CHAPTER 35
A FIGHT TO THE FINISH
ALERT HECTOR? Or call for James and a constable? I turned one way and then the other, slipping in the snow, not knowing what to do. But shortly I had no choice about the matter, for Mr. Mooney was upon us. I felt my hair wrenched nearly from its roots as the villain grabbed my braids and used them to haul me backward. I would have toppled but for the menacing grip on my hair. Pain like a hatful of pins pierced my head. I clawed and batted but could not reach the eyeballs I wished to gouge out.
Lucy stared, eyes round in horror. She spun in a circle but no one was here to save us. She closed her eyes and screamed, the same astonishing scream she had used in the library on Christmas morning.
Mr. Mooney cursed and jerked me hard again. I vowed to myself I would cut off my hair if I were still alive tomorrow. In the two heartbeats following Lucy’s scream, nothing happened. And then, oof ! Mr. Mooney let go of my head and I dropped to the ground. I rolled out of his reach in the snow, and scrambled to my feet. Mr. Mooney had fallen also, had been knocked down! And now was fighting his assailant. Mr. Fibbley, astride the actor, punched him hard on the nose. Blood spurted in an arc, staining the snow with a spray of scarlet drops.
All at once, the police were there, and Frederick and Norman, and a furious Mrs. Hornby wielding a soup ladle. Mr. Mooney was soon subdued with handcuffs locked about his wrists, but even then, he glared at Mr. Fibbley.
“You punch like a girl,” he growled. A trickle of blood seeped into his mustache.
“Are you speaking from experience?” said Mr. Fibbley. “I have no doubt that plenty of girls would love to do what I just did.”
“Starting with Annabelle,” I shouted. “Because of you, Annabelle has been locked up for days! Because of you, Mr. Corker is dead!”
Mr. Mooney’s eyes fixed on me, the way an eagle’s might, if I were a rabbit. I wasn’t afraid, because Inspector Willard was there, but it felt as if my whole insides had the hiccups.
“I would never do Annabelle harm,” he said, very quietly. “Not on purpose. I wish you’d tell her goodbye from me.”
“You…” I began. And then began again, just as quietly. I hadn’t planned what to say, but it poured out. “Everything you told us about that night in the library really happened, didn’t it?” I said. “Except you changed the actors. It was you who stole the jewel. You who took off your boots and looked at the emerald through the magnifying glass and realized it was only a copy, because you know a thing or two about jewels, don’t you? I’d guess you pocketed the magnifier when you saw it out of place on Christmas morning and sneaked in later when the constable wasn’t looking, to put it back on the desk. You didn’t expect we’d notice. It was Mr. Corker who saw you holding the stone and called you a dunderhead for stealing from the other manors and ruining everything.”
Mr. Mooney was watching me so closely, it seemed as if he were reading my thoughts as they unscrolled. He took a breath and released it slowly.
“You’ve made up a story,” he said, sounding very tired. “But maybe…some of it…is close.”
“You and Mr. Corker had a fight,” I said. “He was drunk and angry, and you picked up the paper knife, and—”
I stopped. When I said paper knife, the inspector and Mr. Mooney both stiffened. What had I said wrong?
But, I was thinking, what about the dagger? How did Mr. Corker’s dagger become part of the action? My imagined scenario had all made unexpected sense up to that point, but now I had bumped up against the second weapon and could not think what to say next.
“I think we’ve heard enough,” said Inspector Willard. He gave a curt nod to the sergeant, who pulled the chain attached to the iron cuffs binding the prisoner’s wrists.
“I did not kill Roger Corker,” said Mr. Mooney, at last allowing himself to be tugged away.
He was transported to town within the hour and we never saw him again.
“God’s teeth,” said Lucy. “You are so brave!”
“Lucy!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Your grandmother would keel over to hear you swear like that!” I looked about, a little surprised to find myself still standing in the courtyard with a small crowd of onlookers. My scalp tingled.
“That was quite a punch,” I said to Mr. Fibbley. “Where is Hector?”
“I can hardly flex my fingers,” he said, with a crooked smile. He cocked his head toward the coach house. “Your friend is still in there. I’ll wait with him until you bring someone. That man needs serious medical attention.”
“What man?” said Lucy.
“Mr. Sivam,” I said. “Lucy, you get the doctor, and I’ll get James.”
We barreled through the kitchen, startling Effie so badly that she dropped a pot. An empty pot, luckily, but it made a tremendous clang.
“Uncle James went to fetch Grandmamma for lunch, once Hector was settled,” said Lucy. “He probably doesn’t know what’s happened, even though the gong was late.”
“Because Cook was outside,” I said, “armed with a soup ladle!”
Lucy giggled. “Well, anyway, I’m guessing they’re all together by now. And if the doctor has finished mending Constable Gillie, he’ll be eating lunch as well.”
We skidded to a stop outside the dining room and inspected each other head to foot. Tousled and grubby, wrinkled and damp, we looked a fright!
“We just rescued someone,” I said, shuddery and gulping in air after our frantic run, “for the second time today. Who cares if we’re not groomed and proper?”
“Grandmamma cares.” Lucy, too, was breathless. But she pushed open the door and in we went, bumping smack into Frederick holding a platter of fish.
We met a circle of stares. Old Lady Greyson, Grannie Jane, Marjorie, James, Dr. Musselman and Mrs. Sivam.
“A little more decorum,” said Lucy’s grandmother, “when entering a room?”
“Lucy?” said James.
“Aggie, what has happened?” Marjorie rose to her feet.
“Do you need to sit?” Grannie Jane shifted the empty chair next to her. I shook my head, no thank you, still panting slightly and even giggly. Lucy poked me to speak.
But, to whom should I deliver the news?
Mrs. Sivam. She would want to know first.
“Your husband,” I said, “has been found.”
I was scolded later for announcing the alarm this way. I had not been thinking of tact or discretion.
“Is he alive?” said Kitty Sivam.
“Almost,” I said.
Dr. Musselman came out of the Juliet suite carrying a hand towel, drying his hands as if he’d just washed. Mrs. Sivam nestled under Marjorie’s protective arm, while James kept an arm about Marjorie. Hector, Lucy and I sat in a row against the wall with our curiosity burning.
“When may I speak with him?” said Mrs. Sivam. “Does he remember anything?”
But the doctor shook his head. “He’ll not be properly conscious for some time. He’s had a nasty time of it. That Mooney ruffian stole the chloroform from my bag and administered too much for too many days. A dose should never be more than a drop or two.” He turned the towel over and patted the back of his neck.
“I will sit with him,” said Mrs. Sivam.
“I won’t stop you,” said the doctor. “But I advise that you rest tonight and let the servants keep watch. You’ll be wanted tomorrow when he’s awake. Bedrest only until we can get him to a hospital. He may be incapable of speech for a while, even when the drug has worn off.”
Mrs. Sivam gasped as James said, “God’s breath, man, why not?”
“One of the perils of the drug. It can burn a man’s throat as sore as if he’d swallowed tacks. He can barely croak. I suspect he was gagged whenever Mooney left him alone, in case he woke up to cause a ruckus.”
“Mr. Mooney kept checking his watch!” I murmured to Hector. “Pulling it from his pocket, remember? To be certain he was present when a dose was wearing off.”
“Altogether, a nasty business.” Dr. Musselman shook his head, attempting to roll the towel into his medical bag. “A very nasty business.”
“When do you think Mr. Sivam will be recovered enough to speak with the police?” said James. “The inspector is eager to ask a few questions.”
“Possibly by morning,” said Dr. Musselman, “if he answers with a pencil and paper, I suppose. Every man’s body recovers differently from an overdose. So, who’s to say? Who’s to say?”
Old Lady Greyson had gone to her room as soon as Lucy and I interrupted lunch, asking that this evening’s meal be brought on a tray as well, and insisting the same be done for Grannie Jane. Grannie Jane would far rather be nattering with us than over there in East House behaving like an old woman, but was too polite to say so. Mrs. Sivam insisted on sitting with her husband, no matter what Dr. Musselman’s advice had been. Marjorie understood—for what if it were James?—and kept company with her guest.
Thankfully, Lucy reminded James that we had not eaten, since forever. He said to come to the dining room to be fed whatever we wished. And so it was that we ate fried potatoes and crispy battered fish (and ignored the stewed tomatoes), while telling James every detail of Hector’s miserable night, and the battle with Mr. Mooney, and the discovery of poor, pitiable Mr. Sivam.
“It is most enlightening, the English Christmas,” teased Hector. “You provide much entertainment, Lord Greyson.”
“Your mothers will be vexed with me,” he complained, “for I have failed in my charge to supply a safe and merry Christmas.”
“Mummy won’t mind,” I reassured James. “Marjorie was here to watch over me. Over all of us.”
“The story will be made more gentle in my letters,” promised Hector. “I will be certain to report that Stephen and Constable Gillie are both back on their feet…though the policeman is using a crutch.”
“My mother may never let me come again,” said Lucy, her voice full of woe. “I leave it to you, Uncle James, to fix everything with her before my summer visit.”
“She’ll be coming too,” said James, “with your new brother, Robbie, or Bobbie, or whatever we end up calling him.”
Mr. Pressman came into the room and bowed to James.
“The actress, my lord,” he said. “She has been released from confinement, but it is too late at night to consider a train.”
“Poor woman,” said James. “She’ll loathe the name of Owl Park for the rest of her life. Is she hungry?”
“Ask her if she likes stewed tomatoes,” said Lucy.
James instructed Pressman to please invite Miss Day to join us for supper. She must have been close by for she appeared within a minute, dressed in a lovely sea-blue gown with a lace jacket of the same color. She tried to apologize for interrupting us, but James was apologizing to her at the same time, about her being wrongfully detained. Eventually we moved on.
“I believe, madam,” said Hector, “that you and I have something in common.”
Annabelle lifted an eyebrow. “Explain yourself, Master Perot,” she said. Hector lifted one eyebrow in reply, and they both laughed.
“Every day I am adapting to the customs in a new land,” said Hector. “I must alter myself to suit the wishes of others, to be less foreign. But for you—”
“For me, it is what I do for a living,” she said. “Every time I put on an old apron or a ballgown, a crone’s wig or a pair of pirate boots, I am becoming a person that I am not.”
“I’m a bit bewildered too,” said James. “Truth be told, learning to be Lord Greyson instead of Lord Greyson’s son. Not so harsh as you must find it, Hector, far from home and navigating in a new language, but still a struggle to find my way some days. And Lucy has also entered a new world, though she may not realize the challenges just yet.”
Lucy looked perplexed. “This is still England,” she said, “last time I looked out the window.”
James reached over to tousle her hair. “You have become a big sister,” he said.
“Oh, that,” said Lucy. “I suppose the baby might muck things up a bit, though I expect him to be jolly some of the time. I suppose I’ll wait and see.”
“You have no choice,” said James. “Life-altering events are often thrust upon us.”
“Like mine,” I said. “The world without Papa.”
James got up and came around the table to put his hands on my shoulders. “Marjorie and I are both in that world with you,” he said. “Though it must still feel very lonely at times.”
I blinked hard to keep the tears inside my eyes.
“Wasn’t there meant to be peach crumble for dessert?” said Lucy.
“I’m too tired for dessert,” I said. “This day began a long time ago.”
“At the beginning of this day, I am imprisoned in a packing case,” said Hector.
“I was imprisoned by a man in a chair,” said Annabelle. “But at least I had a pillow.”
“As lord of the manor,” said James, “I decree that we have arrived at bedtime.”
We paused on the nursery landing to say good night.
“I have a few unanswered questions,” I said to Hector. “Mr. Mooney was eating turnip soup right next to us when Stephen fell down the stairs. So, who pushed him? And why were Mr. Corker’s boots outside the Juliet suite instead of with Mr. Corker? And when did—”
“Tomorrow,” said Hector. “Now, I am already sleeping.”
TORQUAY VOICE
DECEMBER 29, 1902
CHRISTMAS KILLER CAUGHT!!
MANOR GUEST ABDUCTED,
TWO CHILDREN HARMED!!
HEARTLESS VILLAIN MURDERS FRIEND!!
by Augustus C. Fibbley
Perilous events continued yesterday at Owl Park manor near Tiverton. The leading role was played by an actor with blood on his hands—or certainly upon his shirt cuffs. An arrest has been made after a near escape, a physical scuffle and the enterprising actions of two young girls. This reporter was an eyewitness and has since interviewed all parties. Detective Inspector Thaddeus Willard made a statement to the hardy reporters who have lingered near the manor house of Lord and Lady Greyson since December 25. On that day, the body of Mr. Roger Corker was discovered in the library by three children seeking their gifts from Father Christmas. The heinous criminal is named Mr. Sebastian Mooney, also known to use the alias of Sebastiano Luna when employed on the continent. He does not speak Italian.
The final act of the Christmas Corpse drama unfolded in an enclosed courtyard outside the service wing of the grand house. Mr. Mooney will be charged with murder and with child-snatching, as he brutally held a boy captive for a period of many hours. Also imprisoned in the coach house was a longtime friend of Lord Greyson, owner of a valuable gemstone stolen on Christmas Eve. Mr. Mooney has yet to confess or explain his crimes, saying only that he is innocent of murder. He is detained at the Tiverton Jail to await formal sentencing and trial.
Mr. Corker’s body will be removed tomorrow, weather depending, from the stables at Owl Park. He will be buried in the churchyard of St. Aidan’s church in Tiverton. Lord and Lady Greyson have commissioned a commemorative headstone. Miss Beatrice Truitt, betrothed to the deceased, has thanked them for providing the memorial marker for her fiancé and intends to visit this resting place when it is complete.