Muriel’s Adventures

by Barron, Melinda

  “I thought about sending it back, but I was sure he would just somehow sneak it back into the house, as he did this time. I’ve tucked it away in here, so I didn’t have to look at it.”

  “Shall I bring up your tea?” Muriel asked. “You seem quite shaken by Pregarin’s death.”

  “I’ve been angry with the man for years,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “I think I’m mad because he’s gone, and I won’t be able to hate him anymore.”

  Muriel wanted to push her, to ask more questions about what had happened in the past and where her feelings came from. But something told her she held the answers in her hand.

  “You’re being very sweet, but I really would like to be alone now,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “I will recover enough to serve dinner tonight.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Muriel said. She stood and started for the door.

  “Mrs. McClacken?” Muriel stopped and looked back at the innkeeper.

  “Be careful.” Mrs. Wiggins’ voice cracked, and Muriel decided not to push her. She nodded and quit the room, heading downstairs as quickly as possible. When she got to the bottom of the stairs she could hear Ewan talking with someone. She stopped and listened, and it didn’t take her long to place the voice—it belonged to the train porter, Mr. Jameson.

  She didn’t want him to see the package. A glance around the room showed a table with a small drawer in the hallway. She placed the package there and went into the dining room where the men sat with cups of tea. They both stood.

  “Mr. Jameson,” Muriel said. “I’m surprised to see you.”

  “Mrs. Wiggins has been my friend for years, as has Mr. Pregarin,” Mr. Jameson said. “I came to see if she needed help. I knew you were here, but… it’s just such a shock.”

  “Can you tell us what happened?” Ewan asked. “All Mrs. Wiggins said was that he hung himself.”

  Mr. Jameson glanced around the room and his glance landed on the food on the sideboard.

  “Fix yourself a plate of food, then come back and tell us the tale,” Ewan said. “For there is one, isn’t there?”

  Mr. Jameson went to the sideboard without answering his question. While he was gone, Ewan winked at Muriel.

  “I believe I’ve won our wager,” he said.

  “Hardly the time or the place,” she said.

  “Just as long as you know,” he said.

  The porter had sat down and attacked his food. Muriel watched him and looked at her husband.

  “Are you going to speak with us?” Ewan asked.

  “So sad,” Jameson said between bites. “There must have been something bothering him, although I have no idea what it was.”

  “You liar.” All their gazes went to the doorway where Mrs. Wiggins stood. “You’re here for the box. Well let me tell you it’s gone. I got rid of it.”

  Muriel noted that the innkeeper didn’t say when, or to whom she’d given the box.

  “I have a feeling we’re in the middle of something that we know nothing about,” Ewan said. “One of you needs to tell us what is happening before I summon the constabulary and let them know we think Mr. Pregarin did not die by his own hand.”

  Neither of them said anything. The two glared at each other, and then, Mr. Jameson stood. “Good day to you all.” He left as if he were running a race, and when the door slammed behind him Mrs. Wiggins said a word that made Muriel’s eyes widen.

  “I’ll refill the teapot and then I’ll tell you everything,” she said. They finally settled into chairs in the sitting room. Mrs. Wiggins served them all and took a sip of her tea.

  “Now’s the time,” Ewan said. “Something happened that led to the death of your husband. It involved Mr. Pregarin and Mr. Jameson and who knows who else. The young lady we are looking for, Phee Robson-Jones is missing. The longer we wait the more I think she is in danger. Please, tell us what you know.”

  Mrs. Wiggins swallowed hard. “I moved here thirty years ago when I married my husband. He was ten years my senior. His name was Martin. He’d been married before, but I had not. We were friends more than lovers at first, but that changed after time. But then, as you tend to do as a marriage moves on, I learned things about him that I did not want to know.”

  Muriel looked at Ewan, whose gaze was fastened on Mrs. Wiggins.

  “The Arthur legend is strong in this area,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “As is the legend of the sword. I did not know my husband was part of a group that wanted to find Excalibur.”

  “How did you find out?” Muriel asked.

  “He was a teacher at the university,” she said. “He taught history. Towards the end of his life he would stay away from the house at nights, late into the night, eleven o’clock, midnight. After a month or so I started to question him. I knew they were not having classes at that time. That meant it was something nefarious and he became angry with me when I questioned him, and for a while I thought he would send me back to London.”

  She stopped and took a drink of her tea. Muriel could see that her hands were shaking and for a moment she thought the woman would not continue.

  But after a few moments she did. “Then, about a year after the late nights started something horrible happened. He came home at five in the morning. I was worried sick, and I’d been pacing the floor, checking the time every few moments. He was not wearing the clothing he’d worn that morning and…” she paused, and when she spoke again she was crying, “…there was blood on his shoes. It was dried but it was obvious what it was. I had the devil of a time cleaning the shoes.”

  Muriel looked over to Ewan, who was studying their hostess. He finally looked at Muriel and she could see the look on his face that said the same thing she was thinking.

  Phee. She was in danger from the people here, and Mr. Jameson was one of them.

  “I tried to get him to confide in me, but he was having none of it,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “Six months later he was dead.”

  “At the hands of Sisto Frae?” Ewan asked. “Who is he and how did he come into the story?”

  “I only met him once,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “He came to the house about a month after I found the blood on Thomas’ shoes.

  It was the first time she’d referred to her husband using his Christian name, and Muriel wondered why.

  “What did they talk about?” Ewan asked. “Or was that the day he murdered your husband?”

  Muriel thought the question was a bit cold, but she kept her mouth shut. If Ewan posed it there was a reason for it, although she wasn’t sure what. Maybe he would tell her later—hopefully he would.

  “No, that wasn’t the day,” she said. Her voice sounded steely, as if she were growing angry at being questioned. “They went into the study and they argued. Loudly.”

  “About what?” Muriel asked. She hoped her question was a little softer than the ones Ewan was throwing at her.

  “They said something about the ceremony, about the woman.” Mrs. Wiggins drained her teacup. Then she carefully refilled it, added two lumps of sugar and stirred it. Muriel could see a far off look in her eyes, as if she were reliving the day she was describing.

  “Did you ask Mr. Wiggins after Sisto Frae left?” Ewan asked.

  “I did,” she said. “It was one of the few times he screamed at me.” She took a few more sips. “Told me it was none of my affair. Said it would all go away.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. “Then he was dead.”

  “That night?” Ewan asked.

  “No, it was a few months later,” she said.

  “Then how do you know Sisto Frae killed him?” Ewan asked. “Was he ever tried in the murder? Was he hanged?”

  “No, they had no evidence,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “But he threatened him. He said to give him the book or Thomas would be dead.”

  “What book?” Ewan asked.

  Muriel thought about the package hidden in the hallway. “That’s what in the package you gave me, right?”

  Muriel shook her head at Ewan, who shot her a confused look. Sh
e mouthed the word, “Later.”

  “I don’t know what’s in the box,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “Pregarin brought it to me after Thomas died. I refused it. It was months later when I found it again. I never opened it, because I didn’t want to know what he’d been doing.”

  “Even if it would find your husband’s killer? Forgive me, Mrs. Wiggins, but I find that a little hard to believe.” Ewan said. Muriel didn’t say so, but she though the same thing. How could you keep a box that pertained to your husband for so many years and not open it to see what was inside?

  “Mrs. Wiggins?” Ewan’s words were a gentle push, but the innkeeper didn’t budge. “Mrs. Wiggins, if you haven’t opened the box, how do you know there’s a book inside?”

  The innkeeper sighed and burst into tears. Muriel wasn’t sure exactly what to do. Should she comfort her, or would she use that as an excuse to say she needed to go and have a lie down? She glanced at Ewan, who shook his head ever so slightly. Muriel stayed where she was, and Mrs. Wiggins’ sobs subsided.

  No one spoke for a few moments. Finally, Mrs. Wiggins said, “You’re insinuating that I had something to do with my husband’s death.”

  “Not at all,” Ewan said. “I just don’t understand how you are so sure of the contents of the box when you never opened it.”

  Mrs. Wiggins straightened in her chair and stared at the wall.

  “Darling, will you retrieve the box from wherever you hid it, please?”

  “Of course.” Muriel got up and strode to the hallway. Part of her thought Mrs. Wiggins would object, would say she wanted the box back before they opened it. But she didn’t. Muriel retrieved the box and brought it into the dining room. She set it on the table and resumed her seat.

  “Mrs. Wiggins, would you like to do the honors?” Ewan asked.

  The innkeeper didn’t move. From what Muriel could see she didn’t even blink.

  “I’ll do it,” Muriel said. She pulled the box close to her and carefully removed the lid.

  “Well?” Ewan asked. Muriel looked up to see he was staring at Mrs. Wiggins, who continued to look at the wall.

  “There is a book, a small one,” she said. “From the cover I would say it was old. Very old, at least a hundred years. There’s also rocks. They’re not very big. And there’s something wrapped in linen.”

  She picked it up, prepared to unwrap it, but Mrs. Wiggins suddenly jerked and said, “Leave it alone! It’s dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” Muriel said. “Is whatever it is poisonous? Or is it some other sort of weapon?”

  “Enough!” Even Muriel jumped at Ewan’s shouted word. “Tell us what you know or we’re sending for the constable. We’ll give him the box and you can tell him what is so dangerous about what’s inside.”

  “It’s ritual items,” Mrs. Wiggins said. She inhaled deeply before she said, “Thomas was part of a group that believed they could summon the Lady of the Lake. They said she was the guardian of the sword, and the only way they could find it was to summon her. They used the items in the box.”

  “Your husband told you this?” Ewan asked.

  “No, Pregarin did, the first time he brought me the box.” She was crying again, but the tears were not as heavy as the first time. “He told me then that they’d done the ritual.”

  “Who are they?” Ewan asked.

  “Thomas, Frae, and Pregarin.”

  “And Jameson?” Muriel added. “I think you always have to have an even number for that sort of thing.”

  “Yes,” Mrs. Wiggins said.

  “What did this ritual involve?” Ewan asked.

  “I don’t know the exact things that happen,” Mrs. Wiggins said. “But from the blood I found on Thomas’s shoes I would say it involved making someone bleed.”

  “Muriel, unwrap the parcel,” Ewan said.

  “No!” Mrs. Wiggins screamed, but she didn’t move toward Muriel.

  There was no twine around the parcel, so Muriel found the edge of the linen and pulled it up. She let go of the parcel and lifted the linen in the air. Within seconds. a silver knife dropped onto the table.

  “It’s not as big as I thought it would be,” Muriel said. She picked it up and turned it over. “There’s no markings on it all. I thought these types of things always had words inscribed into them.”

  Mrs. Wiggins was staring at the wall again.

  “What do you know about this ritual?” Ewan cocked his head and glared at the innkeeper. Muriel knew if she were the recipient of that dark look she would be cowering. Instead, Mrs. Wiggins didn’t move. She just continued to focus on the wall.

  “Maybe we should take it to the authorities,” Muriel said. “It could figure into Pregarin’s death.”

  She had hoped the idea would spur the woman into action, but once again, she just sat there.

  “I’ve decided we shouldn’t involve the authorities,” Ewan said. “We’ll sit on this and see who comes to get it. Obviously, that’s what Jameson wanted this morning. Maybe one of his cohorts, maybe even Sisto Frae, will come back tonight and try to get it.”

  Muriel glanced at the innkeeper one more time. She didn’t rise to the idea that one of the other men would come back tonight to try and steal the contents of the box.

  “I’m going upstairs,” Mrs. Wiggins finally said. “Mrs. McClacken, I will take the box with me.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ewan said.

  “It is mine, after all,” Mrs. Wiggins said. Her voice was steely and sent shivers up Muriel’s spine.

  “You gave it to Muriel,” Ewan said. “It no longer belongs to you.”

  She stood. “I want you out of my house.”

  “Once again, I don’t think so,” Ewan said. “If you feel like we’ve overstayed our welcome, for which we prepaid, you can send for the authorities and I’ll explain to them how you have a knife that could have been used in a woman’s murder. I’m sure they’ll be happy to talk to you about it.”

  “You can have your money back,” Mrs. Wiggins’ hands were balled into fists. “I. Want. You. Out.”

  “What are we having for supper tonight?” Ewan asked. “I hope it’s as good as the lamb we had the other evening. Of course, I’ll be asking you to taste test it just to make sure it’s not poisoned.”

  “Out!” Mrs. Wiggins strode from the room as if she were the Queen and Muriel couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Why are you badgering her?”

  “Because she and her friends are using us,” he said. “Obviously Pregarin gave her the box for a reason, and I have a feeling there is something else they are looking for. They want us to find it.”

  “How are you seeing all of this?” Muriel asked. “I mean I could tell she was hiding something. Upstairs she seemed so broken up about Pregarin’s death, but the moment she saw Jameson she changed.”

  “Yes, I don’t think he was supposed to come here,” Ewan said. “They have some sort of plan, although finding out what might take some time.”

  “Do you really think we should stay here?” Muriel asked.

  “Oh, yes.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “We’re in the thick of things here. Until she finds goons to come in and physically throw us out, we’re staying right where we are.”

  “I hope she doesn’t find anyone,” Muriel said.

  “We’ll sit in the parlor and talk dirty to each other,” he said. “And drink lots of tea.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Muriel said. “But aren’t you worried that we might shock the other guests?”

  The moment the words were out of her mouth it fell open. “The other guests.”

  “Yes?” Ewan said.

  “The day we checked in, Mrs. Wiggins told us there was only one more guest. Mr. Hulsey. She said he was down the hall from us, remember?”

  He nodded, and then she continued. “But we haven’t seen him, have we? Not in the hall, not at the bathing room, not at meals. Exactly who is Mr. Hulsey and where is he? Has she killed him and locked the corpse in his room?”


  “One way to find out,” Ewan said. “Let’s take a trip upstairs and see if anyone is hiding or lying dead on the bed.”

  Chapter 20

  Muriel stared at the front door, or at what she could see of it. She was sitting in the parlor, trying to stay hidden so that if Mrs. Wiggins came downstairs and left she wouldn’t see her. Ewan was upstairs, trying to find an unlocked door, or pick the lock on a secured one, and see if he could find out information on Mr. Hulsey, their unknown fellow guest.

  The situation was so strange, not what she’d expected at all. But Ewan had seen it all. He’d predicted that they were all connected, that they were being played, and he was right. That meant she owed him outdoor sex. She wasn’t sure if that thrilled her or scared the living daylights out of her.

  She closed her eyes and imagined herself on all fours in the middle of the park, with her husband behind her, thrusting back and forth. The idea was so erotic that her nipples hardened, and her clit tightened. She hated the thought that she was excited by his suggestion. It was dangerous—so very dangerous.

  She was so focused on the idea of being fucked in the park that she almost missed the creak on the stairs. She glanced at the doorway that led to the hallway. Instead of getting up and going to investigate she got up and crouched behind the chair.

  If Mrs. Wiggins was going somewhere Muriel was going to follow her, and if the innkeeper saw her sitting in the chair, she would come into the parlor and confront Muriel. Muriel listened for more noise, and there was nothing.

  But then the door opened and closed. Muriel shot out from her hiding place and crossed to the door. She put her ear against it and listened. When she didn’t hear anything, she grabbed her cape from a hook in the hallway and slowly opened the door and peeked out.

  Mrs. Wiggins was already partway down the street, moving so fast that Muriel worried she would lose her before she could rush down the stairs and follow her. She wrapped her cloak around her, and she almost tripped over her skirts as she ran. That made her stop and secure the cloak before she took off again.

  Mrs. Wiggins went past the street that would take them to the pub where Muriel and Ewan had met with Pregarin. Her pace had slowed, and Muriel wondered if the older woman was becoming winded. Muriel’s legs were starting to strain, but she pushed forward.