Murder at Locke Abbey (3 page)

“Next? In the sequence of mysterious events, of course.” Her mind jumped about so quickly that sometimes it was hard to keep track.

“This way.” He gestured for them to leave the room and closed the door after them. He began leading them downstairs.

“Next came two incidents on the same night,” Cole explained. “First Mrs Lanning saw a ghost in the grounds and her cry awoke her husband who, while he couldn’t be sure what he saw, did confirm that there was something white in the woods that night. It woke the people in neighbouring rooms, one of whom also spotted something white entering the woods. A muffled cry drew the attention of all of them and they awoke a few other gentlemen and went to investigate the house. They found the body of Mary Potter, a housemaid, in the green parlour. Her head had been beaten with a poker from the fireplace.”

“That
hardly sounds supernatural.”

“On its own, no, but with the sighting of a ghost just minutes before, imaginations ran w
ild.” Cole paused outside a door. “This is the room she died in.”

Once again
, the gentlemen remained by the door as Thea looked around.

“Who found her body?” Copley asked.

“Lord Small and Mr Buchan.”

“Did they say anything about how the
y found the body?”

“Just that she was already deceased when they got there, but still warm, so she hadn’t been dead for long.”

“No locked doors?” Thea asked, her gaze focused on the fireside set.

“No locked- Well, to the best of my knowledge, there were no locked doors, nor did they mention anything else unusual about the discovery.”

She turned to him and gave him a pleased but teasing smile. “You mean, aside from the dead body.”

He smiled back. “Yes, aside from that.
And she was dressed for bed.”

“I take it she shared a room?”

“Yes.”

“Then after her companion was asleep was probably the only time she could get away.” Thea crouched down over the blood stain on the rug. “This was done with exceptional strength, probably
due to extreme anger.”

“How can you tell?” Cole asked, taking a step closer.

“First, there’s this.” She pointed.

The parlour wasn’t very big and Cole crossed to her side in a few strides, crouching down beside her.

“Do you see that?” she asked.

“The small greyish blobs and white chips.”

“Yes.”

“Brain matter and bone, the attacker literally pulverised her skull.” She got to her feet and pointed up at the ceiling.

“How did blood get up there?”

“From the poker,” she explained.
“Once soaked in blood, each time the poker is raised, the momentum meant that some blood is cast off it. The blood droplets are quite small, meaning that the poker was moving very fast.”

“And you know this how?”

“Partly it’s physics, the laws of inertia and momentum, and partly from viewing many crime scenes over the past few years. Bludgeoning is more common than one might think.”

“Anything else you can tell?”

“Perhaps. Does the blood tell you anything?”

He looked. “There seem
to be seven lines of blood, so perhaps she was struck seven times?”

“Probably eight since on the first swing, the poker wouldn’t have any blood on it yet. I also think there might be eight lines of blood, it’s hard to tell when they overlap like this.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to strangle someone?” Cole asked. “It would certainly be quieter.”

“That’s more my father’s area of expertise. My talents are
for observing and remembering, but understanding human nature and behaviour is Father’s domain.”

Cole turned to the doorway, where Lord Copley still stood.

“Passion,” he said. “Crimes are committed for various reasons, such as for gain, monetary or otherwise but the passionate murders, those caused by emotions such as jealousy, hatred, anger and fear, those are the ones that use excessive force.”

“Well there doesn’t appear
to be anything strange about this scene,” Thea said. “Other than whatever brought a housemaid here after everyone else has retired. Was she meeting someone?”

“Wouldn’t a bedroom be a be
tter place?” Cole asked.

“That depend
s on the reason for the meeting,” Copley added.

“Do you remember who was here, or who came soon afterwards?” Thea asked.

“I can give you some names but by no means all of them. Most of the women didn’t venture down here, and I can't remember which servants were present and which weren’t. Why?”

“Because the murderer would likely be covered in blood.”

“And couldn’t appear until he had washed and changed,” Cole surmised.

“Exactly.”
She smiled. “And if refreshments are still available, I think I would like to partake now.”

“Of course.”

***

Cole showed them to a differ
ent parlour and rang the bell to summon a servant and he chatted with her father while they waited, but Thea preferred to ponder what she had seen.

She
could certainly see why people might find this house unsettling, given its age, the dark wood and stone used in the interior, it would be easy to let one’s imagination run away with itself. Indeed, upon entering the second scene, where Mary Potter was killed, she had felt a chill run up her own spine, although that was more due to the brutality of the scene than any fear of the supernatural.

Had she not been taught to be so logical and rational however, it would be easy to assign events to a supernatural explanation.

As the parlour maid poured the tea and served the cake, Thea noticed a slight tremble in her hands, nothing severe enough to spill the beverage, but still more nerves than a parlour maid should show. Judging by her face, she appeared to be around thirty years old, meaning that she had probably been in service for at least fifteen years and was far too experienced to be anxious, even around guests.

Clearly the staff were just as worried about recent events as everyone else. And considering that one of their own had been
a victim, she couldn’t blame them.

The maid was dismissed and Thea sipped her tea as she watched their host talking to her father.

She wasn’t sure what to make of Cole yet but she found herself warming to him, which was rather unlike her. It wasn’t that she didn’t like people, just that she didn’t understand them; they were unpredictable and that made her wary, especially around strangers.

Being a woman, she had needed to learn how to defend and prove her intellect since she was small but even in the face of ample evidence, many were inclined to dismiss her, some even becoming hostile. Not Cole though, he had seemed pleased with her powers of observation so far, and had the good manners to apologise for his father’s behaviour, which was far more in keeping with the reactions she was used to. 

She would be lying if she said that she didn’t also find him handsome. His hair was a very light chestnut shade, perhaps longer than was strictly fashionable, and slicked back from his forehead. His jaw was strong and square, while his eyes, which occasionally twinkled and hinted at a merry disposition, softened his strong features.

His well-tailored suit drew attention to wide shoulders and a narrow waist, but his clothes weren’t ostentatious. Even his waistcoat and cravat were w
ithout a pattern, which was the fashion, although they were a charcoal black and made of silk, slightly differentiating them from the midnight black jacket and trousers.

His lips were unusually full for a man and as he sipped his tea, she wondered what they would feel like to kiss.

The idea made her blush and she quickly redirected her thoughts. It didn’t matter how appealing she found him, she didn’t expect him to feel the same. All the men who had shown an interest in her, had soon tired of her superior intellect.

In the past she had been tempted to hide that side of herself but her parents had realised and pointed out that the rest of her life would be a lie, and no one was worth living a lie for. Her mother, who also had a gifted intellect, explained
that any man who got his self worth by comparing himself to others would never truly be happy, because there would always be someone better. No one could excel in all things.

She needed to find someone who appreciated and respected her intellect, they
told her, rather than feeling threatened by it. Someone like her father, who was still awed by his wife and enjoyed watching her exercise her talents and sought to nurture them, rather than resenting them.

Unfortunately, men like her father seemed to be few and far between. Two gentlemen had even asked for her hand in marriage but both engagements had ended in tears. Her parents had insisted on a long betrothal in both cases and after six months and four months respectively, both gentleman had called a halt to proceedings. They s
aid that she looked down on them, that she laughed at them, that they felt insecure around her.

She didn’t look down on anyone, indeed she envied many people, especially those for whom socialising seemed to come easily. She tried to never laugh at anyone, preferring to laugh with them, but she did love to laugh. Life was short, her parents were fond of reminding her, and as much enjoyment as possibl
e should be squeezed from every moment, even the sad ones.

She didn’t understand their insecurity
, since she usually held her tongue unless an error was glaringly obvious. She didn’t like being lied to however; she felt that it was a grievous insult to her intellect, to believe that she was incapable of spotting the inconsistencies, but it seemed that many people preferred to tell an easy lie rather than a more complex truth.

At twenty four, she was almost too old for marriage but with a bit of distance, and time to heal her wounded heart, she could see now that neither match would have made her happy. Her parents had been right to insist on a long engagement
, because it was better to realise your mistake before marriage than after it. That was small comfort when your heart was breaking from the sting of rejection, but she always did her best to count her blessings, even at her lowest points.

She was almost resigned to remaining a spinster
now and even although she envied her parents their intimacy, she knew that it would be better to remain a free spinster, than enter into an unhappy marriage.

Her younger
sister, Joan, couldn’t understand that mind set at all and although she was only twelve, was already planning her future with an unknown husband. She was the most foolish of all her siblings but when mixing with others, Joan had the talent for easily making and keeping friends.

Sometimes Thea wondered if she would be happier with less intelligence; ignorance was supposed to be bliss, after all. Alas, the cards had been dealt and there was no way to shut her mind off easily, all she could do was sometimes redirect her line of thought, which she now did, since the idea of being rejected by Cole was giving her pangs of regret.

“Who else stays in the house?” she asked Cole as there was a lull in conversation.

“You mean family?”

She nodded.

“You met my father, of course, his wife is Selena, and they have two daughters. As for serv
ants, I believe we have in the region of twenty usually, but I’m not certain how many guests brought lady’s maids and valets with them. The outdoor staff live over the stables, although they take their meals with the others in the servants’ dining hall.”

“I’ll ask the butler and housekeeper for a list of names and exact numbers,” she assured him.

“The house seems quiet for so many visitors,” her father noted.

“Indeed. Selena seems to think that sunlight repels bad spirits and has been arranging as many outdoor activities as she can. The fact that nothing has happened during daylight hours
seems to suggest that they would be just as safe inside the house as outside, and we would be better served to spend the evenings out there, rather than the days.”

“If one believed in spirits, then yes, that would be far more logical,” Thea agreed.

“You said that your step-mother had hired a mystic?” Copley asked.

“Indeed,
a spiritualist,” Cole said with barely concealed contempt. “She arrives tomorrow apparently. It was at that point that I wrote asking for your assistance.”

“Where did she find such a person?” her father asked.

“Newspapers,” she answered for Cole. “I know you never check the classified section, Papa, but there is often an advertisement or two in there for things such as clairvoyants, faith healers, tarot card readers and astrologers, especially in the London publications.”

“Truly?”

“Oh yes. There’s a lot of information there; items for sale from furniture to houses, and a lot of services that might not be encountered in daily life, such as psychics and spiritualists. The classified pages are fascinating, really, a tiny glimpse into the lives of others.”

Her father turned to Cole. “Is that where this mystic comes from?”

“I believe it was a friend of a friend recommendation. Honestly, I haven’t paid much attention to the details.”