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

by Karen Baugh Menuhin

  Swift glanced up and frowned. I emptied my own glass then turned to Sinclair.

  ‘We don’t work for you and I don’t give a damn about your threats.’

  He spluttered into his wine. Lady Penelope suddenly let out a peel of laughter and everyone turned to stare.

  ‘Lennox, you’re a brave man,’ Finn shouted, with glee in his voice.

  ‘He’s a fool,’ Jerome said.

  ‘Right, you bloody upstart. Get out of my house,’ Sinclair snarled in my direction.

  ‘I goaded him.

  He turned puce. ‘It’s mine as long as I live and I’ll bloody well decide who stays here and who doesn’t.’

  ‘Hey, Pop,’ Finn shouted over. ‘Enough already, this guy has guts. You need a private dick, and him and his sidekick are on the scene.’

  The ladies raised their brows and stared at him.

  ‘A private what?’ Sinclair almost exploded.

  ‘He means a detective,’ Max informed him dryly.

  Lydia giggled, Persi smiled, as did Penelope. Swift didn’t look amused; he probably objected to being called a sidekick.

  Soup was placed in front of us, which shifted attention. Sinclair glared at me again, then picked up a bread roll and began tearing it into pieces.

  ‘What sort of electrical appliances do you import?’ Persi suddenly asked Finn.

  I stared, then realised she must have found this out earlier in the day.

  ‘Wireless sets, gramophones, refrigerators, vacuum cleaners.’ Finn was full of enthusiasm. ‘I’ll bring in whatever sells. This country can’t get enough of American inventions.’

  ‘Where do you find them?’ Swift leaned forward to ask.

  ‘There are factories springing up all over the States, I go check ‘em out.’ Finn replied as he spooned his soup.

  ‘Do you know how they work?’ Swift continued.

  ‘I sure do,’ Finn grinned. ‘I got my college degree in electrical engineering.’

  ‘And he’s got a business brain to go with it,’ Sinclair added with a semblance of pride.

  The soup course was cleared away, I drank another glass of Burgundy.

  ‘Pop has been good enough to back my import and export enterprise.’ Finn was in fine form. ‘I’m goin’ to pay him back a hundred-fold.’

  ‘What do you export?’ I asked.

  ‘Liquor, as much as I can get a hold of.’

  ‘Liquor?’ Swift’s attention suddenly focused. ‘But there’s prohibition in America.’

  Finn laughed. ‘Which makes it all the more valuable.’

  ‘Gosh, Finn, are you a rum runner?’ Lydia asked with an excited giggle.

  ‘It’s illegal,’ Jerome said. ‘That makes you a criminal.’

  ‘Now, hold your horses.’ Finn put a hand up. ‘There are plenty of legal ways to import spirits into the States. I have a licence to supply the pharmacies.’

  Succulent beef, with small roasted potatoes, carrots and some greenery was served with gravy. It was absolutely first rate, I tucked in while the rest indulged in chit chat.

  ‘You mean brandy?’ Swift asked.

  ‘Brandy, sherry, port, whisky.’ Finn was enthusiastic. ‘If you have the right licence, it’s all considered medicinal.’

  ‘You mean American pharmacies are licensed to supply alcohol?’ Swift wasn’t giving up.

  ‘Yeah, sure. A tame doctor writes the prescription, for a price,’ Finn winked. ‘And the pharmacist supplies the medicine. It’s all legal and above board.’

  ‘Swift produces whisky,’ Persi said. I kicked her, she turned to look at me. ‘Why…?’

  ‘You do?’ Finn was all ears. ‘What brand?’

  ‘Braeburn Malt,’ Swift replied.

  ‘No! You don’t say.’ Finn leaned in his direction. ‘That’s the bees’ knees, that is. Nothing beats Braeburn, that’s the one that everybody wants. I gotta make a deal with you. Pop, did you hear that? This guy is Braeburn whisky.’

  ‘I thought he was a detective,’ Sinclair growled. ‘Jerome, did you know about this?’

  ‘His wife’s family produce whisky,’ Jerome replied with a slight shrug. ‘It’s highly rated in America.’

  ‘Darn sure it is,’ Finn leaned further across the table to point a fork at Swift. ‘And I bet those London chisellers are paying you no more than two bits for it. Every one of them liquor merchants sends spirits to the Bahamas and by hook or by crook they get it across the Florida Straits. They’re pocketing a packet.’

  ‘You mean people are smuggling Braeburn whisky into America?’ Swift was aghast. ‘In contravention of the Prohibition laws?’

  Persi had stopped eating to watch. In fact everyone seemed to be taking a great interest in the conversation.

  ‘They sure are, but if you sell it to me, I’ll pay you a fair price and make it all legit.’ Finn grinned.

  ‘What… wait… you mean…’ Swift was almost dumbstruck. ‘But, I have an exclusive contract with the London merchants.’ He turned to face me. ‘Lennox, your cousin set it up. You said it was going to gentlemen’s clubs in London.’ He raised his voice for no good reason.

  ‘Well, the thing is Swift…’ I began.

  His brows lowered. ‘You’re not trying to tell me that you knew about this?’

  ‘I… erm… Look, once it’s sold, it could go anywhere,’ I tried to explain.

  ‘No, it could not.’ He was becoming quite angry. ‘We had an understanding.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t the same understanding, was it?’ I replied, with a retort he’d aimed at me once.

  He simmered.

  I had another drink. Pudding was brought in.

  ‘Treacle sponge and custard for dessert,’ Lady Penelope smiled at her husband.

  He nodded, mollified and patted her hand. ‘You arranged it.’

  ‘Yes, I wanted you to have all of your favourites.’ She spoke quietly. ‘I know you’re upset about Trent.’

  ‘Trent was good at his job. He made sure everything was done for me. He was always nearby…’ They were talking quietly between themselves, as any husband and wife would. I ate my dessert, trying not to eavesdrop.

  ‘Persi,’ I put my spoon down and leaned towards her. ‘You’re not going home tonight.’

  She was just tucking in. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘I…’ Damn it, what should I say? ‘You did well to find out about Finn’s electrical knowhow,’ I congratulated her.

  ‘Perhaps.’ She laughed. ‘But I had no idea about Swift’s whisky.’

  I grinned. ‘I don’t know why he’s so priggish. Everyone’s smuggling liquor into the States.’

  She finished the last spoonful of treacle sponge. ‘Is Finn a suspect?’

  ‘Yes… no.’ I had another drink. ‘I really have no idea. The case is a complete mystery.’

  ‘If it is, Lennox, you’re sacked,’ Sinclair had been listening.

  ‘I thought you’d already sacked us,’ I countered.

  ‘My wife thinks I should give you a second chance.’ Sinclair pointed at me then Swift. ‘Two days, that’s what she asked me to give you. I’ve agreed, but I want the name on my desk in forty-eight hours, or you’re finished.’ He stood up abruptly and nodded to Jerome. They marched out together without another word.

  The party broke up after that, everyone strolling from the room, chatting quietly, except Finn who was laughing with Lydia.

  Swift was fuming. ‘Lennox…’

  ‘I’ll be a moment, Swift.’ I remained seated with my hand over Persi’s on the table.

  He looked from one to the other of us and decided on a tactful retreat.

  ‘Persi, can I say…’

  ‘No, please don’t, Heathcliff.’ She sighed. ‘I’m the one who should apologise. I’ve made a hash of things, Lydia gave me a terrible dressing down this afternoon and I didn’t appreciate it, but… well, she was right.’ She bit her lips.

  ‘You mean about Sinclair?’

  ‘No, about me.’ She was staring down
at the table. ‘My attitude, my… my intransigence. She said I sabotaged my relationships, which I thought was nonsense, but she insisted. She said I set unrealistic expectations and then become angry when people don’t live up to them. And I’m self-reliant because I don’t trust anyone and… She said I’m going to end up an old maid and I have only myself to blame…’ She stopped talking and sniffed.

  ‘Nonsense, you’re just rather forthright and…’

  She raised her eyes. ‘You could sound more convincing.’

  ‘I admire your self-reliance and I think it’s good that you have strong opinions.’

  ‘So you think I’m opinionated too?’ Her eyes flashed.

  ‘No…’

  ‘Lydia said I was, have you been talking to her about me?’

  ‘Yes, I mean no, not in…’ I was beginning to babble so shut up.

  She waited, I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  ‘I’m leaving.’ She made to rise.

  ‘No,’ I said, quite loudly. ‘Persi, just wait a moment, will you?’

  She stayed where she was, staring at the damask tablecloth in front of her.

  ‘Look, Lydia was talking absolute rot. I was in the wrong and you are right to be angry.’

  ‘But I…’

  ‘Come on.’ I took her hand before we had any more nonsense.

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘I don’t know, somewhere…’ I led her off, we walked along the corridor and found our way back to the drawing room. It was vacant apart from a footman putting logs on the fire. He beat a retreat when we arrived.

  ‘Sit down.’ I crashed down on the sofa.

  ‘Why?’ She wouldn’t look at me, so I tugged her to sit next to me.

  I raised my hand to touch her chin and gently turn her face until she was gazing into my eyes. ‘Because I love you.’

  She blinked a tear away, and gave a tremulous smile.

  And then I kissed her.

  Chapter 15

  The scent of breakfast greeted me the next morning as I entered the kitchen.

  ‘Greetings,’ I beamed.

  ‘I have fried the sausages in dripping, sir.’ Greggs, was in charge of a large cast-iron frying pan. ‘With black pudding and bacon.’

  ‘Excellent, old chap.’ I clapped my hands and strode to the table.

  ‘Lennox…’ Swift was already seated, still fuming by the look on his face.

  ‘Can we have breakfast in peace, Swift.’ I had slept well and was feeling positively sunny, despite the dense fog clouding the windows.

  ‘Ah, you still here.’ St George arrived, togged in nightcap and dressing gown, with a napkin tied under his chin.

  He pulled out a chair to join us.

  ‘I saw Randolph this morning.’ Lady Millicent had been in the pantry and now returned to the kitchen. She began pulling plates from the dresser shelves. ‘It’s so misty outside, I doubt he could see a foot in front of himself.’

  ‘What?’ We all stared at her.

  ‘I went to pick mushrooms for breakfast,’ she sang out. ‘He was going to his workshop.’

  St George looked at her. ‘Now, Millie, old girl…’

  ‘You saw Randolph?’ Swift asked, barely disguising his disbelief.

  ‘He always goes to work early. He makes his own breakfast and slips out before we come down.’ She came to lay the table. ‘But he’ll be hungry by lunch, I’ll bake a pie, and then we will have his favourite cake.’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘Did you hear, dear Greggs? We will make chocolate cream cake.’

  ‘Indeed, m’lady.’ Greggs was carefully turning sizzling bacon over with a wooden spatula.

  ‘She was up early,’ St George said, which didn’t explain anything.

  ‘Would fried bread be required?’ Greggs created a diversion.

  ‘Yes, please,’ came a chorus of replies.

  ‘Lennox about the whisky…’ Swift’s mood hadn’t improved.

  ‘I didn’t know it was being smuggled.’ I picked up my napkin.

  ‘But our whole production depends on selling…’

  ‘Exactly,’ I intervened tersely. ‘And nothing has changed.’

  He wasn’t convinced and I could see he was itching for an argument.

  Greggs delivered two plates of steaming bacon, eggs, sausages, mushrooms and fried bread. He served the St Georges first, then returned with two more plates.

  I had just taken the first mouthful when there was a loud rapping on the door. Billie appeared without waiting to be called.

  ‘You’d best come, sirs.’ His eyes were like saucers, his cheeks flushed as though he’d been running.

  ‘What happened?’ Swift was instantly on his feet, his meal forgotten.

  ‘It’s Lord Sinclair. He’s missing.’ Billie spoke between breaths. ‘They’re out in the grounds, lookin’ for ‘im. Everyone’s panicking and Miss Persi said to come for you.’

  ‘So, they got him at last,’ St George said with satisfaction.

  ‘Now Bertie,’ Lady Millicent sounded a mild reprimand before they both carried on eating.

  ‘You were right, old girl. Always comes in threes.’

  ‘Lennox.’ Swift was already heading towards the door. ‘Come on.’

  I hadn’t finished breakfast. ‘We should take a torch,’ I told him between mouthfuls. ‘And a magnifying glass.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I’ll go up and fetch them. And we’ll need Fogg, he might smell him out.’ Swift dashed for the stairs.

  I gave my little dog a piece of sausage. ‘Bit optimistic.’

  Swift returned just as I’d cleared my plate. He was wearing his overcoat, scarf and gloves.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes, Swift.’ I stood up.

  ‘Come on.’

  Billie was desperate to return to the house. He was almost running as we passed through the state rooms.

  ‘They went out from the east terrace, sirs.’ Billie told us when we arrived at the grand hall. We strode across the chequered tiles, our footsteps echoing. A couple of maids were talking animatedly in a corner, but there wasn’t a single footman around. The place seemed strangely bereft.

  ‘Through here, sirs.’ Billie led us along a corridor to a spacious room. ‘It’s the orangery.’

  It was probably the prettiest room I’d seen in the mansion. It was filled with flowers and plants, including a number of small orange trees. French windows overlooked a broad terrace and the formal gardens, and made me realise there was a lot of this house I still hadn’t explored.

  Lady Penelope was standing at one of the glass doors, peering out into swirling fog. She turned around as she heard us arrive. ‘Oh, thank heavens you are here. They’re out searching, but it’s so misty, no-one can see a thing.’ She was dressed in warm tweeds, her shoes were muddy, her dark hair escaping from a carelessly tied scarf.

  ‘When did he go missing?’ Swift switched to policeman mode.

  ‘Just after six this morning.’ She replied, her face taut and anxious.

  ‘Could you tell us what happened?’ I asked.

  She bit her lip, trying to retain her composure. ‘Jerome came into the breakfast room at eight o’clock asking for Sinclair. None of us had seen him, so he went to look and… and…’ She paused to quell a quiver in her voice. ‘Finally, we questioned the servants. One of the footmen had seen Sinclair walk out from the doors here just as it was becoming light. He thought it strange, but he didn’t dare ask him where he was going.’

  ‘Was Sinclair alone?’ I tried a gentle tone.

  ‘Yes, entirely alone,’ she replied. ‘Are you going to join the search?’

  ‘Shortly. We need more information first,’ Swift continued in businesslike manner. ‘What’s his usual routine?’

  ‘Very well.’ She looked out of the windows. ‘He likes to go to his office early, around six, and work until breakfast at eight. He has always done so.’

  ‘What time did the search begin?’ Swift asked.

  ‘When we realised he was missi
ng.’

  ‘And you’re sure he hasn’t simply gone for a walk?’ I asked.

  ‘No, he dislikes the mud, he’s not a country person at all.’ Lady Penelope caught her breath, I could see she was close to tears. ‘I can’t imagine where he is… but after Trent and Monroe… I’m so fearful.’

  I wondered if I should offer comfort somehow. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘Outside. They have all gone. Most of the footmen, Mullins, even Lydia and Persi.’ She raised a hand towards the door in a forlorn gesture. ‘It’s been almost two hours since he disappeared…’ Tears ran down her cheeks.

  Swift offered a clean handkerchief. ‘We’ve brought a dog.’

  We all looked down at Fogg, he was wagging his tail in his bright-eyed, happy manner.

  ‘He’s very keen,’ I said by way of support.

  ‘We’ll start in Sinclair’s office,’ Swift announced.

  ‘Why? Jerome has already looked in there.’ Lady Penelope was confused.

  ‘There’s a reason why Sinclair went out so early,’ Swift told her. ‘His office may hold a clue.’

  ‘Right.’ I agreed and turned to Lady Penelope. ‘Perhaps you’d like to wait in the drawing room, or…?’

  ‘No… yes, I suppose I should. But you will join the search, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, of course, we will. He has police habits,’ I explained, then turned to follow Swift out.

  We raced upstairs to Sinclair’s office. There was no-one about and the door was unlocked, so we walked straight in.

  ‘He came here first…’ Swift stood in the centre and gazed around.

  The room was quiet, almost peaceful without Sinclair’s restless energy.

  ‘Something, or someone, enticed him out,’ I added.

  ‘A message,’ Swift replied, he went to the tray of letters on the desk-top and started rifling through them.

  ‘It may have been a telephone call.’ I sat in Sinclair’s chair, it was large and quite firm. It swivelled, so I pushed myself around. ‘Although if Jerome questioned everybody, it would have been mentioned.’

  ‘Unless he were the killer.’ Swift had moved to the waste bin and was pulling out crumpled paper.