Death at One O'Clock

A commotion increasing in intensity caught my attention from where I was standing impatiently on the railway platform. The one o’clock train, that I had disembarked from twenty minutes ago, was still stopped at the station with a large group of men gathering around a car only two back from where I had been riding. Young boys tried to peek over the shoulders of the men and were promptly pulled back by their mothers. Intrigue drew me towards the excited, chattering crowd, but someone called my name behind me before I could get close.

“Kate? Kate Blackburn?”

Turning, I saw an elderly woman with a worried face approaching me. She walked quickly and as she neared, I saw a certain fear in her eyes.

“My dear girl, stay away from there. Haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?” I asked in bewilderment. “What is going on over there?”

The old lady’s eyes widened dramatically. “Murder.”

An icy chill slithered up my spine at the solitary word. Murder? On the very same train I had been traveling on for two days? A morbid curiosity urged me to approach the growing crowd, now joined by several policemen desperately trying to shoo them away. As the men and women reluctantly backed up, I saw him. Not the body, which must still be inside the railway car, but the man peering inside the car. He alone did not back up when the officers approached, nor even seemed to notice them. They did not shoo him away, but stood back, allowing him to look.

The man was tall and sharp, sharp elbows, sharp nose, sharp eyes. His suit was immaculate, and his shoes shiny despite the dirty platform. His hands moved quickly and deliberately as he spoke to the police officer. I knew from my father’s many descriptions that this was him. This was Uncle Ben.

Uncle Ben turned, and we locked eyes. He stared at me for a moment before the officer said something and motioned for him to enter the railway car, where the body presumably was. My uncle glanced from him back to me before disappearing into the car.

“I’m Mrs. Ruth Kent.” The lady took my arm. “I’m your uncle’s housekeeper; luckily for you I was already in town doing some shopping. You’d be waiting here all day for your uncle.”

My uncle’s house was much larger than my father’s had been. Father had accrued some debt when I was a child, and so I had grown up in a relatively small house with modest necessities. Uncle Ben appeared to have no such impediment and did not deny himself the finer things in life. I wandered around the long halls and grandiose rooms, restraining myself from touching the ivory elephants, Chinese vases, and other expensive trinkets scattered about the mansion.

I paused at a small table decorated only with a flickering candle and a simple picture frame. Picking up the frame, I stared at the face gazing back at me solemnly. Jace Blackburn, Esquire. My late father. The illness had come on so suddenly, and the doctors and I watched helplessly as he faded away in less than a month. If I were a son at my sixteen years of age, I would have been sent to a trade school or apprenticed to a craftsman. If my father had money, I would have been sent off to a lady’s finishing school. But I was just a girl with no money and was promptly shipped off to my next of kin: my father’s younger brother, Ben Blackburn.

Growing up, my father told me many stories about his little brother. Some were spoken of with pride; others seemed to have a touch of disdain or disapproval, especially the last ones he told me. Something had gone on with my uncle while he was in India that Father didn’t approve of, but he never said anything more about it.

I wandered aimlessly around the mansion until I found myself in the kitchen watching Mrs. Kent chop vegetables for some sort of soup. Being the middle of summer, it was terribly hot in the kitchen, and I couldn’t help pushing up my sleeves and fanning myself with a flyer from the grocer’s. But the prim and proper housekeeper wore a perfectly pressed gray dress with long sleeves and high collar and showed no discomfort.

“My dear, would you get the gardener Roberts to take you into town in the buggy? I completely forgot that we’re nearly out of sugar. I’ll be needing it for those pies I want to make later.” She winked at me. I agreed immediately.

It took me several minutes to find Roberts, as the mansion gardens were huge and I got lost twice.

Roberts glared at me. “What is a little girl like you doing here? Go back where you came from. This isn’t a place for children.

I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. I was completely taken aback and confused by the gardener’s obvious disdain for me. What had I done to him? But Roberts didn’t say anything more and took me into town in the buggy as requested, remaining stubbornly silent the entire time.

When I stepped inside the small grocers, I saw several men lingering around, talking eagerly about the murder. They stopped politely when I entered and quickly dispersed, promising to meet later to talk about it more. Several seemed confident as to who the murderer was, but said no more when I approached the grocer.

“Did you know the murdered man?” I asked shyly after giving the man my list. Such topics of conversation were not proper for a young lady, but then again, I was a very poor model of a young lady. But the grocer wasn’t the polite society sort of man and was always eager for a bit of gossip.

“Nope, I didn’t. Never seen him before in me life. Your uncle knew him, though,” said the grocer significantly as he weighed the sugar into a bag. “Or so I hear.”

I picked up the bag slowly. “What do you mean?”

The gossipy old man looked around, then leaned forward and said, “Well, you didn’t ‘ear it from me, but the dead man’s name was Leroy Hall. Captain Leroy Hall, no less. He served with your uncle in India, and I heard through the grapevine that he’s the one who got your uncle booted off the force.”

I gave a start. “I just saw Uncle Ben working with the police this morning.”

“Oh yeah,” said the grocer, counting my money and tucking it into the register. “He’s some sort of private detective now, and they’ll call on him for the most mysterious murders and things like that. But there’s something that went on betwixt him and the police, and that Leroy Hall had a hand in it. I reckon him and yer uncle were two of the only people who knew what it was.” Another customer came in at that moment, and the grocer stopped gossiping and left me to go attend to them. I left the shop bewildered and not a little upset. What did my uncle know about this man? Did Mrs. Kent know anything about it?

After dutifully delivering the sugar to her, I sat at the kitchen table, munching a ginger cookie.

“What do you think about all this?” I asked.

“About all what, child?”

I gestured vaguely. “You know, the murder.”

Mrs. Kent looked shocked, as only a polite lady could. “That is not a discussion for a young woman!”

I shrugged and went back to my cookie.

“It does worry me though,” sighed the housekeeper as she peeled an apple.

My ears perked up. “What does?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s just…your uncle has been acting so odd lately. He received some sort of letter the other day and has been almost frantic since then. Almost makes you wonder.” She gave me the same significant glance the grocer had. But after that, Mrs. Kent refused to say anymore and shooed me out of the kitchen to let her work in peace.

I desperately wanted to know what was in the letter Uncle Ben had received. A daring plan came to me, and I acted on it without a second thought. After finally finding my uncle’s private study, I pushed the door open softly. It creaked loudly, and I froze. There was no sound from within, however, and no one came to investigate, so I pushed the door the rest of the way open and slipped inside. The door creaked again as I closed it; Uncle Ben really needed to oil that.

It was pretty dark in the study, the only light coming dimly from the curtained windows. Even though I was pretty sure no one was around, I still didn’t dare light a lamp. I crept across the room to my uncle’s desk and looked briefly through the papers lying scattered on it. Except for some dim hope of finding a clue to Uncle Ben’s past, I really had no idea what I was looking for. There really wasn’t anything of interest here, just some bills, the telegram announcing my father’s death, and several boring letters from what must be clients. Nothing that gave even a mention of Captain Leroy Hall, and no mysterious urgent letter.

I pulled open a couple of the drawers and gave them a cursory glance. Again, nothing of interest. The last drawer I opened was the thin one in the very middle of the desk, and something about it struck a chord in my mind. It wasn’t from what was in it, which was really just a hair comb, a few pens, and an almost empty bottle of ink. It was the handle of the drawer that drew my interest. Where had I seen this strange knob before, a silver snarling dragon’s head? It came to me suddenly; Father had had the very same knob on his desk at home…the one with the secret compartment. He had shown it to me when I was quite young as a source of amusement, but I had quite forgotten about it until just now.

My hand trembling slightly with the excitement of it all, I poked a finger into the dragon’s mouth and pressed the tongue firmly. A quick snap sounded from inside the drawer, and I yanked it open. There it was; the false bottom of the drawer had popped up, revealing something hidden underneath. Was it the letter? Carefully, I lifted up the bottom and pulled out not a letter, but eight files, much like a police officer might have. I flipped open one of them and saw a picture of a man and the word DEAD in large red letters. Opening the next several showed a picture of a man or woman in each one, all saying dead in the same handwriting.

Quickly, I opened the last. A horrified gasp choked me. I struggled to breathe as I stared at a portrait of Mrs. Kent. There was no red word beside it, but then she was still alive. Dear, sweet Mrs. Kent. This was it, I thought. She was next. The elderly housekeeper knew too much about him, and he was going to kill her before she could go to the police. Another terrible thought came to me. Was I on the list as well? Uncle Ben would surely find out that I had been asking questions, and then he would kill me before I could say anything.

I stumbled backwards in fear at the very thought and brushed against the curtain covering the window. It blew back slightly, and I glanced out to see two men standing on the lawn, conversing quickly. I immediately recognized the one facing the house as my uncle, and I wasn’t quite sure about the man standing back to, although he looked familiar as well. My uncle glanced upwards as the curtain moving caught his eye, and he stared at me. The other man whirled around; it was the gardener. They both glared at me angrily, then began running towards the front door. We need to get out. Now.

Running as fast as I could through the unfamiliar house, I found Mrs. Kent dusting in one of the parlors. I gasped out the story as best I could, and although it was anything but coherent, the housekeeper understood immediately. Fear flashed momentarily across her elderly face, but the woman gathered her sense at once.

“Come.” Mrs. Kent took my arm firmly. “We go out the back door.” As we fled, I heard the front door slam open.

“Kate!” shouted a man’s voice. It must be Uncle Ben. “Kate, come here right now!”

I ran.

We fled out the back door, not even stopping to close it. My uncle was close behind us, his boots pounding against the ground. I grasped the hem of my skirts, lifting them up to my knees, and holding desperately onto Mrs. Kent’s arm. She couldn’t outrun him. Neither of us could.

Into the gardens we ran, surrounded by tall hedges and stone benches and burbling fountains. Perhaps we could lose him in here.

“Kate!” my uncle shouted again. “Kate Blackburn! Stop!”

I gripped Mrs. Kent’s arm and ran faster, fairly dragging her alongside me. But alas, this was not my home and I did not know these gardens. I took a wrong turn and found myself staring at a dead end creating by a wall of hedges. Turning to run back, I saw Uncle Ben standing a little way behind us, panting heavily.

“Kate, step away from her.” I saw now that he held a revolver in his hand. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

I stepped in front of Mrs. Kent. “Uncle, no! Don’t hurt her, please. She won’t tell anyone about you. Neither of us will, I swear it! Just please, let us go,” I pleaded.

Confusion came over Uncle Ben’s face. “Child, what on earth are you talking about? Tell anyone about what?”

“The murder. We won’t tell anyone that it was you, I promise!”

A short, angry laugh burst from my uncle. “You thought I was the killer? What, because Leroy and I have a little history? My dear girl, you are protecting the very one who stabbed that man. Now move aside before I move you myself.”

But before I could even comprehend what he had just said, a strong arm grasped me around my middle and something cold and sharp pressed against my throat. A frightened squeak was squeezed out of me as Mrs. Kent pulled me closer to herself.

“Put the gun down, Ben.” Her voice was cold and measured; the sweet elderly housekeeper had completely disappeared. “I don’t want to hurt her either.”

“Let her go, Rebecca. That’s your real name, isn’t it? Rebecca Keller, the Red Flower.”

Mrs. Kent, or Rebecca, whatever her name was, laughed loudly. “Yes, my dear, that is me.” What had once been words of endearment were now mocking and cruel. “The Red Flower Killer. No one ever suspected a dear old lady, did they?” I glanced down at the hand holding the knife; her long gray sleeve had rolled up, and I saw the rose tattoo on her wrist.

“Leroy Hall did,” said my uncle quietly. He still had not put down his gun.

“The fool!” spit Rebecca Keller. “I thought I did him in when I fled France for London. I don’t know how he found me, but when I saw his face in the train window, I wasn’t about to let him blow the cover I’ve maintained for years.”

Now I understood. I understood why she had seemed so fearful and nervous at the railway station. I had assumed it was only the fright a murder naturally caused an elderly woman, but now I saw that it was because she had just murdered in broad daylight the one man who knew who she actually was. My memories were cut off almost literally by the knife being pressed closer to my throat. I flinched as it cut a little into my skin; I felt a drop of blood dribble down my neck.

“Put it down, Blackburn. I’ll kill her, you know I will.” Rebecca gripped me tighter until I could barely breathe.

Uncle Ben took a step back and lowered his revolver. “All right. All right. I’ll put it down. See? I’m putting it on the ground.” Slowly he bent and placed the gun on the grass before standing back up with his hands in the air. “Now let her go.”

“I will,” said Rebecca Keller maliciously. “After I make sure of my escape. Now back up.” The murderer dragged me forward, the knife still against my throat.

“No!” I cried.

At that same moment, a shout sounded from above us. We both looked up to see the gardener in mid-air over the hedge. Rebecca gasped and dropped the knife as he landed squarely on top of her, pinning the old woman to the ground. She screamed and fought angrily, but in the end, she was still just an old lady.

Shaking, I grabbed the knife off the ground and held it in both hands, pointing the blade at her. I knew she wasn’t going to escape the gardener’s hold, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. A gentle hand grasped my own and took the knife. I looked up to see my uncle, a man I had feared until right now, smiling down on me.

“Hello, Katie,” he said softly. “You have your father’s eyes; did you know that?”

Bursting into tears, I threw my arms around him. Strong arms gripped me once more, but this time, they brought comfort instead of threat and love rather than lies.