by HANNA, H. Y.
“Meew!” he said, looking expectantly back at Caitlyn.
She chuckled. “Not even two pounds and you’re bossing people around already!”
***
An hour later, Caitlyn parked her rented Volkswagen Beetle at the side of the gravel driveway which circled the front of Huntingdon Manor, picked up the kitten in her arms, and got out of the car. There was a hive of activity around her as staff hurried to and fro, setting up the tables, testing the sound systems, placing cushions on the chairs, arranging the flower displays, and draping the bunting across the tree branches for the Garden Party tomorrow.
“Meew!” cried the kitten excitedly as he recognised the familiar surroundings. He wriggled wildly in her arms, trying to get free.
Caitlyn hesitated. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea to set Nibs down here on the front lawns—he might trip one of the staff or get squashed by equipment or have some other accident. She would take him into the house before she released him, she decided.
Keeping a firm grip on the squirming kitten, Caitlyn walked up to the front entrance, but as she was starting up the steps, she saw two men struggling to carry a trestle table coming through the front doors. She darted quickly out of their way, and then, on an impulse, turned and took the path which led around the side of the Manor. There was a side door here that she remembered seeing. She found it easily, tucked between two hydrangea bushes, and was relieved to find it unlocked. Stepping through, she found herself in a small hallway with several doors leading off from it. She frowned, trying to remember the orientation of the Manor and where this hallway was in relation to the main rooms. The kitten gave a violent wriggle and jumped out of her grasp.
“Nibs!” she gasped, making a lunge to grab the little cat.
He evaded her easily and trotted over to the nearest door, which was slightly ajar.
“Nibs—come back here!” Caitlyn cajoled.
“Meew!” the black kitten said cheekily, then turned and darted into the room.
“Nibs!” Caitlyn hurried after the little cat and poked her head into the room, looking nervously around.
It looked like some kind of office, with a large antique writing desk in one corner and filing cabinets along one wall. Like all rooms in the Manor, though, it still retained its period features and a sense of luxurious elegance; in this case, enhanced by a beautiful black lacquered Chinese screen—with ornate panels decorated with mother-of-pearl—which stood along the far wall.
Caitlyn hesitated. She felt guilty entering what was obviously a private office uninvited. On the other hand, she didn’t like just leaving the kitten loose in there either. What if someone came along and locked the door and poor Nibs was stuck in the office for days? She had to find him.
She stepped into the room and peered around. “Nibs? Nibs, where are you?”
There came a faint “Meew!” from the far corner, by the antique writing desk.
Caitlyn took a few more steps into the room. “Nibs? Come out, you little monkey!”
She saw a ball of black fluff scamper across the corner and disappear under the desk.
“Nibs!” she hissed, hurrying across the room to the desk.
When she reached it, the kitten was nowhere in sight. Caitlyn bent over to look in the cut-out space beneath the desk. She wished now that she had taken the time to switch on the lights in the room—it was dark in this corner and she could barely see into the black kneehole beneath the desk.
“Nibs?” she whispered. She reached a hand into the black hole and groped around.
“Meew!” The kitten was definitely in there but trying to see a black cat in a black hole was an impossible feat.
Caitlyn hesitated, then sighed and got down to crawl on all fours into the kneehole under the desk. The opening was narrow and with her hips blocking out most of the light, it was pitch black in there. She couldn’t do anything but grope blindly around, hoping to find the kitten.
“Nibs…?”
Suddenly she felt the floor shaking and, the next moment, she heard what sounded like heavy footsteps entering the room. Then something warm and furry shoved her hips aside and pushed its way into the space beneath the desk. Caitlyn felt something cold and wet touch her arm and heard the sound of loud sniffing.
She nearly yelped with fright before she realised that the cold, wet thing was a very big doggie nose and the warm, furry “invader” was the huge mastiff’s head.
“Bran!" she said in exasperation, trying to turn around in the small space. “Don’t do that! You scared me half to death!”
“WOOF!” said the big dog. He bent down and began trying to climb into the narrow space with her.
“Wait, Bran—you can’t come in here too! There isn’t enough space for both of us!” protested Caitlyn, bracing her hands against the huge mastiff to try and stop him advancing. It was like trying to stop a furry steamroller. Then she tried to wriggle out past him but found that she was now wedged against the back of the kneehole, with the dog’s body blocking the way out. She shoved uselessly at him again. “Bran—you’ve got to move!”
“WOOF!” said Bran joyfully, as he somehow managed to curl his enormous body into the space in the kneehole next to her.
“Meew!” cried the kitten, suddenly popping up from under Caitlyn’s armpit. He crawled into her lap and curled up there.
The mastiff wagged his tail with delight at seeing his little friend and it whacked against the side of the desk, sending shuddering spasms through the wood with each impact.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!
Bran panted happily in time to his wagging tail and drooled on Caitlyn’s shoulder.
This cannot be happening to me, she thought. She was being held hostage, squashed in a corner of a desk kneehole, with a giant slobbery dog and a kitten in her lap…
The next minute, the lights went on in the room and Caitlyn groaned inwardly as she saw a pair of smart Italian men’s shoes cross the floor and come towards her. James Fitzroy’s face appeared in the gap of the kneehole and he stared at her in astonishment.
“Caitlyn? What on earth are you doing there?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Caitlyn opened her mouth to explain, then gave up. “Just help me out, please,” she begged.
James chuckled and gave Bran a shove. “Come on, Bran. Get out of there—come on! Good boy!”
The mastiff heaved itself slowly to its feet and backed carefully out of the hole, reminding Caitlyn of a huge double decker bus reversing. She crawled gratefully out in his wake and accepted James’s hand as he reached down to help her to her feet.
“What on earth were you doing in there?” he repeated, a smile hovering at the edge of his lips.
“I was looking for the kitten—”
As if on cue, a furry little black face peeked suddenly out of the kneehole. “Meew!”
“Ah, you brought him back,” said James with a smile of relief. “Thank goodness. Bran has been pacing around the house, whining and looking for his little friend.” He shook his head and laughed. “You won’t believe the drama that kitten has caused. The whole house was frantic yesterday when it was discovered that he was missing—I was almost about to send out a search party, when Pomona came back and told us that he was with you.”
“Sorry!” said Caitlyn. “I should have thought of calling you and letting you know. Nibs stowed away in Pomona’s bag and we didn’t even realise it until we were almost at the village.”
“Nibs?”
“That’s what I’ve decided to call him,” said Caitlyn shyly. “From cocoa nibs. You know, those small, dark, crunchy pieces of cacao bean, full of intense chocolatey flavour. It was the Widow Mags who came up with it—she thought it suited him. He’s only a little scrap of fur, but boy, he makes up for it with tons of personality. Tiny but powerful.”
James laughed. “It does suit him, indeed. All right, Nibs it is. I hope he wasn’t too much of a nuisance at the chocolate shop.”
“No, in fact, I think t
he Widow Mags is quite smitten with him—not that she would ever admit it, of course,” said Caitlyn with a chuckle. “But she was the one who suggested that he should stay the night.”
“Did he sleep with her?” said James in disbelief.
“No, he spent the night cuddled up in bed with me.”
“Lucky kitten.”
Caitlyn glanced quickly at him, startled. Surely he couldn’t have meant what she thought he meant…? She felt a blush begin to heat her cheeks, then James added:
“He could have had a very bad adventure, if you hadn’t found him in time and kept him safe.”
“Oh! Y-yes, of course, h-he was very lucky,” stammered Caitlyn, now blushing for a different reason. She was embarrassed at her own assumption. How could she have thought that James meant those words in any other way? That would have suggested that he was flirting with her and why would Lord James Fitzroy ever think of flirting with her?
She cleared her throat and quickly changed the subject. “Um… so whose office is this?”
“It was traditionally the Steward’s Office,” said James. “But now it’s just used as a general office by several members of the staff. The household accounts and other documents are kept in here, as well as our new brochures and marketing material for hosting events and tour groups.”
Caitlyn looked thoughtfully around. She felt like something was wrong—something was off-balance—then she realised what it was. “There aren’t any computers,” she said in surprise. “I’m so used to offices nowadays having computers—”
“Yes, that’s something I’ve been trying to change since I returned to the Manor,” said James. “My father was quite a technophobe and he didn’t like computers or the internet or any kind of modern gadget. In fact, he made it a point of honour to ban computers at the Manor and stick to the ‘old ways’. And I’m afraid that many of the older members of the staff—and villagers too—were quite in sympathy with him. I suppose people never like change, especially when you’re older, and all this technology seems so alien.” He made a rueful face. “And I confess, I probably haven’t pushed things as hard as I could have. I knew that many of the older staff members and village residents were already anxious about me stepping into my father’s shoes. I didn’t want to rock the boat too much in the beginning and insist on changes which might cause resentment. So I’ve been taking things slowly. The younger members, like Lisa, my Events Coordinator, have been fine—in fact, she has her own laptop which she takes around with her—but the older members, like Mrs Brixton, were adamant that they didn’t want any of the systems computerised. She was even suspicious of online banking and preferred to use cheques and visit the bank in person.”
“Really?” Caitlyn said incredulously, wondering how anyone could still prefer depositing cheques in person to online banking.
“Yes,” said James with a long-suffering smile. “And it makes the accounting a bit of a nightmare. For example, the Garden Party has its own expense account and Mrs Brixton used to record all the information about expenses in handwritten entries in an old-fashioned ledger, which is really bulky to carry around—but she insisted on using it.”
They were interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps outside the door of the office, which had swung shut. James leaned over and pulled the door open.
“Oh!” A middle-aged woman with stiff permed hair jumped as the door was pulled back. It was Winifred Harris, from the village committee.
“Mrs Harris,” said James in surprise. “Can I help you?”
“Er…” The woman looked a bit furtive and fiddled with her handbag. There came the jingle of keys, then she pulled out a tissue and dabbed her forehead nonchalantly. “So hot today, isn’t it?”
Caitlyn wondered suddenly if the nosy woman had been trying to eavesdrop on her and James’s conversation.
“It is very pleasant,” said James, looking a bit bewildered. “Is there something I can help you with?” he asked again.
“I was… er… wondering who is in charge of the Garden Party accounts, now that Mrs Brixton is dead,” said Mrs Harris importantly. “There are… um… a few things I need to check.”
Hah, thought Caitlyn. A likely story. It was so obviously a lame excuse for the woman’s nosing around. She knew that Tillyhenge was constantly buzzing with speculation about her sudden arrival in the village, her stay at the chocolate shop, and her new friendship with the lord of Huntingdon Manor—she wouldn’t put it past Winifred Harris to try and snoop around to get more juicy gossip.
“I’m afraid I haven’t assigned a dedicated person to take over Mrs Brixton’s role in that regard yet, Mrs Harris,” said James. He indicated the antique writing desk behind them. Caitlyn noticed now that it had a slanted top with a hinge, which opened to reveal a compartment beneath—rather like a fancy school desk. “The account ledgers are all kept in there and I can spare a minute to go over things with you, if you like—”
“Oh, no, that’s all right, Lord Fitzroy,” said Mrs Harris hurriedly. “It’s nothing important, really. And I can see that you’re very busy with Miss Le Fey at the moment,” she added with a meaningful look at Caitlyn, which made the latter flush. “I’ll see you at the party tomorrow.”
Backing away, she turned and quickly let herself out of the side door into the gardens. James frowned, looking slightly puzzled, then he shrugged and turned back to Caitlyn, saying, “At the rate we’re going, I hope there will be a party tomorrow.”
“Everything seemed to be going well when I arrived,” Caitlyn commented. “It looks fantastic so far.”
James sighed. “We got very behind schedule with the preparations, actually, following the murder, and then the police investigation and questioning delayed things even further. But the staff have been amazing. Everyone has been working practically around the clock to get things ready for the Garden Party.”
“Have the police made any progress with the investigation?” Caitlyn asked.
James shook his head. “No, and frankly I think Inspector Walsh is getting quite frustrated with the lack of developments. The investigation seems to have ground to a halt. Oh, they have several suspects—”
“Including me,” said Caitlyn wryly.
James acknowledged that with a smile. “Yes, including yourself. But I don’t think they have enough conclusive evidence to make a firm conviction yet. Inspector Walsh is a very careful, methodical man and I think he wants to wait until he has a solid case before he makes an arrest.”
Caitlyn felt a guilty pang as she thought of the conversation she had had with Pomona in the car yesterday. The police ought to know about Matt O’Brien’s shaky alibi. That might help them build a case against him… assuming that he was the murderer, of course, she hastily reminded herself. The problem was, if Matt wasn’t the murderer, she knew that Pomona would never forgive her for reporting him to the police. She sighed inwardly and wished she knew what to do.
“Is something the matter?” James looked at her in concern.
Caitlyn looked up into his warm grey eyes. She was so tempted to tell him. There was something about James Fitzroy that always made her feel like she could trust him and tell him anything. But just as she opened her mouth to speak, an attractive young woman with blonde hair and an English-rose complexion popped her head into the office.
“James, could you come and check the—Oh, sorry.” She smiled at Caitlyn. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Amy!” said Caitlyn in surprise. The last time she had seen Amy Matthews, the pretty widow had been under suspicion for the murder of her husband, Stan—who had been Lord Fitzroy’s gamekeeper.
As if sensing her curiosity, Amy said, “James has been so kind! He offered me a position here at the Manor, to work as an assistant to Lisa, his Events Coordinator. I’d been despairing of ever finding work in the local area and this has been a godsend.”
“Not at all,” said James gallantly. “I’m sure Lisa would say that you are the godsend, Amy.” He smiled warmly
and Amy blushed.
Caitlyn felt a queer little tug at her heart as she looked at the two of them. They made such an attractive couple, with Amy so fair and James so dark, and both so tall and slim. She’d heard that since Stan’s death, James had been very supportive to Amy, often visiting the widow in her cottage. Amy was still one of his tenants, of course, and Caitlyn knew that James felt a strong responsibility to all “his people”—but gossips in the village whispered and speculated over whether Lord Fitzroy’s interest in the pretty widow went beyond that of a caring landlord.
Amy said, “I’m sorry to bother you, James, but Lisa wanted to check if you’re happy with the final programme for tomorrow.”
“I’ll come right away." James gave Caitlyn an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me—”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” said Caitlyn quickly. “I’ll… um… just go and find Pomona.”
James scooped up the little kitten. “Come on, you little monkey. You’re coming with me so that I can make sure you don’t get up to more mischief.”
Carrying the kitten in his arms, he left the room, with Amy and the mastiff following him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Left on her own, Caitlyn decided to go back out the side door and re-enter the Manor from the front, so that she would have a better chance of getting her bearings. She didn’t want to wander around lost again like her last visit. As she was entering the main foyer with its magnificent sweeping staircase and vaulted ceiling, she spied a dark figure skulking in the shadows farther down the main hall. She did a double take and rubbed her eyes, wondering if she was seeing things. No, there was no mistaking that tall, stooped figure or the dusty black suit that looked like a relic from the early nineteenth century. It was Viktor the old vampire.
What is he doing here? Caitlyn asked herself in exasperation. She hurried down the hall, hoping to catch him, but before she could reach him, he disappeared through a doorway and out of sight. Caitlyn arrived there a moment later to find that it was the entrance to the Library. She hadn’t been in the Library at the Manor yet and now she felt that she was intruding slightly as she stepped into the hushed silence.