Lord James Harrington and the Autumn Mystery

by Lynn Florkiewicz

  The young man stretched out a hand. ‘I’m Calvin. Calvin Cameron.’

  James did a double-take, then grasped Calvin’s hand warmly. ‘Good Lord.’ He shouted through to the front room. ‘Boyd, your brother’s here. Calvin.’

  He noticed a nervousness about Calvin. Perhaps, with so many years having passed, he was fearful that his baby brother would be unenthusiastic about his arrival. Perhaps he thought Boyd wouldn’t recognise him. After all, he’d just turned five when Calvin had left. Very few memories remain from that age. Those doubts soon passed as Boyd raced to Calvin and flung his arms around him so tightly James thought he would squeeze the life from him. They stayed like that for some time. Boyd simply wouldn’t let go. Calvin enveloped him like a warm blanket, assuring him that he was most definitely home and that they would never be apart again.

  The constable suggested a pot of tea all round.

  ‘Good idea,’ said James. He turned his attention to the brothers. ‘Calvin? Boyd? Why don’t you go through to the front room and we’ll get some tea sorted.’

  Boyd took Calvin’s hand and led him to the lounge. James, meanwhile, picked up the telephone receiver and dialled.

  ‘George?’

  ‘James. Something wrong?’

  ‘Just thought you ought to know that Calvin Cameron’s put in an appearance.’

  ‘At Cory House?’

  ‘Yes. Can I offer a suggestion?’

  George waited.

  ‘Let’s go softly softly. Calvin’s already said that he’s not leaving Boyd, so he’s here for a while, suitcase an’ all. Your chap is making some tea and I’ll have an informal chat with him, see what I can glean and report back. I can then lay the foundations for a formal police visit tomorrow. How does that sound?’

  ‘It sounds like you’re sticking your nose in, James. But, to be honest, I think it’s a good idea. My constable’s still there so he can make sure he doesn’t do a runner. But, like you say, I can’t imagine he’s going far, not as he’s just arrived. Find out what you can – particularly when he left India.’

  ‘Right-ho. I say, do you want to join us for dinner at Harrington’s tonight? We can go through everything.’

  ‘Yes, that sounds good. Seven o’clock?’

  With a time arranged, James booked a table at Harrington’s and rang Beth advising her of the arrangements and of the arrival of Calvin Cameron. It took some convincing for her to allow him to chat with Calvin without her.

  ‘Don’t you dare hold back on anything when we’re at dinner tonight.’

  ‘Darling, I wouldn’t dream of it.’ He replaced the receiver and joined the Cameron brothers in the front room.

  Calvin sat alongside Boyd on the sofa, flicking through the library books that Charlie had just brought in. He highlighted a number of buildings and statues and clarified what they were, when they were built and what they signified. He caught James’ eye; James gestured for him to continue as he sat on an armchair opposite. The police constable brought in a tray, placed it on a side table and prepared a cup and saucer for everyone. Calvin ruffled Boyd’s white hair, leant back and spread his arms across the back of the sofa. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

  James considered him. He was certainly a confident man; perhaps gaining self-reliance from his travels and cutting ties with an overbearing father. Typical of people travelling from sunnier climes, he wore a white linen suit that was severely creased with wear. James cleared his throat and introduced himself formally.

  Calvin apologised for not paying him enough attention. ‘A shame I had to return in such tragic circumstances.’

  ‘Yes. This is your first trip home since emigrating, is that correct?’

  Calvin scanned the room. ‘Yes it is and I must admit, I’m surprised to be coming here rather than Yorkshire.’ His expression was one of puzzlement. ‘What possessed him to move south?’

  James apologised for his being forward, but suggested that it might have been to bury old memories. ‘I understand that your mother was killed at your previous home. Perhaps that prompted him to want the change.’

  The young man gave a wry smile. ‘You didn’t know my father, Lord Harrington.’

  ‘I confess I didn’t, although I did try to welcome him into the village community.’

  ‘And he welcomed you with open arms?’

  It was James’ turn to smile. Calvin rolled his eyes and reached forward for his tea.

  ‘So much for change.’

  ‘Why do you think he moved?’

  A perplexed shake of the head provided James with no answers. Calvin reiterated that there had been no love lost between them and, when his mother had been killed, their relationship became more strained.

  ‘What made your father react like that?’

  ‘My father, Lord Harrington, was a ruthless business man. Successful, yes. Rich, undoubtedly. Orderly and efficient, yes. But he was not a man to forge a personal relationship. He met my mother late in life. He loved her, I’m sure, but he was not one to show it. I never saw him provide a tender moment, a loving touch, a word of kindness – nothing. To me and Boyd, she was a vibrant and loving mother. To my father, she was simply his housekeeper and someone to bear children to carry on the family name. Auntie Jeannie probably took over where she left off.’

  ‘But your mother must have known what he was like.’

  ‘I’m sure she did. Perhaps she was trying to escape, too. I don’t know. Neither of them spoke of their childhood; father was not someone to confide in anyone. Perhaps mother was providing a love that she never received or was making up for Father’s lack of feeling. They muddled along in their own way but things changed once Boyd came along. Father was a religious man, Lord Harrington, but became more so after Mother died. He believed that we are punished by God for any sin. He blamed my mother for how Boyd and I turned out.’ He drew Boyd close. ‘Boyd’s only sin was to be born whiter and purer than snow.’ The fondness in his eyes disappeared. ‘What sort of man treats an angel like a piece of contaminated dirt?’

  Something important streaked through James’ mind and disappeared as quickly. He pushed his frustration about it to one side. ‘And your wrongdoing?’

  Calvin’s smile appeared to light up the room. ‘Ah, well, that would be telling, Lord Harrington. I don’t know you well enough to divulge.’

  James sat back and enjoyed his tea. Here was a man who was exceptionally good-looking, with laughing eyes and a wonderfully caring temperament. He was sure, from speaking with Beth and Kushal, that Calvin had been a womaniser who tested his father’s patience and faith with his gallivanting ways.

  He decided to change tack. ‘I understand you flew back to England?’

  Calvin met his gaze. ‘Yes, it was certainly much faster than travelling across the ocean. God, that was a monotonous journey all those years ago.’

  ‘Did you fly from Bombay?’

  Calvin groaned and described a journey that had taken him all over the place and had begun three days previously; first Delhi, then to Beirut, then to Paris and, finally, to London. He ran his fingers through his thick hair. ‘Arrived back today. I have a friend who owns a small plane. He picked me up at Paris and dropped me at Shoreham. Nice little airport, that. It’s certainly the way to travel. Have you flown?’

  James said he had and that he and Beth often visited France and Italy for their summer break. They chatted about various destinations, their pros and cons and discussed the culture of numerous countries. Boyd snuggled up to Calvin, engrossed in the photographs of beautiful Indian women in silk saris and wise men in turbans. James straightened a seam in his trousers.

  ‘Your wife hasn’t travelled with you?’

  ‘No. She never met my family and it’s an awful expense to come over for a funeral. The important person in my life is Boyd and she’ll meet him soon enough.’

  Boyd snuggled in further.

  ‘And you found work in India easy to get?’

  ‘Yes, yes, no
problem. My school friend, Josh, had contacts out there, including his cousin, Alastair. So I was fortunate that I found something straight away. And now, of course, Josh and I have our own business.’

  ‘And is business good?’

  ‘India does not stand still. Bombay is a city on the march, Lord Harrington. There’s building work going on all the time – it never stops.’

  ‘So, no sudden change of circumstances?’

  Calvin’s easy-going expression faltered for a split second. In that moment, James detected a hint of melancholy – a sadness that rises up when you least expect it; like a tune that forces you to remember a special time with a special person who is no longer with you. The smile returned as he questioned James’ statement. James held his palms up to indicate he meant nothing by it.

  ‘Sometimes businesses hit a peak and then take a downturn,’ said James. ‘I wondered if you’d been hit with the same? A sudden change that meant you had to rethink things.’

  The young man again faltered before he recovered his composure. ‘I’m not sure where you’re going with these questions, Lord Harrington. But perhaps you could answer a few for me?’

  James announced that he’d be glad to. Calvin slipped his hand inside his jacket pocket and brought out a hip flask.

  ‘First off, do you fancy a whisky? I’m damned sure Father hasn’t anything like this here.’

  James leapt up and searched the sideboard for two glasses. The bottle of sherry that he’d brought as a welcome gift stood unopened at the back of the cabinet. Calvin tipped out a good measure of whisky for each of them.

  ‘The information I received about these deaths is sketchy,’ he said. ‘Please, could you fill me in on what’s been happening here?’

  James hesitated, wondering how much he could divulge. He decided to give him events as any other member of the public would know them. He made a point of quoting what he’d read in the paper and said he assumed the police had things under control.

  ‘The detective on the case, DCI Lane, is a good friend of mine, actually. So he’s bound to be knocking on the door tomorrow once he knows you’re here.’

  Calvin swigged his whisky. ‘Not sure what I can tell him, but I’ll certainly do what I can. I didn’t get on with Father, or Auntie Jeannie. Neither did a lot of people. But it doesn’t mean you want them dead.’ He frowned. ‘I mean, who would want them dead?’

  ‘You’ll have to discuss that with the police. They have questions about that.’

  ‘I haven’t seen him for years, but perhaps the cruelty of the man caught up with him. Perhaps he was as cruel to other people as he was to his family. Perhaps he rubbed someone up the wrong way. It makes sense, then, that he would move as far away as possible and carry on as normal.’

  ‘That’s a somewhat cynical way of viewing things, Calvin.’

  He shrugged. ‘You didn’t grow up with him as your father. What was your father like?’

  James described the quintessential Englishman: upright, fair, supportive and, above all, always there for him and his siblings. Calvin gave a mock bow and stated that he rested his case.

  ‘And Boyd tells me that Father locked his bedroom door,’ continued Calvin. ‘What I don’t understand is how someone could get in there and kill him.’

  Boyd looked up to his brother and whispered that Locksmith Joe was on the run.

  James watched Calvin react. His eyes darted here and there as if trying to work something out. His gaze fell on James.

  ‘That man killed my mother.’

  James remained silent.

  Calvin gave a look of disbelief. ‘Well, that’s your man,’ he said. ‘But I don’t understand why he’d want to harm Auntie Jeannie. He was off his normal patch. He was robbing our place and got disturbed. It was only Father that saw him. The night that happened, we were upstairs. Is he in this area?’

  ‘So I understand,’ said James. ‘It’s been in the local paper. I believe he may have family nearby.’

  Calvin appeared to be processing the information given to him and admitted he was finding it difficult to make sense of it. ‘The man must be unhinged. Perhaps he blames us for putting him in jail. If that’s the case, the sooner this is cleared up, the better. And the quicker I can take Boyd back to India.’

  Boyd’s expression was one of pure joy. Calvin ruffled his hair. ‘That’s right. You and me, Boyd, never to be parted again.’

  ‘Do you think Locksmith Joe somehow got into the house to murder your father?’

  ‘I can’t imagine they call him Locksmith Joe for nothing,’ said Calvin. ‘If he can get into a locked room, he can get out and lock it again, don’t you think?’

  ‘But the key was still in the lock,’ said James. ‘Your aunt had to ask the postman to break the door down.’

  Calvin glanced at him. ‘Well perhaps he had an ingenious way of replacing the key.’

  ‘Unless there’s a secret passage,’ James said with a wry smile.

  The young man started. ‘I think you’re leaping into the imagination of a Hollywood producer.’

  James had a flashback to the smuggling tunnels he’d found during the summer. ‘Would you mind if I indulged in those imaginings?’

  He felt Calvin scrutinise his motives and then the warm smile returned. ‘Why not? Let’s both go up and see what we can find. Lead the way.’

  Cory House was gradually being refreshed. Christie Cameron had ordered work that would be ongoing for several months. Nothing too decorative but it was surprising what a coat of paint did for the place. But his own room had yet to be touched. In short, Christie Cameron’s room was spartan. One wardrobe, one chest of drawers, a wooden chair, a sink, a single bed and a wooden cross. A rug covered part of the floorboards and a faded nativity scene hung on the wall. Calvin suggested James take one side and he take the other.

  ‘Not much to show for a life, is it?’

  James had to agree there was little there. They scanned the room and knocked on walls. Some sounded muffled, some hollow, but there was nothing to suggest any secret passageways: no built-in shelves with a trigger book title, no hidden switches or levers and nothing suspicious behind the wardrobe.

  ‘Disappointed, Lord Harrington?’

  James afforded him a bashful smile. ‘It would have been nice, though, wouldn’t it?’

  They made their way back to the living room. The front door opened and a voice rang out.

  ‘Hello.’

  A moment later, Suzie peered round the edge of the living room door. She spotted Calvin and, at first looked blank. Slowly, her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened in shock. ‘Calvin?’

  The young man smiled at Suzie who then screamed his name and dashed across to hug him. James took this as his cue to leave and let the family reacquaint themselves with one another. He bade them goodbye and promised to drop in another time. In the hallway, Lucy was struggling with two bags of shopping. James dashed forward to help her carry them into the kitchen. She swept a stray hair from her face.

  ‘What’s all the noise about?’

  ‘Calvin’s back.’

  He received an incredulous stare. Then she gazed down the hall.

  ‘Oh, but...’ She checked her watch. ‘Goodness.’

  She smoothed her skirt, teased her hair and skipped down the hall and into the front room. James shrugged his jacket on and opened the front door. Boyd slipped alongside him and tugged his sleeve.

  ‘What is it, Boyd?’

  ‘Did you get my letters?’

  ‘I did. Was it you who left them?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Do you know who did?’

  He remained silent.

  ‘Do you want them back?’

  Another shake of the head.

  ‘Do you want me to read them?’

  Boyd’s pink eyes glistened. There was vulnerability there; as if he had the worries of the world bearing down on his young frame. He raced back to Calvin.

  James closed the door behind
him and stood on the top step, deep in thought. What on earth was that about? Something was disturbing Boyd – something to do with the letters. What could that be? Perhaps talking this through with Beth and George would clarify things a little better.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The floral display in reception received a good many compliments from the guests at Harrington’s. It was 7 p.m., the gong had sounded for dinner and well-to-do couples and families made their way through to the dining area.

  James, sporting a pristine black suit and light-blue striped tie, stood back to allow their guests through to the dining room. Beth, in black swing-trousers and a rust-brown twinset, linked arms with him. They followed the guests through and took their table by one of the windows with views toward the South Downs. Adam, their head waiter, noted their drinks order and announced he’d return for their meal selection once Mr Lane had arrived. Five minutes later, George strode into the room, his trilby in one hand and a buff-coloured folder in the other. He dragged a chair out.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. Lost track of time.’

  ‘We’ve ordered a beer for you, is that all right?’ said James.

  George’s grateful smile answered his question. His friend sat down and picked up the menu. ‘Steak and kidney pudding? Well, I think that’s got my name written on it.’

  Beth said that it was Grandma Harrington’s special recipe. ‘They’ll have been steaming the ingredients all afternoon.’

  ‘She’s not wrong, George,’ said James. ‘I remember my grandmother preparing this in the kitchen. Chopped everything up, sprinkled it with flour and gravy powder and let it steam in its own juices. Absolutely glorious. I think I’m going to join you on that one. How about you, Beth?’

  ‘To be honest, I can’t argue with your choice.’

  Adam delivered two beers and a glass of Babycham and then took their order. They chinked their glasses and chorused ‘Cheers’.

  George shrugged his jacket off and straightened his tie. ‘Well, this beats a ham sandwich at the station.’

  ‘Shame you couldn’t join us yesterday,’ said James. ‘Our friend, Patel, talked Beth through preparing a rather lovely chicken curry. He brought the spices down with him. I must say, I was rather taken with it.’