Soon, the route leveled and she turned onto the main street. Daphne entered through the front door of the hotel and found herself alone in the lobby. The dining room, being the only other large room on the first floor, was easily found. Daphne walked that way, but turned her head when she heard a man’s voice.
“May I join you and Malcolm?”
“Good morning, Peter,” Daphne replied. “You may join me. I’m alone.”
They walked together into the empty dining room and Peter pointed toward the windows.
“Let’s take this table. It has the best view of the bay.”
Daphne was still somewhat in awe of the remarkable scenery around her and stared at the water while Peter held her chair for her. Then she gave him her attention as he sat.
“Are there many guests staying in the hotel or cottages?” she asked him.
“Not as many as we would like for this time of year,” Peter answered. “Once fall comes, we might go days without a single guest.”
“Do you own the hotel?”
Peter smiled. “Oh, no. Just the cottages. But I manage the hotel for Mr. Kline. It’s a good arrangement for both of us. I’ve been told you own a market in Danby. Is it going well?”
“Quite well, thank you. It’s actually more work than I expected and I think the day is approaching where I might need to hire somebody to help,” Daphne said. “Ida is too old to do most of the things I need done now. She works there just to have something to do, really.”
“I’ll have to visit Danby someday and see your market,” Peter offered.
“You should. I would enjoy that.”
They placed their orders, with Daphne accepting all of Peter’s recommendations. She was beginning to recognize the differences between his mannerisms and Malcolm’s. Peter had a much more direct, almost authoritative, approach to much of what she had seen him do in the brief time she knew him. Malcolm had a tendency to seek Daphne’s approval in most everything he did. Peter just did it. Daphne appreciated both approaches.
“I hope Malcolm won’t be offended when he learns I stole you from him for breakfast,” Peter said.
“We had made no specific plans,” Daphne assured him. “In fact, he may yet join us. Don’t be too worried about his being offended. I’ve never seen him mad and I truly believe he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Peter laughed and said, “Good. I hope so.”
“Tell me about your family,” Daphne said.
Peter rearranged his silverware before saying, “I was married once, but my wife was hit by a car in front of the house we lived in just south of here. It came down a hill much too fast and lost control. She died the next day.”
“I’m very sorry,” Daphne told him.
“So, I’ve been by myself ever since. Almost five years now. My son is a sailor and I hardly ever see him.”
Daphne saw that the events still affected Peter and she wondered if it was part of what hardened him. If so, he must have been an even more wonderful man to be around before the accident.
Peter added, “My parents live in York. I see them often. Now, about you.”
Daphne grinned and said, “I haven’t tried marriage, yet. Perhaps someday. My parents were delightful people. My father ran the market before me and probably never expected me to take over, but I did. They were killed in a fire when I was young. When I was old enough, I brought the market back to life. I felt I owed it to my father. So we both have some tragedy in our lives, Peter.”
“And is the market profitable?” he asked.
“Enough to sustain me. I’ve never had a lot of money and probably never will. I’m happy with what I have.”
“I respect you for working so hard,” Peter said. “And may I be the first to apply for any jobs you may have available.”
Daphne giggled and told him, “I’ll keep you in mind.”
By the conclusion of the meal, Malcolm had not made an appearance and Daphne felt obligated to find him before deciding how to spend the rest of her morning. She said as much to Peter, who promptly offered to drive her down to the cottages and, if Malcolm did not protest, promised to show Daphne a particular aspect of Hinderwell she might find interesting. She agreed to the plan and opposed his paying for breakfast, without effect. Within minutes, they were in Runswick Bay and Daphne was knocking on Malcolm’s cottage door.
“Good morning, Daphne,” Malcolm said upon opening it. “I looked for you earlier and you were gone. Did you take a walk?”
“Yes. And I ate at the hotel. I hope I didn’t upset your plans.”
“Not at all. I have no plans. Do you?”
Daphne replied, “Well, I do now. Peter wants to be my guide around the village this morning. You are more than welcome to join us. It should be fun.”
“No, no. You go straight ahead, dear,” Malcolm said. “Have him bring you back safely and we’ll have the afternoon together.”
“Thank you, Malcolm. I will return in one piece.”
As Daphne walked back to Peter’s car, she felt guilty about spending the first morning with Peter, but she had given Malcolm the option to join her. Was he upset? She could never tell with Malcolm and it troubled her, in a way, that he was that way. She had never before had to concern herself with how a man felt about her. Now she found herself trying to please two of them. Daphne grinned at the prospect as she reentered Peter’s car.
“We have the morning,” she told him. “But I really must spend the afternoon with him. Can we be back by noon?”
“Of course we can. You don’t honestly believe the landmarks of Hinderwell are no numerous it will take longer than that, do you?”
Daphne laughed. “I suppose not.”
Peter turned the car and made the climb up to Hinderwell’s High Street, and turned again to the north. Daphne was becoming more familiar with the village and recognized most of the buildings they passed, at least until they were beyond the hotel.
“Do you know the story of St. Hilda?” he asked Daphne.
“St. Hilda? I don’t think so.”
“I’m going to take you to one of the oldest and most famous landmarks in Hinderwell,” Peter said. “It’s just up here on the edge of the village.”
When the first small lane appeared on the right, Peter slowed the car and pulled onto the narrow road. Just ahead, on the left, stood a single story stone church among the trees and Peter pulled to a stop in the grass in front of it. Between the car and the church were a couple dozen aged headstones clumped together in a small yard.
The church itself was a simple building with six rectangular windows facing the road and a square bell tower at the end opposite the entrance.
“St. Hilda was the abbess of the original Whitby Abbey,” Peter said. “She was in charge of all the nuns there in the middle of the seventh century. Hinderwell used to be named Hilderwell, in her honor, and here’s why.
“During a period of severe drought, St. Hilda passed through the village and the residents asked her to pray for water. Soon after that, a natural spring appeared. St. Hilda blessed the spring and now it is said to have healing powers.
“Come on, let me show you,” Peter said, getting out of the car along with Daphne.
They walked a few yards beyond the church and down a short embankment to what appeared at first to Daphne to be a small bench. But, as the pair approached it via a dirt path, she saw that it was a marker or monument. When they stood over it, she saw the tiny stream of bubbling water.
“When the stonemasons began to build the church on the site of the spring,” Peter explained, “the stones seemed to move overnight. So, they decided to build the church up where it is now and the well has been protected ever since.”
Daphne reached down and filled the palm of her hand with cold water. She took a sip and smiled at Peter.
“Just in case,” Daphne told him.
Peter laughed. “You don’t believe me. I’m offended. When you are a healthy, old woman you will thank me.”
�
��And St. Hilda,” Daphne added.
“Yes. Can’t forget St. Hilda.”
“So, what other treasures does Hinderwell offer?” Daphne asked.
“That’s about it for real treasures,” Peter admitted. “We’re also known for our views. Care to go for a walk?”
“I’d love to.”
Together they walked back up to the church and onto the road, leaving the car behind. They talked about Malcolm and the hotel and the market until reaching the top of a cliff with a magnificent view of the North Sea. The ever-present wind was light by Hinderwell standards.
“There’s a pathway down to the beach if you are daring enough to try it with me,” Peter offered.
“Lead the way. If I lag behind, blame my shoes.”
Peter walked leisurely ahead on a trail that proved to be not at all treacherous for Daphne as it wound back and forth among the scrub bushes. She could easily see their destination—a miniature version of Runswick Bay with its crescent shaped beach and pebbly sand. When Peter arrived, he turned and smiled to see Daphne only a few steps behind.
“You realize we have to go back up, don’t you?” he said with a smile.
“Do we? Really?” she replied in mock revulsion. “But there’s not a soul in sight and not a sound to be heard except the waves. Why leave heaven?”
“Because I promised to have you back to Malcolm by noon,” Peter said.
“Oh, yes. Malcolm.”
They sat on a massive rock by the cliff and spent the next hour conversing about nearly everything…except Malcolm.
XXVIII. The Arrest
Mary Hastings’ hand shook with nervousness as she dialed the number of the woman who wanted to speak to her. The connection seemed to take forever and Mary rocked impatiently in her chair. And then, finally:
“Hello.”
Mary’s throat was dry when she said, “Hello. Is this Esther Hyde?”
“This is Esther.”
“Mrs. Hyde, this is Mary Hastings. You left a message for me at Hillcrest School in Scarborough. I’m returning your call,” Mary said in a firm voice, having the impression from the woman’s few words that she might be older.
“Oh, yes. I did call earlier. Mable Swank suggested I talk to you. I don’t suppose you know Mable.”
Mary said, “No, I’m afraid I don’t. What is this concerning, Mrs. Hyde.”
“Well, you see, Mable said you were looking for information about a young girl that was given up by her parents about twenty years ago and she mentioned the name Levering to me,” Mrs. Hyde said. “I worked at an orphanage between here and Whitby at the time. The place is closed down now. What a pity for the children, having to close down a fine home like that because of money. Most of us would do the work for free back then, you understand. But not these days. It’s all because of the war, don’t you know.”
“The Levering child,” Mary said as calmly as she could. “What do you know about her?”
“Oh, I don’t remember much about the girl, not even her name,” Mrs. Hyde said. “She was nice enough, of course. Didn’t cause any trouble. It was the adults I remember most in that case. The poor parents, Mr. and Mrs. Levering, seemed like such sweet kids, but said they couldn’t raise a child properly on the father’s meager earnings and his mother not having anything either. The boy’s mother lived alone, you see.”
“Yes. Go on,” Mary urged.
“Well, soon after we took in the girl a man and woman from…from…oh, bless my soul, I can’t remember exactly where they were from now. But I remember they owned a market. That stuck with me because I knew they could provide for her. Their name was…um, let me think for a second. Bishop. Yes, Bishop.”
Mary’s next call was to Stichen Manor. She was delighted when Calvert told her Lord Stewart was in and she tried to contain her excitement when she told Charles she had news for him. Despite Charles’ best efforts, she would not divulge the information, insisting on taking the train to Danby the following day, which she had off, and would he pick her up at the station?
He had no choice, of course, nor would he have refused her under any circumstances. Mary enjoyed the time between her call and the train ride, knowing she had the upper hand this time. Only the seemingly interminable delays at each of the many stops along the line threatened to dim her enjoyment of the day.
Mary beamed at the sight of the smartly dressed Lord Stewart when she saw him on the platform.
“You look awfully formal for a Saturday, Charles,” she said to him when they met. “Don’t you ever relax?”
“It’s the company I keep,” he replied, taking her arm.
“I’m a country school teacher, not a princess from some foreign land.”
“But you bring me news of which I am dying to hear, so I must impress you. Do tell.”
“No, sir. Not until I’m in the comfort of your manor,” she told him.
“Ah, but it’s not my manor. It will be somebody’s manor someday, but not mine. Either way, you are driving me mad with your game.”
Daphne laughed as she said hello to Bingham and entered Lord Stewart’s car. He asked about the school and the short drive to Stichen Manor was taken up entirely with Mary’s animated retelling of the best happenings since they last met. Charles nearly forgot about the real purpose of her visit while listening to Mary recap her life at Hillcrest.
As Bingham pulled into the long drive of the manor, Charles was brought back to the present.
“Once we’re inside, I insist you give me the news, Mary,” he told her.
“Don’t I get a tour of this wonderful home first?” she asked while standing outside the car and looking up at the place. Her big eyes danced with pleasure as the teasing continued.
“You will be the death of me,” Charles muttered, escorting his guest inside.
The tour was thorough, but fast, ending up in the library where they sat near the French windows.
“Now, tell me,” Charles insisted.
Mary grinned and said, “Alright, Charles. It may not seem like it, but I’ve been dying to tell you. I received a call from an old woman after I had spread the word to as many of my friends as I could possibly contact. They each had the information you gave me. The old woman said she had worked at an orphanage and remembered the Leverings…and the girl. I think, based on the detail she provided, she can be believed, Charles.”
He listened intently and indicated for her to continue.
“Well, she knew the Leverings had very little money, so she was happy when a more well-to-do couple came to adopt the girl. After a little urging from me, she gave me their name,” Mary said.
“Bishop,” Charles said softly.
“How’d you…?”
“Oh, I’ve suspected for some time,” he replied. “Mary, remember when I told you your assistance may result in dire consequences for someone? You just helped solve two murders. Do you still want to be involved or have you had enough of investigating?”
“Charles, I must see it through. I want to continue,” she replied quickly.
“Then here’s what we must do. I’m going to….”
Just then, a portion of the wall behind the Colonel’s large desk swung open and Calvert walked through what had become a doorway. Mary shrieked with surprise and Charles turned in his chair to look in Calvert’s direction.
“Pardon me for interrupting, Lord Stewart,” Calvert said with a slight bow. “But I have an urgent wire from Inspector Silsbury for you.”
Charles saw the paper in the servant’s hand, but his mind was too busy grasping the significance of what had just happened. It seemed to Mary that he sat there forever without saying a word.
Then, with an almost imperceptible nod, he rose and accepted the message from Calvert. Charles unfolded it and, after a few seconds, told the others, “George Parker has been arrested and charged with both murders. The knife presumably used to kill Archibald Levering, one of Meath’s knives, was in his house.”
XXIX. Sailing
/>
“Good heavens, Charles,” Mary murmured. “Is that who you suspected?”
“It is who I suspected Silsbury would arrest, yes,” Charles replied in a matter-of-fact tone. Then, he asked the servant in a more serious tone, “Calvert, who knows about that door and where do you access it from? The kitchen?”
“All the servants know about it, sir. You get to it from the pantry. We’ve all used it at one time or another. I didn’t mean to startle you, my Lord.”
Charles shook his head and said, “No, no. It’s quite alright, Calvert. In fact, it is more than quite alright. Thank you for bringing the cable. You can leave Mary and myself alone now.”
Just as Calvert turned, Charles called out to him, “Oh, Calvert. One more thing. Do you happen to know where Miss Bishop is at this moment?”
“Why yes, sir, quite accidently I do,” Calvert replied. “I was in Danby this morning and saw Ida at the market. She informed me that Miss Bishop was on holiday with Mr. Leatherby in Hinderwell or Runswick Bay for a few days.”
“Thank you, Calvert. That will be all.”
As soon as Calvert had closed the makeshift door, Charles turned to Mary and said, “Excellent. Daphne couldn’t be in any better hands than she is right now.”
In York at that same moment, George Parker was experiencing first-hand the sometimes ruthless interrogation British police had become infamous for in recent years. Parker sat in a stiff wooden chair in the center of a tiny office occupied by himself, Silsbury, and the detective who had followed the suspect for weeks.
“Mr. Parker, when I interviewed you after the Colonel’s murder, you said you were with your wife at the time. Do you still say that?” Silsbury asked.
“I do. Didn’t she confirm that I was with her?”
“Do you have no other witnesses to your whereabouts just before nine o’clock that night?”
The Enemy in Our Midst: A Lord Charles Stewart Mystery Page 18
