Murder Most Fair

by Anna Lee Huber

  I realized then that it was a scene I would never be part of, for if I’d remained, they would never have allowed themselves to fall into such a relaxed stance. I might be just their wife and sister, but I was not a fellow soldier or surgeon, and so not part of the easy comradery that had become ingrained in their existence at the front. As such, I felt almost as if I was intruding on a private moment they wouldn’t wish me to see, and so I turned away, mounting the bicycle again to set off down the hill toward Brock House.

  The sky was painted with broad strokes of mauve and orange, and the tips of the fells in the distance were tinted a velvety purple in the twilight. The song of a linnet was the only sound save the wind rushing past me and the crunch of dirt beneath the tires. Cold air stung my cheeks, but I welcomed the clarity it brought me.

  I’d felt in danger of sinking into moroseness, but I could not afford to indulge in such emotions knowing what awaited me. Nor could I afford to lose my head when there was a murderer to be unmasked. One who had either followed my great-aunt to England and knew of my work with the Secret Service, or one who would be found among my parents’ neighbors. Given the choice, I wasn’t sure which I would choose. Neither would be a welcome revelation.

  CHAPTER 20

  All was quiet when I returned to Brock House. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Not weeping and gnashing of teeth, certainly. But not this.

  Abbott, my parents’ butler, appeared to have been waiting for me, for he opened the door before I reached it, and stood waiting to take my hat and dusty coat. His expression was as neutral as ever, but I thought I detected a glimmer of regret in his eyes.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked.

  “Mr. Townsend is in his study, and Mrs. Townsend is upstairs settling Frau Vischering. I believe Miss Townsend is in her chamber.”

  I turned my feet toward the stairs, only to be halted by Father. He must have heard my voice and come from his study to greet me. “It’s true, then?” he asked. “I know your brother would never invent such a terrible thing, but . . .”

  His voice fell away, leaving the sentence unfinished. I searched his eyes, seeing weariness there, but also something more. Uncertainty. It was an emotion I didn’t think I’d ever witnessed in my father, and it left me feeling rattled.

  “Yes,” I replied simply.

  His breath seemed to catch in his throat. “Poor girl.”

  My gaze dipped to his striped necktie.

  “I suppose your brothers and Sidney are assisting the police.”

  “Yes, they’ll be along as soon as they can.”

  “Then we’ll hold dinner until they arrive,” Mother declared.

  We both turned to watch as she descended the last few stairs, her features as rigidly composed as ever. She nodded to Abbott, who slipped through the door leading to the servants’ wing, understanding his orders.

  “How is Tante Ilse?” I asked as she reached the bottom step.

  “As well as can be expected.” She lifted a hand to tug at the listless curl framing my face, her brow lowering. “She asked that you be sent to her as soon as you arrived.”

  “I’ll go now.”

  But Mother halted me with a hand on my arm. “Just one moment.”

  I waited, wondering what she wished to say.

  Her eyes scrutinized me, no doubt noting every splotch of dirt, every hair out of place. “I hope you’re not planning to interfere in the police’s investigation.”

  I clenched my fists, struggling to stifle my annoyance. “Not as long as they do a satisfactory job of it.”

  “Verity, I hardly think that is your place to decide.”

  Ignoring this, I turned to Father. “Is Mr. Metcalfe still the local coroner?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then I imagine the coroner’s inquest will be called on Monday. Sergeant Bibby said he would report the death to the inspector at Richmond, as required.”

  Father nodded. “As he should. Bibby’s not investigated a murder before.”

  Mother shuddered, as if revolted by the word. “Verity . . .”

  “Did you or did you not trust me to handle matters for Aunt Ernestine at Littlemote House just a month ago?” I contradicted, interrupting her. “And that involved two murders and the help of Scotland Yard.”

  “She has a fair point,” my father said, earning a glare from my mother.

  “Please trust me to do so here.”

  Before she could deny this request, I hurried past her and up the stairs. Pausing for a moment outside Tante Ilse’s bedchamber door, I did my best to compose myself before rapping softly.

  “Come in,” she called.

  I found her reclining in bed, staring up at the leaf-green canopy overhead. The drapes were drawn and only a single lamp was lit beside the bed, casting much of the room in shadow.

  I closed the door behind me, leaning back against it until she turned to acknowledge me. “Oh, Tante, I’m so sorry,” I said, moving to sit next to her where she lay. She allowed me to take hold of her hand, clasping it between mine. Her skin felt so thin, its texture worn, like a piece of paper that had been repeatedly crumped and then smoothed out.

  “I’m the one who should be sorry,” she replied in a raspy voice. Her eyes were clouded with regrets. “For bringing that poor girl here.”

  I squeezed her hand, wanting to console her, but knowing that refuting her statement would be a waste of time. Given what had happened, I was sorry I’d brought her here as well. So instead I turned to easier topics. “How did Fräulein Bauer come to be in your employ?”

  “Anni came to me after Schmidt died from the influenza.” She lapsed into German, perhaps because she was fatigued, or perhaps because it was easier to remember that way, but I didn’t mind. “She was a little miracle, really. Appeared at my bedside to spoon hot soup into my mouth almost as if by magic.” She patted my hand where it gripped hers, perhaps having felt me flinch in alarm. “I had fallen sick after Schmidt passed, and while I had not taken as ill as she had, I had still been confined to my bed for several days. Later I learned that Anni—Fräulein Bauer—had arrived in Monschau, hoping to find work. She’d lost her family to the war, you see, and so she’d taken to wandering from town to town, searching for a position.”

  Tante Ilse broke off, coughing, and I rounded the bed to pour a glass of water from the ewer on the bedside table. She accepted it with thanks before taking a drink and passing it back to me.

  “When she heard in town about the old woman who’d lost her maid, she came to see me. She said she waited for three hours on my front step, and when I didn’t come home or answer her knocks, she began to worry. She knew my maid had died from the influenza, so she decided she couldn’t in good conscience leave without at least being certain I wasn’t unwell.” Her face softened at the memory. “She stayed to nurse me, and then I offered her the position of my maid.”

  I smiled in answer, thinking it spoke well of Bauer. After all, if she’d been alone and desperate for work, wandering from town to town, she might just as easily have been tempted to take what she wished from Tante Ilse while she was incapacitated and leave without anyone being the wiser. Instead, she’d stayed to help a frail, sick old woman. She might have hoped my great-aunt would hire her after that, but she must have known there was no guarantee.

  “Where did she come from?” I asked, sitting beside her again.

  “She never said. In truth, she seemed determined not to discuss her past. I assumed it was too painful for her. But by the accent of her voice, I could tell she wasn’t from Westphalia. At least, not originally. She hailed from somewhere farther east. Saxony, maybe.”

  My great-aunt might be right. If she’d lost her entire family to the war and to the influenza and starvation, it might have been too painful to speak of. But I also couldn’t help but note what a convenient excuse it was.

  Pushing aside the uncharitable thought, I focused on the specifics. “Then there’s no one we should notify?”

  She
shook her head sadly. “No one that I know of.”

  How incredibly sad that we should be the only ones to mourn her, and not as she doubtless deserved, I feared. It was a stark reminder of another consequence of the war.

  “Was she religious?”

  She nodded, understanding why I asked. “Lutheran. But an Anglican burial will do. Sarah said she’ll speak to Vicar Redmayne.”

  I was glad my mother could always be relied on for such things.

  Now that those simpler matters were addressed, I knew it was time to turn to the harder questions, but still I hesitated. She seemed so fragile, and I couldn’t help but wonder once again about the medicine she was taking. About her need for laudanum. I found myself examining her for any signs she’d taken it recently.

  “Do you have any idea who might have hurt her?”

  “No.” She lifted her hands in a gesture of futility. “How could I? She did not know anyone. And they did not know her.” The skin tightened across the fine bones of her face. “All they saw when they looked at her was a Boche, a Kraut.” She practically spat the words that were used as slurs against Germans.

  I felt a stirring of shame within me. Perhaps I hadn’t been the one to utter the slurs, but I had made excuses for my fellow countrymen and neighbors who did. Did that not make me also somehow culpable? Swallowing the bitter taste of regret, I pressed on. “Was she being harassed by anyone in particular? Did she confide in you?”

  “No, but I saw the way they looked at her, the way they treated her. I noticed how much she had withdrawn into herself since we arrived.” She sighed, turning her head away. “I thought I was saving the girl. There was nothing left for her in Germany, and barely enough to eat. But instead, I only fed her to the wolves.”

  “There’s no way you could have known this would happen. You did what you thought was best. That’s all you could do. That’s all any of us can do.”

  She didn’t respond, but I knew she was listening. Guilt and sadness seemed to weigh her down like a blanket, but I could see her eyelashes flicker in the lamplight as she blinked from time to time.

  “What of the second deserter?” I asked, and then further prompted when she didn’t react. “You said you saw him outside the church. Could it have been him?”

  The expression on her face when she turned slightly toward me was vague and uncertain. “Oh, yes. I did say that, didn’t I?”

  “Have you changed your mind about that? Was it not the same man?”

  Her brow furrowed as if she was searching for something, something she couldn’t quite recall. “No. Maybe. I . . . I don’t know who I saw.” Her voice grew agitated. “But if I said I saw the deserter, then I did.”

  “But you don’t remember anything more about him?” I asked hesitantly, suddenly reluctant to pursue the matter in the face of her rising distress and anger.

  “I don’t. . . . Why are you asking me these things?” she demanded. “I already told you everything I know. Go interrogate your neighbors. It must be one of them who killed Schmidt. And leave me in peace!”

  The lump that had settled in my stomach seemed to grow in size as she referred to her old maid, not her new one. “You mean Bauer?”

  “What?! Yes, of course, that’s what I meant. I’m not a fool!” Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and I feared she’d overset herself. She lifted a hand to press it to her breastbone almost as if she was struggling to catch her breath.

  I rose to my feet in alarm. “What can I do? Can I help?”

  She shook her head. “No, no. Just send me . . .” She broke off, her eyes losing much of their luster as she remembered her maid was dead.

  In any case, her breathing was slowing, but I was not going to leave this issue unexplored, no matter how she might protest. Someone needed to look after her health, and Bauer was no longer here to do it. Luckily, Tante Ilse broached the matter herself.

  “Perhaps it is time I allowed Freddy to examine me after all.”

  I exhaled in relief. “I can send him up to you as soon as he returns.”

  “Yes, please do,” she replied between controlled breaths as she closed her eyes. “But now . . . I would just like . . . to rest.”

  “Of course.” My gaze slid to the bell Mother must have placed on the bedside table. Bless her. I moved it closer to my great-aunt, and then leaned over to press a kiss to her forehead. “Ring if you need us.”

  She nodded, and I closed the door gently as I departed. I stood for a moment staring at the grains of wood, trying to grapple with my thoughts. Clearly, Tante Ilse was even more ill than I’d suspected. And whatever that illness was, it had affected her mind. I knew age could account for some of it, but I feared not to this extent. Maybe it was merely the harshness and depravation of the long years of the war, but again, I was doubtful. Though, what did I really know? I was no expert. But at least she was now willing to let Freddy attend to her. I hoped he would be able to help her, and to explain what was wrong.

  My heart heavy and my insides swirling with dread, I turned toward the stairs, only to be brought up short by the sight of Matilda exiting from Tim’s bedchamber. Of all the emotions bottled up inside me, ire was the easiest to give sway, and I strode into the upper foyer to halt the maid before she could reach the servants’ stair. “Matilda, a moment.”

  She stopped, her head swiveling to look at me for two long seconds before she pivoted to face my approach. “Aye?” she replied with the minimum of courtesy.

  My eyes narrowed. “I need you to account for your whereabouts earlier this afternoon. From approximately one to three o’clock.”

  She scoffed, her gaze flicking up and down me even as she held the pile of laundry she clutched before her like a shield. “You cannot be serious?”

  “Oh, but I am.”

  “But I told ye about her note. Without it ye wouldn’t ’ve even known where she was.”

  “You only told me because I saw you sneaking out of our bedchamber.”

  She scowled. “I didn’t even know where the Kraut was.”

  “So you say, but you had her letter in your possession, which could have told you.”

  Her face reddened with fury. “I told ye, I couldn’t read it. Not gibberish like that.”

  “Maybe not, but someone else might have read it to you.” I arched my eyebrows. “Or you simply followed her.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “I’m well aware you’re not above spying, after all.” I stalked two steps closer. “Maybe you hoped to catch her at something you could use against her. Something you could use to further your vendetta. Or maybe you intended to kill her all along. After all, you made your hatred of her abundantly clear.”

  “Aye, ’cept half the staff saw me about, includin’ your mother and Miss Townsend. They’ll confirm I never left the house.”

  “Will they?” I replied.

  She sniffed, turning to go, though I hadn’t dismissed her. “And as far as the fräulein,” she spat, mangling the pronunciation, “well, she was no better than she oughta be.”

  I didn’t stop her from walking away, rolling my eyes at the unoriginality of her prejudiced insult. Because Bauer was not only a German, but a pretty one at that, that meant she must have loose morals. It was such a predictable accusation it was almost pathetic.

  Shaking my head, I decided to claim the bath before the men returned. But as I turned to fetch my things from our bedchamber, I noticed Grace strolling up the stairs, a dreamy, secretive smile playing across her lips as she perused a letter. I had no trouble guessing who the missive was from.

  At the sight of me watching her, her smile froze and then slipped from her lips as she quickly refolded the letter. “I heard about Tante Ilse’s maid. How terrible.”

  I leaned on the newel post, feeling weariness in every muscle. “Yes, it was very . . . unpleasant,” I finally settled on after struggling to find the right word.

  She nodded, seeming uncertain how to reply.

  I glanced toward the do
or to the servants’ stair, recalling Matilda’s words. “Grace, did you happen to see Matilda this afternoon? Say, around two o’clock?”

  She frowned. “Well, I don’t recall precisely when, but I did see her shortly after the post arrived. Abbott might know what time that was.”

  “Good, I’ll speak with him, then.”

  Her eyes darted over my features, and I wondered if she would dare voice the suspicion forming behind her eyes.

  “You . . . you really suspect Matilda?” she murmured aghast.

  “She stole a note Fräulein Bauer left in my room this morning which asked me to meet her at the place where she was killed.” Her eyes widened, and I held up a hand to stave off her questions. “I don’t know why she wanted to meet with me. But at the moment, Matilda is the only person who may have known where Bauer was, and she hated her.”

  “You think she read her note?”

  “She’s already admitted she tried to, but it was written in German. Whether she found someone to translate it or figured it out herself, I don’t know.” My gaze dipped to the letter my sister still clutched in her hand. “If I were you, I would assume Matilda isn’t above reading anything she finds. Or reporting its contents to Mother.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “And I speak from past experience.”

  Grace seemed horrified by the prospect, but I chose not to say anything further. Whatever was written in those letters was none of my concern. Not when I’d been largely absent from her life these last five years.

  In any case, we were soon interrupted by the arrival of Sidney and Tim, whose footsteps dragged up the steps much as mine had. I elected not to remark on the absence of their Norfolk jackets and ties, deciding they must have been removed at the door and whisked off to the laundry. As it was, Sidney’s once-crisp white shirt sported a thin slash of red where the coat had not fully covered it.

  But for all the unpleasantness of their most recent task, I was not about to cede precedence. “I call dibs on the bath,” I stated, pointing at Tim, as he was the likeliest culprit to steal it from me.