A Murder At Rufus House.

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It is oft said that there lies a truth in every lie and a lie in every truth. These are what secrets are.

For the inhabitants of Gravesand, the Rufus House had many secrets. It is said that The House, built even before Queen Victoria took her first steps, echoed a secret that haunted its walls and shook its foundations: the legend of the Rufus murder.

Yes, a murder. It is said that a Rufus ancestor, Albert Rufus, had murdered his wife in this house. The legend continues that when he'd locked Anne in a room for the whole night, she'd turned up dead the next morning. After this, he'd married his mistress. As such, Anne's mother had vowed that any woman who sleeps in the room Anne Rufus had died in, and is knowingly having an affair with a married man will die. She'd proceeded to seal the vow with her blood.

When we rented the Rufus House, leased during the summer for our yearly vacation, I had no idea of the secrets which plagued the building. I went with the Brents—Kate and Edwin Brent, Kate's sister Joanne, and her co-worker, Nora. I felt like an outsider intruding on private family matters.

I preferred to stay in my tiny cubicle and work through reams of documents. Don't get me wrong, I loved my job as a research assistant, but papers weren't half as fun as traveling. Kate told me that I needed spice in my life. To her, that was only achievable if I went on this vacation with her family.

“You're considered family,” she'd said.
At last I agreed. Secretly, I was thrilled, but Kate didn't have to know that. I preferred to play the part of the workaholic whose friend managed to get her to take a vacation.

We had not arrived as early as we would've preferred. When our car reached the daunting gates of the Rufus House, the sun had began its descent beyond the horizon. Its orange light dappled a glow on the western wing of The House. The ancient stones stretched upward, basking in the vestiges of the sun's rays, their surface smooth from wind. A chimney, high above the house belched brown smoke into the blue-orange sky.

We were welcomed by Mrs. Greensby and her son, who worked as caretakers of the house. As we had rented the whole house for a week, we had the opportunity to choose any room we wanted. I chose one with windows which favoured the lush greenery behind the building. When we settled down to an evening meal, I decided to learn more about the house.

“Mrs. Greensby,” I asked as she set our table, “Tell us a little more about the Rufus House.”

She smiled, “This house is vast, what in particular do you want to know?”

I made to answer, but Kate beat me to it. Her eyes were alive with excitement. “Old houses normally have legends and secrets. Does the Rufus House have any legend?”

I rolled my eyes and told her she watched too many horror movies. We all laughed, except Mrs. Greensby.

“This house has a legend—a rather haunting one.”

Our interests were piqued. We asked what it was, and with some reluctance, she told us a legend fraught with murder, pain and deceit. I, Nora and Edwin were a little skeptical, Joanne was mildly interested, Kate was downright fanatic. It was unusual because my friend was as realistic as they got.

I said I didn't believe it, an opinion Edwin seconded. Joanne and Nora couldn't decide, but Katherine was vehement about her belief. To forestall an argument, we focused on our meal and buried the issue. Our stay at the Rufus House was fantastic. Aside the occasional reminder of the alleged haunted murders by Mrs. Greensby's son, we were fine.

On the night before our last at Rufus House, Kate brought up the legend again. This time, to end the argument once and for all, she proposed a dare. One of us had to sleep in the Anne Rufus room for the night. In an act of bravery, Nora opted to sleep there to prove a point. I and Edwin joked that our drinks were on Kate should Nora come out of the room alive.

The next morning, I awoke to an eerily quiet morning. There was a somberness in the atmosphere that not even the sun could dissipate.

“Veronica,” Kate's lips trembled with shock. “It's Nora. She's . . . she is . . .”
Her voice trailed off, her body shaking as tears streamed her face.

“Nora is dead.” It was Edwin who replied. I stood immobile for a few seconds, then fell into a chair. I didn't believe in superstitions, so I found it hard to believe the legend had come true. Kate looked inconsolable, obviously blaming herself for proposing the dare.

Edwin sat with his arms around her, while Joanne sat on Kate's other side, her knees tucked beneath her chin. Everyone looked visibly shocked. Mrs. Greensby informed us she'd called the police, and we sat huddled together, afraid to move an inch.

Later, Kate called me to her side, telling me her husband had been having an affair with Nora. I looked at her, blown away by the sheer stupidity of the statement.

“Believe me, Veronica. It is why I chose the Rufus House. I wanted to put the legend to test.”

I stared at Kate, unsure whether to call her stupid or naïve.

“Kate, this is absurd.”

She agreed, telling me she had faked her enthusiasm in order to get to Nora. A fiercely competitive person, Nora had wanted to prove Kate wrong.

Kate touched my hand, “Veronica, I don't believe the legend killed Nora. One of us did. I know it wasn't you. But it's not me either.”

She echoed my thoughts on the murder. One of the inhabitants of the Rufus House had murdered Nora, and with my exception, I could vouch for no one. Especially not Kate who had been the catalyst, and had admitted to faking her enthusiasm.

The researcher in me called out to investigate. Legend or not, someone had caused Nora's death, and I was determined to find out who.

This is the link for part two:
https://steemit.com/shortstory/@komaat/a-murder-at-rufus-house-part-two

All images are from pixabay unless otherwise indicated.