Chapter 18 #3
Titus swung to face Waverly. “Can you confirm this?”
Waverly’s voice caught in her throat. She couldn’t say yes or no. She had no idea where Aveline had been that night. Waverly herself had not been at Traeger Hall to keep watch over the staff.
It was apparent by the look on his face that Titus knew she could not provide confirmation of Aveline’s claim.
He continued, “Cook faints to the floor and is no longer aware of the horrors about to occur.” He steps around an invisible form of Cook lying unconscious on the floor.
“Ah. The killer clears the sofa here with one step and a leap.” Titus stopped in front of a green sofa that sat in the middle of the room with a small table of books in front of it.
“How do you know that?” Waverly asked.
Titus pointed. “A footprint, there on the sofa. I would daresay you’re not making it a habit to walk on the cushions?”
“Of course not,” Waverly responded.
Aveline stifled a giggle.
Waverly pressed her lips together and moved around the maid, nearing the sofa. Sure enough, there was a footprint, albeit rather faint, in the middle of the pillowed seat.
Titus moved to the back corner that Waverly was uncomfortable looking at. “Apparently, the killer is so intent on getting to your uncle that he leaps over the sofa rather than going around it. And it is there your uncle and aunt were sitting at the time?”
“Yes.” Waverly swallowed back nausea as she finally focused on the empty space.
The two chairs that had been arranged in the small reading corner had been disposed of.
But she recalled that night all too clearly.
“When I came into the room, there were all sorts of people here by then.” She recounted the memory, closing her eyes as her mind took her back to the previous week’s events.
“I remember Cook was just coming to where she’d fallen.
” Waverly kept her eyes closed. “Near the fireplace, there were two men from town. I’m not sure who, but one was retching into the coal bucket, and the other looked as if he might follow suit.
I had just arrived at the Hall. I was out of breath from running after I heard the bell.
I saw my uncle on the floor. My aunt was not in the room—as you know—since she was found in the bell tower, having been the one to ring it. ”
“We can conclude the killer had chased after your aunt in order to stop her,” Titus acknowledged.
“Which indicates not only was he well aware of the threat of the bell tower’s purpose but there was a strong possibility he was familiar with Traeger Hall itself.
If your aunt outran him, which stands to reason since she did in fact ring the bell, he would have needed to know where to go to chase her down and kill her too. ”
“Gracious!” Aveline breathed, grasping her throat, her face white.
Waverly cast her an impatient glance. Titus had finished asking the maid questions. There was no need for her to remain.
“What else did you see?” Titus asked. When Waverly didn’t answer—distracted by Aveline, who was clearly unaware of Waverly’s growing annoyance—Titus tried again. “Waverly?”
“Hmm?” Waverly snapped around to face him.
His eyes had a flicker of mirth in them, and he tipped his head with a reassuring look. “What else did you see?”
“Oh.” Waverly glanced at Aveline again and then determined not to allow the maid’s simpering to affect her.
“Well, Uncle Leopold was . . .” Waverly cleared her throat from the bile that had risen in it.
She pointed. “His chair was in the corner, but it had been tipped over. I could tell there had been a struggle, as a floor vase of fern had fallen and broken into pieces. The dirt from the vase was soaking up . . . Uncle Leopold’s blood.
” Tears sprang to her eyes. Not because of any fondness for Uncle Leopold, but because the violence of the scene demanded as much—unless one was heartless.
“I need to sit down.” Aveline plopped onto a nearby chair.
Titus nodded, then turned back to Waverly. “Where exactly did your uncle fall?”
“There.” Waverly pointed. “He was lying with his head turned toward the door, as though in his last breath he was calling for Aunt Cornelia to run.” Yes, now she was crying, and it was only fair. No one, no matter how unlikable, should experience such horror.
“Bear with me, Waverly.” She startled as she felt Titus’s warm hand cover hers and give it a reassuring squeeze. But he released it just as quickly, and the moment of tenderness passed. “Did it appear your uncle had been stabbed where he lay?”
Waverly nodded. “Several times,” she said hoarsely.
“Yes, well, I’m quite familiar with his wounds.” Titus hefted a deep breath and motioned toward the wood floor that was exceptionally clean. “Was there a rug there the night of the killings?”
“Yes.” Waverly nodded. “It was disposed of. Someone rolled it up and took it away. The chairs too. There were bloodstains on the chairs. Quite a lot of them.”
“It was one of the valets, sir, who got rid of the carpet,” Aveline inserted. “He left right after the constable said he could. Most of the staff did. What happened frightened all of us!”
Titus ignored the girl. “There were stains on both chairs?”
“Yes,” Waverly said.
“We can assume your uncle tried to ward off the attack, during which time your aunt may have come to his aid at first. If there were bloodstains on both chairs, it was likely the attacker also went after your aunt and wounded her, spattering blood on her chair as well.”
It stood to reason, yet all Waverly could hear now were her aunt’s screams echoing in her ears. Though she hadn’t been here, it was too easy to engage her imagination and replay the events.
Aunt Cornelia received a blow, the anger of the dagger driving into her body. She screamed, a gargling scream of panic and horror.
Uncle Leopold, half incapacitated, pointed from his position on the floor. “Go! Ring the bell!” he commanded in one last attempt to thwart his own murder.
At the sound of Uncle Leopold’s voice, the killer swung his attention from Aunt Cornelia and stood over her uncle, straddling his body with both feet before bringing the dagger down.
Aunt Cornelia, injured and bleeding, scrambled for the door, succeeding in escaping.
But her injuries curtailed her speed and agility.
As she fled through the hallways and rang the bell, the killer finished the job.
The thrusts of the dagger into her uncle’s body could be heard throughout the house, over and over again, until Aunt Cornelia thought she was alone.
“Let us go look at the stairway where your aunt would have fled.” Titus held out his elbow, and Waverly took it, thankful for his support.
Aveline popped to her feet to join them.
Titus said, “Thank you, Aveline, for your assistance. You may return to your duties now.”
“Oh,” she responded, her voice small. Aveline glanced at Waverly, who said nothing before slipping away.
Waverly didn’t miss the young woman, although she felt a tad guilty for being jealous of her. The poor thing. Titus cut a handsome figure, and it was a natural reaction. Still, the way she had inserted herself into the conversation was unsettling.
They climbed the stairs, and upon reaching the top, Waverly pointed to the bloodstain on the upstairs hallway wallpaper.
“There. That is where she must have fallen against the wall.”
“Wounded and bleeding already,” Titus observed.
Waverly nodded, then continued down the narrow hall, passing her uncle’s suite of rooms to the left and her aunt’s on the right. “The door at the end, that is the entrance to the bell tower.” She pointed, pausing in her step. Titus moved past her and twisted the knob.
The door gave its familiar creak upon opening. In the past, Waverly had welcomed the sound. Like a greeting, friendly and warm. Now it was ominous.
“What do they believe happened next?” Titus turned back to Waverly, who closed her eyes to remember.
“Aunt Cornelia managed to get into the bell tower and climb the flight of steps until she reached the rope kept wrapped around an iron anchor. She unraveled the rope and began ringing the bell.”
Waverly could almost imagine what that had been like for her aunt. Too soon there were footsteps behind her, the killer scaling the tower’s steps. Aunt Cornelia had dropped the bell’s rope and whirled toward him, raising her arms to protect her face . . .
“Right there is where she was found.” Waverly gestured to a bare spot on the floor.
The bell was quite large, and it hung above them a few yards away.
Its rope had once again been wound and anchored to the wall, but she could make out the patches of dark rust that stained it.
“Aunt Cornelia was slain here,” Waverly finished.
Titus was silent for a long while. They both stood there peering out from the bell-tower windows.
They were relatively large, open and without glass or shutters.
Cool air wafted in through them, chilling Waverly through her dress, reminding her of the hours she had once spent here.
She dared to glance in the direction of one of her primary worries.
All seemed untouched. She dropped her gaze as Titus addressed her.
“The killer had to have been strong.”
Waverly blinked, thinking that should have been a foregone conclusion.
“But also speedy,” Titus added. “To do as he did and then escape down these same stairs, carrying his weapon with him and fleeing Traeger Hall. He moved with athletic skill and, I must say again, with some familiarity of the place.”
Waverly swiped at her eyes, which had suddenly become clouded with tears again.
That was quite baffling. She wasn’t grieving; she didn’t miss her uncle and aunt, and yet she never would have wished this upon them.
Yes, there was a time when she’d wanted her eccentric and cruel uncle dead.
She was certainly not innocent of wanting retribution . . .