A Season Beyond a Kiss

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  “GRACIOUS ME ALIVE, MISTAH JEFFREY! IS YO’ wounded, suh?”

  Having scrambled out of bed and dragged on a dressing robe on his way downstairs, Kingston was still blinking sleep from his eyes when he caught sight of his approaching master. The shock of so much blood had widened the dark orbs precipitously. Almost as swiftly his jaw had dropped.

  The slamming of several doors had awakened Kingston even in his quarters on the top floor of the manse. Before hastening from his room, he had seized a stout stick, which after Gustav Fridrich’s visit, he had been keeping underneath his bed on the chance that the German and his unruly rabble would come back and launch another forceful invasion. Yet, upon espying his master, Kingston had cause to wonder if he should have collected the medical supplies instead.

  Jeff could imagine the morbid spectacle he presented in bloodstained garments and with his hands and arms smeared with sticky red. Though he had been on his way to awaken the butler and issue instructions, in view of his own appearance, it now seemed necessary to allay the man’s qualms. “The blood isn’t mine, Kingston. I’m afraid it came from Nell. Someone stabbed the girl to death in the stable. Her baby is out there, too, squalling his head off, but, as far as I know, he’s unharmed. What I need you to do is to fetch the boy and find him a wet nurse, but you’d better be prepared for a ghastly sight. Whoever murdered Nell was rather vicious about it.”

  Jeff paused to force the scene from the forefront of his own thoughts. After a moment he heaved a troubled sigh and continued. “Send one of the grooms to Charleston to fetch the sheriff. While we’re waiting for him, ask Sparky and Thaddeus to search the stall for some clue to the murderer’s identity.”

  Kingston finally closed his mouth and gulped. “Yassuh, Mistah Jeffrey. Ah’ll be seein’ ta those things right away, suh. But in de meantime, be there anythin’ yo’ll be needin’? Yo’ sho’ is lookin’ mighty upset.”

  Jeff could think of several things right off, beginning with the reasons behind Nell’s death and the name of her murderer. “I am, Kingston, but there’s nothing you can do about that. It will probably take some time for me to get over the brutality of this foul deed. Considering my last confrontation with Nell, I suppose people will be thinking I had something to do with her murder.”

  “Naw, suh!” Kingston shook his head, affirming the fact that such an idea had never crossed his mind. “At least, not any o’ us whad’s been knowin’ an’ workin’ for yo’ for a while. If’n yo’ had it in yo’ ta do somethin’ like dat ta Miz Nell, then yo’da’ve been o’ a mind ta beat one o’ us or maybe dat ornery mule, Brutus, but yo’ ne’er even been so much as cross wit’ us, Mistah Jeffrey.”

  “I was certainly cross with Nell,” Jeff pointed out.

  “Yassuh, an’ so was ah, but yo’ had good reason ta be aftah whad she done tried ta do, sneakin’ inta your bed when yo’ was asleep an’ den tryin’ ta say yo’ made a baby wit’ her. Why, ah was so vexed wit’ her ah wanted ta take a switch ta her myself.”

  “There’s a baby in the stables crying to be fed, Kingston,” Jeff reminded the man. “We shouldn’t stand here talking about this matter while the boy is in need.”

  “Yassuh, I’ma goin’ now.”

  Upon his return to his bedchambers, Jeff made quick work of removing his bloodstained clothing. The water in the washbowl was tepid, but he hardly noticed. He scrubbed his hands, face and chest with soap and water, wishing he could scour with the same cleansing results the bloody scene from his mind.

  Once more garbed in fresh clothes, Jeff picked up a lamp and made his way back along the veranda to the French doors behind which his wife had taken shelter. The room was dark, and only by the soft light streaming from his lamp could he see her huddled in a knot on the far side of the bed. The meager radiance failed to draw a reaction, leaving him no other option but to conclude that his wife had fallen asleep in the midst of the horrible trauma she had suffered.

  It was just as well, Jeff mused dismally. Her mind needed the soothing succor of sleep after what she had seen. If he had been able to block the morbid scene from his own mind in such a way, he’d have gone right then and there to his bed, but he had heard Nell’s pitiful requests for some show of affection and was now plagued by a deep remorse for not having helped the girl in a way that, in the simplest sense, could not have been construed as kowtowing to her blackmailing demands.

  A pensive sigh slipped from Jeff’s lips before he realized that he was as tense as a twisted cord. He had a clear idea what the scene in Ariadne’s stall must have looked like to Raelynn. After all, he had been holding the murder weapon, a knife that had obviously gone missing from his desk sometime during the ball. Anyone attending the affair could have entered his chambers and taken it, for that’s exactly what the murderer had done, stolen his knife to kill a young girl.

  Growing curious as to the child’s welfare, Jeff went downstairs to make inquiries and intercepted Kingston just as the butler was returning with the wailing infant.

  “Lawsy, Mistah Jeffrey,” the man drawled above the squalling. “Ah ain’t ne’er seen de likes o’ a woman stabbed afore. For a li’l thing, Miss Nell sho’ lost a lot o’ blood. Ah was sure dis li’l fella was hurt, too, what wit’ him all covered wit’ blood an’ squallin’ enuff ta raise de roof, but he’s jes’ mad, Mistah Jeffrey, jes’ like yo’ said.”

  Jeff glanced down at the baby who was making every effort to let his distress be known. Considering the fact that the tiny face was compressed in a small, outraged ball, it was impossible to make any firm judgments as to the infant’s looks. Other than black hair, any resemblance between the two of them seemed farfetched in spite of Nell’s assertions, but then, coincidences had a way of happening.

  “Have you found a wet nurse yet?”

  “Yassuh, de overseer’s wife say she can nurse Mistah Daniel right along wit’ her own. Ain’t gonna be no trouble atall, Miz Fergus said ta tell yo’.” Kingston glanced aside as he heard the patter of brisk footfalls and inclined his head toward the housekeeper who was hurrying toward them from the back of the house. “Here’s Cora now, suh. She’s come ta fetch de babe for Miz Fergus.”

  Cora gathered the bawling baby into her arms and checked him over quickly to verify for herself that the gore on his blanket wasn’t from him. “We’ll look aftah de po’ li’l fella, Mistah Jeffrey. Doan yo’ go worryin’ yo’self none atall ’bout him.”

  Having been reassured in that area, Jeff returned to the stables and felt some relief when he noticed that a sheet had been draped over Nell’s body. Sparky and Thaddeus had been given the task of sorting through the wood shavings and, when Jeff appeared at the stall door, the younger man stepped near.

  “We ain’t found nothin’ yet, Mistah Jeffrey.” The trainer cast a nervous glance toward the covered body. “We’ve searched everywhere but underneath Miz Nell.”

  “The sheriff can do that after he gets here,” Jeff said, taking pity on the two men.

  Visibly relieved, Sparky nodded jerkily.

  Thaddeus shuffled from the stall, solemnly shaking his head. “Mistah Jeffrey, ah’ve asked all de stables hands, but I can’t find nobody whad heared or seen whad went on here last night.”

  Jeff glanced down the aisle toward the other stalls before he returned a bemused frown to Sparky. “But where is Ariadne?”

  “We put her in the paddock next to the stables last night, suh, but since then, we ain’t seen hide nor hair o’ her.”

  “Why in heaven’s name did you put her out, Sparky? You know that if she takes it into her head, she can jump any fence on my land.”

  “Well, suh, she was a-kickin’ the boards o’ the stall next ta hers an’ makin’ such a racket, we was afraid she was gonna knock down de barn. I tell yo’, Mistah Jeffrey, she was madder’n ol’ wet hen. The minute I opened the stall door, she came a-chargin’ out like her tail was on fire. Nearly trampled me in her haste ta be gone.”

  “Did you perhaps notice if anyone was in the sta
ll next to hers?”

  “Like I said, Mistah Jeffrey, she come a-stampedin’ outa there like a flyin’ demon. After I got holdt o’ her, I didn’t bother takin’ a lantern an’ havin’ a look-see in the stall. There didn’t seem ta be any need at the time. I was more concerned about gettin’ her settled down.”

  “Can you remember about what time that was, Sparky?” Jeff probed.

  The trainer scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe ’round eleven or even a li’l later. Can’t remember for sure, suh.”

  “Search the next stall to see what you can find, Sparky. If a stranger was hiding there at the time, it could explain why Ariadne was raising up a ruckus.”

  “That fool mare would’ve kicked the fella’s head off if’n he’da’ve tried goin’ inta her stall, but I guess that didn’t happen, ’cause I ain’t seen another body laid out around here.”

  “The murderer might have taken such a chance in order to hide out from one of you. Maybe that’s what set Ariadne off in the first place.”

  “Well, if’n the fella still has his head, he’s probably nigh senseless. That mare’s too ornery for just any fool ta get cozy with.”

  Thaddeus cast a doleful glance at the sheet-draped body and shook his head mournfully, overwhelmed by the grotesque horror of it all. “Whad kind o’ man could do such a thin’, Mistah Jeffrey? Killin’ a li’l gal what’s done had herself a baby jes’ seems like somethin’ de devil’d do.”

  To kill a young mother with a nursing infant definitely seemed a violation of nature, Jeff mentally agreed. People in the area would be aghast at the foulness of the deed. What was worse, Nell had been killed in his stables. Realistically he could imagine that Raelynn would only be the first of many who’d be suspicious of his involvement in the girl’s murder.

  The tears and fear Jeff had glimpsed in his wife’s eyes when she had stared at him in the stables pierced him anew. Somehow he had to persuade her of his innocence.

  He faced Sparky again. “Are any of the other horses missing?”

  “No, suh, not that I’m aware.”

  Jeff grew more determined. “Send someone out to find Elijah, Son of Wolf. I’d like to find out what he can make of all of this.”

  “Yes, suh, Mistah Jeffrey.”

  Upon his return to the plantation house, Jeff ensconced himself at his desk in the study and tried to concentrate on his account books for the plantation as he awaited the arrival of Sheriff Townsend. More than an hour later a knock sounded on the door.

  Kingston entered at his summons. “Elijah’s here, Mistah Jeffrey.”

  “Show him in.”

  A tall, thin man of an age about two score five entered the room with hat in hand. He had obviously been awakened from a sound sleep by the summons. Nevertheless he was garbed in the clothes of his preference, buckskins and moccasins. His nose was lean and bore an aquiline curve, his features sharply chiseled, his black hair straight and cut bluntly just below his ears. His cocoa brown skin bore a reddish tinge, indicating his mixed blood. Rumor had it that Elijah’s mother, once a beautiful mulatto slave, had been taken captive at the age of five and ten by an Indian warrior, who had later made her his wife. A pair of years later another warring tribe raided the warrior’s camp, and after finding her husband dead, the mulatto had slipped away with her son. Thereafter they had lived in a hut on the outskirts of Charleston and fended for themselves until Elijah’s twelfth winter, when she had succumbed to pneumonia.

  “Yo’ sent for me, suh?” Elijah asked in a deep voice that resonated in the room.

  “Yes, I did, Elijah, and I thank you for coming so promptly.” Jeff peered at him questioningly. “Did anyone tell you what happened here?”

  “Sparky let me know details on way ta house, suh,” the pathfinder acknowledged.

  “The murder of the girl occurred in one of the horse stalls. At present, her body is still there. See what you can find in and around the stables. For a beginning reference, you can check the footprints of everyone working out there. If you come upon any prints that aren’t familiar, see where they lead. If they disappear near a set of carriage or wagon wheel tracks, we may be reasonably assured that the fellow either arrived or left by that mode of travel. If you should find a double pair of prints, one belonging to the girl, we can be fairly certain that Nell came out here with her murderer, but I leave you to be the judge of that.”

  Any remaining traces of slumber had vanished from Elijah’s eyes. They were now keen, alert and imbued with a brighter light. “Sparky say it rain here last night. If water not wash prints away, I can do that, suh.”

  Jeff managed a bland smile. Elijah’s tracking skills were nearly legendary throughout the Carolinas. Several years ago, the man had been sent out to search for a young child who had wandered off over rough terrain and bare rock ledges. Elijah never once lost the trail and eventually brought the youngster home safe and sound. Similar stories of his abilities assured Jeff that the man could find what others might overlook.

  “Do your best, Elijah,” he urged. “Sheriff Townsend should be here shortly. If you find anything significant, you’ll be helping him solve this dastardly crime.”

  Elijah left the study, and in his absence, Jeff began to pace about the confines of the room. Permanently etched in his memory was a haunting impression of Raelynn’s face stricken with horror. A strengthening desire to put things right between his wife and himself became almost overwhelming, and he struggled against the impetus that nearly drove him to leap up the stairs and to confront her about her readiness to believe the worst of him. There was that part of him that was highly offended by her refusal to hear him out. Once before she had taken Nell’s accusations seriously and had cast him from her bed, but he knew what Raelynn had recently seen would have shocked any woman. He also recognized the possible folly in stampeding her. If he faced her again and saw her quailing before him in mortal fear, it would nearly tear his heart out. No, he told himself, it was far better to let her have some time to put things into perspective. Perhaps then she could extend to him some marital courtesy by trusting in him through thick and thin.

  Sipping from the cup of hot coffee that Kingston had brought to him, Jeff turned his gaze toward the windows. Little had he imagined after the grand affair which they had enjoyed the previous night that today would be comparable to hell. Sadly he watched the first dawning rays stretch out over Oakley and heaved a sigh of lament.

  10

  THE SUN HAD JUST RISEN ABOVE THE TREE-LINED horizon when Sheriff Rhys Townsend and the rider who had been sent out after him arrived on horseback. The tall, brawny man swung down from his saddle and, with his usual easy rolling gait, strode across the front drive. When he climbed the front steps, Jeff was already crossing the porch to meet him.

  “Good of you to come so quickly, Rhys.”

  The sheriff doffed his hat as he followed his friend into the main hall. “Your man said you had a murdered woman here, Jeff. What the hell happened?”

  Jeff gestured toward the study. “We’ll talk in there if you don’t mind.”

  Rhys nodded and, entering the room, plunked himself down into his favorite leather chair. A moment later Kingston entered, bearing a silver coffee service, and poured the sheriff a cup from the ornate pot. Gratefully Rhys nodded his thanks as he accepted the brew and then motioned for the servant to leave the service.

  “If I’m going to remain standing on my feet, Kingston, I’ll be needing lots more of this stuff. Some people don’t have any compunction about keeping a fella up till the wee morning hours and then rousting him out of his bed barely an hour after he reaches home.”

  Kingston managed a weak smile in spite of the trauma that still held the household in its grip. “Yassuh, Mistah Rhys, and dat’s de gospel.”

  As the butler left, the sheriff downed the strong, black contents without lowering his cup. Jeff came around to the front of his desk and leaned back against the top edge, prompting Rhys to set aside his cup and glance up at his
host. Meeting his friend’s gaze, Jeff quietly explained what had happened, at least as much as he knew.

  “I was just falling asleep when I heard a woman scream. That was about one in the morning. After realizing that it had come from the general direction of the stables, I lit a lantern and went down to have a look around. I found Nell in one of the stalls with her baby. The girl was still alive, but only barely. She begged me to remove the knife. I did so, hoping I could stem the flow of blood, but she was fading fast. She asked me to hold her close just for a moment as if I really, truly cared for her. I did so, and she died in my arms.” He shook his head at the grim memory. “I can’t imagine the kind of monster who would do such a thing. The girl couldn’t have been more than six and ten years old at the most.”

  “Did Nell say anything else to you, perhaps some indication of the killer’s identity?” Rhys Townsend asked. Noticeably absent was the rough dialect he was inclined to fake.

  “No, she just seemed concerned about her child’s welfare. She asked me to find a woman to care for him.”

  “Then she realized she was dying?”

  “I would imagine so. She had lost a lot of blood and had grown very weak.”

  “Yet she made no effort to name the one who had stabbed her.”

  “None whatsoever. She just seemed to be grateful that I was there.” Jeff’s face was grim as he recalled her pitiful attempts. “She ran her hand over my sleeve and tried to smile at me.”

  “After she succumbed, what did you do?”

  Jeff hesitated. He was reluctant to expose Raelynn’s suspicions of him, but he could hardly avoid answering the question. “I sat back in the shadows for a while, just staring at Nell’s body, stunned by the savagery of her murder. A few moments later, my wife arrived. She had also been awakened. I’m not entirely sure by what. I think she came out to see where I was. Naturally, she became distraught when she saw Nell.”