A Stab in the Dark

by Karen Chester

  “Well, I haven’t seen that in years,” Hetty said.

  The housekeeper pointed at the silver mug which Araminta had deposited on a nearby table.

  “It’s part of a set with one of the silver teapots in the Great Hall, the one with the squirrel handle,” Araminta said.

  “Ah, yes, I remember cleaning that. Oh, there was so much cleaning.” Hetty munched on a scone, balancing the fine bone china plate in a work-worn hand. “So, according to Ollie, Joel Taylor stole a mug and gave it to him, is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Mm.” Hetty swallowed her mouthful of food. Her tongue prodded at her cheeks. “I don’t understand, though. Why didn’t he steal the actual teapot? It’s worth a lot more.”

  “The teapot is in a locked cabinet in a public space. He couldn’t access it without the risk of attracting attention.”

  “I see. So he stole the mug from the butler’s pantry? Devious little ferret. When did he do that?”

  “It must have been on one of the occasions he visited here.” Araminta glanced over at her aunt and uncle. They were sitting side by side, sipping their tea, behaving as if nothing unusual had happened. But they must have heard the conversation. “Aunt Edwina? Uncle George? What do you think? Could he have done it then?”

  Lord Winthrop drummed his fingers on the armrest of the sofa. “I certainly didn’t allow him to wander around on his own. I escorted him to the door myself.”

  “As did I,” Lady Winthrop said, a steely glint in her eye. “I made sure that rascal wasn’t in the house a moment longer than necessary.”

  “So, he must have returned another time and sneaked in,” Araminta said.

  Hetty scowled. “He broke in, then.”

  “Well, maybe he didn’t force his way in. We don’t usually keep all the doors locked, do we? He could’ve slipped in during the day when no one noticed.”

  Hetty made a harrumphing sound. “We’ve been busy for weeks getting the Hall ready. Not just us, we’ve had the cleaners in, too. People coming and going all day long. He must’ve been bold as brass to waltz in and take that mug from right under our noses.”

  “From what I’ve heard, bold might as well have been his middle name,” Araminta said, after taking a sip of tea. “He conned Ollie out of his money, then pretended to make amends while conning him even further. Not to mention his treatment of poor Cherise.”

  “Cherise? Oh, my stars.” Hetty set down her cup and saucer. “Was he the lummox that girl was crying over?”

  “The very same.” Araminta grimaced. “Not only did he take advantage of her infatuation, he was also cheating on her. She told me as much.”

  “And she was still mooning over him? I can’t understand.”

  “That’s how people like Joel operate. They prey on the vulnerable. They use their charms to manipulate them into doing things they wouldn’t normally do. And then, when they’ve got what they’ve wanted, they move on, uncaring of the havoc they’ve wreaked.”

  “Goodness.” Lady Winthrop raised her eyebrows. “I thought he was just an opportunist, but you make him sound quite malevolent.”

  “I think she has the measure of him.” Lord Winthrop looked at Araminta. “Whatever he came looking for here, it wasn’t heritage or birthright or kinship. It was something else altogether.”

  Lady Winthrop set down her teacup. “I agree with Hetty, though. These past few weeks the Hall has been buzzing with activity. We’ve had plenty of people about, but I know each and every one of them, and they were all aware of security. They, or I, would’ve noticed if a stranger was wandering around, especially below stairs. That’s where a lot of the stuff from upstairs ended up. Isn’t that right, Isla? You and Hetty did most of that, I confess.” She glanced around her. “Isla? Oh, that’s right. She went to the lavatory.”

  “She’s been gone a while,” Araminta observed.

  “Oh, dear.” Lady Winthrop sighed. “I do hope her indigestion isn’t playing up again. Araminta, darling, be a dear and go check on her.”

  “Oh, I can go,” Hetty said, brushing a crumb from her mouth.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll see to it.” Araminta rose to her feet. If Isla was feeling out of sorts, the forthright housekeeper might not be what she needed.

  Outside the drawing room, the hall was cool and dim. The wind was blowing hard now, adding to the unsettled atmosphere. Araminta’s shoes clump-clumped on the tiled floor as she walked to the nearest bathroom.

  “Isla?” Araminta tapped on the door. Receiving no answer, she eased the door open and poked her head in. The bathroom was empty.

  This was where she’d found Isla crying yesterday. She withdrew her head and stood for a while, pondering her next move. A muffled noise caught her attention. It sounded like a moan. Was it just the wind howling down the chimneys as it sometimes did? There it was again. A human or the elements?

  Following where she thought the sound had come from, she walked down the hallway. Another moan. Louder, more distinct. She stopped in her tracks. She opened the door to the library and walked in.

  16. Piecing the Jigsaw

  THE BOOKSHELF TO THE hidden staircase was open. Araminta’s heart skipped a beat. Was this another...?

  Someone moaned and bit off a sob.

  Araminta rushed forward. “Isla!”

  The woman cowered at the foot of the stairs, exactly where Joel’s body had lain. Her dark hair fell loose over her face as she sobbed her heart out, her body convulsing with each shuddering lament.

  “Oh, my God!” Araminta dropped to her knees next to the wailing woman. “Isla! What’s happened? Are you hurt? Who did this to you?”

  The writhing stopped. Very slowly, Isla brushed away a strand of hair with a shaking hand and blinked at Araminta, her eyes wet and bruised.

  “I...” She trembled violently, her teeth clicking.

  “Was it Ollie? Did he push you down the stairs?” Araminta glanced upwards. The stairwell was pitch black. Anyone could be lurking up there.

  Still sniffling, Isla began to scramble to her feet.

  “You’re not hurt? Not badly, anyway? Isla, please say something.” Araminta reached out, wanting to assist, but the secretary pulled away.

  “I don’t need your help,” Isla muttered, stumbling backwards.

  Araminta blinked at her. This had to be the first time Isla had ever been remotely blunt to her. “I’m sorry. But you don’t look too well.”

  “Of course I don’t feel well. How can I after...after what’s happened?”

  “Come back to the drawing room. Have some tea and scones.”

  “Tea and scones? You think that will fix it?”

  “Um, well, it can’t hurt,” Araminta replied, feeling out of her depth. Was Isla having a complete breakdown? Should she go for help? But how could she leave the poor woman in this state?

  Isla clenched her small, thin hands. “Oh, you really don’t know anything, do you? How could you, with your looks and your connections and your perfect life. You don’t have a clue what it’s like to be me. To suffer. To yearn for what you can’t have.”

  Suffering. Yearning. Araminta knew all about that, but now wasn’t the time to argue the point. For once Isla was opening up, and Araminta needed to pay attention to her.

  She took a step back, hoping to calm the distraught woman. “I’m listening,” she murmured.

  Isla swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, threw Araminta an angry look. “Are you? When was the last time anyone really listened to me? Or even noticed me?”

  Araminta bit her lip. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I suppose we take you for granted because you’re so quiet and never make a fuss.”

  Clamping her jaw, Isla ground her teeth. “Yes, I am reserved and reliable, and I never complain. Always been like that. It’s just my nature. But it doesn’t mean I don’t mind. It doesn’t mean I don’t want more. It doesn’t mean I don’t dream about—about the same things every woman dreams about, like—like lo
ve. Being in love and having someone care about me.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and she twisted the hem of her cardigan, her breast heaving.

  The agony in her voice struck a chord in Araminta. And with it, an inspired guess. “Someone like Joel?” she asked softly.

  Isla breathed out a long exhale. Her stricken expression was answer enough.

  “So, you were Joel’s secret lover,” Araminta continued. “You were the woman in his house, drinking wine together when Cherise turned up.”

  Isla’s eyes widened. “Cherise? She knew about me?”

  “Oh, not you exactly, but she realised Joel was seeing someone else.” Araminta paused, weighing up Isla’s reaction. “You knew that Joel was seeing Cherise?”

  Isla nodded unhappily. “But he said it was nothing. It wasn’t special like...like us. He was just being kind to her.”

  “And you believed him, or you wanted to believe him, because you were madly in love with him.”

  “You have no idea what it was like...” Isla breathed deeply, wrapping the mangled end of her cardigan around her fist. “Imagine if—if you’d been living in a cave for weeks and months, and then one day you stumble out and feel the sun on your face. That’s how he made me feel. And it didn’t matter that he was with another woman. Cherise was too fragile to cope with a sudden break up, he said. He had to let her down slowly even if it meant still seeing her. I understood. It didn’t matter as long as he came back to me. I didn’t know what life was until he showed me. I would’ve done anything for him.”

  “Including stealing a silver mug?”

  Isla swallowed. “He said he wanted something to remind him of his birth right.”

  “So, you knew about his claims? And Lord Winthrop’s response?”

  Isla nodded. “I believed Joel, and I empathised with him. We both grew up without knowing who our fathers were. I thought no one would miss one little silver mug.”

  “And odds are, no one would have. Except that Joel gave the mug to Ollie, who tried to sell it, and word got around. The day of the murder you witnessed Ollie arguing with someone. You told me you couldn’t see who the other person was, but I’m guessing it was Joel. You heard them and realised what Joel had done. Did that upset you?”

  “Of course it did!” Isla burst out. Her gnawing fingers had made a hole in her cardigan. A draught of cold air stirred her tousled hair. “It wasn’t easy taking that mug. Your aunt and uncle have treated me well, even though they take about as much notice of the wallpaper as they do me. I risked a lot to get that mug. It was meant to be a keepsake, something precious. And then to learn that he’d palmed it off to Ollie, of all people! I was terribly upset.”

  Araminta rubbed the goose bumps on her forearms. The stairwell was dark and cold, but that wasn’t why she felt chilly.

  Araminta’s late husband had never discussed the details of his work, but he’d once told her what it felt like the moment he knew who the culprit was. It was, Ian had said, as if you were piecing a jigsaw together without a picture to guide you, and when you finally pieced it altogether, it turned out to be one of those hidden image stereograms where you had to squint to make out the final image. Araminta had never fully understood him, until now.

  She saw the truth staring right at her. Suddenly, everything made sense. She knew who had killed Joel. But she didn’t understand why. “Isla—"

  The door to the library opened, the sound of footsteps and voices spilling out.

  “Araminta, are you in here?” Lord Winthrop called out.

  “Where are you, dear?” Lady Winthrop added.

  “Ooh, what’s that?” Hetty spoke. “The door to the staircase is open.”

  “Oh, no,” Lady Winthrop said.

  Lord Winthrop huffed. “What the devil’s going on?”

  The footsteps grew louder. Araminta sighed. The last thing she needed just when she was getting to the crux of the murder was a siege of well-meaning people.

  “Isla—”

  She turned back to the stairs, but Isla had vanished.

  ARAMINTA HELD UP HER hand as three anxious faces peered through the doorway. Lord Winthrop wielded a walking cane, Hetty had her hands clamped around a large candlestick, and even Lady Winthrop was brandishing an umbrella.

  “No need for weapons,” Araminta exclaimed as the armed trio crowded closer. “I don’t have time to explain, but I need to talk with Isla in private. Please don’t follow me.”

  Lady Winthrop lowered her umbrella. “Where is she?”

  “She fled upstairs.”

  “But you’re both all right?” Lord Winthrop asked.

  “Yes,” Araminta replied. Isla was definitely not all right, but that wasn’t something her uncle could fix. Not wanting to face any further questions, she flicked on the lights to the stairs, turned once more, and began to race up the staircase.

  As she ascended, her aunt called after her, “Do be careful, dear.”

  She reached the top of the stairs. The door—disguised as part of the wooden wall panel—opened onto a wide corridor on the first floor. Her uncle’s study was two doors down to the left, her aunt’s room further on. Many of the other rooms nearby hadn’t been used for decades. It would take her some time to go through each one.

  Then a muffled banging noise from further down the corridor caught her attention. Following the source, she reached the door to the servants’ stairs. It hung open, a draught making it rattle. Araminta entered the landing and peered up and down the stairwell.

  Only this morning she and her uncle had used these stairs. Had Isla come this way? Or maybe Ollie? The thought of running into the ornery gardener made her hesitate. Though he was handcuffed, the man was wild and desperate, and capable of anything. But what if Isla bumped into him? She had to find the woman. But which way should she go, up or down?

  The dull gleam of something small on one of the stairs leading up caught her attention. It was a hairclip, the type that Isla used. Taking it as a sign, Araminta began to climb up and up.

  By the time she reached the top of the stairs her lungs were bursting. She paused a few seconds to catch her breath before pushing open the door to the attic floor. She forged ahead, checking each of the box rooms as she passed. There was no sign of Isla.

  The wind rattled grime-encrusted windows and blew through cracks. Something scuttled in the skirting board, probably an army of mice. In the cramped surrounds, her breathing sounded loud and harsh, her anxiety amplifying every heartbeat.

  “Isla,” she called out, her nerves getting the better of her. “Where are you?”

  From ahead, where the corridor took a sharp left, came a soft gasp. Araminta scooted around the corner and stopped short when she saw Isla ahead of her slumped against the roughly plastered wall.

  “There you are!” Araminta inched forward cautiously. “We’re all worried about you.”

  Isla looked up, her face a mess of tears and mucus. “I—I expect you think I’m silly to cry over Joel.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “I suppose I am silly. I loved Joel with all my heart, but—but he didn’t care. About the mug. He didn’t care I was upset. He laughed in my face. And then—and then—” She dashed a hand across her eyes and gulped for air.

  “Yes?” Araminta prompted.

  “He threatened to tell the Winthrops what I’d done.” Isla drew in a shuddering breath. “Oh, he didn’t come straight out with it. He sort of hinted at it, in that seductive way of his, saying how disappointed Lady Winthrop would be if she found out I’d stolen the family silver.”

  “How beastly of him.”

  “But there’s more,” Isla said dully. “After the tour, he called me, told me to meet him in the library. When I got there, he said—he said he wanted me to steal something else for him. To prove to him I was on his side.”

  “Something else? The silver dagger?”

  Isla wrapped her arms around herself. “I realised what a fool I’d been. I’d risked everything for him—my
job, my home, my place here at the Hall. Oh, I know it’s not much, but it was everything I had, and now he was threatening to take it away from me. And what would he have me do next? I’d be his puppet, forever afraid, doing his bidding until he got bored with me. I couldn’t bear the thought. I had to put a stop to it! I had to!”

  Without warning Isla spun around and clattered away. At the end of the passageway was the door that led to the rooftop. She flung it open. A squall of wind gusted in, causing her to pause, bracing herself for a second. And then she was gone.

  ARAMINTA RAN FORWARD, calling after Isla, but as soon as she stepped out onto the roof, the wind snatched her voice away.

  This morning, when she’d climbed up here with her uncle, the air had been still and warm. Now, it felt like she’d entered a tempest. Dark skies roiled overhead, the gale churning the heavy clouds into clots of charcoal grey. The wind tore at her hair, and thunder growled in the nearby distance.

  Isla was darting over the rooftop, negotiating the cluttered terrain with surprising speed. Either she was familiar with the area, or she didn’t care. She soon disappeared around a section of roof.

  Araminta picked her way forward. Anxious to catch up, she missed her footing and found herself skidding on a piece of sloping metal. Forced to grab hold of a chimney to steady herself, rough brick bit into her palms. She kicked off her shoes, then, barefoot, she inched around the bulk of the chimney.

  Isla stood by the parapet at the edge of the building, gazing northwards. With the wind whipping her hair into a halo of inky strands and her cardigan flapping behind her, Isla had the look of a harpy, so different to the meek, self-effacing secretary that Araminta hesitated, unsure of herself. What could she say to a woman teetering on the brink of physical and mental collapse?

  Then, Isla spoke. “I can see my cottage from here,” she said. “Well, strictly speaking it’s not my cottage, since it belongs to Lord Winthrop, but it feels like home. You know, until I got this job, I never knew what it was like to have a home, a permanent home. Your aunt and uncle, they’ve been good to me, but—but now I’ve gone and ruined it all...”