A Final Rest Page 9

  Aunt Ruth stepped inside, and as she did, her three daughters followed in behind her, eyes wide and searching. They each wore travel skirts in the same shade of brown with matching sweaters that had a striped pattern similar to the wallpaper. I’d been around the three women for the better part of a week, and I was no closer to being able to remember who was who.

  “We are grateful for your hospitality,” Aunt Ruth began, hands folded behind her back. She shifted forward onto the toes of her shoes and then back to her heels. “But we will be relocating to the Inn in the village for the remainder of our visit.”

  Lady Ashton frowned and turned to her husband. Lord Ashton pressed his lips together firmly. “I can assure you, sister, there is no need for that. You are safe within these walls.”

  For the first time since I’d met her, Aunt Ruth smiled. The simple act seemed to require a great deal of energy. Her lips trembled, and her breathing became more noticeable, her chest rising and falling quickly. “I never doubted that for a moment. I feel very safe here. As do my girls.”

  “Then why do you feel the need to leave?” Lady Ashton asked, her voice sharper than usual.

  Aunt Ruth rubbed her lips together. Behind her, Margaret, Ann, and Helen, were gazing up at the ceiling, the floor, and their own hands—looking anywhere but straight ahead at where we were sitting in front of them. “The four of us take up two of your rooms, and I know you have more guests than you originally planned for. Since we will be just as happy at the Inn, we thought we would stay there until the wedding to free up more room for your other guests.”

  “Actually, we have fewer guests than we originally planned for,” Lady Ashton said, referencing the now empty room that had been occupied by Augusta Whitlock until that morning. “There is no need to spend the money and pack up your belongings.”

  “We are already packed,” Aunt Ruth said. “In fact, we are leaving now.”

  “Now?” Lady Ashton looked to her husband for help, but he was no longer taking part in the conversation. His gaze had returned to the window.

  “Yes. Our belongings are being loaded into a car as we speak.” Aunt Ruth stepped backwards, bumping into one of her daughters—perhaps Margaret, though I couldn’t be certain. The girls giggled and shuffled into a line, heading for the door.

  “Are you certain?” Lady Ashton asked.

  Alice mumbled something under her breath that sounded like “Let them leave,” and Catherine nudged her sister in the arm, quieting her with lowered brows.

  “Positive,” Aunt Ruth said, pushing her daughters through the door into the entrance hall. “We will see you all at the wedding.”

  Before anyone could argue further, the Blake women were gone. Moments later, the front door slammed shut behind them. I turned just in time to see them rushing down the front path to the waiting car. One of the women turned back to get one last look at the house over her shoulder, and I would have sworn I saw fear in her expression.

  Catherine sighed and sank down in her chair. “Guests are fleeing the house as if their lives depend on it.”

  “They were trying to be considerate,” Lady Ashton said unconvincingly. “It was kind of Ruth to try and make more room for other people.”

  “Aunt Ruth has never thought about another person in her life,” Catherine retorted, drawing a warning snort from her father. She smiled apologetically. “I only mean that Aunt Ruth and her daughters expect luxury. Surely, they know Ridgewick Hall is nicer than the local Inn. What does it say about this house that they are willingly choosing to stay there instead?”

  “It says nothing about this house,” Lady Ashton said, standing up. She placed her hands on her hips, though her shoulders seemed more stooped than usual, as though standing up tall was too much work. “If people want to connect two unrelated events that have occurred here to try and say anything about the safety of our home, that is their own problem. We know the truth.”

  Referring to Edward’s murder of Mr. Matcham as an “event” was the most I’d heard Lady Ashton speak of the crime. She kept glancing at her husband nervously, no doubt wondering how he was doing. Lord Ashton did not discuss the matter. Not even indirectly. And since we’d arrived at Ridgewick Hall for the first time since the crime, he had hardly discussed anything at all.

  “What is the truth?” Alice asked, forehead wrinkled in confusion.

  “That the house is safe!” Lady Ashton stamped her foot. “Ridgewick Hall is safe, and no one has any reason to worry at all.”

  Suddenly, there was another knock on the doors to the sitting room, and Lady Ashton spun on her heel. “Who is it now? Should we offer everyone on the estate access to our private family conversation?”

  Alice giggled at her mother’s outburst, and Catherine dropped her face in her hands in embarrassment. Then, the doors opened and a police sergeant stepped inside. Lady Ashton’s face went pink at once. “I’m sorry, Sergeant.”

  “Quite alright,” the man said, removing his hat and holding it against his stomach with folded hands.

  “How can we help you?” Lord Ashton stood up and moved to stand next to his wife, though he kept a safe distance between them so they did not touch.

  The sergeant was a middle-aged man with a thick mustache and pale green eyes. He worked his lips together nervously, the mustache bobbing side to side like a boat in choppy waters. “Is it all right to talk here?”

  “Yes,” Lady Ashton said. “This is my family. There are no secrets between us.”

  I felt my cheeks redden slightly. I certainly had more than my fair share of secrets.

  The sergeant pushed the door closed and stepped more fully into the room. “I will cut to the chase, then. No one will be allowed to leave this house or the village until Augusta Whitlock’s cause of death has been determined.”

  There was a long stretch of silence where everyone stared at the sergeant, waiting for him to continue explaining the situation. He didn’t, however. He just stared back at us.

  “What do you mean?” Lady Ashton finally asked. “She was an old woman. She died.”

  “She did,” the Sergeant said with a brisk nod. “And the circumstances of her death have yet to be determined.”

  Catherine sat forward and shook her head. “I don’t understand. I am getting married in three days. I have to leave this house. We have a trip planned.”

  “We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.”

  “Natural causes.” Lady Ashton said the words as though trying to convince herself that she had actually heard them. “Her death was due to natural causes. That is what we were told. It is what Dr. Shaw determined.”

  “Further investigation has caused us to change the cause of death. It is now viewed as suspicious.”

  Lord Ashton’s face was paler than I’d ever seen it, and he did not look at anyone as the news was delivered. Lady Ashton tried to catch his eye, but eventually turned to stare at her daughters. Alice was wide-eyed and quiet, for once. Catherine looked once again on the verge of tears. And no one was saying anything. I sat forward and raised my hand slightly, drawing the sergeant’s attention.

  “Excuse me, Sergeant, but why exactly is her death considered suspicious?”

  He sighed, as though he had far too much going on to waste time explaining the details to me. “After her body was collected, a brief examination was carried out that revealed details consistent with a suspicious death. Then, interviews with several of the party guests revealed behavior that the coroner believes points to a possible homicide.”

  Lady Ashton gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Could you elaborate on those details?” I asked.

  The sergeant shook his head, mustache twitching. “I’m sorry. I cannot say any more.”

  “When will we be able to leave?” Catherine asked, glancing back at Charles, who was rubbing his hand up and down her back reassuringly.

  “I do not know. I’m sorry.” The sergeant took a step back towards the door, clearly r
eady to leave. “The house will be monitored by officers to ensure no one leaves.”

  Just as he spoke, something caught my eye, and I turned to see Aunt Ruth and her daughters being escorted back up the main walkway to the house, an officer trailing behind them. Aunt Ruth’s face was red and pursed, and her daughters looked noticeably less chipper than usual. The driver was pulling their luggage from the car and setting it in the grass. Clearly, they were not going to be allowed to leave as planned.

  Lady Ashton followed the sergeant from the room, asking him more questions as he tried to leave. Alice jumped up to follow.

  “I can’t believe this,” Catherine said to Charles, her eyes wide and glassy with tears. “This can’t be happening.”

  “It will all work out,” Charles whispered back, smoothing a hand across Catherine’s hair tenderly.

  I looked away, feeling strange about interrupting what appeared to be a private moment, but I also didn’t want to go into the entryway where I could hear Lady Ashton talking with the Sergeant and Aunt Ruth arguing with the officers. The house was descending into chaos, and I needed a moment to process the information.

  Augusta Whitlock had been murdered. Probably.

  The fact that she had dropped dead in the middle of a party with no obvious injuries to her body suggested poison, but without more information from the Sergeant or the coroner, I couldn’t be certain.

  “It won’t work out,” Catherine said, folding her hands nervously in her lap. “Everything is ruined. We won’t be able to go to the chapel to be married, and even if we do, we won’t be able to leave on our honeymoon. The entire trip will be spoiled.”

  If the police were keeping all of the guests at the house, it meant they suspected someone inside the house to be guilty, which made the most sense. And if that was true, the number of suspects was small. Plus, there were only a few people with any noteworthy connection to Augusta Whitlock, which narrowed the scope even more.

  “The police will solve the case,” Charles soothed.

  “What if they don’t?” Catherine asked.

  I ran through the suspects in my mind, barely hearing their conversation. Nicholas Whitlock stood the most to gain from his grandmother’s death, but he was also the most devastated by her loss. Based upon the little I’d known of Augusta, she likely had a great number of enemies, but over the course of the weekend, she had made two: Miss Brown and Lady Harwood.

  Suddenly, Catherine was standing in front of me. I startled and looked up.

  “I’ve been trying to capture your attention,” Catherine said, kneeling in front of me. “Will you help?”

  “Help with what?” I asked, still dazed and half in my own thoughts.

  “The investigation,” she said. “I trust you more than any detective, Rose, and I believe you can solve this case before the wedding.”

  “If there is a case to solve at all,” Charles added. “It might be that the coroner’s determination is wrong, and the woman really did die of old age.”

  “Either way, Rose can uncover the truth,” Catherine said over her shoulder. She turned back to me and gripped my hands. “You have solved cases like this before, and you saved Charles’ life in New York City. If anyone is capable of finding the murderer, you are.”

  “Thank you for your faith,” I said. “But it seems the police are taking a strong lead on this. I’m not sure my skills will be required.”

  “Please, Rose.” Catherine’s blue eyes were cutting, pleading. The stress of the wedding and the past few weeks had worn on her. She was rawer than I’d ever seen her, and the idea of refusing her request and standing by while her wedding and plans were ruined seemed unconscionable.

  I could hear Lady Ashton pleading with her husband in the entrance hall to speak with the Sergeant while also trying to calm Aunt Ruth, who could not understand why she was being held prisoner when she had done nothing wrong. I realized that Catherine wasn’t the only person who needed this case solved. Everyone was overwhelmed, and everyone needed closure. And whether I would be successful or not, I didn’t know, but it felt like my duty to try and do what I could.

  I turned back to Catherine, squeezed her hands, and nodded. “I will do my best.”

  11

  Nicholas was on the terrace when Lord and Lady Ashton informed him of the coroner’s conclusion. He’d spent several hours after his grandmother’s death shut away in his room, but as he calmed down and the day wore on, he’d moved out to the terrace. From his vantage point, it was possible to see the depression in the grass where Aunt Augusta had fallen and where the doctors and officers had knelt down around her. Servants were picking up what remained of the garden party after the police had combed the area for clues.

  As soon as the news was delivered, the sound of his weeping once again filled the house.

  Lord Ashton came back inside several minutes later, shaking his head.

  “How is he taking the news?” Charles Barry asked, his hand perched on the back of the sofa. The rest of the wedding guests had been gathered in the sitting room to have the full situation explained to them. Aside from Aunt Ruth and her daughters, everyone was responding surprisingly well to the news of their temporary captivity within the estate. No one had begun to suspect one another of the crime yet, though I knew that moment would come sooner rather than later.

  “How does it sound like he is taking it?” Lord Ashton asked, gesturing towards the terrace doors and then dropping down into a chair in the corner. He turned towards the window without saying anything else.

  “I should have stayed with her,” Nicholas cried, his voice muffled, presumably in Lady Ashton’s shoulder. “I left her side and opened the door for someone to get close to her and harm her. This is all my fault.”

  Everyone remained quiet while Nicholas sobbed. Alice stood near the terrace door, her ear pressed towards the crack to better hear Nicholas. She had changed into a black, long-sleeved dress, and had done her best to stay close to Nicholas throughout the day. She was terribly concerned about him.

  Catherine and Charles stayed close together in the corner, whispering back and forth. Catherine was clearly concerned about how the events would unfold and whether her wedding or honeymoon would happen at all, but I also couldn’t help but notice how much more at ease she seemed. Now that there were no more events or parties to plan and execute, she smiled on rare occasion and didn’t flit around the house like an agitated bird.

  Once the crying from the terrace began to fade, Lady Ashton led Nicholas Whitlock into the sitting room, her arm around his shoulders. Alice extended a hand as if to comfort him or escort him in some way, but when Lady Ashton and Nicholas moved past her without a second glance, her arm fell to her side and she returned to her post next to the door. Vivian Barry stood and relinquished her seat to the mourning man, who dropped into it like a sack of bones, barely holding himself together at all. He sniffled and glanced up to take in everyone in the room.

  “I’m sorry my grandmother’s death has caused such an inconvenience for many of you,” he started.

  Vivian Barry waved away his concern and shook her head, but directly next to her, Aunt Ruth was nodding in agreement.

  “But I’m sure the police will solve the case and have us all on our way soon,” he finished, his voice growing thicker with every word. By the time he finished, his shoulders were shaking, and Lady Ashton was stooped over him, patting his back. He shook his head and lowered his face into his hands. “I cannot believe someone would want to hurt her. I can’t understand it.”

  Everyone began to shift in their seats, uncomfortable, and within a few minutes, the room was cleared except for Nicholas and Lady Ashton, who had earned the unfortunate job of comforting the young man in his time of grief.

  When I returned to my room, Alice was already sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs curled underneath her. She looked up as I entered and then quickly back down at her hands.

  I hesitated in the doorway. “I’m not sure Aunt Aug
usta’s room has been cleared yet. The police may want to search it before her things are packed away.”

  Alice nodded, her lips twisted to the corner of her mouth while she bit the inside of her cheek.

  I moved across the room and sat at the wooden chair in front of the desk. Alice had never been angry with me before. She’d been annoyed by me and Catherine, certainly, but in a loving way. This, however, was not loving. I’d genuinely hurt Alice’s feelings, and now I had to try and rectify it.

  “I was hoping I could ask for your help,” I said. This was true. I had questions I needed answered about Nicholas and Augusta Whitlock, but I couldn’t ask anyone else. I couldn’t risk exposing my lack of knowledge on the family to anyone other than Alice. However, I also thought seeking Alice’s assistance would flatter her into forgiving me.

  Alice lifted her head as I spoke and quickly turned away, her chin jutted out. “I’m surprised you would need anything from me.”

  “Why is that?” I asked. “You’ve helped me a great deal over this last week.”

  “Have I?” she asked, mock surprise thick in her voice. “I thought all I’d done was relentlessly tease those around me. How wonderful to hear that was not the case and was, in fact, a severe exaggeration.”

  “Alice, I’m sorry I said that. It was hurtful and not at all true.” It was a little true, but that truth would make for a terrible apology.

  “You called me spoiled,” Alice said, turning to me, her brown curls tight around her face from the extra humidity in the air. “You made it seem as though I was incapable of being kind because of my wealth, when you yourself grew up wealthy. You are a hypocrite, Rose Beckingham.”

  Countless times since returning to London to be with the Beckinghams, I’d been faced with the reality of my situation. That I was not Rose Beckingham and knew almost nothing about their family or upbringing. Yet, I could not admit such a thing to Alice. I could not tell her that I had grown up poor and parentless. That I was still growing accustomed to the lavish lifestyle they led. So, I nodded.