The Tomb of the Chatelaine: A 1920s Country House Murder Mystery (Heathcliff Lennox Book 6)

by Karen Baugh Menuhin

  ‘It’s a security light, it’s supposed to shine up onto these windows as well as down onto the lower levels.’

  I could see there were a few inches of water in the bottom of the lamp slowly dripping away through the glass base.

  ‘There’s enough water inside to blow the bulb,’ Swift surmised.

  ‘Yes, which would have caused the short in the fuse,’ Jerome confirmed. ‘Usually the leaks are around the panel joints. I’ve never seen a pane break before, they’re made of toughened glass.’

  ‘Sinclair said the power always went out in a storm,’ Swift reminded him.

  ‘He was exaggerating, he does that when he’s angry. The power has only failed a handful of times in the six years I’ve been working here.’

  ‘You’ve been with him for six years?’ I turned to face him. ‘So you weren’t in the war?’

  ‘Sinclair’s work was imperative to the war effort,’ Jerome reddened. ‘As his personal assistant I was given an exemption.’

  ‘Let’s focus on the investigation.’ Swift glanced at us both, then returned to the broken lantern. ‘Someone dropped something on it, or reached out to smash it with a sharp object.’

  ‘Possibly.’ Jerome twisted around to look up towards the roof. ‘Or something fell, a stone or tile.’

  Neither of us was convinced by that, particularly after finding the copper strip.

  Swift leaned further over the sill. ‘An umbrella, or a cane would easily reach it.’

  ‘Sinclair doesn’t want anyone to mention this to the police.’ Jerome sounded anxious. ‘He wants us to say we thought it was an accident.’

  ‘Why?’ Swift demanded.

  ‘He doesn’t want the interference. It would be completely disruptive,’ he glanced at the two silent footmen and said, sotto voce, ‘And he said they’re only servants.’

  I could see by Swift’s face he was furious. ‘I will be talking to the police and giving them all the assistance I can.’

  ‘You should do whatever you think right, Inspector,’ Jerome replied. ‘But I must warn you that Sinclair is vindictive, there will be repercussions.’

  ‘I will not be intimidated.’

  ‘Swift,’ I cut in. ‘We can talk about that later. Let’s get on with it.’

  Jerome supervised the two footmen, who leaned out to remove the lantern and bring it inside. Swift watched like a hawk, I wandered about, looking for an umbrella or cane, there wasn’t anything so I pulled out drawers, peered under the bed and poked around in this and that. There was nothing out of the ordinary, not even a pan of ash in the fireplace.

  ‘Is this room kept locked?’ I asked.

  ‘No,’ Jerome replied. ‘Only the ground floor is kept secured. We don’t want it to feel like a prison.’

  I notice he said ‘we’.

  The men had laid the lantern on the hearthrug and Swift knelt alongside to study it with his magnifying glass. I walked over to watch.

  ‘There’s nothing.’ He stood up.

  ‘Are you going to dust for fingerprints?’ Jerome asked.

  ‘No, it was too far for anyone to reach by hand,’ Swift replied.

  ‘How many bedrooms are there in the house?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m not sure, I’ll ask Trent…’ Jerome began, then shut up when he remembered the man was dead.

  ‘What time were the security lights switched on?’ Swift turned to Jerome.

  ‘They’re automatic. They’re set to come on at seven thirty every evening in autumn and winter.’

  ‘Really?’ I’d never heard of such a thing.

  ‘Where is the timer set?’ Swift asked.

  ‘In the control room downstairs,’ Jerome told him.

  ‘Show us,’ Swift replied briskly.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Jerome wavered for a moment, his eyes on the broken lantern, then turned and led us out.

  I followed them downstairs at my own pace with my hands in my pockets, wondering what Persi was doing, and where she was. And what was for breakfast.

  ‘It’s the old butler’s pantry, but Trent called it the control room,’ Jerome explained. It was a plainly decorated office, discreetly located behind the grand hall. ‘It’s Trent’s centre of operations.’ Jerome showed us a bank of small light bulbs and speakers, each labelled with the name of a room. There were other contraptions; telephones and buzzers, a typewriter, an automated brass calendar and the like.

  ‘Which is the timer?’ Swift asked.

  ‘Here.’ Jerome pointed to a large silver dial attached to a brass box on the wall. I could hear it ticking. ‘It is quite easy to use, when the hands come around to a set time, the switch is triggered to either on or off.’

  ‘Swift,’ I said.

  ‘What?’ He was still peering at the timer.

  ‘I’m going for breakfast.’ I’d had enough of detecting on an empty stomach.

  He decided to come with me, although he left detailed instructions for what to do when the police arrived. We retraced our steps back to the old wing. The aroma of bacon, eggs, fried bread and black pudding met us at the kitchen door.

  ‘Ah, sir, I have prepared breakfast,’ Greggs made the welcome announcement.

  There was no sign of the elderly St Georges but Persi was spreading a cloth on the table. Her blonde hair was caught back in a neat knot, she wore country clothes; beige slacks, a cream blouse with a tweed waistcoat. I suppose it was one of Lydia’s outfits; it looked stunning on Persi.

  Foggy jumped around my feet, as though I’d been away for weeks, then went to leap up at Swift, who bent to scratch his head.

  ‘Hello,’ Persi called out.

  I gave her my best grin. She offered a smile before turning to arrange cups and saucers and the usual whatnots.

  Swift tugged off his coat and scarf and threw them over the back of a chair. ‘Persi, I… um, good morning… I hope you slept well?’

  ‘I did, thank you.’ She smiled at him too.

  ‘Persi, I know Lennox said you can help with the investigation, but I have to tell you, you can’t.’

  ‘Tactful as ever, Swift,’ I said, and sat down.

  ‘Yes, I can.’ She handed him a cup of tea.

  ‘But you’re related…’

  ‘I can find out where everyone was on the day Monroe died,’ she told him. ‘And I know this house far better than you do.’

  ‘What if the killer really is one of your family?’ Swift wasn’t backing down.

  ‘Swift’s right,’ I admitted. ‘I’m sorry, Persi, I shouldn’t have involved you.’

  ‘Nonsense, I don’t think it was one of the family.’ She looked from Swift to me.

  ‘Why?’ I asked.

  ‘Because the family wouldn’t need to resort to murder. They could just dismiss the servants, they wouldn’t have to kill them.’

  ‘Sinclair has complete control of the place. Do you think Max or Lydia could persuade him to dismiss staff?’ Swift wasn’t convinced.

  ‘Through Penelope, they probably could,’ Persi replied.

  I thought it was a jolly good point. Greggs had just placed brimming plates of breakfast on the table.

  ‘So it’s Finn or Jerome,’ I declared, which suited me just fine.

  ‘Jerome was with Lydia at the time of Monroe’s accident,’ she reminded me. ‘You told me so yourself.’

  Lydia didn’t wear a watch, so I wasn’t sure about that, but decided against mentioning it yet.

  Swift shifted tack. ‘Persi, what do you know of Randolph? He was your cousin, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, although he was much older than me.’ She stopped eating to reply. ‘He died when I was a child. Lady Millicent took it very badly at first, and then she began to pretend he was still alive. We love her dearly, but she can be quite bats.’

  I half expected Swift to make notes, but he carried on eating.

  ‘What happened to Penelope and the twins after Randolph died?’ I asked.

  ‘Heathcliff, will you wait until I’ve finished
breakfast!’ She admonished.

  I was on my second cup of tea by the time she was ready to talk.

  ‘Randolph left for Alaska in the summer of 1896,’ she began. ‘At the beginning of the Klondike gold rush.’

  ‘You would have been about two, then?’ I mentioned.

  ‘Yes, which is why I don’t remember any of it,’ she replied. ‘The twins had just been born and everybody here was utterly penniless. Randolph believed he was going to make a fortune and save Lanscombe.’

  ‘Sinclair said Randolph had developed a machine to detect gold?’ Swift asked as he picked up his tea cup.

  ‘Something like that. I don’t know if it worked, but it was Sinclair’s idea for the two of them to go together.’

  ‘How did they know each other?’ I asked.

  ‘I have no idea. Sinclair grew up nearby, so he had family in the district. He served in the royal artillery for a time.’ She paused in thought. ‘He would have learned about guns and machines while there, before he left to begin dealing in weapons.’

  ‘Mullins said that he, Trent and Monroe had been in the Royal Artillery,’ I mentioned.

  ‘Perhaps they knew each other?’ Persi suggested.

  Swift didn’t want to be diverted. ‘How old was Randolph when he went to Alaska?’

  ‘Twenty two, or three.’ A flicker of uncertainty crossed her brow. ‘Sinclair was quite a lot older than him, I’m not sure how old…’

  ‘He’s just had his sixtieth birthday.’ I recalled my conversation with Lydia. ‘He would have been thirty-four at the time.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ She nodded. ‘Anyway, they went to Liverpool and crossed the Atlantic, then overland to Alaska. A few months later, the family received a telegram saying Randolph had been killed. It was a terrible blow.’ Her smile faded. ‘Sinclair remained in America for five or six years before returning to England, then he set out to win Penelope. He’s dominated Lanscombe Park ever since.’

  ‘What state was this house in before Sinclair took control?’ Swift said between sips of tea.

  ‘Dreadful, but tremendous fun. Or it was for us children anyway. Aunt and Uncle St George lived in this wing; the rest of the place was an absolute wreck.’ Her smile returned with the memories. ‘The main roof was full of holes; there were bats, birds and even a fox living in the ruins. Penelope and the twins lived upstairs,’ she pointed upwards, indicating the rooms allocated to Swift and me. ‘Penelope would invite everyone over for a picnic and we children would play with Max and Lydia. We spent hours exploring the old rooms and making dens with the furniture. It was always an adventure.’

  ‘Presumably that changed when Sinclair married Penelope?’ Swift asked.

  ‘It did,’ she nodded. ‘He took Penelope and the twins to London while the house was rebuilt. The grandiose style led to some strong words among the rest of the family, but Sinclair never cared. Uncle Bertie and Aunt Millie bunkered down here, refusing to allow any changes to this wing.’ She paused to regard us. ‘I know everyone dislikes Sinclair, but he isn’t all bad. He’s done everything that he can for Penelope and, if she hadn’t married him, the estate would have been lost.’

  I wasn’t sure I liked the sentiment. ‘But at what cost to her, Persi?’

  ‘Lennox, I’m not saying Penelope sold herself to save the estate… or that I approve.’ She sounded offended. ‘I’m simply stating the facts.’

  ‘I wasn’t implying…’ I responded sharply.

  ‘Yes, you were.’ Her eyes flashed.

  ‘Nonsense, I was merely saying…’

  ‘You should try thinking before you speak,’ she retorted and stood up to walk out.

  We watched her go.

  ‘Lennox.’ Swift put down his cup with a bang. ‘You are an absolute idiot.’

  Chapter 10

  ‘Lord Sinclair has requested your and Inspector Swift’s presence, sir.’ Greggs was at his most formal.

  Apparently, while I was making rash remarks to Persi, young Billie had come to the door and passed on the message.

  ‘Very well.’ Swift was on his feet. ‘Lennox.’

  I wasn’t in the mood for any more chat, so trailed behind with my hands in my pockets, a habit when disconsolate. We trod the now familiar route from the old wing, to arrive at Sinclair’s gleaming office door. A footman stepped smartly forward and rapped on our behalf.

  ‘Come.’

  We were bowed in, Sinclair was seated behind his desk. A shaft of sunlight fell onto the portrait of the grizzled soldier, illuminating the eyes beneath the iron helmet.

  ‘Someone murdered my butler.’

  We sat down.

  ‘We know.’ Swift was businesslike.

  Sinclair let out an exasperated sigh. His silver hair was ruffled, his dark suit crumpled. He looked as though he’d dressed in the dark. ‘Two of my best men. It’s aimed at me, someone is trying to kill me.’

  ‘Why kill Monroe and Trent if you’re the intended victim?’ Swift drew out his notebook and pen as he spoke.

  ‘I can take notes, Swift.’ I wouldn’t usually offer, but I was still irritable after the tiff with Persi, and needed the distraction.

  He raised his brows at me and slid the book and pen over. He should have dried the nib first because a drop of ink fell onto the open page. I leaned over to grab Sinclair’s silver handled blotter, thumped it onto the ink spot and put it back. Then I wrote the date, tugged out my pocket watch to note the time, shook it because it had stopped again, and waited for them to get on with it.

  Sinclair gave me a narrow stare, then turned to Swift. ‘It’s a pattern. First Monroe and now Trent. It’s to intimidate me, or for revenge. I’m the best in this business; nobody gets to be the best by being nice. I have enemies and they’re closing in.’

  I wrote Sinclair thinks everyone wants to kill him. (with good reason)

  Swift watched Sinclair. ‘Why would your business rivals send you a gun?’

  That rattled him. ‘They… it was…’ He banged the desk. ‘That was a trick. Whoever killed my men must have heard about it. They might even have been at my party and seen it. Now I’ve put the house on full alert, the men are armed and they’re watching every move. No-one’s going to get near me. I want you to investigate this, Swift, I want the culprit caught.’

  ‘Scotland Yard will be here as soon as the local police report it,’ Swift remarked coolly.

  ‘No, I won’t allow it.’ Sinclair’s face was florid. ‘They’ll dig about in my private affairs, I won’t have it. You and Lennox can investigate. I made enquiries the day you arrived, you’ve got a good a reputation. You can get to work.’

  That made me look up. ‘Work?’

  Swift said. ‘Lennox, could you just write, please?’

  I wrote Find killer for Sinclair.

  ‘What have you discovered so far?’ Sinclair demanded. Swift told him our thoughts on how Monroe’s accident could have been caused – the broken security lamp, and the copper strip. He took it out of his jacket pocket to place on the black desk.

  ‘It’s proof.’

  Sinclair stared at it. ‘Where did it come from?’

  ‘The fuse room.’ Swift picked it back up.

  ‘That’s bloody obvious,’ he retorted. ‘Who put it there?

  ‘If we knew that, we’d have arrested them,’ Swift replied calmly.

  ‘I expect you to find out, not make bloody stupid statements,’ Sinclair barked.

  He hadn’t once spoken a word in sympathy for the dead men.

  Swift wasn’t intimidated. ‘Monroe was your bodyguard.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘Trent was too,’ Swift continued.

  ‘He was a highly trained soldier, that’s why I took him on.’ Sinclair looked down at his clenched hands on the desk.

  Killer is stalking Sinclair, removing his closest men first, I noted.

  ‘Who’s your valet?’ Swift asked.

  ‘No-one, I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself.’
<
br />   ‘Mullins was in the royal artillery, so were you, so were the dead men.’ Swift stated, proving he had noted the fact.

  ‘What of it? That was decades ago. I knew Trent when he was invalided out of the army. He came to me and brought his best men with him.’

  ‘Would you write that down, Lennox?’ Swift asked, because I’d been thinking about other things. Such as, why did Persi think Penelope was better off with Sinclair than living in poverty?

  ‘Right.’ I noted, Is Mullins in danger? Or is he the murderer?

  I decided to join the conversation. Finn was top of my suspect list.

  ‘Finn was born in Alaska,’ I began.

  ‘He was a mistake,’ Sinclair instantly replied.

  ‘You put him in an orphanage,’ Swift stated.

  ‘I did not, his mother put him up for adoption. Penelope found out and contacted me about it. She’s a good woman.’ Colour suffused across Sinclair’s fleshy cheeks. ‘She puts up with me… Look, I’m short tempered, and last night I was under pressure. I shout, but she forgives me. I do my best.’

  I think he was trying to apologise for his boorish behaviour. Perhaps Persi was right, he was a difficult and complex man, but he wasn’t evil, well not entirely anyway.

  ‘Who was Finn’s mother?’ Swift was more interested in facts.

  ‘She was a streetwalker. I was never sure he was mine, but she pinned the blame on me to try to extort money. I refused to pay the woman.’

  ‘Where did this happen?’ Swift asked quietly.

  ‘Dawson City,’ Sinclair replied.

  ‘Dawson’s in Canada,’ I remarked.

  ‘I know,’ Sinclair snapped.

  I recalled reading about the Klondike gold rush; there must have been a thousand men for every woman in Dawson City. ‘Why would she try to pin it on you amongst so many?’

  ‘Because I had money.’

  ‘Did you strike gold?’ Swift continued.

  ‘I found some, yes,’ Sinclair admitted. ‘It was after Randolph died. I began trading tools and guns in Dawson, it was more profitable than digging in frozen ground.’

  ‘But you already had a business trading weapons in England. Why did you go to Alaska?’ I recalled the story Persi had told us.

  ‘Because I fell afoul of the bloody establishment, that’s why,’ Sinclair suddenly shouted. ‘I wasn’t one of them; the toffs! I was a boy from a backwater in Sussex. When they saw how well I was doing, they cut me out and stole my trade. I went to Alaska because there were opportunities there – it wasn’t like this damn country. Then the gold began to dry up, so I moved to Boston. It was a good place for trade. I worked until I had enough money to stand up to the establishment and came back here. I bested the lot, they even gave me a seat in the House of Lords.’ He ended on a tone of triumph.