People Say I'm Different: A Lord Charles Stewart Mystery

by John E. Conley

  “The housekeepers must be believers,” Mary said.

  They passed two doors on each side of the hall before coming to the end and one more door that Charles cautiously opened.

  “Ahh, must be the stairway I saw Irene Hall using,” Mary said.

  “Perhaps, although if I’m right that the front door is that way…,” Charles said, pointing back down the hallway and to his right. Then he shook his head and said, “No matter.”

  “Haven’t heard or seen any ghosts just yet,” Mary said quietly.

  “Must be too early,” Charles replied. “And I hope they don’t wear white sheets in this dust.”

  Mary watched him lift his hands and inspect them closely, after which Charles said, “The doorknob to the stairway is perfectly clean. Undoubtedly from no lack of visitors.”

  They slowly made their way back down the hallway to the opposite end, passing two more sets of rooms beyond the middle stairs, plus what appeared to be another door to a stairway and, finally, a closet door. Still, not a single unexpected sight or sound.

  “A very unscientific inspection, indeed,” Charles said, “but my initial impression is that this is obviously a seldom used portion of a very old hotel. At least, seldom used by paying guests. Your thoughts, my dear?”

  “If this is what the hallway looks like, I can’t imagine the insides of the rooms,” she answered. “Let’s save those for our next visit, Charles.”

  “I agree. Let’s go.”

  At that same moment, Anna was climbing out of her bedroom window. It was chillier than she expected and the wind was picking up. She scampered down the street toward the center of Alnmouth without another soul in sight and nary a lighted window to inspect, although Anna was not inclined to linger anywhere for too long on this night.

  She hugged the backs of homes and buildings until reaching a familiar wooden door. Anna entered the back of the hotel as silently as always, taking off her shoes once inside. A flight of stairs was her only choice once the back door was secured. Anna crept up slowly, sheltered by the darkness. At the second floor landing, she turned the knob of the door and poked her head through the opening. Anna looked both ways in the dimly lit hallway. Convinced the way was clear, she entered the hall and quickly walked to the opposite end where she opened another door and ascended to the third floor.

  Immediately upon exiting the steps and passing through yet another door, she entered the storage closet. Keeping the closet door open to let in what little light was available, Anna reached up for a rope she knew was there. Grasping it, she pulled down. With a creak and rattle, a small set of stairs extended down from the ceiling. Anna closed the closet door and proceeded up the steps into the attic of the Brampton Hotel.

  Her eyes adjusted quickly and she found a box of matches near a candle on a nearby table. The burst of flame that resulted from her first strike of the match seemed more like an explosion to her in the dark, silent garret. Anna lit the candle and blew out the match before settling onto a wooden chair and resting.

  Anna often preferred the attic to the shed. There were no rats and no windows to look at, but the attic contained all sorts of interesting things she had never seen before, for this was the storage space for all of the hotel’s unused furniture, equipment, tools and miscellaneous scrap. Aided by the light of the single candle, Anna could move about the space and make new discoveries almost every time she came. Of course, there was the occasional knocking into things and tripping over unseen obstacles, but the thrill of finding a new gadget made up for all of it.

  Old favorites also entertained the girl. She walked over to a bookcase, on which sat two marble bookends in the shape of young women. Anna positioned the bookends as if the women were speaking, and started to provide the conversation. Soon, the figurines were arguing, but Anna was quick to have them make up to each other.

  Two tall mirrors let Anna look at herself in the eerie glow of the candle. Shadows seemed to move on their own and sometimes Anna danced with them. On a cold night, the attic was much better than the shed.

  The Assignment

  Clifford Rothwell checked into the Brampton Hotel the following morning. The unassuming, clean-shaven young man of 25 years was unknown to the clerk and bellhop, but each took a liking to him for his soft-spoken kindness toward them. The bellhop might have appreciated a larger tip, but he had grown accustomed to younger guests tipping less than the older ones.

  Rothwell settled into his second floor room without complaint and emptied his sizeable bag of clothes into the chest of drawers as if preparing for a long stay. His most important piece of luggage—a leather satchel—was placed on the bed. Rothwell eventually strode to the window and threw back the curtains, peering out at the empty street and thinking it was a far cry from the bustle of Newcastle that he was used to. Only time would tell which he preferred.

  He was hungry, as an early departure left him no time to eat breakfast, and he walked downstairs prepared to accept nearly any kind of food from any establishment. With his satchel flung over his shoulder, Rothwell peered into the hotel’s dining room. He was willing to move on if he was the only occupant, but the sight of a middle-aged couple in a far corner of the room persuaded him to take a chair just inside the door.

  Rothwell ordered some meat and eggs from the waiter and opened his satchel, withdrawing a bound notebook and pencil. He studied the notes in the book while sipping coffee, but couldn’t avoid seeing the couple in the corner studying him quite intently. The woman was rather attractive, he thought, and the man, perhaps older than she, certainly was dressed like a gentleman. It was a combination he had not expected to see in tiny Alnmouth.

  A moment later, Rothwell saw the woman striding toward him with quick, confident steps.

  “Please excuse me, sir, but Lord Stewart and I wondered if you would care to join us?” Mary asked.

  Clifford stood to greet her, hitting the table with his foot in the process and spilling coffee into the saucer.

  “Oh, thank you,” Rothwell replied. “I, well, I wouldn’t want to interrupt….”

  “Not at all,” Mary said with a smile. “Come join us.”

  Rothwell replaced the notebook and pencil in his satchel and walked with Mary to the corner table while Charles advised the waiter of the move.

  “Lord Charles Stewart, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, extending a hand.

  “Clifford Rothwell, sir. My pleasure.”

  “And this is my friend Mary Hastings,” Charles said, nodding toward Mary, who lightly shook her young admirer’s hand.

  “Thank you for inviting me,” Clifford said, “I take it there are few guests in the hotel at this time.”

  Charles laughed and said, “It seems there are few guests here at any time. I hope it is peace and quiet you are after.”

  They were seated and Clifford placed his satchel under his chair, saying, “That would be nice. Have you been here long?”

  “Only a couple days. We haven’t really seen everything, I suppose. And Mary is interested in getting over to Alnwick, perhaps later today.”

  “Where are you from?” Clifford asked, looking at Mary when he said it.

  “I’m from Scarborough,” she replied. “I actually earn a living. Charles lives in the Yorkshire countryside with the wildlife.”

  “What do you do, if I may ask?” Clifford asked Mary.

  “I teach. And you?”

  “I’m a reporter for the Newcastle Evening Chronicle.”

  Charles perked up and stated, “Really? Are you on assignment?”

  Clifford’s food was delivered and he waited until the waiter left before saying, “Yes, actually. I’m…I’m working on a story about the history of this area.”

  Charles said, “The history of Alnmouth. You won’t be staying long, then?”

  Clifford grinned and answered, “We’ll see. Maybe the residents have more to tell than you’d expect.”

  “I dabbled in reporting myself at one time,” Char
les said. “During the Great War, I was sent to France to report on some of the Yorkshire men. Dreadfully boring at times and even more dangerous at others. I wasn’t very good at it, but it was better than sitting at home.”

  “I’ve been at it two years now,” Clifford explained. “Sometimes I can’t even read my own notes when I’m done. By the way, you have not met Donald Hall yet have you?”

  Charles said, “I think we’ve met his wife. Nice lady.”

  He glanced at Mary with a grin and she responded with a glare.

  “Why do you ask?” Charles said to Clifford.

  “Oh, no reason other than he may be of value with the historic background.”

  “I’m not sure he’s been around all that long,” Mary interjected.

  One of the traits Charles tried to perfect in his amateur sleuthing was to determine when someone wasn’t being totally honest with him. He had that sense about Clifford for some reason and chose to pursue his hunch.

  “Mr. Rothwell, let me ask a delicate question if I may,” Charles said in a quieter tone than usual.

  “Of course,” the young reporter answered.

  Charles looked him straight in the eye and said, “What are you really here for?”

  Clifford took a bite of ham and considered a reply. After a sip of coffee, he said, “How perceptive of you, Lord Stewart. I must improve my ability to tell a falsehood.”

  He paused and then added, lowering his voice, “I was sent by my editor to investigate some possible corruption in this village, Lord Stewart.”

  Charles grinned from ear to ear.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere, Mary,” he said proudly. “Do tell, Mr. Rothwell.”

  After looking around to make sure he couldn’t be heard, Clifford said, “My editor has a lot of friends in a lot of places. He hears things all the time from these people. Some of it is bunk, while some of it demands his attention. He felt the source of the information regarding Alnmouth was trustworthy.

  “The source believes money is being taken from the village, or is never getting to the village, or both. We aren’t sure how long it’s been going on. If we knew that, the list of suspects might be shorter. As it is, it could be anybody.”

  Charles asked, “Certainly, your editor has someone in mind as a starter.”

  Clifford shrugged and appeared unwilling to answer. Then he said, “Well, he seems quite interested in this Hall fellow. I guess he’s an Alderman or something and would have the means to pull it off.”

  Charles and Mary nodded in unison. Charles said, “Young fellow, I admire the role you are playing. In fact, I might even envy you. So, I will start you off with this advice. Search out and speak to Dorothy Dunne as soon as you’re able. An older woman with grayish hair. Don’t let her know your true mission. Simply listen to her and lead her down the right path to gain some useful gossip. You’ll understand what I mean when you’re done with her.”

  “Many thanks, Lord Stewart,” Clifford said. “And you, too, Mary. I hope we can talk again soon. But my editor has me on a fairly short leash. He said to find something out quickly and dig into it or he’ll bring me back to Newcastle. This is the best chance I’ve ever had to prove myself. I mustn’t fail.”

  Dead of Night

  Clifford Rothwell would have benefited greatly from observing an incident about to occur just a few alleys down from the Brampton. Instead, it was Anna, roaming the village with no objective in mind, who came to the corner of a building at one end of an alley and stood motionless at the sound of two voices. The voices were raised in anger and the words were spoken simultaneously until they became one common sound.

  Anna peeked around and saw Irene Hall and Dorothy Dunne standing inches apart, fingers stabbing at each other in unison. Instinctively, Anna’s frail mind shut out the worst of the words, as she always did when Martha yelled at her. Still, she heard bits and pieces; words such as ‘stealing’ and ‘stay out’ and ‘police.’

  Anna saw people she knew walking on Northumberland Street at the opposite end of the alley. She saw Mrs. Harker and Mrs. Williams and others, each one stopping and looking at Irene and Dorothy before moving on shaking their heads. Her attention returned to the dispute and she saw Irene Hall leaning towards Dorothy Dunne, who had a very frightened look on her face. Irene was the only one speaking now and it was in a voice too low for Anna to hear, but the words certainly seemed to be scaring Dorothy. Then, with a motion so fast Anna almost missed it, Irene struck Dorothy across the face with her hand. The sound made Anna turn and run as fast as she could. She spent the next several hours at the school with John Clarke.

  Clifford Rothwell mingled with as many people as he could, relying on a natural ability to start a conversation with strangers with relative ease. He did manage to eventually find Dorothy Dunne, who struck him as extraordinarily willing to denigrate Irene and Donald Hall, just as Charles had predicted.

  Clifford may have chosen the perfect profession for a young man of considerable curiosity. He came from a working class family that put dedication to one’s craft ahead of the accumulation of wealth. He was an average student with above average inquisitiveness. Once given a task, he was single-minded in completing it precisely as directed, regardless of time. If he persisted in the newspaper business, he and his editors would someday almost certainly come to blows over the importance of accuracy versus speed. Clifford’s current assignment had the potential to be an example.

  Meanwhile, Charles, Mary, and Bingham went on an excursion, if a five-mile drive inland could be so classified. Fortunately for Mary, Alnwick was a market town. Unfortunately for her, it had a castle that was the prime objective of Charles and Bingham. Because she knew a stop at the old fortress would be mandatory, she took great pleasure in extending her stay in every single shop she entered. Even at lunch she lingered over her food, finding almost anything to talk about to make the men wait a little while longer.

  Finally, there was no putting it off and the trio of tourists drove up to Alnwick Castle. Erected after the Norman conquests, the castle guarded a crossing of the River Aln. Behind perhaps only Windsor Castle, Alnwick was one of the largest castles in England still inhabited. Lord Stewart had no trouble getting permission to take his guests on a short tour of the oldest sections of the structure and the grounds.

  The weather was improved and could even be called delightful by Northumberland standards. In the end, even Mary had to agree it was the best day of the holiday thus far.

  It was days like this that brought her closest to Charles. She greatly appreciated his reluctant willingness to spend time on the activities that interested her the most. Mary still had trouble distinguishing the man seeking her affection from the Lord of Balfron Manor. It was unlike any relationship she’d ever had and it would take time for her to feel totally comfortable in the situation.

  Anna Walker had no such feelings of love to sort through. After dark, she crept from the cottage and into the village. Memories of the scene involving Irene and Dorothy were fresh on her mind as she neared the rear of the hotel once again. She went out of her way to watch for and listen for anybody else who might be out, carrying her shoes to lessen the chance of being heard. Movement ahead of her and to the left caused Anna to hide behind a large oak tree. Peering around, she saw a figure move in the shadows.

  Irene Hall approached the hotel’s back door, opened it hurriedly, and stepped inside. Anna waited a moment, and then stepped out from behind the tree.

  The following morning, at a cafe just down from the hotel, Charles, Mary, Bingham, and Clifford Rothwell all breakfasted together. They shared a table near windows looking onto Northumberland Street on a calm and clear day. As discreetly as he could without being overheard, Clifford described the discussions he had the previous day with various residents, but in particular Dorothy Dunne.

  “She certainly is an outspoken old dame,” Clifford told the others. “There’s a history with her and the Hall’s, that’s clear enough. It might take som
e digging to get to the bottom of that. But I also learned of a possible link between the Hall’s--especially Irene--and Edward Williams. I guess they’ve been seen together. Not sure it amounts to much, though. That’s about all I know for now. I’ll be busy today because my editor’s patience is short.”

  “You haven’t spoken to Donald Hall, yet?” Charles asked.

  Clifford shook his head.

  “Not directly. I asked whoever I could about their opinion of him,” he said. “He’s not the most likable man, it seems. Nor trustworthy. However, from my brief experience, I find that to be the opinion of most citizens about government people.”

  Mary was the first to notice a person running past the window, and it wasn’t Anna. Before she could say anything, the waiter sprinted past them and out the front door.

  “What in blazes…?” Charles uttered. “Bingham, do us a favor and stick your head out and see what’s happening.”

  The butler wasn’t yet to the door when the diner’s manager approached the table of guests, seemingly intent on joining the others on the street.

  “What is going on?” Charles asked the man.

  “You haven’t heard?” he replied, catching his breath. “The Brampton ghosts are at it again. They found Irene Hall just now. On the third floor of the hotel. Murdered!”

  Footprints

  “Well, Mary, it looks like I’ve gotten you into another fine mess without intending to do so,” Charles lamented as he pushed himself away from the table. “Are you up to spending another holiday attempting to solve an alleged murder?”

  “Of course,” she replied eagerly. “But I must say, Charles, you do have a nasty habit of attracting murderers. This is three in two years.”

  “Technically two, my dear,” he replied. “But let’s not quibble. We have work to do.”

  Mary added, “I want to find Anna as soon as possible, too. I’m worried about how she will take this.”

  Bingham and Clifford had preceded them out with Clifford running at full speed to get his notepad. Charles and Mary found Bingham talking to Witherspoon at the base of the steps on the second floor of the Brampton, where Witherspoon was acting as sentry. The trio of guests were ultimately granted access to the third floor.