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

by Jack Murray

‘The same person who may have killed grandpapa, Essie,’ pointed out Mary.

  Kit stayed quiet. What Mary said was undeniable. He mentioned some of his other observations including the how photograph of the battalion, which had been sitting on the desk, had been replaced on the wall.

  ‘This is very strange,’ observed Mary. ‘I glanced at it the other day to look for Mr Strangerson. It was probably the first time I have looked at it in years. It’s always just been there, in the same place.’

  ‘Yes, he’s sitting front row,’ said Kit. ‘I was looking for him, too. I wonder how many of them came back? Not many I suspect, poor blighters.’

  Mary held Esther’s hand and then looked at Kit. ‘Who’re you going to speak to now?’

  ‘Henry. Harry’s off to see Bill Edmunds.’ Kit thought for a moment then asked, ‘Can you tell me a little about Mr Edmunds?’

  Esther answered, ‘He’s been with us for years. He’s of a somewhat taciturn disposition, to put it mildly. Not the nicest person but not the worst either. The family has changed a lot since they lost Ben. Can’t blame them, I suppose.‘

  ‘Does he have a key to the house?’

  ‘Yes, I imagine he does,’ said Esther, ‘You don’t really think he would do anything?’

  Kit looked at Esther and Mary. He could tell how much they were putting all their hopes on him coming up with answers. Yet he found himself groping in the dark. If Cavendish had been murdered, then finding the killer would not alter the fact: he was gone. Any comfort would be momentary. At the moment, far from providing comfort and reassurance, he sensed he was adding to their unease and fear. Yet lying to them was indefensible and short sighted.

  ‘We can’t jump to any conclusions yet, Esther. I’ll continue to speak to people and see if something emerges.’ He stood up, indicating he would talk to Henry. Mary rolled her eyes, but Esther looked tearful. He desperately wanted to hold and console her.

  Chapter 19

  Kit walked along the corridor to Henry’s room. Several portraits, of variable quality, adorned the walls featuring descendants of the Cavendish family. Interestingly it was possible to see, in the more recent portraits, the family resemblance to the later Cavendish men, including the Roman nose. How different the sisters were, he thought.

  The house was unusually quiet, his footsteps echoed on the parquet. Henry’s room was at the end of the corridor. He gave a couple of sharp knocks without identifying himself. Inside he could hear the sound of a drawer opening and closing. Finally, after knocking again he heard disdainful, ‘Yes? Who is it?’

  ‘Henry, it’s Kit, may I enter?’ Kit waited to hear if Henry did anything else. There was no sound apart from his answer.

  ‘Yes.’

  The room was also very cold. Henry had left the window open. Kit remarked on how cold the room was. Without replying, Henry stood up and closed the window. He turned around to Kit and asked, ‘Better?’

  Kit merely nodded in response. Give him a little of his own medicine, he thought, and sat down. Henry also sat down. They regarded one another for a few moments. Deciding to unsettle him, Kit went straight to the matter in hand.

  ‘Your mother just confessed to murdering your grandfather?’

  ‘What?’ exploded Henry. ‘Never. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. It’s inconceivable.’

  ‘Do you mean confessing or murder?’

  ‘You know perfectly well what I mean.’

  Kit remained silent for a few moments waiting to see if Henry would add anything. Henry said nothing, so Kit added, ‘She says she poisoned him.’

  ‘Preposterous.’ snorted Henry.

  ‘Why would she confess then, or do you not believe me?’

  Henry regarded Kit silently then said, ‘I don’t know what to believe apart from one thing, my mother is not a murderer.’

  ‘As it happens Henry, I agree with you. Yet here we are. Your mother has confessed and whether it is true or not true, if Lord Cavendish was murdered and she persists in this claim, she will hang. I ask you again, why do you think she would confess?’

  ‘You tell me,’ said Henry sulkily.

  ‘I shall. She did it to protect you. She thinks you killed him.’

  ‘She would never say something so absurd.’ exclaimed Henry.

  ‘She didn’t have to,’ replied Kit. ‘For the third time of asking, why do you think she’s saying she killed him?’

  ‘This is getting boring. Why don’t you tell me as you’re so smart.’

  ‘Don’t patronize me you fool,’ responded Kit. Indicating the drawer, he continued, ‘What did you put in the drawer before I came in?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘I’m not an idiot Henry, nor is your mother. We both saw the book you took from the library. It’s in the drawer.’

  Henry face turned red. Sullenly he opened the drawer and took out the book, “A Treatise on Poisons” and put it on the table. He no longer seemed so defiant and rather than look at Kit, stared out of the window instead. Turning the book over in his hand, Kit spent a few minutes flicking through before placing it back on the table. The book was not for the layman. One look confirmed in Kit’s mind - this was written with an expert reader in mind. If Henry was able to read and understand such a work, it revealed how the young man had much greater intellectual capacity than he had previously thought.

  ‘Just because I was reading this book doesn’t make me a murderer.’

  This was a fair point, accepted Kit, but not one that would go well with everyone. ‘Why are you so interested in this subject?’ asked Kit. His tone was softer. He hoped it would encourage the young man to open up. It was important he understand how seriously this would go for him if it turned out Cavendish had been poisoned.

  More silence, save for the sound of the clock ticking. Finally, Henry looked at Kit. ‘I’m interested in toxicology, but not with a view to killing my grandfather. The last thing on my mind is being the future Lord Cavendish. I would happily pass on inheriting, thank you.’

  ‘Then why, Henry? This is serious.’

  ‘Believe it or not, I have grasped this point. The truth is, I‘m interested in this subject because my grandfather has a problem.’ It took Kit a moment to register that Henry was referring to Lady Emily’s father. Henry continued, ‘We’ve lost some of workers at the factory through illness. I’m sure it’s related to airborne poisons. I was researching this. My mother, you may have noticed, is somewhat antagonistic towards my interest in science, generally and my grandfather’s business, specifically. I didn’t want her to know.’

  Kit believed him. However, even if he was telling the truth, the appearance created a problem not easily be ignored. At best it was a circumstantial point in terms of evidence, but in a public inquest, it would portray Henry in a bad light. Looking at the boy, it was clear he was angry and fearful. Rather than scare the young man senseless, Kit adopted a different tack.

  ‘There’s no certainty your grandfather had been murdered. Furthermore, there is another factor that might discount you being involved but I cannot go into this at the moment.’

  ‘Really?’ said Henry scornfully, ‘I mean, it’s absurd, the whole idea.’

  ‘One more question. Do you have a typewriter?’ said Kit ignoring the derisive tone Henry had adopted.

  This bemused Henry, but he answered, ‘At the house, no. My grandfather’s business no doubt has one. In fact, many.’

  There was a knock at the door, Lady Emily entered. Henry looked up at his mother, he could see the eyes still red from the tears. For the first time in ages he looked at her with tenderness. How could he have forgotten, she loved him? The shame burst over him like a flood. There was anger also, the feeling that her response was driven by the belief he was a child rather than an adult. He wanted to hug her and scold her simultaneously. However, he stopped himself, partly because Kit was there but also because he was not sure how to console her.

  ‘How could you be so sill
y mama?’ said Henry, perhaps more angrily than he had intended. He softened his tone a little and said, ‘I would never do such a foul deed.’

  ‘I’m sorry Henry, it was when I saw that frightful book.’

  This was an opportune moment for Kit to leave the room and he bid them goodbye. The interviews proved nothing one way or another about the possible guilt of Lady Emily and Henry in Kit’s view. There was much yet to ascertain. One thing was now certain: he was hungry. He went down to the kitchen to steal some food.

  -

  Now fully protected against the bitter cold, Miller made ready to visit Edmunds. Sam looked up at him with a slight tilt of the head. It was evident the little terrier was bored cooped up in the house and fancied a little fresh air. Reluctantly, Miller gave in.

  ‘Little so and so. Come on.’

  Sam gave a yelp of delight and, for once, did not object to Miller putting a coat on him. The pair made their way out into the afternoon chill. Glancing down at the little dog Miller began to chat, ‘Let me know when you want to be carried.’

  The little dog barked in response. A few minutes later when they reached the deeper snow in the garden he barked twice. Although not a trained linguist in canine, it was apparent the little dog would need carried at this point. Pushing through the snow to the cottage Miller could see fresh tracks in the snow, leading from the Hall to the cottage. Someone had clearly been to the Hall and returned this morning. It would have been early this morning before Miller had risen. He was surprised no one had mentioned any visit. Perhaps no one was aware. This would put an entirely different complexion on the tracks. At the side of the house he also saw footprints in the snow. They seemed to lead towards the stables.

  They made better time across the field with Sam being carried. Within a few minutes Miller arrived outside at the door of the Edmunds cottage. It was a striking cottage from the outside. Clearly very old but well maintained. It was made from limestone that had darkened over the ages. Through the window he could see a roaring fire and two fairly elderly people sitting in front of it drinking tea. He knocked the old oak door.

  The door was unlocked from the inside after a few moments. A woman, who Miller supposed to be Mrs Edmunds, greeted him irritably. Up close he realized she was younger than he had first supposed. The hair was grey and the lines on her face betrayed not so much a long life as one that had been hard. It was clear she had once been a handsome woman but now he could only see loss in her eyes.

  ‘Yes?’ Well, she gets straight to the point thought Miller. The best thing in his view was to be equally to the point.

  ‘May I come in? I’ve come from Cavendish Hall. Lord Cavendish is dead.’

  The look of surprise on her face was genuine. She opened the door wider and walked away. Miller took it as his cue to walk in. In the background he heard Edmunds say, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Someone from the Hall.’

  Edmunds stood up to meet, if not exactly greet, the visitor. He was tall, easily six three or more. Miller suspected his willowy frame disguised great strength. Like Mrs Edmunds, closer inspection revealed him to be younger than he had first thought, around fifty.

  ‘Who are you?’ Clearly Edmunds was as welcoming as his good lady wife.

  ‘The name’s Harry Miller,’ he decided against attempting a handshake. ‘I’m the manservant of Lord Aston who is a guest at the Hall. As I was saying to Mrs Edmunds, Lord Cavendish died overnight.’

  The couple looked at one another. Edmunds turned away and went to the fireside chair and sat down. His wife joined him. Turning to Miller he said, ‘Sit down.’

  The cottage was small inside with barely a few seats and a dining table. On the wall was a photograph of a young soldier looking into the camera intently. There was little decoration in the house. It felt as though they were still in mourning. How many households across the country were like this, wondered Miller?

  Doing as he was bid, Miller sat down and began to relate more of the circumstances surrounding Cavendish’s death. The news that the Police would also be involved did not seem to disturb them. Why should this or Cavendish’s death mean anything to them, reflected Miller? They had lost everything they cared about. So many families he had seen were like this.

  ‘How did he die?’ asked Edmunds.

  ‘We’re not sure if it is foul play yet.’ explained Miller.

  ‘Why the Police?’ he continued.

  ‘There will have to be an inquest. He was here yesterday, we saw him come out. The Police will want to speak to everyone who was in contact with him over the last few days.’

  ‘I see. He always visits at us at Christmas.’

  ‘How did you get on with him?’

  ‘I liked him well enough.’

  Miller noted the emphasis on ‘him’ and asked, ‘But not his sons?’

  ‘Hardly knew them. They never had much interest in the estate.’

  Miller was not sure where to go on the subject of John and Robert so left it. ‘Did you visit the Hall yesterday?’

  ‘No,’ said Mrs Edmunds. It was clear she had to be lying but Miller saw no value in drawing to her attention the tracks in the snow. Edmunds shifted in his seat uncomfortably and there was silence for a few moments. They knew he suspected them of lying but it did not seem to Miller that the deception related to Cavendish. Again, it seemed better to move away from this topic.

  As they spoke, the door flew open. Miller swung around. In walked a young teenage girl. She was tall and slender like Edmunds but with striking green eyes like Mrs Edmunds, who she resembled. Miller thought her beautiful. Striding down towards her parents and Miller, she looked at her parents for an explanation. As garrulous as her parents, thought Miller. Sam began barking at the visitor for a few moments but then went quiet when she looked down at him.

  ‘A visitor to the Hall. Lord Cavendish is dead,’ explained Mrs Edmunds.

  Tears welled up in the young girl’s eyes, but Miller sensed something else also: anger.

  ‘Good.’ She turned and stalked out of the room, quickly followed by her mother.

  Miller turned to Edmunds for an explanation. Staring into the fire Edmunds remained silent, wrestling with how he should respond. Finally, he said, ‘She blames the family for a lot of things.’

  ‘The death of your son?’

  Edmunds looked at Miller in the eye. Then after a few moments he asked, ‘Where you there?’

  ‘Yes, I joined in fifteen,’ replied Miller.

  ‘You came back.’ It wasn’t a question.

  ‘I was lucky. Nearly bought it a few times,’ responded Miller, then added, ‘I’m sorry about your son.’

  ‘What made you go?’

  It was Miller’s turn to feel uncomfortable under the penetrating gaze of Edmunds. The truth, where Miller was concerned, lay somewhere between anger at the Germans and a desire to evade the law which was getting perilously close to catching him. Holding the gaze of Edmunds, he told the truth. Edmunds nodded and returned to looking into the fire. For a few minutes neither said anything. Finally, Edmunds turned to him and said, ‘I didn’t try to stop him. My son was a man. He chose to go. It was nothing to do with them, at the Hall. I don’t blame them.’

  Chapter 20

  It was early evening when Miller returned. Curtis told him he would find Kit upstairs in the drawing room. Without bothering to take off his overcoat, Miller bounded up the stairs and burst in on Kit who was sitting with Strangerson and Bright. All three looked up with surprise at Miller as he burst into the room. Kit caught Bright’s eye, he could see wry amusement on the Doctor’s face.

  ‘I say,’ said Strangerson somewhat taken aback.

  ‘My apologies gentlemen,’ said Miller quickly, ‘I though his Lord Aston was alone.’

  Strangerson looked like he was shaping up to toss a rebuke in Miller’s direction, so Kit sensed he should step in and rescue the situation, ‘Don’t worry Harry. I’m sure these gentlemen have faced far worse than over exuberant manservants.�
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  Bright laughed and added, ‘Well, there’ve been a few matrons that certainly put the fear of God into me.’

  Getting into the spirit of the joshing, Strangerson added, ‘A few aunts too, I warrant.’

  ‘Ye Gods. Aunts,’ agreed Kit. ‘I have an Aunt Agatha who could’ve had the Boche cowering in their trenches asking for their mummy had we had the good sense to use her in a direct assault.’

  The atmosphere relaxed considerably. ‘Join us, Harry,’ said Kit turning to the two other men, ‘if this is acceptable.’ Both agreed readily. ‘How was your visit with Edmunds?’

  Miller glanced at Kit who nodded back. For the next ten minutes he related most of the details of his interview but did not mention the tracks in the snow or about the daughter. When he had finished, Kit thanked him. Miller took this as his cue to leave. Strangerson stood up also and announced he would go to his room and he followed Miller.

  In the hallway Strangerson clapped Miller on the back and apologized for his reaction, ‘Sorry old boy, you caught me by surprise. Last chap who did that is lying in an unmarked grave in Cambrai.’ Both laughed and parted company as Strangerson went up the stairs.

  -

  Kit and Bright sat together and chatted on general topics, avoiding mention of Cavendish, the girls and the War. They felt comfortable in each other’s company and Kit hoped Bright was not implicated if something was amiss in the death of Lord Cavendish.

  The conversation turned to Bright’s future in the area. He was not sure how long he would stay but admitted that after an unhappy start with Doctor Stevens, he was beginning to enjoy his time in Lincolnshire and getting to know more people. His biggest problem was the unrelenting and single-minded desire of most of the mothers he met to marry him off either to one of their daughters or someone else’s.

  Kit laughed and replied, ‘Yes, I know a thing or two about these things. What was it Jane Austen said?’

  ‘Ah yes, well, unless I miss my guess, Kit, you’re unquestionably a man of good fortune. I wish I could say the same for myself.’ The thought appeared in Kit’s head, much to his regret, that the Cavendish girls could solve this problem rapidly. The same thought occurred to Bright also and he added, ‘Although I’m keen to avoid being marked as a fortune hunter also.’