British Manor Murder (3 page)

Harold hopped out and was greeted by a stout man wearing an apron, who clapped him on the back and led him inside. Lucy and Sue waited in the Land Rover. A couple of young assistants, also in aprons, barely acknowledged them as they began loading various and sundry products into the car. First, several bags of smelly fertilizer were tucked in next to Sue's suitcases. An enormous bag of chicken feed was arranged on top of Lucy's suitcase, and a huge bale of wood shavings wrapped in plastic was added to the pile. The final items were two boxes of adorable fuzzy yellow, chirping chicks, which Lucy and Sue were requested to hold in their laps.

“Everybody comfortable?” asked Harold, taking his seat behind the wheel.

“We're okay,” said Lucy, uncomfortably aware of the bale of wood chips right behind her head.

“I meant the chicks,” said Harold.

Sue lifted a flap, peered into the box, and studied the tiny balls of yellow fluff. “They seem to be all right,” she said somewhat skeptically. “They've kind of hunkered down. I think they're sleeping.”

“That's good,” said Harold as the Land Rover lurched forward and crossed the yard to the gate. He suddenly slammed on the brakes when confronted with a delivery truck attempting to enter. The bale of wood chips slid forward, knocking Lucy in the head before bursting open and showering them all. The jolt wakened the chicks, who were all peeping frantically.

“The chicks!” exclaimed Harold, backing up to let the truck enter.

Lucy and Sue checked, discovering no harm had been done to the baby birds, who were flapping their tiny little winglets and settling themselves.

“They're fine,” said Sue.

Lucy was tilting her head from side to side, stretching her neck to check for whiplash.

“No harm done, then,” said Harold, shifting into drive and exiting through the gateway.

Lucy and Sue were still picking wood chips out of their hair when he turned through a pair of massive stone piers, each topped with a carved stone lion.

“Moreton Manor,” announced Harold as they proceeded along a drive lined with leafy trees.

In the rather long grass beneath the trees, Lucy noticed dots of blue flowers. “Are those bluebells?”

“Indeed they are,” said Harold. “Moreton is famous for its bluebells. People come from miles around.”

“I can't wait to see them,” said Lucy.

The Land Rover suddenly swerved round a bend, continued past a circular lawn with a fountain, and came to a halt in front of a massive stone building. “Welcome to Moreton,” said Harold, hopping out.

Lucy gazed at the enormous stately home, which loomed high above them like a castle from a fairy tale. Dotted with ferocious gargoyles, the stone walls were punctuated with numerous arched and many-paned windows, including an ornate conservatory. In the morning sunlight, the stone walls took on a golden glow. The steep slate roof was topped with several pointed towers, each ending in a massive spike that threatened to pierce the clouds.

Lucy and Sue carefully set the boxes of chicks on the car seat, then stepped out of the car onto the graveled area in front of the stately home. They found themselves confronted with an impressive stone staircase that led to a rather forbidding set of double doors studded with black iron nail heads and strapped with elaborately curved hinges. Two crenellated towers stood on either side of the staircase.

While they stared in awe at the huge castle, Harold busied himself extracting their suitcases from beneath the heavy sacks of feed and fertilizer. Finally setting the baggage beside them, he said a quick farewell and drove off, leaving them wondering what to do. Should they climb the staircase to that forbidding door? Was there some other, more accessible entrance?

“I see only one doorway.” Sue started up the steps, awkwardly pulling the oversized roller bag that contained her precious hats.

“There must be a doorbell or something up there,” said Lucy. Pulling both of the smaller carry-on bags up the steps made her rather out of breath.

“I hope so,” said Sue. “I wonder where Perry is.”

“I'm down here!”

They turned and looked down to the bottom of the stairs where the earl was standing, hands on hips, looking up at them. He was dressed casually in a sweater and jeans, and his rather long hair was loosely combed behind his ears.

Taking in his slim build, rather like Mick Jagger's, Lucy thought of the adage that you couldn't be too rich or too thin.

“Come on down!” he yelled, grinning and sounding like a game-show host.

Getting down the stairs proved somewhat more difficult than going up, and Perry scampered up the stairs to help them with the suitcases. When they were all safe on the ground, he escorted them around the side of the staircase where a narrow opening led to a ground-level entrance beneath the stairs. “This is the easiest way in when you've got luggage,” he explained.

When Lucy's eyes got used to the darkness, she noticed the entrance was dimly lit by an ancient filament lightbulb.

They followed Perry down a short ramp to a door, which he held open for them, allowing them to step inside. There, they found themselves in a narrow passage with a worn linoleum floor. The hallway was lined with doors and lit with a series of pendant fixtures that looked as if they were the latest technology in 1910.

“This is beneath the main house, which is open to the public,” said Perry, doing a neat little dance in the tight space to get around them and their suitcases. “We live in an outbuilding we've had modernized. It's all connected by this underground tunnel. If I take this big boy, can you manage your cases and follow me?”

“No problem,” said Lucy.

“I must apologize, but the staff these days are mostly involved with the visitors. My grandfather had a staff of eighty and never had to carry a suitcase or even get a cup of tea. We have over three hundred, but there's never anybody around when we need a hand.”

“Lucy and I are used to fending for ourselves,” said Sue as she trotted along behind Perry. “I do want to thank you for inviting us.”

“Me, too,” said Lucy. “This is a real treat.”

“I do hope so,” said Perry. “I'm so glad you could come.”

“I wouldn't miss your hat show for the world,” said Sue.

“I'm especially eager to see those Lily Dache hats you've brought—”

“Perry! Perry! The general's fallen!” called a woman, suddenly interrupting.

They all stopped in their tracks and turned around to face the woman who was running along the passage toward them, frantically hailing the earl.

“Is he hurt?” he asked as she drew closer.

“I'm afraid so,” said the woman. “I think he may be beyond help.”

Chapter Three

“O
h d-d-dear,” stammered Perry, whose face had gone quite white. “Not the general. This is terrible, and what bad timing. . . .”

“I really need you to come,” said the woman, who Lucy thought bore a strong resemblance to Perry. She was obviously upset and seemed to be physically struggling against the desire to grab Perry and drag him away.

“Of course, of course.” Perry was once again doing his little dance around Lucy and Sue and the suitcases. “Duty calls,” he told them, “but if you continue on just a little way, through that door, you'll find yourselves in the family kitchen. Sally should be there and she can show you to your rooms. I must apologize.”

“No need,” said Sue. “This is an emergency and you're needed elsewhere.”

“I'll get back to you as soon as I can,” he promised, before dashing away along the passage and following the woman.

“That sounded bad,” said Lucy, fearing the worst as they resumed their trek. “I hope the general's all right.”

“They did seem awfully upset,” said Sue.

“I wonder if the general is a relative, perhaps an elderly uncle or something.”

“Old people do tend to fall a lot.”

“And they break their hips,” added Lucy. “Wouldn't that be an awful beginning to our visit?”

“Definitely not optimal,” agreed Sue as they reached the door at the end of the corridor. She reached for the knob, which turned easily, and opened it, blinking a bit at the bright sunshine that was a sudden contrast to the dimly lit hallway.

The two friends stepped inside and looked around, discovering a room that a shelter magazine would label a great room—a combination dream kitchen and cozy family room. The cabinets were obviously custom, the stainless steel refrigerator had double doors and was at least six-feet wide, the countertops were marble, the floor was stone, and a huge cream-colored Aga stove stood in a repurposed fireplace. Noticing the large pine dresser crammed with blue and white china, Lucy practically swooned.

Beyond the kitchen area was a comfortable seating area where two large sofas and several easy chairs covered in flowery chintz were arranged so that sitters could choose to view the fireplace, the flat-screen TV, or the paved terrace outside the large French doors. A number of throws and assorted pillows were arranged on the furniture, promising complete ease and relaxation. Two large labs, one black and one yellow, were sprawled on the sofas, taking full advantage of the arrangement.

“Wow,” said Sue. “I didn't expect this.”

“We're not at Downton Abbey, that's for sure,” said Lucy. “Mrs. Patmore would kill for this kitchen.”

“There's no Mrs. Patmore, and not even poor overworked little Daisy,” said Sue. “Or Sally, for that matter.”

Waking from their naps, the dogs yawned then set their eyes on the two intruders. Eager to pet them, Lucy approached the nearest, the yellow dog, but stopped in her tracks when the dog fixed his eyes on her and began growling.

“Not friendly,” she said, retreating a few steps. When the black Lab also curled up its lip and growled, she decided discretion was the better part of valor and scurried over to the kitchen area where she joined Sue behind the large island. “What should we do?”

“Those dogs are making me nervous,” said Sue, who was not an animal lover.

“I don't like the look of them, either. We can't stay here.” Lucy was beginning to think the trip was a mistake.

“Maybe we can help Perry with the general,” said Sue.

“What can we do? How can we help?” asked Lucy.

“Well, I just took a CPR course,” said Sue.

“Good to know,” muttered Lucy as they left the kitchen and retraced their steps along the passageway.

“I bet this was the downstairs where the servants toiled away,” said Lucy, thinking how horrible it would be to work all day in the poorly-lit subterranean tunnel.

“Did you notice the bells in the kitchen?” asked Sue. “They were over the doorway. There were a bunch of them, all labeled. D
RAWING
R
OOM
, H
IS
L
ORDSHIP
, H
ER
L
ADYSHIP
, N
URSERY
, and lots more.” She stopped walking and squeezed Lucy's arm. “Can you believe it, Lucy? Here we are in an English country house, honored guests, for all the world like Lady Susan and Lady Lucy. It makes me wish for a big hat with plumes and a skirt with a bustle.”

“I suspect that back then we'd be wearing black dresses and white aprons,” said Lucy, glumly realistic. “And the plumes would be on our feather dusters instead of our hats.”

“You're probably right,” admitted Sue, resuming the hike along the passage. “But a girl can dream.”

After passing through the door to the passage beneath the manor house, they continued on a short distance to a cellar where they encountered a utilitarian stone staircase with a plain black metal railing.

“Shall we?” asked Sue.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” grumbled Lucy, mounting the stairs.

Reaching the door at the top of the stairs, they paused to read the framed notice listing rules for servants, which were printed in black boldface on paper card that had yellowed with age.

 

 

“I imagine they've kept this as a sort of joke,” said Sue.

“I hope so. Otherwise it would be very hard to retain staff these days,” said Lucy, pushing open the door and revealing a space so large and grand that it caused them to gasp in awe. Craning their necks, they saw, high above them, a blue sky dotted with puffy clouds upon which perched numerous scantily clad pink-fleshed ladies and gentlemen of ample girth. Around them fluttered dozens of plump little cherubs, some playing musical instruments and others equipped with bows and arrows.

“I'd like to do something like this in my bathroom,” quipped Sue, waving a hand toward the ceiling.

“I'm thinking of upgrading my back stairway,” said Lucy, comparing the cramped little flight of wooden steps in her kitchen to the enormous marble staircase that dominated the magnificent hall. She continued to let her gaze wander around the huge room, which she decided must be the reception area approached by the massive flight of stone stairs they'd attempted to climb when they were dropped off outside the manor. This was the room that would greet visitors to the great house. Its grandiose size and luxurious furnishings were intended to impress. Huge bronze consoles with colorful marble tops stood on either side of the doorway and an assortment of polished white marble statues and busts were arranged along the paneled walls. Hanging behind the statues were many large, full-length portraits of gorgeously gowned women and bewigged men in satin knee breeches, often wearing crimson and ermine robes.

One of these portraits had fallen and was being examined by Perry and the woman who'd summoned him earlier. The painting was easily ten or more feet tall with a massive carved gilt frame, which was smashed to bits. The canvas was also torn, but the figure of a bewigged gentleman in a red coat astride a prancing white horse was undamaged.

“This is going to cost a mint,” said the woman, shaking her head and sounding very glum.

“That's the least of it. We've got to get this all cleared up before the house opens at ten,” said Perry, scratching his chin. He looked up and caught sight of Lucy and Sue. “Oh, do forgive me,” he exclaimed. “I've neglected you. Let me introduce you to my sister, Lady Philippa Maddox. These are my friends from New England, Sue Finch and Lucy Stone.”

“We've been expecting you,” said Lady Philippa. She looked like a smaller, feminine version of Perry, with frizzy blond hair and bright blue eyes. She was dressed in beige slacks, a much-washed blue cashmere sweater, and a string of pearls. On her feet, she was sporting a pair of bright neon-green running shoes. “Do call me Poppy. Everyone does.”

“So this is the general?” asked Lucy.

“Yes,” said Poppy. “Rather like Humpty Dumpty. he took a great fall and it's going to take an awful lot of money to put him together again.”

“We were worried he was a person, perhaps even a relative,” said Sue. “I took a CPR course and we thought perhaps we could help.”

“Only if CPR is short for art restorer,” said Perry.

“I'm afraid not,” admitted Sue. “Who is he? An ancestor?”

“No, he was a gift, presented to the eighth earl by the subject himself, General Horatio Hoare,” said Poppy.

“A horrible fellow, by all accounts. He was killed in Canada in the Seven Years War and they sent his body home in a barrel of rum,” said Perry. “People at the time said he came home in much better spirits than he left.”

“But he was terribly fond of the eighth earl,” said Poppy.

“Extremely fond, they say,” said Perry, with a raised eyebrow. “He promised that so long as his painting was on the wall no harm would come to Moreton Manor.”

“Or you could say he jinxed the place,” said Poppy. “Take down my picture and I'll make you sorry. Now that it's fallen, I guess we can expect a run of bad luck.”

“That's just a lot of nonsense. An old wives' tale,” said Perry.

“Remember what happened the last time it came down?” said Poppy gloomily.

“Never mind about that,” replied Perry. “It was a long time ago.”

“Well, I'd better make arrangements to have the staff tidy up. We can't have the visitors stepping over bits of frame.” Poppy bit her lip. “I wish I could be as confident as you are,” she said to Perry. “I have a rather bad feeling about this.”

“What happened the last time the general fell down?” asked Lucy as they all retraced their steps on the long passage to the kitchen. The servants must have done this dozens of times every day, she thought, noticing the worn linoleum.

“The ninth earl's countess was found dead at the bottom of that big staircase in the hall,” said Perry.

“That would be a terrible fall,” said Lucy.

“It was never determined if it was an accident or suicide or foul play,” said Perry. “There were lots of rumors, of course.”

“The earl married his mistress in what was considered at the time to be indecent haste,” said Poppy. “The king banned the earl from court for several years.”

“But there was no trial or investigation?” asked Lucy.

“Not back then,” scoffed Perry. “He was an earl and only the king had any power to touch him.”

“Even the king had to be careful of upsetting the nobles,” said Poppy. “Think of Magna Carta.”

“And Charles I,” volunteered Lucy.

“Point taken, but I think it was actually Parliament that beheaded him, though to be fair, back in those days even the Commons was mostly titled gentlemen,” said Perry. “His son Charles II stayed here for a night or two on his way to safe haven in the Scilly Islands, you know.”

“It must be wonderful living in a house with so much history,” said Sue.

“It's more like living in a museum now that the house is open to the public. We're the exhibits,” said Perry. “Somewhat tarnished relics of England's glorious past, now on our last legs and forced to display our aristocratic heritage for ten pounds a head.”

“Don't listen to him,” advised Poppy. “The Heads Up! Hat Festival was his idea to attract more visitors to the house.”

“Plagued by guilt, Poppy dear. You've been working so hard, managing this three-ring-circus.”

“It's a business, Perry. Just a business like any other.”

“And you do have a terrific head for business,” said Perry as they finally reached the door to the kitchen. He opened the door and held it for them, adding a little bow and a flourish.

They entered, discovering Sally was in place, hanging towels on a wooden drying rack in front of the Aga stove. The rack was suspended on a system of ropes and pulleys and could be lowered for easy access, then raised up to the high ceiling where it would be out of the way.

“What is that fabulous thing?” asked Lucy, who wanted one for her kitchen.

“A Sheila-Maid.” Sally had curly red hair and lots of freckles. She was not wearing a servant's uniform but was sporting a tight pair of jeans and an equally tight striped pullover with a scoop neck that revealed a rose tattoo on her left breast.

“I wonder if I can get a Sheila-Maid in the States,” said Lucy.

“You can get just about anything on the Internet, but I inherited my hats from Gramma. Do you want to see them?” Sue asked, indicating her enormous suitcase, which she'd left beside the door.

“Oh, yes!” enthused Perry, bounding across the room.

She unzipped the case entirely filled with two hatboxes, one large and one small. She opened the smaller one first and lifted out a cloche entirely covered with pink silk flowers, green velvet leaves, and the occasional crystal dewdrop.