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It was a quarter to nine when he came by. I was sitting in my favorite armchair by the fire, listening to the rain splatter against the window as I finished my nightly cup of tea. The clouds had loomed heavy and dreary over the countryside ever since that morning, so the light storm had come as no surprise. In addition to being marvelous to listen to, the rain ensured beyond reasonable doubt that I would remain unbothered by friend or stranger. I seldom invited guests over, but a few of my more sociable friends had the unfortunate habit of stopping by at the most inconvenient times, entirely unbothered by my remote location on the edge of Chichester. The rain, however, promised to dissuade even the most determined of these. At least, I had thought so. A light tapping against the window to my left interrupted my thoughts, but I paid it no mind; simply believing it to be a branch in the wind scraping the pane as often happened. The knocking, however, only grew louder, and as I glanced over, a face framed in a flash of lightning suddenly leered out at me.
I cried out, fumbling my teacup in shock. It was empty, thankfully, so did not spill as I clutched it to my breast, but I had bigger things to worry about than a stained nightshirt. Blinking wildly I stared at the face, debating whether I should fetch my gardening trowel from its place on the sill to defend myself or simply run, when my tired and scattered brain suddenly surged back to life and catalogued the face. Why, that was no mysterious stranger, but my dear friend Thomas Abbott pounding on the glass to get my attention! Tying the belt of my robe firmly I rushed to open the window and watched in astonishment as my unexpected guest tumbled inside and laid sprawled on the wooden floor like a starfish, heaving as he worked to catch his breath.
“Thomas!” I cried, quickly closing the window to prevent the rain from ruining my floor more than my friend already had. “What on earth are you doing here! It isn’t like you to come by at such an hour, and in such dreadful weather no less.”
His eyes met mine and I staggered back, never having seen such a frenzied expression on the man before. Instead of answering my questions he leapt to his feet, grabbing a poor crumpled newspaper from inside his drenched coat and all but shoving it in my face.
“Henry! You’ve seen today’s paper, yes?”
I stumbled, somewhat startled by his forcefulness. “I…well no, I don’t suppose I have.” I stammered. “I’ve been working in the garden all day and never had the chance. Why, did something important happen?” Judging from the state my friend was in I could only assume that was the case, though you never could be quite certain when it came to Thomas. He was eccentric to say the least and tended to get worked up over the strangest things, so for all I knew the paper could have printed some column about a new breed of petunias that he’d decided he simply must show me.
“You remember the Crome case, correct?” Came his breathless reply.
I nodded. The case had mostly circled around a simple attempted thievery maybe a month ago and, if I recall correctly, was solved fairly easily.
“Well as it happens Fredrik Crome was found dead last night, just outside of Duke and Rye.”
“No!”
“Yes! And that’s not all.” He unfurled the paper now, thrusting it again not two inches from my nose. “I was called to the scene this morning of course, not that they really needed me; I think my assistance has become more of an expected part of investigation at this point really, when the strangest series of clues began to emerge! First, there were footprints near the body that matched the size and shape of my own! It has been quite wet recently and you know that particular pub is never too busy in the evening, so they preserved well and there was no mistaking them.”
He was gesturing wildly now, pacing two and fro as I pulled my reading glasses from my robe pocket and squinted at the runny ink in an attempt to follow the story. Most was just as my friend had described, but one word stuck out to me.
“This says he was poisoned with oleander!”
“Yes!” Thomas cried, looking positively furious. “They found it awfully suspicious that the day after I ‘mysteriously’ obtained a new flowerbox full of them, a difficult client of mine was found poisoned by the very same flower.”
I spluttered at that news, positively aghast. “But I gave those to you! You complained about your flat looking too bare and I have more here in my garden that I know what to do with. Surely you must have explained that.”
Thomas shook his head, finally slowing his enraged pacing. “It would only have served to implicate you if I had, and that still does not account for the footprints.” He frowned. “Besides, those imbeciles at the station would convict their own mothers if they caught so much of a whiff of her perfume within a mile of a crime scene. No no, I am clearly being framed, and it will take foolproof evidence to convince them of that. Evidence which I notably do not have yet.”
“So you came to me.” I finished, starting to piece things together. Setting down the paper and the empty teacup still clutched in my hand on a nearby end table, I went to start a small fire to warm Thomas. He’d begun shivering terribly now that he was no longer pacing, and it was the least I could do after the ordeal he’d just been through. “If I’m being honest, I can see why it was so easy to implicate you.” I sighed, shaking my head as I stoked the flames. “You never did like Crome, even before the case, and if I remember correctly, he was a right and proper nightmare to work with.”
Thomas grimaced, seating himself by the now crackling fire. “Precisely.” He wrinkled his nose in distain. “But that does nothing to help answer the most pressing question. I know I did not kill him, and you do as well, so the question remains who would possibly have wanted both Fredrik dead and I behind bars.”
I frowned. Simple as the question was, it felt impossible to answer. For one, my friend had no shortage of enemies. No law enforcement is exactly popular among the criminal class, but my friend even less so. His wit and intellect had solved more than one unsolvable case before, and there was no shortage of unsavory fellows who wanted him dead, I’m sure. I huffed, mulling over these thoughts as I tended the flames. “Well I suppose it can’t be helped then. You may stay here with me and lay low for as long as you need old friend, until this whole case blows over and we have a bit more freedom to operate.”
Thomas sprang up as though he had been stung and shot me a withering look. “But that’s just it! Whoever did this had clearly been targeting me, and I would hardly call it wise for you to shelter me if this criminal knows as much about me as I fear.”
I blanched. “Do you mean to say you lead the murderer here?”
“Oh no no, of course not. Even if I had not sought you out, they would have still come to you sooner or later when they could not find me.”
“What am I to do then!”
Thomas beamed, grabbing the bucket of water I kept near the fire and dousing it. “We run! Run and solve this whole case before the criminal even knows we’re onto them.”
“But where will we go!” I began to pace nervously, gesturing wildly about. “I have no family here you know, and I can hardly afford to engager my friends—”
“Not to worry,” Thomas interrupted, “I already have that covered.” He began to douse the room’s lights, rushing through the halls to check the rest of my rooms were dark as I followed on his heels. “You remember Mary, do you not?”
“Mrs. Crome?” I blinked. “Of course, but surely you aren’t suggesting we hide in the poor woman’s home so soon after the murder of her husband, are you?
Thomas turned to me with that frenzied look in his eyes again, positively radiating manic excitement. “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting! There’s more to her than meets the eyes Henry, and I suspect she may hold the key to solving this whole problem. Now come on, we haven’t a moment to lose!”
Grabbing my hand in his, Thomas sprinted to the door, ignoring my pleas to be allowed to change from my night clothes, and together we sprinted out into the downpour. My slippers stuck horribly in the mud and the cold rain bit and stung my face, but I had to admit…the feeling was exhilarating. His horse stood around back in the garden near the window my friend had climbed through, champing and huffing in the downpour, and a thrill of fear surged through me as I realized the beast was unsaddled. In his haste to reach me, Thomas had ridden out completely bareback, and to my horror it looked as though I was expected to do the same!
I hesitated as I watched Thomas vault effortlessly onto the creature. Despite working outside all my life I never developed much fondness for animals, least of all those large enough to crush or maim me if they so desired, but the reputation and likely life of my friend required me to put aside my own misgivings. Swallowing my fear I clambered up the slick side of the horse with the help of Thomas, far less elegantly than he had I might add, and situated myself firmly behind him with both arms wrapped secure around his trim waist. I was given only a moment to situate myself before Thomas dug his heals into the beast’s side, and with a whoop to urge it on, we were off.
The trip was mercifully short, if bruising, and if I had to guess I would say it must have been approaching nine thirty by the time we arrived Mary Crome’s beautiful country estate. The rain had thankfully let up some, the downpour having slowed to a drizzle as we dismounted. Thomas landed gracefully in a patch of solid grass as he slipped from the horse, whereas I nearly stumbled headlong into a nearby flowering bush. Through some luck I managed to catch myself just in time, and I breathed a sigh of relief. The plant was covered in big beautiful burgundy blossoms, and I would have hated to damage such a lovely specimen. Heedless to my temporary plight Thomas strode ahead, knocking loudly on the door as I slogged through the mud to catch up with him, nearly losing a slipper in the process. I had only just stepped up next to him when the door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman in her nightclothes; a beautiful black shawl wrapped firmly around her shoulders.
Thomas bowed his head with a charming smile. “Good evening, Mrs. Crome. I am terribly sorry to disturb you at such an hour, but there is some matter of grave importance my college and I must speak with you about. May we come in?”
“Well bless me!” Mary Crome gasped, clutching her breast in shock. “Mr. Abbot! Mr. Taylor! Whatever are you two doing out at this time of night! And in such dreadful weather my goodness! Yes of course you may come inside at once.”
She bustled us in through the door before I could protest, and it was all I could do to wipe my feet on the mat before we were hurried to the sitting room. Thomas made no such effort. She urged us to make ourselves comfortable, yet Thomas remained standing while I sat in one of the two chairs present. Mary took the other when my friend made it clear he would not be using it.
“I am terribly sorry for this intrusion—” Thomas began, leaning his weight against my chair. Mrs. Crome cut him off, holding one hand up to stop his talking.
“Let’s skip the formalities please if you don’t mind. I’m assuming you’re here about poor Fredrik, yes?” She sighed, looking surprisingly collected for a woman whose husband had been murdered only twenty-four hours ago. “They he was found dead outside a pub, poisoned. I haven’t heard whatever latest theory the police have come up with mind you, but I think someone must have slipped something into his drink.”
I raised my eyebrows, exchanging the briefest glance with Thomas. If it had been any other man I would have believed that, but Fredrik had been incredibly paranoid. He’d been convinced everyone was out to get him as though there were a permanent target painted on his back, though painted by who and why he never said, and that paranoia had made him all but impossible to work with. He was rude, prone to somewhat violent outbursts, and I never once saw him drink from anything that wasn’t the flask on his hip. Perhaps he’d been at a pub when he died, but there was no way he’d ordered a drink.
To my surprise, Thomas did not voice this discrepancy, instead nodding in what looked to me an almost comically sympathetic manner. “That is quite possible ma’am, but I’m afraid this matter is far more complicated than my usual investigations. You see, I have been framed for the murder and I fear that, unless I am somehow able to prove my innocence, I shall be imprisoned, and the true criminal will never face justice.”
A clouded look flashed across the woman’s eyes for just a moment, but it disappeared so quickly that I wondered if I had in fact imagined it.
“Oh my, how dreadful!” She exclaimed. “Surely you must have something to prove your innocence! After all, you worked personally with my husband and I to catch that dreadful thief.”
“Yes well, the police don’t seem to care much about that.” Thomas huffed; his voice tinged with an odd amount of despair that certainly had not been present earlier. “They’re so blinded by their dislike for me it’s a miracle they haven’t announced my guilt to the papers already, proof or no. But there is one piece of evidence I would like to discuss with you that may clear my name.”
Mrs. Crome stood abruptly, wringing her hands. “Yes of course, I would be happy to help you out of this disastrous situation in any way I can! Come, I’ll make you both a cup of tea and we can talk further in the dining room.”
I stood to follow her, and to my surprise Thomas waved us on. “You two go ahead. I…I just need to take a minute to collect my thoughts if you don’t mind.”
Well, that was certainly odd behavior for my friend, but Mrs. Crome seemed completely oblivious and assured him he could take all the time he needed as she ushered me out of the room. Following behind her, I noticed as if for the first time just how tall our hostess was. Perhaps I had simply never paid her much attention before, but now that we were alone I was surprised to see she was nearly the same height as Thomas. Thomas was not a particularly large man by any means, but it was still uncommon to see a lady match him in height.
“Poor man, I’ve never seen him so upset.” Mrs. Crome fretted as we made our way to the kitchen. “Though I suppose it is understandable given the circumstances.” It took perhaps a minute for the water to boil, and I watched in curiosity as she fetched a few peculiar teabags from a tiny tin on the counter and placed them delicately into the cups.
“What sort of tea is that?” I asked, breaking the silence as she poured water into the cups. “It doesn’t smell like a blend I recognize.” Indeed, the summery vanilla smell was unlike any tea I’d ever encountered, and yet somehow quite familiar. As if I had smelled it before, only in a much different setting.
“Oh, it’s nothing special.” Mrs. Crome laughed. “Just a few things from my garden like lemon balm and such. I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it yourself Mr. Taylor, being a gardener yourself.”
Now that she mentioned it, I could indeed smell the sweet tang of lemon balm mixed in with that strange vanilla aroma, but it was nowhere near strong enough to be the central ingredient in the tea. Something was off. “Ah, yes of course. I can smell it now.” I agreed with a half-smile, taking mine and Thomas’s cup as I followed Mrs. Crome out to the dining room.
Thomas reappeared just as we were sitting down, taking his chair next to me with an apologetic smile. “So sorry if I kept you waiting, I fear I am still a little bit of an emotional mess.” He laughed softly, reaching for his cup.
Mrs. Crome tittered in response. “Oh you didn’t keep us waiting at all dear, the tea only just finished steeping.”
It was just as Thomas wrapped his fingers around the delicate handle that I realized with a jolt of horror where I knew the strange smell from, and, as unassumingly as I could, I reached out to cover the top of the burgundy tea filled cup with my hand before Thomas could lift it. “Just finished means too hot to drink yet Thomas.” I admonished, my eyes locking with his. The slight twitch of an eyebrow was the only sign I received that he’d received my warning.
“Ah yes of course, you’re right.” Thomas smiled, starting to swirl the tea as if to cool it as I removed my hand. “Thank you, Henry. Now then,” He turned to face Mrs. Crome. “Did you buy that new shawl before or after you murdered your husband.”
The silence that suddenly flooded the room was palpable, and to this day I don’t think I’ve ever seen a human look so shocked and horrified as Mary Crome did in that instant.
“I-I beg your pardon?” She spluttered, her eyes wide and cheeks pale.
Thomas leaned back in his chair; the smug grin I’d grown accustomed to seeing on his face finally creeping back to replace his false air of gentility. “Oh come now, don’t act so surprised. You’ve been clever, I’ll give you that, but not nearly enough to trick me.”
“I don’t know what you—”
“But I think you do. I thought something was off ever since you mentioned Fredrik having been poisoned through a drink in the bar when you would know better than anyone, he never drinks from anywhere but his flask. Now I find it nigh impossible that I would be able to somehow slip even a leaf of oleander in, but you? You’re his wife! You’re the one filling it for him. Speaking of,” Thomas raised his teacup with a smirk, “is oleander a staple of all your drinks?”
She spluttered, looking aghast as she struggled to find a defense. “But why would I—”
“Follow him to the city if the flask was already poisoned? Likely to see for yourself he was dead I assume. That is always something murderers like to do, in my experience, and it would explain the new shawl that could only be bought on a trip to town and the footprints beside the body. After all,” Thomas smirked, “we wear the same size, don’t we.” He pulled a leg out from under the table and wiggled his foot mischievously at her.
You would think after so many years of working with my friend I would stop being amazed by his deductive skills, but I still found myself gasping in awe as he put together the pieces so easily it made me feel almost silly for not seeing the connections before. However, there was one issue still nagging at me. “What about the motive?” I asked, for surely that was the most important part of any murder, mystery or no.
Thomas hummed. “Oh it isn’t that exciting, just a simple case of no longer wanting to put up with a man she no longer loved.”
The squeal of a chair being pushed back across the floor knifed through the air and I looked up in surprise to see Mrs. Crome standing and leaning on the table, her face now flushed red with anger. “Put up with?? You have no idea what I’ve been through Abbott! No idea at all! He was a drunk! Day after day throwing his money away for more bottles to stash in the cellar and falling into these fits if I so much as breathed the wrong way!” She choked, tears starting to spill down her face. “I tried to hire someone to get rid of him, but that miserable idiot couldn’t follow through and resorted to stealing what he could before running instead of doing what he promised! Then you caught him and nearly ruined the whole thing! I didn’t want to do it myself, but what choice did I have! You forced my hand! I had to kill him and framing you was simply a matter of convenience!”
Shaking his head Thomas stood from the table. “I am sorry you feel that way, but I suggest you save your excuses for the police. They might be far more inclined to listen than I am.”
What happened next is still a blur to me, but I shall try to summarize it all to the best of my abilities. Apparently, Thomas had suspected Mrs. Crome from the start and had simply been waiting for the opportunity to gather enough evidence to convict her by acting as though he had a vital piece of information that could incriminate her in order to push her to try something desperate. While Mrs. Crome and I had been preparing the tea, he’d had made a call to one of his few remaining friends among the police and explained the situation. They’d arrived extraordinarily quickly and had been listening in to the entire confession. All it had taken was that final admission of guilt for them to finally swoop in and arrest her. She’d continued to protest, insisting she had only done what she had to and did not deserve such treatment, and to be honest, I could not tell whether I agreed with her or not. Once the police had her in custody I rode back to my house behind Thomas, the same way we’d arrived, and began to rebuild the doused fire I’d built what felt like ages a go.
“Do you think she deserved it?” I finally spoke up, breaking the silence that had settled upon us since the ride back.
Thomas tilted his head. “I’m not sure. To be perfectly honest, I’d suspected she might do something like this not too far into investigating the original Crome case.”
I stared, slightly flabbergasted. “You mean, you knew she meant to murder her husband?”
“Yes, but I did not intend stop her or even call attention to it. Fredrik was not the kind of person the world would miss, and she would likely have gotten away with the whole thing had her original plan worked out. Instead, she framed me as a matter of convenience, so I had no choice but to pull her down. It’s as simple as that.”
I watched as Thomas reclined in his chair, thinking deeply about what he’d said. Certainly Mary Crome had committed a serious crime and attempted to frame my friend for murder, so I did not feel too sorry for her, but her plight had been sympathetic as well. Even now, a few days later, I have seen nothing of her trial in the papers and so I can only hope she was judged fairly and wish her luck with whatever is to come.