Finished Off (A Bellehaven House Mystery Book 2) (15 page)

Meredith frowned. "What are you doing, child?"

Once more Emma's finger pointed, only this time she jabbed it at the table, then raised her thin elbow again and tilted her hand.

Striving to understand, Meredith leaned forward. "Are you pouring something?"

The ghostly hand fell to the child's side.

Shaking her head in bewilderment, Meredith looked at the table again. It had to have something to do with the lamp. She envisioned Emma holding it, then tilting it . . .

"Oh, my goodness!" She stared across the room at Emma's ghost. "Someone poured the oil from the lamp onto your parents' bed and set fire to it." She reached for the lamp and held it up. "Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

Immediately the child's image began to fade.

Meredith cried out. "No, wait! You have to tell me who did this! Give me some sort of sign . . . " Her voice trailed off. She was talking to empty space. Emma and the cloud that surrounded her had disappeared.

Meredith set the lamp back onto the table. She was no longer tired. Moreover, now she felt compelled to continue the hunt. That child had actually seen someone kill her parents and set fire to their bed. Eventually Emma would find a way to tell her the identity of that person. She was sure of it.

As long as Emma kept giving her signs, she would keep on trying to find out who had killed her family and caused her to lose her own life. The child must be avenged, and somehow, Meredith was determined to see that it happened.

Chapter 11

"It's all your fault." Olivia sat back on her heels and
brushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes, leaving a trail of dust across her forehead. "It will take us weeks to clean out this filthy place."

Grace stared at her. "Why is it my fault? Weren't you the one who said no one would know we'd be gone?"

"No one would've known if you hadn't told Wilky where we were going." Olivia flung out a grubby hand. "Now look at us. We have to spend our afternoon off every week cleaning out this awful, dirty attic until Mona's satisfied with it, and you know she'll hang it out as long as possible. She was frothing at the mouth when she told us."

Grace pulled a tennis racket and press from a pile of clutter in the corner. "It won't take us long if we work really hard."

Olivia picked up an armful of curtains and threw them into a box. Dust danced in the ray of sunlight cast through the tiny window above her head. "Look at that. All that dust is going into our lungs and choking us."

She started to cough, and Grace shook her head. "If you're going to moan about it all afternoon, I'm not going
to listen. So there." She took a wide swipe through the air with the tennis racket. The press on the end weighed it down and it caught the edge of a box, tilting it over and spilling the contents across the floor.

"Now look what you've done!" Olivia's scowl contorted her face. "You can pick that lot up by yourself."

Putting down the tennis racket, Grace squatted beside her. "Look at all these old photographs!" She picked one up and peered at it, holding it up to the light to see it more clearly. "This must be the people who lived here before Bellehaven was a school. Look at their old-fashioned clothes."

"Where? Let me see." Olivia took the picture from her. "They look like right toffs, don't they. Though the young one's handsome enough."

Grace snatched the picture back. "He reminds me of Mrs. Llewellyn's new assistant with that dark hair and eyes." She started picking up the rest of the photographs, looking at each one. "I passed him in the hallway this morning."

Olivia shrugged and turned back to her task. "He's all right, I suppose. A bit toffee-nosed."

"I think he's handsome." Grace held the pictures to her chest. "I wouldn't mind going for a walk with him in the dark."

Olivia snorted. "Go on with you. Men like Mr. Platt don't go walking anywhere with the likes of us."

Feeling a jab of resentment, Grace jutted out her bottom lip. "So who says? I bet I could get him to ask me out, so there."

Olivia sat back and stared at her. "What's got into you, Grace Parker? You don't even like boys, or so you're always telling me."

Grace started putting the pictures back in the box. "I don't like those common louts in the village, like the ones you're always talking to outside the pub." She looked at the first picture she'd picked up. "I could go for someone like him, though. Someone like Mr. Platt."

"Yeah, well, Mr. Platt ain't going to oblige, not with you
being below his station and all, so you might as well stop the daydreaming." Olivia tugged at a box that was half buried under a pile of eiderdowns. "I wonder what's in here."

Reluctantly, Grace put the picture back with the others. Olivia was probably right, but it wasn't going to stop her dreaming. One day she was going to have a fine house and servants. It was the dream that kept her going when things got her down. Like today.

Olivia's gasp interrupted her thoughts. "Blimey, Grace. Look at this." She scrambled to her feet, holding the exquisite frock up against her body. "It looks like a wedding gown."

Grace touched the fine lace with reverent fingers. "Oh, my, look at that. It's beautiful."

"Do you think it'd fit me?" Olivia twirled around so that the skirt gently folded around her ankles. "I think I'll keep this for when I get married."

Grace scrambled to her feet. "You can't! It'd be stealing."

"Stealing from who?" Olivia held the dress away from her to study it. "It don't belong to no one now, or they wouldn't have left it here all crumpled up in a box."

"What if it belongs to one of the teachers?" Grace gasped. "Or Miss Fingle?"

Olivia let out a shout of laughter. "Can you see that old crony wearing something like this? Not on your life. No, no one knows it's here so no one will know I took it." She folded the gown over her arm and glared at her friend. "And don't you dare go telling no one I got it or I'll never ever be your friend again."

Grace shook her head. "I won't tell no one, Olivia, I swear it. But it's bad luck for you to take it, I just know it. It will mean nothing but bad things happening to you."

"Don't be daft." Olivia reached for the box and carefully packed the gown back into it. "Look, there's a veil, and gloves and everything. I'll wear it all the day I get married."

Grace knew it was no use arguing with her friend. Still, she had a nasty feeling in the pit of her stomach. She didn't understand why she thought the gown would bring bad
luck, she just knew it would. All she could hope for was that some of it didn't rub off on her.

Much to Meredith's surprise and gratification, Reg
gie seemed able to find his way to Blanche Pettigrew's estate without too much trouble. She was beginning to change her opinion of the young man. Although she abhorred his somewhat reckless attitude and occasional impertinence, she had to admit that her handyman could be quite enterprising at times.

Having told herself that Hamilton was unlikely to return to Bellehaven anytime soon, she had taken advantage of a free morning to visit the Sandalwood Estate.

She had woken up that morning with a renewed determination to solve the puzzle of the Lewis family's deaths. She no longer had any doubt that someone had deliberately set the fire. Emma's ghost had convinced her of that.

If she could find out why George Lewis had embezzled funds, she might be closer to finding the killer. She wasn't sure why she thought Blanche Pettigrew could help her, except for Amanda Lewis saying that Mrs. Pettigrew's nephew was apparently hostile toward George.

It had crossed her mind that perhaps George might have had an assignation with Mrs. Pettigrew, and was paying the nephew to keep quiet about it. Though if the young man was living with a rich aunt, presumably he'd be in no need of funds.

Conjecture. Pure conjecture, which was all she seemed capable of doing. It was quite frustrating.

The Sandalwood Estate stood high on a hill, which afforded a remarkable view of the downs and Witcheston in the distance. Standing on the steps leading up to the wide front porch, Meredith gazed down at the town. The streets looked like a miniature maze, lined with little toy houses.

A white church spire poked up against the sky, gleaming in the morning sun, and beyond it spread a carpet of dark green forest that gradually faded into the mist.

So intrigued with the view was she, that a voice spoke before she realized the door had opened in answer to her summons. Turning, she confronted a haughty-looking gentleman dressed in a butler's uniform. Wings of gray marked his dark hair above his ears, and his gray eyes regarded her with mild disdain.

Hastily she introduced herself, saying she wished to see Mrs. Pettigrew on a private matter.

The butler ushered her into the hallway, then disappeared down a long corridor, the walls of which were covered with ancestors' portraits.

While she waited, Meredith studied the Victorian hallstand—a magnificent piece with ornate carvings of a lion's head surrounding the gilded framed mirror.

The butler's voice spoke behind her, startling her. "Madam will see you now, if you will kindly follow me."

As her feet sank into the dark blue and cream carpet, Meredith could understand why she hadn't heard the butler's footsteps. It was like walking on pillows.

The butler paused in front of a set of double doors and tapped lightly on one polished panel. A thin voice answered from inside, and he turned the handles of both doors and pushed them open.

"Mrs. Llewellyn, madam," he announced, then stood aside to allow Meredith to enter.

The woman who stood to greet her was amazingly beautiful. Though no longer young, her figure was that of a young girl's, tightly laced into a pale lilac tea gown made of extraordinary fine cotton and lace.

A quick glance around the room left no doubt of the widow's exquisite taste and certainly the wherewithal to indulge it. The purple sateen curtains at the windows were of the finest quality, and the beautiful mahogany sideboard with the satinwood inlaid surface was undoubtedly Sheraton.

The fireplace dominated the room with its mantel of pink marble, but it was the objects on the mantelpiece that caught Meredith's eye. A large fretwork clock took up a fair amount of space, and on either side stood the statuette
of a horse, rearing up on its hind legs. They looked to be an exact replica of the one Meredith had found on the floor of the Lewis's bedroom.

"I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

Mrs. Pettigrew's voice snatched Meredith's attention away from the fireplace. The woman's high cheekbones added to her delicate features, and her light blue eyes were framed by the longest lashes Meredith had ever seen. Her mouth was full and lush, inviting even without smiling.

"Likewise, I'm sure," Meredith murmured. If George Lewis had indeed rejected this lovely creature's advances, then he must have been a man of strong principles and honor. Which didn't seem at all the manner of an embezzler.

Mrs. Pettigrew beckoned her to an elegant Queen Anne chair, then sat down herself. "I understand you wish to discuss an important matter with me?"

"Yes, thank you." Meredith sat on the chair, feeling decidedly dowdy in this woman's presence.

"May I offer you some refreshment?"

"That is very kind of you, thank you, but I must decline. I am rather short of time."

"Perhaps another time then." The widow gave her a keen glance. "To what, then, do I owe this visit?"

Meredith cleared her throat. "I came to ask you about a mutual acquaintance, the late Mr. George Lewis."

She had watched the widow's face closely, but her expression remained quite bland. "Oh, yes," she said, lifting a languid hand to pat her hair. "The manager of the bank in the High Street in Witcheston. I remember him."

Her tone was so undoubtedly without interest that Meredith felt compelled to ask, "You are aware that the Lewis family perished in a house fire a short while ago?"

Mrs. Pettigrew's eyes were cold as they regarded her. "Yes, I did hear word of it. Such a tragedy."

She might just as well have been discussing the weather. For someone who had so earnestly pursued the object of her affections, the woman seemed remarkably composed about his death.

Disturbed by the widow's apparent lack of sympathy, Meredith struggled on. "Are you also aware that Mr. Lewis was embezzling funds from the bank?"

If she had hoped to shock the woman into showing some sign of emotion, she was disappointed. Mrs. Pettigrew smoothed out a crease in her skirt. "I really don't concern myself with the town gossips, Mrs. Llewellyn. I invariably find that rumors are grossly exaggerated."

"I understand that this particular rumor has some merit." Meredith looked her in the eye. "I was wondering if perhaps you could enlighten me as to why Mr. Lewis would find it necessary to embezzle money from his bank."

For the first time something flickered in the cold eyes. "Really, Mrs. Llewellyn, I can't imagine why you would begin to think that I would be privy to that kind of information. I know nothing about Mr. Lewis's private affairs. He was my bank manager, nothing more." She reached out for the silver bell rope that hung nearby and gave it a sharp tug. "My nephew had some dealings with the man, I do believe. Perhaps he can answer your somewhat irrelevant questions."

Meredith refused to back down. The woman was obviously hiding her emotions, and Meredith's instincts told her Mrs. Pettigrew could be hiding a good deal more than that—her affection for the dead man, for one thing. "My sincere apologies for any distress I might have caused you," she said quietly, "but I have good reason to make these inquiries. A great injustice has been done, and I intend to see it is put right."

Mrs. Pettigrew studied her for a long moment, until Meredith could feel her cheeks beginning to warm. "There is one thing I can tell you," she said at last. "I do not believe that Mr. Lewis was capable of criminal activity. He was—" She broke off as the doors opened to reveal the butler.

"You rang, madam?"

"Yes, Chester. Would you please have my nephew join us at once. I believe he is in the library."