A Cunning Death

by Blythe Baker

  “Yes, I quite enjoy the quiet,” Edward responded, placing a special emphasis on the word ‘quiet.’

  Vivian didn’t seem to notice this. She giggled loudly, making me jump, and unwound herself from her brother to move up next to Edward, taking Catherine’s place. She wore a cream chiffon tea dress that floated delicately around her calves and her shoulders were wrapped in a lacelike knitted matching sweater that fell well below her hips. With every step along the muddy path, I worried mud would kick up onto her light-colored outfit.

  Catherine shifted back as Vivian elbowed her way closer to Edward, falling into step with Charles, who did not seem at all displeased by the shift in walking partners. He studied Catherine’s profile in earnest before picking up the conversation again. “I, myself, come to the countryside for the company,” he said with a wink.

  Catherine nodded at him politely, her lips pulling back into the barest definition of a smile. “Yes, we have a good group this weekend.”

  It was clear from where I was standing that the Barry siblings had found themselves rather taken with the respective Beckingham siblings. However, the Ashton siblings did not seem to reciprocate these feelings. Even though Vivian’s arm was wound around Edward’s elbow, he was holding it as far away from his side as possible, as though he would prefer to detach it from his body altogether rather than risk accidentally brushing against Vivian’s skin. And Charles couldn’t take his eyes away from Catherine, but she had her sights set further up the trail and paid him little to no mind.

  “I’m so pleased Rose could be here to meet you all,” Catherine said suddenly, looking over her shoulder and gesturing for me to step forward. I did my best to resist and maintain my post at the back of the pack, but Catherine insisted. She took a step away from Charles to allow me to step forward between them, which left Charles looking visibly disheartened.

  “It has been such a long time since I’ve been to Ridgewick,” I said. “I’m glad to be back.”

  “Were you away?” Charles asked.

  “In India,” I said.

  Charles’ eyebrows shot up. “You’ve travelled a long way for a weekend in the country. What brought you back?”

  I could feel everyone around me, aside from Charles, tense at his question. Vivian saved me from having to answer. She came to a dead stop in the middle of the path and turned on her brother. “Truly, it is shocking how little you concern yourself with the lives and affairs of our neighbors,” she scolded.

  This served only to confuse Charles further as he glanced from me to his sister and back again in search of some explanation. Vivian rolled her eyes.

  “Her parents were murdered, brother. She has not come home for a weekend holiday, but because of the most horrific kind of trauma. I’m sure everyone would prefer you didn’t mention the topic again.”

  Charles’ cheeks went red and he turned to me, clearly prepared to make a grand apology that would draw the attention of the entire party and embarrass him and myself further. So, before he could open his mouth, I waved him away.

  “I fear I did a poor job of keeping up with the London gossip while I was away, so I cannot fault you for being out of the loop, Charles,” I said with a smile, hoping this would be the end of it.

  Throughout the entire fiasco, Charles was so focused on the offense he may have caused me that Catherine was able to slip away unnoticed and take up position next to Mr. Matcham.

  “You are too kind, Miss Beckingham,” Charles said. “All of the Beckingham women are angels, both in demeanor and beauty.”

  Charles turned to where, moments before, Catherine had been standing, and his face fell when he saw her missing. He spun quickly and located her further up the trail with Mr. Matcham. His polite smile took a sharp turn downward, his eyebrows pulling together.

  “I appreciate your understanding,” he continued, less warmly than before. “Do excuse me.”

  With that, he walked briskly down the path in an attempt to catch up to Catherine and Mr. Matcham.

  “Forgive my brother,” Vivian said, shaking her head and pulling a reluctant Edward along with her. “He isn’t one for social gossip. If it doesn’t involve stocks or interest, he doesn’t follow it.”

  I assured her I was not offended in the least, and it was true. The mention of the explosion in Simla had begun to have a less paralyzing affect on my thoughts. In the direct aftermath of the attack, I could hardly think about it without feeling the smoke in my lungs and seeing Rose’s blood splattered on the leather. Now, however, I could discuss it without the trauma of the day consuming me.

  I also wasn’t offended because my thoughts were devoted elsewhere. The Chess Master had warned me there would be a murder, but I was not given any clue as to the motive or the method. All of my energy was focused on trying to solve the crime before it occurred. Seeing Charles pine for Catherine made me think the motive could be unrequited love. Clearly, Catherine wanted little to do with the man, and clearly Charles would not accept rejection without a fight. Could his spurned feelings lead him to murder? Was my cousin in mortal danger?

  How would the Chess Master know of Charles’ feelings, though? It would make more sense for the murder to be committed because of money or a personal vendetta, something that could be predicted long before it happened. Unrequited love would be a crime of passion, something no one could predict until the moment it happened. Was the Chess Master sophisticated enough to predict something as fickle as that?

  The path moved to the east and then wrapped around the back of the property. Through a thick grove of trees, I was able to make out tiny scraps of the manicured garden that sat behind the house. Full-blossomed flowers filled the air with a fresh scent. I spotted thick flowering bushes along the wrought iron gate, primroses and stalks of lavender around a small circular pond in the center of the yard, and too many other flowers to count. It was a beautiful sight.

  The path took a winding left turn, blocking the house from my view, and I used it as an opportunity to refocus on the guests in front of me. I couldn’t afford to be distracted by wild accusations and theories. For all I knew, the murderer could be a stranger the Chess Master hired to sneak in during the night and kill someone at random, and not someone from the group at all. However, I could not control that. What I could do was try my utmost to ensure the killer was not one of Lord and Lady Ashton’s guests, and to do that, I had to remain focused.

  “Oh, Rose dear, we are not done catching up.” Mrs. Worthing appeared suddenly at my side. I hadn’t even seen her approach, so I jumped violently. She laughed. “You are jumpy, dear. Though, I suppose, who can blame you? After everything that happened aboard the ship, you are right to be on edge.”

  “We ought not bring up that dreadful voyage,” Mr. Worthing said, twisting his mustache between his fingers and studying a red-bellied bird in a nearby tree.

  Mrs. Worthing cast her husband a withering look that he didn’t notice and then turned her attention back to me. “Mr. Worthing doesn’t like when I share the details of what happened on our voyage from India, but honestly, what does he expect me to talk about? It isn’t every day you share such close quarters with a murderer.”

  I nearly laughed at her words. In most company, that would have been a perfectly accurate thing to say. It had not been my experience, however. It seemed as though murderers surrounded me wherever I went. And if the murderer the Chess Master warned me about was a member of the party, Mrs. Worthing had found herself close to one yet again.

  “It’s just that there are so many more cheerful things to discuss,” Mr. Worthing said.

  “You are right as ever, dear,” Mrs. Worthing said, rolling her eyes playfully at me and sighing at her husband. “What have you done since we saw you last, Rose?”

  “Well, I already told you about moving into my own home,” I said.

  “It has been weeks. Surely, you’ve been busy with other things, as well,” she prodded.

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. I’ve b
een occupied with preparing my home and organizing my staff.”

  I had been quite busy with other things, of course, but nothing I wished to share with Mrs. Worthing. My insistence that I hadn’t done anything noteworthy did not seem to convince Mrs. Worthing. She peppered me with questions about every restaurant I’d eaten at, every person I’d met, every building I’d stepped foot in. I answered her questions as succinctly as possible, avoiding mentioning The Chesney Ballroom and anyone I’d met who had somehow been involved in the murder of Frederick Grossmith.

  “I’m sorry my stories aren’t more interesting,” I said, hoping to wrap up the conversation.

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Worthing said. “You are young and single. Even your most mundane stories are the hottest gossip to the ears of a woman who has been married as long as I have.”

  Mr. Worthing startled at this, rousing out of his bird watching stupor. “We went out dancing just two weeks ago.”

  “You’re right, dear,” Mrs. Worthing said, running a hand down her husband’s arm. “Our life is fascinating.”

  The two of them began to bicker as I mentally slipped away, taking notice of Dr. Shaw at the front of the group. He had been quite intrigued by Lord and Lady Ashton’s tour at the start, but he seemed to be falling back, distancing himself. He was now in the middle of the group near Edward and Vivian, though I couldn’t tell whether he was talking with them. Hoping to put some distance of my own between me and the Worthings, I quickened my pace.

  Vivian was telling Edward about the lovely summer weather and how Somerset was the best place to experience it.

  “It’s so much more peaceful here than in the city. You can enjoy the days without being bombarded by noise and crowds. Out here, you can truly be alone,” she said, tightening her grip on Edward’s arm.

  Speaking of being alone, it looked as though Edward wanted nothing more than to be alone at that moment. His gaze had been fixed firmly ahead, but when he saw Dr. Shaw moving towards him, he jumped at the chance to pair him off with the clingy Vivian.

  “Vivian, have you met Dr. Shaw?” Edward asked. “Very interesting man.”

  Dr. Shaw jumped as though he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone on the trail, and then introduced himself to Vivian Barry.

  Vivian smiled uninterestedly. Just as Edward opened his mouth, probably so he could try to spark a conversation between Miss Barry and the doctor, Dr. Shaw bowed deeply and began backing away.

  “I’m afraid I must cut the walk short and get back to the Hall. Lady Harwood has been alone for quite some time, and she can become anxious if I venture too far away. Please forgive my sudden exit,” he said.

  Everyone waved him farewell, Vivian smiling broadly at him, much more friendly than she had been only a moment before. As soon as the doctor was out of earshot, she turned to Edward. “He is rather tied to the old woman, isn’t he?”

  “He’s her personal physician,” Edward said coldly.

  “You’d think he was her servant the way he caters to her,” she said.

  I turned to see Dr. Shaw nearly running up the trail towards the house and wondered whether Vivian hadn’t touched on something. The old woman seemed to depend on him for everything. Perhaps he was growing tired of her demands and the constraints they placed on his own life. Perhaps he was unhappy enough to kill the old woman. The easier option, of course, would be to quit, but that could tarnish his reputation. As a personal physician, Dr. Shaw would want to be able to illustrate his utter devotion to his patients. And abandoning a sickly old woman near the end of her life would hardly look good. If Lady Harwood were to die, however, no one would find it suspicious. Especially if the method of murder was a subtle one.

  The Beckinghams and their guests had continued on without me, everyone wrapped up in their own conversations—or, where Edward was concerned, consumed with thoughts of how to extract himself from his—and I walked down the path slowly, in no hurry to catch up to the party. I’d been at Ridgewick for less than an hour, and already I felt exhausted. Perhaps I should have taken Achilles Prideaux’s advice and stayed away from the Chess Master’s game. Of course, it was far too late for that. So, with a sigh, I quickened my pace and rejoined the Worthings, doing my best to answer Mrs. Worthing’s incessant questions and keep one ear on the conversations happening around me.

  7

  Once the trail wrapped back around to the front of the estate, I wasted no time breaking away from the ever-chatty Mrs. Worthing and sneaking away to my room for the weekend, both to unpack and relax. Trying to maintain a façade of normalcy while also suspecting everyone around me of being a murderer or of being murdered very soon was incredibly exhausting.

  My room was on an upper floor, just at the top of a large wooden staircase, and in the direct center of a long hallway of guest bedrooms. My room looked perfectly in order—the pillow had been recently fluffed and the drapes were drawn open—but there was a lingering scent of dust, verifying my suspicion that the Beckinghams did not visit the house very often.

  A maid had already unpacked my small suitcase, arranging my shoes near each of the dresses that might pair well with them over the weekend. Looking at the clothing that hung waiting for me, I thought not for the first time that shallow concerns such as what clothes I would be wearing seemed entirely insignificant in the face of someone losing their life. But still, murder or not, I had to carry on as always. Life didn’t stop moving for anyone.

  When I made it back downstairs, everyone was in the sitting room in anticipation of dinner beginning soon. A servant with snow white hair and a matching mustache was making drinks. I requested a martini and took the seat on the couch next to Lady Ashton.

  “The estate is so fascinating,” Dr. Shaw said as he positioned Lady Harwood’s wheelchair next to the sofa. “I cannot wait to finish the second half of the tour.”

  “Oh, it is much like the first half,” Lord Ashton said with a laugh.

  “Except, you did miss the walk through of the south garden,” Lady Ashton said. “I can show it to you after dinner.”

  “I would enjoy that,” Dr. Shaw said.

  “I need my medicine after dinner,” Lady Harwood piped up, holding a shaking hand into the air to draw the doctor’s attention.

  “Of course, Lady Harwood. I will see the garden once I have administered your medication,” he said gently. This seemed enough to calm the old woman’s worries, and she sunk back into her wheelchair.

  Lady Ashton smiled awkwardly and continued. “The gardens are my favorite part of the entire property. They are becoming harder and harder to upkeep, but it is so worth it.”

  Lord Ashton barked out a laugh. “Hardly. The expense of everything seems to rise by the hour. We’ve had three different gardeners within the year, each expecting higher wages than the last. It’s outrageous.”

  “It can be expensive, but I just can’t fathom leaving the gardens to nature,” Lady Ashton said. “It would be such a shame.”

  “Prices in the area do seem much higher than they once were,” Dr. Shaw agreed. “Many large estates that have been with the same families for generations are being broken up. It seems to be a hard time for everyone.”

  Charles Barry, who had been nodding along throughout the whole conversation, finally voiced his agreement. “The countryside has been noticeably less occupied this summer than in previous years.”

  Mr. Matcham, from where he stood next to the fireplace, let out a humph of disagreement. “If people are losing their family estates, I have to think that is more of a personal fault than anything to do with the economy.”

  Everyone in the room, aside from Catherine who was standing on the opposite side of the fireplace, her eyes fixed on Mr. Matcham, seemed uncomfortable with his words, yet he continued.

  “I don’t like to speak publicly about my personal accounts and affairs, but my finances have never looked better. It is all about knowing how to adapt and when to strike,” he said, seeming to have no issue discussing his personal accounts
in the slightest.

  The room went silent, no one quite sure how to smooth away the awkwardness. Mr. Matcham was the only person who didn’t seem to notice. He smiled at Catherine, and though she smiled back, I could tell it was slightly strained. Lord Ashton had gone red-faced and I could only imagine the flurry of unspoken words swirling around inside of him. With the Beckingham’s own financial situation recently becoming less prosperous than it once was, I suspected my uncle took a particularly dim view of Mr. Matcham’s careless attitude. Thankfully, before the silence could stretch on too long, Lady Ashton rose to her feet and clapped her hands twice.

  “It is just about time for dinner, so we can all move to the dining room. We’re very informal here, so you must feel free to seat yourselves however you like.”

  The table was set with beautiful gold-edged china, crystal drinking glasses, and freshly shined silver. I moved to a chair near the end of the table just as Mr. Matcham pulled out the chair next to it. Before I could sit down, however, Lady Ashton called to me.

  “I’d love if you could sit next to me, Rose,” Lady Ashton said with a calm smile. When I was standing next to her, she leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Best to avoid Mr. Matcham.”

  I wanted to ask why, but she was already engaging Vivian Barry in conversation about the origins of the dishware.

  Group conversation was spurned in favor of several small conversations amongst the guests. Catherine was torn between the men on either side of her, Mr. Matcham and Charles. Lord and Lady Ashton spoke almost exclusively with the Worthings, but Lady Ashton seemed incapable of focusing on anything other than her daughter sitting next to the man she had pulled me away from. Edward had not been successful in ridding himself of Vivian, and Dr. Shaw devoted himself to helping Lady Harwood cut her meat between bites of his own meal.

  As servants carried dinner away and dessert—a sweet bread with cold cream and fruit—was brought out, I leaned in to Lady Ashton.