Chapter Thirty
Thirty
Mrs. Warwick asked an excellent question,” Benedict said. He surveyed the high wrought-iron gates of Hawthorne Hall with a sense of grim certainty. There were answers to be found here, he thought. “Why would the director of the orphanage take Warwick out of Cresswell Manor?”
He and Amity had set out for the Hall soon after ending the interview with Charlotte Warwick.
He had allowed only a brief stop at Exton Street so that Amity could collect her cloak and a few necessities for the train trip.
There had been no time for a visit to Logan.
Penny had promised to convey the information they had gained to the inspector as soon as possible.
The village where the Hall was located was, indeed, an hour from London by train, just as Charlotte Warwick had said. The cab trip from the station to the old orphanage, however, took another forty minutes over bad roads.
Hawthorne Hall proved to be an aged mansion that was slowly crumbling into the ground. It loomed, dark and isolated, at the end of a long lane.
Benedict glanced back over his shoulder. He had paid the cab to wait. The horse and driver were only a short distance away, but they were slowly being swallowed up by the fog that had set in with oncoming night.
“We won’t know why Dunning removed Warwick from Cresswell Manor until we ask her,” Amity said.
He contemplated the gates. “You make a very logical point.”
The gates were unlocked—probably because there was little to protect, Benedict concluded. In a few spots the grounds were overgrown with weeds, but for the most part there was nothing left of the gardens except bare earth.
The last of the orphans had been removed years ago, according to the cab driver.
He had explained that Mrs. Dunning was the only current occupant of the house.
There was no permanent staff. A woman from the village went in twice a week to clean.
She had told everyone that Mrs. Dunning lived on the ground floor.
The upper floors had all been closed, the furniture draped in dust cloths.
Mrs. Dunning went into the village to shop occasionally and sometimes took the train to London, where she stayed for a week at a time.
But aside from those meager facts, she was a mystery to the locals.
Benedict pushed open one wing of the iron gates. It moved ponderously and with a great deal of groaning.
He took Amity’s arm. Together they walked toward the front steps of the old hall. The paving stones were cracked and chipped. The windows of the upper floors were dark, but weak lamplight leaked out from around the edges of the curtains on the ground floor.
At the top of the steps Benedict clanged the knocker. The sound echoed inside the house, but there was no immediate response.
“Someone is home,” Amity observed. “The lamps have been turned up.”
Benedict banged the knocker louder than before, but again no one came to the door.
“She is in there and we are not leaving until we have spoken with her,” he said. “Perhaps she cannot hear our knock. Let’s try the back door.”
“What good will that do?” Amity asked. “If she doesn’t want to see us, she won’t answer it, either.”
“You never know,” Benedict said.
He kept his tone deliberately casual but he saw understanding in her eyes. She knew exactly what he intended to do.
“Oh,” she said. She lowered her voice still further. “I see. You do realize that entering a house without permission is quite illegal.”
“That is why we are going around to the rear of the house where the driver of the cab cannot see us.”
Amity smiled. “You always have a plan, don’t you?”
“I try to formulate one whenever I can.”
“I expect it’s the engineer in you.”
She did not sound put off by that fact, he concluded. She merely accepted it as a part of who he was.
She followed him down the steps and around the side of the big house. A high wall enclosed the gardens at the rear, but the gate was unlocked. Inside the walls they found another mostly barren stretch of ground.
Benedict rapped sharply on the kitchen door. This time when he got no response he tried the knob. It was unlocked. A chill of knowing went through him.
“Just like this morning,” he said, more to himself than to Amity.
She gave him a quick, searching glance. “You mean when you found Dr. Norcott’s body?”
“Yes.” Benedict took the pistol out of his pocket.
Amity breathed out slowly, as if fortifying herself. Then she reached beneath her cloak and unhooked the tessen from the chatelaine. She held the fan-shaped blade in the closed position in her gloved hand.
Benedict considered ordering her to remain outside, but then concluded that she was no safer there than she was with him. Together they could protect each other if it transpired that Warwick was waiting for them inside the house.
He used the toe of his boot to prod the door open. A dimly lit hallway loomed in front of them. When no madman with a scalpel leaped out of the shadows, he moved into the gloom. Amity followed.
The house reverberated with emptiness. A single ray of lamplight slanted out of a room halfway along the hall.
“Watch the rooms on the left side of the hall,” he said. “I will keep an eye on the right.”
“Yes,” she said.
They made their way toward the wedge of light, passing the kitchen, a morning room, a pantry and a closet. All the doors were open except the one on the closet. Benedict tried the knob. It turned easily enough. The shelves inside were stacked with linens and cleaning supplies.
They continued down the long hall. The unmistakable smell of death drifted out of the lamp-lit room.
“Dear heaven,” Amity whispered.
Benedict stopped in the doorway and swept the space with a single glance. The body of a middle-aged woman dressed in a dark gown lay on the floor near a desk. As was the case with Warwick, there was a great deal of blood. Most of it had soaked into the carpet and appeared to be dry.
“So much for Charlotte Warwick’s assumption that her son did not know about Mrs. Dunning,” Benedict said. “The bastard does like the scalpel. He cut her throat.”
“He killed her the same way he murdered his other victims.”
“Stay here. I want to make sure there are no surprises in the front hall.”
He checked the last room on the floor, a sparsely furnished library. The few leather-bound volumes on the shelves were covered in dust. He went quickly back to where Amity waited, her fan at the ready.
“What is going on?” she asked. “Why is Warwick murdering these people?”
“It’s probably unwise to speculate on the motives of a madman, but I have a feeling that he is killing those who know his secret.”
“But why now? And why these two? Dr. Norcott very likely saved Warwick’s life the day that I cut him with the tessen. And evidently Mrs. Dunning was the one who got him out of Cresswell Manor.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t think he needs them anymore,” Benedict said. “He believes they had become liabilities because they knew the truth about him.”
Comprehension widened Amity’s eyes. “And because he knows we are hunting him. He realized that sooner or later we would likely track down both Norcott and Dunning.”
“We must return to London immediately and inform Inspector Logan of what we discovered.”
“What about the body? We cannot simply leave it here.”
“Yes,” Benedict said. “We can and we will.”
Amity reattached her tessen to the chain at her waist and studied the desk with a speculative expression.
“Mrs. Dunning is a rather interesting piece of this puzzle,” she said. “It might be useful to take a quick look through the drawers of her desk.”
“Odd you should mention that,” Benedict said. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
He took two steps before he felt the slightly raised object under the carpet. At the same time he heard a faint, muffled click. A small spark flashed underneath the desk.
“Run,” he snapped. “Back door. It’s the closest. Move, woman.”
Amity whirled, grasped handfuls of her skirts and cloak and fled down the hall. He followed.
Amity stumbled, swore, regained her balance and kept going.
But she was not moving fast enough. He realized it was the weight of her gown and the cloak that was slowing her down.
The heavy folds threatened to trip her. He seized her arm and half dragged, half carried her down the hall and out through the back door.
They burst outside into the dead gardens seconds before the explosion erupted in Dunning’s study.
Within moments the house was consumed in flames. Dark smoke billowed into the air.
Benedict took Amity’s arm and steered her back through the iron gates. Once they were safely outside the grounds he drew Amity to a stop. They both turned to watch the house burn.
“He set a trap,” Benedict said. “Well, now, isn’t that interesting?”