Murder at Cleeve Abbey

by Anita Davison

  An invisible string pulled her to the door of her father’s bedroom, but she could not bring herself to venture inside – yet. Instead she strode to the opposite side of the room and her own childhood bedroom. Inside, she halted, frowning at the sight of a high double brass bed that took up most of the space she had never seen before. She pushed a hand into the deep mattress, the other caressing the knob on the nearest bedpost, the metal cold to her touch.

  The dormer window stood open, drawing her towards the expansive but remote view of the gardens. A waft of honeysuckle-laden air flowed in and cooled her face and she might have been ten years old again. ‘I used to imagine myself as the Lady of Shalott in this room.’ Disturbed by how close to the surface her emotions were, she turned away as tears threatened.

  ‘Ah, so this is where you read Tennyson as a girl?’ Bunny lounged against the door frame, his hands in his pockets.

  ‘I’m still a girl,’ she narrowed her eyes at him. ‘And definitely not! I’ve never seen this bed before, it must be new. I had a low single one as a child which creaked with each movement so it practically played a tune.’

  ‘This looks solid enough not to creak.’ Bunny grasped the bottom rung of the brass bed with both hands and gave the frame a vigorous shake. ‘It hardly moves, see?’ He caught her look and his grin dissolved. Sighing, he drew down onto the bed and sat beside her, plucked her hand from her lap and brought it to his cheek. ‘I’m sorry, that was insensitive. I shouldn’t make risqué jokes at a time like this.’

  ‘I like your jokes.’ She leaned sideways against him. ‘And risqué or not. You always know the right thing to say to make me feel I’m not alone.

  ‘Does that mean I’m not in disgrace for my suggestion we try out this bed?’ He tucked in his chin and aimed a teasing look at her.

  ‘You’re never in disgrace with me.’ She contemplated their twin trunks that had been set by the door with dismay, I suppose I had better unpack.’

  ‘I doubt it. We might be in the servants’ quarters, but I’ll wager a maid will be up to do that presently. Guests of a lord aren’t required to do their own unpacking.’

  ‘There you see. You always know how things should be.’ She pushed the idea to the back of her mind. ‘What puzzles me,’ she said after a moment, ‘is why Father was on horseback in Bailey Wood at all?’

  ‘Was that unusual?’

  ‘It was, and whenever he left the estate he took the gig or sometimes the governess’ cart. Riding astride for more than a short time was too painful, a legacy from an accident when he was young.’

  ‘What sort of accident?’

  ‘He never spoke about it other than to say he had suffered some sort of injury to his hip. On my sixth birthday he bought me a doll in a midnight blue velvet coat I had seen in a shop window in Cheltenham. I was so delighted, I threw myself into his arms. My booted foot caught his hip and he gave this gasp of sheer agony that I have never forgotten. The colour drained from his face and seeing him in such pain, I burst into tears. He said the ‘old hurt’ only occurred when he bent at a certain angle, which was why he never rode astride.’

  ‘Injuries heal, Flora. Which follows if he never referred to it again.’

  ‘Then why did he never ride? He wasn’t afraid of horses. He liked them.’

  ‘In which case that does seem odd. We’ll likely some answers at the inquest.’

  ‘Official ones maybe,’ she murmured. ‘He was young still, and strong, with so many years ahead of him. I wanted him to be so proud of me, of us.’ She leaned her hot forehead against the cool metal bedstead.

  ‘He was proud of you, I know he was.’ He leaned closer and lowered his voice. ‘Flora?’

  ‘Yes?’ Her back went rigid, alerted by a change of tone that warned he was about to broach a difficult subject.

  ‘This may seem precipitous, but have you given any thought to where you intend to have him buried?’

  ‘I would like to lay him to rest beside my mother of course, but—’

  ‘You don’t know where her grave is,’ he finished for her.

  ‘Ridiculous I know.’ She relaxed against him, relishing the quiet of the attic room where few sounds penetrated and even birdsong seemed distant. ‘She died when I was small, and Father never talked about her. If I asked questions, which was rare, his eyes took on a pained, haunted look and he would distract me. I didn’t want to cause him any more pain, so I stopped asking.’

  ‘You cannot hurt him anymore, so this might be the perfect time to seek answers to those questions? It might also put a stop to those dreams you’ve been having for so long.’

  The thought sent a shiver of relief up her spine and she returned his smile. ‘Where do I begin?’

  ‘As Lady Vaughn’s personal maid, did she never mention your mother to you?’

  ‘I never dared ask her. Lady Vaughn and I weren’t on the kind of terms where secrets were exchanged. I was a governess to her son, and she was my employer.’

  ‘Were any of the staff here during your mother’s time?’

  Flora pondered for a moment. ‘The estate manager has been here more than twenty years, as has the housekeeper, Hetty Farmer. She might remember my mother.’

  ‘Then maybe that’s where you should start. And Flora?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Can we hear the dinner gong from up here? I’m starving.’

  *

  ‘Flora!’ a lanky youth with wayward curly hair in black tie and dinner jacket crossed the hall in long strides and threw his arms round her in an exuberant hug.

  ‘Mama told me you were here, though she insisted I wasn’t to disturb you while you rested.’ He rolled his eyes as if conceding defeat to a higher power, thrust out his hand and gave Bunny’s an enthusiastic shake. ‘And good evening to you too, Mr Harrington, how marvellous to see you.’

  Eddy, Viscount Trent’s features had become more chiselled in the year since she had last seen him. At fifteen and about to begin his third year at Marlborough College, he had grown several inches with the loose limbed, unco-ordinated build of a bolted plant. His curly hair was badly in need of a cut, something Flora wouldn’t have overlooked had he still been in her charge.

  ‘Goodness, Eddy, you’ve grown so tall.’ Flora held him away from her in order to appraise him properly. ‘You look thin though, and very pale. Are you sure you are quite well?’ Her governess instinct rose to the surface and she realized with a pang that she had missed him.

  ‘I wish everyone would stop asking me that.’ He flushed and eased his collar away from his neck with a finger. ‘Papa keeps me busy with estate business even though it’s the hols. I might as well have stayed at school.’ His eyes widened suddenly. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. I’m so sorry about Maguire, Flora. It was such an awful thing to happen.’

  ‘Thank you, Eddy.’ A shiver ran through her at this reminder of why they were at Cleeve Abbey. ‘His death was a dreadful shock, but your parent have been most kind.’ She found the compassion in everyone’s eyes when they spoke of her father’s passing difficult to get used to. Repeatedly robbed her of her composure she floundered as she tried to conceal the rush of emotion their kindness elicited. Mentally, she checked her pocket for her handkerchief, suspecting she would need it before long.

  Flora wrapped an arm around Eddy’s shoulders as they entered the sitting room, a feat not easily accomplished when he topped her by several inches. ‘I want to hear about everything you’ve been doing since I last saw you. How is school?’

  ‘The end of term exams were quite tough and-’

  Lord Vaughn turned from the sideboard, a glass in each hand. ‘Flora, my dear girl.’ He paused, gave the glasses a perplexed look before he returned them to the tray and enveloped Flora in a fatherly hug. Eddy faded into the background with a benevolent smile as he allowed his father to monopolize their guests.

  ‘Please accept my sincerest condolences. Flora dear.’ The scratch of Lord Vaughn’s moustache against her cheek brought childhood me
mories flooding back, threatening her fragile control.

  He released her, and held her away from him, his face creased beneath a thatch of sandy hair in comical anguish as his chocolate-brown eyes bored into hers. ‘Awful business. Terrible shock for everyone.’

  ‘I’m still in shock, my lord,’ Flora replied, her voice scratchy in response to the genuine warmth of his greeting. ‘It’s very kind of you to have us here while we make the arrangements.’

  ‘This is your home, Flora. Where else would you come at such a time?’ Despite his only having met Lord Vaughn once, Bunny’s back received an enthusiastic slap that threatened to throw him off balance. Lord Vaughn retrieved the glasses from the tray and handed one to each of them. ‘Another for you, Venetia?’ he asked over Flora’s shoulder.

  ‘I still have mine, thank you, George.’ Lady Vaughn, serene in sage green trimmed with grey, occupied a sofa set next to the empty fireplace, her half-full glass held aloft.

  ‘I’m jolly glad you put the guests off tonight, Mama,’ Eddy said with the thoughtlessness of youth. ‘Much nicer with just us than all those stuffy old folks.’

  ‘You had a dinner party scheduled for tonight?’ Flora gasped, mortified as she lowered herself into a camelback sofa. ‘Had we known we wouldn’t have intruded. We would have been quite comfortable at the hotel.’

  ‘Which is precisely why I didn’t mention it.’ Lady Vaughn glared at her son, who, chastened, ducked his head. ‘Under the circumstances we thought it best,’ she continued. ‘Besides, Eddy is quite right, we would prefer to spend the evening with you and Bunny than with a room full of neighbours. Don’t you agree, George?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Lord Vaughn removed the sherry decanter from Eddy’s hand and returned it to the tray. ‘Only one glass for you, my boy.’

  Resigned, Eddy curled his lip and straddled the arm of the sofa where Bunny sat. ‘How are your plans going, Harrington?’ Lord Vaughn asked. ‘Last I heard you intended on a venture into the motor manufacturing business.’

  ‘Um, well, not so well, I’m afraid.’ Bunny coughed into a fist. ‘The industry as a whole isn’t moving as fast as I hoped. At the moment I’m involved in some work with Sam Batson in Penge. His motorcycles have rapidly gained in popularity as they are less expensive than motor cars.’

  ‘Is there a reasonable living to be made from such things?’ Lord Vaughn’s brow rose, openly sceptical.

  ‘If so, it will be in the long term,’ Bunny replied. ‘For the moment I’ve fallen back on my qualifications as a solicitor to pay the bills.’

  ‘A more sensible mode of employment for a married man,’ Lady Vaughn murmured into her glass, the sentiment as well as her raised eyebrows reminding Flora of Beatrice.

  She glanced at Bunny, whose mouth twitched, indicating his thoughts ran along the same lines.

  ‘The Automobile Club’s time trial passed through Cheltenham in 1900 on its route to London.’ Lord Vaughn grinned with boyish enthusiasm. ‘I missed it, unfortunately, Venetia and I happened to be in the United States at the time.’

  ‘I would have liked to have seen that too, but if you recall I was at the Duryea Motor Company at the time.’ His private smile as he dipped his nose to his glass told Flora he also recalled they had been aboard the SS Minneapolis on their way home to England at the time – where they had first met.

  ‘Molly Freeman gloated for weeks about how divine the luncheon was at the Queens Hotel on the day,’ Lady Vaughn said with only a trace of envy.

  ‘The winner was Charles Rolls, Lord Llangattock’s boy, a daring adventurer by all accounts. He drove a Panhard Levassor, not unlike yours, Bunny,’ Lord Vaughn said. ‘He got his up to over thirty-seven miles an hour. Can you imagine? I thought only trains went that fast.’

  ‘You haven’t given up on motor cars altogether, have you, sir?’ Eddy straddled the arm of the sofa where Bunny sat, his ankle swinging. Despite having gotten taller, and older, Flora could see clearly the wide-eyed little boy still lurked inside.

  ‘Never.’ Bunny grinned, caught Flora looking at him and winked. ‘I would no more part with Matilda than I would Flora.’

  ‘I should hope it won’t come down to you having to make a choice then,’ she said.

  ‘Lady Vaughn,’ Flora ventured, when the conversation turned into an enthusiastic discussion on the merits of de Dion engines over Daimlers. ‘There’s a rather handsome brass bed in my room I’ve never seen before. If you mean to use those rooms for another purpose, I’m happy to remove my father’s belongings—’

  ‘Oh my dear, of course not.’ Lady Vaughn cut her off with a motherly pat of her hand. ‘Your father bought it especially in preparation for when you and Bunny came to stay. He said your old one was woefully inadequate.’

  ‘He never mentioned it.’ Flora swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. ‘He came to see me in Richmond three times during this last year, yet not once did he intimate he wanted me to come home.’ Flora blinked back welling tears. She and Bunny had always intended to visit the Abbey, though the opportunity simply hadn’t presented itself, what with Bunny’s work and settling into life as newlyweds.

  ‘The first year of marriage is always a time of adjustment. Maguire knew you would come home again when the time was right,’ Lady Vaughn said gently. ‘He was prepared to wait.’

  A stone settled in Flora’s chest. Her father would never have complained that she had failed to visit him. The fact he had prepared her old room so she and Bunny would be welcome when they chose made her want to cry again.

  While she fought for composure, the door opened to reveal a young woman in a peacock-blue gown, her glossy dark hair piled on top of her head in loose sausage curls.

  Bunny rose to his feet, and Eddy slid off the sofa arm as the girl hurried towards Flora in a stride that still managed to look graceful.

  ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived, Flora dear.’ Her pretty, mobile face exhibited both apology and delight. ‘I was at the station seeing Jeremy off back to London.’

  Lady Jocasta Vaughn was the closest Flora had to a friend at Cleeve Abbey. They had shared a schoolroom until the three Vaughn daughters had attended the Ladies’ College in Bayshill Road, leaving Flora to complete her education on her own with the help of Lord Vaughn’s extensive library.

  Flora returned her sherry glass to a low table just in time to avoid it being spilled as she was enveloped in a cloud of heady spice and citrus fragrance of Penhaligon’s, Blenheim Bouquet.

  ‘I’m so dreadfully sorry about dear Maguire.’ She held Flora away from her, raking her from head to toe as if debating whether to mention the unflattering dress, finally releasing her with a tiny sigh as if she thought better of it. Instead, she bussed Flora’s cheek before accepting the sherry glass her father held out.

  ‘Who’s Jeremy?’ Flora asked, retrieving her untouched sherry.

  ‘My fiancé, darling.’ Jocasta sank onto the sofa beside Flora and waggled her left hand on which sat a large solitaire diamond that sparkled in the light.

  ‘Of course, it had quite slipped my mind,’ Flora said. ‘I saw your photograph in The Tatler. You looked lovely, Jocasta, and Congratulations.’

  ‘It was rather adventurous of us wasn’t it?’ Jocasta hunched her shoulders in a girlish gesture. ‘Mama wasn’t sure it was quite the thing, but everyone who is anyone has their engagement announced in The Tatler now.’

  ‘I still have reservations about that rag,’ Lord Vaughn said. ‘It’s lauded as an illustrated journal of both society and the stage. Ah well, I suppose if Jocasta doesn’t qualify for the first she might revert to the second.’ He delivered a slow wink in Flora’s direction, ignoring his wife’s startled frown.

  ‘You don’t shock me at all, Papa.’ Jocasta pulled a face at him. ‘The stage is quite a respectable profession these days.’ She inclined her head flirtatiously up at Bunny who was still standing to attention. ‘And how lovely to see you again, Mr Ptolemy Harrington. He of the Greek name and
matching looks. Why do you only visit us on such solemn occasions?’

  ‘Jocasta! Don’t be so forward!’ Lady Vaughn’s eyes rounded in horror.

  ‘I assume you remember our youngest daughter, Lady Jocasta?’ Lord Vaughn heaved a sigh.’

  ‘Lady Jocasta,’ Bunny murmured and dropped a brief kiss on the hand which did not sport an oversized diamond. ‘I’m delighted to make your acquaintance again.’

  ‘I distinctly remember asking you to call me Jo when we last met.’ She fluttered her long lashes while giving Bunny a slow, appraising look. ‘I only mentioned the name thing because my own is also from Greek mythology. Jocasta was Oedipus’ mother, you know.’

  ‘I do, actually.’ Bunny ducked his head to hide the smile he exchanged with Flora, who knew better than to take offence. Jocasta was the rebel in the family, who refused to be demure in company and said whatever outrageous thing which jumped into her head.

  Bunny’s total lack of vanity meant the overt attention he received from most women only embarrassed him. He would never give Flora a reason to be jealous.

  ‘A teacher at school,’ Jocasta went on, unabashed. ‘Told me Jocasta married Oedipus, which I thought was decidedly odd at the time.’ She slapped his forearm gently. ‘That’s the entire sum of my classics knowledge, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Humph, a pity.’ Lord Vaughn sniffed. ‘Had I known, I wouldn’t have wasted all that money on the Ladies’ College fees.’

  With the sofa now fully occupied, Eddy had retreated to one of the hard chairs against one wall. ‘Don’t worry, Jo,’ he said. ‘Married ladies aren’t expected to know about Greek mythology.’

  Jocasta narrowed her eyes at him over the rim of her sherry glass. ‘Don’t tease, little brother. As the troublesome one in the family, I take the pressure off you no end.’ She ran a manicured finger round the top of her glass before bringing it to her mouth.

  Lady Vaughn looked as if she was about to say something, but broke off at the sharp click of the door opening again.