Murder at Spindle Manor by Morgan Stang

Author:Morgan Stang [Stang, Morgan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-10-20T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Thirteen is a wildly unlucky number, especially at a time like this, so there is no chapter thirteen, thank you very much.

Chapter 14

The Apple Tree

Isabeau Agarwal stood in the field behind Spindle Manor after midnight in the pouring rain—umbrella in one hand and gaslamp raised in the other—and watched as a team dug beneath the apple tree at the edge of the forest in search of a dead body.

Hector, Teddy, Spud and Col Thrawl all had shovels, attacking the ground at different angles around the tree, backs bent, tossing clumps of thick mud over their shoulders. Dr Mulgrave barked orders nearby under the protection of an umbrella. “Quickly, men! Put your backs into it! The night grows deep and the storm angry, and here we stand against the edge of the wilderness!”

Thrawl's entire body steamed under the rain, hissing and smoking as her small coal engine glowed bright and hot at her back. Her mechanical limbs proved as powerful as she claimed, and Isabeau figured the only reason she didn't lay into the good doctor for giving her orders was because she was too busy showing off how physically capable she was. She seemed to be enjoying it.

Mrs Field held Ms Valdez arm in arm beneath a shared umbrella. The medium had donned new clothing before venturing outside. Madame Blanchet stood near the workers beneath her own large umbrella. Penny was left inside, tasked with hammering boards over the broken windows to room 303. Both coachmen stood near Isabeau, and both seemed rather nervous of the woods beyond the apple tree. Ms Keystone was furthest from the proceedings, umbrella in hand, and still in her bathrobe.

“The will-o'-the-wisps are excited tonight,” said Evie, gazing past crooked trees with black, gnarled roots at the hundreds of little floating lights dancing madly in the distance. “Keep fast hold of your gaslamps, lest we succumb to their madness.”

Isabeau narrowed her eyes, scanning the murky depths of that wild wood, and spotted more than just the lights of dancing will-o'-the-wisps: the glowing eyes of beasts staring back.

“Best we work quick,” she said.

She considered the apple tree. It was a great, old thing, but the apples weren't in season. She didn't think she would sample one if they had been.

Not here, not at Spindle Manor.

“Ah! Ms Agarwal!” called Dr Mulgrave. “Here! Hector's found something.”

Everyone gathered around the hole Hector had dug, and something white shined through the dirt and mud. Hector knelt, brushing off more mud, revealing the stark face of a skeleton.

He backed away, and nobody said anything. They stood, heads downcast, the rain pouring over them or their umbrellas, and looked at the final resting place of Katherine Sharpe.

“They conducted a search,” said Madame Blanchet with a solemn voice. “They never did find her body. And here she was, buried beneath this apple tree the whole time.”

Her skull looked up at them with an open mouth and sad sockets, as if crying out.

“Yes, yes,” said Ms Keystone. “This is all very tragic and

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