Murder at Pettifog Hall

‘Really, Bobby? You think now is the right time to talk about this?’

Elodie shrugged her shoulders away from Robert’s grip, and took a step further into the encroaching dusk. ‘I told you, it’s over between us.’

A momentary flash of frustration was quickly replaced by Robert’s trademark calm. He put his hands in his pockets and stared at her with a smirk. His amusement irritated her.

‘I never wanted the divorce, Elle. You were the one who grew tired. You were the one who wanted a new adventure. So, I signed the papers and let you have your freedom. I even allowed you to gallivant off to England with this pompous ass you call a husband. 

But you know I never stopped loving you. I followed you here from Paris, and I’m ready to start again. I know you are too, or you wouldn’t have rekindled our affair.

I’ve told you a thousand times, Elle – I’d do anything for you. I’d die for you. 

Better yet, I’d kill for you.’

Elodie looked out over the estate, now shrouded in darkness. Her brow creased as Robert finished his monologue. Something about the way he said those final words made her mind uneasy. She could even hear the smirk in his voice. 

Her lips parted with sudden comprehension. She looked up at him sharply.

‘My God, Robert, what have you done?’

**

On the far side of the mansion, Mary followed Charles through the dark east wing to the back gate, a wine glass in each hand. 

Her footsteps crunched on the gravelled path, and she realised she was walking in time to her pounding heartbeat. Her warm mist of breath curled upwards through the night air.

‘Lord Charles, do you know that we share a mutual acquaintance?… Anyway, here, have a sip of the wine I brought. It’s Chateau Lafite, 1920 – an awfully good year. Elodie told me you have a particular liking for Bordeaux.’ 

Charles puffed out the rest of his cigar smoke and grinned, extending his rotund belly. ‘That’s terribly thoughtful of you, my dear! I won’t say no.’ His eager hand reached for the glass. 

They drank to each other’s health before he took three generous gulps in quick succession. They went down like silk. 1920 was a good year indeed. Charles was already in high spirits from the evening’s steady flow of champagne and cocktails. 

‘So tell me, who’s this mutual friend of ours?’

‘Well, not a friend, exactly. More like family. You could say, she was like a mother to me.’ Mary glanced at Charles’ self-satisfied, red face. In spite of frequent practice, he clearly couldn’t handle his drink.

‘Ah, family’s important. Keep ‘em close, I always say.’ Charles felt odd. His hands were tingling. 

‘Yes, I think that’s wise. Shame you don’t practice what you preach.’

Charles gazed at her with confusion. He was starting to feel hazy now, the numbness was settling in. ‘What… what do you mean?’

‘Do you remember my darling mother, Mei? The one you promised the world to, then abandoned when she fell pregnant? Mei, the love of your life, until she carried your bastard progeny?’

Mary’s quiet fury suddenly rose to the surface. Her deep voice tremored as she fought for control of each word.

‘She gave all she had for that child. She managed to secure her an education; a suitable upbringing in a ‘respectable’ home. And then Mei died, penniless and heartbroken. Is that still not ringing any bells, Charles?’

Charles’ face tightened in disbelief. He looked at his drained glass with dawning horror, then back at Mary.

‘Is this… What is this?’

‘It’s a shame, Charles; you really should have followed your own advice. Keep your friends close, and your bastard offspring closer. 

You never know when you might encounter them again, do you, father?’

As Charles crumpled wordlessly to the ground, Mary turned away. She closed her eyes and took a breath to regain her composure. 

She picked up the wine glasses, looked toward the distant light of the party, and walked the gravel path back to the house.

The evening fell into night. Eventually, all became quiet.

**