Death at Bishops Keep scs-1

by Robin Paige

  "She'll have t' be told about the accounts," Mudd said. He shook his head with a dark look. "She's not goin' t' be 'appy. An' Jaggers is like t' be furious."

  "Let her be," Mrs. Pratt said, bleakly smug. "Let her get wot's comin' to her for diddlin'. Little enough, a'ter what she's done." Mrs. Pratt and Mudd had suspected for some months that Jaggers was manipulating the household accounts, but it was only in the last few days that Mudd had confirmed their suspicions through some adroit backward checking. "I figger she knows we know 'bout th' accounts, anyway," she added, draining her coffee. "That's why she

  come on so sharp yesterday, threat'nin' to sack me. Left to herself, Mudd, ye'd be nex' t' go a'ter me."

  "What do yer suppose 'as come o'er the mistress, takin' things into 'er own 'ands?" Mudd asked. Reflectively, he ate the last crust of toast. "D'ye think there'll be jam on th' table, an' beer, now that she's runnin' th' manor agin?"

  "Dunno," Mrs. Pratt said blackly, "an* don't care. A bit o' jam won't heal what's hurt." She banged her cup on the saucer. She could not help herself. Un-Christian as it was, a poisonous rage, bitter as bile, rose inside her when she thought about Jaggers.

  Mudd was thoughtful. "Not t' put too fine a point on't, Mrs. P., but ain't it time t' turn the other cheek?"

  "Jam and fire don't go far wi'me," Mrs. Pratt said, from the depths of her wounded spirit. "Who knows wot's hidden in Miss Ardleigh's heart? She didn't raise a hand to help poor Jenny, nor e'en offered to help her find a place, which she culd've done."

  Mudd stood up. "Well, I fer one," he announced, "am ready t' let bygones be bygones."

  Mrs. Pratt glared at him. "Fine fer ye, Mudd. But fer me, Miss Ardleigh is guilty as Jaggers. Both of 'em deserves wotev'r they git. I only hope it kin be me wot dishes it out."

  36

  "We must leave me tamily's skeletons to rattle in the dusty dark"

  — ANONYMOUS, "A Motker's Plot,"1887

  Kate never knew exactly what went on between Aunt Jag-gers and Aunt Sabrina in the library that morning. When Aunt Sabrina dismissed her, she went first to the kitchen to speak to Mrs. Pratt, who was sweeping the floor with an amazing energy.

  "Don't know, 'm sure," she said snappishly, when Kate had asked her about the brown felt hat.

  "I felt," Kate pressed, "that I had seen the hat before. I recalled the young man who came visiting last evening-Tom Potter. He had such a hat."

  Mrs. Pratt stopped sweeping, her face pulled into a scowl. "If yer thinkin' 'twas Tom Potter who came skulkin' roun' the libr'ry, miss, yer wrong."

  "But he has reason to dislike-"

  "Aye, he has that," Mrs. Pratt said firmly. "But he ain't the sort t' descend t' skulkin'. Me word on't."

  And that, for the moment at least, seemed to be that. Although Kate sensed that there was a great deal more to be learned, she was not going to get it out of Mrs. Pratt. She took a basket and scissors and went out into the mild,

  bright morning to cut flowers for the luncheon table's centerpiece.

  After the night's rain, the asters and roses were bedraggled, but Kate had no difficulty finding more than enough. As she filled her basket, she was frankly glad that Aunt Sabrina had not asked her to attend the meeting with Aunt Jaggers. However Jaggers had managed to extort control of the household, it was an authority she valued and she would not easily yield it up. The confrontation between the two aunts was bound to be a painful one, embroidered with old bitterness and-Kate felt sure-laced with ancient secrets. Kate would have liked to know those secrets, but she was glad to be spared the pain of learning them.

  And there was the earlier meeting with all the servants to mull over. While her aunt had talked, Kate had observed their faces and had been surprised to observe that not all were equally delighted with Aunt Sabrina's announcement. Amelia, Nettie, Harriet, and Pocket seemed quite pleased, especially at the prospect of gaining a few creature comforts and perhaps a bit more leisure. Mudd, however, had seemed perturbed at Aunt Sabrina's request that he bring her the household accounts. Why?

  Kate frowned and clipped a pink rose, still heavy with raindrops. She dropped it into her basket. Was there something about the accounts that Mudd did not want to reveal? Kate's first thought, for Mudd's reaction fitted neatly into a scenario that Beryl Bardwell was considering for "The Conspiracy of the Golden Scarab," was that Mudd himself had been mishandling the household funds and feared to be found out. If true, Kate thought regretfully, it was a pity. In spite of their initial difficulties, she had come to like him.

  And she liked Mrs. Pratt, too. But the cook had been even less pleased than the butler by Aunt Sabrina's announcement-which was very odd, Kate thought. She had expected Aunt Jaggers's downfall to bring a smile of triumphant vindication to Mrs. Pratt's face. But in actual fact, her expression had grown blacker and blacker while Aunt Sabrina was talking, until she looked like a summer thunderstorm. It was as if her anger was focused on both the sisters.

  No, it was more than anger, Kate thought. It was hatred she had seen in Mrs. Pratt's eyes. It could only be because of Jenny Blyly-which brought up Tom Potter and the brown felt hat.

  Kate shook her head, frowning. The belowstairs situation was clearly complicated, woven through with as much anger and bitterness as that upstairs. Aunt Sabrina would do what she could, but perhaps the problem could not be solved with the simple removal of Aunt Jaggers. She looked toward the French doors onto the terrace, open to the mild morning, and wondered what her aunts were saying to each other in the library. As she did, someone hurriedly pulled the doors shut. Whatever was being said, her aunts did not wish to be overheard.

  37

  "It the desire to kill and the opportunity to kill come always together, who would escape hanging?"

  — MARK TWAIN

  Sabrina turned from the doors. "And that, sister," she said with a bleak emphasis, "is all there is to it. Now you must make of it what you will."

  Bernice felt as if she were choking on the rage that was

  roaring like an inferno inside. "How can you… how can you dare to insult me so?" she cried, struggling for words. "How can you-"

  "I can, because I have right on my side," Sabrina said simply. "You will no longer direct the servants, and you are to accept the presence of our niece without question." She went to stand beside her desk.

  "Right!" Bernice exclaimed. Her voice rose. "After what you did?" She laughed bitterly. "When society knows, you will be completely ostracized. Your name will be destroyed. And their names and their future-''

  "I am quite prepared to confront my fate," Sabrina said. Her voice was quiet, expressionless. "And I am prepared to allow the others concerned to meet their own. But if society learns of this, it will only be because you have recklessly spread it abroad." She reached down and picked up a letter opener in the shape of a dagger, turning it in her hand. "When you do that, Bernice, you will no longer have a home at Bishop's Keep. For the rest of your days, you will live in a rented flat, subsisting on your widow's pension."

  Bernice stared at her sister. "You would not turn me out penniless!" Her throat felt raw, lacerated with the pain of pent-up fury.

  "I shall," Sabrina replied, "if you force me to do so." Her face was a mask. Only her gray eyes held life, a suppressed, flashing energy-charged, it seemed to Bernice, with a malicious hatred. "It appears, sister," she added icily, "that we have reached an impasse. If you destroy me and mine, I shall destroy you, quite utterly."

  The last words echoed in the silent room, in the empty hollow that had been Bernice's heart. Sabrina had gained the upper hand.

  "It is the Irishwoman," Bernice muttered blackly. "She is the one who has turned you against me. Before she came-"

  "Bernice!" Sabrina whirled around. "It is absurd to cast recriminations on anyone but yourself." Her voice vibrated,

  only just in control. "Or on me. If I had not allowed you to-"

  "Spare me your self-pity," Bernice cried, the taste of loathing acrid on her tongue. "When
you feel the full brunt of society's censure, then you can blame yourself. And pity him, whose career you will have-''

  Her face suffused with furious color, Sabrina raised the hand that held the dagger. Bernice flinched. But she was maddened with anger. She could not stop her words.

  "— Whose career in the church you will have utterly ruined."

  "No more," Sabrina cried, knuckles white around the hilt of the dagger, forearm quivering with murderous violence. "Get out of my sight, Bernice! And stay out, for I cannot promise that I will be able to control this arm!"

  Bernice stared at her sister. She felt as if both she and Sabrina had been stripped to the skin and stood mortified in their nakedness-their fear, their anger, their hatred, all exposed to the world. Everything was coming apart. There was nothing to hold on to.

  For the first time in her life, Bernice Ardleigh Jaggers was absolutely terrified.

  38

  "Having taken pains to obtain ana compare abundant evidence on mis subject I sbould say tbat tbe majority of women (happily tor tbem) are not very much troubled with sexual feelings of any kind… As a general rule, a modest woman seldom desires any sexual gratification for herself. She submits to her husband, but

  only to please him; and but tor the desire or maternity would far

  rather he relieved from his attentions."

  — WILLIAM ACTON The Functions and Disorders or the Reproductive System, 1884

  I am very glad we are able to spend this time together,

  dear Kate," Eleanor Marsden said, tucking her hand into Kate's arm as they walked along the path to the small lake at the foot of the garden. She turned to look into Kate's face. "I may call you Kate, mayn't I? It is a more friendly name than Kathryn." She reached up to smooth an escaped lock of Kate's hair. Her eyes danced. "And you look like a Kate, with that red hair, all flyaway, and the pink in your cheeks, which I warrant is not paint."

  "Hardly." Kate laughed. "I will be Kate to you," she said, "if you will be Ellie to me." She was glad, too, for the chance to be with Eleanor. And to get away for a few minutes from the poisonous atmosphere of the house, where above-stairs and below, everything seemed terribly out of kilter. Aunt Sabrina and Aunt Jaggers had obviously quarreled very badly; Mudd's face was anxiously somber when he took the account books in to Aunt Sabrina a little while ago; and Mrs. Pratt, preparing the luncheon in the kitchen, was sullen and unspeaking, with an angry, brooding look.

  "It is a bargain!" Eleanor exclaimed spiritedly, holding Kate's arm closer. "I already feel, you know, as if I have found another sister." She added with an artless smile, "A dear, older sister, one who has seen something of the world and can give me the very best advice."

  Kate smiled a little. She could understand that Eleanor might view her as much older, although the difference in years was probably not much more than five or six. There was a marked difference in their manners. Eleanor was gay, exuberant, even girlish-although Kate was well enough acquainted with her by now to suspect that her constant smiles and vivacious glances covered deeper feelings that could not be shared with her family or her society friends, feelings so deep and perhaps so at odds with those she was expected to have that Eleanor herself was not even aware of them. Kate, on the other hand, knew her own temperament to be far more reserved and thoughtful. It was perhaps that sober reserve that attracted Eleanor to her and made her feel as if her confidences would be honored with respectful consideration.

  Eleanor twirled the pale blue ruffled parasol that exactly matched her lavishly trimmed dress, with its wrists and high neck frosted with French lace. "I bring Patsy's regrets," she said, and then added, "but I must confess that I encouraged her to go to London with Mama this morning, so that you and I could have this time alone. I hope your luncheon plan will not be upset by having three guests instead of four."

  "Not at all," Kate said. "Bradford and Sir Charles will arrive in time for luncheon?" Kate was still not accustomed to the late luncheon hour; the meal was never eaten until after one, and when guests were expected, it was even later.

  "Yes," Eleanor said. They turned a corner in the path and came out on the grassy shore. She waved her hand carelessly. "They have gone to Colchester, Bradford on some stuffy errand having to do with money, and Charles to do more of his detecting."

  "Ah, yes," Kate said thoughtfully, "his murder." She wondered if Sir Charles had taken her suggestion about interviewing Mrs. Farnsworth. She regretted it now; on reflection, she felt it would have been better not to have spoken at all. "What a lovely brooch," she said, changing the subject. She lifted her finger to touch it, a flashing diamond in a circlet of pearls. ' 'A gift?''

  Eleanor nodded. "From Mr. Fairley," she said. Was there a heavy note in her voice?

  "I'm sure you are excited," Kate said, watching her. "The two months before the wedding must seem to stretch out like an eternity."

  "Yes," Eleanor said. Yes, her voice definitely held a lower tone. And her glance, not so gay or flashing just now, was

  downcast, and colored with something like embarrassment or even shame.

  "Ellie," Kate said quietly, "if you would like to speak to me about anything that troubles you-"

  Eleanor clasped Kate's hand. "Oh, Kate," she exclaimed in a shaking voice, "I would, oh, I would."

  "My dear Ellie," Kate said with genuine sympathy, "what is it?"

  Eleanor released Kate's hand and turned her face away. "It is… I mean to say… That is, I-" She bit her lip nervously, and then turned to face Kate. "I want to know-if you know, dear Kate-about the… about the wedding night!"

  Kate stared at her. "The wedding night?"

  "I have asked Mama," Eleanor said, the quiver in her voice barely in check. "But all she will tell me is that I must do my duty. She will not tell me what my duty is, except to say that I must please Mr. Fairley. How can I please my husband if I have no idea how to do so?''

  Kate felt herself very much at sea on this subject, but she took a deep breath and embarked upon the deep, asking her friend the same question she would ask herself in the circumstance. "Can you not allow your natural feelings to be your guide?''

  "My feelings?" Eleanor said blankly. "But that is what I am asking you, Kate. What ought my feelings to be?"

  Kate tried a different tack. "Well, then, can you not trust Mr. Fairley? He is a widower, is he not, with experience in such matters?" Of course, as Kate understood it, all men had experience. That was an essential part of their freedom, to have as many mistresses as they chose. Her thoughts flashed, unbidden, to Sir Charles. How many mistresses had he had?

  Eleanor began to pace along the walk, her steps agitated. "That is another of my concerns, Kate. Having been married, Mr. Fairley has experience, vast experience. Will he not expect far more of me than I am able to offer?" Her face was suffused with pink and she spoke with an effort. But she continued to speak without waiting for an answer, her passion testifying to the force of her dammed-up feelings. "And while

  I can scarcely imagine what the act must be like, it seems so brutal, so unnatural!" She closed her eyes, the pink paling, her voice falling to a frightened whisper. "So painful."

  Kate could feel Eleanor's fear. "I wish," she said quietly, "that I could reassure you out of my own experience."

  Eleanor's eyes opened and she stared at Kate. "Oh, my dearest, you cannot think that I believed you to have-'' Her hand went to her horrified mouth. "Just because you are an American and Irish-!"

  Kate laughed and took her friend's hand. "Well, if you did believe me to be experienced, I must disappoint you, Ellie. The truth is that I have never kissed a man with passion. You are far beyond me in that, and likely to remain so. You will be my teacher, and tell me what it is like."

  Eleanor's color came again and she shook her head vehemently. "Oh, no, Kate, you are wrong. I have kissed Mr. Fairley, yes, but modestly, and only once, when I gave him my sacred word that I would marry him. But not with passion. My mother says that no good woman ever-"
r />   Kate turned to face her friend. "Eleanor Marsden, you must forget your mother!" she exclaimed. "You will shortly vow yourself, body and soul, until death, to Mr. Fairley. You cannot do such a thing without even tasting his kiss!" She seized Ellie's other hand and gave them both a shake. "Promise me, Ellie. The next time you are with Mr. Fairley, you will kiss him. And then the next thing, and the next after that, will seem less dreadful."

  Eleanor's eyes were wide and very blue. "Do you really believe that a kiss will set my fears at rest?"

  "I cannot swear to that," Kate said, wishing she knew more about Mr. Fairley, and what lay in his heart toward Eleanor. She squeezed Ellie's hands as she dropped them, and managed a smile. "But you might find it enjoyable. And when you have kissed him, you can tell me what it is like, so that I will know, too." Again, unbidden, Sir Charles's face came into her mind.

  Eleanor turned and they began to walk again. "Thank you, Kate," she said, subdued. "If you think it would help, I will try." There was a silence, and then she picked up her pace

  and her voice took on a determined cheerfulness. "There are so many things to do. I am to have final fittings for my trousseau at Worth's next week. And there are yet shoes to be bought and gifts for the wedding party, and the flowers to be arranged, and-"

  "Ellie," Kate said, "do you love him?"

  "Love Mr. Fairley?" Eleanor's laugh was quick and nervous. "Why, of course I love him! Don't be silly. At any rate, it is a very good match. Mama and Papa are ecstatic, and all my friends are envious. Why do you ask?''

  "Because," Kate said soberly, remembering the long relationship between her aunt and uncle, "marriage at its best is difficult. Unless there is love to leaven it, it is a flat, hard loaf. It is not a loaf to relish, nor will it nourish."