Finished Off (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 2) (9 page)

In fact, apart from the fact that the room was devoid of furniture and drapes, standing in the center of the gold and green carpet, it was hard to imagine that anything untoward had happened to the lovely home.

Meredith stood for a long moment studying the room, without really knowing what she was looking for, or even why she had come. What could she possibly expect to find in this sad, deserted house that had once been a comfortable and sumptuous home?

"I need you to come here with me, Emma," she said
out loud. "I need you to tell me what to look for, what it is you want from here." She waited, willing the little ghost to appear, while the house creaked and groaned around her.

When it became apparent that Emma was not about to make an appearance, Meredith's disappointment was acute. She had mistaken her dream for a message from Emma. It had been just a dream after all. She should not have come.

She took one last look around the room, miserable in her failure to find anything that could help the little girl.

Retracing her steps to the hall, she glanced up the stairs. Emma's bedroom would be up there. She hesitated, remembering the child's pleading face. What if the answer lay up there, in that bedroom? What if that was what Emma was trying to tell her?

Slowly Meredith walked to the foot of the stairs. Up there was where the worst of the fire had taken hold. It could be dangerous, with all the damage the house had sustained. Still, something urged her on. A child's face, pleading with her. Meredith placed one foot on the first stair.

For an instant she was tempted to shout for Reggie to continue the search for her, but thought better of it. There would be far too many explanations needed. Things she simply couldn't tell him. This was something she would have to do herself.

The higher she climbed the stairs, the stronger the smell of smoke became until she felt as if she would choke on it. Some of the floorboards on the landing were charred, and she carefully tested them with her foot before stepping gingerly over them.

Loud cracks and ominous creaking followed her down the landing to the first room. She opened the door and peeked inside. This must have been Emma's room. The once pink wallpaper covered in roses was now gray, with ugly black streaks where water had poured down the walls.

Staring at the soiled carpet, Meredith swallowed past
the lump in her throat. How terrified the child must have been to lose her ability to speak.

There was the window where she must have climbed out and into the tree outside. Moving about the room, Meredith tried not to think about that night as she walked over to the window. Again she felt a sense of despair. There was nothing in this room to help her. Nothing but the empty walls, and a lonely room bereft of a child's laughter.

Her heart heavy with sadness, Meredith left the room and closed the door behind her. She peeked inside four more rooms, all of which had been stripped of everything.

As she drew closer to what must be the main bedroom, the floor became more and more unstable. She moved carefully, aware of the growing danger, yet driven on by the conviction that somewhere in this house lay the answers she needed.

The blackened door to the bedroom was closed. She approached it warily, assuring herself that the bodies at least would have been removed. Even so, she had to steel herself as she pushed the door open and looked inside.

The roof was open to the sky, and rain dripped down the walls, soaking what was left of the royal blue carpet. Here the remains of furniture still lay, burned and scorched to an unrecognizable heap of ashes and debris.

A charred slipper lay by the door, and halfway across the room in the middle of the floor lay a baby's rattle, the paint scorched off it. The sight of that forlorn reminder of the little life that had been so tragically lost brought tears to Meredith's eyes.

She started forward with some vague intent to salvage the souvenir, but as she did so, the floorboards groaned and sagged beneath her feet. Shaken, she backed away to the door. Her foot struck something solid beneath the scattered remains of a once exquisite cradle.

She looked down, staring at the object lying at her feet and recognized it as the scorched and twisted statuette of
a rearing horse. Some strange urge made her sweep it up, just as a shout rang through the house from below.

"Mrs. Llewellyn? Hello? Where are you? Are you all right?"

Slipping the horse inside her coat, Meredith fled from that dreadful room and its macabre memories. She reached the top of the stairs to find Reggie staring up at her, shock and dismay on his face.

"What the blooming heck are you doing up there, m'm? It's not safe, is it. The floor could cave in any minute."

"Do stop fussing, Reggie." Meredith started down the stairs. "I'm perfectly all right as you can see—" Her last word ended with a shriek as a loud crack interrupted her, and the banisters gave way under her hand. She stumbled, and pitched forward down the stairs.

"Look out!" Reggie leapt up the steps, both hands outstretched toward her.

Meredith tumbled toward him, smacked into him, and sent them both sprawling on the floor. Stunned, she struggled to clear her head before sitting up. Above her, the top part of the banisters hung over the side of the staircase while the lower half leaned at an angle.

Reggie lay facedown and at first she thought he was unconscious. He must have been only momentarily stunned, however, as he pulled himself up onto his hands and knees and gave her a dazed look. "You all right, m'm?"

Rubbing her ankle, she gave him a shaky smile. "I think so. And you?"

Reggie touched his forehead with wary fingers. "I conked me head on something but I don't think any bones are broken."

"I'm sorry, Reggie." She regarded him anxiously. "I certainly didn't mean for you to get hurt."

Holding the back of his head, he scrambled to his feet, then took hold of her arm to help her up. "What was you doing in here, anyway?"

"Just curiosity, that's all. I heard about the fire and came to take a look."

Reggie shook his head, then winced. "Ouch. Well, you know what they say about curiosity and the cat."

"Yes, I do." She hugged the horse beneath her coat closer to her. "I think I'll steer clear of burned houses from now on."

"Jolly good idea." He let go of her arm and walked over to the door. "I'd better go and see if Major is still there. I left him tied up to the signpost, but nobody can get past him unless they untie him and move him out of the way."

"Then let us go." She hurried after him, only too glad to be out of that house.

On the way back to the school, she drew the blackened horse out from her coat. Putting it on the seat beside her, she opened her handbag and withdrew the picture Mrs. Philpot had given her.

After studying it for a moment or two, she was satisfied. This was the same horse, one half of a pair, that had stood on the mantelpiece in the living room.

Frowning, she cast her mind back to her conversation with the administrator.
It was taken the very day they all died. The photographer brought it by here a week later
.

Both horses had been standing in their rightful place above the fireplace that day. Yet that night, one of them had found its way to the bedroom.

Meredith leaned back against the seat, allowing the steady rhythm of Major's hooves to relax her. What was it Sherlock Holmes had said? Something about an object being out of place. Look for something that was missing from its usual place, or something that was where it shouldn't be, and ask why.

Why, indeed. She didn't know the significance of the horse yet, but one thing she did know. It didn't belong on the floor of a burned-out bedroom. Someone must have put it there. Someone, perhaps, who didn't belong in that house? Was this what Emma was trying to tell her?

Somehow she had to communicate with the child, for something told her there could be a far more sinister story behind the tragic deaths of the Lewis family than anyone realized.

Chapter 7

The rain had stopped, but a cool wind continued to
make Grace miserable as she stood on the corner of Witcheston's High Street. She and Olivia had barely reached the town hall before they were whisked off in the crowd to the main thoroughfares of the town, given placards, and ordered to march up and down while chanting slogans.

The heavy post kept slipping through her fingers, tearing her wet gloves until they were in shreds. Her arms ached from holding up the placard, her throat ached from shouting, and her stomach growled for want of sustenance.

Two hours they'd been tramping the streets, with no mention of when or if they were supposed to break windows. Grace was actually relieved on that point. At least the bobbies had left them alone, though two of them had strolled past fingering their truncheons and giving them warning looks.

Now all Grace wanted to do was go home. Back to Bellehaven, where dry clothes and a good meal were waiting for her. Even Olivia was dragging her feet, her shoulders hunched against the wind.

To make matters worse, they were just a few yards from a bakery, and the heavenly aroma of freshly baked bread tormented her empty stomach.

Deciding to take advantage of her friend's discomfort, Grace caught up with her. "I'm hungry."

"So am I." Olivia's pinched face turned in her direction. "Nobody said anything about eating, though."

"Well, they didn't say we couldn't." Grace rested her placard against her knees and dug in her pocket. "I've got a sixpence. Enough to buy a currant bun each."

Olivia lifted her chin and sniffed. "They do smell good." She looked down the street. "Go in there and get two of them. I'll hold your placard for you."

Grace didn't need asking twice. Abandoning her burden, she rushed down the street to the bakery, nearly knocking over an elderly woman in her haste to get inside the shop.

The sight of all the pastries and cakes made her feel faint. She just about snatched the bag of buns from the shopkeeper and fled out of the shop, back to Olivia, who had taken refuge in a shop doorway.

"Quick!" she said when Grace handed her the bag. "We've just got our orders. We're to go straight back to the town hall. They're going to start breaking the windows."

Grace immediately lost her appetite. "I'd rather stay here."

"You can't, can you." Olivia thrust her hand in the bag and withdrew a sticky bun. "Here, eat this. It will give you courage."

"It's going to take a lot more than a blinking bun," Grace muttered, but she took it anyway and stuffed it in her mouth. Chewing it down, she grabbed her placard, and followed Olivia around the corner and down the street to where a crowd of women had gathered outside the town hall.

"Look!" Olivia pointed a finger at the steps. "There's Christabel Pankhurst. Doesn't she look smashing?"

Grace went up on tiptoe to peer over the shoulder of the woman in front of her. The woman's wide-brimmed hat
was adorned with huge ribbon bows and ostrich feathers, and seeing through all that clutter was a bit difficult.

She had just caught sight of a slim, dark-haired woman at the top of the stairs when everyone started chanting, "Votes for Women! Votes for Women!" The chanting got louder and louder, and Grace clutched hold of Olivia's arm with her free hand.

The voices sounded angry, and she could sense the hostility in the crowd. The women started pushing forward, and she tried to resist, but someone behind her gave her a hefty shove.

She stumbled, almost dropping the placard, and by the time she'd steadied herself, Olivia was nowhere to be seen. Frantically she stood on her toes, trying to see past the women in front. Everyone was pushing and shoving now, shouting in her ears, forcing her forward, closer and closer to the building.

"Olivia?
Olivia
!" Her voice rose in a scream but the harsh voices drowned out her desperate calls. She heard a tinkle of breaking glass, and a cheer went up from the front of the crowd.

The women behind her pushed harder and she struggled to stay on her feet, scared that if she fell, she'd be crushed beneath them. Closer and closer she stumbled, and now she could hear the crashing glass hitting the pavement.

The noise terrified her. Vivid images sprung to mind, of shards of glass flying through the air and slicing into her head and face. She plunged sideways, through a small gap in the crowd to her left. The heavy placard weighed her down and she let it fall, wincing as someone cursed heavily behind her.

Her terror gave her strength, and she fought her way out of the crowd. Stumbling at last onto a stretch of pavement free of the defiant women and the curious onlookers, she paused to catch her breath.

Tears ran down her face as she searched the seething mass of women for any sign of Olivia. She had to be in there somewhere, caught up in that awful riot.

Jumping up and down to gain enough height, she could see women throwing their placards into the windows of the town hall. Glass shattered and smashed to the ground all around them, yet they seemed unheeding of the dangers of the deadly flying fragments.

Then another commotion erupted from farther down the street. Male voices shouting, whistles blowing, horns trumpeting. The bobbies had arrived.

Screams arose from the crowd, shrieks of anger and pain. Grace could see the bobbies' truncheons flying, while women were dragged by their collars and thrust into a police wagon.

She watched in horror as the door closed on a group of yelling, screaming women, then the wagon was pulled away and another took its place.

More onlookers had gathered now, pressing Grace off the pavement and into the street. Confused and frightened, she twisted this way and that, calling Olivia's name over and over.

She was on the point of giving up when she heard someone shriek her name. "Grace! Help me!"

She whirled around, facing the direction from where she'd heard that desperate shout. She was just in time to see Olivia bundled into a wagon and the door slam behind her.

The wagon moved off, taking her friend with it. At first all Grace could do was stand and stare after it, frozen with shock. Then suddenly, a surge of anger almost overwhelmed her.