Finished Off (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 2) (11 page)

"I hope you weren't breaking any windows, like you promised." Mrs. Wilkins held her breath as the girls looked at each other.

"I never broke none," Grace said, her gaze fixed on her shoes. "I didn't see Olivia break none, neither."

"That's right," Olivia chimed in. "She didn't."

"Well, I suppose that's something to be thankful for." Mrs. Wilkins unfolded her arms and picked up her whisk. "You know these suffragettes are going to get you two into a lot of trouble one day, you mark my words. You'd best stay away from them, both of you. Stay out of trouble, or you'll end up losing your jobs, if you haven't already."

Grace whimpered again, while Olivia muttered something she didn't catch.

"Run along, then." Mrs. Wilkins reached for a bowl of eggs. "Miss Fingle is waiting to talk to you. You might as well get it over with."

Olivia marched to the door, while Grace lifted a tearful face and whispered, "Sorry, Mrs. Wilkins."

"So am I," the cook muttered. "Now get along with
you." She waited until the door had closed behind them before wiping away a stray tear. She was fond of the girls, and she hated to see them get into trouble. But they had to learn they couldn't break the rules whenever they felt like it.

Drat the suffragettes. Sometimes they were more trouble than they were worth. All that shouting and throwing things wasn't going to get them what they wanted. Women would always be downtrodden and mistreated by men. It was the way of the world, and more the pity for it.

Mrs. Wilkins heaved an almighty sigh, and went about beating her eggs.

"What gave you the idea they were murdered?" Felic
ity's frown was skeptical. "I thought you said that the father was smoking a pipe in bed and that caused the fire."

"That's what everyone thinks, apparently." Meredith shivered as the wind picked up and swirled the dead leaves around in the flowerbed. "But I found something I think might indicate something quite different happened." Quickly she told them about finding the horse in the bedroom.

Both women listened intently, but when Meredith paused, Essie shook her head in bewilderment.

"I don't see what the horse has to do with anything."

Meredith dug in her pocket and pulled out the photograph. "This was taken in the living room of the house,"

"You already showed it to us," Felicity said, taking the picture from her. "We've both seen it."

"Yes, I know. But really look at it. Look on the mantelpiece. What do you see?"

Frowning, Felicity stared at the photograph. Then her expression changed. "Oh, I see what you mean. There's two horses on there."

"Where? Let me see!" Essie took the photograph and looked at it. "Oh, I see them now." She wrinkled her brow. "What does that have to do with the one in the bedroom?"

Meredith reached for the picture. "It was one of the pair
on the mantelpiece. That picture was taken the day of the fire. I'd like to know how it ended up in the bedroom."

Felicity shrugged. "It could be the child was playing with it."

"I'm quite sure Emma would not have been allowed to play with a valuable statuette and leave it lying around. It's just odd, that's all. Something out of place that doesn't belong there."

Felicity shook her head. "I still can't believe you went all the way over there to look at that house. You really take this ghost business seriously, don't you."

"Yes, I do." Meredith tucked the picture back in her pocket. "So much so that I'm going to do some more investigating. I believe that Emma was trying to tell me her parents' death was not an accident. I think someone might have used that horse as a weapon to kill the Lewis family, then set the fire to cover up the murder."

Essie gasped in horror, while Felicity still looked as if she didn't believe a word of it. "Why would someone want to kill the entire family? Why didn't they kill the little girl as well?"

"Those are exactly the questions for which I have to find answers." Shivering again, Meredith stood. "Now that I have an assistant, such as he is, I have a little more time to do some investigating." She looked up at Felicity, then down at Essie's anxious face. "I may need your help in this at some time."

"Of course," Essie said at once. "I'll do anything I can to help." She glanced over her shoulder. "I just don't want to see any ghosts."

"Don't worry." Meredith drew her shawl closer about her shoulders. "It seems that I am the only one who can see them, anyway. Even I am unable to keep them here for long. As I've said before, whatever abilities I might have are somewhat limited."

Felicity grunted. "You never had any of these abilities until Kathleen died and supposedly came back to haunt you."

Meredith nodded. "Kathleen helped me discover I have the ability to communicate with ghosts. It just doesn't seem very strong, and now that she's gone, I'm afraid the power might disappear at any minute. That's why I have to find out what happened to the Lewis family as quickly as possible, before I lose contact with Emma."

"Well," Felicity said gruffly, "I suppose you can count on me to help."

Meredith smiled. "Thank you, Felicity. For now, all I need you to do is keep an eye on Roger Platt, and make sure he stays away from the students and gets on with his work. I'll fit everything in between classes, as much as I can, anyway."

Essie laid a delicate hand on her arm. "I wish I could take your classes for you, Meredith, but I'm afraid I know nothing about art or music."

"Me either," Felicity said, hunching her shoulders against the wind. "I'd never be able to lead your choral group. My singing sounds like an elderly horse with the croup."

Essie looked worried. "The recital is only three days away."

Meredith patted her hand. "Don't worry, my choir is ready, and I certainly won't forsake them. The recital will go on as planned."

"Oh, thank goodness. Everyone is counting on you, and I know how much you'd hate to let them down." Essie shuddered. "It's getting really cold."

"Then let's go back indoors. I just wanted to let you both know what I'm doing and why."

"I'm still not sure why," Felicity mumbled as she followed them out of the clearing, "but knowing you, I'm sure you have a good reason."

She did have a good reason, Meredith thought as she walked briskly back to the school. A little girl wanted to be reunited with her family. If she could find out what really happened that terrible night and bring it to light, she just might make that happen.

In doing so, she would reinforce the hope that she
would one day be reunited with her own dear husband and child—a hope she would cling to until the end of her days.

There seemed only one option at present, and that was to find out more about the Lewis family, and who might have wanted them dead. The first place would be the bank where George Lewis worked. She would go there the very next day.

Having made the decision, she looked forward eagerly to the night, when she might have an opportunity to communicate with Emma again.

She fell asleep, however, without seeing any sign of the ghost. The next morning she awoke with a firm resolve to discover without further ado as much as she could about the Lewis family.

Immediately after her class, she gave instructions to a rather despondent Roger Platt, and then summoned Reggie and ordered the carriage brought around to the gates.

"Where are we going, m'm?" he asked as she climbed up onto her seat.

"We are going into Witcheston. To the Melrose Bank. I believe it's in the High Street."

"Yes, m'm. I know where it is." Reggie gave her a sharp look. "You're doing a lot of running around lately, Mrs. Llewellyn, if you don't mind me saying so. Is everything all right? With the school, I mean?"

"Everything is fine, Reggie. I simply have some business at the bank, that's all." She settled herself more comfortably on the leather seat. "Now, can we go?"

"Oh, right, m'm. Right you are." Obviously still perturbed, he closed her door and jumped up onto his perch. The carriage jerked as Major moved forward, and Meredith leaned back, wondering how much longer she could keep her investigation a secret from her handyman.

He was obviously curious about her frequent trips of late, and rightly so. Until now the carriage had been used very little, since the teachers walked into the village and used the carriage only for the rare trip to Witcheston.

In fact, poor Major had probably been lulled into believing he was retired, and all this activity must be quite a shock for him. Feeling guilty, Meredith listened to the plodding hooves of the aging horse, and tried to console herself with the thought that perhaps Major was enjoying this break from routine. At least it wasn't raining, as it had been the day before.

Entering the crowded streets of Witcheston, Major had even more to contend with as he joined a stream of horses, carriages, bicycles, and the occasional motor car. Harassed pedestrians dodged between the traffic, seemingly taking their lives in their hands in order to cross the road.

The motor cars in particular made Meredith nervous. Not only did they move far too fast, at least twelve miles per hour so she'd been told, but all those abominable explosions emitting from them every now and again made her jump right out of her skin.

Major was decidedly skittish by the time they reached the bank, even rearing up at one point when a motor car made that dreadful bang right in front of him.

She scrambled down from the carriage the minute it halted, half afraid Major would bolt with her in it. "I'll try to be quick," she told Reggie, and hurried into the bank, where several customers stood patiently waiting at the counter.

After a few minutes' wait, she reached the bespectacled young man behind the bars. "I'm Mrs. Llewellyn," she announced when the gentleman smiled at her. "I'm the head mistress of Bellehaven Finishing School in Crickling Green and I should like to speak to the manager."

The young man looked impressed. "Just one moment, madam." He hurried away and shortly after returned with a portly gentleman, whose waistcoat seemed in immediate danger of popping its buttons.

"This is Mr. Clark, madam," the clerk announced, then introduced her to the manager.

"Howard Clark, madam, at your service." The manager gestured to the end of the counter. "If you would care to step this way?"

Aware of curious glances from the other customers, Meredith scurried to the end of the counter, where Howard Clark waited for her.

"My office is down here, Mrs. Llewellyn." He led her down a small corridor and opened a door at the end.

Walking into the spacious room, Meredith gazed in admiration at the gold damask curtains with their gold filigree rods, the shiny cherrywood file cabinets, and the magnificent gleaming oak desk sitting in the middle of the window.

"Do take a seat, Mrs. Llewellyn." Clark gestured at the chair across the room.

With her feet sinking into the deep burgundy and gold carpet, she crossed the room and sat on the velvet padded seat. She felt a little out of her depth. Not a feeling to which she was accustomed.

"Now then." Clark sat down behind the desk and rubbed his hands together. "What can I do for you today? You wish to open a bank account? Secure a loan? Rent a strongbox?"

Meredith smiled. "None of those things, Mr. Clark. I wanted to talk to you about the late manager of this bank. Mr. George Lewis. I understand he is now deceased."

The bank manager stared at her for a moment. "You were well acquainted with Mr. Lewis?"

"Not exactly, no." She paused, then added, "I have been in close contact with a member of the family, however. For reasons I am not at liberty to divulge, I should like to know more about the gentleman."

"I see." A frown creased Clark's forehead. "Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you that Mr. Lewis is in disgrace with this institution. I'm not sure I should reveal the cause."

Meredith caught her breath. She leaned forward. "Mr. Clark, I can assure you that no word of what you tell me will be repeated outside these walls."

Clark smoothed his hand up his forehead, as if brushing the hair away from his eyebrows. He must at one time have
had a full head of hair, but all that remained of it now was a thick fringe of gray circling the base of his skull.

He had a habit of squinting, as if short of sight yet too vain to wear spectacles. He squinted at her now, obvious reluctance in every line of his face. 'That's as it may be, madam, but—"

"Mr. Clark. It is vital that I have more information about Mr. Lewis and his family. I hesitate to go to the constabulary, but—"

"That won't be necessary, Mrs. Llewellyn." Clark uttered a nervous laugh. "No need to trouble the constables for such a slight reason. I'll be happy to tell you everything I know about the family, which isn't much, since I didn't have the pleasure of making the acquaintance of any of them except for George Lewis."

Meredith sat back, pleased that her mention of the constables had worked. She felt quite sure that Howard Clark had already had more than enough dealings with the constabulary, considering the manner in which George Lewis had died. The presence of constables couldn't have been good business for a bank.

"Thank you, Mr. Clark. Perhaps you could begin by telling me why Mr. Lewis was in disgrace."

Clark drummed the desk with his fingers for a moment or two, then said in a voice devoid of emotion, "On the day after Mr. Lewis died, I made the discovery that he had been embezzling funds from this bank."

Meredith took a moment to find her voice. "Mr. Lewis was
embezzling?"

"Yes." Clark leaned back and laced his fingers together, resting them on his stomach. "It was a great shock to me, as you can imagine. I had always respected and looked up to Mr. Lewis. The night that he died I had left the bank earlier that afternoon for a meeting at our main branch in London. I returned by the afternoon train the following day to be met by a constable, who gave me the tragic news that the Lewis family had perished in a house fire."

He paused to wipe his brow, and Meredith felt sympathy for the man. He was obviously very shaken by his employer's death. "That must have been very upsetting," she said quietly.