by H. Y. Hanna
After Palmer left her, Caitlyn wandered down to the path leading to the cottages and, out of idle curiosity, decided to follow it for a bit. She soon came to a section where there was a gap in the undergrowth next to the path and a smaller track leading off into the woods. She felt a quickening of excitement. Lionel Spelling could have easily used this to enter the woods the night of the murder. She was just standing at the edge of the path, peering into the trees and trying to decide whether to explore, when she heard heavy footsteps behind her. She turned swiftly just as something large and furry shoved itself into her abdomen.
“Bran!” she said with a laugh as she put both hands on the English mastiff’s head and gave him a gentle shove backwards. “You startled me.”
The big dog wagged his tail, his baggy, jowly face creased into an amiable expression, then turned his body so that he leaned against her. She staggered slightly under his weight and patted his shoulder.
“Yes, okay, I love you too, Bran… but can you please not use me as a prop? You weigh a ton!”
He shoved his huge head into her abdomen again, making her double over. She realised that he wasn’t just head-butting her for no reason—he was actually thrusting something at her: a soggy soft toy held in his mouth. She reached for it and, as she caught hold of one leg of the stuffed bunny, he pulled in the other direction.
“Oho! You want to play tug, do you?” chuckled Caitlyn. “All right, come on then!”
She tugged hard on the soft toy and the mastiff jerked his head in the other direction. Caitlyn felt herself being yanked forwards and had to brace her legs.
“Whoa! You’re strong!” She laughed, putting both hands on the soft toy to get a better grip. She pulled again. The mastiff gave a playful growl and tugged in the opposite direction, dragging her in a circle. Caitlyn gave a squeal of laughter. Bran gave a muffled bark, wagging his tail, and then gave a great heave. Caitlyn yelped as she lost her grip on the toy and went reeling. She collided with something behind her and fell backwards, going down in a heap.
“Uugh!”
Caitlyn turned at the sound of the deep male voice and gasped in horror. Somehow, she had crashed into James Fitzroy, who had been standing behind her, and knocked him over backwards, landing on top of him. She was now sitting on his stomach. With a cry of mortification, Caitlyn scrambled to her feet, her face bright red.
“Oh God! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you—I mean—”
James stood up gingerly, coughing.
“Are you all right?” asked Caitlyn tentatively.
He coughed again. “Yes… yes… fine… Just winded me slightly.”
Caitlyn squirmed in dismay. Why couldn’t she ever meet James Fitzroy looking dainty, graceful, and elegant? Instead, she was either punching him in the face with a pillow or sitting on him with her big fat bum… It was no wonder James never saw her in a romantic light!
“I’m sorry…” she mumbled again.
“Not to worry, I’ve got plenty of ribs,” said James with a teasing smile. “Losing a couple won’t kill me.”
Caitlyn relaxed and laughed.
“It looks like you and Bran are having a good time.”
“Yeah, we were having a great game of tug-o-war.”
James chuckled. “Oh, that’s his favourite game. You have to be careful though. He’s quite strong.”
“Tell me about it!”
A familiar awkward silence descended over them. Caitlyn shifted from foot to foot, desperately trying to think of something to say. Why was it she felt relaxed and comfortable with every other man—even the handsome Antoine de Villiers—and yet when she met James Fitzroy, she always turned into a tongue-tied, blushing mess?
“Um… it’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it? Lovely sunshine…” mumbled Caitlyn. She couldn’t believe that she was resorting to talking about the weather. Still, James was British… all Englishmen loved to talk about the weather, didn’t they?
He glanced at the blue skies above them. “Yes, I’m hoping it’ll hold for a few days, at least while my friends from London are here.”
“Oh, yeah… I’d forgotten they were coming.” Caitlyn licked her lips. “Um… are they old friends of yours?”
“Yes, mostly from college days. And a couple of chaps I used to work with when I was a foreign correspondent for the BBC.”
“Do you miss your time there?”
“A bit. It was a very different lifestyle, continually moving to new locations, living out of a suitcase, sometimes travelling to very deprived or war-torn areas… It was certainly never dull!” He chuckled. “And I enjoyed meeting people and hearing their stories.”
It’s what makes him such a good landlord to his tenants now, thought Caitlyn. She knew that while the Fitzroys were one of the last aristocratic families in England that belonged to the old “feudal” system—where they owned the village of Tillyhenge and all the estate around it—James was nothing like the traditional “lord of the manor”. In fact, the villagers and farmers loved him for his ability to empathise with the “common man”. He never mentioned his title and was quick to roll his sleeves up and join in with any of the work that needed doing.
“To be honest, it’s been a bit of an adjustment, coming back to England and taking over the estate,” admitted James. “I mean, I always knew in the back of my mind that I would be inheriting the title one day, but I suppose you tend to ignore these things until they’re thrust upon you. It’s been quite a steep learning curve in a way… and I know a few of the villagers and staff have been taken aback by some of the changes I’ve instigated…”
“I think you’re doing a fantastic job,” said Caitlyn. “I don’t think there’s any landlord that looks after his land and his people so well.”
“Thanks,” said James, looking embarrassed. Like most Englishmen, he was uncomfortable with compliments and hurriedly changed the subject. “It’s tough for the farmers. Things are changing so much now; there is so much development in the countryside, with big corporations buying up land and turning them into modern housing—”
“Is that what Thane Blackmort wanted?” asked Caitlyn. She flushed slightly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but I saw him at the Manor a few weeks ago and I’ve been wondering what he came for.”
“Yes, he has been trying for several months to persuade me to sell part of the main estate, specifically the section that includes the ancient forest and the hill with the stone circle. I’m sure you’ve heard of Blackmort’s reputation as a ruthless businessman—it’s one reason he has become so wealthy and powerful—and I think he believed that I would cave in if the price was right.”
Caitlyn drew a sharp breath. “You wouldn’t ever sell, would you?”
“No, of course not. That is one of the oldest sections of the estate and has been in my family for centuries. In any case, it has great historical and cultural interest. I see it as my duty to preserve it.”
“I’m so glad!” cried Caitlyn. “It would be awful if the stone circle and the forest were destroyed to make way for some ugly modern development.”
James looked touched. “It’s nice to meet someone who cares as passionately about the estate as I do,” he said with a smile.
“Oh… um… well, anyone who has seen how beautiful it is would care…”
“And perhaps now that you’ve lived here for a while… it’s beginning to feel like ‘home’?” asked James gently.
“I… I don’t know. I mean… I do have a home back in the States. Barbara—my adoptive mother—she has a house in L.A. The lawyers are waiting for me to decide what I want to do…” She gave an uncertain laugh. “I know I should really be making plans but… well, so much has happened so quickly, I’ve just been taking each day as it comes… I haven’t really thought about whether I’ll stay in England…”
“I hope you’ll decide to stay.”
Caitlyn felt her heart give a little jump. “Well… I suppose I should wait to see what an English winter is like before I
decide,” she said, with an attempt at a light laugh. “California might suddenly look a lot more attractive after months of wind and rain.”
James gave her a long look. “It would mean a lot to me if you stayed.” He took a step towards her. “Caitlyn, I—”
He broke off suddenly, his gaze jerking to a point in the air beyond her. He frowned. “What the—!” He blinked incredulously. “Is that… Is that a pair of glasses?”
Caitlyn whirled around and her eyes bulged in horror. The Widow Mags’s missing spectacles were hovering just above her head, like some kind of giant dragonfly. The next moment, they darted away in a blur of movement, pausing again to hover in the air above James’s head.
“Wait… where’s it gone?” James rubbed his eyes.
Caitlyn hoped fervently that he wouldn’t look up. “Um… Where’s what gone?” she asked brightly.
“Didn’t you see it? It was there, in the air—above your head.”
“See what?”
“A pair of flying…” James trailed off. He gave his head a sharp shake, then said with a sheepish laugh, “Never mind. I must be having hallucinations or something.”
The spectacles darted sideways in another blur of movement. Caitlyn drew a sharp breath, thinking they might fly in front of James’s face, but to her relief, they zoomed to the edge of the woods, hovered for a moment, and disappeared into the trees. Caitlyn sighed in relief.
Then they heard a faint call from the direction of the house and saw one of the garden boys in the distance, gesturing to James.
“Ah, this must be the overseas call I was expecting… Excuse me…” With another faintly puzzled look at the air above them, James gave her a distracted smile and headed back towards the Manor. Bran ambled after him, leaving Caitlyn alone at the edge of the rose garden. As soon as they were out of view, she turned and hurried to the track that led into the woods. If I’m fast, I might still be able to catch up with the Widow Mags’s spectacles and capture them. She plunged into the undergrowth, following the track and jogging slowly through the trees, peering up into the canopy…
There they are!
Caitlyn put on a burst of speed and leapt into the air, reaching out to grab the spectacles. Her fingers brushed the side of the frame but it slipped out of her reach.
“Rats!”
She raced after them as they zoomed through the trees, trying to grab them, jumping into the air—but the spectacles were quick and agile, evading her each time. Then the trees thinned and she ran into a small clearing in the woods. She faltered to a stop, staring at the structure in front of her, the runaway spectacles completely forgotten.
The ground in the clearing sloped upwards to form a small hill or a knoll, and sitting at the top was a crumbling stone tower that really looked like it had come straight out of a fairy tale. Caitlyn stared in wonder. She half expected to see Rapunzel lean out of the top and let down a long braid of golden hair!
As she got closer, however, she realised that wasn’t actually as decrepit as it looked. In fact, it seemed almost as if it had been constructed to purposefully resemble a crumbling stone tower; but as she approached the base, she could see that it was a solid stone structure with a few “romantic” cosmetic touches. There was a large wooden door, studded with metalwork, cut into the side of the tower. She reached for the handle, wondering if it might be unlocked, and was pleased when it swung open with a loud creak of the hinges.
“Hello?”
Caitlyn stepped into the dusty interior. There wasn’t a proper room inside—it was really nothing more than a giant stairwell, with a stone staircase spiralling upwards through the tower. She hesitated a moment, then started climbing up the steps. Small gaps had been cut into the stone walls at intervals, to let light in, but it was still very dim.
Forty-four… forty-five… forty-six… Caitlyn silently counted the steps as she climbed. Sixty-two…sixty-three… She paused, panting, and looked up. How many more steps are there?
When she came around the last curve of the staircase, she stopped and stared in dismay. The steps ended abruptly at another wooden door. This one was also studded with metalwork, but unlike the one below, it wouldn’t budge when she turned the handle.
Caitlyn made a noise of frustration. She couldn’t believe it! Had she climbed up all those steps for nothing? She tried the door again, jiggling the handle almost aggressively, but it was stuck fast. She sighed and turned away.
Then she froze. Was that the sound of footsteps?
She strained her ears. Yes, there was definitely someone moving around in the tower below. She realised uneasily that she was essentially trapped up here, with the steps leading to a “dead end” at the locked door and no way out but down the spiral staircase. She hesitated, then started quickly descending. Whatever or whoever it was, she decided she’d rather meet them head-on than remain skulking up here, wondering.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Caitlyn flew down the steps and was almost at the bottom when she met a man coming up. He stopped short at the sight of her, his face registering surprise.
“Oh! I beg your pardon—I didn’t realise there was anyone else in here.”
He had a clipped voice, with the words carefully enunciated, like someone who had gone to an etiquette school and been taught to speak “properly”. He was also dressed in a very “proper” fashion, in a perfectly ironed, buttoned-up shirt and a conservative tie in a muted shade of navy. His hair was pale brown, cut short and neatly combed across his head, and his shoes were so highly polished that Caitlyn could almost see her own reflection.
He gave her a perfunctory smile and leaned backwards, making way for her to pass him on the narrow staircase.
“Ladies first,” he said, sweeping a hand towards the bottom of the tower.
“Who are you?” asked Caitlyn, curiosity overcoming politeness.
“My name is Giles Mosley. I am the new butler at Huntingdon Manor.”
“Oh.” Caitlyn studied him. He was somewhere in his forties, she guessed, although it was hard to tell from his face, which had a curiously bland quality. He was the kind of person who would always fade into the background, blending easily without offering any information about his own personality.
She realised that she was staring and gave an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry… I’ve never met a real-life ‘British butler’ before.”
“Ah… were you expecting something a bit more Downton Abbey?”
She grinned sheepishly. “I suppose.”
“It is hard to shake off the traditional image—especially with the media fostering it—but modern butlers don’t spend their lives polishing silver or standing in uniform by the front door, announcing visitors.” He lifted his chin proudly. “We are a combination of concierge, estate manager, and personal assistant, helping our employers organise their lives and run their households. We organise the meals and entertainment, oversee the maintenance of house and gardens, supervise the other staff, attend to our employers’ wardrobe…”
“Oh, so you’re more like housekeepers now.”
He bristled. “We are certainly more than housekeepers! Anyone can manage a house. The difference is, a properly trained British butler does it all with class and taste, grace and propriety,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height and puffing his chest out.
His pompous manner made Caitlyn stifle a giggle. Keeping a straight face, she said, “Of course. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to offend.”
He inclined his head in an almost regal fashion. “Not at all. It is a common misunderstanding. And I regret to say that even amongst the wealthy these days, there is a lack of appreciation for proper buttling. The nouveau riche are the worst.” He gave a delicate shudder. “Those instant billionaires and others with ‘new money’ have absolutely no concept of how to conduct themselves. It can be quite a trial being in their employ. In fact, I just left a lucrative position in Dubai last month because I could not abide the lack of standards.” He sniffed disdainfully.
“Lucky you found a new position so quickly,” said Caitlyn.
He sniffed again. “A highly trained British butler such as myself is never short of offers.” Then he softened and gave her a tight-lipped smile. “But yes, I was fortunate to find a position with Lord Fitzroy. It is increasingly rare now to be able to work for an ‘old-money’ family. One where they have had butlers for generations and don’t need their servants to teach them how to conduct themselves with dignity.” He gave her a look of mild curiosity and said, “And may I be so bold as to ask if madam is one of Lord Fitzroy’s houseguests?”
His formal, old-fashioned words made Caitlyn want to laugh again. “Er… yes, I suppose you could say that. My cousin Pomona and I are staying at the Manor for a few days. I’m Caitlyn Le Fey.”
He inclined his head deferentially. “It is a pleasure to meet you, madam. I presume you will be joining the party of guests arriving from London later today?”
Caitlyn nodded. “I was just having a walk before breakfast.” She looked at him with curiosity. “By the way, what are you doing out here?”
“I was familiarising myself with the estate. Lord Fitzroy kindly gave me this morning off to ‘settle in’, as I have had little time to myself since arriving.”
“Oh, yes—I remember James saying that you arrived only a day before the Open-Air Cinema Festival… It’s been a bit of a rough start, hasn’t it? Straight into a new household—and now there’s a murder.”
He stiffened slightly. “One is trained to deal with every eventuality.”
“Were you out on the lawn when it happened?”
“No, I was in the Manor at the time, overseeing the post-movie refreshments. I was not made aware of the incident until I heard a commotion in the foyer. Naturally, as soon as I heard what had happened, I immediately notified the police.”
“So you didn’t see the victim?”
“I did see the paramedics transfer a body to the ambulance but I certainly didn’t hover around with ghoulish curiosity!”
“Oh, no—I meant before the murder. Did you happen to see Pierre Rochat earlier in the day? I just wondered if you might have seen anything which might be a lead.”