Behold, a Mystery!

by Joan Smith

  “I wish you will stop this! You’re making my flesh crawl.”

  “Thing is, go to Mama. You’ll be safe as a bug in a rug at Cleremont.”

  I had never been to Cleremont, but I had met Horatio’s parents a few times when they called at Downsview. Lord Kidd was a kindly old gentleman, and his wife was a good-natured widgeon. Whatever I feared from Otto and Horatio, I would indeed feel safe with their parents.

  “Do you think they would have me?” I said.

  “Delighted. Ought to have taken you there in the first place. I’ll set it up.”

  I accepted with trembling joy. I felt some apprehension regarding how I would cope with the magnificence of noble life, but none for my safety. Once I was within the stone walls of Cleremont, my troubles would be over.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  From the road we turned left through Downsview’s gateless stone arch, shaped in a similar manner to the Gothic windows, into the park. Gregory’s carriage was just coming out. The grooms exchanged a wave and each continued on his way.

  The road to the house was a gently curved sweep. As we progressed, the sombre walls and irregular roof-line of Downsview appeared through the trees. It was the first time I had examined it in any proprietary way. It was mine for the next year, and until I died, if I married one of the nephews.

  I had described it as a “hideous monstrosity,” and indeed that was the impression it had made on a lonesome, frightened young girl ten years before. I discovered now that over the decade my perception had changed. I had come to accept Downsview as home, and even to love it.

  It was gloomy inside, but the lancet windows and pointed arches lent a graceful touch to the design. In a more benign season, the trees and grass and shrubbery softened its austerity, but even in winter it was impressive. In a lady, its particular quality would be called “countenance.” It held its chin high, truckling to no one; it knew its place in the world, and was proud of it.

  As my secret journey was no longer a secret, we went into the house by the front door, with Horatio carrying my bandbox. It chanced that the purple saloon was empty. No one except Juteclaw saw me enter. He looked surprised but did not make any comment. I ran straight upstairs to remove my pelisse.

  “Miss, you’re back!” Mary exclaimed. “Whatever happened?”

  “The carriage broke down. Has anyone been calling at my door?”

  “That Rampling creature,” she said with a sniff. “I told her you was indisposed. She was bound and bent she was getting in but I told her you was sound asleep. She said she’d be back after lunch. Will you still be here, miss?”

  “I have returned for good, Mary.”

  “Oh, miss!” she exclaimed, in a tone that was half joy, half fear for my safety. “Have you decided to accept an offer then?”

  “I have not made any decision yet. You may go back downstairs, Mary.”

  “You’ve only to give that bell a ring if you need me,” she said, pointing to the bell-cord by the bed.

  “I shall bear it in mind.”

  She left, and I went to the mirror to remove my bonnet and tidy my hair. I scarcely recognized the angry lady staring back at me. Some new iron had entered her spine. She stood taller, straighter, the defiant tilt of her chin lending her a new air of authority. Determination and anger had finally imbued me with enough countenance to do credit to Downsview. I was mistress now, and it was up to me to bring order to the chaos that engulfed us.

  What had possessed me to turn tail and run from my duties? The household depended on me, and it would be pusillanimous to shirk my duties. Hettie had expected better of me. I would make mistakes at first, but I would grow in stature until I filled the role thrust on me: Mistress of Downsview. I thrilled to the unspoken words, and all they implied.

  Hettie would not have sat with her tongue between her teeth while a murderer was allowed to run loose. She would have harried and hounded Croton until he installed a man in the house to protect us, and uncover the murderer. That was his job; not mine. I had quite enough to do running my house.

  I strode downstairs and went straight to the study to write a note to Croton. As soon as it was dispatched, I would begin to sort through Hettie’s business papers and contact her man of finance to help me arrange affairs. I must have monies to run the house.

  Juteclaw stuck his head out of the doorway as I passed. “Oh, it’s you, miss,” he said.

  “You must call me Miss Greenwood, Juteclaw,” I said severely. “And a butler does not speak until spoken to,” I added, in very much the accents of my late aunt.

  “Yes, miss. Miss Greenwood. Could I get you a cup o’ tea?”

  Well, at least he had called me Miss Greenwood. And I found I did want a cup of tea very much after my chilly morning. “In the study, at once, thank you.”

  He darted off, and I opened the door into the study. There at the desk sat Otto. He held the wastepaper basket in his hands and was sorting through its contents. The surface of my aunt’s desk was littered with papers. It flew into my head that he was looking for the letters he had written to Hettie about me. Of course a second thought soon told me he would not expect to find them in the waste-basket, if they even existed.

  His face was a mask of anger as he looked up at me. “A lady has just entered the room, Otto,” I said, staring back in the same bold way, until he rose to his feet. His anger dwindled to surprise at my new air of authority. “We have servants to empty the wastebins,” I said. “May I ask why you have taken it on yourself to do their job for them?”

  “I was looking for something,” he said, tucking a crumpled sheet of paper into his jacket pocket.

  “So I gathered. You are not likely to find much of interest there. Felix is the only one who has been using this room lately.”

  “I am aware of that.” He swept the papers from the desk back into the wastebasket with one swipe of his hand and placed the basket back on the floor. “Did you wish to see me?” he asked.

  “Not in the least. I wished to use the study, if you are quite finished with it.” There was no air of supplication or apology in my words, but rather a suggestion that he leave.

  “Yes, madam.” He stood behind the chair and gestured me into it with a flourishing sweep.

  I liked the sound of that “madam.” It had more dignity than “Miss Greenwood.” Spinsters of consequence often adopted the title of madam. I decided I would do so in future.

  I said, “Thank you,” and took up the indicated seat. “Was there anything else, Otto?” I asked coolly.

  His brows drew together. “The Hindus have a theory of reincarnation,” he said musingly. “Are you familiar with it?”

  “Certainly not. I hold Christian beliefs.”

  “So do I, but if I did believe such things, I could believe Hettie had slipped into your body overnight.”

  “What interesting secrets she could tell me,” I said, challenging him with a bright stare.

  He met the stare, but not the challenge. “I expect you are going to begin cleaning the Augean stable here. Do you require any help? I am at liberty this morning.”

  “That is odd. Horatio told me you were too busy to go to Littlehorn for the journals, and sent him instead.”

  “I have finished my business.”

  But he had not been writing an article for the Clarion. He had been rooting through the rubbish. I said, “I can manage by myself, thank you.”

  “I did not realize you were an expert on investments. You will have a portfolio of tens of thousands of pounds to scrutinize. Consols, mortgages, stocks, bonds ...”

  “That is why Hettie hired a man of business. I must make an appointment with Walgrave. Meanwhile, I am quite capable of writing to Croton myself, and demanding to know why he has not appointed a man to guard Downsview.” As I spoke, I drew a sheet of paper from the upper right-hand drawer and reached for a pen.

  “You have become quite the lady of affairs,” Otto said, chewing back a smile.

  “Some
are born capable of managing affairs, and some have affairs thrust upon them. I fall into the latter category.”

  “I trust you will manage Hettie’s affairs more successfully than your own.”

  I knew what that bold grin meant—a love affair between Felix and myself. “We were speaking of business affairs, Otto,” I said. “I assume Horatio has been speaking to you?”

  “You may be very sure he reported your efforts at running away. I approve of your going to Cleremont, by the by.”

  “Thank you, but it is your mama’s approval that I must have.” I had forgotten all about Cleremont. My place was here.

  “There is no necessity to wait for that.”

  “Actually I may not go at all. I shall see what Croton has to say. If he thinks I would be safer away until he catches the murderer, I might make a short visit. If your mama approves, that is to say.”

  “Demme, Jess, you must go at once.”

  “No, Otto. I must do as I think best.”

  “You are as stubborn as Hettie.”

  “Thank you, but I call it determination, not stubbornness. I have not found taking other people’s advice to be in the least helpful. In future, I shall make my own mistakes.” That did not come out quite as I planned.

  “So the worm has turned,” he said pensively.

  “What a delightful turn of phrase!”

  He leaned across the desk and stared deeply into my eyes. “Just remember where Hettie’s ‘determination’ got her,” he said in a menacing tone.

  The blood rose to my cheeks and pounded in my veins. It was partly fear, and partly outrage. “Is that a threat, sir?”

  “Call it a warning. And don’t expect Croton to save you. He cannot have his man everywhere at once. He will hardly appoint someone to guard you for twelve months. Until the year is up, or until you marry, you are a prime target for murder. In fact, even marriage is no guarantee. You would really be much better off at Cleremont.”

  A new idea was beginning to take hold of me. What guarantee was there that my murderer would not stalk me within the walls of Cleremont? Both Otto and Horatio had complete access to it.

  I schooled my voice to civility and said, “Do you spend much time there, Otto?”

  “As much as I can. Of course my journal keeps me pretty busy, but weekends, perhaps ...”

  What a fool I was, to think Cleremont was any safer than Downsview. Nowhere was safe for me until this business was cleared up.

  Juteclaw appeared at the door with the tea-tray. “Here is your tea, miss,” he said, ignoring my orders, as he had always ignored Hettie’s.

  “Just put it here on the desk. I would ask you to join me, Otto, but I am really extremely busy,” I said.

  He took the hint and left, wearing a frown of dissatisfaction. Juteclaw turned to follow him out.

  I said, “Would you ask Mary to come to the study, if you please, Juteclaw.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  While awaiting her arrival, I took a peek to see what Otto had found so interesting in the waste-basket. It was just what you would expect from Felix—bits of translations, with the name “Horace” or “Virgil” scrawled across the top. If there had been anything here, Otto had beaten me to it. He had found one sheet of sufficient interest to keep.

  Mary soon came tapping at the door. I asked her to step in and close the door. “Whatever is it, miss?” she asked, eyes like saucers.

  “Mary, I don’t want you to spread this beyond these four walls, but Mr. Felix’s carriage had been tampered with before we left. Someone sawed the axle nearly in half to ensure that it would break down. He must have got the saw from that cupboard at the back of the kitchen. I want you to see if you can discover who took it. Try to find out if any of the guests or their servants were at the stable either late last night or early this morning.”

  “Why, I already know, miss. ‘Twas Bonham,” she said, naming Otto’s valet. “I saw him myself at six o’clock this morning. He was in the kitchen when I went down to stoke up the fire for breakfast. He was poking about the tool cupboard. Said he was looking for a screwdriver to tighten something on Mr. Otto’s carriage.”

  “A screwdriver? What on earth is that?”

  “It’s some new tool folks in London are using, miss. I told him we didn’t hold with such contraptions. He said in that case he’d use the blunt edge of his hasp-knife. He left the door of the tool cupboard ajar, and when I tried to close it, the end of the saw was holding it open. The saw wasn’t put back in its proper place.”

  “And did he go to the stable?”

  “He’d already been, hadn’t he? He must of. The back door was unlocked. We keep it locked at night. He’d been out and back, mark my words, the bounder! You ought to report him to Mr. Otto.”

  I assumed he had been doing Mr. Otto’s bidding. What I did not know was how Otto had known I would be in that carriage. Unless he had overheard Felix and me discuss it the night before, when he was loitering outside my “boudoir” door. Otto wanted to keep me here, that was clear. Or better, he wanted, if possible, to get me to Cleremont, where an “accident” could be arranged at his leisure. The law would not perform any scrupulous investigation of Lord Kidd’s family or premises.

  I dismissed Mary and sat conjuring with this discovery over tea. Otto had sent Horatio to Littlehorn that morning to verify that the carriage had indeed broken down, and to bring me back. And while we were out, he had been searching Hettie’s study. He had been sorting through the waste papers when I came in, but he must have heard me in the hallway. The wastebin had been a ruse. What he had really been doing was trying to discover how Auntie’s fortune was tied up. How much cash he could hope to get his hands on immediately, in other words. Selling Downsview would take time, and that part of her monies that was in mortgages would also be difficult to realize quickly.

  Hettie kept her investment portfolio in the lower left-hand drawer. I drew it out, and could see signs that the papers had been hastily stuffed in place. They were not as tidy as Hettie kept them. As I sorted through them, I noticed they were not in the right order. The ones on top dealt with consols and stocks that could be turned to cash immediately. The long-term investments were at the back. He must have been doing a quick calculation to determine whether his share would be enough to pay off his lawsuit That was the paper he had stuffed into his pocket.

  I returned the portfolio to its drawer and started to write requesting an immediate interview with Sir Aubrey Croton.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I had my reply from Sir Aubrey Croton’s office by lunch-time. His secretary informed me that Sir Aubrey was at a horse auction in Grimstead, and not expected back before late evening. He had business in Littlehorn the next morning, and the secretary would ask him to call at Downsview on his way there, around ten o’clock. Meanwhile, I must not hesitate to avail myself of either Doctor Culpepper’s or the constable’s services if I had any problems.

  Problems indeed! Constable Hodgkins was about as much use as an old scarecrow in solving my problem, and Doctor Culpepper had his own practice to keep him busy.

  The remaining guests assembled for lunch. Anita honoured me with so many grimaces and raised eyebrows and squinty looks that Horatio, never the soul of subtlety, asked her if she had got something in her eye. Gregory was not a party to her tacit questions. He seldom opened his mouth except to put mutton in it. His sole conversation was to complain that Felix had been sold a shoddy carriage.

  “Demmed shame,” he said. “He paid a pretty penny for it, too.”

  Otto looked the soul of innocence when this subject arose, which convinced me he was guilty. An overly concerned look settles on his face when he is trying to conceal his misdeeds.

  “Two hundred and fifty,” Horatio said. “What he paid—told me. Not including the team, of course.”

  Otto did not speak as much as usual. He seemed distracted. “Where is Felix to speak this evening, Gregory?” he asked once.

  “I’ll be ble
ssed if I know,” Gregory replied. “At some scholastic society or other, very likely.”

  “At Rideau Hall,” Horatio said. “To a bunch of schoolmasters called the Friends of Antiquity. They are trying to get Latin put into the curriculum of free schools, the scoundrels. They’ve no business to go lumbering healthy young minds with such stuff. I told Felix so.”

  “Did you see it advertised in the journal?” Otto asked.

  “Eh? No, he told me so—at great length.”

  Anita took no interest in Horatio’s speech. She turned to me and said, “I shall visit my friends in Littlehorn this afternoon, Jessica. Will you come with me? It would do you a world of good to get out of the house.”

  I was aware, throughout the meal, of Otto’s dark eyes on me. I knew he was listening for my reply. Was he wondering if this outing would leave me vulnerable in some way, and planning how to exploit it? “I am afraid I have too much to do, Anita. I am writing to Hettie’s man of business to tidy up her affairs.”

  She looked annoyed at my reply. She turned to Gregory and invited him to join her. He agreed. As soon as lunch was over, I went back to the study to do exactly as I had said I must. Before I got pen to paper, Anita’s head appeared at the door.

  “Well, Miss Greenwood!” she exclaimed angrily, demoting me from the former Jessica. “That was a shabby trick you played on me and Gregory. Slipping off to London with Felix. You had no intention of marrying Gregory.”

  “Nor he much interest in marrying me. It did not seem like a good idea, after I had considered it.”

  “Did a runaway match with Felix strike you as ideal?” she snipped. “Good God, if you are going to marry anyone, why not take Otto?”

  “Why, I seem to recall your telling me Otto was already taken. And it was not a runaway match with Felix.” Of course she already knew it.

  “You might stand a chance with Otto. He is not entirely impervious to flirtation. He is here, and you have a larger dot than Lady Mary. Not that I am encouraging you to marry anyone. There is something to be said for independence after all.”