Blood Moon (16 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

The carriage drew up outside Elizabeth’s house. Jacob, Mrs Bartlett, and the senator’s aide, John, sat for a moment inside the carriage, studying the house’s windows. Jacob cast his eyes along the third floor, to the second, and then to the first. The main hallway was in darkness. Only the room located to the right of the front entrance glowed with candlelight, shining behind the netted curtains. The rest of the house was in complete darkness.

“Which room is that, Mrs Bartlett?” Jacob asked.

“Why, I couldn’t really say. I have only seen one room, and that was the drawing room.”

Jacob nodded. “Well, looks as though someone is home. Shall we?”

“Yes, let’s get this nasty business over with. I just hope we don’t encounter Mrs Mallory first. She won’t be very helpful or welcoming.”

“Don’t you worry about her. She will not be a problem – not tonight,” Jacob said. “She will cooperate, even if I have to haul her in front of the marshal and judge myself. I cannot abide thieves and tricksters, and Mrs Mallory is both. I am determined to see this house in its rightful owner’s name, and I’m not leaving until I see Elizabeth settled and contented.”

Jacob opened the carriage door, stepped down, and then assisted Mrs Bartlett. John followed, under strict instructions to say nothing but to remember every word that was spoken. “One last thing, Mrs Bartlett: if you feel threatened in any way, you get your man here to take you straight back to the ball and report what you saw.”

“You can be sure I will, Captain.”

Jacob knocked loudly on the door. It had two glass window panels, both covered with thick lace curtains. Jacob put his nose against the glass and looked into the hallway. There was no movement, no flickering candlelight, and no sound. He knocked again, this time louder. He looked at Mrs Bartlett’s white face and then banged on the door with his fist. “Open the door!” he shouted. “Open the door now! I’m not leaving. If you don’t attend to me, I will get the marshal here. Do you hear me?”

It was impossible to recognise the figure moving slowly around the hallway inside, but as the tall shadowy figure approached the door, Jacob concluded that it was probably the same nigger who had greeted him earlier that day. Jacob looked through the glass, cupping his hands at the each side of his face to block out his reflection, and saw the candle in the figure’s hand being set down on a table. Eventually, after minutes of waiting, they were going to be attended.

“Leave the talking to me,” Jacob whispered to Mrs Bartlett.

“We would like to see your mistresses – both of them,” Jacob said harshly when the door was opened.

Charles swallowed nervously at the sight of Mrs Bartlett and Jacob. He lowered his eyes and stuttered a few words: “They’s s-sleeping, sir, and I ain’t figurin’ on disturbin’ them.” He knew that the tremor in his voice made the words sound rehearsed and false, but he had no idea what else to say.

“Wake them! Inform them that Mrs Bartlett and Captain Stone have come to call; make sure to tell them that we will not be leaving until they see to us. Do you understand me?” Jacob ordered.

“Yes, sir, Captain Stone...Right away, sir,” Charles said quietly with the same tremor.

He closed the door, lifted the candle from the table that sat just inside the hallway, and walked to the breakfast room. He entered and then closed the door behind him. Miss Elizabeth sat on the couch, in the same spot and in the same position that she’d been sitting in all afternoon. Tea had come and gone without a drop being drunk and the soft, moist white cake was hard and dry. Rose had been no help at all. After screaming at the sight of her mistress, she had run to her attic room and had not come out since, and he figured no amount of persuasion would make her come back down. He was on his own.

Miss Elizabeth had gone mad, completely disconnected from reality, and she was getting crazier by the minute. Her staring eyes had not left Mistress Margaret’s corpse, and if anything her fascination with it had grown. Every now and again, she spoke to the body, but it was clear that she had long since forgotten that she had done murder and that Mrs Mallory was dead.

He had tried to move the body, but she had threatened to whup him if he touched Mistress Margaret again. He had urged Miss Elizabeth to go to her room, telling her that she should get ready for the ball, but she had also forgotten all about that and had giggled childishly after telling him she didn’t know anything about a ball.

He approached her slowly. He was just as scared of her as he’d been when he first saw the dead woman. “Some people have come a callin’, Miss Elizabeth. Mrs Bartlett and Captain Stone are here for a nice visit. You want I tell them to come in?”

Elizabeth’s eyes left the body. She looked at Charles and threw him an irritable glance. She turned her attention back to the corpse and cocked her head. “Do you want to see Mrs Bartlett, Margaret?” she asked.

Charles stifled a sob. “Lord above, Miss Elizabeth, I ain’t got no thoughts on how to help you. You just sit quiet now. It’s all right. Shh – I’ll go fetch these nice people.”

Charles walked with determined strides to the front door. He couldn’t lie, hide the body, or help Miss Elizabeth. He was done. This was a crazy house with crazy white women, and he would rather take his chances with Captain Stone than suffer the stench of rotting flesh and a crazy-eyed female who might be aimin’ to kill him too.

He opened the door and bowed his head. “Please come in, sir,” he said.

“Where are they?” Jacob demanded.

“They both in the breakfast room, sir, but I ain’t done nothin’ – I ain’t done a thing to nobody. No, sir, I found Miss Elizabeth—”

Jacob brushed past him, followed by Mrs Bartlett and the aide, looking just as mystified now as he had when they’d left the ball.

“Miss Elizabeth – she done killed. I ain’t done nothin’,” Charles insisted, following behind the group.

Jacob’s heart was jumping in his chest. He had just heard the word killed, and his worst nightmare had become a reality. Dear God, he thought, opening the door, du Pont had killed Elizabeth, and he was to blame.

He took a couple of steps inside. He was followed by John, the senator’s aide, while Mrs Bartlett, looking panicked, stood at the door, refusing to enter the dimly lit room.

The windows were closed, and the rotten stench that greeted Jacob knotted his belly. Jacob focused his eyes in the semi-darkness and found Elizabeth sitting on the couch. He sighed with relief and walked closer. He walked past the table and chairs, eyes still staring at Elizabeth’s odd demeanour, and then came to a sudden halt when he almost tripped over something lying on the rug. He looked down and saw the body lying just in front of Elizabeth’s feet. He gasped but steadied his voice enough to say to John, “Take Mrs Bartlett into the hallway and stay with her. Do not allow her to come into this room.”

He waited until John had closed the door behind him and then looked again at the body, the protruding knife, the blood, and du Pont’s ugly facial grimace. So many details confronted him. His eyes darted between du Pont and Elizabeth, who was completely unaware of him standing in front of her. He was being soaked by emotions like rain flooding him.
Du Pont’s dead. It’s over,
were his first thoughts, but they were quickly followed by, S
urely Elizabeth has not done this
?

He watched Elizabeth for a minute or two, afraid to speak lest she wake up from her trance and became hysterical at his intrusion. He cast his eyes over her face and gown. She seemed relatively unharmed, but her blood- soaked bodice and skirt, tousled hair, and shocked expression left no doubt that she had killed du Pont.

Jacob sidled to the couch and sat next to Elizabeth without removing his eyes from her. She was still not aware of his presence. She was almost doll-like in her appearance, with white porcelain skin on a face as still as a statue, unblinking eyes, and lips half open in what he could only describe as a soft smile.

He spoke her name quietly in an affectionate tone. “Elizabeth, it’s me, Jacob. Are you hurt?” There was no recognition or response. “Elizabeth, dear, do you know who I am?” Her expression remained the same, eyes fixated on the corpse. He looked at her profile. Her face was relaxed, and her hands were clasped loosely on her lap.

On closer inspection, he saw that the side of her face was bruised. Rough hands had pulled her hair, and some coils had come loose from pins, leading Jacob to believe that there had been a struggle. He looked at her face again for signs of other injuries. He noticed her arm then and saw black, pink, and blue patches which had not been noticeable in the candlelight when he had first entered the room. Du Pont had beaten her, yet she displayed no sign of being in pain, he thought.

Jacob sighed, miserable. He had done this to Elizabeth. She had been du Pont’s pawn, used as a weapon against him, nothing more. He went to the door and opened it slightly. He called John and whispered in his ear. “Get the marshal and sheriff here straight away. Tell them there has been a murder and ask them to bring a doctor and an undertaker before this stench knocks us out.”

John’s eyes widened with disbelief and questions. “Who’s been murdered?” he asked. 

“Mrs Margaret Mallory. Just get them here – hurry.” Jacob turned his attention to the slave, and for the first time, Jacob pitied him. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Charles, sir. Please, sir, I ain’t got no part in this. You got to believe me, Captain.”

“I do believe you. You can tell the marshal all about what happened when he gets here, but until he arrives, you do exactly what I say,” Jacob told him.

Charles nodded vigorously and sighed with relief. “Anything you want, sir,” he answered.

“Bring me a sheet. When you have done that, make some tea for Mrs Bartlett and Mistress Elizabeth.”

Jacob left the room and stepped into the hallway to speak to Mrs Bartlett. She sat in an armchair and seemed to have lost her appetite for gossip and her quest to save a Southern belle. “Is dear Elizabeth dead?” she asked Jacob with a small sniff into her handkerchief.

“No, Elizabeth is alive. Mrs Mallory is dead …”

“Oh, thank goodness!” she blurted out, before crossing herself. “God rest her soul in heaven with the almighty Lord. Oh my, this is a shock. Why, I feel quite faint. Did Elizabeth kill Mrs Mallory? Where is Elizabeth? Is she in that room? Should I speak to her?”

Jacob wondered what to say now. Elizabeth had clearly suffered some kind of mental malady. She was in shock, so much so that her mind seemed to have rejected all that had happened. She had lost all awareness of her surroundings, bar the dead body on the floor, and even that was but an object of curiosity to her.

He began slowly, trying to make sense of his words as he went on, not just for Mrs Bartlett’s sake but for his own understanding. “Elizabeth is stained with blood. It’s on her hands and all over her gown. She has bruising on her face and arms. Her hair has been grabbed and tousled, which leads me to suspect a struggle between her and Mrs Mallory. The problem is, I can’t seem to get through to Elizabeth. It would appear she has lost her mind, Mrs Bartlett.

“Oh, dear Lord. Oh my, I’ve never heard of such a thing. Might I go in and speak to dear Elizabeth?”

“You may, Mrs Bartlett, but no lady should have to see Mrs Mallory’s dead body.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks – I’ve seen dead bodies before. One more won’t hurt me, especially
hers
.” 

Jacob nodded. There was no more to time to waste on discussion, he thought. Elizabeth needed help before the lawmen arrived to question her. “Do you think you could persuade Elizabeth to accompany you to her room until the body is removed? She is fixated on Mrs Mallory’s corpse, and I cannot stress how damaging that sight might be to her mind.”

Being asked to help caused Mrs Bartlett to recover her faintness of heart. She would have so much to tell the Richmond ladies tomorrow, she thought. Why, her stories of this night would probably last an entire week.

“I quite agree,” she said. “I will do all I can to get her out of there.”

Charles returned with a white sheet and followed Jacob back into the breakfast room. They covered the body. Elizabeth blinked, looked disapprovingly at Jacob, and said, “Leave Margaret alone.” She turned back to the white covering and continued to stare, oblivious once again to their presence.

Mrs Bartlett clasped her throat as she entered. “Oh my. Lord have mercy,” she uttered. “We have to open a window. I declare, I’ve never smelled anything so unnatural.”

As she stared at the covered body, Jacob whispered to her, “Please convince Elizabeth to go up to her room. She is not responding to me, but she might to you, if you use your feminine persuasion.”

Mrs Bartlett nodded and gasped as she took in the bloodstains on Elizabeth’s gown. “Elizabeth, it’s me, Mrs Bartlett. Would like to take tea with me upstairs? Mrs Mallory is sleeping, and we don’t want to disturb her, do we?” She looked at Jacob. He nodded his approval. “Will you come with me, Elizabeth? I have so much to tell you, and I’m sure we will be much more comfortable upstairs.”

Elizabeth tore her eyes from the body reluctantly and stared at Mrs Bartlett.