The Mystery of Margorie Walker

by Yume

  * * *

  It was a breezy night, a rather bad time to carry out the plan. Still, Sir Mitchell had made up his mind. His motto was, “The sooner done, the better.”

  He perched on top of the hill, cane in his hands, and stared down. The moonlight shone on the moors. The wind made the trees dance. It was a beautiful, stunning night. The scenery was striking. And yet, it would soon be covered in flame.

  A beam of sharp light appeared on the roof of one farmhouse. Then, on another. The fire spread widely via the hay and fodder. They lighted up everything. The darkness was broken by burning flame. The tranquilness was disturbed by screaming and whimpers. Within seconds, sweet dreams were interrupted and people started running in all directions. Some cried while some attempted to put out the fire. However, it was too late. The fire had stretched out to an unstoppable extent. The time during which such tragedy happened was particularly chosen by Sir Mitchell. He had investigated and watched these people before. They worked all day long and their most exhausting state was without doubt in the middle of the night.

  At midnight, as the breeze blew, the fire burnt vigorously in twenty farmlands. People were covered in smolder. Half of them failed to escape and met their doom getting burnt to death. Half of them managed to dodge, not without a few painful scratches or broken arms at least. The scent of burning hay turned him on. The more he watched as people’s flesh was torn in fire, the more excited he got. When the night ended, things would be perfect. Not for the men. But for him.

  Sir Mitchell was fascinated by his work. His plan had made fifty forfeit their homes, thirty casualties, ten forfeit their lives… As Detective Carter interrogated him, he did not fail to smile an ironic smile, saying. “You think I want this to happen? Those are my lands, detective! My own lands!”

  It was then first suspected some farmers had been directing their anger towards Sir Mitchell by arson. Still, the rich man knew the best. Instead of offering any aids to the victims, Sir Mitchell quickly sued them by legal right, claiming that they spoiled his facilities and properties on purpose. Within a week’s time, everyone moved out immediately, not even bothering with the lease. As he watched people leaving their own farms, their own hope and sustainability of life, Sir Mitchell did not feel a bit sympathetic. He was only pleased with what he had done. Finally getting everyone out of his lands, he recovered the damaged parts and quickly sold all lands to a local noble who had been desperately seeking for place to build factories.

  The lands gave him millions to spend, or rather, to waste. Everything went on well except for a piece of lands which could never be sold.

  “I don’t think that’s possible, sir.” Charles reported to Sir Mitchell as Dorothy prepared a plate of cup cakes for young Mitchell. “I have been talking to Sir Dowell and it seems he won’t take that land at any cost.”

  “Not even for free?” Sir Mitchell scowled and glanced at Charles.

  “Nope.” Charles shook his head, handing the contract back to his master.

  “What’s the matter with that land?”

  “Oh, sir, it seems that land was previously rented out to the Walkers.”

  “The Walkers!” An instant chill struck Sir Mitchell. He had heard about the recent rumor regarding a little witch girl called Margorie Walker, who had come back from death to claim town people’s lives.

  “Yes, sir, people say they hear noise and see things around that farm at night.” Charles went on. “They believe that land is cursed. No one will ever go near that place.”

  “That’s a bunch of bunk you’re talking about!” Sir Mitchell got up indignantly and tore the contract into pieces. “Noise! Things! What kind of lies is that? How superstitious!”

  “But, sir.” Charles paused for a moment before continuing. “You heard about Madam Hernandez’s death, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, what’s it got to do with her?”

  “Sir,” Dorothy stepped in and said. “She was killed by Margorie.”

  “Killed by Margorie?” Sir Mitchell’s face had turned red by now. “Seriously, you people really believe in that? A dead girl avenging on us all? That’s bullshit! Non-sense! Madam Hernandez died of heart attack! Nobody killed her!”

  “Father, is that Margorie going to eat us?” Young Mitchell said as he stuffed another huge strawberry cake into his mouth. “I heard she’s a witch.”

  “Stop it, son.” Sir Mitchell said. “No one is going to hurt us.”

  Then, he turned back to Charles and Dorothy.

  “How dare you talk about this insane girl in front of my son? You two are scaring him!” He cried in fury.

  “We’re terribly sorry, sir.” The two servants bent down and apologized straight away.

  “Go!” Sir Mitchell shouted. “Get out of here at once!”

  Leaning leisurely on the couch, young Mitchell smiled plainly and took another bite of the cake.

  Still, Sir Mitchell did not think it was wholly non-sense. Indeed, he was informed about what was going on in the town. All those sudden deaths and injuries sounded too mysterious and peculiar to be sure. Once, he did sit down and try to think it over but then, nothing seemed to be more important than handling money. He had long given up thinking of anything related to that witchy girl, Margorie. He only wished to concentrate on making more money. More profit. More wealth. That would be the only practical thing to do.

  The door bell rang with chiming noise. Charles went up to answer the door.

  A man holding a large package stood still and greeted the butler. Charles took the package from him and walked back into the mansion.

  “Son, what did you order this time?” Sir Mitchell shook his head slightly. Every now and then, he sighed whenever he saw his son purchase another useless plaything.

  “A ship model!” Young Mitchell exclaimed eagerly. He tried to get up but was too fat to do so. Instead, he rolled down from the couch and onto the ground.

  “Son, don’t need to rush.” Sir Mitchell said immediately. “Dorothy! Come and help little master!”

  “Yes, sir!” Dorothy darted out from the kitchen and helped young Mitchell up but he pushed her away.

  “Yuck! Your hands are dirty, Dorothy!” He shrieked.

  “Sorry, sir, I was… making dough.” Dorothy said.

  “Then, go and wash your hands, fool!” The teen yelped and pointed at her furiously. Frightened, Dorothy stood up and headed back to the kitchen.

  Charles placed the package on the small coffee table so that young Mitchell could reach out for the gift. He passionately tore the wrapping paper and swung open the box, taking out the model.

  “It’s City Of Adelaide!” He cried with joy.

  Just then, the door bell rang again.

  “Son, you ordered two models?” Sir Mitchell frowned.

  “No, I bought only this yesterday.” The son replied.

  Charles walked up to open the front door. Peeking through the gap was a young fine-looking lady.

  “Excuse me, you are…”

  “Call me Karenna.” The lady smiled. From the way she looked, she apparently came from some dignified families. She wore a long black laced dress and a pair of gothic gloves. She had a remarkable rose hat, with the net covering the upper half of her face.

  “May I have a little chat with Sir Mitchell, please?” Her voice was meek and soft.

  Charles turned and Sir Mitchell beckoned him to bring her in.

  “This way, Miss.”

  “You are a rare beauty, Miss.” Sir Mitchell smiled an obscene smile. “I don’t think I have met you before though.”

  “Surely not, sir.” The woman smiled gracefully and took a seat on the armchair. She handed her umbrella to Charles. “I was wondering if, Sir Mitchell, you are going to sell out the land on Road 66.”

  “You are here to buy my land?” Sir Mitchell sounded surprised.

  “Yes.” The lady said. “I have found that little farm house rather attractive. A very good place for my friends to stay over for the su
mmer.”

  “Staying in the form during summer is very hot.” Young Mitchell blurted out.

  “Hush, son.” Sir Mitchell said and turned back to Karenna. “Well, as a responsible landlord, I have to inform you that this land you want to claim may not be quite suitable.”

  “In what way, sir?” Karenna asked curiously.

  “Obviously, there have been some rumors going on in this town.” Sir Mitchell said. “It looks like that land is cursed.”

  “Cursed?” Karenna laughed. Sir Mitchell pouted but did not speak. “Don’t you think it’s a bit unrealistic? I don’t know, sir, you believe in such things?”

  “Not that I really believe in these foolish, absurd things.” Sir Mitchell protested. “I just want to warn you, for you are not like any other customers. You are…”

  “I am what, sir?”

  “Well, you’re different, miss.” Sir Mitchell smiled again. “Do you mind telling me from which great family you are?”

  “I would rather not.” Karenna said. “I do not think my family would like to know about my purchase of this land. As you know, they don’t like me helping my friends too much.”

  “So, this would be a secret trade.”

  “Indeed, sir.” Karenna grinned. “Would you keep this as a secret for me?”

  “My pleasure!” Sir Mitchell said and enthusiastically shook the lady’s hand. When doing so, he purposely squeezed her hand a little to express his passion. The lady didn’t seem to feel that though.

  The lady was brought to the longue room and served. The house was filled with young Mitchell’s toys. There was hardly a space to walk through.

  “Pardon me, lady.” Sir Mitchell said. “My son has this frenzy for toys.”

  “That’s odd,” Karenna added. “But cute.”

  As the lady waited patiently in the room for the contract, young Mitchell stopped working on his model and pulled his father to one corner.

  “What’s it, son?”

  “Father, who’s that lady?” The boy asked.

  “I don’t know either.” The man said to his son. “She seems to be from some anonymous rich family.”

  “But, father, she’s gorgeous!”

  “Yes, son, I can see that.”

  “Father, I have a request.”

  “What?”

  “I want her as my bride.”

  “What?” Sir Mitchell exclaimed.

  “Father, I want her!”

  “But…”

  The boy pulled his father’s sleeves like a child crying for meal. Sir Mitchell stared at his son’s pleading eyes and had to succumb to his begs finally.

  “Alright, I will try.”

  Sir Mitchell entered the room. The lady looked up from her book and nodded politely.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “It’s perfectly fine.” Karenna put down the fiction and took off her gloves, revealing her black-polished nails.

  “So, miss, this is the contract of trade.” Sir Mitchell said. “You only have to sign here and trade the land for fifty pounds.”

  “That’s unexpectedly inexpensive.” Karenna widened her eyes as she signed her name on the right bottom of the contract. “Sir, if you are kind enough, would you please tell me a little bit more about that land? What exactly is this rumor about?”

  “Miss, you wouldn’t love to hear it.”

  “Oh? But I am really interested in that.”

  “Alright then,” Sir Mitchell sighed and began. “The previous family that rented this land was the Walkers.”

  “And what happened?” Karenna inquired anxiously.

  “The Walkers had two daughters. One of them was married to Earl Beaumont. But lately, the couple has died mysteriously. You must have heard of that, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “For another daughter, she is called Margorie. People said she’s a witch. True or not, I don’t know but she was burnt to death two years ago. People now say she’s back to life and around somewhere in this town.”

  “So, what happened to her family afterwards?”

  “The two Walker girls had a mother and a granny. The mother died of sickness after the older girl was married and as for the granny, she also died a year ago or so.”

  “How did she die?”

  “She…died of the same sickness, I think.”

  “Did she?”

  Suddenly, Sir Mitchell stopped and stared at Karenna warily. Something was not quite right. But what?

  “Sir, how did the granny die?” Karenna repeated her question once again, with a much lower voice.

  “I don’t think…”

  In a fleeting moment, horror hit Sir Mitchell. He went for the door and it slammed close in front of him. The lady stood up and walked to him slowly.

  “Sir Trevor Mitchell,” The woman stated. “known as the most famous landlord in this town, you rent out your lands and money to the poor but charge them with high loans. You caused the fire intentionally to break the contract with the farmers, claiming back all your lands for sales.”

  “No, I didn’t…” Sir Mitchell stumbled over a stool and fell.

  “Well, you don’t really think you could live a day to see me.” The lady smiled.

  “Margorie!” Sit Mitchell exclaimed.

  Vaguely conscious, he saw Margorie cross her arms. As he looked into her dark sparkling eyes, his head was flooded with flashbacks and horrendous sounds. He began to recall scenes of committing his crime. He should have known better than anyone else that he was the culprit. Of everyone’s death in the fire. And of that old woman’s death. He had never liked the Walkers from the very beginning. Even when he agreed to rent out the farm to them, he always found ways to exploit the poor old mother and her two young granddaughters. When both girls and the mother were gone, he wanted to claim back the land. Yet, as the contract had not expired, the old woman refused to move out. He brought a group of men to break in and beat her up. He had known she was weak at that time but never did he expect her to die so easily. Still, he was the cause of her death. As a noble, he could always escape any prosecution and legal punishment. He bribed Prince Eugène and the judge such that everyone was made to believe the woman died of disease.

  “So, that’s how granny died.” Margorie narrowed her eyes.

  “No…” Sir Mitchell shook his head. “No… I didn’t mean to…please, Margorie… I…”

  “You know what.” Margorie took a mouth of tea and then added a pack of sugar into the cup. The excess sugar could not dissolve and gradually pile up to the top, spouting out the liquid contained.

  “Your son is like being brought up in a sugary condition.” Margorie said. “You keep feeding him, with goods, money and everything he wants. On the other hand, you are draining every single thing the other poor people own. You have deliberately deprived other’s right to live for your own son’s sake. And just like this cup of ruined tea, what you have got to learn is that when the tea is too sweet, it kills.”

  “No!” Sir Mitchell cried out once more and the next his eyes stopped blinking. An instant pain struck him. His eyes opened wide and his mouth was twisted with white bubbles coming out continuously.

  Without making a sound, Margorie got up and walked past the corpse. She turned the knob and opened the door. Lying on the coach, dead was young Mitchell. Same as his father, his eyes were wide open but his mouth was spilling out vomit.

  As the hand of the clock in the hall struck three, the loud jingling sounds could be heard.

  “Oh, it’s three.” Margorie mumbled quietly with a smile. “Tea time.”