Things Half in Shadow (38 page)

Lucy had hopped out of the coach by the time I reached it, and stood over the man. She had fished the pistol from her skirt and now held it at arm's length, aiming it at the intruder's head. Running in front of her, I barked, “Put that away at once!”

I then turned my attention to Thomas, who was still pounding on the stranger. I was forced to grab both of the boy's arms to keep him from beating the man to a pulp. Then, while Lucy dragged her brother away, I crouched down and grasped the intruder by the shoulders.

“Who are you, and what were you doing in the Willoughby home?” I demanded.

The man, still facedown in the grass, gave a muffled reply. “I could ask the same of you.”

He rolled over, the hood slipping from his head.

And looking up at me, just as I feared, was the battered face of Jasper Willoughby.

N
ot wanting to create any more of a scene, I sent Lucy and Thomas home in their coach. I then hailed a hansom cab for Jasper and me, intent on escorting him back to West Philadelphia. Sitting side by side in the open carriage, it occurred to me that it was the first time we had ever been alone together. Knowing this fact made what I was about to say all the more awkward.

“I want to apologize for what happened back there,” I began. “You must forgive young Mr. Collins. He only attacked you because we thought you were an intruder.”

Jasper reclined in the seat, arms crossed. A small bruise marred the side of his face, made all the more noticeable by the paleness of his skin.

“Clearly, I was not,” he said.

“But you must admit, you have some explaining to do.”

“Me?”
Jasper replied. “What about you? You're the one who broke into a house that isn't yours.”

“Violet showed me where the key was hidden. Besides, the house will one day be mine.”

Jasper let out a bitter laugh. “Not if my father has any say in the matter.”

I tried my best to ignore the jab, but it stung nonetheless.

“I had good reason for being there. What was yours?”

“I go there when I need to think,” Jasper said. “Not that I need a reason to enter my own family's property.”

“Did you say think or
drink
?” I asked. “Because I suspect it's the latter.”

I had been tipped off by the sound of clanking glass when Jasper fled the bedroom. I had a feeling that, had I gone in there, I would have discovered several half-empty bottles. Yet the telltale indicator
was Jasper's breath, for every word he spoke produced a puff of whiskey-scented air.

“That's no concern of yours,” he said.

“No, but it is your parents' concern.”

“I suppose you plan on telling them now. Maybe in an attempt to get into my father's good graces. Do so, if that's what you'd like. I don't care. I truly don't.”

“I'm worried about you,” I said. “So is Violet.”

“Worried? About
me
? Pray tell, why?”

“For one thing”—I paused to check my pocket watch—“eleven o'clock in the morning is a little early to be hitting the rotgut, don't you think? But most of all, you're now as much of a suspect in the death of Lenora Grimes Pastor as I am. Probably even more so.”

I spent the next five minutes laying out all the reasons. The first, of course, was the massive colony of bees located in the nursery, which was able to produce more than enough venom needed to kill someone.

The second reason was the footprints I had noticed in Jasper's childhood bedroom a few days earlier. It was clear they had been made by Jasper himself. They looked fresh, which meant he had been in that house, with those bees, in the days before Mrs. Pastor's death.

Then there was the fact that Lucy and I had encountered Jasper outside the Pastor residence just before the séance in which she had died. At the time, I didn't think it was anything more than coincidence, but now I wasn't so certain. While Jasper hadn't been in the locked room with us when Mrs. Pastor died, he certainly could have provided the venom that killed her. Perhaps he had met one of the attendees before the séance began, giving the murderer the fatal dose.

Finally, there was the matter of Sophie Kruger. When I lunched with the entire Willoughby family on Friday afternoon, Violet had mentioned Jasper's late return home the night before. The very same night the Kruger girl was killed.

Jasper, of course, greeted my theory with nothing but disbelief.

“You should quit being a reporter and take up novel writing,” he said. “For that is the grandest piece of fiction I think I've ever heard.”

“I'm not saying that's what actually happened,” I said. “It's not even what I
think
happened.”

Truth be told, I had no idea if Jasper had something to do with the murders. But if I could come up with such a scenario, then so could Barclay and his fellow policemen.

“You must admit,” I added, “it's plausible. Every bit of it.”

“But it isn't,” Jasper replied. “Other than you and Mrs. Collins, I've never met any of the people who were at that séance. So it would have been impossible for me to provide them with the bee venom. Also, I know nothing about bees or how to extract their venom. And what reason would I have to kill a medium?”

“I don't know, Jasper. What reason did you have for being outside Mrs. Pastor's door last Saturday night?”

If I were a betting man, I'd wager Jasper, at that moment, wished he had possessed facial hair as robust as his father's. A grand beard or an elaborate mustache would have better masked his emotions. Without them, his pale face gave away everything he was thinking and feeling—a palpable combination of sadness and fear.

“Fine, Edward. Since you want the truth, I'll give it to you,” he said. “I was going to attend the séance that night. I won't lie to you about that. I went to that house with every intention of sitting with Mrs. Pastor. But when I saw you and Mrs. Collins about to do the very same thing, I realized I couldn't. Not with you present.”

Jasper's revelation wasn't as shocking as he made it out to be. We had, after all, discussed the city's mediums at length during lunch the day before. But I also recalled Jasper agreeing with his father that they were all crooks, making it odd that he later intended to visit one.

“Was that your first visit to Mrs. Pastor?”

Jasper merely shook his head.

“So you had sat with her before?”

This time, he nodded.

“How many times before?”

“Once.”

“And when was this?”

“A week or so ago,” Jasper said.

“What reason did you have for seeing Mrs. Pastor?”

“Does one need a reason to visit a medium?”

“Most times they do,” I said. “They want to contact a lost loved one. Is that why you went? To contact someone who died?”

Jasper uncrossed his slender arms and crossed them again the other way. “I . . . can't tell you.”

“Can't?” I said. “Or won't?”

“Let's just please change the subject.”

I had no intention of doing that. Not if there was still information to pry out of the reluctant Jasper Willoughby. I continued to press him, saying, “I don't understand why you can't just provide a simple reason for why you intended to go to the séance.”

“Because no good will come of it,” Jasper said. “None at all.”

“But you can trust me.”

“Oh, can I?” Jasper asked. “Can I really trust you, Edward? Even more, can
Violet
? Every night, I'm forced to witness the same dinnertime arguments. My parents tell Violet that, while they don't think you murdered Mrs. Pastor, the fact that you're one of those suspected of it doesn't bode well for your character. They don't like how you run around to murder scenes and write up the grisly details for all to read. They distrust you, unlike Violet. She spends all her time trying to convince them you're a kind and honorable man. I say nothing, but my heart breaks for her, knowing you've been roaming the city with Mrs. Collins. Who knows what else the two of you have been up to. So tell me, Edward—what reason do I have to trust you?”

His words were so pointed and cruel that each one felt like a physical blow. By the time he was through, my entire body ached. This was what my future brother-in-law truly thought of me, and it felt horrible to hear. Even worse was the ring of truth contained in what he said. My actions between Friday night and that moment did look incredibly suspicious. It was easy to understand how an outsider might misinterpret everything I had been doing.

“Mrs. Collins and I are simply trying to clear our names by discovering who really killed Mrs. Pastor,” I said, my voice shaky.

“That's very odd,” Jasper replied. “Because I saw the two of you together
before
Mrs. Pastor was killed.”

We had reached the wire bridge on Spring Garden Street, rolling over it at a leisurely pace. Still, my heartbeat quickened as I recalled the pure fear I had felt there the night before. When we came to the location where Lucy had fallen, I couldn't help but look down at the Schuylkill below. In the late-morning sunlight, the river's surface seemed far away—alarmingly so. It was shocking to me that Lucy and I had both survived our drops into the water.

“I understand how it appears,” I said. “But we are simply allies joined in a common goal. You must believe me.”

The words sounded false even to my ears. That was because I could clearly see the spot on the riverbank where I had pulled Lucy ashore. The very same spot where both of us had almost let our emotions get the better of us. With that on my mind, it's no surprise I didn't sound convincing.

Jasper shifted in the seat, the movement causing his hair to fall over his eyes. Peering at me from between the golden strands, he said, “I honestly don't know what to believe. Are you truly in love with Violet?”

“Of course!”

This time, the conviction in my voice was unmistakable. For I did love Violet with all my heart. The fact that I had come close to
kissing Lucy Collins didn't change that. The only difference now was the guilt I felt because of it.

“I adore your sister,” I told him, “despite what your parents say and what you assume. And I still intend to marry her.”

“That will make us brothers-in-law,” Jasper said. “If that means anything to you, then I beg of you, please give me the benefit of the doubt. I understand that I appear suspicious. But, in my case, the facts are different from appearances.”

“As it is with me.”

“Then let's make a promise, as future brothers, not to tell anyone—not my sister, or my parents, or the police—what we know about each other. If not for our sakes, then for Violet's sake.”

I reluctantly agreed to this truce. The two of us then shook hands, bound by mutual distrust. While I didn't necessarily think Jasper had a role in Mrs. Pastor's death, I also didn't want to remain silent about the possibility. Yet I felt as if I had no choice in the matter. Not if I wished to stay in Violet's good graces. This entire attempt to clear my name, after all, was more for her benefit than mine. I couldn't risk letting her drunken brother ruin it all. Nor could I risk bringing further shame upon the Willoughby name, which would certainly happen if outside suspicion fell on Jasper. So I decided to not tell a soul about his potential link to Mrs. Pastor's death. At least not until I had further proof that he was somehow involved. For better or worse, I
needed
to give him the benefit of the doubt.

When we reached the Willoughby residence, Jasper climbed out of the carriage without saying another word. I was preparing to give the driver directions to my own home when Violet stepped outside. Seeing me, she ran to the open carriage.

“Edward!” she said, reaching inside to clasp my hands. “What a pleasant surprise!”

I made myself appear glad to see her, when in truth it was the opposite. After what had almost happened the night before, I felt
unworthy to be in her presence. Adding to my shame was her obvious joy upon seeing me.

“Hello, Violet.” I kissed her on the cheek, hoping she wouldn't notice how dry and tentative it was. “I was running some errands in the city when I saw Jasper here taking a stroll. I thought I'd take him home and save him a walk.”

“How very nice of you,” Violet said. “Were the two of you able to get better acquainted?”

“Yes,” Jasper replied as he made his way to the porch. “Very.”

The direction in which he moved allowed Violet to see the bruise on his face, prompting her to gasp, “Gracious! Jasper, what happened to you?”

Jasper's hand flew to his cheek. The bruise hadn't faded much at all, remaining a pink blotch on his otherwise pale face.

“I fell,” he said. “Tripped over my own two feet right in the middle of the sidewalk.”