Kolney Hatch: Buried Secrets (The Secret of Kolney Hatch Book 2)

by Stefani Milan

  “Am I going home Aldous? Am I really going home?”

  21 The Tea Shop

  Petunia planned to meet Claire for tea at the shop just off Peddler Street. It was far too cold to feed the winter birds at the park, and it was all Petunia could do to take her mind off her experiences of the past few weeks. The police and detectives had been to her home repeatedly. Phillip was now a suspect in the murder of Agatha Bates. Petunia would not have left the house at all. After all, she could not bear to see people; she was afraid of what they might say. This tea shop was quite unpopular, so she knew she would be safe. Or at least she thought.

  “What kind of tea?” The surly waitress asked.

  “Oh...Indian, please.”

  Though Claire had told Petunia she would be a bit late, Petunia wished she would hurry. She looked around the shop to see a handful of people who seemed lost in their own thoughts. Petunia drew in a breath. Suddenly, she heard two women arguing.

  “But why must we leave, Mama? If he’s staying then why can’t we stay also?”

  “Because, Vivian, we only came so Aldous could see his sons, and then we planned to leave. Now as it so happens, Aldous has found out something quite important to this family, and he must stay longer.”

  “But I want to stay, too!” The girl was positively brattish, Petunia decided.

  “Vivian, I won’t hear another word.”

  “But, Mama, we won’t be coming back here again, at least not for a long time, and I wish to be cultured when I arrive home. I want to tell people about my travels to London and all that I’ve seen. Roger could take me around and then when he comes to America...”

  “Absolutely not! Those boys have a reputation, Vivian, and though they are my step-sons, I would prefer that my daughter did not involve herself in their drama. Can’t you be interested in someone like that Paul Watson fellow?”

  “But, Mama, Roger’s going to be staying with us for a long time. He will see New York, but I can’t see more of London?”

  “Vivian, so help me, if you say one more word in this tea shop you shall not say anything ever again. You’re going back to America. Now let’s go.”

  Grace Loxley stood from the table and with her, the scowling Vivian.

  “You treat me as though I’m a child.”

  “Because you act like one.”

  Petunia listened to the women’s voices as they quarreled through the door and onto the cobblestone path.

  Roger was going to America? Why, Petunia wondered. Perhaps Aldous knew the situation and was stowing Roger in America. Petunia stayed lost in thought about the Loxleys until she sensed someone watching her. She turned to see a tall, lanky man with an intelligent face that she recognized from the park just days before. Her heart began to race. Was he following her?”

  Before she could say anything the man stood over her table.

  “Mrs. Pennyworth, I beg your pardon, we haven’t met. May I sit?”

  Without waiting for a reply the man sat next to her and began to speak.

  “My name is Rufus Patterson, and I’m with the newspaper, Breaking London? Would you mind doing an interview with me about Agatha Bates’ murder?”

  “I’d rather not. I’m sorry.”

  “Please reconsider, Mrs. Pennyworth. I promise to pay you well.”

  “I don’t care for your money.”

  “Let’s say...70 pounds?”

  “No, please. I do not want to do an interview.”

  “Your son went missing when he was just a boy. Perhaps you could talk about how that strained your marriage. Would that have sparked you to murder the girl?”

  “Leave me alone!

  “At least tell me if you think your husband is capable of a murder like Agatha’s?”

  “No...”

  “No, you don’t think he is?”

  “No, I won’t answer any of your questions. Now would you please leave me alone?”

  “But, please Mrs. Penny...”

  Suddenly a tall man with a pleasant looking face stood over her table. In a thick American drawl, he said, “Leave the good woman alone, now Rufus Patterson. She’s not interested, and if you don’t clear out, I’ll have to kick you out myself.”

  At the sight of the man, the reporter’s focus was no longer on Petunia. A smile spread across Rufus Patterson’s face.

  “Mr. Guy Finlaw,” Rufus said, jumping to his feet. “Well I...what a pleasure, sir. What a pleasure. And all the way from Hollywood. May I have an interview with you about your new film? About Florence Diddle. I heard you two are an item now. What are you doing at a tea shop in London?”

  “Alright...calm down now Mr. Patterson,” Mr. Finlaw said, as he winked at Petunia. “Now, I’ll give you the interview you want, but I only have a few minutes. And I’ll only do it if you leave this poor woman alone and promise to leave her alone today and every day after. Do you hear me?”

  “Of course, Mr. Finlaw. Of course. Mrs. Pennyworth, if you change your mind, here’s my card. You can ring my office, and we will talk.”

  22 French Love, Paris Frocks

  Petunia said nothing but kept her gaze on young Finlaw and watched as the reporter followed him to his seat at the other end of the shop and asked him question after question.

  Just then Claire walked in and took a seat where Rufus had sat just moments before.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Claire said, and then noticing Petunia’s worried face, she said, “What’s wrong?”

  Petunia didn’t answer, but Claire looked over toward Guy Finlaw and the reporter and back to Petunia.

  “That’s Guy Finlaw, Petunia! He’s one of the actors in Richard’s new movie. Isn’t he so handsome? Was that reporter bothering you?”

  “Yes, it’s all right though. Richard’s new movie?” Petunia asked, snapping out of her stupor. “I’m embarrassed. I hardly know anything about cinema.”

  “Yes. Richard and I are going to France to film A Soldier’s Girl,” Claire said with a toothy grin.

  “You are?”

  “Yes, we leave tomorrow morning. At first, I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to leave London. But now, I can’t wait to buy Paris frocks,” Claire squealed.

  “That sounds quite exciting, Claire.” Petunia felt a pang in her stomach and touched the black jet necklace around her neck as she thought about Sébastien. Her thoughts shifted back to Claire and she asked, “Have you told Paul?”

  Claire’s face changed from elated to melancholy.

  “I...have...actually. I told him at the Loxley dinner.”

  “I imagine he was upset.”

  Claire sighed.

  “He wasn’t. Not really. Petunia...may I tell you something? Something...personal?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s about Paul.”

  “Go on then.”

  “All I ever wanted from Paul was for him to look me in the eyes, beg me to leave Richard, run away with him, and live with him forever.” A tear slid down her face. “He just...he never really said it, and when he finally did it was...not as exciting as I hoped it would be.” She looked out of the window. “I don’t know. Maybe we just aren’t meant to be together.”

  Petunia stayed reticent for a moment as she looked at Claire’s melancholy face. She thought of Sébastien then, how she too wished he would have scooped her away to some far off place just to be together.

  Finally, she said, “Claire...I’m afraid women aren’t meant to be with the men they truly love.”

  “You don’t really believe that,” Claire said, staring at Petunia with wide eyes.

  “I’m afraid I do. There was a time I did not. I was young and in love once also, Claire.”

  Claire nodded.

  “I understand...it’s just...I thought for one second maybe that wasn’t the case for Paul and me.”

  “I know dear,” Petunia said, comforting her, “We all think that at some point in our lives. And if Paul truly wants to be with you, and you with him, you could leave Ric
hard. But if not, move on with your life. Buy your Paris frocks, enjoy your new riches, and do your duty to your husband. Just don’t make the same mistakes as I. You’re still young. So, if you ever notice anything about Richard that frightens you, then leave at once. ”

  That was the best Petunia knew to warn Claire about her husband.

  “I’ll try...” Claire said. “I’ll try.”

  23 A Shot in the Dark

  1920

  “Mister Loxley,” Mr. Waldorf said in a dry tone as he burst through Aldous’ study one evening.

  Aldous sat behind his desk, a book opened. He peered over his spectacles and scolded the butler.

  “I told you never to disturb me in my study unless it was an emergency.”

  “But it is an emergency, sir,” Mr. Waldorf said calmly.

  “Well.”

  “I dare not say it.”

  “You must.”

  “Roger has blood on his hands, sir.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said...blood...on his hands, sir.”

  “Yes, I know what you said, Mr. Waldorf. But tell me why.”

  Aldous slammed the book shut, and stood. Grabbing his cane, he walked so quickly toward the butler that Mr. Waldorf jumped backward.

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  Aldous burst through the doorway of the study. Mr. Waldorf hurried after him.

  “Where is he?” Aldous asked.

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Well, what do you know?!” Aldous snapped.

  “One of the maids saw him, sir. She was terribly frightened.”

  “You did the right thing by telling me. Go and comfort the maid. Tell her everything will be all right. Let me know when she recovers. You know what to do if she gives you a rough go of it. I’ll take care of Roger.”

  Aldous had a good idea of where Roger was. He hobbled quickly down the grand staircase and headed toward the library. As expected, he found Roger sitting with his feet resting on his mahogany desk, an open book on his lap. Though his hands and shirt were covered in drying blood, he appeared unaffected.

  “Father,” Roger said casually, looking up from his book.

  Upon seeing Roger’s clothes, Aldous hobbled back toward the library door and shut it. Aldous said nothing until he was sure the door was locked and the floor-length golden damask curtains were tightly closed. Meanwhile, Roger continued to pretend to read his book.

  “You’ve frightened the maid. Covered in blood. I can only imagine the story you might have to accompany that.”

  Roger slowly looked up with his overly dark eyes and Aldous shuttered. He looked so much like Mary with the same madness in his eyes.

  “So, what happened?” Aldous asked softly.

  “Why must something have happened?” Roger said. Aldous knew then, Roger was not himself.

  “Are you drunk?”

  Roger shrugged.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Are we sure the maid won’t go running off to tell the world what she’s seen?”

  “I’m confident she won’t. I’m sure at this point she’s in much more need of comfort than gossip, Roger.”

  “But can she keep it secret?” Roger said nonchalantly. “You always told us a man who cannot keep a secret is worthless to a man with secrets. And we have so many, Father.”

  “I’ll deal with the maid. Now, tell me about the blood Roger.”

  Aldous gritted his teeth. Roger was so much like Mary. He rebelled against Aldous constantly.

  “It’s...nothing.” Roger said.

  But Aldous observed the slight shakiness in Roger’s voice and pointed at him.

  “You may be as sly as a fox with your friends, Roger Loxley, but not with me.”

  Veins throbbed in Aldous neck, and he clenched his fists. John and Edgar were such nice boys, full of compassion and empathy. But Roger was full of emptiness and madness, just like Aldous’ sister and that no good swine, Babcock. As Aldous started toward Roger, Roger put his bloody hands up in a surrender mode. The surprised Aldous stumbled.

  “All right. All right,” Roger said nervously. “Richard and I were playing a simple game.”

  “A game?”

  “Yes, a game. Shooting. With the gun you gave me.”

  “The German Wheelock pistol? The one I told you to keep locked under the secret floorboard because of its rarity and value?”

  “Yes, that very one.” Roger started, and then he said, “Well you knew I would take it out, Father. It’s an awfully nice pistol you know. Perhaps I should tell you the story tomorrow.”

  Aldous stared at Roger. He tried to imagine what his son had become involved with this time.

  “What kind of game, Roger?”

  “It was quite harmless... I assure you.”

  “Then why are you covered in blood?”

  “Hmmm, yes that. Well, it seems that our little game took a dark turn.”

  “How?”

  “The details are all very fuzzy, Father. I can’t even be sure they actually happened. But, there was a body in the way.”

  “You’ve shot someone?”

  “Actually, Richard shot someone...” Roger took a cigarette from his gold case and lit it. Aldous observed the dried blood in his fingernails. “I think he shot someone anyway. Well, that’s what Louisa told me.”

  “Roger, have you any idea what you’re saying? You and your friends have hurt someone. Where’s your empathy?”

  “As I said, Richard accidentally shot someone. It wasn’t me, and don’t get on about empathy. There was little I could do. Someone drugged us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t feel right is all. Neither did Richard. I couldn’t actually tell what was real and what wasn’t.”

  “Did you call for help?”

  “No. I couldn’t.”

  “Roger....” Aldous scolded. He narrowed his eyes. Roger took a drag of his cigarette.

  “Stop looking at me that way, Father. I’ve done nothing wrong. I did go in pursuit of help if that’s what you’re asking, or at least I think I did...but... it’s all very hazy father.”

  Roger’s shoulders slumped as he became quiet and looked down at the floor.

  “But...what?”

  “This is how Louisa recounted the story. When Richard shot the gun and learned that he’d hit someone, he panicked. He was drugged too you see, and he’d hit a woman. She was bleeding pretty badly from her stomach. I think she was anyway. This is all speculation, but her wounds weren’t anything a doctor couldn’t fix from what I could see. It was an honest accident. Only the four of us were around. It was as if...someone placed her there at that exact moment in time. Louisa said I kept telling Richard to leave. I told Agatha and Louisa to go also. I assured them I would get help. We all fled. But it was too late in the evening. The streets were quiet in that part of town. The shops were all closed. When I finally reached a less quiet part of town, I thought I had finally found help. That’s when I heard it.”

  “Heard what?”

  “A second gunshot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know the rest of the details of what happened. Louisa found me with the car then and dropped me off here. But...the woman...”

  Aldous felt nauseated.

  “How badly was she hurt, Roger?”

  Roger hesitated, and then looking Aldous straight in the eye, he said, “She’s dead, Father. I think she is...anyway.”

  “Oh no,” Aldous said, hanging his head low, and then composing himself he said, “Where’s the gun?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “I mean...whoever fired the second shot took the gun.”

  Now Roger had a frightened look in his eyes. Aldous took in a deep breath and then clasped one hand over the other.

  “All right,” he said. “All right. No need to panic.”

  Aldous stood.

  �
��I’m afraid there is,” Roger said. “This tale is much worse than it seems, Father.”

  “How could it be any worse than this, Roger?”

  “The dead woman is Paul Watson’s mother.”

  24 A Loxley Visit

  Paul Watson’s Journal

  February 28th, 1927—I decided to spend the Saturday before I left for Whitemoor at the Loxley mansion.

  “Check mate,” Edgar said as he slid his marble chess piece across the Loxley’s eighteenth century chess board.

  “You know, it doesn’t count if you’re playing alone,” John remarked as he smoked on a cigarette. He sat cross-legged on the couch in the Loxley’s large drawing room across from me, a glass of cognac in his hand.

  “Opponent or no opponent, the odds are always in my favor.”

  John smirked and muttered under his breath, “Don’t be cheeky...”

  “Are they?” I asked.

  “Of course. We all excel at something. You, women. John....money,” he raised his eyebrows. “Me...strategy. Particularly in chess. Richard...well, I have no idea about Richard.”

  “And Roger?”

  “I shudder to think of that which Roger excels...” Edgar said.

  “Birds,” I said finally. “The man knows a lot about birds.”

  John drew in a deep breath. For many seconds we sat quiet, and then suddenly, John burst into uncontrollable laughter.

  “Birds,” he said laughing. “Birds! As if that’s something for which to be proud.”

  Edgar and I joined in on the laughter.

  “I wish he were here to hear,” Edgar said as he continued to laugh.

  “Me too,” John said.

  “Where is Roger?” I asked.

  “He’s showing Vivian around London. They’re off to America tomorrow. I think he’ll marry her.”

  “He will not,” John said. “Roger’s too particular about his women to marry Vivian. She’s American, Edgar.”

  “Roger is quite fond of her, John. And think about it. What does Roger care if she’s American? He’s going to live there for quite some time, after all. Besides,” Edgar said as he continued to set up another chess game. “It only bothers you because you thought Vivian would be taken with you.”

  John was quick to answer.