Chapter Twenty-Eight
The villain who had committed two murders and had attempted two more was incarcerated under lock and key in a room on the basement level of Darkmoor Park.
“It’s more comfortable than he deserves,” Mrs. Hillman proclaimed in a huff after she and the entire house party had been apprised of the colonel’s malicious dealings. “He will remain there until the parish constable comes back.”
Selena spent the next two days in bed, where quiet and rest helped to alleviate most of the symptoms that she’d been experiencing from her concussion. She would still need to be careful. Dr. Dalton had told her not to overdo it for the next two months, and she had agreed to follow his orders.
While bedridden, Selena tried several times to write to her sisters and her brother.
But so much had happened since Christmas Eve, it was difficult to find the words to explain it all.
And since penning a note without admitting to all the tragedies, mysteries, and terrifying circumstances—not to mention the complicated story of Dr. Dalton’s appearance in her life—felt like cheating, she crumpled up every attempt and threw it away.
She was glad she had taken the time, a couple of days before Mrs. Hillman’s guests had arrived, to send letters with Christmas greetings to her siblings.
Those would have to tide them over for a while.
In the meantime, now that the trains were running again, Selena hoped to hear from Diana and Athena.
Damon wrote so rarely, she knew better than to expect a letter from him.
In between naps, Selena welcomed visits from Mrs. Hillman, Dr. Dalton, and the other house guests, who filled her in on what was going on downstairs. Every time she saw Dr. Dalton, her heart raced, and she wished for time alone with him … but there was always someone else in the room.
She learned that soon after the colonel was apprehended, Dr. Dalton had admitted his true identity to Miss Goodwin, Mr. Davis, and Miss Thompson, who were at first shocked and disturbed.
But by the end of the day, all three had accepted the news and found it in their hearts to forgive him for his ruse.
Learning that a murderer had been among their company all this time, however, was another matter.
Miss Goodwin was so upset that she considered leaving, but Mr. Davis insisted, “We always intended to stay through New Year’s Day.
That scoundrel is gone from our midst and we’re perfectly safe. Why should we bolt now?”
Mr. Johnson returned to Darkmoor Bridge the following morning.
Dr. Dalton and Mrs. Hillman gave the parish constable a full accounting of all that had occurred.
Mr. Johnson reassured Dr. Dalton that he would press no charges and, after the new year, would accompany the doctor back to London to ensure that the money was safely invested in the London General Hospital bank account.
Everyone in the house gave a sigh of relief when Colonel Blackwood was carted away to the lock-up in the village square, where he would be held until he could be transferred to York Prison to await trial, and no doubt the noose.
The bodies of the two unfortunate people who had met their end at Darkmoor Park that week were packed in ice and summarily dispatched to coroners in their own hometowns.
On the evening of December 31st, after spending her prescribed two days in bed, Selena was relieved to rise at last and to discover that her headache and the bouts of dizziness were gone.
She had just finished dressing for that night’s New Year’s Eve festivities, when a knock sounded on her door.
It was Wells, with two envelopes on a silver salver.
“Good evening, miss,” he said with a solemn nod. “I hope you are feeling better?”
“I am, thank you!” Selena spirits lifted as she glanced at the letters. “Are those for me?”
“They are. They arrived a few hours ago, but I didn’t wish to disturb you. The postman said that mail bags have been sitting for days on trains stopped due to snow, and it took a while to get it all sorted.”
“I’m so glad to have some post at last. Thank you, Wells.”
The butler bowed and departed. Selena exclaimed with delight when she saw the return addresses on the missives. One was from Damon in London, and the other was from Pendowar Hall.
She eagerly sat down at her desk and retrieved her letter opener—shuddering despite herself when she recalled the last time she had used it, during her struggle with Colonel Blackwood in the catacombs. She was thankful to employ the device for its intended and more benevolent purpose.
Damon had a sent a Christmas card. It was a concept so new in England that Selena had only received a handful of such cards before, most of them from him over the past few years.
The simple image on the card’s front featured a black-and-white sketch of an evergreen wreath framing a view of a distant church set in a snowy landscape. Inside the card he had merely written:
Dear Selena,
I hope you are well. I’m sorry I won’t see you in Cornwall and hope to make it up to Darkmoor Park again one of these days.
Wishing you a very Happy Christmas and a prosperous new year!
With love, your brother,
Damon
Selena was grateful for the message, despite its brevity. Damon had always been a man of few words, and she knew how busy he was. She propped up the card on her desk, where it would serve as a lovely reminder of her brother every time she saw it.
Filled with joyful expectation, she opened the second envelope. It contained two letters. The first one was from Athena.
Pendowar Hall
Portwithys, Cornwall
December 22nd, 1852
My dearest Selena,
By the time this letter reaches you, I hope you will have enjoyed the most wonderful Christmas on record!
We all miss you, but you made the right choice in staying with Mrs. Hillman.
I know how much she was looking forward to her guests’ visit for the holidays and how much she appreciates your help in entertaining them.
I trust Mrs. Nash is outdoing herself with one delicious meal after another and I pray that the activities and parlor games you planned have been a great success!
Our journey down to Cornwall was smooth and uneventful.
Ian and I took turns holding the baby on our laps, pointing out the window at the passing scenery and telling him stories.
During the longest portions of the train rides, Henry napped most conveniently on the seat between us.
We arrived at Pendowar Hall tired but excited and received a warm welcome from Diana and her family.
She has a splendid Christmas Day feast planned, and I look forward to Damon joining us a few days later.
How has your weather been? Mild, I hope, with no threat of snow.
As for me, I am once again positively mesmerized by Cornwall’s temperate climate.
The last few days have been as sunny and warm as late summer in Yorkshire.
I know I said this last year, but it astonishes me to see palm trees and tropical ferns in the gardens here at Pendowar Hall—it’s hard to believe I’m still in England!
It is a treat as well to awaken to the sounds of waves crashing on the rocks and beaches below these towering cliffs.
We all took a stroll on the beach yesterday, collected seashells to add to Emma’s collection, and visited Smuggler’s Cave.
Henry enjoyed digging his fingers into the sand and laughed when the foamy water rushed up to tickle his tiny, bare feet.
We had a little mystery this morning. (Not a murder mystery, thank heavens!) Henry’s favorite cuddly toy, Mr. Bear, went missing.
My mind immediately created various calamitous explanations for its disappearance.
Perhaps one of the new servants, who had been hired for the holidays, had taken it?
(It is a very nice bear, after all, and I believe cost his aunt and uncle a pretty penny.) Might it have accidentally fallen out of Henry’s perambulator during our walk in the village, never to be seen again?
Or (this scenario from little Charlotte) maybe Mr. Bear had gotten fed up from being hugged too tightly and had run away?
I told Henry, “I’m so sorry, darling, but we can’t find Mr. Bear.
Do you know where Mr. Bear might be?” You will never guess what happened.
Fast as lightning, Henry crawled off to a low cupboard in the parlor and opened the door to reveal Mr. Bear sitting within atop a stack of linens.
Henry, grinning from ear to ear, grabbed the toy and dragged him over to me.
Can you believe it? At age nine months, our little boy understood exactly what I’d said—and knew exactly where to find his toy.
(Which I presume he had hidden himself.) Ian and I believe we have a little genius on our hands.
Perhaps Henry will grow up to create his own mystery society with his future siblings or friends—a group I trust will be worthy of a title as apt as the Audacious Sisterhood of Smoke and Fire.
I must say, it is strange to be so far away from you, Selena, especially at this time of year.
I miss our daily conversations. And, strange as it may seem, although I am enjoying our holiday, I find myself missing the routine of our days at school.
I’m proud of what we’ve built, Selena. It is gratifying to think that we are helping to shape the minds—and lives—of the bright young ladies in our care.
Thank you for stepping forward and taking over as headmistress so that I may spend more time at present with my young son.
You have proven yourself to be most estimable in the role—an undertaking which I know, all too well, can be daunting.
If you find it to be too much, if you wish, I would be happy to share the duties of headmistress with you at some point. It is just a thought.