Murder in the Manor

by Fiona Grace

  Lacey was so shocked and saddened by the news, she didn’t know what to do. She turned to Chester, petting him.

  “My poor boy,” she said, feeling tears welling in her eyes.

  “That must’ve been why no one put out a missing alert on him,” the vet added. “If he was in the vehicle when it happened, he might’ve just run straight away from the scene, heading back to somewhere that was familiar.”

  Lacey felt like her heart could break at the thought of Chester going through the trauma of a car wreck, then wandering, lost, for over a week until he made his way back home.

  “Right,” the vet said, standing up from the computer and coming over to Chester. “Let’s get this lad registered into the rehoming process.”

  “Can’t I keep him?” Lacey blurted, before her brain had even registered.

  Tom and the vet turned to her, eyebrows raised in twin expressions of bemusement.

  “That’s not how it works,” the vet explained.

  “But I work in the store he’s familiar with. It would be the least disruptive to him, wouldn’t it? Rather than have him put in a kennel, to be gawped at by potential new owners, who’d take him somewhere he’s never been before, when I’d be able to take him back to somewhere that was more or less home.”

  The vet looked bemused. “Huh. Well. I don’t know. I’d have to find out. If he’s been in an accident, we should probably keep him overnight to do checks anyway. I can call you in the morning once I know more?”

  But Lacey felt very protective over the dog and didn’t want to let go of him without confirmation he’d be returned to her the next day. Tom seemed to psychically pick up on this, because he said to the vet, “Can’t we just skip the bureaucracy? If we hadn’t brought him in, you’d never even have known he was missing in the first place.”

  The vet twisted her lips. But finally, she sighed. “You know what, you’re right. Rather than add him onto the long list of dogs waiting for a home, I’ll log you as his foster carers. After a few weeks you can phone up and say you’d like to adopt him.”

  Lacey’s heart leapt with joy. She locked eyes with Tom, thrilled that he’d managed to get the vet to agree.

  “That sounds great,” she said to the vet.

  The vet logged Lacey’s contact details into the system, then they said goodbye to Chester, thanked the vet for bending the rules, and headed back to Tom’s van.

  “So, Lacey,” Tom said as he gunned the van’s engine to life. “How was that for a date? It must’ve been good, considering we’re now supposedly married.”

  Lacey’s cheeks hadn’t even had a chance to cool down yet. Now they felt like raging infernos. “Yes, well, let’s not joke about that. My sister would call the cops and declare you the next Jim Jones.”

  Tom laughed in that loud, unabashed, infectious way that Lacey was quickly coming to adore. But then her mind returned to the dog they’d left behind and her heart hitched.

  “Poor Chester,” she said. “To think he might have been in the car when it crashed. I know he’s a dog but that must’ve been traumatic for him!”

  “Definitely,” Tom said. “He’s lucky you’re adopting him. He’ll need a lot of support and care to get over a thing like that. But what I’m wondering about is his owners. They left without notice, that’s what Stephen said, right?”

  “Yes,” Lacey confirmed. “They packed up overnight and left all their unpaid utility bills and invoices.”

  She paused, suddenly thinking of the knocked over plants in the garden, evidence of haste. And the expensive brass light fixture they’d left behind. Lacey had assumed they’d been unaware of its value, but perhaps they’d just not had a chance to take it with them. A sudden chill ran up her spine.

  “They were in a hurry,” she said.

  “Such a hurry they sped and crashed,” Tom added. “Almost as if—”

  “—they were running away from something,” Lacey concluded.

  The pair locked gazes, silent communication passing between them.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Through the walls, Lacey heard the familiar pounding music coming from Taryn’s boutique. It had now become a staple backdrop. Her rival was clearly trying to rile her, but Lacey was floating on Cloud 9 these days and nothing would bring her down. Not even Taryn’s sandwich board that Lacey suspected she purposefully placed to obscure the antiques store entrance.

  Combining with the buzzing bass beat coming through Lacey’s right-hand wall was the welcome sound of Chester snoring. Her “foster” dog had slotted right into Lacey’s life like he was supposed to be there all along, and he was certainly helping her store garner more attention. These days, locals walking past would come in just to say hello to him, so Lacey had rearranged her stock so the cheaper, more useful items were right beside where he slept. Her ploy had worked—most people who came in to pet Chester would notice some kind of inexpensive trinket they wanted to purchase. She could count on at least £50 a day from Chester-petters alone!

  Overall, Lacey was convinced she’d made the right decision coming to Wilfordshire. Not only did she have the store, which was thriving, and Chester, who was now her sidekick, but she had Gina, her neighbor, friend, and fellow antique-scouter, who had snapped up Lacey’s offer to tend to the store’s garden.

  The only downside was that Lacey had been so busy, she hadn’t had another chance to go on a “date” with Tom. He was busy, too; the Easter holiday brought many people to Wilfordshire and they all seemed to want to partake in his infamous pastel-colored macarons. But, Lacey realized with a little leap of excitement, today was the last day of the school holiday and the tourists would dwindle for another six weeks. Perhaps she and Tom would be able to steal a chance to hang out during the quieter season.

  Lacey leaned her elbows against the counter and glanced down at the antique collector’s magazine she was perusing. Her store was filled with treasures, but there were so many more she wanted to get her hands on. Saskia, her old boss, had always approached design with a minimalistic eye. But Lacey preferred the busy look of the Victorian era, where every pattern and color was celebrated—William Morris was her favorite designer—and where the most useless of items were invented—from special sugar bowls to special milk jugs and a special spoon for every different condiment. She loved all those things, and this magazine was a great resource. Besides, the more she read, the better she got at valuing items, and the closer she’d come to opening her own auction store out the back like her father had dreamed of doing.

  She’d just spotted a collection of Victorian serving spoons for a steal when the bell above the door tinkled.

  Lacey looked up from her magazine. An elderly woman had entered the store. As usual, Chester looked up to assess the visitor, sniffed the air, then went back to sleep.

  “Hello,” Lacey said, straightening up and smiling. “Let me know if you need any help.”

  “Oh, this is lovely,” the woman said as she came in closer. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

  Lacey realized that the woman must’ve known the store before, when it was for gardening and home supplies.

  “You know the store?” she asked.

  “I do,” the woman smiled. “Though I never had a need to use it before.”

  “Do you have a need now?” Lacey asked.

  “Now it’s an antique dealer, I do.”

  “Oh?” Lacey said, her head quirking to the side with intrigue.

  “You may recognize my name. Iris Archer.”

  Lacey drew a blank. “No, sorry, I don’t. I’m not local.”

  The woman chuckled. “I can tell from your accent that you aren’t.”

  She spoke without malice, and Lacey noted the woman’s own accent was extremely regal sounding, like the dame from a British period drama.

  “I live in the manor house on the outskirts of Wilfordshire,” the woman continued, without even a hint of arrogance in her tone. “Penrose Estate.”

  Lacey’s eyes widen
ed. Penrose Estate! The miniature castle she’d gawked at on her road trip with Tom? It hadn’t occurred to her that someone actually lived there!

  “Oh yes, I know of the estate,” Lacey said, trying her best to dispel her appearance as an ignorant foreigner.

  “I have a collection of antiques,” Iris continued. “I need to get them appraised. I’ve been far too nervous to remove them from my house and transport them, and I’ve not found someone yet who I trust enough to come over. You do valuations, I presume?”

  “Absolutely,” Lacey said, excited not only by the prospect of visiting a real-life English estate—Naomi would lose her mind when she showed her the photos—but for the opportunity to flex her brand knew valuation muscles. She grabbed the jotter pad beside the store telephone. “When would suit you?”

  “The sooner the better,” Iris told her. “It’s a task I’ve been putting off for years and fear I may not have long left to see to it.”

  Morbid, Lacey thought, though she’d known elderly people in her time who spoke that way. Her grandmother had been one, her catch phrase having become “once I’m gone” a good decade before she’d finally passed.

  “How about tomorrow?” Lacey suggested, enthusiasm making her rash. She could head out to Penrose Estate first thing in the morning, and get Gina to open up and cover for her a few hours in case the meeting overran.

  “Why don’t you come for breakfast?” Iris said. “I have it delivered to the house promptly for seven a.m.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Lacey said, thinking about the half-hour drive and the fact she’d have to leave at six thirty.

  She jotted it down in her pad, noting that her handwriting was a little shaky from her excitement.

  “I have to ask though,” she added, looking up at the regal-looking elderly woman. “Why do you trust me? I’m new to Wilfordshire, and to the antiques business.”

  “For that very reason,” Iris Archer replied. “You don’t know me. You don’t know my history.” Then she smiled such a tender, genuine smile, it made the decades of laugh lines brighten up her whole face. “And because you look just like Francis.”

  The sound of her father’s name in her ears hit Lacey like gale force wind. “My dad?” she stammered. “You knew my dad?”

  Just then, Taryn’s loud bass music seemed to notch up in volume, loud enough to make the china on the shelves rattle. Lacey had to tear herself away from the woman, her question hanging in the air between them, and hurried over to the shelves to move the china pots apart so they didn’t smash into one another from the vibrations. Even then, the vibrations seemed to make them jump up and down. It was perilous.

  “Hold on one second,” Lacey said to Iris. “Wait right there.”

  She hurried out of the store, anger making her heavy-footed, and bumped right into the purposefully placed sandwich board, bumping her hip bone. Irritated, she gave it a huge shove so it was out of her way, then marched into Taryn’s boutique.

  The place was super swanky and sparsely stocked with just a few select, expensive, beautifully displayed items. Two statuesque women were perusing one of the racks, and Taryn herself looked immaculate, standing innocently enough beside the counter. The sound system, Lacey noted then, was now placed next to their shared wall, when before it had been at the back of the store. Taryn had moved it purposefully.

  It was evident to Lacey that she’d been expecting her, because her poised appearance, even tone, and look of expectation reminded Lacey of a badly acted daytime drama.

  “Everything okay, Lace?” Taryn said.

  “Okay?” Lacey exclaimed, her hands tightening into fists. “You know it’s not okay! Your music is so loud it’s rattling the walls. It’s going to make my china fall off the shelf!”

  The two swan-necked women looked over, frowning at the sound of Lacey’s raised voice. Of course, Taryn was making her look like the crazy one.

  “Oh, I didn’t realize it was so loud,” Taryn said, feigning innocence. “Would you like me to turn it down?”

  Lacey ground her teeth as Taryn went over and turned the volume down.

  “Thank you,” Lacey said through her gritted teeth. “And stop putting your sandwich board over my door!” she added, as she marched back out, ignoring the tutting coming from Taryn’s giraffe customers.

  Lacey’s pulse rate started to lessen as she headed back into her own store. But once inside, she realized Iris Archer had gone.

  She stomped her foot with frustration. The woman had known her father! She’d wanted to ask her how, to learn everything she could from this person who would so brazenly utter aloud the name that had been banned in her own household.

  But not all hope was lost. Because Lacey was meeting Iris Archer at seven tomorrow morning, at Penrose Estate. She’d just have to be patient. In the meantime, she held out hope that once they met, this strange aristocratic woman might just give Lacey all the answers she craved.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Lacey flopped into her bed, exhausted.

  She’d had to put in an extra-long shift at the store today but she didn’t resent it, like she had before when working for Saskia. Now, whatever she put into the store, it would reward in dividends her later. It was thrilling to be so in control of her own destiny like that. It was almost intoxicating.

  But it wasn’t the store that was exhausting her, though. It was her chance meeting with Iris, and all the emotions hearing her father’s name had stirred within her. That, more than any hour worked at the store, was zapping her energy.

  Chester curled up at her feet, and Lacey fell quickly into a deep sleep.

  Ever since she’d started putting all her time into the store, Lacey had stopped dreaming. But tonight was different. Tonight, Lacey found herself walking down the cobbled high street of Wilfordshire that she now knew so well. But rather than wearing her work suit and brogues, she was wearing shiny black patent-leather T-bar shoes and little white socks. She was a child again, a child of seven, and her hand was wrapped in her father’s.

  Her heart started to pound as she looked up at him, the rays of the sun behind his head obscuring his features. But it was still unmistakably her father. The feel of his rough skin against hers was so familiar she’d know it anywhere.

  “Well, if it isn’t Francis Bishop,” a woman’s voice said then.

  Lacey looked back ahead. There was a woman approaching, her appearance also obscured by the bright sunburst.

  Lacey recognized her only by her shapely figure. It was the store clerk from the antiques store where Naomi had cut her finger.

  Lacey woke up with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. Chester quirked his head up to look at her, his eyes roving across her face as if with concern.

  “I’m okay, boy,” Lacey assured him, though her heart was hammering and she could feel sweat running down the back of her neck.

  Chester let his head sink back down onto his front paws.

  Lacey lay back against the pillows, her mind racing. The dream had felt so real, more like a memory than a dream. And it was another one that featured the same woman, the clerk from the antiques store. Had her father been a philanderer? Lacey wondered. Was that why her parents’ marriage had ended so abruptly, after a seemingly idyllic summer vacation in Wilfordshire? Or was her dream just a fabrication? Something she’d invented?

  Obviously, something about seeing Iris Archer today, someone who’d actually known her father, had prompted Lacey’s mind to return back to her childhood. The elderly woman had said she trusted Lacey’s father… What could that mean?

  Lacey guessed she’d just have to wait until morning and her breakfast meeting with Iris Archer. Perhaps then, she might get the answers she so desperately craved.

  *

  The next morning, Lacey awoke at the crack of dawn, feeling groggy from such a poor quality night’s sleep. She downed a coffee—she couldn’t function without some caffeine in her blood, especially not at this time of day—then loaded Chester into the back of her
champagne-colored stick shift. Gina had agreed to open up the store at nine for her, and without her usual sidekick, Lacey decided Chester ought to come along instead.

  She drove through the beautiful countryside, following the same route Tom had taken her on their day trip, turning at the road that led into the valley where Penrose Estate was nestled.

  The estate was even larger than it looked from afar, the enormous castle-like stone structure covered in dark green ivy.

  Lacey parked and hopped out, with Chester at her heel. She was excited to find out more about what the woman knew about her dad, and was also reveling in the excitement of valuing her antiques. It would be her first time doing it for herself, and she was eager to try out her fledgling skills.

  The path was lined with rose bushes filled with blood red roses, and the smell was intoxicating. She reached the large oak door and knocked. As she waited, she gave Chester a little pat behind the ears. The dog whined sweetly.

  There was no answer, and no sound coming from the other side, so Lacey tried again. This time she knocked a little louder, and to her surprise found the door inched open with a creak under her knuckles.

  She looked at Chester. “It’s open?” she said, perplexed.

  Lacey pushed on the door. It creaked open farther, showing a dark corridor with a gray slate tiled floor.

  “Hello?” Lacey called into the darkness.

  There was no response.

  Lacey felt the hairs on her arm begin to lift. Something didn’t feel right.

  She checked her watch. It was seven a.m. on the dot, the exact time she’d promised to be here so as not to miss the breakfast delivery. Perhaps the older woman routinely left the door open for the deliverers. Perhaps she’d left it open specifically because she knew Lacey was coming.

  Either way, it felt very rude just to walk inside, and Lacey hesitated on the doorstep, torn.

  Just then, Chester burst into the house and went skittering off into the darkness.

  Well, that’s one way to solve the dilemma, Lacey thought.