Murder at Locke Abbey
by
Catherine Winchester
Murder at Locke Abbey
by Catherine Winchester
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents, other than those clearly in the public domain, are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments or events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © Catherine Winchester 2014. All rights reserved.
British English Version
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Cover photograph copyright © HotDamnStock.com
Cover design © Catherine Winchester.
All rights reserved
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Epilogue
Other Books by Catherine Winchester
About the Author
Chapter One
There were times over the past two weeks when William Cole thought that he might be losing his mind, and he sincerely hoped that the two figures approaching the house on horseback would be able to restore some sanity to the household.
He watched as they rode up the avenue and wondered at their reputation as detectives. Husband and wife, Damaris and Nathaniel Copley, had a knack for getting to the truth in a situation, and more than one article had been written of their amazing feats of ingenuity. Lady Copley particularly, was famed for her logic and intellect, while Lord Copley possessed insights into the human character, which perfectly complimented the analytical powers of his wife.
The room behind Cole was silent, most of their guests preferring to be outdoors. He couldn’t blame them, given the recent frightening happenings. He had lived at Locke Abbey all his life and although the grand house had occasionally been called spooky by visitors, especially in bad weather, he had never had cause to be afraid. Although the present house was over 200 years old and the site had been inhabited since the 6th century, he had never encountered a ghost, demon, spirit or any other fanciful entity. Indeed, it had always been a happy place for him, associated with memories of his mother and governess, both of whom he had loved dearly.
Now however, he almost felt ridiculous for continuing to deny the supernatural and at times, the house felt positively oppressive. He constantly felt watched, even when he was alone, and he had lost the ability to determine how much was his imagination, and how much was intuition.
It didn’t help matters that his step-mother was of a slightly hysterical disposition and prone to faint at the slightest provocation. Given the recent happenings, she was in her element at the moment, holding court with anyone who would listen, retelling the horrific tales of late, and exaggerating them to the point of lunacy.
Well, he would have called it lunacy, were it not for the unavoidable fact that Mrs Garwood had been murdered while alone in her bedroom, with her door locked.
He might not have believed it himself, rationalising that perhaps the door was just stuck or blocked in some other way, had he not been the one to take an axe to her door and, putting his arm through the hole he had made, turned the room key on the other side of the door in order to open it.
There was simply no avoiding it, she had been locked alone inside a room with only one door, which had been locked from the inside, the key still in the lock, which would have prevented anyone else opening it from the other side.
And that was saying nothing of the fate of poor Mary Potter, the sighting of a ghost in the grounds, witnessed by three people, or the fate of Mr Lanning.
Something was going on in this house and it was more than he, the constable or the magistrate could rationalise.
“They’re here,” Cole said to his father as the riders grew nearer, although they were still quite some way off.
“Then we had best go and greet them.”
Cole stayed where he was, allowing his father ample time to haul his decrepit body to his feet. Patrick Cole was old by any standards, but the stresses of the past two weeks had aged him rapidly, to the point where Cole half expected him to doze off in his chair one evening after dinner, and never awaken. Today was his first time out of bed for three days, but these improvements never lasted very long.
He often felt guilty that the thought of losing him didn’t upset him more but relations between he and his father had been strained for many years now, ever since the elder Cole had married a woman a year younger than his son, and not even eight months after his wife’s death.
As if that was not enough of an insult to his mother’s memory, Selena was a vain and flighty woman, who delighted in money, gossip and scandal, things his mother had despised. There were now two half-bloods running about the estate but thankfully, Patrick hadn’t been up to visiting his wife’s chamber at night time for a few years now, and it seemed that two half-sisters was to be it.
After a faltering start, his father’s steps and the tap of his walking stick took on a regular beat, although it was somewhat slow, and Cole turned away from the window to join his father in greeting their guests.
Although not far, it was a slow journey to the front door but Cole didn’t offer his father help since he always refused it. The butler, Black, beat them to the door and opened it for them, then all three stood on the steps to greet the guests. Two grooms joined them, waiting at the bottom of the steps to take the horses.
Cole was surprised that they had come on horseback and not brought their own carriage, or taken a cab from the railway station. They had been invited to stay and sent word that was their intention, so they would surely need luggage.
As they got closer, he was also surprised to see that the woman was younger than he had anticipated, perhaps 20. For a moment he wondered if Lord Copley had done something similar to his father and married a far younger woman but he quickly dismissed that, since none of the articles he had read spoke of a second marriage. Besides, he and his wife had been working together for two decades, if he wasn’t very much mistaken.
“Good afternoon,” Lord Copley called, before he jumped from his horse. His features were weathered but the lines around his eyes spoke of merriment rather than age.
Although a groom moved to help her, his companion slipped her leg from the pommel and slid gracefully to the ground before he could assist her, landing with a slight flourish and a wide smile. The groom took the reins of her horse and she joined Lord Copley and they approached together. Copley gave a small bow while his companion curtseyed, although she hadn’t yet been introduced.
“Lord Copley, allow me to present my father, Patrick Cole,” Cole said.
“Call me Beau, everyone does,” his father said, stepping forward.
“If you insist,” Copley answered. “And this is my daughter, Athena.”
“Very pleased to meet you, Lady Athena,” Cole bowed to her.
“Just Thea, please,” she asked as she curtseyed. “We don’t often stand on ceremony in our family.”
“As you wish.” He smiled. “And most people just call me Cole.”
; Athena’s features were simple but her appearance was made almost dramatic, thanks to her dark, almost black hair (most of which was hidden under her riding hat) and unfashionably olive skin, which made her appear exotic. Like her hair, her eyes were so dark as to be almost black, giving the impression of wisdom, while their round appearance gave her a wide eyed doe-like look. It was an odd combination and he could just as easily imagine her delivering a stern lesson on the Holy Bible, as he could running through the gardens, laughing.
Cole had the rather unexpected desire to remove her riding hat, and watch her hair tumble down her back.
Beau squinted at Athena.
“I thought you were bringing detectives here,” he said, grabbing his son’s arm. “You said she was practically a savant, so what use is a girl and a Lord? Selena’s mystic will be more help than a child and a dandy.”
Cole felt the need to defend Athena and only just stopped himself from issuing a sharp retort. Instead he closed his eyes and prayed for strength.
“They can't be any worse than a mystic, can they?” he asked, logically.
“Huh!” Beau turned away, slowly, and headed back inside. “Do what you want, you will anyway.”
Cole stepped away from his father, although the man moved so slowly he would surely hear anyway.
“I do apologise,” he said sincerely.
“Our fault, I’m sure,” Copley assured him. “My wife was supposed to come with us but she took a tumble from her horse and hurt her ankle. The doctor insists that she stay off it for at least two weeks.”
“I understand.”
He felt disappointed since his wife was supposed to be the clever one, but that couldn’t be helped. Besides, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“My daughter is quite gifted too, and has helped us on many cases over the past eight years, so I’m sure between us, we can solve this riddle.”
Athena’s cheeks were flaming with embarrassment. Perhaps she saw doubt in his eyes, or just felt the need to prove herself but either way, she managed to look him in the eye.
“You have a pug, do you not?” she asked.
“How do you know that?”
“You have a bite on the side of your left hand. From the distance between the puncture marks from the canine teeth, I estimate it to be a small dog and you have a few hairs on your sleeve. Given how short the hairs are and their fawn colour, a pug seemed the most likely candidate for those characteristics.”
He smiled. “Very impressive. It’s my step-mother’s dog, and it has a rather nasty temperament. The staff do all they can to clean up after it,” he said, brushing the few hairs she had pointed out from his sleeve. “But she lets it on all the furniture, so it’s a never ending task.”
“I’ve had a few dogs,” Athena assured him. “I know exactly how arduous pet hair is to get rid of.”
“Thank you. Do you have any luggage?”
“Thea likes to have her horse,” Copley explained. “She values her independence and since our estate isn’t far, we decided to ride and sent our servants by train with the trunks. We’re assured they will be here before nightfall.”
Cole glanced over his shoulder and saw that his father was out of sight.
“Then let me show you around.” They him followed inside at a leisurely pace. “I must also ask that you don’t take my father’s comments to heart; his health is failing and it’s left him with a rather cantankerous disposition. It’s nothing personal, I assure you. I’m very grateful to you for coming, especially on such short notice.”
“Our pleasure,” Athena assured him.
“Thank you, Lady Athena.”
“Please, just Thea.”
“As you wish, Thea.”
“Perhaps you could start by showing us the rooms where the incidents took place.”
“Would you not like some refreshments first? You must be tired after your journey.”
“We stopped to rest the horses at a coaching inn, so I am not flagging yet but if I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
“It’s just that, well…” Cole stopped walking in the middle of the large entrance hall. “Some of the rooms where the incidents took place are rather gruesome, La-, I mean, Thea.”
Thea paused as well, turning to him. “I have attended more than one anatomy class, Mr Cole, I can assure you, I’m not squeamish.”
“Yes but theory is one thing, reality is quite another.”
“When I say anatomy, I mean dissection. We also used to own a beautiful wax casting of the body and internal organs.”
“But- but you’re a child!” Surely her parents couldn’t approve of such a thing, and yet her father was smiling indulgently, seemingly proud of her.
Thea’s smile suggested that she was laughing at him. “You are someone’s child as well, are you not?”
“I meant-”
“I know what you meant; I have always looked younger than my true age. I’m actually four and twenty.”
“And universities allowed you to observe a dissection?”
“Not just observe and yes, when your parents help fund the university, they become very accommodating. Besides, most women have a far stronger stomach than men give them credit for.”
“Yes, of course,” He gave a slight shake of his head. “That was terribly rude of me.”
“No offence taken. Can we see the gruesome scene?” she asked, seemingly with relish.
“Right, yes, this way.”
They followed him up the main staircase.
“Perhaps you could tell us what happened?” Copley suggested.
“I believe I included details of the events in my letter.”
“Humour me, please.”
“Of course. It started thirteen days ago. Mrs Garwood was suffering from a cold which made her a little more fatigued than usual, and she retired to bed early that night, intending to read, leaving almost immediately after dinner in fact. Nothing untoward happened until an hour or so later.”
“Can you be more specific with the time?” Thea asked.
“Unfortunately not. I didn’t notice what time dinner ended, and I didn’t check the clock when it happened.”
Thea nodded her acceptance. “Please go on.”
“My step-mother was singing an aria when we heard a loud thud and a cry. As luck would have it, the drawing room is directly below her chamber and when we heard the commotion, we realised who it was. Had she been staying on the other side of the house, I doubt we would have known anything was wrong until the morning. We ran to her room and tried the door but it was locked. We banged on the door and demanded to know if she was all right, and she cried out once again, pleading with us to help her.”
They had arrived at her room and the hole made with the axe was still there.
“We called for another key, the butler has a master set of keys for every room in the house, and he found the correct one as quickly as he could. The key wouldn’t go in however, and when I bent down to examine the keyhole, I saw that it was blocked, with the key still in the other side of the door.”
He ran his hand idly over the splintered wood.
“I called for an axe and hacked at the door until I had enough room to put my hand through, but it was too late.” Cole opened the door and they stepped inside. “I can't promise that everything will be the same but the room is largely untouched,” he assured them.
Thea went into the room but her father stayed by the door, so Cole stayed beside him.
“What did she say, when you called to her?” Lord Copley asked. “Do you remember?”
“I doubt I’ll ever forget. I called her name and asked if she was all right, and she said, ‘Help me, please, he’s killing me’.”
“Anything else?”
“One of the other guests, I’m not sure who as I was trying to open the lock, but they asked ‘who’. She answered, I think, but it might have just been a cry or groan as I couldn’t make out what she said.”
“Did you hear anyone else
inside the room?”
“No.”
“How long, would you say, between hearing the thud and getting the door open?” Thea asked, she was crouched down by the blood stain on the rug.
“Ten minutes, at most,” Cole answered. “Probably less, time seems to slow down during a crisis. Why?”
“Every detail is helpful,” Thea explained. “You neglected to mention that you had kicked at the door as well.”
“While I was waiting for the axe, Mr Buchan and I both tried to kick it in while we waited.” Cole looked to the door and could now see the slight dents their heels had made in the wood, although they weren’t deep and could have been easily missed.
“Has anyone tried to clean this blood?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“With Mr Garwood still in residence, it seemed rather inconsiderate, as if we were trying to erase his wife. It’s silly, I know, she has already been buried, but… well.”
She looked up and gave him a small smile. “I think it’s very considerate of you,” she assured him. “Many people would care more for their expensive Persian rug than the feelings of a guest.”
Her smile made her look incredibly beguiling, and he had to remind himself that she was here to help him, not to be courted. There were at least three young women here who would welcome his attentions, while this was slightly inappropriate.
Thea stood up and looked to a nearby table.
“There was a vase on that table,” she stated rather than asked.
“Yes, it must have been broken in the scuffle.”
She nodded absently and moved to the writing bureau.
“Her letters and an ink well were knocked from the bureau as well,” he explained before she could ask. “One of the maids must have put them back on the desk.”
“Yes, the papers seem hastily gathered,” she replied, although she sounded distracted.
She picked up the empty inkwell from the slot in the desk set, then she knelt down beside the desk to look at the ink stain on the wood. An effort had been made to clean the ink up but it had stained the waxed floorboards.
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