Murder at Locke Abbey

by Winchester, Catherine

A small frown creased the skin between her eyes.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “Not wrong, unusual,” she answered, but she didn’t elaborate. After a few moments, she stood up and placed the inkpot back in its slot and leafed through the papers that had been collected. She stopped at a page that had an uneven line of ink but nothing else, then she picked up a half-finished letter, that was sitting towards the rear of the desk and hadn’t been among the fallen sheets.

  “What is it?” Copley asked.

  “The inlay for the ink well to rest in is quite secure,” Thea answered. “It seems more likely that a struggle would have knocked the whole desk set off, not just the ink well, unless she removed the pot for some reason.”

  “And the letter?” her father prompted.

  “Stops mid-sentence, which is unusual. It’s possible she was composing it when this happened but if so, why is the letter neatly placed aside, where it wouldn’t be knocked off? And this,” she held up the sheet that had only an uneven line on it. “What was she trying to do? If shock or surprise made her quill slip, it would surely slip on the letter she was writing, which seems to be this missive to her sister. Also, the writing on this letter gets untidier as it goes on, why?”

  “Perhaps she was growing tired,” Cole suggested.

  “Perhaps,” she repeated. “There is also more ink on the floor than blood.”

  “Which tells you what?” Copley asked.

  “I don’t know yet.” She replaced the letters on the desk and walked to one of the large windows, checking the locks.

  “They were both closed and locked,” Cole told her. “That was the first place we checked for an intruder.”

  “Both windows were locked?” she asked, turning to him and raising a quizzical eyebrow.

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Quite sure.”

  “Which window did you look out of?”

  “The one you are at.”

  “Then how can you be sure the other window wasn’t unlocked?”

  “Because Mr Grady-”

  “Mr Grady could be lying or simply mistaken,” she cut him off. “The only thing you can be certain of is your own actions.”

  Despite having been admonished by a woman, he admired her forthright attitude and had to respect her intellect. She was also, of course, correct.

  “Understood.”

  “How many people are staying at the moment?” Copley asked.

  “Nineteen, well, now seventeen.”

  “Perhaps you could give me their names and tell me a little about them?”

  Thea opened the window and looked down and to either side, before closing and locking it.

  “Of course. Mr and Mrs Garwood; she is from a wealthy trade family while he is the youngest son of an Earl. It’s a marriage of convenience, her family’s wealth in exchange for his family’s status in society.”

  While they talked, Thea turned the bed covers down and examined the sheets and pillows.

  “Did they have children?”

  “Just one, he is in school and didn’t accompany them.”

  Thea held the pillow to her nose in turn and inhaled. Then she leaned over the mattress and sniffed, crawling on it to examine both sides.

  “Her husband hasn’t shared her bed while here,” she proclaimed.

  “How the devil can you tell that?” he asked, disliking the images his brain was providing him with. Surely such a genteel women (and unmarried, he had checked for a ring) didn’t know the odours of sex?

  “Her side of the bed smells of lavender and jasmine, perhaps a few other scents. The other side has no trace of scent at all. Most well-bred gentlemen wear cologne and I have no reason to assume he is the exception, especially now, while socialising. I’ll confirm my suspicions when I meet him, of course, but considering that they have only one child, I don’t think it a huge leap to assume that marital relations have all but ceased.”

  “What a clever observation, I hadn’t even considered cologne. You clearly have an exceptional mind.”

  She blushed, and he wondered if perhaps she liked him. She had given no indication of it but then, nor had he.

  Of course, she could just be blushing because women weren’t supposed to show much intelligence, but he hoped it was because she had enjoyed his compliment.

  “Yes… well...” She loosely turned the sheets back and made her way to the other window, and he was compelled to watch her as she worked.

  “Have there been any injuries recently?” she asked.

  “What kind of injury?”

  “Hurt wrists, arms or shoulders, painful ankles, knees or legs. They might not have asked for help, just have been holding themselves stiffly, or winced in pain, perhaps brushing any enquiries aside.”

  “Nothing that I can recall.” Cole answered.

  “Who are your other guests?” Copley asked, and reluctantly he turned to her father. Rather than seeing censure in the other man’s expression, for flirting with his daughter, he instead saw pleasure.

  “Right, well next would be Lord and Lady Small and their daughters, Flora and Emily. They are seventeen and nineteen respectively, and are here primarily to husband hunt. Lord Grady is a widower and is here with his son and daughter. His son is of age to find a wife but this is his daughter’s first foray into polite society, she is only sixteen and hasn’t been presented at Court yet.

  “Mr and Mrs Buchan are here with their daughter, Eliza. Mr Buchan’s brother, Lord Buchan is here with his sons, Peter and Simon. The late Lord Lanning and his wife; after he passed, their son came to visit and tried to take Lady Lanning home with him but she refused. By that time, my step-mother had already announced her intention to call in a mystic and Lady Lanning refused to leave; I think she wants one last conversation with her husband. When she refused to see reason, her son left. He’s staying in at the coaching inn until the funeral.”

  “When did he pass?” Thea asked.

  “Four days ago.”

  “How awful. She must be suffering dreadfully,” Thea said with feeling.

  “When is the funeral?” Copley asked.

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “And the body?”

  “The wake is being held in the great hall, the guests are taking turns to stay with the body.”

  “That’s a long time to keep a body in state.”

  “We’re having daily ice deliveries, which we’re using to keep the room and coffin cool.”

  “Good idea,” Copley nodded. “Any other guests?”

  “Just one, Mrs Dale, a friend of my step-mother. Her husband chose not to accompany her, although he has come to visit her on the weekend.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “We have local families to dine and a few occasional weekend or week long guests, but they were not here when Mrs Garwood was attacked.”

  “Isn’t it unusual to have guests for such a long period?” Thea asked, although her head was out of the other window as she examined the sill to either side.

  “Yes, but my step-mother is a very social creature and organised a week long gathering. It was only supposed to last a week for most guests, although the Smalls and Mrs Dale were supposed to stay longer. The local constable and magistrate asked everyone to remain for a while and to be honest, most seem to be enjoying the scandal and are in no hurry to leave.”

  “They aren’t worried for their safety?” Copley asked.

  “A few of the women are, secretly I think a few of the men are too, but they don’t show it as much. Everyone, even the rational minds, seem caught up on a supernatural explanation, which I think is why they stay. Were there an actual murderer present, I suspect people would be much more mindful of the dangers.”

  “Surely not everyone believes these crimes to be supernatural in origin?”

  “What other explanation is there?” Cole asked. “As much as I don’t want to believe it, whoever killed Mrs Garwood managed to escape from a l
ocked room.”

  “Or rather, so it appears,” Thea corrected them, closing the window and opening the dressing room door.

  “How do you mean, appears?” Cole asked. “What other explanation is there?”

  “That the killer escaped by means as yet unknown. Possibly he hid in here and when the room became thronged with people, he blended in and left with them.”

  “We did check the dressing room.”

  “I’m sure, but I’m equally sure that whoever did this did not, magically or otherwise, walk through walls. It may seem impossible, Cole, but I assure you, there is a rational explanation and I intend to find it.”

  “I hope so,” he said with sincerity.

  “I don’t suppose your family has a history of Roman Catholicism?” she asked as she closed the dressing room door.

  “Not as far as I remember, why?”

  “Because some families had Priest holes, built to help hide Catholic priests when they were being persecuted during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. This house is certainly old enough for that and I’m assuming from the name of your house, that a religious order originally inhabited the land; it’s possible that Catholic sympathisers lived here. I’ll have to measure the adjoining rooms to be sure there are no secret passages, rooms or closets, but that can wait. This room is east facing, correct?”

  “Uh, yes, I believe so.”

  “Then I’ll give the room a more thorough investigation tomorrow morning, when the sunlight is at its brightest. What happened next?”

  “Next? In the sequence of mysterious events, of course.” Her mind jumped about so quickly that sometimes it was hard to keep track.

  “This way.” He gestured for them to leave the room and closed the door after them. He began leading them downstairs.

  Chapter Two

  “Next came two incidents on the same night,” Cole explained. “First Mrs Lanning saw a ghost in the grounds and her cry awoke her husband who, while he couldn’t be sure what he saw, did confirm that there was something white in the woods that night. It woke the people in neighbouring rooms, one of whom also spotted something white entering the woods. A muffled cry drew the attention of all of them and they awoke a few other gentlemen and went to investigate the house. They found the body of Mary Potter, a housemaid, in the green parlour. Her head had been beaten with a poker from the fireplace.”

  “That hardly sounds supernatural.”

  “On its own, no, but with the sighting of a ghost just minutes before, imaginations ran wild.” Cole paused outside a door. “This is the room she died in.”

  Once again, the gentlemen remained by the door as Thea looked around.

  “Who found her body?” Copley asked.

  “Lord Small and Mr Buchan.”

  “Did they say anything about how they found the body?”

  “Just that she was already deceased when they got there, but still warm, so she hadn’t been dead for long.”

  “No locked doors?” Thea asked, her gaze focused on the fireside set.

  “No locked- Well, to the best of my knowledge, there were no locked doors, nor did they mention anything else unusual about the discovery.”

  She turned to him and gave him a pleased but teasing smile. “You mean, aside from the dead body.”

  He smiled back. “Yes, aside from that. And she was dressed for bed.”

  “I take it she shared a room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then after her companion was asleep was probably the only time she could get away.” Thea crouched down over the blood stain on the rug. “This was done with exceptional strength, probably due to extreme anger.”

  “How can you tell?” Cole asked, taking a step closer.

  “First, there’s this.” She pointed.

  The parlour wasn’t very big and Cole crossed to her side in a few strides, crouching down beside her.

  “Do you see that?” she asked.

  “The small greyish blobs and white chips.”

  “Yes.”

  “Brain matter and bone, the attacker literally pulverised her skull.” She got to her feet and pointed up at the ceiling.

  “How did blood get up there?”

  “From the poker,” she explained. “Once soaked in blood, each time the poker is raised, the momentum meant that some blood is cast off it. The blood droplets are quite small, meaning that the poker was moving very fast.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Partly it’s physics, the laws of inertia and momentum, and partly from viewing many crime scenes over the past few years. Bludgeoning is more common than one might think.”

  “Anything else you can tell?”

  “Perhaps. Does the blood tell you anything?”

  He looked. “There seem to be seven lines of blood, so perhaps she was struck seven times?”

  “Probably eight since on the first swing, the poker wouldn’t have any blood on it yet. I also think there might be eight lines of blood, it’s hard to tell when they overlap like this.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to strangle someone?” Cole asked. “It would certainly be quieter.”

  “That’s more my father’s area of expertise. My talents are for observing and remembering, but understanding human nature and behaviour is Father’s domain.”

  Cole turned to the doorway, where Lord Copley still stood.

  “Passion,” he said. “Crimes are committed for various reasons, such as for gain, monetary or otherwise but the passionate murders, those caused by emotions such as jealousy, hatred, anger and fear, those are the ones that use excessive force.”

  “Well there doesn’t appear to be anything strange about this scene,” Thea said. “Other than whatever brought a housemaid here after everyone else has retired. Was she meeting someone?”

  “Wouldn’t a bedroom be a better place?” Cole asked.

  “That depends on the reason for the meeting,” Copley added.

  “Do you remember who was here, or who came soon afterwards?” Thea asked.

  “I can give you some names but by no means all of them. Most of the women didn’t venture down here, and I can't remember which servants were present and which weren’t. Why?”

  “Because the murderer would likely be covered in blood.”

  “And couldn’t appear until he had washed and changed,” Cole surmised.

  “Exactly.” She smiled. “And if refreshments are still available, I think I would like to partake now.”

  “Of course.”

  ***

  Cole showed them to a different parlour and rang the bell to summon a servant and he chatted with her father while they waited, but Thea preferred to ponder what she had seen.

  She could certainly see why people might find this house unsettling, given its age, the dark wood and stone used in the interior, it would be easy to let one’s imagination run away with itself. Indeed, upon entering the second scene, where Mary Potter was killed, she had felt a chill run up her own spine, although that was more due to the brutality of the scene than any fear of the supernatural.

  Had she not been taught to be so logical and rational however, it would be easy to assign events to a supernatural explanation.

  As the parlour maid poured the tea and served the cake, Thea noticed a slight tremble in her hands, nothing severe enough to spill the beverage, but still more nerves than a parlour maid should show. Judging by her face, she appeared to be around thirty years old, meaning that she had probably been in service for at least fifteen years and was far too experienced to be anxious, even around guests.

  Clearly the staff were just as worried about recent events as everyone else. And considering that one of their own had been a victim, she couldn’t blame them.

  The maid was dismissed and Thea sipped her tea as she watched their host talking to her father.

  She wasn’t sure what to make of Cole yet but she found herself warming to him, which was rather unlike her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like people, just that s
he didn’t understand them; they were unpredictable and that made her wary, especially around strangers.

  Being a woman, she had needed to learn how to defend and prove her intellect since she was small but even in the face of ample evidence, many were inclined to dismiss her, some even becoming hostile. Not Cole though, he had seemed pleased with her powers of observation so far, and had the good manners to apologise for his father’s behaviour, which was far more in keeping with the reactions she was used to.

  She would be lying if she said that she didn’t also find him handsome. His hair was a very light chestnut shade, perhaps longer than was strictly fashionable, and slicked back from his forehead. His jaw was strong and square, while his eyes, which occasionally twinkled and hinted at a merry disposition, softened his strong features.

  His well-tailored suit drew attention to wide shoulders and a narrow waist, but his clothes weren’t ostentatious. Even his waistcoat and cravat were without a pattern, which was the fashion, although they were a charcoal black and made of silk, slightly differentiating them from the midnight black jacket and trousers.

  His lips were unusually full for a man and as he sipped his tea, she wondered what they would feel like to kiss.

  The idea made her blush and she quickly redirected her thoughts. It didn’t matter how appealing she found him, she didn’t expect him to feel the same. All the men who had shown an interest in her, had soon tired of her superior intellect.

  In the past she had been tempted to hide that side of herself but her parents had realised and pointed out that the rest of her life would be a lie, and no one was worth living a lie for. Her mother, who also had a gifted intellect, explained that any man who got his self worth by comparing himself to others would never truly be happy, because there would always be someone better. No one could excel in all things.

  She needed to find someone who appreciated and respected her intellect, they told her, rather than feeling threatened by it. Someone like her father, who was still awed by his wife and enjoyed watching her exercise her talents and sought to nurture them, rather than resenting them.

  Unfortunately, men like her father seemed to be few and far between. Two gentlemen had even asked for her hand in marriage but both engagements had ended in tears. Her parents had insisted on a long betrothal in both cases and after six months and four months respectively, both gentleman had called a halt to proceedings. They said that she looked down on them, that she laughed at them, that they felt insecure around her.