The 2nd Golden Age of Mystery and Crime MEGAPACK ™: Ruth Chessman

by Ruth Chessman

  If she were to hang tomorrow for today’s crime, she told herself, it would be still worth it for this taste of dressing fine in a well-fitting gown of silk, and for the knowledge that never again need she be fed like a dog with scraps from the mistress’s table. However, she did not mean to make any such bargain with the hang-man. She did not mean to die when all of life lay before her!

  In the drawing room she built up a brisk fire. With the kitchen candle she went about the great room to light the bayberry candles, snuffing and re-lighting them over and over until the room smelled sweet with their fragrance.

  She walked gracefully about the drawing-room, trying the different chairs as the mood took her, arranging the sweeping skirt of her gown carefully each time she sat down so as to hide her boots. It did seem to her she had lived a lifetime only for this moment. She had dreamed of how Charles Braceridge would look at her when he saw her thus, dressed not as the low servant she was, but in her handsome watered-silk, looking every bit the lady. The mornings she rose before the household to work on her sewing, the nights she held the needle when her eyes would shut of themselves with the weariness of the day’s labor—it was all nothing now.

  She knew Charles well, for it is possible for some women to know the character of some men with a single glance, and she was one such woman, and Charles was one such a man. He would see her richly dressed, and he would love her. She was so sure of it that she had killed his aunt to clear the way for him to see her thus, knowing full well that while Mrs. Parsons lived there would be no handsome gown for Elizabeth.

  The moon was beginning to dip when she heard the muffled sound of horses’ hooves over the snow.

  “A light!” a crisp voice carried over the sounds of the horses. “You’re waited for even at this hour, you lucky devil!”

  She had not expected Charles to have another with him, but yet it did not entirely surprise her. She knew at once that this must be Charles’s great friend, Richard Graves. This Richard was, like Charles, Somebody’s nephew. Richard had been sent from England in the customary disgrace over a married lady, and it was talked of that here he must wait on Somebody’s death. The Colonies held many such, who spared the family embarrassment by being out of sight. Still, Richard or no Richard, she would yet have her Charles. She would handle Richard however appeared necessary.

  It was a few minutes before the men came in, for there were the horses to be stabled. Finally, though, she could hear their boots breaking the crust of the snow, and she opened the door and stood in the chill wind until they came in, stamping and laughing. It was Charles as she remembered, him, fair and handsome—yes, she must give him that, he was truly handsome. With him was Richard, a kind of agile-looking man, handsome too in his way, which was a dark one.

  They took her to be a lady and greeted her with a sweeping bow, but in spite of the temptation to pretend, she knew the danger. It was not her part to play yet. She said swiftly, “Sirs, you are most kind. I am only Elizabeth, your aunt’s bonds-woman, Mr. Charles.”

  “A bonds-woman, are you?” asked Richard. “A fine breed they’re kidnapping nowadays, then.”

  Charles simply stared, his slow wits leaving him far behind the other.

  “I have been a white slave close on seven years, sir,” Elizabeth said.

  Richard nodded with a knowing smile. “Of royal lineage, no doubt, and stolen from your coach while the groom flirted with your governess,” he suggested.

  “Oh, sir, you jest,” Elizabeth answered, laughing. “I was the eldest child of twelve, and never a meal large enough to fill me until I stepped aboard the ship that carried me here. My father beat me and my mother, poor woman, hid all her sorrows in a cup.”

  “Well!” Richard was clearly nonplussed at her frankness.

  Charles came to life. “Enough, Richard!” he said. “Here is this girl kindly waiting for us, and the hour so dim, and you must tease her with royalty and flirtings.” He turned reproachful green eyes on Richard. “It is enough for me that she is here with a royal fire of her tending—” He gave her a token bow, looking quite pleased with himself for this daring play on words, and she responded with quite a modest curtsey.

  “I am to offer you a hot soup, and have kept the kettle on the fire against your coming,” she said sedately. Both men declared something hot was just what they wanted. “After you have supped, sirs, Mrs. Parsons will receive you.”

  It was what she had determined must be the next step, and indeed it was quite in the character of the woman, who was inquisitive as a cat.

  “Mrs. Parsons—? Mrs. Parsons will receive us?” Richard exclaimed.

  “Certainly, sir,” Elizabeth said, but her surprise seemed no greater than Richard’s, who went on, “I had it that she did not receive your letter, Charles, and went off on a visit. I could see it no other way than that she must be away from here.”

  “Could you not,” Charles asked interestedly.

  “Your pardon, sir, but Mrs. Parsons had her nephew’s letter this day,” Elizabeth said, astonished. “I myself read it over to her. She waits only for him to be refreshed after his long ride that she may greet him.”

  Richard stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, then turned to Charles. “You misled me, you dog!”

  “I misled you?” Charles repeated.

  “It was all innocently done, I am sure,” Richard said, and laughed indulgently. “You did not set out to draw a false picture for me.”

  “Of that you may be sure,” Charles declared, brightening. “I am glad you see that I meant nothing by it, because although I do not quite take your meaning, I meant no harm.”

  “Of this I have no doubt,” Richard said, laughing still more.

  For once Elizabeth was no wiser than Charles. She could not make sense of Richard’s talk, and like Charles was glad to hear an end of it. As she went to fetch the soup she lingered a moment outside the door. Richard said lightly, “Too bad one of yon girl’s sisters is not in slavery with her. It would make a far better balance, one for each of us.”

  It took a little time for poor Charles to phrase his thought: “She is a beauty, is she not?”

  “And with an eye for you, my lad,” said Richard. “You’ve noticed it, I trust? An eye for the young master has this girl.”

  “I did think—it did seem—” Charles sputtered to a stop like a wheel with its treadle broken, then began once more, “Girls never look at me in the ordinary way when you are about, Richard,” he said in-generously. You have a flash, or a spark, or something, and when you are about, they never notice me. So! You think she liked me, then! I thought so myself, I confess. I did observe it myself.”

  He had his aunt’s manner of stupid repetition, but in this case Elizabeth gave him leave to repeat as much as he liked. What she had foretold had come to pass. Charles, too dull to attract a woman he could like, would like any woman he could attract. He was already flattered by her preference, and with his noble intelligence gratitude must be akin to love.

  When she re-entered with the soup, Richard was talking once more. “But was I right, Charles—you told me your aunt was born in the old country?”

  “Indeed she was, on the old Lord’s estate,” Charles answered. “But she being a granddaughter so many times removed from the title she was easily persuaded to give up the ‘Lady’ when my uncle offered for her. He was strong against titles, you know. He would have none of it; he made her promise to return with him to the Colonies. And so she did, and when he died she went on in his way, and none the worse for it, if you ask me.”

  “But she has strong leanings for dear old England,” Richard pressed on.

  “It would only be expected,” Charles exclaimed defensively. “Born on the old Lord’s estate, you know! She could not bring herself to go back, the ocean voyage being what it is, but she often says England is the only place for the gentry. There the class is properly looked up to! She is often put about that I care so little. I am American born, you know. I do not care for the
English business as my dear aunt does.”

  “There is something very strange here,” Richard muttered.

  “Is there, indeed?” Charles asked with his unfailing good-humour. He smiled at Elizabeth and took a bowl from her hands. “This hot American soup is more to my taste than your English Lords, Richard.”

  When Elizabeth saw the men fed and satisfied and yawning for bed, she reminded them it was time to pay their respects to Mrs. Parsons.

  “And you will guide us to her?” Richard asked curiously.

  “Yes, sir,” Elizabeth answered. His oddness would have confused her another time, but now the closeness to the crucial moment of discovery brushed all else aside. “My mistress would be most put about not to see you this night.”

  Charles laughed affectionately. “You never saw the match of my aunt!” he said.

  “Never saw her match in taste, at any rate,” Richard answered with a sly look at Elizabeth, who carefully did not observe it. She saw what he was about—he was set to flirt. It was a temptation! Richard was by far the more attractive man, the livelier, and without challenge the wittier. But he was not for marriage, she could see that, and Charles was. She had known all about Charles from that one quick look four years ago, and he proved her right and right again each word he spoke. No, likes and not-likes did not matter here. She had set her cap for Charles, and Charles she would have, and the match would be made palatable by all that came with him.

  The candles in the little sitting-room had burned out, but the fire still gave a light, and Richard’s sharp eyes caught sight of the body on the floor at once.

  “Here, what’s that!” he exclaimed, and dropped on one knee. He gave a quick look at the cruelly beaten head. “Murdered!” he said in an-undertone, as if the word carried a special answer to him.

  “Dead?” Charles asked. “You mean my aunt is dead?”

  “Done to death,” Richard said, and added callously, “someone’s done you a good turn, man. Someone’s made you a rich man with one stroke of—” he looked about him, then strode to the fireplace and took up the poker “—with one stroke of this.”

  Charles stared. Elizabeth was mute, since she had long ago decided not to scream at the discovery, but only to gasp and take a timid step backwards. Having acquitted herself in her role, she waited another moment, then said softly, “Oh poor Mr. Charles! You are shocked!”

  “Exactly so!” Charles said. “I am shocked! I did not expect it. I had no idea she would be dead.” His voice became indignant. “You are a dog, Richard. Someone’s done me a good turn, indeed! I was fond of my old aunt.”

  “I’m sure you were, man,” Richard replied. “But you’ll be fonder of her still, won’t you, now that she’s set you up in life the way you deserve.” He knelt again and looked close to her. “An old woman, too—her life lived. What’s she lost? If my uncle were of a like age, I could in Christian charity wish him a speedy meeting with your poor aunt.” He added with mischievous impiety, “Oh, Heaven forgive me my thoughts!”

  There was a little silence during which Elizabeth stood with her eyes soberly downcast, and Richard paced about the room relentlessly.

  “The Magistrate must be told, sir,” Elizabeth ventured, for it was an important part of her plan to place blundering Mr. Curtis promptly in charge.

  “Yes, the Magistrate,” Charles agreed. “And Richard, I pray you let us have no more talk of good turns, if you please.”

  “Hold!” said Richard, who scarcely seemed to be listening. “Perhaps we may lay hands on the culprit ourselves, and turn a murderer over to the Magistrate with no waste of time. We don’t want a long business between murder and inheritance. There are things your money will buy that we don’t want to wait for.”

  Oh, yes, all will wait until His bride says the word, my fine Richard! Elizabeth grew angry and even a little fearful at this audacious man who carried everything before him, who was impatient to snatch at a fortune she had long considered her own.

  “I remarked before, and I say again, it is most strange,” Richard said.

  “Did you?” Charles asked. “Oh, yes, indeed you did. And you see you were right, Richard. Here my poor aunt lies dead, and I do not half like it! Very strange!”

  Elizabeth could not but feel that the strangest thing of all was Richard’s way of talking, and felt with some relief that he might be a good partner for Magistrate Curtis and Charles after all. Still, immediately after, she must admit the good sense of his first question: “Besides the three of us, and this poor corpse, who else is within these walls?”

  “There are but two maidservants, sir. The stableman and his wife live in the barn cottage.”

  “Then we will soon catch our villain,” he announced confidently, “for you will see that the body, though it lay before the fire, is cooling. And yet although it is cooling, it is still not cold. So she has not been long dead—not since before the snow started—am I right?”

  “You are indeed,” Elizabeth answered. “My poor mistress sat eating as the snow fell.” She was sure there was no way to bring the murder home to her, but what did concern her was Richard’s influence over her foolish Charles—it would be too bad indeed if she must get rid of Richard too before she could at last reach Charles!

  “And we remarked, did we not, that ours were the first boot-marks on that trackless snow?” Richard appealed to Charles who said, “Boots? Tracks? Snow? Oh, indeed!” as the light broke. “To be sure, there were no signs outside. Nobody had left the house. You pointed it out,” he went on admiringly. “That is what you said. Nobody has left since the snow fell, you said.”

  “And of course nobody came in, either, before ourselves,” Richard said impatiently. “You see that, don’t you?”

  “Oh, of course,” Charles said. “I see it very clearly, now that you point it out. Nobody went out, and nobody came in, and the snow was unmarked, and that is how we may be sure.”

  Richard looked thoughtfully at Elizabeth, and in spite of her confidence her heart beat faster. But his next words showed he meant only to question her about the others. “What manner of women are they?”

  “Two decent spinsters, sir. Anne, young, and Jane not likely to see forty again.” She did hope that neither would be branded a murderess, although if so it must be, she did incline to Jane. She would not wish trouble on Anne.

  “Have them down,” Richard commanded, and Charles said, “Indeed, that is best. It is what I would have said myself, if I had thought of it. Have the women down and let us learn which of them did this cruel thing. I will have her before the Magistrate, never fear. I did not expect my poor aunt to be dead, you know. I did not think of murder, or anything like it.”

  Elizabeth said, “Yes, sir,” by Richard not to tell the reason for her errand, as surprise must work on the side of justice, and this instruction was seconded by Charles, who said resentfully, “Yes, do not tell them. Let them find out for themselves as I must do. My own aunt, you know, and murdered, and I did not in the least expect it. Do not tell them, Elizabeth; they are not to be told.”

  Elizabeth said, “Yes, sir,” quite properly, although already she was finding him a little fatiguing. Still, she had never expected his brain to light any candles, as the saying went. He would be all the easier to manage because of what he was—or rather, because of what he was not and could never be.

  Anne and Jane must be roused from sleep and told to dress at once in what was quickest and yet decent, and make haste to the sitting-room. Here they shrieked, and tried to faint, and upon being admonished not to be silly girls, gripped one another tight and stood speechless and staring.

  “Come, now, you’ve nothing to be afraid of if you’ve done nothing wrong,” Richard said persuasively.

  “Oh, sir!” Jane quavered, and “Bless me!” Anne choked, and then both at once, “We’ve done no wrong, sir. Indeed sir!”

  “Then you won’t mind telling us when you last saw your mistress alive.”

  Elizabeth could not but
admire this method of proceeding, although she had foreseen nothing like it, expecting to have to deal with no mind any deadlier than Charles’. Still it was fascinating to watch the way Richard ticked off the times so that he cleared away everything up to the point where Anne was declaring, “The last time, sir, I swear it; and Elizabeth will bear witness.”

  He had led to the point too carefully, and she had been listening to the whole of it so entranced, that she did not see the danger until she was nearly mired in it.

  However, “It was exactly so,” she said promptly, so that no hesitation would appear. “It must have been as Anne says. From the time I returned from the village, none other saw her save myself. It was I who carried her supper to her, as always, and I who cleared afterwards.”

  “Was it all as usual?” Richard persisted. “I charge all three of you to test your memories. Was tonight the same as always?”

  “No!” Anne and Jane spoke as one. They reminded Elizabeth she had been granted time to rest.

  “True,” Elizabeth agreed. “And I took my rest, sewing by the kitchen candle.”

  “But after that it was all exactly as usual,” Anne said loyally. “Elizabeth went up with the wine and water—which she would surely not have done if our poor mistress were not alive to drink it.”

  Like a heavy hand clapped over her heart there came the shock of remembering. Since setting the goblet on the hall table, she had never thought of it again. But even as she recalled it, Elizabeth forced herself to speak and make her words sound right. “You will observe another difference,” she said. “Mrs. Parsons is fully dressed—she would have it so, she wished to receive Mr. Charles at whatever time he arrived, and so she dozed by the fire, fully dressed.”

  “Then you were the last to see her alive,” Richard said.

  “Save the murderer, to be sure,” Elizabeth said quickly, for one part of her mind seemed able to grasp all that was said, in spite of her fearful worry over the unused wine that could reveal she lied, that here was one thing not as usual, and how was she to explain it, since both women had seen her carry the goblet up?