16. A Murderer is Revealed
Cordelia heard movement in the underbrush, and both her and Blackburn turned. Cordelia expected some foul-looking forest nymph, but instead a man weaved his way through the trees, followed by two figures struggling to keep up.
Marfleet burst through the branches, eyebrows bunched. They only bunched further when he spotted Cordelia and Blackburn simply standing.
“Well,” he huffed. “I thought there was some sort of an emergency,” he said, throwing up his hands.
“Hm. I cannot imagine where you got that idea,” Blackburn replied, brushing by Cordelia and sidestepping Marfleet to take a look at the women behind him.
Mrs. Bellingham was staring slack-jawed at what was once her husband. Cordelia supposed it was a normal reaction, considering the circumstances. Her maid, Adah, looked on in horror as well, her face nearly as pale as Cordelia’s.
“Hand me my pistol. Now,” Marfleet said, unamused.
Blackburn but waved a hand. “Cordelia’s pocket.”
“My…?” Cordelia met eyes with Marfleet as she reached into her dress’s pocket and drew out the pistol. With a sigh, she returned it to Marfleet.
“He put it there, didn’t he?” he said, leaning over to speak quietly to Cordelia only.
“Yes. I would not be so foolish as to shoot that thing,” she replied, eyeing Blackburn. He was watching Mrs. Bellingham and her maid rather closely.
As if noticing all eyes were on her, Mrs. Bellingham drew herself up and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “What is… that?” she inquired, pointing a shaky finger in the direction of the conjuring circle.
Blackburn nodded slowly, as if expecting this response. What he did not expect was Cordelia’s interjection. “Why don’t you tell us,” Cordelia said steadily, taking a step forward.
Mrs. Bellingham blinked at her, her hand flying to her breast. Blackburn but made a noise sounding like ‘hmm’.
“Are you accusing Mrs. Bellingham of something, Miss Green?” Marfleet said icily. “I believe the one who should be explaining here is Mr. Blackburn.”
“Settle down, Marfleet. Cordelia’s a budding detective. Let her have a go,” Blackburn said, wandering towards the circle.
Cordelia straightened and caught Mrs. Bellingham’s eye. “Look closely now, Madam. Five candles, all lit, set up just like the table in your house. Can you explain that?”
The woman’s blonde hair nearly fell out its pins, she shook her head so vigorously. “I—I don’t know what you mean. They’re just candles!”
“What are you getting at?” interjected Marfleet. He had his hands on his hips.
“You know what? Let’s give Mrs. Bellingham a moment to think. Dear Adah, though, you look like you have something to say,” Blackburn said smoothly, waving his cane through the air until it pointed to the maid.
For a moment, Adah’s mouth just opened and shut like a fish. Cordelia pursed her lips; she really thought she had been getting somewhere.
“Um, I was just…” It was beginning to look like poor Adah was going to be sick. She regained her composure enough to say quietly, “Is he... alive?” She still stared at Mr. Bellingham’s figure, her eyes never straying. Cordelia forgot that Adah knew none of the story about the forest nymphs or the golem that her employer had become.
“At the moment, Mr. Bellingham is… suspended in time, let’s say. If need be, I will un-suspend him.” Adah’s eyes widened to an extent that looked worrisomely painful.
“That’s it. While you lot chatter on, I’m going to continue the investigation,” Marfleet said, making as if to leave.
“Everything you need to investigate is right here,” replied Blackburn quite smugly. “Now, Cordelia, I apologize. Do go on.”
Marfleet clenched his jaw, but stayed put.
“Um,” Cordelia began, “there was a table in your morning room. Dark oak, and set with candles; tell me, was it Mr. Bellingham’s?”
A crease formed between Mrs. Bellingham’s brows. “Well, yes. He had a table of the sort.”
“What did he use it for?”
“What does this have to—” Marfleet started, before he was shushed by both Cordelia and Blackburn.
“He, um, well. He was into all of this mystic nonsense. It’s why I knew about you, Mr. Blackburn,” Mrs. Bellingham said was a nod of her head. “I always thought it was preposterous, but he said the table was for protection, I believe? I couldn’t say for certain. I don’t remember.”
“A rideau table, which translates as ‘curtain table’. The French created them years ago to conjure barriers,” Blackburn said. “Traditionally, lighting five candles and saying a couple of fancy words is said to keep the evil out. And, in this case, yourself in.” He gestured at the golem.
“However,” he continued, strolling closer to the other four, “a circle of stones, some candles, possibly some… tea? And you have all the makings of quite the opposite ritual: removing barriers. Letting evil,” he leaned in close to the women, “in.”
“Tea?” asked Marfleet, clearly dubious.
Tea. Cordelia’s eyes widened. Did Blackburn mean to imply… “Someone else knew how to use the rideau table.”
“I’ve never touched it! I only had it moved downstairs; I needed all the protection I could get, so fearful I was after Samuel went missing,” Mrs. Bellingham said, her lip quivering.
“Not you, Mrs. Bellingham.” Cordelia felt quite clever as she shifted her eyes to Adah.
The girl had slunk into the shelter of the nearby trees, her earth-toned clothes blending in with the mid-evening shadows. Luckily, Marfleet was one step ahead. He had snuck around behind the girl, and, as she lurched sideways to run, he grabbed her arms.
“She knows magic?!” Mrs. Bellingham said in a horrified high-pitched screech. “Witch!”
“I guess it runs in the family,” Adah spat back, her eyes welling with tears. She struggled fruitlessly against Marfleet’s grasp.
“What?” Mrs. Bellingham hissed, her teeth clenched together.
Blackburn stepped in between the maid and mistress, setting his hand on Mrs. Bellingham’s shoulder. His eyes swung to Adah. “A motive. So kind of you to provide. And quickly too.”
“Are you saying she murdered Mr. Bellingham? A full grown gentleman?” scoffed Marfleet.
“Are you holding her here for some other reason? You’re free to let her go. But, the guilty do tend to run.” Blackburn grinned at Marfleet without any warmth.
Cordelia stepped in between them, as well. “Mr. Blackburn, please.”
Blackburn shrugged and stepped back. Marfleet shook his head, but held Adah steadfast.
“Mrs. Bellingham. Your husband came here to look for fortune tellers. Did anyone know he was coming?” Marfleet asked.
The woman was looking at her maid suspiciously. “I didn’t know he was actually going!”
“But you did,” Cordelia said, looking at Adah. The young girl refused to meet anyone’s eye. “She told me so, that she saw him leave.”
“And she followed him here,” Blackburn said. “Care to tell us the rest?” he probed.
The maid shook in Marfleet’s grasp. “I didn’t do anything,” she said unconvincingly.
“But you’re related to Mr. Bellingham? His daughter, perhaps?” continued Blackburn.
“No!” Mrs. Bellingham yelped, outraged.
Cordelia jumped in. “A daughter, living under her father’s roof, yet he begs his wife to have children? That must’ve been crushing, wasn’t it?”
Blackburn raised a brow.
“He barely acknowledged me, ever! He wanted children, and I was there all along…” Adah’s voice was soft and cracked, and tears rolled down her face.
“Did you kill him?” Marfleet asked.
The girl’s cheeks shimmered with tears. “I—I didn’t—I didn’t think it would work,” she whispered.
--
Previous chapter: https://theprose.com/post/327815/15-the-rustling-of-the-trees
Next chapter: https://theprose.com/post/329418/17-epilogue
Salt Peppered Past
Paper-white parchment, awash in black
Heartstrings, unraveled, to tie the sack
Buried where springtime awakes lilac
Past out the window — no looking back
Saliferous tears scream and break the
panes
Ventriloquial pitch seeping violet veins
Shift, shape and spell out each, spilled like grains
Recollecting ‘forgotten’ thoughts, each refrain
My Monster, My Sculptor, My Human
I wish I could smash my head
against this wall
enough times
to scramble the memories
Of you and me.
I wish I could
cut into my skin enough
to suppress the pain
you put me through.
I wish I could
peel you off my skin
but your hands are permanently tattooed
on my once smooth skin.
I wish I could forget
all the nights the sun faded
and the monster inside of you
rose.
I wish I could forget
the feeling of
terror seizing
My everything.
My muscles
Numb
My heart
Too terrified to beat
My eyes
Too scared
To shed my fear.
I was a glistening
Statue...
And you a sculptor
chipping into my soul
Like I was yours to own.
I wish I could forget
what you did to me
But instead
I forgot
That You were once
a human I used to love.
Good as Gold—and Other Alliterations
Words that share sounds can add razz-a-ma-tazz to your writing. To get my spin on this lively literary device, click on the link below.
https://vocal.media/stories/gold-as-gold-and-other-alliterations
Souvenir
A caravan of memories
Blurred by abundance of passing time
travels through my mind
constant, without any ease.
Whenever the push is more
I cocoon myself in desperation.
Isolating and crying over it
Sometimes cherished by its fragrance
But lately I'm in lose,
far from any radiance.
Always despised the idea
of being in it.
But life has peppers and salts
It would drive my caravan
Just like the passing time
Without sugars, candies or a drink of wine.
Do they reside in me
or I reside in them?
Either way I'm living
not ideal
Firstly, building my own caravan
Later being crushed under its wheels.
CHOPPED
Diane paced back and forth on the rooftop. She stopped to look at the cars speeding across the lanes, some even still going past a red light.
The air was chilling, and made her want to head back home to the warmth of the fireplace. But she had to first complete this trial.
She leaped over the side of the building, and clicked a button that activated her suit’s gliding wings. Diane went swooping closer to the side of the streets. Her target had just walked out of the car with some guards and was heading into a warehouse.
Diane switched into stealth mode and followed the guys into the building. This big boss was the head of a major drug transporting league in the city. She had been called to bring his reign to an end.
She spotted one of the guards by the side with swords in his hands. He turned around almost catching sight of Diane; she ducked and hid behind several stacks of shipping containers.
The guard walked closer to her side and felt a quick jab in his ribs. Diane twisted the blade, & dashed off to another section of the warehouse. She had no time to waste on the wrong target. Time was of the essence.
She bent down and moved in the dim sections of the building. Making sure to move with light steps. This time she came face to face with several guards. They raised their guns and aimed them at the intruder.
The bullets fired and Diane dodged them all with lightning speed. With only one sword, she managed to take this group down in a snap.
She heard other guards approaching. Diane sighed and looked around. They were coming around the left side of her current location.
Diane ran to in the opposite direction and managed to spot her target. He was directing his guards to protect him and make sure to kill her.
She clapped her hands and a wave of energy hit the guards, sending them crashing onto the floor. The boss trembled and begged Diane to let him go.
‘‘I’m afraid that wasn’t part of the job.’’
As soon as he tried to beg again, she tightened her grip on her sword and swung it by the guy’s neck .
**************************************
*knock*
*doorbell rings*
The door opens and the delivery guy says, ‘‘Your package has arrived.’’
‘‘Cool. Thanks.’’
The box is picked up and carried into the apartment.
‘‘Well, she’s passed the test. But did she really have to send me the big boss’ head- wheres the rest of him anyway? Gee. Whoa!’’
#CHOPPED
26 Jan. 2020 Sundae
Back to the Blues
Wrote this a few years back. Re-worked it recently for a contest. (See link below.) If you like Chicago blues from the mid-1960s, you might enjoy this story about the song “In My Own Dream” by the Paul Butterfield Blues Band. PS: In the interest of transparency, you should know I get $3.80 per 1,000 reads. As of today, I’ve earned a penny.
LINK: https://vocal.media/beat/back-to-the-blues