She could only smile. “I do have something in mind.”
* * *
Felicity walked around the manor and chatted with each of the servants—from those in the kitchen to those in the stables and in between. She asked about their families, their health, and their work. Many of them had been in her family’s employ since she was a girl, and she knew them well because she had ignored her father’s attitude that servants should be seen but not acknowledged unless needed. For the last month, Felicity had swept through the manor while on her investigation and had spoken very little to any of them with the exception of Helen. There was a crime in that neglect, and she hoped now to make it right.
Felicity had not told Helen about what had happened at Glastonbury Castle or about the plot of Duke Philip Chaucer. She had merely told her friend that the murders of William Kent and the others had been solved.
“I cannot tell you anything else, my dear,” she told Helen after her visit with the prime minister in London. “You must trust me, Hellie.”
“I trust you. Always have.”
“Let me assure you, the culprit has already been severely penalized for his crimes.”
“As it should be,” Helen said.
The manor had gone through other changes while Felicity worked on the murder cases. Helen’s brother Horace Wilkins had left one week earlier to work for her late father’s friend, solicitor Martin Jameson.
“I hope you are not too saddened that your brother has joined Mr. Jameson’s household,” Felicity told Helen.
“Miss, I truly believe those two deserve each other.”
After Wilkins’s departure, Felicity had asked Abraham Stephens to take his place as head butler in charge of the household staff. In his thirties, Stephens’s affability was demonstrated by the household staff’s respect and admiration for him. His wife, Molly, who worked as a cook at the manor, was just as cheery and kind. Stephens had accepted the position with appreciation and grace. Felicity had also selected him because he was excited about her plan to install electric lights throughout the manor and in her new laboratory.
“Those electric things will save us having to light all those candles and gaslights at night. Not to mention cutting down on wicks and replacing candles,” Stephens had remarked. “And consider the money you will save on matches, Miss Felicity.” He grinned.
“Exactly,” she had replied.
Felicity was most pleased at her first decision as the legal head of Carrol Manor. She had decided to increase the wages of the staff there and at the house in London as well. They deserved the boost for their generous treatment of her through the years. They had been her family.
She had read the latest financial reports on her family’s businesses and investments that Martin Jameson’s firm had delivered. Her monetary future was guaranteed, and she would do her best to ensure that the companies continued to run efficiently. The many workers in the mills and shipping lines depended on them, and her. She would also move forward with studies to modernize the operations and guarantee a safe environment for the employees. She had already written the managers of both companies asking them to increase the wages of the people who worked there. They wrote back saying that it was about time.
A week had gone by since the incident at Glastonbury. One afternoon Felicity had tea in the library. Never had she been so weary. The earth’s gravity seemed to yank her soul down through the covering of crust and rock. In the days since the murder of her friend William Kent, her whole existence had been engrossed in finding his murderer, and she had. Her life had forever been altered by her experiences during the last few weeks. She had transformed into a person who wanted justice not only for William Kent, but for the victims of one man’s avarice for the crown. From that, she had gained a tremendous amount of satisfaction. She had also settled on her own goal in life.
She would seek justice for the murdered and damaged. She would direct her head, heart, and vast resources to this goal. The thought revived her.
Her father would have been quite scandalized by such a decision.
“I have finally realized my purpose, Father,” she said out loud in the empty library. “I hope you would be proud of this accomplishment.”
She remembered herself as a young girl sitting in her mother’s chair and reading, lonely and unhappy. As an adult, she now sat in the same chair. This time, smiling, happy, and comfortable in her own house. As Duke Philip Chaucer had called her, she was a survivor.
She had come home at last.
CHAPTER 35
At six in the evening, Inspector Jackson Davies appeared at the front door of Carrol Manor. Felicity was there to greet him.
“Thank you for coming all the way out here, Jackson.”
“My pleasure.”
Helen stood behind her young mistress and curtsied at the Scotland Yard inspector. He bowed his head. Helen smiled and hugged him. Davies gave a clear sigh of relief at her greeting.
Felicity and Davies ate in one of the smaller dining rooms. She had planned a good dinner of venison, which had come from the woods on the estate. Alongside the meat were red potatoes, asparagus, and bread so fresh it was warm in the middle.
“I neglected to ask about Joe Crumb, the drunkard you arrested for murdering Thomas Wessex at Belgrave Square,” she said. “What happened?”
“We let him go.”
“Good for you.”
“And the man who attacked me at the lake, did he ever say anything?” Felicity asked during the soup course.
“His name is Simon Manley,” Davies said.
“Who is he?”
“When Manley learned about the duke’s death, we couldn’t stop him from talking. Manley was a childhood friend of Chaucer who had tumbled into financial hardships. The duke hired him to attack you, Felicity. Though Manley claimed he was only trying to scare you.”
“He did a good job.” She placed down her soup spoon.
“Manley says the duke promised him thousands of pounds for the assault but never told him why, and he didn’t ask questions.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Trouble is, Manley won’t confess to shooting the crossbow at you in front of the Café Royal. No one could identify him as the culprit. Even you.”
“Since English courts don’t admit fingerprints as evidence, it would be no use matching his to the crossbows at Chaucer’s home.”
“We took Manley to Chaucer Hall. The duke’s head butler did recognize him and said he had visited the duke several times during the last six months. The butler didn’t know the man’s name, only that the duke had ordered Manley to have access to the hall at any time.”
“Nice detective work.”
He narrowed eyes at her. “Are you being sarcastic?”
“Not at all. Simon Manley probably helped the duke move the explosives to the castle at Glastonbury,” Felicity said.
“Good assumption, but we have no evidence to connect Simon Manley with Chaucer’s plot to become king. If we did, we could hang him for treason. The only consolation is that Manley will be in prison a long time for attempting to murder you.”
“That will do.” She raised her wine glass. “And there is justice for all the victims of Duke Philip Chaucer.”
He saluted with his glass.
“To William, Richard, Elaine, and Thomas,” she said.
“Aye.”
After dinner, Felicity suggested to Davies that they walk to the lake. Sunset began to kiss the landscape with evening color as they strolled.
“And you will be happy to hear this,” Davies said. “The tapestry Duke Chaucer stole was returned to the estate of the Viscount Richard Banbury, and the Guinevere painting went to the family of Elaine Charles.”
“Well done, Inspector. And what of William Kent’s manuscript?”
“That book and Kent’s sizable collection of King Arthur artifacts were all donated to the British Museum, as noted in his will.”
She took his arm. “There is a lovely completeness in that.”<
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When they reached the lake, the water twinkled in the sunset. Felicity and Jackson Davies rowed out to the island, stood by the edge, and let the cool water tease their bare feet.
“It is beautiful here,” he said.
“Yes, beautiful. When I used to come out here, I felt very lonely.”
“Now?”
Leaning her head back, she filled her lungs with as much air as they could hold. She swore the delicious evening breeze had entered her body, her being. “That lonely girl has vanished, and good riddance.”
“I should be starting back to London,” he said.
“I have one more thing to do to wrap up this case, and I wanted you with me.”
From under the bench in the pavilion, she retrieved a burlap bag she had placed there that morning. She took out the sword.
“Is that?”
“The prime minister asked if I wanted a reward for saving the Queen and her family, and this is what I requested.”
The sword flashed in the full moon. The sword Duke Philip Chaucer had thought he deserved for his kingdom. His perverted idea of Excalibur. Not acquired from the hand of the Lady of the Lake with the promise to do good, but procured with money. Chaucer’s sword symbolized murder and greed for a crown.
The sword was heavy in her hands. She ran her fingers over the gold chimera carved into the handle.
“Go on then,” Davies said.
With all her might, Felicity flung the sword into the water.
AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Patricia Marcantonio was born in Pueblo, Colorado. She has won awards for her journalism, short stories and screenplays. “Red Ridin’ in the Hood and Other Cuentos” has earned an Anne Izard Storyteller’s Choice Award and was named an Americas Award for Children’s and Young Adult Literature Commended Title, and one of the Wilde Awards Best Collections to Share with recommendations from Bulletin of the Center for Children’s Books. She now lives in Idaho. This is her first Felicity Carrol mystery.
This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, organizations, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real or actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Patricia Marcantonio
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crooked Lane Books, an imprint of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Crooked Lane Books and its logo are trademarks of The Quick Brown Fox & Company LLC.
Library of Congress Catalog-in-Publication data available upon request.
ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-68331-896-5
ISBN (ePub): 978-1-68331-897-2
ISBN (ePDF): 978-1-68331-898-9
Cover design by Melanie Sun
Book design by Jennifer Canzone
Printed in the United States.
www.crookedlanebooks.com
Crooked Lane Books
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First Edition: February 2019
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Felicity Carrol and the Perilous Pursuit Page 28
