Mydworth Mysteries - A Shot in the Dark (A Cosy Historical Mystery Series Book 1)

by Matthew Costello

  “Maid, footman and now even their driver? That’s a lot of trouble with the staff.”

  “You sensing something wrong there?”

  “I don’t know, Kat. Could be nothing. Just seems, well, a little odd. Anyway, stables ahead, let’s see what the under-gardener thought of the late Mr Coates.”

  *

  “Hell-lo?” Harry called, seeing just a pair of legs sticking out from under a small tractor.

  Right now the stalls were empty, all of Lavinia’s horses still out with the guests. Harry guessed she’d had to arrange for a few more to be brought over to accommodate the party.

  He waited, Kat at his side, the sun cutting through the high windows above them, making motes of dust float in the still air.

  Huntley finally squirmed out from under the tractor, screwdriver in one hand, a spanner in the other.

  “Yes?” Huntley said.

  Harry looked at Kat, and then back to the man with a smile.

  “I’m Lady Lavinia’s nephew. I wonder if we might have a little chat?”

  The man didn’t move for a moment as if processing the request.

  Probably in the middle of some vital bit of automotive surgery, Harry thought.

  Then Huntley put his tools down and pulled himself to an upright position.

  “Harry Mortimer,” Harry said, sticking out his hand.

  Huntley wiped his blackened palms on the front of his overalls and shook hands.

  “My wife, Lady Mortimer.”

  Huntley seemed confused. Was it the handshake, Harry wondered? Not exactly protocol with the staff. Or leaving the “Sir” out of his introduction?

  Followed by the “Lady Mortimer”, which Harry guessed Kat was still getting used to.

  “H-how can I help you?” Huntley said. “Been trying to get this old thing running.”

  “You a mechanic too?”

  “Not officially,” said Huntley with a shrug. “Do what I can. Think it’s past it though.”

  Harry nodded, took a breath.

  “Well, we’d like to talk to you about Alfred Coates.” Harry paused. “You know, the man who was shot and killed last night?”

  And then – Huntley was perfectly quiet.

  *

  Kat had a thought as Harry began talking to the man.

  The second man, Coates’s accomplice, could be anyone.

  Even this unlikely fellow.

  She saw Harry frame his questions very lightly.

  “You knew Coates, of course?”

  A nod. “I did. I mean, he was the driver. Sometimes needed help with the car. Fancied himself behind the wheel – but he didn’t know nuffin about how you keep ’em running.”

  “I see.”

  From the way he spoke, it was clear Huntley did not like Alfred Coates.

  “I wonder,” Harry said, “did Coates ever do anything – or act – suspicious? Something that you might have seen, that made you – well – wonder about the chap?”

  A quick headshake. But then it was as if Huntley caught himself.

  “Hang on. Was one thing. He was always taking his time with the ladies, y’know. One of those types. From the day he turned up – all the time.”

  Huntley rubbed his chin. “I didn’t like it.”

  Kat saw an opening for a different line of questioning.

  “What about with the maid, Jenny? You ever see those two together?”

  And at that Kat felt Huntley – only feet away – stiffen. He even clenched his fists.

  “Oh yeah. Wasted no time there.”

  Kat noticed that Harry was waiting for her to carry on.

  And despite the setting and the man’s obvious anger, she had another rather unusual thought: Doing all this with Harry is rather fun.

  “Were you… friends with Jenny? I mean, before Coates arrived?”

  A scratch to the brow, and Huntley looked as if this might be a trick question.

  He took a deep breath through his nostrils.

  Hit a chord there, Kat thought.

  “Before he came, me and Jenny got along just fine. Liked each other, you know. Talked about things.”

  “Talked about things?”

  Huntley nodded. “What maybe we’d like to do someday. For her, getting out of service. For me, getting my own place – small holding.”

  Kat nodded, feeling some empathy for the man.

  She said: “You mean, you and Jenny made plans? Together?”

  “Well, sort of, you know. One step at a time. But then – then—”

  Fists clenched again.

  “That bastid showed up. And that was that.” Huntley caught himself. “Sorry, m’lady.”

  Kat looked at Harry.

  Guessing her husband thought the same thing. This man in front of them was no accomplice.

  But also, between Huntley and Coates – there was clearly no love lost.

  *

  Silence for a few seconds, then Harry’s voice, low, quiet, waiting for the man to become calm again.

  “You know of anyone Coates might have been friends with? Maybe someone who could help him, you know, steal those jewels?”

  But Huntley quickly shook his head. “Seemed to me like – ’cept for Jenny – he kept himself to himself. Can’t say he had many friends. Not here at the house, anyway.”

  “You see,” said Harry, “we’re trying to get some hint about this other man who helped Coates, ran through the garden apparently, then vanished into—”

  But now Huntley shook his head violently.

  “No,” he said.

  That stopped Harry, so Kat jumped in. “No… what, Mr Huntley?”

  “Mr Grayer… he asked me to check the garden, the flower beds and all since someone had been through them. Bound to be a mess.”

  “And?” she said.

  “No-one ran through those beds m’lady. I checked them all first thing this morning. Run through them, stamping down flowers, leaving big footprints? You’d see all that. But there was nuffin. Nuffin at all, I tell you.”

  Kat looked at Harry. Well, that doesn’t make any sense at all.

  Harry gave her a smile. Then he turned back to Huntley. “What if they’d run the other way – back into the house?”

  “Not across the flower beds, you mean?” said Huntley, rubbing his chin. “Hmm, well. It’s possible, I suppose. Could have slipped back into the house.”

  Kat watched Huntley thinking about this, working out the implications.

  “Mr Huntley, I want to thank you for the information you’ve given us,” said Harry. “I imagine you’ll need to get back to your tinkering with the tractor.”

  Huntley looked back at the machine.

  “Not sure it will do much good, sir.”

  Harry nodded. “I’m sure you’ll do your best. One last thing. Coates had a room near here?”

  Huntley nodded. “Yes. You have to go outside, to the back. There are stairs leading up to it, sits right above the stables.”

  “Thanks. We’re going to take a look at it.” He turned to Kat. “Right, then. And Mr Huntley, if you think of anything else that might be useful you just come and find us, okay?”

  Huntley nodded as Harry turned, Kat beside him, and they walked out of the stables and headed to the rear of the building, to Coates’s room.

  12. More Revelations

  Coates’s room was up a small outside wooden staircase, probably originally a storeroom or a hay loft, then converted to a small living space for the driver.

  Harry tried the doorknob, but the room was locked.

  He turned to Kat, the two of them standing on the small – and rickety – landing outside the door.

  “Ah, too bad. Have to wait until Lavinia returns, see if she has an extra key.”

  But he saw Kat grin. “Harry? Didn’t they teach you anything while you were bouncing around the Empire?”

  And at that, Harry watched Kat reach behind her head, her hair pulled back, and remove…

  A black hairpin. Sh
e took a moment to open it, straighten it, and then said: “Watch closely. You are about to learn something very useful.”

  And he did lean down, watching as his wife stuck the hairpin into the keyhole, and began twisting it left, right.

  “You’ve done this before, I gather?” he said.

  “Lots.”

  “Interesting. Not a skill I picked up in the service of His Majesty’s Diplomatic Corps.”

  “Really? Turns out I needed to enter many a locked door on my postings.”

  “Good old American ingenuity, hmm?”

  Then a click, and the door opened.

  “That is very impressive,” he said.

  She smiled back. ”I have a lot of things to teach you, Harry Mortimer.”

  “Oh, I bet you do,” said Harry, as he held the door open for her to enter.

  *

  “Rather a nothing of a room,” Harry said, taking in the barely furnished space: a wardrobe, chest of drawers, single bed, some cupboards.

  In an alcove, he saw a small sink and a gas ring with a kettle. Above it, some shelves lined with tins and jars.

  And on one wall a black-leaded stove. He walked over to it, touched the metal – still warm.

  He saw Kat had meanwhile gone to a small chest, opening drawers.

  He watched as she pulled open the bottom drawer, searched; then the one above; and the one above that.

  Searching the way a pro searches a room, he thought, rather liking the idea that his wife had another unexpected skill.

  Kat never talked too much about exactly what work she used to do for the American Embassy, in the passports and visas division.

  But he was beginning to suspect it wasn’t really about passports at all.

  So far, they still held their own country’s secrets close.

  And Harry liked it that way.

  “Some clothes, but not much,” she said. “Like Coates barely lived here.”

  Harry pondered this, then went over to the bed, lifted the cover – and peered underneath.

  Yes!

  He reached in and dragged out a battered leather suitcase.

  “Perhaps because he’d already packed for his getaway?” he said.

  He put the case on the bed and opened it, as Kat came and stood by him.

  Together they took out the clothes one by one, searched them and laid them carefully on the bed. Not much. Trousers, shirts, underwear, shoes…

  But all smart. All quality. And no clues as to Coates’s destination.

  “Travelling light,” said Kat, touching the shirt. “My guess is… somewhere warm.”

  “Agree.”

  Harry tipped the case upside down – nothing dropped out. He flipped it over and saw a handful of baggage stickers, mostly faded and torn, but some still legible.

  “Certainly got around,” he said.

  He watched Kat inspect the stickers: “Paris. St Moritz. Istanbul. Biarritz. Quite the life. I mean, for just being chauffeur to the English aristocracy.”

  “Gives a chap expensive tastes,” said Harry, untying a label from the handle and inspecting it. “Hotel Negresco,” he read. “My favourite place on the Riviera.”

  “Can’t wait for you to take me,” said Kat.

  “Oh, it’s definitely on the list,” said Harry with a wink.

  He saw her turn and study the room again, her eyes moving restlessly across every surface.

  Harry saw that she had grown quiet.

  “What’s wrong, Kat?”

  “I don’t know. Just, um, well… a feeling. That we’re not seeing things.”

  Harry nodded at the spartan room. “Not much more to see, I’d say.”

  Kat nodded back, but then walked to the tiny kitchen corner and looked at the shelves. He watched as one by one she took the tins, opened them – and poured the contents into the sink.

  Dried milk. Sugar. Then tea.

  “Aha,” she said – lifting a folded envelope from the dusty heap of tea leaves.

  He walked over and joined her as she gently opened the envelope and took out the contents.

  “A train ticket,” she said, reading. “Or rather, a reservation. For one person. Overnight. Paris to Nice.”

  She handed the papers to Harry to inspect: “Le Train Bleu – next Friday.”

  “Coates on his own?” said Harry. “Either way, looks like he planned to slip back here with the jewels last night and wait it out until the storm blew over.”

  “Or until they called off the checks at the ports,” he said, folding the papers and putting them in his jacket pocket.

  “Clever,” said Harry. “This was no spur of the moment robbery.”

  He looked around the room again, imagining Coates making his last careful plans. The man was clearly cunning – and meticulous. Tidy, too.

  He walked to the end of the bed. Small end table, no drawers, tiny waste basket.

  He looked in the wire basket – empty.

  “You know what’s missing?” he said to Kat.

  He watched her think for a second – then she smiled.

  “Papers,” she said – and together they looked at the stove.

  *

  Kat crouched close to Harry at the stove, a pile of blackened ash in front of them – the entire contents that they’d tipped out onto the hearth. Coates had clearly burnt every trace of his identity, every letter, payslip, communication.

  “See anything?” said Harry, as Kat gently sifted the ash, seeking anything that hadn’t been incinerated completely.

  “Nothing,” said Kat, the ash in her fingers just powder. “He did a good job.”

  She saw Harry reach into the stove, and lift out the bottom grate. Then he rolled up his sleeve and reached in again.

  “Nobody’s perfect,” he said, grinning – and holding in his hand a crumpled, scorched, envelope which he passed to Kat, wiping his hands on a rag.

  “Addressed to Coates, here at the manor house,” he said.

  Kat looked at the surviving fragment of writing on the front of the envelope. Just a few ink letters on the scorched paper, barely enough to decipher a hand.

  Though the “C” of “Coates” had a distinctive curl to it – a flourish she made a mental note of.

  She smoothed the burnt envelope flat, then opened it.

  “And?”

  “Empty.”

  Harry edged closer to her. “Let me have a look.”

  And Kat handed him the blackened envelope, turning it over on his hand.

  “Can just make out a postmark,” said Harry. “Dated a week ago. Salisbury.”

  “That far from here?”

  Harry shook his head, as they both stood up. “Fifty miles or so.”

  “Could be important. Worth investigating – see what links Coates has to the place.”

  “True,” said Harry. “Though the letter could have been posted anywhere within a five-or-so-mile circle of the city itself.”

  “Ah.”

  “And southern England, as you will learn, is dotted with little towns and villages that even their own residents haven’t heard of.”

  And, at that, Kat laughed.

  “You know, Harry – only an observation – but based on my interactions with your countrymen here, I do believe I may be the only person who gets your sense of humour.”

  “Oh really? Then you must stick close then,” said Harry, handing the envelope back to her. “Can’t have all my best lines going to waste.”

  Kat carefully slipped the burnt envelope into the pocket of her slacks.

  “So this – outside of the postmark – tells us nothing. But the ticket, the suitcase… You know who we have to speak to.”

  Harry nodded. “Jenny. ’Fraid though, she might be a tad fragile.”

  “I know. And yet, she may know things about Coates, about the robbery.”

  “His accomplice.”

  “She might even be an accomplice herself, Harry. Given what Huntley said about those flowerbeds.”

&nb
sp; He nodded: “When we’re done with her, hopefully knowing more, my aunt and her guests should all be back from their little jaunt in the country. Oh – I had another idea.”

  “Yes?”

  “I have a… friend in London. Chap can pretty much access any records. For anyone.”

  “Ohhh. A powerful friend.”

  “We help each other from time to time. Let me give him a quick call, see what he can learn about Coates.”

  “Coates had excellent references, Benton said.”

  “So he did,” Harry said. “Anyway, I’ll hurry to the house phone. Won’t take but a minute.”

  “By the way, Mrs Woodfine told me that some of the house guests have decided to leave early tomorrow.”

  “Ah.”

  “Right after breakfast, I believe.”

  “Hmm? So we have a little time pressure,” Harry said.

  “Think so.”

  “Let’s get to it, then. The phone call, then we find Jenny. Besides, it’s high time you actually saw the quite lovely little town of Mydworth.”

  13. Market Day

  Since the Alvis was still at the Dower House, Harry suggested they walk into town, rather than get a lift from one of the staff.

  A beautiful day, he had said, why not enjoy it?

  One of the weekend guests had lent Kat a summer dress and some sandals, so she was happy to agree.

  Not least to put an end to Harry’s gardening jokes.

  As they made their way down the long gravel drive through woodland, then across an open meadow dotted with oak trees, Kat listened as Harry talked about growing up and playing in these grounds.

  At the end of the drive, a pair of tall stone pillars stood, massive gates open at each side.

  Through the gates, and Kat saw they were right on a busy road: horses pulling carts, young lads pushing handcarts piled with produce, the occasional car and truck chugging past.

  She hadn’t realised how close Mydworth Manor was to the town – she could see a line of houses built right up against the southern walls of the estate, next to an imposing church.

  “Not always as busy as this,” said Harry, taking her hand as they crossed the road together. “Market day, you see.”

  Kat recognised the inn she’d driven past only the night before, now packed with Saturday visitors to the town.