk to her room first before taking Ainsley’s less burdensome trunk to his room next. They placed the trunk at the foot of Ainsley’s assigned bed and together breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Thank you, my friend,” Ainsley said, giving Jonas a pat on the shoulder as they rose to their full height.

  Ainsley’s room was similar to Jonas’s with a single wooden bed, a nightstand, a bureau of drawers, and a decent-sized desk with a leather swivel chair. His window faced north, however, with a view of the New Town neighbourhood and villages beyond. The room was only steps away from the stairs that would take him to Margaret’s attic room.

  “You two were gone for most of the day,” Jonas said, when Margaret entered. With a lamp in her hand, she crossed the room and set it on Ainsley’s windowsill.

  “We made some headway,” Ainsley said. He took a seat on the lid of his trunk and gestured to the desk chair for Jonas. “And we have a question to ask.”

  Margaret kept her eyes trained outside, as if not entirely interested in Jonas’s answer.

  “Would you happen to have a picture of Eloise?” Ainsley asked.

  Jonas bristled in his seat. “Why in God’s name would I have something like that?”

  “It’s perfectly all right, if you do,” Margaret said, turning to face them both. “I am not offended. She is the daughter of a very special person in your life. He was your adoptive father in many respects.”

  Jonas looked uneasy at the suggestion. His face contorted in discomfort as he rubbed his hands over his thighs.

  “Margaret and I formed a theory today and it involves Eloise,” Ainsley explained reassuringly. “We can confirm it with the barkeep at the pub if we had a picture to show him.”

  Jonas stood suddenly and began pacing the room. “I try to keep my contact with that woman as minimal as possible. My only interest in her is to visit her father. Which, to my greatest pain, isn’t often because she always seems to cling to me relentlessly when I do call.” He turned to Margaret as if suddenly remembering something. “And I never asked her to marry me. I don’t care what she says.”

  “She’s quite convincing,” Margaret said. “I’ll give her that.”

  Jonas looked disgusted at the thought of Eloise convincing anyone they were intended for each other. “That woman.” He growled. “If she wasn’t bound and determined to marry me, I’d say she is behind all this.” With shaky hands, he pulled out a case from his breast pocket and offered Ainsley a cigarette. “But it doesn’t make sense for her to drag her name in the mud alongside mine,” Jonas said, the cigarette pressed gently between his lips. He struck a match and lit both his and Ainsley’s cigarette with it.

  “No, and that’s why I’m confused.” Ainsley pulled away his cigarette and licked his lips. “I need a photograph. She may be in on it in a way we least expect.”

  “I don’t have anything we can use. Mr. Locke’s wife was an avid photographer. I know such a photograph exists. They have many of them. I’ve seen them, but they would all be at the hou
se.”

  “I’ll get it.”

  They both turned at the sound of Margaret’s unwavering voice.

  “I’ll go to her house. You say they have many. They’ll not miss one small one.”

  Jonas shook his head with determination. “No.”

  “Why not? You can’t be seen in public. If Peter goes she’ll know something is amiss.” She smiled before the next words left her lips. “I, however, have a standing invitation for tea.”

  “Margaret, this woman is not known for level-headed thinking,” Ainsley said. “You were just speaking about her in the carriage. She can’t be trusted.”

  “And now, neither can I.” Margaret smiled. “I am aware of her calculated manner, but I won’t stand idly by while Jonas is wrongfully accused of murder. If this woman had something to do with any of this then I want to be the one to expose her.”

  Jonas looked weary. “I’m not sure I approve this plan.”

  Margaret scoffed. “I’m not looking for your approval.”

  “I can send a note to her father asking for one,” Jonas said, turning to Ainsley. “He might be willing to do as I ask.”

  “A letter from you will only encourage her.” Margaret stepped forward, her tone forceful. “You want this woman to stop following you, don’t you? To leave you alone?”

  “I want peace. Yes.”

  “Then this is the only way. Peter, tell him I am right.”

  Ainsley rubbed the back of his neck. He hated the idea, but how else could he have the barkeep identify her? “How likely is she to lash out at Margaret?”

  “I’d say it’s fairly likely.” Jonas gave them an uneasy look before taking a long pull from his cigarette. “In grade school she overheard me tell one of the other boys that I liked Moira’s hair. She was a girl one year lower and she had the most beautiful auburn braid that almost reached her waist.” Jonas smiled at the memory but his reverie was short-lived. “The next day in the yard, Eloise cut the braid off at the base of the neck and threw it in a pile of horse dung in the gutter.”

  “Oh, dear God. That poor girl.” Margaret raised a hand to her mouth.

  “Moira was mortified. When I confronted Eloise about it she laughed and said she could never live knowing I was meant for someone else. She said I belonged to her.” Jonas closed his eyes. “I quickly learned to never like anyone or anything because she would always find a way to destroy it. I never wanted her to have that kind of control over me again. I’ve tried to limit my contact with her over the years but her father … well, he’s the reason I am who I am. I owe so much to him. Margaret, you have to understand—”

  “I do. I don’t begrudge your contact with him.”

  “I never discouraged her either, that fault is mine. I was afraid any rift between us would cause her father to end his funding of my education. I couldn’t risk losing my only means of support, not with my mother so recently passed. But I swear, never in my life did I make any promises to her. Everything she has told you about us marrying is a complete fabrication, a delusion of her own making all these years.” Jonas took another drag from his cigarette, his hand shaking slightly in frustration.

  “Is she capable of murder?”

  Margaret’s question was greeted with silence. No one wants to believe someone they know is capable of such a heinous crime as murder.

  Jonas licked his lips and looked her hard in the eyes. “I don’t know, but I imagine it’s possible.”

  Chapter 19

  Margaret tried not to think about what she planned to do the next day as she readied herself for bed. If she was honest with herself she’d acknowledge her own apprehensions about going to Eloise Locke’s home, the lion’s den in many respects. There was no telling who might be present the next day when Margaret paid her a visit, but she secretly prayed she wouldn’t be expected to be alone with the woman, especially after learning what she had done to Jonas and that poor girl with the long auburn braid.

  She felt a chill rip right through her as the October winds rattled the small panes of glass that made up her windows. There was no place to light a fire, so before she undressed Margaret searched the room for extra bedding, anything she could throw over her bedclothes to keep her warm through what she expected would be another cold, restless night. She couldn’t bring herself to ask Peter to exchange rooms, not when she had been so adamant that she would be fine in the maid’s quarters.

  Inside the chest at the foot of her bed she found two folded blankets of white, one felted and one knitted. Already her chin had begun to quiver against the cold. Hastily, she pulled the blankets from their place in the chest and threw them over the footrail of the metal bed.

  PING!

  Margaret stopped at the sound and realized it was something attached to the knitted blanket. A gemmed ring! Realizing the claws securing the gems in place were wrapped in the fibres of the blanket, she gently twisted the ring left and right until the piece of jewellery was free. She brought it to the light of her bedside lamp and saw that it was an emerald ring, with three tiny gems clustered together on a thin band of gold, a small trinket to some or a glorious collection of precious stones to others.

  Margaret moved it around in the light but saw no engravings or markings to indicate who the ring might belong to. It was definitely a woman’s ring that could slide down all of Margaret’s fingers except one. Could it belong to Molly, Mrs. Crane’s kitchen maid? Margaret doubted the girl could afford such a piece. A gift, perhaps. Or pickpocketing spoils?

  Margaret closed her eyes against such a negative thought. The events of the last year had made her distrustful and quick to assume the worst. Leaving the ring on her finger, Margaret searched the chest and looked for anything else that could help identify the owner. She found nothing but a piece of braided string. Now that she thought of it, Margaret hadn’t happened upon anything in that room that belonged to the maid. If she didn’t already know Mrs. Crane to be an honest woman, she’d doubt that a maid named Molly even existed.

  The girl had likely just gotten married or decided to live out. She decided she would ask Mrs. Crane about it in the morning. With these thoughts on her mind, Margaret locked her door using the iron key, readied herself for bed, and hurriedly ducked beneath the covers. She turned out her lamp before pulling the blankets right up to her chin to stave out the cold. Slumber seduced her quickly and had nearly taken a solid hold when she heard the floorboards next to her bed creak. The sound was unmistakable, and recognizable as the very same cracks and groans that rang out as she went about the room.

  Things are merely settling back into place, she told herself. Old houses always made their personalities known.

  Another moan escaped the flooring, this time just next to her.

  Margaret’s eyes shot open. She could see nothing. Her attention immediately went to the corner of the room where the shadow had lurked the night before. She could make out nothing. Only able to rely on her sense of hearing, Margaret listened to the blackness of the room.

  Another groan.

  Something was walking straight toward her but she could see nothing. Her throat went dry, preventing her from calling out. She listened instead to the deafening silence and felt her own thumping heartbeat drumming rapidly in her head. After a time, she heard nothing. No new sounds rang out and nothing stirred in the darkness.

  You’re a fool, Margaret, she told herself.

  She turned over in the bed and rested on her side, using her arms to cradle her head as it lay on the thin pillow. She felt the small, emerald ring press into her cheek and moved her hand slightly to ease the discomfort.

  A hand grasped her shoulder.

  Margaret let out a gasp and moved quickly to light her lamp. By the time the flame of her lamp was lit the room was empty and there was nothing to see. Everything was as it was when she first closed her eyes. The key to her room was on her bedside table just where she had left it.

  

  By morning Margaret had decided that Mo
lly must have returned late at night and had been just as startled as she to find someone sleeping in her bed. Margaret expected to see someone with Mrs. Crane that morning but was surprised when she entered the kitchen and found the housekeeper alone.

  “Good morning, Miss Margaret,” Mrs. Crane said as she bent over a large pad of bread dough. “I trust you slept well.” She did not look Margaret in the eye as she spoke and instead huffed and puffed over the great mound of flour, water, and yeast.

  “Well enough,” Margaret lied. In truth she hadn’t slept much at all and kept waking at the slightest sounds and even went so far as to light her lamp numerous times to allay her fears when she believed someone was in the room with her.

  Margaret inched toward the table where Mrs. Crane worked.

  “Is Molly coming to help you today? I think I should like to meet her finally.”

  Margaret saw Mrs. Crane peek at her from behind a tuft of flour-laced curls that trailed down over her forehead. “I shouldn’t say so … no,” Mrs. Crane answered hesitantly. “Is there something the matter with yer room?”

  Margaret shook her head and was about to deny any problems but stopped herself. She turned the ring around on her finger and felt the thin metal press into her skin. “Why would there be anything the matter with my room?”

  Margaret saw Mrs. Crane shrug but the housekeeper still hadn’t looked up from her task. The woman looked ill at ease and trembled slightly. “Mrs. Crane, is everything all right?”