CHAPTER 12

AN ALARMING SITUATION

DR. MUSSELMAN GRUNTED as he knelt beside the actress, wincing when his knees met floor instead of carpet. I was examining the bloodstain pooled around the head of the corpse, only a few feet away. How much blood did a human hold?

A red tide rushed from its vessel, soaking into the deep pile and splashing the floor beyond. Splashes soon turned to puddles and puddles joined to become a flood. Minutes later, the library was ankle-deep in blood, books on the lower shelves in peril, as the scarlet torrent swelled like an angry river after a rainstorm…

“Where’s my bag?” said the doctor, holding Annabelle’s wrist and looking awkwardly about. “My bag? My bag?”

“There.” I pointed to where the housekeeper had placed it.

Mr. Mooney picked it up. “What shall I look for?” he asked, already searching the contents. There came a clinking of glass as he looked through bottles and vials.

“Smelling salts,” said Dr. Musselman.

“Shouldn’t we get her off the floor?” said Marjorie.

“Can’t see anything in here,” said Mr. Mooney. He held out the bag to Marjorie, his cuff catching on the buckle for a moment. “Maybe you’ll do better.”

Marjorie took the bag but was looking at James. “Can we lift her onto the divan?”

“Not in here,” murmured Hector.

“Too many people in here,” I whispered to James. “It’s a crime scene.”

James shot me a look and nodded abruptly. He clapped his hands to command attention. “We need to clear the room,” he said, putting on his Lord Greyson voice. “Will everyone please step outside.”

Dr. Musselman pulled himself to his feet. “Peace and quiet is all the girl needs,” he said. “Carry her up to wherever she’s sleeping. She’ll be right as rain when the shock wears off. No doubt this fellow can do it.” He indicated Mr. Mooney.

“Certainly,” said the actor. “I’ve had plenty of practice on stage.” He scooped Annabelle into his arms before anyone had time to object, and carried her out the door. Lucy followed, watching her new hero play a hero.

Kitty, at her husband’s shoulder, urged him to rise, but turned her face away from the sight of Mr. Corker.

I shuffled ever so slowly, wanting James to think that I was obeying his command to leave, but not wishing to miss a moment of the drama. Hector waited politely behind me, keen to hear everything too. Marjorie, on the threshold, soothed those gathered in the passage, while beckoning to Hector and me.

“Mrs. Sivam?” said James. “I understand your relief at the safety of your husband, but would you please be so kind as to accompany Miss Annabelle. It does not seem quite right that a man is taking her to her room without…”

Kitty Sivam was alert at once and stepped toward the door. Naturally it was unthinkable that the actress be placed upon her bed without another woman present.

“I will send a maid along,” said James, “to assist.”

“You needn’t do that, Lord Greyson,” said Mrs. Sivam. “I’ll sit by her as she rests. If you are quite recovered, Lakshay?”

Mr. Sivam was on his feet again, had smoothed his hair and adjusted his jacket, which was cut differently to our English ones, longer and with curious silk toggles instead of buttons.

“Terribly sorry to add to your troubles, James. This heinous murder is not the only crime at Owl Park this day.” Mr. Sivam looked at his wife, as if afraid to say the words. “The Echo Emerald is no longer in its box. I fear this time it has indeed been stolen.”

“No!” cried Marjorie, at the door.

“No, no!” cried Kitty.

James looked from his friend’s sorrowful face to the body on the floor and back to Mr. Sivam. His cheeks paled as he saw how the calamity had doubled in size. But he rose to the occasion—as a lord must—and began to issue orders.

“Mrs. Sivam, if you please, attend to the patient. Aggie, Hector, it is time to leave this room. Pressman, please wait.”

We scurried out, but stayed by the door near Marjorie to hear the rest.

“Lakshay…” James paused. “I shall ride out for the police directly, as the telephone line is down. Will you—”

“This man’s death is upon my head,” said Mr. Sivam, in a shaking voice. “Some cruel prank to suggest that the curse of the Echo Emerald is real?”

“Lakshay,” said James. “We are all in shock.” He extended a hand. “You know that the jewel is merely a jewel.”

“An immensely valuable jewel,” said Mr. Sivam. “One that should have remained my secret and not become part of a story told for thrills.”

“You are not responsible for a man lying murdered on my library carpet,” said James. “Go to your room, old chap, and we’ll have tea sent up.”

“Where is Kitty?”

His wife was assisting Miss Day, James explained, and would join him before too long. Mr. Sivam moved slowly from the room as if under a spell.

A spell? Or a curse?

“Pressman,” said James. “You’ll man the front door. No one is to leave or enter until my return. No one.”

Lucy wriggled back into the room. “Mr. Mooney carried her all the way to the top of the house,” she reported. “She’s staying in the servants’ passage. He didn’t even pause for breath.”

James sighed and continued his instructions. “Put footmen anywhere you need to, Pressman. We’ve got to secure this place until we know what’s what. Have my horse saddled, will you?”

“But James,” I said. “What if he’s already gone? Wouldn’t you be gone if you’d stolen an emerald and murdered a man?”

“If he’s gone, he’s gone,” said James. “If he’s here, then here he stays.”

“Lucy,” said my sister. “Take the others and…” She looked as if her brain cells had entirely stopped moving. “I don’t know what you might do…Just do it elsewhere.”

“Children,” said James. “You must obey all orders without question. Do you understand?”

Yes, yes, of course, we agreed.

James cupped Marjorie’s face with his palms. “I think it’s best if I ride for the police myself,” he told her.

“Yes, darling, go at once,” she said. “You’ll be faster in the snow than anyone else.”

“I’m afraid the running of the house is yours for now. I will go up to tell my mother the dreadful news before I ride out. Pray that she is upset enough to remain inside East House. I’m so sorry to leave you with all of this, but…”

“Of course.”

James leaned down to kiss Marjorie’s cheek. Then he locked the library door and handed her the key.

“Do not fail to lock the other door,” he reminded her. “No one may enter until the police arrive.”

Only poor Mr. Corker remained within, cooling on the carpet.

“Right, then, Pressman. Onward.” James strode away with the butler following.

“I wonder how Grandmamma will like waking up to such news on Christmas,” said Lucy.

“Goodness,” said Marjorie. “It’s Christmas.” She looked down, seeming surprised to find Dr. Musselman’s medical bag in her hands. “Lucy, will you please keep your grandmother company once she’s had the news from James? I’ll have a tray brought up with breakfast. Cinnamon buns. And bacon.”

Lucy blew out a huff of breath but agreed to follow orders. “I’ll find you later!” she said to Hector and me. “Don’t let anything else happen until I get back.”

“That child would do anything for a cinnamon bun!” murmured Marjorie. She knelt in the passage, pulling one vial after another out of the doctor’s bag, squinting at the labels. “He doesn’t seem to know his alphabet,” she complained. “They’re all—silver nitrate, catgut ligatures, laudanum, Aspirin, peppermint oil…You see? All out of order. Ah! Here it is!” She held one up. “Aggie, be a dear, will you? Run and give these smelling salts to Kitty in case the poor actress still needs to be revived.”

I took the little bottle, just like the one I’d seen a hundred times in Grannie Jane’s knitting basket at home. The label read Jeever’s Lavender Pocket Salts and, in tiny letters: Refuse Worthless Imitations.

“Hector, come with me. If we’re not permitted to watch over a dead body, we may as well see a living one reawakened from a swoon!”