A Deception at Thornecrest

by Ashley Weaver

  He inhaled deeply and let out a relieved breath of smoke. “I’ve been waiting for a cigarette. It tastes almost as good as freedom.”

  “I’m afraid this is no laughing matter, Darien.”

  He looked up at me, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Do you think I don’t realize that? I may enjoy a risk now and then, but I certainly don’t fancy being hanged.”

  “You’re not going to be hanged,” I said. I hoped I was right. This was all much more serious than he seemed to realize.

  “I didn’t kill that fellow,” he said.

  I wanted to believe he was telling the truth, but, as with Milo, it was very difficult to tell. Looking into those blue eyes was like standing on a ship and looking for answers in the depths of the ocean.

  Remembering what Milo had learned about Darien from Mr. Ludlow, I decided to change tactics. “What happened with the other woman, the one whose husband supposedly died in a fall from a horse?”

  He looked surprised. “How did you hear about that?”

  “You have to admit, it looks bad,” I said, ignoring the question.

  “That man’s death was an accident. Pure chance, nothing more. There was a lot of nasty gossip about it because of my involvement with the wife.”

  “And then she killed herself.” I was watching him closely as I said it, and I was certain a flicker of something like sadness crossed his features before he concealed it.

  “In the end, it got to be too much for her, I suppose,” he said, looking down at his cigarette.

  “This information certainly doesn’t help your case.”

  “I’ve done a lot of bad things,” he said, his eyes coming up to meet mine. “But I haven’t killed anyone.”

  I wanted very much to believe him.

  “Who do you suppose did kill Bertie Phipps?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “I haven’t the foggiest idea. I hadn’t seen him since our row at the inn. I certainly didn’t go about looking for him to bash his head in.”

  I frowned. Whether or not he had killed him, he was very casual about all of it.

  “What were you doing in that field?”

  The hesitation was so slight it was almost unnoticeable. “Just walking. Having a look at Thornecrest. I’m curious about my origins.”

  I had the distinct impression he was lying, but I moved past it for the moment, going to my next question.

  “How do you explain the blood on your boots and Bertie’s money and chain in your room?”

  “Those aren’t my boots,” he said. “I only have the pair I was wearing.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “Can you prove how many pairs of shoes you have?”

  “What about the chain and the money?” I asked, determined not to let his impudence dull my determination to help him.

  “I didn’t take it. Why should I? If I killed him in a rage, why would I steal from him afterward?”

  “Why not?” I asked. “Perhaps you needed a bit of extra money and decided to take it.”

  I said this to goad him, to see what his reaction would be. If it made him angry, I couldn’t tell. He merely watched me with those pale blue eyes. “I could have. But I didn’t.”

  I studied him, and he looked back at me steadily. I had had this feeling before when looking into Milo’s eyes, the feeling of decisions being weighed behind that inscrutable gaze. I hoped that he would make the right one, but if he really was anything like Milo there was no guarantee.

  “This won’t, perhaps, make me any more trustworthy,” he said at last, “but I wouldn’t kill for a woman. Why would I waste my life for one when there are so many to be had?”

  Though this was a distasteful sentiment, I had to admit that it made sense. I didn’t know Darien well, but it seemed very apparent that he was the sort of young man who had a short attention span where women were involved.

  “I don’t much care for your principles,” I said at last. “But you do have a point.”

  He smiled, though it was more a smile of relief than the usual one of calculated charm. “I knew you would see it that way.”

  “But what of the fact that you were seen in the field that day, Darien?” I asked. “The truth.”

  He gave a little sigh. “If you want the truth, I went to meet Marena.”

  I felt a little surge of hope at this admission, but I tried not to let it show. Like one of Milo’s high-tempered horses, I had to be sure that he didn’t become skittish and bolt.

  “Why?”

  “Why does a man ever meet a pretty young girl in a secluded spot?”

  “That field isn’t exactly secluded.”

  “It’s secluded enough. There’s a path from the village that goes that way that’s easy to find. We were to meet on it, find a haystack or something of the sort.”

  I sighed. How tedious he was.

  “Then why didn’t you tell the police that you were with Marena at the time of the murder?” I demanded. “You might have saved yourself all this trouble.”

  “Because Marena never arrived.”

  “No?”

  “No.” He waved a hand, the shackles at his wrists clanging. “And there goes my chance at an alibi.”

  “Did Marena ever tell you where she was at the time?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t seen her since.”

  I considered this. If Marena had missed their assignation, there must have been a reason for it. Was the reason that she had encountered Bertie Phipps in the field?

  “Did you see Bertie? You can tell me if you did,” I said in a calm, soothing manner.

  His mouth tipped up at one corner, just as Milo’s was wont to do. “And what if I did? Are you going to save the day, sister Amory?” There was something just the slightest bit mocking in his tone that set me on edge.

  “Would you rather hang?” I challenged.

  His smile widened. “You’ve got spunk. I can see why my brother fancies you. Most women wouldn’t have the nerve to come into a prison, let alone to champion the cause of a ne’er-do-well.”

  I hadn’t come here to have a discussion about Darien’s ridiculous opinions on the fairer sex. I wondered if he knew I was quickly losing patience with him and that my desire to help was steadily becoming more of a burden than a cause. He didn’t seem to realize what hung in the balance. Or perhaps he did, and this show of insolent nonchalance was all an act. I wondered if, beneath the bravado, he was more worried than he let on.

  “I think you underestimate women as a whole,” I said, unable to let the matter drop entirely.

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. Marena is a strong woman. And Imogen certainly has spirit. Despite how she looks. Oh, I know she makes a pretty picture with those wide green eyes and rosy blushes, but there’s more to her than that. She’s a lot stronger than she appears.”

  I hadn’t needed him to tell me as much. After all, she had come to Thornecrest alone looking for a missing husband. Though she had been a bit uneasy about it, that was an act that had required courage. I had seen that streak of strength there, beneath the vulnerable exterior.

  In fact, I hadn’t entirely dismissed her as a suspect. Though I should have thought that if Imogen had been inclined to murder anyone it would have been Darien.

  Marena, however, was a different story. Was it possible that she had killed Bertie? I was beginning to wonder.

  Another thought occurred to me, one that should have occurred to me long ago. “Marena works at the inn. Do you suppose she might have put those things in your room?”

  He considered. “It’s certainly possible, though I don’t know why she should have.”

  “Yes,” I mused. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

  “I never bothered locking the door to my room, though. I don’t own anything worth stealing. Anyone might have gone upstairs and put those things there. That girl at the desk certainly isn’t much of a guard.”

  Yes, I had seen Jenny’s level of proficiency firsthand.

&nb
sp; He finished his cigarette and dropped it on the floor, grinding it out with his shoe. “I wish I could get out of here,” he said. “I don’t much care for this place.”

  “You’re not meant to care for prison.”

  “Guilty people aren’t meant to care for it. Innocent people aren’t supposed to be here. It’s not at all comfortable.”

  As if comfort was the most important consideration. I fought down my annoyance with the young man. He was so incredibly selfish that I found it very difficult to feel sorry for him. Nevertheless, I reminded myself that his off-putting manner did not mean that he was guilty, nor that he should be wrongfully convicted of a crime he didn’t commit. Besides, I still sensed that, beneath it all, there was a young man whose audacity masked his insecurities.

  “Well, we’ll just have to hope that something will occur to prove your innocence,” I said.

  One must be careful what one wishes for.

  * * *

  WITH INSPECTOR WILSON not doing much to hide his relief to see me gone, I left the police station.

  I thought I might next go to see Imogen. I was curious about Mrs. Hodges’s assertion that Imogen and Bertie had been seen speaking to each other. I still couldn’t fathom how the two of them might be connected.

  When I stopped at Mrs. Cotton’s rooming house, however, I was told she was out. I didn’t know whether to be disappointed I couldn’t speak with her or relieved that I might soon be back at Thornecrest and able to put my feet up. They were aching considerably.

  “Back to Thornecrest, madam?” Markham asked as he opened the car door for me. I thought he looked a bit concerned. Perhaps I hadn’t hidden my slight limp from too-tight shoes as well as I thought. I wondered if Milo had told him to keep me from overexerting myself.

  Despite the temptation to head for home, I shook my head. “Just one more stop, if you please. Take me to the vicarage.”

  I wanted to see Marena, to ask her where she had been when she was supposed to have been meeting Darien.

  We pulled up before the vicarage and I alighted from the car to see the vicar standing near the fence, working on his flower bed.

  “Mrs. Ames,” he said. “How are you?”

  “Hello, vicar. I’m well. And you?”

  “Right as rain,” he said. “Just working on the flower beds a bit before I go in to tea.”

  “I thought I might come and check on Marena.”

  He nodded. “That’s very kind of you, my dear. She’s in the parlor having tea with Lady Alma and Mrs. Busby. I believe Mrs. Hodges brought over a basket of sweets earlier. I’m sure they’d love for you to join them.”

  That certainly wasn’t ideal company for questioning Marena as to her whereabouts. I would have to do it another time. As for tea, I would much rather take a cup while sitting shoeless in my own home.

  “I shan’t disturb them,” I said.

  “I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

  “I really should be getting back to Thornecrest. I’ll come back tomorrow, perhaps.”

  “As you wish, my dear.”

  I was about to turn back toward my car, but I realized this was an excellent opportunity and felt I should take advantage of it.

  “I wonder … Might I have a word with you, vicar?” I asked.

  He looked up. “Of course, Mrs. Ames. What is it?” He fixed me in that sincere, caring gaze of his, his flowers immediately dismissed, and I felt a bit guilty at what I was about to do.

  Of course, it was all for a good cause. I was quite sure God would take that into account.

  “I’m afraid I’m a bit at loose ends after all that has happened. It’s just so shocking, what happened to Bertie. I was going to check on Marena, but, to be honest, I’m still disturbed about it myself.” It wasn’t a lie, after all.

  He nodded sympathetically.

  “I just find that I have so many questions.”

  “It’s natural in the case of sudden death for one to question the nature of life.” It was a lovely theological sentiment but not quite what I was getting at.

  “I’m not at all convinced that the police have the right man,” I said. “What do you think?”

  It seemed to me that his expression grew slightly less transcendent than it had been a moment before. “As to that, I couldn’t say. My realm is the spiritual; the law is that of the police.” He smiled. “‘Render unto Caesar’ and all that.”

  “Yes, of course. But the search for truth is the duty of us all, is it not?”

  “Yes, yes. You’re quite right, my dear.”

  “I have heard that Bertie seemed to have broken into your desk.”

  If he was surprised by this sudden change of subject, he gave no sign of it.

  “I’m afraid that’s true.”

  “What do you suppose he wanted?”

  “I assume he was looking for trinkets to sell. There were a few other items missing from the office that weren’t recovered, small silver items of negligible value.”

  “Did you ask him why he did it?” I was genuinely curious.

  “That’s the sad thing. He denied it all. I told him that all was forgiven. That he had only to come to me, and I would have been glad to help him.” He shook his head. “But he wouldn’t admit it.”

  I decided to pose my next question, though there was the chance I was revealing too much of what I knew. “I noticed at the festival that you gave him an envelope.”

  He frowned. “I … gave him … I don’t recall…?”

  I pushed on, despite his show of ignorance. “There was no envelope found on him when he died, but there was one found with his necklace in Darien’s room at the inn. I don’t suppose you gave Bertie money?”

  He smiled kindly, shaking his head. “No. Though I would have, if he had asked for it. It is a lesson we could all learn, how to ask for help.”

  He was being purposefully obtuse now, though I couldn’t be certain why.

  “I couldn’t agree more, vicar,” I said sweetly. “That’s another reason I’d like to speak to Marena. You see, I’ve heard that Bertie had a secret, one that he felt burdened to tell. I thought that perhaps it might hold a clue as to his death.”

  “Is that so?” It occurred to me suddenly that what I’d always taken to be an expression of perpetual serenity on his countenance might also be an exceptional poker face.

  “I don’t suppose he confided in you?”

  “As a clergyman, I would be unable to share it if he did, of course.” He said this in a gentle, almost apologetic tone.

  “Oh, yes, of course. Well, perhaps he said something to Marena.”

  “Perhaps he did.”

  I could see I wasn’t likely to learn anything more. It was time to take my leave.

  “Well, good evening, vicar,” I said. “I’ll come back to speak to Marena tomorrow.”

  “Very good. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.”

  I got back into the car and Markham started toward Thornecrest. I looked once out the back window and saw the vicar was watching me drive away.

  * * *

  I RETURNED TO the house and, despite the strands of the mystery weaving themselves through my brain, I fell asleep early and slept well and late.

  I was surprised when I turned in bed the next morning and saw the clock. It was much later than Winnelda usually let me sleep. I supposed, however, that she had thought I needed rest.

  She had been right, apparently. I felt like a new person after a good night’s sleep. Even my sore feet felt better. Traitorously, I thought how nice it had been to have the bed all to myself in Milo’s absence.

  I rang for Winnelda then went to the bathroom to wash. As I cleaned my teeth, I considered what needed to be done today.

  My first order of business would be to go back to the vicarage. I wanted to have another conversation with the vicar. There had been something strange in his demeanor the previous evening, and I thought perhaps another conversation might reveal more. If not, perhaps Mrs. Busby
would be able to tell me something.

  I wanted to check in on Marena, too, of course. And perhaps, as I had mentioned to the vicar, I might ask her if she knew anything about Bertie’s secret.

  I had just come out of the bathroom when Winnelda burst into the bedroom. I was accustomed to her high level of energy, but I was still a bit taken aback by her entrance.

  “Oh, madam!” she said. “I’ve been wanting to wake you up, but you were resting so peacefully! Something dreadful has happened.”

  “What is it, Winnelda?” I asked, my mind automatically turning to Milo. But no. Surely she would have awakened me in that case.

  Her face was flushed, and her voice, when she spoke, was hushed with reverent horror.

  “It’s Marena Hodges. She’s dead.”

  18

  “MARENA’S DEAD?” I repeated, not quite knowing what to make of the words.

  The first thought to cross my mind was that she might have, in her distress, done harm to herself. But no. She was a strong woman, full of life. She wouldn’t have done that. I had seen her only yesterday, and, though upset about Darien’s arrest, she had given no indication that she was in a dangerous frame of mind.

  All these thoughts passed through my head in the space of an instant, even as I stepped toward Winnelda. “What on earth happened?”

  “Poison, they say.”

  Poison? I felt a cold rush of shock run through my veins. It seemed incredible, impossible.

  “But … are you certain that it wasn’t some sort of accident? Or an issue with her health? Perhaps her heart was weak … after Bertie’s death?” I knew I was grasping at straws. Marena had been young and healthy. A sudden death wasn’t likely to be anything but murder.

  “No, madam, I heard all about it,” Winnelda said. “Tilly heard it from May, who was at the vicarage when it happened. They were having tea last night, the vicar and his wife and Lady Alma and Miss Marena. Miss Marena took a sip of her tea, and May heard her make a strangled cry. She said, ‘This tea tastes strange!’ and then she started grasping her throat. She was trying to say something, but no one could make it out.”