Murder at Cleeve Abbey

by Anita Davison

  ‘I know, but – look.’ Jocasta’s pretty features twisted in anguish but did nothing to spoil her looks. ‘When Mama married Papa, she was very conscious that her family were involved in trade, when Papa was from a long line of landowners. Very lucrative trade, but still trade. Papa didn’t care a fig as theirs was a love match, but my grandparents did. Mama had a difficult time those first years trying to live up to them.’

  ‘I understand, and in fact sympathize.’ The spectre of Beatrice Harrington loomed. ‘But what has this to do with my mother?’

  ‘Nothing, everything?’ Jocasta hunched her shoulders. ‘I don’t know, I’m simply warning you it might not be easy. Mama may have pushed this incident you talk about, whatever it was, into the recesses of her mind. She does that a lot. If talking about your mother is abhorrent to her, she’ll never tell you anything.’

  ‘You could be right, though perhaps having something more solid would make her open up more. You make it sound hopeless.’ Flora closed her fan and slapped it into her lap.

  ‘Not necessarily. I’ll see what I can do with Papa, though he’s been distracted lately.’ A frown appeared between her brows. ‘Whenever I speak to him he looks straight through me as if he hasn’t heard, so I make no promises.’

  ‘I appreciate your help, whatever form it takes.’ Flora slid her hand over Jocasta’s on the table between them and squeezed. ‘I’m grateful to have someone on my side other than Bunny.’ Despite Jocasta’s occasional reticence, Flora felt she wasn’t keeping things from her deliberately. Jocasta appeared as confused about what had happened to Lily Maguire as she was.

  ‘Nonsense, we’re friends aren’t we? Now, tell me more about this dream you keep having.’

  13

  Flora declined Jocasta’s invitation to visit friends in Clayton village that afternoon, with the excuse she had a lot to think about. She stood on the front drive and watched Jocasta expertly negotiate the gig with one hand on the reins, the other raised in a cheery wave.

  Smiling at the girl’s irrepressible nature, Flora turned back to the house, just in time to see Mr McCallum emerge from the wicket gate at the entrance to the stable block.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr McCallum,’ Flora greeted him.

  ‘I’m delighted to see you’re still talking to me, Mrs Harrington.’ His boots crunched on gravel as he strode towards her. His tweed cap and riding jacket made him look every inch the country gentleman. ‘I thought perhaps you still held my brewery responsible for the epidemic after the fête.’

  ‘Please call me Flora, and I do apologize for interrogating you the other night. It was unforgiveable of me, but I’m still reeling from my father’s death.’ She paused beside the fountain and waited for him to join her. She adopted her most congenial smile and the tone to go with it, hoping she sounded convincing, because something told her there was still a great deal to discover about the handsome Mr McCallum and his brewery. The newspaper clippings about another brewery her father kept weren’t some odd coincidence.

  ‘To lose someone is never easy.’ His voice softened as he neared her. ‘Especially when their demise is sudden and unexpected.’ He raised a foot to the stone border of the fountain in the middle of the drive, his riding crop gently tapping his palm. ‘He was a determined man, your father.’

  ‘Determined is a good description of him. I mean, of how he used to be.’ She rubbed at the tight feeling in her midriff that always intruded, still unable to believe she would never see him again. ‘What brings you back at the Abbey so soon, Mr McCallum?’

  ‘I was out for a ride on Cleeve Common and my horse cast a shoe.’ He aimed his crop over his shoulder at the stables behind him. ‘Lord Vaughn mentioned the farrier would be here all day, so I took advantage of his open invitation to use his services.’

  ‘Must have been a hard ride to cause that?’ Flora recalled the rocky path in the wood that was difficult to negotiate on foot, let alone horseback. She fell into step beside him as he strolled the drive towards the road.

  ‘Not by me,’ his attractive laugh rang out. ‘Mrs Mountjoy borrowed the animal last, though I doubt she pays much attention to such details. The shoe hung on by one nail and couldn’t be left.’ He caught Flora’s bemused glance and laughed. ‘Ah, I see gossip about myself and the lady has reached you?’ Flora’s cheeks heated and he laughed again. ‘I confess I was flattered by her attentions when I first came to live here. She too was new to the area, and introduced me into her circle. However, she sought a more permanent arrangement between us, which I did not.’

  ‘You and Mrs Mountjoy are still on speaking terms?’ If what Jocasta had said about the end of their liaison having been less than amicable, his easy generosity came as a surprise.

  ‘Of course.’ His eyes met hers in surprised candour. ‘We’re civilized people after all. Besides, I’ve learned not to take offence at the chatter of local gossips. My name has been linked with more than one female since I arrived, whether accurate or not.’

  At the sound of wheels on gravel, his hand shot out and grasped her arm. He hauled her onto the grass verge, just as a tradesman’s horse and cart swept past them, sending a spray of tiny stones over her shoes.

  ‘Goodness, that was close.’ She inhaled a shocked breath.

  He frowned at the receding cart as it continued on toward the house. ‘Most likely he didn’t see us as he came round the bend.’

  Sudden warmth spread into Flora’s face as she realized he hadn’t released her arm. She eased away from him and continued walking, but if he noticed her embarrassment he gave no sign. ‘Do you prefer the bachelor life, Mr McCallum?’

  ‘Um-I’m a widower, actually.’ His frown deepened and he poked the toe of one boot fiercely at a clump of roughened grass. ‘When my wife died I needed a fresh start and decided to leave the north behind.’

  ‘I’m very sorry.’ Until he was safely married again, Flora suspected he would forever have to fend off the attentions of women like Caroline Mountjoy.

  ‘I respected your father, Mrs Harrington.’ He clasped his hands behind his back, head bent. ‘I was sorry to hear what happened to him.’

  She was about to ask him to call her Flora, but changed her mind in case it might cross an invisible barrier. Instead she decided to pursue the subject Mr McCallum had raised. ‘I’m still trying to discover the exact circumstances of the accident, but few people appear to know much.’ She ducked her head beneath a low branch. ‘To your knowledge, did my father often go out alone on horseback?’ Flora turned toward him, a hand raised to her eyes against the sun’s glare.

  ‘I couldn’t say.’ He took the left-hand path that would bring them back to the house and Flora fell into step beside him. ‘Did you know that the man who died after the fête once worked for Lord Vaughn’s grandfather? He trained your father when he first came here.’

  ‘Mr Hendry?’ Flora recalled a craggy face and the stooped walk of an old man she saw occasionally in the village. ‘I didn’t realize that. Poor man.’

  ‘I believe it was because of Henry your father was so keen to unearth the reason for the men’s illness.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you happen to know where my father went on the day he died?’ Flora clasped her hands behind her back, her skirt rustling as she walked. It was too hot to wear black but she saw it as a sort of penance. A small one to endure to acknowledge his life.

  ‘I sense you suspect there was more to his death than you have been told?’ He halted and turned toward her, one brow raised.

  ‘That’s the point. I don’t know. I went to Bailey Wood this morning, to take a look at where he died. It’s quite near where you live I’m told.’ His eyes narrowed and fearing she had insulted him, added, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to imply anything. My husband is of the opinion I’m searching for shadows where there aren’t any.’

  ‘Perhaps you should listen to him, although it’s quite normal to try and apportion blame when someone dies.’ He extended his elbow and she slid her arm thr
ough his and set off again along the path that circled the wide front drive. ‘If it puts your mind at rest,’ he said gently, ‘as far as I’m aware, Maguire didn’t come anywhere near my house. In fact I wasn’t even there. I dined at the Abbey that night, as did Caroline Mountjoy. We knew nothing about the accident until the following morning.’

  ‘I see,’ and again I apologize for asking so many questions. I’m doing it with everyone I meet at the moment and I’m sure they are becoming annoyed with me. After all, everybody keeps telling me what a terrible accident it was, so why can’t I just accept it?’

  ‘We all look for reasons when we have lost someone. There’s no logic to it.’

  ‘No, there isn’t. Thank you for your understanding.’ He certainly said all the right things, though something about his story struck her as a little too perfect, with no hesitation or having to think about his actions that night.

  She glanced sideways and caught his eye and groaned inwardly. What was wrong with her? When had she stopped trusting people? He had been perfectly civil and not baulked once at her prying. If Bunny were here he would be nudging her by now to be more discreet.

  ‘If you’re still concerned, Flora,’ Mr McCallum said after a moment. ‘You could always ask Dr Fairbrother. I’m sure he could answer any questions you may have.’

  ‘I had considered doing just that, but I’m not sure how to approach him.’

  ‘Directly, would be my advice.’ He slanted a sideways look at her, a gleam in in his eye. ‘What are your plans for this afternoon?’

  Flora shrugged. ‘Bunny’s in Cheltenham with Mr Osborne and not due back for a while. I suppose I’m stranded here.’

  ‘Then if you’ll permit, I would be more than happy to escort you into town to see the good doctor. His consulting rooms are at the Sandford Road Hospital. That’s where—’

  ‘The town mortuary is,’ Flora finished for him. In some strange way, should the doctor tell her nothing new, being physically close to her father somehow appealed. ‘We have no carriage at our disposal and your horse is with the farrier.’

  ‘Then we’ll take the tram.’

  ‘The tram?’ Flora blinked, surprised. ‘You know I had forgotten about those. The service had not been implemented when I lived here.’ Dare she travel on a public tram with a virtual stranger, alone?

  ‘Come now.’ His eyes took on a teasing glint. ‘Are you worried about your reputation? Or is it the tram which makes you hesitate? I assure you they are quite safe.’

  ‘We do have them in Richmond,’ she replied, though reluctant to admit she had never actually ridden on one. Beatrice Harrington regarded them as conveyances for the lower orders and always insisted Flora took their carriage. ‘What about your luncheon appointment?’

  ‘That was with my lawyer. He sent a note round first thing cancelling. So I’m at your disposal.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you need to change?’ She indicated his riding clothes.

  ‘One thing I have learned since living in the country, my dear Flora, is that riding attire is accepted everywhere.’

  Flora hesitated, but his invitation became more attractive by the second and as he had covered all her reasons for not going into town, perhaps now was as good a time as any to confront the doctor.

  ‘The tram stop is a mere three minutes’ walk from here,’ he went on when she didn’t respond, ‘We could be in Cheltenham and back before tea time.’

  ‘I’ll fetch my parasol.’

  *

  Flora stared at the vehicle as it whirred to a gentle halt beside them, an elongated box curved at the front and decorated with a gold trim. Set below the number seven picked out in gold, sat a round lamp that resembled a single eye.

  ‘Where would you like to sit?’ Mr McCallum asked as he helped her up the first two metal steps onto the platform.

  A man in a military-style uniformed jacket with a double row of brass buttons set in a long ‘v’ from shoulder to hip greeted them from the open platform; his kepi style bearing the word ‘Motorman’ in brass letters above the peak.

  Mr McCallum purchased their tickets from another man with the word ‘Conductor’ picked out in the same brass script on his cap, tucked them into his waistcoat pocket, his head inclined to indicate she lead the way.

  ‘I’ve never seen a single storey tram before,’ Flora said as they moved to the rear of the carriage. ‘The ones I’ve seen in town have two stories.’ She chose one of the upholstered seats at the rear beside a window. The seat wasn’t very comfortable, the upholstery thin and the back very upright, making her hope the journey wouldn’t take too long.

  ‘Ah, only single cars are allowed on the Cleeve Hill run as it’s so steep. They discovered that after an accident on the trial run. The car overturned and two engineers were killed.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to mention that before you invited me?’ She gaped, horrified.

  He waved her off. ‘Past history. Since the single storey rule it’s proved extremely safe. In fact it’s so popular, the company plans to expand into Leckhampton on the other side of town next year.’

  ‘How does it work without horses? Do they use petrol like motor cars?’

  ‘These are electric cars imported from America by the Cheltenham and Cleeve Tramway. Did you notice that long metal handle at the front? Electricity flows through that from those overhead wires,’ he said, sliding onto the bench seat beside her.

  ‘I hope it’s as safe as you say.’ She peered through the window on her right to were the wires ran overhead. She had only recently got used to the idea of electric lights Bunny has installed in the house. ‘It’s not very full,’ she said, mainly to hide her nervousness. Only three other passengers occupied the bench seats, none of them women.

  ‘Not at this time of day. You wait until the shops and businesses close and the workers set off home to the outlying villages. You’ll be lucky to find standing room only then.’

  A sharp, ting-tang’ sounded and Flora jumped, grabbed the rail on the back of the seat in front, her breath held as the tram car began moved off. As she acknowledged that their progress would be more a sedate trundle than careening down the hill at breakneck speed, she relaxed and enjoyed the ride. The height of the car enabled her to see over the hedges and into garden walls as they passed through the pretty high street of Prestbury village through places she wouldn’t normally see as the tram stopped at intervals to allow passengers on and off.

  ‘You seem to have settled in Gloucestershire quite well, Mr McCallum.’ She met his steady gaze, roving his features as she decided he really was a most attractive man; a conclusion which sent heat into her face. What was she doing, exchanging flirtatious looks with a man other than Bunny?

  ‘You lived at the Abbey for quite a while, I believe, Flora?’ he said, drawing her attention from the window.

  ‘Most of my life,’ Flora replied.

  ‘The family must think very highly of you, I doubt many former servants are treated so well.’ She shot him a hard look and he added, ‘Not that you were a servant – as such.’

  ‘Quite.’ She pulled her mouth into a smile which she knew didn’t reach her eyes and turned back to the window, unsure whether or not he had intended to insult her. Or perhaps she was being too sensitive?

  ‘I was raised with their daughters,’ Flora said after a moment. ‘It wasn’t until I was older that I became Eddy’s governess.’

  ‘The Vaughn’s eldest daughter married well, I heard. An American wasn’t it?’

  Flora turned her head a fraction to study his face, curious as to where the question came from? Her years as a governess had taught her caution where discussing her employers was concerned. However his face held none of the keen interest in her answer, so he must simply be keeping the conversation going.

  ‘Lady Amelia, and yes she lives there now. I accompanied them to New York for the wedding.’

  ‘My goodness, a privilege indeed. How did you like America?’

  ‘New York is a
fascinating city with such wide streets and some amazing houses. They call their holiday mansions “cottages” when they are as large as Buckingham Palace.’ She debated whether to mention that she met Bunny on the voyage home, but perhaps that was too much information on a second meeting.

  Near the outskirts of town, the road flattened out between terraces of elegant white stone villas with neat front gardens set behind wrought-iron railings.

  Flora returned the enthusiastic waves of pedestrians as they passed, while small girls in pinafores smiled and pointed at the tram from the side of the road, demonstrating it was still a relatively new innovation to the town.

  The driver took the wide curve that took them past the gates to Pittville Park with its ornamental arch built to celebrate the late Queen’s jubilee. The roads grew busier, as carts and carriages and walkers crossed the metal lines of the tramcar. Flora winced as a horse-drawn vehicle spilled through the gate onto the road in front of them and veered alarmingly into their path but was steered expertly away before disastrous contact was made. The tram slowed as it passed through the main High Street and out again, finally coasting to a stop on Sandford Road, where Flora released a held breath that they had arrived safely.

  ‘That was quite an experience, Mr McCallum, and much quicker than travelling by horse and cart,’ Flora said as he helped her down the steps. ‘I’m amazed at how reckless some carriages are, but despite all that, I did enjoy the ride.’ She harboured a slight satisfaction at the look on Beatrice’s face when she reached home and recounted her adventure.

  ‘I’m glad.’ He indicated a solid honey-coloured building with pillared portico over a short flight of steps, with two square wings on either side. ‘The General Hospital and Dispensary is along there. I believe the good doctor would—’ he broke off, glanced past her shoulder and froze. Flora turned to where Bunny emerged from a carriage and four that had halted on the road alongside them.

  14

  ‘Goodness, where did you come from?’ Flora summoned an uneasy smile that hovered between pleasure and embarrassment. ‘I imagined you would be on your way back to Cleeve Abbey by now.’