The Kit Aston Mysteries (All Five Books)

by Jack Murray

  Following the War, he took several months off to recover. He spent time travelling in North Africa and the Greek Islands as far away from the blood-stained landscape of Flanders. As the youngest son of a comparatively wealthy family, he had a comfortable income but one that still required him to find a profession, hence his choice of a career in medicine.

  All this he related to Kit briefly. Reluctantly, Kit probed more on the War. Intuitively he felt the death of Cavendish, if it was murder, might be motivated by the War rather than money. The key would be to use the War, money, and inheritance as a lens through which to view the stories, motivations, and actions of everyone at Cavendish Hall.

  Bright confirmed he had not met any of the Cavendish family during the conflict. This could easily be checked with the War Office and Kit’s instinct was to believe Bright. However, he was also conscious that any personal feelings towards Bright should be kept in check. Incontestably, Bright was a good fellow. Kit recognized this was someone who, in other circumstances, could be a good friend. They were of a similar age, both sporting men, cultured and Bright was clearly a gentleman. It was difficult to begrudge his attractiveness to the girls either, even if it represented a threat to him.

  Since returning from his travels, he had been happy to act as a locum in various parts of the country. Again, both recognized this was easily checked and Bright happily supplied Kit with a list of names, places, and dates for his employment over the last six months. None of the places, at this stage anyway, put him into contact with the Cavendish family.

  ‘Incidentally, before today, have you been in this room?’ asked Kit.

  ‘The library, no, just the drawing room and my bedroom’ responded Bright.

  The rest of the interview was confined to helping Kit understand what would happen next with Cavendish. Following the conclusion of their interview, Kit reflected that Bright, ostensibly, had no obvious motive for killing Cavendish. Their paths had not appeared to cross, and he had nothing to gain from either trying to threaten Cavendish or from killing him. The next meeting would be Strangerson.

  -

  ‘A damned bad show,’ said Strangerson by way of initiating the interview.

  ‘Indeed,’ responded Kit non-committedly. He proceeded to inquire about Strangerson’s association with the Cavendish family.

  ‘I knew Robert but had never met the old man until this trip. Robert was a Captain in my battalion. I was a sharpshooter for the unit along with Teddy Masters; we all had chums we worked with. One would look and the other would take a pop. We made a very effective team. By the end of the War, the Boche were after me, that’s for sure. I fancy I had a price on my head.’

  Kit nodded; he was familiar with the role Strangerson performed but was uncomfortable with it, too. Both sides had used sharpshooters extensively throughout the War. They had been responsible for many deaths and maiming.

  Sensing that Kit was not in favour of such tactics, Strangerson added hastily, ‘But of course Fritz started it.’

  ‘Did Teddy make it all the way through?’

  ‘No,’ said Strangerson and he stopped for a moment to compose himself then continued, ‘He caught one at Cambrai.’

  Kit looked up at this, ‘Like Robert.’

  ‘Yes, by a sniper also. Sadly, an occupational hazard, you might say.’

  ‘You said you were there when Robert was killed. Can you tell me more about what you saw?’

  ‘Certainly, old boy. Remember it vividly. The main stuff at Cambrai had stopped, just the odd empty beating of the gongs by the Hun. I think they were waiting for Christmas like ourselves. Anyway, there seemed to be something happening on this particular night out in No Man’s Land. A few flares were going up and we could see one of our boys was being dragged back into the trench.’

  This made Kit start. ‘Could you see who?’

  ‘No, too far away. Anyway, as the chaps neared our lines, all hell breaks loose. First there was a flare, then a bomb went off near us and Fritz started firing. I let of a few back in the direction of the gunfire. Doubt I hit anything. When I looked back, I could see a few of our chaps coming out of the trench and dragging some bodies back. A few minutes later, the word came down the line that Robert had copped it. Poor blighter.’

  ‘You went over to see him?’ asked Kit.

  ‘Yes. Immediately. The sniper had caught him in the head. Professionally speaking I have to say it was a bloody good shot, but my God, who would do such a beastly thing? There are rules, you know. Well, there are no rules but even so, it’s just not done that sort of thing. Typical Hun trick,’ concluded Strangerson.

  Strangerson’s post war activities had been limited to writing scholarly articles for various presses about his experiences in South America and searching for a lecturing job at a university. There were not many in supply as the War had severely drained university intakes.

  They chatted for a few minutes on Strangerson’s experiences in both South America and the Antarctic but neither seemed material to the current circumstances to make them worthy of detailed discussion. If it were the case that Cavendish was poisoned then the source of the poison, assuming it could be identified, might require further inquiry with Strangerson.

  The last part of the interview checked on Strangerson’s movements over the previous twenty-four hours. They parted soon after and Kit met up with Miller to discuss progress.

  -

  ‘I have spoken with Polly, Elsie and Miss Buchan,’ related Miller, ‘But it’s still too early yet for them. They’re all a bit traumatized and scared now, thanks to your pep talk.’

  ‘Yes, I was unsure how far to push it then, of course, Strangerson jumps in and panic sets in.’

  ‘It seems unlikely any of them could be involved. Polly has never been outside of Lincolnshire and I gather has no relatives in London, so how could she have arranged threatening cards? Both Miss Buchan and Elsie could’ve had someone send the cards as they have family down there, but why? And why wait until now? Of course, working in the kitchen means they certainly would’ve had the opportunity to poison Lord Cavendish.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Kit, ‘But then how did we avoid being poisoned? Neither Elsie nor Polly served much of the food on Christmas Day. Curtis did most of the serving and I have racked my memory to think of an occasion when he could’ve slipped Lord Cavendish anything but avoid giving it to us. Surely someone would have seen this happen anyway.’

  ‘I see what you mean about Elsie and Polly. Was there no other occasion when he might’ve taken something without us seeing?’

  ‘Of course, it’s very possible. But then we are in the realms of a slow acting agent. At this point I don’t see how any of the ladies would have developed enough expertise in toxicology to kill Lord Cavendish. It seems utterly implausible.’

  ‘So, we’ve neither motive nor the ability to carry out the murder then as far as the three ladies are concerned,’ said Miller.

  ‘There are no motives?’

  ‘Not really. They would all possibly lose their jobs if Lady Emily took over the Hall. She’s not well loved. Now if it’d been her who was killed…’

  ‘Harry, careful with the comments on Lady Emily, it’s a touchy enough situation here without you putting me in hot water,’ laughed Kit.

  ‘Anyway, it’s not obvious what they’d gain from his death. Besides which, and I’m not an expert, but they all seem genuinely grieved. I think they liked the old boy, so I’d be surprised if any would want to harm him.

  ‘What about this room? Has anyone been in here to tidy up?

  ‘No, nobody has been in here since yesterday before lunch.’

  ‘So, nobody moved the photograph?’ continued Kit.

  ‘I asked. Nobody.’

  This was strange and potentially material. Moving on he asked, ‘Anything else you could pick up from them?’

  ‘Nothing I can put my finger on but maybe you should speak to Curtis. I’m certain there’s something they’re not saying about him.
He was around for all of the interviews. They might be holding some things back.’

  ‘Very well, let’s see what he has to say.’

  -

  Miller was right about the sense of grief. It was like a black curtain falling down, blocking out all light, creating a void. Curtis walked into the room absently; stripped of pretension, lost without purpose. Kit found it difficult to believe the man was acting. His eyes were tear-stained red, his voice choked with emotion despite his efforts to control it. Kit invited him to sit down and take a few moments to compose himself.

  He spoke of a life of service to the Cavendish family. It seemed he had known barely any other life. His education had finished when he was thirteen. He had lived in country houses since then working his way up through the ranks.

  Speaking to Curtis, Kit found himself thinking about his own staff. He preferred to spend time either at his flat in London or on his frequent travels abroad. This kept him away from his father and half-brother, which was probably for the best. With a pang of guilt, he realized how rarely he saw the old staff now. He wondered if he still commanded the same degree of affection with them.

  Curtis had seen many changes over the years at Cavendish Hall. When he had joined there was a large family in the house and staffing was double the current level. Never a great country house, it had once upon a time been enjoyed some degree of importance, at least in the county. The War and its aftermath had changed things, observed Curtis. When Kit probed about John and Robert, he immediately detected a change in tone from Curtis. He transformed from the grieving manservant into a diplomat. Kit was reminded of Talleyrand’s maxim that speech was given to man to disguise his thoughts.

  ‘How did you feel about the loss of the two boys?’

  ‘Shocked. How else would one feel? It was a great loss.’

  ‘Did you like John and Robert?’

  ‘It’s not for me to say, sir. I was here to serve them.’

  Kit felt there was more he might have said on this, but he dropped the subject and dwelt more on the whereabouts of the staff over Christmas Day. He and Miller would cross check the answers to these questions later on in the evening.

  ‘Oh, just one other thing,’ asked Kit, ‘Did you visit the library yesterday to tidy or arrange things?’

  ‘No. I was not in the library all afternoon.’

  ‘Did you see anyone go in here?

  ‘I’m fairly certain I did not.’

  ‘Very well. I think we’ve covered everything, Curtis. If something else comes to mind, you can speak to me any time, in complete confidence.’

  Curtis stood up and thanked Kit as left the room. Looking out the window, he considered his next move. Although he was not looking forward to it, he realized he needed to interview Lady Emily and Henry, ideally separately. He went up to Lady Emily’s room.

  -

  Agnes tidied up the room for the third time in the space of an hour. Lady Emily, meanwhile, stared vacantly out of the window. Tears were still running down her cheek. She turned to Agnes finally and said, ‘Agnes, I’m quite sure the room is tidy now. If you’re finished, I think you should join Mr Miller and help with whatever inquiries he sees fit.’

  ‘Yes ma’am,’ replied Agnes and she left Lady Emily to her thoughts. She continued to gaze emptily at the wintry grounds, seeing nothing, feeling numb. Her thoughts were of Robert and of Lord Cavendish. She knew how the last few years had been hellish for all of them. Yet the anger she had felt towards Cavendish was gone. Just at the moment he seemed to want to atone for the past, he had gone. The anger was now replaced by fear.

  She thought about her wedding to Robert; was it really twenty years one ago? He was everything she had wanted. When Henry had arrived so early in the marriage, she had felt complete. She’d brought into the world a boy. Robert was delighted, their happiness was sealed. Happiness is momentary though. She soon found this out. Of course, she loved him. She always had. As the years passed and no more children came, she understood his frustration. It was natural, wasn’t it?

  The time away from home on duty was part of their life. It was accepted and understood. When did it first seem to her that he preferred to be away? Was it her or was it Henry? The child was so different from Robert in temperament, in his interests and in his health. She sensed Robert’s difficulty, not in loving him, but in his ability to conceal his contempt. He despised weakness because he thought himself strong. But in the end, he was the one who had been weak. She had forgiven him but how could she ever forget?

  From then on, the marriage existed in name only. Her life was built around Henry. Robert’s life became increasingly devoted to the army, partly because he desired it so, partly out of necessity as the War loomed. Emily grew to recognize Robert’s concerns in her son. As the years passed, she saw more clearly the things that had dismayed Robert and, reluctantly, began to share them.

  His detachedness, his lack of interest in the future was a constant worry and source of friction between them. She needed help, but Robert and Lord Cavendish were fighting an unending war. Neither seemed interested in the child, the young man, the future Lord Cavendish. So, it was left to her and the school. The boy hated school from the start. Emily had no idea what he wanted.

  Neither school nor being at home seemed to please him although she noted, unhappily, how he seemed to relax more during the summers at Cavendish Hall with the sisters, the stable girl and, of course, the Governess. While Henry enjoyed these summers at the Hall, they also revealed to Emily the extent of the disappointment in him felt by his father and grandfather. It was unspoken, of course, but Henry’s absence at shoots, or his disinterest in their discussions on the War seemed unnatural in a boy. The feeling that the two men were somehow responsible for Henry’s vulnerable nature grew in Emily. It became the guiding narrative for hating the Cavendish family, long before she lost Robert.

  The death of Robert had merely acted as a respite from this hatred, but a new element was added. Guilt. She withdrew from the Cavendish’s as much as they avoided her. Her own family was sympathetic, but she only had her father. He was too immersed in the family business to provide the consolation she craved for her loss. Furthermore, his desire to involve Henry in the business went against her wishes. It added to her sense of isolation. She began to avoid contact with her own family also for fear it could interfere with her ambitions for Henry.

  He was the future Lord Cavendish. Her son would be a lord. Henry’s disdain for the rank he would inherit was unfathomable to her. This place in society seemed, to her, to be irreconcilable with commerce. Of course, it would be painful for her father, who adored Henry and always hoped he would, one day, run the family business. This Christmas had made her realize the extent to which Henry’s interests lay with the business rather than fulfilling the role destiny had provided. Anger and frustration had built up in her, and in Henry, too. His future was an increasing source of conflict between the pair.

  And now Cavendish was dead. Fear overwhelmed her. The questioning would begin soon. The picking away at motives; the speculation around method, the proof that he was poisoned. She knew where the trail of questions would lead. There was no avoiding it. She knew what had to be done.

  -

  Kit knocked on the door. He heard Lady Emily say, ‘Enter.’ She was sitting by the window and it was clear she had been crying.

  ‘Lady Emily, I am so sorry to intrude. May I tell you how sorry I am for your loss. I know this is upsetting but would you mind if I asked you some questions? This will help provide a clearer picture of what has happened.’

  She nodded in response. He recoiled at the banality of his words but what else was there to say? Grief cannot be repelled by the kindly meant words of another. The words act more as a comfort for the consoler than the consoled. Sitting down opposite her he was about to speak when Lady Emily held her hand up to stop him.

  Calmly, in a quiet voice she said, ‘I killed him. I killed him with poison. I wish to confess, Lord Aston
.’

  Chapter 18

  Devlin returned to Cavendish Hall in the early afternoon. He sat down at the kitchen table and had some lunch. Miller saw him return and joined the chauffeur. He related to Miller, as he ate, his busy morning. The phone lines were not working at the village either. Rather than returning to the Hall, he’d borrowed a horse from the undertaker and rode several miles to the nearest town, Louth.

  Upon reaching Louth he went straight to the police station and informed the Duty Officer of the death of Lord Cavendish. They informed him that there were too few policemen on duty due to the weather; none could be released. It would be tomorrow before any police officers could come to the Hall. In the meantime, they undertook to contact the County Police in Lincoln because it would have greater resources for any potential investigation. Having accomplished his mission, he returned to Little Gloston.

  Miller updated him on what had happened since his departure. Devlin was surprised to learn of the possibility that Cavendish’s death might not have been by natural causes. He accepted readily the need to account for his own movements over the previous days. Miller added to the notes already made with the other members of staff. He couldn’t help but smile inwardly when Devlin drew a veil over his activities on Christmas night. It was almost certain he had spent a romantic evening with Polly. This was not likely to remain secret for long if the police became involved.

  Devlin’s story was consistent with the other stories told by the staff. It was clear he liked working for Cavendish. Of course, it was scarcely credible that Devlin would try to incriminate himself, but it seemed he did hold Cavendish in high regard. At no point, despite his death, did he refer to him as anything other than Lord Cavendish. Miller guessed the Irishman felt a debt of gratitude for being given the job. Therefore, it was difficult to detect what direct motive he would have. Instead, Miller decided to look further back. Devlin guessed immediately where Miller was heading.