An Unfortunate Demise (An Anna Fairweather Murder Mystery Book 2) Page 5

  “Good heavens,” she said. “It is fortunate for the husband that you were on hand when you were, or he might have lost his own life, as well. You were so frightened of the water when we first arrived, and yet you threw yourself into the ocean to help him and his wife. Why?”

  “I could not let them die,” I said. “Not when I had the chance to do anything to help.”

  “And this foolish fear of the water?” she asked. “Why are you so terrified of it?”

  I tried to swallow but my throat had grown tight. “I think a great deal of it comes from when I was a girl, and I—I witnessed my father’s death. He…he drowned, you see.”

  Mrs. Montford’s eyes widened. “How dreadful for you.”

  “Yes,” I continued. “The details are rather fuzzy. I have done what I can to avoid remembering it all. Unfortunately, these recent tragedies have dredged up the memories that I have worked hard to keep buried.”

  Mrs. Montford straightened and picked up her drink again. “Yes, well, I am sorry to hear that. I do hope we can put this newest business behind us sooner, rather than later. I imagine the police will still wish to speak with you, though perhaps they will be satisfied with the husband’s statement.”

  I said, “Yes, I hope they will.”

  It was not a moment later that our food arrived, and Mrs. Montford encouraged me to eat. As delicious as the roasted lamb smelled, my stomach had turned entirely.

  “Let us forget all unpleasantness tonight, hmm?” Mrs. Montford said briskly, cutting into her lamb. “I should like to salvage what we can of this trip before we must be on our way to London. That was the point of this all, was it not?”

  “Yes, ma’am, of course,” I said. “I will do everything I can to ensure that you have the peace and quiet you desire.”

  “Good,” Mrs. Montford said. “Now eat. I will not have it said that I have allowed my maid to wither away to nothing.”

  I did as I was told, although my thoughts remained dark.

  4

  My belly full and my thirst thoroughly quenched, Mrs. Montford and I retired to our room just after ten o’clock. Many of the hotel’s guests had gone to bed, the dining room and foyer having emptied. Our footsteps echoed as we made our way across the marble floors and up the grand staircase.

  I trailed after Mrs. Montford, listening as she spoke of her plans for when we arrived at the house in London. She wanted to wallpaper the drawing room and hoped to have a new fireplace surround to replace the one in the dining room. The kitchens needed a fresh look and she had plans to speak with some seamstresses that her friends had recommended for new bedding and linens for her bedroom.

  I helped her prepare for bed and the comforting nature of our routine relaxed me. I filled her bath with hot water, and as she soaked in the tub, I laid her nightgown out. I placed her slippers near the foot of her bed and her nightcap near her pillow. I found the book she was currently reading in her satchel and set it on the bedside table within her reach.

  I knew she would want her room warm, and so I stoked her fire and dimmed the light apart from a lamp on her bedside table. As I looked around her room, I felt at peace and hoped to recreate a sense of home within my own room.

  “Now, I expect you to get your rest tonight,” Mrs. Montford said, after she had bathed and dressed for bed. “The police may very well be looking for you in the morning and I would prefer you to be ready to greet them. If you so desire, there is an extra soap and more towels ready for you in the washroom. You should take time to get a hot soak in before you head to bed. It will help you wash away some of the day’s troubles.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Montford,” I said. “You are too kind to allow me to use your tub.”

  “For the week, it is ours, girl,” she said. “I’m off to bed, then. I will see you in the morning.”

  “Do you need anything?” I asked. “I would be happy to send for tea or perhaps something to eat—”

  “No, no, I am perfectly all right,” she said. “Goodnight, Anna.”

  I gave her an incline of my head and stood there as she closed the door behind herself.

  I took her advice and made my way to the washroom.

  I filled the tub, as I had for Mrs. Montford, and stood there before the steaming liquid, mystified. When was the last time I’d had a full soak? I could hardly recall. I was accustomed to a quick wash from a basin in my room or in the servant’s bath. Those places were not nearly as beautiful as this room was, with the pedestal sink beneath the window, the octagonal black and white tile floor, and the copper tub that rested right in the middle of the room.

  I had no idea what to do for my own bath or how I might prefer it. Mrs. Montford enjoyed a soap that smelled of roses and vanilla, which I found pleasant enough. Was it what I would have chosen for myself, though? I had never had the chance to smell many others, apart from what I had picked up for Mrs. Montford on the occasion she would send me into town for various items she needed.

  In the end, I chose only the cheap soap I normally would use and sank into the hot, steaming water.

  My muscles tensed as I lowered myself in but I quickly relaxed until I sank in up to my chin. The ends of my hair brushed the surface, and as I drew in a long breath, I inhaled the steam, the bubbles tickling the tip of my nose.

  The heat seeped into my aching body, reaching all the way to my bones. Far away were the waves of the sea, the icy, tangling currents that had tried to pull me under. These waters, still and warm, I could control. I felt safe nestled in my copper cocoon.

  I wondered about Dinah’s husband. I knew there would be no way that he would be sleeping that night. I could not blame him, of course. How could someone sleep when their loved one had so recently passed away, and in such a tragic manner?

  I thought of Mrs. Montford and how recently she had endured such a terrible event.

  I rubbed my face, splashing it with hot water. As it ran down my cheeks and along the bridge of my nose, it brushed against my lips and I tasted the salt of the sea.

  I scrubbed faster, trying to free myself from any trace of it.

  I leaned my head back against the edge of the tub and stared up at the ceiling. The water was quickly losing its scalding heat, though sweat continued to bead up on my hairline.

  Two deaths had occurred in my life in such a short amount of time… Either one of them could have very easily led to my own.

  I pinched my eyes shut, staring at the blackness of the inside of my eyelids. Try as I might, it seemed I could not flee from my thoughts.

  I should have brought a book in with me. Perhaps I should get out and go to bed, I thought.

  The idea of dragging myself out of the hot water seemed almost unbearable, though, when I considered stepping out onto the cold tile floor and the chill of the room sapping the heat from my skin.

  To torment myself yet stay warm or brave the cold for a bit and be able to settle in with a good book?

  I debated for some time, the water growing cooler by the minute.

  Just as I wondered if I should get out so I could merely check the time, I heard a voice on the other side of the wall.

  “…understand why you are acting like this!”

  I froze, glancing up toward the wall. Was that a shout? At this late hour?

  “…fail to see…of this.”

  “…will not be spoken to…way!”

  I submerged myself even further into the tub, as if it might drown out the sound of the muffled shouts through the wall. Instead, it seemed to only make them echo louder.

  “…not there…did nothing…”

  “…was not there, how could…help? She…gone before…shore.”

  My skin crawled, despite the hot water. That “she” was not Dinah, was it?

  A loud crash made me sit up in the tub, some of the water sloshing.

  “…your fault!...never would…down there if you had not…”

  I recognized that voice. It was Dinah’s husband.

  “You…begin to understand…feeling.”

  “No? You are…blind, John. She…you down. You…see it!”

  My eyes widened. The other voice, another male, seemed to be arguing against this woman?

  My heart began to thunder in my ears. I had to be mistaken. The man could not possibly be arguing that this John was better off without his wife?

  Gingerly, I rose from the tub, snatched my towel from the stool just beside it, and wrapped it around myself. I wasted no time sliding my arms into the sleeves of my dressing gown, and after pulling the drain, padded across the floor of the sitting room to my own bedroom.

  I closed the door behind myself and quickly made my way over to the wall. I shared the same wall as the washroom, and as I pressed myself against it, I could hear the voices even more clearly than I had before.

  “Do the police suspect…thing?” came the second voice, the one I did not yet know.

  “No, of course…don’t!” John snapped. “Why would they when…the one…her at the shore?”

  “You might think…don’t, but I…you, they will be back to…questions.”

  “Then let them!” John cried. “I…nothing to hide!”

  “…quite certain?” the other voice asked. “What will they think…learn of…fights you…her?”

  I waited with bated breath for him to answer but he did not for a long minute. A shiver ran down my back and I realized that I was leaving a puddle beneath me on the rug. I quietly made my way to the dressing screen in the corner, keeping my ear close to the wall.

  I heard John respond, but it was in a lower voice, and I only managed to catch one word: “Forgiven.”

  “Are you?” the other man snapped. “She seemed angry…better part of the trip. Just like…always was.”

  “That’s not true!” John shouted. “She never—”

  “You are lying to yourself!” the other voice yelled back, drowning John out. If this had not yet woken the inhabitants of rooms on either side of theirs, I would have been deeply surprised. “She was as unstable as you seem to be!”

  The sound of a chair or some other piece of furniture being shoved across the floor came through the wall as I pulled my nightgown on. I threw the towel over my head and began to dry off the ends of my hair as I made my way back to the bed, gingerly sitting upon the mattress and leaning closer to the wall.

  “…were different,” John said in a tight voice. “I had…better. She agreed…me another chance.”

  “After what you did?” the other voice barked with laughter. “I’m surprised she…you back into…house!”

  John answered, once again muffled.

  “You know perfectly well why,” the other voice cried. “You are well rid of her and—”

  “Frank, if you do not—”

  “—should have left her when you had the chance,” the man called Frank said. “When the police find out…between you, they might think…responsible.”

  “Me?” John cried. “But I…never!”

  “You should be grateful…did not happen…back home. There are many…disagree.”

  Nervous pacing echoed from the other side of the wall.

  My heart hammered in my chest and I hardly dared to breathe, as if they might somehow overhear it. What if they knew that someone was listening in on their conversation?

  “I’m…for a walk,” John said. Not a moment later, I heard a door slam shut.

  I leaned against my headboard, turning away from the wall. My wet towel lay crumpled up on my bed and a trail of water led from the dressing screen to the door, which stood open. Some lights remained on out in the sitting room.

  I rose to my feet and began to properly prepare for bed, my mind working wildly while my hands and feet moved on their own. As I turned out lights and drew the curtains, I thought over what I had managed to make out of the conversation I had overheard.

  John, Dinah’s husband, had been angry. Incredibly angry, in fact. So much so that he was shouting at whoever was in his room with him. The other man, Frank, was clearly not particularly grieved by Dinah’s death. The way he spoke of John’s relationship with Dinah, it was obvious they all were close. Family, perhaps? Or very good friends?

  On top of that, what had they been talking about with their history? It seemed that Dinah and John may have had a bit of a difficult past. Dinah had forgiven him? For what? Why had Frank told John that he should have left her when he had the chance?

  Then, there was the idea that if this had happened back home, there would have been a lot of questions. Frank even made it seem as if some might think John responsible for her death.

  As I turned out the last light, fear washed over me. Was it possible that Dinah’s husband had killed her? What if he had pushed her from those rocks and into the sea? What if he had drowned her and then made a scene to make it seem as if he was trying to rescue her?

  Had I fallen for a murderous scheme and given him a false alibi by doing so?

  For that matter, it hadn’t sounded as if Frank were any too fond of Dinah. Perhaps he was the one to kill her, though I couldn’t think why or how, as he had not been present at her drowning.

  I sweated with fear, and as I pulled my bedroom door closed behind me, I began to worry that the police would indeed be coming to find me the following morning. If they went to speak with the dead woman’s husband, he would surely mention me, if only to cover his own tracks and to have me corroborate his story.

  Would I tell them what I had overheard through the wall? Would it make any difference?

  I turned out my own lights, all apart from the lamp on my side table. I turned my covers down, pulled my book out and tried my best to settle in to read. Peace would not come, though. As hard as I tried to concentrate on the pages in front of me, the words would not sink in and I understood nothing.

  All I could do was think of Dinah lying dead on the beach and wonder if the husband who cradled her so tightly in his arms had been the one responsible.

  5

  “Those dark circles beneath your eyes tell me that you did not do as I asked,” Mrs. Montford said the following morning. “You did not get any rest, did you?”

  I stood near the small table along the wall in the sitting room of our suite. She had chosen to take breakfast in that morning, and as I served her, she took the opportunity to peer up into my face, her eyes narrowing.

  “I tried, ma’am,” I said. “I must admit, that bath was heavenly.”

  “I am sure it was,” Mrs. Montford said. “You avoided my question, however. Why did you not get any rest?”

  I pursed my lips, turning my back to fetch the toast that waited for her on the credenza. “I stayed up too late reading,” I said, which was only partially true. I tried to read, though I woke partway through the night with the book lying open on my lap, still on the same page I had opened it to.

  Mrs. Montford gave me a skeptical look before turning back to her breakfast. “Very well,” she said. She turned her face toward the window and stared out over the ocean. “The waters are much calmer this morning.”

  I chanced a look out the window and saw the white, foamy caps on the waves had disappeared. The churning, angry waters had changed to a deep blue, which was reflected in the clear sky above. The storm had passed…at least in the sense of the weather.

  “What are your plans for the day, ma’am?” I asked, pushing thoughts aside. I had no desire to dwell on anything from the day before. Perhaps I would be able to put it in the past and leave it there, as long as the police did not come to look for me in the end.

  “Mrs. Baird will be here soon enough,” Mrs. Montford said, lifting her napkin to her face and gently wiping the corners of her mouth. “I believe she wished to take me into town with her today.”

  “What a lovely day to do just that,” I said, forcing a note of cheer into my voice, though I did not feel it.

  Mrs. Montford nodded, taking another sip of her tea. “I see no need for you to accompany me today,” she said. She then looked up at me. “Though I do wonder if the police will wish to speak with me about the events yesterday. I am responsible for you, after all.”

  “My apologies, ma’am,” I said, dipping my head.

  Mrs. Montford sighed. “It is not your fault,” she said. “These...inconveniences are unavoidable at times. Would you prefer that I remain here until we learn whether they need to speak with you?”

  “Oh, I would not wish for you to waste your day on my account,” I said. “I shall be perfectly all right if they need to interview me. You were not there, after all. I imagine they will only need the answers from my own experience.”

  “Perhaps,” Mrs. Montford said in a doubtful tone.

  “If they do need to speak with you, I could simply tell them where you have gone. If they really must, one of them will surely wait around until you return,” I said.

  “Good heavens,” Mrs. Montford said. “That will surely annoy them.”

  She sighed once more and reached for a jar of jam and her knife.

  “I suppose Mrs. Baird and I could wait for a short time this morning. If they do not come before lunch, I do not imagine they will come at all,” she said.

  “That is sound reasoning, ma’am,” I said, and offered some honey for her bread.

  Mrs. Baird came less than half an hour after we had spoken of her, and she agreed to wait with Mrs. Montford at the hotel to see if the police would indeed come around. They sat together in the suite, catching up while I offered them refreshments. I anxiously looked up at the clock what felt like every minute, waiting for the inevitable knock upon the door.

  It never came.

  “Well, I would very much like to take you to this bistro down on the corner, Bea,” Mrs. Baird said, glancing at the grandfather clock standing near the fireplace. “I believe you are correct; if they were going to come, it would have been this morning.”

  “Perhaps they were here already and have gone,” Mrs. Montford said. “I suppose the dead woman’s husband will have been in touch with them. It appears they did not need you, girl. You can breathe a sigh of relief.”