“About that,” Paul answered.
“Sure a long time,” he said.
“A long time indeed.”
“So, how do you feel?” Richard asked. “I’m surprised to see you. Thought maybe you wouldn’t feel up to it.”
“I didn’t actually. Wasn’t gonna come, but Eda talked me into it.”
“Eda, I remember her,” Edgar said. “Wonderful lady. How’s she?”
“She’s well. Off to Hemsby to visit her niece for Christmas.”
“Tell us more about the fire,” Roger said.
“He doesn’t want to talk about it. Believe me. I’ve tried,” Richard said.
“But there are interesting details about it I’m sure… how did it begin? Did someone set it? Or the asylum itself. What was it like?”
Paul did not want to talk about the asylum or the fire. He especially did not want to talk about the tunnels or anything sinister he discovered. He wanted his life to return to normal. He wanted to converse with his friends the way he had always done—about women, and life, and fun. But here he was, tired, cold, and lonely. Not even his friends could make him happy.
“See, he doesn’t want to talk,” Richard said.
Suddenly John returned with a drink for Paul, a glass of gin, neat.
“Leave the man alone, Roger,” John said. “Now all of you grab a lady and dance.”
Roger and John entered the dance floor, swooping up a masked woman to dance with, while Richard returned to the bar. Edgar stayed behind with Paul. Paul wondered where Claire was, why she hadn’t been with Richard.
“Listen, Paul, anything you need, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask. I speak on behalf of my brothers as well.”
“Thank you, Edgar; you’re a good man.”
“Well, you’ve always been there for all of us in times of need, accepted us exactly as we are. No hidden agendas. Some of these people here,” he said, taking a sip of his wine, “They don’t even care to know us. They only come for what we can give them.”
“Yes, well, some people just don’t have compassion for others.”
“I suppose it’s my brother’s fault. John always enjoys the big dance. I may love the theater, but when it comes to my personal affairs, I’ve always preferred something more low-key.”
“Nothing wrong with that. I’m the same.”
“I need another glass of wine. I’ll see you later,” Edgar said.
“Edgar, thanks for your concern.”
“Of course.”
Then Paul was alone again.
In the corner of the room, Paul caught a glimpse of Claire enjoying a conversation with two women. She looked radiant, in a knee-length gold-sequined dress, a white mask trimmed in gold and white gloves. He knew it was her instantly, and he couldn’t take his eyes away from her. She did not see him yet, and he only watched her from afar. Claire turned her head slightly, as if she intuitively felt Paul’s presence. When their eyes met across the room, they stared at each other for a second, but it seemed like an eternity.
Her eyes softened, and she smiled. Paul walked toward her slowly. Now he recognized one of the women standing next to her. It was Petunia Pennyworth.
“You all look radiant,” he said to the three women. The longer he looked at the women, the more he knew his statement was true. Even Petunia looked beautiful in an all black-sequined gown and her green mask.
“Thank you, Paul,” Petunia answered.
Claire smiled.
“This is my friend, Rose,” Claire said.
Rose had dark hair and eyes. She was beautiful, in her pale pink dress and pearls. She wore a tiny white mask.
“Nice to meet you,” Paul said. The name Rose made him think of Amy. Had she received his letter? Would she come to visit him now that he was home?
“Well, I only came by to say hullo,” Paul said looking into Claire’s eyes.
Suddenly Richard was next to them.
“Well, I see you’ve found Paul,” he said to Claire.
“I found them actually.”
“You’ve introduced him to Rose, haven’t you?”
“Of course,” Claire said, the smile leaving her face.
“Well, are we going to the dance floor or are we standing in the corner all evening?” Richard asked.
“I don’t think Paul can dance,” Claire said worriedly.
“Nonsense. He’s fine.”
“She may be right,” Paul said. “I think I may have to sit out this year.”
“Blast, alright. Well, come on Claire,” Richard said. “Paul, why don’t you keep Rose and Petunia company for awhile?”
Suddenly, Paul did not feel well. He felt hot, and his bandage needed to be changed.
“Actually, I think it best if I go home.”
“Are you all right, Paul?” Claire asked.
“Not really.”
“Want me to help you home?” Richard asked.
“I could go with you,” Petunia said.
“No. Stay. All of you. I can manage, I promise. Just...tell John I’m sorry I have to leave.”
“I’ll tell the servant to get his things,” Claire said to Richard.
“Alright, be safe mate. I’ll visit you tomorrow.”
Richard patted Paul gently on the shoulder. Then he turned to Claire.
“I’ll get us some drinks while you see him out. Would you like some champagne?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Claire walked slowly with Paul toward the door.
“Paul,” he heard Claire’s soft voice say, and he turned to look at her. She rested her hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right? I mean, you know...”
“I’m fine,” he answered calmly.
“You say that, but I don’t think you are.”
Paul stopped and looked into Claire’s eyes.
“Claire, all you need to know is that you look beautiful tonight.”
Claire gave him a small smile, and soon an uncomfortable energy filled the room. While the butler retrieved Paul’s coat, both Claire and Paul were quiet, only staring into each other’s eyes.
“I must apologize,” Paul said breaking the silence.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Claire answered gently touching Paul’s shoulder.
“I do. I took advantage of a situation. I put your marriage with Richard at risk.”
“But I don’t regret anything that’s happened between us. I only wish…”
Her voice trailed off, but Paul knew what Claire was going to say.
“Yes, me too.”
They were silent again.
“Are you sure you don’t want Richard to take you home?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Thank you.”
Paul put on his coat and caught Claire in a gentle embrace then.
“Goodbye, Claire.”
“Goodbye.”
Paul was about to leave, but stopped just before the front door and turned to face Claire again.
“London will always be my greatest love...” he said softly, offering Claire a loving smile.
Claire nodded as she smiled, and her eyes filled with tears of happiness and of sorrow—happiness because Paul would always love her and sadness because they would never be together.
With one last look into Claire’s eyes, Paul left for his home.
forty eight
BEHIND THE WALLS
“Do you think he would fancy me?” Rose asked, as she stood next to Petunia in the corner of the large ballroom.
Petunia had no clue where Phillip was at the moment. Claire went off to dance with Richard and left Petunia standing with her friend Rose, who seemed as dim-witted as Beatrice. Rose was asking about Paul Watson since the moment he greeted them. It was clear to Petunia that Rose had not observed the obvious chemistry between Paul and Claire.
“Perhaps,” Petunia answered reluctantly.
“He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever met.”
But Petunia was no longer paying attention to Rose. She
was intently watching Constable Wyatt as he wiped the brow of his tall forehead with the hand that was not holding a drink. Petunia noticed the constable was trying to get John Loxley alone all evening. She wondered why he was so unyielding about speaking with John.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Rose,” Petunia said as she made her way toward the Constable, who had cornered John at the bar. She needed to hear their conversation. She did not know why, but the entire situation seemed suspicious.
When she arrived near the bar, the constable was tapping John’s shoulder with his stubby finger.
“John, I must speak with you,” Constable Wyatt said.
John laughed.
“Wyatt, I told you, of course. Whatever you have to say, as long as you’re having a good time.”
Petunia pretended not to listen.
“What I have to say is not for others to hear,” the constable said in a low tone.
“Alright,” John said, sensing that what the constable had to say was truly important. The two walked away then, and Petunia, glancing around her to make sure no one was watching, decided to follow them.
She followed John and the constable at a comfortable distance. Occasionally, the constable or John would turn around to make sure no one was following them, and Petunia made sure to stay far enough behind, so they would not see her.
They headed up the grand staircase, and Petunia thought all hope was lost. Too many servants were nearby for her to follow them up the stairs.
She would have to follow them if she was going to find out what the constable needed to say, and her intuition told her that it was important.
When the hall was clear, she hurried up the stairs and listened for voices. Hearing nothing, she decided to go to her right. She headed through a tall archway, and stopped when she heard the voices from the room.
“Your brother, Roger.”
“What about him?”
“Agatha Bates was found alive.”
“Well, that’s wonderful news,” Petunia heard John say.
Petunia heard the constable release a heavy sigh.
“She claims your brother owns a rare German Wheel-Lock Belt Pistol from the sixteenth century—the pistol involved in the murders of Louisa...and...”
“And what?”
“And Wendy Watson.”
“You’re joking?” John Loxley said, with a laugh.
“I’m afraid not.”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” John said. “Roger couldn’t have been involved. He wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Agatha’s disclosed everything, John. She claims Roger is the one who murdered Louisa.”
“But what Agatha says is only her word against Roger’s,” John defended.
“Unless the police acquire the gun, John.”
“But what about Wendy Watson?”
“You may want to meet with Richard Baker and Roger, have them get their stories straight. I could lose my job for telling you this, but it appears Richard shot the gun first that killed Wendy. It doesn’t matter that it was an accident, done under inebriation: it was Roger’s gun. And the woman is dead.”
“But still, Richard was the one who shot the gun.”
“Listen to me, John. Agatha says Wendy was only shot once by Richard, but her post-mortem report showed two gun shot wounds, one to the right abdomen and one to the head. After the gun went off it was your brother who told Richard, Louisa, and Agatha to leave. He told them he would take care of Wendy. They thought he would take her to the hospital, but soon realized he killed her. They were all there, the four of them. Louisa, though, had suffered mentally from it over the years. Agatha says she was overcome by guilt. She was going to tell the police what had happened.”
“You’re saying Roger killed Louisa to keep her quiet?”
“I’m afraid so, John. But don’t worry. Agatha only told me that story. She was able to tell the police about the gun though, and they’re looking to make an arrest. If they find your brother is the owner of that gun,” the constable said. “John, you must do something, or he’ll go away forever.”
“I’ll take care of it, Wyatt. Thank you.”
John was quiet for a moment before speaking again.
“We can’t mention this to Edgar. He’d do the right thing. He’d turn on his own brother. Can you ensure no one will ever find out the story?”
“Yes. I’m sure you and I can work out an arrangement.”
“Here. For your trouble,” Petunia heard John say. She wondered what John gave the constable. “And what will you do about Agatha?”
“She’s unstable, and she would get better care in an asylum. I have a way of ensuring she stays there.”
Petunia heard all she needed to. Her throat felt tight; she wanted to burst into the room and scream at the top of her lungs. Roger and Richard were involved in the murder of Wendy Watson, and the constable and countless others were paid so well by the Loxleys that even a murder could go unpunished. It wasn’t fair! She wondered if Oscar knew; no, he couldn’t. He loved Wendy; he wanted nothing but happiness for her, even if it meant she refused to marry him. And poor Paul, all this time he had no idea that his friends had been his mother’s murderers. Petunia no longer wanted to be at the party. She no longer wanted to see any of the Loxleys or Richard Baker again. Roger, Louisa, Agatha, Richard, now John, Constable Wyatt, they all knew what really happened, and they went through such lengths to keep it secret. But, Petunia thought as a wry smile crossed her face, none of them would have anticipated that someone might be listening behind the walls.
forty nine
A DISTURBING DISCOVERY
A peaceful snow fell from the sky; the tiny crystallized-flakes landed gently onto Paul’s black coat and hat as he walked down Peddler Street back to his home. The Loxley masquerade was nice, but he was glad he left early.
He pulled his key from his pocket but stopped suddenly before putting it into his front door keyhole. The door was already open. He slowly pushed on it, and it creaked open the rest of the way.
Strange, he thought to himself. Surely, Eda would not have left the front door open like this.
“Eda?” he called as he stepped through the door.
He waited a moment for her to answer, but he heard nothing. Only a small light was on in the hall, but the rest of the house was completely dark.
“Eda?” Paul called again into the hallway.
He heard no reply. Paul planned to call the police-–it was obvious someone had broken into his home, but before he took another step, someone bludgeoned him with a large object.
Immediately, Paul fell to the floor. He felt the blood dripping down the side of his face, and his vision went blurry for a moment. He felt another blow to his ribs and was sure something had broken. He tried to shield himself as the hard object bashed his arms. He winced in pain, and when he regained his vision he was able to twist himself over and see a hooded cloaked figure looming over him.
Paul tried to move, but his body was too weak, and the hooded figure lunged in for another blow, bludgeoning Paul in the mouth.
Paul spit up blood onto his wooden floors, and tried to crawl down the hallway. He reached the hall table, and tried to grab the lit lamp to use as a weapon. He couldn’t reach it, and when he turned, only his attacker’s face under the hooded black cloak came into view.
It was Doctor Reid.
“You took everything from me,” Doctor Reid screamed. “Everything!”
He had a large black club, and he was going to hit Paul again in the head, when suddenly he stumbled back a few feet. Then Doctor Reid fell to the ground.
Though blood dripped down Paul’s face and into his eyes, he was able to turn his head slightly to see Doctor Reid gasping for breath as he lay on the ground.
That’s when Paul noticed another figure standing over Doctor Reid’s bloody body.
It was the girl from the tunnels. She looked frail and weak.
Doctor Reid was dead; t
he girl had killed him. She stood there motionless with a dagger in her hand.
Paul was in excruciating pain. He began to feel weak, as though he was going to pass out, but he forced himself to look into the girl’s eyes.
Paul watched as tears streamed down the girl’s cheeks. He did not take his eyes away from hers. She had saved his life again; he knew he was indebted to the sorrowful girl for that. That familiar, yet frightened, look in her eyes made Paul feel an even deeper pain for her. He looked from the girl to the body. Doctor Reid lay still now in a pool of his own blood. When Paul looked up at the girl again, he noticed she had something in her other hand. She gently placed the item on the corner of the end table.
Paul shifted his body away from the table and hoisted himself up onto his feet. He held onto the staircase, and because of his wounds, slowly turned around. The girl had vanished.
“Wait!” Paul yelled to her in a breathless, fatigued voice. He yelped in pain and grabbed onto his broken rib as he hobbled through the front door. After limping down his front step into the dark night, Paul stood in the street under the faint light of the lamppost for many long moments looking to his left and right for the girl.
“Come back!” he said breathlessly, but the girl was gone.
After a moment, he slowly made his way back into the house.
Paul felt sick. He took one more glance at the crimson liquid oozing from Doctor Reid’s lifeless body. He was about to telephone for help when his eyes caught the shiny object covered in blood that the girl had left by the corner of his front entrance table.
He slowly crept toward the object that had kept his attention. It couldn’t be, he thought. But there, on the table was a charcoaled golden locket. Crystals were missing from the cattails that once were intact, and as he slowly opened it, he gasped, for there, on the right-hand side, was the picture of that young girl just as he remembered her in his grandmother’s garden. And underneath, her full name was inscribed: Amy Rose Reid.
The end, for now.
Turn the page for a sneak peek of the sequel,
Kolney Hatch: Buried Secrets.
Thank you very much for purchasing and reading this book. You can connect with me personally at [email protected].
The Secret of Kolney Hatch Page 21