Murder by Twilight Page 4

  Even though I wanted to say a great many things, for one of the first times in my life, I simply couldn’t find the words.

  5

  As it turned out, dinner wasn’t ready.

  Not for the rest of the house, anyway.

  Despite her having taken several naps throughout the day already, Charles thought Catherine would like to go to bed early, so he had her dinner prepared ahead of time. Which meant I had an hour of spare time to use up before dinner.

  Sitting with Catherine while she ate was an option, but I didn’t want to embarrass her if she didn’t realize her dinner had been prepared special ahead of everyone else’s. Besides, I still didn’t know what to say to her.

  Catherine wanted me to believe her so badly, but I simply couldn’t. Hooded figures and chants and vengeful spirits…it all seemed like fiction. Like a frightening story told to children, not something that could really happen.

  Charles remained in his study on the first floor with the door closed, showing no sign of interest in mingling with his guest, and the rest of the small household staff seemed otherwise engaged.

  So, I explored the house.

  In addition to the sitting room, study, dining room, and kitchen, the main floor boasted a library, as well. A quick assessment of the shelves told me that most of the books belonged to Charles. Volume after volume of world maps were not the kind of light reading Catherine usually engaged in. Still, I found a not insignificant section of novels that would be entertaining to me should I find the time to read them.

  One copy, creased and folded back from use, caught my eye, and I pulled the book from the shelf. Wuthering Heights.

  Catherine had never been one for reading, and I couldn’t imagine Charles reading the doomed love affair of Heathcliff and the fictional Catherine. I peeled back the cover and noticed the delicately scrawled inscription.

  To my dearest Catherine

  May our home on the moors be the opposite of Wuthering Heights in every way. May it be warm and safe and welcome. May it be filled to the brim with love as I am filled to the brim with love for you.

  Yours always,

  Charles

  I couldn’t say exactly why, but tears sprang to my eyes at the warmth in the writing. At the hopes Charles had for their life in this new house and the juxtaposition of what had passed.

  I blinked the emotion away and flipped through the pages.

  Immediately, I was caught by the writing in the margins. At the lines scrawled under passages, underlining things deemed to be important.

  On that bleak hill-top the earth was hard with a black frost, and the air made me shiver through every limb.

  The dismal spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralized, the glowing physical comforts around me…

  The encounter Lockwood had with Catherine’s ghost at the window was so scribbled over that I could barely read the passage anymore. Clearly, whoever read the book last had felt something in kind with the narrator’s experience. I didn’t allow myself to think what my sister must have looked like, stooped over this book, underlining line after line after line.

  To think she could have so much in common with such a book brought a fresh wave of emotion, and I closed the book and slid it back on the shelf.

  I had to help her. Whatever was going on, I had to do my best to ease her mind and bring back some of the happiness they’d experienced when they’d purchased the place. Clearly, Charles had great hopes for their time spent here and the family they would build, and if neither of them could figure out how to navigate their way out of this tangled wood, I would have to lead the way.

  There seemed only one right place to start.

  A soft humming still sounded from beneath the door of Hazel’s nursery, but I hadn’t seen any person come or go from the room since I’d arrived.

  Strange, considering Charles and Catherine’s newborn child was in there. My niece.

  Charles had said his sister was watching over the baby, but he’d also mentioned a nanny was on staff. I wasn’t sure who I would find on the other side of the door, but I knocked anyway, and waited.

  The humming stopped, cutting off abruptly, and I heard footsteps. When the door cracked open, I could just see a single eye through the crack. It narrowed at the sight of me.

  “Hello, I’m Alice,” I said, smiling despite the strangeness of the encounter. “Catherine’s sister. I thought I would come and meet the baby.”

  The eye was pale blue, almost white, and it unsettled me. That feeling only grew as the silence stretched on.

  “I’m sorry, are you the nanny?” I asked. “Should I go and fetch Charles? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me meeting my niece, but if I need permission, I’m willing to go and get it.”

  Suddenly, the door opened, and a petite woman stood in front of me, a swaddled baby in her arms.

  “No permission needed,” she said softly. “I simply forgot you were coming to visit us today, and it took me a moment to find my manners. The baby is sleeping, so perhaps you could come back—”

  “I’ll be quiet.” I stepped into the nursery, careful to keep my heels from sounding on the wood floors. I turned in the middle of the room and repeated my earlier question. “Are you the nanny?”

  The woman had light brown hair that hung to her shoulders in limp curls. It didn’t look like it had been styled or combed in days. Everything in the house, it seemed, had fallen into some form of disrepair.

  “No, no,” she shook her head. “I’m Camellia Cresswell, Charles’ older sister.”

  I thought I remembered Charles’ sister being a married woman, though I couldn’t remember what Catherine had said her married name was. It was surprising that she still called herself Cresswell, but I supposed it was none of my business.

  “Oh, so we are both aunts to this wonderful little bundle.” I nodded towards the baby in her arms, stretching onto my toes to try and get a peek of my niece’s precious face.

  Camellia’s smile faltered before returning, bigger and broader than before. “Yes, I suppose so. Charles asked me to come shortly after the birth. Things didn’t go well, as I’m sure you know. Catherine tried, poor thing, but some women are not built for childbirth I’m afraid. It is a wonder she survived the experience at all.”

  Camellia smiled down at Hazel as she spoke, admiring the child, and I couldn’t help but think she didn’t sound at all upset about the tragic birth.

  I pushed the thought away as soon as I’d considered it. I barely knew this woman, and aside from thinking she loved my sister’s baby slightly too much, I had no reason to suspect her of anything. Besides, Camellia couldn’t have arranged for the cord to be wrapped around Hazel’s neck even if she did wish my sister ill.

  “Thank God she recovered,” I said. “I wish someone had told me of the troubles she was going through. I would have come sooner.”

  Camellia turned away and strolled back towards the rocking chair, swaying Hazel gently in her arms, and then lowered down into the seat. “Charles likes to keep his personal life private. He thought he could manage the entire situation himself, but brought me in when it became clear he couldn’t.”

  I wanted to point out that I was family. That involving me would not have been the same as going public with the information. But I had a feeling Camellia understood that and had made her statement in hopes of delineating our roles within the house.

  She wanted me to know that she was trusted, and that I was nothing more than a guest.

  “Thank goodness you were available to help. How long have you been here?”

  Camellia blinked, and her eyes seemed to go blank. Her mouth fell into a flat line, and her attention fixated just over my shoulder. “Two and a half months.”

  Almost since the beginning. Had Camellia been caring for the child by herself that entire time? Catherine said she heard Camellia tell her brother it wasn’t safe for Catherine to be around the baby. How long had she been keeping Catherine separate from her child, and how
could Charles let this happen?

  “That is a long time. Doesn’t your own family miss you?” I asked, hoping to discover exactly what Camellia’s family looked like. Did the woman have a husband and children of her own?

  Again, Camellia blinked, and her gaze shifted to me. She shook her head numbly. “No. I’m afraid I miss them far more than they miss me.”

  Her words were a puzzle I didn’t have time to solve. The only reason I’d come up to the room at all was to ensure Hazel Cresswell was alive and well. Until I’d seen her in Camellia’s arms, I couldn’t dismiss the possibility that the child had actually been lost during the delivery and the entire house was under some kind of delusion.

  Talk about a plot better suited for a Victorian novel. That would have been a rather bleak story, indeed.

  Thankfully, the child seemed to be fine, if overly protected by her paternal aunt, and there was hope yet of reuniting my sister’s family.

  “Is there any chance I could hold the child?” I asked. “This is the first time I’ve seen her, and—”

  Before I could get the question out, the door opened, and a young woman with pitch dark hair pinned over her ears and a simple gray dress came in. “I’m here for Hazel, if it is all right? Dinner is ready downstairs, and Mr. Cresswell has asked that you both join him.”

  “Of course.” Camellia stood at once and handed the baby off to the woman, who I assumed was the nanny.

  Before I could ask the servant’s name, Camellia pressed a hand to the center of my back and guided me gently, yet firmly from the room.

  “You two have already been acquainted, I see.” Charles sat at the head of the table and stood as his sister and I entered. “It feels good to have both of my sisters under the same roof.”

  “Alice came into the nursery.” Camellia was smiling, but it felt like she was telling on me, hoping Charles would chastise me for wandering the house unsupervised.

  “My niece sleeps almost as much as my sister,” I said, taking my seat to the left of Charles while Camellia sat on his right. I had thought the seat would be reserved for Catherine, even though she wasn’t joining us. “I was hoping to catch her awake and finally make her acquaintance.”

  Charles pressed his lips together. “I’m sure it will happen soon enough. Though, I hardly see her between Camellia and the nanny. They both dote on her.”

  “But nothing can replace the love of a father,” I said warmly, hoping he understood the not so subtle meaning.

  Hazel should be cared for by her parents. By her mother and her father.

  I’d been brought to the house to speak with Catherine, but I wouldn’t mind speaking with Charles, as well. It seemed he needed someone to point out to him that he was no longer running his home.

  “Certainly,” Camellia agreed. “Hazel is fortunate to have a father who looks out for her interests and does what is best for her regardless.”

  Charles smiled at his sister, and I suddenly didn’t feel so hungry.

  I didn’t know what I’d expected to find upon arriving in Yorkshire, but it wasn’t this.

  A nurse who dosed my potentially insane sister to sleep while her daughter was cared for by her sister-in-law and her husband encouraged the whole mess? I never ever could have predicted that.

  “How many visitors do you all receive out here?” I asked.

  Charles seemed taken aback by the question and frowned. “I’m not sure. I go into town for meetings occasionally and am always sure to call on a few acquaintances when I—”

  “Here,” I repeated. “How many people come and visit at the house?”

  He sliced off a piece of roast, took a bite, and shook his head. “No one aside from you and Camellia for a good while.”

  “And the neighbors once,” Camellia added. “Just after I arrived the Wilds came to welcome me to the area.”

  “The Wilds?”

  Camellia laughed, grabbing her brother’s arm at some private joke. “That is their name.”

  “Margaret and Abigail Wilds,” Charles clarified. “They live two miles up the road. Though, we usually pay them visits. They are older and don’t like to get out more than they have to.”

  “Well, that isn’t exactly true. They go on walks all the time, they just don’t like to walk over here.”

  “Camellia,” Charles warned.

  His sister rolled her eyes at him. “It’s true. The women are fit enough for their ages, they just like to play at being feeble when it is time to visit.”

  “Which reminds me,” Charles said, his voice trailing off.

  Camellia turned to him, eyebrows raised in curiosity. Then, she groaned. “It can’t be time again. I do not want to go, Charles. They can’t prepare a piece of toast between them, and they refuse to keep a cook. I could barely swallow whatever it was they served us last time.”

  “Some kind of wild game is my guess.”

  “Whatever it was, I swore I’d never let it touch my lips again,” Camellia said, shaking her head. “I won’t go.”

  I cleared my throat, drawing their attention to me. “I’m sorry, but you won’t go where?”

  Camellia smiled again, and I finally realized why the woman put me off. She smiled at me the way adults used to smile at me as a girl.

  She tilted her head to the side and smiled as if I was a child playing dress up, and she had to indulge me.

  Camellia was Charles’ older sister, and Charles was several years older than Catherine, which meant Camellia had to be forty at least, though I would have placed her even older than that. Still, I did not deserve to be treated as a child simply because I was young, and I would make sure Camellia learned that lesson one way or another.

  “To the Wilds’ home for dinner,” Camellia said. “They invite us to dinner once a week, at least, and it is always horrible. I’ve feigned illness the last few times—”

  “Which only caused them to send along a horrid smelling soup to relieve you.” Charles chuckled.

  Camellia held her nose at the memory. “I think they foraged for the ingredients in the bogs. It smelled stagnant.”

  Charles smiled as he took another bite of roast, shaking his head. “They are thoughtful ladies, but unusual. Despite their eccentricities, they come from a good old family that has resided in this area for generations. If they live almost as if they are impoverished, it is their choice to do so.”

  “Sisters I take it, since they share a name?”

  “Yes and unmarried,” Camellia said. “They grew up in that house, inherited it from their parents, and have never lived anywhere else. Charles told me he never sees them go into the village for anything, and no one ever comes to visit them. We are their only source of outside interaction.”

  We.

  It seemed strange that Camellia had joined herself together with her brother as a unit. She’d only been staying with Charles and Catherine for a couple of months, yet she had made herself quite comfortable in their world.

  “Luckily, you won’t have to deal with them once you return home,” I said cheerfully.

  All at once, the mood in the room shifted.

  Every scrape of silverware against the plates was an explosion of sound, and the air felt like it had been pulled from the room. I’d meant for my words to make Camellia uncomfortable, but not like this. They’d had a much larger impact than I’d expected, and I wanted to know why.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, breaking the silence. “I’m not sure what I—”

  “Camellia is free to stay as long as she likes,” Charles said, interrupting me. “Catherine and I invited her here to live with us, and as long as she is pleased with the arrangement, so are we.”

  Camellia gazed downward at her plate, and I thought I saw her lip tremble.

  “Of course. I didn’t realize the situation was permanent. Excuse me if I offended.”

  “You’re excused.” Charles’ tone was clipped, and left no room for further response.

  I worried we would stay that way for the
remainder of dinner until Charles cleared his throat and carried on the conversation as if nothing had happened at all.

  “Margaret and Abigail sent an invitation for dinner this afternoon, and since Camellia is refusing to see them, I thought maybe you would like to accompany me, Alice?”

  “What of Catherine?” I asked.

  “Nurse Gray says she isn’t ready for visiting,” Camellia said.

  I kept my eyes on Charles, watching his response. Surely, he would have something to say on behalf of his wife. And surely, he would rather be visiting neighbors with her than with his sister-in-law.

  But Charles said nothing. He continued to eat and, after a little while, looked up at me. “So, Alice? Would you like to come?”

  I wanted to refuse him and stay by my sister’s side, but I also thought some time alone with Charles could be beneficial. Perhaps, away from the distressing atmosphere of the house, I could talk some sense into him. I could help him see that he was deserting his family to the control of outside forces, and it was high time he returned as the head of his household.

  “Of course, Charles. If the lady of the house cannot go with you, then I would be happy to make the visit.”

  “It isn’t that I cannot go,” Camellia said. “But rather that I would prefer to do anything else.”

  Charles winced, and I stared at Camellia in awe, momentarily struck silent by the audacity of her words.

  “I’m sorry, but I was speaking of my sister.”

  Camellia’s mouth fell open, and she blinked several times before shaking her head. “Of course. I misheard you. Yes, of course.”

  Once again, the air left the room, and our awkward trio finished dinner in perfect silence.

  6

  I couldn’t get in to see Catherine for the entirety of the next day.

  “Nurse Gray isn’t allowing anyone in,” I said, standing in Charles’ doorway.

  He didn’t look up from the letter he was writing as he answered. “Sometimes Catherine has better days than others. She had a nightmare last night, so today she is—”