Murder on the Moor

by Julianna Deering

“You might as well agree,” Drew advised. “There’s no use your going back out tonight. I’ll have Denny bring in your things, and you can turn in. We’ll talk over breakfast. Fair enough?”

  He looked as if he might protest again, but then he merely looked relieved. “Fair enough. And thank you.”

  Drew was silent until after Denny came to show Beaky upstairs. Then he sat on the sofa and settled Madeline at his side.

  “So what do you think?”

  There was a glint in her periwinkle eyes. “You want to go.”

  He chuckled. “You know me far too well.”

  “It’s been rather quiet since we were in Beaulieu. Actually, I didn’t think it would be this long before you stumbled onto another case.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  She pursed her lips. “What such thing?”

  “Stumble. I did not stumble onto this case. It has been thrust upon me.”

  “I see.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I never could leave poor Beaky in whatever muddle he’d gotten into at school. He was always good-natured about it, I must say, though he was bullied most abominably. I hate to let him be taken advantage of now. I’d at least like to know what’s going on.”

  Her eyes were warm as she smoothed the hair back at his temple. “And what do you think is going on?”

  He shook his head. “Hard to say at this point. I know what I’m afraid of.”

  “It’s his wife, isn’t it?” she asked, her expression suddenly bleak.

  “Sabrina. You never met her, but she and Bunny were an item for a short while. He was smitten of course, but even he could see she wasn’t serious. She enjoyed the attention, no doubt, and the parties and the clubs, and he was quite extravagant with the gifts, but eventually she moved on. Bunny dodged a rather costly bullet in that one, I’d say.”

  “And now she’s married to Beaky.” She glanced toward the stairs. “After he’d come into the family money.”

  “Precisely. Old Beaky’s a good fellow, kindhearted, reliable. I daresay he’d stick by a friend, or a wife, through the worst of times, but, well, you’ve seen him. He hasn’t got much personal appeal. Not for a woman like that.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s hard to say what makes someone attracted to someone else. It’s not always what you’d think.”

  “True,” he admitted. “I haven’t seen her more than three or four times, and that was before we went to Beaulieu. It’s not fair to make assumptions with no facts, is it?”

  She tapped his lips with one slender finger. “And you want to be fair.”

  He kissed her finger and then gave her a questioning look.

  For a moment she looked reluctant, and then she grinned. “Let’s do it.”

  Two

  I’m freezing,” Madeline whispered, huddled up next to Drew in the front seat of Beaky’s Bentley.

  Drew tightened his arms around her. “Perhaps we should have taken our own car.”

  “No.” She glanced toward the telephone box, where Beaky was making a call. “It didn’t seem right to have him make that long drive by himself again. And he’s so happy to have us.”

  “Shouldn’t be much longer. We’re nearly in Harrogate and I think Bunting’s Nest isn’t too many miles farther on, and the Lodge after that. And there, my darling, there shall be a blazing fire and tea and toast and after that a hot bath and then a fine dinner and finally a warm bed.”

  She looked at him with helpless wide eyes. “You don’t suppose we’ll get there and find a baleful old housekeeper with nothing to give us but barely warm gruel while her almost-deaf old husband quotes Old Testament fire and brimstone at us because I have on lipstick, do you? And there’ll be dogs and pigs sleeping in the dining room, which is the only room in the house with a smoky fire already laid. And after the gruel, we’ll be taken up to a drafty old bedroom with damp sheets and ice in the washbasin.”

  “Yes, yes,” he said dismissively. “And there will be no indoor plumbing or electricity or even gas laid on. And Beaky will, of course, have a mad wife up in the attic, though she’s bound to roam the corridors at night, setting fires and such, and signaling to escaped axe murderers and mental patients.”

  She giggled and snuggled against him. “So long as I have you to protect me, I suppose that will be all right, too.”

  “Bad connection,” Beaky said as he slid behind the wheel once again. “But it’s all arranged. I’ve told Miss Windham to have tea waiting when we get in. Sabrina’s taken Raphael walking, but they should be back before us, at any rate.”

  “I’m eager to meet them both,” Madeline said. “Does she know we’re coming?”

  Beaky started the engine and then eased back onto the road, not looking at her.

  “She doesn’t, I take it,” Drew said.

  Beaky still stared at the road, but he raised his voice to be heard over the clatter of the engine. “We . . . discussed having you come up, Drew. She thought it might not be a good idea. I told her I had some business I had to see to in London, and that was true, but I took care of it yesterday before I came out to Farthering St. John.” He glanced over at Drew and Madeline. “I didn’t think it would hurt to talk to you about coming. Once you’re there, I’m sure she won’t mind. She’ll like you, Madeline, I’m sure of it. There aren’t that many ladies for her to socialize with around the Lodge. Not on her level, you know. Not like you.”

  Madeline patted his arm. “I’m sure we’ll be fine friends. And how did the two of you meet?”

  “Well, uh, looking back on it, I suppose it looks rather awkward. Her father was one of Uncle’s business partners. She came with him to Uncle’s memorial service and we got chatting and well . . .” Beaky shrugged, looking blissfully foolish. “I never thought she’d accept, you know, not after only a month, but she did.”

  “Right after your father died,” Drew said quietly. “And you were married two months later.”

  “Two and a half,” Beaky corrected. “And not an instant too soon, if you ask me. I don’t know how I ever did without her.”

  Madeline’s smile was warm. “I think she got quite a catch herself.”

  Beaky’s ears turned as red as his hair. “I don’t know about that. But, um, well, we’ve gotten on rather well until recent events. I spent most of my holidays up at the Lodge when I was growing up, but she’s not really accustomed to country life, especially in such a remote place on the moor. I’m sure she’ll grow used to it in time. And we do go down to London now and again, dancing and dining and shows and that.”

  Drew nodded. “Tell me about the vicar. You say there’s no motive for the murder?”

  “Nothing anyone can figure, poor man. He’d been vicar here since my father and his brothers were young. Well before the war at least. Hadn’t any money, of course. No children, and his wife had passed on ages ago. Fairly much all he had was his parish and his memories.”

  “Pity. Do they know where he’d been before he was killed?”

  “That’s the odd bit of it,” Beaky said. “It was a nasty night. His housekeeper said she’d left him at home in front of his fire, eating her potato soup and listening to Ray Noble on the wireless. She couldn’t imagine him getting out again before morning.”

  “And no one saw him going to the church or talking to anyone?”

  “No.” Beaky slowed at a signpost and took the road turning northeast. “It wasn’t till after dawn the next morning that he was found there on the steps.”

  Drew considered for a moment. “There haven’t been any other unexplained murders, have there? I mean in these past few weeks you’ve noticed things being odd.”

  “Good heavens, no. In Bunting’s Nest? I daresay there hasn’t been anything worse than poaching here for the past fifty years.”

  Drew nodded, not quite sure he believed him.

  “But what does your wife say?” Madeline asked. “Who would be following her out on the moor? And why?”

  Beaky winced slightly. �
�I’m not entirely sure there is anyone, to be honest. Not that I think Sabrina isn’t telling me the truth. She’s not the type to lie, you know. But she has been rather nervous lately, and she is new to the moor. I know when I used to wander about there when I was a boy, and with the mists and the sounds of the wind and the loneliness, my imagination would run wild. I couldn’t tell you how often I hared back to the house with my heart in my mouth because I’d seen a headless ghost or a white lady or man with a hook for a hand. Uncle, God bless him, would listen to all my wild tales and then tell me about what he and his brothers had seen playing out on the moor when they were boys. Then he’d give me a handful of Peace Babies from the jar on his desk to settle my nerves.”

  “Sounds like a grand fellow,” Drew said. “Even if he did go to Cambridge.”

  Madeline frowned at him. “That’s all very nice, but I’m pretty sure Mrs. Bloodworth is not a little boy of ten. Do you really think she’s just imagining everything?”

  “Not everything,” Beaky admitted. “There are things I’ve seen for myself, but Delwyn tells me it’s just poachers. He claims he’ll weed them out before long, as well.”

  Drew nodded. “He’s your gamekeeper, I expect.”

  “Precisely. Took over for Mr. Caswell about two years ago, I’m given to understand. I expect Uncle wanted a younger man, someone who could get about the land and really see what was going on. Anyway, he knows his job well enough, so I don’t have to. And I’d think he’d know a bit more about the moor than my London-bred wife, though I haven’t gone so far as tell her that.”

  By the time they wound their way through Bunting’s Nest, there was a drizzle of cold rain. When they actually reached Bloodworth Park Lodge, it was a veritable downpour. It was impossible to see much of the house in the storm, but just as Drew had predicted, awaiting them inside was a warm fire and the intoxicating aroma of hot tea.

  “Glad to see you’ve made it, sir. Just as the storm’s hit, as well. Mr. and Mrs. Farthering, do come in, if you please.”

  A pair of maids took their sodden hats and coats, and sturdy, middle-aged Miss Windham sat them down before the sitting room hearth and poured them tea.

  “Just the thing,” Beaky said, sitting in an overstuffed armchair that was clearly his own special province. “And Mrs. Bloodworth?”

  The housekeeper’s brow furrowed. “She hasn’t come in, sir. Johnson’s boy’s gone out looking for her.”

  “What?” Beaky leapt to his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me that right away?”

  “It had only begun to get bad just before you arrived, sir. But we thought madam might have lost her way and all and sent young Will right out.”

  Drew gave Madeline a reassuring pat on the hand and then stood, too. “Perhaps you and I had better have our coats again, Beaky, old man.”

  Before Beaky could do more than open his mouth, a door banged open somewhere in the back of the house, accompanied by the shriek of the wind and the high yips of a small dog.

  “Oh, thank God,” Beaky breathed. “Sabrina!”

  He darted out of the room with the flustered housekeeper behind him. Drew and Madeline followed them through the corridor and into a large stone-floored kitchen. Sitting before the roaring hearth fire was a slight figure with a man’s wool coat bundled over her own and with her bobbed blond hair wet and slick against the back of her slender neck. Her still-yipping terrier capered around her feet. The dog bolted toward Beaky and then, seeing two strangers, began growling and barking furiously.

  Beaky held up a forefinger. “Raphael. No.”

  His growl turning into a whimper, the little dog sank down at Beaky’s feet, still with a welcoming wiggle in his hindquarters as Beaky leaned over to pat his bedraggled head.

  “Oh, don’t scold him, Beaky.” Sabrina Bloodworth looked at her husband with dark, wide eyes. “We’ve had enough of a fright already, haven’t we, Raffie?”

  With a panting doggy smile, the terrier leapt into her lap and licked all over her already wet face.

  “Allow me, madam,” Miss Windham said, taking the dog from her as Beaky came to her side. “It’s time he had his supper.”

  She carried the squirming terrier into what Drew assumed was the pantry and shut the door. There was a moment of muffled barking and scratching, and then it quieted, no doubt once Raphael was given his dinner.

  Beaky stroked one hand down his wife’s wet hair. “You had us worried.”

  She shrugged, pulling away from him just the slightest bit, smiling apologetically at Drew as she did. “I see he dragged you up here after all, Mr. Farthering. It is good of you to come. I suppose this is Mrs. Farthering.”

  “Madeline,” Madeline supplied. “And we’re happy to help however we can.”

  “If we can, Mrs. Bloodworth,” Drew said with a slight bow, and then he turned his attention to the lanky man slouching against the kitchen door in just his shirtsleeves, wet to the skin, his coat no doubt the one wrapped around the girl’s shoulders. “I’m glad Will found you without much trouble.”

  The man straightened and touched the brim of his flat cap, his eyes dark and wary in his swarthy face. “Beg pardon, sir, but Will’s gone back to bring in the sheep. I’m Delwyn, gamekeeper here at the Lodge.”

  There was a Welsh lilt to his name and his accent and the wildness of the mountains in the tangled mane of dark hair, wet and clinging to his neck.

  “Lucky thing you found Mrs. Bloodworth when you did then,” Drew said.

  The gamekeeper looked more than a bit smug. “No luck, sir. I happened to see the lady out walking a bit before. When the weather turned so all of a sudden, I thought I’d best make sure she made it back to the Lodge.”

  “You have our thanks,” Beaky told him, looking fondly at his wife.

  “Just my job, sir, and happy to do it.” Once more the gamekeeper touched his cap. “Now if you’ll all pardon me, I’ll get back to it.”

  “Your coat.” Sabrina shrugged out of the dark plaid wool, revealing a stylish if impractical cape in cream-and-black houndstooth check.

  “You’ll need it out there, Delwyn,” Beaky said, handing the garment to him. “I can’t say the storm hasn’t turned even worse now.”

  “At least it’s had a nice warming,” Delwyn said, grinning as he slipped into the coat. He pulled up his collar and, head ducked low, vanished into the driving rain.

  “Are you all right?” Beaky asked his wife once the man had gone. “Tell me what frightened you.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She put a hand to her flushed cheek, darting a quick glance at Drew. “Really, Beaky, I don’t know if it’s right to bother your friends with my foolishness.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Madeline said, briskly cheerful. “How’s my husband going to get to play detective if you don’t let him take your case?”

  The merest hint of a smile crept onto Sabrina’s face. “Well, if you’re sure.”

  “We would like to know what frightened you,” Drew said. “Delwyn said he’d seen you walking earlier and—”

  “And you ought to let her change into something dry before you start asking questions,” Madeline said.

  “Right as always, darling.”

  “That’s all right.” Sabrina took off her cape and draped it over an unoccupied chair. “I’m dry enough now, though I’m simply perishing for some tea.”

  “Miss Windham had just brought it into the sitting room when you came in,” Beaky said, offering her his hand. “Shall we see if it’s still hot?”

  Fortunately, it was. Hot enough, at any rate, to warm them all up.

  Sabrina Bloodworth huddled close to the sitting room fire. “I can’t seem to get the chill out of my bones.”

  “Shall I get you a shawl or something?” Beaky offered, but that only made her laugh.

  “How about my cardigan? I believe I left it in the library. A shawl makes it sound as if I’m one of the old cottager ladies, mobcap and all. Next you’ll expect me to knit scarves or crochet lace
.”

  There was a hint of amusement in Madeline’s eye. “I’m rather fond of crocheting lace myself. It’s awfully pretty on a collar or handkerchief.”

  The other woman merely looked indulgent as her husband hurried out of the room. “I just don’t have the patience for handwork. And I don’t like being cooped up inside for hours at a time. Even on beastly days like this one, Raphael and I must get out.”

  “You must enjoy the moors then,” Drew said. “Quite a change from London.”

  “Yes, it is. Not that we don’t get into the city from time to time. No reason we can’t enjoy both.”

  “Not at all. Madeline and I often drive up. My best wishes on your marriage, by the way.” He kept his eyes steadily on her. “Beaky’s a fine fellow, and he deserves a fine wife.”

  He watched her face, pleased to see it turn warm, though the eyes themselves appeared cold. His meaning hadn’t been lost on her.

  “And I’ve got the finest.” Beaky hurried back to his wife’s side and draped a heavy cream-colored cardigan around her shoulders. “Better?”

  “Much.” She picked up her cup, warming her hands around it. “I’m sorry to have frightened everyone. I didn’t expect the storm to hit so quickly, and then I suppose I got turned around somehow and headed the wrong way.”

  “I hear the moor can be tricky like that,” Drew said. “Beaky says there have been a number of unexplained incidents out there. What exactly have you seen?”

  Sabrina glanced at her husband and then looked into her tea. “This will very likely sound foolish. I know you already think I am.”

  “Of course we don’t,” Madeline soothed. “Even if it’s not what it seems, you still saw or heard something. We just have to figure out what it was.”

  The other woman nodded. “I can’t remember the exact date when things started happening.”

  “About three weeks ago,” Beaky said, pulling up his chair next to her at the fire. “I remember because I’d been to buy more sheep, and Mr. Butterworth always takes some to market the last weekend of the month.”

  Drew nodded. “So the end of September.”