At first, having seen Matthew’s study, he didn’t think that there was anything amiss. He just assumed that all botanists preferred to work in such chaos. However, once he had moved deeper into the room, he spotted several large boot marks printed on the papers that were scattered across the floor and knew that something was not right. In addition to that, some of the papers on the desk had clearly been dislodged and had cascaded down the open drawers to rest in a haphazard jumble on the floor.
“Someone has been through here,” Ben sighed and glanced sideways at Beatrice when she moved to stand beside him.
“They have broken into the house, but have only ransacked the office.” She glanced at him. “They were looking for something.”
“Looks like it. Just don’t touch anything.” His eyes met and held hers. “I wonder where Jules Sanders is.”
For one brief moment, Beatrice didn’t want to know where he was. She was almost too afraid to find him.
“I don’t like this, Ben. Let’s get out of here.” She stepped back into the hallway and turned to look at Ben, when something caught her eye.
There, in the small space between the door and the jamb, something big and dark blocked the light.
She tugged on the back of Ben’s jacket but refused to let go. When he turned to look at her, she pointed toward the door and mouthed, ‘Jules Sanders’. Their eyes met and held for a moment before Ben turned around and sauntered casually into the room.
“Don’t look,” he growled once he had taken a quick look behind the door. He closed his eyes against the sight of the corpse of who he presumed was Jules Sanders, hanging from the back of the door from his own tie. The purple colour of the dead man’s face warned Ben that he had been killed some time ago, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the murder had taken place on the same day as Brian Mottram’s death.
Beatrice, who was not used to doing what she was told, immediately moved to stand beside Ben and glanced at what was on the other side of the door.
She immediately wished she hadn’t. Her stomach began to churn.
“I told you not to look,” Ben chided. He tried to draw her into his arms but she pulled away and hurried out into the hall. Rather than stop there, she continued to walk until she was out in the yard again where she stood for a moment, and drew in several large deep breaths in a desperate attempt to quell the sickness that loomed.
Ben joined her a moment later. “We need to report this to the police.”
“What do we tell them, Ben? I mean, they are going to ask us why we are here. Mark told us to stay away and leave the investigating to him. We have gone against his orders and meddled anyway. Now look what’s happened,” she sighed.
This time, when Ben tried to tug her into his arms, she went willingly and stood within the warmth of his embrace for several minutes while she tried to quell the fine tremors that coursed through her.
“We don’t have to tell them that we are investigating anything. We can tell them that we met with Archie who transcribed the notes for us. He told us that Jules would be available to tell us a little more about who cultivated the plant and why. Mark cannot object to us finding out what we can about the plant seeing as it is in your study,” Ben assured her. “After all, dead bodies have started to appear since that plant turned up. We have to know just how much danger you are in just by having it in your house.”
Beatrice leaned back to look up at him. “Judging from the state of Jules Sanders, we are in a lot of danger.”
“Unless the killer intends to murder everyone who helped to cultivate it,” Ben mused wryly. “That being the case, why could he possibly want you as one of his victims?”
He tried to reassure her but, as he spoke, even he wasn’t convinced by what he said. Neither was Beatrice apparently, because she leaned back to look up at him with a frown.
“To get his hands on the wretched thing,” she declared flatly.
Ben looked down at her. “We need to move the plant out of the house, and hide it somewhere else. I really don’t want you alone with that blasted thing. Hargraves is just a little too persistent to be ignored and, while I am not suggesting for a second that he is the killer, we cannot just sit idly by and wait for him to call back.”
She shivered and leaned against him for a moment. “I don’t want you to have it in your house either, Ben,” she whispered. “I mean, if that plant is dangerous, the danger goes with the plant. I don’t want you to get hurt purely because you are a kind and generous man who has been dragged into this purely through a good deed.”
This was not the time or place for an argument, so he let the matter drop for now and leaned back to look deeply into her eyes. Luckily, although fear lingered, she had stopped shaking and was now a little calmer.
“Let’s go and find that constable,” he murmured, and escorted her out of the yard. “Then we will decide what to do with the plant.”
If he had taken a moment to glance back and study the yard behind him, he would have seen the door to the coal house close ever so carefully as soon as the gate was shut.
At the front of the house, Beatrice climbed aboard the carriage and was suddenly glad that the road around them was empty, and nobody had been outside to witness the length of time they had been in the house. Finding two dead bodies in the space of a week was bad enough but, when connected to the list of names they had found and the fact that they shouldn’t have been at Jules Sanders’ house in the first place, the finger of suspicion for the murders could very firmly be pointed in their direction, and neither of them would have any grounds to argue.
“I don’t think it is mere circumstance that Hargraves was in the market today,” Beatrice whispered with a shiver.
“I know,” Ben sighed and he drew her against his side, more for his sake than hers. She looked so pale now that he suddenly wished that they hadn’t gone to Jules Sanders’ house in the first place, but it was too late now. “I think that he followed us here. However, we cannot start to point fingers at him for Jules Sanders’ death just because he lives on Southside.”
“Maybe it is me, and I am seeing shadows where there are none,” she whispered morosely.