The Problem of the Spiteful Spiritualist

by Roberta Rogow

  “‘I direct that Admiral John Groves be declared the executor of this, my will, and guardian of Miss Bedelia Arkwright, my younger girl—’”

  “What?” The Admiral turned nearly purple with embarrassment.

  Mr. Simms went on, “‘—since he is the only man honest enough to tell me to my face what he thought of me, and his wife is the only woman fit to handle Bedelia.’ Dear me,” Mr. Simms commented, with a look at the Admiral. “This is most peculiar.”

  “It certainly is!” Amelia said. “Papa and Admiral Groves never met but that they quarreled.”

  Admiral Groves had recovered some of his color. “I don’t suppose there is any way I can refuse the charge?”

  “It would mean going through the courts,” Mr. Simms told him.

  “In that case, go on, sir. What are my duties, under this infamous will?”

  Mr. Simms referred back to the paper in his hand. “Captain Arkwright goes on, in his own hand: ‘I meant to have Jack Cavanaugh take care of my girls, but he’s in Davy Jones’s Locker, where I hope to meet him in time.’”

  Captain Cavanaugh took out a large bandanna and blew his nose. “And all this time he thought I was gone overboard. I spent six years stewin’ over it, thinkin’ he’d left me to rot, and all the time he didn’t even know.”

  “Know what?” Bedelia asked sharply. “Where have you been, Uncle Jack?”

  Captain Cavanaugh ignored the question. “So it was him who went first. Well, Admiral, I can take over, if you like, but you’re the eddicated one, and Jethro always knew which way the wind was blowing.”

  Admiral Groves eyed the other sailor, thought about saying something, then closed his mouth again. “Captain Arkwright’s wishes are clear, sir. I am executor of the will, and I will follow its directions.”

  Mr. Simms coughed again. “Ahem! There is one more clause. ‘I leave my entire estate, the house and its contents, the land on which it sits, and whatever money I may possess on my death, to my faithful friend and companion, Emma Cavanaugh, in the assumption that she will use the same for the benefit of my girls, Amelia and Bedelia.’”

  Amelia gasped. Mrs. Groves and Mrs. Drayson made noises of distress. “But … Emma Cavanaugh is dead!” Bedelia’s shrill voice rose above the babble.

  “Apparently Captain Arkwright did not consider the possibility of Mrs. Cavanaugh’s demise,” Mr. Simms said. “I must assume this was his way of providing for his daughters.”

  “And what of Mrs. Cavanaugh’s will?” Amelia asked through stiff lips.

  “I am not certain whether she made one out,” Mr. Simms said. “If she did not, the Captain’s estate would go to her nearest living relation.”

  “That’s me!” Captain Cavanaugh exclaimed.

  “But you were supposed to be dead,” Bedelia pointed out. “Why aren’t you dead?”

  “Because I’m damned … that is”—Captain Cavanaugh looked about at the ladies, who pretended not to hear him—“because I’m lucky.”

  Mr. Dodgson nodded. “After so many years, it must be odd to come back to England, only to find your best friend has left you … everything.”

  Cavanaugh’s blue eyes glittered as he looked about Treasure House. “Dang me, but I think Jethro was right. Swallow the anchor and live fat, and let the rest of ’em fight the sea. I’ve a mind to settle right in here, now that Emma’s not here to rattle my brains with her everlasting ambitions.”

  “Were there any other provisions?” Amelia asked. Her face was white as chalk, and her pebble-gray eyes looked dead ahead, unseeing. “He made no other provision for me?”

  Mr. Simms scanned the page. “A few small bequests. The collection of curiosities in the study is bequeathed to the Portsmouth Literary and Scientific Society, to be used as the basis for a Museum of Natural History.”

  General Drayson harrumphed several times. “That was quite … appropriate. We will treasure the gift.”

  Mr. Dodgson asked timidly, “Does that bequest include the two large brass vases in the study? Or do they come under the first clause, ‘contents of the house’?”

  Mr. Simms shrugged. “There are no specific items mentioned in the will.”

  Mr. Dodgson nodded several times. “The late Captain Arkwright was known for provoking quarrels. His will is quite typical of the man. Even in his last moments, he set the stage for one. I suggest, General, that the vases be examined carefully before you accept them.”

  “Why? Are they not genuine Indian antiques?” General Drayson asked suspiciously.

  “Genuinely from India, probably. Antique in the sense of old, I doubt it. I suspect that those two vases were constructed at the request of Captain Arkwright on his departure from Bombay. They were made to his specific instructions, and very curious they are, too.”

  Jahal looked at Ashok, and then at Mr. Dodgson. “Do you mean … all this time …”

  “Precisely.” Mr. Dodgson allowed himself a satisfied smile. “If you remove the glass enamel, you will undoubtedly find the missing jewels of the Rajitpur Treasure.”

  Bedelia looked at her sister, who was staring straight ahead, her eyes fixed on some unseen horror. “In that case,” Bedelia said, “you can discuss the sale of the jewels with Mr. Simms. We expect to get a good price for them, mind!”

  Jahal’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the young lady in the black velvet dress. “There may be … another form of negotiation,” he said slowly.

  Captain Cavanaugh interposed himself between the two young people. “This gal’s under age,” he declared. “And will or no will, I gave my word to Jethro all those years ago that I’d do right by his girls. There’ll be no hanky-panky, young sir!”

  Bedelia’s blue eyes fired a glance that could kill, if Captain Cavanaugh were not looking the other way.

  “And there is a bequest to one Mr. Benjamin Moncrieffe,” Mr. Simms went on. “One hundred pounds, to the Zennana Missions of Rajitpur.”

  “Zennana Missions!” Bedelia exclaimed. “What on earth would Papa want with those? And why should he leave money to Uncle Moncrieffe, who has inherited a fortune?”

  Jahal stifled a laugh. “Those are the good people who attempt to minister to the women of Rajitpur,” he explained. “They distribute tracts and medicines to those women who are kept in purdah … apart from men. Mr. Benjamin Moncrieffe has been active in many philanthropic societies, including the Zennana Missions.”

  “Mr. Dodgson,” Inspector O’Ferrall accosted the scholar. “You have taken a lot into your own hands this morning. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  Mr. Dodgson stepped into the center of the room, in full professorial mode. “Since the only way I can leave this delightful town is to solve this problem, I undertook to do so. If my solution is correct, then the Rajitpur Treasure will be restored to the hands of its original owners.”

  “Then let’s have those vases out and see!” Inspector O’Ferrall ordered.

  “I shall get them.” Amelia stood calmly and walked out of the sitting room, the crowd parting to let her pass.

  “Oh, no!” Mr. Dodgson said. “You must not … somebody stop her!”

  Before they realized what had happened, Amelia had locked the door. O’Ferrall and Cavanaugh threw themselves at the door, which was strong enough to withstand both of them.

  Mr. Dodgson motioned to Dr. Doyle. “There is another way into that study. You must go around to the window and prevent Miss Arkwright from harming herself.”

  Dr. Doyle wasted no time in questions. He darted out the door and around to the front of the house. The window was just high enough for his fingers to get a grip on the ledge. With a mighty effort, he heaved himself up and inched onto the window-ledge. He could barely see Amelia at the small table in front of the huge desk, the sheaf of poisoned arrows in front of her.

  Amelia stared at the arrows. Papa had told her many times that even the smallest scratch could cause death. It would be so simple; she would never have to worry about money or society or anyth
ing, ever again. Baby Bee would be taken in by Admiral Groves and introduced into Society. All she had to do was write a few lines, and Bedelia would be taken care of ….

  The leaded glass was almost as thick as the door. Dr. Doyle pounded with all his might at the pane, while Miss Amelia wrote something on a sheet of paper.

  “Don’t do it!” Dr. Doyle shouted through the window. Amelia gazed blindly ahead of her. He redoubled his efforts, and the pane gave way, just as Amelia reached for the arrow.

  Dr. Doyle catapulted into the room. Amelia’s hand trembled as she picked up the arrow.

  “Don’t!” Dr. Doyle grabbed for her hand. She dropped the arrow, just as Inspector O’Ferrall and Captain Cavanaugh broke through the door. O’Ferrall leaped to her side and held her hands tightly, in an excess of emotion, while Dr. Doyle carefully retrieved the poisoned arrow from the desk.

  “Amelia—” O’Ferrall began.

  “Don’t say anything,” Mr. Dodgson warned her. “Inspector, you must destroy that piece of paper. It undoubtedly contains a confession.”

  Inspector O’Ferrall stared at the paper, then at Amelia. “According to this, Miss Amelia Arkwright killed her father and then Mrs. Cavanaugh. Why, Amelia? Why?”

  “I had to,” Amelia said through stiff lips. “They were going to ruin my baby’s life between them. I couldn’t let them do it.”

  Mr. Dodgson knelt beside the distraught woman. “Miss Arkwright, you must not give way to the sin of despair,” he said. “What is more, you must not protect a very wicked young person from the consequences of her acts.”

  “What are you talking about?” O’Ferrall asked.

  “It was not Miss Amelia who killed both Captain Arkwright and Mrs. Cavanaugh,” Mr. Dodgson. “It was Miss Bedelia.”

  “No!” Bedelia shrieked out. She turned to run, but her legs were caught up in her long skirt. Touie grabbed her as she fell, and the two women were wrapped in a tangle of black skirts and white petticoats as Bedelia thrashed wildly.

  Inspector O’Ferrall reached for Bedelia and held her, not gently, while Touie was helped to her feet by her husband.

  “May I have a word with Miss Amelia? In private?” Mr. Dodgson asked. “Take the vases with you, and see if I am right about the Rajitpur jewels.”

  Two of the undertakers’ men rolled the heavy vases out of the study. O’Ferrall and Dr. Doyle left Mr. Dodgson alone with the silently weeping woman.

  “Now, Miss Arkwright,” Mr. Dodgson said, kindly but sternly. “You must not take your own life. It is a dreadful sin. What is more, by doing so, your sister, if such she is, will be assured of a great deal of sympathy, which she does not deserve.”

  “But it is all my fault,” Amelia said, giving way to her emotions. Mr. Dodgson handed her his handkerchief, and she proceeded to sob into it. “She is all the child I have … all that I will ever have …”

  “She is your daughter, is she not?”

  Amelia nodded wordlessly.

  “You must have been very young.”

  “I barely knew what was happening to me,” Amelia said. “It was in Bermuda. You have no idea, Mr. Dodgson, how it was then. Papa had been injured … Mama was acting very peculiarly … Uncle Jack was in charge, he and Emma …”

  “Ah, yes. Emma. The American girl who had been brought in as a nurse for your mother, and companion to yourself.”

  “My mother could be … very wild,” Amelia confessed. “One night she ran out into a hurricane …. We never knew quite what she would do next, so Papa and Jack found Emma, to take care of her and to look after the house when they were away.”

  “And Emma became more than a servant,” Mr. Dodgson prompted her.

  Amelia took a deep breath. “I can’t tell you how it happened, or why. I always liked Uncle Jack, and I suppose, like many schoolgirls, I got somewhat silly. And … he took advantange …”

  “I see. And Miss Bedelia was the result.”

  “She must never find out!” Amelia said.

  “I believe she already has,” Mr. Dodgson told her. “It is quite dreadful for you, Miss Arkwright, but you are a woman of strong character. In this fairy tale, Cinderella will go to the ball after all.”

  “How can I face them!” Amelia hung back, as Mr. Dodgson offered her his hand.

  “Your outburst will be put down to your grief at losing both a father and a close personal servant at the same time,” Mr. Dodgson consoled her. “As for Miss Bedelia …” His face grew grim. “I shall deal with her now. And then …” he said, as Amelia took his arm and let him lead her back to the sitting room, “then I can go home.”

  CHAPTER 27

  The group in the sitting room now included Mr. Monks and two constables, with Mrs. Pilkey standing guard over Bedelia to make sure the girl would not try to attempt escape again. The Drayson and Groves contingent hovered near the sitting room door, aware that their presence was unwanted, yet too fascinated to make their adieus and depart.

  Amelia tried to approach Bedelia, but the girl refused to look at her. “You should have killed yourself,” Bedelia declared.

  “Be quiet, you wicked girl!” Mrs. Pilkey scolded her.

  “She killed Papa,” Bedelia repeated. “She said so when we found him. She told Emma that if she hadn’t had that dreadful row with him, he would still be alive.”

  “You should not listen at doors,” Mr. Dodgson reproved her.

  “If I didn’t, I’d never know anything,” Bedelia retorted. “I knew Emma had found out where Papa kept the jewels all this time. I knew all about Amelia, and why she couldn’t get married.”

  Amelia took a step forward. “Baby Bee …” she quavered out.

  “Papa didn’t want any of us to go to London,” Bedelia went on. “Not me, or Amelia, or Emma. But Emma told Papa that we were going to London whether he wanted us to or not. She told him she’d found his jewels, and she’d taken them to some shop in Portsea, where the shopkeeper told her he had found a buyer, and she told Papa that he was being selfish, keeping the jewels to himself. He called her names, but she said she’d already made the arrangements.”

  “You should have waited, Miss Bedelia,” Mr. Dodgson said sternly. “Patience is a virtue young persons should cultivate. You acted precipitously, before you could determine for yourself where the jewels had been hidden.”

  Amelia stared at her sister, her eyes filled with horror. “You went into Papa’s study, after he had that dreadful row with Emma, to try and calm him down, you said.”

  “I did calm him down,” Bedelia said.

  “You took one of the poisoned arrows from its sheath and applied it to Captain Arkwright’s neck,” Mr. Dodgson said. “That accounts for the scratch Dr. Doyle noted.”

  “Which is not to say that he might not have been in a bad way to begin with,” Inspector O’Ferrall pointed out. “What a coil! Is it murder to use poison on someone who’s already dying?”

  “That is for the jury to decide,” Mr. Dodgson said. “In any case, this young person then decided to remove anyone who might disturb her plans to inherit the Moncrieffe fortune.”

  “But … why Emma?” Amelia quavered.

  “Because she gathered shameful secrets and used them for extortion,” Mr. Dodgson said, glancing at Mrs. Drayson and Mrs. Groves. “Miss Bedelia would not be safe with such a servant in the house, particularly one who took as much advantage of the situation as Mrs. Cavanaugh did. Not only was Mrs. Cavanaugh present at Bedelia’s birth, but she very likely suspected that the girl was responsible for her father’s death. That would make her very dangerous, and Bedelia, having killed once, would not think twice about doing it again.”

  Amelia shook her head. “Poor Emma. All she could think about was getting Bedelia to London, and taking Society by storm with the Moncrieffe fortune. I tried to make them both see reason ….”

  “Obviously, you did not succeed,” Mr. Dodgson sighed. “Please, Inspector, take her away.”

  “On what evidence?”

  �
�On this.” Mr. Dodgson produced the small piece of wood he had found in the fireplace. “Miss Bedelia has the untidy habit of throwing unwanted items into the fireplace. She also attempted to use this on me.” He carefully held out the other arrow. “You see, Miss Bedelia, I am not such a foolish old man after all.”

  “Miss Bedelia Arkwright,” Inspector O’Ferrall said in his most official tones, “you are under arrest for the murder of Emma Cavanaugh. It is my duty to inform you that anything you say may be taken down and used against you in a court of law.”

  Bedelia brushed off her skirt and patted her hair back into place. “No one is going to hang me,” she announced.

  “Possibly not, but you’re not going to London, unless it’s to the Old Bailey,” O’Ferrall told her. “Sergeant Stafford, take Miss Arkwright to Kingston Street. Mrs. Pilkey, keep your eyes on her. She’s a clever one, she is!”

  Amelia watched her sister being escorted into the police carriage. Then she turned to Mr. Dodgson. “Why?” she asked.

  “Do you mean, why did she do it? Or do you mean, why did I prevent you from committing the final act that would guarantee that very wicked young person would inherit a fortune to which she had no legal right?” Mr. Dodgson asked.

  “Either.”

  “Let us say that I believe in justice,” Mr. Dodgson said slowly. “And now, Miss Arkwright, I believe I should formally present you to your uncle, Mr. Benjamin Moncrieffe.” He turned to the tall man in the black cloak. “Uncle, niece. Niece, uncle.”

  “The rich uncle from India,” Dr. Doyle said under his breath.

  “Precisely. All rich uncles come from India.”

  Mr. Monks stepped forward and bowed. “I prefer to use a different name from my father, Miss Arkwright … or may I call you my niece? You are, indeed, my sister’s child, and I regret bitterly that our family quarrels should have prevented me from acknowledging you for so many years.”

  Amelia nodded back. “My mother spoke about her straight-laced, disapproving brother,” she said. “I only wish we had met under happier circumstances. As it is, I cannot offer you more than the briefest greetings. I sent condolences on the death of your father, who was, after all, my grandfather. I had no idea whether they were received, or in what spirit.”