Peril at Somner House (21 page)

“Horrid senile creatures!”

Cursing, Angela strode into our room after her interview. “How dare they infer
I
did the deed to win Kate. Ha!” She scoffed. “I showed him the letter. It proves Josh took his own life because he feared Kate would not marry him. It wouldn't have worked. There would be no money. She's struggled enough with Max to start a new struggle.”

“But shouldn't love defeat all?”

“Remember Marianne and Willoughby from
Sense and Sensibility
? Marianne thought so, too, but later she realized that if they'd taken that course, one party or the other might begin to resent life and regret the choice.”

“So Kate's chosen Davis and money?”

“She's not said yes to Davis
yet
,” she fired back.

I let a minute or two pass between us. “Ange, please say you didn't forge Josh's suicide note.”

She stopped sorting out her laundry, turned to me, and I read the answer in her eyes.

“But
why
? Why did you do it? You could get into trouble if they find out.”

She began to cry. “I had to protect myself, Daphne.”

“How did you copy his handwriting?”

“I've seen his letters to Kate. He likes to leave little love notes around for her. They're everywhere.”

“You invaded her privacy?”

A whimsical smile touched her lips. “You've done the same, little sister, so don't judge me.”

Sickened, I faced her squarely. “Did you push the knife into Josh?”

She glanced away, to reflect, to choose what to confess, and what to keep secret. “It's funny.” She shook her head, resuming a seat on her bed, like a caught-out child preparing for the parental lecture and punishment. “I've seen a few threaten to do it before but I didn't think he had it in him…or that I should be there to witness it.”

I joined her on the bed, squeezing her hand. “What happened? How far and to what extent did you assist him? Angela! How could you?”

She shrugged off my hand. “I didn't do it. When I found him, I tried to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. I'd just run back to fetch my bag. Silly me, I'd forgotten it, otherwise I'd have never been there to hear his cry.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Oh dear, Daph, I'm in real trouble. That odious Bella saw me exit. She told them, no doubt, and when they match the timing, they'll charge me.
Charge
me with murder!”

I held her close, patting her back as she sobbed all over my blouse. “So you found him in the bathroom with the knife at his chest.”

“Yes, yes. But by the time I reached him, he was dead,” she said through her sobs. “It was awful…”

I pictured the scene, thinking hard, desperate to find a way to help clear her name.

She shut her eyes. “The blood…I'll never forget the blood.”

“Surely, Mr. Zoland will believe you if you tell the truth.”

“No, he won't.” Hot, salty tears blinded her eyes. Inconsolable with fear of losing her future, of facing the unavoidable scandal and a prison sentence, or even death, she began to shake. “I'm so scared, Daphne, I'm so scared….”

“So am I.” I hugged her tight. “So am I.”

 

Later, I learned that Angela had played her usual nonchalant self to Mr. Zoland. She'd been vague on details, and said she'd seen no one.

The lie would go against her and I anxiously glanced at the tiny clock ticking away in our room. Zoland and Fernald were in conference, comparing their notes, deciding my sister's fate.

“Have you confessed all this to Kate?” I brought Angela a cup of tea as she lay inert on her bed, her eyes staring at nothing.

The staring eyes closed. “No. She'd never forgive me for not saving him. She wouldn't understand.”

“She deserves the truth. I will help you, if you like.”

New hope blazed in her eyes. “Would you? But I mightn't be able to see her before they take me away this afternoon.”

“If they do, you'll just have to be strong,” I said, assuming the elder sister role.

“I'll kill myself!”

Expecting her dramatics, I waved my finger at her. “No,
you won't kill yourself. You've too much to live for and I'll find a way…I'll find a way, I promise.”

The vow rolled off my tongue as a curt knock sounded at the door.

Angela froze. “They're here. They've come for me already!”

“Shhh!” I ordered, getting up to answer it. “Try and be calm.”

I've never felt so relieved in all my life to see Sir Marcus's shining face at the door. “Oh, thank heavens it's just you.”

“Who did you think it was? Is that Angela crying?” His head poked curiously into the room. “Bad time?”

I nodded, closing the door so we could talk in the corridor.

“Er, is Angela all right? Anything I can do?”

“You may as well tell him,” Angela sighed from behind me as she opened the door. “They'll all know soon enough and I don't want you two whispering in the corridor. It's obscene.”

Granted entry into our bedchamber, Sir Marcus tiptoed in. “Now it is
you
ladies who are compromising my honor.” He swooped down beside Angela. “So, what's the catastrophe, my girl?”

“She lied about witnessing Josh's suicide,” I said.

“Aha.”

After listening to Angela's story, Sir Marcus paced the room to deliberate. “
Josh Lissot, the lover of Lady Kate, murders her violent husband out of defense. Josh Lissot, the abandoned lover of Lady Kate, takes his own life out of an unwillingness to face the future. An eternal gloomy future, he feared doomed commissions, an inability to pay his rent, and endlessly dodging creepy creditors.
There, how does the column sound?”

“Worthy of the Mysterious M,” I said. “Are you sure you did not murder Max to write it?”

“What?
Moi?
Murder to compile a column? I think not.
But, my dear Daphne, I fear we must distract the inspector from investigating Angela's hand in the crime by fishing out the real murderer here—the real murderer everybody's missing.”

Suddenly, I remembered the trap I'd laid for my chief suspect and now dreaded the result.

 

It was not difficult to find the Major, who was draped languidly across a divan humoring Kate, whose legs dangled over the armchair to his right.

I hesitated before entering the room.

She laughed as he endeavored to divert her from all the unhappiness and terror of the past few weeks. She lapped up every morsel.

Resenting my errand, I made an awkward entry, apologizing for the intrusion.

“Oh, it's no intrusion,” Kate assured me. “Do come and join us, Daphne. Is Angela with you?”

“Er, no. She's resting.”

She nodded while emitting a feminine yawn. How did she manage to retain her magnetism in such circumstances? And then it occurred to me. She and the Major possessed the same quality of composure. They'd been born with it. Rachael Eastley had it, too, and I thought it an interesting character study for a future novel.

Chewing on my lower lip, I petitioned the Major. “May I have a private word with you if you can spare a moment?”

“Go ahead.” Kate winked. “I am not one to stand in the way of an engagement.”

Amusement was apparent on her face, so I kept my remarks
to myself until we were well out of earshot. “She's free now, you know.”

“Who is?”

He stood beside me, his hands in his pocket.

“Lady Kate. She's lovely. She'll make any man a good wife.”

“A good wife?”

“Yes, Mrs.
Katherine
Browning…it has a ring to it, wouldn't you agree?”

His dark eyes arrested mine. “Since we are on the subject, what is between you and Roderick Trevalyan?”

A telltale color rushed to my face. Oh, no, had he seen me out in the garden with Lord Roderick? Did he think we were together? After he and I had shared that kiss in the cottage?

“If you must know, Roderick proposed and I—”

He laughed. “You are an amazing girl—two proposals from two lords in one year. I salute you.”

“It is
not
like that and you know it.”

“Not like what? Many would assume it a grand achievement. So, what if one fell through? Roderick Trevalyan may not be as dashing as Lord David Hartley but he's still a
lord
with a
castle
and that's what you want, isn't it?”

His taunt caught me off guard. In my heart of hearts, I had to admit it. I dreamed of marrying a lord with a castle. But what Major Browning did not understand was that lords with castles came in many forms and not always in a literal sense.

“If you do choose this lord and castle, you have my sincerest felicitations.”

“You think I'd marry a man just because he owns a castle?”

“It is one of your prerequisites, is it not?” Cynicism and jealousy stained his face.

“No, it is
not
one of my prerequisites. I'd be a dreadfully
shallow person if it were. I didn't come out here to talk about this anyhow. It's—” I broke off.

“You are pale.” He squeezed my hand. “What's the matter?”

He didn't let my hand go. I glanced at the ground, shifting my feet from side to side.

“What is it?” He pressed my hand again, gentle, yet firm.

“It's Angela…Oh, Frederick, I fear she's done something dreadful. She happened upon him as he took his own life. She was at the scene of the crime.”

I gazed up at him, watching him slowly digest my words.

“Does anyone else know of this but you and me?”

“Sir Marcus—”

“Sir Marcus! You went to him before me?” Snatching his hand away, he glared ahead of him. “You give that man too much credit. He uses information and scandals to profit from it.”

“He doesn't need the money.”

“No, but he needs the fame. He thrives on it.”

“If he thrives on it, why does he remain anonymous?”

He couldn't deny my reasoning.

“What will happen to my sister? I don't know what to do. Should I telephone my parents? Angela is beside herself. She's convinced they will arrest her.”

“She's probably right.”

“I'm afraid she'll do something to herself and we've had enough death around here.” I despised myself for starting to cry.

“There, there.” He drew me within the circle of his arm. “Don't fret, dear girl.”

“It was mercy that made her run to him,” I breathed into his warm chest, wanting to shut my eyes and remain in his arms forever. I didn't want to face the day. I didn't want to face my sister's future.

They took Angela away, as the Major had predicted.

I stood alone to watch her go, her pale face drawn at the window of the car as she gave me one last backward glance. I'd never seen Angela so afraid, so uncertain.

“I must see Kate,” I murmured, mulling over how best to break the news.

I found her resting outside on the terrace, large dark glasses covering her eyes. Even in repose, she looked cool and calm, like an English lady relaxing on the deck of a ship. As I made my approach, she stretched out a casual hand to raise her sunglasses, inviting me to sit beside her in the next recliner.

“It's odd, you know,” she said, “I've been mistress of this place for so long, I don't know what to do with myself now that I must leave it.”

Adjusting the lever on my chair, I pitied her sad smile.

“I think I will go to town for a while and not make any hasty decisions,” she said, and shrugged. “Sir Marcus promises I won't be penniless and Roderick's a generous soul. He's given me an annuity, just like was done for Rachael Eastley.”
Her mouth hardened at the name, but no bitterness emitted from her. I liked her the better for it. She was a great deal stronger than she believed herself to be and I said as much, admiring her for what she'd endured with a husband like Max Trevalyan.

“It's strange, Daphne. I always thought I was weak for staying…weak for putting up with it, but now I realize it takes a special kind of resilience to survive so long in a warlike marriage in which there is no peace, no security, just terror and uncertainty every day.”

“And you did not just face one challenge,” I reminded her.

“No,” she agreed. “I used to think: if only he were a happy drunkard, or if only he wouldn't keep abusing everything from women to drugs to servants. A mutilator of self and others is what he became. And he enjoyed controlling others because he could not control himself or his mind. He almost drove me to suicide once. I lay there, curled up in the corner like a frightened animal, too scared to move or to breathe. There can be no worse sentence than a marriage such as that, one that strips the soul to its last burning ember.”

“You ought to read
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall,
” I said, and smiled. “It echoes your life, but there is a happy ending and I prescribe a happy ending for you, too.”

“Oh, do you?” Her lips twitched. “And what is the ending of the book?”

“I have it here. You can read it. After the terror, Helen recovers and marries again. There is a line that says, ‘What is it a Doctor prescribes? A second marriage. Yes, a second good marriage is the triumph of love over experience.'”

“I like that,” Kate whispered, wiping away the lonely tear running down her face. “Poor Josh, I blame myself. I had to
tell him that day that there was no future for us, that I couldn't marry him. I couldn't go and live in his rat-infested flat, I just couldn't. It wouldn't be fair, on him or on me, and neither of us could hope with the added pressure of trying to make a living. You must think me a heartless woman, but Daphne, I am a realist. My head rules over my heart.”

I studied her as the sunset filtered through the terrace, the golden light adding warmth to her beauty. I was loath to disturb her peace, but I could wait no longer to tell her of Angela's seeming demise. If she was shocked by the news, she did not show it. Perhaps she had become desensitized to catastrophe.

“When she told me, I felt so sick, sick that my own sister could have witnessed such a thing and could be blamed for it. But she tried to help him. She's sorry she was unable to save him, Kate. She cares for you deeply.”

“Yes, but,” she said, blushing, “Angela—I don't know how to say this—but she wants more than friendship.”

I raised my hand to indicate that I knew. That I knew and understood.

A heavy frown disturbed Kate's fine brow. “You may tell her that she has my friendship.”

 

Little conversation flowed at the dinner table that evening as we each sat alone with our thoughts, covertly eyeing one another, passing stilted, polite smiles across the table.

“Does Mr. Lissot have any family?” I overheard Sir Marcus ask Kate later in the drawing room.

“None that I know of. He did mention a brother once, but I don't think they had anything to do with each other. It sounded as if he lived far away, maybe in Australia?”

“Some attempt should be made to locate him and apprise him of the news,” Sir Marcus said, offering to go to Josh's room and see what information he could find.

Kate agreed, disengaging a key from her set and handing it to him.

“Poor fellow,” Sir Marcus mumbled. “I'll sort out his affairs. I daresay anything of value will have to go to pay his creditors.”

“Yes.” The empty reply hastened out of Kate as though she wished a permanent end to the subject.

“You're very artful at eavesdropping.” Drifting near, the Major placed a glass of sherry into my hands. “Here, drink it. It will help you sleep.”

I wanted to tell him what I'd done. A foolish, dangerous thing if my suspicions proved true. Yet I could not. Having placed the note under my suspect's door, I willingly put myself in danger and I alone must bear the consequences.

Shepherding me to a seat nearest the piano where Mr. Davis played Bach, I asked the Major if he had any musical aspirations.

“None at all,” came the quick reply. “I am entirely
de trop
in that area.”

“But I thought you were good at everything?”

“Your faith in me does you credit.”

“It wasn't a compliment.”

Leaning back, he arched his arm casually across the top of the settee. I swallowed.

The action didn't go unnoticed by the rest of the room, either. Bella smiled from her quiet game of backgammon with Lord Roderick, and Sir Marcus winked at me.

Feeling the effects of the sherry tinting my cheeks to a
bright red, I said, “Josh probably had many friends who need to be informed.”

“A notice will go in the weekend paper.”

Rearranging the cushion behind my back so I could move a little away from the Major without being obvious, I lifted a brow. “It was kind of Sir Marcus to offer to settle the man's affairs. There is Josh's artwork, too. His sculptures might be worth something. What happens to them if he's left no will?”

“There's the brother to be found. He'll make the decision.”

“And if he can't be found?”

“I suppose then his closest friends will decide what to do. He was a social man, but like so many before him, the artist perishes. Was it Byron or someone else who wrote of an artist's penchant for hard living, addiction, and voluntary death?”

“Or sickness,” I put in. “Tuberculosis claimed so many greats.”

“You're a library of information.”

His teasing drawl delighted my ears far more than Mr. Davis's piano recital. Sipping my sherry, I allowed myself to enjoy the moment and sensed Roderick's particular gaze upon me, still hopeful I might agree to marry him. I had shared a private word with him prior to dinner and he had pressed my hand warmly, offering his assistance in regard to Angela.

“They cannot condemn her without further proof,” he had said, and I appreciated that his interest in me had not wavered.

It was late when I retired to my room. Angela's belongings strewn about the room depressed me and I fought the urge to telephone my father. Angela had begged me not to, not yet. She hoped the whole matter could remain a secret between us, that none of our family need know if they released her.

I had stepped inside, sighing, picking up a few of her dis
carded items when I noticed the envelope slid under the door. My heart raced as I opened it.

Not for the first time in my life, I was about to do something immensely foolish. Needless to say, I slept very little, my heart thudding as the minute hand on the clock clicked closer to the hour. Turning on the light at six thirty, I hunted for and located my walking skirt, an old blouse, and a cardigan. Not knowing what else to take, I grabbed an umbrella and slipped a letter opener into the pocket of my skirt.

Tiptoeing downstairs, I prayed Hugo was in the kitchen.

“Milton Heath.” He stared at me. “Why'd ye want to go there?”

“I can't say, but can you do me a favor, Hugo? Can you please give this to the Major at breakfast?” I handed him a note. “It's important. Please don't forget.”

I hurried from the house and down to the beach, following the coastline around to the dock of Milton Heath. The cool air assailed my cheeks and nausea coiled in my stomach. I'd embarked upon the most dangerous enterprise of my life thus far and my inquisitiveness could cost me my life.

I thought of a proper detective. I thought of the Major. Both, I imagined, would never chance that I was about to meet a killer on their terms.

“Don't turn around.”

Standing at the precipice of the old rotting ramp, fear seized me.

“And drop your umbrella.”

I obeyed, my heart thumping loudly as a blindfold landed over my eyes. I tensed as darkness enshrouded my vision, a lone seagull my only connection to the outside world. My hands were then thrust together and tied with rope.

“This way. Stairs ahead.”

Led by the rope, I tested out each wooden plank, thinking of Lady Jane Grey and how she must have felt walking up to the axman blindfolded. A terrible fear suddenly consumed me. If I died now, I'd never see my book published. True, I had to
write
a book first, but had I chosen an artist's fate?

“Sit.”

Pushed down onto something hard, I felt the small boat rock. Waves snarled at its sides and I prayed Hugo delivered my message. What if he didn't? I was not naïve. Having arranged this deal with the devil, I had gambled with my life. And for what? A burning desire to know
why
Max had been murdered.

I reasoned that if the killer had been suspected by the police, they would have nothing to charge him with, no evidence whatsoever. I alone had to take the risk.

It was not a long ride but the minutes dragged on into eternity and I was thankful I'd brought along my cardigan. Twenty minutes…
twenty
minutes drummed through my mind and I wished I'd studied the map of the islands. I really ought to pay more heed to geographical study as my father said. What island could be so close? Bryer? Could it be Bryer? Or Tresco?

And why were we going to an island? Was it necessary for a confession? Or necessary to murder me, the one person who'd guessed the murderer's identity through a careful deduction of character, motivation, and a little niggling slip of the tongue.

The motoring ceased its rumble and we glided into the opposing docking bay. The boat clanked against the side and I thought of throwing myself at the sea's mercy. However, sense prevailed for I'd not get far with hands and eyes bound, would I?

A chill wind whipped around my neck and I shivered. I couldn't even pull my cardigan up around me since my hands were tied. Thrust to my feet, I was lifted onto wooden decking, the rope binding me to my captor. There was no chance of escape as we walked on, across the beach, and upward to a sandy, grassy track. I faltered once or twice and my captor steadied me, ensuring I did not fall, and at last, we appeared to have reached our destination.

I heard birds above, and the sound of the sea in the near distance. We were close to the beach.

“Stop.”

Brought to a halt, I inhaled the pungent, pleasant odor of coffee.

A door opened and I was pushed inside what I imagined was some kind of boathouse. I suddenly sensed the presence of someone else.

“Timas. We've another inmate,” announced my captor.

A grunt emanated from across the room. From the grunt, I pictured Timas an old seaman and criminal with no saving virtues. Who was the first inmate, I wondered.

The blindfold ripped from my eyes, I blinked a few times to adjust to the light. We were in a boathouse, yes, a cramped
boathouse full of clutter, old ship wheels, sunken objects extracted from the ocean, a tiny kitchen, cupboards bearing rusty food tins and empty whiskey bottles, three or so rooms and two broken windows boarded up with pieces of driftwood. The place had an eerie personality about it and I swallowed, not wanting to know what lay beneath the floorboards at my feet.

Timas proved broader and fatter than I imagined him, with wiry white hair, a great beard, and bulging red-rimmed pale eyes that gleamed at my arrival. His chafed lips smacked together in appreciation and I turned to face my captor, finally.

“You're not to touch the girl,” Davis ordered. “Would you like a coffee, Daphne?”

Assuming a completely at-home air, as though we'd come here for a picnic, Mr. Davis loosened the bonds on my hands. He frowned whilst I rubbed the reddened, broken skin.

“I'm sorry for that. Alas, it was a necessary precaution, but I trust you didn't find the journey too uncomfortable?”

“Why?” The question choked out of me. “Why?”

“Ah, yes,
why
. It's the great question, is it not? You rather caught me off my guard with your little note, you know. You don't make a very good blackmailer.”

“I have no intention of blackmailing you,” I assured him. “I merely want to know the truth.”

“Truth,” he echoed. “The truth has many faces. Now, how about that coffee? It's a chilly morning.”

I shook my head.

“Ah well.” He lifted his shoulders to Timas. “It's as the lady commands. We'll go up to the lighthouse now. Give me the key, Timas.”