Black Moonlight (14 page)

“Get Mrs. Marjorie a glass, please, George,” Selina instructed as she passed him his bottle of ginger beer.

“Don’t bother with a glass,” Marjorie told her hosts. “I’ll drink it from the bottle.”

Selina handed Marjorie the bottle of ginger beer and sat beside her at the table. George, meanwhile, took a sip of ginger beer and gave the pot a stir.

“You know, this reminds me of old times,” Selina said with a smile. “I was a young girl, a little older than George and had just started working here. Mrs. Ashcroft—not Mrs. Griselda, but Mrs. Madeleine, the boys’ mother—came out here with two bottles of ginger beer she had picked up in Hamilton. Richard was in the house working and she was lonesome.”

George, his curiosity piqued, sat down at the round table, across from his mother and to the left of Marjorie.

“It became a habit with us,” Selina continued. “Every time the Ashcrofts would visit, she’d come down here after dinner, or later on, after she had put the boys to bed, and we’d drink a few ginger beers—she drank it from the bottle too—and we’d laugh and laugh.”

“Later, when she was ill, I’d bring the ginger beers to her bedroom and roll her chair out onto the verandah. But we never abandoned the tradition, even though she knew she was dying,” Selina went on. “You know, you remind me of her, Mrs. Marjorie. Not in your appearance, but your manner. She was fearless.”

“Thank you,” Marjorie said gratefully. “That means a lot coming from you. Although I’m not sure I’d call myself fearless.”

“Yes, you are,” Selina insisted. “You working with the police in order to prove Mr. Creighton’s innocence. And helping George and me along the way … well, Mrs. Madeleine is no doubt watching over you.”

“Lets hope so,” Marjorie sighed and raised her bottle to toast her companions.

“Here’s to getting Creighton out of jail.”

George and Selina met her bottle with theirs, resulting in a resounding clink.

Marjorie took a swig of ginger beer and swallowed it. “It sounds like you and Creighton’s mother were very close.”

“We were close friends,” Selina confirmed. “She always teased and said that I was a better match for Richard than she was. I laughed at the time, but then, two years after Madeleine’s death, there I was, in love with her widower.”

“Have you ever told Creighton about your ginger beer ‘get-togethers’? I’m sure he’d love to hear about them.”

“No. Richard—Mr. Ashcroft—forbid us from talking about Mrs. Madeleine. It was tough on the boys, but especially Mr. Creighton. He was only nine years old and so lost after she died, poor lad. Mrs. Madeleine loved both of her boys, but she always had a special place in her heart for Mr. Creighton. They were of the same mind, those two.”

“Creighton told me that they weren’t permitted to speak of their mother after she died. I find it very strange,” Marjorie mused. “I know Mr. Ashcroft’s and Creighton’s mother didn’t get along well, but still …”

“That’s what I needed to talk to you about,” Selina stated as she tpped back her head and drank the rest of her ginger beer. “I need to tell you the reason Richard did not want to speak of his wife.”

“Do you want me to leave?” George asked as he hovered over his seat.

“Ye—” Selina started, and then changed her mind. “No. You may not know all there is to know about the world, but you’re not a little boy. I don’t want there to be any secrets on this island any longer.”

“I’d like that,” George beamed and sat back in his chair.

“Not so fast. You may not have to leave, but you can get us more ginger beer,” Selina instructed as she reciprocated the smile.

George pulled a face and ran off toward the icebox.

“So,” Selina prefaced, “where was I? Oh, yes. Last night, when Mr. Creighton argued with his father, he accused him of killing Mrs. Madeleine. Did he tell you what he meant?”

“Yes,” Marjorie answered. “The night before his mother died, Creighton overheard his parents arguing. Apparently his father confessed to having an affair. Well, in truth, he more than confessed—he recounted every last detail.”

George, in the meantime, returned with three new bottles, all the while giving Marjorie his rapt attention.

“George, my love,” Selina snapped her son from his reverie. “Have you been drinking my ginger beer?”

George looked absently at the two bottles in his hands, each bearing a different amount of liquid. “Sorry,” he muttered as he passed a bottle to his mother.

Selina accepted it with a smile and a good-humored wink in her son’s direction.

Marjorie chuckled and then completed her story. “According to Creighton, Mrs. Madeleine was devastated at the news. She died the next morning.”

“It’s as I thought,” Selina sighed and held her head. “I loved Mrs. Madeleine and, therefore, I’ve kept it a secret all these years, but I can’t any longer. Mr. Creighton needs to find some peace with his father. The affair that Richard was describing wasn’t his, it was hers.”

“What!” Marjorie and George cried in unison.

“Before Mrs. Madeleine and Richard married, Mrs. Madeleine was seeing another young man. And she loved him, deeply. But he was poor and her family had lost their fortune in the last depression.”

“So they pushed for her to marry someone else,” Marjorie presumed.

“Yes,” Selina confirmed. “Her family had a fine reputation, but no money. The Ashcrofts had money, but little in the way of reputation. It was a perfect match.”

“Except that it didn’t work,” George stated.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Marjorie laughed quietly.

“Mrs. Madeleine’s parents got rid of the poor suitor.”

“Naturally,” Marjorie remarked.

“Some time later, two years or so after the Ashcrofts had married, the young man returned. He had made his fortune and asked Madeleine to leave Richard and run away with him. She should have taken the offer and run, but that wasn’t Madeleine. She had taken a vow and she was determined to remain faithful to it, although she and the young man did write to each other on a regular basis. Long letters; beautiful letters. During one of our last ginger beer meetings, she let me read a few of those letters.” Tears welled in Selina’s eyes. “He had been with her the day she learned she had cancer, and had visited her at the house every afternoon since.”

“Visited. Do you mean … ?” Marjorie asked.

“No,” Selina stated emphatically. “Madeleine swore up and down that she had stayed truthful to her vows. I think even if she had wanted to, she was probably too sick anyway.”

“If the relationship was platonic, why the big argument?” George asked. “And how did Mr. Ashcroft find out about the affair in the first place?”

“He found the letters,” Selina explained. “And although Mrs. Madeleine maintained her innocence, Richard didn’t believe her. Especially since the letters started shortly before Mr. Creighton came along—”

“He thought that Mr. Creighton was … ?” George uttered in disbelief.

“Richard could never understand the boy,” Selina stated.

“Of course, how better to explain the differences than to claim he isn’t yours?” Marjorie commented.

“Richard had been jealous of this other man from the outset,” Selina resumed the story. “He knew that’s where Madeleine’s heart resided. The letters made him furious, but the situation did not come to a head until one afternoon. Richard came home early from work and found him there in the house on one of his afternoon visits. Richard had the man thrown out of the building, and he vowed to never let Madeleine see, speak, or write to him again. She never did.”

“She died the next morning,” Marjorie filled in the blanks.

Selina nodded.

The trio drank their ginger beers in silence.

“What am I supposed to do with this story?” Marjorie finally asked. “How is it going to help Creighton?”

“Mr. Creighton has spent his entire life believing that his mother had never known a day of happiness; that she never knew true love. And he’s blamed all of that on his father. I’m not claiming that Richard’s actions were entirely innocent during their marriage, but I do know that he loved Madeleine very much, and that he never stopped. I think he tried very hard at the beginning of the marriage to make her happy, to win her over. But he knew that she married him out duty to her family, and that he was her second choice for a husband. It’s a difficult thing to love someone whose heart resides with someone else. Eventually, you give up on love altogether.”

With a wry smile, Selina rose from her seat and quietly went about getting supper on the table.

It was going on
nine o’clock by the time Marjorie, her stomach full of Selina’s delicious chowder, departed from the cottage.

“I don’t feel safe with you up in that big house tonight,” Selina said worriedly. “Why don’t you get your things and stay here?”

“You can have my room,” George offered. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“No, no,” Marjorie argued. “I’ll be all right at the house. I need to stay there to keep an eye on everyone. Besides, if anything happens, Inspector Nettles gave me this,” she held up the shiny silver whistle.

“What are you supposed to do with that?” Selina asked skeptically. “Blow it in the murderer’s ear?”

“It’s a police whistle,” Marjorie explained. “I blow on it and the Constable watching the pier will come to my rescue.”

“I don’t know about the Constable, but George and I will definitely come running.” Selina pulled a face, “Now I’m going to be awake all night, listening for the sound of a whistle.”

“No, you won’t. You’re going to sleep well and get up tomorrow morning feeling better than you ever have.” Marjorie reached her arms around the woman. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome, child. And if you get frightened, please come here. It doesn’t matter what time it is.”

“I will,” Marjorie assured her as she gave George a goodnight hug.

Meanwhile, Selina issued a warning to the black cat who, after devouring his dinner, had been lazing in the doorway all evening. “You look out for her, you hear? Otherwise it’s no more fish chowder for you!”

The cat responded with a wide-mouthed “meow” before setting off on the path toward the house.

“Wait for me,” Marjorie ordered and took off after him.

The cat stopped and watched with glowing eyes as she drew closer. Once she was within a few feet from him, he would take off again, only to stop a few yards down the path and monitor Marjorie’s approach from behind a low shrub or a patch of tall grass. This game continued until they reached the rear entrance of the house.

Marjorie opened the back door and allowed her feline friend admittance before stepping inside. The comforting aromas of nutmeg and butter wafted through the hallway and enticed Marjorie to stick her head into the open kitchen door.

Mr. Miller sat at the long wooden table, eating a plate of starchy dumplings. Intrigued by the smell, the black cat jumped on the table to get a better look.

“Hello, Mrs. Ashcroft,” Miller greeted. “And friend.”

“Bad kitty,” Marjorie rushed forward, scooped up the cat, and dropped him gently onto the kitchen floor. “I’m sorry, Mr. Miller. I wouldn’t have let him in if I had known you were eating.”

“That’s all right, I had a dog like that back in Pennsylvania. Came in handy for the things I didn’t like.” He hiked a thumb to the frying pan on the stove. “Are you hungry? It’s my mother’s recipe; makes a bunch.”

“No, thank you. I just had some fish chowder with the Pooleys.”

“Selina and George?” Miller said doubtfully. “Was it wise to accept food from them?”

“No less wise than eating the food you made.” Marjorie stated matter-of-factly.

“Good point,” he said with a smile.

Marjorie watched as Miller used his knife to push some dumplings onto the back of his fork. “Anything interesting happen around here while I was gone?”

“You mean more interesting than the murders? Or more interesting than your husband being arrested?”

“Now you’re the one who’s made a good point,” she volleyed.

“Nothing happened and I’m sorry. Not about making a good point, but about your husband. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he did it.” Miller dropped his voice to a whisper. “Between you and me, I think Edward’s the culprit.”

Marjorie sat opposite Miller and leaned in close. “Really? Why?”

“Because of the timing. By murdering Mr. Ashcroft when he did, he not only got rid of his arrogant father but he managed to make your husband look like the primary suspect. No one else here would be more interested in framing Creighton than his brother. What do you think?”

Miller pushed the last portion of dumplings onto his fork and carried them, carefully, to his mouth. Upon swallowing them, he picked up the plate and knife, and the napkin that had been resting on his lap, and brought them all to the sink.

“I have to admit, I’m at a total loss,” she admitted. “Up until this afternoon, I thought Cassandra was the killer.”

“She was pretty shady, wasn’t she?” Miller washed his plate and the utensils with a soapy dishcloth and stacked them in the empty dish rack before drying his hands with a tea towel. “Well, I’m heading into the study for a drink. Would you care to join me?” he held his right arm aloft.

“I don’t know,” Marjorie said reluctantly.

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way,” Miller clarified. “We wouldn’t be alone. Griselda and Edward are there already. They’ve been ‘unwinding’ since five o’clock.”

“It’s been a long day,” Marjorie noted. “I should probably get to bed.”

“Just a quick drink? Something to help you sleep. You can’t tell me that you’re going to nod off the moment your head hits the pillow—not with your husband in jail and the real killer still on the loose.”

Marjorie accepted the proffered arm. “You could have stopped at the part about my husband being in jail. You needn’t have added the bit about the killer being on the loose.”

Miller laughed as they made their way down the hall, the small black cat following close at their heels. “There’s safety in numbers. Since Cassandra’s body was discovered, the three of us—four when George was here—have been trying to stick together.”

They turned into the study to find Griselda, dressed to the nines in a red ruffle-fronted evening gown, draped across the settee, a martini glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “Marjorie!” she exclaimed upon seeing the blonde young woman standing in the doorway of the study. “Where have you been? Edward and I were positively in a panic over you!”

Edward, standing over the bar cart, shot a puzzled look in Griselda’s direction before taking drink orders. “Marjorie. Miller. It’s going to be a long night; what can I get you to drink?”

“I’ll have a scotch and water,” Miller requested.

“You want the same, Marjorie?” Edward asked as he poured a glass of scotch for Miller and another for himself.

“No, nothing quite that lethal,” she replied.

“You should have a martini, darling,” Griselda instructed. “They’re good for what ails you.”

There must have been some truth in that statement, for it appeared that Griselda wasn’t feeling any pain at all. “I’ll take your word on it,” Marjorie responded before directing Edward. “I just want something to settle my nerves before I go to bed.”

“Then brandy’s the thing you want,” Edward declared. He unstopped a glass decanter and poured some of the contents into a snifter.

“Brandy,” Griselda repeated melodramatically. “My Richie had to have his brandy every night after dinner. Two glasses. No more, no less. Oh, Richie!” she wailed.

“This is her third crying jag tonight,” Edward whispered to Marjorie as he passed her the snifter.

Marjorie suppressed a laugh. “Thank you,” she said, swirling the contents of her glass.

“No need for that,” Edward noted. “I could smell it the moment I opened the decanter; probably the heat. It’s gone frightfully still outside, hasn’t it?”

“Everything else around here is dying,” Griselda noted. “Why should the breeze be any different?”

Miller took his drink from Edward and sat in one of the two wing chairs. “I think we’re in for a storm,” he opined.

Griselda swung her legs over the side of the settee in order to make a spot for Marjorie. “Swell. All we need is a Frankenstein monster and we’ll have ourselves a genu-ine house of horrors.”

Marjorie eased herself onto the cushion beside Griselda. As she did so, the cat jumped onto Marjorie’s lap and began purring contentedly.

“Oh!” Griselda shrieked. “What is that?”

“Come now, Griselda,” Edward joked. “If anyone should be able to recognize a cat, it’s you.”

Griselda glared at Edward. “I mean, what is it doing here?”

“I found him on the verandah outside our bedroom yesterday,” Marjorie explained as she rubbed the cat’s ears. “We’ve been friends ever since.”

“You made friends with a black cat? Don’t you know they’re bad luck? Bad luck isn’t exactly in short supply around here.”

“According to Selina, it’s worse luck to turn a black cat out of your home.” Marjorie looked at the cat, “That’s why you got fish chowder tonight, isn’t it?”

Griselda bolted upright. “Selina made dinner? Why didn’t I get any?”

“I told Selina to take the evening off,” Edward answered. “After all she’d been through, I thought she could use the rest.”

“It seems she didn’t need the rest, if she was cooking for George and Marjorie and—and—a stray cat,” Griselda said with venom. “She could have been cooking for us; I’m famished.”

“Did it ever occur to you that you could make yourself something to eat?”

“I don’t know how to cook!”

“You could always make a sandwich. There’s roast beef in the icebox,” Miller suggested.

“I don’t even know where the icebox is, let alone the bread, and the knives and—and—oh, never mind,” Griselda dismissed the idea. “I’m exhausted just thinking about it. Why do we even have servants if we don’t let them do what they were hired to do?”

Edward laughed. “Only a few short hours ago you were accusing Selina and George of committing the murders. Now you want them to serve you supper.”

“Excuse me if I’m dying from hunger and can’t think straight. Besides, you’re one to talk. You accused Marjorie of being the killer and here you are fixing her a brandy.”

Marjorie looked angrily at her brother-in-law.

“I did not accuse Marjorie of being the killer,” Edward contested. “I merely commented on the fact that my father was murdered on the same day she was introduced to the family. I found it an odd coincidence.”

“That sounds like an indictment to me,” Marjorie said.

“It wasn’t,” Edward maintained. “It isn’t. It was an … observation, that’s all.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that observation before.” Marjorie flashed a brilliant smile.

“Everyone seems to have an observation,” Griselda slurred. “So what’s your opinion, Mister … Mister Miller?”

“Me?” Miller asked in genuine surprise. “I think Edward here did it.”

“I’m your suspect?” Edward responded ingenuously.

“Yes you are,” Miller replied.

“Why?”

“You’re just plain smug. And, if I may be bold, you drugged your wife. A man who’s willing to do that to a lady cannot be trusted.”

“Hmm,” Edward responded appreciatively.

“Why didn’t anyone pick me?” Griselda posed. “I could have murdered Richie and … and …”

“Cassandra?” Marjorie offered with a poorly disguised yawn.

“That’s right,” Griselda affirmed.

“If you want someone to concede that you could have returned early last night and snuck to the back of the house this afternoon, you’ve got it. Jackson, Nettles, and I all considered you a suspect.” Marjorie yawned again.

Griselda sighed contentedly. “Yes, I am. I’m a suspect.”

“For God’s sake, go to bed,” Edward urged.

“Well, I don’t know about Griselda,” Marjorie interjected as she took the black cat from her lap and placed him onto the cedar floorboards, “but I’m certainly ready.”

“Now?” Griselda glanced at her watch. “It’s only … nine-thirty. The party’s just getting started.”

“Maybe for you, but I—” Marjorie had risen to her feet, only to fall back onto the settee.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Ashcroft?” Miller asked.

“I—I just got a bit dizzy.”

Edward rose from his spot in the wing chair and took hold of Marjorie’s left arm. “You’ve had a long day. Let’s get you to bed. Mr. Miller, will you give me a hand?”

Miller complied and took Marjorie’s other arm.

“Wait,” ordered Griselda. “You’re not taking off with the only other woman in the house. And you’re definitely not leaving me here by myself. I’m going with you!”