Chapter 33

Ere her limbs frigidly

Stiffen too rigidly,

Decently, kindly,

 

Margaret took her brother's arm as they walked down the main street that would eventually lead them to the manor. Ainsley had offered to hire a carriage but Margaret refused. She was just as fond of walking as he was, besides she reasoned, it would give her a better opportunity to assess exactly what they were both up against.

“Where were you this afternoon?” she asked falling into step beside him.

“I was visiting Miss Dawson, the midwife, and finding out some rather astonishing facts about the Lloyd family.” He was looking at his shoes as he walked before lifting his face up into the gray sky. There was a marked chill in the air, and the clouds threatened snow.

“Oh?” Margaret perked up at the idea of small town gossip. It always seemed more interesting than any scandal that could be found in London. “What could be more scandalous than a convoluted murder plot?”

“Josephine Lloyd is not Mrs. Lloyd's child.”

Margaret stopped abruptly and watched her brother take one more step ahead of her before turning. “Josephine belongs to Miss Dawson then?” she asked, knowing the answer already. “By whom? Not Walter Lloyd?”

Ainsley gave a nod and Margaret struggled to keep her composure. There were even less people on this portion of the road but even still Margaret dared not draw any unwanted attention. Ainsley offered his arm once again and Margaret stepped toward him, pulling her fur-lined cape tighter across her shoulders and chest.

“Are you sure?” she asked in a hushed tone.

“Miss Dawson confessed as much.”

Margaret bit her lip, trying to suppress her next question without effect. “Was she taken by force?” she asked, not sure she could feel sympathy for the now dead man if Miss Dawson had been raped.

“No, thank goodness,” Ainsley breathed. “It is widely known that Walter had many affairs of his own, though I confess I did not know with whom until now.”

“I cannot believe Mrs. Lloyd would agree to raise the child as her own.”

“It was her idea, or so I have been told.”

Margaret could not fathom a cheated spouse willingly agreeing to raise a child born by her husband's mistress, at least not without resenting the child for being a daily reminder of her husband’s infidelity. Quickly her mind turned to her own parents, and her mother's lover. Perhaps she was not truly Ainsley's sister? Or worse, perhaps Ainsley was not their father's son and that is why they despised each other so much? Margaret shuttered at the thought and quickly brought her mind back to the mystery at hand. “There's a strong motive for murder then,” she said, forcing her thoughts to remain linear.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“But why Lillian then?”

“That I cannot tell.”

“Perhaps she is from another mother as well, another of Mr. Lloyd's mistresses,” Margaret offered. “No doubt she took on the children and continued the charade to save the family from scandal.”

“Murder is a greater scandal than any other I can fathom. Why protect the family then expose it to the deepest ridicule?”

“I imagine it became too much for her. Her husband, the source of her shame is dead, why should she pretend.” Margaret felt a chill as they walked and she clung closer to Ainsley's side. “What about Lillian then? Will you confront Mrs. Lloyd?” Margaret looked to Ainsley, who seemed to be avoiding her gaze. He stared straight ahead.

“I intend to take Lillian to London with me,” he said softly, barely loud enough for Margaret to hear.

“Peter! You cannot be serious!”

“I am terribly serious. I am expected back in London in two days and I simply cannot leave her to fend for herself.” Ainsley glanced to her. “She hasn't a friend in the world.”

“She has a family. You can't just take her away. It would be... a declaration.” Margaret could feel her face become flush. “You don't mean to take her as a wife, do you Peter?”

Ainsley was silent for a long time and Margaret could scarcely contain her anger at the notion. He had all but disregarded her attachment to Jonas on the basis that he was Ainsley's friend, but he could not see the conflict in marrying one of his patients.

“Not right away,” he said.

“She's a patient, a girl,” Margaret said at last.

“She is the same age as you.”

“And she has been out here in this desolate place her entire life. She would not know what she was getting in to. Peter please, be reasonable. You have not thought this through--” Margaret's words trailed off when she saw a young woman exiting the church that the pair were walking near. She carried a basket with a cloth over it and she was hanging her head so she did not see them. “She's crying,” Margaret said.

“That's Mary, a servant at the Lloyd's,” Ainsley explained in a whisper.

Margaret quickly dropped her brother's arm and hastily walked to the girl who seemed quite visibly shaken. Ainsley remained at the gate.

“May I help you? What troubles you?”

Mary looked up, startled at the sight of Margaret. The maid wiped her tears with a sense of urgency. “Tis nothing ma'am,” she said in a mumbled tone. Margaret reached for the basket she carried, wanting to lighten the young woman's burden but Mary pulled it away.

“I'm Margaret. Let me help you.”

Mary pushed past Margaret in the walkway but stopped suddenly when she saw Ainsley standing at the gate. It was then that the maid began crying openly, nearly crumbling to the ground. Instead she leaned on the short stone wall that separated the churchyard from the road and sobbed into her handkerchief. “I just need a moment,” she said softly, barely loud enough for Margaret to hear. The maid's body collapsed in a fit of tears and the girl became an inconsolable heap on the damp churchyard ground.

“Mary!” Margaret rushed to the maid's side. “What has happened?” Margaret looked to Ainsley, fearing the worse. “Is it Lillian? Has she passed away?” Margaret saw her brother raise his hand to his face, a look of terror striking him suddenly.

“No, Miss Lillian was in good spirits when I left. Tis not that.”

Margaret looked up and saw Ainsley had wandered to the other side of the road, rubbing his face with his hands, no doubt upset that he may have lost his first live patient. “She is okay Peter.” Her brother looked relieved but this still did not explain why the maid was so upset.

“What is it then? Are you still mourning for Josephine?”

The maid nodded slowly and Margaret rubbed her shoulder in an attempt to soothe her.

“The Lord takes people from us and often we do not understand why,” Margaret explained.

Mary sniffled loudly, a sound which made Margaret's skin crawl. “I understand why and it has more to do with the devil than the Lord. There is an evil in that house Miss Margaret.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer. The maid hesitated, using her soggy handkerchief to wipe her nose. “It's okay Mary. My brother and I, we're trying to find out what is happening so we can make it stop.” Margaret positioned herself in front of Mary so she could look her in the eye. Ainsley had returned, though standing at a distance, watching Margaret. “If you know something you should tell us.”

Mary shook her head, almost violently at the idea.

The girl was either very loyal or truly terrified. Margaret decided a different tactic was in order. “The Lord does not only punish the sinners but also those who were not brave enough to stop them. You should tell me what you know.”

The maid burst into another round of tears, covering her face in the soiled handkerchief and blubbering nonsense into the cloth.

“I'm sorry Mary I did not hear you. What did you just say?” Margaret asked.

“I killed Dr. Bennett!” she yelled. “It was me. I did it. I gave him the funeral cake and he died. Now I am damned.” The girl truly was hysterical. She cried violently and mumbled incoherently. Her face was scrunched up in agony, and she tried to cover it with her hands that trembled so badly Margaret was sure the girl was slipping into hysteria.

Propelled by frustration, Ainsley walked through the gate and, kneeling in the grass beside her, he grabbed the girl's shoulders and shook her sharply. “Mary! Mary! Stop this!”

Margaret watched, too startled to do anything as her brother admonished the girl so harshly.

“Did you poison the cake? Did you?” Ainsley grew frustrated at his inability to get the girl to speak. “Mary!”

At last the girl looked up, and tried to pull her shoulders away from his tight grip. “I didn't poison it but I am going to hell. I gave it to him and he died. I came here to confess but I am lost. My soul is lost.” She let out another loud cry and slipped out of Ainsley's loosening grip. She crumbled to a heap in Margaret''s arms and sobbed.

Margaret looked to her brother over the girl's shuddering shoulder. “Someone gave it to her. Someone must have told her to give the cake to Dr. Bennett.”

“She gave me the cake.” Mary's hair covered her face as she spoke. “She gave me the cake and told me to make sure the doctor received it. She told me to do it.”

“Who?” Ainsley asked. “Who gave you the cake?”

Mary ignored his question and continued her rambling. “I disobeyed a commandment and now my soul is lost.”

Margaret pulled the girl from her and tried to force her to look up. “Mary, you must tell us who. Who gave you the cake? Mrs. Lloyd?”

“What is going on here? Mary!” Both Margaret and Ainsley looked to the road and saw Walter on his horse looking down at them.

Mary looked up and Margaret could feel the waif of a girl trembling.

“It's okay Mary,” Margaret whispered reassuringly. “We won't say anything.” Margaret helped the girl rise to her feet, though she was still unsteady. Walter dismounted from his horse and held tightly to the reins as he approached them.

“Mary fell,” Ainsley lied, stepping toward the road and reaching out a hand to greet Walter. “We were helping her.” Walter looked past Ainsley to Margaret and Mary.

“She looks well enough now,” he said, surveying her. “Off with you now Mary. Cook will be needing your help.”

Pulling from Margaret's protective shield, Mary curtsied, slipped past Ainsley and hurried up the lane, almost running toward the Manor.

“Calling on the manor today?” Walter asked.

“Yes. Allow me to introduce my sister, Margaret.” Ainsley gestured to Margaret, who was obliged by custom to curtsey. Margaret realized he did not say her last name or else compromise his secret life as a doctor.

“Good day Miss Margaret,” Walter extended a hand in greeting and smiled broadly. Margaret accepted his hand but was glad when he released it again.

“We shall be along shortly,” Ainsley said, allowing Margaret to slip her hand into the crook of his arm.

Walter nodded, and remained a moment simply staring at Margaret before turning to his horse. Margaret could not watch as he mounted the saddle, positioning his reins in his gloved hands. “I will receive you shortly.” Walter tipped his hat before digging his heels into the horse’s side, spurring it to a canter.

“Did you see the way he looked at me?” Margaret asked once Walter was completely out of view.

Ainsley laughed heartily. “You are a very attractive woman. You are simply going to have to accept the fact that men admire you for your beauty.”

Margaret sighed heavily and laid her head on her brother's shoulder as they walked. “Oh what I wouldn't give to be admired for something a little more substantial.”