He was not ready to leave. Not just yet. With cautious steps, he neared the bedside table, keeping his gaze on Mrs. Cleary. Her uncanny black eyes still watched him. The eeriness of those pupils was frightening.
Maurice listened until he felt reassured by Mrs. Cleary’s regular breathing. He picked up one of the scattered pills by the tipped jar. Retrieving a small pellet from his own pocket, he inspected both gelatine capsules. Maurice frowned as he realised he was staring at identical capsules.
Astonished by his find, and what it meant, Maurice felt his pulse race. He returned the tiny pellet into his pocket and stared one last time at Mrs. Cleary’s eyes. Had they moved? He was unsure.
Without a sound, he hastened to the door.
Maurice was sweating as he re-entered his bedroom.
He felt glad he had never thought to return Aaron’s bookkeeping journal. He flipped through its pages, knowing precisely the product name he was looking for. He’d remembered its label from the compartment with the broken latch and he knew its pills were the same as those on Mrs. Cleary’s bedside.
It took him an hour to pierce through Aaron’s tiny handwriting, but he found the corresponding entry for the drug. The last time Aaron had accounted for this medicine was at the start of August, right before his death.
Maurice caught the generous figure in the last entry and knew something was wrong. With the cellar sealed and abandoned since Aaron’s death in August, there should have been a near full amount of those pills remaining. Yet from what he had glimpsed, only a quarter of this amount remained in the cabinet.
Had Mrs. Cleary used up the rest? If so, she must have secretly entered the cellar. Perhaps she had even draped herself in a calico sheet to frighten and injure him… Maurice’s thoughts raced.
What if someone in the house had surprised Mrs. Cleary entering the cellar and helping herself to these drugs? Sophie Murphy, perhaps? He remembered the blazing row Shannon had recounted, and Sophie’s strange words: “You won’t get away with it, Louise.” Shannon believed she had misheard. But after seeing the letters the gardener had given him, Maurice knew Shannon had heard correctly.
To employ John’s own words, Mrs. Cleary was just another one of Aaron’s hired stray cats. And stray cats possessed secrets. As for Sophie, she had known Jane Cleary’s real name and so she must have been familiar with the housekeeper’s secret past.
Maurice thought back to Shannon’s other statement: “She gloated about having come upon some money.”
Ellen had stressed the same: “An expensive one, sir. Shannon even said she was surprised Sophie could afford that sort of hat.”
Had Sophie blackmailed Mrs. Cleary? It would account for the maid’s unexpected good fortune, and those letters Alfred had found addressed to Louise March. Sophie must have hatched that scheme upon witnessing the housekeeper enter the cellar. Why threaten Louise March over a small misdeed, when she had much more to gain from terrorising her over a darker secret?
Maurice sighed. It had taken him days but he had at last found some answers. If Mrs. Cleary had been taunted by Sophie, she could not have gone to the police without risking exposure of her true identity. She would have had to rid herself of Sophie.
I’ve got you, thought Maurice. All the pieces fell into place.
But what about Vera Nightingale?
Maurice was disheartened. There was no chance of Mrs. Cleary murdering Vera, for the housekeeper had gone to London at the time.
Or had she?
After reflecting upon this, Maurice sat at his desk. His pen ran furiously across a sheet of paper.
Mr. Wilson,
I bring to your attention the unsettling contents of Aaron Nightingale’s cellar.
I have two of his medical journals in my possession. Perhaps they will elucidate what has taken place in this chamber, and what it may mean for your other client, his brother.
Time, however, is short, and I must speak to you in person.
I may have made a discovery relating to Sophie Murphy’s murder. I ask you to promptly launch an investigation. I need to know all you can find on a certain, Louise March.
Now with regards to Miss Nightingale’s death, it appears that Mrs. Cleary had an alibi. Two staff members have sworn that she took the carriage herself the day before and travelled to London to prepare her upcoming immigration to Australia. If this were true, she would have visited the Colonial Land and Emigration Commission. I entreat you to call upon the commissioner to ascertain whether this was the case.
Inspector Leroux
On a separate letter addressed to the Reading Town police station, Maurice penned the following,
This is Inspector Leroux investigating the murder of Sophie Murphy and Vera Nightingale at the behest of John Nightingale. I believe I have a suspect. Please send armed men immediately to Alexandra Hall. Occupants may be in danger.
There was quiet rap at his door. Maurice rushed to open it, convinced it was Madeleine.
Before he could reach it, the door swung open, making way for the dark folds of a long black dress. Mrs. Cleary’s gaunt frame advanced towards him.
He startled, noting how composed and well-rested she seemed while only an hour ago, she had been fast asleep.
“Good evening, Mr. Leroux.” She feigned light-heartedness but her voice bore an icy quality.
“Mrs. Cleary, I did not expect you.”
“Who did you expect?” Her eye travelled to his desk. With a casual hand, Maurice shifted his journal so that it covered the letter he’d just penned.
“No one, Mrs. Cleary. It is rather late.
