Death in a Stately Home: Book Three in the Murder on Location series

by Sara Rosett

  I worked out the timeline in my head. “So Eileen lived here in Nether Woodsmoor after her fiancé died until…?”

  “It must have been about fifteen years ago, I think. Sir Harold’s father had passed. Sir Harold let Eileen stay on in the cottage, which he didn’t have to do, you know. It was his father who had let Eileen stay, so after he died, Sir Harold could have asked her to move out, but he didn’t.”

  “I wonder why she moved so suddenly?” I asked.

  “She remarried,” said a voice from the doorway, and we all turned and saw Beatrice. She’d changed out of her Regency finery and wore her normal attire, a rather boxy white shirt with a mustard-colored skirt and sturdy espadrilles.

  “Hello, Louise,” Beatrice said and then nodded a greeting to Alex. “Kate, are you okay? Thomas informed me that you’d called for the inspector.”

  “Yes, but I’m fine…well, except for a few mistaken assumptions.” I looked at Simon, who frowned back at me.

  “I didn’t know that Eileen had remarried,” Louise said.

  “It wasn’t common knowledge,” Beatrice said. “Eileen didn’t have many close friends in the village. She was glad to cut ties.”

  “Did you know that Louise thinks Holly is Eileen’s granddaughter?”

  Beatrice stared at Louise for a second. “Eileen’s? I suppose…yes, she would be about the right age. But why wouldn’t Holly tell me…” She trailed off, then Beatrice looked to me, clearly caught off guard. “You don’t think—Surely, it wasn’t her? Did she write those vicious things?”

  Hopkins answered. “It is a possibility we will need to investigate.”

  Beatrice closed her eyes briefly, then nodded. “Holly is in the estate office. I just spoke with her there. You’d better come with me, Inspector.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Hopkins put his notebook away.

  Simon looked at me. “What about her? You’re not going to go off and leave her, are you? She could be gone in a moment, off the grounds, and in the wind. Do you have a car?” Simon asked me, his tone suspicious.

  “No, I don’t. I walked here. I live in Nether Woodsmoor. I’m not leaving Parkview, and even if I did leave, I would only go to my home in the village. I’m not a flight risk.”

  “What’s all this?” Beatrice asked.

  “It seems Sir Harold hired Simon to look into the poison pen posts,” I began.

  “What? Harold wouldn’t—” She stopped and frowned at Simon thoughtfully. “Harold did mention something last week. He said he’d taken steps to solve that problem, but we were interrupted, and then in the rush to get ready for this weekend, I forgot to ask him about it, and he…well, you know what he’s like,” Beatrice said to me then looked at Hopkins. “He tends to become immersed in whatever he’s doing to the point that the rest of the world fades away.” She looked at Simon. “And you think Holly is the source?”

  I said, “No, Simon doesn’t seem to have any ideas about the poison pen posts, but he thinks I murdered Toby.”

  Beatrice turned back to Simon, and he stepped back, holding up his hands. “I can’t help what I saw. It was there. I had to report it.”

  “I don’t remember any reporting…only a stun gun.”

  “Stun gun?” Beatrice said, her voice incredulous.

  “Which I have taken custody of,” Hopkins said, smoothly inserting himself into the exchange. “I think I can trust Ms. Sharp to give a statement to Constable Albertson?” He looked at me.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Good.” Hopkins removed his phone from his pocket and tapped out a quick text. “I’ll have him send for you when he’s ready to speak to you. He’s set up in the monitoring room.” Hopkins turned to Beatrice. “I do need to speak with Ms. Riley.”

  “Yes, of course. I still can’t believe…Eileen’s granddaughter, you think?” Beatrice asked Louise.

  “Yes. It looks like her.”

  Beatrice blew out a sigh. “Well, you knew her. I hardly ever saw her.”

  Thomas came into the room with a man and a woman carrying cameras and large cases.

  “My evidence people,” Hopkins explained to Beatrice then gave the new arrivals instructions to bag the evidence on the Mahogany bedroom’s balcony then dust my balcony for prints.

  Beatrice looked concerned until Hopkins said, “Just being thorough, as we must.”

  She nodded. “Let me take you to the estate office.” Simon took a step forward as if to go with them, but Hopkins waved him back with a shake of the head.

  Simon didn’t look happy. He threw one last frustrated look at me before leaving the room.

  The man on the balcony flipped back the case lid and pulled out brushes and powder. Louise, her gaze on him said, “So what’s all this about a hairpin?”

  I explained about the hairpin in more detail, and Louise sniffed. “That’s just silly. That hairpin could have been lying there for weeks. How can they be sure it was yours?”

  “Simon said he asked the maid, and there was only one package with the pearls attached.”

  “But there was another house party before this one. Who’s to say that they didn’t use another package for those guests?”

  “I wish I’d thought to say that.”

  Louise patted my arm. “Don’t worry, luv, all this foolishness will work itself out, I’m sure. But just to make sure, I’ll find Ella. She worked the last house party as well. She’ll know about the hairpins.”

  With a last pat on my arm, Louise headed for the door. “Don’t wait for me, if you need to get back to the village,” she said over her shoulder to Alex. “I’ll walk down on my own after I speak to Ella.”

  “Can you stick around for a while?” I asked Alex. The man was busy dusting powder across the banister. The woman had taken the camera, and I could already hear the click of the shutter through the open balcony doors.

  Alex looked concerned. “Sure.”

  “Good. Where’s Grace? Is she here?” I asked, sitting down on one of the floral chairs.

  “No, she went back to the cottage.” Alex took the other chair. “Twelve is old enough to be on her own for a while.”

  Because there was a hint of worry in his voice, I said, “Yes, I think she’ll be fine. She is probably enjoying being alone. I bet she doesn’t get much solitary time at boarding school.”

  “So this is all because of a hairpin?” Alex asked, his gaze on the man rotating the fluffy brush up and down the balusters.

  “Yes, but hopefully, what you and Louise told Hopkins will get him to look for other suspects besides me.”

  “There’s no way he could think you did it,” Alex said.

  “Unfortunately, it looks like I’m the only person who could have done it.” I told him about the cameras and the dirt covering the courtyard. “So the balcony is the only way in, and I’m the only one who had access to it.”

  “Unless someone else got in your room and climbed over the balcony,” Alex said slowly. “Just because it’s your room doesn’t mean you were the one who used the balcony to get to Toby.”

  “That’s true. I hadn’t thought of that or of Louise’s argument that the hairpin could have been there for ages. I should have had you and Louise here to defend me,” I said with a smile.

  “Innocent people don’t expect to be accused of murder. I’m sure you felt blindsided. No one would think clearly in a moment like that.”

  A thump sounded from the balcony. The evidence tech flicked the catches on the lid closed and stood. “All finished.” He gave a quick nod and went to the other room.

  Alex stood. “I should get back to Grace. Come with me?”

  “And be considered a fugitive?”

  “Only in Simon’s eyes. I think Hopkins would understand, especially if you let him know where you’d be.”

  “No. I’m staying here, at least until I hear what’s happened with Holly. If she is related to someone from the village…well, this whole thing might be cleared up in a few hours.”

 
“I knew you’d say that,” Alex said. “But I figured it was worth a shot. Call me, let me know what’s going on.”

  “Okay. If you can wait a few minutes, I’ll walk to the bridge with you, but first I’d love to change into shorts and a t-shirt.”

  Alex flared an eyebrow. “Looks as if you might need some help with all those buttons.”

  “Intriguing thought, but I already have a lady’s maid.” I motioned Alex to the door as I tugged on the bellpull.

  “That’s a shame,” Alex said with a wicked grin.

  Shorts and a t-shirt felt amazingly light and cool, and the breeze sweeping over my bare arms and legs felt delightful, even slightly risqué, after being swathed head to toe in fabric. The clouds were thickening and now completely covered the sky. The wind had picked up, too, and whipped through the trees.

  I’d walked with Alex down to the bridge and said goodbye to him there. He’d gone on to the village, but I paused, elbows resting on the still-warm golden stones of the bridge, watching the water swish and eddy around the bridge supports. The overnight storm must have drenched the whole area upriver because the water was higher than usual. The swirling currents doused the green grass on the banks that was usually above the waterline.

  I took a few moments to listen to the sound of the running water and study the busy current. Unlike the section of the river that ran through Nether Woodsmoor, which was wide and smooth, yet fast moving, this portion of the river dropped several feet before and after the bridge as well as curving through the landscape, creating several little bubbling and frothing cataracts. Above the sound of the water, I heard a faint yipping, probably Beatrice’s two mop-like dogs. I hadn’t seen them since I’d met with Beatrice. They must be confined to the staff areas during the house party.

  I reluctantly pushed off and headed back to Parkview, taking the path that wound from the bridge to the front gates. When the golden stone mansion came into view, I cut across the drive and made for the west wing, thinking that since I’d been out of the house, I’d go by the monitoring room and see if Constable Albertson was ready to take my statement. I could go in the side door near the back of the west wing and spend a little more time outdoors. I headed for the wide gravel avenue lined with hedges on one side and the towering wall of the west wing on the other.

  I came around the corner of the house and collided with a woman, jarring her so that her tote bag fell off her shoulder, and its items scattered across the path.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you—” I broke off. Two items that had fallen on the path—a postcard of Cottage Lane and a photo of a gray-haired woman—seemed to leap out at me. I picked them up.

  “No worries.” Holly busily gathered up the other items, several calendar sheets torn from a blotter, a half empty bag of crackers, and a small pot with an African violet, which had spilled dirt onto a pink sweater.

  “You’re leaving,” I said quietly.

  Chapter 12

  “JUST FOR THE DAY,” HOLLY said brightly as she pushed the sweater into the tote bag without brushing off the dirt.

  We’d both been squatting as we retrieved her things. She snatched up the potted plant, the last item, and stood. She hooked the straps of the bag over her shoulder and held out her hand for the postcard and photo I held. “Thanks so much…”

  Her voice trailed off when I didn’t hand them over.

  “You’re leaving permanently,” I said.

  Her wide open eyes narrowed, and her smile disappeared. “I need those, please.”

  “So cute, these cottages,” I said. “I live in one, did you know that?”

  “No. That’s interesting.” Her tone indicated she couldn’t care less. She glanced around. “Look, I do have to go.”

  While I knew that if I left Parkview, I wasn’t going far. I thought the opposite was the case with Holly. Once she cleared those gates, she’d be as far away as possible and probably difficult to find. I scanned the grounds. Nothing to see but a row of hedges and the west wing’s wall of windows. No one else was on the path, and the only noises were the distant purr of a car engine and the bark of a small dog.

  “Why did you do it? Why did you write those vicious things?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but her face flushed.

  “DCI Hopkins wants to speak to you. He knows about your history, your connection to the village.”

  Holly looked at me for a long moment, then suddenly lunged forward. She ripped the postcard and photo out of my hand and shoved my shoulder. I stumbled backward, but managed not to fall. Holly sprinted away down the path.

  I took off after her, but I’m more of a walker than a jogger. Despite being encumbered with the tote bag, which thumped against her side, she lengthened the distance between us. I was never going to catch her. And if I did, what was I going to do? Tackle her and hold her down?

  Holly cleared the end of the path and disappeared around the front of the house. I pounded along behind her, huffing and panting as I reached the end of the path and rounded the corner. Holly, kicking up bits of gravel on the front drive, was making for the long drive to the main gate. Another figure was on the path walking toward Holly. Waverly in all his well-tailored splendor was moving at a dignified pace up the drive toward the house, Beatrice’s two little dogs straining at the leashes he held.

  I stopped, gathered my breath and put two fingers in my mouth, then let out a piercing whistle. The dogs swiveled their heads toward me. I gulped in more air and whistled again. At the second whistle, the dogs let off a string of yips and lunged in my direction. Caught off-guard, the leashes slipped from Waverly’s hand.

  The dogs, their ears flopping, little legs churning, and leashes trailing out behind them, headed for me on a diagonal course that took them directly toward Holly. Her gait checked as the dogs beelined toward her. She sidestepped first one way, then the other, finally heading for the edge of the path as she tried to avoid them. The dogs split neatly around her, as if it had been choreographed. The ground along the path was lower, and the dip in elevation must have caught Holly by surprise because she tumbled into the grass.

  The dogs reached me, joyfully pawing at my shins. I rubbed their ears. “What good dogs you are. So smart. You knew what to do.” I caught their leashes and hurried toward Waverly at a trot. The dogs, game for more running, raced along beside me, their short legs looking as if they were spinning as they covered the ground.

  “Don’t let her go,” I called to Waverly, who was bending over Holly. She held her ankle with both hands and shot me a venomous look as I closed the distance.

  “I know you wanted to speak to Ms. Riley, but I’m not sure such extreme measures were needed,” Waverly said, impassively.

  Holly, her rapidly swelling ankle propped on a pillow, lifted her head from the rolled arm of the chesterfield sofa when Beatrice and Sir Harold walked into the library followed by Hopkins. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know in person I was leaving,” Holly said to Beatrice.

  Waverly had stayed with Holly while I returned to the house and summoned one of the burlier footmen, who had carried Holly back to Parkview and deposited her where Waverly indicated, which was the closest room, the library. I had faded to the side of the room, near the door. No one asked me to leave, and I wanted to make sure Holly didn’t convince Beatrice she was only leaving early for the day.

  Beatrice waved a square of yellow paper. “Yes, a resignation by sticky note is not good form. Although, I’m not sure, ‘Must leave. Sorry,’ qualifies as a letter of resignation.” I leaned back against the shiny surface of a worktable stacked with oversized books of maps. I should have known Beatrice would be savvy enough to catch onto Holly’s subterfuge. Waverly opened the door, balancing an icepack on the silver tray. He took one look around the room and melted back out the door, shutting it noiselessly.

  A flush filled Holly’s face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but there has been an…an emergency. A family emergency. I have t
o leave immediately.” She struggled upright, swinging her leg off the sofa with a grimace.

  Hopkins said, “That won’t be possible. I need you to answer some questions.”

  “I can’t. I told you I have to go—”

  “Why did you do it, Holly?” Beatrice said, her tone hurt. “Why did you say those horrible things online?”

  Holly looked up at Beatrice, and her face transformed from the pitiful expression she had worn. Now her mouth was set and her eyes were hard. “Because under all this…” she gestured around the room, indicating the towering windows with their elegant drapes, the rows of glass-fronted bookcases, the polished tables and plush chairs scattered around the Oriental rugs, the high ceiling with its roundels above the delicate crystals of the chandeliers and said, “…this showy grandness, you’re dishonest and low. You put on a good show—all lady of the manor. You come across as someone who cares about the little people, but, all the while, the only thing that matters to you is getting more and more. You don’t care who you hurt.”

  Beatrice looked as if Holly had slapped her across the face. Sir Harold, who had been hovering to the side, moved forward and placed one arm around Beatrice’s shoulder, encircling her protectively. “That is enough,” he said, in a commanding tone that I’d never heard him use before.

  Holly ignored him, her breath quickening, and her face flushing a darker red. “At least you pretend to be nice,” she said to Beatrice. Holly’s face contorted as she shifted her angry gaze to Sir Harold. “You don’t even go that far. You don’t even know or care what is going on, except for one thing…money. Then you’re all attention.”

  Sir Harold stared at Holly a long moment, only his nostrils flared as he breathed deeply. The ticking of an ormolu clock on the mantle sounded in the sudden quiet. I tensed, thinking that Sir Harold was probably one of those people who had a long fuse, but when they became angry, they were spectacularly angry.

  Beatrice threw a concerned glance at Sir Harold as she asked Holly, “What are you talking about?”