Leads
Lucille had left her ring on the side table, it would too easily identify her as the culprit in her morning's endeavour. She slipped out of her hotel room and into Thomas's. Thomas was fast asleep under the white blanket, the black curls ruffled by tossing during the night, pink lips slightly parted as he lay on his back. She crept across the light oak floor to the head of the bed. It was rather irritating that she could not merely crawl in and return to sleep. She satiated herself with the thought that in a few weeks, a month or two at most, he would have returned home then when Edith was dead they would have the master bed to themselves again. Carefully, she pressed a kiss to her brother's lips then turned and went to the armoire.
Though she had never done it before, since she and Thomas looked so much alike she was sure that passing for a man would be easy. The trousers were easy to pull on, while the blouse's stiff collar felt like it was choking her and the open neck left the tops of her breasts exposed. At the very least the blouse's issues were remedied by the waist coat's obscuring of her feminine silhouette, helped further as she donned his frock coat. One thing she loved about his clothes was that since he spent so much time around fireplaces at home they smelled delightfully of wood smoke. Briefly, she reached into the frock coat's right pocket to make sure that his black leather gloves were still there. They were, she would need them later. She was missing something, but what was it ? Ah, of course, Thomas's top hat and shoes. When she had righted both things, she headed out of the hotel.
It was quite queer not having Thomas beside her as she walked, likewise was having the men pay attention to her instead of ignoring her. Ten minutes only it took to reach Cushing's club at a walking pace. It was a two-storey, dark oak and white plaster building, the floors as she entered were impeccable white tile. Thomas's reconnaissance paid her well as she turned down the right hallway toward the gentlemen's locker room. She hid in the shadows heart in her throat as a man passed by. However, she was in luck, it was only the man's servant not Cushing himself. The man would be alone...for a few minutes, now was her chance.
Excitement filled her veins as she strode into the room, water plashing about her feet to see him crouched on the floor. He was facing the overflowing sink as she stopped behind him to pull on Thomas's gloves, a fallen razor lay by his far hand. Before he could fully realize what was happening and retaliate, she grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into the porcelain edge. Thunk ! Blood gushed into the water like a butterfly frantically trying to spread pinched wings.
Once was not enough to satisfy her, no, once meant that he could still live and ruin her plan. Nearly she laughed as she lifted his head and saw his pained expression in the mirror, his horror when he realized who she was and what that meant for his poor daughter. One, two, three more times before the sink's edge shattered into blood-suffused water. Satisfied, she dropped him like an empty sack of flour, the butterfly landed with a dull crunch. As she turned and walked out she realized there was a song on the gramophone, it was called: "Red Rose." She recognized it because she was rather fond of playing the melody at home, but couldn't for the life of her remember who sang it.
There would be no leads on Cushing's death and were the authenticity of the accident questioned the doctor would be too proud to admit his wrongdoing. It was simply perfect. The only thing she regretted was that she'd not been able to take a lock of his hair for her trophies. On the other hand, she'd only taken them from Mother and Thomas's wives, all the bloody bints who had tried to take Thomas from her. Eventually, she would take one from Cushing's darling Edith and it was going to feel so much better knowing that his bountiful bribe had accomplished nothing. Oh how she would love it when that day finally came.