Murder at Beechwood (22 page)

When we arrived I allowed myself to be prodded. The doctor held a stethoscope to my front and my back while I breathed in deep and coughed. He tried advising me, but I couldn't listen; too many other thoughts raced through my mind. Fortunately, my old friend Hannah Hanson saw me arrive with the Andrews women. She listened to the doctor for me and wrote down everything he said.

“Emma, you should let us admit you. You've breathed in quite a lot of smoke. I cannot impress upon you enough how dangerous that can be.”

Hannah's warning broke through the miasma that had taken hold of me. “Dangerous? But I'm breathing. I'm fine.”

“Didn't you hear what the doctor said? He heard a slight wheeze. Your condition could worsen. You need rest.”

I knew she was right and I had no intention of exerting myself, but neither would I allow anyone to tuck me into bed, extinguish the lights, and shut the door. I had more to do. I was about to tell Hannah so, when Brady and Marianne burst into the examination room.

“Good God, Em, we could see the fire from Third Street. Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, Brady. You needn't worry.”

Marianne said nothing, just took up position at my side like a bodyguard. I introduced her to Hannah, and Brady's eyebrows surged in surprise.

“Little Hannah Hanson?” He surveyed her from head to foot in a way that would have been far too familiar—and disrespectful—if we hadn't known each other all our lives and played together regularly as children.

“It's good to see you again, Brady.” Hannah smiled and extended her hand.

I could see Brady bursting with questions and a desire to become reacquainted—Hannah had blossomed into an attractive young woman—but now was no time to become distracted.

“Hannah,” I interrupted Brady's inquiries about her time in Providence, “was Judith Kingsley admitted?”

“Yes, she's upstairs.”

I jolted. “Not in her brother's former room, I hope?”

“Of course not. She's in the women's ward. There aren't currently any other patients there with her, so it's like a private room.”

“Thank goodness. May she have visitors?”

“I'll check with the doctor, but I believe it would be permitted.”

I spoke next to Brady. “Did you see Jesse on your way in?”

“In the waiting room. He was taking a statement from Mrs. Andrews.”

I hopped down from the examination table. “I need to speak with him immediately.”

“Em . . .”

“It's late, Brady,” I said on my way out of the room. “Please take Marianne home.”

I found Jesse sitting with Mrs. Andrews. They spoke quietly, and Jesse took notes. They looked up when I entered the room.

“Emma. We're about finished here for now and I was just coming to see you. Are you up to answering a few questions?”

“I am, but not here.”

Looking puzzled, he asked, “Where, then?”

“In Mrs. Kingsley's room. But first we need Derrick here. Jesse, you've got to give the order to have him brought over.”

“He isn't completely exonerated yet, Emma. Nate might be responsible for Wyatt and that young girl—”

“Naomi,” I firmly reminded him.

“Yes, Naomi.” He sighed, a forlorn, gusty sound. “But it's almost certain Nate didn't kill his father. Not where he was positioned on the
Vigilant.
”

“I agree,” I said evenly. “Nate didn't murder his father. But I believe I know who did.”

I
refused to say more until Derrick arrived and the doctor could be persuaded to allow several of us to enter Judith's room at once. While Jesse explained to the man the urgency of our request in terms of his ongoing murder investigation, I made a telephone call. Stella answered; she was already up, having just fed Robbie his nighttime bottle. I told her what I needed and hung up.

Then I ran upstairs to check on Uncle Cornelius. I ground to a sudden halt in the doorway. “Neily!” I whispered in surprise.

He sat in a chair just beyond the foot of the bed, away from the dim shafts of light from the street lanterns outside. “What are you doing here this time of night, Emmaline?”

I entered the room, walking on tiptoe to avoid waking Uncle Cornelius. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Reggie's been keeping me informed on the sly. He tracked me down tonight with a message that Mother had finally gone home for some sleep. I took the opportunity to come and sit with Father.”

“Does he know?” I went to Neily and put a hand on his shoulder. “Has he awakened?”

“No, and if he did he would probably order me away.”

“Oh, Neily.” I wanted to reassure him that his father would do no such thing, but after what I'd witnessed at The Breakers, I couldn't with any honesty speak those words. “I'm so sorry.”

“I know you are.” He craned his neck to look up at me, his eyes shining in the darkness. “Thank you for being my friend, Emmaline.”

I bent down and hugged him.

“You haven't said what brought you here. Is someone at Gull Manor ill?” His face filled with alarm. “Robbie?”

“No,” I hastened to assure him. “You needn't worry about him. Oh, Neily . . .”

I sank to my knees beside his chair and he took my hands in his own. “You're frightening me, Emmaline. What is it?”

“Tonight has been awful. A young girl died and . . . Nate Monroe is dead, too.”

“Nate? My God . . .”

“He's our murderer.”

“He killed his own father?” Revulsion filled Neily's voice.

I shook my head. “No, not his father. But the others.” The sounds of low murmurs and ascending footsteps echoed in the stairwell. I held the arm of Neily's chair and pressed to my feet. “Don't stay much longer.” I glanced at his father's sleeping form, wondering when he might awaken. Praying he'd awaken with his old self still intact.

Neily understood my meaning and nodded. “I'll leave soon.”

“Go to Gull Manor. You're welcome to stay as long as you like. Brady's home now, too.”

“Yes, all right. Thank you, Emmaline.”

I left and met the others on the landing. Together, Jesse, Scotty Binsford—there to take notes—Mrs. Andrews, Derrick, and I filed into Judith's room, with the doctor following in the rear, undoubtedly to make sure we didn't overtax the patient. Hannah had remained downstairs, as I had asked her to.

Although I knew full well what Judith had endured earlier, her appearance nonetheless shocked me. No longer wearing the finery in which I'd grown accustomed to seeing her, and surrounded instead by stark, white linens and the even starker gray-white of the walls, she seemed smaller and younger, uncharacteristically docile. All the enmity once directed at me, her brother, and seemingly the world at large had been leeched away. As she gazed up at us all with glistening, sunken eyes, I couldn't help but think of dear cousin Consuelo, shaken and pale after one of her mother's tirades. Yet Judith had suffered much worse than a browbeating, and seeing her now in this tenuous condition—both physically and mentally—made me ashamed for ever having judged her. I should have known better. Should have remembered an ill-tempered disposition almost always stemmed from profound unhappiness.

Would I remedy that tonight? Could I right the innumerous wrongs of the past many days and weeks?

Derrick and I hadn't spoken since his arrival. We traded only one glance—his bewildered and somewhat wary, as if he didn't trust what appeared to be my latest whim, and mine an attempt to silently persuade him to trust me. After that I looked away, for if my plan didn't work, if my guesses proved incorrect, he would be taken back into custody. And that was a possibility I could not bring myself to acknowledge openly between us.

As we all took up positions around Judith's room, Jesse broke the rigid silence. “All right, Emma. You called this meeting. Perhaps now you'll explain why.”

I raised a quick, wordless request that my aunt Sadie lend me a bit of her pluck. I would need it to prevail in the next several moments. Can one feel fortified and apprehensive at the same time? I did as I walked to the foot of the bed, from where Judith could meet my gaze without having to twist her neck.

“Mrs. Kingsley, it is time for the entire truth to come out.” Her expression immediately became shuttered and I held up a hand. “No, Mrs. Kingsley. Judith, if I may. The time for reticence is long past. People have died. A coach driver. Virgil Monroe. His brother, Wyatt. A maid—one I believe you knew. And now young Nate Monroe.”

Her mouth gaped. A few of those tears swimming in her eyes spilled over.

Heat buffeted my back and a voice spoke in my ear. “Now, see here, Emma. If you're implying that any of this is my sister's fault—”

I spun around to behold Derrick's handsome and, yes, angry features, yet I directed my next comment to everyone in the room. “No, not her fault. But all roads do lead back to Judith.” I faced the bed once more. “Don't they?”

Her answer came like a faint stirring of wind across a headland. “Yes.”

“Then stop me when I am incorrect.” She nodded, her gaze never leaving mine. I was about to continue, but found I couldn't, not where I stood, at the foot of the bed looking down at her. My stance suddenly felt accusatory, as if I intended casting judgment, which I did not. I came around the bed and sat beside her knees, facing her. She didn't resist when I took her hand.

“You and Virgil Monroe had . . . an intimate association, yes?”

Behind me, her mother gasped. Even from across the room, and without my having to see him, I felt Derrick tense. If Judith noticed, she ignored them. She ignored everyone else in the room, her attention riveted on me.

“It began last summer,” she said in a small voice. “When I came out of mourning. I was so lonely and he—he was so kind. So comforting. For a time,” she added with a bitter note.

“And you became with child.” She didn't respond, but she didn't correct me either. Her mother, to her credit, remained silent. Derrick swore so softly I might have imagined it. I heard his step, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him take up my former place at the foot of the bed. With both hands he gripped the iron bedstead, his knuckles whitening.

I went on. “To cover the evidence of the child's existence—to protect your reputation and Virgil's plans to divorce his wife and leave her virtually destitute—he determined that the child must be hidden away. Brought to an orphanage.”

Judith's breath trembled. Her hand tightened around mine. “He changed. Became controlling, cruel. I began to hate him long before he stole my child.”

I noted how she said
my child,
rather than
our
child, but for now I let that pass. “What you didn't know, I believe, is that the young maid Naomi, who cared for you, secretly refused to cooperate. Instead of taking the child off island, she brought him to me.”

Judith's lips parted on a cry so mournful it traveled to my very soul. Her mother whimpered, then fell silent. Judith's eyes filled anew, and her free hand rose to press her lips.

“She left him on my doorstep,” I said, “with only one clue as to his identity. A handkerchief edged with the lace Virgil Monroe brought home from Belgium last spring.”

Judith bowed her head, her tears falling onto the sheets. “I wondered where that went.”

“That same morning, the coachman who brought Naomi and the baby to Ocean Avenue continued on alone as a diversion.” I paused until Judith looked back up at me. “And was murdered for his pains. Shot, out by Brenton Point.”

“Good Lord.”

“I believe it was Virgil who shot him.”

“It's quite possible,” she murmured. “He was away for hours that day. While I grieved for my child, he was nowhere to be found. . . .”

“What about Virgil's death, then?” Jesse prompted.

“An accident,” I replied without hesitation. “But another man should have died that day, and it would not have been an accident. I believe somehow Wyatt knew about the child—is that possible?”

The way Judith's eyes closed when she nodded told me it was more than possible. It was a fact. I continued with my theory.

“And so Virgil rigged the boom on the
Vigilant
so that at the right moment, he could cause it to go swinging to the port side and knock Wyatt unconscious and into the water. He hadn't counted on the squall, though. He believed he could control the sea the way he controlled everyone in his life. But in the end, the sea proved too stubborn for him.”

“And Nate?” Jesse moved to stand beside me.

“Took up where his father left off. I believe he decided it was his duty to do away with anyone who could identify the child. He indicated as much tonight before . . .” I tried to shake away the awful memory of Nate walking back into that blazing cabin.

“But why attempt to kill Mrs. Kingsley?” Jesse asked, his perplexity plain to hear. “She didn't know where the baby was until this moment. And why would he find it necessary to murder his father's mistress? Her only crime was to bear an inconvenient child.”

“To avenge his mother, perhaps?” I suggested, but even to me, that sounded hollow. Nate had made no mention of his mother aboard the
Lavinia's Sun.
By his own admission, his foul deeds had been committed in his father's name.

Judith's reedy voice surprised us. “Out of everyone, I betrayed Virgil most of all.”

“A woman can't help becoming with child,” I gently told her.

She laughed, a harsh sound entirely without mirth. “You don't understand. The child is not Virgil's. He is Wyatt's.”