A Dreadful Splendor (94)

I refolded the note and placed it in the ghost book. Dr. Barnaby let out a quivering sigh as I closed the cover, keeping the note between the slates. The die had been cast. There was no turning back now.

“Lay your hands on the table,” I instructed. “Palms down, fingers splayed wide.”

My eye caught the gold ring on Mr. Pemberton’s finger. I thought about his scar and how he’d suffered at the hands of his father. My heart was conflicted. He seemed so sure he could save me, but how could I escape Constable Rigby this time? It seemed the people I thought I could trust were not who they were at all. Was there even a horse waiting for me at the stables? I imagined more constables lined up with horses of their own. I swallowed the paranoia and set to task.

“Hold hands,” I told them, both of mine reaching for Mr. Pemberton and Dr. Barnaby. I was bridging the span between Audra’s lover and fiancé. The room grew quiet—too quiet. The only sound came from the occasional pops and hisses of the fireplace. I realized the grandfather clock had stopped ticking, yet again. Its pendulum hung, unmoving.

The floor creaked as Constable Rigby shifted his weight, bringing me back to the moment. I began, “Our beloved Audra, who grew up in this very house, we bring you gifts of love from our hearts to reach you in death. Commune with us, Audra, and move among us.” I repeated the phrase and then added, “Let us know what happened to you that night. Who took you from us far too early?”

The bookcase ladder creaked on its rusty hinges. I took that as my cue. “She is here,” I declared. I worked the shimmied piece of wood with the toe of my shoe, making the table rock awkwardly.

There was a whimper from the doors. I suspected it was Harry.

My voice dropped lower. “With whom do you wish to speak?” I said.

The candle in front of Mr. Lockhart went out. He gasped.

I frowned at William’s candle. It was still burning. How could I have made that mistake? Only one candle had the wick cut.

Without warning, the long windows at the other end of the room flung open at the same time. The curtains blew inward as if lifted by invisible hands. Impossible! I had checked their locks only moments ago.

“Our beloved Audra,” I started again, this time unsure. “Who took you from us that night? Who killed you?”

“Please,” Mr. Lockhart cried. “Don’t defame her memory. I beg you, stop this!”

Mr. Pemberton’s candle went out next. We exchanged confused glances.

There was an echo of a scream from somewhere outside the door.

She was here. For the very first time, I was speaking these words to something real. And I wanted her answer.

I repeated, “Who took you from us that night? Who killed you? Tell us! Please, Audra.”

“Enough!” Mr. Lockhart cried out. He reached forward and opened the book. We all leaned forward. There, in Audra’s handwriting, was one name—Gareth.





Chapter Fifty-Five




Mr. Pemberton stared at me, aghast. “What is this?” he asked me.

Before I could answer, my candle went out next, then William’s, and, then last, Dr. Barnaby’s. The only light was from the fireplace.

“Ha! You see? There’s your pr—” William coughed and wheezed. “There’s your proof.” He suddenly stood, making the chair fall back. His fingers pulled at his necktie as blood trickled from his nose. The wheezing intensified. “Audra,” he croaked. Then he collapsed to the floor.

Dr. Barnaby rushed from his chair. He crouched beside William, slapping his face and calling his name. He loosened the necktie and the first few buttons to help him breathe.

Everyone left the table and huddled over them. William looked almost like he was asleep, except for the bulging eyes and spittle about the mouth.

“Oh dear.” Mr. Lockhart winced.

Mr. Pemberton’s jaw dropped. He stared at his adversary, now splayed on the floor, unmoving.

Harry and Bramwell edged closer from the periphery.

Dr. Barnaby took out his pocket watch and pressed his fingers to William’s neck. The room was quiet; only the curtains flapped in the breeze. Dr. Barnaby shut his watch. “He’s dead,” he said.

Great sparks came from the fire. Constable Rigby pushed me to the side. He knelt by William’s body and leaned close, taking a deep sniff. “This man has been poisoned.” He glared up at me.

I put a hand to my chest as I stepped backward. I knew there was nothing I could say to prove my innocence. The fire began to smoke heavily, blowing out thick clouds into the room.

“I heard them,” Harry said, pointing a shaking finger at me. “She and the lord were in the kitchen the other night. I heard them talk about the séance and how they were going to frame Mr. Sutterly for Lady Audra’s murder!”

A full smile took over Constable Rigby’s face. He pulled out the set of handcuffs.

I looked up at Audra’s portrait. She was my last chance at salvation; I had reached my most extreme measure of desperation, hoping that a ghost would save me.

The door burst open. Flora ran in, pale and out of breath. “Bramwell, Henry! Mrs. Donovan’s gotten outside! We think she’s by the cliff. Please, come help look. Mrs. Galloway asked me . . .” She stopped when she saw William on the floor. “What?” She ran to his side and dropped to her knees, cradling his head in her lap. “No, no, no,” she sobbed.