Death at the Abbey (26 page)

“Of course, Edward Bayes's ledger was a fake, and you kept the real one inside your hidden safe.”

“Don't be ridiculous. He kept the real one and I held the fake—” Reed stopped as he realized his own admission of guilt. Several people in the room gasped, and Mrs. Garside burst into tears.

Violet felt a tumultuous blend of satisfaction and deep sadness at knowing herself to be right.

Reed dropped his voice, and Violet feared that it meant he was becoming dangerous, like a cornered tiger. “Of course Bayes's ledger was the real one, which reflected his cut of the proceeds. How could you think for a moment that I didn't have control over my system? Yes, Mrs. Harper, I had to kill Edward Bayes, but not because of the ledger. No, I had to dispose of him because he killed Spencer.”

Now it was Violet's turn to gasp as she tried to work through what this heartless monster was telling her. “Do you mean to say that you were
avenging
Spencer's death?” she asked, incredulous.

Reed sighed. “No, my dear. I was not
avenging
Spencer's murder. Why would I care about such a thing? I had plenty of other boys to profit from.” He nodded back to the remaining home children.

“Bayes was as frightened as a silly little maid who has burned her master's toast. He was overwrought with guilt after accidentally killing Spencer, blathering about wanting to confess his crime and that it was a divine sign that we should halt our plan. He was too unstable, and I couldn't have him committing some stupid act that would have ruined it all. Once he showed me where Spencer was, so that I could arrange the boy's body as I wished, I then convinced Bayes to walk awhile with me so we could talk everything out. Then I took care of him.”

Reed's calm as he confessed to his heinous deeds was chilling. However, his revelation caused Violet to realize something else. “You moved Bayes's body for two reasons, then. One was to make me think I was completely confused, and the other was to make his death look to be the result of the dynamite.”

“Actually, I had intended to bury Bayes where you found him, but when I returned to do so, you were already poking around. So I waited until you were gone and moved him. By then, the dynamiting was planned and I realized how to use it to my advantage.” Reed's expression didn't offer any hint of remorse.

Swallowing her disgust, Violet said, “It was a callous manner of treating your partner, someone you had known from your time in Her Majesty's navy.” This was a wild shot in the dark, but based on Reed's startled reaction, she knew she had found the target.

“If you were to undo your shirt, sir . . .” Violet said.

He frowned and glanced at one entrance to the ballroom, which Hudock still guarded. “For what reason, Mrs. Harper?” Reed glanced back at the rear entrance of the ballroom. No one stood there, but Violet didn't dare call attention to it, lest Reed attempt to bolt through it. She wasn't sure he didn't plan to do so, anyway.

“I am interested in whether you have followed in what so many jack-tars do.”

Reed narrowed his eyes, but as several other men stepped toward him menacingly, he waved them off, unbuttoned his vest, and shoved his open collar to the right. “Is that what you wish to see?” he asked.

There it was. A tattoo of a volcano with a flourishing tree atop it, just like that adorning Edward Bayes's shoulder. Now Violet fully understood how Bayes came to be employed at Welbeck. LeCato must have realized it, too, for an expression of utter contempt came over his face, and Violet knew he was contemplating the shame Reed had brought upon the navy.

What a terrible tragedy had descended on Welbeck, a fine estate that might be owned by a very peculiar man, but also one where employees were cared for and the local economy flourished. Violet sighed heavily, so very saddened at the destruction Reed had wrought. It was yet another terrible addition to the long line of tragic events in the Welbeck legacy. Perhaps this episode could be stricken from the Abbey's history.

“Thank you, Mr. Reed. I'm sure the other men in your prison cell will be most impressed by it.”

Reed frowned, as if he didn't understand what Violet was telling him. Then, as realization finally dawned, he gazed at her, the color draining from his face as he began babbling.

“There will be no prison for me. I'm Ellery Reed, a competent estate manager who has effectively run all of His Grace's projects here as well as maintained Harcourt House. Do you think that another local dukery won't hire me for my skills? Just because His Grace might be offended doesn't mean I can't get work elsewhere.”

The man was completely delusional. As though his offenses only amounted to some minor infraction.

He interrupted his own nonsensical stream of thought to dash toward the rear door that led into the tunnel off which were the guest bedrooms. Parris made a dash for him, but Reed anticipated him, turning and connecting his fist with Parris's jaw and sending the gardener sprawling to the ground.

One of the home children also sprang up and attempted to tackle Reed, nearly causing the estate manager's knees to buckle, but he was able to throw off the boy, who yelped as he crashed to the floor.

Mrs. Garside's sobbing grew noisier as Reed bolted out of the ballroom and into the passageway, with several more estate workers close behind him, but within moments came the sounds of a scuffle through the open doorway, blocking out the cook's wailing. Several sickening thuds against the stone left Violet trembling without an explanation of who, exactly, was meeting his destiny with the ground. In moments, though, Sam appeared in the doorway, triumphant, as he dragged Reed behind him. Sam's cane was nowhere to be found, as if his injured leg was completely forgotten in the pleasure he took in bringing down the man responsible for trying to kill his wife. The workers who had rushed out behind Reed now followed behind Sam, glowering at the man Sam had unceremoniously hauled back into the ballroom and occasionally glancing up at Sam with burgeoning respect.

Sam dropped Reed, his face bloodied and his voice reduced to a mere gurgle, in the center of the elegant ballroom, then went to stand at Violet's side. His knuckles were scraped and bruises were already forming, but his expression suggested a complete euphoria. It was enough to silence Mrs. Garside.

“Ahem,” Sam said, clearing his throat. “If someone would be so kind as to summon the police?”

Hudock dashed out the opposite door as everyone else gathered to observe Reed's quivering form, inspecting him as though he were some new form of insect. One of the home children spat at him, the glob landing squarely on the murderer's forehead and dribbling into his eye. Others standing around cheered the boy, and an anonymous foot connected with Reed's hip, causing the man to grunt roughly in pain.

Now it was Portland's turn to clear his throat from behind his wood screen, where presumably he had successfully witnessed all that had transpired in the room. Violet thought his timing fortuitous, as she feared Reed was going to be served a violent justice before the police arrived.

Pearson stepped behind the screen and returned with a sheet of paper in his hand. The valet handed it to Kirby, who opened it and walked over to where they all stood around the enfeebled estate manager. He read aloud to the prone figure. “ ‘Mr. Reed, you will be presently transferred into police custody. Let me assure you, sir, that you are a disgrace and no longer in my employ.' ”

Reed was now whimpering in pain, so Violet wasn't sure whether he'd heard Portland's unnecessary pronouncement.

Portland sent out another note through Pearson. Kirby read this one out for Mrs. Bayes. “ ‘You are not responsible for your husband's actions. You may remain at Welbeck Abbey for the rest of your natural life.' ”

The duke's correspondence was certainly terse and precise.

Mrs. Bayes sniffled, now looking bedraggled and droopy, and not at all the brazen wench she presented herself as. Violet supposed that Portland was performing the kindest of deeds for her, as many an aristocrat would have thrown a criminal's widow and her children to the street, or recommended them for the workhouse. Even though she likely had no idea what her husband's ledger was about, the widow would have had good cause to destroy it after his death, as it might have ruined her chances for her much-anticipated pension and cottage. Without it, Violet would have never figured everything out.

Mrs. Bayes dashed to the wooden screen, prostrating herself on the ground before it. “Your Grace, I'm forever indebted to you. You are such a kind and wonderful gentleman, and I don't know 'ow I could ever repay your charity. But what with Edward's passing, my children and me . . . we 'ave so little except for your goodness, and if we don't 'ave—”

The woman's desperate prattling was cut off midsentence, as the duke began rapping his cane loudly on the wooden screen, whereupon Pearson quickly grabbed Mrs. Bayes and pulled the sobbing woman away.

A third note was issued. This time, Kirby didn't open it but brought it to Violet, cupping it in both hands as he presented it to her. It was sealed in red wax with the duke's coat of arms. She read it to herself, with Sam reading over her shoulder:

 

 

Violet figured that was probably the highest praise Portland had ever given anyone, outside of the colonel and perhaps a few siblings. She thought that LeCato might soon leave of his own accord to avoid what Violet suspected would soon be Mrs. Bayes's smothering attentions.

She also presumed that Chandler would be publicly dismissed from service, but she was shocked when Portland passed a final note through Pearson for the falconer. This one Kirby also read aloud: “ ‘Mr. Chandler, you should be dismissed from service at Welbeck. However, if the Cavendish sisters buried silver on the property, I should like to find it. You will find it for me, and will still be responsible for the falconry. You are no longer confined.' ”

Chandler looked as though he might faint dead away from his good luck as he thanked the duke profusely for his generosity. Personally, Violet would have sent him packing and whispered so to Sam.

Her husband chuckled, his expression still one of great cheer among everyone else's countenance of shock, anxiety, and sadness. “So says the woman who is terrified of her own servants,” he whispered back.

“I am not,” she replied indignantly.

“Hmm, remember the time you refused to send a burnt apple tart back to Mrs. Wren, for fear of her reaction?”

Violet frowned, remembering the incident. “Well, that was a different circumstance altogether.”

“I see,” Sam said solemnly, but there was still mirth spread across his face.

“It was. I'm not a peer in charge of thousands of acres and people who must retain a reputation so as to keep things in order.” She knew Sam was teasing, so why was she defending herself? Besides, wasn't it true that servants intimidated her? It was why she was thankful she and Sam lived in quarters small enough to just require day help. Violet hoped to never again have a home large enough to require live-in staff.

She turned her attention back to the room as Portland cleared his throat from behind the screen and spoke a single, baritone sentence. “Now, good people, we will dispense with our troubles and let the All Hallows' Eve festivities commence.”

30

T
o Violet's surprise, Portland had been correct about the staff diving into All Hallows' Eve once Reed had been hauled away. Within a short time, it was as if the lurid details of the estate manager's deception and murderous deeds had been completely forgotten, relegated to the dusty pages of some ancient history book.

Which was fine with Violet. She and Sam joined in on the apple bobbing and other games the servants had set up, laughing uproariously with the others when Kirby took his turn as “it,” stumbling around the room in an undignified manner, grasping for someone to tag.

“I tell you, my prayers worked,” Mrs. Garside said, coming alongside Violet and startling her as she stepped outside the ring of play to catch her breath. “I went to the priory on several afternoons and near wore my knees out, asking for the curse to be lifted from Welbeck, and now it 'as been. Perhaps I was wrong about Aristotle, Mrs. 'Arper. Perhaps 'e was an 'arbinger of good luck, not bad.”

“Perhaps you're right,” Violet murmured, reflecting that it was only because of Aristotle that she'd managed to find the glass eye shard—and therefore Bayes's body—before he showed up in Sam's dynamiting of the skating rink. How ironic to think that Aristotle had been instrumental in preventing Sam's reputation from being thoroughly ruined.

As everyone lost interest in blind man's bluff, someone suggested that they all play pin the tail on the donkey. Violet noted with amusement that when it came to Olive's turn to wear the blindfold, Hudock volunteered to cover her eyes, and did so with the utmost gentleness and a whisper in her ear, causing her to blush prettily. Thank goodness it looked as though she would recover quickly from her devotion to Martin Chandler.

Violet avoided Molly Spriggs, who now sat at a table with tarot cards spread in front of her, a staple of All Hallows' Eve celebrations. She invited Violet over for a reading, but Violet was still shy of the cards, which had been the precursor to several deaths during an investigative matter for the queen several months ago. Undaunted, Molly called to Mrs. Garside, who happily plopped herself before the table.

James Appleton, the vicar, had been making rounds, greeting and offering blessings to everyone in the room, and finally arrived in front of Violet and Sam, red-faced in his exertion. “Such a wonderful celebration, isn't it?” he asked. “I have always encouraged His Grace to sponsor All Hallows' Eve amusements. I find them to be a theologically sound way of remembering our saints, martyrs, and all of the faithful departed believers, especially when the games use humor and ridicule to confront the power of death. Ah, see here, we have someone dressed up as a court jester to scare away Death. Amusing, isn't it?”

Violet was speechless because it was Jack LeCato in the costume, prancing about in an undignified way to the delight of several women—Margaret Bayes in particular—who taunted him in playful voices and squealed when he came after them, the bells on his pointed hat jingling wildly. Perhaps it was more than just the actual Welbeck staff who were relieved that the murders had been solved.

Next came Kirby's announcement that the scavenger hunt was to begin. Everyone paired up to seek out items hidden throughout the tunnels and rooms surrounding the ballroom. Sam grabbed Violet's hand and led her through the rear door of the ballroom and into the tunnel, dodging past other couples who were searching the unused guest rooms for hidden treasures. Violet avoided looking down, worried that she might find traces of Reed's blood spilled during Sam's rage.

Sam peered into various rooms and finally stopped before the Gothic arches of the chapel's doors. He stared at them a moment, then said, “Perfect.”

He held open one of the doors for Violet to pass through, then shut them behind her with a resounding thud. “Why are we—” she started, but he put a finger to his lips and backed her up against the door.

“I'm very proud of you,” he whispered. “You doggedly stuck to your investigation and ensured justice for those who deserved it. The police couldn't have done so fine a job.”

Violet warmed at her husband's words. “You helped me. You advised—”

“Shh,” he whispered, placing his hands on either side of her face and putting his lips to hers.

“That's for being such an intelligent undertaker,” he murmured.

Violet's stomach twirled with pleasure.

“This,” he said, coming in for a much longer kiss, “is for being the kind of wife that makes a husband proud to share his name with her.”

“The others,” she demurred weakly. “They will want to search the chap—”

“And this,” he continued, wrapping his arms around her waist, “is just for me.” He captured her in a kiss that made her forget not only about any of the other revelers barging in on them but also about why she had even come to Nottinghamshire in the first place.