Kolney Hatch: Buried Secrets (The Secret of Kolney Hatch Book 2) Read online

  “You look so like your mother,” Aldous whispered, looking into the baby’s large dark eyes. “I hope you live a better life than she.”

  Mrs. Loxley’s eyes fluttered opened then, and when she saw Aldous’ cradling the baby she smiled.

  “Our baby,” she said groggily. She reached out her hands, and Aldous carefully placed the baby into Isabelle’s arms.

  “He’s so beautiful,” she said after gazing into the baby’s eyes. “He’ll be our little miracle, Aldous!”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  “We’ll give him a good life, won’t we? A much better one that he would have had?”

  “Yes, we will. I’m sure of it.”

  She looked into Aldous’ eyes and smiled. “What shall we call him?”

  “I don’t know,” Aldous said trying to return the smile. “We’ve named Edgar for my father. How about we name this boy for yours?”

  “Yes, a wonderful idea my love. We shall call him Roger.”

  “Roger Aldous Loxley. A superb name my dear.”

  He gently kissed his wife’s forehead and gazed at the gurgling baby.

  Suddenly, Aldous heard a scream from his sister’s room. His stomach twisted in knots.

  “Aldous?” Isabelle cried.

  “Don’t worry, my dear,” Aldous said, stroking Isabelle’s forehead. “She’ll be all right. Rest. I must go to her.”

  Aldous hurried down to his sister’s room. He drew in a deep breath before he entered.

  Inside he found his sister had kicked the bed covers off of her. Her arms and legs thrashed around.

  “My baby!” she cried. She was too weak to stand, but managed to grab Mrs. Braddock’s dress and shake it violently. “He was alive. Give him to me!”

  “Calm down now, Mary,” Doctor Fairburn said, holding her down as Aldous quickly brought Mrs. Braddock to safety.

  Mary saw Aldous and spoke in a trembling voice.

  “Aldous please. That,” she said pointing to dead child, “That baby isn’t mine. He was alive. My baby was alive. They’ve taken him from me.”

  “My dear sister,” Aldous comforted. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

  “He’s not dead. He’s not dead, Aldous.” Her sobs made Aldous’ heart ache. How could he have done this to his poor sister? He hated to lie. He tried to soothe her.

  “My dear, dear Mary. He wasn’t well.”

  The nurse handed him a cool rag, and Aldous gently wiped Mary’s head to comfort her. “He had complications after the birth.”

  She looked at Aldous with pleading eyes. “He was alive, Aldous.” She turned to Doctor Fairburn. “You give him to me. You give him to me!”

  “He’s dead, Miss Loxley.”

  “You’re a liar,” she said to the doctor and then turned to Aldous. “Aldous, you have to believe me. He was healthy. He was fine. I held him. That baby is not mine. They took him away!”

  Her eyes were wide with madness, and a slow coiling guilt spread through Aldous’ body. His eyes met the doctor’s. He could not bear to see his dear sister in pain. Aldous wanted to take back what he’d done. But then he thought of Isabelle, how devastated she would be. No. He would not do that to his wife, and so he said, “Mary, I am so, so sorry. But your son is dead.”

  “You’re just like them,” she said between sobs. “You’re all in this together. Give him to me,” she sobbed. “Give me my baby.” She kicked and screamed, and Aldous watched in horror as they strapped her to the bed.

  “Administer the sedative, Miss Ethans,” the doctor ordered to the plump nurse.

  “Which one?”

  “That one.”

  “That one, Doctor. But it’s...it’s...”

  “Do it, or be relieved of your situation, Miss Ethans.”

  Aldous paced as Miss Ethans injected Mary with a sedative.

  “I’ll never stop searching...” Mary snapped, but a few seconds later, her sobs quieted, and she was once again asleep. Aldous drew in a deep breath.

  “Are you sure this is going to work?” he said to the doctor.

  “Trust me. It’s for the best, Mr. Loxley. I’ve stocked you with some heavy sedatives, in case she gets unruly again. The heaviest sedative I know...but entirely safe. May I ask, who was the father of this baby?”

  “Some swindler, out for Mary’s money. I’ve paid him to keep away. It’s worked as of yet.”

  “Good. Wouldn’t want him coming around for his son. Now, my suggestion is to keep your sister contained and away from your new son until he’s grown enough that she won’t recognize him any longer. And remember if she gets too unruly, call me, and we’ll put her far away from here.

  6 A Return Invitation

  “Mrs. Pennyworth,” the lean, dull eyed Mrs. Glum said, entering the drawing room. “Detective Sergeant Wicksy and Detective Inspector Barnes are here to speak with you.”

  “With me?” Mrs. Pennyworth said with surprise. She closed the novel she was reading and stood. “Well, send them in then, Mrs. Glum.”

  “Very good, madam,” Mrs. Glum said, exiting the room.

  Petunia stood abruptly and began to pace, keeping one hand cupped over her nervous stomach. When detectives showed up at one’s doorstep, the reason was never a pleasant one. And if they showed on more than one occasion, the neighbors would gossip. Petunia hoped the detectives’ visit was brief.

  Several seconds later, after Mrs. Glum took their hats and coats, the detectives entered the drawing room.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Pennyworth,” Detective Wicksy said. “I’m Detective Sergeant Wicksy, and this is Detective Inspector Barnes.”

  Petunia acknowledged them both.

  “It is nice to meet you both. How may I help you?”

  Wicksy looked at Mrs. Glum who stood quietly by the door.

  “We were hoping we might speak with you in private, Mrs. Pennyworth.”

  “Of course. Would either of you care for some tea?” She asked nervously.

  “No, thank you. We won’t take up too much of your time,” Wicksy replied. He pulled a thin notebook from his jacket pocket and looked down at it as he spoke.

  “That will be all for now, Mrs. Glum,” Petunia said.

  Petunia watched the hefty Barnes ease himself onto her newly upholstered settee. Wicksy flipped through the pages of his notebook.

  “We’re here to inquire about your visit to the late Agatha Bates,” Barnes asked bluntly from under his twitching moustache.

  “I’m sure I don’t know...” Petunia started to say.

  “Constable Wyatt saw you there, so don’t think about denying it.”

  Barnes enunciated each word as he spoke.

  With as pleasant a voice as she could muster, Petunia said, “What would you like to know?”

  “Why were you there, Mrs. Pennyworth?” Wicksy asked.

  He was the more agreeable of the two detectives, Petunia decided. She did not care for Detective Inspector Barnes, neither for his attitude nor for his unkind smirks.

  “Well...she was my friend, and I wanted to see how she was doing after the kidnapping. It was a terrible ordeal as you can imagine.”

  “She was your friend, you say?” Barnes inquired, sounding unconvinced. Petunia did not like how uncomfortable Barnes made her feel. “I’m curious to know why a friend would provide a fake surname when visiting.”

  “Well, I didn’t have a reason, a good one anyway, only that...perhaps I would get in with a different name than Pennyworth.”

  “Why is that Mrs. Pennyworth?”

  “No reason in particular...everyone was being denied visitation. I...”

  “Hmm,” Barnes said.

  “I can assure you it was done in innocence,” Petunia stammered as she glanced back and forth between the two men.

  “I’m sure, Mrs. Pennyworth,” Wicksy said as he wrote in his book.

  “I certainly didn’t have anything to do with her murder if that’s what you’re accusing.”

  “No one is accusing you of a
nything, Mrs. Pennyworth,” Wicksy said.

  “Yet,” Barnes added with a chiding smile. “But if we find you’ve lied to us, Mrs. Pennyworth, then we will be sure to arrest you.”

  Wicksy glared at Barnes and then back to Petunia.

  “Mrs. Pennyworth...what I believe Detective Barnes is trying to say is, we want to find Agatha’s murderer, and the only way we can do that is by process of elimination. I’m sure you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m sure you also understand that while we investigate her murder, the police are looking for her missing body,” Barnes added.

  “Yes, I did hear that. It’s quite sad.”

  “So, you realize how important it is for us to know every fact and detail about that day?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Very good. Now, when did you and Miss Bates first meet?”

  “I met her at one of the Loxley parties a few years ago.”

  This statement was only a half lie. Petunia had seen Agatha plenty of times at the Loxley parties, and though she did not speak to her, it was the most believable scenario.

  “I see,” Wicksy said, scribbling on his notepad. “A guard said he found you in the hallway as he was ushering people out of the asylum. Did you see Agatha on the eighth of January?”

  “I’m sure I did not see her. I was not able to get into her room. I was only able to get behind the doors because of the commotion.”

  Petunia stared at the detectives but said nothing else.

  “Would you explain that in more detail please?”

  “The receptionist had gone to find out what happened, and I thought I might go back and see Agatha. I had no idea she was...dead. Poor girl. I insist I never did make it to her room. The guard stopped me before I reached the psychiatric ward.”

  Wicksy nodded, but Detective Barnes continued to play with the tip of his bushy mustache as he glared at Petunia.

  “Were you aware of Agatha’s previous occupation?” Barnes said finally after several seconds of silence.

  “I’m sorry...what occupation?”

  “Her connections to...the brothel, Mrs. Pennyworth,” Wicksy clarified.

  “I most certainly did not know,” Petunia said indignantly. “To suggest that I would approve of such a thing...”

  “Please forgive us,” Wicksy answered. “Not many people knew, Mrs. Pennyworth. But some people did, and we need to know every detail if we’re going to find her murderer.”

  “What about her connection to Kolney Hatch?” Barnes questioned. “Miss Bates was kidnapped and held in the basement tunnels. Had you any knowledge of that prior to her rescue?”

  Petunia felt sick to her stomach. Of course she had knowledge of it. She had almost fainted in the linen closet listening to the secret conversation between her husband and Roger Loxley about Agatha’s kidnapping. She shook her head no anyway.

  “Only from the newspaper,” she answered with a shrug.

  Wicksy wrote Petunia’s statement down. Her nerves made her jittery. An uncomfortable wave rushed over her as she looked up to see Barnes glaring at her.

  “Is your husband home, Mrs. Pennyworth?” said Wicksy. “We would like to speak with him.”

  “He’s not. I should think he’s at his place of work. What does he have to do with this?”

  “He works at the bank?”

  “Yes, the bank.” With impatience, she asked again, “What does Phillip have to do with this?”

  Both Barnes and Wicksy ignored her question.

  “I have a few more questions about the day Agatha was murdered,” Wicksy said. He read from his notebook. “Were you alone on the day you came to visit Agatha?”

  “Yes,” Petunia answered curtly.

  “So you did not arrive with your husband on that day?” Wicksy said.

  “Arrive with...”

  Petunia’s face flushed and she fanned her face with her hand.

  “No, I did not arrive with my husband that day,” she snapped.

  “Did you ever attempt to visit Agatha Bates before the eighth of January?” Barnes inquired.

  “I did not.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes,” she snapped. “Why? I have a right to know.”

  Barnes and Wicksy exchanged glances. Detective Barnes pummeled more questions at Petunia.

  “Have you any knowledge of your husband visiting Agatha Bates on numerous occasions?”

  “No, I...I...”

  “What about his authorized clearance to see her? Did he ever mention that to you or how he was able to get into the ward?”

  Petunia thought she might faint.

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Is there anything you can tell us, Mrs. Pennyworth?” Wicksy asked. “Perhaps about your husband and Agatha? Anything that might help us in our investigation?”

  Petunia thought long and hard about what she might answer to them. Should she say no? Or should she tell them the truth? They seemed trustworthy enough, but it wasn’t they she was afraid of. It was Phillip.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Petunia said. “I am not Phillip’s keeper.”

  “Alright...alright,” Wicksy said with a strained smile. “Thank you for your time.” The men stood. “We’ll be in touch.”

  Petunia gave them a reserved smile and nod.

  After she saw the detectives out, Petunia hurried up the stairs to her room and cradled her head in her hands. Could Phillip have murdered Agatha? But why would he do such a thing? Who allowed him clearance to visit Agatha? All of these thoughts barely had time to run through Petunia’s mind when she heard a brisk knocking on her door.

  “Oh, who could that be now?” Petunia said waddling down the stairs as Mrs. Glum answered the door.

  When Mrs. Glum opened it, Petunia recognized the Loxley’s butler, Mr. Waldorf. He had the bushiest white mustache she’d ever seen and was clad in an expensive winter overcoat and fur hat. The Loxleys dressed their servants in better clothing than most of London’s residents.

  “Good afternoon, madam,” the man said in his dry voice upon seeing Petunia.

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Glum, you can go back to your duties. I’ll take care of this.”

  Mrs. Glum headed back to the kitchen.

  “Good afternoon. May I help you?” Petunia asked the butler, eyeing him suspiciously out of one of her beady hawk-eyes. For a moment her heart skipped a beat. She wondered if someone had noticed her snooping around at the masquerade ball after all.

  “Sorry to bother you, madam…I’ve an invitation for Mr. and Mrs. Phillip Pennyworth,” the servant said, handing Petunia a fancy white envelope.

  “An invitation?” Petunia asked, taking the envelope and looking into the servant’s wide eyes.

  “For the Loxley dinner party on February the first.”

  A knot formed in Petunia’s stomach. She tried to sound pleasant.

  “A dinner party, whatever for?”

  “A celebration…for the return of Aldous Loxley and his wife.”

  “They’ve returned?”

  “They’re on their way back to London now, madam.”

  “Oh. I see. I see. Well…thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The servant tipped his hat. “Have a good day, madam.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Petunia’s body trembled from the biting outside air and she closed the door. She opened the invitation. Sure enough, the dinner party was for the first of February, a celebration for the surprise return of Aldous Loxley and his American wife, Grace, and for the celebration of the New Year.

  What are you Loxleys up to, Petunia wondered. Aldous had not returned to London in four years except for the occasional visit, so Petunia knew that something was indeed brewing. And that servant, well, Petunia was sure he knew all that went on behind those walls.

  7 What Mary Did

  1897

  “Mr. Loxley!” Mrs. Braddock yelled as she hurried down the steep stairs from the upper floor of the L
oxley mansion. “Oh, Mr. Loxley! Do come quickly.”

  “Mrs. Braddock?” The bushy-mustached butler, Mr. Waldorf, asked in his overly dry tone. “Whatever is the matter with you?”

  “You must find Mr. Loxley, quickly! Do hurry, Mr. Waldorf, please!”

  “Mrs. Braddock, you must calm down.,.”

  “Whatever is the matter?” Aldous questioned. He had emerged from his study with his spectacles still resting on his nose, and a half opened book in his hand.

  “Mr. Loxley sir,” said Mr. Waldorf, “You’ve left your cane in the study.”

  “Oh never mind his cane!” cried Mrs. Braddock.

  “Mrs. Braddock, I do not care for your tone.”

  Mrs. Braddock ignored Aldous’ remark.

  ‘It’s Mary, sir,” she said nervously. “She’s...well, she’s...” Mrs. Braddock’s lip began to twitch violently, making the mole on her upper lip quiver. “She’s gone missing again.”

  “What?!” Aldous cried, slamming the book shut. “Again? That’s impossible. Have you thoroughly searched her quarters? She does hide.”

  “I have, sir.”

  Aldous turned toward Mr. Waldorf. “Fetch my cane, Mr. Waldorf, and my overcoat. And tell Rudolph to ready the carriage.” As Mr. Waldorf nodded and hurried away, Aldous yelled, “And hurry.” Then, Aldous hobbled toward Mrs. Braddock. He handed her the book. “Remember what happened last time, Mrs. Braddock.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mrs. Braddock answered from her overly bucked teeth.

  “Aldous?” Mrs. Loxley said in a breathy voice as she emerged at the top of the stairwell.

  “Isabelle, go back to your room,” Aldous called. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s not good for you or for the baby.”

  Isabelle was pregnant again, but this time her health was failing, and Aldous would not lose a third child. Doctor Fairburn had put her on permanent bed rest.

  “You must tell me what’s going on, Aldous.”

  “Mary’s gone missing again, my dear. Nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Oh no!” Isabelle exclaimed. “How did she escape this time?”

  “It’s that no good Babcock fellow, I tell you,” Aldous shouted, looking back and forth from Mrs. Braddock to Isabelle. “He came back for Mary, even when I’ve told him to stay away. He thinks he’s going to get our fortune, well....”Aldous’ brow creased. “I will tell you...he won’t!”