The Last Knock Before Midnight – Part 3

It was noon when the coach reached its destination and its passenger, a short blonde woman of around forty, descended. The sun beat down upon her brow and there were clear blue sky. On any other day Alice would’ve felt cosy and warmed by the smiling world, but today she just felt tired.

“That be all yer luggage, Miss”, the coach driver said.

“Thank you”, Alice said tipping him.

“Thank ye Miss, can I be of any further assistance?”

“No, that will do”.

The driver ascended the carriage, snapped the reigns and drove away.  Alice picked up her suitcase and walked towards the door, rapping on it twice.

When the door opened, Alice greeted Beatrice with a smile and a polite nod, “Is my brother-in-law here?”

Beatrice scanned Alice up and down with her eyes and then nodded.  “Yes, he’s inside”.  Beatrice failed to move.

“Can I see him?”

“Maybe you should come back another time”.

Alice frowned.  “Why?”

Beatrice stepped forwards, closing the door behind her and taking Alice in her arm.  “What has happened to his wife, to your sister, is most dreadful”, she said.  “I assume you know the details?”

“I only know that she was found in her bed dying”.

“By her own hand”.

Alice pulled herself from Beatrice.  “If, Miss Pollock, you’re telling me that my sister killed herself then you’ll forgive me for being aghast and disbelieving you”.

“I do forgive you for that, but what I say is the truth.  Roger came home and found his wife in her bed, bleeding.  She had cut her throat”.

“Preposterous!  Why would she do such a thing?”

“I do not know, but I do know that a woman like you I just think Roger needs some time to be alone”.

“He’s not alone”, Alice said. “You are with him.  Miss Pollock, I’d ask that you let me in to see my brother-in-law or else I’ll knock your silly head off”.

Beatrice laughed.  “Typical Alice.  That’s the only way a ruffian like you could ever solve any problems.  I suppose you must be right at home in the north. I’ve heard a lot about those cities and the people who live in them, they must have taken to you so well”.

“Typical Beatrice”, Alice said as she moved up nose-to-nose.  “A money-grabbing whore who couldn’t even wait for my sister’s body to cool in the ground before she jammed her talons into her wealthy husband”.

“How dare–“

“Beatrice, who is it?” Roger stepped out of the house into the street, then he saw who it was and lowered his head.  “Hello Alice”.

Alice moved past Beatrice, “Roger we need to talk about Catherine”.

#

“It’s true”, Roger said.  “I couldn’t have believed it had I not seen it, but its true: my poor Catherine took her own life and I don’t know why.  Is it my fault, did I do anything wrong?”

“Of course not”, Beatrice said.

Alice scowled at her.  The three of them were in the lounge. Roger was sat in his usual armchair with Beatrice standing obediently by his side, much to Alice’s disapproval.

“Are you sure she killed herself?” Alice asked, this time she received a scowl from Beatrice, but she ignored her.  “Catherine wrote to me not long ago and stated how happy she was. Did anything change between you two? Did you perhaps indulge in…  Did anything change?”

Beatrice drew herself up.  “Are you suggesting that Roger was unfaithful?”

“No, I am asking if anything changed between him and his wife. I am asking about family matters and the last time I checked, Miss Pollock, you weren’t family”.

Beatrice looked at Roger for support, but his head was sunk into his hands.  “My poor Catherine, what did I do to you? I know she wanted to start a family and I wasn’t keen but it wouldn’t have driven her to this, would it?”

“Of course not Roger”, Beatrice said kneeling down to him.  “Oh, look at you having to relive such an awful moment, you poor man. How about we put you to bed?”

“I bet you’d like that”, Alice whispered loud enough that Beatrice spun her head around.

“Do you have a place to stay, Miss Wells?” Beatrice said.

“No, but I know enough people around the village that I am sure I’ll find a bed–“

“Stay with me”.

“With you?”

“Yes. It would be an honour to have…such a stately woman at my home”.

Alice sipped her tea slowly. She had been caught unaware by the offer, by its intentions. Beatrice’s smile suggested she knew that too.

“Besides”, Beatrice said, “it’s not like you have many options. You’re well known to the village, but that’s not to your advantage. I can’t imagine many opening their doors given your reputation”.

“My sister is dead and you would drag up my reputation”.

“I’m simply stating facts”. Beatrice walked towards Alice and towered over her. “I have passed no judgement on you. You are no responsible for your husband’s actions–“

“That man is no longer my husband!”

“That’s not what everyone else thinks”.

“I know”, Alice said closing her eyes and trying to crush the cup. When she looked up Roger was looking at her. “My sister didn’t kill herself”.

“I wish I could believe you”, Roger said. “The village won’t stop talking about her like she is some terrible disease. I wish I could’ve saved her”.

“We can! We can save her! Maybe not in life, but by God we can save her in death. We can save her honour, Roger”.

“Either way, you’ll need a place to stay”, Beatrice said. “So, shall we?”

Alice drank the last puddle of tea in her cup put it on the table. She picked up her suitcase and looked at Beatrice. “Then let’s go”.

Alice and Beatrice were walking along the village towards Beatrice’s house when they were approached at pace by the stableman, Alan. As he closed in on them, he snatched his cap from his head and pressed it to his heart.

“Beatrice, I heard what happened to Mrs Dansby. It’s so terrible. Can you tell me how he is?”

“He’s in mourning”, Beatrice said. “Alan where were you for the funeral?”

“I was out of town, but I wanted to speak with Mr Dansby about something, though I don’t suppose now is a good time”.

“Maybe I can pass a message on for you?”

“Well, you see, it’s a bit strange”.

Alice and Beatrice looked at each other. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, apparently on the night he found his wife dying, Mr Dansby had a run in with a horse. I know this because he sent a message to the stables a few days before the funeral apparently, warning us that a horse had bolted and let me tell you the poor stableboy was in quite a muddle about it all, but something about the message was odd and after hearing it, I tend to agree with my lad”.

“How do you mean odd?” Alice asked.

“Mr Dansby said he saw a white horse”.

“And?”

“And I’ve never had any white horses in my stables”.