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

by I H Laking

  “Very well,” said Ambrose. “There’s a group of young men I want to talk with first off, and I believe we’ll find them enjoying the morning a little too much.”

  Ambrose and The Colonel moved through the Entrance Hall quickly, bidding good morning to Clunk, who misjudged his bow once again, shifting a painting off balance and sending a vase crashing into the wall. Ambrose shook his head as he turned the corner and knocked on the door to the Billiards Room.

  “Come on in!” The enthusiastic voice of Sam Silcox arose from within.

  Ambrose opened the door and had to wave a large cloud of cigar smoke away from his face. Once inside, he could make out three figures standing around the billiards table – Lucas Lamarre, Mystico, and of course, Sam. Each of them held a billiards cue, and Lucas was puffing on an enormous cigar that was about double the size of a man’s fist. Ambrose opened his mouth to speak, but he was struck by how ridiculous the whole scene was. Thankfully The Colonel was perfectly articulate.

  “WHAT IN THE BLUE BLAZES DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING SMOKING A CIGAR IN THIS ROOM, IN THIS HOUSE, AT THIS TIME OF THE MORNING? YOU’RE LUCKY I DON’T THROW YOU OUT INTO THE SNOW AND LET THE DOGS CHASE YOU BACK TO TRAVILLE, YOU BLIND BUNCH OF BANDITS! PUT. THAT. OUT. THIS. INSTANT!”

  The Colonel walked over to Mystico, grabbed the cigar, and thrust it into a pitcher of water that was sitting on a side table. The three men stood with their mouths open – Sam looked like he was about to object, but Lucas caught his eye and shook his head. He looked up at Ambrose.

  “Lovely to see you this morning, Inspector. Anything we can help you with, or were you just leaving?”

  Ambrose was unmoved by the intent of Lucas’ question. “You can help, yes. Perhaps your first helpful act would be telling me why you’ve decided to raid a cigar from Mr Mansfield’s prized collection.”

  Lucas blinked slowly and waved some of the haze away. “We thought it best to honour the memory of Mrs Mansfield with one of her late husband’s cigars. Nothing wrong with remembering the dead, is there Inspector?”

  “No, certainly not – but there are more legal ways to remember someone other than stealing expensive cigars.”

  None of the men were looking up now. They studied the ground intently, looking anywhere but at The Colonel or Ambrose, who was now satisfied that he had told them off enough.

  “Now that we’ve called out your actions, I need some answers.”

  “We’ve given you answers.” Lucas looked up and locked eyes with Ambrose. His voice was growing more menacing now. “And if you want more, you’ll need to do better than bringing along a tired warrior with a short fuse.”

  He barely finished his sentence before he caught a full pitcher of water to the face, followed by a fist to his gut. Such was The Colonel’s speed that Lucas never saw him coming.

  “I suggest a touch more respect for your elders, boy.” The Colonel turned and walked over to block the door, leaving Lucas winded on the ground.

  “I’m not much for physical force, but I trust we won’t need any more to have a good conversation.” Ambrose hated violence, but with these young men, it appeared to be working. “Now tell me – and I want the whole truth – why are you here?”

  It was Sam who broke. “Please Inspector, enough. We didn’t come here to land in any trouble.”

  “And why did you come here, Sam?” Ambrose raised his eyebrows.

  “We came to rig the auction.”

  “No!” gasped Lucas from the floor. “You don’t have to tell him anything!”

  “Oh, come off it,” retorted Sam. “Someone’s dead, Lucas. We owe it to Mrs Mansfield to do more than pinch her stuff now she’s gone.”

  “Touching,” said Ambrose, with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  Sam shrugged and continued his story.

  “We heard about the auction months ago, and Lucas and I hatched a plan. One of our businesses makes household items, so we offered some products to Felicity to enter into the auction. We would get a percentage of the final price, and so we figured…”

  “… That you would bid against yourselves to drive the price up.” Ambrose looked over at Mystico. “But it couldn’t be one of you doing the bidding, and so you found someone whose magic wasn’t going to take him anywhere like Mansfield Manor, and you offered him the chance to make some quick money.”

  Mystico dropped his head. “To my great shame, I foolishly agreed.”

  “You should be ashamed,” Ambrose agreed. “But mostly at your own foolishness. These two smooth talkers bought you into a situation that’s well beyond your talents. There’s darkness at play in these halls, and you’re in the thick of it.”

  “Darkness, indeed.” Zhan’s gruff voice cut in from the hallway, where he stood beside The Colonel. “Inspector, these men are simple fools with simple schemes. In the East, we would whip them and send them on their way.”

  Ambrose sighed. Zhan had a knack for interrupting. “Yes, but even simple fools are capable of great evil, my friend,” Ambrose responded. “Is there a reason you’re interrupting us?”

  Zhan smiled broadly. “Yes, of course. Please pardon my intrusion, but I would beg a minute alone. A thought has occurred to me, and I believe it might interest you.”

  Even though his timing was poor, Ambrose decided it was better to find out Zhan’s thinking than to continue interrogating Sam, Lucas, and Mystico. Their motives were now laid bare, and there was little more they could contribute at this point. He looked at them standing sheepishly across the room.

  “You men have avoided making a silly mistake this weekend,” Ambrose said. “See that you never think up such a stupid scheme again.” Then a thought dawned on him, and he turned to The Colonel.

  “Colonel, perhaps these gentlemen would enjoy hearing one of your war stories – I’m sure you have many that involve silly choices by young soldiers.”

  The Colonel beamed. “Why yes I do, in fact one comes to mind from the marshes of Morandria, when we were trying to secure a place to alight for the night…”

  As he launched into the story, Ambrose edged past him into the corridor, where Zhan was waiting. The big Easterner led the way through the corridors of the ground floor towards the Entrance Hall, where Clank and Clunk were cleaning the pictures that adorned the walls.

  As Ambrose opened his mouth to ask the Mechs a question, shouting erupted from the first floor. Ambrose and Zhan made eye contact, and started up the stairs towards the source of the yelling.

  “That voice! It is the Jeweller!” Zhan exclaimed.

  Ambrose felt his lungs burning as they raced down the hallway. The shouting had stopped by the time they reached the door to Mr Bijonne’s room. Zhan didn’t bother to knock; he simply pulled out his scimitar and charged straight into the closed door, which cracked as it swung open.

  On the ground lay Mr Bijonne. A single wound across his heart was weeping red blood over his shirt, where a sword had pierced his chest. Ambrose dropped to his knees, but he knew he was too late. Mr Bijonne’s face had already turned a shade of green, and he had no pulse. His lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling.

  “A poison blade!” Ambrose exclaimed, thinking as quickly as he could – was the assassin still in the room? He looked up and spied the open bedroom window – no one would open their window by choice in this weather.

  Zhan pounded over to the window, where the curtains flapped in the breeze. He looked down at the ground outside. “Nothing! Who is this ghost that’s killing the guests?” he blustered as Ambrose joined him at the window.

  As he stared down at the white ground outside, and despite the horrific death of Mr Bijonne seconds earlier, two things occurred to Ambrose: firstly that Zhan was no longer even a remote suspect, and secondly that the killer had made a major mistake.

  “The ground. We have to see it up close,” Ambrose shouted as he turned and ran out of the room.

  “But I’ve seen it! There’s nothing there!” shouted Zhan as he sheathed his scimitar and follo
wed Ambrose down the stairs and outside. The air was freezing, and the snow was piled high against the paths, but nothing was going to stop Ambrose from reaching his destination. He thrashed and struggled until he got to the spot directly below the window. Stooping down, he picked up the object he had spotted from upstairs.

  It was a small black canister. Ambrose turned around and showed it to Zhan, who was puffing and panting a few metres away.

  “What. Is. It?” he asked between breaths.

  “This,” Ambrose said, “Is the missing piece we needed. Now come on, let’s get back upstairs before more chaos erupts.”

  Ambrose gritted his teeth as they ran. It was time to reveal the killer’s identity. But who knew what would follow that revelation?

  Ambrose stood before the gathered guests and house servants. Some sat on the couches of the main lounge while others stood about talking, waiting for him to begin. Ambrose cleared his throat as the clock behind him struck 10 gongs to indicate the lateness of the hour.

  Ambrose began. This was not going to be easy.

  “I appreciate you all coming to join me at this time,” he said, “I want to thank each and every one of you for your help in searching for the thief and murderer that has plagued this Manor over the past days. I believe that all of you have an interest, and indeed a right to know, who this individual is.”

  Nods and muttering spread through the crowd.

  “It may surprise you all to know that none of the house servants were involved in this crime,” said Ambrose. This time the nods were bigger from the staff, and the murmurs were louder. Ambrose held up his hand for quiet. “In fact,” he looked across the room, “The thief acted alone in all of the crimes that took place here.” More murmurs. “And there is a simple explanation for this. You may question how one person could evade suspicion so efficiently and move about so quietly. Well, this is simple – the thief is a member of the Assassins Guild.”

  Now the response was shock. Fear was written on the faces of many people in the group, except for Zhan, whose expression showed only grim determination.

  “This assassin has moved among us, talked with us, and even offered their assistance to me during the investigation.” Ambrose looked at Zhan. “I had to go to great lengths to ensure I knew exactly what was happening at all times; that is why I took Zhan with me, and got him to stand guard. I never let him out of my sight once my suspicions were confirmed.”

  Lucas spoke up. “I knew it!” he snarled at Zhan, “You foreigners. You come here to try and steal our treasures – to ruin our business! How dare you…“ Ambrose cut the young man off before he could continue.

  “Zhan is not the thief, Lucas,” he said. One thing Ambrose could never tolerate was judgement based on race – and in this case, the young man couldn’t have got things more out of line.

  “Indeed, I kept Zhan with me in case the assassin decided to strike at me. Even though I talked with the assassin, they never attempted to attack me. A fine warrior like Zhan tends to be a strong deterrent.” Ambrose turned his focus back to the explanation of the crime.

  “Several things guided me to the assassin from an early point. Firstly, they needed to have access to Mrs Mansfield’s food – not a hard task considering her eating habits. Secondly, they must have had a method to transport poison inconspicuously.” Ambrose held up the black container he had found beneath Mr Bijonne’s window. “This is the canister that held the poison. The assassin dropped it when they fled after striking down Mr Bijonne. When I found this, I knew I had the final piece of this puzzle.”

  The tension in the room continued to build. Ambrose knew he had precious little time left before the assassin knew they were discovered.

  “To tie this together, let me explain the final key to unmasking this assassin: how the Eye of Gothmore was stolen.” Ambrose held up the red clay he had found in the Guest House.

  “The thief used this red clay to jam the lock on the safe as it closed,” he said. “They also ensured that the door to the Guest House never shut properly with this same clay.” Ambrose turned and looked at Mystico, who sat sheepishly in the corner. “All this evidence seemed to point to a magician trying a cheap trick to conceal his attempt to steal the gem.” Mystico looked around uncomfortably, and Ambrose decided to put him out of his misery. “However, this wasn’t the case. You see, the thief never used the clay in the door – and this is where I began to get confused. They entered and exited the Guest House through a hidden passage, rather than the prepared doorway.”

  Ambrose looked at Felicity. “The fact is, the gem was stolen a long time before Mrs Mansfield went out to the Guest House and found it missing. She simply discovered her precious treasure was gone, fainted, and never woke up as the assassin’s poison moved through her body.” Felicity’s eyes were welling up with tears. Molly handed her a tissue.

  “This assassin had planned to steal the gem all along,” Ambrose said, “But they had intended to do so simply by using Mrs Mansfield’s key. They placed poison in her breakfast, expecting that it would work within twelve hours. When Mrs Mansfield stopped breathing in her sleep, they would take the key and steal the gem from the safe while the house slept, exiting and entering the Guest House through a secret passage. From there on, the evidence of the theft would point to the silly magician and his cheap tricks. When Mystico couldn’t produce the gem, everyone would assume he was to blame for its disappearance. As for Mrs Mansfield, her death would appear natural as the poison that the assassin used is nearly impossible to trace.” Ambrose paused to gather his thoughts. He felt his stomach churning. I’m not usually this nervous, he thought as he continued.

  “It was a simple plot, and yet it all fell apart for the assassin. They could have stuck to their plan, but impulsive opportunity changed their mind. When the assassin saw the clay on the safe lock, they recognised a chance to steal the gem early, and they seized it. That was their first mistake. Mrs Mansfield walked out to the Guest House, upset from her conversation over dinner, seeking comfort in the sight of her beloved gem. But alas, the safe was open and the gem was gone. As Mrs Mansfield’s strength deserted her, she collapsed, causing the poison to take hold early, and kill her. When Felicity discovered Mrs Mansfield in the Guest house, it set in motion a chain of events that led to the assassin’s second mistake.”

  Ambrose held up the canister of poison. “Their second mistake was to lose this canister. When Mr Bijonne inspected the Eye of Gothmore, his reaction was odd – anyone present would have noticed this. He tried to keep his concerns about the gem a secret, but the assassin clearly wanted to silence him.” Ambrose fumbled the poison over in his hands, looking at it intently. “Such a small thing,” he said quietly, losing himself in thought for a moment at what was about to transpire. He looked up again.

  “This canister used to contain Delphine, the poison that killed Mrs Mansfield. While it normally acts slowly, it can also be used to great and swift effect when applied to a blade – such as the blade that killed Mr Bijonne this afternoon. To keep the poison safe, a person would need a secure hiding place that was unlikely to ever be noticed. This canister tied all my suspicions together when I found it below Mr Bijonne’s window; it was the fingerprint of the invisible assassin, putting them at the very centre of this week’s crimes.”

  Ambrose cleared his throat. “But what am I saying? Undoubtedly you are all wondering who this fierce assassin is, to stay hidden amongst us for so long. Yes, we each appear to have pure interests, but in this person lingers a great darkness. Of course, unless I can prove this belongs to the assassin,” he held up the canister, “Then I cannot accuse them truthfully.”

  Inspector Ambrose drew himself up to his full height and took a deep breath.

  “So come, let’s get to the bottom of this theft. I think it’s high time that we all came clean.” With that, Ambrose started walking. All eyes in the room followed him. He stepped past Lucas and Zhan, and headed behind the couch to where the assassin stood, holding the
incriminating evidence.

  “May I take a look at your umbrella?” Ambrose asked her.

  She didn’t look up. Her hands gripped the handle tightly, knuckles white with tension.

  “No.”

  “I’m not going to ask again.”

  “Don’t do this, Inspector.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “You know that I can’t just walk away.”

  Ambrose looked straight back at her. “Yes, I know, Molly. But you know what you did. Now give me the umbrella.” He held out his hand.

  There was silence for a second as Molly held Ambrose’s stare. Then she held up the umbrella and swiftly drew back her right hand, producing a long, thin blade that had been hidden in the handle. Guests and house servants gasped and jumped back, creating a wide arc around the assassin as she stood there, tears rolling down her face at the discovery of her identity.

  “I cannot fail,” she said quietly; the words that always preceded death.

  Ambrose had to move fast as Molly’s blade whirled towards him. He rolled to his left as the sword crashed into the hearth. He then dove to his right, grabbing an iron poker from beside the fireplace and swinging it up to cover his face as a second blow came towards him. Molly’s sword glanced to the side and Ambrose jumped back from the assassin in order to give himself time to think. The guests and staff fled from the room in a chorus of screams, and Ambrose found himself standing beside The Colonel and Zhan, who had both remained to face the challenge.

  Molly’s face was now a red mess of anger. She stood in the doorway, framed in the light by the shelves that surrounded her as she heaved in breaths of rage.

  “Easy boyo,” said The Colonel as he drew his trusty rapier and sized up the opposition. Zhan had drawn his wickedly curved scimitar, and presented it to Molly in a challenge.

  “Come,” said Zhan, “Let us dance the dance of death.”

  And with that, the assassin was upon them.