The Doctor's Daughter (The Peg Bradbourne Mysteries Book One)

by Sally Quilford

  The Doctor’s Daughter

  (A Peg Bradbourne Mystery)

  Sally Quilford

  Copyright © 2014 All Rights Reserved

  Whilst the Great War rages in Europe, sleepy Midchester is pitched into a mystery when a man is found dead. Twenty-four year old Peg Bradbourne is well on the way to becoming a spinster detective, but it is a role she is reluctant to accept. When her stepmother also dies in suspicious circumstances, Peg makes a promise to her younger sister and puts aside her own misgivings in order to find out the truth.

  Sally Quilford

  The Doctor’s Daughter

  Prologue

  It was dark when her mother pulled her out of her warm bed. The only light in the room came from the moon. Outside of the bedclothes a chill hung in the air. Mist rose from her mouth as she breathed.

  “Come on, Cassie, get up, we have to go!”

  “Helen,” she said, her baby smooth brow furrowing.

  “Helen is not coming. Come along, Cassie. We don’t have time to wait.”

  Her mother bundled her into some clothes.

  “This isn’t my dress,” she said.

  “It is your dress, Cassie. Now please hurry up. Your father is waiting and you know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  At the bottom of the stairs, he held a candle in one hand and a large leather bag in the other.

  “What took you so long?” he said.

  “It’s her fault. She’s slow and stupid.”

  “For God’s sake...”

  “You carry her then.”

  “Very well.”

  He picked the child up and took her out of the house, bundling her into the waiting carriage.

  “If we hurry we should make Plymouth in good time,” he said as he climbed up onto the driver’s seat.

  “Stay down, Cassie,” her mother said, sitting next to her in the back.

  “Helen, Helen,” the child cried. She was halted by a sharp slap across her face.

  “Helen is not coming,” her mother said, holding her by both shoulders and shaking her violently. “Get that into your stupid little head.”

  “For God’s sake,” he groaned again.

  She pushed the little girl down into the seat. “Now sit down and don’t make another sound.”

  “You’re making enough noise for both of you,” he grumbled. “You’ll have to shut up when we’re going through the village.” He whipped the horses and they started to move forward, away from the house at the far edge of the town and towards the more populated area. It was not ideal, but it was the only way he could go.

  Most of the village of Midchester was asleep as the carriage sped through the market place. If anyone heard the carriage, by the time they stumbled out of bed and went to the window, it was long gone.

  The carriage carried on out of the village and onto the south bound road, which would take them through Herefordshire, the Welsh borders and beyond.

  The Doctor’s Daughter

  Chapter One

  1916

  “We’ll have to sell the house.” Veronica Bradbourne looked up briefly from her letter as her step-daughter entered the breakfast room. “Really, Margaret, do you have to wear those awful slacks to breakfast? It is hardly lady-like.” Veronica herself wore a mauve dress suit, with a Cossack style jacket trimmed with fur around the waist and on the sleeves.

  Peg was dressed in her late father’s white shirt, a mauve floral waistcoat she had made from an old dress she had grown out of, and a pair of corduroy trousers. A mauve handkerchief bound her bright auburn hair. “I’m going to help out up at Bedlington farm, Veronica. I can hardly dress for a garden party.” She paused for breath. “I do wish you would stop calling me Margaret.”

  She went to the sideboard to fill up her plate, noting how little there was to eat. The war had finally started to take its toll on the availability of food. She took one slice of bacon, leaving the last for her sister, Sheila.

  “Margaret is your name, is it not?” asked her step-mother.

  “The last person to call me that was Grandpapa on the day he christened me. Why you insist on using it against all my objections, I don’t know.”

  “I think you look lovely, Peg,” said ten-year-old Mary, who sat at the table eating porridge.

  “That’s because you’re an angel,” said Peg, blowing her half-sister a kiss.

  Sheila Bradbourne bustled into the room. She drew looks of approval from her stepmother on account of being dressed in a pretty tunic with a hobble skirt. “See?” She addressed Peg. “It’s not difficult to look ladylike, even with a war on,” said Veronica. “Now where was I?” She frowned. “Yes, we will have to sell the house.”

  “Why?” asked Sheila. She sat at the table and nibbled on a slice of toast. Whereas Peg had inherited the masculine jawline of their father, Sheila had their late mother’s heart-shaped face and cupid bow lips.

  “I left you the last slice of bacon,” said Peg, gesturing to the sideboard.

  “I’m quite happy with toast.”

  “You’re too thin, Sheila. Get some bacon. Or at least put butter on that toast. It’ll put hairs on your chest and make up for Norman’s lack of them.”

  “Norman is man enough for me,” said Sheila. She tried to look annoyed, but failed and stifled a giggle.

  “I might as well be talking to myself,” said Veronica. “Don’t you care that we have to sell the house to cover your father’s death duties? What do you suppose you will both do? I have to find somewhere smaller for myself and Mary. I’m afraid I can’t take you with me.”

  “Constable Hounds’ old cottage is up for rent,” said Peg. “We could live there, Sheila.”

  “Oh no,” said Sheila. She flicked imaginary dust from her sleeve. “It’s practically falling down.”

  “The solicitor is saying that your father’s death duties have to be settled soon,” said Veronica, waving the letter in front of them.

  “They’re not just father’s death duties,” Peg murmured. “Unless your dressmaker is part of the Board of the Inland Revenue

  Veronica pursed her lips. “Margaret … Peg … I try to put up with your idiosyncrasies for your late father’s sake. But I will not have you blaming me for the situation we are in now.”

  “Who else can I blame, Veronica?” asked Peg, pushing her plate away. “When mother died, father had no outstanding debts. Then he married you and somehow we not only have to pay death duties but also a pile of debts.”

  “Yes, well I’m sure I would like to listen once again to tales of your mother and what a paragon of virtue she was,” said Veronica, her mouth tightening into a thin line, “but I’m rather busy at the moment.” Veronica got up and left the room quickly.

  Peg mentally kicked herself. Her father had tried to teach her that some arguments were avoidable, yet she was unable to follow his teaching. She put it down to her Irish blood.

  “Really, Peg, do you have to be so unkind to her?” asked Sheila. “She hasn’t been a bad stepmother to us.”

  “Mama does try very hard,” said Mary, looking forlorn. “I wish the people I love wouldn’t argue. It makes it very hard to know who is right and who is wrong.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Peg reached across and took Mary’s hand. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You’re so sweet, sometimes I forget you’re hers.”

  “Peg!” Sheila sighed and stood up. “Don’t talk about her mother like that. I have to post a letter to Norman. Do you have anything for Freddie?”

  “I’ll post it later.”

  “I’ve got a letter
for Freddie,” said Mary.

  “Hurry up then,” said Sheila. “I have to be at the school soon. It won’t do to be late on my first day.”

  “What are we going to do, Sheila?” Peg asked when they were alone.

  “I’m going to marry Norman and move to Sheffield with him.”

  “What if he doesn’t come back from the front?”

  “Can you try and be a bit more tactful?”

  Peg waved her hand dismissively. “Oh you know I don’t mean anything by it. I’m just thinking that if we put together the annuities that Great Aunt Bedlington left us, we could live quite well.”

  “Peg, you’re my sister and I love you. Really I do. Like father I’m willing to forgive your idiosyncrasies because I know that deep down your heart is pure. But I am going to be as blunt with you as you are with others. I don’t want to share a house with you on Spinsters Row.” The real name of the street was Station Road, but the relatively cheap housing there led to it being inhabited by elderly gentlewomen in distressed circumstances. “You know yourself,” Sheila continued, “that once you move into that street, your chances of marrying are nil. I’m twenty-two and you’re twenty-four. I intend to marry, even if you don’t. I’m going to marry Norman and I am going to have children.”

  “Don’t you ever want more, Sheila? A career of your own perhaps? You’re doing well at the school.”

  “Norman thinks a man should be able to keep his wife and children,” Sheila said proudly.

  “Don’t you ever wish we were back in India?” asked Peg.

  “I don’t remember it quite as well as you, dear.”

  “It was wonderful. So much bigger than this tiny village. Not just the space, but the scope of life there.”

  Sheila said sadly, “I sometimes wonder if Mama would have lived if we’d stayed there. These British winters were so hard on her.”

  “Why did Father remarry so soon?” asked Peg. “I thought he loved Mama.”

  “He did love her, but it’s my belief that men don’t cope so well alone as widowed women and spinsters do. Whether we like it or not, Peg, he was happy with Veronica.”

  “I suppose I should apologise.”

  “That would be the correct thing to do.” Sheila looked as if she was about to leave, but she sat down next to her sister and put her arm around her shoulder. “You know Peg; you could be very pretty if you tried a bit harder. If you could tidy yourself up and put a nice dress on you could probably find yourself a husband.”

  “I am not adorning myself like a Christmas goose in order to ensnare a man. That’s the difference between me and you, Sheila. You’re terrified of being an old maid, but I’m not. Being alone doesn’t frighten me at all.”

  “So why do you want me to move in with you?”

  “Oh go away and stop asking perfectly reasonable questions. You’re the pretty one. You’re not supposed to have brains as well.”

  Sheila kissed Peg on the cheek and left her sitting alone at the table.

  Peg glanced around. “Being alone is not a problem,” she said out loud. She listened again and was struck by the sound of silence. She managed a few minutes before it became too deafening.

  At the top of the stairs, she glanced along the landing and saw Veronica’s bedroom door open. Taking a deep breath and promising herself she would not say the wrong thing this time, she went to talk to her stepmother.

  Veronica was sitting at the dressing table, putting powder on her face. Her eyes were red from crying.

  Peg stood at the threshold. “I’m sorry for what I said, Veronica.”

  “No you’re not, Peg. You’ll be saying exactly the same again tomorrow.”

  “Then I’m sorry it upset you. You’re not normally this touchy. Is it that time?” Peg leaned on the door frame.

  Veronica rolled her eyes. “I’m touchy because I’m a widow at the age of thirty-five, with hardly any money, and I have to find a way that Mary and I can survive.”

  “You must have known when you married father that he would probably die a long time before you.”

  “I didn’t think of that at the time. I … I suppose I wanted security. I don’t pretend to be the love of your father’s life and he probably wasn’t the love of mine. He needed a wife to help with his two daughters, and I needed somewhere I could eat regularly.” There was a pair of silk stockings lying on the dressing table. Veronica picked them up and ran them through her fingers. “It’s true I like nice things. I hardly ever had them you see. I always thought my sister, Penelope, would take care of me, in the way you and Sheila seem to take care of each other, but that didn’t happen.”

  “Have you heard from her lately?”

  “My niece, Cassie writes to me all the time, but Penelope never was much of a letter writer, especially after her marriage. I thought of suggesting I take Mary to America, but it’s been too long since I’ve seen my sister, and I don’t want her to think I’m begging.” She sighed and rested her chin on her palm, looking into the mirror. “I do wish Uncle Hardwick had thought to share the money between us more evenly. It isn’t nice to be the poor relation. But for some reason, he decided that Penelope needed it more.”

  “I know that feeling,” said Peg. “It isn’t that I mind Freddie having five hundred pounds a year from Aunt Midchester, but who says that women don’t need money just as much as men do? Instead we’re expected to get husbands to keep us in our dotage.” Peg crossed the room and patted her stepmother’s shoulder, but with her usual lack of finesse she only succeeded in almost knocking Veronica off the footstool. Luckily her stepmother laughed, taking the gesture in the manner intended. “You know we could go to India,” said Peg. “They say you can live quite cheaply out there.”

  “Peg, we don’t get on most of the time. Tomorrow you’ll have completely forgotten sympathising with me today. Do you really think we could spend the rest of our lives living in the same house?”

  “No, perhaps not.”

  “You’re not a bad person, Peg. I do realise that. But you and I are never going to be best friends.”

  Peg left Veronica perusing her reflection in the mirror and went to her room to finish her letter for her brother, Freddie. She did not tell him about having to sell the house, because she did not want him to feel he had to help them pay the bills. They had leaned on him more than once in the past, and he had borne it with good grace. But he had more important things to worry about. Instead she told him all the local gossip and about her work on the farm for the war effort. She sealed the letter, got some money for a stamp and made her way to the post office.

  Midchester had not changed much since medieval times, regardless of the fact that there were a few motorcars and military vehicles on the streets. The timber framed houses built during Tudor times still huddled together in a higgledy piggledy manner. The Quiet Woman pub was even older than the rest, though it too had been modernised and built onto over the years.

  “There’s been a Yeardley pulling pints in Midchester since Julius Caesar was the emperor of Rome,” the landlord, Frank Yeardley told customers. There was no documented or archaeological proof of that. Frank just believed it to be so and as he made people happy by selling them ale, no one argued with him.

  The newest building was the red brick village hall next to the church. It had been built when Queen Victoria was alive. The church itself was of Norman origin, but there had been a place of pagan worship on that spot long before then. Unlike Frank at the pub, the church authorities could prove that.

  There was a duck pond in the village square and every Monday a cattle market drew visitors from outside of Midchester, especially in summer when the travelling fairs arrived and set up camp on the village green.

  Like every small English village, Midchester had its secrets and its sins. The residents, though deferring to the authorities when the need arose, preferred to deal with their own problems. That way they could decide what secrets got out and what remained in the village. It was the only way when
everyone was related to everyone else, either by marriage, adultery or incest.

  Peg posted her letter and decided to go and look at the Old Constable’s cottage again. Maybe she could manage it alone if she lived frugally and picked up work wherever she could. She was young and strong, so there was plenty of work in her. She went past the pub and saw Frank standing on the doorstep of The Quiet Woman.

  “Morning, Miss Bradbourne. If you see our Tom, tell him to get back here, will you? He is supposed to be helping me with a delivery.”

  “Will do, Frank.”

  “How’s young Mister Bradbourne?”