by Blythe Baker
A Simple Country Tragedy
Blythe Baker
Contents
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
About the Author
All the secrets Helen Lightholder has been working to uncover are about to be revealed, as Helen travels to London. Seeking out a colleague of her late husband’s, she delves into a murky world of spies and treason, becoming entangled in a web of danger and intrigue.
Meanwhile, dark happenings back in Bookminster end with the murder of a local man. Once again, Helen is called upon to assist Inspector Graves in an investigation, but can she focus on the present when the mysteries of her past beckon?
1
The mist clung to the ground like a blanket of snow. Trees protruded from its depths, like skeletal hands reaching out of a restless grave. Hills disappeared into the low hanging clouds as if they were the tallest of mountains.
The earth was still, apart from the pattering rain and the ripples in the river flowing just outside the village.
I held an umbrella in my hand, staring up the street, waiting for the headlights I knew would come.
Glancing at my watch, I noticed that I only had seven minutes left to wait before the cab arrived…and took me to the destination I was preparing to go to.
“Are you absolutely certain this is what you want to do?”
I turned and saw Irene standing beneath the overhang above my front door. She clutched her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, the chill of the rainy day drawing color to the tip of her nose and fingers.
This woman had been the dearest friend that I’d had since moving to Brookminster. She was kind, patient, and a mother by nature, which left her prone to worrying…even about me.
Her thick, blonde hair was pulled back in a plait she had pinned behind her head with a pretty, shimmering pin. Her grey eyes searched my face, as intently as they always did.
I was convinced more and more that she was more family to me than friend.
“I am,” I said. “I’ve thought about this for nearly three weeks now. I haven’t had a proper night’s sleep since July.”
Irene didn’t respond, apart from pulling her shawl more tightly around herself.
My gaze shifted to the other person standing there with us.
Sidney Mason.
Leaning against the door, his blue eyes were downcast on the ground, where puddles were pooling between the cobblestones. His copper hair was growing long around his ears, probably because of the late summer heat. He’d trimmed his beard, too, I noticed. It was much closer to his face, much cleaner looking than even the day before when he’d come to repair the leak in my faucet.
He must have felt my gaze on his face, for he looked up at me, and gave a wry smile. “You know, I feel as if I must agree with Irene in this instance. Are you absolutely certain this is what you want to do? Travel all the way to London…and for what? Just to come home discouraged again?”
Caution was clear in his gaze, and it gave me pause. Sidney was never one for fear or worry, yet ever since I told him that I was going to London to investigate what had happened to Roger, he had been rather distant.
“Yes, what if you don’t find the answers you are looking for yet again?” Irene asked. “This man you are meeting, how can you be certain he will be able to do anything to help you?”
“I can’t be certain,” I said. “But he was one of Roger’s oldest friends, and served alongside him since the start of the war. Roger very well may have told him more than he ever told me.”
“And what makes you so sure that he will reveal that information to you now?” Sidney asked, his brow furrowing. “Especially if it is some sort of matter of the government?”
I sighed, glancing back down the street. Still no sign of headlights. “I am not sure,” I said. “As I have said to you both on more than one occasion now.”
“Helen, I understand that you are frightened,” Irene said gently. “Anyone would be after having their home broken into so many times – ”
“It’s not just that, Irene,” I said, the raindrops falling off the edge of my umbrella. “It’s much more. Whoever it was that was breaking in didn’t want anything to do with me. It had everything to do with Roger’s things. And I cannot be certain if this person was an enemy or an ally – ”
“I thought that would be clear,” Sidney said. “Wouldn’t it make far more sense for this lunatic to just write you a letter if they were an ally, instead of breaking in and stealing your things to make a point?”
“I suppose,” I said. “But it was clearly a warning. Maybe a warning to not forget about Roger. I don’t know. I simply cannot shake this feeling that I am just missing something, that everything that’s happened isn’t finished yet. It cannot be.”
“So does this mean that you will leave Brookminster in the end?” Sidney asked.
The weight of his words struck me hard, like a blow to the heart.
I knew that any delay in my response would be as good as admitting I’d considered it, so I could only sigh.
“I don’t know what my life holds for me now,” I said. “All I do know is that I need answers, about so many things…why Roger died, what was the reason he was killed, and why this person seems so intent on scaring me away from the whole thing.”
“But what if this just leads you into danger?” Irene asked. “I cannot think of a clearer message than a shattered picture frame.”
I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat. “I need to be brave. I need to stop pretending that Roger’s death is over and done with. I know it isn’t, and I know there is more to it than what I have been told.”
Sidney straightened, moving away from the door, his hands slid deep into his pockets. “Well, Helen, I hope you know there are people here in Brookminster who really care a great deal about you. We only worry because we want you to have a full and happy life…and all this business with Roger just seems so unnecessary.”
A twinge of anger rippled through me, but I quickly pushed it aside. He was saying these things out of affection, not out of malice. “I understand,” I said. “And I care about you both, as well. But you must understand this about me. I must do this. If I don’t, then it will come after me all on its own. The only way for me to stop everything that’s happening is to confront it, and fight back. Otherwise I will be nothing more than a victim to all this nonsense for the rest of my days.”
Irene nodded slowly. “And we do realize that. We only wish we could do something to help you.”
“Yes, and we wish we could protect you in some way from all this,” Sidney added.
“What would I have you do, hmm?” I asked. “Stand guard outside my door at all hours of the day to ensure the burglar never returned? Should I have bars fixed to my windows? Move across town? No, this person is determined to find something, and my intent is to find it before they do.”
Bright lights up ahead on the road caught my attention, drawing my eyes from the front garden to the wet, gleaming street. The lights grew as they drew nearer.
“That’ll be George,” Irene said behind me, with a tone of defeat.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” I said.
The cab pulled up outside the low, stone garden wall. The headlights seemed to flicker as the rain fell straight into their long, narrow beams.
The man who stepped out
from the driver’s side was a rather husky sort of man, with a broad jaw, and long, drooping jowls that reminded me of a basset hound. “’Ello, dear sister,” he said, grinning a toothy smile.
“Hello, George,” Irene said, walking out from under the overhang to stand beneath the umbrella with me. “Thank you for coming at such short notice.”
“It’s not a problem, love, not a problem,” said George. He glanced back and forth between Irene and I. “Why the long face, lass? She’s only going to London for the week.”
“Yes, I know,” Irene said, and when I looked up at her, I saw a tight, sad smile on her rosy cheeked face. “You take care now, all right? Make sure to call if you need anything.”
She gave me a hug, and as she did, my eyes stung with tears. Why did it feel as if I was betraying her in some way?
When she released me, Sidney walked over and stared at me for a few moments. The rain fell upon his shirt, his face, his hair…and he didn’t seem to mind.
He was trying to say something to me, standing there in the horrible weather the way he was. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, exactly…but it was clear that he intended to tell me something.
“Have a safe trip,” he said, holding his hand out.
I looked from his hand, back up to his handsome face, my heart twisting in my chest.
He smiled, then. A small smile that only turned up the corner of his mouth, but it was one I was familiar with. It put me at ease.
I took his hand, and he squeezed mine tightly.
“I’ll watch your house while you’re gone, all right?” he asked. “I promise you that it will be safe with me.”
“I know it will be,” I said. “And I greatly appreciate it.”
He released my hand, the warm pressure of his skin on mine disappearing…leaving a hole in my heart.
“Why don’t you hand me your suitcase?” George asked. “I’ll get it in the boot before it gets soaked.”
“And what about you?” I asked, turning around and smiling at Irene’s brother. “You seem to be already soaked through, standing there while I’m blabbering on.”
“Never you mind,” George said as he hoisted my suitcase over the wall and wandered back to the boot.
Irene had returned to the overhang. “I’ll make sure Mrs. Georgianna gets her order on Tuesday, all right?”
“Thank you,” I said. “And Mrs. Trent might come looking for some more ribbon. She’s like clockwork, every six weeks.”
Irene smiled. “There’s no sense in dragging out our goodbyes. Off you go. We don’t want you missing your train.”
I nodded, and walked to the gate, unlatching it as I had so many times before. For some reason, as I pushed it shut, there was a sense of finality about the sound of the metal sliding home into its lock…as if I might not be the same person when I returned.
“Goodbye,” I said from the car door. George had already slid inside, waiting quite patiently for me in the front seat.
Both Sidney and Irene waved, though Irene’s was far more exuberant than Sidney’s.
Irene’s right. No sense in dragging this out.
With one last smile at the pair of them, I pulled open the door, shut my umbrella with a snap, and slid inside before the rain could flood the car.
“Very good,” said George, smiling over at me. “Off to the station we go, then.”
I looked out the window, and saw Irene and Sidney speaking to one another. Irene looked concerned once again, and Sidney shook his head somberly.
My heart sank.
Irene noticed me looking, though, and her smile returned as she waved at me.
I waved back as we pulled away down the street.
Brookminster disappeared quickly as we headed outside the town limits.
“Thank you for coming to pick me up, George,” I said. “I know petrol is quite expensive these days.”
“It’s not a problem, lass,” he said, giving me a hearty wink. I noticed his eyes were the same shade of grey as Irene’s. “Believe it or not, there are still many who would rather use a car for transport than walk anywhere, even in a little village like ours.”
“I’m not surprised,” I said, thinking of Sidney who loved that truck he’d inherited shortly after arriving in Brookminster.
A few moments passed in silence before George broke it with a loud chuckle.
“Do you remember that first day we met?” he asked. “When I picked you up from the station and brought you here to Brookminster?”
I smiled, thinking back on that day. “Yes, I do. You were the first person to show me kindness in Brookminster.”
“Aw, don’t say that,” George said, chuckling. “I’m glad you came, though, Helen. Irene needed someone like you to mother so that she would stop bothering me so much.”
He gave me another wink, and I smiled.
“In all seriousness, though, you are just the sort of friend she needed. You’ve got a little spunk in you. My sister is always such a worry wart. It’s good for her to get a little excitement in her life.”
I wonder if he knows what sort of excitement we’ve been up to…I thought. Between eavesdropping on criminals and storming the homes of possible murderers, we had likely had more excitement than anyone needed to ever experience in their whole lives.
The train station wasn’t nearly as far away as I remembered it being. George and I whittled away the drive by talking about his nephew, Michael, Irene and Nathanial’s son, which was quite pleasant.
When we arrived, the storm had only gotten worse, and I feared it might cause the train to be delayed.
“As long as the storm keeps moving west, you should be fine,” George said as he carried my suitcase to a trolley just outside the main doorways. “If not, just give Irene a call and she can contact me. I’ll come back and get you.”
“Thank you, George,” I said, and reached into my pocket for the money I owed him.
He held up his hands, backing away into the downpour. “Your money is no good here, lass. You’re practically family now.”
Even though I was quite flattered, I still felt guilty. “Are you certain? It could cover the cost of some tea when you get back. I wouldn’t want you to fall ill because of me.”
He shook his head, turning on his heel and hurrying back down the steps. “Have a good trip, Helen. We’ll see you when you get back!”
I stood there, money still clutched in my hand, watching him leave.
I’ll just leave some tucked in his glove box when I come back…I thought as I turned my luggage trolley around and pushed it into the station.
The train to London wasn’t canceled, thankfully. I boarded without trouble an hour later, and a few hours after that, watched the city lights appear on the horizon out the window.
I’d been reading the letter in my hand for the third time that trip as the train entered the city, the grandeur of the Thames River glittering in all the lights, reflecting the grey, dark storm clouds above.
The letter held the address of the man I was going to meet. A one Patrick Gordon. I had heard Roger speak of him several times, but could never remember his full name. And with the letters that Roger had written to me stolen, I couldn’t refer to them for certainty.
This had led me to seek out the help of Sam Graves, who seemed slightly put out by my request, reminding me that he had things like murders and thefts to be dealing with, but he agreed to help all the same.
To my dismay, there were several Patrick Gordon’s in London, but Sam’s detective abilities had helped us to narrow down the list to just two possibilities. I sent the same letter to both men. Very short and as cordial as I could be, I asked them if they had been in the military, and if they had been friends with a late Roger Lightholder. I didn’t feel comfortable giving any further information than that, just in case the letter was intercepted somewhere.
The first letter I received in return was from someone apologizing, but they had never heard the name before.
R
ather discouraged, I began to wonder if I had done nothing but waste my time when a second letter arrived, and was similarly as short.
Helen,
It’s wonderful to hear from you. Lily and I had wondered what happened to you after Roger’s death. I certainly did know him, and knew him well. I’m sorry that we never had the chance to meet in person, but I am pleased that you reached out to me. How have you been? Have you been able to make any peace with Roger’s passing? Awaiting your response at…
His address was listed there, but we had corresponded several more times over the last few weeks. I realized that he spoke in very general terms about Roger and their relationship, so I followed suit. It seemed that my hunch was correct, and that Patrick had been around when Roger had been killed. In his last letter, he asked if I would want to come and stay with him and his family, where we could speak further, perhaps share some happy memories about Roger.
Something within me realized that he was warning me, in a very subtle way, not to say much more in a letter.
I agreed to come meet them, and with that, the hope of learning the truth about what happened to Roger had been reignited within me.
I disembarked the train, glad to see that the rains had finally ceased. The clouds were dark overhead, though, swollen with rain, and I knew it would not be long before they began their deluge once more.
It was quite strange, being back in London. I never thought I would return here. Maybe one day, to pay my respects at Roger’s grave…but I was only partially surprised about how morose I was feeling to be back. I felt exposed. Raw. I wanted nothing more than to run and hide.
I flagged down a cab outside the station, and gave the cabbie the address that Patrick had given me.
A little more than a half hour later, I found myself standing outside a charming townhome on a quiet street in north London. A couple walked their dog on the sidewalk across the street, and a horn honked in the distance.