HOME | DD

Description
We both locked eyes for a suspended second, and I saw my own face reflected in his orbs. Then he collapsed to the floor, dead. As he toppled to the ground, I blankly saw behind him, a constable's face and badge, holding a smoking pistol. Shocked and confounded, I could do nothing but stare at the body of Gregory Foster as the constables swarmed in through the doors and windows. At last I was shaken from my stupor by a soft touch on my shoulder. I looked to see the young woman, Margaret Stillst's daughter, standing near me with my gun in hand.
“I would like to thank you for loaning it to me. I'm sorry to have so inconvenienced you, Mr...”
“Quiller,” I fumbled, “Vincent Quiller.” She seemed quite satisfied with the name.
“Mary Stillst at your convenience.” she said with something akin to a smile. I was somewhat amazed that she was dealing with such shock and these gruesome events so well, but I was to learn that the young lady had seen far more tragedy than I had given her merit for.
“Now,” she said quite cheerily, “Seeing as my mother and Mr. Foreman are rather occupied dealing with the constables, I am afraid we are expected to make quiet use of ourselves until we are requested for.” I followed her gaze and saw a tall, well-built gentleman speaking with three constables, and Madam Stillst doing very much the same. I concurred with Mary and we retreated to a quiet corner of the room and occupied ourselves in conversation for most of the remaining evening. I did not speak of her past nor the previous weeks, and the lady did likewise. To mention it seemed unnecessary and improper, so we spoke of pleasanter and much more enjoyable topics to us both. The young lady was more taxed by the chaotic evening than at first it seemed however, and soon fell asleep upon my shoulder, though she fought quite hard to stay awake. I gazed about the room, and at the three shroud-covered corpse, and wondered what was to become of me in the following days, and would become of the two women whose lives now seemed to be very much intertwined with mine. I gazed also at the girl who slept in peaceful repose beside me and found myself wishing that I might remain in her company. Such varied, mixing thoughts occupied my head until the constables wished to interrogate me.

After a great many things had been accomplished, and all of us were questioned and the corpses disposed of respectfully, we were at last given permission to depart. Margaret Stillst begged me to accompany them to her brother's household, who I had discovered was Mr. Thomas Foreman. He owned a moderately large state nearby, although it was a longer journey than I had hoped for. When we arrived at the Foreman Estate, Mr. Foreman and and his sister invited me into the parlor to take tea. It was very late in the night or ,indeed, very early morning, and I would have preferred to sleep, but as I was loathe to disappoint my generous hosts, I obliged. I also hoped that perhaps some of the remaining mystery might be penetrated. Miss Mary Stillst insisted on remaining with us, though she was clearly fatigued. When I pleaded with her to retire for her health, she evaded me with a smile.
“Mr. Quiller, I have had nights far more sleepless than this one. I shall be perfectly fine come morning. Please do not trouble yourself over me, for my sake. I am not re-accustomed to such attention yet.” I relented, and we entered the parlor. After tea had been served and a fire lit, Margaret Stillst, seated a cross from me, began to speak quietly, gazing at the fire and myself by turns.
“This story, Mr. Quiller, is not brief, and any attempt to make it so would but hopelessly confuse you. I hope, dear young man, that I shall not trouble you. It pains me to speak of things rather forgotten, but it must be done, and the mystery penetrated.” She faltered here, biting her lip, but went onward gallantly. “My family was exceedingly poor. All of my brothers, including Thomas were sent of to other cities to procure work. The girls stayed at home, with my mother. She was a confused, unhappy woman and a prolific drinker. She-she sold...my sisters, as wells a myself to a man who delivered us to various brothels. I have not seen any of my sisters since that painful day.” She took a deep breath, but continued. “The institution I was sold to -nothing will induce me to utter its name. It is unspeakably abhorrent to me, even now. The institution I was sold to was that of a somewhat higher class. The girls were kept healthy enough, and we never went hungry. I thank the Lord that he was merciful, even there. I bore a daughter, Mary, at the age of seventeen in that wretched place, and as I had not the means nor ability to keep her with me, I was forced to give the poor babe to an orphan house. After three more years, Mr. Gregory Foster came into my acquaintance. He visited me often, and was quite enamored with me, and after a period of several months, he announced to me his intention to free me. We laid our plans for escape but unforeseen circumstances delayed our plans for nearly fourth months. During this time, I perceived his true character. His obsessive passions and horrifically violent and twisted mind. My fear of him only grew with every passing day. When the appointed day of our escape came, I employed the plan we had agreed upon. I was to create a distraction to draw away the headmistress of the brother and slip out of a window and teal into the carriage waiting below . Everything went according to what we had ordained, and we were to ride through the night and board a boat destined for Italy the next morning. During a pause in our journey in order to change coaches, and while Gregory was occupied speaking to the coachman, I slipped away unnoticed. I fled for five days with hardly an pause. Terror gripped my soul, for I knew that he would never abandon the chase until he had caught me in his clutches once again. A widow found me and took me to a convent, where they treated me with gentle kindness for two years as they nourished my scarred soul. At the end of this time , having no wish to return to my family, I began the quest for my daughter. I found scarce information at the orphan house and any other useful assistance led no where. I worked as whatever honorable occupation I could obtain. At one time, I was an actress for several years. Many people said I possessed a gift for theatre, but that was long ago. I received many letters from Gregory Foster at that time, all of them cruelly crafted and painful to my heart. Eventually, I resorted to burning them unopened. After many disappointed hopes and long years, I discovered my daughter's family. Unfortunately, she had been sent to live with a distant uncle, as they had fallen into recent poverty. By the time I could manage to obtain contact with this distant relative, Gregory Foster had stooped to using aliases in his letters. Strangely, he never appeared in person to myself, which I am sure he thought much more terrifying. When I arrived at my daughter's supposed dwelling, I found the household in complete disarray. She had, it seemed, disappeared only a week prior. Many searches and ingenious efforts were conducted in hopes of finding her, but to no avail. She seemed to have vanished. I was heartbroken and languished in despondency for nearly a week before I came to my senses. Shortly afterward, I received a letter from Gregory Foster, wildly proclaiming he had my daughter in captivity. I ignored the letter, as he had made countless empty threats of the same kind before. However, another name soon came to my attention. Mr. Arthur Loffemoore send me a rather lengthy, adoring letter chronicling how he had once observed me perform, and had been obsessed with myself from that time onward. He also claimed to have my daughter, Mary, in his care, and added that he had employed Gregory Foster in his attempts to reunite my daughter and I. Fortunately, I knew what implications would apply if I came to his residence to retrieve Mary. My painful youth had taught me indeed very little if not caution, so I refrained from responding to his letter. I instead relocated to a small flat in town near the Loffemoore Manor to see if this man did indeed have my daughter in his custody. There I made myself known by another name, and it was there that I was reunited with Thomas, a great moment of jubilee in such a lonely time. I am certain Mr. Foster and Mr. Loffemoore would have taken me by force if Thomas had not remained my faithful guardian. I continued to build up my reputation as a quiet, out of the way woman in town, for I knew that Foster employed informants everywhere, and by making myself a common-day occurrence, I hoped to elude them. Meanwhile, I slowly gleaned acquaintances and information surrounding the Loffemoore Manor. When I had been living in town for nearly a year and a quarter, I received a letter from Mr. Loffemoore. He had discovered my hiding place and was growing impatient. If I did not come to retrieve my daughter within the next two months, he would 'be forced to use other means of disposal for her' as he so darkly put it. It was then that I began masquerading in attempt to study the Loffemoore Manor and its inhabitants, and it was there that you fist discovered me, Mr. Quiller. Mr. Loffemoore arranged a meeting where he and Foster would bring me daughter to the square, and I could witness for myself that it was my daughter who was being held as ransom, without exposing myself to either of the two men. As I watched from an unseen hiding place, I could not deny my features in her face, and desperately wished to release her from the grasp of these cruel men and rescue ourselves from the both of them forever. Thomas and I began to construct a plan, for it was clear I would need to face these two men in person if I were to sustain any hope of rescuing my daughter. And now, I suppose my tale should retire. You for yourself what occurred henceforth.”
“Indeed madam, but if I might, I should be selfish enough as to impose a question upon you.” I interjected.
“Any you wish, I am more than happy to oblige” she said warmly.
“Why, madam, did you continue firing at Mr. Arthur Loffemoore? You knew that Gregory Foster held your daughter's life, did you not?”
“A well thought out inquiry, Mr. Quiller, only natural from one as contemplative as yourself. I knew Mr. Foster well, very well, unfortunately, and I was well acquainted with the measures of his selfishness. He cared not for Mr. Loffemoore, but he was loathe to destroy what he possessed and anticipated to enjoy....my daughter. I did misjudge him in one instance, Mr. Quiller. I hinged my approach on the hope that he would have at least basic human regard and esteem for his employer, but I must admit, I had forgotten with whom I was dealing.” I sat in silence as I attempted to absorb this woman's story.
“Well,” Thomas Foreman broke my reverie, “Might I suggest that we all follow my niece's example and retire? It is indeed, very late.” I looked over at the young lady to discover that she was sleeping peacefully, and by my judgment, had probably been doing so for quite some time. I assented, and was shown to the room in which I would be staying, and could do no more than note to myself the tasteful mint green color of the walls before I was overwhelmed by my need to rest.