Chapter 23

“How beautiful you look this morning, Liddy,” Cecilia said when she came into breakfast the next morning. “Quite grown-up I’d have to say.”

Holding her head up high, Liddy bobbed her head regally and smiled happily. She pulled the skirt of her dark-blue dress to the side, twisting her wrist to show off the deep flounce at the hem. Then she patted her matching hair bow. “Mrs. Vance helped me,” she said with a hint of smug satisfaction that had the ladies repressing laughter.

“I agree with Cecilia,” said Julia. “Did Mrs. Vance tell you what might happen today?”

Liddy nodded.

“And are you ready?”

Her brows pulled together and her lips tightened for a moment. “Yes!” she finally said, nodding decisively. Then her face shifted, and she looked at them with trepidation. “You will be with me, won’t you?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Now let’s eat so you can have your strength to answer honestly and clearly any questions that come to you.”

“Gentlemen,” said Julia, addressing Mr. Quetal and Mr. Hobart. “I see the curiosity on your faces. Our Miss Lydia was a witness to some of the activity the night Mr. Montgomery died. It has been requested that she provide an accounting of what she saw to the magistrate.”

“Our Liddy?” Mr. Hobart said.

“Yes, she was out past curfew with Mr. Montgomery. He ordered her back in the house. Liddy being Liddy, dallied and heard some things the magistrate should know.”

“You poor child,” Mr. Hobart said. His voice sounded flat, his eyes darting around. His manner troubled Cecilia. Quite at odds with how he’d been on previous occasions. He did not strike her as the least sympathetic and more like someone who wished to run off to tell what he’d heard. She had not thought that of him. She turned to the former estate agent. Now she could not afford to be as straight forward with him as she had intended. She considered her words carefully.

“Mr. Quetal, remember I told you I had a book for you to examine? Can you come with me after breakfast to look at it? I think it needs repair and you strike me as someone who could do the job,” Cecilia said.

“I’d be delighted to, Lady Branstoke.”

“Thank you,” she said with a broad smile. “The library is such an important part of Camden House, I would not like the materials to begin to fall apart,” she said.

Julia looked at Cecilia with a question in her eyes. She nodded back at her faintly.

“Mr. Hobart, have you ever been in Mr. Montgomery’s room?” Cecilia asked, turning back to him. From his last statement and manner, her trust in the handsome fribble waned.

“No, I can’t say as I have, Lady Branstoke. Why do you ask?” he asked smoothly, dabbing at the corners of his mouth with his serviette.

She waved a hand airily. “I just thought the décor is something you might appreciate.”

“Mr. Montgomery loved color,” Mr. Hobart said.

“Yes, he did. A rich tapestry of colors—Romney influenced, perhaps?”

He laughed. “A good description.”

“But you said you’d never been in his room.”

“I—I haven’t. He described it to me,” he said.

“Of course,” Cecilia said, nodding gently. Under the table she kicked Julia, though she smiled benignly.

Julia scowled at Mr. Hobart then looked back at Cecilia. “I must admit to being disappointed.”

“Disappointed at what?” Mr. Hobart asked.

Julia laughed. “Nothing to concern you, Mr. Hobart. Just women talk. I’m sorry we changed the subject on you so abruptly. I was referring to something Lady Branstoke and I were discussing as we came downstairs. So silly.—Do you think, Mr. Hobart, that you could sit for me outside after breakfast? I should like to catch your likeness in charcoal,” she said.

Cecilia smiled at her and nodded. Julia would get Mr. Hobart out of the way while Mr. Quetal examined the book.

“I used to draw all the time and confess I am woefully out of practice,” Julia continued. “I think your features are a good reason to pick up my charcoal again. Can we meet on the terrace after breakfast, do you suppose?”

“I should be honored, Lady Stackpoole. I do have one little errand I should like to take care of first.”

“Oh, but the light is so perfect right now! It should not hold you back long. Please, can we do it immediately?” she asked.

“I’ll fetch your charcoal and paper for you, Julia, while you get him posed as you should like. That will save some time,” Cecilia suggested, delighting in Julia’s ruse to get Mr. Hobart out of the way.

“Oh, would you indeed? That would be oh so helpful.”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Vance walked away with Liddy and Mr. Quetal. Mr. Hobart looked as if he should like to follow them, but ever the gentleman, he stayed by Julia’s side.

Cecilia smiled. She went upstairs to get Julia’s drawing things, then came directly back downstairs.

“Here, Julia. I’ll be with Mrs. Vance and Liddy if you need me,” she said. She hurried back into the house before Mr. Hobart could say anything. She hoped she was incorrect in her sudden concerns with Mr. Hobart. Better to apologize later than to take chances now.

In the library, at a far corner card table, she found Mr. Quetal with Mrs. Vance and Liddy examining a book on the table. Ostensibly, it was Liddy’s story book. The previous day she’d cut out the story book pages and placed the account book pages in their place. She’d hated to cut the beautiful story book, but it was the perfect size to disguise the account book. She would arrange for the book’s repair when she left Camden House.

She looked over Mr. Quetal’s shoulder as he studied the book.

Liddy pointed to the entries Cecilia and Julia had noted of additional funds coming in from the families of patients. “Mr. Montgomery said this was bad doings,” Liddy whispered.

Mr. Quetal frowned. He ran his finger down the list of entries, then turned the page, his finger hovering over Enoch Vance.

“Gracious,” Mrs. Vance whispered. “He even got Enoch to pay something.”

“I understand your concern, Lady Branstoke. I’d have to study the other books. However, this strongly smells of theft. I don’t know what you would call it if the money never made it into the master books. It appears our superintendent is also buying cheaper goods and marking them as higher priced items and charging others additionally. He is probably pulling in tidy sums for himself. No wonder the sanatorium has not recovered in the way Mr. Ratcliffe had anticipated.”

“He chose the wrong confederate,” Cecilia said. “I?—”

From outside the library, they heard several loud male voices. “Quick, close the book—Liddy, you hold the story book close to you and make sure the account pages inside do not fall out.” Cecilia sat in the open chair at the other side of the table.

“What is this about a witness?” Mr. Ratcliffe shouted as the library door opened. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard of. It was pitch black at night?—”

“There was a full moon—” countered Dr. Worcham.

“Too cloudy! Did you forget the thunder and rain that night? I tell you, I don’t.”

“The storm came up fast. There was moonlight after sunset,” Dr. Worcham ventured.

“Where is this obnoxious child who is telling tales and causing Squire Eccleston to come here?”

Liddy huddled in her chair, trying to look small and invisible.

“And why would he want to listen to anyone from here? They’re all a bunch of lunatics.”

Behind him, Mr. Turnbull-Minchin laughed.

“Now Mr. Ratcliffe, you know that is not so,” protested Dr. Worcham. He began worrying his hands together.

A handful of patients who’d been in the library slunk out the door around the men. Mr. Ratcliffe looked around the room and saw them in their corner. His eyes narrowed.

“You!” he said, pointing at Liddy. “Come here, you bloody lying street brat. The rest of you get out.”

“No!” Liddy shouted back at him.

“And you are?” Cecilia asked, standing up. “Dr. Worcham, I didn’t think visitors were allowed in here. Is this man a visitor or a new patient?”

Liddy lifted her head above the top of the chair back. “That’s Ratman,” she spat out, then ducked down again.

“Why you little?—”

“Mr. Ratcliffe, please!” implored Dr. Worcham.

“Ah, Mr. Montgomery’s cousin. Mr. Ratcliffe, please calm yourself. Camden House does not allow wild emotional displays. Have you had some sugar this morning? Is that the cause of this emotion?” Cecilia asked.

Mrs. Vance raised a hand to her lips to cover a laugh.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Mr. Ratcliffe demanded.

“This is Lady Branstoke,” Dr. Worcham said. “And she is correct. We do not allow emotional displays here. Please lower your voice, sir.”

“Branstoke! Now I understand,” sneered Mr. Ratcliffe. He turned to Dr. Worcham. “She and that husband of hers are just trying to find someone else to accuse of Malcolm’s death.”

“We are trying to discover the true order of events,” Cecilia said, “for whomever is the guilty party. Miss Lydia Wingate was with Mr. Montgomery when the curfew bell rang the night Mr. Montgomery died. That was well after the Earl of Soothcoor had left. And that is all we, or she, will say until the magistrate arrives. However, I will tell you, Mr. Ratcliffe, that far from being a street brat, as you called her, if Liddy’s father had not died, he would have been the Duke of Ellinbourne. And no, before you even suggest it—for I see how your mind works—she was not born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

She sat back down and smiled reassuringly at Liddy. Then she looked up at Dr. Worcham. “With all the emotions flying around, might we not have some of Camden House’s wonderful tisane to settle us as we await the magistrate?”

“Yes, Lady Branstoke. I’ll send for it,” he said. “Mr. Ratclife, Mr. Turnbull-Minchin, please have a seat over here. I think this area by the windows would be best for Squire Eccleston’s questions for Miss Wingate.” Dr. Worcham looked a little less frazzled and more in control when he took the gentlemen to the other side of the room. Cecilia was glad to see that. She did wonder how long the magistrate would be. Mr. Ratcliffe was volatile, and she feared he would not tolerate waiting long.

Shortly after the tea was served, Mrs. Worcham came to the library door. “Squire Eccleston has arrived,” she said. She took a quick look about the room before she stepped back to allow the magistrate to enter. She followed him in.

“Emily, Lady Branstoke, Mr. Quetal, Mrs. Vance, we will be getting underway now. You may leave,” Dr. Worcham said.

“No, that we can’t,” said Lady Branstoke. “You are interrogating a child. That isn’t like interrogating an adult. She needs support. We have heard what she has to say, we are her support to ensure she isn’t pressured into saying something that is not true.”

“I have no objection to them staying so long as they remain quiet and we can get this over with as quickly as possible,” the magistrate said. “This whole affair has taken up too much of my time. We should have a coroner in our district to handle deaths. I will be putting it forth that the position be filled as soon as possible. It has been vacant too long,” he complained. He looked across the room at Liddy. “Child—what did you say her name was?” he asked Dr. Worcham.

“Miss Lydia Wingate,” Dr. Worcham supplied.

“Yes. Miss Wingate. Come here, please,” the magistrate ordered.

Cecilia stood up and came around the table to Liddy’s side. “Pass your book to Mrs. Vance and I’ll come with you,” she told her softly. She laid her arm over Liddy’s shoulder as she guided her to their make-shift examination area. Julia slipped into the room as they crossed the floor. Clouds moved across the sky outside, stealing the sunshine that had spilled through the windows, casting it in shadows. Cecilia hoped Dr. Worcham called for the gas lamps to be lit to ease the sudden gloom.

Liddy looked up fearfully at Cecilia when Dr. Worcham indicated the chair she should sit in.

“It’s okay,” Cecilia promised her. “I will not leave your side.”

“Thank you for escorting the child to me. You can return to your place,” the magistrate said dismissively.

“This is my place. I will remain here,” Cecilia said calmly.

“You are as contrary as your husband,” he complained.

“Thank you,” Cecilia said, acknowledging his words with a tip of her head. “Most of the time, I am worse.”

The magistrate scowled as he turned his attention to Liddy. “Miss Wingate, I received word last night that you were with Mr. Montgomery the night he died.”

“Yes,” she said.

“What were you doing?”

“Listening.”

“What were you listening to?”

Liddy spread her arms wide. “Everything!” she said. “All the birds and insects and animals that are out at night. You hear them if you be still. That’s what Mr. Montgomery said. And I did! Especially when there is a full moon, he said. We go inside,” she rocked one way, “they come out,” she rocked the other way.

The magistrate frowned. “So, you say you were outside to listen to nature?”

She nodded. “’Cause I did good on my maths that afternoon.”

The magistrate looked confused.

“If I might explain,” Cecilia said.

“Please do or I’m afraid this interview will go on far too long.”

“Mr. Montgomery acted as her tutor, as Camden House is not set up for the care and education of children, is that not correct, Dr. Worcham?” Cecilia said.

Dr. Worcham cleared his throat with a reluctant, “Yes.”

“What’s wrong with her? Why is she here?”

“That’s not relevant to your line of questions,” Dr. Worcham broke in.

Squire Eccleston looked back at him, then at Liddy. “When did you leave Mr. Montgomery’s side.”

“We heard Ratman yelling for him.”

“Who is this Ratman?” the magistrate interrupted.

Liddy huffed but pointed at Mr. Ratcliffe. “Him,” she said and continued. “And then curfew bell rang. Mr. Montgomery told me to go back to the house through his room.”

“His room?” questioned the magistrate, turning to Dr. Worcham.

“Mr. Montgomery had a ground-floor room that has a door directly to the outside,” Dr. Worcham explained.

The magistrate nodded then looked back at Liddy. “Why did he tell you to go that way?”

“So I wouldn’t get in trouble for being out so late,” Liddy said in an exasperated tone.

Cecilia repressed a laugh at Liddy’s attitude for what she thought was an obvious reason.

“Then I heard Ratman yell again,” she said, “and he sounded mad. I knew that would make Archie come out. I ran and hid behind the bushes outside Mr. Montgomery’s room.”

“Who is Archie?” Squire Eccleston asked, turning toward the other men.

Mr. Ratcliffe laughed. “My cousin’s play acting.”

“Is not,” Liddy said hotly. “He lived in Mr. Montgomery. He and Gregory. They took care of him.”

“What?” the magistrate asked, looking to the gentlemen beside him.

“All a farce,” Mr. Ratcliffe insisted.

“No-o-o,” Dr. Worcham said slowly. “They were all manifestation of Malcolm. Each handled different stresses in his life. They were why he felt safer living here. He could not control them and so felt better in a structured living situation.”

“He’d get delusional, that’s all,” Mr. Ratcliffe said.

“He was also a thief,” Mr. Turnbull-Minchin said.

“How so, sir?” the magistrate asked, his brow furrowed.

“He kept coming into the estate office and stealing things like records and account books, things he couldn’t possibly understand.”

“Why do you say that, Mr. Turnbull-Minchin?” Dr. Worcham asked.

“Stands to reason. Never looked you in the eye and creeping about quiet like. One day I found him in the estate office, pawing through old records. Nothing of interest in an old account book but records of a previous year’s activity. He was a crazy man, and that is why he was here.”

“Whether he was crazy or not, is not the issue here,” the magistrate said repressively. “Miss Wingate, please continue telling us what happened.”

“I heard Dr. Worcham and Mr. Turnbull-Minchin call for both Mr. Montgomery and Mr. Ratcliffe. Mr. Ratcliffe swung at Mr. Montgomery, and he fell down. When Mr. Montgomery got up it wasn’t Mr. Montgomery, it was Archie. He was hitting and hitting Mr. Ratcliffe. Mr. Worcham tried to get Archie to stop, pulling at him. Then I heard Mr. Montgomery cry out. That scared me so I ran inside.”

“You said you heard Mr. Turnbull-Minchin. Did you see him?”

Liddy shook her head. “No. The moon disappeared.”

“Did you hear or see anything else?”

She shook her head again. “Thunder and wind?” she offered hopefully.

“I meant of the men or the fight.”

“No. I got really scared. I ran up the servant stairs.”

The magistrate frowned. “Is that all you can tell me of that night?”

“You should tell him what you took with you,” Cecilia told her, gently squeezing her shoulder.

“You mean about the numbers book?” Liddy asked, looking up at Cecilia.

“Yes, dear.”

“Numbers book!” blurted out Mr. Turnbull-Minchin. “You little thief! Where’s my account book?” he demanded, lunging toward her.

The room burst into an uproar of people screaming, shouting and knocking over chairs to stop the superintendent. Cecilia whisked Liddy out of the chair and behind her as James, Mr. Ramsay, and Mr. Stackpoole burst into the room from the doctor’s interview room.

James, anticipating the superintendent’s actions, was the first one to reach him and delivered an uppercut that floored the man. He landed amid the chairs, nursing his chin. James stood over him, waiting to see if he would get up and charge him, but the man just glared at him. Mr. Ratcliffe and the magistrate helped him to his feet.

Once the room had settled down again, Cecilia sat Liddy in a chair farther away from the magistrate.

“This book, how did you get it?” the magistrate asked Liddy.

“I took it from Mr. Montgomery’s room.”

“Why did you take it?”

“Mr. Montgomery said it had bad maths in it.”

“Bad maths?”

She nodded.

“Ridiculous!” protested the superintendent from where he sat nursing his jaw.

The magistrate glared at Mr. Turnbull-Minchin then turned back to Liddy. “What did you do with the book?”

“I hid it.”

“Where did you hide it?”

“In a cupboard in the ladies hall,” she said simply.

The superintendent jumped out of his chair.

“Sit down!” ordered the magistrate.

“But—” protested Mr. Turnbull-Minchin.

“I said, sit down. I doubt the book is there any longer.” The magistrate looked up at Cecilia, “Am I correct, Lady Branstoke?”

“You are, Magistrate.”

“What is so special about this account book that has Mr. Turnbull-Minchin so easily roused?”

“I can tell you that,” Mr. Quetal said calmly, rising from his chair at the table across the room. He held the storybook with the hidden account book between its covers.

“And who are you?”

“Quetal, magistrate. Jeremiah Quetal. I am an estate agent—or was an estate agent by trade until my breakdown. Lady Branstoke asked me to look at the account book Liddy had hidden. I have done so this morning.”

“And?”

“Among other things, it reveals additional charges made to relations of those staying here. The charges vary but are monthly. They appear to be based on the financial capabilities of the patients’ families.”

“He did ask me for details on our financials when I brought my wife here,” James said.

“There is a letter slipped in the pages of the book from a Mr. Yellin, protesting an additional charge and demanding to know when his wife would be well enough to come home,” Mr. Quetal added.

Cecilia watched Mr. Ratcliffe’s face as the truth about the account book came out. It went from confused curiosity to outrage.

“You killed him! You wanted my cousin dead!” Ratcliffe proclaimed.

All eyes turned to Mr. Ratcliffe. He rose from his chair. “You said you threw that rock just to break his attention from fighting me, and that hitting him was an accident. But it wasn’t, was it? You meant to hit him in the head.”

“Even if I did, that didn’t mean it was going to kill him.”

“And it didn’t then, did it? While Worcham took me into the house to attend to my injuries, you were supposed to help Malcolm. And you did. You helped him to his death!”

“I didn’t put him in the water,” Mr. Turnbull-Minchin protested.

“No, you didn’t,” said Mrs. Worcham from where she stood by Mrs. Vance. “I did,” she said softly.

“Emily!” protested Dr. Worcham.

“I saw Mr. Turnbull-Minchin come in after you took Mr. Ratcliffe to a treatment room. He was alone. I wondered where Mr. Montgomery was. I had heard you all yelling minutes earlier so I went outside to see if I could help him. He was alive and conscious. Barely. He grabbed my hand. I tried yelling for someone to come help, there was another flash of lightning and clash of thunder nearly on top of each other. No one could hear me, but he wanted to say something to me. I leaned close to him. He said—and I swear there was a smile on his face—he said a woman’s name, something like Lily or Lila?—”

“Lilias,” supplied Cecilia.

Mrs. Worcham looked over at her. “Yes, that was it. He said Lilias can wed Alastair, as she should have. Then he squeezed my hand tighter for a moment and died. I felt a peace in his body. I sat there beside him, crying in the rain. He was a nice man. I figured he would understand my actions. I rolled him into the canal and came back into the house.”

“Why did you roll him into the canal?” her husband asked.

“I didn’t know what had gone on. I didn’t know who was responsible. I knew you would be devastated at any damage to Camden House’s reputation. I thought if he was in the canal it could look like a suicide drowning, like that Miss George.

“Oh, Emily,” her husband said.

“Well, Squire Eccleston, will you release Soothcoor from jail?” James asked.

The magistrates’ mouth quirked sideways, and his thumbs circled each other. “Damn you, Branstoke,” he muttered. Finally, he stood up. “Dr. Worcham, Mr. Ratcliffe, Mr. Turnbull-Minchin, you are all under arrest for falsifying the events surrounding Mr. Montgomery’s death and accusing an innocent man. More charges to follow,” he ground out at the end.

Cecilia hugged Liddy. “You were magnificent!” she whispered.

Liddy giggled and hugged her back.