1
There was a ring in his teacup. That meant the killer was right here, in the mansion—or at least close enough—, but who was it? The killer had stolen the ring, presumably to sell it in the streets. And yet here it was. Not five minutes ago he almost swallowed it along with a swig of delicious English tea. He’d spit it out and regarded it with mounting intrigue. It had the precious rubies embedded in it, and just like in the pictures he’d seen during his investigation, it included an engraving on the inside: Libertatem populi, ut de re publica mortis. Freedom to the people, death to the state. The Duchess was rather radical in her beliefs. Some theorized that was the reason she’d been murdered.
The list of suspects ranged from the highest-ranking officer all the way to the lowliest help. Anyone who’d ever set foot inside the mansion could have a motive, and not one soul was exonerated, not even himself. He knew some people suspected of him, and he was okay with that. Now, back to the matter at hand. Who was the murderer? Inspector Russ regarded the scene from side to side, considering everyone coldly from his seat, the ring held in his closed fist.
The Duke himself was at the head of the room, in a high-backed chair in front of the hearth. He was a bald, wiry man with a walrus moustache and a monocle. He was a man of tradition and pride. He scoffed at people with no manners or regard for authority, and was known to scoff at the help if provoked. He might have had the necessary motivation to kill his wife, and the modus operandi matched the cowardice Russ associated with him: a difficult-to-find and untraceable poison that paralyzed the victim five minutes after its ingestion and lead to an excruciating death that lasted about two hours. But Russ didn’t think it was him. For starters, he had a strong alibi. He’d been in an audience with the Queen herself during the time of the murder.
Next to him was the young Alexandria York, a young woman whose official job title was Advisor to the Duke. She had begun as a cook, until the Duke had displayed a sudden interest in her that disturbed Russ. Since then, she spent most of her time with the Duke in his chambers, “advising” him about important matters. God knew she had enough motives to kill the Duchess if what everyone thought was happening was actually happening. That only left the matter of the poison unanswered. She could have asked the Duke for it, but he would have been suspicious, wouldn’t he? Unless they were working together, which seemed a bit farfetched to Russ. No, if it was her, then she was working alone. She could have gotten the poison in the streets. There were plenty places where she could get it, but it couldn’t have been cheap. She didn’t have an alibi, she’d been in the castle during the murder, so she was still a solid suspect.
Over to the other side of the room, Travis Hutches. A middle-aged man with a strong build. He was the housekeeper, and acted as the maître d’ during high profile events in the mansion. He didn’t have motives other thank killing the Duchess for being rich, since he’d always been poor and was now working a job that barely paid enough to raise his five kids. If he was the murder, Russ would have thought him as the kind of person who would want to search for a buyer as soon as possible, but the ring had now reappeared, so that made the assassination utterly pointless… unless he was planning something bigger. Still, up to now there was no conclusive evidence, so Russ dismissed him for the time being.
Then there was Mary Schwartz. She was the Duchess’s young protegee. She was a gifted woman who had shown interest in music at a young age. She came from a family of commoners in East London, and the Duchess had met her at a violin presentation a couple of years ago. Her performance had immediately captivated her and she showed interested in teaching her more. She herself had learned to play the violin at the early age of five and then proceeded to learn six other instruments by herself. During their time together, Ms. Schwartz had learned to play the harp, the theremin, the flute, and the piano. She had, however, grown accustomed to the high life she enjoyed with the Duchess, and that made her cold and uncaring, more like the duke than her mentor, and that displeased the Duchess deeply. They had grown apart over the years, and she was only invited back to the castle for her lessons. She’d been the one who found the Duchess dead in the ball room at noon after taking a bathroom break, her ring missing, her throat closed by the poison.
When pressed by Russ, she swore that she’d only been a few minutes in the bathroom, and when he put in that her mentor’s death had lasted at least two hours, she informed him that she’d taken that day’s lesson by herself, and had happened upon the Duchess’s body on her way back to the piano by taking a different route out of the bathroom than the one she took going in.
And finally, Mr. and Mrs. Grant. He was the carriage coach and she was the cook. They’d been married for almost sixty years and had been hired at the same time. Just like with Hutches, their motivation could be explained by their social status. But again, it wouldn’t make much sense to steal the ring and then return it, albeit in a strange way, to the mansion.
Then again there was the matter of the Duchess being extremely generous to commoners in general, so if you would target someone for the money, why not target the Duke, who was the arrogant, uptight one? With the Duchess gone, there were no riches to distribute anymore, not with the Duke in charge.
There were a hundred other people to consider. All servants and help who shouldn’t have been in the mansion in the day of the murder. He hadn’t interrogated all of them. But now the ring had reappeared, and that made him believe that the murderer had been inside the mansion today, or, at the very least, an accomplice. So—
He was about to open his hand to peek at the ring one more time, but couldn’t do it; his fingers refused to cooperate. Was this—was this the… poison? He began moving his head across the room again, but it stopped mid-turn. The hand holding his team scrunched up and he felt the cup break, scorching tea dousing his three-piece suit and burning him. Russ tried to stand up, but his knees buckled under his weight and he went down, paralyzed. That caught the attention of the Duke, who tried to stand but couldn’t. At least he fell back into his high-backed chair and lay there. Russ watched him closely as his eyes opened to the size of saucers and his hands clenched the arm rests of his chair and stayed there, their veins popping.
One by one, all the guests were paralyzed. Five thuds preceded by the shattering of cups as the people in the room lost mobility in their hands and arms in quick succession. Everyone had fallen to the floor. Russ couldn’t see them, but he knew what was happening. And then, the pain. Red fire shot through his body, from his limbs into his midriff and his head. It was torture, pure unadulterated agony. In that moment, Russ knew that he’d gladly pay for the sweet release of death if it meant not having to feel this wretched torment spreading through his body like wildfire.
Footsteps echoed in the marble steps leading to the room. They sounded like high heels. Russ had only the Duke’s face to go by, and even though he couldn’t change his expression, he saw terror seep into it. He looked as if he’d just seen a ghost. Then a female voice spoke.
“Well, well, well… everyone was so worried with catching the culprit that they forgot to consider the victim herself.” It was the Duchess. Yeah, no shit Sherlock, his mind replied derisively. But how…?
The Duchess continued: “Oh, how I have been waiting for this moment! I have been planning it for years and now it is done. You actually thought that I could be killed that easily? Please, ladies and gentlemen, give me some credit!” She strode into Russ’s field of vision. She was wearing a silk dress and a golden tiara. Her shoes were pearly white, her mouth a deep crimson.
She turned her back to Russ and pointed at her husband. “You made my life miserable, you arrogant piece of shite. All you ever did was sit on your cursed arse all day and do nothing. And yet you thought that you were entitled to better things than every other person because of your title. I’ve been planning this because of you. You deserve to die. You are only a human parasite, taking and taking until your pockets overflow and there is nothing left for the people who needed. I wish I could hear you beg. But the agony in your face is priceless nevertheless.”
She walked over to the York girl. “You. You think I minded that you were fornicating with my husband? I pity you. He is human excrement; I could not care less if you have him. You can have him forever. In hell. You know, I liked you when you first arrived here. But then you took a liking to my husband and became cold and uncaring like him, and that’s why you will die today.”
A pause. More footsteps. “Mary. Oh, Mary. I was so fond of you. But you had to grow accustomed to lavish stupidity and riches. It hurts to see you like this, my dear. It really does, but I couldn’t bear the idea of you turning into something like him.” Russ could see her nodding in her husband’s direction.
More footsteps after that, and then he was looking directly at the Duchess’s shoes. “And you inspector. I struggled with this for a long time, but you must understand I could not let you live. You were just a liability at this point. I am sorry you have to go like this, but I do it to free myself and as many people as I can. At least I gave you a final puzzle before killing you. Tell me, inspector, did you solve it? I hope so.” She reached down and took his fist, then started pulling at his fingers. Each pull sent a fresh, more intense shot of pain into his arm. Russ grunted, but the Duchess continued to pry open his fist until she held the ring in her fingers. “Ah, finally the author of all this problem. I almost feel like my husband would not have cared about my death if not for the ring. In many ways, I think the ring is the harbinger of your demise, Inspector.”
She walked back to her husband’s side and called out: “And I bet you are all wondering how I pulled this off. Let us just say that I had a little help from my friends. Come!” She was joined by three people who Russ had thought were paralyzed as well: The Grants and Travis Hutches. “Yes, them and all the other help in the mansion. You see, I knew my death needed to look convincing, so I drank a cup of tea infused with poison from the seeds in my ring and then gave it to Mr. Hutches for safekeeping. Yes, those were not rubies. I went through the paralysis and was found by naïve Mary, who reported my death to Mr. Hutches. Mr. and Mrs. Grant were the paramedics who appeared at the door, disguised so they wouldn’t be recognized. Of course, my husband’s audience with the Queen made it a lot easier. They announced my death almost immediately and took pictures for the inspector, who would only get to see a body a couple of days later. Then there was the matter of removing the poison from my system, which was more painful than the paralysis, mind you. The surgeon who provided the post-mortem helped me with that. He promised he would keep quiet if I paid him generously, and I did. Once the poison was removed from my body, we selected an unrecognizable corpse to be me. That was the body you all saw afterwards, and the one you buried. Now I appear before you one last time, risen from the dead, and all it took was a bit of infusion from my ring to kill you all.
“I have no obstacles before me. I will take all your fortune and flee the country with all the servants and help from the mansion. They’ll no longer want under my care. They will be treated as equals, not subordinates, and who knows? Maybe we will target the Queen next.” The Duchess bowed and left with her allies, her shoes clicking on marble loudly.
After two hours, everyone in the room was dead. They were found about a week after, when the stink started wafting into the street and someone finally decided to enter the mansion.
