The Diary of Ms. Gideon Harrow

I can no longer stand this.

Through a series of misadventures I have been the catalyst of a grievous wound given to Peter Abernathy, the son of our host, Lady Abernathy.

He lies in Silas’s attentive care now, jaw shattered by a sickening blow from Mr Blackwood’s ever present mallet as he rushed to ‘protect’ me from young Abernathy’s ‘attack’—a mere slap!

I was holding my pistol to Peabody’s face, quite in control of the situation—how Mr Blackwood could think I needed help, let alone a brutal attack on a defenceless man, is beyond me.

None-the-less it is I who caused this. I who abused the hospitality of the house. And I who is now locked in Jessica’s room, distraught and exhausted.

What have we done. What have I done?

It is midnight now, or thereabouts. What happened earlier in the evening pales after Mr Blackwood’s actions, but I must capture events if for no reason than doing so orders my thoughts.

With everyone gathered in the drawing room, I pulled Daphne aside, asking if we should reveal what we knew about Mrs Innocenti’s unexpected involvement. He considered this briefly before advising not: ‘better to keep it in our hand to play as needed’.

Having settled Elizabeth, Silas joined us. I told both gentlemen of Jessica’s obvious infatuation with Peabody. They seemed surprised, having noticed nothing—but men never do. I voiced my consideration that this meant Jessica had added motive for Natalie to be removed from Peabody’s affections, though I found it hard to believe a sister could kill for such. Love is a powerful drug, as well I know, but so too is family—let alone twin sisters.

Their suspicions aroused, both men guessed that if Simon threw his voice (as they had witnessed), then so too could Jessica to impersonate Natalie. This was not something I had considered. Daphne assured me it was plausible, even claiming that a skilled practitioner could throw their voice whilst holding a conversation with the fake presence—something Jessica would have had to do as she conversed with her dead sister.

Our trio resolved that the time had come to start to press our main suspects, trying to draw from them a mistake or confession. We hoped Mr Blackwood would intuit our intentions and assist. We were unable to talk directly to him such was his distraction fussing with the broken display case and other curious investigations. At one point later in the chaos he lay himself on the floor, ear to the boards, calling for silence from all present. I am not sure what he was doing precisely, but Silas guessed he was listening for the footpads of the mongoose?! I stifled a laugh at this, but Silas was deadly serious (as always!).

At this juncture we re-joined the main group. Lady Abernathy in particular was growing weary of our lack of progress in either identifying the murderer or letting everyone retire.

Implementing our plan, Daphne took the opportunity to hint that there was something most suspicious about the fact only Peabody and Jessica remained of the fateful Cheddar Gorge picnickers. Lady Abernathy took some umbrage at that, asking what he meant by those words. I interjected to ask under what conditions Connor and Betty had perished, and Lady Abernathy proceeded to astonish us all by explaining that both had been killed in a Zulu attack in the colony of South Africa!

This seemed extremely far fetched to all, but the Colonel (of all people) backed up Lady Abernathy’s account, confirming the whole sorry saga—it seemed our Colonel had some experience with the Zulu.

This left us rather on the back foot, as we were sure the deaths must have been somehow related to Natalie’s, further covering up whatever crime had been committed. But to die at the hands of a Zulu warrior in a far away land rather put an end to that speculation, despite my strong feeling that this was all far too coincidental and convenient for Natalie’s killer.

I turned my attention to Simon instead. I first tried to catch him by asking what he knew of Pope Innocent XIII (the pontiff on Mrs Innocenti’s medallion), but by his reaction it was clear he knew nothing at all. My next idea was to tease him on his Satanism. Saying it out loud—‘as a proud minister of Lucifer’s church’—was discomforting (I could feel the simmering rage from the Colonel on the other side of the room who obviously had taken a strong dislike to Simon), but ‘Reverend’ d’Chartreuse took it in his stride, doing a lot of sighing as he spoke, easily seeing through what I was attempting.

I asked if murder was part of his satanic beliefs, if his book outlined methods and celebrated gruesome death, but he would not lose his temper. ‘My book is no guide to murder, it is a guide to freedom,’ he smirked. ‘Freedom to kill?’ asked I as he sipped his absinthe and shook his head, mildly amused. He happily admitted his admiration of Lucifer, at the same time as denying that had anything to do with the dark events of this evening. He further denied having made any prior arrangement with Mrs Innocenti regarding the séance and his voice trick, though he did admit that she was known to him in the spiritualist circles.

As Simon neatly sidestepped my probing, Silas (he later told me) had his own discussion with the Colonel. He took the direct route, as is his wont, calmly pointing out to the Colonel’s questioning that the suspects had been narrowed down to those who had the means to do the killing. That, he explained, meant those strong enough to kill Mrs Innocenti with a salt-shaker. ‘You sir, are one such person,’ Silas explained without emotion.

The Colonel, I think, appreciated Silas’s directness and answered in kind. ‘Doctor. If I had wanted to kill Madam Perceptica, I would have killed her outright, not using a salt shaker,’ he said proudly. ‘I would have used my sword—as I would like to on that Luciferin’, he said scowling at Simon.

The talk of using a sword reminded Silas of Mrs Innocenti’s death at the blade of a butcher’s knife (though I do not think he suspects the Colonel) and he was struck by a sudden thought. He called Elizabeth over and requested she direct him to Mrs Innocenti’s rooms. ‘We have not searched them,’ he said ruefully, but also with a spark of hope: could there be a clue hidden there? He rushed off on his mission, and once I finished with Simon I followed—but to search the missing butler’s rooms, for he too had come under suspicion. Surely we would find something in one or the other’s belongings?

Alas it was not to be. Both rooms were scrupulously orderly, empty of anything telling or even hinting. I found Rufus’s ledger, eagerly flipping through to search out the details of Mrs Innocenti’s appointment—but there were no entries for today. This was very frustrating, but perhaps Rufus only filled his diary in retrospect? I flipped back a few pages to find he often listed the order of the day, today was blank. Also missing was any list of contacts be it for ordering food, footmen, or replacement cooks. Strange though this was, none was enough to convict the man.

Empty handed we returned upstairs, to find Daphne in full flight—quite something to witness I must say. I had known he had a sharp mind under his idle and insolent surface, and he was using it to good effect trying to raise the heckles of just about everyone in the hope of drawing an accidental revelation.

In no particular order he managed to accuse Jessica, Simon, the huffing Colonel, even Lady Abernathy herself! The accusations were scattershot but well targeted, hitting on the weakness in each, drawing indignation, resentment, startled defence, and even tears. As we entered he even spun on Elizabeth to draw her into the spiral of accusation.

Daphne reserved his strongest arguments for Peabody. He was merciless, needling him for surviving the picnic, for killing Natalie, for rolling in the hay with Simon, for boating with Connor, for being a lily-livered worthless Eton mess. Eventually Peabody, face red as a beet, had heard enough, challenging Daphne to a duel!

Lady Abernathy put a stop to that, sternly ordering Peter to step down and Daphne to behave. ‘It was clearly an angry spirit that took Madam Perceptica and Mrs Innocenti’ she claimed, staring down Daphne. At this point Mr Blackwood wandered back into the room, having been strangely absent. ‘I think that any talk of the spiritual realm is silly’ he said to nobody in particular.

Of course Lady Abernathy took great offence at that simple statement. Mr Blackwood remained preternaturally calm under Lady Abernathy’s battering, claiming if she had seen what he had in the trenches of the war she too would question her beliefs. As I listened I feared that Mr Blackwood was carrying a great burden on his soul—a soul that it appears he does not believe in—and his subsequent actions seem to prove that fear correct.

Daphne’s was an astonishing performance, and deserved more than it got—which was, again, nothing. No-one slipped up, no-one’s story changed, no-one professed a secret that gave us the answer we so desperately sought. I wanted to applaud dear Daphne, silly boy though he is.

Other then Peabody, Jessica was most affected by Daphne’s tirade. As she had earlier in the evening, she became overwhelmed with all the talk of Natalie, the picnic, the deaths in the house and those of her Zulu-ravaged friends. ‘It is too much! Peabody please help! Help me!’ she wailed.

As she cried for Peabody, needing his immediate attention and affection, I saw the opportunity and went in for the kill. I accused her directly of wanting Natalie dead in order to open the path to Peabody for herself. She sobbed and gasped for her breath as I continued: ‘How long have you loved Peabody!?’

‘Forever!’ she cried between wracking sobs, ‘forever!’.

I spun on Peabody. ‘And for how long have you known of Jessica’s adoration?!’

He blanched briefly (Daphne later told me, as I was too enraged to notice) before waving me away. ‘I never noticed, but I am not surprised—I am extremely popular’ he said with infuriating (and typical) arrogance.

My patience was running low and despite Jessica’s confession it seemed we were no nearer to a conviction. Lady Abernathy was my last hope.

‘Lady Abernathy your son and this Miss O’Hara were the only witnesses to Natalie’s death, and now we find they are secret lovers! And when this secret was about to be revealed by Natalie’s ghost, Madam Perceptica was brutally murdered before the truth could be revealed! Your son and Jessica killed Natalie in order to be together!’

Lady Abernathy was readying herself to respond (and I could see she was ready to put me in my place in no uncertain terms) when Peter stole her thunder.

‘I cannot even look at her!’ he cried and ran from the room in a flood of tears.

I raced after him as he ran up the stairs, feeling we were on the verge of finding out the truth. Upstairs he dropped himself into a lounge chair near the window, crying openly as he spoke of ‘my dear Natalie’. I will admit his sorrow seemed genuine and heavily felt, but I could not relent now. I pushed and pushed, trying to get him to snap or break, to admit his love for Jessica, though I could see my guess unravelling before my eyes.

Eventually he did snap, but not to confess. He jumped to his feet and slapped me across the face, calling me a ‘harlot’ for my insolence. The insolence and arrogance in his voice infuriated me, so I drew my pistol and pointed it to his face. ‘Is that how you treat all your women, Peabody?’ I said coldly, my cheek still stinging.

Peter had his hands in the air, the pistol enough to quench his rage. I stepped forward again, pistol levelled on his forehead.

And then I heard the pounding footsteps.

Peter’s eyes went wide as he looked over my shoulder.

I spun just in time to see Mr Blackwood charging past me, hammer in hand.

‘No Mr Blackwood!!’ I cried, but it was far too late.

Mr Blackwood swung the deadly weapon with all his not inconsiderable strength and momentum, bringing it up and under Peabody’s exposed jaw which shattered in an instant.

Peabody crumpled to the floor, dead as far as I was concerned. I screamed for help, yelling at Mr Blackwood to stand down, to stand away. The large gentleman stood calm and unconcerned. ‘He’ll live,’ he said simply as he wiped his hammer clean.

I stared incredulously, hearing Daphne calling from downstairs, before running somewhat hysterically to Jessica’s room (passing a concerned looking Silas as I did), where I find myself now.

As I reread this I find it hard to fathom how events unfolded as they did. An attempt to force a confession had resulted in the near death of the son of our host. We had not accounted for Mr Blackwood’s temper, or trauma, or whatever it was that caused him to act as he did.

A strange silence has descended on the house. Silas works on Peter, and I wonder if his mother knows what has happened.

I long for rest, but must stay alert. I dare not take my last tonic much though I desire it. I fear—

A cry! Breaking glass! What now!!