05 - Mistletoe and Murder (23 page)

“But how did she know to enter
that room?” Edward was getting demanding, his face had reddened. Clara realised
he had surmised the same solution she had; Christina had an accomplice, someone
who could tell her which room to enter, who could make sure the window was easy
to open and who could test the keys from No.49 to make sure they worked.

“Miss Edgbarton wasn’t working
alone.” Clara said, “Someone around this table was her accomplice and they are
just as responsible for the death of Simon Jones and the near death of myself
and Miss Sampford, as the woman upstairs.”

A hushed silence fell on the
room. Hilda Sampford glanced at the servants, but everyone else kept their eyes
firmly on the table before them. Clara wanted to shake them all.

“I don’t expect the accomplice
to raise his or her hand, which is why I arranged for them to be caught in the
act.”

“What do you mean?” Elijah
stuttered, his eyes bleary behind his round glasses.

“I was confident the
accomplice would provide our ghost with a safe escape route, as they had done
the night before. That night I found the front door unlocked, yet Humphry was
always very careful about locking it. I suspected the accomplice had unlocked
it in case Miss Edgbarton had to make a quick getaway. With so many people in
the house, and after the fright caused by Simon Jones chasing her, a safe exit
that didn’t involve a scary climb along the brickwork was essential. Tonight I
left one of my team downstairs to watch the hall and discover the accomplice.”
Clara paused, wanting to see if anyone confessed before she revealed what she
knew. No one said anything, “Tommy, would you mind telling us who you saw
unlock the front door?”

Tommy was sat to one side of
the table in his wheelchair. He raised his head and looked along the row of
anxious faces assembled around the dining table. Miss Sampford was perceptibly
shaking in suspense.

“Tonight, I was hiding in this
room. I had a clear view to the front door and just before midnight I saw
Elijah walk down the stairs and unlock it.”

Elijah gave a start.

“Nonsense!” He laughed, “You
must have fallen asleep and dreamt it, old man.”

“I didn’t Elijah, and I have
an extra witness to prove it.” Tommy nodded to the door of the room. Clara
walked around the table to the door and opened it to reveal Hawkins standing
poised with his notebook.

“It was you all right Mr
Sampford.” Hawkins grinned at the assembled guests, “Saw it myself.”

“What is that dreadful man
doing here?” Hilda almost jumped from the table in disbelief.

“That is not important.” Clara
told her sternly, “What is, however, is why Elijah would help a woman murder
his aunt.”

“Elijah?” Miss Sampford asked
tremulously, her whole body was shaking with emotion, “What have I done Elijah,
to make you hate me so?”

“Nothing.” Elijah said
quietly, “I didn’t expect her to go this far, that’s all.”

He raised his head and tried
to catch the gaze of Hilda and Edward, but they avoided him. Instead he turned
to Clara.

“I met her at a dance.” He
said, “She knew my name. She sought
me
out. I was in love with her
before I knew it. Then she told me about her parents, about what had happened
to them,” He curled his lip in anger, “I didn’t want to believe it, but she was
so persuasive. She wanted revenge and somehow I found myself agreeing to it. I
only thought she was going to scare my aunt. When I realised she had a knife, well…”

“But Elijah, you kept helping
her long after you must have realised her murderous intentions?” Clara pointed
out.

“I know! I just… couldn’t
stop. She said she would kill herself if I didn’t help her. I… I couldn’t let
her do that and I would agree to anything... I would have stopped her from
killing you, honestly auntie, I was all prepared. It was why I called in
Andrews, I thought his presence and the other ghost hunters would stop her and
then I would be back home and she would not be able to get into No.50 so
easily.”

“You called in Andrews to
cover yourself.” Clara said coldly, “It made it seem that you believed in the
ghost.”

“No!” Elijah shook his head,
“I honestly wanted her stopped!”

“Simon Jones is dead because
of you!” Andrews suddenly jumped from his seat and thrust an accusing finger at
Elijah, “You led us into a trap! You tricked us!”

“No! No! It was not meant to
be like this!” Elijah swore.

“I’ll wring your neck!”
Andrews yelled. Captain Adams leapt up to prevent him from flying across the
table at Elijah, “How many more of us were you prepared to let die?”

“It got out of hand. I’m so
sorry. I’m so sorry.” Elijah dropped his head into his hands, his shame and
guilt tumbling down upon him, “If I could make it right, I would, I swear.”

“Elijah,” Clara said coldly,
“You continued to help a murderess long after you realised she was going to
kill your aunt. You saw the knife she carried. If you were so intent on
protecting your aunt, where were you tonight?”

Elijah shook his head sadly.

“I don’t know why I didn’t
stop her.” He admitted softly, “I told myself it was because I loved her,
because I felt sorry for her. I felt she was justified in some way. But
ultimately, I think I was too much of a coward to intervene and risk losing
her. I love her so much.”

“You… You… Murderer!” Andrews
flung himself at Elijah again and had to be restrained.

“Leave him to the police.”
Captain Adams hissed at Andrews, wrestling him back to his chair, “The little
toe-rag doesn’t deserve to see you so upset.”

“I hope they hang him!”
Andrews snapped.

Clara let the room settle into
an uneasy, but dangerous, silence before she raised the next topic liable to
cause outrage.

“This family is rather good at
keeping secrets.” She said softly, “It’s quite a talent you all have. I’ve
resolved to my own satisfaction two of those secrets, but there is a third
which I haven’t unravelled. Who killed William Henry?”

“He shot himself.” Edward
Sampford said a little too quickly for Clara’s liking.

“A number of things have
suggested to me that was not the case. William Henry was on the verge of
getting the very thing he had always wanted. Miss Sampford’s money. This will
be painful for you to hear Miss Sampford, but I must explain why I don’t think
William Henry killed himself.” Clara gave a gentle smile to the old woman. It
was not returned, “William Henry learned of the rumours of ghosts at this house
and intended to use that gossip as evidence that Miss Sampford was losing her
mind. He brought with him to London a large suitcase of money, which he
intended giving to a pair of corrupt doctors to certify his aunt as insane. He
would then insist that his aunt be placed in his care and her allowance turned
over to him.”

“I can’t believe it!” Edward
slammed a fist on the table, but Miss Sampford only looked miserable.

“I can.” She said, “Go on
Clara.”

“That is the first reason I
suspect William Henry was not a man on the verge of suicide. Next was the
strange fact that he killed himself in an empty room. If he intended to commit
suicide why go to the bother of using a different room from his bedroom? For
that matter, why get up in the middle of a card game to do it? That was when
another thought came to me. I had assumed when I heard William Henry’s gruff
responses he was talking to me, but what if he wasn’t? What if there was
another person in that room, someone speaking so softly that I could not hear
them because I was standing outside the wrong door? When I heard the shot,
found the room empty and raced for help, that person could have slipped out.”

“And who would this person
be?” Hilda Sampford asked very calmly.

“The list of possibilities is
actually quite small. You see almost everyone was at the séance where I was
present and first heard the footsteps of William Henry above. That, after all,
was why I went upstairs. Meanwhile I had Tommy downstairs to give an alibi to
Elijah and Oliver. That left only three people who were alone in the drawing
room. Hilda and Edward Sampford and Amelia Sampford.”

“It’s a lie!” Amelia rose from
her seat and wailed at the room like a screaming banshee, “You can’t say that!
I never meant to kill him!”

“Sit down! Sit down!” Edward
tried to pull the distraught woman back into her place, but she resisted him.

“I didn’t even know he had
brought the pistol until I was looking for my medicine.” Amelia began to sob,
“I only wanted to… to… to stop the voices. William wouldn’t let me have more
medicine, but I needed it.”

“Do be quiet!” Edward snarled,
“You are making it worse!”

“Edward, dear,” Miss
Sampford’s voice cut through the confusion like ice, “Let her speak. I, for
one, want to know what happened to my nephew.”

Edward hesitated, but the
stern gaze of his sister weakened his resolve. He let go of Amelia’s arm and
she ran around the table until she was near the fireplace, facing them all. Her
hands shot to her mouth, she gabbled something to her fingers, then she flung
out her arms and with a mad grimace announced;

“I killed him! I did it!”

“What did you do Amelia?”
Clara asked in a light tone, her eyes flicking to Oliver and Tommy. Oliver
slipped to the window nearest Amelia, while Tommy quietly wheeled himself
around to the door where Hawkins stood. Amelia didn’t pay them any heed.

“I only wanted my medicine and
when I was searching for it, I found the gun. I couldn’t find the little bottle
and I was so… so… so tired.” Amelia raked her fingers painfully through her
hair, “The voices talk all the time, so many voices, and then they send the
birds. The little birds that peck, peck, peck! I couldn’t stand it anymore! And
there was this beautiful little pistol, all shiny in my hand and I said to the
voices, I will show you!”

Amelia gave a strange laugh.

“I went into the spare room
because I didn’t want blood over all my pretty things and William would want to
sleep in the bed later and he couldn’t if I was all dead over it.” Amelia gave
a corpse-like grin, “I figured out ages ago that the doors all open by the same
key. So I went into the empty room and I was all ready to do it. I had sat on
the rug and had the gun at my temple when I realised I hadn’t written a note,
and I had to write a note so people would know I had only done it to defeat the
voices. So I got up to get some paper and that’s when I bumped into William
heading to our room for a bottle of whisky he had brought with us. He saw the
gun in my hand and I think he guessed what I was going to do. I ran back into
the empty room and he followed me. I don’t remember the next part clearly. I
think I locked the door, because I had this idea we could die together and
never be apart. But William insisting on having the gun and when I wouldn’t
give it to him he tried to grab it and we wrestled with it and then it just
went… pop.” Amelia gave a wail, biting her fingers, “I didn’t mean to kill him.
When he fell to the floor I dropped the gun. I had to tell someone, so we could
get help for him. Doctors can fix all sorts of things these days. I ran out the
room and down the back stairs because there was that stupid séance going on,
and I didn’t want any of
them
helping me. I didn’t even realise there
was someone in our bedroom. I ran to the drawing room and I told Hilda and
Edward what had happened, and they made me sit down and do nothing, and say
nothing.”

Amelia took a shaky breath.

“How is William?” She glanced
at Hilda.

Clara was very relieved that
the police chose that moment to arrive at the door.

They were ushered inside and a
doctor called for Amelia. The next few hours looked liable to be an endless
barrage of questions.

Hawkins stood in the hall
making rapid notes, he grinned at Clara.

“A scoop you said!” He
laughed, “You don’t half keep your promises miss!”

“Clara?”

Clara turned and saw Miss
Sampford rising with difficulty from her chair.

“Clara, I would like to speak
with you.” The old woman grimaced with pain, then she tottered and had to cling
to the side of the table.

Clara ran to her.

“The doctor is coming.” She
caught the woman as she fell, “Just hang on.”

“I’m so sorry Clara.” Miss
Sampford gasped painfully, “I left… in my bedroom…”

Her fingers gripped fiercely
to Clara’s arm even as her eyes closed. Clara tried to pull her upright, but
only succeeded in tumbling down to the floor with her.

“Miss Sampford!” She cried.

The old woman slumped in her
arms.

“Miss Sampford?”

Humphry came running over and
tried to help. Clara had tears running down her face as he lifted the woman
from her. Brighton’s first female private detective didn’t need a doctor to
tell her that Miss Sampford had stopped breathing.

No.50 stood empty. The guests
were all gone; Elijah had escaped the clutches of the police for the moment due
to the influence of his family. He had returned home in shame, bitterly
regretting his betrayal of his aunt. Edward and Hilda Sampford had equally been
allowed to return home. They had insisted to the last that when Amelia told
them she had killed her husband they did not believe her, and when William
Henry was found with the pistol, they assumed the poor girl had confused his
suicide for murder. Clara was unconvinced, but the police seemed to accept the
story – after all, it was pretty obvious Amelia was insane. If she ever made it
to trial they would be lucky, first the doctors would have to sedate her and
attempt to restore some portion of her mind, if that was even possible. Edward
had masked his brother’s murder, from what Clara could gather, to avoid further
family scandal. A suicide could be hushed up, but the murder trial of William
Henry’s insane wife could not. Besides, it was liable to bring out a lot of
speculation and rumours that were not healthy for the Sampfords. In short, he
would rather hide a murderer than risk the family name.

Clara had paid one further
visit to Winston Mason to explain what she had discovered. She felt he deserved
to learn of it from her rather than in a newspaper report. He took it quite
calmly, but she suspected he was extremely practiced at hiding his emotions.
All he could do when she was finished was nod.

“I thought he might have been
killed because he cared for me.” He said very quietly, “I thought maybe someone
found out.”

“No.” Clara assured him, “The
Sampfords are extremely good at keeping secrets.”

The various surviving members
of Andrews’ ghost hunting party disappeared the day after the capture of
Christina Edgbarton. Andrews was bitter and still cast dangerous glances at
Elijah when he got the chance. Clara wondered if he would continue the hunt for
the supernatural. She was saddened that his relatively harmless hobby had led
to such tragedy, only wishing he had been prepared to listen to her sooner.

As for the servants, Jane and
Flo packed their things and went to the nearest job exchange to find a new
position. Mrs James declared she was going to her sister’s house in Kent and
had not thought much beyond New Year’s. Mr Humphry muttered something about
retirement and retreated to a friend’s flat by the Thames. The house was left
empty, except for Mr Mollinson, who came to inspect the premises and offered the
Sampfords a hefty sum for it. They agreed to sell as soon as all the legal
matters were sorted, of course. As far as Clara knew Miss Sampford’s home was destined
to soon become part of Mollinson’s grand hotel.

Clara paid one last call on
the house the morning before her train left for Brighton. She had left behind a
silver bracelet in the confused haste to leave after Miss Sampford’s death. She
borrowed a key from Miss Sampford’s solicitor and let herself in. Nothing had
been removed yet and the house still had the same atmosphere as when Miss
Sampford was alive. Clara stood in the hall and felt that at any moment the
dear old lady would walk down the stairs. She was still struggling to resolve
in her mind that this was the same woman who had burned to death two
unfortunate souls. There were times in the dead of night when she went over the
case and could understand Christina Edgbarton’s point of view all too vividly.
The girl was going to hang for the murder of Simon Jones, it was all the talk
of the papers, but very little mention was made of the tragedy of her parents.

Clara climbed the stairs and
went to her room. She pulled open a drawer and there was the bracelet. She
slipped it around her wrist so she would not lose it again and felt its cold
metal against her skin. Outside the door she heard someone walking.

Clara thought she was alone in
the house. She went to the door and peered outside. There was no one present.
Too many nights in No.50 had left her jumpy, Clara concluded. She made sure the
house key was in her pocket and went to head downstairs. That was when she head
distinct movement in Miss Sampford’s old bedroom. It sounded like a drawer
being opened.

Clara was now convinced there
was an intruder, perhaps rummaging for money and valuables. She turned around
and walked as swiftly as she could down the hall without making a noise. The
sound of drawers being opened was still clear. Clara was going to give this
burglar a piece of her mind, how dare they waltz into someone’s home like this?
Clara’s hands balled into fists. She was suddenly very, very angry. Whoever was
in Miss Sampford’s bedroom was going to discover that Clara Fitzgerald could be
very bad tempered.

She grabbed the door handle
and rushed into the room, ready to jump on the intruder. She was rather
disconcerted when she realised the room was empty. This had all too familiar
echoes of William Henry. She was about to hasten out of the room, thinking she
had misplaced the sounds and they were actually coming from next door, when she
spotted the open drawer. Clara walked to the dresser; the second drawer down
was open revealing some blankets and linen. Poking out from beneath a knitted
violet blanket was the corner of a white slip of paper. Clara stared at it a
moment, then reached in and pulled it out.

It was in fact a bundle of
papers and the top sheet declared that it was the memoirs of Miss Edith
Sampford, former suffragette. Clara felt her breath catch in her throat. The memoirs
Miss Sampford had mentioned! Clara had almost forgotten about them in the
chaos.

Clara turned the papers over
in her hands, skimming through carefully typed pages concerning rallies,
meetings and Miss Sampford’s political beliefs. There were some pithy
descriptions of other suffragettes and former MPs. Miss Sampford had spared
no-one the scathing might of her pen, though she interlaced criticism with
praise where it was due. Clara found herself absorbed in the writing, flicking
through what proved to be nearly 500 pages of material.

Then, as if her hand had been
guided to it, she found herself on page 385 reading a sentence that began “That
night we planned our deadliest attack…” Clara skimmed the page. There it all
was, the confession that Miss Sampford had never given in life. Though the
names of the other participants had been scrupulously concealed, Miss Sampford
was brutally honest about her own work that night. “The screams from the
Edgbarton house told me I had made a dreadful error…”

Clara realised she had gasped
aloud. To see what she had suspected in black and white… What should she do?
Miss Sampford had always intended for her memoirs to be published and
presumably she had included this confession on purpose, but what would the
Sampfords say? Clara should really leave the papers to the executors of Miss
Sampford’s will, but that happened to be her brother Edward and his wife. What
were the chances they would not read this manuscript and carefully tamper with
it? Or worse burn the whole thing to save scandal? Clara couldn’t allow that to
happen. Miss Sampford had written this so others would know what it was like to
be a suffragette, the good and the bad. It could not be consigned to the fire.
She would not be able to do anything with it for the moment, but maybe in the
years to come, when the older Sampfords were not around, she could see about
getting it published? Clara knew her mind was made up.

She wedged the papers in her
handbag and left the room. She hurried downstairs, more upset than she cared to
admit to herself. In the hall she heard the footsteps again, walking along the
second floor. She didn’t even look back. The ghosts of Berkeley Square could
take care of themselves, she had had enough of them.

On the way to the train
station she dropped the house key to the solicitor. Then she was hastening to
get home, back to Brighton, and far away from the madness of London. Clara
resolved that this was the first and last time she ever investigated a case
over Christmas. Well, unless someone desperately needed her help, of course.