Muriel’s Adventures

by Barron, Melinda

  Her suspect entered an area with houses. The streets were narrow and made of cobblestones. Four houses in Mrs. Wiggins stopped. Muriel worried that she would look around before she knocked on a door, but she didn’t. Instead she rushed up to a door and pulled it open without knocking. It was number four. When she drew nearer Muriel could see a wooden plaque that stated, “Primrose Cottage.”

  There was little room between the houses. Muriel made a split decision to go between number four and number three, which was labeled, “Daisy Lane.”

  The windows were old and looked as if they hadn’t been cleaned in years. Muriel glanced inside, praying no one came up and found her spying. Through the dirty panes she saw Mrs. Wiggins talking to a man Muriel had never seen before. The innkeeper was wagging her finger in the man’s face. Muriel couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was becoming more heated as they both spoke.

  Finally, Mrs. Wiggins took a step back and slapped the man across the face so hard he reeled backwards.

  “Oh my,” Muriel said, then put her hand over her mouth. She prayed no one had heard her. But if the people inside had they ignored her. They continued to yell, the words coming louder and faster. Muriel didn’t catch every word, but she made out enough to know Mrs. Wiggins wanted to ‘get rid of” her guests.

  Muriel caught the words needed and, if she wasn’t mistaken, their argument was almost over. They continued to yell, and she decided if she stayed too much longer she would likely be discovered. But she didn’t know who the man was, and she was sure his identity would help their investigation. That meant she had to stay.

  It crossed her mind that Ewan had discovered she was gone, and he was probably very worried, or very angry, or both. She would need to explain to him that she’d made her decision on the spur of the moment, and that it would, hopefully, help their case.

  Mrs. Wiggins screamed in frustration and Muriel watched as she took off her cloak. She threw it on the ground and stomped to the stairs. The man followed her.

  It was Muriel’s turn to cry out in frustration, but she swallowed it, knowing if she did so it would mean she would definitely be discovered. She crept out onto the street and pondered her next move. She couldn’t stay here very long, because the longer she was gone the more Ewan would worry.

  “Oy, what do you think you’re doing?” The man’s voice shocked Muriel. She bent over and coughed.

  “I’m searching for my hat,” she said, putting her hands on her bare head. “A gust of wind took it from me and it disappeared in here. But I can’t find it. Can you help me? My mother gave me that hat before she died. I need to find it. Can you help me?”

  She hoped there was enough desperation in her voice to make the man feel sorry for her. She looked down to hide her smile when he told her to “Remain calm.”

  “It’s just a hat,” he said as he joined her in the small space. “Let’s look and see if we can find it.”

  They both searched the ground, and Muriel said a silent prayer of thanks that the man was silent. Until he told her he didn’t think they would find what she wanted.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you have to remember it’s just a hat. I’m sure you have great memories of your mother, and that is what you should remember.”

  “You’re right,” Muriel said. She sniffled. “Thank you. I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Mr.?”

  “Troy, Anthony Troy,” he said, and he bowed ever so slightly.

  “And your neighbor.” She jerked her thumb toward the house where Mrs. Wiggins had gone.

  “Mr. Jameson,” Anthony Troy said. “But he’s not home. He’s a porter on the train between here and London. He won’t be back until later tonight.”

  “Oh, but I thought I saw a man go in there,” she said.

  “That would be Mr. Smith,” Troy said. “He’s been there for a while now. Mr. Jameson said his marriage is floundering and he’s using the house to get away from his wife. Very sad if you ask me. When the minister says till death do you part that’s what he means. They need to work on their problems instead of running away from each other.”

  “You’re right, it is very sad,” Muriel said. She thought about Ewan and how she didn’t think she could live without him. Then she wondered, once again, who the man was inside Mr. Jameson’s house. She needed to discuss it with her husband. “Thank you, Mr. Troy, for helping me search for my hat. I appreciate it more than you know.”

  Once again, the man bowed. He stepped aside and allowed Muriel to exit the alleyway in front of him.

  Muriel started back to the inn, hoping the information she had would soothe the anger her husband was sure to have because of her disappearance.

  * * *

  “Don’t yell at me.” Muriel’s words seemed to make the walls shake, but then again Ewan had been doing the screaming for the last five minutes, so she decided it was her turn.

  “I’m not yelling,” Ewan said, his voice lower than it had been since she’d returned and found him pacing the parlor. He took a deep breath. Then he glared at her, his mouth fixed in a frown. “All right, I’ve been yelling. But you can’t just leave without telling me where you’re going, not after what happened this morning. For all I knew she killed you and stuffed you in the cupboard.”

  “I’m sure you checked the cupboard,” she said. “I’m sure you checked all of them.”

  “You’re making light of this,” he said. “We have no idea what we’re really up against, and you marched out of here and left me to wonder if you were still alive.”

  “It is over,” she said. “Except for the fact that we have a new place to investigate. The house where Mrs. Wiggins went belongs to Jameson. But the man she was talking with wasn’t Jameson. We need to find out who it was. Maybe it’s Sisto Frae.”

  “The man who killed her husband?” Ewan said. He plopped himself down in a chair and Muriel felt a little guilty. His relaxed posture was as if he were letting go of the tension he’d felt all day, because of her.

  “Who else could it be?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.” He pounded his fist into the arm of the chair. “We need more information, which means, I think, going to the authorities and finding out about Thomas Wiggins’ murder. It was twenty years ago, true, but there might be a constable who remembers the event. I don’t think this town sees murder very often.”

  “What if Mrs. Wiggins comes back and locks us out? Maybe one of us should go and the other should stay here and search the house, see if we can find out any more information.”

  “Good idea, my love,” he said. “Which would you prefer to do?”

  “I would like to stay here,” she said. “I think a constable would be more likely to talk to a man than a woman.”

  “You’re probably right,” he said. “But be careful. When Mrs. Wiggins returns don’t confront her. If she gets angry because you’re searching her things just tell her to go to the devil.”

  “I like that idea,” Muriel said.

  Ewan patted his lap. “Come here, my love.”

  She settled herself on his lap, leaning into him when he wrapped his arms around her.

  “Tonight, we’ll relieve some tension,” he whispered in her ear.

  “And how will we do that?” she asked, cocking her head and seductively blinking her eyes.

  “I’m sure we can think of something,” he said. “Now, when you search, start with Mrs. Wiggins’ room. I think she would want to keep items close to her.”

  “Which reminds me, what did you find when you were searching for our elusive Mr. Hulsey?”

  “I found nothing,” he said. “There is no evidence that there is another guest in this house. No clothes, no cases, no books. Nothing. I searched all the bedrooms, including the one she uses. I pounded on floorboards and looked to see if anything was nailed under tables. I found nothing. I don’t think Mr. Hulsey exists.”

  “So, she made him up. Why?”

  “Who knows,” Ewan said. The clock bonged twice, and he pa
tted her thigh. “We need to get going before she returns. There’s bread and cheese in the kitchen. I don’t know if she’ll feed us tonight. Perhaps we should go to the pub when I return so we can get a decent meal.”

  “What if she won’t let us back in?” Muriel moved around until she could lay her head on his shoulder. She loved the feel of him, of being so close.

  “Then we’ll find other accommodations,” he said. “But something tells me she’ll want to keep us close.”

  “If that were true she wouldn’t have run off,” Muriel said. “She’d be here right now, watching us, tracking us. She didn’t even look back this morning to see if one of us was following her.”

  Muriel took a deep breath. “Do you think they have Phee somewhere? And one more question I hate to pose, but do you think they are planning some sort of ritual, one that involves blood? And if they are, are they planning on using Phee’s blood?”

  “That’s a good question,” he said. “One I intend to pose to the authorities. I’m going to go now. Please be careful, my love. I hate to leave you here.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said.

  “That is true.” He lifted her head and kissed her gently. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll not worry about you.”

  “Go, now, while it’s still light,” she said. “If we sit here much longer, when Mrs. Wiggins returns she might find us in a compromising position.”

  “It would be good for us,” he said. “Remember, tonight.”

  He kissed her once more and then they separated, and he was out the door. Once he was gone, Muriel looked around the room. “If I wanted to hide something where would I do it? I’m the only one who uses my bedroom, but Ewan already searched there.”

  “If I wanted to hide something where would I do it?” she repeated, comforted by the sound of her voice.

  She examined the room, ready to start tearing apart furniture to see if it might give her a clue of some sort. But then she stopped in her tracks. There was one room that only Mrs. Wiggins used. No one else went in there. That meant if you wanted to hide something it would be the perfect place.

  The kitchen.

  Muriel rushed through the dining room and as she neared the cooking space she wondered once again what Mrs. Wiggins and the man she’d met at Mr. Jameson’s house were doing. They needed to find out this man’s identity, but how could they do it without calling attention to themselves? She thought about the neighbor, Mr. Troy. If she could arrange to run into him by accident she could probe him a little more about his neighbor.

  But how could she do that? It wouldn’t be an easy thing to arrange. She needed to talk to Ewan about it when he came home.

  Once she was in the kitchen she went to the cupboards and searched all the items. There were dishes and cups and bottles of spices and some vegetables. But there was nothing else. The fire had not been stoked in the stove, so she went there next, opening all the doors and lifting grates. Once again, she found nothing.

  “Too easy,” she said. She thought about what Ewan had said, how he opened drawers, looked under furniture and stomped on floorboards to see if there was something beneath them.

  She did that next, stomping on each piece of wood as she moved around the room. When that turned up nothing, and the clock stuck four, she wanted to sit down and cry. Instead, she slammed her fist into the wall, pulling it back as pain shot up her arm and into her shoulder.

  “Definitely nothing behind the wall,” she said as she shook her hand to try and alleviate the pain. As her hand throbbed she thought about other places you could hide things. She looked at the wall and the floors, and then at the cupboards. There were very few, and she’d already searched them.

  She looked around the room, anger surging through her as she thought about what they’d been drawn into. How the search for one woman turned into the search for a mystical sword was beyond her. But it had, and they had to see it to the end.

  “Damnation!” she yelled as she stomped her foot. One more glance around the room and she realized she’d searched everywhere. But then her eyes lit on the bucket of wood next to the stove.

  No, she hadn’t searched everywhere. The wood was in a pile, sitting on the floor. She knelt and moved them quickly, tossing them aside as if they were pieces of lace. When she got to the bottom she found nothing.

  She almost screamed in frustration until she remembered Ewan testing the floorboards. She stood and stomped on the floor. A hollow sound rang through and she laughed. She looked around and found the tongs used to turn meat. It took several times to wedge the tongs into the wood, but when she did it popped up. She used her hand to tear off the other board.

  There was a box hidden there. It looked exactly like the one Mrs. Wiggins had given her. The reasoning for hiding one, and giving her the other, was beyond her grasp, but there was no way she was leaving this one here for them to use if they needed it.

  She lifted the box, brushing away droppings that she was sure were from mice or other vermin. When the box was free she put the boards back into place, praying that, if Mrs. Wiggins came back and checked her hiding spot, she would not notice the damage to the boards.

  Once the wood was piled back in place, Muriel took the box and went to their room, wondering where she could hide it. But as she looked around she thought that bringing it here was not a bright idea.

  Muriel knew that if Mrs. Wiggins and her lot discovered the box was gone this would be the first place they looked. It only made sense. Where could she hide it, she wondered? She sat on the bed and stared at it. It was approximately the same shape and size as the other one. She wondered if it contained the same things, or if this was different.

  It didn’t take long for her to decide not to open it without Ewan. After all, they were a team and she had run out this morning without consulting him.

  That decision was easy, but she still faced the idea of finding a hiding place. It hit her quickly and she laughed. The one place Mrs. Wiggins would not look was her own bedroom.

  Muriel went quickly, opening the bottom drawer of Mrs. Wiggins’ wardrobe and putting the box under a quilt that had been stuffed into the space. It took her a few moments to move things around, so the drawer would shut properly.

  She was just leaving the room when she heard the door downstairs open. She picked up her skirts and hurried to the stairs, starting down them as quickly as possible without seeming as if she were running.

  “Muriel?” Ewan’s voice reached her when she was almost at the bottom landing

  “Here,” she answered. She moved toward the door and saw him standing with a man she’d never seen before.

  “Inspector Buckley this is my wife, Muriel.” Ewan winked at her. “Muriel, this is Devin Buckley. He’s an Inspector with the local police force. He and I have just been talking about Mr. and Mrs. Wiggins.”

  Muriel frowned. “Mr. and Mrs. Wiggins?”

  “The innkeepers,” Ewan said. “It seems that Mrs. Wiggins forgot that her husband is still alive. Inspector Buckley is very interested in why she would lie to me. I invited him for tea. I thought we might surprise Mrs. Wiggins. Where is she?”

  “She hasn’t come back,” Muriel said. She looked at the clock. “I suppose I could rustle us up some tea, make a few sandwiches with things that are in the kitchen. Then we can all sit and talk.”

  “I’ll investigate the kitchen,” she said, keeping to herself that she’d already done it and found a box. She would tell Ewan about that later. She left the men in the parlor and went to find tea items.

  It would take some time because the fire was not going in the stove. She built it quickly, then set the kettle on to boil. While it did she made sandwiches, using bread that seemed to be more than a day old and some other items she found.

  Further investigation produced a tray which she loaded with cups, biscuits and the sandwiches. When the tea was ready she loaded it onto the tray and carried it into the dining room.

  The men were sitting in chai
rs near the divan. Ewan got up the moment she entered the room and took the tray, which he placed on the table in front of the divan. She sat down and offered to pour. When they all had what they needed she said, “Tell me what I’ve missed out on.”

  “I asked about Mr. Wiggins’ death at the local constabulary,” Ewan said. “I told them it had occurred several years ago, at least twenty, and Mr. Buckley said he was surprised since he’d seen Mr. Wiggins at the pub several nights ago.”

  They were sloppy, Muriel thought, but she kept her thoughts to herself, despite the fact she wanted to say something. Did they think so little of herself and Ewan that they thought they’d just fall for anything they said?

  “Did my husband tell you we’re looking for a missing woman, Phee Robson-Jones?”

  “Yes, he did,” Buckley said. “He also told me she is in her twenties and that her father sent you after her. She’s with a man called Raef Montgomery? That is a name I’ve never heard, and no one has reported anything about a missing woman.”

  Before she could ask another question, the Inspector continued, “I am concerned about why the Wiggins would make it seem as if her husband was dead. That is odd.”

  “More than odd,” Ewan said.

  Muriel wanted to say something about her visit to the other side of town this morning, but she wasn’t sure exactly what Ewan had told him, and she didn’t want to give him conflicting information. If that happened he might think they were no better than the Wiggins, and it would make him question their motives.

  Had he told him about the box? Did he say why Phee and Raef had come to this area?

  “Mr. McClacken tells me that your missing woman, and her gentleman friend, are looking for Excalibur.”

  “That is what her father said,” Muriel replied. “From what Mr. Pregarin said that happens a lot in this area.”

  “Yes, it does,” Buckley said. “He also told me you had met with Mr. Pregarin.” He paused and fixed a dark look on her that made her shiver. “I have some questions about Mr. Pregarin’s death.”