Nobody's Secret Part 21

"You haven't drunk your tea, Emily," she said. "Is it not to your liking?"

"It's fine. A little hot, perhaps," Emily said, playing along as an honored guest.

There was a long silence, finally broken when Ursula asked, "Surely you aren't suggesting that I somehow transported my cousin into your pond?"

"Oh no, I don't think that at all," Emily a.s.sured her. "That was when your murder got tangled up with other people's attempts to cover up their crimes."

"I don't understand what you're saying."

Emily thought that was probably true. "Your Uncle Sam and your hired man put James's body in the pond. But your parents were complicit. It was their idea to change James's clothes so that he looked more like a hired hand than a member of the family. None of them could afford any questions about a living heir to the fortune they had already stolen-excuse me, arranged to inherit themselves."

Ursula stared, shocked. Emily was certain that this was the first she had heard of the aftermath of her cousin's death. This was a secretive family indeed.

"It must have been so confusing for you," Emily mused, "when James's body wasn't found. And then for it not to be identified. Through a wild stroke of fortune, you must have thought you had gotten away with it."

"I don't know what you mean," Ursula said. "You are talking more nonsense than you usually do." She stood up and approached Emily. "Your tea must be cold. Let me pour you another."

Without a word, Emily handed Ursula her untouched cup.

"But why did you do it?" Emily said. "Was it just for the money?" She couldn't help it, but her voice reflected her disdain for such a base motive.

"Just the money?" Ursula asked bitterly, still holding Emily's cup. She went to the window and stared unseeingly into the ornate garden. "The mighty d.i.c.kinsons don't know what it's like not to have money. And even if you were poor, with your history and education, you would still be accepted in this town. The founders of Amherst College! You have everything. Without that money, we had nothing."

Suddenly the door flew open. Henry, his tie askew and his face red with running, burst in. Vinnie followed close on his heels. Henry's eyes went first to Emily and then to his sister.

"Emily," he said, panting. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," she said. She hesitated, knowing that she was about to bring ruin to Henry's family. "I was just telling Ursula that I've given Dr. Gridley the proof that she poisoned her cousin. No doubt he and the constable are interviewing your parents right now."

"Your sister told me about Gridley and the constable." Henry didn't take his eyes off Ursula. "Suddenly I understood what happened to Cousin James."

"I think perhaps you always suspected it," Emily said softly.

"I feared it." He went to his sister and took her hands. "Ursula, you've done such a wicked thing. Why?"

"It was all that money." Her eyes were unfocused, and she spoke in fits and starts. "Before we inheriited the money, everything was going wrong. Father's business failed. You had to leave Yale. The dressmakers wouldn't give me credit anymore. Mother said we would have to move in with Uncle Samuel in that smelly old house. I wouldn't have been able to go to school. That money meant my life."

"Your parents stole it from James," Emily said.

"So?" Ursula retorted. "He didn't need it-and we did."

"How could you bear to profit from a lie?" Vinnie asked. Ursula stared at her, as though she was noticing her arrival for the first time.

"If you can resist taking everything you've ever wanted, then you can sneer at me," Ursula said with a snarl.

"But to kill, Ursy?" Tears ran down Henry's cheeks. "James was family."

Ursula didn't say anything, but she twisted the rings on her long fingers as though her life depended on it.

"The worst thing of all is that it wasn't necessary," Emily said sadly. "James wasn't going to prosecute. He didn't even want the money back. You did it all for nothing."

The color drained from Ursula's face. "You're lying," she spat. "At school you always thought you were better than me. Smarter. I won't let you fool me."

"It's true, Ursy," Henry said, rubbing his cheek with the back of his hand.

Ursula staggered away from her brother, grabbing the back of a chair to steady herself. She stared at Emily with cold eyes. "I was always jealous of you. But maybe not so much now."

"Why not?" Emily said warily.

"Because you will have to live with this, and I will not." Ursula grabbed the teacup that had been Emily's. Before anyone could stop her, she gulped the contents.

"Henry, there's poison in the cup!" Emily cried.

"Ursula!" he shouted. He rushed to his sister and she clung to his arms. He carried her to the sofa and laid her down.

"Henry, I'm so sorry," Ursula said.

Vinnie began to sob. Emily held her tightly, hiding her sister's eyes from what was happening.

"Everything is green . . ." Ursula said. Then she slumped into her brother's arms.

"Fetch the doctor," he cried.

Vinnie, relieved to be of use, said, "I'll go!"

"It won't matter," Emily said. "Ursula knew how much to dose the tea."

Vinnie flashed her a stricken look. "Emily!"

"Go, Vinnie; fetch Dr. Gridley," Emily said. "But it's already too late. Death won't wait for him."

Epilogue.

Emily retreated to her room for several days with only Vinnie and a succession of cats for company. By the time she emerged, her father had returned. He lectured Emily about taking risks. For once, she didn't resent his warnings. Life continued at the d.i.c.kinson home as though James Wentworth had never existed-or been murdered.

Shortly afterwards, Emily received a note from Henry. He wrote that he was about to leave town and begged to speak to her before his departure.

She met him in front of the stagecoach stop at the Amherst House Hotel in the center of town and sat on a bench on the hotel's second-floor veranda.

At first their conversation was about his journey. The coach would take him to Northampton, where he would board a train to New Haven. Travel in the summer was often dusty. He might break his journey in Hartford.

Without warning, Henry asked, "Did you know my sister would try to kill you?"

Emily sighed with relief that they were finally talking about things that mattered. "I did wonder," she said. "Especially after she offered me elderberry wine. And then she was so insistent that I drink the tea. Of course, I never had any intention of drinking anything she might give me."

"It is so hard to believe that my own sister could do such a thing."

"Reverend Colton warned me that if someone has killed, he is even more dangerous afterward. He-or she-will always see murder as a solution again."

"My own sister," he repeated.

Neither said anything. Finally, Emily began to speak. "Horace has been cleared of any wrongdoing. The authorities seem to think he is simple; he was just following orders."

Henry remained silent.

"My father has dismissed Mr. Ripley but has declined to prosecute him," she continued. "Father says that Mr. Ripley was just greedy and weak-minded. Not criminally culpable like . . ."

"My parents?" Henry supplied.

Emily shrugged. It was a fact. "What will happen to them?" she asked.

"My father has taken full responsibility for the fraud. He will probably go to prison for some time. My mother is moving back to Boston to be with her family."

"I'm sure they will offer her the solace she needs," Emily said politely.

"And what does your father have to say about your investigations?"

"He's pretending that I had nothing to do with solving your cousin's death. My mother, as always, toes whatever line my father draws." Emily paused, not liking the bitterness in her own voice. "The important thing is that justice was done."

"I suppose," Henry said, although Emily suspected his heart wasn't in it.

"And you?" she asked. "Will you go back to school as though nothing has happened?"

"I've written to the president of the university, and he agrees that for now it's the best plan. You see, I didn't know anything until after the fact."

Emily nodded. "And once you did, you were in an impossible position. How can you expose a criminal who's a member of your own family?"

"What would you have done?" Henry asked.

"I don't know," Emily admitted. "I love each member of my family so dearly that I think it would kill me to make that choice."

"I pray to G.o.d you never have to."

They were silent, watching the townspeople below go about their business. The stagecoach arrived from Northampton and the driver jumped down to water the horses for the return trip. They didn't have much time.

"What will happen to James's fortune?" Emily asked.

"My mother has forfeited her right to inherit," Henry said. "So it comes to Sam and me."

"Convenient," Emily said drily.

"If I refuse it," Henry defended himself, "then it goes to the state. How does that help anyone? I'll need it to begin a new life and have a career untainted by my family's crimes."

"I think people can convince themselves of the right in anything they truly want," Emily retorted.

Henry would not meet her eyes. He stood up and walked to the porch railing and looked out over the Common, where cows grazed placidly. He turned to face Emily again. "Ursula's body will be sent back to Boston to be buried there," he said. "In Mount Auburn."

"Very prestigious," Emily said.

He opened his mouth to say something and thought better of it. After a minute he seemed to gather himself. "Emily, I wanted to ask you . . . I have no right, but I felt I must. . . . My father's shame is public, and his reputation is beyond repair."

Emily nodded.

"But very few outside the family know of Ursula's crime. Only the constable, Dr. Gridley, your sister, and yourself."

Emily felt a cold block of cynicism settle in her stomach. "And?"

He sat down on the bench next to her and took her hand. "Surely there's no need to add to my mother's burden by proclaiming what my sister did."

"You want me to remain silent." Emily's voice flattened. She tried to pull her hand away.

"If you would. I know it is much to ask." His hand squeezed hers tightly.

"And your cousin James? Doesn't he deserve the truth?"

"Ursula was your friend," he said. "You barely knew James!"

Emily started as though Henry had struck her.

"Or was there more to your friendship than I know?" He stared at her, suspicion in his eyes.

Emily sighed. "We talked for only a few minutes. Less than an hour, all told."

"Then what can it matter to you? You are kind and good, Emily. Grant my family this one grace. My sister is dead-what use is it to talk about what happened?" He hesitated. "Please, do it for me. Think of my career. How can I succeed with this millstone around my neck?"

Suddenly Emily felt a wave of revulsion. She was sick of it all.

"Of course, Mr. Langston. I have no interest in gossiping about this dreadful affair." She stood up and straightened her skirt. "Good-bye. I trust we shall not meet again."

"Good-bye, Miss d.i.c.kinson."

As Emily walked away from the hotel, she thought about Henry Langston's plea for discretion. To whom did she owe the truth? To the dead or to the living.

"James Wentworth had decided to forgive his family," she said aloud. "I'll respect his wishes. If I'm asked about the events of this week, I can be honest without being cruel." Her decision made, she pulled out her notebook.

Tell all the truth, but tell it slant.

She skirted her home and climbed the gentle hill to the cemetery. She cut across the gra.s.sy expanse dotted with graves, unerringly heading for Mr. n.o.body's resting place. The earth was still too unsettled for a tombstone; the spot was marked by a wooden cross and Ursula's wilted bouquet. The cemetery was quiet, save for the lonely cawing of a single crow.

She flipped the pages of her notebook until she found the secret jotting she had made the day she and Mr. n.o.body had met. It wasn't very long-only twelve short lines, and she couldn't swear that her punctuation and spelling were flawless. She carefully tore the page from its binding, folded it in quarters, and tucked it in the dirt under the flowers.

It was a poem about meeting a stranger who became a friend and ally. His name was n.o.body, and it was meant only for eyes that were closed forever. Then she laid a posy of rosemary on the freshly turned dirt. Rosemary, for remembrance.