Chapter Thirteen #3
“Yes. But if this was murder, it’s a theory we must keep to ourselves.”
“Agreed.”
Dr. Scott’s features tightened. “That isn’t all.
About the threatening notes. We thought Mrs. Whitlock might have written them.
But another note was slipped under my door late last night or early this morning.
It couldn’t have been earlier because I was up until the wee hours reading. It said, ‘I don’t like games.’”
Selena gasped. “I got one, too!” She retrieved hers from her pocket and showed it to him.
“Whoever wrote these this wasn’t fooled by the parlor game last night. They must have disguised their handwriting.”
“And Mrs. Whitlock couldn’t have written them because by then, she was already drugged or dead.”
“Precisely.”
“This was supposed to be a jolly holiday gathering, Doctor. Things are getting far too messy and complicated.” Selena’s mouth tightened. “But I refuse to be intimidated by this villain.”
“So do I.”
“What now? Do we remove Mrs. Whitlock’s body to the icehouse to … to join Mr. Clarke?”
“That’s what I’d suggest. Perhaps you might summon the footmen to help?”
Selena didn’t look forward to the dismal task ahead. “I will.”
Later, after Sam, George, and Dr. Scott had departed with Mrs. Whitlock’s body on a stretcher, Selena was still standing in Mrs. Whitlock’s room, steeped in distress.
She hadn’t liked Mrs. Whitlock, but she hadn’t wished her to die. The thought of the dead woman, dressed in a thin evening gown, being transferred to the icehouse to literally … freeze … made Selena’s stomach churn. Mrs. Whitlock, as annoying as she had been, had deserved a better fate than this.
Selena’s mind flashed back to the day Mrs. Whitlock had arrived at Darkmoor Park, and to the stunning, black velvet coat she had been wearing, the one trimmed in white fur.
Mrs. Whitlock should be wearing her coat, Selena told herself.
She recalled that, upon arrival, Mrs. Whitlock had insisted on storing her coat in her bedchamber, rather than in the cloakroom.
Selena knew it was mad, but she didn’t care. She threw open the doors to the wardrobe, seized the velvet coat, and darted from the room.
She stopped briefly in her own room to get dressed in a warm gown, hat, and gloves. She rushed downstairs to the cloakroom, where she donned her boots and her warmest, burgundy woolen coat. With Mrs. Whitlock’s velvet coat over her arm, she hurried down the servants’ stairs.
Although it was Boxing Day, the servants didn’t get off until ten A.M. As Selena made her way through the lower hall, the staff was too busy preparing breakfast and attending to their other duties to pay her any heed.
“That’s two deaths in two days,” remarked someone from the kitchen—Selena recognized the voice as belonging to a scullery maid.
“What a cursed Christmas!” muttered Mrs. Nash.
Selena winced as she hurried out through the back door.
Although the wind had abated, it was, incredibly, still snowing for the third day in a row.
The kitchen yard was buried in a white blanket that looked to be at least a foot deep.
Selena was grateful to see that, as per her recent instructions to the staff, a pathway had just been carved out across the yard leading to the back gate in the brick wall.
Selena crunched along the path and through the gate to find a group of men from the groundskeeping staff, in coats and scarves and carrying shovels, on their way back to the house. They had roped in the thirteen-year-old hall boy, Billy, to help with the task.
Selena nodded to the team and addressed the head groundskeeper, whose nose was red from the cold. “Mr. Brown, I presume that Dr. Scott and George and Sam have come by this way?”
“Yes, miss.” He tipped his cap. “We just finished clearing the way. They’re in the icehouse now.”
“Thank you all,” Selena said before she hurried to the icehouse. The domed, partially subterranean structure was built solidly of red brick and fronted by a small, red brick building whose heavy wooden door was standing open. Selena had never been inside.
The frigid air within the structure seemed to permeate straight through her coat and gloves and made her shiver.
The entryway was a few feet wide and about six feet long and paved in stone.
Farther on, a steep, stone staircase led downwards.
Selena hadn’t thought to bring a lantern—but thankfully, daylight from the open door behind her illuminated part of the stairwell and a glow beyond promised that there was a source of light below.
As Selena followed the steps down, the air, already impossibly frigid, became noticeably colder. At the bottom of the stairs, she nearly collided with Sam and George, who were on their way up, carrying an empty stretcher between them.
“Miss Taylor!” said George as the two men ground to a halt. “Don’t go in there.”
“It’s cold as the devil,” agreed Sam, visibly quaking. “If you’ll excuse us.”
The footmen made a hasty retreat up the steps.
Selena ignored their warning and continued into the icehouse itself.
The high-domed chamber was lined with brick, and its walls were insulated with straw.
Large blocks of ice that had been cut from a nearby frozen river were stacked in massive piles, surrounded by barrels holding smaller chunks of ice.
A lantern stood on the floor inside. Nearby, Dr. Scott was arranging Mrs. Whitlock’s body atop a pile of ice that looked to Selena like a frozen bed.
In the distant shadows, Selena spied a dark, frosty form, which she guessed to be Mr. Clarke’s frozen body, similarly laid out on a bed of ice.
The realization that she was in an enclosed, underground space that was temporarily being used as a crypt to house two bodies made her cringe inwardly, and she shivered again, both from the pervasive cold and the creepiness of it.
The doctor saw her and frowned. “Miss Taylor, you shouldn’t be here.”
“I know I’m on a fool’s errand,” Selena admitted, “but I couldn’t bear the thought of Mrs. Whitlock being down here in all this ice without her coat.” She gestured with the fur-trimmed velvet coat in her arms.
Dr. Scott’s jaw opened at that, but to his credit, he didn’t reprimand her or make her feel foolish. Instead, he gave her a nod. “All right, but let’s move fast. It’s not safe for us to be down here very long.”
He speedily repositioned Mrs. Whitlock’s body so that Selena could dress her in the velvet coat.
It took some doing, but when the garment was on, Dr. Scott lay Mrs. Whitlock back down on the ice slab.
As Selena buttoned up the coat, she felt an odd lump beneath it in the upper chest area.
Curious, she felt again. Sure enough, there was something there that didn’t belong.
“Let’s go,” the doctor warned.
“One second.” Selena opened Mrs. Whitlock’s coat and inhaled in sharp surprise. Pinned to the inner lining of the coat … was a gold and bejeweled brooch.
A brooch in the shape of a blue iris and fitted with diamonds, sapphires, emeralds, and pearls.
“What’s that?” Dr. Scott asked.
“It’s Mrs. Hillman’s heirloom brooch.”
The doctor’s eyes widened. “She didn’t misplace it, after all.”
“Mrs. Whitlock stole it.” Selena was stunned.
“Detestable woman. It doesn’t surprise me. Take it—and let’s get out of here.” He picked up the lantern.
Selena’s fingers were growing numb, despite the protection of her gloves.
She finally managed to unpin the brooch and stow it in her own coat pocket.
Shivering harder now, she followed Dr. Scott up the steps.
When they’d reached the upper landing, to her surprise, it was dark—because the icehouse door was closed.
“Did you shut the door when you entered?” Dr. Scott asked in a worried tone.
“No.”
He frowned. “I told Sam and George to be sure and leave it open when they left. Wells informed me that the door has a tricky lock and sometimes jams in winter.” Dr. Scott turned the handle. The door didn’t budge. He cursed aloud.
Selena’s stomach clenched as the doctor rattled the door handle again and yanked hard. It didn’t open.
“Dear lord,” he said. “I think we’ve been locked in.”