British Manor Murder

by Leslie Meier

  “Not in the US,” said Lucy.

  “We’ve clung to them,” said Poppy. “I wouldn’t dream of going to a wedding without a hat.”

  “And the royal family are doing their part to maintain the tradition,” said Lucy.

  “Bless the dears,” said Perry, peering into the suitcase curiously. “What do you have in the other hatbox?”

  Sue reached into the second, larger hatbox and produced a creamy straw number with a small, rounded crown and a huge brim, at least eight inches wide all around. A length of matching chiffon was wound around the crown and ended in long streamers that tied beneath the chin. “Voilà!” she exclaimed proudly.

  “Is that?” asked Perry, eyebrows raised.

  “The very same,” said Sue, presenting it to Perry. “Katharine Hepburn wore it in The Philadelphia Story.”

  Perry held the hat reverently. “How did you ever?”

  “It came up on eBay and I couldn’t resist.”

  “It must have cost you a fortune.”

  “I wanted to wow you,” said Sue.

  “Well you certainly have,” he said, returning the hat, which Sue carefully replaced in the box.

  “Perry, I know how exciting this is for you, but don’t you think you should let your guests settle in?” Poppy turned to Lucy and Sue. “You must be exhausted after the red-eye flight.”

  “I wouldn’t mind freshening up,” said Lucy.

  “You’ve even got time for a little nap before lunch,” said Poppy. “Sally will show you the way.”

  Sue left the hat box in Perry’s care, then she and Lucy grabbed their bags and followed Sally out of the kitchen to another set of stairs, wooden and covered with a striped runner. They began climbing, continuing up one flight after another until they reached the former servants’ quarters on the top floor.

  “Don’t worry,” said Sally. “They’ve been fixed up. None of the old servants would recognize their rooms.”

  “At this point, I’d take a folding cot and an Army blanket,” said Lucy, panting from the climb.

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Sally, leading them down a spacious carpeted hallway to their rooms, which were joined by a shared bath.

  Both guest rooms had sloping attic ceilings, and the walls were papered with Laura Ashley flowers. They each had a mirrored vanity table, a dresser, and a bench for their suitcases; the beds were covered with plump duvets that matched the wallpaper, as did the curtains on the casement windows.

  “I’ll leave you now,” said Sally. “Don’t be afraid to nap, if you want. I’ll make sure you don’t miss lunch.”

  “Thanks,” said Lucy, closing the door behind her and joining Sue at the window, where she seemed transfixed.

  “It’s gorgeous,” said Sue with a wave of her hand.

  Looking into the distance, Lucy saw a seemingly endless expanse of rolling hills and fields that eventually met a series of distant bluish mountains. Somewhat closer to the house, a road wound its way through farmland, eventually turning through the gateway and the tree-lined drive. From this lofty vantage, they could see that a spur branched off from the main drive and led to an enormous parking lot already half-full of cars and busses. Hundreds of tiny little figures, mostly in pairs or small groups, were moving from the vehicles and making their way to a ticket booth. A long line of people were following a leader holding a closed umbrella aloft like a pennant.

  “Moreton Manor is open for business,” said Lucy. “Here come the hoi polloi, Lady Sue.”

  “Yes, Lady Lucy. It’s the little people, here for a glimpse of the good life.”

  “From up here, they sure do look little,” said Lucy, yawning. “I think I will retire to my chamber and rest my eyes.”

  “Just don’t snore,” said Sue, who was hoisting her suitcase onto the bench.

  Once in her own room, Lucy discovered the view was quite different. Instead of the view across the park, all she saw out her window was a stone wall punctuated by windows. It was the manor, she realized. She was in a separate buildings connected to the main house by the underground corridor.

  A charming framed watercolor on the wall beside the window gave the overview she needed, providing a bird’s-eye view of the stately home separated from a smaller building on the right by a walled garden. Assuming the smaller building was the family’s quarters, and comparing the view from the window to the painting, Lucy looked down and found the walled garden, a delightful square containing neat beds of plants centered by a sundial. What she couldn’t see from the window but was pictured in the painting, was a row of outbuildings along the right side of the manor that created one side of a large walled area she surmised was originally a stable yard.

  The whole arrangement was quite clever, she decided. The walled areas of garden and stable yard provided privacy for the family from the visiting public, which still had acres of manicured gardens and walking trails open to them.

  Turning away from the window, she was drawn to the bed, with its puffy duvet and plump pillows. She slipped off her shoes and slid under the duvet. Feeling the hard case of her cellphone in her rear pocket, she decided she’d better call home before she fell asleep.

  Bill answered on the first ring. “How was the flight? I saw it landed on time,” he said, a slight note of reproach in his tone.

  “I should have called sooner,” she admitted. “It’s been busy. Catching the bus, getting a ride to the manor—”

  “Did they meet you in a Rolls?” he asked.

  “Not quite,” said Lucy, plucking a wood chip from her hair. “It was a Land Rover and there were baby chicks and fertilizer.”

  “Real country then. But I don’t suppose the landed gentry actually get their hands dirty.”

  Lucy thought of Perry, with his enthusiastic love of hats, and doubted very much that he had anything to do with the farming aspect of the manor. “It’s not like we expected. The manor is really a museum and the family live in a separate building. I guess it was once the kitchen and work area for the big house. The two are connected by a tunnel that’s—”

  “Like Monticello?” asked Bill, interrupting.

  “Yeah, kind of,” said Lucy, remembering a family vacation. “But this smaller house has been completely renovated. It’s really like a McMansion. You wouldn’t believe the kitchen. It’s like something out of House Beautiful. The guest rooms used to be servant’s quarters, but they’ve been fancied up.”

  “So you’re feeling better and having a good time?” he asked, getting to the point.

  The concern in his voice struck her and she felt tears filling her eyes. “So far, so good, but I am tired.” She blinked furiously, quickly adding, “Jet lag. How’s everybody?”

  “Sara’s studying for finals. Zoe’s excited about the prom. . . .”

  That was too much for Lucy, who was suddenly guilt-stricken. “Be sure to take pictures for me,” she begged, sniffling.

  “I will,” he promised.

  “Any news from Alaska?” she asked, feeling as if she was picking at a scab she really ought to leave alone if she wanted the wound to heal.

  “No, but no news is good news, right?” He paused. “A guy stopped by, said he saw my truck, and asked about Toby. He said they were friends in college but lost touch. He wanted to know what Toby was up to.”

  “Did you get his name?” asked Lucy.

  “Doug something. Fitzpatrick, maybe?”

  “I don’t remember Toby mentioning him.”

  “You know how it is. They have their own lives.”

  “I know,” said Lucy, remembering how shocked she’d been when four-year-old Toby was greeted by a strange woman in the supermarket who turned out to be the mother of one of the kids in his preschool. All of a sudden she was thinking of Patrick and felt the familiar tug of sadness, which threatened to overwhelm her. No longer able to fight the tears, she said she was really tired.

  Bill let her go. “Love you. Have a great time.”

  “I’m trying,
” she said, ending the call and reaching for the box of tissues on the nightstand.

  Chapter Four

  Putting the phone on the bedside table and pressing her face into the pillows, Lucy was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Oddly enough, even though she felt exhausted much of the time, when she got to bed, sleep would elude her and her mind would run in circles, imagining the dangers little Patrick faced in Alaska. She fretted about possible tragedies such as encounters with polar bears, falls into icy streams, and snowmobile accidents; knowing her fears were unfounded didn’t matter and she would lie under the covers, wakeful and trembling with terror. That had been the usual scenario lately.

  She was quite surprised when a knock on the door woke her up two hours later. “Mmmph?” was all she managed to say, feeling rather groggy.

  It was enough for Sally, who poked her head around the door. “Perry sent me up to tell you and your friend that lunch is almost ready.”

  “Thank you,” said Lucy, wishing she could sink back into the very comfortable pillows.

  That wish must have become reality, because next thing she knew Sue was shaking her shoulder. “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. Up and at ’em, onward and upward. You know the drill.”

  Lucy glared at her friend, who was impeccably turned out. Sue was always beautifully dressed. She was doing the country house look with a gray cashmere sweater, charcoal tweed slacks, the shiny new hunter green Wellies she’d worn on the plane, and a string of pearls. Her makeup had been freshly applied and her hair was shiny from brushing.

  “How long have you been up?” inquired Lucy, suspecting she looked rather the worse for wear.

  “About half an hour. Just since Sally called me.” She gave Lucy a stern look. “You had better hurry or we’ll miss lunch.”

  Lucy groaned and hauled herself out of bed with great effort. Once in the bathroom, a glance at the mirror over the sink proved her suspicion was correct—she looked awful. Her hair was sticking up every which way and a long, angry red pillow-crease crossed her face. She dampened a washcloth with cool water and used it to wipe her face, then quickly washed her hands and applied a quick slick of lipstick. Back in her room, she made a stab at taming her hair, which seemed hopeless until Sue grabbed her hairbrush and with a few deft swipes created order out of chaos.

  “Thanks,” said Lucy, studying her improved reflection with amazement.

  “Is that what you’re wearing?” asked Sue in a rather disapproving tone.

  Lucy regarded her image in the mirror. She was wearing the same turtleneck sweater and jeans she’d worn on the plane, as well as her usual athletic shoes. “I just have more of the same in my suitcase.” She got an eye roll from Sue.

  “You can take the girl out of Maine, but you can’t take the Maine out of the girl,” complained Sue, opening the door.

  Following an appetizing scent redolent of meat and herbs, they made their way together down the stairs to the family kitchen. There, they found Perry standing at the Aga stove stirring a bright red casserole with a wooden spoon. The two dogs were sitting on their haunches beside him, apparently hoping there might be a slip twixt the spoon and the lip as he raised the spoon for a taste.

  “What is that? It smells delicious,” exclaimed Sue.

  “Venison stew. We try to live off the estate as much as we can,” he said, putting the spoon down and adding a few grinds of pepper.

  Discouraged, the dogs turned their attention to Lucy and Sue, approaching them with wagging tails.

  “Ah, so now you like us,” said Lucy, scratching the nearest Lab, which happened to be the black one, behind its ears. “I have a dog at home just like you.”

  “Did they bother you?” asked Poppy, entering through the doorway that led to the service corridor. She was carrying a couple needlepoint throw pillows and a somewhat dented silver ewer, all of which she dropped on a chair.

  “They didn’t seem to appreciate our presence earlier,” said Sue, nervously eyeing the yellow Lab that was leaning its shoulder against her leg. “They were sleeping on the sofas and growled at us.”

  “They were just worried you’d make them give up their comfortable perches,” said Poppy. “The trick with dogs is to be firm. Isn’t that right, Monty?”

  Hearing his name, the yellow Lab trotted over to Poppy and sat down in front of her, one paw raised.

  “Good boy.” She pointed to one of the two dog beds that were arranged in a corner. “Now go lie down. You, too, Churchy.”

  The dogs obeyed, but not without reproachful glances and sighs.

  “They’re such actors,” said Perry. “They could go on stage.”

  Poppy set a big bowl on the center island and began pulling salad greens out of the fridge, which prompted Lucy to offer to help.

  “Thanks,” said Poppy, handing her a head of lettuce.

  After giving her hands a quick wash, Lucy began tearing the lettuce into bite-size pieces and adding them to the bowl. The butter lettuce was lovely, crisp and silky to her touch, much nicer than anything she had grown in her Maine garden, and she said so.

  “That’s one of the advantages of having professional gardeners on staff,” said Poppy.

  “Perry was saying most of your food comes from the estate,” said Sue.

  “We have quite a farm, and there’s game, too,” said Poppy as a rather stocky man dressed in Wellies and an aged Barbour jacket came in through the French doors. “Ah, here’s my husband, Gerald. He manages the estate farm. Gerald, meet Perry’s friends, Lucy and Sue. They’ve come for the hat show.”

  “Very good,” he said, nodding affably as he removed his jacket and hung it on one of the hooks on the wall next to the door. Several other pieces of clothing were already hanging there, and a neat row of boots stood at attention beneath them. He paused for a moment, rubbing his hands and studying Sue and Lucy, almost as if he were sizing up a pair of fillies offered for sale at an agricultural show. Then he cocked an eyebrow and turned to his wife. “Since we have company, shall we open a bottle of wine?”

  Lucy was quick to speak up. “None for me.”

  Gerald turned to Sue and, detecting a hint of interest, gave a chuckle. “I bet Sue here wouldn’t mind a drop. Am I right?”

  “I wouldn’t mind, but don’t open a bottle on my account.”

  “I’ll have a glass,” said Perry.

  “And Gerald will have several,” said Poppy with a disapproving expression.

  “Just being sociable, m’dear.” Gerald disappeared through a doorway, returning a few moments later with two dusty bottles.

  “Not the Margaux, I hope,” said Perry, casting a suspicious glance at the bottles.

  “Just a nice old claret,” said Gerald.

  “I see I’m just in time. Dad’s got the plonk out,” said a young man, who had also come in through the French doors. He was smiling.

  Lucy noticed he had an air of confidence and physical ease that seemed quite remarkable. With his blond hair, high cheekbones, and cleft chin, he could have been a model, she thought, or an actor. He was dressed stylishly in a dark pea coat and had a Burberry plaid scarf wrapped around his neck.

  “Desi!” exclaimed Poppy. “You made good time!”

  “Just sailed along on the M40,” he replied, giving his mother a peck on the cheek.

  Poppy introduced Lucy and Sue, explaining that Desi was her son and he was visiting, taking a break before taking up a position as a soloist at the Royal Ballet.

  “Congratulations,” said Sue, accepting a glass of wine from Gerald. “That’s quite an achievement.”

  “Just luck,” he said modestly as his father handed him a glass of wine. “I brought Flo with me, but she wanted to see the new chicks before coming in.”

  “Having a smoke, you mean,” said Poppy.

  “I hope she’s not smoking in the chicken house,” said Gerald.

  “She wouldn’t do that,” said Desi. “She knows better.”

  “Who knows what she knows
these days,” grumbled Gerald. “I don’t understand what’s going on with that girl.”

  “That means we’re seven for lunch,” said Perry, counting out a stack of plates and handing them to Sue. “Would you mind setting the table?”

  “Not at all,” replied Sue.

  “No sense setting a place for Flora. She won’t eat anything,” said Gerald.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” snapped Poppy, who had opened a drawer and was counting out cutlery.

  “You know I’m right,” insisted Gerald, refilling his glass. “Fine family we’ve got. Desi prancing about like Tinker Bell and Flora looking like she’s come straight out of a concentration camp.”

  “Shhh! She’s coming,” cautioned Poppy as a faint shadow appeared at the French door.

  Desi hurried to open the door, admitting the thinnest woman Lucy had ever seen. With enormous eyes and cheekbones that matched her brother’s, Flora would have been pretty, but her dark hair was limp and lifeless, her skin dull and ashy.

  She entered the room tentatively, as if entering a cage of wild animals. “I see you have company,” she said, turning to go.

  “Just some friends of Perry’s,” said Poppy, hurrying across the room to greet her daughter and giving her a big hug. “Come and meet Lucy and Sue.”

  Flora seemed to shrink, becoming even smaller under her mother’s embrace.

  Her mother quickly released her. “Give me your coat, dear,” she said in a coaxing tone.

  For a moment it seemed as if Flora would bolt and run out the door, then she seemed to settle and began unzipping her puffy black jacket. After the zipper was undone, she let her arms fall to her side and Poppy slipped off the jacket and hung it up.

  “We’re ready,” said Perry, removing a fragrant loaf of bread from an oven and setting it on a round bread board he carried to the table.

  Lucy brought the bowl of salad, Desi donned oven mitts to convey the heavy casserole from the Aga, and they all seated themselves at the large scrubbed pine table.

  “I didn’t know you were interested in cooking,” said Sue as Perry began dishing up the stew.

  “Necessity is the mother of invention,” he replied. “Poppy runs the show, y’see. I do my best to earn my keep so she doesn’t chuck me out.”