The Enemy in Our Midst: A Lord Charles Stewart Mystery

by Conley, John E.

  “Well, I never expected Charlie Mann to be discovered quite so quickly,” Helen said sullenly. “I really did have a feeling that your plan would work. The documents looked genuine to me and he seemed anxious to carry out the role to the end.”

  “Somebody besides the solicitors examined those documents, Helen. It might have been Silsbury and it might have been that nosy amateur Stewart. Either way, Mann is out of our hair again and he’ll hopefully take my advice and jump a ship in Barcelona headed for the far east. Nobody in Yorkshire will ever hear from him again,” Cooper said.

  “There’s still Parker to deal with, though,” lamented Helen.

  “Yes, I was confident we could slip Mann past a pair of solicitors eager to rid themselves of the Colonel’s estate,” Cooper said. “That would have resolved the Parker issue and left us with more than enough to keep us happy for a long while. I don’t see him letting up on you under any circumstances, Helen, so we need to re-think our approach. It might be time to get desperate.”

  Helen sat upright and looked at Alistair’s face intently. Could he honestly be thinking what she had refused to consider?

  “Alistair, we’ve been desperate for so long already I’m not sure this is the time to panic,” Helen said. “If you are considering doing harm to Parker, please don’t. I would rather continue to meet his demands than that. There have been enough killings already.”

  “Alright, let’s try to come up with some ideas then,” Cooper said. “This can’t go on forever.”

  Lord Charles Stewart also had George Parker on his mind, primarily because of his desire to keep his promise to Elizabeth Parker and meet with her husband privately. It needed to be away from Elizabeth, so Charles called to invite Parker to Stichen Manor and Parker accepted, saying he would take the train to Danby in two days’ time and hire a cab to the manor.

  When Parker was shown into the den by Calvert, Charles saw the familiar look of resolve that seemed permanently etched on Parker’s face. He never gave anything away, Charles thought to himself. Exactly what a good businessman needed to do.

  “Good day, Stewart,” Parker said cheerily, along with a firm handshake.

  “Thank you for coming, George. Help yourself to the brandy and cigars,” Charles replied.

  Once settled, Parker said, “You’ve taken it upon yourself to keep up the manor since the Colonel’s unfortunate death?”

  Charles nodded. “Bingham and I have stayed on ever since, so it gives the servants something to do and bread on their tables. Have you heard anything in regard to the settlement of the estate?”

  Parker looked at Charles with surprise, saying, “I would expect you to find out long before myself. You’re still helping the Yard try to unravel things, are you not?”

  “I’m not sure if helping or hindering is the word to use,” Charles said with a chuckle. “I’m dabbling. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “Well, I have heard nothing new. I only occasionally see anyone who was here for the reunion,” Parker said. “Perhaps Elizabeth knows something, but she has not mentioned it to me.”

  “How is she doing, George?” Charles said nonchalantly.

  “Elizabeth? Oh, she’s fine, of course. Wonderful woman to put up with all my business dealings and such, you know. She’s quite an asset to me.”

  Charles took a sip of brandy.

  “Does she really know that much about what you are doing?” he asked Parker.

  Again, Parker looked guardedly across the room at his host, saying, “Do you mean the mines? I wouldn’t expect her to. She’s an asset by keeping the social calendar in order and entertaining what few friends we have over. We don’t own a manor like this one or your own, Lord Stewart.”

  Charles disregarded the man’s deprecating tone, but took notice that Parker was always just an instant away from expressing anger.

  Charles replied, “Will you someday, George?”

  Parker shrugged.

  “Who wouldn’t want this?” he answered, waving his hand in the air.

  “Will the mines alone allow for it?”

  “Stewart, you know as well as me that mining is purely speculative. One of them could hit a vein of material at any time and I could retire to any island I choose,” Parker said.

  “In the meantime…?” Charles asked.

  “In the meantime we keep mining.”

  “George, let me offer some advice as a long-time friend,” Charles said in a serious tone. “You’ve built up a good enterprise through hard work. You have a devoted wife and a bright future. Don’t take unnecessary risks with either. Accept the fortunes that the mines provide you and be happy. And most importantly, George, don’t let past disputes impede you. Let the people who had little or nothing to do with those squabbles live their lives while you and Elizabeth live yours.”

  Parker was not used to taking advice, but he respected Charles more than most men. He pondered just how much Charles knew about his extortion plots. Parker also wondered about what else Charles might suspect him of.

  “I’m a peaceful man for the most part, Stewart,” Parker said. “I only pick fights with those that deserve it. I chose a rough profession and don’t plan on backing down now. The moment I do, they will trample all over me.”

  They talked for another half hour or so, recounting events from the war but not again discussing recent events. Charles felt he had met his obligation to Elizabeth and left it at that. Parker eventually asked if Calvert could drive him back to the train station, and those arrangements were made.

  By only a few hours, Parker missed joining Daphne and Malcolm on the platform of the Danby station. Daphne looked especially young in a long-sleeve sweater and knee-length skirt. She carried a coat for the evening. Malcolm was in his customary three piece suit, anxious to change to more casual clothes once at the cottages.

  The Esk Valley Railway, which served Danby, connected Middlesbrough to the north with Whitby to the east. The northern stretch of the route ran from Middlesbrough south to Battersby, then turned east following the Esk River to Whitby. In all, there were about thirty five miles of rails and eighteen stations.

  Daphne’s heart quickened when she heard the shrill whistle of the oncoming steam locomotive. She had no intentions of turning back, but the uncertainty of the days ahead and the awareness that the adventure was soon to begin caused her anxiety to grow. Malcolm felt both apprehension and elation as he looked at the beautiful girl next to him. What new journeys were they about to embark on?

  A porter took their bags once the train stopped and Daphne and Malcolm climbed aboard. They sat facing each other near the middle of the sparsely populated coach.

  “I hope you’re happy to be making the trip, Daphne,” Malcolm said, his eyes locked onto her face.

  “Oh, I am. I’ve never really had a vacation, even though we aren’t going that far. It will seem far to me,” she replied with a grin.

  “What do you want to do while we’re there?”

  “I haven’t given it too much thought, Malcolm,” she said. “The sea will be wonderful, I’m sure. It’s been so long since I’ve seen it. I was just a child and don’t remember much. And of course I’ll want to shop a little, which must be the last thing you want to do.”

  “Nothing you do could possibly bore me, so don’t worry about that. Hinderwell and Runswick Bay are small, but there should be plenty to do. And plenty of seafood to eat. Do you like it?” Malcolm asked.

  Daphne nodded. “Yes. Very much. I think I prefer it over meat, actually, and Ida always seems to get some fresh fish from people she knows that visit Whitby.”

  The train lurched forward and Daphne peered out the window to watch Danby slowly disappear behind them. The rolling terrain of North Yorkshire took over the view, with its lush fields and clusters of trees as far as she could see.

  Malcolm let her gaze without interruption. He watched her slip on her coat as the train picked up speed and the air flowed through the coach. Soon, the conductor called ou
t Lealholm station and the whistle blew.

  A solitary passenger waited on the small platform in front of the station master’s stone house. Daphne imagined the passenger to be a seaman on leave from a ship in Whitby, based upon his rugged face and gimpy stride. The train had hardly stopped before it chugged ahead once again with the sailor and his bag safely aboard.

  “What have you heard from the people at Stichen Manor?” Malcolm asked Daphne. “What do they think is going to happen?”

  Daphne looked sullen at the mention of her favorite manor and said, “Mrs. Collins is looking for work elsewhere. She assumes that the estate will either be sold to someone soon or turned over to the crown. She’s always been the nervous, fidgety type, of course, so the uncertainty is hard on her. I don’t know what the men intend to do.”

  “The old country homes are slowly being razed, unfortunately,” Malcolm said, staring at the passing scenery. “They may have to travel a ways to find similar work. It’s been hard on that class since the end of the war. No skills for the factories and many of them are getting older.”

  They rode in silence until the train slowed for Glaisdale station, with one of the steeper hills they had seen looming behind the village.

  “You know the story of Thomas Ferris, I suppose,” Malcolm asked Daphne cheerfully.

  “If I did, I’ve forgotten it,” she answered.

  With that, the story as relayed to Charles and Bingham by the Red Hen Inn proprietor was told to Daphne, incluing an apt description of Beggar’s Bridge.

  In the end, she said, “How romantic. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be so rich?”

  “Yes. Money solves so many problems,” Malcolm sighed.

  The tiny village of Egton was quickly followed by the more substantial Grosmont station. A half dozen people disembarked or boarded during the latter stop and Daphne eagerly watched the people come and go. They were only five miles from the center of Whitby now and soon the scenery would be changing dramatically. The familiar knolls and forests would give way to the seemingly endless flat sea. Daphne was keen on the change of pace and was becoming more comfortable with her decision to take the trip.

  The train hastily made stops at Sleights and Ruswarp on the outskirts of Whitby and then rolled into the town’s bustling station. Everyone, including Daphne and Malcolm, disembarked as this was the end of the Esk Valley line. The pair collected their baggage and Malcolm said, “Now, let’s hire a car to get us to Hinderwell. It’s less than ten miles. It won’t be long until we are settled.”

  Daphne smiled and let Malcolm lead the way off the platform. Despite the crowd, they were able to secure a car in short order and directions were given. The robust driver lifted the bags into the trunk and, with his passengers in the back, began to wind through the streets of Whitby. Within minutes, they were following a steeply rising road that finally provided Daphne with a magnificent view of the North Sea to the east.

  “Wow,” she murmured. “It’s just what I imagined. Aren’t the sailboats beautiful with their big masts? I am going to enjoy looking at this every day, Malcolm.”

  “I’m glad, Daphne. It’ll be a nice rest for you.”

  At Sandsend, on the northern edge of town, they veered west, away from the coastline that continued to the northeast. Farmland surrounded them until they headed north again and the sea came back into view.

  “That’s Runswick Bay,” Malcolm said, pointing to a large cove on the right. “Hinderwell is straight ahead.”

  As predicted, the stone homes and shops of the tiny village appeared ahead and the driver began to slow.

  “The Commercial Hotel, driver. Just ahead on the right,” Malcolm announced.

  The car pulled up in front of the two-story structure as Malcolm told Daphne, “My friend Peter will meet us here and take us to the cottages. I think you’ll like him.”

  Indeed, Daphne admired the tall, good looking man who walked into the hotel lobby shortly after Malcolm had asked for Peter at the desk. He appeared to be about forty, with a bronzed face that indicated to Daphne that he was more comfortable outside than in.

  Peter nodded to Daphne and said with his natural Scottish accent, “Welcome to Hinderwell, Ms. Bishop. I am Peter Renshaw, and may I say that Malcolm’s description of your beauty was correct.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Renshaw,” she said. “I’m not sure that the train ride from Danby did much to improve what little beauty I may have had. Perhaps the sea will help.”

  “Indeed. I regularly see people leave town looking much refreshed after a few days in the cottages. It’s better than any medicine a doctor can provide.”

  Malcolm said to Peter, “She would also like some advice on the best places to shop. I’m confident you can help her with that, Peter.”

  “Of course,” he smiled. “Hinderwell is not exactly Paris, but I can assist her with that. For now, let me take you to the cottages.”

  Peter got a bellhop to attend to the bags, giving the young man the numbers of the cottages the guests would occupy. Then, he escorted Daphne and Malcolm out the back of the hotel.

  “It is possible to walk to the cottages, particularly from here down to the cliffs,” Peter told them. “But coming up the other way is…well, let us say it is good exercise. Today I will drive you.”

  Daphne could barely contain her delight a moment later when the car stopped at the top of the cliff, next to a cluster of cottages, and they all got out.

  “Oh my,” she exclaimed, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “This is incredible. Nothing but water as far as you can see. And the sand looks marvelous. Malcolm, feel that breeze on your face. It’s nothing like the countryside back home.”

  Malcolm replied, “I couldn’t properly describe to you earlier what it is like here, but I persuaded you the best I could. I’m glad you approve.”

  “Oh, I do.”

  The bags arrived and were placed inside the two cottages closest to the road. Peter accompanied Daphne onto the porch of hers and held the door open for her. Dark wood dominated the living area as she entered, but bright pillows on the chairs and couch softened the overall tone. It felt warm and comforting to her.

  “The bedroom and bath are down this hall,” Peter said, pointing to Daphne’s right, “and the kitchen and dining area is behind this room. I think you’ll find the closet space adequate and the view from the porch is very pleasant.”

  “It’s all perfect, Peter. Thank you for having us.”

  “Whatever you need, contact me at the hotel and I’ll have it taken care of,” he said as he left her to unpack.

  She was nearly done with that task when she heard a soft knock on the door. Daphne welcomed Malcolm in and he confirmed that the cottages were identical except for the furnishings and, perhaps, her fireplace had been used more often than his.

  Once he was convinced Daphne found everything satisfactory, he agreed to meet her again in an hour for a walk down the hill to the only pub available without having to walk back up to Hinderwell. She agreed to the plan and her vacation officially started.

  XXV. A New Suspect

  Inspector Silsbury puffed on a pipe while listening to his detective describe George Parker’s trip to Stichen Manor. Unfortunately, no details of the actual conversation with Lord Stewart could be provided, assuming that it was Stewart he met with in the first place.

  “Well, I think that’s the only reason Parker would go there,” Silsbury said, standing by his office window. “It’s too late to worry about evidence and covering up his tracks. Certainly none of the servants would be of interest to him. He talked to Lord Stewart and probably in private. You don’t suppose they had the nerve to use the library, do you?”

  The detective assured the Inspector he did not know.

  After a pause, the Inspector turned and sat on the window sill. He said, “Consider this, Wilson. Who had the best opportunity to murder the Colonel? Who found the body? In fact, who was there when both bodies were found? Lord Stewart, of course.
We really don’t know when he first had knowledge of the letters from Margaret. Did they argue over her? Also, by the time I found that charred document in the fireplace, it could have been one hour old or one year old. Is it beyond reason that Lord Stewart killed the Colonel at their appointed meeting time and burned a document that either would have incriminated him or otherwise pointed a finger at him? Or pointed a finger at both he and Levering and Stewart decided it was best to kill him, too?

  “It actually makes more sense than simple blackmail by Parker,” Silsbury continued. “I need to go back and talk to Calvert at Stichen Manor to make sure my ideas on the timing of events is correct. If they are….”

  It was mid-day by the time Parker pulled up to the front of the manor. He didn’t see Lord Stewart’s Daimler, but knew it may have been under the protection of a barn roof so he didn’t get his hopes too high that Stewart was out. Calvert answered the Inspector’s loud rapping of the heavy bronze knocker and ushered the officer inside.

  To Calvert’s surprise, Silsbury said, “Just the man I wanted to see. Do you have a moment to speak with me, Calvert? And is Lord Stewart in?”

  “Yes sir and no sir,” Calvert replied in his usual stiff manner. “I am free and the Lord is out for the afternoon, I’m afraid.”

  “No, that’s fine. We can talk in private then. Can we use the study?”

  “This way, Inspector.”

  The room felt stuffy to Silsbury and the lingering odor of cigars hung in the air. He saw Calvert begin to open a window and told him, “No. Leave it shut, Calvert.”

  “Please sit down,” Silsbury told the servant while he himself settled into the largest chair.

  “Now, I’d like to ask you a couple questions about the night the Colonel was murdered,” Silsbury began. “How did you first find out about it?”

  “I was in the hallway, sir, just outside the library. I believed that the Colonel had been in there earlier and, seeing that the door was slightly open, I went to see if he was done using the room,” Calvert explained in a steady voice. “When I looked inside, Lord Stewart was there. He told me to come in and close the door, which I did.”