Read Online Murders Most Foul by Alanna Knight - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alanna Knight
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could happen. She was safe at last. He was going to be transported away to the colonies. Vast oceans, continents between them. And then one day she read that during a fire in the prison, cells had been opened and he had escaped. Her dream of freedom was over; her nightmares and his last words haunting her, she lived in dread from that day forward.
She had left Inverness and headed south to Glasgow. Taking a new name and always with a good singing voice combined with outstanding good looks, it had taken little effort to get a job entertaining gentlemen in dubious clubs.
One day her fortune smiled on her. In a Glasgow vaudeville theatre, Archie saw her on stage singing andflashing her lovely legs, and all Archie knew was that he was a wealthy man who could afford beautiful things – lovely possessions made him feel protected, his money building a barrier between him and his unfortunate past.
And Clara was a beautiful possession, like that precious Chinese vase bought at auction, to add to the collection he was surrounding himself with. And he wanted her there among them, to admire every day. Perhaps slightly flawed inside, but no one would ever notice, he least of all. Infatuated, he didn’t really want to know about the life she had reinvented for herself and passed on to him. He never knew about Bodvale. Clara hoped that he was dead long ago, but she could not be certain. She still expected him to appear like he did sometimes in occasional but terrifying nightmares.
Archie she believed provided security; she would be safe married to him, a rock to lean on. Although she did not love him, trembling she remembered the huge gross beast, strong and mighty, and sex with any man after Bodvale was bearable. Bodvale could have crushed her husband between his two hands.
But there was one flaw in this domestic bliss, so perfect on the surface: Paul Lumbleigh, for Archie had insisted that in the lack of an heir, his stepson should have his name. Now everyone, it seemed, loved Clara, except Paul who had so far resisted all her attempts to win him over. All she ever received was a look of cold hostility. Hatred, actually, if she had allowed herself to consider such emotion.
She knew his hatred ran deep, and although Archie tried to pretend otherwise, her shrewd guess was Paul hated both of them. And with good reason, when she had becomeArchie’s latest mistress while his own mother lay dying in the insane asylum. He had reason for bitterness, when they had been counting the days to Alice’s demise and as far as he was concerned, had murdered her.
Clara told herself that everyone had secrets. Even Archie, she knew, had quite a few – boredom had led her to indulge her insatiable curiosity and find out about his past business negotiations, his foes and friends and his long-term mistress Mavis, who had a nice house in the New Town, which, Clara concluded, was also a high-class brothel. Although there was no possibility Archie could find out about her safely buried past, knowing about Mavis gave her a sense of power, a trump card to play if her security was threatened and the rock on which she leant threatened to crumble …
She cradled her secret. Nobody ever told it all, but she sometimes yearned for a friend to confide in. A girl like her lady’s maid, gently smiling Lizzie Laurie from her own class, who did her hair so well, who would understand and not condemn.
And in the kitchen, too, there was disquiet and anxiety. For Betty the kitchen maid, who no one ever noticed except Mrs Brown to slap her and issue orders, always nervous and expecting the worst from life, the sight of two policemen advancing so purposefully towards the house made her feel all trembly and faint.
Her voice a frightened whisper, she asked Mrs Brown: ‘What do they want?’
The grim reply: ‘You’ll soon find out,’ had her reeling away from the window sick with terror. She had been found out.
For Betty was a thief; in the sight of God she had
She had left Inverness and headed south to Glasgow. Taking a new name and always with a good singing voice combined with outstanding good looks, it had taken little effort to get a job entertaining gentlemen in dubious clubs.
One day her fortune smiled on her. In a Glasgow vaudeville theatre, Archie saw her on stage singing andflashing her lovely legs, and all Archie knew was that he was a wealthy man who could afford beautiful things – lovely possessions made him feel protected, his money building a barrier between him and his unfortunate past.
And Clara was a beautiful possession, like that precious Chinese vase bought at auction, to add to the collection he was surrounding himself with. And he wanted her there among them, to admire every day. Perhaps slightly flawed inside, but no one would ever notice, he least of all. Infatuated, he didn’t really want to know about the life she had reinvented for herself and passed on to him. He never knew about Bodvale. Clara hoped that he was dead long ago, but she could not be certain. She still expected him to appear like he did sometimes in occasional but terrifying nightmares.
Archie she believed provided security; she would be safe married to him, a rock to lean on. Although she did not love him, trembling she remembered the huge gross beast, strong and mighty, and sex with any man after Bodvale was bearable. Bodvale could have crushed her husband between his two hands.
But there was one flaw in this domestic bliss, so perfect on the surface: Paul Lumbleigh, for Archie had insisted that in the lack of an heir, his stepson should have his name. Now everyone, it seemed, loved Clara, except Paul who had so far resisted all her attempts to win him over. All she ever received was a look of cold hostility. Hatred, actually, if she had allowed herself to consider such emotion.
She knew his hatred ran deep, and although Archie tried to pretend otherwise, her shrewd guess was Paul hated both of them. And with good reason, when she had becomeArchie’s latest mistress while his own mother lay dying in the insane asylum. He had reason for bitterness, when they had been counting the days to Alice’s demise and as far as he was concerned, had murdered her.
Clara told herself that everyone had secrets. Even Archie, she knew, had quite a few – boredom had led her to indulge her insatiable curiosity and find out about his past business negotiations, his foes and friends and his long-term mistress Mavis, who had a nice house in the New Town, which, Clara concluded, was also a high-class brothel. Although there was no possibility Archie could find out about her safely buried past, knowing about Mavis gave her a sense of power, a trump card to play if her security was threatened and the rock on which she leant threatened to crumble …
She cradled her secret. Nobody ever told it all, but she sometimes yearned for a friend to confide in. A girl like her lady’s maid, gently smiling Lizzie Laurie from her own class, who did her hair so well, who would understand and not condemn.
And in the kitchen, too, there was disquiet and anxiety. For Betty the kitchen maid, who no one ever noticed except Mrs Brown to slap her and issue orders, always nervous and expecting the worst from life, the sight of two policemen advancing so purposefully towards the house made her feel all trembly and faint.
Her voice a frightened whisper, she asked Mrs Brown: ‘What do they want?’
The grim reply: ‘You’ll soon find out,’ had her reeling away from the window sick with terror. She had been found out.
For Betty was a thief; in the sight of God she had
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