The Grenadillo Box: A Novel (42 page)

B
eyond the library windows the last rays of afternoon sun streaked the park with gold as a carriage set out for the apothecary’s shop in Cambridge, bearing the injured Alice. Inside, a somber group—Foley, Bradfield, Elizabeth, Wallace, and I—waited for the arrival of Westleigh and Robert. In a turmoil I strode the length of the room, at once anxious to avoid the attentions of others and yearning to unburden myself. Up and down, back and forth I went, head bowed, pondering, shaking my head as I reflected on each strange feature of these events, marveling at how each piece that had once so confounded me now fitted so easily into place.

My ruminations were still under way when we heard footsteps in the hall and Robert Montfort entered, accompanied by Westleigh. They had been cursorily apprised of recent events, and their faces revealed candid astonishment and a hunger to know the details of all that had passed. Robert, still dressed in his caped surtout and outdoor boots, glanced at me with what seemed a conciliatory air. I wondered briefly if Foley had pacified him as he’d promised, or whether I’d misread his mood and was about to fall prey to a violent assault.

“So, Mr. Hopson, I gather you have finally concluded this matter in the most dramatic manner and desire to explain it to us,” he said, addressing me with customary hauteur but no obvious menace. “My aunt is dead. I understand she was the murderess you sought.” He began unbuttoning his coat as he spoke. “I confess her duplicity still astounds me. How inconceivable to think she killed her own brother! My aunt was evidently lunatic. Would you not agree?”

I shook my head grimly. “Your aunt was a murderess, sir. She murdered my friend Partridge and she murdered Madame Trenti. But I do not believe she was lunatic—indeed there is a warped logic to all her actions—nor did she kill your father.”

Bemusement flitted over Robert’s face. “I don’t take your meaning, Hopson.”

“He did it himself. I mean, my lord, that your father took his own life in a fit of melancholy brought on by his gambling losses. Miss Alleyn found his body and tampered with it to make it
appear
he had been murdered.”

Robert Montfort regarded me distrustfully. “And why should she kill two people entirely unconnected with her?”

“May I suggest, my lord, that before we consider the murders we begin with the death of your father, Lord Montfort. For therein lies the key to this entire tragedy.”

There was no mistaking his readiness to protest. “I see you still insist upon ignoring the directions of those of superior rank, and give yourself the airs of a gentleman,” he said.

“That was far from my intention, my lord.”

Robert’s expression darkened. Observing the rapidly deteriorating situation, Westleigh held up his right hand. “One moment please, gentlemen. Robert, I pray that you give Hopson leave to explain these events as he thinks fit. For like it or no, it is he who’s apparently unraveled them.”

Robert scowled and sat down in a chair by the fire. Westleigh nodded curtly towards me. I needed no more encouragement to begin my address.

“On New Year’s Day, Lord Montfort was filled with despair. He had lost a considerable sum to Lord Foley and spent the morning with Mr. Wallace, his lawyer, arranging the settlement of the debt. To him, life without such a substantial portion of his estate seemed worthless. In recent weeks he had often considered taking his own life, but he resolved to do it not simply as a means of relieving his misery but also as an act of vengeance. The final gamble was that if he killed himself he stood to cheat Lord Foley of his winnings. I think if we question Mr. Wallace he will verify that Lord Montfort was much preoccupied by how the
manner
of his death might affect the validity of the documents he had drawn up immediately prior to it. At the dinner table that night, I overheard a snatch of conversation suggesting they had recently discussed the matter at some length.”

Wallace nodded his affirmation. “Indeed, you are correct, Mr. Hopson. Lord Montfort asked me repeatedly what might happen if he died that night.”

“But what was the purpose of meddling with the corpse? Why did my aunt act as she did?” interrupted Robert harshly.

“Her motive was simple enough, bearing in mind her predicament. Remember, since becoming a housekeeper here, Miss Alleyn had found herself in an embarrassing position. Her brother treated her little better than a servant, delighting in tormenting her with threats of casting her out.” I turned to where Elizabeth Montfort was seated. “You, my lady, battling under your own preoccupations, offered her little support.” I looked at Robert. “You, whom she’d treated as a son, were no more solicitous. Consider then how this impotence, this apparent ingratitude, must have eaten away at her. Consider how she must have yearned to alter her circumstances, to have what she believed she justly deserved.”

“Do you accuse Elizabeth and myself of being unkind to her and turning her demented?” said Robert sharply.

I replied unfalteringly, for no longer did he hold any fear for me. “No, my lord, I am merely explaining what took place. I am trying to make you comprehend the logic in her actions. To continue: your aunt spoke of her tribulations to Lady Foley, who in turn discussed the matter with her husband. Lord Foley pondered the situation and when, soon after that, he beat Lord Montfort at cards, he promised Miss Alleyn that the winnings should be hers. This was his revenge for a slight committed by Montfort some twenty years earlier.”

“Then
Foley
was to blame…,” interposed Robert Montfort.

At this Westleigh stamped a boot upon the floor. “Silence, sir, I beg of you! Allow Mr. Hopson to speak without further intrusion. The time for apportioning blame will come later, when we have heard
all
he has to say.”

I hurried on, avoiding Robert Montfort’s eye. “Once Lord Foley’s offer was made, Miss Alleyn saw the independence she craved come within her reach. Then, some time before the settlement date arrived, she made a calamitous discovery. Perhaps she overheard a conversation between her brother and Wallace, or perhaps she was present at a consultation between her brother and the apothecary Townes. In any event, by whatever means, she fathomed beyond any doubt that her brother intended to kill himself.”

I hesitated and surveyed my audience one by one. Their gazes were on me; they were engrossed by my discourse. “Suicides, as all of you are doubtless aware, are generally declared
non compos mentis
in order to prevent their estates being claimed by the crown. Miss Alleyn certainly realized this. She also comprehended that if her brother were declared insane, his agreement of debt with Lord Foley could be called into question and she might never receive the money she had been promised. Thus it was desperation that prompted her to act as she did.”

“But if Montfort shot himself, how did Miss Alleyn have time to meddle with the body? She appeared in the dining room a minute or two after the shot was fired, did she not?” said Westleigh.

“Lord Montfort did not shoot himself. He killed himself with a dose of laudanum, having ascertained a lethal dose by first killing his dog. The valet Forbes observed that the medicine bottle disappeared from Lord Montfort’s closet early in the evening of the night he died. In all probability he took a draft before dinner, dosing his dog at the same time. And a second after he left the room. The alcohol he had consumed would have speeded the effects of the dose.” I paused, waiting for a reaction, but Westleigh merely waved his hand as if urging me to continue.

“This I believe is what happened: Miss Alleyn found her brother dead or dying in his library. As I said before, she had anticipated such an eventuality, having overheard his threats of suicide. Thus she had formulated a plan and was ready to implement it when the need arose. The necessary equipment had been secreted in the library—I’m speaking here of the leeches, a table salt, some milk in a saucer (necessary, I understand, to make the creatures bite), and a small pistol, which doubtless belonged to Miss Alleyn, and which she was adept at firing.”

“How did she know he would kill himself in that particular room, on that particular night?” quizzed Westleigh.

“Naturally she could not be entirely certain. But the equipment was easily portable; once she’d assembled it she could have moved it anywhere she chose. In any case, the library was the most likely choice, given the inordinate significance he attached to the new furnishings. And furthermore, on the very day when he was expected to display the room to his guests, he ordered Miss Alleyn to tell the servants that the room was to be left dark and the fire unlit. What more obvious sign could he give that this was when and where he intended to kill himself?”

“Very well,” said Westleigh, a trifle begrudgingly, “continue. What happened when she found Montfort dead?”

“First, she locked the doors to the servants’ corridor and the hall to avoid interruption, then she attended to the corpse. Blood was necessary to confuse the scene, thus her next action was to administer the leeches, using milk to encourage them to bite more readily. After some minutes she poured salt on the leeches and thus garnered enough blood to spill some of it on the body and use the rest to form the faint footprints leading to the window. Then she hid the empty salt in the bookcase, where Constance Lovatt later discovered it, and secreted the milk in a drawer of the desk, where it spilled and caused the wood to swell. I noticed the stiffness of the drawer and a strange cheesy smell when I examined the desk recently.”

“And the gunshot?” said Westleigh.

“Only when all the arrangements were in place did she shoot Lord Montfort with her own gun.”

“But would not the wound from the gun provide all the blood she needed? Why trouble herself with the leeches?” he persisted.

“Because the gunshot would instantly alert the household. It was imperative that immediately afterwards she return to the dining room. There would be no time to make any adjustments to the body, she had to have everything prepared beforehand. She had to leave her brother’s body arranged in such a manner that there would be no doubt he had been murdered, and make it appear that the murderer was an intruder, someone outside the household, thus averting suspicion from herself.”

Until now Foley had been remarkably subdued. Since my return from the tower he’d sat morosely by the fire, eyes closed as if lost in thought. Hearing Westleigh’s last inquiry, he seemed to rouse himself a little and join in. “But she didn’t entirely succeed, did she, Hopson? For there
has
been doubt all along as to whether Montfort killed himself. Why did she leave the gun so close to his hand? For it was that which made us doubt the manner of his death.”

“Therein lies the irony of the whole episode,” I said. “She left the gun some distance away. It was I, in my clumsiness, who stepped on it in the dark and skidded forward, moving the gun within Lord Montfort’s reach. I tried to say as much on the evening of the dinner, but Robert Montfort wouldn’t hear me. Of course, when Miss Alleyn entered and saw the body, this confused her. She couldn’t comprehend how the scene she’d created had been so crucially altered.”

Foley was still perplexed. “Whose were the shoes that made the footprints, and why were they different from those outside?” he demanded.

“The footprints inside were made by Miss Alleyn, using her brother’s shoes. She took them off his feet, smeared them with blood from the leeches, and then I believe put them on her own feet to walk across the floor. Again this was a detail designed to make us believe an intruder had entered, murdered her brother, and escaped.”

Foley scratched his beaklike nose pensively. “But, as I recall, Montfort’s shoes were pristine.”

“Indeed,” I said, “but the valet Forbes remarked that the shoes Lord Montfort was wearing when he dressed for the evening were not the same blue slippers he was wearing when we found his body. The first pair have disappeared, along with the medicine flask. Thus I surmised that after she’d used his shoes to make the prints leading to the window, Miss Alleyn must have disposed of them and put slippers on Lord Montfort’s feet in their place.”

“And the flask was similarly discarded?”

“Yes,” I said. “I own, Lord Foley, I have been as blind as a baby in all this, but it was these trifling details that finally provided the key to my understanding. I thought back to my conversation with the apothecary. He was adamant Lord Montfort was in low spirits and preoccupied with the idea of taking his own life. I remembered Lord Montfort’s conversation with Wallace during dinner, when he’d asked if the document would stand even if he killed himself, and how interested Miss Alleyn had been in their exchange. And yet never once did I suspect Lord Montfort actually had taken his own life, until earlier today when I went to his room.”

“And what did you find there?” demanded Robert, unable to contain himself an instant longer.

I put my hand to my breast pocket, pulled out the two papers I’d discovered, and handed him the one his father had written in his last moments. “I found this, my lord. I believe it to be your father’s suicide note. I took it from his letter book. It is fortunate for us that Miss Alleyn did not realize he kept some of his private correspondence in his bedchamber while his library was being installed, for undoubtedly, had she found it, she would have destroyed it.”

While he read his father’s last words, I stood up and walked to the window, from where the tower was just visible between two clumps of trees. In my mind’s eye I relived the terrible events of that morning. I imagined the figures of Miss Alleyn and Alice poised on the parapet. I saw myself lumbering towards them, sword aloft, the awful shrillness of Miss Alleyn’s voice at the moment of confrontation. I saw Alice’s terrified face as she comprehended Miss Alleyn’s intention; Alice falling; and then the final haunting cry as Miss Alleyn tumbled from the parapet….