Murder at Keyhaven Castle

by Clara McKenna

The carriage rolled to a halt beside them. The hired draught horses nickered softly, as if in on the joke.

  “Hello to you too, Ivy,” Stella’s father sneered from the window. The sun had slipped behind the increasing cloud cover, casting him in deep shadow. But Stella could imagine his scowl. “What are you doing here? I don’t remember inviting you to the wedding.”

  “You didn’t.” Aunt Ivy, not bothering to face him, continued to size up Stella. “Your lovely girl did.”

  Stella had sent her the invitation, unbeknownst to her father, out of kindness and fondness for her aunt. She never imagined Aunt Ivy would come.

  “Well, I hope you’re not planning to stay with us,” Daddy said.

  “No, I rented a room here at the inn,” Aunt Ivy said.

  “Good, because we’ve got guests. You remember the Swensons, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” Aunt Ivy took in the carriage for the first time. Though a young gentleman in a boater hat and walking cane had admired it openly as he crossed the street, what Aunt Ivy thought of the famous coach, she didn’t say. “I’m so glad y’all were able to make it for the wedding as well.”

  “Wouldn’t have missed it!” Mr. Swenson said, lifting his hat from the crown in greeting.

  “You’re looking well, Mrs. Mitchell,” Mrs. Swenson said, leaning forward to catch the sunlight, a tight-lipped smile on her face.

  “As are you, Mrs. Swenson,” Aunt Ivy said politely, without regarding the woman. Instead, she craned her neck, trying to spy who else was inside. “Is that the little miss I see in there? How are you, Miss Penny?”

  Penny, who, when they were little, would beg to stay at Stella’s house when Aunt Ivy was visiting, stuck her head out. “I’m just grand, Miss Ivy.”

  For a fleeting moment, Penny beamed with joy. Penny had been starved for affection as a child, and Stella believed Aunt Ivy was one of the few people Penny was fond of. The smile suited her. Too bad it wouldn’t last.

  Aunt Ivy approached the carriage, giving the closest horse a pat on the thigh, reached in, and pulled Penny into an awkward embrace. Penny’s face reddened with embarrassment as she timidly patted the older woman’s back. But longing lingered on Penny’s face when Aunt Ivy released her hug, disentangled their hats, and stepped back.

  “You almost beat us to Pilley Manor. We’re heading that way now,” Stella said. “I’m sure we can fit you in.”

  “The carriage is too crowded,” Daddy said.

  Mrs. Swenson nodded vigorously in agreement. “Then, we’ll walk.”

  Stella wrapped her arm around her aunt’s and studied the dear face again. She so much resembled Stella’s mother. “We’ll catch up on the way. Wait until you meet Lyndy!”

  Aunt Ivy’s arm tensed beneath Stella’s hold. “I would love to, but . . .”

  “I’m sure your aunt needs to settle in,” Mrs. Swenson said. “I know Penny and I are exhausted.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Swenson’s right. I do have a few things I’m fixing to do,” Aunt Ivy said, patting Stella’s hand before gently freeing her arm.

  Stella didn’t understand. Hadn’t her aunt traveled the ocean to visit her? Hadn’t they already spent years apart? What was more pressing than spending time together?

  “But I’ll visit later. I promise. We have so much to talk about. I have so much to tell you.” Aunt Ivy shot a sideways glance at Stella’s father. She cupped Stella’s cheek with her hand, leaned forward, and whispered, “When we can be alone.”

  Aunt Ivy’s touch was soft, her breath was warm and smelled like cinnamon, but the cryptic tone in her voice sent a chill down Stella’s spine.

  CHAPTER 7

  Stella resisted the urge to run. She wasn’t dressed for it. She’d been changing for dinner when Lyndy’s message arrived. The moment Ethel placed the combs in her hair, she’d slipped on her gloves, grabbed the first thing in the cloakroom—her duster coat—and threw it over her dinner gown.

  She still couldn’t believe it. Uncle Jed, here? According to Lyndy’s note, Uncle Jed had arrived unannounced on the Earl of Atherly’s doorstep. First Aunt Ivy, now Uncle Jed. Stella was going to have more kin at the wedding, after all. And Uncle Jed hadn’t even been invited.

  She followed the well-worn track across the Forest from Rosehurst to Morrington Hall. Reaching down and running her hand through a cluster of heather, Stella released its sweet smell. The sun, bursting momentarily from behind darkening clouds, shot rays across her path. She raised her face, closed her eyes, and the images of this morning’s shocking accident melted away when replaced by what Stella pictured the expression on Lady Atherly’s face when she’d met Uncle Jed. Or Stella’s father’s reaction when he learned the news.

  From the beginning, her father had made it clear, as he had after her mother died, that he had no intention of associating with their extended family. Wedding or no wedding. He hadn’t invited a single member of the family, besides Aunt Rachel, of course. He figured inviting his friends, the Swensons, was good enough. Mrs. Swenson would stand in for Stella’s aunts to help Stella navigate the pitfalls of last-minute wedding details. Penny Swenson could be a bridesmaid. But Aunt Ivy now was here, and Uncle Jed had come unexpectedly anyway.

  Stella, bursting with excitement, grabbed a fistful of her duster coat and dress and picked up the pace, scampering along the spongy, moss-covered path. Stella couldn’t wait to see her uncle.

  The brothers had never been close, in age—Stella’s father being much older than Uncle Jed—or in temperament; Uncle Jed was kindly and fun. But neither difference explained the bickering, the constant arguing between them whenever the two were in the same room. From what Stella had gleaned from stable hands and housemaids over the years, something had happened that each brother thought was the other’s fault. No one knew what it was. Or they wouldn’t tell the impressionable child that Stella was. Perhaps now, she’d learn the truth.

  She followed the path through a wood populated by towering, ancient trees and out into the grazing lawns and horse paddocks bordering the estate’s grounds. Morrington Hall loomed large in the distance. She threw the stone stables a wistful glance, the urge to visit Tully, her beloved horse, almost eclipsing her desire to see Uncle Jed. Stella hadn’t ridden Tully in two days. But soon, very soon, when she took up permanent residence here, she’d be able to visit and ride Tully any time she wanted.

  Permanent residence. Stella blew out a long exhale. This is really happening.

  She giggled nervously when she crossed through the formal garden, the roses neatly trimmed, the fountain of a cherub holding a bushel of round fruit, cheerfully spraying its sparkling water into the pool below. It was so much improved from the neglected garden Stella had first encountered. With the upcoming wedding and its promise of a substantial increase in funds, Lady Atherly had arranged its revival. A sign of what was to come. Stella plucked the head off a yellow rosebush and headed for the front door.

  “Good evening, Miss Kendrick,” Fulton, the butler, said, after answering her knock and gesturing for her to enter the hall. “I trust you are well?”

  “Thank you, Fulton. I am. But what about you? I heard you’ve had unexpected visitors, relations of mine, in fact.”

  His face revealed nothing of what he thought of those relations when he took Stella’s duster coat and hat. “Lord Lyndhurst is entertaining them in the drawing room if you’d care to join them.”

  “Thank you, Fulton.” Stella smiled at the butler before hurrying down the hall to the drawing room.

  Stella paused in the doorway. There, in the light shining through the French windows across the Persian carpet, the portraits of Lyndy’s ancestors glaring down at him, was Uncle Jed, on all fours on the floor, a small girl, who must be Gertie, riding on his back. Sir Alfred, a pleasant pal of Lyndy’s, stood near the mantel with a handsome gentleman Stella didn’t know, both men trying desperately not to show their amusement at the antics of the man on the floor.

  But where was Lyndy? Where were the re
st of his family?

  Gertie, with her arms around Uncle Jed’s neck, her legs wrapped tightly around his middle, squealed when her father reared up to his knees, lifting her vertically into the air. They were playing horse. Stella had loved it when he’d played horse with her when she was little. Before he and her father had fallen out.

  “Uncle Jed!” she cried, rushing into the room.

  Uncle Jed paused in midrear when her cousin Sammy leaped from his spot on the couch and rushed to embrace Stella. She held the boy, kissing the top of his head, which reached the nap of her neck. When had he gotten so tall? Suddenly self-conscious, Sammy took a giant step back. He brushed the hair that had fallen across his forehead. Uncle Jed, reaching around, set Gertie on the floor but remained on his knees.

  “My, you’re a sight, aren’t ya?” Uncle Jed declared. “You’re as pretty as a spotted horse in a daisy pasture.”

  Stella beamed, until the corners of her mouth hurt. “Uncle Jed, Sammy, Gertie, I’m so happy to see you. How are you? How was the trip over? What a wonderful surprise. My wedding wouldn’t have been the same without you. Do you know my Aunt Ivy is here too?” Sensing the other two men watching her, Stella addressed them. “Hello again, Sir Alfred. I assume you’ve already met my uncle?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Sir Alfred said. “Like you, we came early for dinner.”

  “So, you are Miss Kendrick, are you?” the stranger said, stroking his beard, trying to appear as if he weren’t sizing her up. But the twinkle in his eye, so much like Lyndy’s, gave him away. “I’ve heard much about you and your . . . horse riding skills.”

  “You must be Sir Owen, Lyndy’s cousin,” she said. Sir Owen nodded in acknowledgment. “I’ve heard much about your . . . sportsmanship.” Sir Owen laughed at Stella’s description of what Lyndy had called his cousin’s “dedication to the sport of wooing.” An approving smile spread across his lips.

  “Who’s that lady, Daddy?” Gertie whispered loud enough to be heard by all. The question stung. Gertie wasn’t old enough to remember the last time Stella had seen her.

  “That,” Uncle Jed said conspiratorially, “is your cousin, Stella. She’s a grand lady now.” Gertie’s eyes widened with curiosity and new respect.

  “Oh, Uncle. I’m not a grand lady.”

  “Not yet, maybe, but soon.” He turned back to whisper in Gertie’s ear. “She’s to be a countess one day.”

  Stella corrected him. “Morrington Hall already has a countess, Lady Atherly. Have you met her yet?”

  “The lady of the house met us but made her excuses, what with the dinner tonight and all.”

  Stella was grateful Lady Atherly was taking her time dressing for dinner. How many of Stella’s social encounters happened under her future mother-in-law’s disapproving gaze? Much like Mrs. Swenson’s when they’d met Aunt Ivy earlier on the street. But not this happy reunion. And what did Stella care if Sir Alfred and Sir Owen were witnesses?

  “I suppose we’ll meet the lord of the manor at the wedding.”

  “You’ll meet him tonight, Uncle Jed. And Lyndy’s sister, Lady Alice. I can’t imagine Lady Atherly will object to you attending dinner.” Stella could imagine it but hoped for once she was wrong.

  “And Aunt Rachel? How is the old girl?”

  “Feisty as ever.” Stella chuckled. “She’s not up for long dinner parties, though, so you’ll see her tomorrow.”

  “If she’s my cousin,” Gertie continued in her loud whisper as if the adults’ talk was trivial compared to her ruminations, “does that make me a princess?”

  The adults all laughed at the little girl’s aspirations, but her brother wasn’t so amused.

  “No, silly,” Sammy scolded. “Stella isn’t a queen but a countess. That makes you a contessa.” Stella smiled at the boy’s earnest but erroneous correction, but she wasn’t about to explain the rules of hierarchy to a ten- and six-year-old.

  “No, Gertie,” Stella said, squatting down to be at the girl’s level. “But since you’re here, you can be the flower girl at the wedding. Would you like that?”

  The girl hesitated, waiting for her father’s permission. When he gave the nod, she lowered her head solemnly and curtsied. “Yes, thank ya, Countessa Stella.”

  “Just Stella will do. You are my flower girl now, after all.” Stella had said it lightly, but the little girl’s shoulders straightened. Gertie sought her brother’s attention, scrunching her face at him as if to say, I’m the flower girl, and you’re not.

  “Now, we must formalize our relationship with a hug.” Gertie rushed into Stella’s outstretched arms, the little girl’s soft warmth melting against her. Gertie smelled of toffee and dust. Scents reminiscent of Stella’s childhood too.

  When she reluctantly released the little girl, Stella said, “Where is Lyndy? Why did you come to Morrington Hall instead of Pilley Manor? How did you know about the wedding?”

  “Same old Stella,” Uncle Jed said, revealing a broken tooth with his smile. “Asking a lot of questions. I see becoming a fine lady hasn’t stilled that tongue of yours.”

  Sir Owen chuckled.

  “It is part of her charm, I’d like to think,” Lyndy said, strolling into the room with James, the footman, trailing behind. The footman carried a silver tray with a tea service and a tray laden with a variety of sandwiches: watercress, smoked salmon, cheese and pickle, mint cucumber, and a few cheese scones. The corners of his lips rose when his and Stella’s eyes met. His lingered, longingly taking her in. Her breath quickened. Then the moment was gone. Lyndy strode over to sweep Gertie into his arms. She squealed with delight. “And yes, we have already made our acquaintance.”

  Stella had never seen Lyndy with children before. She had a sudden urge to kiss him.

  “Help the man, Sammy,” Uncle Jed ordered, indicating the footman who was laying out the tea things. James’s head shot up in alarm.

  “That’s kind of you, Jed, Sammy,” Lyndy said, “but you’ve had a long journey and had to miss both your luncheon and tea. I think James would prefer if you left the serving to him.”

  Uncle Jed, with a playful wink, shrugged at Sammy, looking to his father for direction.

  “Then serve away, James,” Uncle Jed said, waving Sammy back to his seat. “By all means, serve away.”

  Stella poured the tea while Lyndy poured something stronger for Sir Alfred and Sir Owen. Leaning against the mantel, with heads bent, the two gentlemen occasionally shot glances toward Stella between sips of sherry. What they might be discussing, Stella didn’t want to guess. As Uncle Jed, Gertie, and Sammy devoured the sandwiches, Stella settled into the settee next to Lyndy, inching as close as she dared. Taking advantage of the lack of female chaperones, Lyndy kissed her lightly, his lips warm on her cheek. Stella blushed at the crooked, knowing smile on Sir Owen’s face.

  Flustered, she unnecessarily smoothed the panel of rose-colored silk against her lap, carefully avoiding the floral sequins swirling down her skirt. “You never did say why you came to Morrington Hall first, Uncle Jed.”

  “I thought this is where you lived,” Uncle Jed said, before shoving another tea sandwich into his mouth. He was her father’s brother, but it was the first gesture he’d made reminiscent of her father. Neither of them had the best table manners.

  “No, Daddy, Aunt Rachel, and I live at Pilley Manor in town.”

  “So Lyndy said,” Uncle Jed said, wiping his beard with a napkin. “But that is what the wedding announcement in the Courier-Journal implied.”

  “Help yourself to the scones,” Lyndy said. “The children might like them with butter.”

  Uncle Jed appreciatively slathered one with the herbed butter and handed it to an eager Gertie. The little girl licked a drip of butter from her finger before taking a bite. Stella, careful not to stain her dress, daubed tomato chutney on a scone; they were still warm from the oven.

  “Try this, Uncle Jed.” Before coming to England, she’d never had savory scones or chutney. But having been introduce
d to both, she hadn’t had one of either she didn’t like.

  When Uncle Jed took Stella’s offering, Lyndy shifted to face her. “How was your trip to Southampton?”

  She snatched up a scone for herself and took a nibble. She couldn’t resist. “Eventful.” She mentioned meeting the Swensons’ ship. She described the carriage crash. “Daddy wouldn’t let me learn the extent of it, but there were at least two men on the ground.” She leaned in closer to whisper, not wanting the children to hear. “One of them was trampled to death.” She sat back and took another bite of her scone. “And that’s not all. You’ll never guess who else has come for the wedding. My—”

  “Where is he?”

  A man’s angry voice, rumbling from the great hall, cut Stella off. Stella knew that temper all too well. She dropped the half-eaten scone on her plate, her appetite ruined.

  * * *

  With nails pressed into her palms, Stella rose from the settee to calmly face her father when he marched into the room, Fulton scooting in a few paces behind. Lyndy joined her side.

  “I’m sorry, milord, but—” the butler said, minutely shaking his head. Lyndy dismissed the butler’s apology, and irritation, with a flick of his hand. He knew her father too well to fault the butler for the intrusion.

  Her father’s face was red and splotchy, perspiration beading on his forehead. How had he gotten here? If Stella didn’t know better, she would’ve guessed he ran. She glanced out the French window. The Daimler was in the driveway. Had he driven himself? Stella couldn’t believe it. She’d been chauffeuring him around for years. And then Theo Swenson’s head, goggles dangling from around his neck, popped up from the driver’s seat. He held the tin of chocolates Stella had stashed in the glove compartment.

  “What are you doing here so soon, Daddy? Dinner’s not for another hour.”

  “So, it’s true,” Daddy said, ignoring Stella as he passed by her to stare down Uncle Jed. “Someone said you were here, but I didn’t believe it.”

  “Hello, Elijah,” Uncle Jed said through a crooked smile.