Murder by Twilight

by Blythe Baker

  Panic gripped my heart, but I had the presence of mind to close the folder and replace it in the trunk where it belonged. Then, I closed the trunk, hastily latching it, and spun just as the door opened.

  I had no explanation prepared for why I was kneeling at the foot of Nurse Gray’s bed. I could tell her I was praying, thanking God for allowing her to heal me, but there was no excuse for why I’d do such a thing in her room.

  When Camellia Cresswell walked into the room, twin feelings of relief and dread filled me.

  Relief that I didn’t have to face Nurse Gray, and dread that the person in the house who, perhaps, wanted me gone most of all, had found me in such a compromising position.

  “Alice?” she asked, her voice half-scolding. “What on Earth are you doing in here?”

  She had her Bible folded in her hands, pressed against the white lace material of her dress. Her cloche hate shielded her eyes enough that I couldn’t exactly make out the expression on her face. Though, considering the circumstances, I could guess that it held surprise and some amount of amusement.

  “My bandage came undone, and I was looking for another,” I said, the excuse coming to me all at once. “I wasn’t sure where Nurse Gray kept them. I tried not to disturb her things.”

  Camellia lifted a hand and pointed to the black bag under the bed. “Her medical bag is there. In the open.”

  Her voice was filled with suspicion, and I knew she doubted my story, but I didn’t care. I just needed to get out of there.

  I stood up, dusting my knees and ignoring the ache in my joints at being curled up on the floor for so long. I hoped Camellia couldn’t see the proof of how long I’d been in the room in my stilted movements. “I can’t believe I missed that. But now that you are all home, I will just have Nurse Gray do it for me.”

  “Yes,” Camellia said coolly. “That would probably be best. She is outside with the rest of the family. Shall I go tell her to meet you in her room?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” I said as evenly as I could manage.

  As much as I hated to admit it, I’d been careless, and Camellia had caught me in a low moment. Now, she had every right to march down the stairs and announce to everyone that I’d broken the trust of the household. That I’d done something worthy of being sent back to London immediately. Nothing would bring her greater pleasure, I was sure.

  She nodded and stepped aside as I left the room, making sure I went ahead of her, as though she didn’t trust me to leave on my own. As soon as I was out in the corridor, she pulled the door closed tightly behind her.

  We stood there for a moment, staring at one another, unsure how to proceed. Then, Camellia, lifted her chin, looking me directly in the eyes for the first time. “Perhaps, it would be more appropriate if you stayed in the public rooms of the house from now on.”

  Then, without another word, she turned on her heel and walked into her own bedroom, closing the door behind her.

  13

  I stayed in my room for a long time, expecting someone to come and find me.

  Either Nurse Gray because she was sent for by Camellia. Or Charles and Catherine because Camellia told them what I’d done.

  I expected someone to come, but no one ever did.

  When I heard laughter coming from outside, I opened my window but couldn’t see who was making the sound. So, I crept from my room to the top of the stairs and could catch a glimpse of my sister and her husband sitting on the front porch with Hazel standing on cloth-covered feet between them. Charles was holding her up, bouncing her until she giggled, and they all looked so happy together.

  “You asked to see me, Nurse Gray?”

  I recognized the voice of the housemaid, Florence, coming from downstairs, and then Nurse Gray stepped into view. She was standing in the entryway, her hands folded behind her back, her usual gray dress ironed flat and perfect.

  I stepped away from the landing so I could only barely see them through the railing, hoping they wouldn’t see me.

  “I did,” the nurse said sternly.

  Florence tipped her head, and I couldn’t decide if her fear was obvious or if I was only projecting what I’d learned onto her. She seemed to cower in front of the woman. To shrink into herself more than usual.

  “I wanted to remind you of our agreement that I would tend to my own room,” Nurse Gray said. “You are not to so much as make my bed, do you hear? It is my space.”

  “I understand, Nurse Gray. Has there been a problem? Is there a reason you are—”

  “You know very well the reason,” Nurse Gray said with more venom than I’d ever heard from the woman. “My room was not in the order in which I left it, and I do not appreciate you slipping in there the moment I left the house.”

  “Nurse Gray, I didn’t—”

  “And you won’t do it again,” the nurse said, cutting Florence off. “We are finished here.”

  Nurse Gray stomped into the sitting room, and after a few quiet seconds, I leaned forward to see what had happened to Florence. As soon as I did, my eyes met the maid’s through the railing. She was looking up at where I stood, hurt and fear obvious on her face. She’d just confessed to me her fear of the woman, and now I’d made them enemies.

  I wanted to rush down and apologize to her, but it wouldn’t do any good. Without setting the truth straight with Nurse Gray, I couldn’t assuage Florence’s fears, and I had no intention of doing that. Not until I knew what had happened to Catherine—and myself—out on the moors.

  Afternoon turned to evening, and by the time dinner came, I was convinced Camellia had been waiting until the entire family was gathered to tell the news of my snooping. But, yet again, I was surprised.

  She didn’t speak a word of it.

  Honestly, no one spoke much of anything except for Catherine. She filled the evening with plans for her and Charles and Hazel in the coming months. Talk of travelling to London to see Mama and Papa, hiring a gardener to clean up some of the landscaping around the house, and picnics at the little park in town with bread from the nice baker they’d spoken with at church that morning.

  Charles went along with all of it, clearly delighted to see his wife so full of energy. I had to admit it was nice, as well. After seeing Catherine exhausted and spent for most of the week, it felt good to see her smiling.

  Still, my concerns wouldn’t abate.

  When everyone was moving into the sitting room for after dinner conversation, which I expected to include more planning from Catherine and the same narrow-eyed stares from Camellia, I excused myself.

  “I’m still feeling a bit tired,” I said, pressing a hand to the scratch over my eye. The cut had nothing to do with my exhaustion, but I wanted to remind the happy group of what I’d recently been through in hopes of making them more agreeable.

  “Of course,” Catherine said, walking around the table to lay a hand on my back. “You need rest. Should I send Nurse Gray in to check on you?”

  Catherine had been angry with me the day before, but that all seemed to be in the past now. As sisters, it was never uncommon for Catherine and me to scream our hatred in the morning and then be found giggling behind our hands at the dinner table. We could easily forgive one another for slights.

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” I said, gripping the stair railing.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Alice knows where Nurse Gray’s room is if she needs anything,” Camellia said, walking from the dining room to the sitting room, but not before flashing a devious look in my direction. It was the closest she’d come to telling my secret, and I hoped it would be the closest she’d ever get.

  “Indeed I do,” I agreed with a smile. I bid them all goodnight and went to my room.

  Once there, I made quick work of swapping my dress and heels for a tan walking skirt, blouse, and coat. On my way out the door, I grabbed the boots I’d worn the other night. They were still caked in mud, so I carried them in my hand down the hallway as silently as I could.
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br />   I hadn’t had reason to use the servant’s stairwell since my arrival, but I was grateful for it as I snuck down the wooden steps and out the back door.

  The sun was sinking low in the sky, coloring the horizon a deep orange, and I realized it was later than I’d hoped. Still, I couldn’t postpone.

  The Wilds had told me the season was right for ghostly happenings, but tonight was special. Tonight was a full moon.

  I didn’t know much about these things, but it seemed to me that if there had been strange activity out on the moors two nights ago, there was sure to be more of it tonight. And this time, I would not run away.

  I crouched beneath a back window and slid my boots on. Then, I secured a knife I’d taken from the kitchen earlier in the morning to the inside of my leg with a belt. I felt foolish, like a child playing dress up, but I also felt more prepared. I knew that, if it came to it, I would use the knife to save my life. Without hesitation.

  The ground was still soggy from the rain two days earlier, but not nearly as sopping as it had been the last time I’d headed out. My boots squelched in the mud, but I wasn’t sucked down to my ankles with each step. So, I made faster work of the beginning of the trail than I had the first time, which worked well since I didn’t want anyone in the house to see me heading out.

  Once I reached the tree outcropping and the fork in the trail, I looked for the carved stone that would mark the easier of the two paths. I wanted to travel the same ground I’d travelled before, hoping to catch whatever figures I’d seen at their work again and, this time, unmask them. The rock was on the far-left trail, and I headed for it at once.

  The trees and ground looked much the same at the start, but as I continued down the path, doubts began to creep in.

  The trail had been difficult before, but the ground had been slippery and muddy. My boots lost grip easily, making me slide around the trail, and the rocks had been covered in moss that caused me to lose my footing. Now, there was none of that on this path, yet it still felt more difficult.

  The inclines were steeper and the drops were more dangerous, and twice I nearly turned my ankle in a large fissure in the ground that I couldn’t see because of the setting sun.

  I had never been someone inclined to spend time in nature, so I couldn’t be certain, but it felt as though I was blazing a new path entirely.

  When I turned around to try and find the house to gain my bearings, I couldn’t see the roof through the treetops as I could before. I couldn’t see anything. And because I’d made so many different turns on different paths, without the peak of the roof to guide me like a star, I had no idea which direction to turn to start home again.

  Panic began to tighten around my chest like a band, but I breathed deeply, fighting it off.

  I wouldn’t be lost out here. At worst, I would be outside overnight. The thought did little to actually comfort me, but I pulled my coat tighter around my shoulders and assured myself I was ready for this. Catherine and Charles would notice me missing and come to find me. When they did, the sound of their searching would help me find my way home. Twelve hours wasn’t such a very long time.

  Even though I wanted to turn back and start looking for home now, I pressed on. Because, up ahead, just over the green tops of the trees, I saw smoke.

  More than the trail or what little instinct I may have had, the smoke guided me. It was a faint cloud of white against the ever-darkening sky, but I knew that where there was smoke, there would be fire. And where there was fire, there would be cloaked figures dancing around it.

  At least on these moors, anyway.

  So, I fought through my fear and panic and desire to flee until the trees began to thin and the ground began to feel familiar again.

  The swells of the hills that would be covered in heather come the spring were the same I’d walked up the other night. Just from a different direction.

  Even though I should have been terrified that I was growing closer to the smoke and the shadowy horrors I’d encountered before, I was relieved to know that I was in a place I’d been before. All I would need to do was find the other trail head from this wide-open meadow, and perhaps it would lead me back to the house tonight. If I knew where I was, I could find where I’d been.

  The thought of home was still fresh in my mind when I crested a hill and saw the red and orange flicker of flames.

  Then, every other thought disappeared.

  An instinctual fear took over, chilling me to my center and wiping my mind. I dropped down to the ground, smudging wet grass stains across the elbows and front of my coat, and took shallow breaths.

  The fire seemed larger tonight than it had before. It licked up to where the leaves began to grow on the birch trees, threatening to burn up the pile of wood in the center and all of the trees around the outer edge, as well. It seemed dangerously large. So large I wondered if it could ever be put out.

  When the first cry rang out, I burrowed my face into the ground, not caring how dirty I became. My first thought was that I’d been seen, and I wanted to hide.

  Then, the sound became a chant.

  Hum-drum. Hum-drum. Hum-drum.

  Slowly, I lifted my head and watched the fire.

  At first, there was nothing more than the dancing of the flames, but eventually, my eyes adjusted so I was able to make out the movement of shadows around the outer ring. The same shadows I’d seen before.

  They were nimble and quick, kicking legs and flailing arms around the fire the way I imagined cavemen would have done. The movements seemed archaic and savage. Uncivilized in every respect.

  The last light of the sun had turned everything a deep blue, but I knew the figures around the fire wouldn’t be able to see me when they were so close to the flames. Their vision would be compromised. Everything else to them would be darkness. As long as I was careful not to get inside the fire’s ring of light, I’d go unnoticed.

  With that small assurance of safety, I raised myself to my elbows and knees and began crawling forward.

  Long grass tickled my chin and nose, and I had to fight back the urge to sneeze, but painstakingly, I made my way down the other side of the hill and onto a flat stretch of ground. Only then did I dare to get to my feet and move in a low crouch. My legs burned from the effort, but I kept my eyes trained on the figures dancing around the fire, watching as they grew larger and larger.

  The closer I got, the more I realized the figures were not inhumanly small or large. They were perfectly average-sized, which was a slight comfort. Though, I would have preferred they be small as fairies. The closer I got, as well, the better I could hear their chant and recognize it as an imperfect chant.

  From a distance, the echoes off of the hills and craggy rocks made the hum-drum sound otherworldly. Now, though, I could hear that there were two voices crying out into the night, and they didn’t always start and stop at the same time. Occasionally, their chants overlapped with one another or one stopped chanting long enough to cough. That, too, was a small comfort. If they had to cough, it meant they could be weakened. More so, it meant life. I couldn’t be entirely certain, but I didn’t think ghosts felt the urge to cough.

  Twigs and leaves cracked and crunched under my steps, but it hardly mattered. The fire roared with destruction, popping and sparking so loudly no one would ever be able to hear me approach.

  I moved until I was ten paces away from the circle of the trees. Yet still, I couldn’t see anything definitive about the people moving around the fire. I couldn’t make out anything beyond the sway of their dark robes and the way they bled like inky puddles into the dark ground. I wanted to get closer, but I didn’t dare. Not when they’d possibly attacked my sister and attempted to attack me the last time I’d gotten close.

  As it turned out, I didn’t need to.

  The consistent chanting had become nothing more than a background whirr like wind in my ears. I’d grown accustomed to it. So, when it stopped, my body grew alert. Everything felt quiet and still, despite the
continuous crackling of the fire, and I held my breath lest the shadows hear me.

  One of the shadows stopped and threw up their arms. Their voice was low enough that I couldn’t make out exactly what they said, but they seemed to be addressing the moon in reverent tones.

  Immediately, I could tell the voice was female, and it startled me in its humanness. I didn’t know what I’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. I hadn’t even expected English. Yet, I could detect a familiar accent.

  After a moment, the second voice joined in.

  This one was also female and recognition began to dawn somewhere in the back of my mind. A faint tickling of memory.

  I shook my head against the image forming there of the elderly women I’d sat with over tea, of the women I’d helped jar and preserve apples, donning robes and dancing around an open fire in the middle of the moors. It couldn’t be true. I knew the Wilds were strange, but this went beyond. Didn’t it? Maybe I believed they could be capable of dancing around an open flame, but did I really think they could hurt my sister? Would hurt me?

  It seemed that the Wilds sisters had gone…wild. They’d gone savage on the moors, running around fires, speaking to the moon. Maybe Catherine had stumbled upon their ritual just as I had and for some reason, they’d attacked her.

  Though, as the story went, Margaret and Abigail were the people who found Catherine in the marsh. They brought her back to the house.

  However, they’d done so as themselves. Surely, someone would have mentioned it if the women had been dressed in black robes.

  So, perhaps, they attacked Catherine in their cloaks, obscuring their identities, and then changed into ordinary clothes before coming back to “find” her. But none of that made sense with what I knew of the women. They were strange, but kind. They were eccentric, but honest. They made no effort to hide their beliefs from me or anyone else, so what shame would they really feel at Catherine discovering them?

  Perhaps, it had something to do with Catherine’s resemblance to their departed sister. Catherine had told me the sisters believed her to be the reincarnation of Dorothea. Could it have been that in their desire to see their sister at rest, they were overzealous and hurt Catherine?