And why had the housemaid, Sarah Barnes, really committed suicide?
The list of questions seemed endless and impossible to answer in one evening. Only one thing was absolutely certain: Lavinia Lydford was a liar. Ghosts did not exist, and the whole notion about a mysterious ‘Black Widow’ strolling around a rumoured haunted mansion was perfectly absurd.
But then, why had she lied about it? I pondered and stroked my unshaved chin thoughtfully. Could there have been another reason for her to snoop around the corridors at Lydford Hall at night? Then again, she had admitted that she had been scared and alone in a large, unfamiliar house. A flash of lightning, poor nerves, and perhaps a glass of wine too many before she went to bed might have been more than enough to set her imagination in motion…
I was up late, until long after midnight, contemplating Letty’s story and turning Lord Lydford’s second will over and over in my hands, until I was afraid that I would smudge it and therefore returned it to the briefcase. I wrote down questions and some of my speculations in my personal journal; however, I was beyond tired, bordering on exhausted, but still I tried to delay going to bed for as long as possible. Without being the slightest clairvoyant–not that I believed in that kind of ‘reading the future’ type of humbug, of course!–I knew with uncanny accuracy that I would have severe problems sleeping that night. At last I gave up, and with a small sigh I opened my suitcase, and after rummaging through it, I found what I was looking for.
There was only one way of making the dreams go away.
I looked down on the innocent-looking brown glass bottle with its small white label in my palm. ‘Bell’s Laudanum, the universal household medicine’ was printed on the label together with a strict warning.
I had a lifelong chronic problem with insomnia and bad dreams. Dreams and nightmares that were so extremely vivid that when I woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat and with a rapidly beating heart, I would have trouble sorting out what was real and what belonged to my dreams until hours afterwards.
The apothecary had prescribed laudanum before bedtime, but the dosage was strong enough to render a horse unconscious and I hated taking it. It made me feel drowsy and strangely unattached for the entire following day afterwards, not to mention it made it significantly harder to concentrate on my work, which was utterly important for me. It was also highly addictive, and I knew all too well how dangerous it could be to use it frequently. Although I was aware that it would make the dreams stop, if only temporarily, it would also destroy any attempt at a good night’s sleep and most certainly leave me feeling wretched in the morning.
But what choice do I have? I thought and gave in.
Taking great care, I slowly measured exactly twenty-five drops into a glass of water on the washstand. It tasted of nothing as I swallowed it down. I snuffed out the candle with my fingers and finally went to bed, where a dreamless dark oblivion waited for me within a couple of minutes as the laudanum slowly worked its way into my body.
*
~ Chapter Ten ~
I woke up before dawn, feeling absolutely miserable and thirsty, just as I had foreseen. Leaning my throbbing head and back against the cold whitewashed wall next to my bed, I sat there, still as a statue, while the sun slowly rose over the horizon, and let my hazy thoughts drift. Laudanum always brought dreamless nights; however, I wished it would not leave me in such a bleak mood and with the dark thoughts that always followed. However, there was nothing to do about it, and feeling a little bit sluggish, I washed and shaved slowly in front of the mirror by the washstand. I dressed and gathered my documents and went downstairs, hoping to find the innkeeper or his wife up and about. I had absolutely no appetite, but I hoped that a cup of strong tea would bring my spirit back.
I went down the stairs, but just when I was about to enter the common room, I heard low voices.
“Murder…” someone said, and I froze and stopped dead in my tracks; however, it was too late.
“Is that you, Mr Davidson?” the innkeeper called out, in what I thought sounded like a rather nervous tone, and I had no choice but to enter the room.
“Good morning,” I greeted the innkeeper and Morgan. “You are here early,” I said to the gamekeeper, because it was still more than an hour before our appointed time that we had agreed upon the previous evening.
“I was waiting for you,” Morgan replied simply, but with a small smile that made me feel both a little bit uneasy and warm inside at the same time.
“Chris was just telling me about the murder up at the Hall,” the innkeeper said, and I nearly flinched at his description. “Murder of crows, I mean,” he corrected himself quickly.
Murder of crows? I thought, alarmed, before I understood what he meant. Of course. The collective noun for a group of crows is murder. But was that really what they had been talking about?
“It sounds like a dreadful business, if you ask me,” the innkeeper continued. “Now, what can I get you to eat, sir? We have freshly baked bread and the finest farm eggs in Devonshire, and Martha would be happy to fry up some sausages, ham or a chop for you. What would you like to have, sir?”
However, clearly to his disappointment, I politely declined his offer and told him that all I wanted was some strong, black tea.
“Are you feeling well?” Morgan asked in a concerned voice as soon as the innkeeper had left towards the kitchen area. His comment made me feel a little bit touched, against my better judgement. He placed his hand on my shoulder, which made me instantly tense. “You look… tired.”
“I am perfectly well, Mr Morgan,” I lied stiffly.
He gave me a long sideward glance that I pretended I did not notice, before he slowly removed his hand and silently shook his head at me.
“You should take better care of yourself,” he said after a while.
I did not know how to reply, and I was more than relieved when the innkeeper returned and served hot tea from a blue, rounded teapot.
“There you go, sir,” the innkeeper said as he poured the steaming tea into a mug. “Let me know if you change your mind and would like to have some breakfast after all.”
The black tea was blessedly strong, and in fact, it was almost bitter, but it did manage to revive me to some extent, and I felt a little bit better.
“Shall we go?” I asked Morgan after I had finished my second cup of tea, and I checked the time on my steel pocket watch before I slipped it back into my waistcoat pocket. It was not yet eight o’clock, but there was no reason to delay our departure, and it would earn me a little bit of extra working time, something which I most certainly approved of. My working speed would undoubtedly be slower than normal due to the lingering effect of the laudanum, I concluded with a small frown at myself.
Morgan looked like he was about to say something, but at the last moment he hesitated and stopped himself.
“Of course,” he said simply.
We went outside, and Morgan led the horse around from the side of the inn where he had placed the carriage to shelter it from the wind. The day was bleak and dark; ominous steel-grey clouds that promised rain later on chased each other across the sky. The weather matched my mood perfectly.
Morgan casually offered me his hand to climb on the horse carriage; however, although I was sorely tempted to reach out and let his warm, strong fingers wrap themselves around my hand, I did not dare take it, and therefore I somewhat inelegantly climbed up to the driver’s seat by myself.
The old dog had already claimed its place at the back of the carriage and did not even bother to look up at me.
“Here,” Morgan said and reached to the back of the carriage, where the old dog had already claimed its place and was fast asleep. He grabbed an old dark olive-green horse blanket, and before I had time to protest, he placed it over our legs. “It will keep you warm.”
“Thank you,” I said and meant it.
“I have noticed that people from London never seem to kno
w how to dress practically for the weather,” he replied with the smallest smile.
“A perfectly inaccurate observation,” I scoffed softly in reply before I realised that he was only teasing me. I quickly changed the subject. “I talked to one of the servant girls at the inn yesterday.”
“Do you mean Letty?” Morgan replied, and his smooth forehead creased. He flapped the reins loosely and clicked his tongue twice to signal to the sturdy working horse to move forward.
“Yes,” I said. “She told me about Lydford Hall and the mysterious ‘Black Widow’ that apparently haunts the old manor on dark nights.”
“Did she?” Morgan said in a low, serious voice.
“It is all perfect nonsense, of course.” I laughed softly.
However, Morgan did not laugh with me, but instead he grew quiet and his lips turned into a slim line.
“You should be more careful; you do not know what you are talking about, Cedric Davidson,” he said after a while. “I do not care about other people’s stories, or if you will laugh at me, but I have seen the Black Widow for myself.”
“What?” I gaped at him before I exclaimed in disbelief, “You cannot be serious.”
“I know that you will not believe me,” he replied calmly and continued to look straight ahead along the winding road. “But I know that she is real; I have seen her with my own eyes.”
“I…” I said slowly. “I do not think that you are lying, of course not. But sometimes, and especially during the night, it is easy… for the mind to play tricks even on the most sensible man,” I finished, somewhat lamely.
“I have seen the Black Widow wandering around Lydford Hall at night on at least three different occasions,” he said. “She is dressed in a black gown and a heavy veil. Sometimes, if the moon is new or the sky is dark, she will carry a small silver lantern to light her way.”
I sat quietly for a while, digesting this information. There was something in his remark that irked my mind; however, I could not put my finger on it. I threw a quick glance at him, trying to decipher if he was telling the truth or not.
“And does this… Black Widow, as you call her, does she seem to have any habits?” I asked to break the awkward silence that was building between us. “Is she wandering the grounds aimlessly, or does she seem to have a specific area that she prefers… to haunt?”
I glanced at him and he looked serious as he thought it over.
“I have only seen her after midnight on the second floor of the western wing of the building, close to Lady Catherine Lydford’s old rooms,” he said slowly. “I live down at the gamekeeper’s cottage, which is located down the vale on the west side of the manor, so I do not have full view of the house.”
“Have you ever seen her anywhere else?”
“No,” he replied. “I patrol the grounds sometimes at night, looking for poachers and foxes, but I have never seen the Black Widow on the grounds or in any other part of the house.”
“I see,” I said, and against my will I felt a shiver slowly creep down my back.
“You may believe whatever you want to believe,” he said and turned his head towards me. Our eyes met and he locked my gaze before he continued slowly, “But I saw her. Just as clearly as I can see you before me.”
I felt my pulse increase rapidly, and after a moment I was forced to look away, dangerously drawn to him, but also a little bit afraid and–for once–I was wisely cautious. A shadow of a smile told me that he had noticed my reaction.
“It… it looks like it is going to rain today,” I said and cleared my throat while I nervously ran my fingers through my hair before I could stop myself.
And indeed, the clouds were growing darker by the minute, and the wind had increased as well. The moor landscape around us looked more bleak and foreboding than ever. Morgan flapped the reins, and the workhorse trotted dutifully a little bit faster along the uneven country road that crossed the deserted moor.
“Yes,” he said and eyed the dark sky above us, “I think it will begin soon.”
*
~ Chapter Eleven ~
We were in luck and arrived to Lydford Hall just before it started to rain. I was cold, but at least not wet, as I climbed down from the horse carriage on stiff legs. Morgan left me alone outside the stable as he led the sturdy horse inside the building. The crows had left the old tree next to the stable and they were nowhere to be seen, I noticed. At first it made me feel relieved; however, then I got a little bit anxious when I wondered where they had gone.
When Morgan returned from the stable, we walked around to the high front doors of the manor just as the first drops of rain began to fall. He unlocked the doors, lit the lantern on the side table next to the entrance, and I followed after him as he led me through the dusky corridors towards Lord Lydford’s private library. The fact that I knew that Lord Lydford had died in the very same room left me more uneasy than I was willing to admit to anyone, not even to myself.
I do not believe in ghosts, I reminded myself as we entered the library.
Just as the previous day, Morgan swiftly built a fire for me; however, the small flickering fire in the large fireplace did little to brighten up the room.
“I will leave the key in the door,” he said before he left. “I do not think that the chimney has been blocked, but if more pieces of soot and old sticks fall down the chimney hole, it is not safe for you to be locked in.”
“Thank you,” I replied, warmed by his concern regarding my well-being and also quite relieved. The event the day before had not exactly left me at ease or lessened my claustrophobia.
“But I must ask you not to leave this room, for any possible reason,” he said in a serious tone. “Lady Lydford gave me specific orders that no one was allowed to wander about in the house in her absence.”
“Of course,” I agreed willingly. “There is no reason for me to walk around in the house, and besides, I have all the documents and files that I need here.”
“I will come back at three o’clock; however, it depends on the weather,” Morgan said. “If it continues to rain heavily, we need to leave earlier; otherwise we will not be able to travel along the roads. It could be dangerous, and if the roads get completely waterlogged, the carriage will get stuck.”
“That sounds sensible,” I said.
“I will see you later, then,” he replied and nodded at me. “Oh, and I nearly forgot: I brought you something to eat.”
He placed a small package on the desk, and I felt myself blushing slightly.
“Thank you,” I mumbled awkwardly.
“You are welcome,” he replied.
As soon as we had said goodbye and his steps echoed down the corridor, I realised that I was already helplessly longing for him.
Be careful what you wish for, I tried to warn myself; however, my heart was not easily convinced by logical reasons and had apparently already chosen for me, although I desperately tried to deny my feelings.
There can never be a happy ending, I thought with a sigh and began to go through the documents in front of me.
*
Methodically, I went through every document. The previous day I had simply sorted out the papers that were related to the legal will and property, but now I looked through all the accounting books and lists of expenses. After around an hour, I found what I was looking for. While there was no direct proof that Lord Lydford had indeed paid for a divorce, there were several larger payments to his attorney in Tavistock around half a year ago, which very well could add up to the cost of an annulment of his marriage!
I rose from the uncomfortable chair and walked briskly back and forth across the room a couple of times, my thoughts in a turmoil. Feeling a little bit guilty, I stopped in front of the two decanters and poured an inch of the whiskey into one of the crystal glasses to calm me down before I walked over to the high windows and the broken shutters. The rain outside tapped hard against the diamond-shaped lead windowpanes, and the moor
outside was wrapped in sheets of rain that fell over the yellow, dying grass.
I let my thoughts wander as I sipped my stolen whiskey that spread a welcoming warmth through my chest and made me feel slightly light-headed for a second, since I had not had anything to eat in the morning.
‘You should take better care of yourself’ an echo of Morgan’s voice seemed to whisper in my head, so I walked over to the desk and broke off a piece of bread that I ate standing while I leaned against the window alcove.
So, I thought and gathered my thoughts, who would benefit the most if Lord Lydford died? Obviously Sarah Barnes, if she had been married to Lord Lydford and the marriage was legal and just. But then why had she hanged herself? Perhaps she had succumbed to grief… or perhaps, if Sarah Barnes had been pregnant and the marriage had been kept a secret, she would have been considered a fallen woman.
It was not an entirely impossible conclusion, I thought and remembered the story that Morgan had told me about poor Kitty Jay.
I frowned. If Lord Lydford indeed had remarried, then who would lose the most if the marriage was legal and a new will was drawn up? The answer came to me directly. James Lydford and Lady Lydford, of course!
However, the brother had died of a mysterious brain fever the same evening he and Lord Lydford had a loud argument, which meant that the only person left alive was Lady Lydford–who most keenly wished to settle the legal matters as quickly as possible… and who did not want anyone to wander around the house alone, according to Morgan.
I went back to the desk and placed the two legal wills next to each other. Both were signed by Lord Lydford, but one left all his fortune to his brother and his wife, while in the second version of the legal will, his entire wealth was to be inherited by his newly wedded wife.
I hesitated. If all of this was true, then logically, there was something hidden somewhere in the house that Lady Lydford did not want to be found.
The Mystery of the Black Widow ~ A Gay Victorian Romance and Erotic Novella Page 6