An Uninvited Corpse (An Anna Fairweather Murder Mystery Book 3)

by Blythe Baker

  In her eyes now, I saw a regretful resolution. It mattered not how she felt. It would not bring her husband back.

  “It would be my honor to accompany you,” I said.

  She nodded. “Good,” she said. “It gives me comfort that I will not have to sit through an entire performance with that woman all on my own. Well, I suppose I would not be alone. I imagine that she will be inviting her son to accompany her, as well.”

  That meant Jerome for certain.

  I was unsure what I felt at the thought of seeing him again. I had not since he and his mother had visited the country estate for the Colonel’s funeral. What would it be like? Would he acknowledge me at all?

  Why does it matter if he acknowledges me? I wondered.

  “Regardless, you will be a buffer for me,” Mrs. Montford said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “And it might be good for you to get out of your own mind after everything that you have been through tonight.”

  She turned to look back toward the door. “That will be all, then. Go get some rest, Anna. I shall need you at your best tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, getting up and bobbing a curtsy to her.

  I made my way toward the door, my heart feeling somewhat lighter than it had when I had come in.

  “One more thing…” Mrs. Montford said.

  I paused and turned back to her.

  She gave me a flat look.

  “Do not forget your promise to me,” she said. “I should like to be done with this.”

  My face burned. Did she expect me to betray my own word? “I shall not, ma’am,” I said. “You can rely upon me.”

  “I know I can,” she said. “It may be tempting for you to right wrongs when you see them, but you must resist that urge. It is too dangerous.”

  I had seen that firsthand.

  “And we are in London now. You must behave as such.”

  You must behave as such. What did she mean by that?

  “Good night, Anna,” Mrs. Montford said, and she turned away.

  “Good night, ma’am…” I said, and stepped through the doorway into the darkened hallway beyond.

  5

  It turned out that Mrs. Montford’s words were not quite as cryptic as I had thought they might be. The following night, it became quite clear to me that my time away from London had dulled my senses and I had forgotten what it was like. That, and I had never lived the truly proper way in London, among the elite and wealthy.

  Selina shook her head as I stepped out from behind my changing screen. “No,” she said, her brow creasing. “No, it’s all wrong. All wrong.”

  “What? Why?” I asked, looking down at the bottle green dress I had selected to wear to the theater.

  “Mrs. Montford said smart, yes?” Selina asked. “This is not smart. This is plain.”

  “Plain?” I asked. “How could it possibly—”

  “The hem is wrong, for a start,” Selina said, walking all the way around me. “What about that royal blue dress? It fits nicely and would certainly be formal enough for the evening.”

  “The dress you gave me?” I asked.

  She nodded, turning to my wardrobe, throwing back the doors. It only took her a moment to find it, as the color stood out so vividly from the other dresses I had.

  “Why this one?” I asked.

  “Why are you so frightened of it?” she asked, pulling it free. She ran her hand down the length of it, beaming at it before turning to me. “It is so lovely. And with your blonde hair and blue eyes, it will look so utterly—”

  “Selina, I am going to serve as Mrs. Montford’s maid, her companion,” I said. “I am not going to be there to socialize or draw attention to myself.”

  “But you are going to be seeing that attractive Mr. Jerome Townson, are you not?” Selina asked.

  “That…that has nothing to do with anything,” I said.

  All the same, I turned to look at myself in the mirror, holding the blue dress up in front of me. Selina had brushed out my hair, which flowed straight with a slight wave just near the bottom. It fell to my ears, which Selina had fastened with earrings, a gift from her mother that had once been her grandmother’s.

  She was right; the blue of the dress did bring out the color in my eyes.

  It would not be unflattering by any means, I thought, as I slipped it on. It hung just below my knees and with the low, loose-fitting waist and fringed hem, it was quite stylish.

  “It’s too much,” I said. “I look ridiculous.”

  Selina shook her head. “No, it looks lovely,” she said. “Mrs. Montford will approve. Is that not what matters?”

  I hesitated. “I suppose… If you think it is appropriate, then,” I said.

  “It certainly is,” she said. “You worry too much. You will blend in at the theater. I imagine many young ladies will be wearing dresses just like this. Likely, they will think you are Mrs.Montford’s niece or daughter.”

  Blending in. The thought gave me great comfort, and at once, I resolved that standing out in a dress I might be more comfortable in was not at all how I wished to be.

  “You shall go and enjoy the theater,” Selina said. “And forget that anything ever happened with Mr. Hill.”

  That, I knew, would be easier said than done.

  Mrs. Montford was ready to leave for the theater as precisely six-thirty. The sky, already inky black, looked like a blanket over the city, pressing in on every side. Not oppressive as it had been the night before as I had run home through the streets, the images of Mr. Hill’s death flashing over and over again in my mind.

  “You look lovely this evening, ma’am,” I said as Mrs. Montford came down the stairs into the foyer where Mr. Fitzroy and I waited for her. “Very stylish, indeed.”

  She smiled. Her dress, a deep plum, reminded me a great deal of the Colonel’s favorite tie. I wondered if it was where she drew her inspiration. “As do you,” she said, giving me a quick look over. “Thank you for honoring my wishes.”

  “You may thank Selina, ma’am,” I said. “I am not much good at these sorts of things.”

  Mr. Fitzroy offered her fur stole and helped Mrs. Montford to slip it up onto her shoulders.

  “Thank you, Fitzroy. That will be all,” she said, as he brushed her collar free of any lint or dust.

  “Have a splendid evening at the theater, ladies,” he said, reaching for the door, pulling it open for us. “The car is waiting.”

  We stepped outside, and at once, the bite of the air pierced through the jacket I wore. Thankful the car was already roaring and ready, I waited as the driver, Mr. Smith, pulled the back door open for us and allowed us to get in.

  We started down through the city at a quick pace with the hum of the car’s engine purring as we went.

  “I’ve heard this play you are going to see it something else, Mrs. Montford,” Mr. Smith said, glancing back around at the two of us. “It’s wonderfully dramatic, from what they say. Full of action, romance, and perhaps the best part of all…a riveting mystery.”

  “Well, I will kindly ask you not to spoil it, Mr. Smith, before I have even had the chance to see it,” Mrs. Montford said.

  “Yes, but I should warn you,” he said. “There is a gruesome death scene. Unfit for ladies, if you ask me. Probably nothing more than paint or wine spilled across the stage but still—”

  “Mr. Smith,” Mrs. Montford said, cutting him off. “Please. I will ask you again not to spoil the play.”

  I felt her shift her gaze to me and knew at once that she had told him not to go any further as a means of saving my peace of mind.

  It was already too late.

  My heart sank as I looked out at the streetlamps that passed by in a bright, glowing blur. The whole point of this night, I had expected, was to distract my mind from what had happened with Mr. Hill. It seemed, however, that I would never be able to truly escape it, could I? In truth, it was likely many situations that crossed my path would make me think of what happened in that d
ark alley.

  The alleys we passed by would surely have done so. Or the glow of the lamps, their pools of light shielding the identity of the killer from my view, allowing him to get away.

  I would have thought of it even if I were still back at the house, sitting alone in my room.

  There was no escaping the mind…and a mention of a scene in the play we were about to see would certainly not change that.

  The truth was that the death had not left my thoughts since it occurred. As shaken as I had been, and despite the promise I had made to Mrs. Montford that I would not further engage, I could not put it aside. Fear gripped my heart, and every time I thought of the flash of that knife, the knots that filled my chest when the Colonel had died returned. I could not be sure they had ever disappeared.

  Instead of my thoughts being held captive by the memory of the Colonel’s death in the middle of the garden during his party, they shared the time between the crystal clear image of dragging the body of Mrs. Miller and her still breathing husband from the depths of the waves in the sea in Brighton.

  Now such memories would have to bow to the sounds I heard in that dark alley, of the knife finding its home within Mr. Hill’s ribs.

  I was distant from his attack and had not seen all of it clearly…but the noise, the squelch…

  Mercifully, we arrived at the theater a short time later, and the awe and grandeur of it all distracted me enough to take it in.

  The bright, blinking lights over the marquee flashed around the name of the play. Crowds had gathered out in front of the pair of glass doors, all adorned in thick fur coats and hats, gloves, and boots. Posters had been plastered up on the brick wall, advertising the different performances that would be taking place, leading all the way up until Christmas day, where a special choral performance was scheduled to go on. With a small flash of excitement, I wondered if Mrs. Montford would have any interest in it and if she would invite me as she had this evening.

  I remembered another cold night, when I could not have been more than eight or nine, when one of the local churches had a choir singing hymns and choruses on Christmas Eve. The nuns in our orphanage had taken some of us older children while the younger ones had been tucked into bed. It had been one of the most magnificent nights of my young life. The hundreds of lit candles made the space feel almost ethereal and the greenery adorning every surface filled the room with the sweet, heady scent of pine. It sent chills down my little spine as the other children and I were ushered into the pews to listen.

  I had never been an incredibly musical person, but I still believed hearing that choir singing Silent Night and O Holy Night in such tremendous harmony, their voices echoing off the vaulted ceiling, was the moment that I knew I loved music. A cappella, in particular.

  “Come along, Anna,” Mrs. Montford said. “Before they close the doors on us.”

  I followed her across the street and up onto the sidewalk. At once, the other attendees parted for us. I caught sight of a lovely, golden-haired woman in a deep blue fur wrap, her hat with a matching blue ribbon, as she threw her head back and laughed. Another moment of looking showed me that she was surrounded by a group entirely made up of men, their eyes nearly popping out of their heads as they gawked at her.

  We passed by another group, a pair of young couples, the boys looking nervous and sheepish, the girls elated and giddy to be out at a theater, perhaps for the first time without supervision. For a brief moment, I wondered what that might be like.

  The warmth embraced us as we passed through the glass doors, melding into yet another group of people, most of whom were standing shoulder to shoulder.

  “Pardon me,” I said as I bumped into the back of a tall, broad-shouldered man standing at the edge of his group.

  He frowned at me over his shoulder, his impressively thick, red moustache wiggling as he wrinkled his nose.

  My cheeks turned pink and I ducked my head at once.

  “I wish my sister-in-law had told me where we were to be seated,” Mrs. Montford said with a huff as we made our way further into the magnificent entrance hall. “I do not even know where to look for her.”

  I knew it would be of little use to stand on the tips of my toes to look around.

  The room itself, which was flanked by wide staircases on either side that lead up to the doors into the theater, was lined with rich red carpet and gold finishes on every picture frame and source of light—the sconces along the wall, the chandeliers overhead, the beautiful edging along the railing of the stairs. It amazed me how lovely these little details made the room seem, as if the whole place glittered like starlight. A large Christmas tree stood in the center of the room, stretching almost all the way to the bottom of the chandelier, the golden star seemingly kissing the very end of the crystals hanging down.

  “Look how lovely that tree is,” Mrs. Montford said. “That gold ribbon wrapped all the way around… It’s beautiful.”

  “It is indeed, ma’am,” I said, drawing my shoulders in and stepping slightly to the side to avoid being hit in the shoulder by a rambunctious fellow shouting to get the attention of someone at the top of the stairs.

  “Perhaps I can convince our housekeeper to find something similar, and we could decorate our tree in such a manner this year. I rather like the gold,” Mrs. Montford said.

  The tree hung with gold baubles and silver bells, glass icicles, and crystal snowflakes. All of the charm came from the light passing over their surfaces.

  “Let us go speak with one of these attendants,” Mrs. Montford said. “Perhaps they can help point us in the right direction.

  I followed her closely through the crowd. The heat of the room and all the people packed within drew sweat to the back of my neck. I longed to pull my coat off.

  A man in a black dinner jacket and tie stood at the bottom of the stairs with a single red rose tucked into his lapel pocket. He looked around, and a quick glance over my shoulder told me that he matched another man dressed the same at the bottom of the opposite staircase.

  “Good evening,” Mrs. Montford said. “I was hoping you could help me to find my seat.”

  “Do you have your ticket, ma’am?” he asked.

  “No,” Mrs. Montford said. “We are here at the invitation of Mrs. Townson and her son Mr. Jerome Townson. We were to meet them here.”

  He cleared his throat, pulling a piece of paper from within his jacket. “A Mrs. Townson, you say? Let me see…” He placed a pair of spectacles onto the end of his nose, and tilting his chin up, began to mutter under his breath as he read the names.

  “Ah,” he said a moment later. “Box C, up off stage right.” He gestured up the opposite stairs. “Shall I send for Mrs. Townson? I must ask that we have your ticket verification before you enter the theater.”

  “Certainly,” Mrs. Montford said.

  After the man fetched another usher, who rushed up the stairs, we only had to wait a few moments before two familiar faces appeared at the top of the stairs.

  Only one of those familiar faces descended down toward us, and my heart skipped as I watched him walk down the stairs toward us.

  He was as handsome as I remembered, perhaps even a bit more so. I had forgotten the line of his jaw, sharp and prominent. I had forgotten the straightness of his nose and the slight point at the ends of his ears. In the golden light that filled the room, his auburn hair held copper tints, like tinsel.

  He looked around, his eyes sweeping the room.

  He found Mrs. Montford first, which both disappointed me and gave me peace, a strange contradiction. He raised his hand in greeting to her and picked up the pace of his descent.

  “My, how handsome you are, Jerome,” Mrs. Montford said when he joined us. She reached out and touched the lapel of his ash grey suit.

  “It is good to see you, dear aunt,” he said. He leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. When he leaned back, he smiled down at her, his eyes brightening. “You look beautiful, ma’am. That dress is quite becoming
.”

  “Well, thank you,” Mrs. Montford said with a smile. “I am sorry to call you from your seat but we could not join you unless we had the tickets.”

  “Of course,” he said, pulling a pair of tickets from his pocket. “I had hoped to meet you at the door but Mother got caught talking with Sir Henry. You know how she is.”

  “I do indeed,” Mrs. Montford said, a sudden chill in her words.

  “Oh, come now,” he said. “We will have a fine night tonight. She will be happy to see you. She has been so looking forward to this play.”

  Mrs. Montford pursed her lips together.

  He then turned his attention to me. “And do not think I have forgotten you, Anna. How are you this evening?”

  I nodded agreeably. “Quite well, sir. Thank you for asking.”

  “Certainly,” he said, and just like that, his attention on me shifted away. I was once again forgotten. “You will be pleased, dear aunt, with the play this evening. I cannot tell you how good it is to have you back in town. How long has it been since you were here last? Four years?”

  My heart sank ever so slightly, although I did not like to admit it to myself. No matter. His previous interest in me was merely because of my assistance in helping him find his uncle’s killer. That is as it should be.

  “Four years, yes,” she said. “A great deal has changed, has it not?”

  He gestured toward the stairs, offering his arm to Mrs. Montford, who took it, and we started up, me trailing along behind them.

  “I suppose that you sent the note asking me to come tonight?” Mrs. Montford asked.

  “No, it was my mother,” Mr. Jerome said with a soft chuckle. “Do not think so little of her, ma’am. She is not as averse to your presence as you might think.”

  Mrs. Montford made a sound of disbelief.

  “Oh, come now,” he said with a grin. “I cannot imagine that my uncle was the only glue to hold the both of you together.”

  We stepped up to the doors into the theater and Mr. Jerome flashed all of our tickets. The usher gave us a pass and we made our way into the theater proper.