Dating : The Ever Weaving Spider Web

I sat there and watched the miserable life drain out of my master. He had lived a long life; there was no need to prolong his existence. Even his family hadn’t shown for the last hours of his life. I couldn’t blame them.

I listened to the labored breathing of Sir Charles Livingston, owner and lord over the House of Livingston; a less than reputable estate near London. I continued on in my duties as Head Butler, even to the last. Not out of some sense of devotion to the family, to be sure. I had a reputation to uphold. I also had to keep up appearances. I didn’t want the other hired help, or anyone else for that matter, to know it was I who had poisoned him.

Old Charley reached out his hand towards the glass of water that sat on the table next to him.

“Please, sir, allow me.” I said as a formality, since I knew I had to hand water to the Cretan, regardless.

Charley pressed his lips to the glass I had extended and drank in slow and labored sips.

“Thank you…Gilford.” Charles said, as he panted from the strain.

I hated my name considerably. Yet when old Charley spoke it, my abhorrence grew tenfold. Who names their son Gilford anyway? I hated my life.

Feeble thanks was what I had come to expect from him. I didn’t hold out hope for any thanks for my tireless devotion to his every need. Nor did I expect any expressed gratitude for my indispensable role as butler. The old cod couldn’t do much without me.

And yet I smiled. Smiled for Charley. Smiled for the other staff. But most of all, I smiled because part of old Charley’s fortune, with a little luck, would be mine. I hoped more from my skill and slight of hand, and less because of luck.

I had a plan, and it was perfect. A work of masterpiece to rival any of DeVinci’s devices. With parts to move in perfect symphony. One cunning plan, two poisons, three carefully selected suspects, four days of prep work, and five days for him to slowly die.

Today was day five.

I hadn’t realized the coincidental sequence until the other day. When I had, light had shone from the heavens, and reassured me this was meant to be. My mother had been right about one thing: I had been too smart to be a butler.

“Shall I fetch anything else?” Said the dainty voice of Lucy, who halfway entered the door. She was the youngest of the Livingston maids; lovely, but shy, which did not fit with her red hair. Poor Lucy. I had almost felt bad when I had selected her as one of my suspected murderers. Then again, I never liked red heads.

“No,” I said, “Sir Charles seems quite content, for the moment.” Too content, it seemed. I wished he would get on with it and die.

Lucy curtsied and left, leaving me and Charley alone.

I sat on a chair at the far side of the room. As far away from the deep, raspy breaths from old Charles as I could. I wish he had the decency to close his mouth; he sounded horrid.

I watched as the minutes ticked by; each tick drew me closer to that wonderful fortune.

I listened as his breaths became less frequent. My foot tapped nervously against the dark, wooden floor. When I noticed, I willed my foot to still its restless motion.

Then with a last, long exhale, he breathed no more.

I walked over to his still form and leaned my ear over his face; and, just to be sure, felt his pulse. No breath. No pulse. The deed was done. Although the point of commitment had been crossed long before.

I opened the bedroom door and called down the hall. “Please have Dr. Finnings come up at once!”

Heavy footsteps clamored up the stairway. In the mirror next to the door, I quickly practiced my best mourning face. My father had been wrong; I bloody well could have been in theater.

The short, chubby form of Dr. Finnings barreled his way through the door. He remembered his manners and removed his hat as he entered the room; although he should have done that downstairs. What little hair he had on his bald head did little to hide beads of sweat strewn along his forehead.

“Mr. Turnbull, is he…” Dr. Finnings spun his hand in lieu of a finished sentence.

“Yes,” I said in my best choked voice, “I’m afraid so. But of course, you are the doctor.”

“I see,” Finnings said, “I’m terribly sorry. I will make the pronouncements and finish up.”

“Quite all right,” I said, “do what you need, please do not let me be in your way. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Of course,” Finnings said, as he set his medical pack on the bed and unpacked his instruments. “Thank you, Mr. Turnbull.”

I had, however, planned to be in his way. A plan of this complexity required a hands-on approach. To leave Dr. greasy palms to wrap up would not do.

“It was so sudden,” I said, as I dabbed my linen tissue to my eye. “He seemed too healthy to be snuffed out this early.”

“I see…” Finnings said, focused on his work.

“Lately I’ve heard rumors, whisperings,” I looked out the side window in a posture of reflection, “even a few troubling arguments recently. He was in such good health, until…”

I paused for effect. The audience would have been on the edge of their seats. But not this poor dolt. His wit seemed as thick as his midsection.

“Would it be proper,” I continued, “I feel so terrible to even ask, but would it be…advisable…to check Sir Livingston more closely?”

“Hmm, well…is there a reason one would need to do so?” Finnings said.

My patience strained near its limit. He acted as if he hadn’t heard my delicately placed assertions. The man was denser than I had given him credit for.

“Only what I had mentioned to you just now. I have…suspicions.” I looked over my shoulder towards the door. “I feel ashamed to say it now, but several meals Sir Livingston ate and drank recently, well, they seemed off somehow. I didn’t think much of it then. But now that he’s gone…” I cracked my voice at the end, and dabbed my tissue to my eye.

“Suspicions, you say?” Finnings seemed to chew on my words. I judged from his breath that it had been far superior to whatever else he had been chewing.

“I hope it doesn’t seem…improper.” I said. “I couldn’t forgive myself if…his passing wasn’t of natural causes.”

“Well…,” Finnings paused, “I suppose I could have Sir Livingston brought in for a few tests. It’s late now, but I will send over orderlies for him shortly.”

“It would mean the world to me,” I said. The world, and more. A fortune more.

Finnings nodded and left the room. His foul stench of body odor, however, clung to the room like the fog over London Bay. I smiled despite the fumes.

My plan had begun to take shape.

Later on, two orderlies had arrived as promised, and carted the lifeless Sir Livingston away to have tests done. It had taken two days for the results of the tests to arrive. When they did, a courier had brought a note from Dr. Finnings. In the note he had insisted that he present the findings that same day. The doctor had also requested a representative from Scotland Yard be present.

As fate would have it, that was the same day the will of Sir Livingston was to be read. I had been nervous with the delay of the tests, but this twist of luck had worked in my favor.

Since it would have been a stretch to frame the cook that had quit shortly after Sir Livingston’s demise, I had narrowed my suspects to two: Lucy, and an older maid named Abigail. With little time to spare, I had decided on Lucy.

I had escorted all the invited guests into the large library. Those present included Doctor Finnings, who perspired even more than before. Also present was Sir Livingston’s lawyer, an Irishman by the name of O’Brien. The Livingston maids, gardener, and other staff were also present.

A Chief Inspector had also arrived, and introduced himself as Inspector Adley. He had respect enough to remove his hat, but remained cloaked in his long-length peacoat.

Doctor Finnings had insisted that he present the finding first off. It was important to me since due to a little-known clause in Sir Livingston’s will, the findings would determine how Sir Charley’s will would be dispensed.

I tried not to smile as my plan slowly blossomed like spring roses.

O’Brien led the meeting. It was rather typical of the Irish. They couldn’t lead a horse to water, and yet loved to pretend anyway. He leaned forward on the main desk with his palms placed on its surface.

“Now then,” O’Brien said, “Let us begin these proceedings. I believe the good doctor had tests done recently due to some suspicions. Dr. Finnings, have you come to any conclusions about the late Sir Livingston?”

“I have,” Finnings fumbled with the hat he rotated in his hands. “After careful investigation, I have come to the conclusion that Sir Livingston was poisoned.”

Everyone in the room gasped. I forced myself to do the same.

Finnings continued. “My team at the clinic have even identified the poison.”

“Well?” Said O’Brien. “Spit it out, man!”

“It appears that Arsenic was used as the murder instrument of choice.”

I nearly choked. I hadn’t used Arsenic. The tests must have been botched somehow.

“I also noticed…other toxins in the bloodstream,” Finnings continued, “but nothing else lethal.”

I felt my face flush. Something must have gone wrong. I had procured the Hemlock and Mandrake solution from what I had been told was a reputable source. The man I had met had insisted this delicate blend, slowly increased over time, would do the trick. If only his neck were in my hands there would have been two murders to sort out.

Two of the Livingston maids had begun to cry lightly, the only sound that broke the otherwise deathly silent room. Old Charley had treated everyone less than professionally; why those two cried was quite beyond me.

“Whatever I can do to help find Sir Livingston’s killer, I will.” I said, my hopes then clung on tattered cords.

Inspector Adley stepped forward into the center of the room. “When Dr. Finnings first reported this to me early this morning, I began conducting interviews with several of the staff here before we convened this meeting.”

He hadn’t talked to me. Why hadn’t he also talked to me? I might have been able to salvage what was left on my plan if he had. My heart pounded in my ears.

“After one individual came forward with evidence of wrongdoing, I was able to find the bottle of Arsenic used in the crime.”

Everyone gasped including me. How could he have been poisoned with Arsenic? I had been painstakingly careful with Charley’s every need and made sure he received the right escalating doses of my solution. Not Arsenic.

“I found the bottle in this very house,” said Adley.

My curiosity exploded with questions and possibilities. If this Inspector Adley drew out his suspense any longer I would have found a new target with what I had left of the Hemlock and Mandrake.

“It turns out, we even know the culprit.” Adley turned and looked straight at me. He pulled out a small vial and held it aloft. “Gilfred Turnbull had the vial stashed deep in his dresser. Very well hidden indeed.”

Time stood still. I sought for breath but the air had been sucked out of my dream. I became aware that my mouth hung open and I quickly closed it.

“What!” I said. At least I didn’t have to pretend to be innocent. I was quite literally innocent of murder.

“But…Mr. Turnbull, why?” O’Brien looked at me sorrowfully.

The maids looked shocked as well. All but one. Lucy hadn’t seemed to react at all. But she had snuck several short glances at me for the last few minutes.

“Gilfred Turnbull,” Inspector Adley strode up to me, and with a firm hand turned my shoulder to put on the handcuffs. “You are under arrest for the murder of Sir Charles Livingston.”

“But I didn’t do it! I’ve never seen that vial before. You have to believe me!” I clamored for an argument, a clue, anything that would exonerate me from what would have been my murder.

Inspector Adley motioned towards the maids. “Thanks to the help of a brave young lady, we were able to bring justice to Sir Livingston.”

Lucy stepped forward and curtsied to the crowd. My eyes narrowed towards the shy, innocent young Lucy. Innocent no more, it seemed.

“Not a week ago I saw Mr. Turnbull put something in Sir Livingston’s tea. I thought it was medication of some kind.” Lucy held a tissue to her eyes. I had seen better acting. I had done better acting. “Please forgive me for not coming forward sooner.”

The whole room seemed to swoon over her in doted sympathy. They congratulated her on her bravery in coming forward with this critical information.

I seethed at the irony that was supposed to be mine. At the lies that should have been mine. She had not seen me doing bloody anything. I had been careful; meticulous. I had even planted my vial into her belongings.

The only way to expose her would be to even further expose my own plan. I hadn’t even received the satisfaction of having killed old Charley myself. I watched as my plan slipped through my fingers into the blackness of intrigue.

“You…” I started, but my seething anger fumbled my words.

O’Brien cleared his throat. Probably to clear the words the Irish seemed to get clogged down their gullet. “I believe this might be a good time to note some details on the will of the late Sir Livingston.”

No. It was a horrible time to discuss my lost fortune.

“I am supremely disappointed to note,” O’Brien continued, “that this act by Gilfred has removed him from Sir Livingston’s will.”

I froze in place. The only way I could have been in his will was to solve his murder in the event of foul play. I had found that out almost a year ago when I had begun to plan. How would I have been in his will? It was impossible.

O’Brien lifted a thick scroll of paper and held a magnifying glass close to the page. “I’ll read you that part before you go. ‘And to my trusted Butler, Gilfred, I, Sir Charles Livingston, leave two thousand pounds, in banknote. Also, the landscape paintings in the hall that he loved so much.’”

My jaw dropped. Old Charley had done that for me? But he had hated me; despised my very existence, of that I was sure. The feeling was quite mutual between us for most of my tenure, no, my internment, at this house. Had I been wrong, even slightly?

O’Brien set the paper down and closed his eyes for a second before he continued. “It seems a small, but tidy sum would have been left to Gilfred,” O’Brien clasped his hands on the desk.

I looked around the room to the many eyes that bored into mine.

“None of you knew this before,” O’Brien continued, “but deep in his will, Sir Livingston added a small clause. And it states: ‘In the event of my untimely death by foul play, whoever comes forward to assist in the apprehension of the suspect, or parties involved, shall receive no less than twenty percent of the monetary value of my estate and holdings. This clause, I, Sir Charles Livingston, add so my beloved family will not suffer untimely loss, or choose to kill me themselves.’”

O’Brien frowned in my direction then quickly turned to Lucy, the soon-to-be-rich, innocent looking young maid. The surprised look on her face was obviously fake. It’s a wonder even the dim-witted Dr. Finning didn’t suspect her.

“Congratulations, my dear,” O’Brien said as he grabbed and kissed her hand. “I know this comes as a shock to you. But we are so very grateful for your honest and brave assistance in this matter.”

Lucy basked in her newly found attention. “I just wish I had acted sooner.”

As Inspector Adley strode me out, I looked out of the corner of my eye to Lucy who looked back at me. A faint, ever so subtle smile creased the corner of her mouth before she looked away.

Somehow, she had outwitted me and poisoned Sir Charles. And right under my nose. I felt numb. I had been so vain and callous; I had missed more than one thing that had been right in front of me.

I wasn’t sorry I had tried to frame her. But I was sorry that I had failed Sir Charles and tried to kill him. But most of all, I was sorry I hadn’t recognized that, deep down, there had been good in him.

Sir Charles, I am sorry.

There was only one thing I could do to make things right; even if it meant exposing my guilt. Sir Livingston deserved justice. I hung my head. I would get what I deserved. But I must make things right.

“Inspector Adley,” I said. “I have something to add to the record.”

I looked over at Lucy, her face was pale. All others in the room looked my way. I took a deep breath and confessed.