Robin Paige: Death at Bishops Keep

Charles was glad for the opportunity to talk about his part in the affair. At the moment of his arrival, Kate-Miss Ardleigh-had been too excited to understand clearly how he had come to be at the scene. "I had been on the trail of Monsieur Monet's killer for some days," he said, "assisting Inspector Wainwright with the tedious business of tracing clues." He smiled slightly. "To be truthful, I did not suspect Mrs. Farnsworth, but I must at least take credit for bringing the police to the doorstep and rescuing our fair detective from the clutches of-"

"Rescuing me!" Kate exclaimed heatedly. Her hazel-green eyes flashed. "/ was in no need of rescue, sir! The situation was perfectly in hand."

Charles frowned. "If you mean that your butler managed to subdue the violent woman after she dangerously fired at you-"

Kate pulled herself up. "She did not fire at me," she said in a tone of annoyance. "The gun accidentally discharged when Mudd attempted to pin her arms. I was never in a moment's danger. Your appearance, Sir Charles, saved me only from the trouble of summoning the police."

"Bravo!" Bradford said, applauding. "What spirit! My dear Miss Ardleigh, you have quite got the better of our intrepid Sir Charles."

Charles glared at Bradford.

"You did not know, Sir Charles," Eleanor asked, "that the woman had also killed Kate's aunts?"

"I confess I did not," Charles replied reluctantly. "I failed to recognize Mrs. Farnsworth's features in the face of the gypsy boy." With an excess of politeness, he added, "For that recognition, we must all be grateful to Miss Ardleigh."

"Thank you," Kate said, with a somewhat more charitable smile. "Perhaps I would have been quicker to recognize her had I seen her play Rosalind-as you did, I understand."

Charles felt himself coloring. Blast the woman! Why couldn't she be a little more like other women? He wasn't asking her to be as accommodating as Eleanor or Patsy-just a little less like a hedgehog. In his own defense, he added, rather more loudly than he intended, "My identification of Mrs. Farnsworth as Monsieur Monet's killer has been confirmed. The fingerprint I obtained from the whip handle of the hired chaise matches the print of the index finger of Mrs. Farnsworth's right hand. In addition, an ivory lozenge I discovered at the murder scene was broken from the handle of the dagger she used to kill Monsieur Monet-a dagger that was subsequently found, with a broken point, in her possession. And the print that I thought at first to be that of a walking stick I now believe to be that of the heel of her shoe. Its diameter is exactly the same."

Bradford put down his cup. "And are the newspapers correct in saying that the Frenchman was a spy?"

"Nothing of the sort," Charles replied. "The man was an expert cryptographer. He had been engaged by MacGregor Mathers to examine the cipher document on which the Order of the Golden Dawn was based and openly declare it fraudulent. Mrs. Farnsworth killed him to keep him from revealing the truth. She also planned to kill Mathers-"

"That scheme was aborted, I trust," Kate broke in. "I told Inspector Wainwright about Mrs. Farnsworth's claim to have sent a box of poisoned sweets to Mathers. I hope he conveyed the information to the Paris police."

"I believe that the candy has been intercepted," Charles said. He looked at Kate. While they were at it, he might as well clear up the one unanswered question that remained.

"The day you visited Marsden Manor, Miss Ardleigh, you suggested that I interview Mrs. Farnsworth in connection with the dead man at the dig. On what basis did you perceive a relationship between them?"

"It was not Mrs. Farnsworth herself that I believed connected to your corpse," Kate said. "I merely suspected that the murder involved a member of her organization. It was chiefly the scarab which caught my eye. Both my aunt and Mrs. Famsworth wore scarab pendants. And, of course, there was the peacock feather, which many members wear as an emblem of the Order."

"It is all terribly confusing," Eleanor said to Kate, "but now that the mystery has been resolved, you can turn your mind to other things-to a small ball, which will be held at the manor next Friday evening. Nothing very elaborate, for it will be just the local gentry and some of the village folk, and you are still in mourning. But I think you would enjoy meeting everyone. Will you come, Kate? You need not dance, of course."

"I would be glad to come," Kate said soberly. "I will remember Aunt Sabrina with love and affection for the rest of my life, but I am certain that she would wish me to put the events of the past weeks behind me." Her smile was demure. "She would even wish me to dance."

Almost without thinking, Charles spoke up. "I wonder if-"

At the same moment, Bradford said, "I thought perhaps-"

Charles looked at Bradford, his eyes narrowing slightly. Were the two of them going to be at loggerheads over a woman? But it was beneath his dignity to contend with his friend. "Pardon me," he murmured, and subsided, forgetting his irritation at Kate. It was Bradford who provoked him now.

Bradford took the advantage Charles gave him, clearing his throat and giving Kate a confident smile. "Well, then," he said smartly, ' 'I trust you will do me the honor of reserving the first dance for me."

Kate regarded him for a moment. "Thank you," she said. "I shall be pleased to do so." There was a pause, and then

she turned, unexpectedly, to Charles. Her eyes were clear and slightly amused. "If you would not think it too forward of me, Sir Charles, I would like to make a proposal to you, and to ask for your help."

There was a longer pause, as Charles gathered his wits. "Of course," he said at last. "How can I be of service?"

"It is the bats, you see," she said.

"The bats?" Eleanor exclaimed.

"Yes," Kate said. "I have recently fallen into the habit of walking among the ruins just at sunset, and I have noticed that there are a great many bats-and, if I am not mistaken in my observations, bats of more than one species. They are very curious creatures, quite interesting. I wonder, Sir Charles, if you would object to walking with me one evening and identifying them for me."

Charles stared at her. There are moments in human relationships when what has been ordinary, conventional, and understood becomes extraordinary, different, and unique. This was a such a moment for Charles. A luminous moment.

"Ah, yes," he said. "Bats. My dear Miss Ardleigh, I shall be glad to."