Katie Watson Mysteries in Time Box Set

by Mez Blume

  At last, I triumphantly laid those two buckets of water at Mary Hayes’s feet, only to receive a disapproving look. “What took you so long?” She grabbed the buckets from me, and I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when she emptied them into a big stone bowl and said, “Another two trips should do it.”

  By the time I crawled onto my straw mattress that night, I was too tired even to mind its scratchiness or to miss the goose down pillow I’d grown used to. In fact, I was too tired to think about or feel anything at all except for my aching shoulders, back and legs. I was glad Tatty and Elinor were already asleep on their own mats; they wouldn’t hear me groan as I tried — and failed — to get comfortable so I could fall into wonderful oblivion. Despite the cramps all over my body, sleep pulled me under in no time. I dreamt I was doggy paddling in a giant bucket of water. Someone was knocking from the outside, someone trying to get in to rescue me. I kept paddling. The someone kept knocking, a little harder, a little harder …

  I opened my eyes. The knock came again, on the bedroom door. Tatty was up with a shawl around her shoulders. She opened the door just a crack, letting a beam of quivering candlelight spill in. A man’s hushed voice spoke, “Is one Katherine Watson within?”

  Tatty squinted into the darkness, unsure whether I was or wasn’t; but by that time I had hopped up onto my aching legs and shuffled across the straw-covered floor. “I’m Katherine Watson.”

  The young porter lowered his voice so as Tatty wouldn’t overhear. “I’m ordered to deliver this urgent message into your hand.”

  I took the sealed paper and flipped it over. “Who is it from?”

  He licked his lips, his eyes darting up and down the dark corridor. “The sender bids you read the message without delay. I believe her … or his name, as it may be, is enclosed within.”

  I felt a little silly for asking him who the message was from as it was obviously secret. Sherlock Holmes would never make such a blunder. “Thank you. I shall read it at once,” I told him, trying to sound more professional.

  I took the note back to bed and waited to hear Tatty’s breathing turn slow and even again before opening it. Holding it in the pale puddle of moonlight from the high window, I read:

  Katie,

  How I hope and pray you are well. The Baron has his eye on me nearly every second, and when he does not, his ladies do. Tomorrow is the King’s hunt. The Baron will join him. I will be expected to stand with the other ladies at the front of the house to bid them luck, then I shall try to slip away unnoticed. If you are able, wait for me in the hayloft at 8 o’clock.

  My thoughts and prayers are with you!

  Your Friend,

  Sophia

  I folded up the letter and clasped it in my hands all the night long as if holding on to lost hope.

  19

  Whodunnit

  Long before the summer sun woke the next morning, I was awakened by a gentle hand shaking my shoulder. My eyes opened and focused on Elinor kneeling over me.

  “Best be getting dressed and to the kitchens, miss.”

  “Thank you, Elinor.” I wearily pushed myself up to my elbow, wincing at the pain in my shoulders. Only then did I remember. The note! I sat upright, feeling frantically around my mattress for it. My hand brushed against it under my woollen blanket and I let out a breath of relief. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Tatty and Elinor, but one mention of that note to Nurse Joan and the Baron might decide to relocate me to the pigsty next.

  I stuck the parchment in between the pages of The Hound of the Baskervilles and tucked the book down into my apron. That note would be my lucky charm, reminding me to endure the next three hours knowing that I’d be able to speak to Sophia at the end of them. What we’d be able to come up with to help fix the seemingly hopeless situation remained a looming question. But at least we’d be able to think with our heads together, and that was better than going it alone.

  The kitchen staff had breakfast in the Great Hall very early, before the rest of the household servants. I slid into one of the long tables and ladled some gloopy white stuff into my bowl. The others were sopping it up with chunks of yesterday’s bread. When I tried to do the same, I found the bread was rock hard; my jaw ached after the first bite. But I had to eat it. Otherwise I’d fall over dead on my trudge up the hill with the water pails and never see Sophia. That would be simply too tragic. So I took another bite and, as I chewed it to death, looked around the room for some distraction.

  Memories of the banquet played out in front of me: Digby’s flushed face as he twirled me around the dance floor; laughing with Sophia when the jester grabbed one of the servers and whirled her around… But all that was overshadowed by bitterness now. The Weird Sisters’ chant, the horrible scream, the King’s blank eyes, Master Van Hoebeek … I stared at the dais, remembering the whole, horrible drama.

  To my horror, my eyes met the dark, swarthy gaze of the Baron’s portrait. Why did that stupid painting have to follow me everywhere? There it hung in the centre of the wall behind the High Table, right where the Earl’s had been, in the place of honour. The Baron must have taken offence when he found his portrait hanging in a corner and had it moved to the Great Hall. Master Van Hoebeek sure would be pleased, I thought with a twist in my stomach. It was just like he had said it would be. That was odd, actually. How could he have known?

  That one question sparked my bleary mind into action. Could it be that Master Van Hoebeek had planned for the Baron to take over Otterly Manor the whole time? Could that be the reason he murdered the Earl? Sophia had said that after Frederick, the Baron was next in line to inherit Otterly Manor … which meant that by framing Frederick as the murderer, Master Van Hoebeek had cunningly paved the way for the Baron to steal Frederick’s place. That would explain the phoney painter’s mysterious comments about returning the Baron’s portrait to it’s rightful place … It would also mean that the Baron was the true mastermind behind the Earl’s murder. Master Van Hoebeek might only have played the part of hitman.

  It all made perfect sense, except for one lingering question: what did Master Van Hoebeek gain in return for doing the Baron’s dirty work? As I stewed over my newest theory, it struck me just how similar it all was to The Hound of the Baskervilles: the greedy relative willing to murder his own family to get at their inheritance while blaming the murders on superstitious beliefs. Except that in the book, Roger Baskerville committed the murders himself, dressed in a disguise. Only when Sherlock Holmes sees Roger Baskerville’s portrait does he make the connection between him and the murderer.

  A funny feeling swept over me like a wave. Unaware of all the eyes watching me, I stood up and walked the full length of the Great Hall in a sort of daze. I’m sure the other kitchen staff thought I’d lost it. I didn’t stop at the dais, but stepped up and walked around the table, my eyes glued all the while on the Baron’s portrait. I stared right into those coal-dark eyes as if challenging the Baron to a glaring contest. Then I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to paint a mental picture of Master Van Hoebeek. I wanted to remember his eyes, but all I could see in my mind was that great, black woolly beard that looked like sheep’s wool. My eyes opened and I mouthed the words that sprung to my mind like a magic spell: Black Sheep.

  I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. It had been a disguise all along, and not even a very good one! How had I not seen it? No one had a real beard like that! It didn’t even match the straight, brown wig he’d worn under his hat. But now I could picture the whole face. The long, hawk nose. The dark, hungry eyes when he’d been looking at the Baron’s, or rather his own portrait. Master Van Hoebeek was not just a hitman. He was the Baron himself. And now he had control of Otterly Manor.

  I reached out my hand to grab the nearest chair back. The room had started spinning with the shock of my discovery. I felt seasick. And at that very moment, a bell rang out, Mary Hayes calling all hands to the kitchen. I walked in a sort of stupor, my heart thudding in my head. How badly I wanted to tell someone,
anyone, the truth I had just uncovered and expose the Baron for the murderer he truly was! Here they all were, hundreds of servants working around the clock to serve the man who had just murdered their master and would soon murder his heir. But I knew I couldn’t say a word, not yet. It would take every drop of my willpower to wait for eight o’clock when I could finally tell Sophia.

  20

  The Hunt

  I carried my pails of water with extra umph that morning, hardly minding the ache in my shoulders. All that mattered was that I got back before the hunt set out, before eight o’clock.

  The clock on top of the gatehouse tower chimed a quarter to eight just as I neared the house. I hurried to the kitchen to give Mary Hayes my pails, expecting her to send me back out for the second trip as she had done the day before. My heart sank when, after emptying my pails into the big stone bowl, she propped the yoke against the wall. “That’ll do for now. You’ll help Anna knead the pastry. The Baron will want his game roasted up into pies the minute he’s back from the hunt.”

  Panic blinded me. But I knew if I argued, Mary would turn right around and report me to Nurse Joan, and then I’d really be in pickle. They’d probably put me in the stocks or something. So I gulped, nodded and drifted over to the large table where a wispy maid was pounding a lump of dough with her fist.

  “Are you well, love?” she asked when she noticed me standing there like a ghost beside her. “You’re pale as a spectre!”

  “I’m not feeling so well, actually,” I said, my mind firing up again. “I think it may be a fever.”

  Anna’s eyes got big and she took a step backward. “Not the pox, I hope. Lord save us! Why don’t you go out to the garden to catch a breath of fresh air? You can pick some sprigs of rosemary and sage from the herb patch while you’re about it.”

  “But Mary Hayes said—”

  “Never mind that.” Anna shooed me with her floury hand. “Barty will help me with the pastry. Go on.”

  The relief I felt made me almost dizzy. I couldn’t believe the old “get-out-of-school-sick” trick had worked its charm! I could’ve thrown my arms around Anna, but considering she feared I was pox-infested, I made a beeline for the door instead while Mary Hayes had her back turned.

  The garden was fairly quiet this morning as many of the servants were sending off the hunt. I glanced around to be sure no one watched me, then ran for it as fast as my aching legs would move.

  The stables bustled with grooms polishing spurs or saddling up the fastest stallions for the hunters. But most of the noise came from the hitching post where five or six men darted around a huge black horse with ropes and whips. It was Vagabond, and he was most definitely in what my mother would have called a “contrary mood”. He reared up and gave a wild whinny, then crashed down stamping his hooves as if he meant to crush the grooms to smithereens just like his unfortunate pigeon victims. One man tried to throw a saddle on the furious horse’s back while another two held ropes attached to either side of his bridle which they pulled hard, trying to keep him still. But each time the man with the saddle got close enough to attempt to toss it over Vagabond’s back, the horse reared again, throwing the whole lot into confusion.

  “That horse has a demon. I told the Earl as much when he took him off my guard. But he was determined to try and break him.” My heart jumped into my throat. It was King James who spoke, and standing beside him between the stalls just a stone’s throw in front of me was the Baron! I had been so distracted watching Vagabond’s protest, I hadn’t even noticed them standing there in their hunting coats and boots with muskets slung over their shoulders.

  “My late brother thought himself, as with most things, a superior horseman,” the Baron answered, then shouted out to the grooms, “Put the animal away. I shall have him exterminated on the morrow to make way for a tame beast.”

  I had to bite my tongue to keep from erupting with the “No!” that welled up in my chest. The next second, I jumped behind a pile of straw when a woman’s melodious voice with an accent that was not quite English rang out from behind, causing the King and the Baron to turn around and look at the very spot I had stood watching only seconds before.

  “Are you still not ready, my lords? The entire household has assembled to see us off. The dogs are howling with eagerness. If we do not make haste, every deer in the park will have taken cover ere we set out!” It was the Queen, already in the saddle of a beautiful chestnut mare. Through bits of straw, I could see the red plume on her tall hat and the skirt of her dark green riding dress draped over her horse’s side.

  “You are right, as always, my love,” the King answered. “Baron, would you care to select another horse? One perchance with a less murderous temper?”

  The Baron responded with a smarmy laugh. The grooms wrestled Vagabond back to his stall while other grooms led out a horse saddled with red and gold tassels, obviously meant for the King. Meanwhile, the Baron ordered another horse for himself. Once the new horse was brought, the two men mounted and trotted out to meet the Queen. I heard the shouts of “Huzzah!” and dogs barking, which signalled they’d cantered to the front of the house for their sendoff. This would be the moment for Sophia to slip away unnoticed.

  I needed to get to the hayloft quickly, but there was something I had to do first. I knew if I got caught, it would jeopardise everything, but I couldn’t ignore what I’d just overheard. I had to rescue Vagabond if I could, though I didn’t have a clue how I was going to do it.

  Checking the coast was clear, I jumped up from my hiding spot and scampered with my head down past the row of horses’ stalls, right to the very last one. Crouched down beside the stall door, I could hear Vagabond’s agitated snorts. Suddenly he kicked the door so hard it knocked against the side of my head. I saw stars and the old feeling of panic started to take hold. No. Not this time. With clenched fists and gritted teeth, I pushed against the weight of panic and stood up, eye to eye with Vagabond. We stared at each other, both breathing hard. “I’m going to help you,” I said, as if I had a plan. I could just see in his eye that he understood I was on his side. Before I knew what was happening, he lowered his enormous head and brushed his nose against my hair. I couldn’t move, not until I heard a whisper from behind. “Katie! Mistress Katie!”

  I swung around to see Jack Hornsby shouldering a load of hay. He dumped it at his feet and gestured for me to come closer. “What are you doing in here? ’T’ain’t safe.”

  “I’m supposed to be meeting Sophia in the hayloft,” I explained.

  Jack looked confused by that, then looked down at the clothes I was wearing. “What’s the situation in the house? I see you’ve been made a kitchen wench.”

  “It’s not good, Jack. Sophia has become the Baron’s prisoner. I’m never allowed to see her, but she’s going to try and meet me while all the fuss is going on around the hunt.”

  “Good. I’ll do my best to keep any prying ears away from the hayloft, then. I want you to give your mistress a message: Frederick is safe.”

  “Where?” I asked eagerly.

  Jack glanced around. “I mustn’t tell. Not even you, as it would only compromise your safety. But I will say this. He’s been hidden not so far away, and in the last place anyone would think to look for him. But he is sorely tempted to give himself up to rescue Digby from hanging in his place.” He glanced around again. “If Mistress Sophia could send a word to persuade him not to do so foolish a thing, I’d be that grateful.”

  “Coming or not, Jack? King’s sounding the horn,” one of the grooms shouted, making me duck down.

  “I must go,” Jack said. “You will speak to Mistress Sophia, won’t you?”

  I promised I would. Jack nodded his thanks, and hurried off before I could say a word.

  “Jack, wait!” I whisper-shouted after him. I smiled with relief when his tawny head turned to look over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised in a question. “Sorry. It’s just … Vagabond. We have to help him, or the Baron’s going to … you kno
w. Can’t you do something?”

  He drew in a breath through his clenched teeth and squinted in thought. “I’ll about try, Mistress. Now you best get on up to that loft before you’re seen.” And with a nod, he vanished.

  The hayloft provided the perfect view of the hunting party. From the loft’s open door, I watched the Queen waving a handkerchief at the crowds. The Baron sat tall and as proud as a peacock beside her. The King raised his horn and blew. Off the dogs bolted with ear-splitting yelps while the hunters kicked the horses and galloped after them. At the front of the crowd, finely dressed ladies waved handkerchiefs and giggled together. There was no sign of the Countess, but there was a girl with a shawl over her head threading her way through the crowd of servants, away from the giggling ladies-in-waiting. She was heading for the stables with a great grey dog on her heels. It was Sophia!

  A minute later I heard her footsteps on the ladder and ran to the door to give her a hand up. We laughed with relief and hugged each other.

  “Oh Katie!” she plopped down on a hay bale to catch her breath. “Thank heavens we made it without getting caught! Though I fear our time may be cut short at any minute.”

  “I have so much to tell you!” I said. Now I could finally speak to someone, I couldn’t hold it back another second, and I blurted, “The Baron murdered Lord Buckville.”

  Sophia’s eyebrows knitted together. “But the Baron wasn’t here until after the Banquet …”

  “But Master Van Hoebeek was.” How I wanted her to see it as clearly as I did.

  “You mean to say you believe the Baron hired Master Van Hoebeek to kill the Earl?”

  “No. I believe the Baron is Master Van Hoebeek. He killed the Earl himself.” And I dived right into my explanation: the conversation I’d had with Master Van Hoebeek over the Baron’s painting, the sudden appearance of the portrait in place of the Earl’s, just as Van Hoebeek had predicted, the sheep’s wool beard which was now so obviously a fake.