Lord James Harrington and the Autumn Mystery

by Lynn Florkiewicz

  ‘You might get more sense out of her than me.’

  Inside the living room where he’d been seated the previous day, he was greeted by Dr Philip Jackson. If anyone was capable of soothing a distressed woman, James felt it would be Philip. His calm and relaxed character would no doubt quieten his patient down. But then, he remembered, this was Jeannie Cameron, a woman who didn’t seem to have any warmth about her whatsoever.

  ‘And where is the lady of the house?’

  ‘She’s just popped to the kitchen,’ Philip said as he wandered over to him. ‘Have you met her?’

  ‘Yesterday, for the first time.’

  ‘What d’you make of her?’

  James said that, from what little he’d observed, she was a bitter humourless spinster who might have been dealt a better hand had circumstances dictated. ‘Sorry, that’s a rather rotten thing to say. I don’t know her circumstances and she’s lost her brother. I should really be saying that I feel the family has perhaps been dealt a bad hand,’ he added.

  ‘I agree with everything you’ve said,’ said Philip. ‘I only asked because I wondered if she was all there, that’s all.’

  James tilted his head with an inquisitive air.

  Philip stepped toward him. ‘Well, she started hissing at me, telling me to mind my own business. Then she said her brother was murdered, then—’

  ‘Murdered? Who by for goodness’ sake?’

  Philip shrugged as James lowered his voice further.

  ‘You’re the doctor, what do you think?’

  ‘I’ll have to leave it to the police to make that call. He took what appears to be an overdose of sleeping draught, but there is slight bruising around the neck. Not prominent, but it needs investigating for sure. I’m not signing anything off. I’ll leave it to the coroner.’ He frowned.

  James waited.

  ‘Thing is, he’s only been dead a few hours and the door was locked from the inside. I’m not sure how anyone could have got in to kill him.’

  ‘Was the key still in the lock?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Philip, ‘so I can’t see how it was murder.’ He looked at James. ‘And she’s the only other person living here, so she’s setting herself up to be prime suspect.’

  Footsteps in the hall interrupted their thoughts.

  ‘The ambulance is here to take the body away,’ said Inspector Collins. ‘Do you need to see anything else, Doctor?’

  Philip snapped his bag shut. ‘I don’t think so, Inspector. I’ll type up my notes and get them over to you this afternoon. Can the coroner not get here? Bearing in mind the sister’s accusation?’

  Collins ignored Jackson. ‘Appreciate your time, Doctor. You can get along to your own patients now.’ The inspector trudged up the stairs and was quickly followed by Jeannie, who insisted on saying prayers before her brother’s body was taken.

  James turned to Philip. ‘Have you given her a sedative or anything?’

  Philip replied with a helpless shrug. ‘Said she didn’t need one. Perhaps it’s delayed shock or she’s so practical that she gets on with it. Strangely enough, I think it’s the latter.’

  He patted James on the arm and bade him goodbye. James followed him out to the hall and watched as the medical team stretchered Cameron’s body down the stairs and into the waiting ambulance. Collins turned to Jeannie Cameron, reiterated his condolences and announced that he’d be in touch. He said a curt goodbye to James and left.

  An uncomfortable silence followed and James struggled to make eye contact with Jeannie. Her very presence made him uncomfortable.

  He gave himself a mental dressing down for being so selfish. ‘I’m so sorry to learn about your brother, Miss Cameron. I know I only met him the once, but you must be distraught, especially as you’re new to the area. I want you—’

  ‘I’ve no need for company.’

  ‘Right.’ He folded the leaflets and slipped them into his pocket.

  She scowled at him. ‘That Inspector, Collins, he accused you of prying.’

  James flinched. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Prying.’

  ‘I believe he did nothing of the sort, Miss Cameron.’ James put his gloves on and made to leave.

  She crossed her arms and almost stepped in front of him. ‘It’s what I call amateur sleuths. Busybodies, prying into affairs they’ve no business with.’

  James forced himself to smile. ‘With every respect, Miss Cameron, you don’t know me or how I have assisted the police. Again, let me offer you my sincere condolences. However, as I was going to say before you interrupted me, if you’d like me to ask the Reverend Merryweather to call, I can certainly do so.’

  She turned away, replying in an abrasive tone. ‘You’ll want to see the room. Aye, the Inspector had no interest in what I’d to say. Perhaps you will.’ She mounted the stairs.

  James frowned and wondered whether to leave her to her ramblings and go; but his own curiosity got the better of him and he opted to follow her. They passed the locked room above the living room to the bedroom next door. He studied the floor with concern. Splinters of wood were strewn on the floor and the lock on the door hung at an awkward angle.

  He squatted down to examine it. ‘You had to force the door?’

  ‘Aye.’

  James noted the locked room next door. ‘We?’

  ‘I’d difficulty getting in with brother’s morning tea. I knocked, but he...’ Jeannie smoothed her apron down. ‘He wouldn’t waken, so I summoned the postman. He’d arrived with a delivery. He broke the lock and there he was.’

  James scanned the room. On the table by the bed was a ring mark from what was, presumably, the previous night’s milky drink. The room was as bare as the front room downstairs. There was a small dressing table underneath the window, a wardrobe, a tiny sink and a patterned rug covering uneven floorboards.

  ‘Does…. did he always lock his bedroom door?’

  Jeannie clasped her hands together. ‘Aye.’

  ‘Can I ask why?’

  She averted her eyes. James was about to probe for more information, when a noise distracted him below. Downstairs in the hall, he saw his good friend, DCI Lane, gazing up, his trilby rolling in his hand.

  ‘Ah, George, your colleague left a few minutes ago.’

  George said that he’d passed him on the road, but felt he should call in and ensure that everything was in order. James, followed by Jeannie Cameron, descended the stairs, where George introduced himself.

  ‘My condolences to you, Miss Cameron. I shan’t trespass on your time. I trust Inspector Collins didn’t cause too much distress? It’s difficult, I know, when someone dies unexpectedly.’

  ‘Is that what you think, Mr Lane?’

  George shifted his gaze at James and then to Miss Cameron. ‘Don’t you?’

  Jeannie Cameron peeked over her shoulder to the stairs, opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. Her hands checked her hair, which was pinned back so tight that it stretched her forehead.

  ‘If you’ve nothing further, I’ve a funeral to arrange,’ she said.

  George held his ground. ‘Miss Cameron, is there something you wish to tell me? Do you suspect this to be something other than a normal death?’

  She brought her chin in and folded her arms. ‘He was a man of faith; a strict God-fearing man who would never sin against the Father.’ Her eyes went to the ceiling. ‘He’ll have done it.’

  James frowned.

  ‘God?’ said George.

  Her posture was stiff. ‘You’ll not mock the Lord, Mr Lane.’

  George assured her he was doing nothing of the sort. ‘But I thought it was just you and your brother living here.’

  ‘Aye, that’s right.’ She smoothed her apron down and chivvied them toward the front door. ‘I’ve arrangements to make. You’ll be leaving now.’

  James opened the front door and, after receiving a curt goodbye, ushered George out and down the steps to the gravel drive. The door slammed behind them.<
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  ‘Good grief,’ said George. ‘She’s an odd one.’

  James agreed and examined the old house. ‘You’ve heard about the local children seeing ghosts here, have you?’

  His friend chuckled. ‘If you’re short of something to do, James, you can always get on with your festivals.’

  With a wry smile, James gave an account of his visit the previous day. He told George about the feeling that someone else was in the house; the locked room above the lounge and the fleeting shape seen through the keyhole.

  ‘Did you speak with your Inspector chap? Did he tell you what Jackson said?’

  Seeing George’s puzzlement, James then described the slight bruising. His friend bristled and cursed Collins for not letting him know. James continued.

  ‘Philip’s leaving this one to your people.’ He tightened his lips. ‘There’s someone else in that house, George. It’s not a ghost. The room was dimly lit and shadows with arms and legs tend to mean a living, breathing being.’

  George’s eyes darted from James to the house and back again. He heaved a frustrated sigh and trudged back up the steps to knock politely on the door. Jeannie Cameron screeched from the back of the house.

  ‘Will ye no’ leave us in peace? An eye for an eye. He’ll pay for what he’s done; God will send his justice.’

  James pulled a face at George, who hammered firmly on the door. ‘Miss Cameron, open up please.’

  ‘God will punish those who punish others,’ she said as she opened the door. A wisp of hair had fallen over her forehead. ‘You’ll not take him. God will deal with him.’

  James gently steered her into the hall and looked up to the ceiling. ‘Miss Cameron, who are you shielding up there? The room that’s locked, who’s in there?’

  She spat her reply. ‘An evil cast upon us.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  George placed his trilby on the hall table and instructed Miss Cameron to take them upstairs. Her eyes were like spikes but he simply returned her gaze with a stern expression. James observed the confrontation and that, although Jeannie Cameron was a formidable woman, George’s steely eye could make the strongest of people wilt. She sneered, delved in her apron pocket for a set of keys and marched up the stairs. He and George followed. On the landing, she picked out a large key and inserted it in the lock. James’ heart quickened – his mouth dry as she flung the door open.

  He peered in.

  It was a double aspect room and the curtains were drawn across both windows. Opposite, on an old table, sat a half-made model Spitfire, scattered pieces of the structure, plus a detailed diagram of how to build it, along with a small tube of glue. Three desk lamps lit what appeared to be a large room with a small coal fire. Behind the desk were shelves housing finished model aircraft that had been painted exquisitely. In the subdued lighting, he saw a small bed and, at the other side of the room, an armchair and a sofa. In the corner stood a record player.

  From the gloom, a movement caught his eye. He nudged George and pointed and, as his friend reacted, a figure stepped further back. James kept his eyes firmly on the vague shape while he addressed Miss Cameron.

  ‘Miss Cameron, who is this?’

  Although she stood behind him, James could imagine her eyes narrowing. He could almost feel the vindictiveness boring into the back of his head.

  ‘Boyd Cameron.’

  ‘Brother?’ George asked.

  ‘My brother’s son.’

  James felt his leg muscles tense. On hearing his name, Boyd edged into the darkest corner.

  George went to open the curtains. ‘Can we have a bit more light on the subject?’

  Miss Cameron rushed across and snatched the drapes from him. ‘He’s to stay in the darkness.’

  Out of her eyeline, George made a face at James, who shrugged at the oddness of it all. He edged toward the darkened corner.

  ‘Boyd, my name is James. You’ve no need to be frightened. We’re not here to scare you or harm you in any way.’ He turned to Miss Cameron. ‘Does he know what’s happened?’

  ‘Of course he knows,’ Jeannie replied bitterly. ‘He’s the cause of it.’

  James bit back a feeling of anger. How on earth had this woman become so hateful? He returned to Boyd. ‘We’re all very sorry about your father. This man here is a policeman. He’s a good friend of mine and he has a couple of questions to ask you. Are you happy to answer?’

  James’ eyes were becoming accustomed to the dimness and he could make out a slight nod.

  ‘Would you like your aunt to sit with you?’

  An immediate shake of the head followed. James raised his eyebrows. That was a telling gesture.

  ‘Would you like to come and sit a little closer?

  Another shake of the head.

  George joined him in the middle of the room. ‘Did you hear anything last night, Boyd?’

  Boyd shook his head slowly.

  ‘What did you do during the night? Did you leave the room for any reason?’

  James studied what he could make out of the boy. He stood in the corner hugging himself. He was a slight lad and it was difficult to put an age to him. James guessed him to be thirteen or fourteen judging by his stature. His shoulders were yet to develop and he had an awkwardness about him that only boys on the cusp of maturity had.

  From what James could make out, he had blond hair and dark, hollow eyes. His clothes hung as if they were two sizes too big. Every question George asked was answered with a nod or a shake of the head. Boyd, it seemed, had been oblivious to any activities during the night.

  George tugged James’ sleeve and gestured for them to go.

  ‘Boyd,’ said James, ‘we’re going to leave now. But if you think of anything you need to tell us, you let us know. I’ll leave our details with your aunt.’

  They crept out of the room and Jeannie locked the door. James frowned at her.

  ‘Why on earth are you locking the door?’

  ‘My brother’s wishes. Boyd has a routine; it’s not to be altered.’

  George expressed his own concern over keeping the boy locked in his room. ‘I’m sorry Miss Cameron, but that doesn’t seem right. You’re almost keeping the boy prisoner. Is he dangerous?’

  She slipped the keys into her pocket. ‘He’ll be down once I’ve prepared dinner. I’ve to prepare the meal. He’s not to be seen.’

  James pressed for more information but her thunderous stare stopped him from doing so.

  ‘You’ll no’ be prying into my affairs. You’ll not set foot inside this house again.’ She stabbed a finger at George. ‘You too. God will punish those who punish us. Lord forgive us.’

  The diatribe continued all the way down the stairs until they reached the front door. George picked up his trilby.

  ‘Miss Cameron. You are the one who has accused what appears to be a young boy of murdering his own father. You took us up to that room and allowed us to question him. Don’t, therefore, lay down the law with me. If I need to follow this up, I will. I respect your beliefs but don’t think, for one minute, that you’re not above the law. Good day to you.’

  James followed without a word. He hadn’t heard George sound so stern for a long time.

  On the driveway, he swung his friend round. ‘How can that boy have murdered his father? Not only is it an act that fills me with horror, but did you see him? I know it was dark, but he was thin, almost malnourished – all skin and bone. He reminded me of those awful pictures that came out of the concentration camps.’

  ‘If his father was keeping him prisoner, that’s a motive for murder.’

  ‘But we’re forgetting something.’

  ‘I know. Boyd’s door was locked from the outside.’

  ‘Not only that. Christie Cameron’s door was locked from the inside.’

  ‘Well then I’ve got a quandary on my hands.’

  ‘If that boy did murder someone, then he must have the ability to go through sealed doors. But if that was the case, locking him up would hardl
y deter him.’

  George stared at the ground and then gazed along the front wall. The wind had flipped the lid of the dustbin to the ground and a newspaper fluttered as if waiting to take off from its confines. He strode over to retrieve the lid. Before he replaced it, he took out the paper. James wandered over with his hands in his pockets.

  ‘Found something?’

  George waved the paper. ‘Yesterday’s local.’ He jabbed it with an index finger.

  James examined the article about the escaped convict. It was accompanied by a tiny photograph of a large man with a huge, grey beard and flowing grey locks.

  ‘Any news on him?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said George. ‘Gone underground. Someone’s shielding him.’

  James swallowed hard and pictured Bert handing Locksmith Joe a loaf of stale bread. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and hoped, with all his heart, that his instinct was wrong. George strode toward his car, leaving James to scurry after him.

  ‘Do you think there’s foul play here?’

  George stroked his chin. ‘Need to wait for a medical report.’ He tutted at James. ‘This is your doing. This sounded like a simple death. The door was locked from the inside. Philip is the same as every other general practitioner : cautious. Collins didn’t seem bothered by it.’

  James held his tongue. From where he was standing, Collins wasn’t bothered by anything and had simply wanted to get back to the station.

  His friend groaned. ‘Look, I can’t say anything more until I get a report.’

  ‘And my doing is what?’

  ‘Your confounded curiosity is rubbing off on me.’ George gritted his teeth in exasperation. ‘I know the doors are locked, but the sister is pointing us to foul play. Normally, I’d dismiss it because it’s outrageous and she seems a bit unhinged herself.’ He patted James on the back and climbed into his car. ‘Give Beth my regards. I’ll probably see you at the scarecrow festival in a couple o’ days – if I can get some time off, that is.’