British Manor Murder

by Leslie Meier

  Lucy glanced out the window, where the sun was brightly shining. “Really?”

  “This is England,” said Sally. “It rains a lot.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” said Lucy, holding the swinging door open so Sally could push the vacuum through and into the kitchen.

  The picnic basket and other things, including her jacket, were gone so Lucy hurried on outside. The others were in the stable courtyard where Perry was loading the picnic things into the Land Rover and Sue was already sitting in the front passenger seat. Lucy climbed in the back, where Church and Monty greeted her happily, wagging their tails and smiling doggy smiles, regaling her with doggy breath.

  “Don’t mind them,” said Perry, slamming the hatch shut and climbing behind the wheel.

  “I don’t,” said Lucy, who really did as each dog had claimed a window, leaving her to make do in the middle of the seat.

  “I just love dogs,” said Sue, who had never owned a dog, or even a cat, in her life.

  “I can’t imagine life without at least one,” said Perry.

  “The more the merrier. Right, Lucy?”

  “I have a Lab,” said Lucy, thinking of Libby back home in Maine. “She’s getting old and sleeps a lot.”

  “These fellas are only a year old. They’re brothers,” said Perry. “They’re rambunctious now but they’ll calm down.”

  “They’re lucky dogs, having all this,” said Sue, indicating the manor’s extensive grounds with a wave of her hand.

  “They just get to enjoy it,” said Perry. “They don’t have to fret and worry about making payroll and keeping the house in good repair, like Poppy and I do. It’s a real challenge and it seems to get harder every year.”

  Lucy was finding it hard to sympathize. For one thing, Monty and Churchy were jumping around in the backseat, walking all over her and occasionally smacking her with their powerful tails. When that happened, they seemed to realize apologies were due, which meant giving her a sloppy lick on the face.

  Putting the annoying dogs aside and gazing out the car windows at the passing scene, she thought that Perry was very lucky indeed to live in such beautiful countryside. “Is all this part of the estate?”

  “Oh, yes, we’ve got thousands of acres.”

  Amazing, she thought. Back home in Maine nobody but the timber companies owned thousands of acres; most of the land had been carved into small farms hundreds of years ago, and even those had been shrinking as bits were sold off for houses and shopping malls.

  “Well, here we are,” announced Perry, turning off the road onto a narrow track that wound through a sparse woodland where the ground was covered with a sea of blue flowers.

  Lucy had never seen anything like it. There were hundreds, thousands of the blooms, and the color was so intense that it seemed to radiate blueness. The very air seemed to vibrate with it, like heat waves rising from an asphalt road on a hot summer day. A sweet fragrance filled the air.

  “Wow,” said Sue, taking it all in. “This is gorgeous.”

  Lucy was already out of the car, examining the plants, which she decided were like the wood hyacinths in her garden at home. Except that where those sort of popped up scattershot, and came in different colors, the bluebells had grown together in a mass, crowding out everything except the trees, creating an incredible expanse of vibrant blue.

  “How do you do this?” asked Lucy, watching as the dogs bounded off through the flowers. “Did you plant them? Do you fertilize them? Cut them down after they bloom?”

  “No,” said Perry, opening the hatch. “They just grow like this. It’s been this way for as long as I can remember.” He handed Lucy a folded plaid blanket. “We usually set the picnic out under that big old beech tree,” he said, with a nod. “Just follow the path.”

  When she reached the spot Perry had indicated, Lucy found the vast tree with its elephantine gray trunk had created a sheltering, tent-like environment beneath its massive branches, some of which grew downward, even meeting the ground. She and Sue spread out the blankets and cushions they had brought, making themselves comfortable while Perry got a portable CD player going with some soft rock. Sting was singing about golden fields of barley, and Lucy was humming along, thinking of azure fields of bluebells when Monty bounded up, proudly displaying something furry he had clamped in his mouth.

  “Give!” ordered Perry and the dog very reluctantly dropped the furry object right in front of Lucy on the blanket.

  “It’s a baby bunny, and it’s still alive,” she exclaimed, eager to save the poor little thing. “We should take it to a vet.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Perry, scooping up the little creature and deftly snapping its neck before tossing it aside, where it disappeared beneath the bluebells. Both dogs chased after it as if it were a tennis ball.

  Seeing Lucy’s shocked expression, Perry offered an explanation. “Rabbits are pests. They cause a lot of damage.”

  “Even Peter got in trouble with Mr. McGregor,” said Sue with a sad smile. “And Mrs. McGregor baked his father into a pie.”

  “We don’t have pie. We have Cornish pasties and Scotch eggs and lovely strawberries, but first I think we should celebrate this beautiful day with a glass of May wine,” said Perry, busying himself with a corkscrew.

  Soon, the unfortunate baby bunny was forgotten as they sipped the sweet woodruff-flavored wine and nibbled on the delicious foods Perry had brought. Scenting the food, the dogs joined them, settling down on the blankets and falling asleep. They played a casual, hilarious game of Charades, and they laughed at Monty, who was continuing to chase rabbits in his dreams. Eventually they found themselves yawning and drifting off, lulled by the soothing music, the warm breezes, and the heady May wine.

  They were wakened by a spring shower, proving Sally’s prediction correct as they quickly gathered up the picnic things and ran to the car.

  “Oh bugger!” exclaimed Perry. “I’m late! I’m supposed to meet some art students who are donating works for the show.”

  The dogs jumped in, settling on either side of Lucy as before, and they were off, bouncing down the unpaved track until they reached the road, then Perry drove much too fast on the twisting country roads. Lucy tried closing her eyes, afraid to see what might be coming round a corner, but that made her feel carsick. She concentrated instead on praying for their safe return to the manor, and her prayers were answered when Perry turned into the stable yard and braked.

  The dogs were thrown off the seat, the jumbled picnic things crashed in the way back and Lucy and Sue were very glad they were wearing seatbelts. Perry hopped out of the car and hurried inside, calling his apologies to them.

  When they had gotten out of the car, and realized they and the dogs were still in one piece, Sue announced she was in need of an allergy pill. “Maybe it’s the dogs, maybe the flowers, but I’m feeling miserable,” she said, giving her nose a good blow.

  “Go on,” said Lucy, “I’ll take the picnic basket back to the kitchen.”

  When she and the dogs arrived in the kitchen, they found Poppy sitting at the scrubbed pine table, looking rather dejected.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Lucy.

  Poppy drained her mug of tea, set it back down on the table, and refilled it from a brown crockery pot. She stared into the mug for rather a long time before speaking. “Quimby says the dry rot is everywhere,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “He says they have to check the roof, too, as water must have gotten in somehow. We just had the roof done a couple years ago.” She sighed. “It’s going to cost millions, maybe billions. I don’t know how we’re going to afford it.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way,” said Lucy. It was the sort of thing you were supposed to say in such circumstances. She was unpacking the picnic basket, storing the leftovers in the refrigerator and putting the dirty crockery in the dishwasher.

  “It’s all the general’s fault,” muttered Poppy. “He had no business falling off that wall. There’s
Aunt Millicent’s horrible smell and now this! It’s really too much.”

  “But this is the end of the trouble,” said Lucy, closing the dishwasher door. “Trouble comes in threes and you’ve had three catastrophes: the general, the dry rot, and the body in the maze. Now you’re done with trouble.”

  Poppy stared at her. “I hope you’re right, but somehow I have a feeling that the worst is yet to come.”

  Chapter Nine

  “So, Lucy, are you feeling better and enjoying yourself?” asked Sue. The two friends were walking along a footpath that led through the estate to the village where they were going to have high tea at the vicarage with the Goodenoughs.

  “I am. I really am,” said Lucy, realizing with surprise that it was true. The black mood that had dogged her for so long was definitely losing its grip. “Everything here is so different, it’s like being on another planet.”

  “I’m glad the change is doing you good,” said Sue.

  “How about you?” asked Lucy. “Are you having a good time?”

  “I am, mostly, but I have to say I’m glad we’re getting out this evening. There seems to be quite a gloomy atmosphere at the manor, and it makes me feel guilty about enjoying myself.”

  “Poppy does seem to take things rather hard,” said Lucy. “And they really have had a run of bad luck.”

  “Well, being married to Gerald would make anyone gloomy,” observed Sue.

  “And then there’s Aunt Millicent—”

  “And the awful Harrison!” exclaimed Sue, finishing Lucy’s sentence.

  “Let’s not think about any of that,” said Lucy as they reached a vantage point from which to view the village and paused to admire the handful of thatched stone cottages clustered around the ancient stone church. The vicarage was a newer addition, built of red brick in neo-Gothic style with pointy windows and set in a large garden.

  Lucy and Sue continued to follow the path, which descended gently and brought them to the vicarage garden gate. Two little boys, twins about eight years old, were chasing a soccer ball around the lawn. One gave the ball a ferocious kick and sent it soaring right over Lucy and Sue’s heads and out of the garden. Lucy chased it a little ways down the path and retrieved it, bringing it back and handing it to one of the boys as she and Sue entered the garden. He took it and ran off, only to be stopped by his mother, Sarah.

  “Matthew! What do you say to our visitors?”

  The little boy stopped in his tracks and turned to face them, a puzzled expression on his round brown face. Lucy thought he looked quite adorable dressed in a school uniform of navy blue shorts with a white shirt that had come untucked. A loosened striped necktie hung around his open collar.

  After a moment’s thought he said, “Very pleased to meet you.”

  Lucy and Sue smiled, but Sarah was not pleased. “I think you forgot to thank Lucy for fetching your ball.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” said Matthew. “Thank you very much.”

  “You’re very welcome,” said Lucy.

  “And Mark, I think you also have something to say, since you are the one who almost hit our friends with the ball.”

  “I’m very sorry,” said Mark, whose high socks had slipped down to his ankles. “I didn’t mean for the ball to go so high.”

  “No matter,” said Sue. “No one was hurt.”

  “Well, back to your game, boys. I want to show our guests my Bible garden,” said Sarah, leading the way through a hedge. “We haven’t been here long, so it’s just starting,” she explained, waving a hand at a neatly organized flower bed. “There are over one hundred twenty-five plants mentioned in the Bible. I used box for an edging. It’s mentioned in Isaiah.”

  “I see roses from the Song of Solomon,” said Lucy, naming one of the few Biblical references she was familiar with.

  “That’s right,” said Sarah with an approving nod. “I know you mentioned that you love to garden, but are you also a person of faith?”

  Sue found this question extremely amusing and Lucy was forced to make a confession.

  “I spend a lot more time in my garden than in church,” she admitted, “and I mostly grow vegetables.”

  “What’s this plant?” asked Sue, pointing to a handsome specimen with oval, rather bumpy leaves.

  “That’s sage. It’s mentioned in Exodus.”

  “I didn’t know you could grow it,” said Sue. “Mine always came in jars.”

  “It’s easy,” said Lucy. “You can keep it in a pot in the kitchen.”

  “You could add parsley and basil and you’d have a little kitchen herb garden,” said Sarah. “That’s what I did when we lived in London and I had to content myself with house plants. It’s been such a joy to me to have a real garden.”

  “The house in Hoxton was full of plants,” said Robert, joining them and giving his wife a kiss on the cheek. “Sarah can make anything grow”—he beamed with pride—“even those two little rapscallions.”

  “Well, come on, everyone. I think I hear the kettle singing.”

  “Matthew, Mark! Tea!” called Robert, and the boys came running.

  The kitchen table was already set with blue and white dishes in a flowery pattern arranged on a red and white striped oilcloth. Sarah busied herself filling a big brown teapot while Robert supervised the boys, making sure they actually washed their hands.

  “Sometimes they just rinse them and dry them on the towel,” said Sarah. “They’re always mystified that I can tell. I say it’s my super mother sense.”

  “But it’s just the dirt they leave on the towel,” said Lucy, taking a seat.

  “Exactly,” said Sarah, placing a large salad topped with ham and hard boiled eggs in the middle of the table, and adding a basket of bread. “I hope you don’t mind a simple supper.”

  “It looks delicious,” said Sue.

  “And a welcome change from that enormous formal dinner last night,” added Lucy.

  Robert and the boys soon joined them and, after bowing their heads for a quick grace, they all tucked in to the lovely salad. Lucy found herself exclaiming over the lettuce and the early peas, which came from the Goodenoughs’ garden, as well as the crusty bread from the village bakery and the sweet butter from the estate farm.

  “The eggs came from there, too,” said Robert.

  “Just some of the advantages of living in the country,” said Sarah. “And there’s rhubarb custard for dessert.”

  “Rhubarb!” exclaimed Lucy. “My favorite.”

  When they had finished eating, Sarah set the boys to clearing the table, and Robert suggested they might like a tour of the church. He led the way, taking them in through a side door. “It’s quite old. Parts date from the thirteenth century, or so I’m told,” he said proudly.

  Lucy and Sue followed as he led them past stained glass windows and around carved inscriptions in the stone floor that marked tombs. Numerous brasses were hung on the walls, mostly memorializing fallen soldiers from the British Empire’s numerous wars. A single candle burned behind the altar, which was covered with a white cloth embroidered with gold thread.

  “I’ve heard that church attendance has been dropping steadily in Europe,” said Lucy. “Is that the case here?”

  “Not if I can help it,” said Robert with a hearty chuckle. “I can’t do it alone, of course, but there is a solid core of members who are working hard to keep the church a vital part of the community. We have evensong on Sunday afternoons. We have musical programs, speakers, yoga classes, all sorts of activities. Sarah also does a lot, especially with the mums and babies.”

  “It’s very peaceful,” said Sue, and Lucy realized it was true. There wasn’t a sound to be heard, except the twilight twittering of the birds.

  “I think I could stay here forever,” Sue added, surprising Lucy.

  Robert nodded his head. “Things can be a bit complicated up at the manor.”

  “They have so many problems,” said Sue. “They’ve discovered dry rot, for one thing. I guess i
t’s going to be terribly expensive.”

  “It is,” said Robert. “They had some here, before my time. Some of the older members told me about it. It was a crisis for the congregation.”

  “You see the photos of these beautiful old country houses and they seem like something out of a fairy tale,” said Lucy. “But the reality is quite different.”

  “Robert, you mustn’t keep these ladies cooped up in this musty old church,” said Sarah, joining them. “It’s lovely outside, and I have a bottle of dandelion wine.”

  “What about the boys?” asked Robert as they stepped through the doorway.

  “They’re doing their school work,” said Sarah. “They’ll be busy for quite a while.”

  After they’d settled themselves in chairs on the lawn and been provided with glasses of homemade wine, the conversation drifted once again to the manor and the people who lived there.

  “I was saying to Robert that life in a grand house like the manor seems enviable, but I really prefer a simpler lifestyle,” said Lucy.

  “I really admire Poppy and Perry for undertaking the work of maintaining the manor,” said Robert. “It’s a national treasure. It’s part of our country’s heritage and it should be preserved.”

  “If you ask me,” said Sarah, “I think they’re struggling to maintain a way of life that really wasn’t very nice and is pretty much over and done with. I marvel at it sometimes, the way people will happily spend their hard-earned money to see these monstrous houses that were built on the backs of their ancestors. Where do they think the wealth came from? It came from mills and mines and railways, and from conquered people in the so-called Empire, from oppressed and overworked people who had no choice but to please their masters if they wished to survive.”

  “We decided that the visitors see themselves as the lord and lady for the day, not as the scullery maid or footman,” said Sue.

  “I think you’re right,” said Robert. “And in their vision, the lord and lady lead fairy-tale lives, with no problems at all.”

  “Unlike Poppy and Perry, who seem beset by trouble,” said Sue, who was on her third glass of wine. “And it’s not just the manor. They have family troubles, too. Gerald doesn’t approve of Desi and Flora is wasting away.”