7. Scandals and Murder
N oble sat down at the table as instructed, while Ollie opened a small box with metal corners, revealing an equally small journal in a clear, unsealed bag. Bound in black leather, the cover was frayed and showed signs of aging, and the pages were yellowed.
Removing the book from the bag, the man gently placed it in front of him.
“This one is rather pristine compared to the others. But then, I believe at least one attempt was made to destroy the rest. Some even have fire damage, yet they survived and remain in readable condition. I would be curious to know what stopped the various efforts of destruction, but there is no one left alive to ask. And for most, the history of how they survived, and so on, is scarce.
“With Annabel’s diary, however, we have the full story. Well, not who murdered her, just the provenance of the diary. I will say, the story is what some would call scandalous. Would you be interested in knowing any of that?”
The bright, eager smile on Ollie’s face had one forming on his own. “Tell me.”
The man’s smile widened. “Background first, then sordid details. Annabel’s mother, Elisabeth Burrow, died when she was five. Her father, Henry Arrington, remarried two years after that, to a widow, Lorelei Breton, who had a child of her own, named Lucinda.
“Lucinda never married, but Annabel married late, by that society’s standards, at the age of eighteen. Very late, especially considering the massive fortune her family had accumulated. Now her marriage only lasted a year before Mr. Cane died questionably. She was never charged, or even suspected, from what I found, but the symptoms… He was definitely murdered, and I will tell you who did it in just a bit.”
Noble chuckled. “Poisoned?”
“Most likely.”
“Well, that was a common way to end a marriage back then.”
One of the few ways to end one, in fact, beyond natural causes and blatant murder.
“That it was! Now, earlier in that same year, her father and step-mother both died. Neither of those deaths were suspicious. After their passing, the two girls were left very wealthy. While, yes, there was a guardian in Lucinda’s case, due to her unmarried status, once Annabel was widowed, she pretty much had free rein of her money, on top of her husband’s estate. And following his death, her step-sister moved in with her.”
His brow rose at that. “So they got along?”
“You could call it that. I’ll explain in a second.” Ollie giggled. “Okay, now for the lead up to her death. Lucinda was called away, her presence was basically demanded by her guardian and uncle, Joffrey Breton. Annabel was told not to come. Joffrey was the brother of Lucinda’s late father, so not related at all to Annabel, and he was, in fact, not a fan of Henry Arrington. There was a bit of a feud apparently, made worse as he blamed Annabel for Lucinda continually refusing to marry. And we know this because of a letter he’d sent to Annabel that was found tucked into her diary, which is currently in the archives.
“Anyway, on July 8th, 1672, Lucinda set off to Aylesbury, and didn’t return until the night of the 14th. Moments after her return, the neighborhood woke to the sound of her screaming. In the news pamphlet, an anonymous source stated they had never heard a more chilling wail of despair.
“Now, the authorities were, of course, called. Questions were asked. At one point, Joffrey was accused, as he did call Lucinda away, seemingly at just the right time, but eventually, any charges were dropped and the case went cold, and it remained cold. But if you had read the diary first, you would be questioning why they didn't even have a hint of who did it. And the answer is simple…the authorities never saw the one thing that could have helped them find the murderer—the diary.”
“Lucinda took it?”
“She did. And we know she did, because it was in her possession when she was declared dead.”
“Declared dead?”
Which would mean they never found a body.
“In 1678, Lucinda Breton went missing from the home she used to share with her step-sister. One might assume that the diary had just been hidden in the home, and was not taken by her, but after Annabel’s death, her blood family cleared out the house and sold it. It took Lucinda two years to buy it back.”
“She went missing?”
“Missing and never found. Her Uncle Joffrey eventually packed up her things and stored them. I can’t imagine he ever looked at any of it in depth, as he would have no doubt destroyed much of it if he had.
“When Joffrey died, her things went to his grandson, and it continued to all be passed along until it ended up in the hands of a great, great…too many greats to count, granddaughter, who was funnily enough also named Lucinda Barringer. She was, beyond belief, the only one to actually care enough to sort through her belongings. In them she found numerous diaries from both Lucinda Breton and Annabel Cane, and on reading them, she discovered that they were in fact…lovers, and had been for most of their lives.
“And in the diary that was dated through to Annabel’s death—which the great granddaughter, Lucinda, let me read—it told of her pain of having to take the one thing that would have given the authorities their only chance to solve her murder. She had to though.” Ollie grimaced. “She knew, due to what else was in there, that she would have just ended up dead herself if she hadn’t kept it. Not to mention, on reading the rest, they likely wouldn’t have bothered even trying to find the one responsible.
“To note, while she wasn’t as brazen about it, it is clear that Lucinda believed herself to be a witch as well.
“Anyway, I was able to read all of the diaries that Ms. Barringer had, and the ones by Lucinda started from childhood and went up to her disappearance. Which is how we know that she was, in fact, the one who killed Annabel’s husband. She hated him, for obvious reasons, but would have left him alone, and had been, until she’d discovered he was abusive.”
“So, she killed him with magic?” he asked with a smirk.
Ollie scoffed. “Hardly, it was most likely arsenic. Anyway, her last entry in that final diary was vague, only saying that she had found him and she was going to make it right.”
“So, whoever killed Annabel, probably killed her too.”
The question was, had it been a witch hunter who killed them, or had they just unluckily crossed paths with a normal serial killer? Though…witch hunters were about as good as any serial killer. Most hunters were just serial killers that acted as if they had moral superiority, when in fact they were far worse. Because even if they didn’t care, at least most serial killers knew that what they were doing was wrong. Witch hunters killed because they were bigots, and saw each action as God’s will.
Noble…couldn’t even say he was a former serial killer, as a witch still sat in his house while he contemplated if he could really not kill her.
“It's likely that she probably couldn’t risk telling anyone else, or asking for help, since doing so would have exposed her relationship with Annabel, and possibly her being a so-called witch. Whatever choice she made would have, one way or another, ended in her death.”
He almost laughed at how skeptical Ollie sounded as he said the word witch . He had already gathered, based on the man’s random air quotes and the way he phrased things, that Ollie did not believe in the supernatural, let alone witches. But Noble was going to guess the man was an all-around skeptic.
“Do you have the other diaries here?”
Ollie wrinkled his nose. “No. I would have willingly bought all of what Lucinda Barringer had, but that—” He waved towards the table. “—was the only thing she was willing to part with. Well, that and the letter I mentioned earlier.”
“Speaking of, I suppose I should start reading,” Noble said, eyeing the book, before asking, “If Lucinda arrived days later, how do you know the exact day Annabel died?”
“In the beginning, when she first started the diary, she would miss days, sometimes even weeks, but starting from April 16th, 1672, she began to write every single night, right before bed. And from that night on, she would finish every single entry with: ‘If on the morrow, my words are not written, death has found me, and with it, my comfort is forever denied’.”
The words at the end sent a chill of knowing down his spine.
“That would help narrow it down,” he grimaced.
Ollie pursed his lips. “That last bit always struck me as odd. Because it’s as if she was saying that even in death, comfort eludes her. Almost like she believed that the actions that lead to her dying would have followed her there…”
If she really had been a witch…it very well could have, if a hunter had killed her. Noble swallowed hard, before saying, with a forced laugh, “You seem to remember a lot from her diary.”
“Ah…” Ollie giggled. “Well, with the sheer amount of information that was available to me, it’s hard not to. I spent a good three months almost obsessively going through and over everything, followed by me helping Lucinda properly store the things she refused to sell me.
“But enough about that. Let’s get to the diary. I do ask that you be very careful as you turn the pages. There is also always the option of having me turn them for you. I will say, with at least half of the books here, it is more of a requirement that only I handle them, due to how fragile or damaged they are. It's always better that I accidentally damage them than anyone else.”
“Right, I think I’ve got this.” Gently, Noble flipped the cover open, and was even more so when he turned to the first page. But instead of reading, he found himself staring blankly at the tiny, tiny cursive writing. “I…don’t…think I can read this.”
He’d been illiterate back when such cursive was more common, and hadn’t learned to read or write until well into his hundreds. Even if it was more common back then, compared to now, Noble had always found cursive, that wasn’t his own, hard to read.
“Ah, yes, I suppose I could read it to you, if you want?” Ollie offered with a giggle.
Noble smiled. “Please.” He moved over to the next chair and waved the man on.
“Right!” Ollie quickly took his seat, and after clearing his throat, he began to read.
“ I saw him, I saw him again. ” Tears filled Ollie’s eyes as he continued to speak, his voice shaking with emotion. “ Oh, Cinda, how I wish I could see you one last time. Feel your breath on my lips for one more moment. I fear your leaving was the chance he needed. By the blessed Goddess, I am filled with terror. But I saw, clear as day. I saw him.
“ Hair, black as night, skin, pale as death, broken hawk-like nose, squared hair-covered jaw, cruel thin lips pressed into a tight line. Lucinda, flee. Do not seek him out. Do not follow me, my love. Live to a morrow, to a day where love such as ours will bring joyous celebration instead of damnation. Love again. I set you free, my love. In the morrow, my words will not be written, death has found me, and with it, my comfort forever denied. ” Ollie let out a shuddered breath as he finished and slowly closed the diary. He returned the book to the unsealed archive quality bag, and then the box, before closing it and brushing away his tears with his sleeves.
“That’s all. I had forgotten that she—” He sniffed. “—had altered that last line in her final entry. It was as if she knew…and I suppose, maybe she did, in a way. She’d been alone…”
As he had the first time he read it, and every time after, Ollie hurt. His heart, in fact, was beating painfully in his chest. He always, even when reading to children, tried to feel what the characters must be feeling, even if it was just to make sure his voice was portraying them as best as he could in those moments.
To be honest, he didn’t like sad endings. With history, they were hard to avoid, but with fiction, he avoided them like the plague. Ollie didn’t want to read about sadness, he just wanted everyone to live happily ever after. It was what he generally wanted for everyone in life, but that wasn’t how the world worked. So, he just did his best to try and help those in his small corner.
Sniffling, he turned to Noble when he remained quiet, frowning on finding the man not even looking at him. Noble was staring off at the shelves, his expression was more than grim, yet resigned didn’t fit either. Lost—the man looked…lost. But then he could be wrong. It wasn’t as if Ollie knew Noble well. Maybe he was just feeling empathy for the poor woman?
“Did you…get what you wanted?” Ollie asked slowly. “Or do you want me to read you another? I probably could fit in one more before the library is set to close? Though, I also wouldn’t mind staying after, as I do live here.”
Noble blinked as if leaving a trance and looked over at him. The man cleared his throat. “No, I think…I’ve taken up enough of your time today, thank you.”
“Ah, if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Would you happen to have any of these digitized?” Noble asked.
Ah yes, digitized… So the man wouldn’t have to spend any more time with him. Not surprising. But maybe…he was just asking for convenience purposes?
“I’m afraid not. While we have begun a partnership with Cypher Scanning, in an effort to digitize part of our collection for accessibility purposes, it’s a slow, meticulous process. Though, in the past, I have considered sitting down and creating a voice recording of a few of our more delicate acquisitions, or rather, the harder to read ones. I just haven’t gotten around to it.” He quickly added, with a hopeful smile, “But I would be more than happy to read more to you, if you ever need me to.”
Oh, here’s hoping he hadn’t sounded as desperate to Noble as he had to his own ears! Was it so wrong that he wanted to spend time with the man, even if it was spent reading and not talking?
He had enjoyed talking to him, beyond the random moments where he had made things awkward. But maybe Noble hadn’t minded the awkwardness?
Noble hesitantly said, “I’ll…let you…know.”
Well, that answered that. Ollie, as always, had succeeded in blocking any chance he had at a relationship. Might as well just get fifty cats, and live alone with his awkwardness. Not that he had deluded himself into thinking he had a chance with someone who looked like Noble.
“Right!” Ollie cleared his throat and held up the box. “Let me just put this back, so you can be on your way.”