Behold, a Mystery!

by Joan Smith

  “It is odd, you know, but it was not on the desk, as it usually is. It was on top of the bookcase just inside the door.”

  Felix listened, nodding. “They all knew I was going out this evening, so if it was meant for me, why put it in the study? Why not take it to my bedroom? It would be interesting to know what happened to the bottle that was in the armaments-room, and also to know how many bottles are still in Greg’s room.”

  “Yes, that would be interesting,” I agreed.

  He peered out the door, then darted off. He was gone for several minutes. When he returned he said, “The bottle is gone from the armaments-room. Mary tells me the servants did not remove it. Gregory’s door is locked.”

  “That sounds suspicious—-why lock his door?”

  “It is not necessarily the Madeira he wants to keep secret. I saw him putting that pretty little Sevres box in his pocket, the one from the table in the saloon. He is picking up a few knick-knacks to pawn when he returns to London.”

  I gave a “tsk” of annoyance. “He must be in a tight financial corner if he is sunk to petty pilfering.”

  “I chided him for taking it. He said Hettie intended to give him five hundred pounds, and he means to take five hundred pounds back to London with him, one way or the other. Zonam perdidit. He is without funds, as usual. Of course he is not the only one in urgent need of funds. They all are, really. We can trust no one.”

  “And when you leave tomorrow, I shan’t even have you to—to talk to,” I said, stumbling over the last words.

  An anxious look seized his face. “You must come with me. Please Jessica! I shan’t have a moment’s peace for worrying.”

  “It would be difficult to get away.”

  “All you have to do is get into the carriage. You need not tell anyone you are going. Except perhaps Juteclaw or Mary, or the others will raise an alarm and say I have abducted you.”

  It was a strong temptation to do as he suggested. Tomorrow Gregory would post over to the bishop to procure a special marriage licence. How was I to put him off?

  “I shan’t leave unless you come with me,” Felix said firmly. “I won’t leave you here unguarded. I dare not. You must come with me.”

  I was aware of a shadow at the door. I put my finger to my lips to caution Felix. He turned towards the door just as Otto stepped in. I wondered how long he had been listening. He was wearing his cynical face again.

  “This goes from bad to worse!” he chided, shaking a finger at me. “Stolen kisses in public doorways are one thing, but really, my dear! When did you take to entertaining gentlemen in your boudoir? And why was I not told?” he added with a reckless, angry grin.

  I noticed his eyes making a hasty tour of my toilette, to see if my hair or gown was disturbed. I lifted a hand to tidy my coiffure, which had become tumbled during my nightmare.

  “That gesture is more telling than a ripped bodice,” he informed me. He retained his cynical demeanour, but there was real anger glinting in his eyes.

  “I wish you will get your mind out of the mire,” I snapped. “I asked Juteclaw to send Felix to me for a moment when he returned. We have private matters to discuss.”

  “Indeed! Then might I suggest you go down to the study and discuss them like respectable folks, for you set the household a poor example by doing your ‘discussing’ in your boudoir.”

  “You, no doubt, would recommend the saloon?” I said, to remind him of his own indiscretion.

  “I was just leaving,” Felix said. I disliked that he truckled so easily to Otto. A lady’s protector should have more bottom.

  “And so, I trust, is Mr. Farr,” I said, with a commanding look at Otto.

  “After you, Sir Felix,” Otto said. He made a flourishing bow and let Felix precede him from the room.

  Otto remained behind a moment at the doorway. “You look like the wrath of God,” he said, raking me from head to toe, then lifting his eyes to study my face at greater length. “Has that pup been frightening you with more Gothic tales? What was it this time—chased by a bogyman as he rode home?”

  “If he was, he did not mention it.”

  “I noticed all the dashing upstairs as soon as Felix returned. Juteclaw, Mary, Anita, Felix—all running around and whispering. Then Felix dashed down and went back up with the wine decanter. Did you have a fainting spell?”

  “No. You certainly kept a sharp lookout on what was going forth. It must have created havoc with the game of whist.”

  “Not much attention is required when playing with amateurs. It left me time to wonder just what you had been doing in Hettie’s study. Did you find my letters?”

  “What letters do you mean, Otto?” I asked, as if I had forgotten all about his writing to her about me.

  “You know the letters I am referring to. If they are not in her desk, try her bedroom. They must be around the house somewhere. She never threw anything out.”

  “So you thought I would go darting off in search of these imaginary letters, did you?” I asked with a sneering smile.

  “I was, shall we say, hopeful? If you had not even bothered to look it would have been a blow to my pride.”

  “Your pride is strong enough to withstand a few blows.”

  His jaws moved in anger. “There is more of Hettie in you than I realized. I did write the letters, Jessica,” he said. “But enough of diverting me from the more interesting matter. Just what, exactly, happened here tonight?”

  “I fell asleep. Mary could not rouse me, and became concerned.”

  “Why did she not tell me? Why Felix?”

  “Why should she tell you?”

  He silently ground his teeth, then said, “Like that, is it?” When I made no reply he turned, said, “Lock the door,” and left without saying good night.

  I locked the door, and was left to conjure on what he had told me. He knew, or strongly suspected, I would go to the study to look for the letters. Was that why the decanter of Madeira had been placed there? It was obviously the remainder of Horatio’s bottle he had got hold of. He must have been in a hurry. He had not had time to put it on the desk, but only stuck in his arm and put it on top of the bookcase.

  That would explain his keen interest in the commotion abovestairs. He must have been on thorns to know whether I had drunk the Madeira, and what effect it had. After I left, he had no doubt made an excuse from the card table to get rid of the Madeira and fill the decanter with sherry. There was little doubt in my mind that I must leave Downsview. Without even Felix here to help me, I was alone.

  Gregory or Otto—one of them was out to murder me. Or perhaps even Horatio, though he came lower on the list. Gregory might be staved off for a few days by my ruse of accepting his offer, but if Otto got wind of that, he would step up his efforts. A marriage to Gregory would deprive him of any hope of inheriting anything.

  Fleeing was only a temporary solution, but I would put that drive with Felix to good use. I would weasel out of him what he knew. He must surely know who had attacked him in the park. Once he was free of Downsview, he might tell me. In London I would make further plans. Visit Bow Street, perhaps, and let the police seek the murderer. I could not handle the situation alone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I awoke in the night with my throat parched. I dared not even take a sip of water to ease the ache lest someone had put poison in it. But who? All through those long, sleepless hours I wrestled with the question. It all boiled down to money. What a wretched reflection on mankind that people would kill their own kin for gold. I would gladly give up any claim on Hettie’s fortune if I could lay down this heavy burden of fear and suspicion. It weighed on me in the darkness of the night like a physical presence.

  Had the doctored Madeira been meant for me? It still seemed more logical that Felix was the intended victim. He had already been attacked once. He was the one who regularly used the study. Otto could not know I would go there to search for his letters. But of course he did know. He was clever; he must have known for
years that I harboured a tendre for him. I was seduced into a memory of that scalding, stolen kiss by the doorway. After that, he knew I would look for the letters. Perhaps that was why he had kissed me, to heat my passion. To think that evil could seem so sweet as that kiss! I could not bear to think of it.

  I had no proof Otto was the perpetrator. It might be Gregory, egged on by Anita. It was she who pressed on this idea of marriage. A lady who would scheme to sell her lover off to another lady was surely capable of anything. But Anita had not been here when Hettie and Mrs. Manner were murdered.

  Horatio? His manner was awkward, but he was no fool. He had the wits to put himself forward as a suitor at the first opportunity. He had no management of his money. He might be in a worse financial bind than we knew. He had been at that gambling den, Mrs. Hennessey’s, was it? He said he had seen Gregory there. Horatio would not have gone as a mere observer. And Horatio’s bottle of Madeira was missing from the armaments-room. He admired the armaments-room so much—he had mentioned hoping to keep the antique armaments if Downsview was sold.

  Felix, I thought, would not kill for the money itself, but Otto had mentioned some library that was for sale. That might lure him. That, or a more handsome presentation of his own books—also suggested by Otto. Otto frequently cast slurs on Felix. He had suggested Felix’s scholarship was wanting, when the whole critical world was praising him to the skies. Otto probably was jealous, as Horatio said. There had been a certain jealous strain in his attitude when he saw Felix in my room earlier. My “boudoir” he called it, as though he had caught us in flagrante delicto. Otto and Anita--what was afoot there?

  I enjoyed a few moments’ contemplation of how he would act when he discovered I had gone to London with Felix. That would put him in a pelter! Just how we were to get away was a matter for deep scheming. My throat began to ache so wretchedly that I thought I must have one small sip of water, even if it was poisoned. I would have just one tiny sip, to wet my tongue. I reached for the carafe on my bedside table, fumbled in the darkness, then decided to light a lamp after all. If the water looked cloudy, if there was any precipitation in the bottom of the glass, I would not drink it.

  I used the tinder-box to ignite the lamp. As I poured the water—clear water—into the glass, I heard a slight sound outside my door. It was so slight I was not sure I had not imagined it. I sat bolt upright, ears straining. It came again, a light rustle, like the susurration made by a skirt when a lady moves. There was someone outside the door! Anita? Or a gentleman in a dressing gown?

  My breath caught in my lungs as I sat staring at the door, wondering if I should extinguish my lamp. But I feared the darkness. The lit lamp would warn the presence beyond the door that I was awake. My hope was that it would deter him—or her—from trying to enter.

  The sound stopped. I sat for what seemed a long time, scarcely breathing. I was surprised to see that I held the glass in my hand, with a small quantity of water in it. It looked perfectly clear. I tasted it, just a drop. It tasted normal. I took one minuscule sip, then set the glass down on the table and sat staring at the door. I don’t know how long I sat there, immobile, but when the silence continued for what seemed eons, I finally extinguished the lamp and lay down, rigid as a frozen rag.

  After another indefinite period of time, I heard the sound again, the soft whisper of moving silk. As I lay staring at the invisible door, I heard the doorknob turn, heard the soft jarring sound as the door was tried, and found locked.

  My heart knocked so hard against my ribs I was sure the whole house could hear it. I waited, ready to screech my head off if he tried to get in, but nothing happened. He did not try to force the door open, or insert a key in it. The noises stopped then, and after a long time, I finally fell into a fitful doze.

  When I awoke in the morning, the incident in the night seemed like a dream. Downsview was old. Old houses made random noises, especially at night. Mrs. Manner used to complain of it. Hettie said it was the rafters contracting as the house cooled after the fires were allowed to burn low. I half convinced myself I had imagined the whole thing.

  But I had not imagined the doctored Madeira. Mary came tapping at the door at eight o’clock to help me dress. She brought a trace of everyday life with her.

  “How are you feeling after last night, miss?” she asked.

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “Fancy Mr. Felix hinting it was Mr. Otto as put the laudanum in your wine, miss. As if he would do such a thing to you! We all know who took a dozen bottles from the cellar, and one came down from his room empty this morning,” she said with a sage look.

  “I see!”

  “Mind you, there’s nothing unusual in that. Many’s the time in the past we’ve taken two empty bottles away from Mr. Gregory’s room of a morning. Is it to be the bombazine gown again?” she asked with distaste.

  “The bombazine. I have only the one mourning gown for day wear.”

  “Cook says to tell you you may eat your breakfast without worry, for she’s not let anyone next or nigh her larder. What you must do is only eat what everyone else eats. That way you’re safe as a church. And if you fancy a bite between meals, I’ll bring it straight from the kitchen myself, miss.”

  I entrusted Mary with the secret of my departure. I asked her to pack a small bag of necessities and have it smuggled into Mr. Felix’s carriage.

  “You’re never leaving us, miss!” she exclaimed in shock.

  “Only for a short while. I have some business in London. Mr. Felix will be driving me. You must not tell anyone else except Cook. After breakfast I mean to come up to my room and steal down the back stairs, out to the carriage. I shall tell the guests I feel poorly and am staying in my room. Mrs. Rampling is likely to be the most persistent in inquiring for me.”

  “And that’s a fact!”

  “We must put her off somehow.”

  “Why don’t I sit in your room myself? I’ll draw the curtains and tell her you’re sound asleep.”

  “That is an excellent idea, Mary. At lunch, Juteclaw may tell the others where I have gone.”

  Mary was sharp enough to grasp my plan at once. “They’ll never be able to catch up with you after such a head start. Can you tell us where you’re going, in case anything comes up?”

  “I shall discover the address of Mr. Felix’s friend and leave it with you, but don’t tell any of our guests, Mary. Don’t even write it down, but just keep it in your head.”

  “For fear they hunt you down like a fox and kill you,” she said. “Lordie, what a way to live. You can hardly call it living at all, can you? Whoever thought it would be such a curse having money.”

  “It is more bother than it’s worth.”

  “I really ought to go with you, miss. I hate to see you strike out alone.”

  How I would have loved to have her. “I shall ask Mr. Felix if his friend can accommodate two people.”

  “If I’m to go, though, who will put off Mrs. Rampling when she comes nosing about? There’s no trusting Meg with such an important chore.”

  “I shall think of something. I would really like to have you with me, Mary.”

  “Oh, and I’d love to go, miss. It’s like walking across the firing-line, living here. You never know who’ll be next.”

  That was exactly how I felt as I went downstairs. The others had already assembled at the breakfast table. The gentlemen rose and greeted me.

  “How are you this morning, Jess?” Anita asked.

  “I am feeling a little tired. In fact, I plan to go back to bed as soon as I have had breakfast.”

  “You should not have come down. My dear, I would have been happy to take a tray upstairs and keep you company. I shall take a copy of La Belle Assemblée to your room after breakfast. We shall spend a quiet morning quizzing all the new fashions.”

  “That is very kind, but I have a touch of megrim. I mean to draw the blinds and try to get a little sleep.”

  When I went to the sideboard to choose
my breakfast, Felix rose and joined me.

  “I plan to leave at nine-thirty,” he said in a low voice. “Have you thought of a way of joining me without being seen? I will not go without you, Jess.”

  “It is all arranged. I shall go out by the kitchen and get into your carriage before it is brought around. I shall hide myself under a blanket so no one suspects I am there, if they happen to look out.”

  His tense face relaxed into a smile. “Excellent!”

  “I must have the address of your friend in London.”

  He gave me the address on the Chelsea Embankment, and the name of his friend, Doctor Evans. I committed it to memory and said, “Would he be able to put up a servant as well? I would like to take Mary with me.”

  “The Evans live in a small way,” he said with a worried frown. “I hope I have not misled you. Really it is only a cottage. I dislike to impose on them, but if you feel you must have a servant ...”

  “No, that is all right. It was just an idea. Actually it will be easier for me to get away by myself, and Mary has a few things to do for me here.”

  We could not prolong our conversation without arousing curiosity. Otto was already directing curious stares in our direction. We returned to the table and I tried to eat something. I found myself looking along the board, wondering which of these people had been outside my door last night, and why. Had he—or indeed she, for I also suspected Anita Rampling—planned to sneak in and murder me? How had he planned to do it? A quiet kind of death would have been necessary. A pistol shot would not do. A pillow rammed against my nose and mouth?

  I studied their expressions as I fiddled with my breakfast. Gregory and Anita looked smug, so she must have told him I was not averse to their plan. Horatio’s whole interest was ostensibly concentrated on his gammon and eggs. Yet he wore a frown that was surely not caused by Cook’s excellent food. Otto was pale and stiff and angry-looking. The paleness might be due to a lack of sleep, if he had been at my door in the night. The stiffness and anger were due to my conversation with Felix at the sideboard.