Anything But Civil (28 page)

“I’m so sorry,” Lieutenant Triggs said, his voice muffled by his wife’s dress.

“I watched you beat that man and I silently cheered on every blow. It was his fault you were sent to that prison. It was his fault you contracted the mumps. I never wanted to be anything but a mother to your children, Morgan. It’s why I was put on this earth; you know that. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t questioned God for refusing my only prayer. And every day I’d feel guilty for my doubts and conclude somehow I was to blame. But that morning I discovered my suffering: the guilt, the self-recrimination, the faithlessness, had been pointless. We hadn’t been denied the blessing of children by God but by a man, a self-serving traitor of a man.”

Priscilla paused. Every eye was on her, including John Baines, who’d turned around to listen to her story. Silence filled the room, broken only by the creak of Rachel Baines’s chair as she adjusted herself, and the ticking of the mantel clock. I’d been holding my breath. Priscilla shrugged, slightly shaking her head.

“And then there he was, like a Christmas present sent from above.”

“So after your husband left, you shot him?” the policeman said.

“I couldn’t resist approaching him. He lay there groggy and bloody from his injuries. He probably could barely even see who I was. So I told him.”

“ ‘You have such lovely grandchildren, and I’ll never have any,’ I told him,” she said. Suddenly Priscilla looked around the room and stopped with her eyes on me. “And you know what that man had the nerve to say to me, Hattie?”

“No, Priscilla,” I said, slowly shaking my head. “What did he say to you?”

“He said, ‘Well, then I deserve a medal. I prevented a Triggs brat from being born into this world.’ And then he laughed, a gurgling sound with his lips split and his nose bleeding.”

“Then what happened, Priscilla?” I asked.

“I did what any woman in my position would,” she said. “I picked up the gun laying at his feet and shot him.”

C
hristmas dinner had been everything I’d imagined it would be. The table, which I had had a hand in decorating yesterday, was warm and welcoming. Red velvet ribbon draped down from the chandelier, red and green festive Christmas crackers marked each place, and single candlesticks glowed in the windows. A fire crackled, its light sparkling off the silverware, the crystal glasses, and the etched vase holding Frederick Reynard’s bouquet as centerpiece. As expected, Mrs. Monday outdid herself with the food: tomato aspic, cranberry relish, roast goose, chestnut stuffing, sweet potato croquettes, peas served in turnip cups, dressed lettuce with cheese straws, and ginger sherbet, which, with my stomach fully recovered, I could properly enjoy.

And the company was amiable and merry. Beside Sir Arthur, who had been released after Lieutenant Triggs and his wife had been taken into custody, the guests included the Baineses; Mrs. Kaplan, the feisty widow we’d met at Adella Reynard’s dinner party; Walter; and me. I’d thought I would’ve been satisfied with sharing a simple and relaxing Christmas dinner with William, Mrs. Monday, and Ida in the kitchen. But watching Walter, his face lit by candlelight, tell a scandalous story about a sixty-year-old female patient who insisted on being examined in the nude, I couldn’t have imagined a more pleasant way to end the day. Sir Arthur chuckled and John Baines roared with laughter while Mrs. Kaplan grinned, nodding her head.

“I can see the lady’s point. But if you examined me, I’d rather you were in the buff, Doctor,” she’d said, to the shock and delight of us all.

Even Mrs. Baines, who was uncharacteristically melancholy at the start of the meal, was giggling before long. In fact, she cheered the loudest when Mrs. Monday, given the honors, presented the traditional plum pudding, flames and all.

“I propose a toast—,” Sir Arthur said, standing and raising his glass. And then William arrived bearing a letter. With that the gaiety ended.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir,” the butler said, leaning forward to place the salver within Sir Arthur’s reach. “But this was just hand-delivered by messenger.” The table conversation stopped. Forks that a moment ago had dipped into the pudding were left suspended in mid-air. I instantly recalled the dinner party and Ambrose’s announcement that a man was wanting to speak with Captain Starrett. I wasn’t the only one. Mrs. Kaplan licked her lips and inched to the edge of her chair. Rachel Baines looked anxiously toward her husband, who wouldn’t make eye contact with her as he pushed his plate away. Sir Arthur set his glass down and reached for the envelope. He took out the card. It was silver with a wide black border. One exactly like it had arrived last night, the invitation to Henry Starrett’s funeral.

“It’s from General Starrett,” Sir Arthur said as he looked up into five expectant faces. We had, until now, been able to avoid the topic of Henry Starrett’s murder and the arrest of Morgan and Priscilla Triggs. Everyone had celebrated the day as usual, with church services or Mass followed by presents under the glow of the Christmas tree candles, carols, and games of snapdragon and charades in the parlor. Walter and I had taken a leisurely sleigh ride in the afternoon, his driving tempered by the snow. We had stood arm in arm, looking out over the Mississippi River as it flowed by. Not a word had passed between us of the tragic events of the past few days. But it was inevitable. I took a deep breath and glanced at Walter. He was looking at me and smiling.

It doesn’t matter what that card says,
I thought.
I’ve had the best Christmas since my mother died.
I smiled back.

Sir Arthur put on his spectacles and said, “It reads: ‘As it is Christmastide, I’ve been granted three wishes. One to thank you for your kindness and condolences at this sad time, two to thank Miss Davish for her commendable ‘Pinkerton’ work, and three to wish everyone a Merry Christmas.’ ”

As the weight of the past few days settled on everyone’s shoulders, only the crackling of the fire could be heard.

“What do you think they’ll do to Mrs. Triggs?” Mrs. Kaplan said abruptly, her voice booming in comparison to the previous moment’s hush. She voiced what we all must’ve been wondering. “I can only imagine the desperation and emptiness Priscilla Triggs must’ve felt being denied motherhood. I had nine children, myself. Of course, Henry, no matter what he did, wasn’t to blame, but I do hope they are lenient on her, and her husband.”

“I don’t think she will hang,” Sir Arthur said, “if that’s what you mean. As to her husband, he won’t serve any time, not if I have anything to do with it.”

“Why not?” Rachel asked. “He beat Henry almost to death.”

“Henry deserved what he got, though, didn’t he?”

“But Sir Arthur!” Rachel protested.

“He was a traitor, Rachel, and there’s no getting around that,” John Baines said. He shook his head. “He betrayed his country and his family. If I were General Starrett, I’d never be able to forgive him for that.” He deliberately looked at his wife.

“If only he had never had to learn why his son was murdered,” I said.

“Yes,” Mrs. Kaplan said, “but you’d be surprised. General Starrett’s a good man and more forgiving than most. He’ll find it in his heart someday to forgive both Henry and his killer.”

“Then he’s a better man than me,” John Baines said, deliberately looking at his wife again before taking a healthy gulp of port. His eyes were still and piercing, his nervous twitch gone. Rachel Baines looked away, smoothing her hair with her hand. I had to wonder what Rachel Baines’s infidelity would cost her. I shuddered to think of what the future held for her if her husband abandoned her and branded her an adulteress. A woman’s reputation, as I knew so well, was all she had.

“I have to agree,” Sir Arthur said while Walter nodded his approval. “It was vigilante justice, I grant you, but Morgan Triggs had a right to restitution. He won’t be convicted by a jury of his peers.”

“You never did explain how you knew Mrs. Triggs was the killer, Miss Davish,” Mrs. Kaplan said.

“The police and I had eliminated almost all of the obvious suspects. So then it became simply a matter of determining where the leaves I found next to Captain Starrett’s body came from,” I said. “While preparing for the Christmas holiday, I’d been to every shop that carried fresh hothouse flowers, holly, evergreen garland, and other exotic greenery. No one sold olive branches. The likelihood then that the leaves came from Mr. Reynard’s greenhouse was great. Since Captain Starrett was only wearing a single carnation, they had to have dropped from someone else’s spray of flowers. I assumed the killer’s.”

“But the leaves could’ve been dropped before Henry even entered the park,” Rachel Baines said.

“No, it snowed that morning. So they had to have dropped after it had snowed.”

“But why Mrs. Triggs and not her husband? He could’ve easily lost a few flowers while he beat the man senseless,” John Baines said.

“Because Lieutenant Triggs wasn’t wearing a boutonniere. He’s allergic to flowers. And I still hadn’t determined which woman’s footprints we’d seen. So that made me consider the corsages Mr. Reynard had sent out, including those to us for the Christmas entertainment, one to me, one to Mrs. Baines, and one to Mrs. Triggs. And we all know that William confirmed that Mrs. Baines had disposed of hers the day before.”

“But you seemed to know even before William confirmed it,” Walter said.

“Because I’d told her I hadn’t even gone into the park,” Mrs. Baines said. “Henry and I were simply out on a friendly walk together and had parted on the bridge.”

“That and the fact you are meticulous about your appearance, Mrs. Baines,” I said. “You would never wear a day-old corsage.”

“Absolutely not,” Mrs. Baines said.

“But Mrs. Triggs, on the other hand, who wore a lace bonnet and brought but two dresses with her, wouldn’t notice a small detail like the corsage still pinned to the waist of her dress.” Mrs. Baines smiled and nodded her head in vindication.

“But the leaves were next to the body,” John Baines said. “Mrs. Triggs shot Henry from a distance.”

“Yes, but someone closed his coat over the bullet wound, probably to hide the evidence for as long as possible. Mrs. Triggs must’ve dropped the leaves then.”

“But why Priscilla?” Mrs. Kaplan asked. “Why not Adella or even me? Frederick gave me a hibiscus corsage with a sprig of olive leaves too. Or Sir Arthur? Didn’t Frederick send you flowers too, Sir Arthur?” Sir Arthur nodded.

“I admit I never considered you, Mrs. Kaplan. Did you have a motive to kill Henry Starrett?” I asked.

“No, of course not, but simply because I’m old doesn’t mean I don’t like to be considered dangerous,” she said, pouting and crossing her arms across her chest. I had to smile at the old lady’s spirit. “So what about Adella then? I’ve heard she’s in line to inherit money from her father’s lead mine.”
News travels fast,
I thought.

“That’s true, and I had considered Adella Reynard as suspect at one point, but she had an alibi, attending to her sick children all morning. Mrs. Triggs did not. Mrs. Triggs had originally given her husband an alibi, but Lieutenant Triggs voided that by confessing to confronting Captain Starrett. As to Sir Arthur, he tossed his away at the Christmas entertainment.”

“Who would’ve known that tree leaves would be so important,” John Baines said, slurring his words slightly.

“That’s why Hattie is good at what she does,” Sir Arthur said, his compliment making me blush. “She can be depended upon to pay attention to the smallest detail!”

“I’m sure she can,” Rachel Baines said dismissively. “By the way, have you been holding out on me?” Everyone looked at Sir Arthur, whose countenance revealed he was as confused as we were, then back to Mrs. Baines. It was as she wanted it, all eyes on her. “Whatever was in the box that came for you yesterday, Sir Arthur?” If Mrs. Baines thought it was something he would share with her, she was about to be vastly disappointed. “Bonbons, perhaps?”

“Oh,” Sir Arthur said, relieved to finally know what she was talking about. “No, it was a box of Frederick Reynard’s new ‘General Cornelius Starrett’ brand cigars and a rare copy of First Lieutenant B. S. De Forest’s
Random Sketches and Wandering Thoughts or What I Saw While with the Army during the Late Rebellion.
” Mrs. Baines frowned. “I believe Frederick promised to send a box of cigars for you, John, and you too, Dr. Grice. I’m looking forward to a good smoke after the ladies leave us.”

“Well, I’ll drink to that,” John Baines said, raising his glass in a toast. “To Sir Arthur, a truly generous man and gracious host,” John Baines added, raising his glass again. We toasted Sir Arthur, who in turn toasted his guests.

“To Philippa, my wife, who I wish could be here,” Sir Arthur said.

“To Lady Philippa,” everyone responded.

“To the beautiful women who have graced us with their presence today,” Walter said. He toasted in the direction of Rachel Baines, which pleased that woman immensely, but then winked at me when he caught my eye.

“Hear, hear,” John Baines said boisterously, and then drained his glass.

“We’ll be waiting beneath the mistletoe after dinner, ladies,” Walter said, grinning.

“Oh, Dr. Grice,” Mrs. Baines said, playfully waving her hand.

“Oh, Dr. Grice, nothing,” Mrs. Kaplan said. “I’ll be there, first in line and with bells on! And if Sir Arthur’s game, watch out, ladies, he’s all mine!” For the first time since I’d known him, Sir Arthur blushed. Mrs. Kaplan slapped the table and cackled. Her gaiety was infectious. The table erupted in giggles and laughter.

“What about you, Miss Davish?” Walter said, an impish smirk on his face. “Are you game?” I grinned at his banter but left him guessing for an answer.

“To the best bloody secretary a man could ever ask for,” Sir Arthur said, unexpectedly bubbly. “Another job well done!” I blushed at Sir Arthur’s public display of appreciation. I wasn’t used to it, but I reveled in knowing I’d exceeded his expectations. Sir Arthur was happy and so was I. “To Hattie Davish!” he said, raising his glass.

“To Hattie Davish,” Walter said, beaming at me. I beamed back. Everyone was drinking and laughing. The joy was infectious.

This is what Christmas should be,
I thought as I raised my glass in one final toast.

“To a Merry Christmas for all and a Happy New Year!”