The Diary of Ms. Gideon Harrow

It is finished. Another death, this one deserved.

I am utterly exhausted—I have never felt so weary—but must record the conclusion of this most dreadful of nights.

Hearing the glass shatter and a cry, I rushed to the window of Jessica’s room. I expected to see the glass roof of the conservatory broken, but it was intact. As much as I wanted to hide in this room and let this all pass, I knew I could not.

I opened the door to Simon’s room and it was there I found the answer. Embedded in the pane of a window was a mongoose, dead, or stuffed—for it was evidently the self-same mongoose from the now empty display case downstairs. I stared at it, my mind refusing to acknowledge what I was seeing, then pulled the door closed. Whatever the meaning of this was it could wait.

I turned to find Jessica arriving atop the stairway, frantic. “Where is Peter!” she cried, panic in her eyes.

“He is with Dr Hawthorne, dear, and it is best you leave the good doctor to his work. You do not want to see your love in this state,” I warned.

“Where is he!”

I took her arm firmly and held her. “No Jessica. Not now.” She tried her best to wrench free but I would not allow it. She screamed and shook with tears, but I held her firm as Lady Abernathy made her way up the stairs.

“Where is my son,” she said, cold and calm—her upbringing saving her where Jessica was unable.

I repeated what I had told Jessica, but Lady Abernathy was not to be dissuaded. She pulled open the door to her room just as a loud, protesting snap sounded—Doctor Hawthorne later telling me this was Peter’s jaw being cracked back into place. At this I could no longer contain Jessica and she ran to Lady Abernathy’s side, screaming with rage and horror at what she found.

“He will live,” Silas said from within, “But he may not live well.”

Lady Abernathy studied the gruesome scene for a moment. “Who did this?” she finally asked Silas.

“If I am to understand correctly, it was Mr Blackwood,” Silas said, “Defending Ms Harrow, or so he claims. Now I must ask that you disturb me no further, if you wish your son to ever speak again.”

As he spoke a crash of thunder and flash of lightning echoed though the house. A grim warning—or metaphor—for what was to come.

Jessica spun from the room, followed close behind by Lady Abernathy. “Where is Mr Blackwood,” she hissed to me.

“I do not know, he went downstairs. But Lady Abernathy—he should be placed under arrest as soon as possible. Before he does any more damage.”

Jessica ignored me and rushed downstairs, Lady Abernathy and I on her tail.

The gentlemen of the party stood at the foot of the stairs, apparently about to ascend. Jessica spied Mr Blackwood, who stood impassively to the side of the staircase, and she started screaming. “Murderer! Murderer!!” she cried, beside herself with rage.

“Restrain him!” I cried to Colonel Marigold who stood nearest Mr Blackwood. Marigold still held a shotgun, and started to lower it toward Blackwood, who turned on him and shook his head. “Don’t move another inch,” he warned softly.

Just as he spoke the lantern at the foot of the stairs exploded into flame! We above shrunk away as fast as we could as the flame crept over the floor to a large bear skin rug, and the wall began to smoulder.

Jessica continued to berate Mr Blackwood as the flames leapt. “Silas! What do we do!” I cried, my senses confused and unable to think straight. “Wet towels, quickly now—I will find blankets!” he cried, running back up the stairway.

I rely on Daphne’s account for What happened when we were gone. Jessica screamed something indecipherable and suddenly all manner of objects—stuffed animals, crockery, artworks—flew through the air and coalesced around Mr Blackwood in a vortex. He swatted them away with his hidden strength, batting them aside and managing to avoid most.

Silas and I returned to find the flames larger still, and I feared greatly we should not be able to douse them. I threw the sodden towels atop the bear rug that was now fully ablaze, but my efforts were clearly in vain—the towels too small to cover the fire. Silas had rather more success, but it was taking every moment of his concentration to keep the flames from escaping further. I sprinted to the front doors, hoping to the torrential rain might help, but the doors were locked!

The cacophony of flying animals soon stopped, but Jessica had more tricks. She stepped down to the hall and cursed Blackwood, raising her arms. He was frozen in place, his body not his to control as he levitated toward the ceiling. Only chance allowed him to grab the stair rail to stop himself.

The next action came from an unexpected source (sorry, Daphne, should you ever read this). “It was Jessica!” Daphne cried, “You bitch!” He picked up a large vase from the display room and hurled it at Jessica’s head. As it struck her, hard, she stumbled forward. Her concentration lost, Mr Blackwood dropped back to the floor with a thud.

And pulled out his deadly hammer. My blood ran cold, remembering what he had done to Peter. Behind him, Marigold seemed stunned by what he had done, looking down at the firearm with astonishment.

Before Mr Blackwood could move on Jessica, Colonel Marigold shocked everyone fired his shotgun, catching Mr Blackwood flat-footed and square in the back. Blackwood staggered forward toward Jessica, bleeding profusely and badly wounded. “Bitch,” he whispered, trying to get to the lounge to avoid any further damage.

Daphne surprised again, running across the room and leaping onto Jessica, crash tackling her onto the burning bear rug. The fire was now truly out of control, Silas having to abandon his now futile attempt. Jessica growled like an animal and hurled Daphne across the room. He crashed into the doors beside me. I caught his eye and saw only terror. He jumped to his feet and started running toward the back entrance. “It’s over!” he yelled.

“Save Lady Abernathy!” I yelled to Silas, who had backed up the stairs to avoid the encroaching flame. He nodded and turned, and I hoped desperately this was not the last I would ever see of him. I raced after Daphne, dragging a terrified Elizabeth, cowering amongst the shattered display cases, with me.

The last thing I saw was Jessica standing alone surrounded by flames, everyone else running for their lives.

I caught up to Daphne as he neared the rear doors. From behind I heard Mr Blackwood’s voice. “Run, Colonel!” he called, evidentially not begrudging the shotgun assault. “Not my first rodeo,” the Colonel responded as he walked rapidly our way.

A moment later Elizabeth’s body was flung across the room as she tried to run. She landed unmoving in a crumpled heap by the foot of the spiral stairway, just as Silas emerged (thank the gods) with Lady Abernathy and Peter in tow, the latter leaning heavily on Silas for support. A true hero, is Dr Hawthorne—not many would save a man such as Peter in a situation such as this.

I could see the safety of the parklands outside. I wanted so desperately to walk out that door and let it all burn down behind me. But I remembered Jessica. I remembered what–it was now obvious—she had done. Killed Madam Perceptica. Killed Mrs Innocenti. Killed Elizabeth. Killed her own sister. And, I suddenly realised, likely killed Simon, for we had not seen him now for some time.

With a deep breath I turned back and took a position by the entry to the library. Jessica, if she was to follow us, and Mr Blackwood in particular, must come this way. I drew my pistol and held it steady at head height, ready.

A moment later Blackwood stepped backward into the room, firing a shotgun he had procured. It was clear he was not familiar with the weapon, the recoil sending his shot harmlessly into the ceiling. For a moment I considered shooting him before I came to my senses. Jessica was the problem here, not Mr Blackwood.

As Blackwood attempted to reload he too was flung bodily, landing atop Elizabeth.

Smoke billowed out of the doorways from whence she came. I glanced back to check our escape was clear, seeing Daphne peering through the window, his earlier bravery replaced with prurient voyeurism.

I could wait no longer. I stepped into the hall, finding Jessica right there. Her eyes were possessed with what I can only describe as a demonic hunger, hunting Mr Blackwood with no regard to her own or any others' survival—even, it would seem, Peter’s, for as far as she knew she had left him to burn.

I fired my pistol at point blank range but caught only Jessica’s shoulder, drawing a howl of fury. The same pistol that had saved me (and others) from brutes and worse twitched in my hand and I felt it start to point it’s deadly aim toward my own heart! With a strength of will I feared had left me I forced Jessica’s control away, panting with the effort.

I met Jessica’s furious wild gaze and wondered if those eyes spelled my doom. I had tried, but failed. Or so I thought.

Something exploded in my left ear. Mr Blackwood had rested his shotgun on my shoulder and fired it at Jessica. She was flung backwards into the smoke and licking flames. I couldn’t hear anything except a ringing cacophony inside my head. Jessica started to push herself up, chest shattered by the force of the shot, blood spilling freely. Her mouth was twisted in grim determination as she hauled herself to her feet, glaring at Mr Blackwood behind me.

Fate plays funny games. I was fighting for my life with the very man for whom I had, only moments earlier (it seemed), called to be placed under arrest. His shot had saved me. It was my turn to repay the favour.

I stepped forward and raised my pistol.

“I’m sorry, Jessica.”

She fell, finally, dead. I turned to Mr Blackwood and nodded. We walked outside under the watchful eye of Daphne.

We found Simon on the grounds below his room, badly wounded but alive. “The mongoose,” he muttered, nonsensically when we asked what happened.

“I could murder an absinthe,” he added.