War Comes Home to Winthrop Manor: An English Family Saga (Winthrop Manor Series Book 2)

by Mary Christian Payne

  “Yes, yes, please. Please help me, Radcliffe. I’ve been assaulted by Oliver! I’ve killed him.”

  “Oh, dear God!” Radcliffe stepped into the room. “Milady, you need medical attention. I shall telephone for an ambulance immediately.”

  Tom and Elisabeth had not yet dozed off, and both came fully awake when Radcliffe explained the dire situation. The loyal butler did not add the fact that Josephine had murdered Oliver, which of course, was self-defense. Tom Drew grabbed his physician’s bag and hurried toward Josephine’s suite. When he entered, it was clear that she was in shock. She was entirely too calm. Oliver’s body lay at an angle, across the bed.

  Tom examined Josephine carefully but gently. As he was performing that task, Elisabeth entered the room. She placed her hand over her mouth in obvious horror at the scene she was witnessing. She had never been fond of Oliver. He’d always had a vile, cruel nature, and had even enjoyed killing animals on the estate just to watch them suffer. Elisabeth and Win had both held him at bay during all the years they had grown up together, keeping him at a far distance. Now, Elisabeth was much more concerned about what was to become of her sister-in-law. She moved to the other side of the bed, pulled up a chair, and sat beside Josephine, holding her hand.

  After Tom completed his examination, and listened as Josephine related the entire tale, he told her that she had not suffered any permanent physical damage, but the memory of the savage assault would remain for a long while.

  In spite of what had happened , Josephine was of remarkably clear mind.

  “Shall I telephone for the coroner?” Tom asked.

  “No, Tom. No one is to ever know what took place here tonight. I want you and Radcliffe to find a good spot in which to bury him. I absolutely do not want him in the family cemetery. Find a spot a good way from the house, preferably in one of the wooded areas on the property. Dig a deep grave, for there are scads of wild animals on the property, and if they could, they’d enjoy digging him up.”

  “Bother the law,” he said. “They will never become involved. They are presently searching for him elsewhere. They’ll never suspect that he stayed here all along. I do not intend to put a blight on Winthrop Manor.”

  “Good, thank you,” was Josephine’s only reply.

  Josephine and Elisabeth were up until dawn, scrubbing the room thoroughly with bleach. Josephine didn’t remember ever having performed such hard labor, but it felt good to be able to put her energy into a necessary task. At long last, they finished. They surveyed the room, top to bottom. It was spotless. They were certain that even when the housemaid came to perform her daily chores, she would notice nothing untoward. Josephine had lighted fragrant candles that burned throughout those long, wretched hours of the night and camouflaged the distasteful odor of death and bleach. They stripped the bed, burning the sheets in the fireplace. Then it was remade.

  At long last, Elisabeth was able to return to her own suite of rooms, and Josephine took a nice, long bath. It relaxed her immensely. All she could think about was what Win would have done had he been there when Oliver entered the room. She knew that her husband would have acted precisely as she had. He would have killed him too.

  She had never liked Oliver. He’d sneered at her many times for not being of the aristocracy, but his attempted kidnapping of Andy was her primary reason for the near hatred she’d harboured for him. She found it almost impossible to imagine him having been Win’s brother.

  She had placed Andy’s playpen in the shade of the large, old oak tree while she tried to escape from the memory of a world at war by painting at her easel. She had been perfectly content, knowing Andy was safe and secure not ten yards from her. Yet, that damnable Oliver had managed to remove Andy from his playpen, and escape with him to London, where Oliver had prospective parents eagerly waiting to adopt Andy. Those lovely people had no knowledge whatsoever that Andy was not a homeless orphan but an heir to an earldom. Had Oliver succeeded in his diabolical scheme, she might not have had her beloved son, safely sleeping in his own room directly down the hallway from her own.

  Win and his parents had discussed Oliver’s peculiarities many times in Josephine’s presence. He was so entirely different from the rest of the family. While Lady Beatrice had not been the most loving person, Josephine was also certain that Win’s mother wasn’t mentally unhinged as Oliver clearly had been.

  Josephine was quite relieved that he was, once and for all, out of her life. Scotland Yard would be coming ‘round to speak to the family regarding the fact that Oliver was still on the run. She had mentally prepared herself for that confrontation and was not at all fearful of its outcome.

  After her bath, she dried herself with a fluffy towel from the heated bath warmer, slipped on a fresh nightdress, and crawled back into the newly made-up bed. She briefly wondered if she shouldn’t replace the bed with a new piece of furniture, for it would always carry such ugly memories. But then she remembered that it also carried wonderful memories with Win. The spot where she and Win had lain in each other’s arms, night after night, after Win’s parents were gone and he had managed to return from the Great War. She would forever be grateful that he had escaped from the wretched prisoner of war camp after nearly two years.

  She put her head on the soft, down pillow and cried her heart out. She was not crying for Oliver or for having stabbed him to death. She would do it again in a moment, and only wished she might have managed to wrest that knife away from him before he’d performed those revolting, ghastly acts upon her body. No, she was crying for the loss of the man she would always love more than life itself. She felt drained of all energy and wondered if she could continue without him by her side. Nevertheless, she knew in her heart that she must, because she had no choice.

  There was Andy, so like his father. And Winthrop Manor, her husband’s beloved, centuries-old home. She now had a charge to raise Andy to become a fine man and to make certain that Winthrop Manor’s future was safe for another generation.

  When she opened her eyes, sunlight was streaming through the windows. From the angle of the sun, it had to be well past the noon hour. Naturally, Emma and Mrs. Shellady, the housekeeper, wouldn’t think it unusual for her to have slept so late. It was the day following her husband’s burial. She was exhausted, both mentally and physically.

  She stretched her body and realised that she was terribly sore from head to toe. Not only from Oliver’s brutal assault, but also the accident that had taken Win’s life. Thankfully, she had no bruises that would be obvious after she was dressed. Her upper thighs were black and blue, as were her breasts. She would have to make certain not to let Emma see evidence of Oliver’s handiwork.

  She arranged her hair so that it covered the small cut on her forehead and dressed quietly in a simple dress of black broadcloth. Her skin was still just as lovely as it had been as a young girl, so there was no need to enhance what nature had bestowed upon her. She pinched her cheeks to give them a bit of colour and proceeded down the staircase to face the family.

  The first person she saw was Radcliffe, who was carrying a tray down the hall from what appeared to be Tom and Elisabeth’s room. They must have dined en suite.

  “Good day, Radcliffe. How are you on this lovely day? I peeked out of the window in my room and thought perhaps I might take a short stroll after grabbing a bite to eat.” Her voice never wavered. She sounded exactly as she always had, albeit perhaps with an added note of sadness due to the loss of her beloved Win.

  Radcliffe played his role equally well. “Lovely to see you, milady.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Yes, it truly is a splendid day. Andy is already out riding. Cook has a late breakfast waiting for you. She assumed you’d be famished, as you ate such a small amount yesterday.”

  “I am, Radcliffe, I am,” she answered. “I’ll send Mrs. Shellady to tell the cook I’ve finally left my bed.”

  “Very good, milady. I’m returning this tray to the kitchen, so I’ll tell Mrs. Boyle. You might proceed to t
he dining room. I don’t think it will take long at all for her to dish up the fine meal of kippers, eggs, bacon, and herb-stuffed tomato along with your favourite toast from her homemade bread.”

  Surprisingly, her mouth watered at the thought of such a meal. She would have surmised that the events of the previous night would have ruined any desire for food. “Thank you, Radcliffe. That sounds marvelous.” She began to descend the staircase. Suddenly she stopped. Turning her head, she looked straight into the older man’s eyes. “Oh, and Radcliffe, I’m not certain you’re told often enough how much you’re appreciated here at Winthrop Manor. You perform all your duties with such grace and knowledge of the proper etiquette required. I know you’re asked sometimes to do things beyond the scope of your regular duties, and you always do them immensely well and without complaint. I shall be going over the budget with the land agent later this week, and I intend to suggest an increase in wages for you.”

  “Oh, dear me, milady. There’s no need for that. I have few expenses, you know. I’ve always considered it an honour to work in one of the grandest homes in all of Great Britain. That is compensation enough. I would do anything to help you perform the tasks you have before you. Besides, the entire staff just received salary increases at the end of the Great War.”

  “I know, Radcliffe. Nevertheless, you are one in a million, and I want you to understand my appreciation. Just leave it to me.” She smiled.

  He shook his head, and mumbled something she couldn’t understand, as he continued toward the back staircase leading to the kitchen.

  Next, she spotted Mrs. Shellady, the housekeeper. Needless to say, she knew nothing about the horrific acts that had taken place the previous night. Josephine smiled, giving her a warm greeting. She also thanked the older lady for overseeing the details of the funeral gathering. “You performed a lovely tribute to Win.”

  “Milady, Lord Winthrop was like a son to me. I was here when he came into the world, but I never dreamed I’d be here to see him leave it. The cycle of life was interrupted when he passed away.”

  “Yes, it was. He took a part of me with him. I truly believe he was my soulmate. Nevertheless, we have Andy to think about now. His father loved him so and always wanted the very best for him. I intend to see that Win’s wishes are carried out to a tee. I must look at the calendar. I want to spend a day with Andy in London, outfitting him for his first semester of the coming school year.”

  “Yes, milady. What a nice thought. I thank God there is Andy. He is almost a perfect replica of his father. I look forward to watching him grow into an impressive fellow, just as his father did.” There was a pause in the conversation, as both ladies remembered Win. Each had their own special memories.

  Elisabeth entered the blue dining room as Mrs. Boyle placed a steaming plate of luscious breakfast on the sideboard.

  Josephine seated herself at the table and tucked into her meal. She was astonished at the hunger she felt. She cleaned every scrap from the plate before it was removed by a kitchen maid. After she had satiated her hunger, she decided she would, indeed, take a stroll around the grounds. What she really had in mind was finding the spot where Oliver had been buried. She wouldn’t totally feel complete relief until she knew the grave wasn’t obvious. After all, Scotland Yard would eventually pay a visit to Winthrop Manor. She climbed the stairs and made straight for Elisabeth and Tom’s room, knocking gently upon the door.

  Elisabeth’s voice called, “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Josephine. May I come in?”

  “Yes, of course.” Elisabeth opened the door herself. She was dressed in a pretty, flowered robe, and behind her Tom sat in bed reading a copy of The London Times.

  He laid it aside and greeted Josephine. “You’re looking fine this afternoon.”

  Elisabeth repeated his compliment. “A good night’s sleep seems to have restored you.”

  “Yes. On the outside anyway.” Josephine lowered her voice. “Tom, I came to ask if you could direct me to the spot you and Radcliffe buried Oliver. I’d like to make certain for myself that it’s undetectable, especially when Scotland Yard returns to tell us they’ve been unable to find him.”

  “Yes,” replied Tom. “You should know the location. It will put your mind at rest to see that no one will be able to tell there is a body buried there. We did a good job. That old Radcliffe is a worker. He actually did most of the digging, although of course, I assisted. We went down a good six feet, if not more.”

  “Does the ground above look like a freshly dug grave?” Josephine asked softly.

  “No. I don’t think there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that anyone would even notice it. You’ll see. Do you want me to come with you?” he asked.

  “No. I’d really prefer to go alone. Just try to give me an approximation of the locale.”

  Tom went on to tell her as best he could how she could find the spot. “There is a copse of large, old willow trees bending over a stream which runs through the manor’s property. Do you know of it?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Win and I used to walk out there on summer evenings. It’s quite a distance from the house. So, he’s buried near the stream? Isn’t that a bit of a risk? What if we were to have bad rains or the creek floods?”

  “No, he isn’t that close to the stream. I’m just giving you a landmark to follow. Continue past the stream to where it curves to the right. Walk to the left for a good hundred yards. The woods are very thick there. Lots of birch, oak, elm, and more willow. You’ll see a large oak, where someone long ago built a seat ‘round its trunk. Probably for lover’s trysts.” Tom smiled.

  “Yes, yes. I know exactly where it is.” Josephine blushed.

  “Ah!” Tom laughed aloud. “So, you and Win discovered it. Am I right?”

  “Well, partly. Win had known it was there since he was a young boy. It’s where we would go when we went for strolls at night.”

  “Then you’ll have no difficulty finding the spot. Oliver lies within five feet of that tree. The ground there is typical forest–lots of limbs, wood chips, and leaves. We covered the grave thickly, and even transplanted some of the seasonal flowers now in bloom–daffodils, wild iris, and white violets. Also, some ferns.”

  “It sounds as if you did a very thorough job. Thank you so much, Tom. I don’t know what I would have done without the two of you. I’ve no concerns about Radcliffe. I’ve already spoken to him earlier and one would never know that anything unusual took place last night. Just imagine if it had been made public? That newspaper you’re reading would have sky-high headlines announcing that I had murdered my husband’s brother. A person would have to know the entire story to understand what truly took place.”

  “You’re right, Josephine,” Elisabeth agreed. “The front lawn would be filled with reporters. There is nothing Fleet Street loves more than a scandal in the ranks of the aristocracy.”

  “I know. That’s why I absolutely couldn’t allow that to happen. You were both so wonderful to help me as you did. I know I can count on you never to whisper a word about this.”

  “Frankly, Josephine, I can’t think of anyone who was fond of Oliver. He was an odd chap. Not right in the head. It wasn’t just jealously, either. Actually, it seemed to be pure evil.”

  Josephine shivered, remembering his hands and mouth. God, she was glad he was gone. “Well, I’m going to take a stroll about the grounds. I’ll see you later in the day.”

  “Right,” answered Tom.

  Elisabeth walked her to the doorway and kissed Josephine on the cheek. “You still have that nasty gash on your forehead. Do you think something can be done about it?”

  “Yes. Tom examined it last night. He said it was shallow, and once healed, there are excellent physicians who specialize in such things. It may not be erased permanently, but it will be much less noticeable. Until then, I’m able to arrange my hair to camouflage it.”

  “You poor dear. You’ve been through so much. I do hope this is the end of heartbreak and p
ain for you.”

  “I’ll always have pain, Elisabeth. I no longer have Win, and instead I have sordid memories of his brother. But, I’ll learn to live with both.” With that, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

  Mrs. Shellady was following the upstairs maid, who was carrying a pile of freshly laundered linens.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Shellady. It’s such a pretty day; I’m going to stroll about the grounds. It may help to cheer me up,” Josephine said.

  “That’s a fine idea, milady. I do hope you have a lovely outing.”

  Chapter Nine

  Josephine left the house by the front doors, even though it was her intention to wander to the back of the property. She stopped for a few moments, inhaling the heavenly sweet scent of hyacinth, daffodils, and tulips. She adored springtime at Winthrop Manor. The front lawn, from the house to the road, was a solid mass of colour. It was predominantly yellow, with thousands of daffodil bulbs in bloom, replicating themselves over the years. The hyacinth were six rows deep, creeping along the edge of the gravelled drive. Two rows of tulips in various colours ran next to the hyacinth. People from Winthrop-on-Hart were known to drive to the manor each spring to take photographs of the incredible blooms.

  When the present flowers faded, azaleas came into full flower–literally hundreds of bushes planted on each side of the glorious mansion. Then came roses. Every species known to man, and at the same time, wisteria covered the outside of the great house. The landscape gardener who had laid out the original plan had made certain that there was never a season when flowers weren’t blooming in profusion. Even during the winter months, thousands of winter pansies lined the walkways amid white and red poinsettias. At present, the gorgeous lawns were a riot of colour.

  Josephine would have given anything if her darling Win could have been beside her. Nevertheless, he wasn’t. She had to begin to accept that, as hard as it might be. She followed a walkway around to the back of the house and then began her leisurely stroll across the lavish green lawn leading to the back of the property where the wooded area began. She knew exactly where she was going.