The Affair of the Christmas Card Killer (Lord Kit Aston Book 1)

by Jack Murray

  ‘You know me, sir’

  ‘Indeed Harry, that’s my point,’ he said smiling.

  Kit stood up and went to the window to gaze over the grounds. The snow was falling a bit more heavily now. Over by the fountain he caught sight of two girls. They were walking together in the gardens, both laughing. It was difficult to see their faces clearly as both wore hats. He turned away from the window lest he be seen. Glancing back out again he was disappointed to see them moving away from the house rather than towards it.

  -

  Esther and Mary walked towards the Rose garden. Both were wrapped up against the cold. Mary looked up and felt snow fall softly on her face.

  ‘Do you think they’re looking at us?’ asked Esther.

  ‘No question Essie,’ stated Mary with a smile. ‘How much longer do you want to do this tour?’

  ‘Another couple of minutes and then we will go inside. I think by then we’ll have given them enough opportunity…’ Esther left the rest unsaid.

  ‘That should be three minutes before the frostbite sets in.’

  Esther laughed. They turned around and headed back towards the house. Both avoided looking up at the windows of the guest bedrooms, but Mary couldn’t resist asking, ‘Can you see anything from the corner of your eye? I’m too exposed.’

  ‘Yes! Mission accomplished. I definitely saw two figures. Good idea to put them there, Mary.’

  ‘You’re welcome. How are you feeling?’ asked Mary.

  ‘I don’t know. Lord Aston seems so impressive. I’m sure I won’t know what to say to him,’ she said doubtfully.

  ‘You shall, don’t be silly.’

  ‘Anyway, what about you? You assume too much Mary, he might prefer you. Then there’s Mr Strangerson. What of him, I wonder?’

  Indeed, thought Mary. What of Mr Strangerson? Unquestionably he seemed interesting but the quick view of him stolen as they came out of the car had left her unimpressed. Unlike Lord Aston.

  Her objective this Christmas was to help Esther. If she could do this, then it would please her grandfather and Essie. Better still, it would leave her free. She was too young to settle down. Maybe she might become friends with Strangerson who, at least, had travelled and done interesting things. But romance, no.

  She thought about her sister again. Mary suspected her sister was keen to be married. In fact, she had never denied this. Esther had shown Mary photographs of Lord Aston in the papers, but she already knew what he looked like. He was undeniably attractive. It seemed almost unfair to Strangerson who could not fail to understand the undercurrents.

  The only question was not if Aston would fall for Esther. On this, Mary was convinced. How could he not? Her sister was beautiful, serene and impossible not to adore. She felt a little less certainty about Esther falling for Lord Aston, however. Either way, she would make sure that he saw her to best advantage. With any luck Strangerson would not prove too much of a hindrance in this plan.

  They went back inside through the kitchen. Elsie was by the cooker stirring what smelled like a broth. Esther leant over Elsie, ‘Mmmmm, this smells delicious.’

  ‘Thank you, Ma’am. I just hope you eat a good lunch. You’re always so fussy about food,’ scolded Elsie. She glanced over at Mary. ‘And that applies to you too, young lady. There’s hardly a pick on either of you. If I know anything about men, there’s nothing they like more than a lady who they can hold.’

  ‘Well, we want to hear all about your experience with men, don’t we Essie?’ responded Mary.

  ‘Indeed, do tell,’ added Esther, leaning in conspiratorially.

  ‘That’s quite enough from the both of you. It may surprise you to know I’ve had my admirers. Now off with the both of you, I’ve work to do,’ ordered Elsie.

  The two girls left the kitchen smiling broadly.

  -

  Miller glanced at the two sisters as he went into his room. Although Lord Aston had mentioned nothing, he suspected there were moves afoot to launch an attack on his master’s bachelorhood. Both girls, even on his quick perusal, were stunning. Esther seemed to move as if on air. He had never seen so much natural grace in a young woman. However, if it were he, Mary would be his choice. There was a liveliness there, he thought. He wondered how Lord Aston would resist such beauty.

  Miller rarely tried to resist a pretty face. He was not tall or striking looking but he had a ready wit that he deployed to great effect. From an early age he had found women liked his cheek and he used it with relish. The room was small but seemed more than comfortable. Sadly, the bed was single. Even if he had wanted to disobey Lord Aston, it would prove very difficult in this room, especially as he could hear two people arguing in a room nearby. It sounded like Curtis and the housekeeper, Miss Buchan, were having a heated discussion. In such a situation there was only one thing a gentleman such as Harry Miller could do. He listened at the door

  ‘I tell you, I heard every word. He’s going to change the will. Wait and see.’ This was Curtis. When he had finished, he stood erect and gripped the lapels of his coat in the hope it might lend a degree of respectability to what was, in essence, gossip.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do about it. Whatever happens, young master Henry will inherit. He’s a hateful child. Like mother, like son,’ responded Miss Buchan.

  ‘They’ll throw us out. I know it. They hate us,’ concluded Curtis.

  ‘What will happen to us then?’

  ‘That’s the point, I’m sure Lord Cavendish said you and I would receive an income for the rest of our lives. I heard it.’

  ‘How much? Did you hear?’ probed Miss Buchan.

  ‘I wasn’t able to hear that part. I’m sure he knows what she’ll do. He’ll take care of us, just you see.’

  The conversation seemed to end, so Miller backed quietly away from the door. Lord Aston would find this of interest. Although Kit never sullied himself with eavesdropping, he had absolutely no qualms about using Miller’s intelligence gleaned from overheard conversations and general observations.

  There was a knock at his door.

  ‘Come in,’ said Miller.

  The door opened and young Polly, the maid stood, without entering.

  ‘Mr Miller, Mr Curtis has asked me if you would like to join us in the kitchen for a cup of tea and a briefing on luncheon.’

  ‘Harry, please call me Harry. Mr Miller seems very formal.’

  Polly seemed very unsure of this familiarity and glanced in the direction of Curtis.

  ‘Ahh I see. Well, Mr Miller it is then, but when the two old codgers are not around, it’s Harry.’ He followed this with a wink.

  Polly smiled and left him. Harry smiled to himself. No reason why Lord Aston had to know if he tried to have a bit of fun for himself. Anyway, what was the worst that could happen?

  -

  Curtis sat at the head of the kitchen table. Also sitting at the table was Miss Buchan. Polly and Elsie were busy preparing lunch in the kitchen. Miller arrived in and Curtis graciously motioned for him to join them at the table.

  ‘Tea?’ asked Miss Buchan.

  ‘Yes thanks, white no sugar,’ replied Miller.

  Curtis smiled with pontifical benevolence at Miller. This made Miller groan inwardly. With the whole kitchen now held captive, Curtis rested his gaze on the congregation and proceeded with his sermon.

  ‘I thought it would be a good idea if we discuss how we’ll organize ourselves over this festive period.’ Miller remained quiet sensing Curtis was not a man to respond well to interruption or, indeed, humour. There would be plenty of opportunity to create mischief with this pompous idiot before the stay was complete.

  ‘I was wondering,’ continued Curtis, ‘how long you have been in the service of Lord Aston?’

  ‘I only met him towards the end of the War. When it finished he got in contact with me and offered me a position as his manservant. Naturally, I said yes.’

  ‘Ahhh, very interesting,’ said Curtis. ‘You served in the same regiment?’


  ‘No, our paths crossed for different reasons.’ Miller did not seem like he was prepared to elaborate so Curtis moved the conversation on.

  ‘Have you had much experience of service at country houses?’ inquired Curtis.

  Miller laughed to himself. His pre-war experience of country houses had primarily been confined to safe cracking. He had enjoyed a moderately lucrative livelihood in crime before the War interrupted his career and diverted him onto another path. Lord Aston’s offer of a job had prompted him to give up burglary although, as he was to find out, his skills were to prove useful.

  ‘None, I’m afraid,’ replied Miller.

  ‘So, you have no experience of serving meals.’

  ‘None, sorry.’

  ‘But how do you manage with Lord Aston?’ asked Curtis.

  ‘He’s quite flexible. We also have an extensive staff at Lord Aston’s estate in Hertfordshire. So, my role is more as…’ at this point he struggled. How could he explain his role with Lord Aston? Being a manservant barely began to cover a range of duties encompassing safe cracking, detective work, rescuing damsels in distress, averting war and all within the last year. He struggled on manfully, ‘…more as a chauffeur, personal secretary, in fact anything needing doing.’ That does not require me serving luncheon, he thought ruefully.

  Curtis looked a little crestfallen. Seeing this Miller took pity and added, ‘but I’m happy to learn from you.’ He looked up at Polly who had been standing nearby. Yes, he thought, more than happy to help out my dear. He detected a fleeting smile on her face as she moved away again.

  This news seemed to perk Curtis up a little. ‘Splendid! Thank you Mr Miller. I hope you don’t mind if we retain a certain formality in our association? I would prefer to be called Mr Curtis and naturally a similar formality should apply to Miss Buchan.’

  Miss Buchan smiled also. Miller smiled back. He still was not sure what to make of this lady. She was in her fifties at least. Her face had a pinched countenance that did not so much suggest spinster as declaim it via the offices of the town crier. Despite this, she seemed less self-righteous than Curtis. He realized Curtis had still not finished, and he tried to re-focus on what was being said. It seemed he was expected to dress in Cavendish Hall livery and assist with luncheon and dinner. This was not good news. Lord Aston would rib him mercilessly about this. Above and beyond, he thought.

  Curtis was still chattering as he led Miller to a wardrobe containing the relevant attire. His worst fears were confirmed. It was every bit as bad as he had expected. He resolved there and then that his reward would be in the very shapely form of Miss Polly, whatever Lord Aston might dictate. Miller took the relevant clothing and went to get changed. Curtis had informed him that a light lunch would be served soon after Lady Emily and master Henry had arrived.

  Chapter 3

  Somewhat earlier than expected, Lady Emily and master Henry arrived at Cavendish Hall. The news was relayed via Devlin who had first spied them as he was parking the Austin Twenty. Sprinting from the car to the kitchen door he shouted, ‘They’re coming!’

  In these situations, leadership, calmness and authority are required. Curtis had none of these qualities in any great degree. ‘Oh my God, they’re not expected for another hour. Quick, all of you we have to get to the hallway,’ he said, waving his arms frantically.

  ‘We should let Lord Cavendish know also,’ suggested Miss Buchan.

  ‘Oh my God, you’re right, Lord Cavendish,’ cried Curtis looking decidedly sick.

  Curtis arose from his seat hurriedly, all parson-like dignity evaporating with every second Lady Emily made her stately progress towards the house. He reached the library just in time to see Lord Cavendish coming out. Out of breath from a combination of panic and poor conditioning, he was just about to relay the news when, Cavendish, seeing his obvious discomfort raised his hand, ‘Yes, I know.’

  Curtis nodded and tried to fix his hair in as dignified a manner as was possible in the situation. Meanwhile, Miss Buchan was already on her feet and waving for Polly and Elsie to join her. All four rushed up the stairs into the hallway, brushing past the large Christmas tree that swayed and rustled.

  -

  Cavendish had observed the arrival of Lady Emily from the library window. The snow had not yet settled on the road but would do in another hour. He glanced at his pocket watch and tapped the cover to make sure his watch had not stopped. It had not. They were early. No doubt hoping to catch him and the staff unaware. Then he felt a moment of remorse, he needed to avoid being unkind.

  Rising from his desk, Cavendish walked out of the library just as the staff squeezed themselves through the door into the hallway. He walked out the front door to greet his new guests. Lady Emily stepped from the car helped by her chauffeur, Godfrey. She smiled towards Cavendish and gracefully brushed away a snowflake that had fallen on her nose. Cavendish went over to her and gently kissed her on the proffered cheek. He glanced at Godfrey and nodded.

  ‘So good to see you again, Emily, my dear,’ he said, not without a stab of guilt. His only comfort was that she was probably just as dismayed to be with him. ‘Just in time as well, this snow is getting worse,’ he added, glancing upwards.

  ‘And good to see you Arthur. You’re looking so spritely,’ replied Lady Emily.

  Cavendish suspected this was intended to enrage him. To be fair to Emily, her aim was usually unerring. It had. He smiled back to her. ‘Oh, you know, Emily, I make sure to have lots of exercise and fresh air. I intend being around for a long time yet, my dear. A very long time,’ he emphasized.

  Fifteen all.

  And then there was the beastly boy, or, it seemed, the young man, now. Was it really a year since they had last been together? The extent to which he was growing up became apparent when master Henry stepped out of the car. Cavendish found himself having to look up into the young man’s blue eyes. He had grown a couple of inches since Cavendish had last seen him. They shook hands civilly but there was a limpness that disappointed Cavendish. ‘Good to see you too, young man,’ said Cavendish with a smile and warmth he surely did not feel.

  The height gave him a presence and nobility, even, he had previously lacked. The Cavendish nose was a Roman affair, but the blond hair, with just the hint of a curl, was definitely from Emily as were the fine features and clear eyes. He looked like he could be a Greek God. However, Cavendish detected in him a detachment, an unknowable depth that, as yet, had not resolved itself as either brilliance or stupidity. He was so unlike Robert at the same age.

  His father was always destined to be in the army. A sportsman from before he could walk. He was an intoxicating mixture of devilry and duty. Unlike John, who was more serious and bookish, Robert had reveled in the outdoors, questionable company and beautiful girls. However, this stopped short of outright self-indulgence, and, instead, made him a leader adored by his men from South Africa to the fields of France. He took risks, got into scrapes and bravely led from the front. Despite this, he seemed to be indestructible, until Cambrai.

  Henry abhorred sport. Although tall, he had not yet filled out. Where his mother had a complexion of peach, he had an unattractive pallor. Where Robert was self-assured and open, Henry was touchy and sullen. There was no hint of the quick humour and charm that had bewitched Emily and made Robert so cherished by Cavendish, his brother and his fellow soldiers.

  Cavendish regretted the lack of time spent with this young man. He realized it was incumbent upon him to make the effort. Clearly, he needed a new school. Somewhere he would be educated from the neck down. A greater emphasis on sport and outdoors would build the character that he found so difficult to detect in his grandson but wanted to see so badly.

  He would make an effort this Christmas. If Henry was to inherit the title and responsibilities that came with it, Cavendish wanted him to have the right leadership qualities. There was time yet, he thought. Events were to prove otherwise.

  ‘Grandfather,’ said Henry nodding. As he did n
ot seem inclined to add to this statement, Cavendish turned and took Emily’s arm, leading her into the house.

  ‘Our other guests have arrived.’

  ‘Jolly good, I’m looking forward to meeting Lord Aston. I’ve heard so much about him, very much the coming man, they say.’

  ‘I wouldn’t disagree,’ nodded Cavendish.

  ‘But who is this Strangerson? I don’t remember Robert mentioning him in letters to me. I fear I shall find it difficult to talk about the past,’ said Lady Emily sincerely.

  Cavendish shot her a look as she said this. For a moment he believed her. Had there been just a hint of a catch in her voice? In truth he had never quite trusted the motives of Emily in marrying Robert. However, if Emily’s motives were suspect, could he really criticize?

  She was also an heiress. Her family owned one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in England. The family’s wealth had certainly been a point in her favour as far as he was concerned. Even Robert must have considered this. She was a beauty also. Robert would certainly have been attracted to her, irrespective of her family circumstances. Something in her tone had suggested he may have misjudged her. Or maybe he had imagined it. As with Henry, Cavendish felt this Christmas could be an opportunity to start anew with Emily.

  They walked through the Palladian doorway. Once again, the staff had lined up to greet the new guests. ‘Lady Emily,’ said Curtis, bowing slightly and smiling deferentially at her and Henry. Neither acknowledged him or the other staff.

  Cavendish observed this interaction and it irritated him greatly. All of a sudden, the old prejudice returned. This was not how one dealt with staff. She was just a social climbing parvenu and always would be. Immediately he felt ashamed for thinking this. It was too easy to let sympathy for Emily evaporate. It was not acceptable to sit by and not address the problem directly. They had all suffered so much in the last few years, it was time to come together. However, Curtis, of all people, should have merited more from Emily. He stopped himself thinking more on this subject.