Hannah was determined to find out more and could hardly wait until ten o’clock, the time that the mystery man was destined to call. She had decided to hide in the butler’s pantry after supper. Stephens would be asleep and Mrs. Hudson would retire soon after supper and a good quantity of the late lord’s brandy.
All she had to do was to wait!
Chapter Six
The screams from Daisy awoke the household from their slumber the following morning. Her day started at five with the cleaning of the grates and making up of the fires; including the one in the kitchen to heat the water.
She had found Hannah lying on the floor in a pool of darkening blood; a gash to the back of her head. Her stiff body and pale complexion told the fact that she had been dead for hours.
By the time Christabel had woken, Edward had been called and had taken charge of the situation. The police had been summoned and all the necessary activities had taken place well before she had dressed and stepped out of her room, unwittingly in search of her trusty maid who helped her to dress each morning.
Ruth rushed past her without stopping, her face white and eyes red.
"Ruth, what on Earth has happened?"
The young girl looked back blankly at her mistress and ran down the stairs without saying a word. Annoyed, Christabel followed suit, wondering what was going on and almost collided with Edward in the hallway.
"Edward, what is happening? What are you doing here?"
Escorting her into the library, he sat her down in one of the great leather chairs but remained standing. She could tell by his face that something serious had happened. "I'm afraid I have bad news for you Christabel.”
She braced herself, wondering what else could happen in one week. Surely nothing could be as bad as her current situation?
"I'm afraid Miss Simpson is dead." He remained silent to allow his words to sink in.
Christabel stared at him, almost laughing in her disbelief. "What do you mean dead? Where is she? Bring her to me now.”
Edward shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid I cannot. The body has already been taken away for examination by the police.”
Feeling the panic rise in her body, she stood to face Edward, hardly comprehending his words. "What do you mean? What has happened?"
"I'm afraid there is no good way of explaining this Christabel. It appears that Miss Simpson was in the kitchen late last night and slipped on the floor, overbalanced, and hit the back of her head against the corner of the table. There was nothing that could be done. When Daisy found her this morning she was already cold. The police have been called in, but I have already spoken with them and told them there is nothing suspicious and they seemed to agree with my conclusion. It's very sad for you, especially so suddenly after losing poor Charles, but then accidents do happen I'm afraid. It appears she was in her stocking feet- no shoes. That's the reason for her slipping on the stone floor.”
Christabel sat down as the horror of his words finally hit home. Her face turning grey as her mind raced. "I know why she was in the kitchen last night. Mrs. Hudson had received a letter from a man and was due to meet him last night at ten.”
Edward looked concerned "How do you know about this?"
“Hannah had seen the letter. She read it when Mrs. Hudson was asleep. It was signed with the initial 'A'. She was too close Edward, too close to finding something to do with Charles death. We were certain of it, and now they have killed her."
"Who has killed her, what are you talking about Christabel?"
"Mrs. Hudson and the man she was meeting. They killed Hannah. Oh Edward, I must tell the police." Christabel stood up as if to leave the room.
Taking her firmly by the hand, Edward sat the young woman back down in the chair. She was shaking visibly and her eyes were wide in fear. "Fetch the police, Edward. We need to tell them about Mrs. Hudson!"
Edward shook his head "You are getting hysterical Christabel; you need to calm down. Mrs. Hudson is downstairs in the kitchen and is beside herself with grief over the poor woman's death. It was she who sent for me-now would a killer do that?"
“Well, if it wasn't Mrs. Hudson, then what about the man who wrote the letter? Perhaps he killed her? Edward, we must tell the police!"
Smiling he patted her on the arm. "There, there, it's been a long week and no wonder you are confused. I will fetch Dr. Briggs and he can give you a sedative to calm you down and to help you sleep.”
"I'm not confused Edward and I do not need calming. I am perfectly lucid. I know what Hannah told me is true. She was murdered because she knew something, or saw something. Of that I'm certain!” With the last of her energy gone, Christabel broke down in a flood of tears. Edward was right, the week had been too much to bear and she felt exhausted.
"There, there, I will call for Dr. Briggs. Now don't you worry about a thing. I will let the police know and you can speak to them when you are feeling better.”
The doctor arrived within minutes, almost as if he had been waiting on standby for a call and Christabel was soon sedated and asleep in bed. When she opened her eyes a severe looking woman in a starched white apron was sitting by her side.
"Who are you?" She lifted her head drowsily.
"Now don't you worry Miss, I'm here to look after you. Now, I'll fetch you some soup and I want you to eat it all up like a good girl.”
Christabel slept and woke and in-between both had strange and frightening dreams. Everything around her seemed to be in such a dark and shadowy haze that she could no longer tell her dreams from reality, or even night from day. The faces of poor Charles and Hannah haunted her and would not let her lie easily. She had no concept of time, and wondered how long she had lain in bed. It could have been one day or one week for all she knew.
Each time she woke, the nurse was at her side, plying her with drinks or food only fit for invalids. Not that she could manage anything more substantial- she was unnaturally tired. Apparently she had been very ill, her heart and nerves affected by all of the stress and she needed to rest.
"Drink it all down dear, every last drop.”
The milk was warm and soothing and the nurse’s voice was faintly hypnotic. It was as she drank the last few drops of milk from the cup that Christabel noticed the white, grainy remains in the bottom. She had been too weak to notice or to think of it before but it was obvious, she was being drugged. No wonder she felt ill.
As the sedative took hold she tried to keep the thought in her mind before she drifted away into darkness.
When next she woke, Christabel was determined not to eat or drink anything that was put before her. It would be difficult as the nurse watched over her constantly, but she would have to think of a way.
As the nurse brought her breakfast on a tray, Christabel shivered and pretended to be cold. "Could you fetch me a robe? There will be one in the dressing room next door.”
The nurse looked surprised, but shrugged. She was being paid generously for very little work and didn't mind the request. "You eat and drink it all up whilst I go and see what I can find. I won't be long.”
A soon as the door closed behind her, Christabel jumped out of bed, determined to remove some of the food on her plate and empty her cup of liquid. There was no way of knowing how the sedative was being administered and she could take no chances. First, she poured her drink into a potted plant standing on the window sill and then quickly proceeded to empty half the contents of her plate into a drawer in her dressing table. No one would think to look there.
By the time the nurse returned she was sat back in bed and leaning her head against the pillow. "I've found your robe, now put it on like a good girl. And what about the rest of your breakfast Miss?"
Christabel wearily put her arms into the robe and yawned. "I don't think I can manage anything else.”
The nurse narrowed her eyes for a second. "What about your drink?"
Smiling, Christabel handed her the empty cup. "It's all gone.”
Looking somewhat relieved the nu
rse removed the tray and started to tuck Christabel beneath the covers.
"What day is it?
"It's Wednesday, Miss and it will be all day.”
Christabel closed her eyes feigning sleep. Wednesday! The funeral had been a week ago, which meant that she had been in bed for five whole days. Why on Earth should anyone want to keep her here for such a long time?
She almost shouted out with the realization. They were keeping her quiet; she knew too much and they were keeping her sedated. Suddenly, she feared for her life.
Chapter Seven
For the next few days Christabel went through the same charade. Feeling confident that the drug was only being administered via her drink and not in the food, she found various methods of disposing of the unwanted liquid. Luckily, there was always a jug of water on her bed side table that was unadulterated and she could drink of freely. It also became clear that this woman was just the hired help and not part of a more sinister conspiracy and she chatted freely to her for the brief time she was awake.
Christabel discovered that Edward was already contesting the will and that things did not look too good for young Mr Crawley. Her brother-in-law stopped by at the house once a day to see how the patient was fairing; but apart from that the house was empty except for the staff that had very little to do all day.
One morning she had woken late to hear Mr. Crawley’s voice in the hallway. He had called to see herm but was turned away with news that she was ill. By the time she had slipped out of bed and rushed to the window, he had gone. For the rest of the time Christabel pretended to sleep; monitoring the patterns of her unwitting jailer.
After her evening meal and once Christabel appeared to be sound asleep; the nurse would leave her bedside to sleep in the adjoining room. The woman slept well and Christabel could clearly hear her loud snoring through the wall. All night she lay awake thinking of a plan.
The next evening Christabel waited for the sound of snoring before quietly slipping from beneath the sheets and into the stillness of her room. For over a week she had been confined to bed and her legs felt unsteady and weak. She was suddenly cold and wrapped a dressing gown tightly around her before lighting a candle and cautiously opening the door. The house was quiet and nothing stirred. She had heard the clock chime eleven o’ clock sometime before, and by now the household would be asleep.
Tip-toeing down the stairs, the candle light cast long shadows over the banister and down into the hallway below. She was afraid, her heart beating fast, but she had to try and find out the truth, for the sake of Charles and Hannah if not for herself.
She had only entered Charles’ study once. It was lined with books and old prints and a large and imposing desk stood in the centre. Surely there would be something here; some clue to help her understand what was happening?
Setting down the candle, she opened one of the drawers in the desk and removed piles of paperwork. Flicking through it quickly, she noted that it was all business related and none of it seemed relevant. She opened another and another, until the contents of all the drawers had been removed. There was nothing, nothing except business papers and letters. Christabel didn’t even know what she was looking for, but thought that something might just catch her eye.
Sighing, she sat back in the chair. Her search had been fruitless. What next? Without an ally the task seemed impossible.
An object on the desk caught her eye. She hadn’t noticed it before; a carved wooden falcon looking proud and alert. It seemed to be part of the desk and she reached over to check. She expected the figure to be fixed, but as she grasped the carved head, the shape twisted in her hands, releasing the mechanism of a small drawer that opened with a sharp click.
A concealed drawer! Christabel slid the opening wider to see the contents. Inside there were a number of letters addressed to Charles, all hand delivered. She opened one of the envelopes carefully and read the contents by candlelight.
The writing was in a bold hand and the letter brief.
C. If I do not receive the money as requested by midday tomorrow you leave me no alternative. A.
She wasn’t going mad. Edward was wrong; Hannah had found out something and it had cost her life.
The letter was dated the day before Charles died. It had to be clue. She quickly read the rest; there were four letters in all, each one dated earlier than the first. It appeared that someone was trying to extort money out of Charles – but who and why? The brief letters gave no indication for a motive – the only clue in the missives was the letter ‘A’, the signature of the author. It must be the same man who had sent the letter to Mrs. Hudson, perhaps even the man that had killed poor Hannah.
The tears fell from her eyes and landed on the polished wooden surface of the table. She hadn’t yet grieved properly for her dear friend, yet crying wouldn’t help her now and she could weep later. Wiping her tears, Christabel put back the contents of the drawers, apart from the four letters. She would keep them as much needed evidence.
Once back safely in her room, Christabel decided on a plan. She needed to set a trap to catch a murderer; it would be a dangerous game but she had little, if no choice left open to her. Walking over to her dressing table, she found paper and pen and set to write a letter. She had to trust her heart; there was no other way and she prayed that she was right. If she was wrong, then she would probably end up like poor Hannah.
The next day she woke as usual to find the nurse sitting by her bed. It was the usual routine. In a moment, she would be going downstairs to fetch up her breakfast tray. Christabel would need to be quick.
As soon as the nurse had left the room, Christabel peered out of the door and waited until the woman was out of sight before venturing out. Ruth was kneeling on the bathroom floor cleaning out the tub and almost fell in as her mistress appeared at the door; it was as if she had seen a ghost.
“Oh madam, should you be out of bed? You’ve been ever so poorly!”
Christabel smiled, she could have hugged the girl. “Ruth, I’m feeling much better, but I want to surprise Edward – do would you be willing to do me a favor?”
The young girl looked troubled.
“It would be worth a sovereign?”
The girl’s eyes widened as she gazed on the coin. It was more money than she had ever seen. To Christabel it was worth a thousand times more.
“Well then madam, I’ll do what I can.”
Slipping out an envelope from her dressing gown pocket she handed the missive to the girl. “I want you to deliver this by hand. Do you think you can manage it?”
Ruth looked at the address and nodded. “I’m not sure when I can get away, madam. Are you sure you don’t want me to get a stamp and post it for you?”
Christabel shook her head, “No Ruth, you must deliver this by hand, do you understand?” The girl nodded and Christabel handed over the gold coin. “And remember, this is our secret, not a word to anyone, not even Mr Edward, do you understand Ruth?”
The girl nodded, her eyes transfixed on the coin in her hand.
She was back in bed just before the nurse arrived with her tray. Christabel sat up and looked brightly at the woman. “I’m feeling a lot better today nurse. I think I must be on the mend. Do you know if Edward will be calling today?”
The woman nodded. “He usually calls before midday and speaks with Mrs. Hudson, just to make sure the household is all right and then he asks me about how you are doing.”
“Do you think I would be able to see him today?”
The woman looked concerned. “Well, he asked me not to disturb you. Not until you are well again, but if you are feeling better then I think it would be all right. I will ask him to come up when he calls. Now drink your tea, before it goes cold.”
The morning dragged on and Christabel waited, worried that Edward would not call today, now that she had decided on a course of action. She had decided to tell Edward about the letters found in Charles desk. She hoped it would be the right decision.
Ju
st before midday, she heard the front door open. It was a while before she heard his tread on the stairs and she sat up in bed; anxious for the interview to be over. Edward stood at the foot of the bed as she told him about her findings and showed him the letters. His eyes were bright and he looked genuinely shocked, his face at first grey and ashen, then flushing with color.
“You have done well Christabel to find these but how? When? I thought you had been lying ill in bed this last week.”
She lied to him, stating that she had been restless in the night and had gone to sit in Charles’ study, to have some time to reflect and think about her dear departed husband. How she had reached for the carved eagle and how the secret drawer had opened. Christabel pointed out that the author of the letters was ‘A’, the same as the letter that poor Hannah had seen written to Mrs. Hudson.
Edward looked thoughtful. Something definitely had to be done. He would think of the best course of action and together they would get to the bottom of the mystery. He would go to the police immediately with her findings and see what they would do.
With a promise to return later that day, he bade her goodbye and hurried out of the room. The scene was set and she had played all her cards. Now all she had to do was to wait for the murderer to step forward.
Chapter Eight
As the morning turned into afternoon she began to panic. Christabel had expected a reply to her letter by now and perhaps, even a visit. All her plans hinged on Ruth delivering the letter. Maybe she had been rash and not thought things through properly; what if Ruth had forgotten or had been delayed by Mrs. Hudson? Or even worse, what if Ruth had given the letter to the housekeeper; what then?
And even if the letter was delivered, there was no guarantee that it would be read immediately or if the recipient would be at home. She would have to think of another plan; get out of the house as soon as possible. It was already getting dark and she couldn't wait until morning. Her life was in danger and she would have to leave the house that very night!
What the Outlaw Keeps Page 20