A Dreadful Splendor (105)

“Call me Genevieve,” I replied.





Chapter Sixty




It was so quiet in the graveyard. I could hear the melting snow drip from the oak branches above me. I replaced the dead flowers from Maisie’s headstone with a new posy. Her actual remains had been retrieved from the Linwood family crypt and brought back to where they rightfully belonged. I promised Flora before she left for her new placement at a grand house several counties over that I would take up the task of leaving flowers for her best friend.

Auntie Lil’s cottage had become my newly adopted home. There was always cake to eat and soothing tea when I couldn’t sleep. Her gentle companionship and maternal goodness made for the perfect place to recuperate after the séance, and a soothing escape from the trials.

I had carried the guilt for causing Maman’s death all this time, but her murder had not been by my hand. My séance had indeed driven someone to confession: Constable Rigby.

The night my mother fell down the stairs, he was the first copper to arrive, and by no coincidence. He was already on his way for a meeting with Miss Crane. She had ordered one of the girls to fetch him instead of an ambulance. And while I was held back at the top of the stairs, clutching her shawl, she had purposely bent over Maman’s body, blocking my view. She pretended to tend to her injuries, while all along she had been covering her nose and mouth, ensuring she’d never breathe again. The coroner was convinced, through bribery and blackmail, to change the death certificate from suffocation to a broken neck.

Miss Crane knew the secrets of many a powerful Londoner, but her power over others could only reach so far.

A new cause of death was enough to reopen the case. Constable Rigby made a plea deal, and the word of a copper, even a crooked one, would always outweigh that of a woman who ran a brothel. Although she was only responsible for my mother’s death, Miss Crane’s trial was the last chapter of the Somerset Slayings, as the press had dubbed them. News of the triple murders at the grand estate made the headlines of every paper. It was too salacious not to.

I stood up from Maisie’s grave and made my way to the rock wall that surrounded the church. Winter was losing its grip as new shoots poked through the hard ground. Gareth was waiting for me, standing beside his horse. With the February morning mist swirling about, he looked like an angel I’d conjured from my imagination.

I reached into my basket and handed him two smaller posies. He took them with a cheerless expression and slipped them into the horse’s satchel.

“I know you don’t approve,” I said, “but Mr. Lockhart was repentant at the end, and Audra was a victim, in some ways. It’s only right to leave tokens at their graves as well.”

He let out a sigh. “You may have exonerated them in your soul, but I will never forgive either of them for nearly taking your life.”

I stayed silent. Even though it had been several months since that horrible night, I still had nightmares about being down in the dungeon, trapped under the water. It had been Mrs. Donovan who heard me calling for help, while the rest of the staff had evacuated due to the fire.

As Constable Rigby had somewhat of a breakdown at the sight of Audra’s ghost, Gareth was able to escape during the commotion in the library. He ran to the stables. First, to see if I had made a clean getaway, and second, to have Joseph use the hatchet to free him from the handcuffs. When Joseph told him I’d never arrived, they both ran back to the manor. As they entered the back door to the kitchen, Mrs. Donovan told them someone was crying out from the pantry. They didn’t believe her until they heard me call out his name.

Poor Mrs. Donovan never fully recovered from her injuries. News of William’s death was worse than any blow to the head, and she took to bed, dying a few weeks after.

The charges of theft against me were dropped after the police received a letter of apology from the Hartford family. Apparently, when Mrs. Hartford learned of my tragic misfortune at the hands of Miss Crane, she forgave my attempt to steal her jewels. In addition, Gareth paid a small fortune to one of the top solicitors in London. They reviewed the coroner’s report in my police file and deemed suffocation to be the true cause of Maman’s death. I wondered if Mr. Lockhart had mentioned it during the party on purpose. I like to think he was offering me a chance to save myself, in case I was sent back in jail.

“Enough of the past,” Gareth said, offering me his arm. “I don’t want our last few hours spoiled.”

I slipped my gloved hand into the bend of his elbow. We continued our walk down the village road, fresh with the recent dusting of snow. Gareth was leaving for Spain to interview prospective buyers for Somerset Park. The library had been slightly damaged from the smoke the night of the séance, but the grounds were still spectacular. He wanted to find someone who would maintain the stables to his standards.

He turned to me with a sly grin in place. “I may take advantage of my time there to tour some properties for my own use. Any requests?”

“Requests?” I teased. “Not suggestions?”

“How else am I to tempt you?”

I blushed, imagining all the ways. “Rolling hills,” I answered.

“Very well.”

“And a forest of trees,” I added. “Perhaps a river or creek—but far away from the ocean.”

He cleared his throat. “Indeed.”