by Jack Murray
Chapter 12
Christmas Day 1919: Cavendish Hall
The sun shone on Christmas Day. No clouds were visible in a cerulean sky. The snow was blinding white and the air was crisp as the household stepped out onto the driveway. Only Lady Emily and Agnes were missing as the Cavendish family, their guests and the staff made the short walk into Little Gloston for the Christmas service.
As they drew near the tiny chapel, the sound of the choir singing ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ grew louder. Kit walked with Esther and further ahead, Cavendish accompanied Henry. Mary was busy pointing out parts of the village to Strangerson. Kit could not help but smile as they passed “Nettlestone’s Village Store est. 1702”. He turned around to Mary and raised his eyebrow. She returned his look and winked slowly, ‘It was a true story, of course.’ she called out, smiling.
Sam, dressed in a natty tartan top, happily trotted alongside Kit until about half way when he stopped and resolutely refused to move. Esther happily picked up and petted him for the remainder of the walk, much to Kit’s disgust. Sam did not care, always happy to receive the attention of a beautiful girl, thought Kit.
They entered the chapel, which was named after St. Bartholomew. It dated back to 1659. The nave of the church contained barely a dozen rows of pews. All the pews had been filled by the villagers except the front pew which remained empty, clearly set aside for the Cavendish family. To the left of the altar were two rows of seats at a right angle to the pews. Behind these seats was a small organ. Here sat the choir comprising four elderly women and two men.
The stain glass windows were remarkably effective in blocking out light or perhaps were overdue a good clean, thought Kit as they entered. However, as the service began, the light began to stream through. It created a ray of light shining directly on the figure of Reverend Simmons. The effect of this and the choir’s singing was quite heavenly, and Kit scolded himself for feeling uninterested. His only hope that his good impression of Simmons would not be dashed by a lengthy sermon from the pulpit, where the Reverend would toss out fire and brimstone far and wide.
Thankfully, this fear proved unfounded. Instead Simmons treated the congregation to a short, heartfelt, but gently humorous sermon. It struck the right balance between the bittersweet joy of Christmas, especially for children, and the recognition that the recent wounds caused by the War would require a long time to heal. Kit nodded his head and felt deeply a sense of guilt for those with whom he had fought who had not made it back.
The service finished with several rousing hymns and soon the congregation was streaming out into the sunny cold. Cavendish made a point, after the service, of spending time with the locals and shaking hands. Both girls also joined him. Kit and Strangerson were joined by Reverend Simmons, who had had changed quickly following the service. He was wrapped up like he was ready to follow Shackleton across the icy tundra according to Strangerson, much to Simmons’ amusement. Curtis, meanwhile, led the staff back to the house to make ready for the afternoon’s festivities upstairs and below. Their day would begin to get very busy soon.
‘Beautiful day,’ observed Simmons.
‘Indeed, dashed cold though. I’m glad it’s a small village.’ said Strangerson.
‘They shouldn’t be too long,’ said Simmons looking at the three Cavendish’s chatting easily with different groups.
‘They seem very popular,’ remarked Kit.
‘They are much loved,’ confirmed Simmons. ‘The family has always taken its responsibilities seriously and the people of the village recognize this.’
Kit looked at Esther kneeling down to chat to a bunch of the school children. She was laughing with them. As she laughed she glanced at Kit. It was clear a thought had struck her. She leaned over to the oldest of the children, a boy no older than eleven or twelve and whispered in his ear, pointing to Kit and Strangerson.
‘Get ready, Strangerson old boy,’ said Kit laughing, ‘I think you’re on duty now.’
‘Yes sir! Permission to engage enemy?’ said Strangerson saluting.
‘Granted,’ laughed Kit.
Raising his arms as if he was scary monster, he charged forward in a frontal assault, causing the children to run screaming. Strangerson played his part, spiritedly, for the next few minutes. This brought hoots of laughter from the onlookers and won him many admirers.
-
Activity in the kitchen of Cavendish Hall was at an elevated pitch under the unruffled direction of Curtis. So much so in fact, Elsie had chased him out of the kitchen wielding a bread knife, to cheers from Devlin and Polly. Consequences would follow, warned Curtis, as he adjusted his waistcoat and tie at the top of the stairs leading to the hall.
Miller groaned inwardly. He suspected he consequences might be directed towards him. Soon he heard Curtis shout down the stairs requesting his presence. With a wink in the direction of Polly he left to join Curtis. Arriving at the top of the stairs he recognized early sign of Curtis beginning to flap about something else. Probably the party was returning from church. Behind Curtis, through the open door, his assumption was confirmed.
A few minutes later they all stepped in and Curtis helped with coats, hats and scarves. Miller led everyone into the drawing room where tea and some light snacks were waiting. Miller tried to avoid Kit as he knew his master would be enjoying immensely his discomfort. Speaking to him would be unavoidable and he bowed to the inevitable, ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’
‘I believe everything is in order, Harry, thank you.’
Miller escaped as quickly as he could, aware of Kit’s half mocking, half sympathetic smile. Laughing to himself he swore he would find a way to get even.
Kit was joined by Mary. She smiled up at him and said, laughingly, ‘Am I right in thinking Mr Miller is displeased with the livery.’
‘Displeased barely covers it, Mary,’ laughed Kit
‘I can have a word with Curtis if you like, we’re not so formal these days,’ offered Mary.
‘No, don’t think of it. In fact, I’m enjoying every second of it.’
‘Ahhh, I understand,’ said Mary laughing. ‘Poor Mr Miller.’
‘Trust me, if the boot were on the other foot, Harry would be every bit as sympathetic!’
Mary nodded and then turned as Cavendish came over to join them. He looked at Mary, ‘Mary, would you mind if I took Kit away for a few moments?’
‘Of course.’
The two exchanged a look which intrigued Kit. Almost certainly it would be explained in the next few minutes. Cavendish led Kit out of the drawing room and they crossed the hallway to the library. They went over to the desk and Cavendish moved the framed photograph of the army battalion, over to one side.
‘I wanted to talk to you about one of the reasons why I had invited you this Christmas.’ Kit raised one eyebrow and smiled. Noticing Kit’s reaction, Cavendish smiled also, ‘No it’s not what you think, although do allow an old grandfather some hope on that score.’
Kit nodded and smiled, ‘Please tell me what’s on your mind.’
‘It’s quite serious, Kit or perhaps not. I cannot make up my mind about it and I’ve been reluctant to involve the Police of late.’
‘The Police?’
‘Yes, Kit. Take a look a look at this.’ Cavendish handed him an envelope which was addressed to him. Kit looked at Cavendish who nodded his permission to open it and look at the contents. There was a Christmas card inside. It read:
Happy Christmas. I’ve killed you.
‘Good Lord. Who would send such a vile message?’ said Kit, in shock. He glanced down at the envelope and then looked back up at Cavendish. ‘But this is four years old.’
Cavendish smiled. ‘Very good, Kit. I see you noticed the post mark.’
‘And it was posted in London. WC2. Not that this tells us much.’
‘Why do you say that, Kit?’ responded Cavendish.
‘The person who sent this may have had an accomplice who sent it from London, even unknowing
ly. The fact we’re speaking now suggests this person either didn’t make an attempt on your life or they failed.’
Cavendish reached into his desk drawer and took out three more envelopes. Kit looked at each one. Each envelope contained a Christmas card with the same typed message inside, only the post mark date changed.
For the next few minutes, Kit carefully examined each of the envelopes, inside and out. He set them alongside each other and made comparisons. At the end of this inspection, he looked at Cavendish, ‘I’m sure you’ve made all the same checks as I have. You’ve told the Police about this but either they or you decided it was some sort of tasteless hoax.’
‘Correct, I didn’t show the cards from last Christmas or this. It seemed implausible this fiend would try to carry out his threat. In the end I decided not to waste any more of the Police’s time.’
‘If you’ll forgive me sir, but this was unwise. It could be that the person who sent these letters wanted to carry out his threat but was dissuaded from doing so because there was, I presume, Police protection.’
‘Only for the first two years,’ admitted Cavendish, ‘After…’ he shrugged leaving the sentence unfinished.
‘True but it was still an unnecessary risk. Have you any idea who might want to send you such a wicked note?’
‘Kit, I sent literally thousands of young men to their death. It could be anyone, their families, friends, I don’t know where you would begin to look.’
‘That is a vast distortion of the truth, sir. You did not send anyone to die.’
‘Didn’t I? You must understand, Kit, you and I know what it was like in Flanders, in France. Decisions were made, orders were given. We knew we were sending those men to do the impossible and yet we did it anyway. There’s hardly a day goes by when I don’t think…’
‘Sir. We all do,’ interrupted Kit. ‘But if it were the case that these letters are the work of some madman bent on revenge for the War, then why you and not the politicians? We went sleepwalking into a war. We were ill prepared and poorly led. They made us fight. Not you. And what about the generals? They thought it was the Zulu War all over again. How could military strategy have advanced so little? How could they not have understood how deadly armaments were becoming? They had us walk into machine gun fire. No sir, this has to be different. Specific.’
‘But who? I can’t think of enemies outside of the War.’
‘Let’s start from the household. Is there anyone in the household who could possibly have a grudge against you?
‘I don’t think so. Apart from Devlin, they’ve all been with us for years. Curtis, Miss Buchan and Elsie were here before we had the boys. They were broken hearted, we all were. Polly came to us just before the War. She’s still a child now.’
‘Devlin was in the War also. He served under John. Decorated a few times too. The Irish were great fighters,’ acknowledged Cavendish.
‘I know, sir.’
‘Besides which, he only came to us last year,’ added Cavendish.
‘How did he come to join your household?’
‘He wrote to me asking if there were any jobs.’
‘Did you know him from the War?’ asked Kit.
‘Not personally, but I checked his references, army officers of my acquaintance, and they all spoke highly of him. I needed a driver and a handyman. He demonstrated a good knowledge of motor vehicles and could fix things around the estate. I accepted him, and I must say I’ve had no regrets in doing so.’
‘How does he get on with the rest of the household?’
‘I believe he keeps himself to himself. Mind you, Curtis is not always the easiest of people. I shouldn’t like to work under him, a little full of himself. Anyway, I’m not aware of any dissent between the two of them or the other staff.’
‘And the villagers?’
‘Again, I can think of no reason there should be any bitterness towards me, personally, at least that wasn’t manifest before.’
‘Are there any new inhabitants?’
Cavendish laughed. ‘Not really. Some of the young men leave, some come back with a wife. Some of the women leave but rarely return. I should imagine it’s a story the length and breadth of the land.’
Thinking about seeing Cavendish walking in the grounds yesterday, reminded Kit about the cottage. ‘Do you have any staff who don’t live at the Hall itself?
‘Bill Edmunds,’ said Cavendish after a few moments.
‘Who is Bill Edmunds?’ asked Kit.
‘He tends the grounds of Cavendish Hall, but he doesn’t live here. He and his wife have a small cottage just over the hill. He lost his son in sixteen. I’m not sure of the circumstances as I was away then also. He was in another regiment.’
‘Oh yes, I think Harry and I saw his cottage when we went for a walk yesterday. Was he at the carol service?’
‘No, I think he rather fell out with God after he lost Ben.’
Kit nodded, ‘I can understand. Do you think he could’ve blamed you in any way for his son’s death?’
‘I don’t see why. I had no part in Ben signing up and he didn’t serve in any regiment I was associated with.’
Kit picked the cards up again and looked at the typewritten notes. Although he was hardly an expert, it looked like they could all have been written on the same typewriter. The quality of the type was poor, and Kit suspected the ribbon had not been changed since the first note was written. This could mean the typewriter was used frequently enough to deteriorate over time but not so often that it needed replacing. Sadly, there were no easily identifiable flaws in the type, however this was outside Kit’s field. There was no reason an expert may not be able to connect the typewriter to these notes at a future point in time should the individual be apprehended.
It was difficult to know what to do next. As no obvious attempt had been made on Cavendish’s life it was useless to continue asking the Police to intervene. Besides which, Cavendish was a military man who had fought in conflicts around the world. He was certainly capable of taking care of himself, concluded Kit.
Sensing there was nothing else to be done, Cavendish said, ‘Perhaps we should rejoin the rest of the party, Kit. I’ve think I’ve taken up enough of your time with this foolishness.’
They returned to the drawing room. Lady Emily had arrived bringing to the room a chill barely matched by the cold outside. Esther looked at her grandfather in the eye. Cavendish immediately understood to mean the situation was deteriorating due to Aunt Emily.
‘Emily, I’m so glad you’re feeling better. Happy Christmas,’ said Cavendish. There was a no question it was warmly meant, and it appeared to have an effect of the lady’s frosty demeanour.
‘To you also,’ said Emily generously. ‘Why have you been keeping this good looking young man all to yourself? I’m sure your granddaughters are missing him greatly.’
Cavendish resisted the temptation to look at the seventeenth century musket on the wall. Thankfully Kit proved his valour in battle had not deserted him following the War by taking Lady Emily’s arm, ‘Perhaps you could give me a tour of the artworks in the room Lady Emily. I should like to hear your view on them. Lord Cavendish and the lovely ladies have been scandalously inattentive on this matter.’
Lady Emily looked at him archly, suspecting she was the subject of gentle chaffing but not seeming to mind too much. Doing as she was bid, they began to circle the room looking at the various objets d’art.
Out of the corner of his eye Kit saw Mary mime pinning a medal on his chest. This forced him to choke back some laughter. Thankfully Henry did not see this. He was otherwise engaged with Strangerson in a discussion on tropical poisons. Kit tried to listen to this conversation but was aware that Lady Emily was demanding his opinion on a genre piece by David Wilkie. It showed a poor family mourning the death of an elderly grandparent.
-
Meanwhile, downstairs in the kitchen, Captain Curtis took a deep breath. He looked at his troops: Elsie, Polly and Miss Buchan. A qui
ck inspection of dress was followed by a final look at the food to be served upstairs. Finally, accepting there was naught else to be done, he lightly clapped his hands together and said, ‘Are we all ready?’
‘We are ready Mr Curtis,’ came the reply from Corporal Buchan.
Get on with it, thought Miller. Curtis went upstairs and banged the gong. Christmas dinner was to be served.
Chapter 13
Christmas dinner went smoothly, under the assured stewardship of Curtis, ably assisted by Miller and Polly. At the end of a splendid meal, Cavendish asked for all of the staff to come to the dining room to present gifts to them. Then the party toasted their hard work. Cavendish made special mention of Elsie and then announced the rest of the day could be taken to celebrate Christmas. Curtis made a short speech exuding pontifical charity for Lord Cavendish and the family. They left the room to warm applause and a hip, hip hooray orchestrated by Strangerson. Sam remained, against Kit’s wishes, with the party and was completely spoilt by the Cavendish girls. They were now, officially friends for life.
The party retired to the drawing room to share out the presents lying underneath the small Christmas tree. Kit was delighted to receive a signed first edition book by the German World Chess Champion, Emmanuel Lasker from the Cavendish family.
Strangerson was given a French army rifle dating back to the Franco – Austrian war of 1859. He was equally delighted with the gift and promised to try it out at the first possible opportunity. Cavendish happily took this as a hint to go shooting on Boxing Day and readily agreed although he suggested that the new gun might not be quite up to the job, even for someone as accomplished as Strangerson.
Henry also received a gun. It was difficult to detect if this gave him joy or not. Kit suspected neither. It would probably never be used although Strangerson, manfully, offered to give the boy shooting lessons. This appeared to please Cavendish and even Lady Emily, somewhat. Henry looked bored.
