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

by Jack Murray

  ‘Good idea Kit,’ said Strangerson, ‘Please do feel free to start with my room, Inspector. I’ve nothing to hide.’

  ‘Very good, Mr Strangerson, we shall do as you suggest. Thank you,’ said Stott. He motioned for Coltrane to commence the search.

  -

  The rest of the afternoon was taken up with a search of the guest rooms. Towards late afternoon an ambulance arrived to take the body of Cavendish to Lincoln County Hospital, overseen by Bright and Inspector Stott.

  The removal was an emotional moment for the family and the staff. Even Lady Emily, noted Kit, shed a tear. Henry remained inexpressive, but Kit sensed there was turmoil for the young man. He was to be the next Lord Cavendish, a title, ostensibly, he did not want, yet would be a source of happiness for his mother. Quite simply the young man was in an impossible position and Kit suspected there was more to this than simply a desire to work in commerce.

  The sight of their grandfather being removed from the Hall was too much for the sisters. Both Kit and Bright comforted the sisters, however, they realized no words could provide adequate consolation.

  With the departure of the ambulance, Bright announced he would have to return to Doctor Stevens. This was natural as Bright had stayed for two nights and there was nothing to stop him returning to continue his locum duties, as the roads were now passable. His reluctance to leave was evident as was the genuine sorrow on the part of the sisters at this news. For Kit, it prompted mixed feelings. The mutual regard between himself and Bright was plain but there was no avoiding the fact, there was rivalry also. Once more, Kit recoiled at thought of being jealous and tried to dismiss it from his mind.

  One moment encapsulated for Kit the suspicion Bright was also in a similar state of mind. As Bright bid the sisters and Kit adieu he said in passing, ‘All yours.’ Kit immediately understood this was probably as much a reference to the sisters as the murder case.

  It was clear Mary had picked up on the remark also and understood its import. Although she said nothing, Kit detected anger in her eyes. This made him feel both cheerful and guilty at feeling so cheered up. It acted as a reminder to him of her independent character. She would naturally resent any implied ownership, particularly on the part of two males in the herd.

  -

  Following the departure of the late Lord Cavendish, the sisters and Lady Emily retired to their rooms. Stott along with Kit drew Curtis and Miss Buchan aside to tell them about the need to conduct a general search of the staff quarters. Both readily agreed, and Coltrane was dispatched to start the search.

  Following their discussion with Curtis and Miss Buchan, Kit took Sam for his afternoon constitutional. As he returned from the walk with the little dog he saw Henry outside also. He called out to Henry, who stopped and looked at Kit with some irritation.

  ‘I’m glad I caught you Henry. I won’t keep you, but I wanted to mention a couple of things.’

  ‘Go on.’ Henry had not yet developed the art of disguising his annoyance well. The abruptness of his response confirmed to Kit his suspicions were well founded and that he could proceed with confidence.

  ‘First of all, condolences once more for your loss. I know relations were strained over the last few years, but I think one day you will feel a grief that perhaps you do not feel now.’ Kit could see the look of skepticism on the young man’s face as he continued, ‘I understand you used to spend the summer here with the girls. I’m fairly sure those were happier times. I know so much has happened since then.’

  Henry gave a snort. ‘And now I’m Lord of the Manor,’ he said with some derision.

  ‘Yes, but it doesn’t mean you’ve no say in how you live your life. I’m not just talking about working in business, Henry.’

  This clearly cut through to Henry, frowning he asked, ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I know who you’re going to see.’ Kit could see anger on Henry’s face and he added, ‘Before you accuse the staff here of revealing secrets, I can assure you they told me nothing. They respected your privacy. You may want to bear it in mind when this is all yours.’ He gestured to the Hall.

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure until I saw your reaction, it was instinct.’

  ‘I love her. I’ve loved her since we were children. I don’t want this damn title. My mother will just use this as a reason to stop me being with her. I will be expected to marry someone of my rank,’ he said scathingly. ‘A stable girl? It will never do. I can already hear her saying this.’

  ‘I realize it’s none of my business, Henry. The only reason for mentioning it at all was it came up when Harry and I were collating people’s movements prior to your grandfather’s death. I would recommend three things, if you are prepared to listen.’

  Henry nodded but said nothing.

  ‘Firstly, you should tell your mother. This is the responsible thing to do. It will show her that you’re growing up and ready to take control of your destiny. Secondly, I gather from the girls, Jane is very bright. You should encourage her to finish her education. This will benefit her whatever happens in the future. It’s in her best interests,’ said Kit with emphasis.

  Henry nodded as Kit continued, ‘Finally, you must respect that Jane is at a vulnerable age. I think you can understand what I’m saying.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing anything to compromise Jane.’

  Kit nodded but added nothing more other than to bid him farewell. Looking down at the little dog, he was aware Sam had been unusually silent during the exchange.

  ‘Was I too hard on him?’ Sam yelped in reply, and Kit took to mean, “Perfectly judged old boy.”

  They returned to the Hall, which was in uproar. Curtis was in a state of agitation when he saw Kit enter the Hall. He came running over and said, ‘Lord Aston, thank God you’re back.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Kit, seeing how disconcerted Curtis was.

  ‘It’s your man, Mr Miller, sir. He’s been arrested by Inspector Stott.’

  This news shocked Kit to his core. Regaining his composure, he inquired calmly, ‘Where is Inspector Stott?’

  ‘Follow me sir.’

  They went to the staff quarters and went to Miller’s room. Inside a dejected-looking Miller was sat with Stott, Coltrane and Mary Cavendish. Miller looked up at Kit and shook his head. He, too, seemed to be in a state of disbelief.

  ‘Inspector,’ asked Kit in an even voice, ‘What is the meaning of this?’

  Stott pointed to some cards sitting on the table beside the framed picture of Robert Cavendish’s battalion. ‘We found these in your manservant’s coat pocket.’

  Kit looked down at the cards. He didn’t need to read what they said. He already knew.

  Happy Christmas, I’ve killed you.

  Chapter 25

  It was just after five o’clock. Kit was alone in the library making a phone call. ‘Thank you. If you could let Mr Chadderton know that Kit Aston called and ask him to be available for a phone call tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, I would greatly appreciate it. Yes, if you could leave a note on his desk, thank you.’

  Kit angrily replaced the earpiece of the telephone. ‘Damn, damn and damn again’ he uttered between clenched teeth. Rubbing his eyes, he looked out the window. Harry was in deep trouble. If it turned out Lord Cavendish had been murdered, the combination of the threatening cards and the motive uncovered by Mary could be enough to send him to the gallows.

  As angry as he felt, he knew it was a waste of precious resource. He needed to be focused on proving the innocence of his friend. The anger would not go away, however. The look of regret on Mary’s face did not diminish the enormous disappointment he felt and the emptiness in the pit of his stomach. Of course, it was inconceivable she should withhold anything material from the Police. After all, he conceded, it was her grandfather who was potentially the victim of a murder. She had done what was right, yet he could not excuse her for this.

  If her findings proved enough to hang Harry, Ki
t knew he would never be able to forgive her. Tears of rage welled up in his eyes for the man who had risked his life to cross No Man’s Land to save him. The tears were not just for Harry, though. He felt a stab of guilt for the thought, no matter how fleeting, how this situation was coming between him and a person who was now uppermost in his mind.

  Outside the library window, it was evening. The rain was falling steadily, tapping persistently at the window. The snow lay in patches on the grass and the sky was black with cloud. Perhaps it was the sound of the rain and the wind, but Kit felt a chill. He tried desperately to concentrate his mind on a plan of action. Unfortunately, his options were in short supply.

  There was no question, in Kit’s mind: Harry was innocent both of sending threatening cards to Cavendish as well as murder. However, Kit recognized that even if the latter proved untrue, there would still be a case to answer on the former. A clever prosecutor could make it appear that the death of Cavendish by natural causes only forestalled an attempted murder. Undoubtedly this could sway any objective judge and might make sentencing harsher.

  Another thought added to Kit’s overall mood of dejection. The morning after the death of Cavendish, he had found Harry alone in the library. It was possible Harry had come to the library to retrieve the threatening notes. Just for a moment, doubt for Harry’s innocence crept into Kit’s mind. This intensified as he remembered Miller telling him he’d actually seen Cavendish on Christmas night when he came unexpectedly to the kitchen to retrieve his room keys. Harry was the last person to see him alive, aside from the potential murderer. This added to Kit’s sense of gloom.

  Hearing a commotion in the hallway, Kit went to investigate. Beside the Christmas tree stood Mary and Harry as well as the two Policemen. It pained Kit to see Harry wearing handcuffs. He could not bring himself to look at Mary, but he could sense she had been crying. Stott looked at Kit apologetically and said, ‘I’m sorry, sir, I must follow our procedures. I hope you’ll understand.’

  ‘I do Inspector Stott. It goes without question that I vouch for this man. He saved my life.’

  ‘So, I understand, sir. I will make sure he is treated well, sir. You have my word.’ The gravity of the situation was apparent to Stott and for once, in Kit’s eyes, he no longer seemed quite so comical a figure.

  Kit looked at Miller and said, ‘I’ll get you out of this, Harry. Count on it.’

  Miller smiled, ‘I’m not worried sir, we’ve come through tighter spots than this.’ Stott looked at the Miller. He was oddly impressed by the little man and was inclined to believe him innocent. However, for this to be true, it would require there to be a potential murderer loose in the Hall. This did not bear thinking about. Sadly, he concluded, it would be better if Miller did prove to be the author of the notes. There was some good news for Miller, however: no poison had been found. Furthermore, it was always possible, even probable, that Cavendish’s death would prove to have been by natural causes.

  The Police left with Miller. Mary and Kit stood in the hallway looking on. Kit closed the door as they departed. Turning around he looked for the first time at Mary. She wanted to say something, but no words came. She looked down, fighting back tears. There was nothing Kit could think to say to comfort her. It seemed like an eternity to Mary and then she heard Kit say, ‘Mary, I understand. You had to tell them what you’d found out.’

  She looked up at him and desolation was etched across her face. Kit felt his throat tighten at seeing her. The cavity of his chest seemed to shrink also and breathing became shallow and difficult. Finally, he managed to say, ‘I need to think, if you’ll excuse me.’

  As he went past her up the stairs, she managed to say faintly, ‘I’m so sorry, Kit.’

  ‘I know,’ he replied resignedly before continuing up the stairs.

  -

  Henry knocked on the door of his mother’s room. He heard his mother answer then he walked in without answering her. Lady Emily was having her hair arranged by Agnes. Looking up she saw who it was and turned to Agnes saying, ‘Thanks Agnes, I don’t think there’s anything else.’

  Agnes set the comb down on the dresser and, with barely a glance at Henry, left the room. Henry sat on the bed and thought about what he would say to his mother. As ever, she pre-empted him and asked him what had happened. With some relief Henry updated her on what he had heard. It didn’t matter to him that he suspected his mother had heard all this from Agnes. The thing was to talk. As he was relating what he knew he became shamefully aware of how rarely he spoke to her. This was not entirely his fault, he knew.

  Conversation with his mother tended to be asymmetrical and seemingly directed towards his instruction. This was understandable given his future role as Lord Cavendish, but the yearning he had once felt to be “normal” had given way to indifference. At some point following his father’s death he had simply stopped listening or caring what his mother said. He was content to go along with what suited him and ignore the rest. He always accepted future tests of their relationship would come in the form of his choice of further education and Jane. However, these matters always seemed to be far away. Now they were upon him, he realized with a growing uneasiness that he was incapable of answering the questions they posed.

  Emily was as aware of the distance between them as she was uncertain of how to make it better. She was confident she knew best. But this was a message Henry neither understood nor wanted to hear. Henry’s clear preference to participate in the family business and the relationship with a stable girl seemed perverse to her. She could not fathom the appeal of either, when the only road he could take was to be the next Lord Cavendish, with all of the highly desirable duties and responsibilities associated with such a position.

  The death of Cavendish had upset her more than she realized. It brought home to her that Henry would inherit the title long before he was ready to do so. The responsibilities accompanying the title were significant, but they also brought rank and distinction. Without understanding either of these points, Henry would detach himself from the one thing Emily had craved for him since the early death of John Cavendish.

  More unexpectedly, she appreciated Cavendish, himself, had felt sadness at the family breach and was keen to rebuild bridges. There had been a time, long before the death of the brothers, when they had been friendlier, if not friends. When Robert had strayed, he had supported her and done his utmost to save the marriage. Yes, it had once been better. Now he was gone, she felt his loss in a way she could measure, never mind articulate. For the first time she truly felt a sense of aloneness. Even at the height of the family breach following Robert’s death, she had never conceived of what her world would look like in the absence of Lord Cavendish. He seemed immutable. His presence both maddened and reassured her. Now his absence was scrambling the sense of certainty she used to cloak both her life and Henry’s.

  Over a lifetime Emily had developed an ability to confront emotional challenges with a stoicism bordering on brazen disregard. However, this self-defense was proving unequal to addressing the void she felt as she looked at her son now. She broke down and wept inconsolably.

  Henry saw his mother’s face seemingly crumble. His reaction was immediate. He rushed over and held her for what seemed like the first time ever. As the sobs wracked her thin body, Henry became conscious of something he had never before noticed: how frail she had become.

  Chapter 26

  28th December 1919: Piccadilly, London.

  Charles ‘Chubby’ Chadderton awoke from a deep slumber. With some dismay he rapidly became aware of three things: firstly, he had a headache of life altering proportions; secondly, as he fumbled for his spectacles, he realized this was not his own bed; and finally, he became conscious there was a young woman beside him who, at first glance, was of unknown provenance, temperament and dimension. Upon locating his spectacles, he was able to confirm the woman was indeed, unknown and that she was not as young as first supposed.

  This presented a conundrum. It was far f
rom the first time in Chubby’s relatively young life such a situation had arisen. Over the years he had developed a well-practiced routine for dealing with such unwelcome circumstances caused by excessive consumption of alcohol. Being of a pragmatic streak, his solution was either flight, when the lady in question was in a state of happy unconsciousness, or, when not completely insensible, an expensive breakfast with promises, rarely kept, to meet again soon.

  Judging the former to be the best option he quietly attempted to extricate himself from the bed. This was not an easy operation. Despite his moniker, Chubby was, in fact very tall and quite thin. Consequently, he tended to move in ill-coordinated sections. Sadly, for Chubby, on this occasion, the lady he had spent the night with was not such a heavy sleeper as he had hoped. She opened one eye and looked at Chubby. Chubby returned her look with, what he hoped was, a winning smile. In reality, given the state of his pounding temple, he accepted that it might appear as more of a grimace.

  ‘Good morning.’ he said in as cheerful a voice as he could muster.

  The lady shut her eyes and groaned. She waved her hand in the direction of the door and said in a voice muffled by the bedclothes, ‘Quick, my husband might come back.’

  There were few words in the English language more likely to galvanize Chubby than the word ‘husband’. With almost Olympian speed he was dressed, out of the apartment and loping along Piccadilly, past Green Park tube station, towards Whitehall.

  A small clock overhead told him it was nearly quarter to nine. Just enough time for a spot of breakfast he thought, might settle the stomach. But just as this thought had struck him, he remembered something about needing to speak to Kit Aston at nine o’clock. It all came back to him now. His secretary had left a written message on his desk which he had picked up as he left to go to his club. Thought of the club made him groan as he began to recall the events of the previous evening. It was always the same, ‘Spunky’ Stevens would suggest an aperitif with some chums and before you knew it, this would turn into several bottles of cheerfulness and the rest would be history, if only he could remember.