Chapter 31

Ye will come never more,

 

The house fell into an eerie quiet once the detectives left, their quarry secured in the back of the police carriage. Margaret and Daniel kept a vigil at Evelyn's side and Lord Marshall had taken a bottle of scotch to his room. Ainsley was finally able to return to the dining room to reassemble his doctor's bag. He found the room already set to rights, a new gleaming lace tablecloth replaced the one Ainsley and Margaret had shredded for the procedure. The candelabras had been replaced and all evidence of any medical procedure had been erased. Julia was hunched before the small fire, shifting the pieces of burning wood, spreading the embers apart and encouraging the flames to dissipate. She turned and saw Ainsley behind her.

“Oh beg my pardon, Lord Marshall,” she said, “Mr. Billis has asked me to see to the room and take down the fire.” She stood, holding the ash filled metal pail in one of her hands, the iron fire poker in the other.

“No pardon is necessary,” Ainsley explained. “I was just looking for my bag.”

“Mr. Billis has it, sir,” she said hurriedly. “I saw him leave the room with it. Perhaps he wanted it hidden from the Inspectors.”

Ainsley nodded, the full scope of his conspiracy and the numbers within his circle of trust expanding in his mind. He wondered how long he could keep his profession a secret. “Thank you,” he said. He turned to leave but stopped at the door. “Julia, I should thank you.”

“Whatever for, my lord?” she asked.

“Today you assisted without question. You could not have known my training as a surgeon.”

“You spoke with such authority, sir,” she answered, allowing her gaze to drop to the floor.

“You've been such a help to my family these past few weeks. I know my sister has made your work here rather trying.”

“Not at all,” Julia answered quickly.

“I am afraid she thought you were a spy hired by our father. She has a tendency to wander from home and it's put her in a few undesirable situations.”

“I don't believe it, my lord,” Julia said, “Lady Margaret is a fine young woman of modest character.”

Ainsley began to smile. “If you say so.”

“If you don't mind me saying so, sir, I feel my position will come to an end soon,” she said, her tone becoming quiet.

“Why would you say that?”

“With her mistress gone, Violetta could better serve Lady Margaret,” Julia spoke slowly. Even in the dim light Ainsly could see her eyes gleam with threatening tears.

Ainsley began to shake his head but in truth he had no say in the hiring and firing of family staff. He'd like to see the girl stay. “I shall speak to my father.”

“Oh no,” Julia said quickly, “please don't.”

“Why not? You have served us well.”

Julia shook her head emphatically. “In truth, sir, I was not hired to serve the family as much as I was hired for an ulterior purpose.”

“What other purpose could there be?”

“Lord Marshall hired me to keep an eye on Lady Marshall,” Julia lowered her eyes, ashamed of her confession as she said it. “The late Lady Marshall, I should say.”

Margaret's suspicions had not been far off the mark, Ainsley realized. Julia had been hired by Father to supervise, only she was not keeping a close eye on Margaret. “Father hired a spy for Mother?”

Julia swallowed hard and nodded. Perhaps she regretted saying anything about it.

“I have said too much,” she answered quickly. She moved to step around him but Ainsley prevented her from reaching the door.

“Tell me,” he said softly.

She could not look him in the eye. “He said he could not trust her maid to bring him information. Violetta had been her maid for so long. He wished me to befriend Violetta in the hopes she would give me some household gossip and—”

“And you would relay it to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ainsley's face became hard and tight as the meaning of her words registered in his mind.

“He did it out of love, I assure you. He was worried for her health and,” she began to stammer, “her safety.”

He could not help but smile. Hiring Julia had been a desperate act by a man worried for the woman he loved.

“I will confess to Lady Margaret this instant,” Julia continued. Again she made a move to bypass him and Ainsley moved slightly to the side as she passed.

It was the pinnacle of loyalty for both Violetta and Julia. His mother's maid had betrayed nothing and yet Julia remained steadfast to her assigned duty. Many English families could not count themselves so lucky and yet the Marshall's had benefited from many such servants, Billis included.

“Julia,” Ainsley went to the foyer and saw her halted halfway up the stairs. “Let me speak to Father,” he said, “I'd like to see you stay. He will listen to reason.”

Julia gave a smile, curtsied slightly and continued her ascent.

 

Ainsley headed down the hall to the servant’s stairs at the back of the house. Billis' office was across from the kitchen and as expected the butler was at his desk, a small lamp burning bright on his desk.

“An eventful evening was it not?” Ainsley asked as a way to announce his presence.

Billis jumped at the sound of Ainsley's voice and it was then that the young surgeon saw his medical bag open on his desk. Billis was applying a wet cloth to a set of parallel scratches running the length of his forearm. The wound appeared red and slightly swollen even in the ambient light.

“Billis?”

“It's just a scratch, sir,” the butler answered quickly. He threw the cloth down and began to roll down his shirt sleeve. His gaze found the open medical bag. “I took the liberty of using some supplies. I shall reimburse you.”

“I won't hear of it. Did Will give you these?” Ainsley asked remembering the fight between the butler and Evelyn's brother. “Why did you not say?”

Billis swallowed but said nothing.

“Let me have a look,” Ainsley said quickly.

“No.” Billis put his hand up to prevent Ainsley from approaching.

“Billis, don't be a fool.”

“I shall be fine, my lord,” he insisted. “It just needs time.”

Ainsley looked to the wound now that he stood closer and saw that there were already signs of an infection around the scratches. When he looked to Billis' face he looked haggard and old.

“Billis you do not look well.”

“Only tired, my lord,” the butler explained. He replaced the bottle to Ainsley's bag and clasped the top. Handing it to Ainsley, he let out a deep breath and found his normal composure. “Do you require anything else, my lord?”

Ainsley hesitated, returning Billis' gaze. There was something, Ainsley thought, something that was different about him. In truth, Ainsley had never concerned himself much with his family’s servants. He had always had a jovial relationship with them but never much more.

Billis raised an eyebrow at Ainsley's hesitation.

“No, Billis,” Ainsley answered at last. He accepted the medical bag Billis offered him and turned from the room. As he walked away he heard the creak of the hinges and click of the latch behind him.

There was something about his demeanor that unsettled Ainsley who had always known him to be forthcoming and honest, not protective as he had just been. Ainsley made his way to the stairs that would take him to the main floor of the house. Turning the corner and grabbing the handrail, Ainsley stopped.

Those scratches were not from the fight with Will. The wounds had already completely healed over. Not enough time could have passed to bring the onset of infection and yet Ainsley saw the red, tight skin around his wounds.

Mother.

Ainsley dropped his bag and clung to the railing to remain upright, sure that he would vomit at the thought. Billis had forced his mother under the water. Jonas suggested mother had wounded her murderer given the evidence of her two broken nails. Ainsley slumped onto one of the steps, bending his knees and using them to hold up his hands as he lowered his face into them. The images swept into his mind, swirling quickly but each one falling into place like the puzzle he had been constructing with Clara's shattered mirror.

Billis would have known Lady Marshall requested a bath thanks to Violetta's multiple trips to the kitchen for water. He had access to her room, and his sudden arrival would have been surprising but not out of the realm of possibility. But why? Why would he have reason to kill her?

Ainsley put a hand to his mouth.

Father.

Billis' loyalty was unmatched. He would have done anything to save Father from scandal or harm, and Mother had caused both.

Ainsley heard the familiar sound of the door latch followed by the creaking hinges. Slowly, Ainsley inched to peer around the corner and look into the hall. He saw Billis, dressed in his overcoat, hat and scarf, making his way for the door that would lead him outside and up to the street.

Up the stairs to the main floor Ainsley went, hunting for his coat in a cloak closet in the foyer.

“Peter, what's the matter?” Margaret called from the top of stairs.

Ainsley turned, pressing an erect finger over his lips, telling her to hush. At the front door he opened it a crack and peered out into the wintery street. Billis' footprints were unmistakable in the fresh snow and Ainsley could see his silhouette making its way down the street.

Without thought Ainsley pursued him. He hovered near doorways, ready to take cover should Billis turn to look behind him. The butler never did. Ainsley stalked him for half an hour, feeling the wet snow seeping into his shoes as he walked. He could not stop. No matter how chilled his body became, he could not turn back. Billis must know Ainsley had figured it out, or would soon and now he was escaping.

Ainsley's mind was awash with all possible scenarios, motives and opportunity running through each prospect as he shadowed his fresh suspect. Billis had been loyal to the Marshall family since before Ainsley was born, and before his parents were married. His devotion to Lord Marshall was hardly questionable but now Ainsley realized his loyalty stopped there. Billis never spoke kindly of the mistress of the house, Ainsley realized, and servants weren't permitted to speak unfavorably of them either. What had Billis said to Ainsley in his father's study? “Your mother hardly deserves such a fuss...I have seen the pain she has inflicted on him.” Of anyone Billis would know Lord Marshall's pain, a pain which Ainsley had been blind to for many years.

Tired of averting scandal, knowing how his master hurt and perhaps being fearful of what the future held, Billis solidified his loyalty and snuffed the fire that smoldered quietly, threatening everything.

He had been a fool, Ainsley realized, to side with his mother so blindly, to conveniently blot out the realities of her existence. He had not recognized her dependence and he had dismissed her immoral behaviour as rebellion against a tyrant of a husband. She had been a lost soul for many years and her death weighed heavily on him as did his regret for not being able to save her.

The guilt he felt soon turned to thoughts of vengeance as he stalked Billis through the streets of London. The butler, his mother's murderer, walked with purpose and poise, as he always had while serving Ainsley and his family members. He couldn't help but be disgusted at the smugness of this man. He quickened his pace, determined to confront Billis on a street corner if need be.

The night was nearly morning and there were but a handful of people in the streets and no carriages about. The early aura of sunlight began to seep into the dark sky but between the buildings where Ainsley and Billis trudged it remained night. Finally Billis paused and raised his face to the gently falling snow and Ainsley stopped suddenly, his early resolve to bash this man’s skull in gone when he saw Billis' profile. The man was no murderer. There must be an explanation.

It was then that Ainsley realized they stood in front of the North Western Cemetery where his mother had been so recently buried. The iron gate was closed but not locked and Ainsley watched from the shadows as Billis pushed in the gate, the telltale drone of the iron bars moaning into the night as he did so. Ainsley slipped in through the opening that Billis unsuspectingly left and followed him in to the city of the dead. Gingerly Ainsley stepped, taking care to remain unseen. It seemed illogical for Billis to come to this place. He had expected the train station not the gravesite of his newly deceased mother.

Billis stopped at the foot of her plot, the snow covered mound evidence to its recent creation. Ainsley watched from the safety of a wide tree not ten feet from the butler. Once again Billis looked to the heavens, and that is when Ainsley saw the glistening tear slipping from Billis' cheek. He was remorseful, Ainsley realized.

After a length of time Billis pulled his hand from his pocket, Will's missing G & J Deane pistol gleaming in the moonlight as he raised it in the air, turning the mouth of the barrel towards himself.

No.

Ainsley stepped out from his place of hiding and rushed for Billis. “No!” he yelled, his arms outstretched, his feet slipping on the slick wet snow.

The gun fired one shot and Billis fell to the side.

“No, no, no.” Ainsley's words slipped from his lips, a mantra of feeble reassurance. He slid into the snow at Billis' side and pulled to turn his body over. He had shot himself in the neck and the blood poured out like a faucet cascading over Ainsley and the once pristine white snow on his mother's grave.

Ainsley surveyed the gaping wound and began to cry out, knowing this victim he could not save. “Help!” he called with all the strength he could muster. “Somebody, help!” His voice cracked under the intensity with which he screamed. He began to rock Billis in his arms, as if a child.

Billis' hand left his side and reached for Ainsley's face. Blood slipped from the edge of his mouth and eventually over took it. Gradually the flow of blood from his wound slowed as did the loyal butler's heart. Ainsley held tight, gritting his teeth against the scream of panic that threatened to take over him. A man was dying in his arms and there was nothing Ainsley could do about it.

No, no, no.....god no.