Death at the Abbey (25 page)

29

N
ot only was Portland amenable to Violet's plan for confrontation, he expanded the idea, suggesting that she do so in the ballroom, where most of the household staff were gathered making final preparations for the All Hallows' Eve festivities.

“It eliminates any rumors being spread about the estate if most of them hear it with their own ears. And this way they can go straight from the unpleasantness into the joy of their apple bobbing and such,” Portland said confidently as he pulled another black-edged handkerchief from a cache of them at his elbow. Apparently, he really did keep mourning handkerchiefs on hand.

Violet thought Portland's idea made about as much sense as going from a funeral directly to a fancy ball, but she was glad that the duke would participate in her plan.

Even if it was from behind a wood screen especially set up in the ballroom for the purpose.

Violet had discussed with the butler the specific people who needed to be present, and he rounded them up—as well as other estate staff—using some form of excuse known only to him.

Sam, too, was given a particular role to play, although he was none too happy at the thought that it required him to be out of Violet's presence for even a short while.

At noon, Violet traveled through a tunnel into the ballroom, where dozens of servants were moving their planned games and activities from the center of the open space to locations lining the wall. Upon seeing the undertaker, most of them frowned in confusion. Kirby must have told them just enough that they knew Violet was responsible for disrupting their plans.

By one o'clock, everyone had drifted in. Mrs. Garside was bent over a vent, sniffing, while Judith stood patiently nearby. In a corner, Mrs. Neale was lecturing Olive, who gazed over the woman's shoulder at Chandler. The footman, Miles Hudock, stood rigidly at one of the entrances to the ballroom.

A group of young men whom Violet suspected were the resident home children, since Gilbert Lewis was among them, were on the floor to one side. They were huddled over a staking board, playing Pope Joan, almost as if they had known in advance there would be a wait. She noticed a house servant kick one of them for being in the way. The home child looked up, oblivious, then returned to his hand of cards.

Ellery Reed watched the home children's play from a distance, and started when the servant placed his well-aimed kick, but the anger left his face quickly. Violet knew Mr. Reed was probably working out for himself that a confrontation with the house servant in this tense and uncertain situation wasn't worthwhile.

Jack LeCato stood apart from everyone else, gazing at Violet speculatively. She didn't care for his scrutiny. Margaret Bayes, however, stood eyeing LeCato with overt interest. Violet was amused to imagine the government agent fending the woman off.

For once, Molly Spriggs didn't hold a lantern, but a deck of cards, which she constantly rearranged in her hands while nervously licking her lips.

Even Parris, the head gardener, was down here, looking completely ill at ease in his palatial surroundings, but not as apprehensive as Martin Chandler, who might as well have been under arrest already, what with the shadow of guilt darkening his face.

William Pearson, the duke's valet, stood guard in front of the wood screen, behind which sat his master like an eerie specter. Henry Bentinck had even been summoned from his own home, and stood chatting amiably through the screen, as though his brother's detachment in public gatherings was perfectly normal.

Once she saw that everyone had been assembled, Violet nodded to Hudock, who rapped sharply on the door to get everyone's attention. She took a deep breath before beginning her story. It was awkward that she was leading this discussion, but Portland had refused to take center stage, and no one else was privy to the answers to what had happened at Welbeck over the past two weeks. She just hoped that guilt and fear wouldn't cause someone to commit an unfortunate, stupid act.

Violet raised her voice, and it reverberated off the walls and ceiling of the subterranean room. “You all know me as the undertaker who first came to Welbeck Abbey to bury poor little Aristotle, His Grace's favorite raven.”

“Poor little bird,” Mrs. Garside echoed, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbing at her eyes.

Violet ignored her. “Remarkably, the story of Aristotle's death reaches far back into the previous century, when the famous Cavendish sisters defended Welbeck Abbey from the Roundheads.”

“That old legend?” Henry Bentinck scoffed. “How could that possibly have anything to do with the evil going on here today?”

Violet calmly accepted the rebuke. “I understand your skepticism, sir, as I, too, was quite astonished when I learned the truth of it.”

She explained the falconer's conspiracy with Colonel Mortimer to locate the buried silver, then turned to where Chandler stood, nodding miserably at her revelation of his perfidy.

“It was an unfortunate way for Mr. Chandler and Colonel Mortimer to repay His Grace's generosity to both of them. Regardless, shortly after Aristotle's death, the body of Burton Spencer was found, and it appeared that he had fallen and struck his head on a nearby rock. When I arrived at the scene, Mr. Kirby and Mr. LeCato stood over the body. When I later inspected Mr. Spencer, I realized that he hadn't been killed by an accidental fall, but that he had been violently struck in the chest, then again in the head by the rock, as evidenced by the terrible bruising on his chest that accompanied his mauled head.”

Several female servants gasped. Perhaps Violet shouldn't have been so graphic.

“The next morning, Colonel Mortimer came to His Grace, reporting that he had witnessed a murder—a strangulation. But he admitted that it had been dark when he saw it, and he knew neither who the attacker was nor who the victim was. I made the mistake of assuming that Spencer was the victim. He was not. The victim the colonel had witnessed being killed while he was out searching for dig holes in the dark was actually Edward Bayes, and Bayes was killed almost immediately after Spencer.”

“What? That's not possible,” Ellery Reed interjected. “I was summoned from town to bear witness to Spencer's body, and that was days before you found Bayes.”

Violet nodded. “Yes, Spencer was found days before Bayes, but in fact he died only a short time before Bayes.”

“How could you possibly know this?” Reed asked.

“I initially suspected that the colonel had something to do with Spencer's death, although I couldn't fathom what it was. When I discovered a piece of a glass eye at Bayes's murder scene, I realized that Colonel Mortimer had been mistaken in the murder he had witnessed. However, it was the fact that he
had
witnessed Bayes's murder that made him a victim, as well. Perhaps he confronted the murderer on his own in an attempt to bring him to justice. I don't know.” In Violet's opinion, it was most likely that the colonel had actually demanded a bribe to keep quiet, but she might never know the answer to that question, and she had no desire to disparage the colonel's memory in front of Portland.

“So the murderer would eventually kill the colonel to prevent him from revealing who had killed Bayes. What confused me, though, was whether I was dealing with one killer or two.”

“Two?” Margaret Bayes's eyes were wide with fear. “You mean one person killed Colonel Mortimer and Mr. Spencer, and someone else killed my beloved Edward?”

Now he was her “beloved Edward.” Was that bit of affection for Jack LeCato's or Portland's benefit?

“No, Mrs. Bayes. I don't mean that at all. I mean that one person killed Colonel Mortimer and your husband, but it was your husband who murdered Burton Spencer.”

A chilled silence descended on the room like a graveyard fog. Margaret Bayes's voice was barely a squeak now. “Why would 'e do that?”

“Why indeed. I was very confused by the entire scenario myself until I ran into Gilbert Lewis at the telegram office a few days ago. There, I learned that there is a home children program that has been established in Great Britain that offers orphans a chance for new lives through relocation to farms and factories in Canada.”

“Mrs. Harper,” Reed interjected, “please . . .” He cast a glance at Lewis and the other boys, as if pleading with her not to embarrass them by calling out their status. It was unfortunate, but she had to expose the ugly details of what had happened.

“His Grace knew about these boys, and was pleased to offer them a chance to learn construction skills before they left for their new homes, but he didn't know that the housing of these young men at Welbeck was a sad state of affairs. His Grace insisted that they be paid fairly, like every other worker, and Mr. Reed developed a plan to have their wages saved until such time that they were to depart, in order to provide them with a good start in Canada.

“Mr. Bayes, though, revealed his dirty deeds to me in death, inside a ledger he kept, which detailed the manner in which he was altering Mr. Reed's savings records, to remove a little for himself out of each boy's pay. When it came time for their departure, he would see to it that they received less money, and how were they—or anyone else, for that matter—really to know the difference? Mr. Bayes wisely kept this ledger at home, out of the sight of anyone at Welbeck, lest he be immediately dismissed. After all, even a man as generous as His Grace would be unable to tolerate that.”

“Dear God,” Reed said. “The effrontery of the man!”

The boys stared at one another, open-mouthed. Violet hated that she had to shock them all further. “Burton Spencer figured it out somehow. Perhaps Mr. Bayes had taunted him over it one day while in his cups and more likely to wag his tongue. Spencer was a sizable young man, and probably assumed he could bully Mr. Bayes into more money for him to keep him quiet about Bayes's scheme. But poor Spencer underestimated Bayes's strength, and it resulted in his death.”

The cook spoke up once more. “But, Mrs. 'Arper, if Mr. Bayes was the one responsible for Spencer's death, why should anyone want to kill 'im afterward? And 'ow would the next murderer know to do it right after Mr. Bayes killed Spencer?” Mrs. Garside put a hand over her mouth, as if the thought of two murderers at Welbeck Abbey was simply too much to continue discussing.

Violet nodded. “A troubling question, indeed. I had many other questions to ask myself, as well, Mrs. Garside. Who else might know of Bayes's scheme? Who might think I had discovered it and arrange to have me attacked while in London? For that matter, who knew I was heading to London?”

Parris spoke up for the first time. “You were attacked?”

“Yes,” Violet said curtly. “I was set upon by a thug who worked in a local orphanage, which I realized later was no coincidence, given Bayes's chicanery with the home children. But back to your question, Mrs. Garside, the only person who would wish to kill Mr. Bayes was whomever he was in collusion with. It occurred to me that only one person could possibly have known about Bayes's scheme, have had connections in London to attack me, and had reason to kill Colonel Mortimer. Yes, there was only one person who could have been responsible for it all, and ultimately, it was the one person who was the most obvious from the start.” Violet turned slowly until she faced the murderer.

“It was you, Mr. Reed. You were really the intellect behind the scheme to cheat the boys.”

“What?” Reed gasped. “What are you talking about? I have treated Burton and the others as if they were my own children.”

“That's true, Mrs. Harper,” Gilbert Lewis piped up. “Mr. Reed is very kind to us. Much better than it was at the orphanage.”

“Yes, the worst of men can present themselves as the most innocent of lambs before they reveal themselves as wolves to devour you,” Violet said dryly. “Nevertheless, Mr. Reed is guilty.”

She whirled back on Reed, who continued to protest her accusations. She cut him off. “You maintained your own false ledger—very cleverly hidden in a safe, to convince any curious eyes that you were serious about keeping the boys' savings sacred. I admit, I was most convinced when you eagerly showed it to me.”

“You're wrong; that was the actual ledger of the boys' savings.”

“You mean, sirrah, that it was the ledger that accurately reflected what would have been saved for each boy . . . if you had actually intended to give it to him.”

Reed didn't respond, and Violet pressed on, now pacing to burn nervous energy.

“I speculate that your agreement with Ian Hale of Babbage's Home for Foundlings was that he would ensure that the strongest of boys be sent to Welbeck. You would then recommend to His Grace that they be paid an older man's wages, for their ability to lift, push, and carry. How much were you paying Hale for the right sort of boy, Mr. Reed? Furthermore, what did you pay Hale to kill me? You must have been quite put out when he was unsuccessful and then fled town.”

“Surely you are joking, Mrs. Harper? Why would I pay a man to kill you?” Reed implored, spreading his hands to demonstrate his innocence.

Violet gave him a grim look. “I was your raven, the one who was too close to your secrets about the home children. What I couldn't understand was why you had to murder Edward Bayes. You couldn't possibly have known that he was maintaining a separate ledger,” Violet said, trying to draw as much out of him as she could.

“Of course I knew he had one. What sort of fool do you think I am?” Reed snapped before catching himself. “I mean, I'm not surprised that he had one. I never trusted Bayes.”

“No, and I doubt he trusted you, either.” Violet realized that Reed was not owning up to anything, and decided that a quick deception was in order.