by Blythe Baker
The satin of my emerald green dress brushed against my skin like water and floated down to the floor. It was a fine garment, probably too fine for the evening ahead, but it gave me a kind of confidence I needed.
The assembled guests were much less lively than earlier in the day. Everyone seemed content to eat and let Mrs. Worthing and Vivian carry the conversation, each of them working to lure Mr. Worthing and Edward, respectively, into the discussion, as well. However, neither of the men seemed interested in the latest women’s fashions of London or in how things differed in the States.
“We get everything first, of course,” Vivian said with an air of snobbery. “By the time it reaches the women there, it is watered down, and we have moved on to something better.”
Even though the better part of my life had been spent in India, and I now claimed myself to be a Londoner, I had a strong desire to defend my countrywomen. However, I held my tongue, deciding this was not an important enough issue to raise any suspicion about my loyalties.
“No one can wear fashion like we London women can,” Mrs. Worthing said with a cheeky giggle. She winked at me and then gave Catherine a smile, though Catherine didn’t return it.
The dinner carried on that way. Dr. Shaw spoke only to Lady Harwood, who was still insistent upon her upcoming demise, and looked at me three times throughout the meal, each time to level me with a menacing glare. Everyone else simply ate their food and stood to leave when the meal was finished. I could not have been more disappointed. I’d hoped for some piece of information to come to light that would help my investigation. Anything, really. But instead, I’d only learned about Vivian’s favorite hat shops in town and where Mrs. Worthing bought her shoes.
My shoulders slumped forward as I left the dining room and headed for the sitting room. I was the last one to leave, and a servant was already beginning to gather the plates. Consumed with thoughts of my impending failure and the fallout that would likely occur because of it, I almost didn’t notice the hushed voices coming from the hallway between the sitting room and the servant’s corridor. Almost.
The voices caught my attention and I stopped moving at once, quirking my head to the side and then taking soft, slow footsteps towards the edge of the open door. Through the smallest crack in the wooden door, I could see Lady Ashton and Edward standing in the dark, no more than a few inches away from one another.
“I hoped to talk to you earlier,” Edward whispered. “Father said you collected a few of Mr. Matcham’s things to send back to his family, and I’d like to take a look at them.”
“Why would you need to look through his things?” she asked. “Of what importance are a dead man’s belongings to you?”
“I am not after his belongings. I’m after my money,” he said.
“Your money? As I recall, he won it from you fairly.”
Edward snorted. “Even if that were true, he has no need for it now, and I would like to take it back.”
“It is unethical, and I will not be party to it,” Lady Ashton said, crossing her arms and shaking her head.
“His family doesn’t even know about the money. They will not miss it. I am the only person alive who will miss it, in fact. It seems unethical to keep it from me, considering I am the only one who will suffer because of its absence.”
“You are not near as convincing as you think you are, son,” Lady Ashton said with a surprising amount of animosity. “And I will not allow it, so do not bother asking again.”
“I was being courteous by asking,” Edward said.
Lady Ashton’s eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening to break into my room?”
“Only if you refuse me access. I’m sorry to do this, but—”
“Where is the son I once knew?” Lady Ashton asked. “What has become of my kind boy? I do not recognize the man who stands before me.”
“Do not be so dramatic, Mother. I assume you did not count the money, and therefore won’t be able to recognize if a chunk of it is missing. I won’t tell you if I’ve done the deed, and you can proceed with the belief that I left the money alone. Then, everyone is happy.”
Lady Ashton’s fists clenched at her side and she appeared to be shaking. “Do not presume to understand me so easily. You know nothing of what I am protecting you from. Sneak into my room and you may find more than you bargained for. So, I’d urge you to leave well enough alone.”
I wanted to stay and listen to more of the conversation, but I also sensed it was coming to a close, and I didn’t want to be caught listening outside the door. As quickly and quietly as possible, I backed away from the door, slipped back into the dining room, and then crossed into the entrance hall. Once there, I took the stairs to the next floor and found myself standing outside the largest bedroom. The room belonging to Lady Ashton.
The decision to look through Lady Ashton’s things had come to me the moment I’d heard she had some of Mr. Matcham’s belongings. However, the urge grew even stronger when I saw how viscerally she reacted to the idea of her son looking through her things. You may find more than you bargained for.
The door was unlocked, so before I could second guess my decision, I was inside and closing the door softly behind me. The sitting room was on the opposite end of the house, so even if my footsteps echoed upstairs, no one would pay them any mind. The only thing I had to worry myself with was being gone too long. Dr. Shaw had made it clear that morning that he had noticed my absences from the group, and I didn’t want to give him any reason to point this out to the rest of the party.
A four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room, blue velvet curtains hanging from each corner. To the right was a large armoire and a set of drawers next to that, but I was more focused on the trunk at the end of the bed. The trunk Lady Ashton had arrived with the day before. The same trunk she would return to London with. And the trunk she had, no doubt, stored away anything of Mr. Matcham’s that she intended to send to his family.
I knelt down in front of the trunk, moving my dress out of the way so I didn’t wrinkle the delicate fabric, and lifted the metal clasp. It made a metallic clank against the top of the trunk, which sounded deafening in the quiet room. I paused, expecting someone to barge into the room and catch me red-handed the way Dr. Shaw had in the pantry that morning. However, no one came. So, I lifted the trunk lid, cursing the creaky hinge the entire way, until it rested against the footboard of the bed. Then, I began to snoop.
No matter how many times I looked through people’s private belongings, it never became easier. I never felt comfortable doing it. There could be an argument made that it was all for the greater good, but it was a flimsy argument even to my own ears. I was invading the privacy of someone I loved and trusted, and I wanted to be done with it as soon as possible.
A maid must have unpacked most of Lady Ashton’s clothes, but her shoes and a number of hats were still organized in the bottom of the trunk. Then, in the front corner was a small stash of items wrapped up in a handkerchief. It looked far too simple to belong to either my aunt or my uncle, so I concluded it must have been Mr. Matcham’s and pulled it out.
The four corners were tied into a knot, and when I undid it, the contents inside spilled out. There was a small stack of pocket squares similar to the one I’d seen inside the box in Catherine’s room—further cementing the fact that her Thomas had been none other than Thomas Matcham—a money clip filled with cash, and a separate billfold. I picked up the billfold to examine it and by sheer luck, it slipped from my hands and knocked over the stack of pocket squares. As the pocket squares slid out of their stack, a small piece of metal became visible. It looked like the pin on the back of a brooch. I reached for it, and then dropped it again with a gasp.
Folded between Mr. Matcham’s pocket squares was a small syringe. I wouldn’t have noticed it had the stack not toppled sideways. The glass cylinder at the center was still damp with some unknown liquid, proving that the syringe had been used somewhat recently.
Immediately, I began
returning the items to the handkerchief. I tied the knot and dropped it all right back where I found it. Then, I hurried into the hallway and away from my aunt’s door.
My mind was reeling. I had no idea what to expect when I’d walked into that room and opened the trunk. Lady Ashton had told Edward that he might find more than he bargained for if he went snooping around her room, and it had seemed suspicious, but I had never really expected to find what I believed to be the murder weapon. But I had. And now I had to decide what to do with that information. And what it meant.
Just because Lady Ashton had the syringe didn’t mean she was the killer. She could have found the syringe in Mr. Matcham’s room and hid it to keep anyone from knowing his death had been a suicide. However, I found that hard to believe. Mr. Matcham had just won a good deal of money at cards and, if the letter in Catherine’s box had any bearing on their current relationship, he had the affections of a beautiful young woman. Plus, with so much concern about a possible murder or a mysterious illness, wouldn’t Lady Ashton have wanted to calm her guests’ fears?
As I moved down the stairs and closer to the sitting room where I would come face to face with my aunt, I positioned the puzzle pieces I’d found into the full picture.
Lady Ashton, in fear for her daughter’s reputation and the Beckingham family name, had poisoned Thomas Matcham in his sleep to separate him from Catherine. My aunt, Lady Ashton, was a murderer.
13
Just as had been the case with dinner, the post-meal gathering in the sitting room was rather subdued. Everyone was quiet and tired, so the party, thankfully, broke up rather early, everyone taking to their respective rooms for the night. I spoke to Lady Ashton only once when she wished me goodnight while standing in the doorway of her room, where I had so recently been snooping. I smiled, incapable of forming words, and gratefully ducked into my own room for the night.
Sleep, once again, did not come easily. The night before it had been due to my concerns over who, if anyone in the party, would be murdered. Now, my thoughts were focused on my aunt. She was the murderer. I was almost sure of it. But what could I do with that information?
In order to receive the reward the Chess Master had promised, I had to turn her in, but could I really do that? While what Lady Ashton had done was wrong—there was never an excuse for murder—she had done it out of love for her daughter. She was not a crazed murderer and I had no reason to believe she would ever strike again. Moreover, the Beckinghams were the closest thing I had to family. If I ostracized myself from them, I would be almost entirely alone in the world.
But then, if I didn’t tell, there was a chance I would lose the Beckinghams anyway when the Chess Master told them about my true identity and I would miss out on receiving the reward I’d been promised. Without information on Jimmy or the financial means to continue employing Achilles Prideaux, I wouldn’t have a chance of finding my brother. Then, I really would be all alone in the world.
When morning finally came, I felt half-alive. Exhaustion stung my eyes and the face that met me in the mirror was pallid and stretched.
Breakfast revived me only slightly. Lady Ashton asked me several times if I was feeling all right—this was fodder enough for Lady Harwood to insist I’d come down with the same illness as Mr. Matcham—and I did my best to assure her I was fine without making direct eye contact. My exhaustion served to make my emotions seem more unmanageable, and I worried I’d burst into tears if my eyes met those of my aunt.
“Gentlemen,” Lord Ashton boomed, standing from the table so abruptly that his chair nearly tipped over behind him. “I’ve planned something special for today. I believe it’s a beautiful day for pheasant hunting.”
There was an enthusiastic response from the men around the table. I suspected this was an activity my uncle must have planned in haste, probably at my aunt’s urging, to distract everyone from our unpleasant circumstances.
There was a brief wait after the meal, as everyone went upstairs to dress appropriately for the hunt, and then we all moved outdoors. Though I and the other ladies would only be participating as observers, I was glad to be out in the sunshine, where I had room to move and think without so many sets of eyes on me.
Our party was packed into several waiting cars and then made a short journey across the estate. We stopped and clambered out near a large field edged by a stand of trees, where we found servants in wool coats and flat caps had assembled bearing guns and ammunition for the gentlemen. As I understood it, pheasants would be hiding in the tall grass of the near field, waiting to be frightened into flight by beaters driving them into the air for easier shooting.
I had no desire to view the event up close and when the actual hunting began, the persistent ringing of the gunshots made my already frazzled nerves even more unbearable.
“I’m going for a walk,” I said to the small group of onlookers who had settled beneath a large shady tree.
“Would you like any company?” Lady Ashton asked, beginning to rise.
“No, thank you,” I said. “It will only be a quick jaunt. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
She seemed disappointed but waved me on. Then, when I’d moved several more yards away, she called out to me again. “Mind you don’t venture too far south, Rose. The men will be shooting in that direction. Stay behind the large willow on the corner there and you will be safe.”
I nodded in thanks and rushed off towards the tree line. How could someone so kind, so motherly, be a murderer? If I’d learned anything in the months since the car explosion in Simla, it was that anyone was capable of murder. Life could rarely be anticipated, and I had been on the receiving end of that lesson too many times to count. The unexpected happened every day. But still, my mind struggled to wrap around the truth of it.
The overgrown path grew denser the deeper I walked but weaving my way through the overgrown vines and branches felt a little like moving through the untamed maze of my own thoughts. I hoped that by the time I made it back to the Beckinghams and their guests, my mind would be decided on how best to proceed with the information I had about Lady Ashton.
I felt I had two options: keep the information to myself and wait to see how the Chess Master chose to respond or tell the entire group what I’d found in Lady Ashton’s trunk and alert the police. Neither option felt like a winner, but that was why I’d gone on the walk.
I stepped over a tree root which had grown into the path and threatened to trip me if I wasn’t careful, and then pushed a thick branch out of my way, revealing a person in the path.
I startled before realizing it was a member from my own party.
“Edward,” I said with a small laugh. “You startled me.”
As I was speaking, Edward turned and I noticed the hole he had been digging in the dirt. Then, I noticed the gun his father had given him only a few minutes before. His hand choked up on the handle, his finger tapping dangerously close to the trigger.
“Rose,” he said, his voice stretched tight, moments from snapping.
I took a step backward, my survival instincts kicking in before my brain could catch up. “I was out for a walk. I must have gone further than I intended.”
I looked ahead and could just barely see the willow tree Lady Ashton had pointed out. It was still a good deal farther north. I hadn’t ventured out of bounds. Edward had. But why?
“I’ll just turn back and get out of your way,” I said, beginning to turn. Before I could, though, Edward raised his gun and leveled it at my chest.
“You’d better stay where you are, Rose.”
“Edward don’t be daft,” I said, still trying to joke. “Don’t point that thing at me.”
He shook his head, looking genuinely disappointed. “Once again, you’ve somehow stumbled too close to the truth, and unfortunately, I can’t afford for this truth to come to light.”
“You aren’t making any sense,” I said. Though, deep down, I knew he made perfect sense. The puzzle pieces I’d arranged in my mind slid
apart and began to create a different picture.
“Don’t move, cousin. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he said, closing one eye and aiming the long gun directly at my heart.
In my mind’s eye, the image of my aunt slipping the needle into Mr. Matcham’s sleeping arm changed slightly. Rather than her petite frame standing next to the gambler’s bed, I saw a head of dark hair and a black suit. I saw my cousin delivering the fatal poison. Lady Ashton didn’t kill Mr. Matcham. Edward did. And now, he planned to kill me, too.
14
“You didn’t, Edward,” I said, closing my eyes and shaking my head. “You didn’t do it. Tell me you didn’t.”
The idea of my aunt being a murderer had been hard to take, but without any direct confirmation from her, I’d been able to hold onto the small hope that perhaps she hadn’t actually done it. Perhaps there was another explanation. But now, with Edward’s gun pointed at my heart, he was as good as confessing. There could be no doubt. He’d done it, and something inside of me broke. Whether it was exhaustion or emotional fatigue or a mix of the two, tears began to spill down my cheeks and I didn’t even have the strength to lift my arm and wipe them away.
“I’m sorry, Rose.” His words were apologetic, but there was a flatness to his voice that gave me chills.
“But I saw the syringe in your mother’s trunk,” I said, still trying to make sense of the sudden turn of events.
“You never could keep your nose in your own business,” Edward said in a surprisingly playful tone, considering the circumstances. “My mother must have found the syringe amongst my belongings and tried to hide it. She feared what would become of me if anyone else were to discover the truth, which is why I’m afraid I won’t be able to let you leave these woods.”
“Why did you kill him?” I asked. I had to know. Needed to know. If, after everything I’d been through, I was going to die in the woods at the hands of someone who believed himself to be my cousin, I deserved to know why.