The Secrets of Armstrong House

by A. O'Connor

  Wonderful! She had found an actual visual of the crime scene! Now they could compare it to how they had filmed the event. She studied the photo and her face creased in bewilderment.

  The photograph plainly showed the entrance gateway to the estate. In the centre of the photograph was a vintage car with what looked like a bullet-hole through the passenger’s side of the windscreen.

  Kate couldn’t believe her eyes.

  “There was no horse and carriage!” she exclaimed.

  She stood, picking up the file and photo, and raced from the room and down the hall into the library.

  Nico looked up, startled.

  “We got the filming wrong!” she exclaimed. “We’ve filmed the whole thing incorrectly!”

  “Sorry?”

  “The horse didn’t bolt . . . because there was no horse! Charles was driving a car that night.” She slammed the photo down on the desk in front of him. “I can’t believe it! We filmed Charles being shot in a carriage and he was shot in a car!”

  Nico examined the photograph carefully.

  “Brian is going to go mad!” she wailed. “We’ll have to find a replica car and re-film the whole thing! That footage we shot is useless. I can’t believe I made such a mistake! Why didn’t I research it better?”

  Nico looked at his stressed wife. He knew the amount of preparation and research she had put in, which she had shared with him as she went along.

  “But why were you so sure it was a horse and carriage, other than the fact that automobiles were extremely rare and a novelty at the time?” he asked.

  “Because it’s in the official inquiry report!” she said, racing to a shelf in the library and retrieving it. She sat down beside him as she opened the report and went through it. “See, it plainly describes that Lord Charles was in a phaeton two-seater black carriage when he was shot.”

  “Well, he obviously wasn’t! This photograph says otherwise!” Nico said.

  Kate looked through the inquiry file.

  “But look at this! It’s the testimony from Lady Margaret, Charles’ mother . . . She states she was the first to arrive at the crime scene and found her son shot, slumped back in the phaeton carriage. She makes no mention of a motor car either!”

  Nico was still looking at the police photograph. “I’m afraid you’ve got another detail wrong, my dear.”

  “What?”

  “A shotgun couldn’t have been used in the attack. When a shotgun fires the pellets spread and would have completely shattered the windscreen, as opposed to this one single bullet-hole, as can be seen from the photo.”

  “Great! I can see my documentary falling apart around me!” Kate pointed to the inquiry report. “But the inquest distinctly says that the shot was fired from a shotgun, the type – and I quote – ‘generally used by farmers for hunting’.”

  “Well, this bullet-hole was made by a hand-held revolver, I would say.”

  Nico found another photograph buried in the police file. It was again of the crime scene and showed a side view of the car with the door open. Inside the car was a woman’s high-heeled shoe and a fur coat. He showed it to Kate.

  “There must have been someone else in the car with him,” said Kate. “A woman.”

  “Those items might have been left in the car previously, by his wife presumably?”

  “Not a single high-heeled shoe! No woman is going to leave that behind, or an expensive-looking fur like that. They must have been abandoned in a hurry.” She pointed to the photo. “And look what side of the car windscreen the bullet-hole is on. It’s through the passenger side. Charles must have been sitting on the passenger side of the car, and so somebody else must have been driving.”

  “Presumably the woman who owned this shoe and coat . . . There’s no mention in the inquiry or papers of anyone else being with him?”

  “Of course not!” said Kate, looking expectantly at the police report. “Do you think I’d miss something crucial like that? So who was she? And why is there no report of her at the time?”

  chapter 1

  1888

  The ball was due to commence at nine that night as the shadows of the evening began to descend on Armstrong House. A continual procession of carriages delivered guests to the front door. Inside, the house was a flurry of activity as the finishing touches for Gwyneth’s debutante ball were being administered by the staff and overseen by Gwyneth’s mother, Lady Margaret.

  Charles Armstrong had made the journey from London to Dublin the previous day to attend his sister’s ball. He had then got the train from Dublin down to Castlewest, from where a carriage brought him the several miles to his family home. As the carriage pulled up outside the house, he stepped out and looked up at the magnificent manor house where all the windows were lit up that evening. He walked up the steps and was met at the door by the butler, Barton.

  “Good evening, Barton,” said Charles, stepping into the hall and removing his coat.

  “Ah, Master Charles, welcome home. We were beginning to worry you had been held up and wouldn’t make it.”

  “And miss my sister’s debutante ball? I don’t think the family would ever forgive me, do you?” Charles handed his coat over to Barton and saw that there were staff rushing around in all directions.

  “Where’s the family?” asked Charles.

  “Your father is in the drawing room with some guests and your mother is upstairs in Lady Gwyneth’s room preparing the young lady for the night ahead. Your sisters and brother are with her.”

  “I’ll go up to say hello then in that case. My trunk is in the carriage – please have it brought up to my room.”

  Barton looked awkward. “I’m afraid, sir, that due to the large volume of guests staying in the house tonight your room has been commandeered.”

  “Commandeered?”

  “Yes, sir, your room has been allocated to Lord and Lady Kinsale.”

  “I see.” Charles’ face was a mixture of surprise and irritation. “And where am I to sleep, Barton?”

  “Your mother has had a bed set up for you in your brother Harrison’s room.”

  “The whole thing is a bit of a nuisance, isn’t it, Barton? Such a fuss over trying to marry a sister off. Let’s hope the deed is done tonight and that’s the end of it and we don’t have to go through another season of Gwyneth trying to find a husband.”

  “Indeed, sir.”

  “Very well – have my trunk taken to Harrison’s room.”

  Charles looked around the expansive hallway. A wood fire was crackling in the marble fireplace. The house had been built by his grandfather Edward for his bride Lady Anna in the 1840s. Their portraits, along with those of other members of the Armstrong family, adorned the walls of the hall. At the front of the house to the right was the drawing room, and across the hall was a smaller family parlour. Behind this parlour was the dining room, which was splendidly furnished with mahogany chairs and a table capable of seating twenty-four people. Behind this room was the library, where his father Lawrence ran the estate. Across the hall from there and on the other side of the sweeping staircase, double doors led into a giant ballroom.

  Charles walked across the hall and up the stairs. He passed two young female guests, neither of which he recognised.

  “Ladies,” he said, nodding to them.

  They smiled and nodded to him and giggled once he was past them.

  Upstairs, he walked down the corridor to Gwyneth’s room and, opening the door, stood for a moment unobserved, taking in the scene before him.

  Gwyneth was sitting at her dressing table in front of the mirror, dressed in a resplendent gown, as two hairdressers styled her blonde hair. Lady Margaret stood beside them, supervising. All around the room were bouquets of flowers delivered from the guests that night for Gwyneth. Standing beside Margaret was her younger daughter Daphne, taking a keen interest in the proceedings. Stretched out on a chaise-longue was their brother Harrison who was busy talking, while lying out on the bed was their younges
t sister Emily who looked completely disinterested in what was happening as she read a book.

  “Higher! Sweep her hair higher!” instructed Margaret as the hairdressers combed strands of hair.

  “Well now, this is a pleasant welcome for a returning son and brother,” said Charles as he entered the room and closed the door after him.

  “Charles!” said Margaret, leaving her supervision to come and kiss him. “We were expecting you this morning.”

  “I know, I got delayed,” said Charles.

  “Well, at least you’re here now,” said Margaret and she quickly returned to the dressing table to keep an eye on the work being done there.

  Harrison got up and hugged Charles. “It feels like such a long time since I’ve seen you.”

  “Last Christmas,” said Charles.

  He went over to Gwyneth and bent down to kiss her before then kissing Daphne. He glanced over at Emily who hadn’t even looked up from her book since he arrived.

  “Are you all prepared for tonight?” he asked as he sat down.

  “It’s been absolute chaos,” said Margaret. “So much to organise and get ready. There will be two hundred guests. We’ve had a nightmare with accommodation. We’ve tried to accommodate as many as we can here at Armstrong House, while others we’ve put in Hunter’s Farm and other houses on the estate.”

  “I’m afraid we’ve had to put you in with Harrison,” said Gwyneth.

  “So Barton told me,” said Charles. “Let’s hope, with all these strangers in the house, we aren’t missing any silverware tomorrow.”

  “Charles!” said Gwyneth.

  There was a knock on the door and Barton came in with another bouquet of flowers.

  “Bring them over to me,” said Gwyneth as she stretched out her hand to the side, unable to move her head due to the combing of her hair.

  Barton brought them over and Gwyneth reached for the card and quickly opened it.

  “Well?” asked Margaret.

  “They’re from Cecil Rotherham,” said Gwyneth, a note of disappointment in her voice.

  Barton put the bouquet with the others.

  “She’s waiting for a bouquet from the Duke of Battington,” explained Harrison with a smirk.

  “The Duke of Battington?” repeated Charles, looking impressed. “You’re setting your sights quite high, Gwyneth.”

  “Why shouldn’t she?” said Margaret. “She would make a wonderful duchess. He would be lucky to have her.”

  Gwyneth looked concerned. “He hasn’t sent any flowers and it’s very late at this stage. He definitely said he was coming, Mama?”

  “Yes,” said Margaret.

  “But if he doesn’t send flowers then he’s clearly not interested.” Gwyneth’s face creased with worry.

  “Gwyneth, during the season in London you attended fifty balls, thirty lunches, twenty tea parties, and twenty breakfasts. I know, as I attended every one with you, and the Duke went out of his way to attend as many of those occasions as possible, where he monopolised you for the whole time. He will be here, he will send flowers and he is clearly interested in you!”

  “You hope!” Emily suddenly said without looking up from her book.

  Margaret gave Emily a warning look. She looked at the clock. She was glad five of her children were now accounted for, but there was still no sign of her sixth child, her youngest son James.

  “Barton, has Master James returned to the house yet?”

  “I’m afraid not, my lady.”

  “For goodness sake! I told him not to go gallivanting anywhere and to be back here in plenty of time. I have no patience for any of his tomfoolery tonight!”

  “I think you know where he is if you want to find him,” said Emily, again not looking up from her book.

  Margaret looked at Emily again and frowned before thinking hard and then saying, “Barton, can you send a footman into town and collect Master James from . . . Cassidy’s public house.” She said the name of the establishment with a note of disgust.

  “Very good, my lady. It’s just –” Barton hesitated.

  “It’s just what, Barton?” snapped Margaret.

  “It’s just, if the young master is in Cassidy’s, he will not pay any heed to a footman sent to bring him home.”

  “For goodness sake!” Margaret’s voice rose in frustration.

  Harrison, seeing his mother’s distress, stood up. “It’s all right. I’ll go into town and collect him.”

  “Oh, will you, Harrison? Thank you. And tell him I insist he comes straight back here. Don’t take any of his nonsense.”

  “If I have to throw him over my back and carry him out of that dive, I will do so,” said Harrison and left the room with Barton.

  “I see some things never change,” said Charles. “James is still giving trouble?”

  “I really don’t know what we’re going to do with him. Expelled from two schools. No direction in life.”

  “It’s your own fault, Mama – you let him get away with everything,” said Gwyneth.

  “Well, I’ve been so busy this year with you being a debutante and being in London for the season. Neither your father nor I have had the time to try and sort him out. But we will now, once we get you married.”

  “If you get her married,” Emily pointed out.

  Charles sat down on the chaise-longue. “Perhaps you took too much on with this ball for Gwyneth. You could have just had an afternoon tea party for her in London. That’s what most young women are having these days.”

  “A tea party!” Margaret was horrified. “I doubt a Duke would have too much interest in a young lady who had a tea party for her coming-out event!”

  “Perhaps the Duke isn’t that much interested in Gwyneth anyway after all this expense and effort,” said Emily. “Maybe he stayed in his castle in England and didn’t make the journey over here for tonight.”

  “Emily!” snapped Margaret. “Your comments are not being very helpful!”

  “And perhaps Charles resents all this money being spent on Gwyneth,” Emily went on. “After all, he is the heir and future Lord Armstrong – all this is coming out of his future coffers.”

  “Emily, isn’t it time you went and started getting yourself ready for tonight?” urged Gwyneth.

  “Well, at least you won’t have to worry about the expense of me being a debutante, Charles,” said Emily.

  “And why is that?” asked Margaret.

  “Because I’m not going to be one. Paraded around a lot of balls and lunches, waiting for a marriage proposal! It’s no better than being a prize cow at a market fair. Disgusting!”

  “You most certainly will be a debutante and, by the time I’ve knocked some sense into you, you’ll be as popular as your sister Gwyneth on the circuit.”

  “Anyway, I’d better go down and say hello to Papa,” said Charles.

  “Yes, do that – he’s in the drawing room with the Tattingers.”

  “And who are the Tattingers?” asked Charles as he stood up.

  “Sir George Tattinger and his wife Caroline. Sir George is the Governor of the Bank of Ireland and Harrison’s boss.”

  Harrison hadn’t opted to go to university but had chosen a career in finance where he worked for the bank in Dublin.

  “They are here with their daughter Arabella as Harrison’s guests,” explained Gwyneth.

  “Harrison’s guests?” asked Charles.

  “Yes, Harrison and Arabella’s courtship has become quite serious,” said Margaret, looking delighted with the situation.

  “Harrison is seriously interested in someone?” Charles was amazed.

  “Not just someone, but Arabella Tattinger – quite a catch,” confirmed Gwyneth.

  “But he’s too young to be serious about anyone!” said Charles.

  “Harrison always knows what he wants and always gets it,” said Margaret. “I wish all my children had the same direction,” she added, giving Emily a displeased look.

  Surprised by this news,
Charles took his leave and as he opened the door Barton came in with a bouquet of flowers.

  “The Duke of Battington has arrived, my lady, and sent these flowers for Lady Gwyneth.”

  Gwyneth pushed the hairdressers away and, jumping up, went quickly to the flowers and took the card excitedly.

  “I told you he would send flowers,” said Margaret.

  “Yes,” said Gwyneth, smiling.

  Emily raised her eyes to heaven.

  “Barton, have all these bouquets of flowers taken down to the ballroom and arranged at the entrance,” said Margaret.

  “All except this one,” said Gwyneth, taking the Duke’s bouquet and holding it close. “I’ll be holding this bouquet when we greet the guests.”

  Margaret moved over to her. “Are you sure? You know holding the Duke’s bouquet is telling everyone, including the Duke, you’ve chosen him?”

  “I’m sure,” said Gwyneth.

  Margaret nodded and smiled. “Very good.” She sighed as she looked at all the other bouquets. “I feel sorry for all these other young men who have sent you flowers and come tonight in the hope you would choose them . . .” She looked at Daphne and Emily. “Still, I’ve two more daughters they can meet tonight which will give you two a head-start for when you are debutantes.”

  Charles was coming down the stairs when his eye was caught by a stunning young woman walking across the hallway. He continued down the stairs, his eyes not leaving her.

  “Good evening,” he said, pausing in front of her.

  She nodded and walked past him. He watched her as she climbed the stairs. Barton came hurrying down past her, carrying two large bouquets of flowers.

  “Barton, who is that woman?” asked Charles.

  Barton glanced up the stairs. “I’m afraid there’s that many young gentlemen and ladies staying at the house tonight, that I’ve lost track of who is who.”

  “You’re falling down on your duties, Barton,” said Charles with a smirk.