Kolney Hatch: Buried Secrets (The Secret of Kolney Hatch Book 2)

by Stefani Milan

  “Oh my goodness!” Beatrice exclaimed. “Agatha Bates’ deceased body was stolen.”

  “Stolen?”

  “Yes, the funeral director said he went to take the body, and it was missing from the morgue.”

  “That is strange,” Mrs. Wendell said as she poured herself some Indian tea from a silver kettle. “I wonder...how did she die?” When Beatrice did not answer for many seconds as she still scanned the article, Mrs. Wendell said to herself, “I suppose I’d have better response talking to a book in the library or a tapestry rug.”

  Beatrice scrunched her turned-up nose and read the inquest.

  “The deceased came to death by poison which the coroner’s office believes was slow acting and is likely to have been administered on the day of death in the morning hours of January the eighth. The court could rule out accident or suicide but, at this time, had insufficient evidence to identify the murderer, although detectives are conducting a thorough investigation first to find the missing body.”

  Mrs. Wendell adjusted her long, buttoned-to-her-neck black dress with her trembling age-spotted hands. Agatha Bates’ death had filled Mrs. Wendell with such excitement that she did not notice Petunia staring blankly through her drawing room window at the snow-covered Peddler Street.

  Petunia’s vacant stare hid a haunting secret, a secret she could tell no one, especially Mrs. Wendell. The only person who could tell her the truth about what happened to Wendy Watson and Louisa Stilwell was dead. That the murderer was at the hospital that day had rattled Petunia’s nerves to an unbearable degree.

  Mrs. Wendell observed Petunia’s distant behavior.

  “My goodness Petunia, I wish you would tell me what’s troubling you.”

  Seconds later, Petunia backed away from the window and took a seat on her dark green couch.

  “Well?” Mrs. Wendell insisted.

  “I beg your pardon?” Petunia asked smoothing out her mauve chiffon robe.

  “My words fell upon your deaf ears,” Mrs. Wendell chided.

  “I’m terribly sorry. I seem to be preoccupied…”

  Mrs. Wendell interjected.

  “I’m concerned with your peculiar behavior, Petunia. Are you ill?”

  “No. No, no of course not.”

  “The dark circles under your eyes are dreadful,” Mrs. Wendell said over enunciating the word dreadful as she widened her watery sky-colored eyes. “That dress makes your face look green. I do hope you’ve found a new housekeeper. I dare not say it, but I will. Your house could use a good cleaning. And your hair could use a bit of pinning.”

  Petunia quickly smoothed and tucked some of the wild hairs back into her bun with her chubby fingers.

  “Honestly Petunia, I’ve never seen you look so unkempt.”

  Petunia felt her stomach grumble as Mrs. Wendell put a bit of home-made jam and Devonshire cream on her scone.

  “Oh!” Beatrice squealed. “I’ve found something! Initially the murder of Louisa Stilwell and the kidnapping of Agatha Marie Bates were believed to both be the doing of Thomas Reid.”

  “The man who attacked Paul Watson...”

  “Yes. But...” Beatrice continued. “Since Agatha’s death, police are looking into a connection between the two murders.”

  Beatrice folded her hands on her deep green dress and continued to scan the article as Petunia hurried over to the table to add jam and cream to a scone and then stuff it into her mouth. She was, after many, many days of a nervous stomach, suddenly filled with incredible hunger.

  “I’m sure Constable Wyatt has more information. I should see if I can find out something at the headquarters.”

  “Dare I ask how you’ll obtain that information?” Mrs. Wendell said.

  Petunia scoffed mid bite. She regretted her reaction immediately when Mrs. Wendell snapped her head around like an angry ostrich and eyed Petunia suspiciously.

  “Are you withholding something from us Petunia?”

  “No! Of course not,” Petunia assured.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m quite sure.”

  “Perhaps Paul Watson knows more about this,” Beatrice offered. “Has he said anything at all to you, Petunia?”

  “I haven’t seen him, honestly,” Petunia answered, shaking her head.

  “Well, surely he must have said something about the incident that happened after the Masquerade Ball…” Mrs. Wendell said.

  “About the fire?” Beatrice interjected.

  “About Agatha being held in the tunnels of the asylum?” Mrs. Wendell persisted.

  “He didn’t,” Petunia insisted as she walked over to the fireplace. “He was…not well. I suppose he’s just trying to recover the best he can now.”

  “I heard he’s working with detectives.”

  “I heard he hasn’t left the house since the incident,” Beatrice remarked. “Francine Chandler’s mother saw Eda at the fishmonger, and she said Paul is just resting, but wouldn’t give her any other information.”

  “But you haven’t heard a thing, Petunia?” Mrs. Wendell sneered. “You live next door to him. You attend the Loxley parties. Am I to believe you know absolutely nothing?”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Tessie,” Petunia snapped as she warmed her hands by the fire. “And by the way, yes...I did hire a new housekeeper. She also cooks. Her name is Mrs. Glum and clearly she’s not doing as good of a job as you’d like.”

  Mrs. Wendell huffed.

  “Well her tea cakes seem to be up to par at least. How did you find her? Did you advertise in the paper?”

  “No, she came recommended by one of Phillip’s colleagues, Edward Potter.”

  “Oh, Edward, I know the Potters well. Let’s hope she learns how to properly clean a home. Where is your maid, anyway?”

  “She’s running errands.”

  Petunia said nothing more.

  Beatrice, who was still diligently reading the article said, “The police will be questioning anyone who may be a suspect in the Bates murder. That should give us some idea of who is responsible.”

  “To think,” Mrs. Wendell added. “Someone has committed not one, but three murders, if you include Wendy Watson.”

  Petunia could not stomach talking about murders any longer. She suddenly had an idea to change the subject.

  “I heard Anna Hendrick pocketed a bunch of items at a boutique the other day.”

  “She did!” Mrs Wendell exclaimed. “What a disgrace. And to think, her mother was a Lady.”

  “Where did you hear this, Petunia?”

  “From Phillip...and he’s not one to gossip you know, so I know it’s true.”

  Beatrice and Tessie shook their heads with wide-eyes.

  Of course, Petunia hadn’t heard a thing about Anna Hendrick, and from Phillip non-the less, but she knew it would distract the women from Agatha Bates’ murder.

  And it did. The women spent the rest of the evening discussing Anna Hendrick’s recurring abhorrent behavior and soon the lit street lamps prompted the women to leave.

  “Why this motor looks different from the last one,” Mrs. Wendell was saying as her driver helped her inside.

  “It’s the new one, mum.”

  “Oh...well, all right. Goodbye Petunia. And goodnight.”

  “Goodbye Petunia,” Beatrice said. “And thank you.”

  “Have a safe trip home.”

  Snow flurries fell onto Petunia’s nose and she shivered as she watched Beatrice enter the car.

  After the car pulled away, Petunia hurried inside and waddled up the stairs. Once alone, she stared down onto Peddler Street from the second story window as she did every night. Tonight she stared onto an eerily quiet, snowy street, and it was then she had a strange feeling, one she had three weeks before, when the blizzard raged through the city. Petunia had that uncomfortable feeling that something ominous was brewing and this was the calm before the storm.

  4 Unexpected Delivery

  1893

  “What’s happening i
n there?” Aldous Loxley asked nervously. A short, heavy set nurse stood outside the bedroom and comforted Aldous with her pudgy fingers.

  “She’s having a bit of difficulty Mr. Loxley, but she’ll be okay, I promise.”

  “And the baby?”

  “The baby is coming,” the nurse said. “Doctor Fairburn suggested you might go downstairs until the baby’s born?”

  “Right. I don’t want to be in the way.”

  The impatient Aldous hurried down the grand staircase and into the drawing room. His wife, Isabelle, with her cerulean eyes and light brown hair, looked uncomfortable as she sat on a peach colored settee, speaking to Mr. Waldorf, the butler. She wore a long flowing purple dress, with her hair pinned neatly back and a string of pearls around her neck.

  “Then tell her to make at eight,” she said to Mr. Waldorf. “I don’t want to stop her from seeing her mother...”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Mrs. Braddock had planned a visit to her mother this evening, and I wouldn’t want her to cancel just because Mary’s having the baby.”

  “But are you well enough to care for Edgar, my dear? Perhaps Mrs. Braddock should stay, with you in your condition.”

  “I’m fine,” the pregnant Isabelle said. “I’m not due for another few months. Besides, Mrs. Braddock needs a break. Edgar can be a handful.”

  “If you are sure.”

  “I am. Then it’s settled. Mr. Waldorf, tell Mrs. Braddock it’s quite all right if she leaves.”

  “I will, madam.”

  Mr. Waldorf stood tall and promptly exited the room. Meanwhile, Aldous took a seat on a tapestry covered chair near his wife.

  “How’s Mary?”

  “The nurse said the baby is coming right now. So we’ll no doubt meet him or her very soon.”

  “I worry for her, you know. All those things she said about taking the baby away with Mr. Babcock. Is she fit for motherhood, Aldous?”

  “I quite agree with you my dear. And, I don’t think so. But there is little we can do now. Thankfully we are here to watch over her, and of course, we’ll have a second nanny.”

  “Yes, I suppose.”

  Isabelle sighed.

  “Are you all right my dear?” Aldous asked.

  “I think so. I feel so tired all of a sudden.”

  “Let’s get you straight to bed. Miss Jones?”

  Miss Jones, Isabelle’s personal house maid, appeared.

  “Yes, Mr. Loxley?”

  “Would you take Isabelle to her room please? She isn’t feeling well.”

  “Certainly,” the middle aged Miss Jones said. She hurried over to help Isabelle stand. “Carefully now, Mrs. Loxley.”

  Isabelle stood, and then let out a large cry. Her knees buckled. Miss Jones and Aldous caught her just in time.

  “Isabelle! What’s the matter?”

  “Oh Aldous, I don’t know. Something’s wrong.”

  “Miss Jones, fetch Doctor Fairburn as quickly as you can. And once you’ve done that get Mrs. Braddock and Mr. Waldorf in here as quickly as possible.”

  “Yes, Mr. Loxley!” Miss Jones cried and she hurried out of the drawing room.

  “Aldous, I’m so worried,” Isabelle said as Aldous eased her onto the settee once more. “The pain is worse. It’s so much worse.”

  “Don’t you worry, Isabelle. Everything is going to be all right. Doctor Fairburn is going to help you.”

  “I can’t lose this baby, Aldous,” Isabelle cried looking at him with tears in her eyes.

  “You won’t,” Aldous replied.

  “I just can’t lose another child. Not again.”

  “I promise you will have a child, Isabelle.”

  “Papa?” A small voice said. Aldous turned to see the four year old Edgar saunter into the room, his toy train in his hand.

  “Edgar, why aren’t you with Mrs. Braddock?”

  “I was playing a game, papa. I hid from her. Is mama okay?”

  “Of course she is, Edgar. Come here. Sit with your mother. Tell her how much you love her so. She could use to hear it.”

  Edgar walked over to Isabelle who cried out in pain once more.

  “Mama?”

  “Edgar, my sweet darling. I love you so very much.”

  “Are you well, mama?”

  Just then Doctor Fairburn, Mr. Waldorf, and the servants entered the room all at once.

  “Mrs. Loxley,” the doctor said rushing to her side. “What are your symptoms?”

  As Mrs. Loxley explained her symptoms and continued to cry in pain, the thin grey eyed nanny, Mrs. Braddock, took Edgar’s hand.

  “I’ve been lookin’ all over for ya, Edgar Loxley. Wher’ve you been?”

  “Hiding.”

  “I thought as much. That’s all right though,” Mrs. Braddock said glancing from Mrs. Loxley’s pained face to Mr. Loxley’s worried eyes.

  “Take him to the nursery, Mrs. Braddock, and don’t come out until we fetch you.”

  “Of course, Mr. Loxley,” Mrs. Braddock said, taking hold of Edgar’s hand and exiting the room.

  “What is it doctor?” Aldous said. “Is the baby okay?”

  A furrow formed between Fairburn’s brow.

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he said solemnly.

  “What is it?”

  “Mrs. Loxley is in labor.”

  5 A Loxley is Born

  1893

  “She can’t be. She’s not due for another three months,” Aldous cried.

  The square-jawed Doctor Fairburn gazed at Aldous with sad eyes.

  “Let’s get her upstairs,” Doctor Fairburn said. “We’ll deliver this baby. But Mr. Loxley, I’m afraid there’s no hope for the child.”

  Mr. Waldorf, Aldous, and Doctor Fairburn helped Mrs. Loxley up the stairs and into her bedroom. They lay her on the bed, and Doctor Fairburn turned to Aldous.

  “Perhaps you should speak to her and then leave the room until it’s done.”

  Aldous nodded and rushed to Isabelle’s side.

  “Oh Aldous!” Isabelle cried out in pain. “It hurts...”

  “It’s all right, Darling. It’ll all be over soon.”

  “I don’t want to lose this baby. I need this baby.”

  “Oh, my dear. I’m so, so sorry. I really am. But not to worry. We’ll have another one. We’ll figure something out.”

  “You should wait outside now,” the solemn Doctor Fairburn said. “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Miss Jones,” the doctor said. “If you would remain in here, the other nurses are delivering Mary’s baby and won’t be of any assistance.”

  “Of course,” Miss Jones said.

  The sound of Mr. Waldorf’s voice brought Aldous out of his stupor.

  “Is there anything I can do, Mr. Loxley?”

  “No, no,” Aldous shook his head. “I appreciate your help, but there’s nothing we can do now.”

  “Then I’ll go back downstairs, sir.”

  Aldous nodded.

  When Mr. Waldorf was gone and Aldous was all alone, he leaned against the wall. Tears filled his eyes as he thought of his first child, Aldous Loxley II, who died the same way. How would Isabelle take another death when she hadn’t fully recovered from the first?

  Thirty minutes later, after Aldous had worn a path in the red-carpet from his pacing, the doctor emerged, looking grim.

  “Is it done?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Doctor Fairburn apologized. “It was a boy. I’m so sorry Mr. Loxley.”

  “I must speak with my wife.” Aldous demanded.

  “Mr. Loxley,” Doctor Fairburn said in a low voice, closing the door behind him so only he and Aldous were in the hallway. “This pregnancy was strenuous for Isabelle.” He paused and stroked his thick grey-beard before saying, “There were times I was afraid she would not make it.”

  Aldous’ eyes widened.

  “But she is well, isn’t she?”

  The doctor
nodded with hesitance.

  “For now. She’s resting. We’ve given her a sedative, but...before she slept, she said something.”

  Aldous lowered his head.

  “What did she say?”

  Doctor Fairburn nodded and patted Aldous on the back.

  “She said...she insisted, rather, that I give her Mary’s baby.”

  “What? But of course that doesn’t sound like Isabelle to ...that wouldn’t be just...would it?”

  “Your sister’s baby is healthy, Aldous, and I say this with complete sincerity. I think Isabelle is right. You must ask yourself if your sister is competent enough to care for her baby. You know of the risks...that this baby might come to harm in your sister’s care. For instance, if she were to take a fit while caring for him.”

  Aldous pondered the idea.

  “I suppose you’re right...even though the thought of it makes me feel terrible.” When the doctor said nothing more, Aldous said, “How will we go about doing it?”

  Doctor Fairburn offered another reserved smile.

  “It’s quite simple, Mr. Loxley. Mary still sleeps. We’ll bring her your stillborn child when she wakes.”

  “But she’s held her child?”

  “We’ll say the child had complications.”

  “That will kill her.”

  “She’ll recover. Her madness will not allow her to stay unhappy for a long time.”

  “And what if it does?”

  “Then I know of a place, far, far away, where she can live out the remainder of her days while receiving the help she needs. If she ever does anything out of the ordinary, you need only to call me, and I can arrange her admission.”

  “Into an asylum?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mother would be so disappointed.”

  “I believe your mother, God rest her soul, would be quite relieved that you’ve cared for your sister in this way, as long as you have. Most people are not as kind.”

  Aldous sighed.

  “Why don’t you wait in your wife’s room?”

  With his head down, after all, he was not proud of the decision he’d made, Aldous headed back into Isabelle’s room and sat by her side. Several minutes later, the doctor brought in a healthy baby boy, and Aldous cradled him in his arms as he waited for Mrs. Loxley to wake.