The Parke At Ocean Pines
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It had been a busy summer. The house was filled with guests and the gardens were in full bloom. A week before they left for London, she found herself sitting alone on one of the benches around her garden wall, enjoying an iced tea and watching the children playing in the backyard.
It felt strange to be alone with no responsibilities and not even a servant nearby—she’d forgotten what it could feel like. She sighed happily and sipped her drink as two young girls approached from down the garden path.
They were holding hands and skipping along, their voices raised in excited chatter. One girl wore a long dress and carried a parasol; the other wore a sundress and had flowers tucked into her hair.
“There are my dears!” she called out, standing up from the bench and hurrying over to them, smiling at their bright faces. “Are you off to enjoy some of the afternoon suns?”
They nodded, giggling conspiratorially as they linked arms together.
“Oh yes, Miss Martha,” said the younger child with an embarrassed blush. “We’re going for a walk.”
She looked down at their feet. They were barefoot.
“That sounds lovely,” she replied, looking up at them with concern. “But you shouldn’t go anywhere without shoes or stockings this time of year.”
The girls frowned at that, but only briefly before they continued on their way. Martha watched them go, frowning at them. They didn’t seem at all worried about being seen running around barefoot. And why should they? She had never worn any either.
“I’ll have to remember to speak with Mrs. Wilks about those two,” she mumbled, taking another sip from her glass. “I’m sure there must be something I can do…”
When she turned away, she heard her name called from behind her. She stopped and waited.
“Miss Martha! Miss Martha!”
Turning back, she saw Mary walking toward her down the garden path, a small boy at her side who seemed very eager to tell his mistress whatever it was he wanted to say.
“Yes, dear?”
Mary looked a little flustered as she drew nearer, glancing around her nervously before continuing.
“You’ve got to come quickly!”
With great relief, Martha smiled at Mary’s voice and hurried to follow.
“What is it? What’s happened now?”
Mary led her past the fountain in the middle of the garden and around the back porch. She gestured with a thumb to a spot near the back steps where the grass was damp with water.
“Oh, no!” Martha gasped. “Someone has been here! Look!”
There was blood spattered everywhere: splashed across the steps, on the railings, and dripping onto the grass from above. Her heart leaped to see the familiar white bandage still tied around the hand—the same one the young boy had shown her just days ago on the street outside the schoolhouse.
Martha’s stomach twisted painfully. This was bad. Very bad. She took in a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heartbeat and steady her shaky nerves.
“How did they get in?” she asked.
Mary shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know…I haven’t been able to find out.”
She looked at Martha with desperation in her eyes. “Please help me. We have to stop whoever did this…and we have to catch them fast because they’re coming back for sure.”
“Of course.” Martha nodded solemnly and turned toward the steps. “Follow me.”
Her mind raced through the possibilities, searching for an answer. Was this the work of one of the gangs? Was someone sent to scare them? But if so, why would anyone leave the bloody bandages? Unless they were planning a more elaborate attack soon. If they had been left by someone else entirely, that meant she had to act fast to save her friend.
As she hurried along the path, Mary’s words echoed in her mind. There wasn’t any evidence to lead her to any kind of suspect. Whoever did this had been careful. They hadn’t taken anything—just done their best to leave an as little trace behind as possible.
And she was certain they had come in through the kitchen windows again because no one else was around. She could hear servants inside, but none of them were out there—which made sense since she had told everyone to stay indoors after the last incident.
At the bottom of the steps, Martha glanced over to check the front door. It was locked. The window was too far away; even if she could reach it without alerting the intruders, it was still too high to climb through.
A shiver of fear ran down her spine. She knew who would be most likely to do such a thing and where they could be found. It was him. Her brother-in-law.
His eyes were always roaming over the grounds. He had to have known that someone would discover his bloody tracks, and so he must have come here directly afterward to erase the evidence before anyone discovered what he had done.
This is my fault, Martha realized. I should have listened when he begged me not to involve you in this…
Her legs were already moving toward the door when Mary grabbed her arm, stopping her.
“No, don’t go yet, Martha! Stay here.”
Martha turned to look at her in confusion. She had never seen her stepmother this shaken before—and it was certainly unusual to have Mary insist that Martha wait for her. Usually, Mary followed her around like a shadow, doing everything she wanted or needed before she ever thought about asking.
“We need to call your father right away,” Mary said, glancing over toward the back door where Martha could see the kitchen servant standing in shock, staring up at the splatters of red on the walls and railing. “And we need to make sure the others are safe as well.”
Martha nodded and turned toward the servants’ quarters. At least the children were upstairs, out of harm’s way.
“The children are all fine,” Mary said in a hushed voice as she hurried alongside Martha. “But someone needs to check on Mrs. Oates first. I can’t imagine how terrified she must be by this.”
They hurried down the back hall to the servants’ stairs where they stopped short, surprised to see that Mrs. Oates’ door was open. A chill swept through Martha’s body as she saw the woman’s lifeless body lying facedown on the floor, covered by a dark pool of blood.
It couldn’t possibly be Mrs. Oates—she was just down there with the children! Martha stared at the body and felt a cold lump grow in her stomach.
Had something happened to the cook herself? Had the intruder killed her too? Martha could only shake her head in disbelief. That wasn’t possible. She didn’t believe it. No way could it be true.
Mrs. Oates had been a fixture at the manor for years; she knew every inch of the grounds. How could anyone have gotten past her?
“Martha!”
Both women turned to see Mr. Oates hurrying down the hall toward them. His face was white with shock—shock at seeing Mrs. Oates’ dead body and fear for his family’s safety.
“What is going on, Mary? Are you hurt?”
Mary quickly stepped into the role of concerned mother and gently placed her hand on his arm as she spoke. “Thank goodness you’re here, sir. Your wife and children are upstairs, and I’ve called for the militia.”
Mr. Oates nodded dumbly as he scanned the hallway and noticed the blood splatters. He let out a loud cry of despair as he reached forward, grabbing hold of Martha’s arm.
“I don’t know what to say, Martha. I’m sorry.”
For the first time in years, Martha had to stifle her urge to laugh out loud—because Mr. Oates sounded so ridiculous. It was funny, actually.
He was the one who had forced his family on her, forcing her to take care of his son and daughter when she clearly wasn’t capable—forcing her into a position where she was now responsible for the lives of innocent children while he sat safely upstairs. She should be laughing at him, but she was too scared and confused by everything happening.
“Please, sir,” Martha finally answered, trying to regain some composure. “Go get your children. We’ll handle things downstairs.”
He looked back and forth between Martha and Mary. “You two are in charge of the servants?”
Both women nodded and smiled reassuringly at him before looking back at each other in a silent exchange that made Martha smile.
She loved watching the dynamic between them. Mary was always willing to play second fiddle if it meant she got to boss Martha around instead, and Martha was perfectly happy to oblige. But today seemed like a day when they were both more than willing to stand side by side for the first time in years, ready to fight back together against this evil stranger who had dared to attack their home.
They turned and hurried back down the hallway, taking the steps three at a time until they arrived at the main entrance hall. By this point, several members of the militia had gathered outside in a line, weapons drawn. They all turned to stare at the sight of Martha and Mary standing there, both wearing dresses that were completely inappropriate for combat. One of the older men cleared his throat to announce their arrival.
“Good evening,” Mr. Oates began, walking briskly toward the group of officers and men. “My family has been attacked. Two of my servants have been killed and my wife is missing.”
“Where did the attacker go?” asked a stern-looking officer as he stepped closer and peered down at Mr. Oates’ shoulder. “Did you find any sign of him?”
Mr. Oates took a deep breath before answering. “Yes, he fled westward from our home, toward the woods behind us.”
The man nodded, then turned to address his men. “All right, gentlemen. Keep a close eye on this area in case he makes his escape back out into the forest.” The officers nodded in agreement and quickly moved to secure the front gate, which Martha noticed had been left wide open when she’d entered the house only an hour earlier.
“Are you okay?” said another man, approaching the Oateses. “We’ve found no trace of the murderer, so we can’t help search for your wife.”
“We need to find her right away,” Mr. Oates said with growing frustration in his voice. “We have to find her before…”
His words trailed off when he spotted Martha holding a pistol, pointing it directly at his chest.
“Sir, please,” she said through clenched teeth. “Put down your weapon and step aside. I’m sure the rest of these men will be able to assist you much better than I can.”
Mr. Oates hesitated only a moment before lowering his pistol and stepping back slowly.
“That’s better,” said Martha as she holstered the pistol. “Now, do me a favor and make your way up to the second floor to wait for help to arrive. There’s nothing you or I can do to protect the rest of your family until we know who did this and catch him.”
The militia man looked over at the house and nodded his head. “Right, sir. We’ll take care of things on our end.”
“Good,” Martha replied with relief. At least Mr. Oates would be safe, and she could turn her full attention toward finding Mrs. Oates—and maybe even stopping her. She couldn’t believe she’d been foolish enough to leave the gun in the car. She hadn’t thought anyone would be stupid enough to come after them again, especially not a crazed maniac that knew they owned guns.
As she started heading back toward the stairway, she stopped and turned around. “And Mr. Oates—if you ever decide to try and force yourself on my sister again…we’ll find someone else to look after your children. Do you understand?”
A few of the militiamen looked up at Mr. Oates’ retreating figure with expressions that clearly showed how repulsed they were by the man, but most of them just shrugged and went back to patrolling the perimeter around the house. One man, however, caught Martha’s attention. He had walked a little ways ahead of the group and was already starting toward the kitchen.
Martha sighed and shook her head. That was one person she didn’t want anywhere near her sister or her mother’s room, no matter what he looked like now.
The End