Crockettbreathed a sigh of relief. He still held the note, and Bixby was in eight feetof water, his gun buried in the depths. He paused for a moment, wondering if heshould extend a hand and help the old man out of his predicament.
Theinternal question was answered, quite outwardly, by the blast of a gun. A sprayof red splashed onto the shore, coating the waving brush and weeds in a slick,violent paint.[47]
Crockettturned. His pulse raced as he looked to his right. Beside him was the imposingshadow of the house maid, glaring at the dark of the river. Her weapon wasstill leveled at the water. The blood from her earlier wound glistened, blackagainst her pale skin. The image of Martha was identical to that of the womanhe’d seen in a butcher’s apron just a few days before.
Sheturned to Crockett. He was upset to see that, even in the dark, at a distance,he could tell the odd eye was swiveling around, it’s sweeping orb glinting inthe dark.
Witha sudden movement, she lowered the weapon. Her body shuddered with an immense sigh.
“Ihave been waiting,” she wheezed through the pain of her earlier wound, “half mylife to fire that bullet.”
Crockettlooked toward the water. His scalp prickled. He could add blood to the longlist of stains that would need to be lifted from his clothing.
“It was a magnificentshot,” he said finally. He was unbearably nervous, unsure if the crazed maidwould turn the gun on him.
Butwhen he turned to face Martha, the gun was down; for the first time since he’d knownher, she smiled.
Chapter 26: Martha
Whenthe blood, gore, gunshots, and screams ceased, the night grew quite pleasant.The stars were shining, and the wind, now gusting less dramatically, became aconstant, warming rush from the countryside. Crockett turned away from Marthato take a moment of solace and enjoy the world around him, a world that had nearlyfaded for him into an eternal darkness thrown from the barrel of a gun.
Whenhe was calmed, and certain that the danger had fully passed, he turned towardMartha and expressed his gratitude.
“Thankyou,” he said warmly.
“Itwas my pleasure,” Martha said, still smiling. “I was under the thumbs of thosemen for years—he and Dexter both.”
“Youcouldn’t escape?”
“Whereto?” Martha shook her head. “I had no family, nowhere to run. For Dexter, I wasan obsession, so he kept me. They dismissed everyone but me before they killedthe real Master Bixby…” She looked anxiously into the dark, “When I did try toescape, they threatened violence.”
Crockett’sskin prickled. He could only imagine the crazed schemes the two men would haveput into motion had Martha tried to get away. “I’m very sorry, Martha. I can’timagine being a prisoner in this place.”
“Itwas a jail, to be sure,” she said warmly, “but I believe that the gates are nowopen.”
Crockettdid his best to dust the stains off his trousers, but the mud was thick andthere was no hope that he could get back to London in any clothing not coveredin filth and gore. He resigned himself and caught up to Martha who had begunshambling back toward the house. Gently, he extended his arm, linking it withthe old woman’s to help her down the track.
“Ialways liked you,” she said. “You’ve got a good, poor head on your shoulders.When the rest of the rich folk thought the key solved it, you kept going.”
“Idon’t know if that was a rational course of action.” Crockett blushed,remembering the thud Petrarch’s body had made collapsing onto the floor. “AndBrontë was the one who convinced me that we should pursue the mysteryfurther. Regardless, somehow it all worked out in the end.”
“Ishould say so.” Martha puffed out her chest proudly. “You two gave me renewedcourage to fight for myself. I knew something more diabolical was happeningeven before Bixby Hawsfeffer—or Von Bunson, that is—disappeared; he came backerratic from his meeting with Petrarch in London regarding the will. I spied onboth him and Dexter more frequently—Corinthiana was sure we renewed ourimaginary affair, but I needed to know what was going to happen.” She liftedher head up and breathed deeply as if the death of Bixby Hawsfeffer had changedeven the air on the grounds. “Dexter and Bixby kept me trapped for so long, I’dbegun to think there was no hope, but you two, putting your noses where theyshouldn’t be, gave me a fresh sense of purpose. The day you came into thekitchen, I was still unsure. I admit, I helped them…I washed the bloody ragsDexter used to clean up the Beatrice mess with the rest of the laundry, but,after that day when I saw you looking for the truth, I changed. I tried tohelp. I did my best to give you hints in the bedroom…”
“Andyou did, Martha. Without you I wouldn’t have put it all together. You evenhelped accidentally, when we awoke you after Beatrice was killed and you spokeof a ‘him’…But it was those last pieces—the painting and the back stair—thatmade all of the little gears in my brain click together. The back stairconfirmed Dexter could have been involved in the chaos of the séance, even ifhis excuse was tending the back lawn.”
“Ihoped you’d catch on. At first, I didn’t trust anyone. I was sure any secret Ipassed on would get back to him and then…” She shook her head sadly.
Crockettnoted she was cringing. Fresh blood still flowed from her shoulder wound.
“Onemoment, Martha,” he said. He removed his overshirt and gently wrapped hershoulder with it. She winced only slightly. “You’re a tough, old bird.”Crockett smiled. “I can’t believe they kept you captive for so long.”
“Powerand violence,” she said casually. “You’d be surprised what those can do. In theend I’d grown so afraid I was
