The Marlowe Murders

by Laura Giebfried

  I nodded and returned downstairs to the Foyer, taking a seat on the second step of the far staircase as I waited for the family to leave the Parlor. They filed out over the next two hours: Rachel and James first, then Edie and Bill, then Bernadette, then finally Marjorie until only Amalia and John remained inside. I stood and moved closer to the door. I could hear their muffled voices through the wood. Hers was tense, but his was untroubled. He sounded as confident and persuasive as he had when he had assured me that he could help me finish my doctorate.

  They came out ten minutes later. John threw a glance in my direction, then whisked Amalia toward the stairs. I hurried after him.

  “Professor Marlowe –?” I began, but he ignored me and started up the steps. “Professor Marlowe, I was hoping to talk to you –”

  He was halfway up the steps and showed no signs of slowing. Amalia reached the landing and disappeared. A wave of irritation flooded over me.

  “Professor Marlowe!” I said, my voice echoing around the large room, and the sound of it was too loud for him to ignore any longer. He turned to face me with an innocent look as though he hadn't heard me calling him.

  “Yes?”

  “I need to speak with you,” I said.

  “It'll have to wait until the morning. I'm very tired –”

  “No,” I said rigidly, but as his eyebrows raised, I evened out my tone to make it more polite. “I – I need to speak with you. About my job.”

  “What about it?”

  He didn't bother to come back downstairs. I swallowed back my resentment, trying to decide where to begin.

  “You told me I'd be working for your mother,” I said.

  “And?”

  “And she's dead,” I said. I wondered if anyone had informed him of how I had arrived at the house three days before and requested to see Mrs. Marlowe, only to discover her laying in her funeral clothes upon the bed. Mrs. Tilly had undoubtedly had a good laugh; Bernadette had been none-too-pleased to find me, and had subsequently branded me a moron for being unaware as to why I had really been hired – knowledge that everyone else, apparently, was privy to except me.

  John stared at me, the hint of a smile beginning to tug at the corners of his lips. He gave a little shake of his head.

  “Is that a problem?” he asked, and there was such confidence in his voice that it shook my own.

  “Well, I – I just don't understand what I'm doing here –”

  “You're doing the same thing you'd be doing had my mother still been alive,” he said. “It really makes no difference.”

  “Then why'd you tell me I'd be working for her?”

  “The situation unexpectedly changed.”

  I snapped the rubber band against my wrist to jog my memory. He had specifically told me in his office at the university that I would be working for his mother. That had been four days ago. Bernadette had told me her mother had been dead for five.

  “No, it didn't. She died on the twentieth: you hired me on the twenty-first. You must have known.”

  The smile momentarily slipped from his face, but then it reappeared wider. He slowly made his way down the stairs toward me. I had the sudden urge to run, but shook it off and firmly planted my feet on the floor.

  “I think you're making this more complicated than it needs to be,” he said. “You'll work here, supervised by various family members who will report to me, and we'll see if you do well enough to come back.”

  “But why didn't you just tell me that in the first place?”

  “Maybe I didn't feel it was necessary,” he said. “Maybe I wanted to see how you'd react once you got here. Not well, in case you were wondering. No wonder everyone says you're difficult.”

  “I'm not difficult: you just told me something completely different, and I now don't know what you want me to do –”

  “I've told you what I want you to do: several times, in fact.”

  “You told me you wanted me to look after your mother. You didn't tell me anything about serving dinner and drinks for her wake.”

  John gave a sigh.

  “Alexa –”

  “Alexandra,” I automatically corrected.

  “Alexandra,” he said, somewhat disapprovingly, and I wondered if he was purposefully making mistakes just to see how I reacted. “You want to be a psychologist, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, being a psychologist requires certain personality traits,” he said. “Patience, sensitivity, passion … empathy.”

  “I have those.”

  John's smile tightened.

  “According to your professors,” he said, “you're critical, judgmental, and fault-finding to an extreme. They say in clinical situations you often jump on those who misremember things –”

  “That's the whole point of my research: training the brain to remember correctly. Of course I point out if they don't do it right.”

  He sighed again.

  “Alexa –”

  “Alexandra.”

  “ – I want to help you. I think you're highly intelligent for a young woman, evidenced by your academic record. Unfortunately, you seem to be lacking the behavioral responses that are, by society's standards and my own, necessary to form any type of working relationship. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

  “No.”

  “You're going to be given some situations here that you're unfamiliar with, and you need to learn to react the way you think a professional psychologist would. Someone makes a mistake? Kindly ask them about it. I see you've mentioned going for a walk on Sunday, but just to clarify, the last time we spoke it was supposed to be on Tuesday. See?”

  I shifted my jaw. He seemed neither nervous nor concerned, and yet he didn't seem wholly unfeigned, either.

  “I can be polite,” I said.

  “Good, good. Let's try it out in the morning, shall we?”

  He turned to go back upstairs.

  “But –” I said, stopping him. “I still don't understand what I'm doing here. Isn't everyone leaving after the wake?”

  John turned back to me, the hint of a smile still on his face.

  “Birdie might stay longer to look after the house. She's under the impression that you've been hired solely as her maid, so you'll stay as long as she sees fit.”

  “How long will that be?”

  “A week, maybe two. I doubt she'll stay past New Year's. Are you going to be bothered if the job is shorter than previously discussed?”

  “Well, I –” I paused and changed my tone in an attempt to be gracious. “It's just that you said you'd pay me for the month.”

  “And I did. Don't worry, I won't take any back.”

  “But – five hundred dollars for two weeks of work?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  I gave him a hard stare. He knew as well as I did that it was an obscene amount to pay someone for cleaning and following orders. Mrs. Tilly had already made several comments about it, and though I still planned to retrieve what I was certain she had stolen once the family was gone, a part of me couldn't help but agree with her, especially since my real payment ought to have been getting back into my program.

  John searched my face.

  “You're hesitant,” he said. “Perhaps the money embarrasses you? Or perhaps ...” He took one step down the stairs toward me. “ … perhaps you'd like more?”

  “That's not what I was going to say.”

  “I didn't say it was. I said that perhaps you'd like more. How much were you hoping for? How much would you be willing to take before the uneasiness is justifiable?”

  “I'm not sure what you mean, Professor Marlowe,” I said. I clasped my hands together. I didn't like the way he was looking at me.

  “Maybe another five hundred when you're done? Maybe … a thousand?”

  I shook my head.

  “I didn't ask for more money,” I said.

  “I know you didn't ask. But you want more, don't you? More to pay off your college debts? More to pay
for your mother's care?”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it, unable to voice what I was thinking. John seemed to know regardless.

  “I know all about her, Miss Durant,” he said. He took another step downward. “I know all about you. So who will take care of her when your aunt no longer can?”

  “I will.”

  “And how will you do that? You won't be employable without a PhD – not as a psychologist, at least. I suppose you could get work doing something, of course … being a secretary. But the pay won't really be enough, will it? Not for her care. Especially since you don't have a husband.”

  A lump formed in my throat. It burned against my esophagus and threatened to choke me.

  “So what are you going to do if this doesn't work out?” he continued. “What's your backup plan?”

  “I – I don't have one, Professor Marlowe.”

  “I hear you visit her every weekend,” he said. “Cambridge to Bangor must be an exhausting trip to make so often. Are you exhausted, Miss Durant?”

  He was on the bottom step now. My hands were still clasped together, and sweat built up on my palms the closer that he got.

  “I …”

  “Are you exhausted?”

  “I don't – I don't think of it that way.”

  “Yes or no?”

  “I – yes, I – I suppose I am, Professor Marlowe,” I said, hoping to keep him from taking another step closer. He smiled.

  “I thought so. So, if you do your job well enough here, let's say there will be … one thousand dollars when you leave: to take the stress off of you. How does that sound?”

  It sounded like more money than I could hope to make in a year, but far from feeling at ease, I felt more uncertain than ever.

  “I'm just not sure I understand what I'll be doing for it,” I said.

  John gave me an exasperated look. I nearly mirrored him: there was something he was withholding from me.

  “You'll be working,” he said, the hint of impatience returning to his voice. “Working as a polite, assiduous maid who will one day become a polite, assiduous psychologist.”

  I gave him a long stare. The top of his balding head was shining and his eyes had gone dark and beady. I had seen that look before: it was the same one he wore when he told me I would be working for his mother. He was lying to me.

  He started up the stairs again, but I couldn't hold back any longer.

  “What kind of situations?” I called after him, and he paused and turned back around.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said I was going to be given some situations here that I'm unfamiliar with,” I said hurriedly. “What kind of situations?”

  “If I told you, you wouldn't be unfamiliar with them.”

  “Like sticking me in an adjoining room with a man I don't know?”

  “Did I?” He gave a thoughtful look. “I must have forgotten: I'm not too familiar with the servants' floor.”

  “Does the university know about these situations?” I went on, not caring that his lenient expression was lessening. “Or is this a solo project you're working on –?”

  John descended the stairs so quickly it was as though they had turned to a slide beneath his feet. His hand closed around my wrist, pinning me in place. The sentence died within my throat.

  “Let me ask you something, Miss Durant,” he said dangerously, and his face was so close to mine that his unshaven cheek scratched my own. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”

  “I – what?”

  His fingers tightened, and the grip was so strong that it felt as though my bone would snap at any second. He gave me a shake.

  “I asked if this makes you uncomfortable,” he growled.

  “I – I – yes –”

  “How about now?”

  He squeezed harder. His fingers were right over the spot where I wore the rubber band, and the raw skin on my wrist started to break open. My eyes watered and my throat went dry.

  “I said, how about now?”

  “Yes – yes – it's uncomfortable –”

  “How about now?”

  The pain was so intense that I could barely speak, and the urge to cry out was only halted by the instinct that if I did, he would silence me completely.

  “Yes – it's uncomfortable –”

  “Say no,” he said, putting his face right into mine and choking me with the stale scent of whiskey on his breath.

  “W-what?” I said, too flustered to understand.

  “Say no.”

  “I – I – no.”

  John let go of me and I stumbled backwards, losing my footing and falling onto the black-and-white tiles. He brushed off the front of his shirt as though I might have dirtied it.

  “That's better,” he said, and his voice was pleasant and chipper again. “Now, you'll be thrown into certain situations while you're here, and – like a good psychologist – you need to react appropriately. No judgment. No criticism. Nothing makes you uncomfortable – understand?”

  “I …” I clutched my wrist where he had released it, willing the pain to go away, but I had no response. Something shifted out of the corner of my eye and I looked up at the banister. The dark outline of a woman was looking down on us, though I couldn't make out who it was. I stared at her, willing her to come help me, but she only retreated into the darkness.

  John turned back to the stairs.

  “Goodnight, Alexa,” he said as he made to leave. “And since remembering is your forte, then remember this: you're asking for acceptance into a man's world. You might think you're smart enough, and you might hope you're strong enough, but I assure you that you're not. So if you want to succeed, then you need to stop thinking about what you want and start realizing that what you need is a very separate thing.”

  The soles of his dress shoes pattered up the stairs, though I didn't watch as he left. My eyes were fixed on the floor and my injured wrist was pressed into my stomach as I waited for the pain to pass.

  He was just testing me, I told myself ten minutes later when I finally stood up and ascended the stairs. I glanced around the second floor landing, thinking that perhaps the woman who had watched us would be waiting for me, but only the darkness stared back. My steps were shaky and weak as I climbed the stairs to the third floor; it felt as though my legs would give way at any moment. I shook my head as I tried to convince myself more effectively: he was doing it because he saw something in my academic work and understood the importance of my research.

  I went to the nanny's room and immediately snatched up the prescription bottle on the nightstand. Uncapping it, I tapped out four round white pills, popped them in my mouth and swallowed them dry, then yanked open the drawer and pulled out the envelope of cash I had stowed there. I held it in my hands, frightened of letting it go and yet more frightened of what it meant. For there was no mistaking the sheer cruelty in John's eyes as he had gripped me, and no chance of believing that it was just an act he had put on to illustrate a point. I could hope that he had hired me simply because he enjoyed seeing me run to and from the room as I carried plates of food, or being scolded by his sisters, or biting my tongue when someone said something incorrect – but I feared there was another reason he wanted me which would explain exactly why he was willing to pay me such a large sum of money.

  Opening the topmost drawer of the bureau, I rummaged to find my extra garters, then pulled the remaining bills from the envelope and laid them flat across my thigh and strapped them into place. I checked my reflection in the dirty mirror, turning back and forth to make sure that the hiding place was undetectable. Whatever John or the rest of the household had planned for me, I was at least leaving the island with my money.

  A quiet knock came on the door. I startled from my thoughts and turned around.

  “Yes?” I called, my voice rigid and my hands balled into fists as I imagined John coming into the room, but it was only Lennox. He stepped over the threshold with a blanket tucked beneath his arm.


  “Sorry,” he said, noting my tone. “The linen closet only had sheets.”

  “It's fine.”

  I waited for him to cross into the nursery, but he stayed in his place. I could feel his eyes on me even though I wasn't looking at him.

  “It's fine,” I repeated.

  “But are you?”

  He looked at me steadily with the same intense stare that he had given me on the front porch, and I had the sudden feeling that he could see straight into my head.

  “Yes.” I shifted my jaw and brushed off the front of my uniform. “I just – I had a bit of a disagreement with Professor Marlowe.”

  “I would be more than happy to sleep in the Parlor, if that's what it was about.”

  “No, that wasn't it.”

  He waited almost as if encouraging me to go on, and though I thought I knew better than to open up to a stranger, the words tumbled out of me even so.

  “He just – he seems to think that he can degrade me,” I finished.

  Lennox shifted the blanket to his other arm.

  “I'm sorry to hear that,” he said carefully. “Though – if I may be so bold – you don't seem like you'd allow him to.”

  “No, I wouldn't,” I said, more to myself than to him. “I'd see him dead first.”

  I didn't realize that the words were leaving my mouth until it was too late, and I clamped my jaw shut but to no avail. The drugs were rendering me uninhibited. Lennox courteously pretended not to have heard me.

  “Well,” he said, giving me a tight smile, “goodnight, Alexandra Durant with a t. And it was nice meeting you, in the event that I leave without seeing you in the morning.”

  He retreated to the nursery and shut the door. The wall lamp in his room went out a few minutes later, taking with it the light that had spilled across my bedroom floor from beneath the door. The sound of the click jolted me to my senses. However John's words had affected me, I couldn't get angry. I couldn't get emotional. Emotions did nothing but get in the way of how I had trained my mind to work, after all, and if I let that part of me slip away, then it wouldn't matter what else happened. I stood and went to the nursery door, then slid the key into the lock and turned it as quietly as I could, sealing him inside, before retrieving my room key and tiptoeing back to the door to the hallway and locking it, as well.