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

  Mr. Waldorf returned then with Aldous’ cane and handed it to him.

  “Shall we call the police, Aldous?” Isabelle asked weakly.

  Mrs. Braddock stood hunched as she usually did, her upper lip still twitching nervously.

  “No, no. I’ll look for her myself, Dear. Mr. Waldorf! Hurry with my coat.”

  “Yes, Mr. Loxley,” Mr. Waldorf said from under his thick mustache.

  Mr. Waldorf helped Aldous put on his overcoat and hat. Meanwhile, Aldous muttered to anyone who would listen.

  “I tell you it was Babcock. Knowing him, he led her through one of her own windows to help her escape. The man is filth.” He turned to Mr. Waldorf and asked, “Is the carriage ready?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Aldous limped through the front door. It was a spring day, cool, but enough chill in the air for a coat. He slammed the door and hurried into the carriage that awaited him. Before he closed the carriage door, he said, “She can’t have gone far, Rudolph. Search the streets.”

  “Of course, sir,” the burly, grey-haired driver said.

  Rudolph struck the horses and they began to walk, their hooves clicking on the cobblestone. Aldous kept his eyes peeled searching every street, hoping to catch a glimpse of his sister.

  Rudolph and Aldous searched for an entire hour. It was when they were a few hundred feet away from the park that Aldous cried, “Stop! Stop the carriage at once!”

  Rudolph brought the horse to a stop, and Aldous stepped off the carriage as quickly as he could. Just ahead, he saw his sister staring blankly into the passing traffic. Carriages passed by, and Aldous feared the worst, that Mary would walk into the street and try to take her life again.

  “Stay where you are, Mary,” Aldous called to her.

  Mary continued to stand at the edge with a blank stare. Aldous saw one of her feet move slightly just as a horse approached. He limped through the street toward her. He would not let his sister die this way.

  But then, her foot slipped, just as a quick moving carriage passed.

  “No!” He cried as he leapt forward and into Mary and knocked her backward onto the hard ground. Aldous has just missed being pummeled by the horse. He breathed heavily as he sat on the ground next to her.

  “Mary,” he said breathlessly. Tears filled his eyes, and he tried to give her a hug.

  “Stay away from me,” she growled. She still wore her nightgown, and looked an unkempt mess.

  “Why do you do this, Mary?”

  He cradled his head in his hands. Aldous would not argue with her anymore. He was growing tired of caring for his sister and for her fits. He reached out a free hand.

  “Let’s go back home, Sister.”

  She shook her head violently.

  “No. I won’t go back there.”

  “Mary, please. I’m a very busy man. I can’t chase you like this all the time.”

  “Then let me die,” she said and spat at Aldous.

  The public humiliation ignited his rage.

  “Get in the carriage,” he snapped, climbing to his feet.

  Aldous grabbed for her arm, but Mary cried, “Get off me, Aldous. You’re hurting me.”

  With a firm grip on her arm, he dragged her to the carriage and swung open the heavy coach door. Mary grudgingly lifted the muddied hem of her nightgown and stepped up. Aldous quickly climbed in beside her and slammed the door. Sunlight filtered through a crack in the window curtain, and Aldous could clearly see his sister’s face.

  Her hollow eyes were sunken and dark and her skin was wrinkled and drawn, speckled with red patches and crusty scabs. He couldn’t look away. His mind raced. What had become of his sister? Aldous needed to speak.

  “How did you escape this time, Mary?”

  “Funny. The word escape implies I am a prisoner...in my own home.”

  “You know I keep you confined with good reason. I will not let you hurt yourself, or anyone else.”

  Aldous and Mary glared at one another silently. Finally, Mary’s eyes softened and she said, “Were we not raised in the same home, Aldous...together...as equal as a boy and girl could be?”

  Aldous softened as well.

  “We were my dear, Sister.”

  “And how is it you came to lose your compassion for me?”

  “You assume I have no compassion because I care about whether you live or die?”

  “I am a prisoner, Aldous,” Mary argued. “A prisoner of this life and of this family. And I long to be free. Life is...life is death for me.”

  “You’re ill, Mary.”

  “And you’re a liar. My child wasn’t dead.”

  Aldous changed the subject.

  “Was it Babcock who helped you escape? He’s back isn’t he?”

  Mary mimicked, “Was it Babcock who helped you escape? Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. Either way...” A sly smile formed on Mary’s face now. “I’ve found my son and now my child is safe...from you.”

  “Your child is dead, Mary,” Aldous snapped. “For heaven’s sake, how many times must we go round and round about this issue...”

  “He’s not dead and you know it!” Mary exclaimed. “He’s very much alive. And now, thanks to me, he’s safe. I’ve put him in a safe place where you’ll never find him again.”

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Your son is dead, Mary.” Then, realizing Mary’s words, he said, “What do you mean you’ve put him in a safe place?”

  “You’ll never ever find him. Ever. Ever..ever....” Mary continued.

  “What have you done?”

  “I’ve hidden him in safe place,” she sang. “And now you’ll never find him.”

  Aldous’ heart beat quickened.

  “What have you done, Mary?!” Aldous snapped. He shook her shoulders violently and she screamed. “Rudolph hurry as quickly as you can. I must get home and check on Roger.”

  Finally arriving at the Loxley mansion, Aldous rushed inside. “You lot,” Aldous said to Mr. Waldorf who stood with three of the other servants. “Take Mary into the house and lock her in her room immediately. Grab as many servants as you need. Do not let her out under any circumstances! And be sure the windows are locked and barred.”

  Mary screamed at the top of her lungs.

  “I’m not going back in there!”

  “Isabelle!” He screamed as he ran into the door.

  The sickly Isabelle emerged from the drawing room seconds later.

  “What’s happened, Aldous?”

  “Where’s Roger?” he yelled.

  “He’s with Mrs. Braddock, Aldous.”

  “I want to see him now.”

  Isabelle looked at one of the servants and nodded her head. Immediately, the servant left to find Roger.

  Meanwhile, the other servants brought a screaming Mary back into the house and ushered her up the stairs.

  “You’ll never find him,” Mary screamed. “Never ever ever...never ever ever,” she repeated in a high tone and then let out a hysterical cackle.

  Aldous gripped his head in frustration. Several seconds later, Mrs. Braddock emerged, holding Roger’s small hand.

  “Oh thank goodness, “Aldous said, running to the boy and embracing him in a long hug.

  “Aldous, whatever is the matter?”

  “She was babbling about hiding her son, and I was afraid she’d taken Roger.”

  Relieved, Aldous retired to his business study to wait for Phillip Pennyworth to arrive to discuss some financial matters. When he didn’t arrive, Aldous thought it most peculiar as Phillip was not a man to break an engagement since Aldous paid him so well.

  A knock on the door startled Aldous from his troubled thoughts of his sister.

  “Mr. Loxley,” Mr. Waldorf said gently knocking on the door.

  “Yes, Mr. Waldorf?”

  “Mr. Pennyworth’s butler sent a telegram, sir.”

  “What is it?”

  “It seems he won’t be coming today, sir.”

  “Has he sai
d why?”

  “Yes sir, he has.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, sir, it seems his son has gone missing.”

  “His son? Why he’s only three.”

  “Yes, sir. But he’s gone. Vanished into thin air at the park.”

  “I see,” Aldous said, turning his eyes downcast. “That’ll be all, Mr. Waldorf. Thank you.”

  The butler nodded and left the room.

  Aldous gripped his head in his hands once more and whispered, “Oh dear God, Mary, what have you done?”

  8 Drawing Room Memories

  Paul Watson’s Journal

  January, 14, 1927, evening— With only a candle to light my way, I headed through the twists and turns of the ominous tunnels. I needed to make my way out of there, and fast. Smoke smothered the tunnels, and I could not breathe. I stumbled in the darkness, and soon I came upon a tall arched-wooden door. When I opened it, I was outside in a mist-filled field. It was daytime, but the mists were so thick, I only saw greyness around me. I looked around, a candlestick in my hand.

  “Hulloooo,” I called. My voice echoed in the distance. Even though I stood alone, I knew something was out there in the mists, watching me. “Come out!” I yelled. Rage boiled through my veins. “Come out you coward. Come out!”

  I swung around with the candle.

  When nothing appeared, I screamed again.

  “I’m not afraid of you!” I yelled.

  Still nothing.

  Suddenly the hairs on the back of my neck rose. Something was behind me. I stood paralyzed as long fingers, with snake heads at the tips slithered around my neck. They were the fingertips of a man, and as they coiled around my neck, I tried to break free. I dropped the candle. The snake-like fingers tightened and I gasped for air. If only I could see the man’s face, I thought. I fought with all my might grabbing at the fingers, and suddenly a dagger appeared in my hand. I was able to cut off each snake, and when the last one was dead, I turned to face my opponent.

  Then, I woke up.

  A biting chill washed over me. I stayed in my bed listening to the crackling flames in the fireplace and the familiar ticking of the mantel clock. They comforted and soothed me. Through the open curtains, flurries fell from the grey skies.

  Eda had left early in the morning for Hemsby to see her niece, and she wouldn’t be back for a few months. I insisted she go. Her niece needed her more than I did.

  Even though it was already noon, I lay in bed still and stared at the ceiling. For many minutes, my mind was clear of thought, but my meditative state was interrupted by the telephone ringing. When I finally reached it, it was Richard asking if he could come for a visit. I agreed, and then washed up and dressed for the day.

  One hour later, I heard Richard’s unmistakable brash knocking.

  I hurried down the stairs and opened the door.

  Richard and Claire stood before me. Claire looked as beautiful as ever in her dark petticoat; her finger-waved auburn hair was tucked under a matching hat. Richard was dressed in a top hat and winter overcoat. He held a covered dish in each hand.

  “It’s good to see you looking well,” Richard smiled.

  “Come in, come in, please.”

  I ushered Claire and Richard into the doorway. Claire greeted me with a tense smile as she removed her gloves. “I’m so sorry we haven’t been over to see you sooner.”

  “It’s all right,” I said, looking from her to Richard. He gave me a guarded look.

  “We are sorry we haven’t been here, Paul. With the storm and all that happened, we wanted to give you a little...space...”

  “Of course. I understand.”

  “You look very tired Paul. Are you well?”

  “Don’t pry, Claire,” Richard said. “Where are her manners?”

  “It’s quite all right,” I remarked. “I’ve been...a bit off...just trying to make sense of it all.”

  I took their coats and hung them on the coat rack.

  “You don’t have to wait on us, Paul.”

  “I can manage hanging a coat,” I said. “Would you like anything? Something to eat...or... drink?”

  “We brought you some of Claire’s famous Iced Lemon Cake.”

  “I would hardly call it famous,” Claire joked.

  “Of course it is, Darling. You made it.”

  They seemed to be getting along well, and though I was happy for them, I did feel a twinge of jealousy, a sentiment I dared not show.

  “I had our cook make you a mixture of sandwiches since Eda isn’t here,” Claire said with a smile. “She made your favorites. Lobster, potted shrimp, watercress and walnut...”

  “You didn’t have to do that, Claire.”

  “I wanted to,” she said softly, and then taking the dishes said, “I’ll put these away.”

  “I’m very thankful. I could put on a pot of tea. I’m not...completely hopeless, you know.”

  “Oh nonsense,” Claire smiled brightly. “I’ll do it.”

  “Listen old chap, you’ll want to put an advertisement in the paper for a new housemaid in Eda’s absence,” Richard said, looking around the house.

  “No, that’s not necessary. Eda will only be gone a few months. No need to replace her.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll send over ours,” Richard said with a tight-lipped smile. “Eda shouldn’t have gone at such a time. You can’t go without a housemaid or cook, Paul. Not in your condition.”

  “I know. I could’ve used her, but she needed to leave. I wouldn’t deny her to see her niece, not when her brother’s just died and her niece orphaned.”

  I invited Richard to sit in my drawing room. He took a seat on my sofa and lit a cigar. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt rush through me as I saw him sitting atop the exact spot where Claire and I had made love. The memory became fresh again in my mind, and I tried to think about anything else.

  “So are you well?” Richard asked with concern.

  “I’m doing better yes,” I said lighting a cigarette. “Your father said I’ll be ready to work as a house-physician at Maudsley soon.”

  “You’ll stay at Maudsley? Won’t go running off to the country any longer?”

  “For now.”

  Claire gracefully entered the room then, but when she saw Richard sitting on the sofa, her eyes widened and she turned to me.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost Claire. Are you all right?” Richard asked.

  Claire didn’t say anything at first, but when she did regain her composure a few seconds later, she said, “Everything is perfectly fine.”

  Claire took a seat in the leather chair beside me.

  “Dear, why don’t you sit over here next to me?” Richard requested as he patted the empty spot next to him.

  Claire hesitated, but stood and made her way over to Richard. I tried to observe Richard’s behavior, but if he sensed anything, he did not let on.

  “You need to focus on yourself now, Paul,” he said sitting back on the sofa and taking a puff of his cigar. “Get back to work. Be more ambitious. Find a nice woman. Put this all behind you...forever.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I’m always right. Well, mostly anyway. Have the detectives been very helpful?”

  “Yes and no. I don’t know that they’ll find much else other than what I’ve told them.”

  “I wonder...”

  “The tea is probably almost ready,” Claire said standing up from the sofa. Without looking at me, she hurried out of the room.

  “Claire’s acting peculiar, isn’t she?” Richard asked, looking after her.

  “Is she?”

  “She can’t seem to sit still. Don’t you think she’s acting strange?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Richard gave a short “hm” but said nothing more about Claire. Instead, he turned his attention to Agatha Bates’ murder.

  “So,” Richard said taking another puff of his cigar. “Shame what happened to Agatha Bates.”

>   “Yes, it is horrible,” I agreed.

  Richard was not a sentimental man, and so I did not expect an empathetic response, nor did I receive one.

  “Have the detectives said anything about Agatha’s murderer? The inquest said someone poisoned the poor girl.”

  I shrugged.

  “They just don’t know yet. I wager it’ll be a long investigation.”

  “I should think so. How complicated London seems right now.”

  “Yes. Well, seems our murderer is quite clever.”

  “Clever indeed.”

  “Or he’s not the only one, assuming it’s even a he.”

  “What do you mean not the only one?”

  “I don’t know,” I said shaking my head. “It’s just a thought. There are just so many factors in these murders for them to be connected to one person. Don’t you think?”

  “I suppose it’s possible.”

  “What’s happening with your production?”

  “They’ve halted the project until they find a more suitable location. Italy simply won’t do.”

  I took a drag of my cigarette.

  “Why not?”

  “Someone else has a shoot scheduled.”

  Just then I heard a knock on my door and exchanged a shrug with Richard before heading to answer it. When I did, I found Detective Wicksy and a policeman who stood behind him.

  “Doctor Watson, may I bother you for a moment?”

  Wicksy asked. He stepped to his left and revealed the policeman who held a small trunk. “We’ve uncovered something of yours in Whitemoor.”

  “Of mine?” I glanced at the trunk.

  “Yes, and I have a burning feeling that you’re going to find something interesting inside of it.”

  9 Aunt Greta’s Trunk

  Paul Watson’s Journal

  January, 14, 1927, evening, continued.—I drew in a deep breath and stepped aside.

  “Come in,” I said. “I have guests, but...please, come inside. Stay for some tea.”

  “Oh no. It’ll only take a moment.”

  Wicksy saw Richard sitting in the drawing room and said, “I’d like to speak to you in private, if that’s all right.”