The Murder at Mansfield Manor: An Inspector Ambrose Story (The Inspector Ambrose Mysteries Book 3)

by I H Laking

  His next move could prove decisive in solving this case.

  Ambrose stood in the middle of the library, scanning the shelves from a distance. The library was a sprawling room that stood three stories tall, taking up a sizeable part of the Western Wing of the Manor. It held countless historic manuscripts and volumes, including family histories, plays and compositions. Each floor had its own landing that ran around the perimeter of the room and held multiple categories of writing stacked high on its shelves, sometimes two or three layers deep. The collection continued to grow with each generation that lived in the house, and it was always one of Ambrose’s favourite places to come as a boy.

  Two features about the library stood out in the middle of its grandeur: The first was its enormous ladders that moved on railings around the room and allowed access to every nook and cranny of the space. The second feature was the grand dome that stood atop the room. During the daytime it allowed the sun to shine into the centre of the room, providing a comfortable atmosphere in which to read, while at night it allowed incredible views of the heavens above. Just the smell of the room bought Ambrose back to the hours he spent reading histories and tragedies in the library. But today, he was watching as Zhan paced the second floor landing, pushing and prodding at books as he went, muttering all the while.

  Zhan seemed less than happy with the situation. All morning he had been jaunting around the Manor with The Colonel, looking for the murderer, the Eye of Gothmore, or any other clues and evidence. Now he found himself in the middle of a wider search for the gem with Ambrose. Each time he pushed at a book, he seemed more frustrated. Eventually he found his way to the floor and joined Ambrose.

  “So how exactly do you know this hidden passageway exists?” he asked as he squinted at the books all around him. “I’m getting a crick in my neck from all this searching.”

  Ambrose barely paid him any attention. Mostly he wanted Zhan around so he could keep an eye on him. He and The Colonel had turned parts of the house upside down, and Zhan needed something to direct his substantial tracking skills towards.

  “Inspector?”

  Ambrose kept looking at the bookshelves. “When I was a boy, we always heard a rumour – it was just a whisper, never more – that there was a tunnel that ran between this room and the Guest House.” He walked towards the back wall. “We used to spend hours trying to find the passage, imaging how we could explore the off-limits areas uninterrupted. But we never found the answer. It was lost to us, and so we simply gave up.” Ambrose paced the shelves; titles popped off spines at him as he passed, but nothing that indicated there was a passage nearby.

  After a while of searching, Ambrose found frustration creeping in. Dejected, he sat down on a chair in the middle of the room. Zhan joined him, and patted him on the shoulder.

  “It’s alright my friend, perhaps the passage doesn’t exist. Perhaps you only thought the Mech was giving you a message to search here.” The big man leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs with a sigh.

  Ambrose frowned. He hadn’t just imagined it. Clink had been trying to tell him something, but what? “I know it’s here. Why can’t I find where the entrance is hidden?” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

  Zhan had closed his eyes as he lay back in his chair. “In my experience, the best place to hide something is often in plain sight,” he said, letting out a yawn.

  That’s it! Ambrose felt his heart leap. He ran over to the ladder and climbed as fast as he could. Zhan snapped out of his tired state and bounded after him. Up the rungs Ambrose clambered, until he reached the second floor, where he ran to the building section. He ran his fingers over the titles as he closely scanned the cluttered shelves.

  Zhan puffed up behind him. “What is it?” he asked, “Why on earth did you run off like that?”

  Ambrose stopped searching and turned to Zhan. “Because you’re right – the best place to hide something is in plain sight.” He pointed to the wall above him. “Structurally, we’re now by the outer wall. This would be the perfect place to hide a tunnel. And if I’m not mistaken…” he reached down to a thick book with the title Concealment and Confinement: Hidden Passages Around the Empire. With a pull, Ambrose tilted the book towards himself. There was a satisfying grinding noise, and the bookcase popped backwards, revealing a hidden passage behind it.

  Ambrose turned back to Zhan, who was standing with a giant grin plastered across his face. “After you,” he said.

  Feeling a huge sense of satisfaction, Ambrose stuck his head around the corner of the passage. The narrow corridor ran to the left, following the wall along until it reached a staircase. Gaslights burned along its walls, leaving it well lit and inviting. It felt like a cocoon to Ambrose as he stepped inside and began following the passage towards the stairs. Zhan followed closely behind.

  The stairs led down in a steep spiral, eventually coming out next to a gloomy passage that led away from the house, indicating they were now underground. Zhan arrived soon after, placing a firm hand on Ambrose’s shoulder.

  “Do you really want to know where this passage leads, my friend?” he asked, squinting into the gloom. As he spoke, a rattling noise echoed out from the far end of the corridor. Zhan swiftly pulled out his curved scimitar, holding it aloft near Ambrose’s head. “Come, Inspector,” he said, “Let us face fear together.”

  The rattling increased as the pair walked down the dim passage. Banging and creaking filled the atmosphere around them, and a whistling noise rose up from the far end of the passage, where it met a rickety wooden door. The temperature began to drop as they drew closer, with pale light shining out from cracks in the door’s timbers. Ambrose reached the door and decided immediate action was the cure for the fear he felt clutching at his heart. He pushed the door inwards, and light flooded the corridor. As they stepped through, a second door was visible on the right.

  Ambrose looked up and immediately recognised where they were.

  “The old well.” He shook his head. The well had once provided water for the Guest House, but Ambrose had never seen anyone drawing water from it. All those years ago as a boy, he had wondered about removing the boards that covered the well and jumping in to see what lay at the bottom. It turned out that mysteries had indeed waited beneath the few boards that covered the well.

  Zhan was already through the second door, and Ambrose turned to follow him. They ascended a dark flight of stairs and arrived at what appeared to be a dead end. Zhan stood there, fumbling around for a switch or handle, all the while cursing silently under his breath.

  “Kick the right side.”

  Zhan turned and looked at Ambrose curiously.

  “Kick the right side,” Ambrose repeated. “If this passage was built when I think it was, then it would have a hidden switch in the bottom right corner of the wall.”

  Zhan nodded, and sunk his enormous boot into the bottom right corner. Lo and behold, there was a pop and the wall slid open, revealing the bedroom of the Guest House. Zhan stepped out cautiously, his sword at the ready. The room was silent, and as Ambrose followed him, he could feel the tension in the air. Had they found the thief’s mode of entry? What if he had returned and was lying in wait? A surprised assassin wouldn’t be easy to deal with. Ambrose looked back and jumped, letting out a cry as he made eye contact with the figure behind him. Zhan pivoted on the spot, ready to strike as he, too sensed movement.

  Zhan and Ambrose found themselves looking into a large mirror. Ambrose breathed out a huge sigh of relief, and immediately felt foolish; the mirror had moved to reveal the passage they came through – there was no one else in the Guest House at all. He looked around the room; its ornate furniture was hard to make out without the gaslights on, but he could see the four-poster bed and bedside tables. Aside from this, the room was sparsely furnished. They made their way to the main door, and stepped out into the lounge where Mrs Mansfield’s body still lay.

  And Clink got the biggest fright he had ever had when Ambrose and Zhan ap
peared at the door a moment later.

  It was late in the afternoon, and Ambrose found himself standing in the kitchen once more. He had come down to question Mrs White, the head cook, but hadn’t found much that would indicate when poison could have been added to Mrs Mansfield’s food.

  Mrs Mansfield would usually eat a separate meal from the other guests, in keeping with a strict dietary regime. As her food was prepared separately, there would have been ample opportunities to slip poison into one of her dishes, especially since the kitchen was never locked. Obviously that had changed now, Mrs White added.

  Ambrose scribbled notes as fast as he could, and glanced over at the main entrance to the kitchen, where a very bored Zhan stood watching for any suspicious activity. He appeared to be trying hard not to listen in as well, Ambrose noted.

  Good.

  Thanking Mrs White for her time, Ambrose urged her to keep an eye on the kitchen until he could find the person responsible. She assured him they would be vigilant, and he grabbed Zhan and headed upstairs again. The day was wearing on, and Ambrose was beginning to feel nervous that he might not be able to find the thief before they had a chance to ship the Eye of Gothmore away.

  A few minutes later, Ambrose collapsed into a tall chair in the main lounge. It was the most ornately furnished room in the Manor, featuring several lounge suites, large paintings, and beautifully carved gaslamps. Despite the relaxing atmosphere, Ambrose felt exhausted; the pressure of time and confusion weighed heavily on him. As he pinched the bridge of his nose, he wished once again for Percy to be there. Without him, he felt like he was missing a limb. He looked up and found himself meeting the intense gaze of Zhan, who was sitting opposite him.

  “Who do you suspect did this?” Zhan asked directly.

  Ambrose, not comfortable with such forward questions, responded quickly by saying, “Well, I’m still establishing the facts. Right now I cannot rule many people in or out of suspicion. You see, every case must follow a similar process, or something important will be missed.”

  Zhan nodded ponderously, pressing his thumbs against his beard. “I think I have an idea of who is responsible.” Once again, he gazed intently at Ambrose.

  Give me strength thought Ambrose. If there was one thing he wasn’t keen on hearing, it was Zhan’s theory on what happened – especially now. However, Ambrose knew better than to upset the big man. “Tell me, then,” he replied.

  Zhan stood and paced the carpet in front of Ambrose. “There is only one man who knows the true value of this gem; who values it as highly as I do,” he said, waving his arms with every sentence. “I was not born after The Freeze, as they say around here, and I have seen a thing or two in my life. As a warrior in my village, I have seen desire first hand; it is in the eye of a man when he sees a beautiful girl, in the eye of a child when they see a delicious meal, and in the eye of someone who has seen something most valuable that they must possess.” Zhan drew himself up so he towered over Ambrose. “And it is the look I saw on the face of Bijonne,” he said. “That man’s reaction when he handled the gem was strange. I watched him carefully as he studied it, felt its shape and weight. He found something of great value, and he immediately desired it.”

  Ambrose sat there pondering the Easterner’s suggestion. Perhaps Bijonne had sought to throw him off the trail when the jeweller had told him of his concerns earlier. It wouldn’t be the first time in Ambrose’s career that a man had lied during an investigation – in fact, it was common for people to fib when they found themselves trapped. But was this simply Zhan trying to confuse matters?

  “Let’s suppose for a moment that Mr Bijonne did in fact steal the Eye of Gothmore,” Ambrose said, looking off into the distance. “He certainly has a motive for wanting it, but what about opportunity? He hardly strikes me as the cunning sort – or the murderous type, for that matter.”

  “It would not simply be Bijonne’s doing.” Zhan pointed towards the upper floors of the Manor. “That ‘Magician’, Mystico. He does not know the real mysteries of this world. Cheap parlour tricks and half-baked illusions are all he peddles. But in him, there is cunning – he has desire too, yes. And I believe he was the one who committed this theft. He found his opportunity to steal the Gem in the afternoon, and took it.”

  “And what of Mrs Mansfield? How did she come to wind up dead by the empty safe?” Ambrose pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers again.

  Zhan paused and stroked his beard. He seemed to be considering the obvious flaw in his theory.

  “Perhaps the loss of the gem was enough to stop her heart from beating.” Zhan was clutching at straws now. “In the East, such a treasure would never be allowed out of sight. I know I could not bear it if I lost something so treasured. The loss would kill me too.” He beat his chest to emphasis his point.

  Ambrose didn’t mention the poison in Mrs Mansfield’s blood. He simply gave Zhan an assurance that he would interview Mr Bijonne the following morning. Taking his leave of the large Easterner, Ambrose decided to retire to his bedroom and collect his thoughts. Outside, grey clouds chased each other across the sky as the light of day slowly receded. Ambrose found himself aware of how little time he had left to catch the criminal responsible for the weekend’s carnage.

  Despite his urgency, Ambrose decided not to take dinner with the other guests. Rumours and theories would be flying around the room, and such unclear thinking inevitably slowed the process of catching a criminal.

  It wasn’t long until Ambrose found himself lying on his bed, staring at the shadows of flames dancing in the bedroom’s fireplace. The day had been long and full of half-baked leads, and the evening had left him feeling conflicted. As he lay there, he pondered how much he relied on his partner every day. Despite the numerous small ways in which Percy excelled at irritating him, Ambrose simply couldn’t do without him.

  He would have to tell Percy that.

  Returning to the case at hand, Ambrose rolled over the twists and turns of the day one more time. Each event had bought about angles and ideas, raising possibilities as to who had killed Mrs Mansfield and stolen the Eye of Gothmore. And with each clue he thought about, Ambrose felt a tension growing in his mind. It was like… like he couldn’t settle on a reason that someone would have for killing an innocent old lady when they could have simply stolen the Eye of Gothmore and gotten away with it. All this uncertainty was pulling at his mind, causing him to feel a sort of…

  Turmoil.

  Yes, that was it. Turmoil. That snake in the grass, that feeling when one’s heart simply doesn’t agree with one’s mind. Ambrose rarely felt it when he had Percy around. He could simply talk things through with his partner, and Percy would reflect back to him in simple words what he was thinking. But the closest thing here at Mansfield Manor was Zhan. Zhan, with his religious fervour and dangerous ideas. He was a man that was hard to trust. Yes, trust was the issue.

  I don’t want to believe it. Ambrose reflected on the theory that had been circulating in his mind. He thought over the evidence again and again, mentally walking the corridors of the Manor. In his mind, he ducked into the secret passageway that led to the Guest House, opened the kitchen pantries, and looked around the paths that connected the grounds. Where is the missing evidence I need? Ambrose was conflicted. Turmoil was his tormentor there in the darkness, without a soul to share his thoughts with. He closed his eyes and attempted to sleep.

  Hours later, he awoke to a feeling that the worst might be yet to come. A killer was loose in the house, and there was nothing to prevent him striking again.

  Turmoil.

  But what if he was wrong?

  Even worse: what if I’m right?

  Sleep came again, fitful and frightful. When morning arrived, the Inspector awoke with a start and steeled his mind. No, Percy wasn’t going to be able to help him solve this case. He would keep Zhan close by his side instead. Today was the day.

  One day to find a thief. One day to stop a killer. One day to arrest an assassi
n.

  Breakfast was a sullen affair. The only conversation that occurred regarded the improving weather, which did little to ease Ambrose’s mind. With the snow starting to melt, it wouldn’t be long before the assassin could get away, or at least smuggle the Eye of Gothmore out, leaving no evidence behind.

  Looking around the table, only a few people had made it to the morning meal. Zhan and The Colonel, true to their training as soldiers, were eating a hearty breakfast and quietly discussing plans for the day. Molly and Felicity, on the other hand, were looking forlorn as they ate silently. Ambrose decided to try and distract them from the situation with questions about The Freeze’s effect on Traville’s social scene.

  Felicity barely responded, but Molly provided some basic pointers at least – warm scarves and hats normally were in fashion during the cold season.

  “So, Inspector, are you any closer to finding this mysterious murderer?” Molly asked.

  Ambrose shook his head. “I’m afraid not,” but surely you knew that. “I’ll resume my questions with the guests later today; I am still confident that I’ll bring the criminal behind this to justice.” I hope.

  Molly nodded and batted her eyes gently. “Are you planning to interrogate me, Inspector?”

  “Only if the evidence requires me to,” said Ambrose, blushing a little. She certainly is a beauty.

  Before Molly could continue, the house servants began clearing breakfast away. Ambrose jumped at the chance to be excused, fearing further conversation with Molly would leave him redder still. He headed out into the hallway to find Mystico. Unless he’s disappeared. As Ambrose reached the entrance hall, a scuffling sound burst out behind him and he turned to find The Colonel following him.

  “Couldn’t let you look into things further without protection, my boy.” He patted the hilt of his sword. Ambrose smiled – he would prefer to work alone, but something about The Colonel’s gaze told him that refusing the offer wasn’t an option.