Murder at Cleeve Abbey

by Anita Davison

  ‘I always remember.’ She wrapped her arms round her tented legs, her chin propped on her knees.

  ‘Go through it again. Perhaps you’ll recall something different this time.’

  ‘It’s always the same dream. I’m in a room with whitewashed walls. The door is wide open and a shaft of sunlight has drawn a fan shape on the grey flagstone floor. I’m small. I know, because the furniture and doors are high above my head. The floor is shiny, as if it’s just been washed and there’s a rag rug of many different colours. A fireplace with a black-leaded grate and a kettle on a stand above it stands at the far end.’

  ‘Keep going, I’m getting a good picture of the scene. What else?’ Bunny knotted the silken cord and sat beside her again on top of the covers.

  ‘A woman is there, and she’s humming as she moves about the room. I cannot see her face, only her long skirt with her shoes peeking out below it, though I know she’s my mother. I’m happy as I tug at the loops on the rug.’ A shadow passed across the images and Flora shivered. ‘Then someone else is there. A man. Again, I cannot see his face, but he lifts me into his arms and his voice rumbles against my head.’

  ‘Your father?’ Bunny scratched his head, yawning.

  ‘I don’t think so. I must know him though, because I curl my arms round his neck and he laughs.’

  ‘Then what happens, Flora?’ Bunny asked gently.

  ‘Mother shouts something, screams in fact, and I’m back on the rug again and frightened because of the noise. I start to cry.’

  ‘Can you make out what they are saying?’ Bunny massaged her shoulder gently.

  ‘No, it’s just loud voices, which upset me. They’re arguing.’ She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to think. ‘I crawl on my hands and knees to where Mother lies on the floor. There’s blood seeping into the rug, but I don’t know where it comes from. All I know is my mother is hurt.’

  ‘Where’s the man?’

  ‘He’s not there anymore. I’m scared and alone and Mother isn’t moving.’ She shrugged. ‘Then I wake up. ‘I’ve always been sure it’s a scene from my childhood. I simply don’t know when it happened or what it means.’

  ‘Then where did it happen?’ He gave the room a quick glance. ‘Not here, if you saw a door to the outside. The basement kitchens in this house perhaps?’

  ‘No, as I said it was a small room.’ Flora propped her chin on her knees again. ‘Much smaller than the main kitchen. I don’t recognize it.’

  ‘And you’re certain the man wasn’t your father?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, and I cannot imagine Father having hurt anyone in his life, let alone my mother. Anyway, I would have known if it was him, sensed him somehow and felt safe. I didn’t feel that way in the dream, but then I wasn’t scared either until I saw the blood.’

  ‘You were too young to remember your parents together. Perhaps their relationship was, well, volatile?’

  ‘That’s possible, I suppose, though not something I want to imagine.’ She fiddled with the broderie anglaise trim on her nightdress, unwilling to admit that the same thing had occurred to her. Did her parents fight? Was that what had happened that day?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Bunny broke into her thoughts. ‘I was playing Devil’s advocate. I wouldn’t dream of casting your father in a poor light.’

  ‘I’m sorry too.’ Her anger dissolved and she leaned against him. ‘Suppose Father’s refusal to talk about my mother was because something dreadful happened to her? Something he wanted to protect me from?’

  ‘It’s possible.’ He tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. ‘However you pursue this or not, whatever you find will make no difference to you and me.’

  She caught his hand in mid-air and brought it to her lips. ‘Thank you, that means a lot.’ A shiver went through her. Bunny might say he could face anything, but words were easy. What if the truth was truly awful and pulled them apart?

  She threw back the cover and scrambled off the bed. ‘There’s no point my sitting here all morning trying to make sense of it. Not without more information.’ Pushing the shadows to the back of her mind to deal with another time, she made for the door. ‘I’m going to have a bath.’

  ‘Hey, I was up first!’ Bunny made a grab for her.

  Flora giggled and swiftly sidestepped him into the hall, turned and gave a wave before she closed the door on his protests.

  5

  Despite Flora having won the race for the bathroom, she took longer to dress than Bunny. ‘Don’t wait for me,’ Flora said when he announced he was hungry – again. ‘I’ll see you in the dining room in a few moments.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked but was halfway to the door before she answered.

  ‘Of course, and anyway, you make me nervous pacing like that.’

  Needing no further encouragement, Bunny padded downstairs, leaving Flora to finish dressing.

  The second black gown she had packed was a less elaborate style than the multi-layered creation of the previous day. Although the colour was no more flattering, the smooth lines skimmed her slender figure and made her look less sallow and middle-aged.

  Her heart was still heavy, the slightest reminder of Riordan’s presence in their rooms bringing tears close, but the mirror at least showed her eyes were clearer and no longer red-rimmed. She had also regained her colour and a little of her former vitality.

  Downstairs, she hesitated outside the dining room door and ran her hands down the smooth material of the skirt before she reached for the doorknob. A passing maid Flora did not recognize bobbed a curtsey, so Flora was smiling when she pushed open the door, surprised to see the only occupants apart from Bunny were Lady Vaughn and Jocasta.

  ‘Good morning, Flora,’ Lady Vaughn said. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  ‘I did, thank you.’ Flora removed all doubt from her voice, unwilling to explain her recurring dream or the hollow feeling when she thought of her father’s room, empty for the first time she could remember.

  Jocasta greeted her by way of a sideways grin and a nod at Bunny, whose head was bent to a plate of sausages and fried eggs, already half demolished. ‘I suspect you don’t feed him, Flora. The poor man is obviously famished.’

  ‘Indeed I do,’ Flora said on her way to the sideboard. ‘Though he does like a hearty breakfast.’

  ‘You don’t have to talk about me as if I wasn’t here,’ Bunny said between mouthfuls. ‘I get enough of that at home with Flora and my mother.’

  He had meant it light-heartedly, though Flora winced at recollections of her mother-in-law’s continued disapproval despite Bunny’s oft repeated assurances that Beatrice Harrington saw no woman outside the royal family as being good enough for her only son.

  As she helped herself to scrambled eggs and tomatoes from the bain-maries set out on the sideboard, Flora experienced a pang of guilt at having left Beatrice the previous morning in a combination of fury and hysterics at being abandoned, although apart from the entire hotel staff being at her beck and call, a half dozen of Beatrice’s friends had invaded the hotel lounge on a mission to comfort her.

  Bunny had insisted Flora’s need was greater than his mother’s and had not given in when Beatrice had feigned an attack of the vapours.

  ‘What are you grinning at?’ Bunny’s mischievous smile warmed her as he poked the perfect yolk of a fried egg into a yellow puddle on his plate.

  ‘Your mother actually.’ She ran her hand across his shoulders as she passed his chair. ‘I was thinking, maybe you could write her a short note to say we have arrived safely and hope she is well?’

  His eyes widened in surprise, though if he experienced the urge to delve deeper he resisted. ‘That’s a kind thought. I’ll do exactly that.’ He rose and fetched more sausages from the sideboard. ‘They’re good!’ he responded to Flora’s sideways look.

  ‘I like a man with a good appetite.’ Lady Vaughn reached for the silver toast rack, her smile reserved for Bunny alone.

  ‘Where is ev
eryone this morning? Were we late risers?’ Flora took in the untouched place settings at the other end of the table.

  ‘Not at all.’ Lady Vaughn poured coffee for herself, then held up the pot in enquiry. ‘George is out on estate business and has taken Eddy with him. The fresh air will do the boy good as he’s looking decidedly peaky lately.’

  Flora held out her cup to be filled, choosing not to mention that she agreed, in case it sounded like a criticism. She may not be Eddy’s governess anymore, but ingrained habits such as being alert to signs of fever or his mood were hard to undo.

  ‘Uncle William is in Gloucester on personal business.’ Jocasta nibbled delicately at her toast. ‘He’ll most likely be back for luncheon, I expect. That leaves just us four this morning.’

  ‘I expect you’re eager to begin arrangements for the funeral, Flora dear.’ Lady Vaughn applied an almost invisible scrape of butter to her toast. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help, you mustn’t hesitate to ask. I recommend Bartlett’s in the Promenade for the floral tributes. They enjoy an excellent reputation.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s most helpful.’ Flora relaxed in the atmosphere of the dining room enhanced by the gentle chink of china and a pervading smell of hot bacon grease and aromatic coffee.

  Marrying Bunny had definitely altered her position in the Vaughn’s social list recently, and despite the solemnity of this visit, she found she enjoyed the difference.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about where my father should be buried,’ Flora began. ‘I would have liked to bury him with my mother, but I don’t know where that is.’

  ‘I cannot help you there, I’m afraid, my dear. George and I were abroad when – when Lily died.’ Lady Vaughn flicked a sideways glance at her, and away again, too quickly for Flora to read the emotion behind it. ‘We didn’t return until the end of that summer, and by then it was all over.’

  ‘What was all over?’ Flora’s gaze met Bunny’s and held.

  ‘Um – why the funeral of course.’ Lady Vaughn crumbled a bread roll on her plate, her eyes cast down.

  Jocasta opened her mouth as if about to say something, then quickly shut it again.

  Flora took a deep breath, knowing if she didn’t broach the subject just then she would never do so. ‘I apologize if I’m venturing into awkward territory, Lady Vaughn, however I know very little about my mother. Father would never talk about her, so I hoped you might fill in some of the gaps.’

  ‘Pass the sugar, would you, Jocasta?’ Bunny asked, his voice over-bright.

  ‘Pardon?’ Jocasta jumped, startled, made a grab for the glass pot, and fumbled it. Sparkling cubes of sugar tumbled onto the tablecloth. ‘Oh, sorry. I’m so clumsy.’

  ‘This might not be the best time to discuss this particular subject, Flora,’ Lady Vaughn whispered, nodding toward her daughter and Bunny who were busy gathering up the sugar.

  Flora nodded, but disappointment must have shown in her face, for when Bunny looked up, he crumpled his napkin and discarded it on the table beside the uneaten sausages. ‘Perhaps this might be an opportune time for you to make good on your promise to show me the grounds, Jo?’

  ‘I promised?’ Jocasta frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound like me. I may have suggested a ride, but—’

  ‘Even better.’ He removed the slice of toast spread with cherry conserve from Jocasta’s fingers, dropping it onto her plate, where it landed with a faint plop.

  ‘I hadn’t finished that!’ Jocasta protested.

  Ignoring her indignant scowl, Bunny tucked a hand beneath her elbow and guided her from the room. As he pulled the door shut, he winked at Flora over his shoulder.

  ‘Those two seem to be getting along remarkably well,’ Lady Vaughn said when they were alone.

  ‘Yes, they do, don’t they? Lady Vaughn, I—’

  ‘Oh, my dear,’ she interrupted. ‘I hope we are friends now and you feel able to call me Lady Venetia.’ Colour flamed in her cheeks beneath her face powder. ‘Lady Vaughn is so formal, don’t you think?’

  Flora could not discern much difference, but thanked her with a gracious smile.

  ‘As for your mother. I was very fond of Lily. She was a wonderful lady’s maid. No one dresses my hair the way she did, even now.’

  Flora sipped her coffee, which proved difficult through gritted teeth. Her mother’s skills at coiffure were hardly paramount just then.

  ‘Lily was always happy here,’ Lady Venetia went on. ‘At least until that unfortunate business.’

  ‘What unfortunate business?’ Flora’s rapidly lowered cup clicked sharply against the saucer.

  Lady Venetia closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Oh dear, I didn’t imagine you were unaware.’

  ‘Unaware of what?’ Flora said carefully, while at the same time a memory returned; of herself beside the table that stood in the hall, but at a time when it only reached to her shoulder. The stomach clenching fear of being discovered listening to voices through a gap in the door of the servant’s hall. Their faces had long ago faded, though the tone in which ‘Poor Lily’ was spoken of remained.

  Flora knew no one would have satisfied a child’s curiosity had she asked the inevitable question, so she had kept the puzzling discovery to herself. Maybe now she would finally learn what they had meant, aware her heart thumped uncomfortably against her corset.

  ‘I’m not unfamiliar with the proclivities of men and women,’ Lady Venetia began slowly. ‘Nor do I expect sainthood among my servants, though I have to admit shock when Lily fell into that trap which awaits pretty young girls with romantic hearts.’ Her slim hand slid across the tablecloth and grasped Flora’s. ‘You see, Lily became pregnant when she was just seventeen.’

  ‘I knew she married quite young?’ Flora said through a suddenly dry mouth. Is that what all the secrecy was about? A lapse in moral behaviour? Although shocking, it didn’t seem dramatic enough somehow to explain all the secrecy since. ‘This child, was it-?’

  ‘You of course, my dear.’ Her grey eyes filled with sympathy. ‘Lily came to me in floods of tears when she discovered her condition. I was torn as to what I should do about it.’

  The words, ‘throw her on the streets’ and ‘send her to the workhouse’ sprang into Flora’s head, though as far as she knew, neither fate had befallen her mother.

  ‘Then a few days later,’ Lady Venetia continued, ‘she came to me again and explained that she had decided to marry Riordan. That everything was settled so there was no need for her to leave after all. She could no longer be my maid of course, but she remained at the Abbey after her marriage.’

  Flora fidgeted, confused as to why Lady Vaughn referred to it as ‘an unfortunate business’ if her parents had married before she was born. Or was she trivializing the situation and a hasty marriage was not easily forgotten? The world was about to enter a new age with a new king, but a quarter of a century ago, the Vaughns had lived in a time when Queen Victoria set a much stricter standard.

  ‘Then it all worked out well for them?’

  ‘It did,’ Lady Vaughn said. ‘It turned out well for them in the end.’

  ‘Until my mother died,’ Flora said, reminding her the story didn’t end there. ‘I have no idea if she was ill or met with an accident. No one talked about her when I was a child. It was almost as if she never existed.’ She coughed, self-conscious. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be sharp’

  ‘I understand perfectly, my dear.’ Her hand fluttered to her throat. ‘However, as I said, George and I were in the South of France at the time, so we knew nothing about the circumstances. Everything was over by the time we returned.’

  Flora found this hard to believe, but then why would Lady Venetia deliberately lie? ‘Would anyone else in the house have been here at that time? Perhaps they might be able to tell me more about her?’

  ‘Well, there’s our housekeeper, Hetty Farmer, who’s been with us for years, and Nanny.’ Lady Vaughn scrutinized the ceiling, then waved her hand. ‘Oh dear no, Nanny died last year.’


  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. She was such a favourite with everyone,’ Flora said. ‘With your permission, I would like to talk to Hetty. She might remember my mother.’ Hetty might also know what the ‘Poor Lily’ comments meant too, which didn’t seem to tally with the facts she had a precipitous wedding.

  ‘Of course, my dear, if you think it would help.’ Lady Venetia relaxed back in her chair, her newly full cup held lightly in fingers that didn’t shake.

  ‘Thank you, Lady Vaug—, I mean, Lady Venetia.’ Flora gained the impression that having shifted her attention to someone else, Lady Vaughn had pushed the shadow of Lily Maguire back into the past, where she resided more comfortably. But Flora hadn’t given up hope of finding out what had happened to her mother, and her father, and she knew if rumour and gossip existed about either of her parents, she would more than likely find it below stairs.

  6

  Flora pushed through the green baize door into the kitchens, a route she had taken so many times in her former life as governess. She only had the door open a few inches before the butler appeared from nowhere and blocked her path.

  ‘May I help you, Mrs Harrington?’ His tone was almost an accusation.

  ‘I don’t think so, er— Scrivens, is it? I was hoping to talk to Hetty. Is that not convenient?’ She was no longer a servant, and what better time to challenge the man who had taken her father’s place?

  ‘Not at all, Mrs Harrington.’ Scrivens’ tone implied the opposite. ‘However, mornings, as I’m sure you are aware, are extremely busy. Mrs Farmer won’t have time for socializing.’

  ‘I see.’ Flora inhaled slowly, summoning patience. ‘Then when would you suggest?’

  ‘Perhaps after luncheon has been cleared away, Mrs Farmer takes her afternoon tea then.’ He pretended to consider for a moment. ‘Three o’clock might be more suitable.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Flora smiled sweetly and moved past him before she succumbed to an urge to slap him. Pompous man. And when did anyone call Hetty, Mrs Farmer? Heart-searing emotion rose yet again at the thought of her father, who would never have been so abrasive to a guest in the house.