Ghostly Manners (Lorna Shadow cozy ghost mystery, Book 1)

by K. E. O'Connor

  Helen snorted a quiet laugh. “Depends how much he is worth and how generous he is.”

  Beatrice blew cold air into my face. “From Beatrice’s reaction, she doesn’t think it was the mistress.”

  “What’s the girlfriend’s name?” asked Helen.

  “She didn’t tell me that. She was too busy playing tonsil tennis with Lord Galbraith to engage in conversation.”

  “Gross,” muttered Helen.

  “She looked well-dressed, a proper lady.”

  “Can’t be much of a lady if she’s involved in an affair with a married man,” said Helen. “Hang on a second; there’s a batch of photographs at the back of this file.”

  I hurried to Helen’s side and looked over her shoulder as she flipped through the photos. “That’s the woman!” I pointed to a blonde woman in a striking red dress. “The one Lord Galbraith was kissing.”

  “He keeps pictures of his girlfriend in the house,” said Helen. “That’s bold of him. What if Lady Galbraith discovered them?”

  “She’d skin him alive and hang his body outside the front of the manor as a warning to anybody else who might consider crossing her.”

  Helen chuckled. “Yes, I wouldn’t put it past her.” She turned the photographs over to reveal writing on the back. “Tilly Chambers. That must be her name.”

  “Let’s have a look online and see if we can find out anything about Miss Chambers.” I sat at Lord Galbraith’s desk and fired up the computer.

  “We shouldn’t be much longer.” Helen glanced at the door. “Somebody might hear us.”

  “Beatrice and Flipper will alert us if anybody is coming our way. But Lord and Lady Galbraith’s rooms are on the other side of the house, so they won’t hear us. And Cecil and Douglas are probably stinking drunk somewhere.”

  It didn’t take long to do a few targeted searches before I’d found plenty more images of Tilly Chambers. “She’s the daughter of a diamond merchant and seems to have enough money in her own family not to warrant a sugar daddy.”

  “She could be in the relationship for love.” Helen read over my shoulder.

  “Lord Galbraith is old enough to be her father.” I gazed at the pictures of Tilly at a charity gala, looking radiant, with her blonde hair swept off her heart-shaped face and her lips painted a bright red.

  “Older men and money can be attractive to some women,” said Helen. “Any scandal mentioned online that she's involved in?”

  “She's squeaky clean,” I said. “Spends her time at charity events or opening philanthropic foundations. Almost too good to be true.”

  “Could be a front. Maybe she’s an undercover spy, and all this glamor and charitable activity is her cover story.” Helen’s eyes sparkled in the light of the computer as she warmed up to this far-fetched idea. “Beatrice could have discovered this, and Tilly killed her to keep her true identity hidden.”

  I shook my head. We were delving into the realms of impossibility. “It can’t be that complicated. Perhaps we should simply look where Beatrice keeps pointing, her brother.” Despite losing some respect for Lord Galbraith, I would never have picked him as the killer. He seemed like a kind man, maybe a little behind the times, but there was no malice to him. But maybe I was wrong.

  Flipper and Beatrice were suddenly at my side, a matching look of concern on their faces.

  “Somebody must be coming,” whispered Helen and ducked behind the desk. I followed her, dragging Flipper to my side and putting my fingers to my lips in the hope he wouldn’t start barking.

  The study door cracked open, and Karl Jenkins’ head peered around the door. A second later, he entered and shut the door behind him. He walked over to Lord Galbraith’s drinks cabinet, pocketed several cigars from a box, and took a long slug of brandy straight from the bottle. He extracted a hip flask from one pocket and filled it up from another bottle of alcohol.

  I exchanged a startled look with Helen and hoped Karl wouldn't hear my pounding heartbeat. He only had to glance to his left, and he’d see us crouching behind the desk.

  Karl froze before pivoting around as the study door opened again. I held my breath, not able to see who was in the doorway.

  “What are you doing in here?” It was Zach, his voice low and angry.

  “Helping myself to what I’m entitled to,” said Karl, a sneer in his voice. “I bet you do the same when Sylvester’s back is turned.”

  “I do not steal from my employer,” muttered Zach. “Best you leave. Wouldn’t want to have to inform the police of your theft.”

  Karl grunted. “It’s only a few cigars and a bit of booze. The family can afford it.”

  “Even so, I’m sure they’d be unhappy to know about this.” Zach opened the door wider, and after a second of hesitation, Karl gave another grunt and left the room.

  Zach paused in the doorway, and then his slow, steady footsteps made their way towards the desk. I shrank into a small ball, hoping I would become invisible.

  I looked up to see Zach staring down at me, Helen, and Flipper. “Late night booze and cigar run for you as well?”

  “It’s not what you think,” I stammered out.

  He shook his head, but there was a smile on his face. “I won’t say anything. I guess we all sleep walk at times.” He winked at me, walked away, and shut the door behind him.

  I let out a breath. “That was close.”

  “Close! We got caught.” Helen scrambled to her feet. “You don’t think Zach will tell Lord Galbraith about this?”

  “No, I think he's on our side.” I gazed at the shut door and realised I trusted Zach. “Come on, we’d better not push our luck. Let’s get everything back in place and get out of here.”

  Five minutes later, we were out of the office and heading to our rooms.

  “From our discovery tonight, the mistress doesn’t seem a likely suspect,” whispered Helen.

  “No, but we’ve got plenty more suspects to get through before we find our killer.”

  Beatrice shot up the stairs, a pale mist chilled the air as she spun in front of us.

  “Don’t worry, Beatrice. We’ll get justice for you,” I whispered to her. At least I hoped we would. So far, all we’d found were dead ends and more suspects.

  Chapter 12

  I yawned my way through breakfast with Helen, who for once, had been able to join me. We were tired from our late night explorations, and I also hadn't slept well, worrying what Zach might think about finding us sneaking around Lord Galbraith’s office.

  I hadn’t managed to find Zach this morning, and wanted to make sure he hadn’t got the wrong impression of me. Well, he had caught me snooping, so I wasn’t sure what kind of impression he now had. It was most likely not a good one. And it was strange, but I did want Zach to think well of me. I liked him, and although I’d only known him a few days, I already trusted him.

  Beatrice stood at the end of the kitchen table, her arms crossed over her bosom, her ghostly foot tapping up and down as she stared at me. Flipper had taken a liking to Beatrice and seemed to prefer to stand by her side. I pretended not to feel jealous. He most likely sensed her affinity with animals.

  Beatrice rattled the table, and my spoon clattered down on the stone floor.

  “You need to stop doing that,” I said to her, bending down and picking up my spoon. “We’re doing the best we can. From what we saw last night, we can rule out Lord Galbraith’s girlfriend.”

  Beatrice shook her head at me and rolled her gaze to the ceiling.

  “I know you still think it’s your brother,” I said. “And I have to admit, I’m starting to agree with you. That is, of course, if you were even murdered.”

  My cynical comment earned me a blast of chilly air down my back. I shuddered and pulled my jacket closer around me. “Fine, I get it. You have some wrong to put right, and we are trying to make sure that happens.”

  The kitchen door was pushed open and Lord Galbraith stood there. “Ah, Miss Shadow, hope I’m not disturbing your breakfa
st.”

  “Not at all, Lord Galbraith.” I stood up swiftly. “I have just finished. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  “No hurry,” he said. “In fact, I’m going out for the day. I’m lending your excellent abilities to my dear wife. She has a writing desk that requires some organisation. She would like you in her study in the next five minutes.”

  No hurry! I swallowed the feeling of nervousness creeping up my throat. “I’d be happy to help her ladyship.”

  “Jolly good,” said Lord Galbraith. “I won’t keep you. Enjoy your day.”

  I stared at the closed kitchen door for a few seconds, before letting out a groan. “I can’t believe he’s feeding me to the dragon woman.”

  “Stick to the safe topics.” Helen gave me a sympathetic pat on the back. “That’s what I do. The weather, the sewing that needs doing, and books.”

  “Thanks for the advice. I’d better not hang around; if I’m late, it will be another black mark against my name.” Leaving the kitchen with Flipper by my side, I hurried along the hallway, self-consciously straightening my black knee length skirt and checking over my white blouse for any sign of creases or crumbs from breakfast.

  I paused outside Lady Galbraith’s private room, looked down at Flipper, and took a deep breath. “Make sure you behave yourself,” I whispered to him. I knocked on the door and waited.

  A few seconds later, I heard the thin, high voice of Lady Galbraith. “You may enter.”

  I pushed open the door. “Good morning, Lady Galbraith. Lord Galbraith informed me you require my services today.” I stood in the doorway, trying not to feel like a child about to be reprimanded.

  Lady Galbraith peered over the top of her gold rimmed reading glasses. “My writing desk requires your attention.” Her gaze shifted to Flipper. “I hope he won’t misbehave if he must be here.”

  “Flipper is very well trained,” I said.

  “Stop standing in the doorway; you are letting the draft in.” Lady Galbraith waved me towards her, almost as if she was gesturing to a crowd, giving them a regal wave, her wrist limp and her fingers soft.

  I shut the door and ushered Flipper into one corner of the room where he would be out of the way. I looked over to the writing desk. “Is this where you want me to start?” It appeared to be an antique, a deep dark wood with several silver framed photographs on top.

  “Begin with the bottom drawers,” said Lady Galbraith. “There are six files I store personal correspondence and family matters in. Some of the paperwork has become muddled, and I need it arranged in its correct order. There are also some solicitors’ letters and financial matters that require filing.”

  I knelt down and opened the bottom drawer. Bundles of letters and paperwork sprung out and landed on the floor. I grabbed the papers and settled them on top of the writing desk. She hadn’t been kidding when she said there was some filing that needed doing. It looked like at least a year’s worth of letters hadn’t been dealt with.

  “Begin with those letters,” said Lady Galbraith, her gaze returning to the book she held in one hand. “Most will no longer be relevant. I do find, if one ignores correspondence that isn’t urgent, the matter goes away of its own accord.”

  I sat on the edge of a hard, wooden seat by the writing desk and sorted the letters into relevant piles. There were letters from solicitors, a private bank, some general circulars, and correspondence from what looked like personal friends of Lady Galbraith’s.

  Despite Lady Galbraith’s apparent focus on her book, I got that prickling feeling on the back of my neck I always got when somebody was watching me. I hoped she wasn’t waiting for me to make a mistake. I was experienced in what I did, but sitting in the uptight atmosphere of the parlor, I felt my hands shake and my confidence wane.

  I couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “It looks like a nice day outside.”

  “Indeed,” said Lady Galbraith.

  “Do you ever walk around the grounds?”

  “That is what they are there for.”

  “Perhaps you will take a walk today.” I felt panic rise in my chest. This wasn’t going so well.

  “Perhaps.”

  I realised I’d shifted away from the safe topic of the weather. “They are forecasting showers at the end of this week.”

  “I do not trust the weather forecast,” said Lady Galbraith.

  I rubbed my fingers against my forehead. Perhaps the weather wasn’t such a safe choice after all. The topic of sewing was definitely out. Maybe I should try books instead, or maybe I should keep my mouth shut and my head down. The quicker I did the work, the quicker I could leave.

  I glanced over at Lady Galbraith, and my mouth fell open when I saw Flipper had his head resting on one of her thin knees. “Leave Lady Galbraith alone, Flipper. She doesn’t want to be disturbed by you.”

  “You may leave him if you wish,” said Lady Galbraith. “He is not doing any harm. I am amazed by how blue his eyes are. I don’t think I’ve seen a dog with such blue eyes. He is not a particular breed, is he?”

  I stuffed down my surprise as I turned fully in my seat. “No, he’s a bit of a mixture. But I wonder if he has some Collie in him. Catch him in the right light, and he looks like a wolf.”

  A narrow smile slid across Lady Galbraith’s mouth. “Yes, I was thinking the same thing. He seems intelligent.”

  “He is. I never go anywhere without him.”

  “Ah, yes. Because of your condition.” Lady Galbraith looked at me with mild interest. “You don’t find your health problems interfere with your work?”

  “Not for a second.” I wished I could be honest and say that having Flipper by my side had nothing to do with my health, although he was a good balm for the soul at times.

  “That is good,” said Lady Galbraith. “I did have reservations about hiring you and Miss Holliday without giving you a formal interview. But my husband is not one for formalities, and he has not said a bad word against you.”

  “I appreciate that.” I turned back towards the writing desk. “Would you like me to review these unopened letters and make sure there is nothing important in them?”

  “Most of it can be thrown away or filed,” said Lady Galbraith with a sigh. “But perhaps you should open them, just to be on the safe side.”

  I slid a silver letter opener through the envelopes and extracted the documents. Lady Galbraith was right; most of the information was no longer relevant. I hesitated as I read through a letter from a firm of solicitors, called Braithwaite, Dugdale, and Smyth. They made mention of an eviction notice at Galbraith Manor.

  I shifted my attention to the next letter from them. This one had several sheets of paper inside. I started reading, horror shifting through me as I realised what I’d discovered. The document laid out details giving instructions to have Beatrice evicted. I checked through the letters again. They had been sent only to Lady Galbraith. Did that mean Lord Galbraith had no idea she was trying to get his sister removed from the family home? Perhaps Beatrice protested about the eviction and fought with Lady Galbraith. Could she have decided to get rid of her sister-in-law permanently?

  “Have you found something of interest?” Lady Galbraith’s cool voice shot through my thoughts, and I dropped the papers.

  “No, nothing of interest.” I tried to push the papers to one side, but Lady Galbraith moved surprisingly rapidly and plucked them from my hand.

  “It is unfortunate you have seen these,” said Lady Galbraith.

  “I didn’t mean to read it,” I said. “I was simply checking to make sure it wasn’t important. And now that Beatrice is dead, I guess it isn’t.”

  Lady Galbraith looked at the papers one more time, before moving to the open fireplace, removing a match from the box on the mantelpiece, striking it, and setting light to the papers, dropping them into the empty hearth. Only when the pages had turned to charred embers did she turn and look at me. The expression in her eyes was not what I expected. They were clouded with regret.
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  Lady Galbraith shook her head gently and returned to her seat, slumping down as if the air had been extracted from her. “It is perhaps not one of my proudest moments, planning to have my sister-in-law removed from her family home.” Her fingers stroked through Flipper’s fur as he remained by her chair.

  “Did you not get on with Beatrice?” I dared ask, knowing I was risking her wrath by doing so.

  Lady Galbraith exhaled and shut her eyes for a few seconds. “There was nothing bad about my sister-in-law, but she was needy. I tolerated her because she had nowhere else to go. But she was a burden, needing to be taken care of and thought about. I wished she had simply gotten married and moved away. I’m sure Sylvester would have been happier with her not constantly around.”

  “Is that why you decided to have her evicted?” I asked.

  Lady Galbraith looked at me coldly, before her gaze dropped to Flipper’s head. “She always loved dogs. At one time, I believe she had six sleeping in her room. Over the years, they got old and sick, as animals tend to do. But she was always passionate about them. And although I complained about the noise and fur, I’d forgotten what it was like to have a dog in the household. I have missed it.”

  “I saw one of Beatrice’s dogs in your kennels,” I said. “Perhaps you could let her back into the house?”

  “No, you must be mistaken,” said Lady Galbraith. “The animals in the kennels belong to Douglas. They are hunting dogs, not meant to be inside.”

  “I saw one that isn’t a hunting dog. She might be happier inside than stuck in a kennel on her own.”

  “No, this house has no place for animals anymore,” said Lady Galbraith. “Dogs were Beatrice’s passion. Now she is gone, it doesn’t seem right to have them.”

  I decided to try one last question and hoped it wouldn’t get me fired. “Is that why you wanted Beatrice to leave, because the dogs were annoying you?”

  “It had nothing to do with her animals,” said Lady Galbraith. “It was time for Beatrice to make her own way in the world. Sometimes she wouldn’t leave the house for weeks, other than to walk her dogs. She never spoke to anybody. She was reclusive. It was not natural. Beatrice needed an incentive to stand on her own feet and see what the world had for her, before she became too old and set in her ways. Perhaps I went about it the wrong way, trying to force the issue. But as you saw from the date of those letters, I had them drawn up just before Beatrice died. She never knew what I had planned. It’s almost sad; perhaps, if I had evicted her, she might still be alive.”