by Joan Smith
Crawling a little closer, I wondered that the woman said nothing, made no movement. Was she asleep, a poor wanderer seeking the scanty refuge of a bush by the wayside? I crawled a foot closer, and saw it was Bess. She was not asleep. A wet black mass sat like a poultice on her left temple, dripped nearly to her chin. I felt a rising tide of nausea, a convulsive shudder through my whole body, then the scene was gratefully blacked out. I let my head fall, closed my eyes, waited till the spell passed. When I could look at her again, I knew it was too late to think of help. They had done too thorough a job for that. She was rigid, her open eyes staring straight ahead.
Poor Bess. Poor sly, cunning Bess. Running had done no good. They had gone after her, caught her. And now they had flushed me out into the open. I was a simple one to deal with compared to Bess. They had probably followed me from the moment I left the Park. I looked over my shoulder, listening, waiting, already canvassing places to hide. I couldn’t stay here. They’d have to come to take Bess’s body away, bury it. In my mind, it was madame and Martin who would pursue me. Madame had sent me to Mr. Rupert, so he too was their ally. Of course he was, he was the supplier of the deadly curare.
There was the ominous clatter of an approaching carriage coming down the road from Widecombe. It halted, there on the road, just over the hedge. Some instinct for survival got me moved around behind the bush that supported Bess’s corpse. Through the leafless branches I could make out the form of Mr. Rupert. With an angry curse, he lifted Bess’s body over his shoulder, carried her off to his waiting carriage and proceeded down the road, still away from Widecombe, toward the Park, though he was not necessarily going there.
Madame, Martin and Mr. Rupert. Regina had tried to get the man a post at Palin Park, had suggested him for Bobby’s guardian after Rosalie was killed. What was the relationship between them? Rupert and Regina had the pebbles that might be diamonds. They had the curare, and they had the mourning ring. Rosalie had figured it out, and been killed for her efforts.
And Rosalie had been through the cartons in the attic, had taken the book about jewelry and found something interesting enough that she removed the page. She had discovered how April was killed. What else was important enough that they had killed her? My instincts were right; it was Regina all the time. She had killed Rosalie and somehow forced him into getting rid of the body for her. He had never killed April, that I knew, in an instinctive, irrational way. He would not keep her painting in his study, would not call her still “my wife” if he had killed her. Neither would he let Regina stay in his house a moment if he suspected the truth.
He didn’t know, and if I left, he might never know. Bobby! I felt a sudden, terrible urgency to get back to him. He knew, knew something that made him a danger to Regina. The sound of Mr. Rupert’s carriage had long since receded into the distance. I arose, turned around and retraced my steps to the Park. I must find Mr. Palin and tell him.
There were lights burning upstairs and down when I ran up the driveway to the house. I went in at the front door, into an empty hallway. I flung off my wet pardessus, my shoes, kicked them under a table. A glance into the mirror showed me the wretchedness of my condition. I wiped the grime from my hands on a clean corner of my skirt, brushed the hair from my eyes, and ran up to Mr. Palin’s room. My stockinged feet moved silently. His door was hanging open. The room was empty.
Mr. Palin, Bobby and Laver were all gone. I felt they were looking for me, though I could not know it. From the next room, there was the muffled sound of drawers opening, hurried footsteps. Regina and Martin readying themselves for a quick departure? I could not stop them by myself, and had no assurance the servants would take my word over theirs.
I could not face the outdoors again alone. I would secrete myself in some safe corner of the house till they were gone. Capturing them would not be impossible, once a general alarm was out. Not my own room, they might look there. The night was taking its toll on my nerves, and on my rationality.
A safe place, at that moment, seemed to be the attic. From the listening post there, I might even overhear the women discuss their plans. I went down the hall to the attic door, slid the bolt, climbed the dark stairs and went to crouch behind the concealing bulk of the trunk, where the planks were removed.
Some pale rays of light streaked up through the ceiling below. It was only one person who moved quickly in the room beneath me. Then she went to the doorway connecting the master’s and mistress’s chambers.
“Don’t forget the maps. Better get them now, Martin,” Regina’s voice said, in an urgent tone.
There was no answer, but I had a fair notion where the maps were. They were in the carton in the last room of the attic. I hadn’t time to get safely downstairs. While I was considering my chances of it, the attic door opened and a heavy, measured tread came up the stairs. It was agonizing to crouch, breath held till I nearly burst, while Martin strode swiftly back to the third room. She had a taper, which cast a brief splash of light against the wall as she went by. There was the sound of rifling in the carton, then she came back. I exhaled my breath softly, waiting for the welcome surge of relief after she had gone. Before this happened, there was a voice from below, from the stairway.
“We’ll need another trunk,” Regina called, but softly.
“You’ll have to help me,” Martin answered.
I was paralyzed with shock, while I waited to learn what trunk they had in mind. The one behind which I crouched was the most convenient. I prayed it would be full, and that they would know it was full, and choose another.
“Anything wrong with this one?” Martin asked, not two feet from me.
She lifted the lid. “Throw those things on the floor,” Regina ordered. It was hard to believe they could not hear the wild beating of my heart, that sounded like a drum in my own ears. “Might as well put the maps and papers in it,” Regina said calmly. There was a soft swish as the things were thrown into the empty trunk. Then the lid was closed, and it was all over. They saw me as they reached over together to pull the lid down. They didn’t say a word, but only exchanged a look.
“What are you doing here?” Martin asked, after an ominous pause.
I did not answer. I knew the authority rested with the younger woman. I would wait till she spoke, and cut my answers to appeal to her self-interest, if it was possible.
“I thought you had left. I went to your room to tell you Mr. Rupert would meet you, and you were gone,” Regina said. Shock robbed her of any other emotion.
“I was afraid,” I said. The trembling of my voice substantiated this claim.
“Of what?”
“What you said. That Mr. Palin would—do something. So I hid.”
“Simpleton!” Martin declared angrily.
In the dim candlelight, madame’s face was rigid, her eyes dark and calculating, as she weighed my story, and her options. When she glanced from me to the trunk, I knew she had taken her decision.
“You are too harsh, Martin,” she said. “Poor Jane is frightened. She wants to do the right thing, and we want to ensure she is perfectly safe. Actually, we are leaving too,” she said. “He is too violent for us to stay. We plan to go to the inn for the night, and come back later. Come with us, Jane.”
Martin glared. Fierce as she looked, she was not so frightening as madame, with a little smile of anticipation playing on her lips, as she regarded me fixedly.
“Yes, all right, Mrs. Palin,” I said, playing for time, pretending not to know what awaited me. I didn’t think they would wait till they got to the inn to do it, either. My hope was they would at least delay it till we were out of the attic. I didn’t want to die in a dark attic, and be stuffed into a trunk. “Can—can I help you take this trunk downstairs?” I asked.
“That would be lovely, dear,” Regina answered. Did I imagine the laugh lighting her eyes at this delightful suggestion, that the victim deliver her own coffin?
“Take an end then,” Martin commanded. I took up one end and walked to th
e top of the stairs. “You go first,” Martin said.
The trunk was not heavy. I had the sensation, at every step, that I would receive a sharp push from behind, to send me tumbling down the stairs, but upon consideration I did not think they wanted such a noisy death for me. I looked hopefully up and down the hall, hoping for a sight of Laver, or a butler or servant. The hall was still and empty. With Regina goading us from behind, we went quickly toward her room, deposited our burden on the floor.
“I’ll have to get my cloak, in my room,” I said, testing to see if I would be allowed to leave.
“Martin will get it. You’ll be safer here,” Regina said, kindly, but very firmly. I saw her thinking furiously behind her smile, saw her green eyes widen as she noticed the muddy hem of my skirt, my shoeless feet. Then she and Martin shared one of their silent, yet speaking glances.
“Close the door, Martin,” Regina said, in a voice smooth as silk. Martin closed the door, then took up a stand not six inches from my side.
“I see by your skirts you were out, Jane,” Regina went on. “Where did you go?”
“To the stable,” I said, “to see if I could get the gig and horse out without anyone noticing.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“No, one of the grooms was there, so I came back in before he saw me.”
“The yard isn’t that muddy,” Martin said.
“I think Martin is right. Better tell us the truth, Jane.” Regina said, still in a kindly way.
“I started to run down the driveway toward the main road, but it was dark and cold. I was afraid, so I came back.”
“Yes, that sounds more like sensible Jane,” Regina approved. She looked at me, like a hawk examining a dove before swooping. Her hands moved. On her finger the mourning ring sat, but she made no move to take it off. “I promised you a brooch earlier, my dear. In our haste and confusion, I neglected to give it to you.”
“No, I refused it. I have some money.”
“You shall have the brooch too,” Regina insisted. She went to her dresser to pick up the jeweled flower. I looked to the door, but Martin got herself into line between me and it, with a very purposeful set to her shoulders. “Here, pin it on,” Regina said, handing it to me.
I knew that somewhere on the brooch there was curare. The point of the pin, probably. How very simple it would be. A jostle against my hand as I took it from her, or my shoulder as I pinned it on. “Thank you.” I held my hand flat as a book, to prevent pricking.
“Well, put it on,” she urged.
I took a step toward the mirror, looking at the pin in my hand as I went. I could see a tinge of reddish-brown at the very tip of the clasp. Over my shoulder, I could see the two women watching me impatiently, almost greedily. I looked down to scan the dresser for a possible weapon. There was an array of bottles, brushes, pots, a hand mirror. Beyond the women was the door adjoining Mr. Palin’s room. I must be mad, I thought, the door is moving. The slit became wider, a set of fingertips appeared on it. As I turned back to the room, Regina took a forceful step toward me.
“Don’t take all night to pin on a simple brooch,” she said angrily, reaching out to “help” me.
Through the door, Mr. Palin stepped, as white as a ghost. He moved swiftly. One rapid glance around at the three of us, then he was suddenly there, in our midst, grabbing Regina’s wrists. She had the brooch. There was a little skirmish.
“Be careful! It’s got poison on it!” I tried to shout, but it was hardly a whisper. Martin started toward me, but even as she advanced and I backed away, Laver came in, to grab her around the waist.
Mr. Palin took the brooch and threw it onto the dresser top. His face was like one of madame’s African masks, inhumanly fierce.
“Robert, I can explain everything,” Regina said, her voice breathless, light and high.
“No need, madame. Rupert talked pretty freely after a little persuasion. You chose your cohort poorly.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I hardly know the man.”
“That’s odd, considering how well he knows you. The friendship goes all the way back to South America, if I am not mistaken.”
“I’ve never been in South America.”
“Rupert says otherwise. You were not only there, but there with him and his father. Rupert would sell his own mother for money, but you went too far, even for him. When I hinted he would stand in the dock for being an accessory to murder, he opened up rather quickly. I know it all now, Regina. April, Rosalie Thompson, the whole thing. I have not learned why your mother changed her name back to Martin, but that too will come out in the wash, I expect.”
“It wasn’t my fault, Robert. She made me do it.” Regina managed to get her hands free, but gave no sign of attack, except verbally. She adopted a supplicating posture, her hands clasped, as in prayer. There was a pained groan from Martin’s direction.
Robert looked at his wife in astonishment, beyond speech. It was Regina who spoke on. “She’s always pushed me, made me do things...”
“You rule the woman with an iron thumb,” he contradicted.
“No, this is too much, Gina,” Martin said, in low, sad syllables.
“Shut up, you fool!” Regina flared at her. There was a tear glittering in Martin’s eyes.
“It’s done, child. Rupert has told them. We’ll end up as I warned you, in the docks.”
“Shut up, I say!”
Martin obediently closed her lips. She was pale, her head shaking. Laver let her sit on the edge of the bed. “She’s right,” Mr. Palin said, turning back to watch Regina, ready to stop her if she moved.
She didn’t move much. Her hands began working together, as they had done earlier in my room. She stood silent a moment, looking, thinking, then she fell forward with a sudden gasp. As she fell, I noticed her right hand grasped the mourning ring, which she wore on her left. The next step was familiar by now. The convulsive shudder, the struggle for breath. While the rest of us stood watching, Martin arose to come forward and take the shuddering body in her arms, tenderly.
I don’t know when Robert took me in his arms. When I could stand no longer, he held me tightly against him, turning my face into his shoulder with his hand, to hide the gruesome sight from my eyes.
While I huddled gratefully there, Martin spoke. “Have her put in my room, Mr. Palin. I’ll look after her. I’m not going to try to escape.”
The two men lifted her still body. “No, put her on her own bed,” Martin decided then.
“I’d better call the police and doctor. Come along downstairs, Jane,” Mr. Palin said. Laver followed us from the room, but when he got outside, he stayed there in the hallway, in case Martin changed her mind.
“Where’s Bobby? Is he safe?” I asked, as we went down the staircase into the saloon. There was a fire burning in the paneled saloon, its leaping flames more than welcome, both their warmth and bright pattern. Wine too helped to control the trembling and horror.
“He’s with Mrs. Steyne, locked with her in her room. He’s fine. Where did you go? When I went to your room, you were gone. I was nearly mad, thinking they had got to you.”
“I ran. I just wanted to get away. I found Bess...”
“I know about Bess. I had the police following Mr. Rupert. He led them to her. When I left, I thought Regina had gone to Tor Bay, but after my conversation with Mr. Rupert, I realized my worst fears were true. I could not risk going to make investigations and leaving you and Bobby here, in case she came back. I didn’t think she’d actually leave, knowing who you were, and how much you knew, or suspected.”
“I still don’t know it all. Who is Mr. Rupert? And did you say Martin is Regina’s mother?”
“Yes. It was as a family that the Winstons went to Africa. The father was a geologist, who did not live long after they got there. Regina’s mother, Martin, got married again, to some ne’er-do-well called Brown.”
“J. P. Brown!” I exclaimed.
“That’s it. He had
a son—who came home to England under the name of Mr. Rupert. I’m not clear why he and Martin changed their names. Regina’s mother was a Miss Martin before marrying the first time.”
“That would be because of J.P. Brown’s illegal doings with diamonds. They must have been mixed up in it too, and got some false documents to escape. But that was in Brazil, not Africa.”
“Yes, Regina and her mother went to Brazil from Africa. I expect the reason it was so vehemently denied was to put them at a distance from the curare, if it should ever come out, and perhaps to cloud the Brown business as well. Regina’s own father was some kin to April. She came here as a friendly cousin, and we took her in. I suspected nothing when April died. Till Monsieur Arouet told us about the curare, and I remembered about Huck.... I could hardly believe such a monstrous plot. Cold-blooded murder, planned months in advance. First April, then Rosalie.”
“Why did you cover that up for her? How could you?”
“Don’t you know? It was because of Bobby.”
“Yes, I know he saw you throw her body over the parapet, but...”
“Me?” he asked, blinking. “No, no, they did it, Regina and her mother, Martin. Threw her over the parapet, after killing her with the curare. They told me Bobby pushed her. Oh, accidentally, of course, or so they were willing to say, if it became public knowledge. But to have the poor child accused of manslaughter at his age, and in his condition, you know. We believed at the time he was unstable. Having to go through an investigation would be enough to push him over the brink into insanity. I kept hoping he could have some sort of a normal life, if I could find a sane, steady person to watch over him. Rosalie was dead; there was no bringing her back, and I did not honestly feel she would resent my handling it as I did. She was buried with all proper Christian observances in a churchyard two counties away. I took her, told them a tale she was my sister, died while we were traveling together, and the thing was done with less suspicion than you might imagine. We shall bring her back now, if you like.”
“Yes, I would like to.”