Murder by Twilight

by Blythe Baker

Even days later, my body ached. Going down the stairs three days after the attack felt like a physical feat unmatched by the rest of humanity. I expected to see crowds cheering at the bottom of the stairs when I finally made it.

  Going up them, however, required a very chivalrous Charles to carry me in his arms. I was embarrassed to need his help, but he assured me he didn’t mind.

  In typical Charles fashion, he never told me specifically that he was sorry about his sister’s behavior, but he showed it in as many ways as he knew how.

  He smiled at me when I came into rooms, offered to fetch anything at all that I needed, and swore to me that there would be a room in his house for me anytime I wanted it. Though, this particular house in Yorkshire wouldn’t be theirs for much longer.

  Catherine no longer believed the house was haunted, but she’d taken some of my criticism of her life to heart and realized that, no matter how badly she’d wanted to want this country life, she was more suited to the hustle and bustle of a city. She missed having neighbors close by and friends she could meet up with for tea or lunch. She missed having visitors and hearing cars outside her window. Most of all, she missed me.

  She never explicitly said that last part, but I could tell it well enough from her expression.

  “Hazel and I will be in London just a few weeks after you get home,” Catherine said, marking things down on a hand drawn calendar she’d made. “Charles will stay behind to ready the house for selling, and then he’ll follow. Do you think Mama will help me by making a list of available places nearby?”

  “If it means seeing her granddaughter every day, I think Mama will build you a house with her own two hands.”

  Catherine laughed, but Charles frowned. “Maybe not every day.”

  “But often,” Catherine said, grinning back at him and then at me.

  It really was nice to see her smile.

  “Of course, part of our time will be spent with Camellia,” Catherine added a bit somberly.

  Charles nodded in agreement and then quickly lowered his head, focusing on a stack of papers in his lap.

  He hadn’t said much about his feelings on the matter, but Charles and Catherine had both decided the best place for Camellia would be in a private care facility in London. Someplace where she could be separated from society while she sorted out her emotions and came to understand the depths of her delusions.

  I hoped just as much as anyone that she could be saved. She’d left the morning before with two nurses and a large male driver I guessed was more of a personal guard than anything else.

  There had been a brief conversation about hiring Nurse Gray to care for Camellia, but Catherine and I each voted against it.

  Catherine had explained to me that Nurse Gray had been a nurse for terminal patients for years. She was brought in when the patient’s life was nearing its end. That was why she kept such a cool, detached manner with everyone—to protect herself and her own emotions. It was also why she’d administered so many medications.

  For years, her job had been to make people comfortable, so when possible, she gave Catherine medication to put her to sleep and ease her turmoil, whether physical or mental.

  But just because I understood why Nurse Gray did what she did, didn’t mean I agreed with it. We all thought it would be best to thank Nurse Gray for her time and talents and then cut ties with her. And anyway, Nurse Gray left the moment I told her I was well enough to tend to my own wounds. After the revelation of Camellia’s mental anguish and crimes, Nurse Gray seemed very eager to leave the house and move on to her next patient.

  “I think it will be a good move for us all,” Catherine said, bringing me back from my thoughts. She leaned down to scoop Hazel up from the blanket where she’d been playing on the floor. The chubby-cheeked little girl blew a spit bubble at her mother and grinned, making an equally luminous smile spread across Catherine’s face. “It will be nice to relax into ordinary life for a while.”

  I knew what ‘ordinary life’ meant for Catherine. For her, it meant life as a mother and a wife. Life free of a private nurse and accusations of insanity. For Catherine, it meant going back to life as it had been.

  For me, however, I wasn’t sure.

  For the last year, my life had been anything but normal, and I was beginning to think that abnormality was my new normal.

  Could I really see myself settling down with a nice husband? Could I imagine cradling my own child the way Catherine hugged Hazel?

  I didn’t think so.

  And yet, when the questions rose to my mind, a face came with them. The image of a tall man with dark hair and equally dark eyes floated in front of my eyes.

  17

  A week after the attack, I was able to go for walks again.

  I only took them early in the mornings or in the early afternoons. Never in the evenings. Never when it was even close to getting dark. And never in the back of the house.

  Instead of walking the trails, I walked the long dirt drive that led from the front of the house to the road. I passed by the Wilds sisters while they tended to their gardens out front and drank tea at their window. Sometimes I stopped to say hello, other times I kept going.

  Nurse Gray had told me before she left that movement would help me heal so long as I was taking it easy and not pushing myself. So, every day, I walked a little farther. And I planned to continue the practice when I returned to London in the coming days.

  Catherine had sent a letter to Mama and Papa telling them what had happened during my visit, so I wondered whether Mama wouldn’t try to bar the doors and windows to keep me inside and safe. I’d begged Catherine to keep it all a secret, but she explained that wouldn’t be possible, and I unwillingly agreed. The news would get out that Charles’ sister was mentally unwell and the rest of the story would follow.

  Then too, the cut across my forehead was fading, but not fast enough for it to be gone by the time I returned. Mama would see it and the other scars I’d earned during my fight, and she would be able to tell if I was lying or not.

  Today when I walked past the house where Margaret and Abigail Wilds lived, they were burning dead wood in a heap next to their house. Thankfully, they were not dancing around the flames, though the image from that night rose to my mind entirely unbidden and unwanted.

  I wouldn’t have minded stopping to say hello, but not with the fire.

  I didn’t want to admit it to Catherine, but when I was reminded of that night at all, panic gripped me. Usually, I could talk myself down, but it took a few minutes. My body would feel as though I was right back in the fight, as though I needed to fight for my life from enemies all around me even though I knew I wasn’t actually in danger.

  Margaret lifted her hand and waved, grinning at me, and Abigail nodded in my direction. I smiled at the two women and made a silent promise to sit and have some of their terrible home-brewed tea before I left for London. Then, I turned and headed back for the house.

  It was close to lunch, and my appetite was beginning to return. The exercise certainly helped that. Florence had been making scones with every meal, knowing how much I liked them, and I knew they were in thanks for getting both Camellia and Nurse Gray out of the house. She told me she would make me as many scones as I wanted for as long as I wanted them. It would be easy to keep that promise now that she would be moving to London to continue working for Catherine and Charles.

  By the time I was nearing the house, my legs were tired and my stomach growled. My knee ached slightly, which was a sign that I needed to get inside and put it up, probably with a cool compress.

  I was so focused on the state of my body that I didn’t notice the figure standing at the mouth of the driveway until he cleared his throat.

  The sound startled me, and I yelped and jumped to a stop. Then, my mouth fell open.

  For several long seconds, I convinced myself I was seeing things. I convinced myself that all of the stress of the last couple weeks had turned my mind to mush. There would be no saving
it. Because certainly, Sherborne Sharp could not be standing at the end of my sister’s driveway waiting for me.

  It made no sense.

  And yet…

  “Alice.” His voice sounded nothing like it had in my terrible nightmare that night on the moors. It wasn’t sharp or shrill or overwhelming. My name on his lips was deep and soothing and warm. More comforting than I ever could have imagined.

  I blinked and shook my head. “Sherborne?”

  He took off his hat and held it against his stomach, both hands folded over it, and bent his head. “I can’t tell whether you are pleased to see me, which is why I’m still standing so far away. I didn’t want to intrude on your visit with your sister, but you sent me that letter and then left. Then, you stayed away for so long. Your mother is probably tired of seeing me. Also, yes, I’m sorry, but your mother knows we are friends now. I know she isn’t fond of me, and you wanted to keep our friendship secret, but I didn’t know where to reach you, and I was going mad—”

  “You were?” I asked the question only so he would keep talking.

  “Absolutely,” he said, smiling at my very subtle encouragement. He took a step towards me, and I took one, as well. Slowly, we both advanced towards one another until we met in the middle. Though, once we were there, neither of us knew what to do. So, Sherborne carried on talking.

  “Your mother finally told me where your sister lived so I could write to you, but I didn’t know what to say. So, I thought a train ride would give me time to think about it. And then, suddenly, I was arriving at the station and asking someone for directions to your sister’s home, and…well, here I am.”

  “Here you are.” I smiled up at him, amazed that he was in front of me and that I was so pleased about it.

  I’d known when I sent Sherborne the letter that I liked him. More than a business associate, as I’d once described him, and more than a friend, which he’d described himself as. I liked him in a way I’d never liked anyone before, which meant I didn’t have any idea at all how to behave around him.

  “Do you want to walk with me?” I asked finally.

  He nodded and followed me down the driveway towards Catherine and Charles’ home. Then, we turned and headed for the back of the house.

  I’d avoided the trails there since the accident, but they didn’t seem nearly as daunting with Sherborne at my side. In fact, it seemed silly to be afraid of a piece of land at all.

  We walked a short distance from the house until we were at the fork in the trails. Sherborne seemed content to keep on walking, but I reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him. He turned towards me, his dark eyes tracing over my face. I saw them snag on the cut on my forehead.

  “I know better than to ask you directly what happened to your forehead,” he said, twisting his lips in mild frustration.

  I smiled at the familiar gesture and nodded. “Good.”

  “I know you are a grown woman, Alice,” he continued. “I know you can take care of yourself.”

  “I can,” I said, agreeing with him.

  His mouth quirked into an amused smile, and he rolled his eyes. “But—”

  “No.” I shook my head. “There is no but. I can take care of myself.”

  “But,” he said again, grinning openly now. “I’ve also saved you several times. You take on more than you can handle and without someone there to temper your confidence, you are likely to get yourself killed.”

  If only he knew what had happened less than a week prior. He’d either be delighted he was right or horrified by my recklessness. Probably both.

  “And you think you are the person to temper my confidence?”

  He shrugged, the movement surprisingly shy. “I could be. If you want.”

  Being honest about my feelings had never been my strong suit. I could tell someone a harsh truth when it needed to be told, but I had a hard time revealing my own truths. So, despite the answer ringing out loudly in my heart, my mouth stayed firmly shut.

  That was probably for the best because Sherborne, made nervous by my silence, kept talking.

  “You are a pain, Alice,” he said. “You make life difficult for me.”

  “In your letter you said I make it interesting.”

  “They are interchangeable,” he said quickly, waving away my interruption. “But despite how much trouble looking out for your safety has brought me, I’ve decided that you are worth every single bit of it.”

  Emotion crawled up the back of my throat, making it hard to swallow, and my eyes went misty. I blinked rapidly to clear my vision. “I’m delighted to hear I’m worth it.”

  Sherborne smiled. “Now, are you going to tell me what happened to your forehead?”

  I frowned. “Don’t you want to hear what I think of you?”

  He shook his head, a smug smile on his face. “The blush in your cheeks tells me all I need to know.”

  I pulled the corners of my mouth into deeper disapproval and swatted his arm. “It seems that if either of us needs someone to temper their confidence, it is you.”

  “If you’re applying for the job, then you are hired.”

  I smiled up at him, feigning annoyance at his antics, and then quickly felt the mood shift to something less playful. Sherborne’s dark eyes captured mine, rooting me to the spot, and I couldn’t breath as he took a step towards me. I tipped my head back just as…

  “Do you have a visitor, Alice?”

  I turned and Charles was standing at the back of the house. He waved at us. “Catherine said she noticed a gentleman walking with you down the driveway.”

  Sherborne startled and then was his usual casual self an instant later. He bowed slightly at the waist. “I am Sherborne Sharp, a friend of Alice’s from London. I am sorry to intrude.”

  “Never,” Charles said. “We’d love to have you for lunch. It’s ready now.”

  Charles walked inside, the back door banging closed behind him, and Sherborne and I both stared after him for a second before looking at one another shyly, silently acknowledging the ruined moment.

  “Well, are you hungry?” I asked.

  “I am, but didn’t you want to go for a walk?” he asked, pointing towards the trail.

  I looked into the dark mouth of the trail, imagining the sprawling land beyond. Suddenly, I realized that I wasn’t afraid anymore. Not only because Sherborne was now with me, but because the moors were not the place where I’d nearly died.

  They were the place where I’d survived.

  Fighting for my life amid the barren landscape had helped me realize that I was stronger than I ever knew, and now I would carry that strength with me to London and anywhere I decided to go after that.

  Alone or with someone by my side, I knew I could handle whatever challenges came my way next.

  Continue following the mysterious adventures of Alice Beckingham in

  “Murder in the Daytime.”

  About the Author

  Blythe Baker is the lead writer behind several popular historical and paranormal mystery series. When Blythe isn't buried under clues, suspects, and motives, she's acting as chauffeur to her children and head groomer to her household of beloved pets. She enjoys walking her dog, lounging in her backyard hammock, and fiddling with graphic design. She also likes binge-watching mystery shows on TV.

  To learn more about Blythe, visit her website and sign up for her newsletter at www.blythebaker.com