There was no mistaking the large man rising from a chair in the opulent library. A rare grin crossed the Colonel’s face as he and Charles approached each other.
“Welcome! Welcome, Mr. Stewart,” the Colonel exclaimed while shaking his guest’s hand with considerable force. “Excuse me. I mean Lord Stewart. Isn’t that so?”
“No need for formalities, old man,” Charles said cheerily. “How are you, Colonel Humphries? You’re well, I hope.”
“Most certainly. Much better than the last time we were together,” Humphries answered. “Older, yes. But much more relaxed. Have a seat, Stewart. Drink? Cigar?”
Charles settled into a comfortable chair and said, “Yes to both. It’s a jarring ride through this countryside.”
The Colonel poured two sizeable portions of whiskey from a decanter that would soon need replenished. He handed one to Charles and proclaimed, “A toast. To our survival and good fortune.”
“Here, here!” Charles added before taking his drink and selecting a cigar from a box the Colonel offered.
“Good fortune, indeed, Colonel. You’ve done well with this manor.”
The Colonel sat and shrugged. “I owe this entirely to my late wife. She inherited it and I will remain here the rest of my life. I do miss her, though.”
After a short pause of reflection, the Colonel continued: “How good of you to accept my invitation on such short notice, Stewart. It wouldn’t have surprised me to hear back that you were off to some foreign land on holiday hunting down some wild animal we’ve never seen in Yorkshire.”
In the few moments they were together, Charles recognized the same rigidity in the Colonel’s general manner and the same gruffness of his speech that he displayed during the war, but with definite softening of the mood. Still, professional soldiers rarely changed and the strict disciplinarian Charles knew from twelve years ago likely remained.
“I have no trips on the horizon, Colonel,” Charles told him. “But I must say it was a surprise to hear from you. Have the others arrived?”
“Oh, yes. All that I expected,” Humphries said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder toward the tall French windows that led out onto the estate grounds. “They’re outside. We’ll join them in a bit. A few of them have been here a couple of days. You’re the last to arrive.”
Charles surveyed the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that lined three walls of the library, as well as the massive oak desk the Colonel lounged behind. Papers and envelopes covered it from end to end in no apparent sense of order.
“And what, may I ask, prompted you to call for a reunion?” Charles inquired between puffs on his cigar.
The Colonel’s expression instantly turned somber and he rose from his chair, striding slowly to one of the bookshelves and running his finger down the spine of a book while in deep thought. He turned to Charles and said, “I need you to observe something for me, Stewart. From the perspective of an outsider, so to speak.”
He paused, and then continued: “You were the first one that came to my mind when I knew I needed somebody. Your days with the Daily Telegraph may come in handy. Over the next few days I need you to talk to these men; listen to them; watch them.”
“For what?”
Humphries’ eyes narrowed and his mouth grew even firmer than normal. “I invited everyone who lived within a short distance, but it’s Parker I’m really interested in. Let me give you some background, Stewart.”
Charles quickly did a mental inventory of George Parker, an unremarkable soldier but a noteworthy man was his recollection. He would have been almost thirty at the time and forty now, Charles thought to himself.
“George Parker is into mining,” the Colonel began, leaning on a shelf and using his other hand to smoke. “He has multiple mines in multiple countries. All kinds of ores. He’s doing well, I believe. He came to me a few months ago asking if I’d be interested in speculating with him. Parker claims we’ll both make a fortune, but he needs investors. Big time investors, Stewart.”
Charles nodded and listened.
“It would take most of my remaining cash to do what he wants,” Humphries said. “It’s risky, to say the least. I need somebody to look into it; talk to him and the others and see what’s up his sleeve.”
“Excuse me for asking, Colonel, but it’s necessary. How much money would make it worthwhile for Parker?” Charles asked.
“About one hundred thousand pounds,” the Colonel said without hesitation.
Charles nodded again. “I see. Well worth it.”
“Is this something you are willing to do over the next few days?” Humphries asked.
“Certainly,” Charles assured him. “When do you want to meet again?”
“I’ll let you know. It’s fairly easy to lock ourselves into one of these rooms when we want to.”
“Excellent. I’m keen for a little excitement this summer, Colonel. I appreciate you thinking of me,” Charles said with a grin.
“Good. Now let’s head outside and you can make your re-acquaintances with the men,” the Colonel said, rising from his chair and heading for the French windows leading to the grounds.
III. Tension in the Air
The back of Stichen Manor was an open area that gently sloped downward for a couple hundred yards. At the bottom of the decline was a broad stream with trees on either bank. To the left and right of the manor were fields and forests as far as the eye could see. Lord Charles and the Colonel stood just outside the library, surveying the guests dispersed widely over the area. Some sat at tables under large umbrellas; some were examining hunting rifles; and, others were on the fringe of the woods in conversation.
The Colonel and his guest approached the closest group, consisting of four people sitting at a table in the shade. Charles gazed intently at the faces, instantly recognizing two of the men but concentrating principally on one of the women.
“Good lord if it isn’t Charles Stewart from the Daily Telegraph,” one of the men exclaimed.
Charles smiled and said, “Hullo, Meath. You can relax. I’m unemployed and not taking notes now.”
Stuart Meath had grown even more handsome than Charles remembered him, if that was possible. However, Charles’ eyes kept returning to the stunning young woman sitting next to Meath.
“May I introduce my wife Helen. And you remember George Parker,” Meath continued around the table. “And his wife Elizabeth.”
Charles bowed. “Lord Charles Stewart at the service of the fair ladies. The men can fend for themselves.”
“It’s unfortunate, Stewart,” the Colonel chimed in among the laughter, “that I didn’t think of inviting an unmarried female or two for you. I will do better next time.”
Those words gave Charles just enough time to gaze at the Parkers. They were both about forty years old, with Parker’s dark complexion showing the effects of many years of travel to locales such as South Africa in search of the perfect mine. He had a closely shaven beard and thick, dark hair. Elizabeth nodded shyly to the new guest and Charles returned her grin, knowing that her friendship may be important later.
Yet, the beauty of Helen Meath dominated the table. Her long, blonde hair flowed out from under her sun hat and wafted lightly in the warm breeze. Charles wondered silently if this splendid looking girl of no more than twenty five years of age knew of her husband’s affinity to all pretty women, or if the handsome Stuart Meath had changed now that he was over thirty and married.
“Sit down, Charles,” George Parker said. “Catch us up on what you’ve been doing since Somme.”
The Colonel excused himself from the group and Parker asked Charles, “What does a Lord do now that there is no war to occupy him?”
Charles smiled and ran a hand over his neatly kept hair.
“Oh, I dabble in the usual outdoor activities that Yorkshire excels in providing. And I bother the police whenever a suspicious crime occurs, which is not often enough. Of course, that depends on your point of view. Plus, I have Bingham in my emplo
y as a butler. You gentlemen remember Agent Bingham, don’t you?”
Both Meath and Parker immediately acknowledged their recollection of the multi-talented Bingham and were delighted to hear he was on the premises for the duration of the reunion. Then, Charles determined it was time to start fulfilling his assignment from the Colonel.
“How is the mining business these days, Parker?” he inquired.
The expression on Parker’s face presaged his quick answer.
“Splendid, thank you,” the man said. “Diamonds are always in demand and I’ve recently had some luck with gold. But we’re all keeping our eye on what happens with the stock market in the US. I personally think we’re on the verge of a boom.”
“Really?” Charles replied. “You’re always looking for a new influx of cash, I presume.”
Parker grinned broadly and said, “Of course. What businessman isn’t? Are you interested?”
Charles shook his head.
“No, no. Not at the moment. I’m not sure the Duke and Duchess would approve.”
The group laughed and Elizabeth Parker said, “Don’t you believe for a minute, Lord Stewart, that that answer will dissuade my husband from asking you the question again…perhaps several times while we are here.”
Charles grinned.
“The answer is unlikely to change soon.”
He looked across the table and added, “And Meath, good man, what has kept you busy?”
“Besides Helen, you mean?”
“Yes,” Charles laughed. “Besides Helen. The last I heard you were in line to inherit a goodly sum, correct?”
Meath seemed to blush slightly and said, “I still am. If it happens it happens. I’m doing fine as it is.”
“I would say so,” Parker interposed quickly. “The rest of us are damned jealous, if the fact be known.”
“There you go, Parker,” Charles exclaimed. “There’s your next investor.”
“He’s already tried,” Helen Meath said. “George is seemingly endless in his appeals.”
The look she gave Parker was not callous, but had definite meaning.
Parker shrugged and said, “Just trying to make a living.”
Stuart Meath, eager to change the topic, said to Charles, “You’ll have to come up to the manor and see my knife collection when you get a chance, Stewart. I started gathering them early in the war and kept collecting afterwards. I have them in my room. Just visit whenever you want.”
“I will do that,” Charles said cheerfully. “Mind if I bring Bingham? He’s the expert in that stuff.”
“Please do.”
At that point, everyone at the table turned their heads toward the sound of heated words coming up from farther down the lawn. All eyes were on the Colonel and Alistair Cooper standing toe-to-toe, their bodies in obvious postures of anger. The two men’s voices immediately merged into one incoherent stream of loud quarreling. Cooper was the first to reach out a finger and poke it into the chest of the other man. The Colonel quickly responded in kind and everybody watching anticipated blows being struck.
Fortunately, Charles saw another member of the battalion, Malcolm Leatherby, step in between the men and put a temporary halt to the battle of words.
“Ironic, isn’t it,” Charles said to the people around him, “that Leatherby was the one to break it up. He used to get great enjoyment out of prodding Cooper into fits of rage. Now he’s the peacemaker.”
Meath chuckled and said, “I can see the Colonel’s red face from here. Those two are quite a pair. Wonder why Cooper was even invited?”
Charles smiled in recollection of his own thoughts along those same lines.
“I must say, Charles, you can cut the tension around here the past couple days with a knife,” Meath continued. “I’m surprised there hasn’t been an outburst before now, unless it occurred and I didn’t see it or hear it.”
“I’ve felt it, too,” Parker added, with nods of agreement from both wives. “No words until now. Just a sense of uneasiness.”
Charles rose from his chair and told the group, “Maybe I can play diplomat. I’m going down there.”
The others dispersed onto the yard while Charles made his way farther down the hill. By the time he reached the Colonel, Cooper had moved on and Humphries and Leatherby remained. Charles and Leatherby exchanged warm greetings and that seemed to bring the Colonel back to his senses.
“All these years and some of the men still won’t let it go,” the Colonel uttered in a disgusted tone. “I guess when you went through what we did, some things are hard to forget. Add in Cooper’s angst toward me and it was bound to happen.”
Charles was pleased to see a quick passing of the event, at least from the Colonel’s perspective, but this first observable hint that all was not well among the men disturbed him. And he’d only been at the manor for an hour.
“I suppose, Colonel,” Charles replied. “It was a difficult time. Let’s hope the rest of our time together goes smoothly.”
Charles’ glance up the hill focused on a man and woman standing alone in conversation. The pairing of Alistair Cooper and Helen Meath at that particular moment struck Charles as most unlikely. No words could be heard, but their attitudes were obviously genial towards each other. Charles watched for a moment and then rejoined the conversation between Colonel Humphries and Malcolm Leatherby.
Leatherby was an athletic-looking man of average height in his early thirties with a short beard and round glasses. He was neatly clothed in a lightweight brown suit. Charles knew little about him, personally, other than his aversion to Cooper, but Leatherby was not unique in that regard.
Several minutes passed and, almost subconsciously during the ongoing chat, Charles noticed people mingling more and more on the hillside. It was mostly just a visual perception, until another raising of voices caused him and the others to look aside. This time it was Stuart Meath and Cooper having words and this time the words were audible.
“I’m telling you for the last time. Stop talking to Helen,” Stuart barked at Cooper.
“I can talk to anyone I want to, Meath. Maybe you should talk more often to your wife and less often to every other woman you see. It might be she’s getting tired of it.”
Meath was unmistakably on the verge of physically assaulting Cooper. One arm pulled back as if to launch a punch, but halted, and Meath said, “I’ll kill you if you touch her again, Cooper. Do you understand me?”
Cooper uttered something only the two men could hear before he brushed past the much smaller Meath and headed for the manor. Meath followed him with his eyes for a few seconds, and then stiffly walked toward the chair occupied by his wife. Soon, after exchanging a couple words, they too were walking up to the manor.
Charles felt a tug on his arm and the Colonel said in a low voice, “Let me have a word with you alone, Stewart.”
They separated from Leatherby and found a quiet corner at the edge of a copse of trees.
“What you just saw has been going on for two days among the men and women that have been here,” the Colonel told him. “Something is brewing and it isn’t for the better. I believe old secrets are resurfacing and it’s my fault for letting this reunion occur. My interest is in Parker, but I suspect there are deeper problems amongst this crowd than Parker’s speculation in mines.”
Charles saw the concern etched on the old soldier’s face.
“What’s your biggest fear, Colonel?”
Colonel Humphries paused, and said, “That something dreadful is about to happen. Meet me in the library tonight after dinner. Around nine. Can you do that?”
“I’ll be there,” Charles assured him.
IV. Murder at Stichen Manor
Stichen Manor was located two miles outside of Danby, north of River Esk, in the north of Yorkshire. Danby didn’t contain much, but it did contain a market operated by Daphne Bishop, an energetic young woman of twenty two whose energy was only surpassed by her beauty. Charles was walking past the manor’s kitche
n when he nearly bumped into her a couple hours before dinner.
“Oh! Excuse me, miss,” Charles said with a deep bow. “So clumsy of me.”
“It’s alright, sir. It gets hectic here before dinner when the Colonel entertains.”
Daphne’s dark hair and large eyes captivated him, but he managed to ask, “Are you part of the staff, may I ask?”
The girl smiled. “No. I’m Daphne Bishop. I own the market in town.”
Charles bowed once more. “My apologies, Miss Bishop. Lord Charles Stewart at your service. I didn’t…I mean, I never imagined…”
Daphne laughed and attempted to save Charles from further embarrassment.
“You don’t have to say it. You aren’t the first man to be surprised. The people of Danby knew my father, who ran the market before me. They all knew I’d take over when I was old enough, since I didn’t have any brothers or sisters.”
“Do you enjoy it?” Charles asked
Daphne’s eyes widened and she said, “Oh, yes. I can’t imagine doing anything else. Except, maybe marry a rich man.”
Charles chuckled. “Well, good luck, Miss Bishop. If it won’t embarrass you, I’ll say you might have any man you want, rich or poor.”
A blush covered her fair-toned face. “Thank you, Lord Stewart.”
“I hope to see you again this week,” he added.
“Almost certainly. I make a delivery every day,” she said. After a pause, she added, “And I know Malcolm quite well…Mr. Leatherby, I mean.”
“Do you really?” Charles said with surprise. “How convenient, then. Well, I must start getting ready for the evening festivities. Nice meeting you, Miss Bishop.”
She acknowledged his bow and they went their opposite ways down the hall.
Once in his upstairs bedroom, Charles was met by Bingham, who began to lay out his dinner suit.
“There’s a rumor that some of the conversations this afternoon got rather heated, my Lord,” Bingham said nonchalantly, stooping to find a pair of shoes.
The Enemy in Our Midst: A Lord Charles Stewart Mystery Page 2