May 31, 2011

Cross and Martin, part 31– “Truth”

“You see,” Cross shifted his position so that he was able to turn back and face me when he spoke. “Once Mr. Dison had disposed of Corbet Adams’s body the way Jonathan Adell dictated, there was this information that Mr. Dison had about what happened.” Cross kept his back to Miss Mary as he spoke.

“I’m sure that Jonathan Adell never expected a fellow greenery lover to turn into a blackmailer like he did.” While Cross spoke, I turned to watch Miss Mary. Though her face was as unchanged as before, there was a slight tremor coursing through her frame.

“What a price to pay for the services of such a man.” Cross drew a low hiss of breath through his clenched teeth.

“I was to marry him before the year was out.” Miss Mary’s voice fell into the conversation. Her words fell at her feet. “You’ve no idea how horrible it all felt. I couldn’t marry him. I didn’t love him. And, yet, I couldn’t allow my father’s name to be drug through the courts.”

“Even though he had arranged for the murder of the man that you loved?” My heart went out to her.

“Even then.” Miss Mary released a soft sigh. “You see, no matter how much I loved Corbet, I still loved my father. And, though Corbet was gone, my father was still here. Seeing him disgraced would break my heart.”

Cross clucked his tongue against his teeth. “So, you planted the cutting of African Milk Plant in Corbet’s pocket because you wanted people to know he didn’t commit suicide, and the clue would have been vague enough that perhaps the connection to your father may never be discovered.”

Miss Mary nodded.

“How is it that Manuel Dison came to be poisoned?” My mind tore at the improbability of it all. “Surely he would have been most careful anytime he was on the estate, never taking tea, as it were.”

“Ah,” a twinkle flashed, for a moment, in Miss Mary’s eye. “The ego of such a man is easily wielded when the right words are spoken.”

“The dutiful host and fiancée,” Cross murmured.

“Quite.” Miss Mary nodded. “You are right, Mr. Martin, Manuel never took tea with my father. But, there are other means, other treats that can house a poison.” Her voice fell to a whisper.

“I am sorry, Mr. Martin, that you suffered for your visit yesterday. I do promise that it was never intended that you should have taken any of the poison. I’m afraid that silly girl of a maid didn’t follow my instructions on disposing of the tea.” Miss Mary rose from the chair. “I do hope you’ll forgive any injury.”

Cross stood, “So, one suitor ends the life of another suitor, only to have his own life ended. That’s quite the little complication.”

“What do you intend to do, Mr. Cross? Now that you know the truth?” Miss Mary, her tremor still slightly visible in her arms.

“You mean, will I go to the police and lay everything before them?”

Miss Mary nodded.

“I don’t really know. On the one hand, I don’t work for the police, but on the other hand, there are two murders that must be answered for.” Cross walked to the sitting room door and opened it. “Good day, Miss Adell.”

When Miss Adell had moved far enough from the door to prevent her overhearing, I turned to Cross. “Surely, you’re going to police. We can’t just let that family get away with murder.”

“Can’t we?” Cross’s face had a dark weariness about it, like the weight of the universe had suddenly planted itself between his eyes. “There’s more to this than a simple murder, more to it than who was right and who was wrong. Where do we draw the line on self-defense?” Cross plopped back into the armchair. “No, I need to think this one through.”

 

*****

 

The day passed as agonizingly slow as the night before. When Cross finally did move from the armchair, it was to fetch the evening edition of the paper. It was upon his return that I knew something was horribly wrong. Never had I seen his face so stricken.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

Cross dropped the evening paper in my lap before falling into the armchair. There, printed across the front page in bold print, the main headline read:  Three dead at Adell Estate, investigation underway.

The article went on to say that, the deaths were believed to be accidental as Mr. Adell was an avid gardener who enjoyed dabbling in his own tea mixes. It was further believed that their last collection of leaves were mistakenly mixed with the highly poisonous Belladonna.

Cross sighed, his whole frame sinking against the back of the armchair. “There is no stronger poison, nor one any deadlier than desperation mixed with passion.”

 

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May 30, 2011

Cross and Martin, part 30– “Answers”

 

My heart pounded so hard in my chest that I could feel the pulse of it in my throat. Miss Adell didn’t answer Cross’s questions. She just sat back in the overstuffed armchair, staring at him, no readable expression on her face.

“Let me see if I have everything,” Cross relaxed his stiff shoulders, leaning into the arm of the sofa toward Miss Adell. “I think I understand how nearly everything transpired. I may need you to fill in a few of the details, Miss Adell.”

Cross cleared his throat and then began. “You were engaged to Corbet Adams, whom you’ve stated wasn’t your father’s choice for an ideal mate, but, I don’t think your father’s disapproval bothered you much, at first. It was only after his constant badgering of the point did you finally relent a week before your proposed marriage, correct?”

Miss Mary nodded, again, no change in her expression.

“But, Corbet loved you and his persistence, your father became quickly aware, would eventually remind you that you loved him as well.” Cross’s shoulders tensed once more.

“Your father realized that if he were to be rid of a man whose lack of ambition might take what he and his wife worked so hard to secure for their daughter, more would have to be done than just breaking off an engagement.” Cross’s entire back went rigid. I imagined his searching face, scrutinizing every minutia of Miss Adell’s expression and body language, watching for signs that what he was saying might be wrong.

“Introducing the poison would have been simple for someone that grows and harvests his own tea. A special blend over a “no-hard-feelings” chat between father and ex-future-son-in-law would have been so easily and innocently ingested without a second thought.” I suddenly found I had stopped breathing myself, such was the effect of Cross’s story of what happened.

“Now, there is the difficulty in disposing of the body. It must not be linked to the Adell estate or nasty questions might reveal the truth. How to take care of things so that suspicions don’t fall back on such a respectable family? Your father is a shrewd man,  Miss Adell, but from my friend’s  description of him, he was not so stout a man to accomplish the second part of his plan without help.”  I gasped softly as I started to put the pieces together myself.

“Who to trust? Who would help take care of such dreadful business?”

“Manuel Dison!” I blurted the name before I realized it. So many things were making sense.

“Exactly, Martin,” Cross turned back to me with a quick grin. “Of course, it would have to be Manuel Dison. There was nobody else as close to Jonathan Adell as the man who worked his gardens and precious greenhouse with him.  And, for a man with so large a frame and so stout an arm, the business of hoisting a dead body from one place to another would be no great trouble. Once he had the full plan from Adell, it would be nothing for him to lay everything out exactly as needed.”

Each piece falling into place excited me. But, then I stumbled on something that completely puzzled me. Without thinking, I turned to Miss Mary, “One thing I don’t understand, Miss Adell. When the man you loved turned up dead, how could you so easily engage yourself to another? Specifically a man you knew so little about.”

“Ah, Martin,” Cross clucked his tongue. “Here we come to the stickiest part of the story.”

 

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May 29, 2011

Cross and Martin, part 29– “Coincidence”

 

At the word, murder, Miss Adell released a long breath. She closed her eyes and sat back against the chair. “You’ve guessed correctly, Mr. Cross. I was the one that placed the piece of the poisonous plant in the pocket of my darling, Corbet.” Miss Adell’s frame was suddenly weak and small. “I had never wanted anything to happen to him. Never.”

“Please, Miss Adell,” Cross softened his voice once more. “Tell us everything that happened, and pray be exact in your details.”

“I can tell you all I know, but, I’m not sure what you hope to make of it. I myself have no idea nor any inkling as to what all happened.” Miss Adell took two deep, slow breaths before continuing.

“As you already know, I had broken my engagement with Corbet. And, as you’ve already surmised, I broke the engagement at the insistence of my father. Though he had no problems with Corbet as an individual—he was a wonderful gentleman, after all—he had every reason to believe that my marrying Corbet might end in a tumultuous and unstable life. It is a well known fact that the life of an aspiring stage actor does not often end with any measure of success.” Miss Adell paused to take another long, slow breath.

“It was this lack of stability that most concerned my father. And after many long conversations and his insistent urging, I finally conceded to my father’s wishes and broke my engagement to Corbet.”

Miss Adell shifted in the chair, leaning into the chair arm, her face suddenly draining of color. “I broke all ties with Corbet, but, he had no intention of breaking ties with me. We had been children together, he knew my heart better than I knew my own. He knew the words of my disengagement were not my words. Slowly, he whittled away my defenses.” Her voice grew quiet.

“And, where, does Mr. Manuel Dison fit into to all this?” Cross took the opportunity to change subjects, perhaps to free her from thinking of Corbet.

“He was an acquaintance of my father. They were introduced by a mutual friend and would spend hours together, working in the gardens and the greenhouse.”

Cross’s back stiffened. I couldn’t see his face, but I imagined a searching look with a sly grin. “His was a friend of your father, yet, you were very quick to accept his proposal of marriage.”

“As you say, Mr. Cross, he was a friend of my father.” Her tone suddenly flat, Miss Adell looked away from Cross.

“Tell me, Miss Adell, do you know what it was that happened your second fiancé?” Cross held his breath once again. “Do you know what it was that killed Manuel Dison and how his death might be related to the death of Corbet Adams?”

Miss Adell snapped his head back toward Cross. “What are you trying to imply, Mr. Cross?”

“Do you know what affected you yesterday? What nearly cost you your life?” Cross turned to look back at me. “And the life of my friend here?”

 

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May 28, 2011

Cross and Martin, part 28– “Intent”

The worn expression that Miss Mary carried with her spoke of her own sleepless night. Though, I am sure her sleepless evening had nothing to do with waiting for an answer to a note that was sent out.

Cross came to sit at the very edge of my sofa, as close as possible to our visitor. “Miss Adell,” he began, a softness in his voice that I had never heard before. “Thank you for coming at such short notice.” A sincere and apologetic smile did enough, in my opinion, to convince Miss Mary that he had no ill intentions where she was concerned.

“As you say, Mr. Cross, it was short notice. But, how could I truly stay away when I received your note.” She pulled a folded bit of paper from the inside of her left glove. “I had to know what it was you wished to share with me and what this—how did you phrase it—important information regarding your safety, life and freedom.” She pushed the note back into the lining of her glove. “Such ominous words must surely be meant to attract attention and you most assuredly got mine.”

Cross leaned forward, placing his face squarely in line with Miss Adell’s. The smile dissolved and a stern expression of analyzing concentration swept his frame. “Tell me, Miss Adell, do you know what it was that killed your first fiancé, Corbet Adams?”

There was little change in Miss Mary Adell, so little in fact, that I wondered what Cross might be able to make of her. I, for my part, saw nothing. Her expression wasn’t cold, it wasn’t sympathetic, it most certainly wasn’t distraught. It was nothing, not even surprise at Cross’s question.

“I believe at first the death had been ruled suicide by gunshot, but, that ruling was quickly overturned by your own insistence that he had met his death by other means,” the only change in Miss Mary’s expression was the opening and closing of her mouth as she spoke, the lack of change was quickly became disturbing. “African Milk Plant, wasn’t it?”

Cross nodded, “The coroner even found a piece of the plant in Adams’s pocket.” I could see that Cross was holding his breath as he watched Miss Adell. “I wonder, who would go to such trouble to murder someone with the intention of having it look like a suicide—who was careful enough in all other details—but, who intentionally or unintentionally left a piece of the murderous plant to be discovered in the pocket of the victim?”

“Surely, no one.” I blurted, before I realized what I’d said.

Cross clicked his tongue, a quick smile flying to his lips and then disappearing just as quickly. And, for the first time since her arrival, a change came over Miss Mary. Her breathing, which had been so focused and calm, was now shallow and quick.

“Ah,” a blinding realization came from Cross’s question. “The piece of poisonous plant was deliberately tucked into Adams’s pocket. Someone wanted it to be known that his death was no suicide.”

“Exactly,” Cross focused his attention back on Miss Adell. “Someone wanted it to be known that he had, in fact, been murdered.”

 

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May 27, 2011

Cross and Martin, part 27– “Waiting”

Sleep was not a guest in our rooms that evening. We made no intentional offense that might have made him stay away. And, though we made every effort to invite him in, no amount of cajoling would persuade him to cross the threshold.

Cross paced the sitting room. His face tight and set, except for the handful of times a heavy step sent pain rushing through him. But, each pause in his steps and each wince only lasted a few seconds, before he continued pacing.

I waited for morning much the same way I had entered the evening, sprawled across the sitting room sofa. I did not yet trust the stability of my legs or the strength of my stomach. Whatever I had been exposed to might still be lurking, waiting to bring me crashing down the moment I set foot on solid ground.  Though, even if I hadn’t been unconscious for most of the afternoon, I would probably have spent the night awake. Waiting for the daylight that evening was the best way of ensuring it did not come, such was our agony of the crawling seconds.

As soon as light crept in through the window, I expected there to be a knock at the door. I expected a messenger to be at the door with an answer to whatever Cross had scribbled on that note. And, I had to continually remind myself that the note would not have been delivered at dawn.

Daylight did not deter Cross from his pacing. If anything, it increased the frantic pace of his steps. The pained expressions that flew across his face now were met with no stop in his steps. His fevered energy didn’t allow him to stop with each twinge of pain.

We said nothing, nor changed our positions the entire evening. I searched my mind for some topic of conversation, some question I could ask. Now that daylight had broken, I knew it would only be a matter of minutes before the response to his note came. And, though he would not admit it, or accept it, I could see the frantic energy draining from Cross. His face showed signs of exhaustion, the heavy eyes and sagging jaw line of someone who would pass out instantly the minute their brow caressed a pillow.

When the knock at the front door did come, we were both so focused in our routine of waiting, that we almost didn’t believe that the sound was actually there. Cross stopped all motion and turned his face toward mine. Had there actually been a knock at the door?

When the second knock echoed through the sitting room, an electric energy lit up in Cross’s face and he dashed from the sitting room. I sat, startled by his reaction, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest from the anticipation of what Cross’s note might bring.

Muffled greetings wafted in from the entranceway. When Cross finally did return, he led through the sitting room and to an overstuffed chair next to my sofa, none other than the lovely, and at the moment very shaky, Miss Mary Adell.

 

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May 26, 2011

Cross and Martin, part 26– “Message”

My breath caught in my throat. What manner of devilry had been set loose from the Adell estate? If Cross was telling the truth, and I had no reason to doubt him, then what ever affected Manuel Dison had now also affected Miss Mary and myself. But, what was it?

I wracked my brain, trying to come up with some plausible explanation, but there was none. I mentally retraced my steps and actions. A small fragment began to make sense, at least I had an explanation for why the sun had affected me the way it did on my journey home. If my pupils had been even half as dilated as Miss Mary’s had, I would still have had the need to shield my face from the sunlight beating down.

Cross, whose face had been so distant through all my recounted story, struggled to his feet. Leaving me on the sofa, he made his way to my desk, scribbled something on a piece of paper and then left the sitting room without saying a word. In the moments that followed, I heard the front door of my rooms open and close. Alone with nothing but all the worst thoughts of what had happened to me and what may still happen to me, I sat in silence, most of my breath still caught in my throat.

The occasional night noise found its way into the sitting room, but, otherwise, no sound could I hear until Cross returned. He moved through the sitting room, taking a moment to part the curtains of the window that looked out at the darkened street. There seemed to be a lightness in his step, as if the pain from his injuries were nothing, as if having his head smashed in and nearly being burned up in a fire wasn’t important. There was something about his lack of concern that frightened me, not so much for anything that might happen to me, but, perhaps it meant that his inattention to himself might lead him to do something reckless, something dangerous, something self-destructive even.

“Where did you go?” I chanced, while he was distracted looking out the window.

“Just to have a message delivered.” His back tensed slightly when I first spoke, like my voice had startled him, like he had forgotten I was even there.

“At this hour?” Granted I knew not the exact hour of night, but I assumed it was late, as I heard no sound of people passing the window.

“Well, of course the message won’t actually be delivered until tomorrow morning, but, I do so hate waiting until the last minute to get things started.” He was still staring out the window, as if he expected to find something out in the dark, as if he expected to find someone.

“What was the message?”

“Oh, just a whim,” still facing the window, he waved his hand behind him to illustrate the insignificance of the note. “Just a whim.”

“Yes, but what was the message for?”

This time he spun on his heel to face me. His expression was one of animated excitement. “Answers, my dear chap, answers. We really must get to the bottom of this mystery.”

 

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May 25, 2011

Cross and Martin, part 25– “Concerns”

“Welcome back,” I knew the sound of Cross’s voice, but my vision was still fuzzy. I saw colors first, in a hazy blur. Then shapes formed from the blurs, which then made themselves into pieces I began to recognize. Slowly, the details of my sitting room sharpened.

I was lying across the sofa. The light in the room was dim and the curtains drawn against the darkness. It was then I realized that daylight had dissolved into night. The day had passed without my awareness.

“What happened?” I moved to sit upright, but was held back by Cross’s hand on my shoulder and a blinding headache that seared through the middle of my forehead.

“I was rather hoping you could tell me.” Cross knelt beside my sofa and given the current state of his own recovery, I’m sure he was in no way comfortable. A stern, searching look creased his brow.

I took several deep, slow breaths that I might calm the pain that threatened to tear my skull in half and that I might calm the rolling nausea that now swept through me. “I don’t really remember much.” I started, though I felt the need for more slow, deep breaths before I continued.

“I remember returning to the Adell estate. I almost turned back when I got there, as I had no way of knowing what I should say.”  I paused for several more deep breaths. Then I went on to describe, as detailed as I could remember, the Adell’s greenhouse and the man I saw inside, who turned out to be Mary’s father.

Cross’s eyes lit up when I mentioned Jonathan Adell. “Ah, I do wish now that I had returned with you.”

“As do I.” I sighed, thinking about how easier everything would have been if Cross had come back with me. “I might have been saved from the torment of sharing such dreadful news. It’s really not my thing.”

“But, you handled it marvelously.” A little flickering twinkle glinted from Cross’s eye and I wondered , for just a moment, whether he honestly believed what he said. “Pray, continue.”

The next few moments that I described in the Adell estate did little to hold the attention of Cross. There really wasn’t much to our account in the front sitting room. The room itself I needed not to describe, as Cross had seen it himself, but I did mention the view of the greenhouse, as I had never noticed it before. Cross did seem interested in this new information, but his face became so inscrutable that I had no way of knowing for sure.

Tea was common enough. In fact, I almost didn’t think it worth mentioning, other than to say that tea was served. It was Miss Adell’s reaction to what I had to say that I was most eager to recount to Cross. I repeated, as close to exact, as my scrambled memory would allow, the words that I said to Miss Adell and her father. Then I spoke of Miss Adell’s episode, how dreadful a reaction it was.

Once I had departed the Adell estate, I could remember nothing until I woke in my own sitting room. I watched Cross’s face as I finished my story, but his expression seemed distant. Whatever was holding his attention, he didn’t readily share, but I had my suspicions that he was puzzling out how everything tied together. All I could think about, unfortunately, was poor Miss Adell. Once I had been made to remember what happened to her, I couldn’t shake the disturbing picture from my mind.

“It would have torn at your gut to see the way she sank, so pitiable was her state.” Without realizing it, my breathing had doubled, caught up as I was in my retelling. “You wouldn’t believe it, Cross, but her eyes, they were gaping and wild with the same distorted pupils as Manuel Dison.” By this point, as I was gasping for air.

“Oh, but I would believe it,” his expression still distant. “You had the same wild eyes when you returned this afternoon.”

 

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May 24, 2011

Cross and Martin, part 24– “Descent”

 

I fell.

The darkness that swallowed me was endless.

I fell, but I never hit bottom. I never found the end of the chasm. The deeper the chasm went, the longer I fell. The longer I fell, the slower my descent. I fell, I plummeted, moving deeper and deeper, yet slower and slower, til I all but stopped—held, suspended, trapped.

Once all movement had stopped—while I still floated in the chasm, unaware of how far I had fallen, unaware of how far I was from the bottom— things changed. No sense of feeling, no sense of direction to orient myself, no sense at all.

How long had I fallen? I could have fallen to the very center of the universe and I would have known no different. I reached with my hands in every direction around me. Or, more precisely, I willed my hands to search every direction around me, but my hands had different plans.

There wasn’t enough will in my body to force my hands, or any part of myself for that matter, to move. I knew my mind had given the order to move. I could still feel the remnant of the impulses to move skirting around my consciousness. The harder I willed myself to move, the more I began to realize I would never so much as move my little finger. All my focused energy did, however, seem to affect something. The impenetrable darkness that engulfed me began to slowly shift. It was then that I became aware of the changes in my endless chasm.

Everything started twisting around me. The darkness that had surrounded me was suddenly spinning around my motionless form. Even in the darkness, I could feel the world rushing around me, the wind, as it were, whipping in circles. Even in the darkness, I knew it was everything else that moved while I stayed still. I knew by the way the breath was ripped from my throat. I knew by the way my breath was yanked from my chest, like it might be something valuable that belonged to the darkness—something it wanted back.

That was when the colors started to materialize. Not big, bright, bold splashes, at least not at first. No, when the black emptiness of where I was held began to let the color it, it was in brief snatches. Patterns formed, a colorful corner of something I should have recognized, something that I knew I recognized, something that had a name—a name firmly held on the tip of my swollen tongue. There were names attached to my tongue that I would have spat at the darkness if I could.

I don’t know how long the dark emptiness spun around me. I lost all sense. If not for the random splashing of color, I may not have survived to be telling this story now.

The colors came more frequently, the colorful corners becoming colorful pieces of a recognizable shape—not the point of a corner, but the edge of a table, the turn of a chair arm.

 

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May 23, 2011

Cross and Martin, part 23– “Blindness”

Leaving the Adell estate, I was torn between wanting to be as far away from the house as possible and not wanting to leave until I knew that Miss Mary was indeed okay. I knew that word of her second fiancé’s death would be a shock, but I somehow didn’t expect it to have so drastic an effect.

I understood her reaction to Corbet Adams’s death, they had grown up together, but this new suitor seemed so out of place with her character that I had a hard time understanding the level of her reaction. But, as I had never been engaged once, let alone twice, and certainly never lost someone as close as fiancée, I really had no way of knowing exactly how I would react.

Though, as her father had made it very clear that my presence was no longer welcome. The only thing I could do was leave. As I passed through the gates of the Adell estate and out onto the main road once more, I was overwhelmed by the brightness of the sun. Had there really been so much shade in the garden area of the Adell’s front lawn, that I was now having to adjust to normal sunlight?

Perhaps it was my imagination, but the farther I walked and the longer I was in direct sunlight, the harder it was for me to see without squinting my eyes shut. The brightness of the afternoon was blinding.

I crossed several streets, having to double and triple check that the passage across was clear as more than once the sun had blinded me from other objects in my direct path. I took to shading my face with my hands while I walked, just for some margin of relief. And, then I noticed, once I took the shortcut through campus to reach my rooms, that no one else seemed to be having the same difficulty in the bright light. None of the students that I passed strained and squinted against the horrifically bright sun. None of the students had their hands wrapped around their faces to block the light.

Confusion started to prick the edge of my mind. The corners of my consciousness began to blur and become less sharp and the effect of the sunlight on my eyes prevented me from being fully focused on other symptoms that were slowly starting to take hold.

I couldn’t see without great effort, my mind was losing the sharpness of focus and then, finally, my heart began racing in my chest with such ferocity that I had to slow my pace in order to catch my breath. I knew my pulse had nothing to do with fear or the speed I was traveling, but just like the difficulty in focusing my eyes and my mind, my heart was throbbing without control.

All I tried to focus on was getting back to my rooms. If I could get inside, away from the sunlight and sit down, everything had to return to normal. I just kept thinking about my rooms. But, the more I visualized them, the less they looked like my rooms. The sitting room twisted in front of me. It pulled itself away from me, diminishing to almost a pinprick.

I could hear Cross’s voice somewhere in the distance. He called my name. But, was so far away that I couldn’t answer him. I tried to follow the sound of his voice. But, I became entangled in a thick mesh of cobwebs. They grabbed at me and held my arms down. I couldn’t pull myself free. Panic swallowed the last of my breath. And, just as I felt the cobwebs suddenly lift me, I was met with complete darkness.

 

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May 22, 2011

Cross and Martin, part 22– “News”

I followed Miss Adell and her father into the sitting room. I was becoming quite accustomed to the sitting room, though, as I always came with the unpleasant task of needing to impart bad news, I never really felt comfortable in the room.

“Please, sit down, Mister …” Mary’s father began, motioning me toward the familiar lounger.

“Martin, sir. Dylan Martin.”

“Martin… Helena, please bring our guest some tea.” The maid, who had been hovering near the sitting room’s doorway, jumped, suddenly, at the mention of her name.

“Oh, please, don’t go to any trouble on my account.” I started to rise from the sofa, but was waved back down by Mary’s father.

“Nonsense! You are our guest. Besides, it’s no trouble. We really have more tea than we can handle.” He laughed softly, then motioned to the window he was standing nearest. “I do so enjoy growing plants and my greenhouse, at the moment, is nearly overrun with thick tea plants. I find that harvesting our own leaves and our experiments with different methods of treating the leaves makes for better flavor.”

Through the tangle of greenery outside the window, I could just make out the corner of the greenhouse, though the shape of the building was about all I could discern.

“Ah, excellent.” The maid returned with a tea tray. The cups and saucers rattled with such force as she moved to pass them out, that I almost offered to pass the tea out myself, though I restrained myself. “Thank you, Helena, you may go.” So quickly was the maid’s departure, that I hardly had a chance to thank her for the tea myself.

“Now, Mr. Martin, please, give our tea a try. We are always eager to hear another opinion.”

A sweet, flowery aroma with a woody background escaped from the cup. The scent was indeed pleasing and through the steam of my cup, I could see Miss Adell already enjoying her own tea while her father eagerly looked on, his cup sitting on the desk beside him. I took a timid sip, the woody flavor winning out over the flowery scent. There was a slight bitter aftertaste, but it wasn’t so strong to detract from the overall flavor. “It’s actually quite good.”

“Excellent! Good, good…” His eyes lit up with the natural pride of someone who’s invested in something they already know to be exceptional. “So, Mr. Martin, all that remains is for you to tell us why it is that we are graced with your company this afternoon.”

The pang of guilt, that seemed to be suddenly as familiar as the Adell’s sitting room, settled in the base of my throat and in the pit of my stomach. I sat aside my cup of tea and looked from Miss Mary to her father. I really had no desire to share bad news with either one of them, and now having both of them before me made it nearly impossible to get the words out.

“I’m afraid I come with rather bad news concerning Mr. Manuel Dison.” I all but stopped breathing once the words left my lips.

“Come, now, Mr. Martin,” Miss Mary began. “You’ve tried to give me bad news concerning my fiancé before, and it’s always been of the nature of unfounded suspicions.” She continued sipping her tea as if the news I needed to tell her had no more impact than the color of the sky on a sunny afternoon. “Do go on with your news, so that we might have an end to it.”

“What I bring to you concerning your fiancé has no bearing on his questionable character. This, I’m afraid, is far graver news.” This time, I did stop breathing. Both Mary and her father fixed their eyes upon me. “I’m afraid I must bring you news of your fiancé’s untimely and tragic death.”

The cup slipped from her fingers, crashing to pieces on the floor, as she fell back against the sofa.

“Helena!” Mr. Adell’s cry brought the maid scurrying through the door. “Quick! Bring some brandy.” He knelt beside his daughter and took the brandy from the maid as soon as she’d returned. Touching the glass to Miss Mary’s lips, the strong burn of brandy brought her quickly around.

“I must ask you, Mr. Martin, to leave us. You’ve done enough upsetting today.” Mary’s father didn’t even turn to face me as he urged my leaving.

“Of course, I am sorry. If there had been some other way…” I stood to leave, turning once more to Miss Mary.

In her disoriented state, Miss Mary’s eyes ran wildly about the room. When they did, for a moment, focus on me, I felt my breath catch in my throat. Her eyes were suddenly more disturbingly familiar than they had ever been. The blackness from her eyes staring up at me made my blood run cold. Here were the very same swollen pupils that had been the herald to her fiancé’s death.

 

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