A Final Rest

by Blythe Baker

  “If you became well enough to walk to Ridgewick, how did you end up like this?” I asked.

  Miss Brown shook her head. “I do not know. Once I returned home, the symptoms came over me slowly. First, there was dizziness. And then fevers and shakes. The village doctor has been stopping in to see me, but even he is perplexed by what has come over me. The only hope we have is that I appear to be getting better.”

  My eyes widened at that remark. If this was Miss Brown feeling better, then what had she looked like in the worst of it?

  I could hear Emma Brown moving around in the small kitchen behind me. Moments later, she walked around the small sofa holding a cup of broth. She helped her sister sit up taller and began to feed her.

  “Would you like anything, Miss Beckingham?” Emma asked. “Tea or broth?”

  I declined. “I should be leaving soon.”

  Rebecca turned to me, her tired eyes curious. “Why did you come all this way? How did you know I was here?”

  “I came to ensure you were all right,” I said. “And to tell you that your position within the Beckingham household will be there for you once you are well again.”

  Hope sparked behind her eyes, giving her a sense of life I hadn’t seen in her since I’d arrived. “Are you telling the truth?”

  “I am,” I said. “Lady Ashton has missed you, and I know we can explain to her that this was all a misunderstanding.”

  Rebecca Brown practically sagged in relief. “Thank heavens. Because I did not steal that necklace. I would never steal from anyone. I have no idea how it came to be in my room.”

  Emma pressed a hand to her sister’s shoulder, trying to keep her from getting too excited, and I stood up, realizing it was time to excuse myself. “I know, Rebecca. I’m positive we will know all of the answers soon enough. You get well, and I will see you again soon.”

  The sisters smiled and waved as I left. I paused outside of their house for just a moment, taking in the quiet street around me. And then I ran.

  I ran as fast as I could, my arms pumping at my sides. I ran until my lungs were heaving and I thought I would faint. I had to get back to Ridgewick Hall as quickly as I could. I needed to warn everyone.

  There was a killer living amongst them.

  17

  Lights flared from Ridgewick Hall as though each window was an eye staring down at me as I ran up the long road that led to the house. Once I reached the wide, shallow steps just inside the gate, I slowed down, allowing my breathing to calm. If I ran into the officers standing guard, I didn’t want them to see me looking tired or alarmed. My only plan for getting past them without raising suspicion was to act as though nothing was wrong and inform them I had been on a long walk.

  As it turned out, that was unnecessary. The front door was unmanned.

  I pushed it open, stepped into the entrance hall, and closed it quietly behind me. The dining room straight ahead was empty and so was the sitting room to the left. When I reached the wide open double doors that led into the dining room, I saw movement on the terrace.

  Lady Harwood was in her wheelchair near the doors with Dr. Shaw sitting close by, but the rest of the party was out on the grass. Catherine and Charles were as inseparable as ever, sitting together on a small grassy hill a short distance from where Aunt Ruth was watching her silly adult daughters laugh and giggle to themselves like small children. Alice was sitting at the base of a large tree with her entire attention turned towards Nicholas, who was pointing out something in the night sky. Vivian was on Nicholas’ other side with Charles Barry next to her, his shoulders stooped forward in frustration—his permanent attitude since Catherine had made it clear she had no intention of calling off her wedding. Even Lord Ashton, who had resisted mingling too much with the guests during our week at Ridgewick Hall, was standing in the back garden with his arm around Lady Ashton’s waist.

  The guards were standing just outside the terrace doors, overseeing the group, and I wondered whether it wasn’t Alice’s doing. Whether she hadn’t convinced everyone to sit outside to allow me to sneak back into the house. If it was, I had no intention of misusing the gift. I turned around and went up the stairs at once, heading straight for the room at the opposite end of the hall from my own.

  My heart thundered in my chest as I pushed open the door, even though I had just seen all of the house’s occupants sitting outside in the grass. I knew no one would be inside. Still, I opened the door slowly and slipped in when it was only opened a crack, doing my best to walk across the hardwood floor as quietly as possible.

  The room was dark, but there was enough light coming from the moon through the curtains for me to see that Nicholas Whitlock’s room was a mess. The bed was unmade, his clothes were scattered across the floor and the dresser as though he was using them as drop cloths, and papers covered the desk and table next to his bed. Clearly, he had not allowed a maid into the room since he had arrived, and now I knew why.

  Nicholas Whitlock had killed his grandmother.

  The moment I saw Rebecca Brown’s blue fingertips, I knew the truth. She, like myself, had come into contact with the poison through Aunt Augusta’s dress. The dress that Nicholas removed from Miss Brown’s closet, leaving a dusting of poison on the floor. The dress he helped his grandmother change into for the garden party. The dress she died in.

  I knew this to be true, but it wasn’t enough to have him arrested. The facts could easily be spun to point the finger at Miss Brown, who I knew without a doubt was innocent. I needed to find the poison in Nicholas’ belongings or something that would cement his involvement or make clear his motive. Augusta Whitlock’s secret will would be a wonderful piece of evidence.

  I picked through the mess carefully, not wanting another run in with the poison. If Miss Brown’s symptoms were any indication, I would be ill for several more days, and I did not want another dosage to make things worse. So, I slipped my hand into the pockets of his trousers slowly and ran my fingers along the insides of his jackets. Once I finished with an item, I did my best to replace it in the same condition I’d found it, though that made it difficult to see where I’d been. The space was such a mess that my best option was to move in a counterclockwise fashion around the room. So, that was what I did.

  I checked the drawers of his dresser and the clothes there before moving to the closet where I searched the few items that were still hanging up. When I finally worked my way to the desk in front of the window, I ducked down to be sure I stayed out of view of the guests out on the back lawn, though I checked once to be sure everyone was still outside.

  The desk was littered with correspondence that proved to be nothing more than useless gossip and friendly conversation between Nicholas and his friends. After some time, I began to skim through the pages, hoping for something to jump out at me. That was when I came across what looked to be a receipt. Except, it was not for money spent, but money paid. On the ledger it described a silver goblet and a painting that someone sold to an auction house in London for a hefty sum. Suddenly, I remembered Aunt Augusta complaining about her home in London being robbed. She said the thieves stole silver from her dining room and a painting from the attic. Nicholas had insisted the items were just misplaced, but then, of course he would. He had been the one to steal them, after all.

  I found more receipts for other items I could only assume did not belong to Nicholas—dresses, shoes, handbags, and hats, as well as jewelry and more paintings. He had been stealing from his grandmother for some time and selling the items to keep the money himself. But apparently, that venture was no longer as lucrative as Nicholas desired. Killing his grandmother and inheriting her fortune would net a far larger sum. One he did not have to lie and steal for. If only he had her secret will.

  No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than I turned over a paper on the desk and saw a handwritten note in loopy, trembling cursive. The letter was written in Aunt Augusta’s shaky hand, and in it, she surrendered all of her worldly possessions to her “de
arest grandson Nicholas Whitlock” should she die. It was dated six months earlier.

  He’d found it. Nicholas had the secret will, so all that was left to do was get rid of his grandmother and he could have the life of lavish luxury he’d always wanted. So, he did.

  Excitement and fear rushed through me as I folded the will with shaking hands, still itching from the powdered poison I’d encountered that morning, and tucked it beneath the collar of my dress.

  “It’s not right to take what isn’t yours.”

  The voice startled me, and I let out a yelp as I spun around, knocking into the desk and sending a stack of papers scattering across the floor.

  Nicholas looked down at the new mess and shook his head. “You have made such a mess, Rose.”

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” I said, trying to stay calm. “I wasn’t stealing from you. I was just—”

  “Solving my grandmother’s murder?” He tilted his head to the side, eyebrows pinched together in concern. He shut the door behind him, pinning us into the room. It suddenly felt warmer and stuffier, as though all of the air was shut out on the other side. “I saw you sneak away from the house earlier. Alice’s distraction fooled everyone else, but it did not fool me.”

  “I went for a long walk,” I said, using the same lie I’d planned to tell the guards. “I needed the fresh air.”

  Nicholas shook his head, not believing anything I was saying, and continued on. “I knew you were getting close to the truth. It is why you and I kept running into one another. You were following all of the right clues, and if I hadn’t been so annoyed, I would have been impressed.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied. “You are frightening me.”

  Nicholas smiled, his lips curling up at the corners, but the smile was not at all friendly. It was the snarl of a wolf before it rips into its prey. It was deadly. “If you are hoping to appeal to my sense of mercy, Rose, you will find I do not have one. Besides, I know you are much cleverer than you let on. For instance, you know the truth about me.”

  “What truth?” I asked, raising my chin, doing my best not to let him see it trembling in fear. I could still hear the guests outside on the grass. Their voices were distant, and I knew even if they heard my screams, they would not find me soon enough. Nicholas was standing between me and the exit, and the only way out would be to fight.

  Nicholas took a step towards me, and I pressed my legs even harder against the edge of the desk, desperate for more space between us. He leaned forward, his eyes shining with a kind of amusement I’d never seen before. “I’m a murderer.”

  “Why?” I asked, dropping the façade of ignorance. “Was it only for the money?”

  “You make it sound as though that is not a good enough reason,” he said. “Though, of course you would say that. You have always had money. You have no idea what it is like to live without it. Besides that, your family is dead. You are a wealthy, single woman.”

  “You do not know anything about me,” I said.

  He rolled his eyes and continued. “My entire plan was quite genius, I think. I knew it would look suspicious if Augusta died too soon after her grandson came to care for her. There would be so many questions and concerned relatives looking for their cut of the inheritance. So, rather than poisoning her in one dose, I poisoned her slowly over the course of a year, giving her just enough to make her ill, to make her dependent upon me. Without the poison, she was an independent old woman without need of anyone. With it, however, she needed a steady hand to help her down the stairs and to the dining room. She needed someone to make her meals and keep her house in order, and I filled that role.”

  “She trusted you,” I said, eyes narrowed, unsure how I hadn’t seen from the beginning what a cold-hearted monster Nicholas was. “She left her inheritance to her ‘dearest grandson,’ and you betrayed her. You murdered her.”

  He shook his head. “Do not pretend you cared for the old woman. You are not even related to her. Or me, for that matter. Even if you had been, it would not have changed the fact that Augusta Whitlock was a miserable old woman who made those around her miserable, as well. No one will miss her. She had so much money but refused to share it. She kept it to herself and would only give it to her family if they agreed to wait on her like servants while she was alive. She was selfish and cruel. I simply took what was mine.”

  I felt sick. Actually nauseous. How could anyone be so heartless? I pushed down my rising nausea and tried to focus on how I would escape the room.

  “Why here?” I asked. “Why this weekend?”

  “Ah,” he said, lifting his finger in the air. “Another genius idea of mine. I wanted her to die in a public place. A place where there would be witnesses, people to attest to how devotedly I cared for her. I did not want her to die at home where no one would see it and people could suspect. So, just before we left for the wedding, I increased her dosage of the poison. Then, once here, I coated the inside of her clothing with it. She had grown accustomed to the burning and the itching, thinking it a symptom of her ageing body, but the dizziness worsened. She became unsteady and feverish. I knew her death would come quickly, and that it did. The heat of the garden party must have made the poison work more quickly. Even I was surprised when she fell so suddenly.”

  “Can you really be such a genius if the police have launched an investigation?” I asked.

  His smile hardened around the edges, his eyes narrowing further into slits. “You are the only one who suspects me, Rose. The only person who stands in the way of me inheriting what is rightfully mine.”

  I slid away from the desk and pressed my back against the wall. When I turned my head, I could see movement on the garden below through a sliver in the curtain. I was so close to safety, yet so far. I could not jump from the window without dying or scream without Nicholas attacking. I was trapped with nowhere else to turn.

  “They will know it was you if you kill me,” I said. “You are the only one inside the house. If I turn up dead, they will suspect.”

  He shook his head. “You forget, Rose. Everyone thinks you went to bed hours ago because you were not feeling well. Would it be such a surprise if you suddenly died? Would it be impossible for you to have been sicker than you let on? Whereas, I only came inside for ten, fifteen minutes at the most. Just long enough to grab my hat and a book to read to Alice on the lawn. She is really quite infatuated with me, isn’t she? Even your beloved cousin would not suspect I could be such a monster.” He took a step closer to me, his entire body poised and ready for a fight, prepared to dart out and stop me should I try to run in either direction. “I will leave this house and your death will be a tragedy. Perhaps, I’ll even attend your funeral. Do not worry, I’ll tell everyone of your kindness and intelligence. I will offer a touching tribute.”

  He took another step towards me, and I knew the time for conversation was over. If I did not get out now, I would never escape. I lunged to the right and ducked, hoping to run under his arm, but Nicholas kicked out his leg, striking me in the chest. The blow knocked the wind out of me, and I stumbled back, hitting the desk once again. The edge of the wood pinched my spine, and I cried out in pain.

  “Do not make this worse than it needs to be, Rose,” Nicholas said calmly, though his breathing was heavier than before. I looked up just in time to see him pull something small from the inside of his jacket pocket. I heard the pop of pressure as he uncorked it. “Take a deep breath and the poison should work quickly.”

  Suddenly, he flicked his wrist, and the same white, shimmery powder I’d found in Miss Brown’s closet was in the air. I threw myself backwards, sliding across the cluttered floor, and closed my eyes, desperate to keep the poison from touching me.

  “I have worked up quite the immunity,” Nicholas said, looking unfazed as he skirted the edge of the dust cloud. “You, unfortunately, will be overcome quickly. Even that small amount in the servant’s closet was enough to make you ill. This amount will have you uncon
scious within the minute. Alice will be so distraught when she finds you in her bed this evening. Do not worry, I will comfort her.”

  Nicholas’ hand wrapped around my wrist, and I kicked out at him, pushing against the floor to avoid the cloud of poison. If I breathed it in, I would be dead. I pulled on my arm, trying to free it from his grip, but he was too strong. I squeezed my eyes shut, turned my head, and held my breath as he began to drag me across the floor.

  Then, suddenly, his hand fell away from my wrist and there was a loud thud.

  I stilled for a moment, nervous to open my eyes or move for fear of the poison. Then, another hand wrapped around my wrist. This one smaller and gentler.

  “Rose?”

  My eyes flew open. Alice was standing in front of me, Nicholas’ hunting rifle held in her other hand. The handle of it was covered in blood. My eyes moved from the gun to the lump of shadow on the floor—Nicholas. He was unconscious, a puddle of blood forming under his head.

  “He is unconscious, but we have to go,” Alice said. “Now.”

  I did not hesitate as I grabbed my youngest cousin’s hand and allowed her to lead me out of the room—avoiding the worst of the poison cloud—and into the hallway. I did not let go of her hand even as we ran onto the terrace and told the police standing guard everything. I clung to her as though if I let go, I would float away. And I thought I could feel Alice holding onto me with the same ferocity.

  18

  Alice had overheard much of my conversation with Nicholas. She’d come up to the house to check on him a few minutes after he’d gone inside, and I would be forever grateful that she had. Without her testimony of the event, there may have been a lot more doubt of my version. She was able to tell the two officers at the house—and their sergeant when he arrived within the hour—that Nicholas had planned and executed the murder of his grandmother and had planned the same for me. I stood by her as she was interrogated, squeezing her hand as she ensured the imprisonment of the man she had been infatuated with.