The Body at Auercliff

by Amy Cross

  “I know,” I whisper, before turning to him and seeing the horror in his eyes. “I know, Charles!”

  “You know what?” he asks, stepping around Matilda's body, carefully avoiding the pool of blood.

  “I know everything,” I continue, looking up at him with a slowly-rising sense of anger in my chest. Still, I am too exhausted to let the anger loose now. “I know what you were up to with this disgusting, loathsome little maid.”

  I wait for a reply, but Charles simply reaches down and checks Matilda's wrist for a pulse.

  “She's quite dead,” I tell him. “I made quite sure of that before I stopped stabbing her.” I pause, before using the knife's tip to nudge her belly, where a dozen bloody slits have been cut through the girl's dress. “The baby is dead too.”

  I run the knife's blade through the blood, watching as the thick red liquid smears the metal.

  “So not all of the blood is Matilda's,” I continue, forcing a smile. “Some of it will be from the baby, I imagine. I made absolutely sure that I wouldn't -”

  “What have you done?” Charles yells suddenly, grabbing me by the shoulders and hauling me to my feet before slamming me against the wall with such force that I drop the knife. “What have you done?” he asks again, staring deep into my eyes with his face just inches from mine. “What... Catherine, in the name of all that's holy, what have you done here?”

  “Can't you see?” I ask, and this time my smile is genuine. Seeing the shock in his eyes, I let the knife slip from my grasp, and a moment later it clatters against the wooden floor. “I killed your little whore,” I continue, “and the child that grew within her. I know what you were up to with her, Charles, and I also know that you were planning to send her away so she could give birth to the child in secret. And then what? Would you have sent money every month to keep it alive, and to keep her from blackening your good name? After all, the great Sir Charles Switherington can't be known as a philanderer and as a lover of dirty, common little sluts like -”

  Suddenly he slaps the side of my face, causing me to turn and gasp.

  I wait, but he says nothing. I can feel his hot breath on my neck, though, and for a moment it occurs to me that he might really hurt me.

  “You say nothing,” I whisper, slowly turning back to him, “because there is nothing to say. You can't deny one word of my accusations. Tell me, though, there is one thing that I haven't yet determined... Precisely when did you start your dirty little affair with the girl? Was it last year, when you still worried I might not be able to provide you with an heir to Auercliff? Or was it this year, once Jonathan had been born and you found yourself suddenly no longer the focus of my attention?”

  “You know nothing,” he sneers.

  “And tell me, my dear, had you begun to consider alternative plans? After all, you could have decided to send me away from Auercliff with Jonathan, and to keep your little whore here alongside you.”

  “Be quiet,” he says firmly. “Do not think for one moment that you know my thoughts.”

  In the distance, Jonathan starts crying.

  “It's just us in the house now,” I remind Charles. “That's probably a good thing, in a way, since it means there are no witnesses to this awful kerfuffle. Right now, the only ones who know what has happened are you and I. Well...” I glance down at Matilda's bloodied corpse. “I suppose she knows, in a way.”

  Letting go of my shoulders, Charles takes a step back, while keeping his eyes fixed on me.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask him.

  I wait, but he seems too shocked to say another word.

  “Are you going to bring the police here?” I continue. “Are you going to tell them that your wife has murdered your mistress? Think of the scandal, Charles. I'd be dragged away to prison, and you'd have to find a governess to raise Jonathan in my absence. I'm sure such an arrangement would suffice, but eventually Jonathan would be old enough to ask why his mother is not around. Oh, now wouldn't that be awkward?”

  Again I wait, but again he offers no answer.

  “Or are you going to help me hide the body?” I ask. “Auercliff has such huge gardens, it would be no trouble at all to dig a little hole and slip the corpse into the darkness. As for the girl's family, well, I believe she only has a brother... Just tell him that she left your employ, and that you know not where she has gone. It's not as if a group of peasants would have much recourse, anyway. What could her brother do to wring the truth from the mouth of the great Sir Charles Switherington?” I can't help grinning as I see the growing sense of horror in his eyes. “If I were you, I'd bury the harlot by the cherry tree. Last year's cherries were awfully anemic, so the tree could do with -”

  “Silence!” he shouts suddenly.

  “The cherries would grow so juicy if they were reinvigorated by -”

  “Silence!”

  He slaps me again, and this time I drop back down to my knees. The pain is intense, but for some reason I do not cry out. Instead, I find myself laughing, and to my surprise I am unable to stop. Leaning forward, I rest the palms of my hands against the bloodied floorboards, and still I cannot halt the seemingly endless stream of convulsions that now grip my form. Laughing loud and hard, I finally look up just as Charles steps back and slumps into one of the chairs. He looks so weak and frail now.

  In the distance, Jonathan is still bawling.

  “What's it to be?” I ask, still trembling on the floor. “Will you rid yourself of me, or will you bury the corpse? What's it to be, Charles? What is your decision?”

  I wait, but he seems incapable of choosing.

  Realizing that one of us must act, I force myself to my feet. I wait longer, hoping against hope that my husband will show some backbone, but he simply sits slumped in the chair, staring at Matilda's crumpled corpse.

  “You must bury her, then,” I say finally, after a few silent minutes have passed. “You must bury her so deep, even her ghost shall have a mouth full of dirt.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Standing at the bedroom window, I watch as Charles drags the cloth-bagged body across the lawn. Early afternoon sunlight fills the air, and I can't help smiling as Charles finally gets the corpse into the shadow of the forest.

  He spent the past hour digging a deep grave.

  Now the body of Matilda Granger is to be consigned to the depths, with her bastard child still in her belly. And she shall be quite forgotten by all. It's so easy, really. Honestly, I'm starting to wonder why more people don't kill their enemies. It just makes problems go away so neatly.

  Hearing a faint gurgling sound nearby, I turn and see that Jonathan has woken. I make my way over to his crib and smile as I look down at his smiling face.

  “It's alright,” I tell him, “Mama has taken care of everything. The usurper and her baby are dead and gone, and soon they shall be buried too.”

  Reaching down, I tickle the side of Jonathan's face, before noticing that there is still a little dried blood stuck to the edges of my fingernails. Pulling my hand away, I flinch as I spot a few red flakes on my son's chin, and I quickly brush them aside before taking a step back.

  “You shall know nothing of this,” I continue. “No-one shall. The girl is -”

  Suddenly hearing a loud scratching sound, I turn and look back across the room. There is no sign of anyone, of course, although the sound continues for a moment longer and I am compelled to look down at the wooden floor. Perhaps I am allowing my thoughts to run amok, but I am certain the sound reminds me of how Matilda dug her fingernails into the floor when first I pushed the knife into her belly. The wretched girl tried so desperately to crawl away, but she had no hope. Even her screams were not enough to bring Charles running to her aid in time. In that moment of anger, I felt such power. Such fury.

  After a few seconds, the scratching sound stops.

  “It was nothing,” I whisper, turning back to Charles. “She's gone now, and everything shall be well again. You'll see. By now, Papa should have
finished burying the last remaining evidence.”

  Glancing out the window, I look toward the dark forest. Somewhere out there, Charles is busy filling a grave.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “I say,” Lady Eaton remarks, peering past me and looking across the sun-drenched lawn, “is Charles alright these days? He seems rather overcast.”

  Turning to follow her gaze, I have to shield my eyes from the brightness as I watch Charles tending to the flower-bed over by the house's far corner.

  “Charles is absolutely fine,” I reply, turning to Lady Eaton with a smile. “I expect fatherhood has brought about some degree of change in his demeanor. It would be unusual if it had not. After all, I'm sure you understand how keen he has always been to secure an heir for Auercliff.”

  “Sometimes I think this house is more trouble than it's worth,” she mutters, looking up at the windows. “Do you feel entirely settled here, Catherine? I recall that you spoke once of a desire to move.”

  “One day, perhaps,” I tell her. “Although, I rather think that tradition trumps the desires of us all. For now, Charles and I have our hands full raising Jonathan.”

  “And you're doing it alone? No maid or governess?”

  “Just us.”

  “That seems a little unusual,” she continues. “Charles can most certainly afford to hire staff.”

  “Of course he can,” I reply, bristling at the merest hint of doubt. “We simply feel that we have the time to raise Jonathan without help. Personally, I believe that there will soon come a time when most people go without servants altogether.”

  Her eyes widen with shock. “How could one live?”

  “I simply think this is the way the world will go,” I continue, amused by the hint of panic in her expression. “I believe it's a form of progress.”

  “I knew a woman who had the same ideas once,” she replies, before taking a sip of tea. “Later, she confided in me that the real problem was her husband's wandering hands. She felt unable to trust him around the help. She even tried hiring an elderly, rather snappy governess, thinking that such a woman would be no threat. But her husband still couldn't keep his hands to himself. They say he even -”

  “Nothing like that is occurring here,” I say firmly, interrupting her. “I assure you, Charles is a very loyal and loving husband.” I turn and look over at Charles again. “I am very lucky,” I continue. “I can rely upon him for absolutely anything, even in a time of crisis. Some men are not so strong, but Charles is good and smart. He always makes the right decision.”

  “Now who's that?” Lady Eaton mutters.

  Turning, I see that she's leaning forward a little, and that she has raised her eye-glasses as she peers toward the forest.

  I follow her gaze, but all I see is the tree-line and the darkness beyond.

  “I thought I spotted someone out there,” she continues, “standing and watching us. It was the most frightful thing, I think it was a woman with no garments on her person.”

  I turn to her, feeling a frisson of concern in my chest. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Oh, ignore me,” she says with a chuckle, lowering her eye-glasses again. “Obviously I was wrong. After all, why in God's name would a nude young woman be wandering the grounds of your home?”

  Forcing a smile, I look toward the trees again, but there's no sign of anyone. Of course there's no sign, it would be utterly preposterous if such a woman were to suddenly appear here at Auercliff, and I can only assume that poor old Lady Eaton is finally losing her marbles. After all, at the ripe age of seventy, it would be something of a miracle if she hadn't suffered at least a minor deterioration.

  “The light can play tricks on one,” I say with a smile, turning to her. “Especially out -”

  “There she is again!” she says with a frown, looking past me.

  Turning, I look at the treeline, but there's still no sign of a naked young woman.

  “Well now she is gone once more,” Lady Eaton continues. “This is very confounding, I honestly don't know what's going on. I was sure I saw her a moment ago.”

  Turning to her, I force myself to remain civil, even though there's a part of me that wants to shut the old dear up with a few strong words.

  “Never mind,” I say firmly. “Mistakes happen.”

  At that moment, I hear Jonathan crying inside the house. Glad of the excuse to leave for a few minutes, I get to my feet.

  “You should at least hire a nanny,” Lady Eaton tells me, still watching the treeline as she takes another sip of tea. “There's absolutely no need for a moneyed family to make do without a few key members of staff. I for one don't know how I would ever have managed when I was your age. Progress be damned.”

  “I prefer to look after my son myself,” I reply. “Truth be told, Charles and I are not going to have any more staff at Auercliff. We're even going to shutter the western wing of the house, since it's not really needed.”

  “But if -”

  “No staff!” I say firmly, before forcing myself to smile again. “We simply don't want them. Now if you'll excuse me, I must go and check on my son.”

  With that, I turn and hurry to the door that leads into the reception room, although I can't help glancing over my shoulder and looking one more time toward the forest. I know old Lady Eaton was simply imagining things earlier, but in the back of my mind I can't shake the image of a naked young woman wandering between the trees, perhaps watching the house from deep in the shadows. Such a thing is impossible, of course, but still not pleasant to contemplate.

  Charles buried the whore deep, and that is simply the end of the matter.

  ***

  “There's no need to cry, sweetheart,” I tell Jonathan later, as I sit up with him in his nursery. “Mama's here, and Papa's in one of the rooms nearby. You have everyone and everything you need in the whole world.”

  It's late, and I'm exhausted after entertaining Lady Eaton all day. Now that she has finally left, Charles has retired to bed and I was supposed to join him, but Jonathan seems a little troubled tonight and I feel I should sit up with him for a while. After all, at only three months of age, he must assuredly not be used to the world yet. Even now, looking down into his bright blue eyes, I can't help marveling at how new he seems. He has made no mistakes in his life, he has suffered no setbacks or tragedies. He's just a new soul, encountering the world for the first time.

  How I envy him.

  “Everything is quite alright,” I tell him, before leaning down and kissing him gently on the forehead. “Mummy is going to ensure that Daddy does not stray again. You must -”

  Before I can finish, I hear a sudden, loud bump from downstairs.

  I freeze for a moment, waiting, but now silence has returned to the house.

  “Everything is fine,” I tell Jonathan again. “There's no -”

  Suddenly the bump returns, although this time it seems to be coming from the hallway.

  I wait, and a few seconds later a third bump rings out from downstairs.

  “Now you just wait here and don't worry about a thing,” I tell my darling little son, settling him back down into his crib before getting to my feet and making my way to the doorway.

  Looking out and along the dark corridor, I can just about see the top of the stairs in the distance.

  A moment later, I hear another bump, and this time I'm quite certain that someone is in one of the rooms below.

  “Charles?” I whisper, before stepping over to the bedroom door and peering inside. I had been hoping that Charles might have risen and gone downstairs, and I feel a shudder in my chest as soon as I see him sleeping soundly in the bed.

  Stepping back, I look toward the top of the stairs and try to tell myself that there's no reason to be scared. After all, Auercliff is a rather old house and there have been several -

  I flinch as another bump rings out, and this time I'm quite sure the sound is coming from the library. In truth, I have avoided that room since the incident with
Matilda, but I know full well that there is no rational reason why the room should pose any kind of threat. I'm certainly not the kind of person who believes in spirits returning from the dead, but I do fear that the human mind can create rather powerful illusions.

  If I go to bed now, and let the strange bumping sounds play on my mind, there is a danger that foolish ideas will take root. That is something I cannot risk.

  Heading to the top of the stairs, I force myself to go down to the dark, unlit hallway. The house is rather cold, and every step makes me feel more and more as if I'm allowing my fears to run away with my rational mind.

  When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I look over at the two portraits that were delivered a few days ago. Last year, Charles commissioned a rather fashionable painter to create our official portraits for the house, so that we might join the paintings of his ancestors. We sat for many days, and finally the pictures were brought to Auercliff so they can be mounted in the hallway. So far, they still rest against the wall, waiting to be hung. For a moment, I look down at the painting of my face, and I can't help feeling that my likeness has been captured perfectly.

  “Lady Catherine Switherington,” I read out loud from the frame, and a ripple of pride runs through my chest. At the very least, my place in the history of the house is assured.

  I glance over at the grandfather clock, and I realize with a frown that it has stopped ticking. Wandering closer to take a look, I feel certain that the awful thing was still working the other day. In fact, I recall telling Matilda to give it a good clean, but for some reason it seems to have stopped at 1:53 during either the day or night. I must get Charles to fix it in the morning.

  Heading through to the corridor, I make my way toward the library. The door is ajar and the room is unlit, so as I get closer I am unable to see anything other than shadows ahead. I have heard no further bumps since I came downstairs, and I am increasingly of the mind that the whole thing was simply a mistake on my part. Still, I slow my pace as I get closer to the door, and I cannot entirely forget Lady Eaton's words from earlier.