AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 12
Charlotte’s mother returned from Aunt Cecily’s estate at four in the afternoon on the following Tuesday with reports that they’d made incredible strides with their newest line of mourning-gowns. She almost glowed with it, this news, such that Charlotte almost reminded her that, in actuality, the mourning itself had only begun due to the death of her nephew. Even still, there was a lightness to her mother, a pep in her step, something Charlotte had missed in the previous weeks.
She allowed her mother to explain the details of her stitching, how she and Aunt Cecily had laughed outright when they’d sliced an inappropriate amount of fabric. “Midway through the afternoon, Uncle Thomas went out into the garden for a walk. We watched him through the window, as a big gust of wind swept through, captured his hat, and cast it towards the moors! I’ve never seen anything more ridiculous,” her mother explained. “We were in stitches. I don’t suppose it’s ever been said before, but there really is something to laughter and its medicinal qualities. Your auntie suggested that tonight very well may be the only night she’s slept properly in weeks.”
“That’s wonderful, Mother,” Charlotte affirmed.
Tea was requested. A maid appeared several moments later with a tray piled up with shortbread and steaming cups. She placed the tray delicately before the two women and clasped her hands together, apparently about to announce something. But that very moment, there was a volatile knock on the front door—the sort that made the entire house shiver. Charlotte and her mother made intense eye contact.
“Had you plans for someone to come for a visit, Charlotte?” her mother asked.
“No. Had you?”
Her mother shook her head. The butler swept past the parlour doorway and opened the front door. His greeting echoed against the foyer walls.
“Good afternoon, My Lord. Welcome to the Stanton Estate. Is someone expecting you?”
The voice that boomed back was not one that Charlotte recognized.
“Good afternoon. My name is Mr Charles Baxter. I am the working investigator on the case of the murder of Brooks Larsen. Do you mind if I come in for a conversation with the man of the house?”
Charlotte and her mother exchanged worried glances. All the heat drained from Charlotte’s face. The butler rushed back down the hallway to collect Charlotte’s father from the study. In the wake of his departure, the investigator stepped toward the parlour, then appeared before them. He hadn’t known that the two of them sat there, and he looked just as surprised to see them as they were to see him.
“Good afternoon!” he said. He was a broad-shouldered and handsome dark-hair man, with a long swooping mustache and twinkling eyes. “Terribly sorry to drop by like this. I hope you don’t perceive it as rude.”
“Not at all,” Lady Stanton said. Her voice quivered. “You said that you’re the investigator involved with Brooks’ murder?”
“That’s right,” he said. He took a firm step forward, and his boot scraped against the hardwood. He then removed his hat, something that should have probably happened moments before. There was something off about his social cues—as though he had learned them late in life and occasionally slipped up. “I’m terribly sorry about your loss.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte and her mother said in unison.
“It’s been a difficult time,” Charlotte’s mother affirmed.
“I can only imagine. The sort of death this is certainly gives one a different feeling in one’s stomach,” Charles Baxter continued. “When I first learned of it, it took me a long time to wrap my head around it. Oh, yes. Here’s the man of the house.”
Lord Stanton appeared in the corridor. He looked flustered, his greying hair sticking out. He looked as though he’d just been reading one of his dense texts; assuredly, he was displeased that he’d been interrupted.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked after the appropriate greetings had been made.
“Shall we sit for a moment?” Charles Baxter asked.
This, once more, was strange. It wasn’t customary for a man from outside the house to suggest any action such as this. Charlotte and her mother exchanged perturbed glances.
Finally, her mother said, “Of course. I’ll fetch you a spot of tea, as well.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Charles Baxter affirmed. He hustled towards the empty chair in the parlour. His eyes twinkled as he sat.
Slowly, Charlotte’s father followed Charles Baxter’s lead and crept towards his own chair. Everyone blinked at the investigator, awaiting some sort of proverbial axe.
“I don’t suppose it comes as a shock to you that we’re conducting a thorough investigation,” he said.
“No. And we appreciate it,” Lady Stanton said.
“Naturally, these sorts of investigations can become quite personal, as it’s essential that we interview nearly everyone who could possibly be involved,” he said. “What I mean by this is—I’ve come today to interview each of you. All of you knew Brooks in some capacity. It’s up to me to discover just how close you were. When you might have seen him last.”
Lady Stanton’s jaw dropped. “We had nothing at all to do with my nephew’s murder. The idea that you’re even insinuating this, in our home …”
Charles Baxter lifted his hand and flashed his palm towards her, apparently a means to quieten her. “I don’t want you to think that at all. In fact, in my mind, your cooperation today allows me to rule you out as a potential suspect. At the beginning of an investigation, everyone is a suspect until proven not to be.”
