Murder at Kingscote

by Alyssa Maxwell

  “I’ve protected you so far, Olivia,” Donavan was saying in a pleading voice. “You can trust me to go on protecting you.”

  Her pale, tearstained face turned whiter still. “What have you done?”

  He didn’t answer. In a flash of understanding, I supplied the answer for him. “He killed Clarence. For you, Miss Riley. He must have seen you push the Hartley Steamer into Baldwin—” I broke off, stunned by a single detail that suddenly burst, like lightning, across my brain. “Except that you couldn’t have . . . you didn’t.” My mouth fell open as I continued to work it out.

  “What? But I did. I just told you how I did it.”

  I grabbed her hand, almost jubilant. “There’s a root in the grass that would have stopped the Hartley before it reached the tree. Unless you heaved hard enough to send the tires over it—”

  She shook her head vigorously “I don’t remember any such thing.”

  “Because you’d hurried inside. But he”—I pointed at John Donavan—“he was outside, and he pushed the Hartley when it stopped. Pushed it hard enough to send it over the root and into Baldwin with such force he died of the injuries.”

  Every last drop of color drained from Miss Riley’s countenance. “Is this true, John?”

  “I killed him for you, Olivia. For what he was trying to do to you.”

  “I never asked you to help me. And why Clarence?”

  “He saw you hurrying back into the house. He’d gone looking for Baldwin when he didn’t come back to serve in the dining room. And after everyone discovered what I’d . . . what happened to Baldwin, he assumed you did it, although he had no proof. And then he found that boxing-match ticket—from the fight Baldwin bragged about. Baldwin said the poor fool left behind a wife and daughter. Clarence was clever. Once he saw that ticket, he figured you were that man’s daughter and that was why you killed him. He planned to go to the police. I couldn’t let him do that to you. Or to us.”

  “I believed I killed Baldwin, too,” she shouted at him. Then, quieter, “How could you let me believe that?”

  “What does it matter? Baldwin is dead.” Donavan held out his hand as if he expected Miss Riley to take it. “That’s what you wanted. I only did what you wanted.”

  “Dear Lord, no . . .” Miss Riley glared at him, loathing and sorrow warring across her features.

  He once more held out his hand in supplication. “That’s why I had to kill Clarence. After the police let me go, I went back to Kingscote to collect my things. Clarence saw me and told me that he found the ticket while they were clearing out Baldwin’s room. He said I would be exonerated and you jailed in my place. He thought he was doing me a favor. But I couldn’t let him turn you in. Who would believe in your innocence? But without him, you’re safe, and so am I. No one need ever know what really happened.” He shifted his attention to me. “Except you. Now, what do we do with you?”

  “You’re not to do anything with Miss Cross, John.” Miss Riley spoke firmly, even forcefully. “Baldwin committed more sins than you know, but even he didn’t deserve to be murdered. And Clarence was innocent. He certainly didn’t deserve to die. How could you ever believe two deaths could help me?”

  “But it will, Olivia. We’ll go far from here and get married. You and me. Maybe we’ll go as far as California. Just think of it.”

  Miss Riley shook her head at every word he spoke. “Never.”

  “But . . . I love you. Can you not see that? Haven’t I proved it? Everything I did was for you.”

  “Vile, all of it. I could never love you. Even if you hadn’t done these things, I never would have loved you.” She raised a hand to gesture toward the front door. “Go. Get away if you can. I’m not going with you.”

  He didn’t move to go. “I won’t leave without you.”

  She walked past me, turning her face away from him and staring out the front window. “Then you’ll be taken into custody along with me. After all, I did have a hand in Baldwin’s death. If I hadn’t started the motorcar rolling, if I hadn’t gone outside that night, you wouldn’t have done what you did. I realize that. I do bear some responsibility, and I won’t hide from it. Miss Cross, I believe I saw a telephone beneath your staircase as I came in. You may as well summon the police.”

  She sounded so calm, so resigned, but the tips of her fingers trembled, while her breathing became labored and audible. I marveled at her courage, her calm acceptance of all that had happened, and what it could mean for her and her daughter’s futures. The police and the courts could very well hold her partly responsible. They might charge her as an accomplice, and with only her word to attest to what happened that night, she could end up spending years in prison.

  “I don’t believe this.” Mounting anger replaced the pleading in John Donavan’s voice. “After everything I’ve done for you?”

  Miss Riley made no reply.

  “Look at me, you guttersnipe.” He took a step toward her. Miss Riley flinched but maintained her resolve. Patch growled deep in his throat. I bent to place a hand on his collar while, with my other hand, I reached for the brass paperweight, the closest object within reach that could be used as a weapon. “Baldwin was right about you, Olivia,” he said. “You aren’t worth it. You never were.” He spun toward me and raised the crowbar. “Put it down or you and your dog won’t see another day.”

  I grabbed the hunk of brass anyway; he’d already hinted at killing me, so why go passively? My fingers closed around the cool metal. The weight of it filled my hand as I lifted it from the pile of newspapers. I watched in horror as the crowbar swung high over my head. My senses swam as Patch’s fierce barking filled my ears. I braced for the agony of the blow, equally determined to strike a blow in return.

  And then John Donavan’s eyes rolled back in his head. His hand opened and the crowbar plummeted, landing with a sharp and heavy thwack on my shoulder—but not my head. The coachman’s collapsing form revealed the figure of Miss Riley standing directly behind him, wielding the conch shell I had so recently considered using as a weapon, her fingers curled snugly inside it.

  * * *

  I barely had time to comprehend what happened when the front door burst open. Patch barked furiously as he jumped and darted around Donavan’s prone form. Miss Riley had hardly moved, except to lower the conch shell to her side. Footsteps came at a run from the hallway: Derrick’s and Nanny’s and Katie’s. They spoke all at once, a cacophony I could make no sense of.

  Then Derrick’s arms were around me. “What the blazes happened here? Emma, are you all right?”

  “Emma? Emma, that man—” Nanny pointed down at Donavan. Her face became flushed with outrage as she scowled. “Good heavens, who is he?”

  Katie said nothing but crouched beside John Donavan and placed her fingertips on the side of his neck, something I had taught her. “He’s alive.”

  At that, Miss Riley let out a cry and sank to her knees. Derrick released me and I went to her, prying the conch shell from her hand. A crimson bead dripped from the twisted spire at one end. I set it aside and put my arm across her shoulders. “Can you stand?” I turned to Katie. “Please bring some water for Miss Riley and a rag and ice for . . . for him.”

  Katie came to her feet, then hesitated, her hands clutching at her apron. “Shouldn’t I call the police, Miss Emma?”

  Over Miss Riley’s head, Derrick’s gaze collided with mine. I shook my head slightly. He made no move, not even a change in his expression, but I knew he understood. Or, at least, he was willing to follow my lead. “Not yet, Katie,” I said. “Please, the water and ice first. And more tea, I think. And then please telephone Dr. Kennison.”

  Derrick wasted no time. He followed Katie and returned holding a ball of twine. He tied Donavan’s hands behind his back and then bound his ankles for good measure. With my help, we half dragged, half hauled him to the sofa and stretched him out on it. When Katie returned with a cloth-bound bundle of ice—delivered to me daily from The Breakers, my relatives’ cottag
e—Nanny first dabbed at the cut on the back of his head and then placed the ice on the wound. He didn’t stir, although his breathing seemed steady, and I hoped for Miss Riley’s sake he recovered. I couldn’t help thinking about Harry Ainsley’s fate . . .

  “I’ve done violence again.” Miss Riley still sat on the floor, her hands gripped together. There were no tears now, only a piercing light in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Fiona,” she whispered.

  “In self-defense,” I reminded her, though it didn’t smooth the anxious lines from her face. “Actually, in my defense.”

  “What happened here while I was gone?” Derrick went to Miss Riley and offered his hand to help her up. She accepted it and rose shakily to her feet. He led her to one of the two armchairs facing the sofa and steadied her as she lowered herself into it. “How did he come to be here? That’s John Donavan, isn’t it?”

  His second question needed no reply, but I answered the first. “He followed Miss Riley from Kingscote. He claims he’s in love with her and thought he was doing her a favor by committing murder. Twice.”

  “Good God.” Derrick rarely swore in my hearing, much less Nanny’s, and that he did now proved how taken aback he was by this development. “He murdered two men . . . in the name of love?”

  Miss Riley shook her head, clearly still blaming herself for the first, and possibly both, deaths. I went to her side, half blocking her from Derrick’s view. “Yes,” I said before she could speak. “You see, Miss Riley is . . . You might want to be seated for this.” I gestured for Derrick to sit in the other armchair. Clearly baffled, he sat across the small oval table from Miss Riley, so that they were both facing me now. “Miss Riley is Harry Ainsley’s daughter.”

  Before I could go on, Miss Riley jumped up. “I won’t have you lie for me. Mr. Andrews, what Miss Cross says is true. I’m Harry Ainsley’s daughter, and if not for me, for my actions that night, Isaiah Baldwin would still be alive. Donavan killed him, but he was finishing something I started. I wanted that man dead because of what he did to my father—to my entire family. I’m sorry for it, but I can’t change it.”

  Derrick turned his bewildered face back to me. “Emma, is this true?”

  I nodded. “There’s much more to it. I believe Mrs. Ross sent that note to me, the one about things being amiss among Kingscote’s servants and Isaiah Baldwin deserving what he got. She knew what he was like—an exceedingly bad man. That much I believe. And Nanny guessed the writer hadn’t been formally educated, and I don’t believe Mrs. Ross was, not in the traditional sense. She’s clever and has managed to acquire the demeanor of a lady, but it’s entirely possible she’s had little classroom schooling, which was often the case in the rural South. But what’s more, Miss Riley didn’t set out to kill Baldwin. She saw him manhandling Mrs. Ross that night and went outside to see if she could help. She leaned against the motorcar to hear what the argument was about, and it started to roll.” I quickly explained the rest, then came to a breathless silence.

  He didn’t speak for several long moments, but sat contemplating the unconscious man on the sofa. I gazed around me, half surprised to find Nanny still there. She, too, appeared to be deep in thought.

  Finally, I broke the silence. “What are we going to do? Miss Riley didn’t murder Baldwin, but she might be charged as an accomplice, mightn’t she?”

  “Yes, and once he wakes up and starts talking to the police, it’ll be her word against his.” Derrick propped an elbow on the arm of the chair and fisted his hand beneath his chin. “And Jesse’s hands will be tied again, no matter which of them he believes.”

  “Derrick is right, Emma,” Nanny said. “Jesse will be entirely sympathetic, but once the whole story comes out, he’ll be forced to take Miss Riley’s participation into account. And if he won’t, Chief Rogers will. And we can’t simply omit her part in what happened that night. You know you’re not comfortable with out-and-out lying, especially to a good friend like Jesse.” Nanny spoke the truth; how could I maintain a lie to my friend? But how could I turn Olivia Riley over to a prison cell, or possibly even the hangman’s noose? In my mind’s eye, little Fiona demanded the answer to that same question.

  Miss Riley followed the discussion with anguish on her face, yet a glimmer of hope in her eyes. That glimmer tunneled its way through to my core. But she said nothing to plead her case or influence our decision.

  “I’ll be right back.” Whirling away from three astonished faces, I darted out of the parlor and up the staircase. It took me only seconds to find what I had gone for. I took another moment to write several lines on a blank sheet of paper, and signed my name to it. Back downstairs, I paused in the parlor doorway. Was I truly going to do this? Would Derrick and Nanny stop me? Would Jesse, once he learned the truth, be forced to press charges against me?

  Miss Riley might have intended to harm Isaiah Baldwin, but she hadn’t. She didn’t deserve to suffer and neither did her daughter. At long last, would Harry Ainsley’s family find some semblance of justice?

  They would, if I had anything to say about it.

  Vaguely, I heard Katie speaking into the telephone with Dr. Kennison, explaining the nature of the wound inflicted on John Donavan. I left her to it. Stepping into the room, I stood before Miss Riley, held out my fist, and uncurled my fingers. She gasped when she beheld what lay in my palm.

  “What is this? I . . . I don’t understand.”

  The diamond teardrop earrings my parents had given me years ago shimmered in the glow of the gas lamps Nanny had lighted while I was upstairs. With its sheltering shadows, night had fully set in. Miss Riley would need those shadows. “They’re small and won’t bring much,” I explained, “but it will be enough for you to start somewhere new. If you leave now, no one will prevent you from boarding the train or the ferry. Go as far as you can before selling these earrings. I can give you the money for the ticket.”

  “Here.” Derrick drew his purse from his inner coat pocket, counted out several bills, and held them out to Miss Riley.

  Her eyes large, she shook her head adamantly. “No, I can’t—”

  “Take it,” Nanny commanded in her softest, yet firmest, voice. “If Emma thinks this is right, then it’s right.”

  “Thank you, Nanny.” To Miss Riley, I said, “Take it for Fiona. And for Harry. Take it and go. In the meantime, we’ll see to it that your daughter is cared for. Once you find a place to settle, write to me. You daren’t contact your aunt, not at first, but I’ll let her know where you are.” I handed her the folded sheet of paper I’d brought with me from upstairs. “I’ve written you a letter of recommendation. And I’ll see if I can get your brooch back from Detective Whyte. I’ll bring it to your aunt.” I pressed the diamonds into her free hand and closed her fingers around them. I gestured at John Donavan. “The police will have their murderer. Eventually, this will all die down and you needn’t look over your shoulder anymore.”

  “I don’t deserve any of this.”

  “Nor did you deserve what Baldwin did to your family.” I smiled sadly. “Here is your second chance. Take it, Olivia.”

  I embraced her, and her arms went around me and squeezed. Then she released me and tucked the diamonds in a pocket in her dress, followed by the letter of recommendation and the bills Derrick handed her.

  “Wait,” I said, and quickly ran to the hall. I returned with a shawl and my straw boater hat. “Take these as well, so you don’t appear as though you’ve just run off.”

  She put them on, transforming her maid’s uniform into a simple black serge dress that any woman might wear. “Thank you, Miss Cross. My thanks to all of you. I don’t know how I’ll ever—”

  “Go,” I said, nudging her toward the front door. “Go before it’s too late. Once the doctor arrives, we’ll have no choice but to telephone the police.” As if on cue, the man on the sofa let out a groan. “Donavan will probably tell them you rolled the Hartley Steamer into Isaiah Baldwin, and then they’ll come looking for you, for questioning if nothi
ng else.”

  “Will you lie for me?”

  I shook my head. “I won’t lie, but I won’t necessarily offer up everything I know, either. Not all at once, at least. Now, please go.”

  I held the front door open, and Olivia Riley hurried off into the night.

  * * *

  As it happened, I didn’t telephone Jesse that night; I didn’t need to. He showed up at my door at the same time as the doctor to tell me to have a care, for he’d concluded that John Donavan had murdered Clarence and was on the run, but, he believed, still on the island.

  “That one detail about the lack of footprints kept nagging at me,” he told us while Dr. Kennison attended to Donavan’s head wound. “At first we simply believed our culprit had dried his feet on the grass and wiped off the mud, but then it struck me that he might have removed his shoes before he left the laundry yard. I decided to check the carriage house, and sure enough, I found traces of muddy water just inside the door to his rooms. He was careful not to leave a trail across the lawn, but I suspect once he’d retrieved what he wanted, he was in too much of a hurry to get away to bother cleaning the floor. He simply put on his shoes and fled.”

  “He’ll have a lump the size of a crab apple and one zinger of a headache,” Dr. Kennison pronounced after checking his patient over carefully, “but he’ll be fine. Doesn’t need stitches. The wound will heal on its own.”

  Jesse went to stand over his quarry. “John Donavan, you are under arrest for the murder of Clarence Dole, and if I can prove it, the murder of Isaiah Baldwin, too.”

  “I didn’t kill Baldwin.” Struggling against his bonds, Donavan slid his feet to the floor and slowly sat up. He let out a groan that did little to win my sympathy. “That little Irish witch did. Ask her.” He indicated me with a thrust of his chin. “Blasted women.”

  “Emma?” Jesse folded his arms and lifted an eyebrow in question. “Is this true?”

  I shrugged. “It’s complicated, but you can be sure John Donavan murdered both men.”