The Lexington House Murder
~ Chapter Thirteen
Jonathan
was trying to help Cook down from the carriage. Cook, being a
somewhat full-figured woman, was not easily detached from the
conveyance. With the driver helping her on one side and with many
comments about the wretched state of every joint in her body, Cook
was at last deposited firmly on the sidewalk.
They walked up
to the entrance. The door opened before them and Ichabod came forward
and hugged Jonathan quickly. Katrina swallowed him up in her arms and
gave him a motherly amount of kisses. To be truthful, Jonathan felt
less and less uncomfortable about these intermittent shows of
affection. He had missed Katrina. He missed her smell. Even her hugs.
He saw Magistrate Mailer sitting in the dining room with the
lady who had been here before. She was very pretty. Jonathan knew
something horribly sad had happened to her and she was trying very
hard to disguise it. And the look she gave the Magistrate was not
quite the same as the way Katrina looked at Ichabod.
Jonathan
was very interested in people and the things they revealed, even just
by a gesture or look. The way they sat or didn’t sit. He
learned it
from Ichabod.
Jonathan walked on into the dining room and sat
at the table. He took the same seat at the head of the table that
Ichabod had sat in.
“Good morning Miss. And Magistrate
Mailer. I am back. With Cook. We’ve just came back." He
picked
up Ichabod’s half filled coffee cup and drank.
Mailer
frowned. “Should you be drinking coffee at your age? Stunt
your
growth. Or give you a case of nerves.”
“Oh, my father
doesn’t mind.” Jonathan said airily.
A heavy hand clapped
him on the shoulder.
Ichabod said “I certainly do not mind,
Jonathan. As long as you are willing to bring some fresh from the
kitchen.” Jonathan was up and off, when Ichabod grabbed hold
of his
arm. “And as long as it is the last time.”
Jonathan would
only shrug his shoulders with a grin and continued on into the
kitchen.
He found Cook looking carefully in one of her
cabinets; she pulled down a bottle of sherry and studied it closely.
“Hummm. Constable owes me a new bottle of my
favorite.”
“Favorite what?” Jonathan asked.
“Nothing, Mr.
Nosey-Parker. Just a little game we play the Constable and
I.” Cook
began to walk about the kitchen muttering. “Smells like Mrs.
C was
burning biscuits again. Well go on. Nothing for you to do here.
I’ll
bring out fresh coffee to the lot of them in the front parlor. And do
not stand about listening to things not proper for a boy to
hear.”
By the time Cook did indeed deliver a tray of hot coffee, it
appeared the men were readying themselves to leave. Mailer was just
handing Jonathan his coat. Ichabod was putting on collar and coat.
Apparently, Ichabod, Mailer and Jonathan were off to the
Constabulary.
Jonathan did not even glance at Cook. This time
he was going. Period.
“The boy should remain here, if
you’re going about your police work, Constable.”
“No
Cook, ‘the boy’ is coming with us. You may expect
us back no
later than 6 o’clock and we shall expect to dine at 7 sharp.
I
believe I am partial to lamb shank for this evening. Good-bye,
Katrina.” He kissed her cheek as usual. And then with a sly
look at
Cook, he turned and embraced Katrina firmly, kissing her deeply.
Jonathan stifled a laugh. Ichabod added, “Not to worry, Cook,
your
sherry was much appreciated and will be replaced.”
Jonathan
walked ahead of Ichabod out the door and approached the carriage. At
the rear of the carriage was the tender scene of Mailer giving and
receiving a modest kiss from Janelle. They did not notice the boy
approach. “My dear,” Mailer whispered.
“Do not let on to
Katrina that I showed you the note. Not until I have had time alone
with Crane.”
Janelle looked off into the distance. Her
voice was very low. “I cannot believe…it has come
to this. A vile
letter left for Katrina. So much deceit.”
“What do you
mean, my dear?” Mailer started to ask and then looked up to
see the
boy. “Oh, well, here are Jonathan and Crane. We will be
off.”
Mailer somewhat clumsily kissed Janelle’s hand and cheek.
“Do not worry. Katrina promises to amuse you for today. Come
along,
Jonathan; look smart if you are to be our detective in
training.”
Mailer and Ichabod climbed into the carriage first. Jonathan
hesitated a moment and then reached out to touch Janelle’s
hand. “I
promise you, Miss, what the Magistrate says is the truth. Very soon
it will be known what happened and it will all be for the
better.”
Janelle looked at the boy cautiously as he climbed in to join the
others. Overwhelming fears gnawed at her. She would not be able to
take much more of this.
As the three drove away, Katrina came
out with a heavy shawl which she draped over the girls thin
shoulders. “Come in, Janelle. I have lit the fire and you
should
rest now.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ichabod sat
at his desk. Mailer as usual, sprawled in the leather guest seat.
Jonathan sat beside an easel and board. He held a pencil ready in his
hand.
“Before we review the evidence and statements I wish
to repeat the following: crime is undeniable fact. Evidence is a
matter of proof and corroboration. Everyone lies to the police even
if they are innocent. Never make the mistake of resolving the facts
of the crime to the evidence; always the evidence must resolve itself
to the facts of the crime”
Crane continued, “That being
said, Mailer, you have had a chance to read through the statements
supplied by the initial police reports and those from the past and
present household staff. What did they tell us? And who are our
suspects?” Crane asked.
“I will summarize. The weapon was
never found. No shoes of the family or staff match with any of the
blood prints, although they were so smeared over, this is valueless
to rule anyone in or out.”
Crane looked down at his boots,
“How about method of entry?”
“Non-conclusive. Both
Parker and Mr. Wellington-Trumbell claim they thought the other had
agreed to lock up. Convenient, but hardly an unusual thing to happen.
I myself am forever forgetting where I left my boots, my pipe, my
keys. I must confess I have left my own entrance unlocked on several
occasions.”
Jonathan yawned. “That would never happen in
our house. I think Cook checks our doors, three times every night
before she will retire.”
Ichabod arose from his chair and
walked over to rumple Jonathan’s hair. “Jonathan,
you have all
the makings of a very good detective. You only need to learn to trust
your instincts. Continue, Mailer.”
“Staff has its likes
and dislikes. But to a man uh, or woman, they were not fond of James
Wellington-Trumbell and positively despised that Parker woman. Most
felt sorry for the wife and little girl. Some few brave souls
ventured that the master of the house was not above knocking his wife
about. No eye witness accounts that he ever struck his
daughter.”
“By-the-by, the ones who had been there before the present
staff, are quite sure that Megan – the child was adopted.
Said that
they adopted her in Quebec about 3 years ago. Approximately a year
old at the time. Seems the Mistress could not bear any children, so
they adopted. James was very enamored of the little girl. Helen, they
described as somewhat dispassionate about the child. Almost
frightened of her. Maybe not as enthused to play
‘mommy’ as James
would have her. Parker pretty much ignored the child.”
“Financially, the Wellington-Trumbells are of very old
money. For the most part it had always been handled carefully.
However, some of the household mentioned hearing the odd fight
between Thomas and James, about money. Around the time Thomas left
for Europe."
Ichabod interjected. “How did the money
come to them, in some sort of trust or was it equally divided
outright between the brothers? Do we know?”
“Yes. Their
solicitor handed over the Will as it is now a public document. Its
dispositions had been carried out and as a legal matter it is closed.
A lump sum of $2500 was left outright to Thomas. The Lexington House
and all residual holdings of the father were left to the older
brother James.”
“What are ‘residual holdings’?”
Jonathan asked.
Ichabod turned to the boy. “Residual
holdings mean all cash, securities, notes that are left minus other
bequests and real property. How much was it, Mailer? The mention of
$2500 made me wince with envy, but I am sure that the amount left to
James will make me positively groan.”
“How would you
react to interest and gains only which amount to about $700 a
year?”
Mailer asked.
Ichabod sat up quickly in his chair. “But
what of the capital sum?”
Mailer spoke very slowly. “Held
in trust. To be inherited by the first grandchild of either brother.
No conditions as to whether the child is natural or adopted.”
“My
head is spinning, sirs.” Jonathan spoke up. “When
does Margaret
come into this and Miss Janelle?”
Crane sat forward and
raised his hand to his brow. “Ah, a time-line is an excellent
idea!
"
"Mailer, you are the fact-keeper, pull out your
notes and let’s compare some dates of the recent and not so
recent
comings and goings of Lexington House.”
Mailer sighed and
got out his pocket notebook. He flipped back and forth through some
pages. Then he nodded to Jonathan to be ready to mark his words on
the board.
“Most of this we wormed out of the prior
employees, which were not too difficult to track down as most seem to
move among the same set of families.”
“Well, to begin,
James and Thomas had lived in Lexington House all their lives. Mother
died shortly after Thomas was born. They were both unmarried at the
time of the father’s death about 12 years ago, leaving the
money as
I described. At the time the brothers both lived in Lexington House.
Old Parker puss – has been there since the brothers were
children.
None of the current staff have been there over 3 years.”
“James
married some 10 years ago to Helen née Smith of Trenton, NJ.
Quite a beauty if her wedding portrait bears any true resemblance.
Some years go by and Thomas and James began a continuing argument
over money. Seemed James was going through his quarterly allotment
fairly quickly. While he responsible for the upkeep on the property,
a good bit of it was spent on gambling and women. Still he should
have been able to balance his expenses and extravagances with an
income of $700 a year.”
“Now it is time for Margaret to
enter the scene. James meets her by accident at the home of an
acquaintance in New Haven. Margaret happened to be out with one of
the housemaids, and when she returned to the house, the introduction
was made. "
"Apparently, James was quite overcome
with Margaret’s beauty and her simple naïve charms.
He hired
her to work for he and his wife almost immediately. So she leaves her
home with Janelle and goes to New York. There is a blank spot here as
it becomes mostly speculation. With in a short time after
Margaret’s
arrival to the household, Thomas and James quarrels increased. Thomas
apparently felt the rift was great enough for him to move to southern
France.”
“Several months following this Helen, Mrs.
Wellington-Trumbell, had a miscarriage, not her first apparently, and
she went to Trenton to stay with her sister taking Margaret with her.
They remained there almost two months. During which time James made
one trip to Europe to speak to his brother.
Now, back to the
sister of Helen, we have not had time to interview her, but an
investigator from Lower Manhattan is traveling to New Jersey and is
due to report back tomorrow. Of course there were the usual
speculations that it was really Margaret who had the miscarriage or
had the child and the child given away. But it is hard to see Mrs.
Wellington-Trumbell be so sympathetic as to offer her own
sister’s
house as a sanctuary to her husband’s pregnant
mistress.”
Mailer took a breath. “About then Janelle takes a position
at the Van Ernst’s. Megan is adopted sometime later. James
and his
wife return to Europe, several months later supposedly to reconcile
with Thomas. The outcome was apparently not good. Shortly after James
and his wife leave the south of France. Thomas kills himself. Threw
himself off some rocks I believe. He left a note, but as James and
Helen were traveling they were not aware of the death or the note
until they returned from their extended trip. Several years pass. No
problems to report, except Janelle tells me her sister is increasing
downcast and frustrated. Then last week Margaret is found murdered at
Lexington House. Follow me so far, Jonathan? He glanced over at the
list the boy had written:
1. Father dies—larger portion of
estate to Thomas than James? Why?
2. James meets/hires Margaret
Washington. Brothers quarrel. Money?
3. Thomas to Europe.
4.
Mrs. W-T loses baby – she and Margaret gone two months.
5. Who
lost baby – Margaret or wife?
6. Janelle takes position in Van
Ernst house.
7. Megan adopted.
8. James and Helen go on long
trip, stop to see Thomas.
9. Thomas kills self.
10. Margaret
found dead – stab wounds. Face slashed. No weapon, no break
in.
Mailer flopped back in the chair while he surveyed the list.
“Well seems you have the gift of summary. That’s an
important
trait in a detective, Jonathan. Always look at the facts and evidence
in the order they occur.”
"Did Thomas leave a will?"
asked Crane.
"No, so everything went to James."
There was a knock at Ichabod’s office door. Then Katrina
entered carrying a large covered basket.
“Gentlemen, I come
bearing gifts. It is lunch time.” Ichabod quickly rose to
take the
basket from her hands. He placed it on the desk. Katrina kissed his
cheek and pulled off her gloves.
She touched Jonathan on the
shoulder. “I think Jonathan; you will find a blueberry tart
in
there from Cook. She has been in the kitchen all morning making you a
feast. Meat pies, cold chicken, biscuits, sweet cakes.”
Mailer
had already begun to pull items out of the basket, “Only one
blueberry tart? I am very partial to them.”
Jonathan handed
it to Mailer, “You have it sir, I’ll get more at
home.”
Katrina laughed. “Never fear. There is one for
each.” She
took Ichabod by the hand. “I need a word with the master of
the
house. Enjoy.”
Katrina led Ichabod into a darkened side
office and closed the door when she was sure they were alone.
“Janelle is resting. She did not reveal anything new,
exactly.
Except the John had told her about the note we received this morning.
The idea seemed to frighten her more than it had frightened us. She
just kept mumbling about deceit. I truly believe this woman is about
to breakdown completely. I made an herbal tea for her and she is
sleeping soundly. Ichabod what can this mean?”
“I am not
sure, but for now, I am not going to let on to Mailer that we know
about the note business.”
Suddenly Katrina clasped her
belly and gave a quiet yelp.
“Katrina?” Crane asked.
Katrina did what a thousand thousand mothers-to-be had done
before and would again. She guided Ichabod’s hand to the
upper side
of her stomach. Ichabod felt a tiny strong kick. He kept his hand
there and took on a look of astonishment. Katrina was smiling.
“The
babe is happy and active today.”
“Are you always so sure
of everything?” Ichabod placed both his hands against the
wall
behind Katrina effectively trapping her between his arms. He kissed
the side of her throat.
“Yes. Besides, Constable Crane,
mothers-to-be know these things. And I do hope you are not thinking
of accosting me at this time of the day?” She looked up at
Ichabod’s face, a bit mischievously.
“My dearest, I would
happily take you this very minute. But I fear old Mailer might walk
in and have apoplexy.” He continued to kiss her. “I
promise I
will be home for dinner tonight.”
Katrina hugged him hard.
She kissed the side of his face and whispered in his ear.
“Please
take care, Ichabod. I wouldn’t know how to be without
you.”