BEACH HUT SURPRISE
Who's There?
Lovers, Vampires… A Body?
Libertà Books Anthology
BEACH HUT SURPRISE
Who's There?
Lovers, Vampires… A Body?
Louise Allen
Lesley Cookman
Liz Fielding
Joanna Maitland
Sarah Mallory
Sophie Weston
Libertà Books Anthology
BEACH HUT SURPRISE
Published in the United Kingdom by Libertà Books in 2020
libertabooks.com
GRAND DESIGNS FOR LITTLE PIDDLING
An Edwardian Entertainment
Copyright © Sarah Mallory 2020
GOING HOME?
Copyright © Sophie Weston 2020
THE BODY AT SATIS HOUSE
Copyright © Lesley Cookman 2020
PAST ECHOES
Copyright © Liz Fielding 2020
I, VAMPIRE
Romance With Bite
Copyright © Joanna Maitland 2020
GRAPES AND ALE
Copyright © Louise Allen 2020
The moral rights of the authors have been asserted.
ASIN : B08B43138S
Thank you for purchasing this eBook. Please note that it is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you think this book is worth sharing with someone else, please purchase additional copies for each recipient. If you did not purchase this book, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please delete or return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the rights and hard work of these authors.
The stories in this anthology are works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or places is entirely coincidental.
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Cover Image: stock.adobe.com/Pictulandra
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Interior Formatting: Joanna Maitland
BEACH HUT SURPRISE : Table of Contents
GRAND DESIGNS FOR LITTLE PIDDLING An Edwardian Entertainment by Sarah Mallory
About Sarah Mallory
GOING HOME? by Sophie Weston
About Sophie Weston
THE BODY AT SATIS HOUSE by Lesley Cookman
About Lesley Cookman
PAST ECHOES by Liz Fielding
About Liz Fielding
I, VAMPIRE Romance with Bite by Joanna Maitland
About Joanna Maitland
GRAPES AND ALE by Louise Allen
About Louise Allen
Dear Reader from Libertà Books
GRAND DESIGNS FOR LITTLE PIDDLING
An Edwardian Entertainment
by Sarah Mallory
Chapter One
Sir Hereward stood in the bay window of Wakeleigh Towers and gazed out at the vista. It was not an unpleasant one—the Towers' elevated position commanded a view of Little Piddling's beach and the promenade—but on this bright March afternoon it brought no pleasure to Sir Hereward. A heavy frown had settled on his brow and his bushy eyebrows were drawn together. He had a Weighty Matter preying on his mind.
In a chair beside the fire, his wife was reading the latest copy of the Piddling Post and, once again, all the articles on the first few pages concerned Little Piddling's larger neighbour, Much Piddling. It was insufferable. It was not to be borne. Sir Hereward did not begrudge Much Piddling its market, nor its larger population, but its position inland was far inferior to the salubrious sea air they enjoyed in Little Piddling. And yet, its name hinted at superiority.
"Dora, something must be done!"
Lady Wakeleigh looked up from her perusal of the society page and blinked myopically at him.
"Must it, dear? About what?"
"As Mayor of Little Piddling, it is up to me not only to defend our noble town and its environs, but to improve them."
"How right you are, dear." She gave him a vague smile and turned her attention back to the newspaper, wondering if she should try the new Spirella corset which, the advertisement boasted, had been a revelation to millions of women.
"I have considered carefully, and I must act." He strode to the door. "I am going out."
"Out?" Dora looked up again. "Will you be back for dinner? It is your favourite; I had Betty pick up some cod cheeks."
"Yes, yes, of course I shall be back. This should not take long."
He collected his coat, hat and cane and set off down the hill.
His destination was on the far side of Jubilee Gardens, a neat little villa in Cosmo Terrace. An equally neat little maid opened the door and showed him into the drawing room, where Mrs Alice Spendlove was waiting. She had been a widow for the past ten years, but a casual remark that she looked very well in deep mourning had encouraged her to wear black ever since, and she looked very much like a blackbird against the yellow chintz furnishings of the room. She came forward, one hand held out, eyelashes fluttering.
"Sir Hereward. How kind of you to call. To what do we owe the pleasure? Shall I ring for tea, or perhaps you would like a small sherry? I do not myself indulge at this hour, but it is nearly dinner time and I know how you gentleman like a glass of wine."
Sir Hereward touched her hand briefly and muttered that he would not trouble her for refreshments. Her effusion unnerved him. One could never be too careful with widows.
"I came to see young Spendlove," he barked, declining the invitation to sit down. "I thought I had left it too late to catch him at the office."
"Rudolph? Why, yes. He came home a few moments ago and is upstairs changing his coat. I am sure he will not be very long."
As if on cue, the door opened.
"Did I hear my name, Mother?" A tall, thin young man entered. He had his mother's dark hair but his eyes were a paler blue, and they peered anxiously at the world through his round spectacles.
"Why yes, my love. Sir Hereward has come to see you." She smiled at her son, but at the same time her eyes went questioningly towards her visitor. However, when Sir Hereward said nothing, she gave a little laugh. "Well, well, I shall leave you gentlemen alone. I am sure you will want to talk business, and I should be of no help at all."
She fluttered her eyes again at Sir Hereward, waiting for him to contradict her, but he remained obstinately silent and, finally, she made her way towards the door.
"Thank you, Mother." Rudolph smiled as she passed him and closed the door carefully behind her. Then he looked back at Sir Hereward. "What can I do for you, sir?"
"I do not like to trouble you at home, but the matter is rather…delicate."
The blue eyes widened in alarm. "Delicate?"
"I would rather the other council members did not know anything of this until I have the thing secure. You see, Spendlove, we need to p
ut Little Piddling on the map. To make its name famous throughout the country. I would like Little Piddling to become the country's premier seaside resort, but for that I need to find some noteworthy occurrence from our past. That is why I have come to you. As our Town Archivist, you will have such information at your fingertips."
"Well, not quite all of it," came the modest reply.
"But you are the best person to find something appropriate," Sir Hereward continued, his tone coaxing. "The visit of an important historical figure, perhaps."
The young man rubbed his nose. "Well, there is the connection with royalty…"
Sir Hereward gave a howl of outrage. "If you are referring to the scandalous liaison of His Majesty with that soprano from the Piddling Pierrots when he was Prince of Wales, then that is precisely the sort of thing I do not want. No. I need a grand design, Spendlove. Something with gravitas. Good God, man, there must be some event in the town's past that deserves publicity."
"There is a great deal of material in the archives," Rudolph said, warily. "This could take months."
"We have only weeks," snapped Sir Hereward. "I want you to find me something I can put to the council at the next meeting. But it must be convincing. I do not want to find myself on the losing side of a vote."
Not that it was very likely, he conceded silently. The Council generally fell in line with his ideas, with a little persuasion.
Rudolph Spendlove nodded. "I will see what I can do, Sir Hereward."
"Good. I want regular reports of your progress, but do not come to my office. Remember, I want this matter kept secret."
"Very well. I can call at the Towers…"
"No, that will not work. Lady Wakeleigh is very thick with Ada Arbuttle and would be bound to mention the matter to her."
"Hmm. Mrs Arbuttle is a friend of my mother's, too, so it would be no better your calling here." Rudolph gave a deprecatory cough. "Perhaps I might suggest we meet at my mother's beach hut. She doesn't use it at this time of the year. In fact, very few people go along that way out of season. Hers is in the middle of the row. Rassendyll Lodge." His thin face twisted in a grimace. "You cannot miss it."
"An excellent idea. Well done, Spendlove. No one will comment upon my taking an airing along the promenade." He nodded. "Very well. I shall meet you there a week from today. Same time."
When Sir Hereward had left, Rudolph stood at the window and watched him stride away. An unfamiliar and unexpected elation possessed him. This was his opportunity to make a name for himself. The Spendloves had been archivists in Little Piddling for generations. Their filing system was unique to themselves, passed down from father to son. Uncharitable townsfolk had been known to say that it was a ruse to prevent anyone else taking over the post, but Rudolph knew differently. It was an excellent system. Very secure. While Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's detective might be an expert at solving crimes, this would test the powers of even the great Sherlock Holmes. Rudolph was confident the Spendlove filing system would baffle the most ingenious villain. Although he had to admit it was unlikely any arch criminal would want to break into the archives of Little Piddling, but one could never be too careful.
Tomorrow he would set to work seeking out something that would make Little Piddling stand out from other seaside resorts. An idea so spectacular it would win him the praise and gratitude of his fellow Little Piddlers. Then perhaps his mother would be proud of him. In her eyes he might even rival his famous namesake.
Rudolph was well aware that he had been named after the hero of a novel. When he was a boy, Mother had read The Prisoner of Zenda to him frequently and he had seen himself as Rudolph Rassendyll, the noble Englishman, saving his cousin the king and falling in love with Princess Flavia, the king's betrothed. However, he would not have stood aside while the Princess did her duty and married a man she did not love. No, he would have carried her off, back to England.
Very much as he would like to run off with Millicent Simister who lived next door, if only she would fall in love with him.
The feeling of elation increased. Perhaps, once he had earned the gratitude and respect of the council, and Sir Hereward had sung his praises, Millicent might do more than wish him a good day whenever they met. She might even agree to be his sweetheart.
It was a heady prospect, and Rudolph could not wait to get into the office and begin his search.
A week later, Rudolph had come up with an idea and he paced up and down in the beach hut, waiting impatiently for Sir Hereward's arrival. When he heard a firm tread on the boards outside, he threw open the door and found the Mayor staring at the hut in open-mouthed horror.
Rudolph could not blame him. With its ornate wooden shutters and the abundance of decorative carving that positively dripped from the eaves and the front gable, Rassendyll Lodge was far more in keeping with an Alpine village than an English seaside town on the south coast.
"Mother designed it herself," he explained. "She is very keen on Mr Hope's novels. She wanted it to look like the hunting lodge." He held the door wider and stepped back. "Do come in."
After a furtive look about him, the Mayor stepped into the beach hut and Rudolph lost no time in explaining his idea for the elevation of Little Piddling's standing.
To Rudolph's delight, Sir Hereward thought it an excellent plan and ordered him to continue his researches. At that, Rudolph found himself bouncing out of bed each morning, eager to reach the Town Hall and shut himself away in the dusty archives.
On a blustery April evening, Rudolph hurried to the beach hut for his final tryst with Sir Hereward before the council meeting. After shaking hands, he held out a thick wad of papers.
"Here you are, sir. I have included all the evidence that might be required to counter any resistance to my idea." He added, trying not to sound boastful, "It is quite comprehensive. I typed it all myself, in the archives, so you may be quite sure no one else knows anything at all about it."
He waited anxiously as the Mayor quickly flicked through the first few pages.
"Good, good. And the historical evidence is accurate?"
"It is, Sir Hereward. I have documented every reference."
"Excellent. Very well. I shall put this to the council on Thursday."
The council meeting was as long and tedious as ever. Sir Hereward did his duty, agreeing the alterations to the public conveniences being built on the promenade, whilst rejecting Frederick Bethrong's suggestion that they should improve the drains at the same time. Good heavens, did everyone think the council was made of money? He gave his benevolent support to the inclusion of a dog show in the summer festival but vehemently opposed a request by the National Union of Women's Suffrage to use the Town Hall for their rally.
At length Edward Simister, the clerk, asked if there was any other business. This was traditionally the moment when everyone began packing away their papers.
"As a matter of fact, there is." To a man, they paused as the Mayor rose to his feet. "I think it is time we considered a few changes to this town."
Silence. He had their attention now. Sir Hereward drew himself up, one hand grasping the lapel of his coat. He gazed solemnly around the table before he launched into his speech.
"For too long we have languished in the shadow of our near neighbour, Much Piddling. That must change. It is time we put Little Piddling on the map. We have an excellent beach for sea bathing; we have the pier. We have the beach huts and the finest promenade on the south coast. Good heavens, we even have a public convenience on the sea front, which will soon include a section exclusively for the use of the ladies." He frowned. "And at great expense, too, I might add."
"And none of these things would have been accomplished in quite so fine a fashion without the generosity of persons such as yourself, Sir Hereward," put in Mr Arbuttle, a colourless little man whose aim in life was to placate his betters.
"There is no doubt that these amenities are all excellent," said Percy Flint, the local builder, "but with the exception of the new lavatories,
the rest are so well established that the Piddling Post no longer considers them newsworthy. Of course, there is the Little Piddling Festival each summer, but apart from that, I cannot see what else we can do to attract attention to our town."
"Well, I do, Mr Flint. I do see what we can do." Sir Hereward paused, then said grandly, "We can amend the name!"
The announcement brought a murmur of surprise from the councillors, and not a little consternation.
"But Little Piddling goes back to the Doomsday Book," cried Mr Bretherson. "It would be sacrilege to change it."
"There is no intention of changing it," retorted Sir Hereward, testily.
"But you said—"
"I mean we should expand it. I have been looking into the matter. History shows us that we have a great maritime legacy—"
"That's news to me," muttered Percy Flint.
"A great maritime legacy," the Mayor repeated, glaring at the builder from under his bushy brows. "In the Middle Ages it was a thriving sea port, did you know that? Galleons sailed to the docks along the River Piddling. Ships were built here that carried our brave troops to Agincourt. At least," he temporized, seeing that Mr Flint was about to object, "they carried them across the Channel."
"But the river has silted up," objected Edward Simister. "The port hasn't been used for two hundred years. That's why the Anchor Inn is now five miles inland."
"Thank you for pointing that out, Mr Simister. Although if you read my report, you will see that the fact is noted. Nevertheless, I think we can use the information to our advantage. We should look to the sea." He paused to let the words sink in. "Weston has its Super Mare. Lyme and Salcombe have their Regis." Sir Hereward cast a fierce gaze around the table. "I propose that we should call our great seafaring town Little Piddling sur Mer!"
Beach Hut Surprise: Escape to Little Piddling this summer — six feel-good beach reads to make you smile, or even laugh out loud Page 1
