by Joan Smith
“Duke does know all of us,” Horatio said. “Come to that, where were we when she was killed, Otto? I was in the house somewhere, for I never left it all day. In the armaments-room, very likely.”
With an air of vague annoyance, Otto said, “I spent some time writing a column for the Clarion. I was in and out of the saloon, but I did not leave the house all afternoon.”
I said, “Felix was in the library most of the time, I believe.”
“No offence, Jess,” Horatio said, “but since you are the one who inherited the lot, where was you?”
Otto’s lips moved in amusement.
“I was busy about the house. Any of you—of us—could have found time to nip out after Mrs. Manner. It would not take long. Say ten or fifteen minutes. She did say it was ‘him’ she saw loitering about the cheese-room door, however.”
“She told this tale to no one but you, though,” Otto said with a mischievous air. “Might her story have been different had she lived to tell it?”
I ignored this and said, “Gregory was out of the house for well over an hour.”
Otto and Horatio exchanged a look. Horatio said, “Easy enough to see if he ordered that tombstone. Shall I do it, Otto, or will you? One of us ought to have a look about the meadow for Duke.”
“You go, if you don’t mind, Horatio. There is something else I’d like to do.”
‘What’s that then?” Horatio asked.
“Jessica needs a protector.”
“You mean to turn her up sweet while I am out in the cold! No, sir, by gad. You can inquire about the tombstone yourself. I shall guard Jessica.”
“I do not require a guard,” I said. “Good gracious, no one is likely to jump out and kill me in broad daylight.”
Otto just shook his head. “If you really think a man who has killed twice will hesitate to strike again, then you are dangerously naive. The disbursement of the monies must wait for twelve months—or until your marriage, or death. You are the impediment.”
I sat stunned at what Otto had just said. I had not looked at the matter in this light, but of course Hettie’s murder did suggest an urgent need, or at least desire, for the money. I was the obvious next victim. “I shall not be going anywhere more dangerous than to the purple saloon or my bedchamber.”
“Hettie was killed in her bedchamber,” Otto said. “And the hours of daylight are short in winter. It is the night that concerns me. If Duke had been properly trained, Mrs. Manner might be alive today. I plan to get Jess a proper guard dog.”
“I don’t want some fierce brute trailing me about. I don’t even like dogs. I much prefer a quiet cat.”
“A cat ain’t much protection,” Horatio said.
“The dog need not accompany you about the house,” Otto explained. “What I had in mind was that he should guard your bedchamber door at night. Have you any idea where I might find such an animal, Jess?”
John Weldon was said to raise and train such animals, but I did not want one, and did not tell Otto. “I do not want a dog, thank you.”
“You would prefer to be strangled in your bed, would you?” he asked sharply.
“I shall lock my door.”
“Much good that will do, when it is plain as a pikestaff Gregory has got hold of the keys somehow. I do not mean to disparage your charms, my dear Jessica, but did you not find it odd that he took to courting you before the will was read? If he was able to get into Aunt Hettie’s safe, I doubt he would have much trouble with your bedroom door.”
“He didn’t get into her safe. She had a copy of her will in her bedroom, and the door was not even locked.”
“How did he know she had a copy in her room?” Horatio asked,
“She always took it to her room just before your visit. He might have guessed, if he did not know. I met him in the east wing when Mrs. Manner was resting yesterday. I think that was when he saw the will. At least that is when he first began his clumsy compliments.”
Otto nodded in satisfaction. “I am relieved to see you have been bending your mind to what is going on here.”
“I am not a complete fool, Otto. I can see a church by daylight.”
“And a rogue. But I still say you need a guard dog, and I mean to find one. Weldon, I have heard, trains some of his dogs to attack.” I knew he would remember that!
“What she ought to have is a pistol,” Horatio suggested.
“Good God! Next you will say I require a platoon of Grenadiers. I am going to my room for a rest. I shall lock the door. I have every expectation that I shall see you both at dinner. Unless, of course, our murderer decides to kill you two as well. The fewer of us there are, the more money for each, when the year is up.”
Horatio listened, thought for a moment, then said, "Then you don’t mean to have any of us?”
“Precisely. Good day, gentlemen.”
I rose and strode from the room, but not before casting a peek at Otto, to catch his reaction to my announcement. He looked well-satisfied, and I was furious with him. Even my fortune was not enough to incite him to a proper offer.
Chapter Fourteen
Once I was in my room, I realized that all I wanted was to lock the door, lie down, and be by myself to recoup my strength and arrange my thoughts. I locked my door and lay down on the bed in the gown I was wearing, pulling the counterpane over me.
As I gazed with unseeing eyes at the familiar room around me, my mind wandered over the past days, trying to figure out who had killed Aunt Hettie and Mrs. Manner. There was no concrete reason to suspect one nephew more than the others. Soon I would know whether Gregory had indeed ordered the tombstone. But what would that prove? If he had not, then he might have spent the time with Anita Rampling. And if he had ordered it, that was not to say he had not also nipped into the park and killed Mrs. Manner. Nothing seemed to prove anything. He might have spotted her from the road as easily as the others could have spotted her from the house.
Gregory had the sort of ego that prevented him from realizing when a person disliked him quite thoroughly. He probably thought he had as much chance of winning my hand as any of the others. Would he kill me for one quarter of the fortune, when he hoped to gain control of the whole by marrying me? Mrs. Rampling would not like that marriage, but then, if gossip was to be believed, she was already an adulteress. The fact that Gregory was married to me would not limit their pleasure. The possibility existed, too, that the ultimate plan might be for my untimely demise. Oh yes, that would surely be a part of it. But it was all based on Gregory’s marrying me, and he could hardly do so if he murdered me.
The puzzle was like a game of snakes and ladders. One advanced a pace or two, only to come crashing back down. If not Gregory, then who? Felix? In all the years I had known him, I had never seen him betray much interest in money. He lived in a world of books. He had more money now than ever before, and he did not even bother to buy himself a new jacket. No doubt he would have been happy if Aunt Hettie had left her fortune to him, but I could not see him being sufficiently interested to murder for it.
Horatio? He had come looking for money, to be sure, but he was only short because of his generosity. An overly generous man would hardly murder to finance his generosity. And the sum required, a mere five hundred pounds, was not impossible for Horatio to beg or borrow elsewhere.
No, the two gentlemen who I felt were capable of murder were Gregory and Otto, and I turned reluctantly to the latter. This lawsuit in which Otto was involved must worry him considerably. The Clarion was as dear to him as any son is to his father. He spoke airily of “other gentlemen” being in on the slanderous article with him, but suppose their involvement amounted to no more than having incited him to write and publish it. What if, once the thing was done, they washed their hands of him? The suit was laid against the Clarion. I doubted he had any proof of anyone’s involvement save his own. I could almost believe he would kill to save his journal.
He was certainly clever enough to have done it. Not that it had taken
much cleverness to dispose of two unsuspecting old ladies. It required more daring than intelligence, and of them all, Otto took the palm for daring. He knew where the belladonna was kept. He might have seen the cold medicine in Auntie’s room. It would have taken him less than five minutes to get the poison and put it in the bottle.
No one’s actions were so closely scrutinized that he could not have slipped away unnoticed for five minutes. The same with Mrs. Manner’s death. Her walk through the park could be clearly seen from either the saloon or Otto’s bedroom. If he knew she had seen him near the cheese-room, he could have run out after her to silence her. The weapon, a rock, seemed like a hastily arranged murder.
My “rest” was more wearying than performing my usual duties, and I decided to return belowstairs. Lunch had been sparse, and I hoped that tea would help to fill the hollow ache inside me. I would ask Juteclaw to have it served a little early today, as the others were probably hungry as well.
I met Horatio at the top of the staircase. He beckoned me and hissed in my ear, “He did order the tombstone—Gregory. A great, gaudy thing in pink granite, with an angel holding a cross. Hettie will love it.”
Horatio seemed so much like his usual harmless self that I could behave naturally with him. I nodded and said, “He might still have had time to sneak into the park.”
“Wouldn’t have taken a minute to kosh poor Mrs. Manner on the head, the bounder. He and Rampling have gone out for a spin. Spotted ‘em when I was in Littlehorn. They was going into a house, the one where she is staying, likely.”
“She brought only a bandbox with her. She would be getting more clothes, I expect.”
“I ain’t sure it’s wise to have her here. What I said about a pistol, Jess—not a bad idea. I have a dandy set of duelling pistols I got myself for Christmas. Happened to bring them with me. I was at Manton’s Shooting Gallery trying them out just before I left London.”
“Did you not tell me last Christmas that you had bought new duelling pistols?”
“So I did. A little weakness of mine. Cost me a pretty penny too. I shall fetch one of my new set for you to protect yourself.”
“I don’t know how to shoot a gun.”
“I’ll teach you. Nothing to it, really. We’ve time to do it now, before tea. I’ll just nip up to my room and get them. Meet you in the armaments-room.”
I looked my disagreement, and he hastened on to convince me. “It is half an hour to tea-time. Felix is the only one in the saloon. I made the mistake of picking up the latest journal in Littlehorn. It has another review of his book. We’ll have to listen to it if we go there.”
“Very well,” I agreed, and went to the armaments-room to avoid Felix. It was odd Horatio had not mentioned this new set of pistols as being responsible for his shortage of funds. Such things were expensive, and quite useless as Horatio was not the sort of man to challenge anyone to a duel.
The armaments-room is a spacious chamber as large as the purple saloon and entrance hall put together. It is situated at the rear of the house, across from the library. It used to be in constant use when Aldous was alive, but since his death a dozen years before, it was largely ignored, even by the servants. I know Aldous only by rumour. He was gone before I came to Hettie.
The enormous stone grate, stained with black marks, was empty. The oak-panelled room was shadowy and cold. High up on the wall limp old flags, discolored with age, stirred slightly in the draught from the door. Some of them had brown stains which Juteclaw had told me were the blood of Farrs slain or wounded in battle centuries ago.
Below, there were a dozen suits of armour ranged along one wall. One suit was so small it had been fashioned for either a child or a midget. They were all of an ornateness that belied their rough usage. One helmet was fashioned like a lion’s head, with holes at the eyes for the wearer to peer out at his enemy. Some of the breastplates were worlds of art, with elaborate engraving and gold trim.
There was also one set of horses’ armour, as elaborate as the men’s. A miscellany of old arms, from halberds and shields to muskets and swords and rapiers, was arranged in glass-fronted cases and on the walls. I felt a shiver to consider that I was now the mistress of these antique barbarities.
Other antiques used in ship navigation had found their way into the chamber as well. There were ornate cross-staffs, compasses and dividers, quadrants and astrolabes and other things that looked like the skeletons of hollow globes, whose function I could not even imagine. They were all coated in dust.
After a moment, Horatio returned carrying a flat black leather case. “I see you are admiring the antiques,” he said. “A dandy collection. A shame to see it rusting here. That suit of armour you are looking at dates back to the Renaissance. Look at that tasset! A work of art. I should like to snap up this collection, if Downsview is sold.”
I knew Horatio always visited the armaments-room when he visited Aunt Hettie. I had considered it a sort of escape for him, but I realized now that he coveted these ancient old things. The eye gazing at that embossed tasset was the eye of a connoisseur; the hand touching it was the possessive hand of a lover. It was a bothersome thought. Men have killed before now for inanimate objects.
“Is that the pistols you have there?” I asked, to push the troublesome thought away.
“Yes, here we are,” he announced proudly, and opened the lid to display a handsome set of duelling pistols. The barrels were engraved with arabesques; the ebony handles had inlays of mother-of-pearl. These elaborate engines of death lay nestled in blue velvet, like a lady’s jewelry.
“Very handsome,” I murmured.
"The latest thing,” he assured me. “They cost me a monkey, and worth it. A patented Forsyth percussion lock. It don’t need priming powder. The hammer strikes the compound—potassium chlorate—and it explodes, firing out the cartridge.”
“It sounds very dangerous!”
“Hair-trigger,” he said, lifting one of the weapons by the barrel and handing it to me. It was heavy and felt extremely awkward in my hand. “I’ll charge up one of them while you aim t’other at the grate, just to get the feel of it. Mind you don’t shoot wide and destroy that breastplate hanging above. It’s Italian, early-sixteenth century,” he said.
“No, I don’t want to shoot it in the house!” I tried to hand it back to him, but he was already loading the other gun, and did not take it “It won’t go off until I load it, Jess. We’ll do the shooting outdoors, if you like. Just heft it to get the feel. It’s wonderfully balanced.”
I did as he suggested. It still felt heavy and awkward, but well enough balanced, I daresay. “Let us go out and practise shooting at something,” he suggested.
I was suddenly very reluctant to be alone with Horatio and a loaded pistol. In fact, I felt I hardly knew him. A love of weapons did not seem to suit the gentle man I had always taken him for. "There is hardly time for it,” I prevaricated.
“We’ll do it tomorrow morning. Keep the gun with you tonight. Even if you don’t shoot him, just having this pistol will put a fright into him, you see.”
I knew Horatio meant Gregory by this vague “him.” Gregory was still at the top of my own list of suspects as well, but I kept thinking that he would not kill me until he was certain he could not win me by romantic means. I could ensure safety from that quarter if I let Gregory believe I might accept his offer. It seemed a sane, if underhanded, precaution for the short term—provided Gregory was the murderer.
From the doorway, the sound of approaching footsteps and a peculiar clicking sound were heard. The clicking was the soft rasp of a dog’s nails scraping the linoleum of the hall. “Duke!” I exclaimed. “He’s come back!”
Otto appeared at the doorway, preceded by a fierce-looking bulldog held on a leash. It was tawny in color, with a huge, pugnacious jaw. Some black markings on the face added to the air of ferocity. It was squat, with short legs and massive shoulders.
“This is Jack, short for Gentleman Jackson,” Otto said. “He�
��s a scrapper, according to Weldon. Odd you did not direct me to Weldon, Jess,” he added with a quizzing look.
“Weldon’s bulldogs are notorious for their ferocity. He holds illegal dogfights with them in his barn.”
“Does he, by Jove!” Horatio exclaimed with the keenest interest.
“A lap dog would hardly serve your purpose,” Otto said.
“I do not want his dog. I refuse to have anything to do with him.” Gentleman Jackson felt quite otherwise about me. He was sniffing at my skirts, straining at the leash. “This brute is more frightening than Horatio’s pistols,” I said, stepping back.
“If you are afraid of dogs and afraid of guns, how are we to protect you?” Otto said. He glanced at the pistols. "These are the new Forsyths you were telling me about, Horatio.”
Jack seemed eager to eat the pistol I was holding, so I quickly handed it to Otto, who held it in one hand, while trying to restrain Jack with the other. The latter job required at least two hands. He tied the leash to a table leg and began examining the pistol in good earnest, while Horatio praised its “balance” and expostulated on its other marvels.
“It is a nice gun,” Otto said. “We must give Jess a lesson in how to use it.”
Voices in the hall announced the return of Gregory and his mistress. It was Anita’s fluting voice that carried so well, but of course Gregory would be with her.
“Jessica! My dear, whatever are you doing!” she exclaimed, when she entered and saw the pistols. The guns were set aside.
Horatio narrowed his eyes at Gregory and said, “I am lending Jessica a pistol and teaching her how to shoot it. She will keep it under her pillow at night.”
Anita gave a shudder. “I would as lief sleep with a viper! What is to stop it from going off in the night? It could blow her head off.” She turned to me and added, “My dear, you must not think of such a thing.”
Jack made a lunge at Gregory, who shuffled back, trying not to look frightened at the angry growl that came from the animal’s throat. “I suppose this beast is also a part of Jessica’s defense?” he asked with an air of injury. “Good God, if you are that frightened for her, the best thing is to get her out of here.”