by Blythe Baker
An Untimely Death
Blythe Baker
Copyright © 2020 by Blythe Baker
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Excerpt
About the Author
At a 1921 garden party, murder is on the menu...
The sudden death of her employer sets loyal maid Anna Fairweather on a dangerous quest for justice. Discovering who killed the quarrelsome Colonel will require joining forces with the victim’s attractive nephew, Jerome Townson, but is the charming Mr. Townson hiding darker motives than anyone guesses?
A formidable dowager, an incompetent Chief Constable, and a host of greedy relations become obstacles in Anna’s search for the truth. Will the head butler and the other inscrutable household servants become her allies? Or will Anna face her ultimate fate – and a ruthless killer – alone?
1
I woke with a terrible knot in my stomach. It had been many years since I had felt such a knot, but I recognized it at once. A memory tugged at the corners of my mind. I recalled it distantly, much like the blurred words of a page from a long-forgotten book, the recollection dancing just on the edge and just out of reach. If only I would turn my head ever so slightly, or perhaps squint a little harder, the image might then become clearer.
While I could not place why I knew this knot tightening in my stomach, I knew it could only mean one thing…that something unpleasant was bound to happen today.
It was an unfortunate day to wake with such a knot, as it was a day in which I would have little choice but to be on my best behavior. It was Colonel Montford’s birthday and Mrs. Montford was sure to be in one of her moods.
As I dressed, I did my best to ignore my growing anxiety. It would not go quietly, I knew, as it was like a toothache, ever present. I continued to think on it, my mind drifting even as I attempted to focus on the task at hand, which was to be ready by the time I was expected. Like passing my tongue over the throbbing tooth, I could not stop wondering what it could possibly mean.
Of course it means nothing, I reprimanded myself. It is nothing more than the result of a poor night’s sleep.
I adjusted the skirts of my simple black dress and sat on the edge of the bed to pull my stockings up my legs. A poor night’s sleep might very well be an understatement, as the tightness in my shoulders and the kink in my neck announced.
I frowned, noticing a run in my stockings. It was unlikely anyone would notice, but I would know it was there, and it was enough to make me the slightest bit more worried.
Of course, I knew what was really disturbing me. I’d had the dream again.
I dragged my shoes out from beneath my bed, tugged them onto my feet, and began to tie up the laces.
It was the same dream that I had on several occasions, but I never could quite remember it when I woke. All I did remember was a vague feeling…a sense of dread that clung to me like muck from a pond.
Something told me the dream was real, prompted by an event that had happened to me many, many years ago. Its repetitive nature made me think that my mind was attempting to break through some sort of barrier that prevented me from fully remembering. Whether it was my young age at the time or the traumatic nature of the event that kept me from fully recalling, I did not know. Regardless, it certainly seemed real, more so than any other dreams I ever had.
With a sigh, I tried my best to swallow the knot and left my room.
The house was already bustling with activity, which was of little surprise, given the nature of the day. I swiftly made my way down the stairs from my attic room, hurrying past the parlor, the library, and stopping just outside Mrs. Montford’s living quarters.
I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
Mrs. Montford’s room, as cool and dark as it was in the middle of the night, remained silent as I closed the door behind myself. In the distance, I could hear the clink of glassware and the shuffling of furniture as the rooms below were prepared for the day.
I tiptoed across the room, my toe catching on the edge of the Turkish rug spread across the floor. I winced, grabbing onto the back of a yellow wing-backed chair near the foot of the four poster bed. I sucked in my breath, glancing momentarily over at the bed.
The lump beneath the blankets did not stir.
I let out a silent breath and continued onward toward the window. I reached up, took hold of the curtains, and slowly drew them open.
The sunlight burst through the crack like a child eagerly awaiting the chance to run free in the garden. It washed over the room, the furniture bathed in its warm glow. It brushed against my face and relieved some of the tension in my stomach.
From the window, I could see the back garden, a long stretch of green lawn that reached all the way to the edge of a large pond stocked with fish, one of Colonel Montford’s favorite places to spend an afternoon, despite the cooling temperatures of early October. The large stone terrace that Mrs. Montford had insisted be built nearly a decade ago had been filled with any and all extra tables and chairs from inside the manor. I watched as Mr. Hendrick, the head butler, spread a pristine, freshly laundered white cloth over the top of one of the tables, allowing it to fall upon the polished surface before spreading his hands over it, smoothing the wrinkles away.
In the distance, Maidstone sat upon a low hill. It was a much smaller town than any I had lived in before, but I relished the quiet, quaint atmosphere. There were trees, lush green lawns, and so many flowers. My life may not have turned out as I had perhaps once dreamed, but the existence I had in the countryside was far better than any life I could ever have had in London.
Stirring sounds from behind made me look over my shoulder. I saw Mrs. Montford roll over beneath her quilts.
“Morning already?” she asked, slowly sitting up, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands.
I made my way to the side of the bed, stopping to pick up the pitcher of water on the bureau along the way. “Good morning, Mrs. Montford,” I said, reaching for a small crystal glass from the collection on the shelf beside her end table. I poured the water straight from the well inside, the crystal becoming cold as soon as the frigid water filled it. I stopped pouring when it was half full, as I always did, and passed it to Mrs. Montford just as she reached out.
She took the glass without acknowledgement and drained it in a few sips before handing it back to me.
I set the cup down on the side table and gave her a dampened cloth that she brushed over her face. After a typical sigh of contentment, she passed it back to me, and I draped it over the side of the ceramic bowl on the bureau.
“Oh, my blasted neck…” Mrs. Montford said, reaching up and rubbing the nape of her neck. “I suppose I should know not to go riding for as long as the Colonel insisted upon yesterday.”
“But you seemed to enjoy it so thoroughly, ma’am,” I said, fetching her slippers from the floor and offering them up to her.
“I did indeed, but I am paying for said enjoyment,” she said, frowning.
I made a note in my mind
to add some extra hot water to her bath that evening.
She moved to the edge of the bed, swinging her legs over the side, sliding her feet into the slippers. “Any news this morning?” she asked, reaching for a robe that I had draped over the side of the bed.
“Nothing of note, ma’am,” I said, moving to help hold the robe so that she might slide her arms through. “All things considered, the preparations for the party seem to be moving along admirably.”
“Very good,” Mrs. Montford said, getting to her feet. She crossed to the same window I had drawn the curtains from and peered down into the gardens. “Yes, I see Hendrick down there. I imagine the Colonel will be at breakfast?”
“As planned, ma’am,” I said.
She turned and made her way to her wardrobe, and I followed after her.
She paused near the full-length mirror along the wall, checking her mussed, greying hair. She ran her fingers through the short bobbed cut, shaking the ends out with some determined vigor.
“Good heavens…I do not know if I shall ever enjoy this style,” she said, looking side to side, frowning as she did. “Even with those ridiculous hair pins and pieces… What ever happened to the wide-brimmed hats and plaits pinned neatly in place?”
I did not answer, simply watching her.
For a woman her age, she was still quite striking. She had maintained her feminine figure by taking up horseback riding, as well as walking to town and back several times a week for fresh air. Wrinkles met at the corners of her eyes, especially when she would smile or frown, as well as at the edges of her mouth. But apart from the change of her hair from wheat-blonde to grey, she still looked as pretty as she had in her youth.
I, of course, had not known her so long. But the portrait that hung in the dining room, which I had seen every day for the past four years, showed just how lovely she had been when the Colonel had married her.
She turned, her blue eyes widening as she regarded me. “Well?” she asked.
I blinked, straightening slightly. “Yes, ma’am?”
She pursed her lips, giving me a rather disgruntled look. “I asked if you did anything different with your hair.”
I reached up and touched the ends of my own bobbed hair. I briefly caught sight of myself in the mirror, standing off to the side. The silver butterfly I had used to pin back some of my hair gleamed in the morning sunlight.
“It is quite extravagant, don’t you think?” Mrs. Montford said, turning back to her own reflection.
My heart sank. At once, I reached up and removed the clip, some of the blonde curls falling back into place. “Of course, ma’am. My apologies.”
“I did not mean—good heavens, girl, you are sensitive, aren’t you?” Mrs. Montford said, glaring at me through the glass of the mirror. “I didn’t say that I did not like it. I simply meant that I am not used to you adorning yourself in such a way.”
She glanced over her shoulder at me, eyeing me up and down. “It is…quite charming for such an event as today. The Colonel will only have one seventieth birthday, you know.”
“Well…thank you,” I said.
“Now, I must ensure that the gifts have all been brought upstairs,” Mrs. Montford said. “As well as being sure to tell Mrs. Rose that the cakes should be brought out at noon, precisely.”
“Of course, ma’am,” I said as she took a seat at the vanity beside the wardrobe. I picked up her stiff, bristled hairbrush and began to run it through her thick hair.
“And I must see to it that Lady Garth does not make her way into the drawing room once again, lest she go on and on about the piano and how admirably she used to play. I do not think my husband could take another round of her songs, not for many years to come.”
I nodded, brushing her hair back away from her face. Her eyes closed as I fell into the rhythmic motion of moving her hair from her forehead. When all the knots had been untangled and smoothed, I moved on to the dresses that she had selected the night before.
“Which one…which one…” Mrs. Montford said, looking between them. She frowned. “Oh, how I wish that I could wear one of my gowns from Mrs. Dierdre. I prefer the long length.” She reached out, running her fingers over the emerald green fabric of that closest to her. “I suppose I shall choose this one, however,” she said, rather reluctantly.
“It is lovely, Mrs. Montford,” I said, turning to hang the others back in her wardrobe. “I imagine the Colonel will find you quite fetching.”
“Fetching, indeed,” Mrs. Montford said, her nose wrinkling, still eyeing the dress as if it might shrink a few more inches.
I gathered her jewelry box while she stepped behind the changing screen, the green dress draped over her arm.
“Go over the schedule for the morning, if you would, Anna?” Mrs. Montford asked, her nightgown appearing over the top of the screen.
I reached up on my tiptoes to grab it, pulling it over the top. “Breakfast is at nine, as per usual. Then, the florist is scheduled to arrive at half past, followed by the baker at quarter ‘til.” I turned my face up, glancing at the clock near the door. “Then, at eleven, the quartet should arrive, and given the amount of time that will be required for them to set up, Mrs. Rose shall have the meal prepared so that it will be ready to eat by one.”
“Very good,” Mrs. Montford said, appearing around the screen once more, tugging at the edges of her skirt, as if willing them to lengthen. “I shall go down to breakfast to meet the Colonel. You, however, should go and see if Mrs. Rose needs any help.”
Heat rushed to my face. “Mrs. Rose?” I repeated. “But Mrs. Montford, surely you shall need me to help you—”
She stopped, halfway to the door already. “I assure you, Anna, she will be in need of all the help she can get. And if not Mrs. Rose, then Mrs. Carlisle. I know for certain that she will have something for you to do.”
My reluctance must have shown on my face. Both the cook and the head housekeeper were fierce women who I typically avoided.
“It will be fine, girl,” she said, turning to give me a firm look. “All you need do is ask either of them what tasks they have for you.”
I bit down on my tongue, preventing myself from releasing the torrent of questions that threatened to burst forth. What if both are so busy they cannot speak with me? What if I am nothing more than a nuisance?
“I can see your thoughts running faster than you can keep up with them,” Mrs. Montford said. “Put them aside and go. You are helping me by helping them today. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, dread constricting my lungs.
Without another word, I stepped up to the door and pulled it open so that Mrs. Montford might pass through. She did not spare me another look as she strode out into the hall, her head held high.
I followed after her, pulling the door closed behind me. As long as I kept close to her, I knew that no one would approach me with unfamiliar chores or errands I might not know how to complete. It was a tactic I knew would only last me to the stairs, where I would have to part ways with her, but it allowed me a few minutes to gather myself.
There had only been a few times that she had asked me to step outside my usual responsibilities, and those times could likely be counted upon one hand. I had become quite comfortable serving Mrs. Montford. I knew her patterns, her preferred schedule. That familiarity allowed me to settle into patterns of my own. The security of being quite invisible in her presence had given me a great deal of peace these past four years.
Now, however, she had asked me to step out of the arena where I was comfortable. I wanted nothing more than to insist upon staying beside her, lest she need me. But I knew the truth was, at this point, I needed her a great deal more than she ever would need me.
“Move along, girl,” Mrs. Montford said as we approached the stairwell leading down to the lower parts of the manor. “I shall likely see you before the party begins.”
Likely? I thought, uneasily.
All I could do was bob my head.
I proceeded down the stairs, willing my feet to step physically away from her side.
I kept my head down as I descended the stairs. I passed by other servants doing what they had been instructed to in order to prepare for the party, but I pretended they did not exist as I passed. I felt their gazes upon me, though I ignored them.
They are wondering what I have done to have Mrs. Montford send me away, I realized. They know it is as strange as I do that I am not with her right now.
I bit down on my tongue. A spiral of doubts was the last thing I needed. I must focus and do my best not to worry.
Do not worry, I scolded myself.
All that seemed to do was make the worrying worse.
I took a side corridor toward the kitchen, knowing it was a slightly longer walk but it would not be nearly as crowded as the main hall. Guests might be arriving soon and I did not want to be in their way.
As I took a right down the corridor following alongside the dining room, I heard shouting.
I stopped in my tracks, my heart beginning to pound. What could possibly be happening? I thought.
A door leading down to the kitchens burst open, and a trio of servants poured out, each carrying a large silver-covered tray. The young man closest to me had a smear of ash across his face. Sweat clung to his forehead, causing the ends of his dark hair to stick to his skin. The other young man looked as pale as a sheet and hurried down the opposite end of the hall with his companion, the two acting as if they wanted to be as far away as possible in that moment, as if they were fleeing.
The third person, a young woman, shook out her hair, which was tied in two long auburn plaits that fell down her back. She had refused to follow the fashion that many of the rest of us had, too proud of her locks to part with them.