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.

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