John Manning - The Killing Room

“It is no longer a tenable situation,” he said brusquely. “My father knows the truth. And he has insisted I marry you.”

Beatrice’s face beamed her joy. “Oh, my darling!” She threw open her arms and moved toward him as if to embrace him, but Howard pushed her away.

“I cannot marry you,” he said. “I would be throwing away my entire future. My father plans to disinherit me.”

“Oh, but I don’t care about money,” she said. “I will make you a wonderful wife. I love you so, Howard. And Malcolm needs you. He needs a father.”

Howard fumed. “No! Don’t you see? We would be paupers! The entire world is spiraling down in a depression. There are no jobs! I would lose my place in the family inheritance. I wouldn’t be able to go to Yale as my brother Douglas did! I’m just eighteen years old, Beatrice! I can’t just throw away my life!”

Her eyes filled with tears. “What of my life? More importantly, what about the life of your son?”

“I am making you the same offer I made before. Promise me you’ll go away and take the child with you. I will send you money. I will make sure you are provided for. But you must write a letter to my father promising you will never, ever, come back into our lives. You will keep the secret of Malcolm’s paternity for all of your life, including from him.”

“You’re asking me to never tell my son his father’s name?”

“That is exactly what I am asking. You must understand my situation here. It is the only choice we have.”

Beatrice’s expression hardened. “No. It is not the only choice. You could marry me.” She folded her arms across her chest and stood her ground. “I am not leaving this house except as your wife.”

In that instant, Howard knew she would never go away. She would never leave him in peace. He felt the rage boiling up inside him. He wanted to strike her-but just then there was a rapping at the door.

“No one can know I’m here,” Howard said, hurrying to hide behind the large armoire on the far side of the room.

Beatrice opened the door. It was Clem. Peering around the side of the armoire, Howard could see the handyman clearly, though he was certain the dumb brute couldn’t see him. Clem stood there in the doorway in his ragged, grass-stained overalls, his pitchfork in his hands.

“Beatrice,” Clem said, “I heard you cryin’ again today and I got to thinkin’…”

“Oh, Clem,” she said, “I don’t have time to talk with you now.”

“But I was thinkin’ we oughta get hitched…”

She laughed. “Clem, you’ve asked me that before. You’re very kind. But I’ve told you. I can’t marry you.”

“Well, you’re so sad all the time, you know, carryin’ that baby around. If you was my wife I could take care of ya…”

Little Malcolm had started to fuss in his crib. Beatrice bent over and lifted him in her arms. Bouncing him gently, she looked over at Clem and once again told him no, she could never marry him.

“Why not?” Clem asked.

“Because I’m going to marry someone else,” she said, her voice raised just enough so that Howard knew she was speaking to him. He seethed.

“Who?” Clem demanded. “Who are you goin’ to marry?”

Howard noticed movement in the hallway behind Clem. Another groundsman, Harry Noons, had come in, and was washing his hands at the sink near the servants’ entrance. Howard flattened himself against the wall just to doubly ensure he wouldn’t be seen.

“Who?” Clem asked again, his voice rising. “Who you goin’ to marry?”

Beatrice laughed. “I’m going to marry a man who can offer me much more than you can, Clem.”

“I know I may be a simple man,” Clem said, angry himself now, “but I would do right by ya. I’d treat ya right.”

Beatrice laughed. “I am going to marry a man who is far your superior, Clem. A great man! Far greater than you!”

Howard could see Clem’s face twist in rage. “Fine, then!” the handyman shouted. “Then you can just stay the way you are, and you can keep your little bastard!”

Beatrice reached over and slapped Clem across the face. Harry Noons saw it all, and hurried up the stairs.

And suddenly the solution to his dilemma was clear to Howard.

It came to him so easily. He didn’t even have to think it through. It was right there, fully plotted, in the forefront of his mind.

“Clem,” he said, stepping out from behind the armoire. “How dare you use such language in front of a lady?”

The groundsman jumped when he saw Howard, dropping his pitchfork on the floor. “I’m sorry, Mr. Howard. I’m very sorry. I just-”

“I should fire you on the spot,” Howard said.

He knew the threat of termination would cause great distress for the simple man. Jobs were scarce. Clem wasn’t eager to stand in breadlines like so many others.

“No, please, Mr. Howard,” he begged, “don’t fire me!”

Howard frowned. “Go wait for me in my father’s workshop at the other end of the basement. Under no circumstances are you to leave there. I’ll be in to speak with you presently.”

Clem scurried off into the dark shadows of the basement.

Beatrice was placing the baby back down in his crib. “So you’ve decided to play the gallant knight, have you?” she asked, smiling at Howard when she turned back to look at him. Her smugness was infuriating. “So perhaps my hope is justified that you will make me your wife.”

“I would suggest,” Howard said, bending down and taking Clem’s pitchfork in his hands, “that you abandon hope, Beatrice.”

And with that, he charged at her with the pitchfork, his anger and desperation summoning almost superhuman strength. He plunged its long, sharp, metal tines into her soft chest, piercing the breasts he had once so tenderly caressed, puncturing her heart and her lungs, easily impaling her against the plaster wall.

Beatrice had time to scream only one, but it was a long and terrible wail. Her dark eyes were open wide in shock and accusation. Blood poured down from her wounds, instantly staining her white dress and pooling on the floor.

Howard wasted no time. Rushing out of the room and back up the stairs into the foyer, he felt certain that no matter the commotion, the simpleminded, terrified Clem would not leave the workshop. It would be disobeying a direct order. Once into the foyer, Howard quickly turned around, heading back down the stairs, just as his brothers came running from elsewhere in the house.

“What was that scream?” his brother Douglas asked.

“I don’t know,” Howard said. “It came from the basement.”

They hurried down the stairs just as Harry Noons came rushing in from the servants’ entrance. They peered into Beatrice’s room and let out a collective gasp.

“Clem!” Harry Noons babbled. “I saw him here just seconds ago-they was arguin’-she slapped him across the face!”

“We’ll search the grounds,” Douglas said, taking charge as always. Howard felt a vicious delight in tricking him.

“Dear God,” Desmond Young uttered when he, too, came down the stairs and saw Beatrice’s bloody body. His eyes flickered over to Howard.

“Noons says he saw her arguing with Clem just minutes ago,” Howard said.

“Ayuh, I did,” Noons agreed. “She struck him. That’s when I left. He musta killed her right afterward.”

Howard’s brothers were already hurrying out the back stairs in search of Clem. Desmond Young turned to Howard.

“Why don’t you search the basement for him?” he suggested. “He might be hiding down here somewhere, don’t you think?”

Their eyes held. Howard had the distinct impression that his father knew, or at least suspected, the truth, and was colluding with him.