ALSO BY MARTHE JOCELYN
The Body under the Piano
(Aggie Morton, Mystery Queen #1)
Viminy Crowe’s Comic Book (with Richard Scrimger)
What We Hide
Would You
Folly
How It Happened in Peach Hill
A Home for Foundlings
Mable Riley
Earthly Astonishments
The Invisible Enemy
The Invisible Harry
The Invisible Day
Text copyright © 2020 by Marthe Jocelyn
Cover and interior art copyright © 2020 by Isabelle Follath
Tundra Books, an imprint of Penguin Random House Canada Young Readers, a division of Penguin Random House of Canada Limited
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher—or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency—is an infringement of the copyright law.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Title: Peril at Owl Park / Marthe Jocelyn.
Names: Jocelyn, Marthe, author.
Description: Series statement: Aggie Morton, mystery queen
Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190235071 | Canadiana (ebook) 2019023508X | ISBN 9780735265493 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780735265509 (EPUB)
Classification: LCC PS8569.O254 P47 2020 | DDC jC813/.54—dc23
Published simultaneously in the United States of America by Tundra Books of Northern New York, an imprint of Penguin Random House Canada Young Readers, a division of Penguin Random House of Canada Limited
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019955870
Edited by Lynne Missen and Margot Blankier
Cover and book design by John Martz, adapted for ebook
www.penguinrandomhouse.ca
a_prh_5.6.0_c0_r0
FOR ROBIN, CAT, AND EMMA,
NICK, AND KAREN,
BELOVED COUSINS
Contents
Cover
Also by Marthe Jocelyn
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
December 23, 1902: Tuesday
Chapter 1: An Ominous Arrival
Chapter 2: A Breach of Manners
Chapter 3: A Tale of Woe
Chapter 4: A Family Curse
Chapter 5: An Upset Household
December 24, 1902: Wednesday
Chapter 6: A Company of Actors
Chapter 7: A Sister’s Struggle
Chapter 8: An Evening Entertainment
Chapter 9: A Jolly Supper
December 25, Christmas Day, 1902: Thursday
Chapter 10: A Treasure Hunt
Chapter 11: A Pool of Blood
Chapter 12: An Alarming Situation
Chapter 13: A Heap of Confusion
Chapter 14: An Eavesdropping Interlude
Chapter 15: A Full Report
Chapter 16: A Young Inspector
Chapter 17: A Patchy Inventory
Chapter 18: A Closing Argument
December 26, 1902: Friday
Chapter 19: A Good Many Questions
Chapter 20: A Pack of Newshounds
Chapter 21: A Disquieting Scene
Chapter 22: An Expert Opinion
Chapter 23: A Horrible Sound
December 27, 1902: Saturday
Chapter 24: A Mountain of Worries
Chapter 25: A Bereaved Visitor
Chapter 26: An Agony of Deceit
Chapter 27: An Intimidation
Chapter 28: A Plethora of Plot Twists
Chapter 29: A Determined Duet
Chapter 30: A Happy Awakening
December 28, 1902: Sunday
Chapter 31: A Worrisome Absence
Chapter 32: A Cause for Alarm
Chapter 33: A Marvelous Find
Chapter 34: An Awful Ordeal
Chapter 35: A Fight to the Finish
December 29, 1902: Monday
Chapter 36: A Series of Conclusions
Chapter 37: An Unexpected Turn of Events
January 1, 1903: Thursday
An Epilogue
Sources
Acknowledgments
DECEMBER 23, 1902
TUESDAY
CHAPTER 1
AN OMINOUS ARRIVAL
MY SISTER’S NEW HOME was named Owl Park, a manor house surrounded by gardens and woods that were possibly full of owls. Dotted among the gracious old trees were a gazebo and a maze and a pond where swans floated during the summer months. Marjorie’s new husband was ever so nice, even with being a lord. James was the sort of person who liked having extra children come for Christmas. Not the sort of person who would invite a murderer on purpose.
James and Marjorie’s wedding had been at Owl Park in September this year, but now was my first real visit, and Grannie Jane’s as well. Despite being fairly ancient—more than sixty-six years old—Grannie had nobly offered to ride backward in the coach from the rail station, letting Hector and me have a window each. She knew we liked to spy on the world, ever since our great cleverness in solving a mystery several weeks ago. She had become nearly as fond of Hector as I was, as he came for tea most days when his school was done, and made us laugh and showed off his good manners. Our teas were also more delicious than what he’d get as a boarder at the vicarage.
Snow began to whirl as our coach rumbled up the drive, dancing flakes making the stone chimneys and gabled windows look as if they belonged on a picture postcard.
“I wonder if the ice on the pond is thick enough for skating?” I said.
Hector blinked in alarm. “I am hoping not,” he said.
“You needn’t go skating,” I assured him. “But some of us might like to try, if the pond cooperates. You needn’t do anything you don’t want for this whole week!”
Except for the one dire thing that I did not say out loud. Hector and I both would be having Christmas without a mother or a father beside us. Hector’s parents and little sister, Genevie, were kept far away in Belgium by his father’s work. My mother was at home in Torquay, flattened by sadness because my Papa, my beloved Papa, had been dead for nearly one whole year. She would finish full mourning in January, but it was not considered correct for a widow to travel or participate in merry festivities until the proper amount of time had gone by.
Hector stared solemnly out the window, one finger idly doodling in the condensation upon the pane. Was he feeling lonely? Was he nervous about staying in a fancy house, with everyone a stranger except for Grannie Jane and me? I would have my sister and James, but Hector would have only me.
“Lucy will be here too,” I said. “She’s not eleven yet, but very jolly and not shy at all.”
Lucy’s mother was my sister’s husband’s sister. That made us cousins of a sort, I was pretty certain. On the day when Marjorie married James in September, Lucy and I were flower girls, dressed like twins in white muslin dresses with wide sashes of blue satin. Marjorie had written that Lucy was panting to meet me again.
Our coach swung around in front of the arched and columned entrance of Owl Park.
“Well, wel
l,” said Grannie Jane. “A royal welcome.”
The servants were in a formal line by the entryway, each facing forward like guards at Buckingham Palace. Marjorie and James waited on the flagstones next to the row of dark liveries and white aprons.
Marjorie began waving with both hands. I pushed up the window to wave wildly back.
Grannie Jane clucked her tongue and quietly scolded. “Your sister is behaving like a schoolgirl. No surprise that James’s mother is attempting to adjust her deportment.”
We’d had letters full of woe about Marjorie’s efforts to become a proper lady of the manor, and mostly falling short of her mother-in-law’s high standards.
“Only because I miss her!” I said. “We’ve not seen her for nearly two months, since just after Mrs. Eversham’s murder. I expect she behaves like a lady most of the time.” I fiddled with the door handle the instant the coach came to a stop. Grannie put a hand upon my arm.
“Do not blunder down, Agatha. Allow the footman to assist. For Marjorie’s sake, you must show that you’ve had a tiny amount of breeding—”
A man wearing dark livery, with a nose pink-tipped from the cold, opened my door from the outside. I flashed him a smile, used his shoulder as a vaulting pole, and leapt to the ground to be scooped into my sister’s arms. James was right behind her, adding his arms to the embrace.
Grannie Jane descended, more gracefully than I had, and then Hector hopped down to be welcomed by Marjorie and introduced to James. Every person I liked best in the world—except for Mummy and my dog, Tony—was standing right here in a circle.
“Come in, come in, let’s get you out of the cold,” said James, giving one arm to Grannie and the other to me. “Mother is waiting to greet you.”
“Must the servants catch their deaths on our account?” said Grannie Jane.
“Don’t worry about the servants, Mrs. Morton,” said James. “They come from hardy stock.”
Blue-lipped and shivery stock, I thought. As cold as penguins cast away on an iceberg. As cold as explorers seeking the North Pole. As cold as puppies stranded in a snowbank.
“I know it seems barbaric,” said Marjorie, “but it’s been done this way for centuries, to honor visitors. I’m afraid you’ll find that we bump up against tradition rather a lot at Owl Park.”
The door to the manor was held open by a gaunt man in a fine black coat, who gazed somewhere over our heads.
“Thank you, Pressman.” James led Grannie in, as Marjorie slid an arm around my shoulder.
“Please appear to be sweet and docile with James’s mother, if you can,” she whispered in a rush. “To fend off her snippy rebukes.”
I hardly listened because we’d arrived in the Great Hall and paused in front of an enormous crackling fire to see how Christmas had already come to Owl Park. A yew tree stood in the center of the hall, its boughs festooned with gold foil bows and paper cornucopias of nuts and sweets. Candles clipped to every branch burned like stars against the dark green branches.
The Dowager Lady Greyson waited beside it, with an indigo cashmere shawl wrapped tightly about her narrow shoulders. She looked nearly as old as Grannie Jane, with a long nose and a mouth pinched into a button.
I’d practiced my curtsy all week and was pleased at how well I managed. But instead of a polite greeting, I found myself mumbling under her severe inspection. Hector, however, performed his expert bow, and Lady Greyson’s face brightened as if she’d seen a butterfly open its wings. Lucy hovered beside her grandmother, trying to catch my eye and grinning.
“Do stop jiggling, Lucy!” said Lady Greyson, before turning to Grannie Jane. “Do you do stairs?” Her accent was the most imperious I’d ever heard. Rather like meeting the Queen. Except that Queen Victoria was dead now, and it was her son, Edward, who ruled as King.
“Slowly but surely,” said Grannie Jane.
“I understand you’ve come without your maid,” said Lady Greyson. “I believe we’re meant to lend you one.” She began to climb the steps as Marjorie swooped in for a whisper.
“Sorry, Grannie,” she said. “She’s a trial. But if anyone can stand up to her, it’s you.”
“I am not the one who needs to do that.” Grannie Jane gathered her skirts for the hike up what looked like two hundred marble stairs. “But that is the topic of a later conversation.”
“I’ll come up with you,” said Marjorie. “Lucy, you’ll look after Aggie and Hector, won’t you? Perhaps a tour of the ground floor? There is just time before the dressing bell rings. Hurry when you hear it, and put on your best things. You mustn’t be late.”
I groaned. Getting dressed for dinner was one aspect of the holiday that I dreaded. Mummy had made such a fuss about me having proper dresses, and Gracious Manners to go with them.
Marjorie gave me a little push. “Count yourself lucky that James’s mother has agreed that you may be at table with the adults this evening and not up in the nursery eating buns and hot milk.”
“We’ll be ready, Aunt Marjorie,” Lucy said. “It’s fun getting dressed for dinner. Grandmamma says I may wear her pearl necklace. I have a lovely neck, she says.” She lifted her chin and swished her plaits over her shoulders so that we could appreciate her loveliness.
“Positively swan-like, Lucy,” said Marjorie. “We have more visitors arriving any minute, so I shall be right back. Mr. Lakshay Sivam is a good chum of James from university. As it turns out, I knew his wife at school. No hijinks, I beg of you. They will be weary from their travels.”
Lucy smiled as brightly as sunshine. “No hijinks before dinner, we promise, Aunt Marjorie.”
Marjorie shot her a pretend glare and hurried after Grannie.
Lucy didn’t pause to shake hands or be polite with hello-how-are-you. She threw her arms around me and squeezed until I squeaked, much friendlier than I expected after one day’s acquaintance as flower girls. Finally, she let me breathe so that I could say, Hullo, this is Hector, and he made his little Belgian bow and said Enchanté, and Lucy stared. He was wearing a smart new coat that I’m certain the vicar’s wife had purchased before our excursion, not wishing anyone to accuse her of neglecting the boy in her care.
“Aunt Marjorie said you were foreign,” said Lucy to Hector. “I didn’t know if that meant brown or peculiar.”
“If this is the only choice,” said Hector, “it is logical to deduce that I am peculiar.”
Lucy clapped her hands. “Yes! Let’s all be peculiar, shall we? Uncle James’s foreign friend was born in Ceylon. He has just come back on a sailing ship from visiting there, though, really, he and his wife live in Hampstead like normal people. Won’t this be a Christmas unlike any other?”
Hector raised an eyebrow and I tried to raise one back, a trick I had not yet mastered. It would indeed be a Christmas like no other.
“We’re sleeping up in the nursery suite,” said Lucy. “All the way at the top. It’s not so babyish as it sounds because I’m here without my nanny, thank goodness. There’s a new baby at my house. His name is Robert Phillip Charles Chatsworth. I shall call him Robin. Or possibly Bobbo. My mother got sick after the baby came, even though she wishes with all her heart to be at Owl Park for Christmas. She let me come, though, because she hasn’t much energy and says I use up most of it. Nanny stayed at home to help with the baby. She very likely may never be my nanny again! I am free! Utterly free!” Lucy spun in a circle and swooped her arms like a giant heron attempting a takeoff.
“My nursemaid is not here either,” I said, without imitating a heron. “Charlotte has gone to visit her mother, in Scunthorpe.” I imagined their Christmas would be wholesome and educational, alphabetizing spice jars or translating carols from the original German.
“Shall we not bring with us the luggage?” said Hector.
“Don’t be silly.” Lucy waved a hand. “The footmen will do that. This place is simply buzzing with
servants, and Grandmamma hired extras for the holidays. She always does.”
Hector and I exchanged another look. At the vicarage there was only a cook, and a maid for the rough work, laying the fires and doing laundry and such. It was the same at my own house, Groveland. After Papa died, it turned out that we didn’t have enough money and had to let the servants go except Mrs. Corner, who still did our cooking, and Sally, who did everything else. There’d been a gardener, but he was gone now too.
Lucy watched as Grannie Jane’s skirt disappeared around the curve of the staircase above us. “Old ladies are so slow to climb steps!” She turned to us with shining eyes. “Now!” she said. “Tell me every little thing about the murder.”
A picture of the corpse under the piano flew across my mind, as it had too often since finding Mrs. Eversham. I could not fault Lucy for her curiosity. Being a person with what my mother called a Morbid Preoccupation, I’d have been agog to hear the tale if I hadn’t lived through it myself. But it did seem a bit bold for our opening conversation.
“Perhaps,” said Hector, gently, “such a story will wait until we have an interlude of time to ourselves.”
“If you say so.” Lucy did not appear in the least offended. “Later, in the nursery, we’ll have a fire and you’ll tell the whole gruesome story and scare my hair off!”
At that moment came the chug of a machine from somewhere down the drive. James and Marjorie appeared on the landing, assuming it to be their friends, Mr. and Mrs. Sivam. We all rushed outside to see what could be coming.
The servants hurried behind us to restore their greeting formation.
“Aah,” breathed Hector.
“A horseless carriage!” squealed Lucy.
It came up the drive with its motor humming like an enormous insect, flashing yellow wheels, its passengers enveloped in furs. The driver appeared to struggle with the steering, or perhaps the rubber rims on the tires did not meet well with the frosted surface of the road. The vehicle skidded when coming to a stop, causing the row of servants to jump back like a flock of frightened chickens.
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