Audrey shook her head. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
He accepted that answer. “I received your note. How can I help you?”
“I don’t even know where to begin,” she said, frowning. She moved towards the sofa before the fire, and he followed her.
“Tell me what the problem is and I’ll do my best to help you,” he told her. “By the way, where is Frances?”
“She’s upstairs in her room.” She pulled the papers forward that they had worked on and handed them to him.
“Our lists,” he acknowledged them.
“I found out something unexpectedly about them.” She relayed the conversation she had with Dr. Beesley, and Henry looked startled.
“Do you mean to say everyone on this list is dead?”
“I’m not sure about everyone. He said he only recognized some of them, and I have no way to confirm them all.”
Henry stared at the list he held. “What sense does that make? And if they are dead, what do the numbers mean and why was Marguerite keeping a list of them?” Audrey shuddered, and he saw it. “Are you cold?” he said suddenly.
“I’m fine,” she told him. “It just seems a little odd. A list of the dead.”
“It is odd.” He looked down at the lists of names. “Maybe she was keeping a list of people that died in the workhouse. Perhaps we are making too much out of this.”
“I would agree with you if it weren’t for the fact that she wrote those words as well. She was afraid of something. But what?” Audrey shook her head. She looked at him then and realized. “I’m a terrible host. I haven’t offered you anything to eat or drink, and you came after work. Would you like some tea? I think I have some cheese and bread.”
“Sounds like a feast.”
He followed her as she busied herself in the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove and placing the food on a plate. Henry leaned against the door, watching her. She wasn’t doing anything grand or impressive, but he felt a strange calm overcome him, and he knew she was the one he wanted in his life. Odd that he should discover this fact in the small kitchen in the little cottage at the far end of the workhouse grounds… But there it was. Stranger things had happened.
He had known how he felt for some time, but he knew it was not the right time to discuss it with Audrey. She was too overwhelmed with her mother, and he didn’t want to add to her troubles. If anything, he wanted to be a source of strength to her. He wanted her to understand that she was not alone.
“I’m sorry it’s not more,” Audrey told him as she placed the food on the table.
“It’s perfect,” he said as she carried another tray of tea and cups into the drawing room.
“Bon appetit,” she said.
Together, they consumed the food and drank the strong tea while the light rain fell outside. After Audrey had cleared away the dishes, they sat before the fire.
“I don’t even know what to make of it.” She looked down at the papers with the names of the dead upon it. “If the entire list that Marguerite made is dead, and we know they are inmates because Dr. Beesley recognized them, why?”
“She was writing them down for a reason,” he agreed.
Audrey excused herself and he watched her walk upstairs and then return a minute later with the diary in hand. She came to sit across from him and he watched as she turned the pages to find what she was looking for. When she stopped, she looked up at him and read the words aloud.
“’I have been watching when no one else is. I see what no one else sees. I must keep myself safe unless they guess. Things are not what they seem. I keep my door locked at night.
“I am now more certain than ever. I had my doubts as it could be possible but now I know. I will continue to watch.
“Alistair is dead. He was coughing badly towards the end. Consumption? That’s what they want everyone to believe.
“They know that I know. It’s not a game. It’s real. I must be vigilant. I must be ever on the lookout. They killed Alistair. I’m next.’”
Audrey looked up. “Someone was killing the inmates, Henry! They killed Alistair, and Marguerite must have figured out who they were, and they killed her, too.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Henry met her eyes in the warm glow of the gaslights. “It’s not possible, Audrey.”
“Why isn’t it possible, Henry? Who better to kill than inmates in a workhouse? They’ve fallen on bad luck. They have no one and nowhere to go. They target old people like Alistair and Marguerite because no one will care,” Audrey explained. “From a murderer’s point of view, it’s actually brilliant if it weren’t so reprehensible.”
He shook his head. “No. Now stop. We can’t make wild allegations. We have an old woman’s diary and some nonsensical initials and numbers. It means nothing right now.”
“Nothing? Dr. Beesley saw the names and said those people were dead. How is that nonsense?” she countered.
Henry frowned. “Because we made a guess. We thought those initials were names and they could be. But take C.N for instance. Those could be the initials for ten men or ten women. Or a hundred! We’re guessing here.”
“Perhaps—”
He cut her off before she could go any farther. “And we can’t take the wild leap from initials and names to now a murderer is afoot in the workhouse!” Audrey was silent and said nothing. Henry continued. “I think we need to look at the—”
“Where would the books be kept?” Audrey asked. “For those who have died in the workhouse.”
Henry took a long sip of his tea. “Audrey.”
“Henry.” She met his gaze steadily.
“I don’t think this is the right path. It makes no—”
She waved impatiently. “Yes. You’ve said as much.”
“Come, let’s not quarrel over this,” he said quietly.
She crossed her arms across her chest. “We’re not quarrelling. Only lovers quarrel.”
“Is that so?” he said lowly.
She made a frustrated sound. “I just don’t understand why you want to dismiss this theory so easily.”
“Not so easily. But honestly, how could all these bodies be piling up and no one knows? It’s a bit fantastical,” he said, smiling.
“I see.”
“Audrey, no. Wait. I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“We see this differently. That’s all.”
Henry could tell she was not pleased with him. “Why don’t we both sleep on this and talk more tomorrow. We are both tired,” he suggested.
Audrey nodded curtly. “Fine.”
Audrey closed her eyes and breathed out quickly. She was angry at Henry. She’d had no idea what the initials really meant until Dr. Beesley had spotted them and said they were all dead. She admitted to herself that the jump from dead people on a list to the workhouse killing them was a large one, but she had said it aloud to see his thoughts.
Instead of giving it credence, he had seemed to make a joke of it. That had irritated her all the more. She looked across at the papers lying nearby and threw them onto the chair across from her. They scattered, and one fell to the floor.
She reached to pick it up, saw the names in her handwriting, and sighed. How could she find out what had happened to the people listed here? How could she get the information she needed? She looked into the fire and then sat up straight. She had it!
The buildings at the edge of the workhouse grounds on the far side of the cottages. The mortuary. Would any records be there? Would she dare venture there alone? She stood up and quickly went upstairs. Frances was fast asleep. She came back downstairs and pulled her shawl down and placed it about her shoulders. This was madness! But she would only be gone a short time…. She would see if she could gain access to the building and then decide from there.
She glanced at the mantle clock and saw it was after ten. This was madness, but she had to try. Closing the cottage door behind her, she began the short walk across the orchards to the edge of the grounds. She looked across to her l
eft at the skeletal fruit trees that looked like they belonged in an Edgar Allan Poe nightmare poem.
In the low moonlight, she continued to walk and saw the small building before her. She glanced about, but saw no one. This was crazy! But she had come this far, and she wouldn’t turn back now. What was she afraid of, the bogeyman? There was no such thing.
She looked up at the mortuary building as it came into sight. It was a nondescript one-story building that looked much like the workhouse, but the red brick was not as bright. She went along the one side of the building and saw nothing. She turned right and was met by a small door. She tried the doorknob, but it didn’t turn.
She pulled the shawl about her in the chilly air and wondered if she was following her mother into madness. This was insane!
She moved along the building, turning right again. She saw another door that appeared larger, and when she turned the knob, it moved. Her heart caught in her throat. Should she enter? Should she dare? She had come this far…
She turned the knob and stepped inside the room. The temperature dropped inside the building. It was as cold inside as it was outside. There was a small hallway with wooden chairs along one side and, beyond it, a white room with gaslights. Should she move forward into the room or down the hallway?
After a moment of debate, she chose the hallway and passed several closed doors with a small window at the top of each. She must look for a place where the records were kept. Soon enough, she found the place. She stopped before a door with the word “records” on a sign above it.
She looked down the hallway and then back at the door. She opened it and discovered a row of wooden cabinets inside the room. She came to the first one and tried to pull it open, but it was locked. She tried another one, then another.
They were all locked.
“Damn,” she swore lightly under her breath.
Now what? She looked back at the row of cabinets, wondering if she could pry them open, but she had not brought anything with her. She was about to look inside the room for a letter opener when she heard a noise outside.
Her heart thudded wildly. She looked up at the small glass window and then the door to the floor. The gaslights in the hallway illuminated the floor. She watched underneath the door as someone passed by.
She covered her mouth with her hand and closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. She pressed her ear to the door but heard nothing. What should she do now? Wait for a few minutes? Spend the night here inside the records room? Impossible. She had done nothing wrong, she reasoned. But how would she explain her presence in the mortuary? There was no reason for her to be here.
She eased the door open and looked down the hallway. No one was about. She stepped into the hallway and took one slow step and then another. She was just passing an office door when the door swung open and she was jerked inside.
A body pressed her against the wall, a hand over her mouth. For a second, panic went through her, but then she saw the handsome face of Henry.
“I think you are out of your mind,” he whispered harshly to her. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I saw you leave the cottage, and I followed you. I didn’t know where you’re going so late at night. I couldn’t believe it when you came here.” He finally removed his hand from her mouth.
“Why did you follow me?” she whispered back. “You think all of this is nonsense. Fantastical,” she repeated his words to her.
He looked down into her face. “I want to keep you safe, Audrey.”
Audrey felt herself grow warm at his nearness and words. “I can look out for myself.”
“Yes, you can. But I—“
“I’m sure I heard a noise,” came a voice in the hallway. Audrey and Henry froze and turned their heads towards the door.
“There’s no one about and we don’t have time for this,” came another voice.
Audrey met Henry’s eyes, and he shook his head, silently telling her not to make a sound.
“Well, you’re the one that’s always worried about someone finding out,” said the first voice.
Audrey turned her head to listen to the two men, her heart pounding in her chest. Were these the two men who were killing the inmates? Would Audrey and Henry be next?
“Of course I’m worried. That’s why we had to kill that meddlesome bitch.”
Audrey took a sharp intake of breath, and her eyes widened as Henry put his hand over her mouth again.
One of the men suddenly chuckled. “Who would have guessed that crazy old bat would have put it all together?”
“Come on,” came the second voice.
Audrey listened as their footsteps retreated and then came the sound of the door opening and closing.
“Henry,” she said softly. Before she could say anything else, she felt her head spin and a blackness surrounded her.
“Audrey,” he said her name softly. She could vaguely feel his fingers at her throat, then the blackness blotted out everything else.
When she came to, they were both on the floor, and she was resting against him.
“I—what happened?” she asked, sitting up.
“I think you fainted. You weren’t out but a second, but Jesus, it scared me,” Henry admitted.
“Well, at least you didn’t let me fall,” she said, touching her chest and feeling the neckline, which he had unbuttoned.
She suddenly felt naked, even though it was only a few buttons and she had been dressed in much less the time he had kissed her on the sofa.
“Of course not, but I didn’t expect it. It must have been what we heard. It was a shock,” Henry told her.
Audrey swallowed. “What does it all mean?”
He shook his head. “Honestly, Audrey, I have no idea.”
She licked her lips. “It’s quite cold. We should leave.”
He nodded, and they stood together as he pulled the shawl about her shoulders. They left the mortuary behind and walked along the orchards, saying little until they reached her cottage.
“I know you can take care of yourself, Audrey,” he said quietly. “God knows of all the people of my acquaintance, you can. But I was sorry we quarreled, and I actually followed you to apologize and make amends. When I saw where you were going, I was worried. Worried for your safety,” he explained.
She shook her head. “You didn’t need to apologize. We had different opinions on the matter. It happens. And I shouldn’t have gone to the mortuary alone. That was careless.”
“It was careless. I didn’t want us to separate on those terms. Quarrelling as we did,” he said. “Oh, that’s right. Only lovers quarrel.”
Suddenly, without warning, he pulled her to him and touched his lips to hers. He released her a moment later, and she stepped away from him.
“What was that for?” she asked him.
“I wanted to feel you in my arms,” he told her honestly.
“You take your liberties,” she admonished him.
“Are you angry with me?”
She bit her lip. “No.”
“Will you be all right alone?” he asked. “Here?”
Audrey cast a glance back at the cottage and then back at him. “This is my home. Where else should I go?”
“Maybe you and Frances should return back to the larger workhouse. You might be safer there,” he said.
“Safer there? Safe like Marguerite? Like Alistair?” He frowned. “I’m not safer anywhere, Henry,” she said. “But you seem to think someone’s after me or might be. No one knows anything about the diary or that we found it. No one knows about the mortuary or our trip there.”
“All that you said is true. I just can’t help but worry about you. Now that I found you, I won’t let you go so easily.”
“You won’t let me go?” she asked him.
His gaze was intense. “It’s taken me half a lifetime to find you.”
“Has it?” She looked up at him. “Half a lifetime?”
He reached out to brush her hair back. “It has.”
&nb
sp; She didn’t know what to say to that. “Well, then.”
“So, you must take care. So, I can spend the second half of our lifetime making up for lost time.” He kissed her lips swiftly.
She hesitated. “I like that you looked out for me this evening. Even after we disagreed.”
“I will always look out for you, Audrey,” he told her softly.
When Audrey entered the stillness of the cottage, she immediately went to check on Frances, who was sleeping like a baby. She always slept heavily, and Audrey envied her little sister. She went downstairs to collect the names and the diary and then returned to her room.
The moon was low in the sky. She sat upon her bed. She had been rash. Too rash and her heartbeat quickened just thinking about the trip to the mortuary and the subsequent voices in the hallway. What did it all mean? Obviously, Marguerite had stumbled upon something, but what was it? It irritated her to know that she knew even less now than when she had first found the diary.
She began to undress for bed and thought about the evening. Henry. Even when she didn’t expect him, he was there. He was a guardian indeed. A guardian angel watching over her. Protecting her from harm. She liked the feeling of his protective nature, and her cheeks grew warm at the thought of his kiss.
She pulled her mourning gown over her head and placed it over the back of the chair. She remembered the odd visit from Joseph, who had come to the cottage out of the blue. He had not wanted tea so the intention had not been to stay. Or maybe that was the case because she had told him she was expecting someone else. He seemed to have something on his mind, and Audrey frowned as she recalled their brief conversation.
I wanted to make sure you were all right. Your mother as well. I know things have been difficult for you.
It was strange that he had chosen this time, this night, to come to her cottage to ask her about her mother’s wellbeing. Why tonight?
Then she recalled his mood had switched when talking about the cottage and the painting and then just as rapidly he had said, “I heard your mother saying some wild things. She was talking about a man. A shadow man. What do you think she meant by that?”
Among the Darkness Stirs Page 23