Fixing To Die

Henry Howard evidently agreed with An’gel about Marcelline’s claims of spirit interference. He laughed in the housekeeper’s face. “I know you believe there’s a ghost in this house, but even if there is, it’s never done anything bad before, has it? No one’s ever been hurt here, have they?”

Marcelline looked taken aback at Henry Howard’s response to her demands. “Well, no, not before now,” she said. “But Nathan wanted to take those things from this house, and the spirit didn’t want him to. She wants those things left right where they are. They belong here, no matter what Nathan was always saying.”

That was an interesting idea, An’gel thought. The spirit was protecting the furnishings of the French room. But why? Was the spirit supposed to belong to the long-dead great-aunt who had once lived in that room, Nathan’s great-grandmother four times removed? As far as An’gel was aware, the woman hadn’t died in this house. Surely she had died in Vicksburg, where her husband and children lived. That might be something they needed to find out, though.

“You and I are never going to agree on this, Marcelline,” Henry Howard said, his tone becoming increasingly testy. “I hope you’re not saying all these things in front of Mary Turner.”

The housekeeper bridled. “Credit me with some sense, Mr. Henry. I helped raise that child, and I’m not going to frighten her. You’re her husband, you’re supposed to be looking out for her, and you’d rather be off somewhere writing than looking after her.”

“That’s enough.” Henry Howard pushed back his chair and stood over Marcelline. “I’m tired of hearing that from you. All you do is criticize me because I’m not a slave to this house the way you and Mary Turner are. I married Mary Turner, not this damn house.” He pushed by the housekeeper and stormed out the back door, slamming it shut behind him.

An’gel felt embarrassed to have witnessed this scene. She had never guessed there was such a high level of friction between Henry Howard and Marcelline. She knew the housekeeper was protective of Mary Turner. But why this animosity toward Henry Howard? Was he really that neglectful of Mary Turner?

An’gel figured Marcelline was frightened by the unexplained death and was lashing out in fear for her beloved young mistress. An’gel had already discovered that Henry Howard wasn’t truly happy running the bed-and-breakfast, and she could understand that. He apparently wanted to be a writer but his responsibilities to his wife and the family business were frustrating his ambitions and his progress. The situation was rife for discord, and An’gel wondered how far it had developed.

There had been no indication of any kind of rift between Mary Turner and Henry Howard that An’gel could recall. As far as she could tell, Mary Turner loved her husband, and he in turn loved his wife. They seemed devoted to each other. Frustrated ambition could affect even a loving couple in a bad way, though. She couldn’t do anything about it unless Mary Turner appealed directly to her for help. She couldn’t pry into the young woman’s relationship with her husband. That was not her way, although she hated standing by when friends were in need of help of some kind.

Marcelline seemed to notice that An’gel was in the kitchen. Her tone was chilly when she spoke. “Was there something you needed, Miss An’gel?”

“I brought Henry Howard in here because he never really got a chance to have any breakfast,” An’gel said. “I thought he needed something to eat. He’s under considerable strain at the moment.” She intended that last remark to make a point with Marcelline, and she hoped the housekeeper would understand the implicit criticism. An’gel knew it wasn’t her place to interfere in matters between employer and employee, but she felt that the housekeeper hadn’t been entirely fair with Henry Howard.

“When he comes back, I’ll see that he gets something to eat,” Marcelline said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Certainly,” An’gel said in her best grande dame manner. She might have permanently impaired a previously cordial relationship with the housekeeper with her words, but she wasn’t going to back down. She walked out of the kitchen.

In the hallway, the kitchen door shut behind her, An’gel paused to think about what she ought to do next. What she really wanted to do was confront Primrose Pace and find out more about the woman’s background. Her turning up at Cliffwood had been suspiciously opportune, and An’gel didn’t buy the idea that a spirit had called the woman to the house.

Benjy had a knack for finding things online, An’gel knew, and perhaps it was time to get him to research Primrose Pace. He enjoyed projects like these, and he would be happy to have something to do. An’gel headed to the dining room to discover whether he and Dickce were still there.