February 12, 1889 #2
A rare blush rose to his cheeks and she looked away before it spread to her, continuing.
“Everything with her is about position and societal standing, what others think. And now I’m finding myself caring about that too, and I wish I could go back.
” She drew in a long breath. “I can’t help but feel sorry for her.
Because it is exhausting to be so preoccupied with how everyone else thinks. ”
“She wasn’t always that way.” Byron said, voice hesitant. “When I was little, I even remember her having fun.”
“What changed?”
He remained silent for a few moments.
“A few things. I think it started with Wilburn Treadway.”
“The Treadway that Castel mentioned?”
“The very one. He courted Mary for several years. I don’t remember all the specifics, as I was only six when they parted ways. What I do know is, my father did not approve of the match and Mary was devastated.”
“Then why would she do the same thing to you?”
Byron ran a hand through his hair. “Just two years after that, she lost one of her closest friends and confidants.” He looked away, his voice going hoarse. “Our sister Catherine.”
Mira’s mouth went dry. “I didn’t know you had any other sisters.”
“There were three others, actually. Catherine, Edith, and Alice. And each of them died when they turned twenty-one.” Byron swallowed. “It felt like a curse. One after another, a few years apart. And then father died. With each funeral, Mary became more and more protective of the rest of us.”
“Oh.”
“As I’m the youngest, and younger than her by sixteen years, she’s all the more protective of me.”
Mira laid her head on his shoulder. “Then no one will ever be good enough for her.”
He brought her hand up to his lips. “Thank goodness she’s not the one who gets to decide.”
They fell into silence for the rest of the ride, Byron running his thumb over the back of her hand.
***
If the Risewells were surprised to have the police on their doorstep again, they hid it well. They spoke briefly to Mr. and Mrs. Risewell, learned that Theresia was out riding again, and headed out to the top of the West Ledge.
Byron crouched by the edge. “The ice has melted some since yesterday, but you can see the tracks well enough, can’t you inspector?”
“Yes. I can.” Rutledge folded his arms, puffing on a cigarette. “But I don’t see how this changes anything. He stole a horse and fell from it.”
“If I’m right, it’s a bit more complicated than that.” Byron stood, brushing himself off. “Come down to where we found the dagger.”
They trekked along the path and found the place marked with sticks. “Miss Blayse, would you refresh our memory on where you found the body?” Byron asked.
Mira frowned, looking up the slope and then out past the fence line, determining where it had been. She moved to stand a few feet away from where they found the dagger.
“About here, I’d say.”
“I’d agree to that,” Inspector Rutledge said.
“If the dagger had merely fallen from his pocket, surely it would have been found closer to the body, or underneath it,” Byron said. “But if the knife was in his hand at the time, the distance can be accounted for. And what reason would he have to draw his knife, unless there was an assailant?”
“You think it was murder?” Constable Welter asked.
“I think there is more to the story than meets the eye. Whether it was murder or not does not preclude the necessity of discovering the truth.”
“Ho there!” Walker called from the top of the ledge.
The whole group looked up at him.
Byron waved, calling back. “Was I right?”
“Down to the letter!”
Byron let out a satisfied sigh. “I thought I would be.” Louder, he said. “Meet us by the stable!”
Walker nodded and disappeared from view.
“What’s this all about, Constantine?” Rutledge asked.
“The missing necklace. We’ve found it.”
“Oh?”
They hurried up the path, meeting Walker at the entrance to the stable. Walker handed the inspector a piece of paper.
“Here’s a statement, signed by the jeweler,” he said, a little out of breath. “A woman matching the description of Theresia Risewell sold a jade and amethyst necklace yesterday after the inquest.”
Rutledge scanned the paper, frowning. “Why would she do that, I wonder?”
“Why don’t we find out?” Byron said, moving to the stable door. “After you, Inspector.”
Soft light filtered through the dust of the stable, the musk of horses and stench of manure dulled by the cold. Rudy Foster’s voice cut through the air, singing a quiet melody in time with the sound of a pitchfork in hay.
“—with steps, solemn, mournful and slow. Had I the wings of a little dove, far, far away would I fly, I’d fly—”
He was up in the hayloft, sending hay raining down into the stalls.
“—Straight for the arms of my true love. And there I would lay me and—”
“Mr. Foster?” Byron called out.
The singing stopped and Rudy looked down from the edge of the loft. “Aye, that’s me.” His shoulders slumped as he cast his gaze across Byron, Mira, Walker, and the police.
“We have some questions for you.”
Rudy let out a long breath and set the pitchfork into a bale of hay. “I thought you might.”
He sat on the edge, bracing himself for the fall before dropping down in front of them.
“I suppose you know then,” he said. “Miss Risewell mentioned you were a detective.”
Byron inclined his head. “I don’t have the entire story. I thought you might be willing to fill in the gaps.” He gestured for Rudy to take a seat on one of the stools.
“I knew it would come out, one way or another,” he said. “I don’t think I done nothing wrong, ‘cept keeping quiet about it. But the guilt I’ve felt has been something terrible. So if I can be rid of that now, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“First,” Byron said. “Might we see what you’re hiding beneath those wrappings?”
Rudy averted his gaze, but gave a small nod and began the process of unwrapping the fabric from around his arms. With a sigh, he lifted his left arm, revealing a jagged, raw, red mark running up the side. Mira grimaced.
“There’s the missing piece,” Byron said.
“I didn’t mean to,” Rudy said. “And I know I ought to have told someone, but I didn’t want to lose my position here. It’s a good job.”
“And if you lost it, you’d lose Miss Risewell too?” Mira asked.
Rudy’s eyes widened. “How . . . I mean . . .”
Byron set a hand on the man’s shoulder. “What is your relationship to Miss Risewell, Rudy?”
He worried his lip. “I suppose there’s no use hiding it.
I love her. But that’s no crime. And I’ve known all along it would never work.
The two of us are too different. I don’t have the money to give her the life she deserves.
I’ve told her as much in the past. Told her to find a good man. Which is why . . .”
“You didn’t like Silas Treadway?” Constable McGuire offered.
Rudy rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding looking at any of them. “I had no real opinion of the man. Thought he might be a good match. But then . . . well, I saw him a few weeks ago meeting with a woman at the southern gate.”
“Is that why you killed him?” Rutledge asked.
Rudy’s eyes flew wide. “I didn’t kill him, sir! Or leastways, I didn’t mean to. It was an accident, I swear it was.”
Byron nodded. “You don’t need to admit to anything at this time, but considering the knife and your injury, it might be in your best interest to tell us what happened that night.”
Rudy swallowed heavily, fidgeting with his hands.
“Mr. Treadway came into the stables. He didn’t know I was in the loft, didn’t notice me any. I’d been asleep, so it weren’t until he was leaving with Fortinbras, that’s Mr. Risewell’s horse, that I knew anything.
“It wasn’t unusual for him to take a horse for a ride, but he had only ever done it during the day before, not at night, and never in such bad weather.
” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair.
“And, well, the last time he went out, I was exercising Seneca in the pasture and I saw him meeting with that other woman.”
He fisted his hands in his lap. “So for him to be leaving at such a time as that, with the weather, I thought perhaps he was making another rendezvous.” He looked up at them. “I’ll admit, I was angry when I followed him. But what happened afterwards was an accident.”
“What happened?” Byron asked, voice gentle.
“I caught up to him on the West Ledge. He dismounted and made the weak excuse that he felt the need to go for a ride. I asked him if he were going to meet with that woman again, and his whole attitude changed. He asked me how much I knew and if I’d told anyone.
I told him I knew he’d been meeting a lady and I’d seen him giving her jewelry.
” He shook his head. “I didn’t know he was the burglar everyone had been speaking of.
I thought he was being unfaithful to Miss Risewell.
And seeing as . . . seeing as we couldn’t be together, I thought she’d be able to at least find an honest man. ”
“Was the knife yours or his?” Byron asked.
“His. He drew it on me when I said I’d tell Miss Risewell what he was up to. We fought and when he cut my arm here, I threw him off of me with all my strength. And, well, that was enough for him to lose his balance.”
“Did you check to see if he survived?” McGuire asked.
“No sir. I hate to say it, but the way he was acting seemed downright murderous. I thought he might recover and follow me. The snow was coming down something awful by then, so I brought Fortinbras back to the stable and barred the door. And then, in the morning . . .” He closed his eyes.
“You didn’t think to tell anyone?” Inspector Rutledge asked.
“I didn’t know he’d died,” his voice wavered. “Not until this lady here,” Rudy gestured to Mira, “came into the stable saying they found a man and needed to fetch the doctor back from the hunt. And then everyone said it was an accident.”
“And what of the necklace? Hm?” Inspector Rutledge asked. “Did you and Miss Risewell plan to steal it together?”
Rudy frowned. “Necklace?”
“Jade and amethyst. Did you sell it for money to elope?” Rutledge asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t know about any necklace. I’d given up hope long ago of ever eloping with Miss Theresia. It wouldn’t be right.”
“I suppose it will all come out in the trial,” Rutledge said. “Rudolph Foster, you are under arrest for the death of Silas Treadway and perverting the course of justice.”
Constable Welter produced a set of handcuffs and Rudy stood, offering his wrists.
Rutledge moved over to Byron and Mira. “I’m surprised he’s cooperating so easily,” he whispered.
“He said it himself: he wants to be rid of the guilt,” Byron said, glancing at Mira and echoing her words. “He’s a good man, but even good men will act wrongfully out of fear. If he is telling the truth, which I believe he is, his only crime was hiding the death.”
Rudy paused at the door as the constables were leading him out. “Mr. Constantine? Will you let Mr. Sharpe know what’s happened? I haven’t finished filling the feeding troughs, and I don’t want the horses to starve on account of what I’ve done.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Byron said. “Don’t you worry.”
Rudy nodded.
The door of the stable opened and Theresia Risewell entered holding Verona’s reins.
“What is going on here?” she asked.
“Mr. Foster has been arrested for the death of Silas Treadway,” Rutledge said.
“What? But the inquest . . .”
“New evidence has come to light,” Byron said.
“I’m sorry,” Rudy said. “I should have told you.”
“You mean . . . you killed him?”
“It was an accident, I swear it was. I thought . . . I thought he was being unfaithful.”
“Speaking of which,” Byron said. “I understand that you have recently sold a necklace, Miss Risewell.”
Theresia paled. “I—”
“All I want to know,” Byron continued, “is whether Mr. Foster was aware of what you were doing.”
She hesitated before shaking her head. “I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said, voice hollow.
Byron nodded. “There you are, Inspector. Rudy had nothing to do with it.”
Rutledge’s mustache twisted. “Assuming she’s telling the truth.”
“Even if she isn’t,” Byron said, “the necklace is easily taken care of. Walker?”
Walker pulled a small box from his pocket and handed it to Byron. He opened it, revealing the jade and amethyst necklace.
Walker said, “After telling the jeweler what the situation was, he sold it to me for the same amount he gave Miss Risewell.”
Rutledge drew in a nasally breath, turning to Miss Risewell. “I won’t charge you, though you lied to a policeman. Just ensure the money gets paid back to these men here. And tell your parents the truth before they decide to collect the insurance on it. Good day, Miss.”
Rutledge and the constables left the stable, Mr. Foster in tow.
Theresia moved past the remaining party, leading Verona into her stall. After a moment she stepped out.
“I-I’m not sure how to take off her saddle.”
Walker moved into the stall to help with the horse. Theresia stood at the center of the stable, looking aimless. Byron stepped closer to her, offering the necklace.
“I believe this is yours.”
She took it with shaking hands. “What will they do with him? He won’t . . . he won’t hang for this, will he?”
Byron shook his head. “The current evidence shows it was a clear case of self-defense. Unless some other proof emerges, it will likely be a fine, or a short few months of time, for not coming forward about the death.”
“Oh. I see.”
“I’m sorry,” Mira said. “You were going to elope, weren’t you?”
Theresia went still, her shoulders tightening. “It doesn’t matter.”
She hurried past them and left the stable.
Byron took off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves.
“What are you doing?” Mira asked.
“I promised Rudy the horses would be taken care of,” he said, climbing the ladder into the loft. “We can tell Mr. Sharpe about the situation after they’ve been fed.”
They spent the better part of a half hour making sure the horses were settled. Mira brushed them down and fed them carrots and apples she found in a barrel, while the men handled the more strenuous activities.
In the end, they all smelled of horses and hay as they emerged into the chilled outside air.
Walker wiped the sweat from his brow. “Well, that’s that then. Mystery solved. Investigation closed. Now we can simply enjoy our time in Bath.”
“Not quite,” Byron said, linking his arm with Mira’s and heading up the hill.
Walker caught up to them. “No, Constantine. We came here to solve a burglary. The burglar was found dead. The accidental killer has been arrested. What else is there to sort?”
“The woman at the gate,” Byron said. “There’s more than one thief.”