The Kit Aston Mysteries (All Five Books)

by Jack Murray

  Cometh the hour, cometh the butler. Curtis, saw his opportunity. He chopped down on Strangerson’s arm. The gun stayed in his hand but pointed downwards. Strangerson leased off one shot that flew harmlessly into the floor. Sam liked nothing better than a good fight. The sound of gun fire was like a starter’s pistol for the temperamental Jack Russell. He leapt up immediately and bit Strangerson’s hand.

  Strangerson screamed out an oath and let go of the gun. Seconds later, a single punch dispatched Strangerson into a state of unconsciousness. Reverend Simmons stood over him, holding his hand and said, ‘I’ll never know how bareknuckle fighters did it.’

  Kit was by Mary in seconds. She seemed much more in control than he. Bending down he retrieved the gun and patted the little dog, ‘Good boy. Extra biscuits for you tonight.’

  Mary bent down and picked up Sam who started to lick her face, ‘My hero.’ she said laughing in relief.

  Simmons looked at Kit but tilted his head towards Strangerson, ‘I think he could be out for a while.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised. You certainly caught him. I’m not sure Sam Langford would’ve survived a punch like that. I can’t thank you enough,’ said Kit, putting his arm around Mary. She looked at him doing this but did not seem to object.

  ‘I’m sure I’ll think of something,’ replied Simmons looking at Mary then Kit, a smile on his weathered features.

  The prone Strangerson was dragged onto a seat by Coltrane and Miller. Bright came over to examine him. It looked as if his nose was broken and both his eyes were starting to swell. Coltrane checked his pockets for other weapons. There was only a wallet and a cigarette case. Glancing at Stott about what to do with these items, he received a shake of the head, so he returned both items into Strangerson’s pocket.

  Stott came over and shook the uninjured hand of Simmons, ‘If you ever decide to have a change of career, Reverend, I’ll happily have you in my team. You too, Mr Curtis.’

  Kit smiled and looked at the butler affectionately, ‘I think that the Cavendish family owes you a great debt. It was remarkably quick thinking.’

  A glowing Curtis bowed slightly but decided to let his actions speak for themselves. The glow turned a very bright red seconds later when Mary kissed him gently on the forehead and smiled. Moments later Esther embraced him also saying, ‘Thank you Curtis. Thank you so much.’

  Strangerson slowly began to regain consciousness. Through his half-closed eyes he saw Lady Emily looking at him. He looked up at her but was too groggy to think of anything to say. She turned away to look at Reverend Simmons and nodded to him before moving out the door of the library.

  The library cleared as Stott, Coltrane and Bright took Strangerson to the drawing room to give him time to recover. Coltrane put handcuffs on his wrists which allowed Bright the opportunity to examine him before he was taken away.

  ‘Looks like a broken nose, Inspector,’ noted Bright.

  ‘No more than he deserved,’ replied Stott.

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed Bright. ‘After you leave, I’ll call the County Hospital and maybe they can have someone meet you at the police station to fix it. I’m afraid I can’t do much here.’

  Under the calm direction of Curtis who, in the eyes of his colleagues, had gained in stature over the last half hour, the staff returned to their duties and normal routine.

  For Curtis, the sooner life returned to its traditional rhythm at Cavendish Hall, the better it would be. He was a man wedded to tradition, deviation from which was unwelcome. Although he recognized life would have to change following the passing of Lord Cavendish, he saw his role as ensuring that the running of the house would continue in the same ordered way it had for generations.

  He had never been the most self-aware of individuals, but for the first time Curtis became conscious of how his colleagues were looking at him. It dawned on him how much their respect meant something. This was as surprising as it was humbling. As he looked at the hum of activity in the kitchen, he felt a sense of pride. Spying Elsie attempting to lift a box of supplies he walked over, ‘Let me help you with this.’

  -

  Half an hour later, Strangerson had recovered his senses but was still in pain from the force of the blow delivered by Simmons. Cold packs had been applied to his eyes to control the swelling and Doctor Bright finally declared the “blighter” was ready to be moved to Lincoln and a police prison cell. Bright and Coltrane helped Strangerson to his feet. As he was still unsteady, they assisted him from the drawing room into the hallway.

  ‘Bring the car around Coltrane,’ ordered Stott, who took over holding the prisoner.

  Only Kit and Mary remained in the library. They stood by the window and looked at one another. Then they both spoke at the same time.

  ‘Kit.’

  ‘Mary.’

  ‘Or should I say Nurse Tanner,’ said Kit with a smile.

  Mary shot him a look and narrowed her eyes. ‘You may,’ she replied before adding, how would you like to be addressed? Mr Chekov or should I say Herr Adler or Mr Page?’

  Kit laughed guiltily and held his hands up.

  ‘Touché. I had my reasons. I’m sure you did, too. From now on, and for the rest of our lives, I think it should simply be Kit or,’ he thought for a moment, ‘my love.’

  Mary pretended to ponder the matter before a smile erupted across her face, ‘I think that’s acceptable.’

  ‘I’m sorry it had to be this way,’ said Kit thinking about Lord Cavendish. ‘I’d like to have known him better.’

  Mary turned away to look out of the window but mainly to hide the tears stinging her eyes. She nodded but did not say anything.

  Kit took hold of Mary’s hand, ‘Mary, there’s something I must say.’

  She looked up at him. Kit opened his mouth to speak when there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Kit, Mary, we’re taking Strangerson away now.’ It was Bright.

  Mary smiled and put her hand on Kit’s arm, ‘I’ve waited two years for this, I think I can manage a few more minutes.’

  THE END

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  THE CHESS BOARD MURDERS

  The SECOND Lord Kit Aston Mystery

  JACK MURRAY

  Copyright © 2018 by Jack Murray

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed ‘Attention: Permissions Coordinator,’ at the address below.

  Jackmurray99@hotmail.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 9798500313386

  Imprint: Independently published

  Spoiler Alert!

  Please note the events described in this novel follow on directly from Book 1 in the Lord Kit Aston Mystery series, ‘The Affair of the Christmas Card Killer’. You may want to consider reading this book first.

  Prologue

  Petrograd, Russia: 30th December 1916

  Oswald Rayner gazed at the semi-conscious man lying at his feet. Calmly, he removed a Webley Service revolver from his overcoat pocket, aimed at the man’s head and fired one shot. The bullet entered the forehead, ending the life of Grigori Rasputin.

  Prince Felix Yusupov looked on. He betrayed little emotion at what he’d just witnessed. Instead, he merely nodded to Rayner. Kneeling, Rayner gazed without pity at the dead man. He lifted Rasputin’s lifeless arm, pulled back the sleeve of his coat and checked for a pulse. The form
er adviser to the Tsarina had proved a little more durable than Yusupov had anticipated. Rayner was keen to make sure he really was dead. Satisfied his mission was accomplished, he rose and pocketed his revolver. A half-smile appeared on his face.

  ‘Look on the bright side, Grigori Yefimovich, it would’ve been an awful hangover,’ said Rayner, eyeing the corpse.

  Yusupov rolled his eyes and said sardonically, ‘Good to see such respect for the dead Oswald.’ His English was perfect.

  Rayner smiled and replied in Russian, ‘I’m sure you gave the poison respectfully Felix.’

  This made Yusupov grin. The smile turned to laughter when Rayner added, ‘And the bullet was delivered with such affection.’

  ‘I think, Oswald, you should take your leave. I’m not sure how much it would be appreciated if His Majesty’s Government were found taking an active role in the politics of Mother Russia.’

  ‘Perish the thought old chap,’ replied Rayner wryly, before adding, ‘Are you certain you don’t want some help in moving our friend, here, into the river?’

  ‘We can manage, Oswald. Time to make an exit,’ said Yusupov with one eye on the street. He seemed on edge again and could not hide his nerves.

  ‘Hopefully not pursued by a Russian bear,’ smiled Rayner.

  The two old friends embraced. Then Rayner walked away from his companion and the lifeless body of Rasputin without looking back.

  Yusupov regarded the dead body again before turning to the car parked some way behind him. He signalled for help and then lit a cigarette. The cigarette helped settle him. It had been a traumatic night.

  Killing someone in cold blood was a new experience for him. He hoped one he would never have to repeat. This was not because he felt that a moral line had been crossed. Far from it, the rightness of his action was clear to him. Rasputin was a malign influence on his country; a danger who was better off dead. His distress stemmed from Rasputin’s ungentlemanly refusal to die at the first time of asking. This necessitated more violent measures. His hand went to his neck as he remembered how the poisoned man had come back to life suddenly and attempted to strangle him. He shuddered involuntarily. It was over. Or so he expected.

  One unwelcome thought lingered like the last guest at a party. If this was an example of the Russian peasantry given a glimpse of real power, what would the rest of the country be like? Were the millions of illiterates, uneducated animals living and dying in filth, as strong as this man? What would happen when they decided enough was enough? This was too depressing to contemplate. He fought to empty his mind from such thinking. However, this would be a temporary respite. The fear would never go away. For him, his friends and for people of his class, the future was more uncertain than he could ever remember.

  His associates walked up to him and they set to work moving the body towards the River Nevka.

  -

  The journey back to his apartment took Rayner twenty minutes. His chief concern was ensuring he wasn’t followed. There was no reason his presence should have aroused suspicion, yet the worry remained. Rayner had to be careful. Russia was an ally against Germany albeit an unreliable one. He was a British agent operating within its borders. Close friends, like Yusupov, were aware of his role, but it was not something that Britain wanted other members of the Russian elite to know. Rayner intended keeping it that way.

  Arriving back at his apartment, he found three men already there. All three looked up as he entered. If he was surprised to see them, Rayner kept it to himself. They looked at Rayner expectantly.

  ‘How is our mad monk?’ asked the seated man. He was the oldest of the three. His hair greying at the sides; he wouldn’t see sixty again. The ruddy complexion suggested someone who was seconds away from exploding, even when he was relaxed.

  Rayner nodded confirmation. ‘Yes Ratcliff, we’re free of that particular problem.’ He took off his hat and coat. Underneath he wore several layers of clothing. It was very cold outside and only marginally warmer inside.

  The other seated man spoke, ‘Any complications?’ His dark hair was brushed off his forehead. A trim moustache made him seem older than his thirty-five years.

  ‘Sadly, yes. I had to apply the coup de grace, so to speak,’ admitted Rayner.

  The two men looked at one another. This was not good news. The idea of the British secret service being implicated in the murder of a Russian citizen had the potential to create many problems for Britain, not the least of which was the exit of Russia from the War.

  ‘Nobody saw me, if that’s what you’re worried about, and we all know Felix can be trusted.’

  The second man spoke again, ‘Felix might talk. If not now, then sometime in the future. We have to think beyond the here and the now.’

  ‘True, but he and I go back a long way. I trust him, Cornell.’

  Cornell nodded but remained grim. Ratcliff looked down into his empty cup. This was unforeseen. The silence was heavy in the air; Rayner expected Ratcliff to explode any moment. He was not known for his self-control. Finally, he looked up. He was angry but, thankfully, in control.

  ‘That damned fool Yusupov. Why couldn’t he do what he said he would do. How difficult can it be?’ Ratcliff thumped the table. ‘Colin’s right, this could come back to haunt us.’

  ‘What are you suggesting, Ratcliff?’ said Rayner.

  Ratcliff glared up at Rayner, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not suggesting we add to our body count. One execution is quite enough for the moment.’

  Finally, the third man spoke. He was the youngest of the three. His fair-haired flopped down from his forehead and he brushed it back.

  ‘You do see that Yusupov only has to mention this to one other person and we have a big problem. We wouldn’t like it if Russia started killing people in England; even people we don’t like.’

  He was standing by the window smoking a cigarette. His tone was nonchalant, but the message was clear and unarguable. Rayner poured himself a drink and sat down. Their main problem had been dealt with, but it risked creating another in its place. Which was worse? Embarrassment for Britain or seeing Russia pull out of the War because of the increasing influence of Rasputin on policy? Rayner was clear on this answer. Before he could speak, Ratcliff, almost reading his mind, responded to the younger man.

  ‘I think “C” won’t be happy at the way it was done, but he won’t shed any tears for Rasputin. Hundreds of thousands of lives have been saved by his death.’

  The young man nodded coolly and removed the cigarette that hung magically on his lower lip. He mouthed the words, “cock up” to Ratcliff. Fire burned in the older man’s eyes for a moment and then he shook his head. It wasn’t worth it. Not tonight.

  Ratcliff turned to Rayner, “Might be best if you went to Stockholm for a while.’

  Rayner nodded in agreement. This made sense. He was also relieved that Ratcliff had seen sense. Cornell seemed to calm down too. The tension slowly left the room. Seen through the lens of the lives that would be saved by the death of Rasputin, it seemed pointless to worry about how it had come about.

  Cornell refilled his own cup with vodka and Ratcliff’s. They clinked cups. The young man, noticeably, did not join the celebration. Instead, he returned to gazing at the street below. He liked staying by the window, endlessly fascinated by the people scampering around in the cold.

  ‘Will you tell Hoare?’ asked Ratcliff.

  Rayner laughed at this. Soon he was joined in the laughter by the other two men. Samuel Hoare was in overall charge of the British Secret Service mission in Russia, but he had not been privy to this operation or any run by this little group.

  ‘Only that our chap is dead. It’s too late now to tell him what we knew, never mind our involvement. Remember, this came directly from “C”. We shouldn’t worry.’

  Rayner glanced at Ratcliff. He had a faraway look in his eyes. Cornell noticed this also but remained silent. It was late. Britain had saved Russia from itself. The mad monk was dead.

  What coul
d possibly go wrong?

  Part 1: Opening Moves

  Chapter 1

  Cavendish Hall, England: 28th December 1919:

  Kit Aston looked at the woman with whom he was going to spend the rest of his life. Outside, Eric Strangerson, the killer of Mary Cavendish’s uncle was being led away by the police. Someone was knocking the door. It was all Kit could do stop himself telling them to go to blazes. This was their time, their moment. Mary seemed to read his mind. Her eyes narrowed.

  ‘I mean it, we have all the time in the world. Come on.’ She gave his arm a tug. Kit smiled. He knew when he was beaten. This would not be the only defeat either. He kept hold of her hand and walked to the door. Dr Richard Bright and Inspector Stott were holding up the dazed Strangerson. Bright noticed Kit and Mary were holding hands. Looking down pointedly, Bright smiled at them both,

  ‘I look forward to hearing all about this,’ he said with one eyebrow raised.

  ‘I may need a little bit longer,’ replied Kit glancing at Mary with a frown that turned into a grin.

  The cold air stung their faces as they went outside. It felt like a wet cloth on their skin. Kit and Mary stood at the top of the steps leading into the grand entrance of Cavendish Hall. Alongside them Mary’s sister, Esther, appeared with Bright.

  Strangerson looked in a bad way. His eyes were puffy and beginning to turn a purple hue. Tottering a little, he clearly looked like he needed the support of the two men.

  Several other people had arrived to see Strangerson being led away. Miller stood beside Reverend Simmons and Henry made his way down the stairs. Lady Emily remained in her room. They followed the three men to the door. At the bottom of the steps, Strangerson turned to Stott and mumbled if he could have a cigarette. He nodded down his handcuffs.