Death at Bishop's Keep (31 page)

Nettie rushed back into the room, her eyes open and staring, her face ashen. “She's dead!” she cried hysterically. “Mrs. Jaggers is
dead!”

“Dead!” Mrs. Pratt gasped, and tripped the basin, spilling vomit on her skirts.

“I swear it,” Nettie cried in a wild voice. “Her eyes is open, but Mudd says 'tis true.”

“Dead?” the doctor said incredulously. He stood as if frozen. “But—”

“Go,” Kate commanded, with all the authority she could muster. “I'll stay here.”

“Dead?” Aunt Sabrina struggled frenziedly to raise herself. “Bernice is—?”

“Please, Aunt,” Kate begged, gripping her shoulders and pushing her gently down to the pillow as the others hurriedly left the room. “Whatever has happened, we will take care of it. You must rest and get well.” Kate didn't want to think about what had happened in that other bedroom, or what would happen if Aunt Sabrina—

Aunt Sabrina's eyes were locked on Kate's and a new urgency seemed to grip her. “The vicar has my ... will,” she said slowly, distinctly. The angles of her face seemed to have altered, and Kate could see the outline of the fragile bones under the nearly transparent skin. “See to the ... letters and the cipher manuscript, in the safe. Give everything ... to Barfield.”

“Barfield?”

“The vicar.”

“Of course,” Kate said. “But you are going to be just fine, Aunt Sabrina.” She smiled with a confidence she did not feel. “Just rest and—”

“I ... leave it to you, my dear Kathryn,” Aunt Sabrina whispered. “Jocelyn ... has no need.” Her mouth relaxed in a faint ghost of a smile. “You must ... carry on. You are the last ... Ardleigh.”

Kate smoothed back the loose gray hair. “Please,” she said desperately, “just rest. You are going to get well.” She tightened her grip on her aunt's hand as if to pull her back from whatever dark precipice lay ahead. “You are going to get well,” she repeated fiercely.

A few minutes later, Aunt Sabrina lapsed into unconsciousness. She died a little after one o'clock that afternoon.

Cui bono?—Who benefits?

—CICERO

 

 

 

D
r. Randall turned from the sheet-covered figure, his face somber. “I want to see all the servants in the library. You, too, Miss Ardleigh. There must be a thorough examination.”

Kate smoothed the sheet. “An examination? But why?” she asked wearily. Her chest was heavy with sadness, her eyes blurred with tears.

“Why?” The doctor's white whiskers bristled, and Kate realized that he was holding on to his composure with difficulty. “The disease that killed your aunts may be contagious, that's why! We may have to quarantine this place.” He waved his arms like an irate bandmaster. “Assemble the servants, please.”

A half hour later, having looked into throats, taken pulses and temperatures, examined eyes and tongues, and listened to hearts and lungs with his stethoscope, Dr. Randall dismissed the others and kept Kate behind. He wore a look that Kate, nearly overwhelmed by shock and grief, could not decipher.

“If we are dealing with a disease,” he said, going to stand in front of the fire, “there is no evidence of it.”

“Thank God for that,” Kate replied fervently. She sat down in the Morris chair, shivering. “It would be terrible if others were to suffer as my aunts suffered this morning.” Her muscles felt stiff and sore, her throat hurt, and her head was throbbing. But it was grief that afflicted her, not illness. She had not had much love for Aunt Jaggers, but they were relatives and she could not wish her dead. As for Aunt Sabrina—

Kate covered her face with her hands. She loved and admired Aunt Sabrina. It had been dreadful to sit helplessly by her bed, watching her slip farther and farther away, into a place from which there could be no return. And this death had brought memories of another, when Kate's mother died of measles so many years ago. That aching void in her heart, so long covered over, seemed opened again by the death of her aunt.

Doctor Randall cleared his throat and Kate looked up. “I have confidence in my examination,” he said gently. “But I suggest that the servants not be allowed to leave the house for any lengthy period of time—in case the symptoms should manifest later.” He looked down at the fire. “I fear,” he added uncomfortably, “that another question must now be addressed.”

“Yes,” Kate said, trying to keep her voice steady. “My aunts are dead. If not by illness, how?”

“Exactly.” The doctor shifted his weight. “The circumstances, Miss Ardleigh, are definitely suspicious. Mrs. Jaggers mentioned—poison.”

Kate stared at him. “But she was hysterical! You said so yourself!”

“And I thought so,” the doctor said somberly. “But the alternatives, I fear, are not limitless.”

Kate pulled in her breath sharply.

The doctor looked at her as if gauging her ability to hear his next question without going to pieces. “Do you know of anyone who might wish your aunts dead? Any ... enemies?”

Kate closed her eyes. She could feel the laughter rising hysterically in her throat. “Enemies?” Her shoulders shook, and a wild giggle threatened to escape her. Everyone in the house had been an enemy of someone else in the house!

The doctor put a beefy hand on her shoulder. “Steady on, Miss Ardleigh,” he said in a fatherly way. He turned to his bag and took out a flask. “Here,” he said, unscrewing the cap and pouring an amber liquid into a small cup, “have a swallow of this.” Kate gulped the whiskey he offered her and sat still for a moment, letting the heat of it warm and steady her. The doctor helped himself to a sizable swallow and then another, capped the flask, and replaced it in his bag. “I am afraid it will be painful to speak to the constable about this matter. But he must be summoned to interview the servants while events are fresh in their minds.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “There is sure to be a coroner's inquest.”

Kate nodded numbly.

“And both your aunts ...” His look was sympathetic. “Both must be autopsied, I fear. I do not have enough evidence to certify a specific cause of death.”

“I understand,” Kate said.

“I will see to summoning the constable.”

“Thank you.” Kate sat still while the doctor opened the door and went in search of Mudd.

The doctor gone, the library seemed appallingly vacant. The chair, the lamp, seemed to wait for Aunt Sabrina, and the things on her desk—her pen, her notes, even the vase of autumn asters—seemed like ghosts, shadows, shades of her. In some indiscernible, indefinable way, Kate felt the impossibility of separating her aunt from the things she loved and lived with, and could not help but believe (though she knew it was not so) that at any moment Aunt Sabrina would open the door and come in.

But the only person to enter was Amelia, who brought an inquiry from Mrs. Farnsworth, by messenger, concerning a certain person who was supposed to be a member of the London temple. Kate looked up the information and gave it to Amelia for the messenger, together with a brief note, unsteadily written, informing Mrs. Farnsworth of her aunt's death.

Mercifully, Kate did not have long to wait for the constable's arrival. At half past three, she heard the crunch of gravel outside and opened the French doors to look out. The constable had arrived on a bicycle. She went back to her chair in front of the fire, and after a few minutes, the doctor brought him into the library.

“This is Constable Edward Laken, Miss Ardleigh,” Dr. Randall said. “I have informed him of the circumstances of your aunts' deaths.” He spoke slowly and gently, as if he were speaking to a child. Did he think her bereavement somehow made her more fragile? Or did he fear that, confronted by the constable and the need to consider the cause of her aunts' deaths, she would fly into hysterics? He picked up his bag and went to the door. “I must see to other patients,” he said in a comforting voice, “but I leave you in capable hands. Do not hesitate to send for me if there is a need.”

“Thank you,” Kate said. When the doctor had gone, she turned to the constable. “I am sure you have questions,” she said, steadying her voice by keeping it low.

“I fear so, Miss Ardleigh.” The constable was a slender man with sandy hair, a ruddily thoughtful face, and alert gray eyes. His navy serge uniform was brushed, its buttons polished, his boots shined. “I am sorry to intrude on your grief, but if the questions are answered now, perhaps there will be no need for further intrusion.” His voice was well modulated and suggested an education beyond that of the village school.

“Please ask what you must,” Kate said, shivering in spite of the fire. Aunt Sabrina's shawl was hanging over the arm of the chair. She fingered it for a moment, then draped it around her shoulders. “Do you wish to speak to the servants?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the constable said. “But I have several questions for you first, if I may.”

Kate saw that the constable's level gaze held a certain regard, but something of the defensive as well. Remembering that her policeman uncle had often felt himself scorned by the upper class, Kate understood the look. But it would not make the man easier to know that she herself came from a policeman's family and sympathized with his situation. So she only said, “I will answer if I can.”

Acting with deference and authority at once, the constable took a notebook and pencil out of his pocket. He wrote down the names of her aunts, the names and approximate ages of the servants and the length of their service, and her own name. She described her relationship to her aunts and her position at Bishop's Keep, and saw as she did so a slight shift in his posture.

He looked up. “You are employed here, as well as related?”

“Yes,” Kate said. “My aunt was engaged in a work that required typing and other clerical duties, which I provided.” She paused, wondering what she should say of the difficulties of the past few days. She was about to mention the situation when Constable Laken spoke again.

“I understood that Miss Ardleigh had no relatives other than her sister? And yourself, of course.”

Kate hesitated. In her delirium, Aunt Sabrina had spoken of a child. But Dr. Randall had vigorously rejected the idea. Aunt Sabrina's words—her last words—echoed in her mind. “You are the last Ardleigh.”

“I believe that is the case,” she said.

“Who benefits from the deaths?” the constable asked.

Her eyes widened. “Sir?”

“Who inherits the estate?” His tone was studiedly offhand.

“I do not know,” Kate said. It was not a question she wanted to think about right now. “I understand that the vicar has a copy of my aunt's will. Perhaps he could provide you with the name of her solicitor.”

Constable Laken pocketed his notebook. “I will speak with him. Might I see the servants now, Miss Ardleigh?” His eyes were guarded. “Privately, if you please. That is, without you or the butler present.”

Kate was momentarily taken aback. Did he think she might influence their answers? Did he imagine that she or Mudd might wish the servants to conceal some fact that might have a bearing on her aunts' deaths? But no doubt it was better this way. He would learn of the belowstairs animosity from the servants themselves. She bit her lip, remembering that more than one of them had good reason to want Aunt Jaggers dead.

“Of course,” she said. She rang the bell for Mudd. He opened the door instantly, a silver tray in his hand.

“I was about t' knock, Miss Ardleigh.” He extended the tray, with a card. “I have asked th' gentl'man to wait i' the drawin' room.”

“Thank you,” Kate said, taking a card. “Constable Laken wishes to interview the staff.” Feeling diffident about acting the part of mistress even though she knew it was expected of her, she added, “Would you please take him to the servants' hall and assemble them there?” She glanced at the card and saw with surprise that it was Sir Charles's. “And please ask Amelia to show the gentleman in.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Mudd said. He gave the constable a disdainful glance and proceeded him through the door.

A moment later Sir Charles came into the room. “My dear Miss Ardleigh,” he said, with a look of such sympathy that Kate felt nearly undone. “I am so sorry. What an awful thing. Unimaginable.” He spoke almost awkwardly, as if the words were not adequate to his feelings. His eyes were on hers, warm with concern. “Are you ... well?”

“Yes, thank you, Sir Charles.” Kate felt the blood coming to her face and an unaccustomed confusion inside her. She looked away quickly, and gestured to the chair on the other side of the fire. “Please sit down. I am sorry I cannot offer you tea, but the servants are otherwise engaged just now. The constable is with them.”

He sat down on the edge of the chair, still looking at her. “I didn't know until I came ... That is, I did not know of your trouble. I merely called to leave the photographs I took yesterday, as I promised.” He took an envelope out of his pocket and put it on the table beside the chair. “The constable. Does that suggest—?”

“Dr. Randall does not know the cause of the deaths. There will be autopsies and a coroner's inquest. The doctor suggested that the constable be summoned immediately, and I thought it best to take his advice. I am sure his inquiry is simply ... routine.”

Kate shivered, pulling the shawl closer. She might speak lightly of the inquiry to Sir Charles, but she was perfectly aware of its significance. The constable was a perceptive man. Even if Mrs. Pratt and Mudd were not forthcoming in their answers, he would certainly sense their bitter enmity toward Aunt Jaggers and their resentment toward Aunt Sabrina. Kate did not think, she could not bring herself to believe, that either the cook or the butler could have gone to such awful lengths for revenge. But the constable might think differently. She shivered again. Perhaps she should have insisted on being present when he spoke with them. It was gradually dawning on her that until the matter of the estate was settled, all authority for the household rested upon her shoulders. She was responsible for the servants' welfare.