But what? I wondered before my mind came up with the answer for me.
Evidence.
Leaning over the desk, I thought I heard something. I froze.
Could it be Morgan had returned early? I thought nervously.
I held my breath, but the sound did not return, and feeling a little bit foolish, I continued studying the documents in front of me, although I could not get rid of the uncanny feeling that I was being watched.
I had just begun to relax again when the strange sound came again. It was a screeching kind of sound that made all the small hairs on my arms stand up. I looked around wildly.
And with my heart in my throat, I noticed a large, black crow on the windowsill outside. Its claws made a distinct metallic sound as it moved around.
It is only a bird, I thought with a frantically beating heart.
“Shoo!” I said and tried to wave it away, but the crow simply stared at me with cold, emotionless eyes. I walked closer to the window. “Shoo, I said!”
With a last withering glance, it looked at me with blank coal-black eyes and cawed loudly before it slowly and with dignity left the windowsill. I watched it slowly soar downwards and felt a rush of icy-cold shivers down my back when I realised where it was heading. I squinted, and not wanting to believe my eyes, I could not help but notice that the crow landed directly on the small grave down by the crossroads.
“A coincidence,” I mumbled to myself. “A mere coincidence and nothing more.”
However, I did not entirely manage to convince myself.
Before I let myself get too distracted or carried away by my wild imagination, I decided to continue with my bold plan of searching the house while there was still time. I firmly removed a thick wax candle from one of the wall-mounted candle sconces and lit it with a small burning stick from the fire, but I hesitated with my hand on the doorknob. It suddenly occurred to me that if I was found wandering around the house by the gamekeeper, it would first of all be incredibly embarrassing since I promised Morgan that I would not leave the library. But second of all, it most certainly would also result in that I would be sent back to London immediately, and any chances of a promotion–or even to keep my employment!–would cease to exist.
Perhaps I should contact the local magistrate instead? I thought and bit my lower lip.
But no. I had no solid proof, and by the time they would be allowed to search the house, Lady Lydford would most certainly have heard about it, and she would have had all the time in the world to get rid of any vital evidence that had been left behind at Lydford Hall.
On the other hand, a small voice whispered at the back of my head, can I really with clear conscience do nothing and let a possible murderess inherit a fortune that she should not have?
Sometimes my previous decisions had been ill-advised and led me into all kinds of trouble; however, in this case the answer was exceedingly simple, and I gathered the key that Morgan had left in the door and I resolutely left the library before I had time to change my mind.
*
~ Chapter Twelve ~
The dim corridor rested in silence except for the soft sound of the persistent rain against the windows. Only a little daylight managed to slip through the cracks of the closed high wooden shutters, and although it was not completely dark, I was happy that I had brought the wax candle to light my way.
I began to regret my rash decision almost immediately; however, I sternly reminded myself that this might very well be the only opportunity that I had to find any evidence of what had really occurred at Lydford Hall. Determined not to be persuaded by my own nervous feelings regarding the gloomy and seemingly endless corridors, I carried on while I stonily tried to ignore the sensation that I was being watched by the dead animals that decorated the walls above me; their glass eyes gleamed slightly in the flickering light from the thick wax candle.
I need to narrow down my search to make it as efficient as possible, I decided, since I knew that I only had a limited time, especially since the rain fell hard outside, which meant that Morgan might return earlier due to the harsh weather.
Therefore, I swiftly excluded the servants’ quarters, which most likely were located up in the attic, and the kitchen area downstairs from my mental list of places that I should search. Furthermore, I omitted all common rooms such as the breakfast and dining rooms, the drawing and sitting rooms, as well as the music room–a manor like Lydford Hall must have a music room, I decided–and the gallery, which I had walked past on the way to the library. That only left Lord and Lady Lydford’s bedchamber and their private parlour rooms, and the guest rooms, which plausibly should be located in the best part of the house somewhere on the second floor, unless I was mistaken.
Following the somewhat eerie and empty corridors while I felt more and more uneasy, I finally found the guest rooms that were all part of the centre main building of the house. Feeling exceedingly guilty and rather mortified, I quickly searched the four spacious rooms; however, it did not take me long to go through them, and the result was disappointing. The large four-poster beds, chests of drawers, elegant vanity tables, and the wardrobes were all empty, with the exception of the occasional stray white mothball. I sighed in mild frustration; however, I was not ready to give up quite yet, and I still had the Lord and Lady’s bedchamber and their private rooms left to search.
Their bedchamber is probably located in one of the wings of the house, I thought with a small frown and left the empty guest rooms.
After what seemed like a small eternity and after I had tried several doors, I reached what I assumed must be the Lord and Lady Lydford’s bedchamber. An enormously large four-poster bed with carved wooden pillars and an extraordinary amount of drapes and thick bed curtains was centred in the room, which otherwise was somewhat sparsely furnished, with two cherry-wood bedside tables and a couple of heavy Georgian chairs with burgundy leather seats next to the window. There were two smaller doors at the opposite sides of the wall, which conveniently led to the Lord and Lady’s respective private dressing rooms. A quick look through Lord Lydford’s dressing room told me that he had an extensive and rather eccentric snuffbox collection in silver and that he seemed to favour rustic clothing suitable for hunting or riding.
He must have been a rather practical country gentleman, I concluded.
Unfortunately, Lady Lydford’s dressing room was all too easy to search, because it was as empty as the guest rooms.
She probably does not plan to come back here, I noted dryly, because she had brought all of her clothes, including all her gowns, shoes, and hats, which she certainly would not need if she was only going to spend the mourning period with relatives in Exeter.
I fingered an empty hatbox, and all of a sudden I felt strangely dizzy for a short spell before the sensation went away.
It must be the after-effect of the laudanum from yesterday, I thought and tried to clear my head by taking a couple of deep breaths.
After a while I felt a little bit better and returned to my search. The last room that I had left to examine was Lady Lydford’s private parlour. It was a spacious room next to the dressing room. It was furnished with a small sitting group of elegant chairs, a lady’s writing desk with inlaid mahogany in continental style that instantly caught my interest, a chest of drawers with a worryingly delicate porcelain Chinese vase in white and blue on top of it, and the floor was covered with a sky-blue and cream-coloured carpet with a floral pattern.
I instantly walked over to the lady’s writing desk, hoping to find correspondence letters, journals, and the like that might prove Lady Lydford’s degenerate activities. However, I was vastly disappointed, because it was all empty. And–after a quick search–so was the entire room. I even knocked and looked for hidden sections in the writing desk; however, I found nothing.
This is a fool’s errand, I thought and sank down on one of the chairs. I have searched everywhere!
It irked me to admit that I had been w
rong and that I had let my fantasy-filled imagination run away with me. I felt utterly stupid over the fact that I had even gone so far as to search my employer’s house, despite being intentionally told not to leave the library, not to mention that it was rather despicable to go through any person’s private property and belongings!
Idiot! I told myself angrily and snatched up the thick wax candle so swiftly it nearly blew out, before I briskly began to walk back to the library, regretting my actions bitterly. The only thing that is missing now from this ridiculous escapade is for Morgan to find me wandering around the manor like a daft simpleton, I thought and increased my pace further.
With a quick glance I looked down at my steel pocket watch to check how much time I had left before Morgan would return, but to add to my annoyance, I realised that I must have forgotten to wind it up. I scoffed in irritation and made a mental note to do it properly later when I was back at the inn.
James Lydford died of a sudden brain fever, followed by Lord Lydford’s death, no wonder Lady Lydford left the house with very little intention of coming back, I concluded quietly.
And to be perfectly fair, it is a depressing manor located in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a desolate swamp-like moor, why would anyone in their right minds want to live here? I continued.
In addition, she had just lost her husband and was probably beside herself in sorrow. Since she had claimed to believe that the house was haunted, and was clearly distraught, she gave the keys to the gamekeeper, just to be able to leave, and with the–in retrospect, quite sensible–instructions that no one was to wander around the house.
She was probably not even aware of the second legal will, which most likely will turn out to be false anyway!
It all made perfect and annoyingly logical sense, and it was not until I was halfway back to the library when a thought occurred to me from nowhere.
I stopped dead.
There is one place that I have not searched… I thought slowly and shivered involuntarily.
I could almost hear Letty whisper in her broad Devonshire accent next to my ear: ‘The late Catherine Lydford’s–the Black Widow’s–rooms, which are locked and have been kept exactly as they were when she died, in the western wing of the manor.’
I hesitated for a moment before I turned back.
Ghosts do not exist, I reminded myself.
The wax candle flickered slightly and cast long shadows on the walls along the corridor as I walked by.
*
~ Chapter Thirteen ~
It did not take me long to find what I presumed must be the late Lady Catherine Lydford’s old rooms, which were located in the west wing, not far from Lord and Lady Lydford’s bedchamber.
Slowly I inserted the key in the lock and turned it twice. The door opened without so much as a sound, and I peered in before I entered the room. Lady Catherine had had two rooms at her personal disposal, one large bedchamber with a four-poster bed, a tall full-figure looking glass with an elaborately carved frame opposite the wall with two large walnut wardrobes, and a smaller vanity table in the corner next to the closed shutters in front of the high windows and drawn, heavy French curtains.
The second adjoining room must have been her private parlour room, which was combined with a study and had more resemblance to Lord Lydford’s library than Lady Lydford’s distinctly feminine parlour room in soft pastel colours. The walls were covered with low bookcases around the room, and a large desk had been placed in front of the window, probably to make the best usage of the daylight during working hours. Both rooms were very, very cold, and it was clear that they had not been used for quite some time.
But for how long? I wondered and drew my fingertips lightly along the dark wooden surface of the writing desk and inspected the results. There was less dust than I would have imagined. Then again, although the rooms were not in use, it is not impossible to imagine that some of the diligent housemaids could not have resisted a little bit of compulsory dusting when no one was looking, and the occasional spring-cleaning of the rooms?
I decided to start searching the parlour room first, and it quickly became clear to me that I could easily spend hours going through the old, yellowing brittle letters and leather-bound journals that were neatly organised in boxes and along the shelves if I wanted to know everything about Lady Catherine Lydford’s business affairs and the state of the manor, because she had kept a well-organised diary for every single day for the better part of half a century. However, although I was sure that it might have been a fascinating read, it was not what I was after, and I rapidly searched the room with a nagging but distinct feeling that my time was running out.
A second wave of dizziness swept over me as I rose from one of the low bookcases, and I had to steady myself against the desk to prevent myself from falling over.
Great, I thought sardonically. On top of everything else, I am coming down with the influenza.
It was not a surprise, since the weather had been dreadful and I had spent most of the time since I arrived from London either being cold or wet or an unpleasant combination of both.
I better hurry up before I get any worse, I thought and realised that I was already feeling slightly feverish.
I sent a longing thought to the clean, cool sheets and the newly stuffed mattress back at my room at the inn before I continued my search of the final room. Quickly, but thoroughly, I looked through Lady Catherine’s vanity table, but found nothing of interest except a couple of stiff boar-hair brushes, a large amount of metal hair pins, and various beauty treatment products such as chalk powder, a bottle of rose water, a bar of Marseilles soap, and skin powder with a stern warning not to overuse it since it contained arsenic. I also noticed a familiar and quietly alluring dark glass bottle of Bell’s Laudanum drops, but it seemed to be unopened. With a slight frown I slowly returned the bottle to its original place. There was something about the vanity table that bothered me, but before I could figure it out, my thoughts were interrupted.
What was that? I wondered and stiffened, because I thought I had heard a noise.
Tilting my head slightly to one side, I listened. I held my breath and felt my pulse increase. However, everything was still and quiet except for the sound of the rain against the windows outside, and after a while I decided that it was only my imagination together with the odd incident with the black crow that had left my nerves somewhat unsettled.
I laughed–slightly nervously, I will admit–at myself.
Leaving the vanity table, I went over to the other side of the four-poster bed with the intention of looking through the bedside table. The floorboards creaked ominously under my weight as I walked by the wardrobes; however, when I passed the looking glass–that was when I noticed her.
In the dusky reflection of the mirror glass, I saw her standing directly behind me: the Black Widow, dressed in her dark mourning gown and with a heavy veil covering her face!
Impossible! I thought in disbelief and close to panic. I felt suddenly cold, and goosebumps formed along my neck and arms. Detached, it occurred to me I must finally have gone mad, and I took a short step backwards, not sure if I believed my own eyes.
At the same time I thought I heard a door open somewhere downstairs, a sudden icy wind blew through the room and the weak, flickering light of my wax candle went out. I was left in darkness, my breath caught in my throat, and suddenly it felt like the walls around me had closed in, and it was hard for me to breathe properly. The room swirled around me dangerously as I stumbled back blindly. Far away I thought I heard Morgan’s voice calling my name before I sank to the floor.
Oblivion closed in and I lost consciousness.
*
“Mr Davidson? Mr Davidson!” a voice that I recognised vaguely beckoned to me in the distance. “Cedric?”
Slowly I came back to reality, disoriented, and with a terrible headache.
“Where am I?” I asked weakly, because neither the low, slightly
cracked ceiling nor the rest of the small country-looking cottage room looked familiar to me. “What happened?”
“Thank God you are alive!” Morgan replied, relief flooding his voice. “I do not know what happened. I found you lying unconscious on the floor up at the Hall.”
“On the floor?” I repeated in confusion.
“Yes,” he said slowly and paused before he continued, “I found you in Lady Catherine Lydford’s old room…”
Suddenly a strong sensation of the gravest fear swept over me, and in desperation I tried to crawl backwards, up in the corner of the narrow bed, as if I could escape the horrible memories that came crashing back to me.
“The Black Widow!” I exclaimed. “She was there! I saw her!”
“Hush,” he said and grabbed my bare shoulders firmly with both of his hands. “You are very ill; you must not exhaust yourself.”
He pushed me down towards the bed, and all too weak, I felt my strength fade away.
“But I saw her,” I mumbled. “You do not understand…”
“There was no one there when I found you,” he said calmly and placed a damp cool cloth against my burning forehead. He added in a tone strained with worry, “I think that you have caught the brain fever and you are seriously ill. You must rest, Cedric.”
But if the Black Widow was not real… My feverish mind tried to sluggishly come up with a logical explanation.
I tried to lick my lips and swallow, but my throat was dry as blotting paper. I felt wretched, but I was pretty sure it was not because I was coming down with the influenza, as I had previously thought.
“It is not brain fever…” I managed to croak at last as I felt the final pieces of the puzzle slide into place.
“What did you say?” Morgan leaned closer to me. With a worried frown he removed the cloth and placed his hand on my forehead, which felt wonderfully cool and a little bit heavy.
The Mystery of the Black Widow ~ A Gay Victorian Romance and Erotic Novella Page 7