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ROSEMARY WAS QUIET on the way back to her section of London. “What’s wrong, Rosie?” Vera asked, jabbing her elbow into Rosemary’s ribs to rouse her from her reverie.
“I just can’t stop thinking about how there’s been a psychotic murderer practically living next door to me, and I never even realized it.”
“Well, yes, it’s rather disconcerting, isn’t it? Although at least it’s Martin’s nurse and not Martin himself. That would have been even more awkward,” Vera declared.
“Disconcerting and awkward,” Rosemary repeated, incredulous. “That’s all? You’d think we were talking about running into an ex-beau at dinner with his new, attractive girlfriend, not a murderous psychopath working in the flat beside mine.”
“Rosie dear, if you’re going to continue with this line of work, you’d better get used to spending time with unscrupulous individuals,” Vera replied.
“Who said anything about continuing with this line of work?” Rosemary asked, her voice at a pitch Vera judged high enough to shatter crystal.
“Oh, Rosie, come on. You know you can’t resist a good mystery, and lately, they seem to be finding you with the regularity of interested gentlemen.” Vera couldn’t help but goad her friend.
Rosemary was beginning to look as though she were ready to run off to a sanitarium herself, all wild eyes and disheveled hair. “Vera Blackburn—” she began, and then looked into her friend’s eyes for the first time during the conversation, “You’re having me on, aren’t you?”
“I’m just trying to lighten the mood. It is rather macabre, isn’t it? You’d think we’d be used to macabre by now. However, I’m determined to look on the bright side. We’re going to tell Max about Polly, or whatever her name is, and he’s going to take care of the rest. Then, we can be on our way to Cyprus, where the drinks flow freely, and the men are all the color of sun-drizzled caramel.”
“That does sound lovely, Vera,” Rosemary said, though her heart wasn’t quite in it. Her methodical nature wouldn’t allow her to focus on the scene Vera had painted until Martin’s—and Abigail’s—lives were set to rights.
During the time it took for her to ring Max and fill him in on the fact that Polly Calahan wasn’t who she said she was, Vera explained Jennie Bryer’s story to Frederick and Desmond. Desmond, infinitely wiser than his friend, smartly kept his thoughts to himself while Frederick managed to further infuriate Vera with his opinions regarding Jennie’s finer qualities. She refused to glance in his direction even after Rosemary returned to the parlor and settled into an armchair.
Frederick turned his attention away from Vera’s sour expression. “I told you she would figure out who the murderer was, didn’t I, Desmond?” he said, which only made her even angrier.
“I suppose you think I had nothing whatsoever to do with it? You, on the other hand, have been more concerned with gallivanting around and getting sozzled,” Vera retorted, her face beginning to turn a shade of red that only Frederick could bring out.
The two bickered for so long Rosemary, even with her seemingly infinite well of patience, nearly turned on them both. She might have torn them limb from limb if the chiming of the doorbell hadn’t interrupted their diatribe.
“Dr. Redberry,” Wadsworth announced, ushering a flustered Martin into the parlor.
“I’m terribly sorry to barge in on you like this, but have you seen or spoken to Abigail since your maid’s appointment this morning?” he asked with a wild look in his eyes.
Rosemary shook her head. “No, Martin, we haven’t seen her.” She cast a glance at Wadsworth, who had been watching Martin with the wariness of a man who wouldn’t hesitate to protect his mistress should the need arise. He shook his head, indicating that Abigail had neither rung nor stopped by. “What’s happened?”
“I received a message this afternoon. It was the bank, important business that I needed to attend to in person. The funny thing was when I arrived, there was no record of the call. When I got home, I found this,” he reached into his pants pocket to retrieve a folded slip of paper and handed it to Rosemary.
“Martin,” she read out loud. “I can’t take it anymore. I’m sorry. Abigail.”
“It sounds as though she’s leaving me, but it doesn’t make any sense.” Martin wouldn’t have been the first man in the world to react with shock and disbelief upon being thrown over by a woman.
“Abigail has been under a lot of stress lately. It’s possible the burden became too much for her to carry,” Rosemary said, placing a hand on Martin’s arm.
He shrugged her off, irritated. “No, it’s not possible,” he repeated, his voice rising in volume as he became more agitated. All three of the other men in the room, including Wadsworth, prepped for a possible battle while hoping it wouldn’t come to that.
“She’s the one who thought up this whole sordid lie.” Martin continued to talk to himself, his eyes unfocused on anyone else in the room. “It was her. It was her.”
Rosemary gazed at her friends, and then back at Martin, took two steps forward, and slapped him soundly across the face. Desmond’s eyes widened in shock that quickly turned to admiration, Vera smirked, and Frederick appeared as though he might start cheering. Wadsworth’s expression, however, didn’t waver.
“Ow!” Martin exclaimed, grasping his cheek and staring at Rosemary with surprise etched all over his face.
“You deserved that, and what’s more, you needed it,” she said unapologetically. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Martin crumpled into a chair and dropped his head in his hands.
“Abigail wasn’t in the office the day Segal died. At least, not when she said she was. She came down with a breakfast tray that morning, as I had woken late and hadn’t had the time to eat. Later, when that article came out, she decided she wouldn’t sit by and let me be sent to prison for a crime I didn’t commit, so she lied and said she’d seen me during Mr. Segal’s appointment. I told her it wasn’t a good idea and begged her not to go through with it, but Abigail can be incredibly stubborn when she puts her mind to it. That’s why it doesn’t make sense.”
Rosemary understood a woman’s choice to protect her husband at any cost, but there was one thing she didn’t understand. “Did your nurse know about this? Was she in on it?”
“Polly? No, of course not. Only Abigail and I. Why? What does Polly have to do with this?”
“Polly isn’t her real name, Martin. She’s the one who killed Claude Segal, amongst other things. We think she did those things to protect you. Is there something going on between you and your nurse?” Rosemary’s tone indicated that it would be prudent of him, to tell the truth.
“No, nothing. I’m a gambler, not a cheater. Though, come to think of it ...” Martin trailed off. “You don’t think she has anything to do with this, do you?” He held up the note from Abigail.
“I think it’s more likely than Abigail suddenly developing cold feet and disappearing. Did you look to see if she took anything with her?”
“No, I don’t think so. I—I don’t know. What would Polly want with Abigail?”
“My guess is, Polly has developed an unhealthy fixation and would do anything for you. She did commit murder, and that’s as extreme as it gets. This note could be interpreted another way,” Rosemary hedged, a sense of dread creeping up inside her. Martin caught her drift and nearly broke down again.
“Inspector Whittington is on his way to Polly’s—I mean Marianna’s—flat to pick her up now. Perhaps Abigail is with her.” It didn’t seem likely. The woman was smarter than that, and that meant she could have taken Abigail anywhere.
“You won’t find her there. Polly, or Marianna, or whoever she is—she’s in the office working on a filing project right now. I just saw her. She said she hadn’t seen Abigail all day.”
“I find that highly unlikely and, combined with the tone of this note, enough cause for serious alarm. Wadsworth, gear up, we’re going in.” It was all she needed to say. The butler returned seconds later, his jacket a little lumpier than it had been before. “You come with Vera and me through the main entrance. Frederick and Desmond can follow Martin down the back staircase. Be careful, she’s dangerous.”
They did just that, with Wadsworth taking the first position in front of Rosemary. He kept his hand inside his jacket; she was sure it was wrapped around the pistol he carried there. It was an unnecessary precaution, as Marianna sat behind her desk, sans weapon, humming a happy little tune.
“The dentist isn’t in right now, I’m afraid,” she said, an odd look in her eyes that Rosemary judged somewhere between denial and insanity. “You’ll have to come back another time.” The phrase was one Rosemary guessed she’d repeated many times before, and it sounded almost inhumanely automatic to her ears.
“Marianna,” Rosemary said the name quietly, but with an edge to her voice. “Where is Abigail?” She could see down the corridor, watching as Martin turned the corner from the stair landing and crept silently closer to the front office.
The girl continued shuffling papers as though it were a regular workday, and nothing out of the ordinary was happening. “My name is Polly,” was all she said, but her eyes didn’t meet Rosemary’s gaze.
“Your name is not Polly. Now, what have you done with Abigail?” Rosemary demanded, her voice rising in volume.
Marianna finally looked Rosemary straight in the eyes and spat, “It won’t make any difference. She’s probably dead already.” Her gaze darted towards the closed examination room door beside which Martin stood, concealed from her view due to its position around the corner from the waiting room.
He tried wiggling the handle and when it refused to budge, revealed himself by stepping around the corner with fury in his eyes.
“Give me the key. Now,” Martin demanded, his voice edging on hysterical.
“Whyever would you want to save her?” Marianna asked, unruffled. “I’ve heard your little disagreements; heard the slamming doors and the angry cries. The walls in here aren’t so thick, you know. You’ll be better off without Abigail. You’ll see.” She picked up a stack of papers and tapped them against the desk until the pile was straight and tidy, then fastened a paper clip to the upper corner.
“She’s my wife, and I love her! Married people sometimes argue, but that doesn’t mean I want her dead!” he exclaimed, inching closer to the desk.
Marianna stopped and stared at him, eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t deserve you. What has she done for you lately? I killed a man for you, and this is the thanks I get?”
Martin’s mouth gaped open, and he looked around helplessly. Just as he appeared prepped to lunge across the desk and throttle Marianna, a bang sounded from the hallway followed by the sounds of the door being slammed open. Frederick and Desmond had heard enough and had decided to take action.
Whirling, Martin forgot all about the girl and instead sprinted towards the exam room. Marianna let out a screech, stood, and shoved her chair back, where it crashed against the wall behind her. Wadsworth pointed the pistol at her head and said calmly, “Sit down, now, or I’ll shoot.”
Her eyes darted between him, Rosemary, and the hallway as if trying to make a decision. Wadsworth pulled back the hammer, and Rosemary said, “I’d listen to him. He’s serious.”
Marianna sat back down and swallowed hard. She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth, hugging herself and humming the same tune as before.
“How did you do it, Marianna? You couldn’t reach the key tool for the nitrous oxide tank, and you had precious little time to ensure Mr. Segal would actually succumb to the gas,” Rosemary pressed, her voice hard as nails.
The ghost of a smile crossed Marianna’s face. “It was easy. I was the one who was here when they set up the tank. There was an extra key, and I took it thinking Martin might lose the original. He’s surprisingly forgetful, you know. He would have thought his wife had taken her own life, and eventually, he would have realized he loved me. It would have all worked out just like I planned.” She resumed singing, all the fight gone out of her, and Rosemary correctly judged that Marianna would go with the police quietly.
Rosemary’s eyes slid towards the exam room door and then to Wadsworth.
“Go, I’ve got her,” he assured Rosemary, and she retreated down the hallway with Vera on her heels.
She was pleasantly surprised to find Abigail stirring when she poked her head around the exam-room door casing.
“She’s sedated, but she’s alive. The nozzle for the nitrous oxide tank must have malfunctioned because Polly had turned it up to full blast. If it had been working properly, my wife would have been dead long before we got here.”
It only took a scant few minutes and a packet of smelling salts to rouse Abigail from her stupor. Adrenaline kicked in as she came to, and she began to scream.
“Hush, dear, everything is all right,” Martin attempted to soothe her.
“But Polly! She tried to kill me. She kept going on and on about how you two were going to be together,” she sobbed into her husband’s chest.
Martin stroked Abigail’s back and repeated himself until she calmed down. “Everything is all right now, everything is all right.”
By the time Max arrived, Marianna was ready to turn herself over without a fight, and Abigail was over her hysterics. He stepped into the room in time to hear Martin say to Frederick, “Your sister has quite the backhand. If I were you, I’d avoid making her angry.”
“I always do,” Frederick replied, looking at Rosemary with pride.
“What’s all this?” Max asked, ignoring the scene laid out before him and moving closer to Rosemary.
“Max! We got her,” Rosemary explained, stopping herself before she ran to him and threw herself into his arms.
Abigail stood with the help of her husband, her knees shaking. “They saved my life. That crazy wench called me down here and then started spouting off about how she and my husband were planning on riding off into the sunset together. I tried to get to the door, but she grabbed me from behind and clamped a hand over my mouth until I passed out. The whole time, she wouldn’t stop talking about Martin and how she’d do anything for him. It was terrible!”
It was all the poor woman could manage, so Max sent her off with Martin. “Call a doctor; she’ll need to be checked over. I’ll be by in the morning to take an official statement. For now, she needs medical attention and then a lot of rest.”
There wasn’t time for more pleasantries as Max had a job to do, but he pulled Rosemary aside for a moment before getting on with the task of arresting Marianna.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked, his eyes full of concern.
Rosemary sighed. “I’m getting really tired of people feeling as though they have to ask me that. However, in this case, I suppose it’s warranted. I’m just fine, Max. Thrilled beyond belief that this whole thing is over and I can get back to my life.”
If only she’d known how far from the truth that statement was, Rosemary might have collected her bags right then and run off to Cyprus on the evening train.
