The Affair of the Christmas Card Killer (Lord Kit Aston Book 1)

by Jack Murray

  As Kit was being so specific about time, there must be a good reason. Despite the ability of his long legs to devour distance, he realized his chances of reaching the office, by nine o’clock, in his current delicate state were remote. Fortunately, he was able to hail a taxi and it took him to the door of the War Office. Chubby had worked there since nineteen fifteen after being invalided out of the army. His naturally cheerful disposition meant that the loss of his left hand following a foolhardy charge on a heavily defended German position was accepted without complaint. In fact, he actually considered himself somewhat blessed as he was, in fact, right handed. His golf handicap had suffered however.

  Arriving at the door of his offices he bounded out of the cab and up the stairwell and through the front door with a nod to the doorman. The phone was ringing as he burst through the door. It was nine o’clock. Grabbing the telephone, he said, ‘Kit?’

  On the other end of the line Kit spoke, ‘Hello Chubby old fellow, thanks for taking my call.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ said Chubby breathing heavily into the phone. It occurred to him he was somewhat out of condition. The same thought seemed to strike Kit.

  ‘You sound like you had to make a sprint for the tape, Chubby.’

  ‘It was a close shave,’ agreed Chubby. At this point a combination of the excesses of the previous evening and the exertions of the morning combined to distressing effect on Chubby and he began to throw up prodigiously into his waste paper basket.

  Hearing the commotion on the other end of the line, Kit inquired, ‘Are you alright, old man?’

  ‘Never better, the window is open, some seagulls outside,’ answered Chubby.

  ‘Were they out on the lash last night also?’ responded Kit sardonically.

  ‘You know me. Sociable to the last.’

  ‘All too well, Chubby, all too well. I’ve had a few headaches to prove it.’

  Kit went on to explain the nature of his call and what was required from Chubby. Upon hearing the news about Miller, he was surprised, ‘Anything to help - stout fellow that Miller - carried you halfway across France, if I remember.’

  ‘It felt like it at the time. One more thing, have you any files on Liam or William Devlin, Eric Strangerson and also Doctor Richard Bright? I’d like to know more about them.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be a problem, Kit, but it may be early afternoon before I have anything for you. I’ll make it a priority and look into this personally. Something is nagging at me about the Cavendish’s also. I’m sure it’ll come back to me. I’ll take a look at their files also.’

  ‘I appreciate it, Chubby.’ Kit was interrupted as Chubby offered up another sacrifice to Bacchus. When Chubby returned to the phone Kit asked him, ‘What on earth were you doing last night?’

  Always appreciative of an audience, Chubby gave an uncensored albeit slightly exaggerated description of the previous evening beginning with the meeting with their mutual friend Spunky through to the romantic finale.

  ‘How did you manage to win this young lady’s heart?’ asked Kit after he had finished laughing.

  ‘Usual line about my wife not understanding me.’

  ‘Bounder.’ chuckled Kit, ‘You’re not even married. How could you stoop to such naked deception?’

  ‘All to easily old chap. We’re not all born looking like a Greek God. And you’ve a title as well, you scoundrel, as if you didn’t have enough going for you,’ laughed Chubby. ‘How about the girls Kit? Desperately sorry for them, losing their grandad and all that. Don’t break their hearts, old boy. I like them. They’re good girls, both of them.’

  ‘It’s my heart you should be worried about Chubby. I’m out of my depth here.’

  The conversation finished soon after. Chubby went to the window to let in some fresh air. Just as he did so, his secretary, Miss Brooks looked in. She recoiled at the smell in the office and exited immediately.

  Chubby popped his head out the door to apologize. ‘Must’ve taken something that disagreed with me.’

  ‘The third bottle of champagne perhaps?’ said Miss Brooks cynically.

  ‘It was the Gin Rickey, I believe, but no matter. Actually, while I have you here, Miss Brooks, I need you to get hold of some files for me, if you don’t mind.’

  Chubby proceeded to list out what he needed before finishing, ‘You’ll find my rotting corpse in here.’

  ‘Very good sir. Shall I bring you a gun also to speed things up a little?’

  ‘Capital idea Miss Brooks. Full bore if you can, should do the trick, I think.’

  Another day had begun in the life of Mr Charles ‘Chubby’ Chadderton.

  Chapter 27

  28th December 1919: Cavendish Hall

  Lord Cavendish’s room was silent save for the persistent pulse of the ticking clock. Esther and Mary sat by the window, gazing out at the leaden sky and the remaining wisps of morning fog. More grass could be seen peeking through the remaining snow. The sisters had come here separately, both feeling the need to be in the presence of their grandfather.

  After a few minutes when neither had spoken, Mary turned to Esther, her eyes red-rimmed from the tears, and said, ‘You’re not angry?’

  Esther reached over and held her hand. She looked at her sister, normally so strong and independent. There was a sense of vulnerability about her now she had not seen before. Overnight, Mary seemed to have become smaller and for the first time in recent memory, she felt protective towards her.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Esther, ‘If I’m angry at anything, it’s that you didn’t tell me before now.’

  Wiping her eye with the heel of her hand, Mary shook her head, ‘I thought…’ She left the sentence unfinished.

  Esther began to giggle which made Mary frown questioningly. When the fit of giggles subsided, she explained in answer to the unasked question, ‘This is terrible, I can’t believe I’m going to say this.’ Esther took a deep breath, ‘The real reason is his name.’

  ‘Name?’ said Mary mystified.

  ‘Yes, the name. I just didn’t think Esther Aston sounded right.’ Esther descended into a fit of giggles again, this time joined by her sister.

  Through the laughter Mary managed to stammer, ‘Esther Cavendish! That’s possibly the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t believe you.’ Esther laughed and nodded in agreement.

  When they had finished laughing the silence returned for a few minutes. Finally, Esther looked at her sister and said, ‘You have to tell him.’

  ‘He hates me.’

  ‘Now you’re the one whose being ridiculous, Mary.’

  ‘I could see it in his eyes, Essie. He’ll never forgive me if anything happens to Harry. Whether he did this or not, he’ll never forgive me, I mean, truly forgive me.’

  Esther shook her head in disagreement, ‘It’s not true, he’s not like that. You did the right thing and he knows it.’

  Mary looked doubtful but did not respond. They sat in silence once more. Esther took out a cigarette from a silver case. Motioning to Mary to take one, her sister shook her head and continued to gaze out of the window.

  A man appeared in the grounds accompanied by a little terrier. Esther grew excited, ‘Mary look! It’s Kit!’

  Mary looked back at her sister and shrugged despondently, ‘So?’

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ exclaimed Esther excitedly. ‘Go!’ She rose from her seat and began to lift Mary from the chair. ‘I mean it, Mary, go!’

  Mary looked at Esther and could see a level of intensity in her older sister’s eyes she had not seen before. Normally Mary was the one to give the orders. She felt confused.

  ‘Quickly for goodness sake.’ Esther was almost shouting in desperation at her and pulling her to the door.

  -

  It felt good to be outside. The air was moist but had lost some of the biting chill from the previous days. Kit strode with Sam, away from the Hall. Rather than fetching out towards the usual spot near the wood, he went in the other direction w
hich led towards a brook. It had been covered by the snow for most of the last few days.

  The previous night he had trouble sleeping. Partly it was anger and frustration but also, for the first time ever, he had wanted to see the dream again. The more he wanted it, the less able he was to sleep. In the end he had given up and read.

  His mood was weighed down by the profound sorrow he felt for Harry as well as tiredness from the lack of sleep. All of his senses were dulled, and sadness inhabited his muscles, fatiguing him quickly as he walked with Sam.

  Taking the lead off the little terrier, he bent down and picked up a stick. ‘Fetch boy,’ he said throwing it as far as he could. The little terrier tore off in pursuit but then, on reaching it, lost interest. Kit slowly caught him up and they continued walking.

  So much depended on Chubby now. He realized a continued stay in the house would be impossible while he was waiting for something that could help Harry. He also considered the possibility of leaving Cavendish Hall and going down to London to help. There was nothing more to be done at the Hall except wait and this was proving excruciating. Another part of him did not want to leave.

  The ground underfoot was still a little hard thanks to an overnight frost. Behind him he could hear the crunching sound of footsteps, running towards him. Sam began to bark excitedly. He turned around. It was Mary.

  She fell into step beside him but said nothing. Kit had nodded to her but he, too, remained silent. They walked alongside one another for a few minutes. The only sound was Sam’s breathing and the rattle of his lead. Finally, Sam indicated, with a light yelp, a lift was needed. Kit stopped but Mary put a hand on his arm and said, ‘Let me.’

  The little dog seemed eminently pleased with this arrangement and rewarded Mary by licking her face. They both laughed at this, Kit shaking his head, ‘Shameless little beggar.’

  They continued walking towards the brook. Mary asked Kit, ‘You spoke with Charlie?’

  ‘Yes, half an hour ago. He’s going to do some checking for me.’ He stopped and looked at her, ‘If he finds nothing then I might go down to London myself.’

  ‘What are you hoping to find?’ asked Mary.

  Kit shrugged his shoulders, ‘If it’s alright with you, I’d rather not say just now. Sorry.’

  ‘I understand.’

  They continued their journey towards the brook. Mary let Sam down onto the ground and he ran into the water, splashing and barking happily. They both looked at the little dog in silence. Eventually Mary looked up at Kit, ‘Can we talk about Harry?’

  Kit looked at Mary and nodded. He could see her fighting to control the tears but couldn’t think of anything comforting to say. The thought of how she had provided the Police with evidence of a motive that could see Harry hanged reverberated in his head. He felt hollow.

  ‘I would give anything to prove Harry innocent. I know how much he means to you.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes, Kit. I know. I know what he did. I know you owe him your life.’

  Kit stared ahead and a voice inside his head said, “Don’t worry, we’ll have you back soon.” He sat down on a fallen tree trunk to rest his leg. It was beginning to hurt. The cold weather did not help.

  Mary sat beside him and watched Sam frolic in the water chasing birds. Kit leant down to rub his leg. ‘Are you alright, Kit?’ asked Mary very concerned.

  Kit shook his head, ‘It’s my leg. Feeling it a bit in this weather.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Eventually Kit reached a decision and said to Mary, ‘I’m sorry Mary, but do you mind if I do something rather awful?’ Sweat was visible on his forehead as he felt a burning pain in his leg.

  ‘Of course, Kit,’ said Mary putting both her hands on his wrist.

  Kit reached down and rolled up his trouser leg. Slowly he removed the prosthetic limb that made up the bottom part of his leg from the knee down. He set it down on the ground and looked back up at Mary to see her reaction, ‘You knew?’

  Mary looked at him, tears brimming in her eyes once more and nodded yes.

  Kit continued, ‘I wasn’t sure who knew. It was not something the War Office wanted to make public, at least not yet. So, I’ve never publically admitted to it. Close friends knew of course and the brass. Did your grandfather tell you?’

  ‘No.’

  This surprised Kit and he asked her, ‘How did you get to hear?’

  Mary narrowed her eyes and smiled, ‘Wouldn’t you like to know.’

  All at once the air around Kit seemed to evaporate, his mind began to swirl, and his breathing became shallower. His heart beat faster and he felt light-headed. Mary could see he was pale and looked at him with alarm.

  ‘Kit, is something wrong? You’re very pale.’

  A light breeze had arisen and the sound of it echoed in his ears. After a few moments Kit managed to say falteringly, ‘I’m fine, Mary. Really.’ Looking at Sam playing in the water, he slowly regained his composure. Turning to Mary again, he looked at her for what seemed like the first time. Finally, he whispered, ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘You heard,’ came the faint reply.

  Chapter 28

  8th December 1917: British Casualty Clearing Station, Grévillers, France

  The soldier awoke.

  Opening his eyes but he could see very little, his was vision blurred although he could sense the movement around him. It was the smell he noticed first. A foul combination of rotting flesh, antiseptic medicines and soap. The noise was no more welcoming. Groans and, occasionally, screams of anguish came from the wounded men around him.

  Slowly his eyes became accustomed to the light. His sight remained hazy and he felt as if he were dreaming, such was his sense of unreality and displacement. Movement was difficult, he could feel a throbbing pain in his leg. Looking left and right, he could make out that he was in a hospital. There were beds either side of him and in front also. People were moving around, men and women dressed in white medical clothing stained red.

  After a few minutes his head cleared enough for it to dawn on him: he was alive. One other thought formed like a scream in his head. He tried to look but his courage kept failing him. Slowly he remembered the events which had brought him here, but still he dared not look at the extent of his injury. The pain was agonizing.

  Above he could make out what seemed like canvas. He was in a tent, probably a Casualty Clearing Station but he had no idea where. This was a short-term deposit for the wounded before they were moved to hospitals further away from the front line.

  The soldier lay awake for a few minutes. Around him he was conscious of the constant activity as doctors, nurses, orderlies moved around the beds. Stretchers bearing more wounded arrived frequently and some men were taken away, often lifeless. In front, he could see one nurse mopping the floor, moving deliberately in the nominal corridor between the two rows of beds. As she passed the soldier’s bed she stopped and looked at him. Her face was indistinct even when she moved closer.

  The touch of her hand on his forehead made him start. Her hand felt soft, slightly warm. She was saying something to him, but he could not make it out. His ears were ringing. Shaking his head, he tried to speak and could not. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool. What was wrong with him? She put her mouth up to his ear and finally he was able to make out what she was saying.

  ‘Try not to move. You might start bleeding again. The bandages won’t hold,’ said the nurse.

  The soldier nodded. She left him for a few minutes and then a doctor came over with the nurse. They consulted for minute in low voices. Following this the doctor put his mouth near to the soldier’s ear.

  ‘Do you understand me?’

  The soldier was confused at this question, he was injured: he hadn’t become an idiot overnight. Still unable to speak clearly, he merely nodded yes.

  ‘Are you a British soldier?’ continued the doctor.

  If the last question had confused him, this made him angry. He nodded his
head more vigorously. As he did so, it occurred to him why they were asking these questions. The doctor was saying something else.

  ‘I’m sorry but you have been seriously injured. We will move you in the next day to a field hospital. Please try not to move.’ The soldier nodded in response to the voice in his ear felt like he was in a different room.

  The nurse put a glass to his lip and he felt water trickling down his throat. She was well practiced at this and he was able to drink without choking. The doctor seemed to nod to her and left. In the meantime, she mopped his forehead with a rag. He felt feverish and soon the pain became unbearable. Slowly he slipped out of consciousness.

  -

  The trench was barely yards away. It looked like they were going to make it. The man carrying him was panting heavily from the weight and the effort. Then he heard the explosion and the man carrying him collapsed to the ground. He collapsed on top of the man. Ahead he saw the British trench. It was so close. He could see some men climbing out of the trench. They were coming towards him. The first man was an officer. All of a sudden, his head became a grotesque bloody mask as a bullet exited from his cheek.

  -

  The soldier woke from the dream and groaned. He couldn’t see anything. For a few minutes he lay staring at the ceiling of the tent. As his eyes grew more accustomed to the light, it became apparent he was still in the same place. A figure came towards him. It was a nurse, but he could not make out if it was the same one. She put her hand on his forehead. He recognized her touch.

  A glass was put to his lips and he drank thirstily, coughing a little because of his desire to consume so quickly. The nurse wiped his mouth and the soldier managed to say, ‘Thank you.’

  For the first time he felt his voice seemed stronger and the nurse heard him. She stood up and left him for a few minutes before returning with a doctor. The soldier felt his pulse being taken and then was aware of the consultation happening about him. The pain in his leg was throbbing but not as intense as previously. He looked up and said falteringly, ‘Anything I should know?’