Chief Inspector Birdsong of the Hampshire constabulary leaned against the marble fireplace. “Cummins said more than once that his wife always stuck by him no matter what. I guess he was more right than he knew. She wasn’t going to let him fail, no matter what she had to do.”
“I suppose we’ll never know how many people she actually killed,” Madeline said softly. “And paid for it as much as anyone. Does Mr. Cummins know? About his wife, I mean.”
Endicott nodded. “Told him myself not half an hour ago. Seems he’s ready to talk now.”
“Now that the damage is done,” Nick muttered to no one in particular.
Carrie reached up and took his hand. “I’m just glad it’s over.”
“And it is, miss,” Birdsong assured her. “We have your statement and shouldn’t need to bother you again. But you all might like to know we finally got the last piece of our puzzle. He liked his hidden doors did our Mr. Cummins.”
Drew thought for a moment. “The warehouses.”
“Exactly. Go into the broom closet on the ground floor of the charity side and come out through a disused boiler down in the cellar of the book side. The night watchman for Cummins’s books, the one who swore blue he never saw a thing, would slip over to the other side on the right evenings and find the stuff all packed up for him to take back to Cummins’s warehouse, put it in with the book shipments, and send it all over Great Britain.” Birdsong glanced at his watch and nodded at Endicott. “Your lads likely have him in custody by now, but I reckon I half believe him when he says he didn’t know what was in those packets.”
The Scotland Yard man snorted. “I remember him. We’ve had our eyes on him before now, but we couldn’t pin him down on anything before. Just like Laurent.”
Drew glanced at Madeline. “Cummins implicated Laurent?”
“In fine fashion. Monsieur will not be returning to the Continent for the foreseeable future.”
Drew nodded. The Frenchman wouldn’t have so much to be smug about now.
“I expect Cummins will have a few more holes to fill for us,” Endicott added, “but that’s the biggest of them. Now all he has before him is a long stretch in prison with no one waiting for him on the outside.”
“You can come visit him anytime,” Birdsong said. “He’ll be in.”
Endicott got to his feet. “Come on, Dane. There’s work to be done. Somebody’s got to tell Asher’s parents. Poor blighter didn’t know how close we were till the very last. Well, good afternoon, ladies. Gentlemen.”
He put on his hat and led his sergeant out into the corridor and out of the house.
“He’s right,” Birdsong said, rising as well. “There’s work to be done. I understand Dr. Fletcher has seen to things here.”
“He’s taken the bodies for autopsy,” Nick said. “Though there’s really nothing to doubt about the causes of death.”
“Well, we of the constabulary must do things decently and in order, young Dennison, never mind what you lot get up to behind our backs.” He peered at Drew and Nick. “For the sake of the ladies, try and stay out of trouble at least until you get back up to Farthering St. John.”
Once everything was more or less settled, everyone decided it was too late to do anything but try to get a good night’s sleep. The next day, a fresh, sunny Sunday, they prepared to return to Farthering Place. Josephine brought them tea and told them their things were packed and ready to go. She also brought Carrie a telegram, which stated that her father’s boat had come into port. And no more than five minutes later, she informed Carrie her father was on the telephone. By the end of the brief conversation, they had decided it would be best for him to come by taxi directly to Winteroak and take her back to Southampton with him. They had berths reserved on a passenger ship leaving at eight-thirty that evening.
Madeline went upstairs to help Carrie get ready to sail. Nick was busy packing his own things, as well as making sure Drew and Madeline’s were seen to. Eddie had wandered off somewhere, most likely to the kitchen, and Drew sat alone in the library a moment more, feeling the profound emptiness of the not-yet-empty house. It was just a house now, not a home, like the oddly unfamiliar body of a loved one after the life had gone from it.
“Rather sad now, isn’t it?”
Drew looked up to see Philip Broadhurst in the doorway, hat in hand.
“Vicar.” Drew stood, extending his hand. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s quite all right. The staff are rather at sixes and sevens at the moment.”
He took the seat Drew offered, and Drew returned to his own.
“I stopped by to see Mrs. Ruggles,” the vicar said, “well, all the staff, to speak the truth, after I heard what happened. She said I might come on in here and speak to you. You know, I don’t feel bad for the younger ones as much. They’ll find other places, I expect, but Mrs. Ruggles has been at Winteroak House for years now. I don’t know what she’ll do. She hasn’t anyplace or anyone.”
“I don’t suppose we ever quite realize how every choice we make, good or bad, affects someone else. I hope you’ll let me know if she ends up in difficulty. I’d like to help.”
“I’ll do that,” Broadhurst said. “The parish will do its best for her, too. And all the others. The place will be sold, I don’t doubt, and it might be that the new owners will take it staff and all.”
“Might be,” Drew agreed.
The two of them were silent for a while, and then the vicar cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry to see you go, Drew. Even with all this mess, it’s been a pleasure getting to know you and Madeline.”
“And you, Vicar. Next time we have a grand bash up at Farthering Place, I’ll make sure Madeline puts you on the guest list.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Drew sighed, looking around the library once again, feeling as if it and the whole house had been unoccupied for a terribly long while. “I wish I could have done more to stop some of what happened here in Armitage Landing, but I suppose all that’s rather out of my hands.”
Broadhurst smiled. “I think we’re not so far apart in our callings. And don’t think I haven’t often felt the very same as you, as if I’m gunning my engine and going nowhere. But we’re neither of us God, nor can we see everything He’s doing.”
Drew winced. “Now you’re sounding like my wife.”
The vicar chuckled. “She’s a fine woman. My mother often tells me there aren’t many in the world and so I’d best hurry and lay claim to one.” He looked around and then lowered his voice. “Don’t tell anyone, but I may be taking her advice sooner than later.”
“Really?”
“Her name’s Helen Martin. She’s the organist at St. John’s in Turner’s End near Hordle. And she’s one of the ladies there who does ecclesiastical embroidery. She was good enough to repair a vestment that our vicars have worn on special days for the past one hundred and fifty years. We got talking about her needlework and her music and the church. Her father was a bishop for ages, and we found we have rather a lot in common.”
Drew laughed softly. “So that’s what you’ve been about all this time. We were fairly sure you were involved in the smuggling and maybe even the murders.”
The vicar blinked. “Me? Not really.”
“It made perfect sense. You seemed to always show up when something had just happened, you have a connection to the warehouse up in London, and you were deuced elusive about what you were doing when you’d disappear for hours at a time.”
“I . . .” Broadhurst shook his head. “I suppose I was. Good heavens, I never thought it would be taken like that.”
“You were very nearly hauled into Chief Inspector Birdsong’s office to give good account of yourself. Why all the mystery? About the girl, I mean.”
“My good fellow, do you know what a commotion there would be if any of the fine ladies of my flock knew I was calling on someone? Half would be ready to plan the wedding for next week, half would be
holding emergency meetings to decide how best to deliver me from the scarlet woman’s clutches, and the other half would be furious for my not choosing a lady of the parish.”
Drew nodded sympathetically. “That’s three halves, you know.”
“We wouldn’t be left in peace for a single minute. There are those who would assume all manner of impropriety, and heaven help the poor girl if she and I should eventually decide we aren’t meant for each other. It would be a scandal no matter how circumspectly we conducted ourselves.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“Anyway, we decided we’d best be fairly sure we’re serious about each other before we make it public.”
“And are you?” Drew asked. “Fairly sure?”
A hint of a smile softened Broadhurst’s face. “Fairly sure. As in almost absolutely. Nearly positively. Unshakably leaning in that direction.”
“And what was in that packet you dropped when we were on Laurent’s yacht?”
“The packet? Ah, the packet.” The vicar patted his coat pocket. “My grandmother’s ring. I’d just picked it up from the jeweler’s in Lymington.” He turned faintly red. “Having it sized, you know. In case there should be an opportune moment. It would slip out of my pocket right there in front of my mother.”
Drew chuckled. “An engagement ring. Excellent. And when Madeline sends out that invitation, you let us know if it ought to be for two. Your lady fair will be most welcome.”
The vicar stood and shook Drew’s hand once more. “God bless you and your good wife. Don’t let anyone despise the gifts you’ve been given, and don’t you do so, either. They may not fit anyone else’s idea of a calling, but the world has all sorts of needs, and God has provided for each of them to be filled, if we all do our part. It would be a shame if your part were left undone.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Drew said, and the emptiness of Winteroak House didn’t seem quite as overwhelming as before. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
After the vicar had left, Drew made his way back up to the room he and Madeline had occupied for the past two weeks. He would be pleased never to see it again.
Plumfield had stacked all the luggage in the middle of the room, ready to be taken down and loaded into the Rolls. Sitting primly on top of it all with her long tail wrapped around her feet was Eddie.
Madeline sighed when she saw her. “What’s going to happen to her, Drew?”
He put his arm around Madeline’s waist. “I’m not entirely sure. The house is to be closed up. I suppose someone will find her a new home.”
“Or just turn her out to fend for herself.”
He frowned. With all the turmoil around Winteroak House, that latter seemed most likely. Drew didn’t like to see it. Yes, cats were natural hunters, but those that had been raised as house pets were woefully unprepared for life on their own, especially when winter came.
He went over to scratch the cat behind her whiskers. “And just what are your plans, mademoiselle?”
Eddie gave him a look that plainly said if he didn’t know the answer to that by now, it was his own fault and not hers.
“She’s not ours, you know,” he told Madeline. “I mean, legally we haven’t the right to take her off anywhere.”
She gave him that indulgent smile that had been on her face ever since they’d come into the room.
“You’re no help,” he muttered, and he turned back to the cat. “What do you think, Miss Eddie? Would you like to come stay at Farthering Place? I have a feeling you and old Chambers, once he decides you haven’t actually ruined his life, will get along famously. Shall we just stroll off together and see how we fare?”
Purring, Eddie leaned up and rubbed her face against his chin. It seemed the bargain was made.
“I’ll send a note round to Cummins’s solicitor,” he told Madeline. “Cummins isn’t likely to want her anyway, but at least we’ll have everything on the up-and-up.”
Madeline wrapped her arms around his neck. “Thank you, darling.”
“For what? I want her at least as much as you do.”
“No, not for Eddie. Well, yes, for Eddie, but mostly for doing what you do.”
He kept his eyes fixed on the cat. “Alice and Will and Tal—”
There was a decorous tap on the door.
“Pardon me, sir,” Beryl said, “but the taxi’s come and Miss Holland is leaving.”
“All right. We’re coming.” Drew took Madeline’s arm. “Carrie will want to say goodbye.”
Madeline gave him a bittersweet smile. “I think saying goodbye is the last thing she wants to do.”
Carrie and Nick were at the top of the front steps, their voices soft and urgent as they took leave. She sniffed and then turned to walk down to the car. He caught her arm.
“Couldn’t I come with you?” he asked, obviously not for the first time. “Just to the ship, I mean.”
Her black veil was turned back, away from her face, and it quivered just the slightest bit when she shook her head. “I wish you could. I’d feel so much better if you did. But Daddy doesn’t want anyone else right now, just me.”
Her father was sitting in the back of the car, staring straight ahead, stone-faced, nothing like the jovial man who’d come to Drew’s wedding and given away the bride. Once more Drew had to swallow his anger at the waste and evil of it all, remembering again Cummins’s words. “I’m not evil, Drew. People are going to take the stuff anyway. I’m not to blame if they’re hurt because of it.” It was a sad and broken world, God help them all, and there was little Drew could do to make it better.
Madeline squeezed his hand more tightly, and he gave her the slightest of smiles, the intimate smile he kept only for her as he read the reminder in her eyes. Maybe it wasn’t much. Maybe it wasn’t always perfect. But, God helping him, he would do what he could to see that more families like Carrie’s, like Alice’s, like Tal’s weren’t torn apart by greed and murder.
Broadhurst was right. He didn’t have to take on the whole world. He just had to see to the tasks that were put into his hands. He had failed, it was true, painfully true, but at least here the influx of contraband had been stopped, and Mrs. Cummins would never kill again. More than all of that, Carrie was alive. Madeline was alive. In spite of his failures, he couldn’t count that as nothing. He couldn’t help but be thankful. And maybe someday Carrie—
As if she had somehow sensed his thoughts, Carrie came over to him and, standing on tiptoe, kissed his cheek. Then she hugged Madeline fiercely and hurried down the steps to the car. Nick was right after her.
“Carrie, can’t you . . . ?” He ducked his head, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper. “Can’t you stay? I know it’s been awful for you here, but it won’t always be this way.”
“I know.” Her voice was just as broken as his. “I know it won’t. But I need to go home. I need to get over this. I need to help Daddy get over this. If I were to stay, he’d be all alone there. I can’t do that to him. Not now.” She leaned up to touch her lips to his. “I’m sorry, Nick. I’m so sorry.”
For a long moment he didn’t move, didn’t look at her. Then suddenly he had her in his arms, his cheek and then his lips pressed to her red-gold hair. “Don’t be sorry. Just come back. Please come back.”
She pulled away from him, only enough to look into his pleading eyes, and then she touched her lips to his in the tenderest of kisses. She whispered something in his ear and hurried to the car. It pulled out of the drive with her looking out the back window at him as he stood on the bottom step, their eyes locked until the car turned onto the road and disappeared.
Drew watched from a distance, waiting for him to come back to the house. But Nick just stood there, his eyes on the empty drive, hands shoved in his pockets.
“Shouldn’t we go talk to him?” Madeline said. “I hate to leave him just standing there.”
“Let me, darling.”
She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a good friend, Drew.”
> Once she had gone into the house, Drew went down the steps. “You all right, old man?”
Nick didn’t answer right away, but then after a minute he nodded and said, “Yes. All right.”
Drew moved closer, sensing that Nick had more he wanted to say.
“I know now how Mr. Knightly must have felt in Emma. ‘If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.’” He looked again down the road where Carrie had gone. “I feel as though I should have . . .”
“You should have done just as you did, Nick. She’s lost her only brother. Her father’s lost his only son. They need to grieve. Together.”
“I know.” Nick drew a heavy breath. “I just wanted to be with her. To give her whatever comfort I could.”
“You’ve done that, and no doubt she appreciates it.” Drew put his arm around his friend’s shoulders and turned him back toward the house. “And I’ll wager that whatever she whispered to you at the last, it wasn’t goodbye forever.”
A grin tugged at the corners of Nick’s mouth as they walked up the steps. “No, not goodbye forever. Not by a long shot.”
Acknowledgments
To all the wonderful people at Bethany House who keep Drew polished up and at his best.
To John Mattos and Faceout Studio for the amazing cover designs for this series. Your 2014 ECPA Award for Murder at the Mikado was very well deserved.
To Kimberly Rogers who understands the writing life and doesn’t mind playing “what if.”
And to my dad who somehow manages to put up with me even when I’m on deadline.
Thank you and thank you and thank you.
Julianna Deering, author of the acclaimed Murder at the Mikado and Death by the Book in the DREW FARTHERING MYSTERY series, is the pen name of novelist DeAnna Julie Dodson. DeAnna has always been an avid reader and a lover of storytelling, whether on the page, the screen, or the stage. This, together with her keen interest in history and her Christian faith, shows in her tales of love, forgiveness, and triumph over adversity. A fifth-generation Texan, she makes her home north of Dallas, along with three spoiled cats. When not writing, DeAnna spends her free time quilting, cross-stitching, and watching NHL hockey. Learn more at JuliannaDeering.com.
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