Beatrice (26 page)

Beatrice, having heard Caroline’s rambling explanation from
the sitting room, stepped forward. “The reason we didn’t help your
aunt was because she never discussed the problems she was having
with anyone. We called on her, of course we did, but she was always
stand-offish and rather parsimonious. She never actively engaged in
idle chat with anyone unless she wanted to, and could be rude
toward the people she didn’t want to speak to. She could have
raised issue with the clairvoyants pestering her at any point, with
any of us, and we would have helped her in any way we could, but
she didn’t.”

“You
invited those psychics into this village!” Caroline suddenly
screeched. “She wouldn’t have been targeted at all if it wasn’t for
you and your stupid friends. My aunt wouldn’t have suffered, and I
wouldn’t have had to waste the last year of my life in this
desolate little backwater, living in a horrible old grovel like
that cottage. You -” she pointed one long finger at Beatrice, “-
you didn’t even bother to check on who you were talking to across
the table. It was me, you see. Me! There were no ghosts there. You
were so engrossed in your stupid clairvoyants that you didn’t even
notice me pushing the glass. It was a relief when the damned farce
came to an end. But you couldn’t leave it at that, could you? Oh
no, not Beatrice. Your friends were barely cold in their graves
before you were moaning on about how much you missed getting
together with your friends. You set up the so-called ‘Circle’, to
make things for people who need them, but you still make them pay
for a ticket. You get their hopes up and then rig the results to
make sure that the people who ‘win’ are the people who need the
items the most. Why all the subterfuge? Why all the dishonesty, if
you have nothing to hide? If you are so benevolent, why are you
making the poorest people pay you for your ‘charity’?”

Raw fury
rang clearly in Caroline’s voice, which trembled beneath the weight
of emotion she couldn’t contain. Beatrice knew that she wouldn’t be
able to reason with her. Caroline was not interested in knowing
that the poorest people were also the proudest. She had no interest
in the numerous people who had thanked the Circle for their
endeavours. She had no interest in knowing that her aunt had a
reputation for being just as strange as Caroline apparently
was.

Beatrice
had to wonder if madness ran in the family, and shuddered to think
that she had shared her evenings with the woman, in the dark, at
the psychic circles.

“I think
that you have a lot to learn about people who are struggling, Miss
Smethwick,” Beatrice replied proudly. “I pray that when you do, you
understand just how wrong you are.” She didn’t bother to give the
woman any more of her time, and disappeared into the sitting room
without a backward look.

Mark
shared a look with Ben.

“Killing
someone by attempting to run them over is a little extreme though,
isn’t it Miss Smethwick? Do you not think that just having a word
with her would have been sufficient?” Mark asked. He studied the
intense hatred on Caroline’s face and was suddenly glad that she
was in irons.

“I hate
her. She has to pay for her selfish neglect. She keeps interfering
in people’s lives, and doesn’t bother to stop and see how much
damage she is doing.”

Ben
frowned and shook his head. The mad rambling was starting to get
more and more obscure, and he knew without a doubt that Caroline
Smethwick was going to claim madness rather than face trial and
proper sentencing for her crimes.

“It
won’t work, Caroline,” Mark growled warningly. “We both know that
you are not mad at all. You are just very calculating.
Unfortunately for you, you have a penchant for trying to run people
over, because you tried with my own dear Harriett only last year.
It seems to be your weapon of choice: reckless driving. However, I
am afraid that your carriage driving days are now over. What you
have done constitutes attempted murder and I, for one, will
endeavour to make sure that you will not be able to claim madness
to escape the time in prison you deserve.” He yanked on the irons
and dragged her into the front parlour where he roughly pushed her
into a chair.

He
didn’t want to manhandle any woman roughly, but was so annoyed to
think that this woman had been sitting amongst innocent members of
the community; people who had only tried to make friends with her;
while all the time she had been plotting to bring about the
downfall of one of them. Her target could just as easily have been
Harriett again.

“Sit
there and stay quiet.”

At that
moment he could hear the chatter of the ladies on the doorstep, and
watched Ben move to the front door to let them in. He quietly
nudged the door closed and blocked Caroline’s view of the new
arrivals while he waited for Ben to escort them into the sitting
room.

Beatrice
sat with Maud and waited for the ladies to join them, and stood to
greet Hetty, Harriett, Tuppence, Eloisa, Constance, Mrs Dalrymple,
and Babette, with a watery smile and a hug.

“What’s
wrong?” whispered Harriett cautiously. She knew that Mark had been
called to an incident in the village somewhere and, if the look on
Beatrice’s face was anything to go by, she had something to do with
it.

“Come
and sit down,” Beatrice motioned the ladies to take a seat and
watched Maud hurry off to the kitchen to put a pot of water on to
boil. While she had gone, Beatrice quietly explained what had
happened, and where Caroline was now.

“You
know, I always thought there was something strange about her. She
was always very watchful and asked the most peculiar questions
about people. I wonder if madness runs in the family,” Hetty
whispered.

“I don’t think so,” Harriett replied with a frown. “She tried
to do the same to me if you remember, and has seemed
perfectly
compos mentis
since then.”

“How
many ruthless killers are there in this village?” Constance gasped
in horror.

Tuppence
leaned forward in her seat. “What is going to happen to
her?”

“Now
that the ladies are here, Beatrice, we are going to take her off to
the station,” Mark announced from the doorway. He winked at
Harriett, and smiled reassuringly at Beatrice. “Lock the door
behind us and tell Isaac where we have gone when he gets back,
would you? We will come straight back here when we are done and
will escort you ladies home.”

Maud
followed them to the front door, and slid the bolt closed when they
had gone. She turned to look across the width of the hallway at
Beatrice, and they both heaved a sigh of relief. The whole
atmosphere within the house seemed to become lighter now that the
sinister threat had been removed.

One problem solved,
Beatrice though
on a sigh as she shared a sad smile with Maud, and returned to the
sitting room to her friends.

“Now
that we are able to talk more fully, I want the news Beatrice,”
Harriett declared firmly as she plonked her knitting in her lap and
pinned Beatrice with a stare that warned her friend that she wasn’t
going to work on anything, or go anywhere, until Beatrice had told
them everything. “I know there is more,” she added with emphasis
when Beatrice hesitated. She knew because Mark had told her, but
Beatrice didn’t need to know that.

Right
now, Beatrice was so pale, and had such a tormented look in her
eye, that Harriett was deeply worried. She knew from her own trauma
last year that it helped considerably to talk to someone about her
problems, and knew just what to do to help her friend.

“Where
is it?” Harriett demanded crisply.

“What?”

Harriett
rolled her eyes. “The plant.”

“Oh, Ben
has it,” Beatrice replied.

“What
plant?” Tuppence demanded with a frown.

Harriett
sat back with a satisfied smile, and listened to Beatrice’s story.
Everyone sat in stunned silence when she finally lapsed into
silence. However, this being the ladies’ Circle, nobody was quiet
for long.

“What do
you plan to do about the plant now then?” Eloisa
demanded.

“Right
now?” Beatrice sighed. “To be honest with you, I haven’t really had
much time to think about it. I find it a little creepy that we were
sitting so close to Richard Browning, and didn’t know
it.”

“Do you
think that is why he refused to see you when you called by his
house? Because he had already seen you and wasn’t really able to
talk to you again without giving the game away?”

Beatrice
nodded. It was all starting to make sense now. “I think you are
right. There can be no other reason. But, why didn’t he tell us he
was Richard Browning? Why claim to be a dead man? Surely he must
have realised that we would find out?”

Beatrice
sat back and studied her friends. It was good to be able to talk to
them and knew from the thoughtful look on their faces, and the fact
that none of them had picked up the projects they were working on,
that they were doing their very best to offer whatever help they
could. She was suddenly very glad that in spite of her mental
weariness, she had decided to host the Circle anyway.

“He has
got something to hide,” Harriett declared flatly. She selected a
biscuit from the tray before her and began to nibble on it while
she frowned blankly at the floor beneath her boots. She tried to
think like Mark, she really did, but her husband was the one who
was used to lies and subterfuge through his work and, not for the
first time, she didn’t envy him his job.

Constance took a biscuit too, and waved it in the air once
she had taken a bite. “He could be the killer.”

Everyone
groaned.

“Not
another one,” Tuppence sighed with a frown. “How many killers can
one village contain?”

“Richard
Browning doesn’t live in the village, he lives in Brampton
Marches,” Beatrice replied, but made no attempt to deny Constance’s
theory about the identity of the killer because she knew her friend
was most probably right.

“It is
very good of Ben to be such wonderful support,” Hetty remarked as
she gave Beatrice a pointed look.

“I know.
I don’t know what I would have done without him. He has been truly
wonderful throughout all of this.”

“Do you
know, I thought that there was something going on between you two,”
Constance sighed dreamily. “The way that he looks at you across the
church is so divine, pardon the pun. He can barely take his eyes
off you. He is a lovely man. You cannot wish for
better.”

Beatrice
felt her cheeks heat beneath the interested gaze of the ladies, and
studied her teacup and saucer far too carefully while she waited
for their attention to shift onto something else. Unfortunately, it
didn’t.

“I take
it that things are serious between you two? Are you officially
courting now?” Mrs Dalrymple asked encouragingly.

Beatrice
thought about Ben’s declaration at the picnic and couldn’t deny it.
“Yes, I rather think that we are,” she declared softly, and felt
rather proud at the prospect of being connected to him in such a
way.

She had
once considered that Harriett had captured the only eligible
bachelor in the area, apart from Isaac Brown, who appeared to be
wholeheartedly dedicated to his job. Now though, she knew matters
were considerably different. The most eligible bachelor in the area
was Ben.

“You
know, he is really extremely well thought of by everybody. You
won’t do better than him,” Babette declared. “He is a wonderful
man.” Her voice trailed off and she grew thoughtful for a moment
before she gave herself a physical shake, and turned her thoughts
away from her own romantic entanglements and back to the discussion
within the room.

“Are we
allowed to discuss any of this, or would you prefer it if we kept
it to ourselves?” Constance asked as she selected another biscuit.
“You know, until everything has quietened down?”

Beatrice
thought about that for a moment. “I don’t really see any reason why
we should keep this a secret. However, right now Ben is spending
quite a bit of time here because he has been helping me try to
identify who owns the plant. I don’t want to encourage the gossips
by drawing their attention to our relationship. He has done so much
for me already; I don’t want to pressure him into anything because
of public censure.”

“You
have a point,” Babette said as she glanced around at each of the
ladies. “For now, we keep quiet about this.”

Murmurs
of agreement swept through everyone and, for the first time all
evening, they turned their attentions to the projects they were
supposed to be working on.

An hour
later, their conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door.
Beatrice froze and slowly lowered her sewing back onto her lap as
she shared a look with Maud.

“I will
go,” she sighed as she placed her sewing on the floor and made her
way toward the front door. She knew that it wasn’t possible for Ben
and Mark to get to Great Tipton and back in such a short space of
time; however also knew that the knock hadn’t been as persistent as
Sigmund Hargraves’.