The Diary of Ms. Gideon Harrow

I feel I have reached my limit, or near. Events have unfolded at such a pace as to leave me quite exhausted, something I am not accustomed to. I pride myself in being capable under pressure, but two murders, rushing from one crisis to the next, all under the dark cloud of rampant suspicion (not to mention the actual dark clouds that continue to buffet us with rain), all of this has made me question my own ability, let alone sanity.

Still, one must continue, so continue one shall.

If we thought Daphne’s discovery of the inverted crucifix was enough to crucify Simon himself, the book from which it fell sealed our conviction. I opened the small volume, properly bound and printed, and gasped when I read the title and author:

The Chamber of the Fallen Star
An Interpretation of the Book of Lucifer
by the Very Reverend Simon d’Chartruese

A red-leather bound book with gold captions

Daphne too was astonished. d’Chartruese was a Reverend? Of a satanic church?? My earlier defences of Simon’s character were shattered, and I immediately felt shamed at the harsh tone I had taken with my Dr Hawthorne, who had, quite correctly it would appear, had rightly assessed the character of Mr d’Chartruese—and found it wanting.

Daphne and I resolved to keep the crucifix as evidence, but to return all the other belongings to d’Chartruese’s travel bag so as not to raise suspicions until we were well and ready.

With no little trepidation I led the way to Jessica’s room, the only room we had not searched. I breathed a silent prayer that both she and Elizabeth lived, and pushed open the door.

To find Jessica asleep on the bed…about to be smothered with a pillow by Elizabeth!

“Elizabeth! Thank goodness you both live!” I cried, interrupting her dread approach. She jumped and stammered and mumbled about making Miss Elizabeth more comfortable. I shot a glance at Daphne who nodded his understanding at what we had just witnessed.

Elizabeth woke from her slumber at the commotion, professing again her great upset and apologising to me for leaving the drawing room. Of course I said I understood and did not blame her in the least.

We summonsed Dr Hawthorne, who arrived and in no time had Jessica settled and comfortable. I noted he made a point of examining both Jessica and Elizabeth’s sleeves, looking for traces of Mrs Innocenti’s blood I assume. Both were clean of marks, which was a relief, though Jessica did complain of her minor grazes from the tumble down the stairs.

I will pause the recollection here to capture an idea I would rather not, but which has been rattling around my head none-the-less. Could Jessica be somehow involved in the murders? She had escaped scrutiny, but Daphne’s apple ruse (which he explained to me as we searched the house) piqued my interest. Jessica had been at the picnic, and spoke overly fondly of ‘Peabody’ at the séance to my mind. Horrible though it sounded, could she have plotted to have Natalie killed so as to win Peabody’s affection? And when the secret was near to being revealed by the spirit of Natalie at the séance, she somehow managed to kill Madam Perceptica? Her reaction catching the apple was fast—but surely not fast enough to kill in so brief a time (only seconds if I recall correctly)? Similarly if Mrs Innocenti also knew something, Jessica could have contrived to kill her (or have her killed) then staged the fall down the stairs to explain her presence nearby.

As I write this it seems all rather far-fetched. My mind is too full of contrivances and the whirl of possibilities. Still, I will leave this page intact, for one never knows what the future may reveal.

Jessica settled, I called for a private conversation with Silas, Daphne, and the still mysterious Mr Blackwood. I felt I was at some disadvantage having missed Major Harding’s briefing, and wanted to find out both what he had said, and try and capture what we each had discovered since the murders.

In Jessica’s room we ensconced Lady Abernathy, Elizabeth, and Jessica herself, appointing Colonel Marigold their guard and protector. He rhubarbed about this a little, wanting to know ‘what the jolly heck was going on’ and such like, but he was mollified by the idea of being the protector of the womenfolk (men can be appallingly predictable, but ofttimes that works to my advantage!). We left Simon to his own devices below, unable to manage juggling a watchful eye on so many.

Our discussion was fruitful. Daphne and Silas reported that Major Harding had no agenda nor suspicions for sending us hither, merely wanting to debunk his good friend Lady Abernathy’s increasing dependence on spiritualists for guidance. I found that hard to believe, but both men swore this to be the case.

Daphne and I then revealed to Silas and Mr Blackwood the details of Simon’s satanic interest, and noted the interesting coincidence of Mrs Innocenti also having a crucifix and Pope Innocent’s medallion. I ascribed this to her continental origins, the Italians near universally carrying Catholic iconography of one kind or another (oft handed in for safekeeping in my Tea House whilst rather less-Catholic pursuits were indulged).

I surprised Daphne with the information that his erstwhile ‘friend’ Connor Greystoke and one Miss Beatrice Bainbridge were at the fateful picnic. Daphne shrugged this off, claiming that small company often enjoyed such capers. My idea that Miss Bainbridge might be a new suspect were quickly dispelled by Daphne’s description of her as yet another hapless socialite.

As the circumstance of Elizabeth’s apparent plan to smother Jessica were described, Mr Blackwood finally spoke up. He had been rather quiet, but suddenly ventured to explain to us that ‘smothering someone was no easy task, requiring great strength’. He went on to describe how, when strangling someone, it was necessary to ‘place a knee on their chest in order to keep them still’. He said all this whilst hefting his large mallet, which only added to the discomfort we felt at his words.

Before we could wiggle our way out of that conversation, Mr Blackwood thankfully did it for us. He abruptly changed subject, pointing to an obscured door in the bedroom. I couldn’t believe my eyes, having searched the house multiple times and never noticing. Mr Blackwood further surprised by very quickly unlocking said door and venturing immediately up the tower.

Naturally we all followed (myself after a quick check-in with the Colonel, to whom I assured, thanks to his prowess, great progress was being made on apprehending the suspects!)

The tower led to an small walkway that surrounded the rooftop, centred around an separated attic structure. With some nervousness we ventured inside as a group, fearing what we might find. As it turned out we found nothing but dust and empty boxes. It seemed an idea spot to hide or disappear, but evidently hadn’t been occupied for some time.

The last unvisited location was the stables, to which we had intended to venture earlier until, I suddenly recalled, Simon had dissuaded us—something that took on extra significance given what followed.

Unfortunately I found myself unable to accompany the gentlemen to the stables as that would mean possibly leaving Elizabeth alone with either Jessica or Lady Abernathy (owing to calls of nature). Despite doubting Elizabeth was anything other that a pawn, it was with some regret that I stayed with the Colonel to allow one of us to always be present. As a result the following details are only what I recall from the descriptions of my companions.

Daphne, Silas, and Mr Blackwood took Simon with them to the stables, braving the inclement weather. A cursory sweep of the horse stalls showed that they were long unused, with no evidence of either horses or intruders. That is until Daphne happened upon something most peculiar: a half empty bottle of Claret (of notable vintage), and a small remaining portion of corned-beef sandwich wrapped in wax-paper.

Silas quickly ascertained that the wine was from Lady Abernathy’s cellar (a prodigious feat of memory as I had no recollection of anything beyond the rows of bottles), and, more pressingly, that the age of the bread and meat determined that the sandwich was made today. The conclusion seemed obvious: someone had been hiding in the stables.

Despite this revelation, there was no further sign of life after further searching. Or so it seemed. Thankfully Dr Hawthorne is a man of both science and a (sometimes tiresome) attention to detail. He stood studying the scene as everyone prepared to return to the house, and suddenly strode to a mouldering haybale. He poked it hard with his rifle butt and lo—a figure burst forth in a shower of hay!

Silas levelled his rifle at the mysterious man, demanding he stand down immediately. Perplexingly the man responded huffily to this, demanding to know who Silas was to be pointing a weapon at ‘the landholder’! Silas stuck to his guns, so to speak, and before long the confusion was resolved, if not the tension. The man hiding in the hay was none other than Peter ‘Peabody’ Abernathy, son of Lady Abernathy, and ostensible heir to Blackburn Lodge.

A foppishly handsome, blonde-haired young man, shirt half open revealing a golden chest, holds a half full glass of red wine silhouetted by a window in dusk light

Mr Peter ‘Peabody’ Abernathy

Daphne appeared as shocked to see Peabody as he was at being discovered. Daphne accused him in no uncertain language of being on intimate terms with Simon, who had groaned with regret when Peabody was discovered. Of course both men denied any such thing, though the conclusion seems sound.

Under some pressure Simon was eventually forced to confess everything. He proudly confirmed his ‘Reverend’ title, mocking any attempt to draw a denial or defence of his satanic association. He also strongly rejected the notion that he was somehow involved in the murders as a result of this dark affiliation.

When pressed further he laid out his involvement, and explained Peabody’s presence. As is so often the case, it appears to have been for no other purpose that riches and wealth. According to Simon (and confirmed righteously by Peabody), Lady Abernathy was holding Peabody’s inheritance in a trust pending his coming of age. This apparently was a mistruth: Peabody was free to claim the wealth at any time, but for some as yet unknown reason Lady Abernathy and her solicitor (one Wilson Portello) were keeping that fact from him such that he was living on a stipend instead of enjoying his full status as heir. By Silas’s account, Peabody was as surprised at this news as he was at what followed.

Simon’s intent had been to force the truth of the inheritance to be revealed. Having secured Lady Abernathy’s trust, he convinced her to summon Madam Perceptica for spiritual enlightenment. During the séance Simon then used his skill in ventriloquy (which he demonstrated rather convincingly) to mimic the late Lord Abernathy, intending to have him describe the true terms of his last will and testament.

(Here I must correct my earlier entry where I accused the butler, Rufus Harengus, of this feat, though I am happy to have been proved correct regarding the chicanery.)

Simon went on to claim that this plan was thrown into disarray with the unexpected arrival of the spirit of Natalie O’Hara. Silas of course didn’t believe a word of this last part, but he did concede that the rest of Simon’s story was plausible, not least because of Peabody’s blustering and carry-on as this was being revealed.

Having drawn all they could from Simon, the company wearily returned to the house.

Whilst they were gone my decision to stay was proved wise, having had to escort Lady Abernathy to the smallest room. Aside from that momentous event, things were quiet, and just as I was starting to relax a little I was startled into full attention by the sound of glass breaking on the lower floor.

I rushed downstairs and soon found that a display case in the dining chamber had been shattered, glass covering the floor of the room. I could not recall what had been inside the now empty case, and there seemed to be no sign of movement or footprints.

Naturally this event unnerved me—was the killer loose again, and in the Manor?—so I returned to the Colonel and ladies, waiting impatiently for the others to return, which thankfully they did before long.

Daphne and Silas explained the findings from the stable and introduced Peter (I suppose calling him ‘Peabody’ will not do given his apparent elevation to Lord of the Manor, though I will not yet address him by that honorific). I called the Colonel and ladies downstairs, noticing with satisfaction that my theory regarding Jessica’s affections for Peter were correct—she flushed with surprise, smiled inanely, equal measures of delight, apprehension…and love.

As Simon’s séance caper was revealed, Lady Abernathy grew increasingly distressed. She did her best to retain her dignity as each piece of the puzzle led her closer to collapse. Still, she managed, and she would not reveal why she had kept it the inheritance a secret.

At some point Daphne questioned why Peabody wasn’t on his boating trip with Connor, and Peabody casually dropped a bombshell of a different kind: Connor was dead! Daphne said he was caught off guard by this, and was even more so when it was revealed that Miss Bainbridge too was now deceased. Suddenly the picnic took on a different hue: not only had Natalie ‘swan-dived’ (as Peabody described it) off the gorge, the only other two attendees were also dead! Only Peabody and Jessica remained.

In the stunned silence I explained to Peter what had happened in his ostensible home, namely two further deaths. He was near speechless at learning this (speechlessness being a characteristic I often associate with softness of mind), but there was one thing he said which suddenly brought some of our mysteries into sharp focus.

Peter showed little reaction to the death of Madam Perceptica, but when I mentioned Mrs Innocenti, ‘the cook’, he blinked with confusion. “You mean Mrs Layton?” he asked.

“Mrs Layton?” I asked.

“Yes, our cook.”

We turned to Lady Abernathy, who curtly explained that Mrs Layton had fallen ill this morning and the agency had sent a replacement. It seemed poor Mrs Innocenti had paid the ultimate price. At least that was my reaction—an unlucky coincidence.

Silas thought there was more to it demanded to know the name of the agency in question. Lady Abernathy said Rufus would have that information, which caused Silas and Daphne to exchange knowing glances: they clearly suspected Rufus was involved, and now he was gone, sent away under our instruction.

More dramatically, we who had seen the mysterious text in Mrs Innocenti’s cookbook (nee Mrs Layton’s ) suddenly had a revelation: the handwriting had been different because the recipes were in Mrs Layton’s hand, where the latter text was now obviously Mrs Innocenti’s:

Subject deceased. Agent unknown. Other agents in play.

Which led to another inescapable conclusion: Mrs Innocenti was deeply involved in the murders—even her own! ‘Subject’ here could only refer to Madam Perceptica. I did think ‘agent’ might refer to the means of death, but that was silly as it was quite obvious the cause of death was a salt-shaker to the eye. So ‘agent’ perhaps means the person who had performed the deed. And Mrs Innocenti clearly considered herself an ‘agent’ too.

In which case what was her role? Was she just here to observe the séance, her presence entirely planned with Mrs Layton’s illness being feigned or arranged? If so what was she hoping to discover—surely not just Simon’s ham-fisted fakery? Did she somehow suspect Natalie would make herself known? Trying to untangle all these threads was most vexing, so I decided to try and at least clear one.

I turned to Elizabeth. I could see in her eyes a tell-tale film of dissociation, that familiar means of relieving tension, which made me determined to confront her. I accused her point blank of attempting to kill Jessica by smothering her with a pillow. The maid, as she had earlier, was shocked at this suggestion, disclaiming that she was merely trying to bring Ms O’Hara some comfort. I found this hard to believe, and thankfully so did Daphne, who turned on her and accused her again, asking what she had intended and if who she was in cahoots with.

At the mention of a possible accomplice, Elizabeth showed sure signs of guilt. She burst into tears, pleading her innocence as regarded Jessica, sobbing and barely able to talk. Daphne did not relent, but Elizabeth would not confess—until Mr Blackwood, leaning his massive hammer upon a display case, broke the glass with a fearsome crack causing everyone to start with alarm.

This was enough. Elizabeth, through racking sobs about ‘losing her position in the household’ and ‘it’s not my fault’, finally confessed—but not to a plot of murder. Instead she stammered out the name she had used all those hours ago: Mr Black. She turned to Silas and said he was the only one she would talk to, and Silas led her from the room. There, he later informed us, she explained how the boatman had once invited her to share a pipe, and how over time that sharing had become a mutual dependency. Silas understood it to be the opium pipe, but Elizabeth corrected him, claiming it was a more recent arrival to the underground of London, namely the South American ‘gift of god’, cocaine.

Elizabeth, along with Simon, now appeared unlikely to be our murderer. It seemed that each time we felt the noose tightening around the neck of the guilty party, a more mundane explanation would trump our theories. We were fast running out of possibilities. Lady Abernathy herself? The Colonel?? Rufus seemed scarily possible, though again the means and motive were beyond reach.

Reminded by Mr Blackwood’s dramatic moment with his hammer, I described the sound of smashing glass I had heard and pointed out the now empty case. In another impressive feat of memory (I really must work on mine it seems!), Daphne and Mr Blackwood recalled the case had contained a mongoose and cobra locked in mortal combat. Mr Blackwood immediately went to work studying the broken case and glass scattering the floor.

And it is here that perhaps the most disturbing idea in what was already the most disturbing few hours of my life was raised. Mr Blackwood pointed to the glass on the floor. “If the case was smashed, as I just smashed mine, then this glass should not be on the floor. It should be inside the case.”

Daphne paled, then spoke the words that haunt me still: “The case was broken from the inside…”