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That Same Evening, Wednesday, 15 August 1821
Of course, I wondered what fresh tragedy on the estate grounds had now occurred, but I heard nothing of it until that evening when Tilda came to my bedchamber to help me dress for dinner.
“I ‘spose you’s heard the terrible news, miss,” the girl began.
“No, Tilda, I have heard nothing.” I stood with my back to her as she fastened up the row of tiny buttons that marched down the back of my gown. “What has happened now?”
“It’s Boyd, miss. I mean, Mr. Hutchens. Boyd is . . . he’s dead!”
I whirled around. “The gardener was killed?” My mind raced. Miss Hutchens’ brother, who in my attempts to unravel the mystery I was all but certain had played the part of Isabella’s accomplice in the theft and the murder of Miss Martha. That Boyd?
“Boyd was murdered?”
Shaking her head, strands of Tilda’s limp hair fluttered about her cheeks. “Oh, no, miss. It weren’t murder. He . . . that is, Boyd tripped over his rake and it stabbed him square in the heart. Fell right to the ground, he did, and bled to death! Was quite gruesome, make no mistake.”
“He . . . tripped over his rake?” I attempted to visualize precisely how that feat could have occurred. After several tries, I gave up. “One would think if he tripped, the handle of the instrument would have hit him on the forehead,” I muttered, more to myself than to Tilda. “Perhaps the constable will be able to sort out how the tongs of the tool managed to pierce his heart,” I concluded.
Tilda again shook her head. “They ain’t called in the constable, miss. Mr. Ruston, he jes’ said right off it were a accident, no one done it to him, he done it to hisself.”
* * *
A HALF HOUR LATER, I was still mulling over the freakish occurrence on my way down to dinner.
At the table, Lady Medley was the first to broach the topic. “I understand one of our gardeners has met with an accident, is that the way of it, Cecil?”
“Boyd was the head gardener, Mother.”
“Ah.” The elegantly attired lady did not look up from her plate. “Well, I suppose there is nothing for it now but to secure another. To find an accomplished out-door man should not pose a problem. What do you think, Charles?” she inquired of her husband as she glanced up to reach for the wine goblet before her plate.
“One weed-puller is as good as another.” Lord Medley also did not look up from the baked chicken smothered in sauces and assorted vegetables on the bone-china plate before him. “I expect the chap will scarcely be missed. Quite clumsy of the bloke to have tripped over his rake. Would hardly expect that of a head gardener, eh, Cecil?” Glancing up, Lord Medley reached to adjust the pince-nez balanced on the end of his nose.
“Quite right, sir, although I daresay Boyd will be missed. If not by his crew, then, certainly by his sister.”
“His sister?” Lady Medley inquired. “Who might the gardener’s sister be?”
“Boyd Hutchens is Miss Hutchens’ brother,” Cecil replied.
Lady Medley’s expression revealed her surprise over the curious notion. “I did not know that.” Her head shook. “Why, I do not recall her ever mentioning that fact.”
“Are you certain the gardener’s death was an accident?” The question fell from my lips before I could halt it.
Nearly every member of the Medley Park household turned to gaze at me.
“What exactly are you suggesting, Miss Abbott?” Lady Medley expressed the sentiment that sprang to her mind, perhaps to everyone’s mind.
“Forgive me.” I looked down. “I . . . clearly misspoke. It’s just that, in light of . . . do, forgive me, ma’am.”
Lady Medley seemed loath to let the matter drop. “I would like to know exactly what you are suggesting, my dear?”
From the corner of an eye, I flung an appealing look at Cecil, who oddly enough, appeared equally as perplexed as the other members of his family over my peculiar remark.
“I say there, Wink!” Lord Medley’s booming voice noisily interrupted everyone’s train of thought as he summoned the butler.
The stone-face man attired all in black stood near the sideboard keeping a close eye on the half dozen or so footmen who had been dispatched to serve the family tonight. “Sir?”
“Have we any more of this delicious . . .?” His lordship actually held up his empty plate. “Don’t know what to call the concoction.” A burst of laughter escaped him. “Fetch the platter for me, will you, Wink? There’s a good fellow. Cook has outdone herself tonight.”
And, following that noisy disruption, the unpleasant topic of Boyd Hutchens’ death was summarily dismissed.
Instead Hannah demanded of both her parents to please enlighten her once again as to why she must leave Medley Park at once?
“I am close on six and ten years old!” she exclaimed indignantly. “A good many young ladies my age are already wed! I see no reason why I must be sent away to school!”
“Miss Farringdon’s Academy is not a common school, Hannah; it is a finishing school,” her mother patiently explained.
Hannah sniffed. “If you mean that if I should go there, it will finish me off, then I daresay, you are correct.”
I heard Cecil chuckle.
“I will thank you to not laugh at me, Cecil!”
Poor Hannah. I did so wish to come to her aid, but thought I had best keep more of my outrageous remarks to myself, so continued to eat my dinner in silence. Still, my mind persisted in dwelling upon the unexpected death of Boyd Hutchens, which to me did rather strengthen my theory that he been Isabella’s accomplice and that he had now been done away with of a purpose. That Isabella appeared to be gone from the premises did not mean she truly was. For all we know, she could have been hiding out in the gardener’s cottage, or in the abandoned vicar’s lodge, plotting all the while how to kill her accomplice, and make it seem like an accident so that she could make off with the stash of jewels that she and Boyd had earlier managed to steal.
To my way of thinking, it rather appeared the conniving girl was attempting to eliminate, one-by-one, every person who could implicate her in the as-yet unsolved crimes here at Medley Park, plus, given the threatening note she had delivered to me, to also remove anyone else who might stand in the way of her marrying Ned and eventually inheriting Lady Medley’s title. After disposing of her ladyship’s costly jewels, she’d be able to bring a sizeable dowry to a marriage with either one of Lord Medley’s sons. Glancing up from my plate, I turned a gaze on Ned, who thus far this evening had said nothing on any subject.
If Ned had also disappeared from Medley Park today, I would be fairly certain that he, too, was a willing participant in Isabella’s devious scheme but, since at present, he was still here, I could not yet point an accusing finger at him. Moreover, I actually required further proof of Isabella’s guilt before accusing her, or of apprising any member of the family, including Cecil, of my speculations as to the identity of the guilty party.
Because my tangled thoughts remained mired by questions and doubt, I did not linger in the drawing room after dinner but instead hurried back up to my bedchamber in search of a quiet place to think. However, my quiet time was soon interrupted by an insistent scratch at the door.
“Cecil!” I cried upon opening it. “What are you . . .?”
“Forgive me, Juliette. I had hoped to enjoy more of your company this evening. I wonder if you would consent to take a stroll about the courtyard with me? The rain has let up and the sky has cleared. I understand even the stars are visible tonight.” A lop-sided grin split his handsome face. “What say you?”
I smiled. “I shall just get my shawl.”
Although the night sky was, indeed, quite clear, the air in the courtyard continued to feel brisk. Pulling my shawl closer about my shoulders, I became aware that I was walking a bit closer to Cecil than I usually did since the warmth from his body also warmed me.
Abruptly I asked, “I wonder where the kittens have stayed during the past rainy days?”
“You have a tender heart, Juliette. I adore that about you.”
I looked up at him. “Where have the kittens sought shelter?”
“Perhaps in the barn; or another of the outbuildings. The kittens will soon grow to be cats, you know, and will all scatter off to form little families of their own.”
A chuckle escaped me.
“You find that amusing?”
“At times, your . . . observations do amuse me . . . Cecil,” I concluded softly.
He gave my gloved hand draped over his arm a squeeze as he turned to face me. “I only just told Mother.”
A pang shot through me. “You told your mother . . . what?”
“I told her that you and I had an . . . understanding of sorts; that we agreed to become better acquainted before we put forth any sort of . . . formal announcement. She was thrilled.”
“I see.” I purposely did not lift my chin to gaze up at him, for I did not want him to think I wished him to . . . kiss me. “You are aware that unless your father has more for me to do here at Medley Park, my task here is very nearly complete. Which means I shall be returning home to London quite soon.”
“I . . . did not know that,” he replied quietly. “Well, I daresay I shall have to inform Mother. It is quite possible that she and Father might not send Hannah away to school after all, that is, if you would agree to stay on a bit longer and act as her tutor. Perhaps provide her with the knowledge necessary to get on in Polite Society. Proper deportment, such as making calls, taking tea with her friends, that sort of thing. Mother knows a great deal, of course, but a young girl will be more apt to take the advice of a young lady she admires than accept tutoring from her mother. A parent’s instruction often comes off as critical, rather than informative, or helpful.”
Because I had never had a mother provide me with any sort of instruction on any subject, I did not know how best to respond. Instead I said, “I take it your parents are of the belief that Miss Hutchens will not be returning to Medley Park?”
“Whether Miss Hutchens returns or not is of no consequence. Mother has decided that even if the children’s governess were to return, she does not want the boys to be reminded of her younger brother’s thievery, and certainly not to associate with the lad if the authorities should see fit to release him. Harry and Spencer are at an impressionable age. It is important they be provided with appropriate guidance.”
We walked a bit further in silence, then Cecil paused to pick up a hammer and set it on a ledge of the scaffolding that remained standing at the base of the portion of the house being re-constructed. “Looks as if the workmen sought shelter when it began to rain and did not store away all their tools,” Cecil grumbled. “To run an estate the size of Medley Park means a man must be alert to every little thing that occurs, no matter how trifling it appears. Such as this afternoon’s accident.”
A quick reply fell from my lips. “I hardly consider the loss of a man’s life a trifling matter, sir! However, when you did reach the gardener’s side this afternoon, was the man still breathing, or had it already been determined by . . . someone, other than yourself, that he was no longer alive? Had the body already been moved, or was he . . .? I am having a bit of difficulty, sir, understanding exactly how it was determined that the gardener did, indeed, trip over his own rake?”
Cecil drew to a standstill and turned a firm look upon me. “Juliette, I believe that henceforth, you and I must both set aside our morbid search for a killer at Medley Park. Life is for the living, and you and I, my dear, are both alive and well and have a bright future ahead of us. So, please, my dear, let us say no more regarding the . . . unpleasantness that has taken place here.”
Impatience coupled with a rush of irritation caused me to ask, “Am I to understand, sir, that you no longer believe your Aunt Martha was murdered? Surely your mother does not mean to simply forget that all her lovely jewels are gone forever; or is she now, perhaps, clinging to the notion that they will magically turn up one day? A killer is still loose on the grounds of Medley Park, sir, or if not on the grounds, then somewhere in the vicinity of the estate. It is plain to see that the killer has not yet dismissed the goings-on here. So, please, sir, do enlighten me as to exactly how Boyd Hutchens could have tripped over his own rake with such force that the blow actually took his life? Did the handle of the rake hit him in the head that hard? Or, did it appear that the tongs of the tool had been embedded in his chest as if another person had flung the rake at him with sufficient force that one or more of the sharp points actually pierced his heart?”
Cecil stood gazing with puzzlement down upon me, a shaft of moonlight illuminating his now quite stunned features. After a pause, he said, “I found the gardener lying on the ground precisely where he fell, upon his back. The tongs of the tool were, indeed, embedded in his upper body.” Cecil thoughtfully raised a hand to his own cheek. “It also appeared that the tongs had scratched his face. As if, the business end of the rake had been . . . raised by someone standing in front of him, someone wishing to taunt him, or, perhaps, injure . . . or even . . . kill him,” he concluded woodenly, as if until this very moment, he had not given the manner of the gardener’s death the least bit of thought. “For all intents and purposes, it did rather appear as if the man had engaged in a . . . hand-to-hand struggle with the rake. And . . . unfortunately, the rake emerged the victor.” I noted the rise and fall of Cecil’s chest beneath his superfine coat. “Which, of course, is . . . not possible.”
Another pause followed, then, he said, “I daresay, your hypothesis regarding what happened to the gardener is square on the mark, Miss Abbott. Boyd Hutchens was . . . murdered.”
He wordlessly gathered up my hand and once again draped it over his arm as we set out to walk back towards the house.
“So, will you now alert the constable to this new turn?”
“I doubt I have leave to summon the constable without Father’s approval.” He looked down at me. “I have already ordered the man’s body be removed. I do not know if he has any family beyond Miss Hutchens. I merely ordered him taken to the church in Stoksey. If he is possessed of a family, perhaps they will come forward. Otherwise, I assume he will be buried in the . . . to say truth, I do not know where the man will be buried. There is, indeed, far more to running an estate than I was aware of.”
“That does seem to be the case, sir.” I concurred and thereafter said no more on the matter of Boyd Hutchens’ death. Although, to my way of thinking, to attempt to kill a man with a rake did, rather, seem like the sort of thing a woman might conceive of doing. If the woman happened to be Isabella, it was clear to me that she was, indeed, attempting to remove everyone from the estate who had conspired with her in all of the crimes, that of theft and murder. However, I do not believe her threatening note to me was for the same reason, unless Hannah might have confided to the girl that Cecil had asked me to help him solve the crimes, and Isabella believed that my suspicions had settled upon her.
“I daresay we do not yet know enough to . . . accuse anyone of the crimes, do we, Miss Abbott?”
I could not help noticing that when the conversation between us turned serious, Mr. Ruston addressed me as Miss Abbott; whereas when he was feeling especially tender towards me, he addressed me as Juliette, which, of course, has nothing to say to anything.
“What do you suggest we do at this juncture?” the gentleman now quite solemnly inquired of me.
“I need to ask another question of Hannah?”
“Hannah?” His dark head whirled around. “You do not think . . .!”
“No, of course not. I merely wondered if she had confided to Isabella that you had enlisted my help in solving the crime. If Isabella is the person behind the mischief, it appears to me that she is making an effort to remove everyone with whom she has conspired in both the theft and the murders.”
We had about reached one of the benches lining the courtyard and of a sudden, I said, “Shall we just sit here a moment? I believe I should confide to you my thoughts regarding the puzzle.”
I should have known that Cecil would leap upon my request to sit together anywhere in the moonlit courtyard. Before I had a chance to extricate my hand from the crook of his arm, he had already skidded to a halt and dropped down upon the bench, which had the effect of dragging me down a bit roughly alongside him.
“Oops, sorry. There you are.” He untwined my hand and with a sniff, lifted his chin as I settled myself beside him upon the bench.
To avoid being overheard, I leaned a bit closer in to my companion’s shoulder before I began to speak in a low tone.
“It is my belief, sir, that Isabella is, indeed, the guilty party.”
Again his head jerked toward me. “But, she is only a . . .”
I held up a hand and in as few words as possible apprised him of my suspicions regarding the girl’s alliance with Boyd Hutchens in the poisoning death of his beloved Aunt Martha, and why she chose the gardener to assist her.
“Rhubarb leaves? How very extraordinary!” He thought a moment. “Indeed, I do recall that rhubarb soup was served that day at luncheon, and rhubarb pudding again that evening. How astonishing that you were able to latch onto that, Miss Abbott!”
“I further believe that Isabella’s absence in Miss Martha’s bedchamber that night afforded her the opportunity to alert her accomplice, Boyd, to make haste to remove the valise full of jewels from your aunt’s bedchamber.”
As I spoke, Cecil’s head continued to alternately nod and shake.
“Not knowing exactly when Miss Martha consumed the poisoned soup, I’ve no way of knowing whether or not she might still be alive today if I had not blurted out at dinner that I had uncovered a cache of jewels in her clothespress, which is the very reason why they were removed again so quickly that night. Initially, I feared . . . yet, the more I think on it, the more certain I am that the valise would not have sat there another day, unless Isabella had been the one to volunteer to sort through Miss Martha’s things the day following the discovery of her death, in which case . . .” I paused, still mulling the matter over in my own mind.
Cecil’s voice filled in the void. “Everything you have said thus far does make perfect sense, Miss Abbott, and also seems quite plausible.”
I began to think aloud. “At first, I thought that if I had not mentioned the satchel full of jewels at the dinner table that night, that perhaps Miss Martha might still be alive, but I realize now that that is not likely. Isabella’s accomplice Boyd would have, indeed, been poised to remove the case that very night under cover of darkness. However, when Isabella alerted him that the family had suddenly become aware that the missing jewels were hidden in the clothespress and we were all, at that very moment, rushing to Miss Martha’s suite, he had no choice but to abscond with the case at once!” I gazed up at my companion in the moonlight. “I had first thought that perhaps my revealing where the jewels were hidden, meant that I had inadvertently played a part in your aunt’s death, which is why I wished so very much to expose her killer.”
I paused as I began to feel my chin tremble.
“But, I can see now that I had no part in hastening Miss Martha’s death. The poison was, no doubt, administered whilst I was at luncheon that day, or perhaps during the time I was speaking with your mother in the solarium, which is when I told her of having overheard the conspirators discussing the thefts and also planning another murder; which, as we now know, turned out to be that of Miss Martha.”
Cecil turned to face me. “My dearest Juliette, you had nothing whatever to do with my aunt’s death. Nothing at all.”
“I do hope not, sir.” My eyes squeezed shut. When the young man reached to tenderly draw me into his arms, I let him.
Because the whole ugly business had weighed so heavily upon my mind that to now have someone believe so completely in my innocence, and wish even to console me, brought tears to my eyes. My weary head fell onto his shoulder.
“You truly do have a tender heart, my darling. And,” his voice grew hoarse, “I love you with all of mine. Truly, I do.”
At that instant, we both heard a rustling sound coming from somewhere nearby.
Alarmed, I drew away as Mr. Ruston and I both tensed.
The next sound I heard was a tiny mew, and then another.
The kittens!
When I felt something soft and warm brush against my ankle, I pulled away from my companion and looked down.
Me-ow, me-ow!
“O-oh.” I laughed through my tears. Scooping up the little fluff of fur at my feet, I set the sweet black and white kitten down upon my lap. “I daresay we have been discovered, sir.”
A rumble of laughter escaped Cecil. “Correct again, my dear! Someone has, indeed, heard every word we said.”
I, too, laughed, then suddenly we heard yet another discordant sound and glancing up spotted Hannah hurrying towards us from the solarium.
“I thought I would find you two here!” she exclaimed on a merry laugh. “I hope you do not mind being interrupted.”
“Of course not, pet. Sit down. Juliette has only just found a kitten.”
Hannah complied and also reached a hand to stroke the tiny creature. “They are adorable. You should take one up to your room, Juliette.”
“I rather expect Mrs. Bertram would heartily object to that!” I replied.
“She does rather dislike animals in the house,” Cecil agreed. “That she abhorred Aunt Martha’s little dog was no secret. If the poor thing had lived, I daresay it would have been promptly removed to the barn.”
We all fell silent as Hannah and I petted the kitten, the only sound now being the soft purrs of pleasure coming from its tiny throat.
At length Hannah addressed the both of us. “Mother only just told me of your . . . understanding. I am so glad you will be staying on, Miss Abbott.”
Alarm shot through me but I had no chance to clarify that bit of mis-information before the girl resumed speaking.
“To placate Mother, I did agree to enroll in Miss Farringdon’s Academy for a single term. After which, I hope things will be more firmly settled between the pair of you, and then we shall all live happily here together, forevermore.” A soft, gurgle of pleasure escaped her.
“So, does that mean you will be accompanying us tomorrow to settle the boys in school; and also settle you, as well?” Cecil asked.
Hannah’s lips twitched when she replied, “To provoke Mama, I agreed only to tour Miss Farringdon’s Academy tomorrow. The winter term does not commence for another fortnight and despite Mother’s insistence that I enroll at once, I do not wish to leave Medley Park any sooner than is absolutely necessary, so yes, I shall accompany the family tomorrow, but no, I shall not be leaving home just yet.”
Listening to brother and sister discuss their plans for the following day, I realized it was sounding as if I might be accorded a few hours of freedom on the morrow. Perhaps, if the day dawned bright and clear, with no clouds on the horizon, I would indulge in a solitary walk about the grounds, and see what, if anything, I could find that might shed more light on the mysterious goings on here.