The Maelstrom Mystery

By Alex Binney

Bloody murders at Holcombe Manor in 1885 leave the police baffled. The entire family, except one young man, Horatio Henderson, who has disappeared, has been killed. Perhaps Horatio is the culprit? Except that he has no motive. And that’s the problem: there seems to be no motive for anyone to have committed the murders.

With no one to inherit the estate except the missing Horatio, the executors are left with a problem until, five years later, a young woman turns up from Australia claiming the estate.

And then she is murdered too, and there is still no sign of Horatio.

At last the police have a clue. A suspect is arrested, tried, convicted, and hanged.

But was he guilty? Or were the police sucked into a maelstrom of misinformation?

Seventy-five years later, history repeats itself. An entire family at Holcombe Manor is murdered as they sleep, and the killings seem as motiveless as the original horrific murders. Perhaps, this time, the police will learn the lessons of the past and identify the real killer.

Or perhaps not.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Strict Publishing International
• Release date: Jul 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9780857792990

Alex Binney

Alex is a well established English author of murder mystery novels. He took early retirement as a manager from a major UK bank to pursue his first love of writing murder mysteries. Over the years he has devised numerous plots which he did not have chance to bring to his readership whilst pursuing his bank career. Divorced, he lives in Plymouth, Devon, UK, and you can correspond with him on Facebook.

Book preview

THE MAELSTROM MYSTERY

by Alex Binney

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Alex Binney

Published by Strict Publishing International

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Maelstrom

Definition:

1. A powerful whirlpool often hazardous to approach.

2. A tumultuous state of affairs.

3. A powerful current off the NW coast of Norway.

Metaphorically:

A circumstance so irresistible,

it sucks one in,

no matter how much one resists…

Perfection

I can do anything that I please

Everyone admires me – that’s no tease

Everything I touch just turns to gold

No one can faze me – young or old

I was put on this earth to set the pace

I’ll always win whatever the race

Mere mortals have tried very hard to compete

Their endeavours have failed their expectations to meet

Why must it be that I carry this yoke

To put up with people who are beyond a joke?

They must surely see that without a doubt

That I’m just incredible: they’re not worth a clout

So I must follow these pointless pursuits

To find someone worthy to clean my boots

It’s a task that I relish – it makes me feel good

I feel my perfection – that’s understood

I’m not bragging, just stating the facts

Don’t be upset, just try to relax

Accept in your mind that I’m simply the best

No one on earth is up to the test

It’s time, I must go now. I cannot tarry,

Pallbearers are waiting my coffin to carry

This honour they have – they know they are blessed

Conveying perfection to eternal rest.

BOOK ONE

The Tragedy At Holcombe Manor

Chapter One: The Disappearing Act

Thursday 23rd April, 1885. 10.30 a.m.

It was a gruesome sight that faced Detective Inspector Humphrey Stuttart.

His colleague, Detective Sergeant Victor Hambro, had not been able to stomach the scene and had rushed outside to throw up. When he had taken sufficient time to recover, he had forced himself back inside the Georgian-built manor house on the outskirts of the Notting Hill area, seeking out his senior officer.

By then, the inspector had advanced to one of the bedrooms. When Hambro found him, he was leaning over the body of an eighteen-year-old female who had been shot where she slept.

Didn’t stand a chance, uttered Stuttart. Five bodies in all. We’re missing one.

Missing one? queried Hambro.

Yes. In one of the bedrooms. Not slept in. But all indications are that it was normally occupied at night. Not so, on this occasion, however. How is the police surgeon doing?

I haven’t checked yet, sir.

Stuttart gave him a disparaging look. Do so, will you? I want to look around the rest of the house.

There were six bedrooms on the first floor and three bathrooms with toilets in them. In five of the bedrooms were the bodies. Four of the victims had had their throats cut whilst they slept, but the last body, which the inspector had been examining, had been the result of a gunshot wound. Stuttart put this down to the fact that the eighteen-year-old may have woken up before the same thing had happened to her as had the rest of the family and, rather than wrestle with her, the killer simply shot her where she lay.

He had seen enough of the first floor and, having already viewed the vacant guest accommodation on the third floor, Stuttart walked down the stairs to where the butler, Raymond Wilkinson, was standing as he watched various police officers and lab technicians explore every inch of the house.

Take me to the servants’ quarters, Stuttart demanded of him.

Wilkinson nodded and led the inspector to the entrance hall and thence down a flight of stairs that took them to the lower floor where the servant accommodation was situated.

How many live in? Stuttart asked the butler.

Five of us, sir. Me, the chief cook, the scullery maid, the cleaner and the seamstress.

Seamstress? queried the inspector.

Yes, sir. She makes custom clothing for the women of the house, of which there are three, as you will have seen. She designs and makes dresses, blouses and evening gowns for them, amongst other things, and also acts as a personal maid to all of them. Miss Mayberry is well-regarded by the family, and they always want her on hand.

Stuttart noticed that the butler was referring to the family in the present tense and had not yet reconciled himself to the fact that they were no longer with them.

The other servants were not currently in occupation on this floor at this time, having been told to assemble in the kitchen area while the detectives and their support staff explored the entire building. The servants’ living accommodation was the last thing for Stuttart to examine.

He was looking in particular for a gun or a bloodied knife, in the event that any of the serving staff had been involved in the murders, but found neither when he had a cursory look around the rooms in the basement; not that it did not mean they were not there, somewhere. He would ensure the uniformed lads had a thorough look around before he allowed the servants to return.

Having satisfied himself that there was nothing further to look at in the various accommodation afforded to the serving staff, Stuttart asked the butler to accompany him to the owner’s study where he intended to question him.

On his way there, he encountered his sergeant, Hambro, who reported that he had spoken to the police surgeon who confirmed that four of the adults had died from haemorrhaging through severed jugular veins and carotid arteries, and that one had been killed with a single shot to the forehead.

Thank you, Sergeant. Make sure the lads explore the grounds for any evidence of a break-in, and take plaster casts of any footprints you discover outside the house that may belong to the assailant.

Yes, sir. What about the servants in the kitchen?

Tell them to be patient. I should be with them in approximately one quarter of an hour.

After that brief conversation, the butler and the inspector found themselves sitting on opposite sides of the desk in the study.

Raymond Wilkinson was forty years of age and had previously been an aide-servant to Admiral Sir William Henderson who had retired from active service some years past, having been one of the officers detailed to a variety of places in the mid- nineteenth century, with the intent to prevent piracy on the high seas.

Where most of the officers typically came from the upper class, it was not unusual for a former aide-servant to follow the officer later into civilian life as a domestic servant.

Having been present with Sir William at many an engagement with pirates who were determined to loot vulnerable ports abroad that were under the protection of her majesty Queen Victoria, as part of her Empire, he was invited to join the Admiral’s household when he eventually retired from the Navy, which Wilkinson had been glad to accept. After initially taking up the position of footman, he eventually succeeded to the post of butler when the previous occupier of that position retired at the age of seventy.

How sad it now was that, some years later, he was being faced with a police officer concerning his master’s murder.

Wilkinson was immaculately dressed in his butler’s uniform, not a hair of his greying brown hair out of place, with his blue-green eyes reflecting the tragedy. Unmarried, he had remained faithful to the family, his only source of amusement being invited to play an occasional round of golf with Sir William, when invited, on his private nine-hole course located on the northern boundary of the estate.

Stuttart had taken out his Meerschaum pipe and filled it with his favourite blend of Virginian tobacco, and had then lit up the mixture. This detective from Whitehall was an experienced investigator, having been in the Metropolitan Police’s Detective Branch for several years, avoided the scandal in 1877 when four of its most senior officers were found guilty of serious fraud, and had come out of the resulting mess with his reputation as a detective considerably enhanced by his firm stance that any police corruption was unacceptable. That fact was hardly in doubt, as evidenced by his appointment in the newly formed CID reporting directly to the Home Secretary because of doubts about the senior Metropolitan police officers’ ability to control and supervise detectives properly.

He was five feet ten inches tall, slightly overweight, and wore a bright red tie around his wingback collared shirt. This was regarded as his trademark: whatever the shirt, always the bright red tie. Forty years of age now, he took out his notebook and pencil and looked up at the butler who was sitting patiently in front of him, waiting to be addressed.

All right, Mr. Wilkinson, said the inspector at length, having taken several puffs on his pipe, tell me how you came to discover the bodies.

"Well, sir, I had prepared the breakfast room this morning by 8 a.m. as usual and had placed that morning’s edition of The Times at the head of the table where Sir William sits.

The master normally comes down at 8.15 a.m. sharp and the kitchen staff were standing at the ready, awaiting his appearance. The rest of the family usually appear fifteen minutes or so later. When none of the family had appeared by 8.40 a.m., I naturally became concerned and made my way to the first floor…

Stuttard who was scribbling down notes, interrupted at this point. "Now, Mr. Wilkinson, before you say any more, I want you to think carefully about your next statement. I need you to be precise about what you actually did and state in the correct sequence the actions that you took."

The butler nodded at him in acknowledgement.

"As I was saying, when the clock was showing 8.40 a.m. in the breakfast room and none of the family had yet made an appearance, I made my way up the main staircase to the first floor where the family’s bedrooms are located. The guest bedrooms are on the third floor, as you now know, and there are no guests staying at the present time.

None of the bedroom doors was open when I got there, so I made my way to the master’s bedroom first of all and knocked on the door…

Sir William and Lady Millicent slept in separate rooms?

Yes, sir. Apparently Sir William suffered from acute rhinitis, which resulted in him snoring rather loudly when he was asleep. As a result, he and Lady Millicent had ‘an understanding’ regarding their sleeping arrangements. It also proved more acceptable to them on account of the master being an early riser, so that he did not disturb his wife when he rose at 6 a.m.

Yet you said he did not normally turn up for his breakfast until 8.15 a.m.?

That’s right, sir. After Sir William had attended to his toiletries, he liked to take a walk around his estate. That way, he could see if anything needed to be attended to, so that he could alert his groundsman.

The groundsman – who is he?

That would be old Walter, sir. Walter Burns. He lives in the lodge at the entrance to the estate.

I see… Carry on.

"When I arrived at the master’s bedroom, I knocked on the door, to enquire whether he was going to be further delayed for breakfast or whether he had chosen to skip it altogether. When I received no response, I knocked on the door again, only this time a lot louder – and also I called out his name. When I still received no response, it occurred to me he might be in one of the bathrooms, so I wandered further along to investigate. When I arrived at the location, all three bathroom doors were open – and unoccupied. I was somewhat stumped as to what to do next. I returned to Sir William’s bedroom door again and gave it a good bashing. Still I could get no response. I decided to grasp the nettle and opened the door. Imagine my surprise when I was confronted by the scene that you have recently witnessed.

I was horror struck. My first thought was to advise Lady Millicent. I knocked on her door and received no response. I felt I couldn’t stand on ceremony, and pushed open her door. When I saw she was in the same state – I panicked. I immediately ran along the entire floor, opening all the doors. God, what an horrific sight. All of them dead…

What about the sixth bedroom? Who occupied that one, normally?

That would have been Sir William’s son, Horatio.

Horatio? Tell me about him. How old is he?

He’s twenty years old, sir, and is currently studying for his Theology degree at Oxford University. He intends entering the priesthood.

So why was his bed not slept in?

He came home for Easter as usual this year, which was April 3rd, if you calculate it starting on Good Friday, and only returned yesterday for the summer term.

That’s a bit early, is it not?

Not really, sir. The university broke up for Easter on the 27th March and the new term is scheduled to commence this coming Monday, 27th April. The young master wanted to return a few days before the term began, in order to settle back into things.

I see. So when did he leave here, exactly?

A hansom picked him up at 9.30 a.m. yesterday to take him to the railway station, sir.

Well, someone’s going to have to drag him back here, I’m afraid. It will not be a pleasant experience for him. What college is he attending?

Trinity College, sir.

Okay, I’ll get someone to contact him and bring him back here. I’ve only had the briefest of words myself with the police surgeon upstairs when I first arrived, but on inspecting the first of the two bodies he tells me that it looks like the times of death were around about 1 a.m. Now, did you or any of the other staff hear anything last night, particularly in the small hours?

No, sir. Not as far as I know. Leastways, no one has told me they did. Mind you, we’re two floors down from our employer’s sleeping quarters, sir, and the walls in the mansion are pretty thick.

Yes, I know. But one of the victims was shot.

Even so, sir, I don’t think any of us would have heard it if we were fast asleep and it was only one shot.

Who said it was a single shot?

You forget, sir, I was with you just now when your sergeant made his brief report to you about his conversation with the police surgeon.

Of course you were. Stuttart paused for a moment as he gazed at his notes and took a long drag on his pipe. He ran a finger across his bushy moustache before asking, Tell me what happened last evening before you retired for the night.

Wilkinson himself now paused for thought before saying, After Sir William and the rest of the family had dined last night, I supervised the clearance of the dining room of all dirty dishes, linen, and made sure the room was returned to its normal pristine state. The serving staff and the kitchen staff took care of the washing up and any laundry that needed attending to.

What about the family? What did they do after they had dined?

Sir William always retired to his study for the rest of the evening after saying goodnight to everyone, and Lady Millicent always retired early to her bedroom. The two daughters, Lavinia and Virginia, would retire to the music room usually for a gossip and to practise on their instruments. The elderly gentleman always retired to his bedroom after he had dined.

Elderly gentleman?

Sir Robert Henderson, Sir William’s father, sir. He’s always referred to as ‘the elderly gentleman’ by the family. Apparently, the old boy detested being addressed as ‘grandfather’, and he objected to anyone calling him by his first name.

Sounds like he was a bit cantankerous, observed Stuttart.

That’s not for me to say, sir, was Wilkinson’s diplomatic response.

What time did the family finish dining?

Nine-thirty as a rule. They would sit down for their dinner at 7 p.m. sharp, and would normally finish their five courses at around nine p.m. Then after the port had been passed around, the party would normally break up at around half of an hour later.

I see. Now tell me about the movements of the servants at that time of night.

Apart from me, the chief cook, the scullery maid, the cleaner and the seamstress, all other servants returned to their homes at ten p.m. sharp after they had finished off their various duties.

And the rest of you?

I don’t know what Miss Mayberry got up to; she is a law unto herself. She would have been with one of the ladies, most likely Lady Millicent, if the daughters did not require her services. You’ll have to ask her, I’m afraid.

The scullery maid?

Jessica? She’s engaged. She went out last night to see her fiancé. I don’t know what time she came home. The servants’ quarters has its own entrance and we each have our own separate key. That’s why that entrance is always kept locked, to ensure that no unwanted visitors can enter the property through that door.

So that leaves you, the chief cook and the cleaner.

That’s right, sir. You’ve seen the communal lounge area we share. Me and Georgie – that’s the cook – usually play rummy together until it’s time to retire, as we did last night. Beatie usually likes to be knitting something. I think she’s on a cardigan at the moment.

Stuttart forced a smile. Happy families, eh? So tell me some gossip.

Gossip, sir?

Stuttart gave Wilkinson a piercing stare. Yes, gossip. There’s these machines you can look into at fairs when they come around which carry cheeky pictures. The machines have a name. They are called ‘What the butler saw’. How do you think they came about? Well, I’ll tell you: you guys in your position are deemed to know everything that’s going on in your master’s household. So, Wilkinson, tell me some gossip…

The butler looked flummoxed. I really don’t know what you want me to say, sir.

Oh, come on, Wilkie, my boy, insisted the inspector, "there’s no point in hiding behind misguided loyalty. All the family members are dead. They are not going to object if you let any of the family secrets out of the closet, are they? We are looking at five homicides here, in case you haven’t noticed. And you for one, Mr. Wilkinson, don’t seem to be too shocked by it."

"I’m sorry if it seems that way, sir. I am shocked in my own way, but I’ve seen worse when I was serving with Sir William when we were accosting the pirates."

All right, Mr. Wilkinson, I concede that must have been pretty horrific too. But look, if it makes it easier, let’s focus on each member of the family individually, shall we? Let’s start with Commander Sir William Henderson.

Sir William and I go back a long way. I first met him back in ’66 when I was just an able seaman…

"Let me stop you there. I don’t want a history lesson, Wilkinson. I told you, I’m looking for gossip. Someone has wiped out this entire family. Robbery wasn’t the motive, as far as we can tell. Therefore it follows the reason for the killings is one of revenge or pure hatred of the family. If it’s revenge, then it is in payment for something so heinous to the killer that he saw no other form of retribution suitable than that which we have just witnessed. If it’s hatred, then it’s a deep-seated, intense dislike of the family that has caused this, and must have been brought about by actions that certain members of the family took collectively, in order that all of the family were deemed to be culpable and should pay for such action or actions with their lives. Now, I would ask you again, what have you heard or learnt in recent times –whether by loose gossip or by anything that you have witnessed – which may have caused someone or some persons to want to see Sir William and his family dead?"

Wilkinson looked hesitant. I know nothing of his business affairs, sir. So if there is any source of conflict from that particular area, I am ignorant of it. If I eliminate family, then the only falling out that Sir William had, that I am aware of, is with Lord Rumsley.

Stuttart looked interested. What was this falling out with Lord Rumsley all about?

I don’t know the detail, sir, but I’ve heard the master letting off steam to Lady Millicent about it over the breakfast table from time to time. It was – or is – about some land that borders both estates. Sir William reckons it belongs to him and Lord Rumsley says it is his by right. It would appear that Lord Rumsley keeps trying to fence it off and Sir William keeps tearing it down. I understand the matter is in the hands of solicitors.

I see. You began by saying ‘if I eliminate the family’, which tends to suggest to me that all was not happy in the Henderson camp. Am I right?

Again Wilkinson looked awkward. He seemed to wince when the inspector raised the subject.

There were certain family differences which were in evidence, sir…

Tell me about them.

I don’t think they can be relevant, since all the family members are dead…

You let me be the judge of that. And besides, Master Horatio is still alive…

Yes, but he was at college at the time.

"So it would appear. We have yet to establish that. Now tell me what you know about the family disputes…"

†

It was late afternoon by the time Stuttart had finished questioning the butler and all the servants.

At the end of that time, the inspector and his assistant, Sergeant Victor Hambro had written down enough information to fill a book.

This isn’t going to be easy to solve, sir, is it? Hambro suggested to Stuttart with a generous measure of misgiving.

"The whole thing is a can of worms, reflected the senior man. I’ve always suspected that these people who are at the top of the social tree have a lot of skeletons locked away in their family closet. And it looks like the Hendersons are no different."

Where do we start, sir, that is the question, murmured Hambro.

"That’s easy enough, Sergeant. We start with the only living immediate relative – the son, Horatio."

It’s about time we heard back from our Oxford colleagues, isn’t it, sir?

Yes. I wouldn’t have thought it would have been too hard to track the young man down.

What must we tell the serving staff? asked Hambro.

That’s not our problem, responded Stuttart. When Horatio has been contacted, he will need to immediately contact the family solicitor to enquire about how the servants are to be dealt with – who may be retained and who are to be dismissed. As I said, not our problem…

The two men were sitting in the late commander’s study having a private discussion when they were interrupted by one of the uniformed men.

What is it, Constable? enquired the inspector.

A telegram for you sir.

Stuttart took the item from the officer and dismissed him.

What’s it say? asked Hambro, as the inspector opened the communication.

It’s from Oxford police. They can’t find Horatio. They’ve had a word with the head of Trinity who says he hasn’t yet registered for this term, nor has he arrived at his lodgings. They’ve said they’d let us know when he turns up.

That’s curious, responded the sergeant. Maybe he’s had a secret assignation on his way back to Oxford that he didn’t want to make his parents aware of – or the butler.

Possibly, but in view of what we are currently looking at, this news is somewhat unsettling, I fear…

Should we send our own men in search of him?

Not at this stage. We’d better give it another twenty-four hours to see if he turns up. In the meantime, I shall have another few words with the butler…

†

As I told you at the time, sir, a hansom picked him up at 9.30 a.m. to take him to the railway station.

Wilkinson was quite adamant in his affirmation of the fact.

Whose hansom was it?

"It was one from Henrikson’s Conveyances who are based just off the high street in Notting Hill itself."

Did you know the cabbie?

Yes, sir. It was old Bert Wortley. We’ve had him as the cabbie from that firm on many an occasion.

Thank you, Wilkinson. If we can’t locate the young man, do you know who the family’s solicitors are?

That I do, sir. Cranmer and Godson. Sir Edward Cranmer has been a regular visitor to Holcombe Manor; sometimes he has dined here.

Where are their offices?

In Mayfair somewhere. I have his visiting card in my room.

Would you kindly fetch it for me?

†

Friday, 24th April, 1885. 9a.m.

James Henrikson was working at his desk when the two detectives called upon him.

Bert? Oh, he’s doing the Whitehall run this morning. He may have passed you whilst you were making your way over here.

The cab business owner’s reference was based on the fact that the Yard’s current premises were situated at 4 Whitehall Place.

What’s he look like? asked Stuttart.

Quite tall. Has a birth mark under his left eye.

When the detectives eventually tracked down the cabbie, he was dropping somebody off in Northumberland Street.

Bert Wortley?

That’s me. Who’s askin’?

Inspector Stuttart, Scotland Yard.

How can I help you, Inspector?

I believe you picked up Horatio Henderson at his home two days ago at 9.30 a.m. and dropped him off at Paddington Station. Is that correct?

That’s right, sir. Quite generous with the tip, ’e was.

Did you carry his baggage onto the platform for him?

No, sir. I took it to one of the porters and he assisted the gentleman from there.

How did Mr. Henderson appear to you? Did he look concerned about anything?

No, guv. ’E seemed quite chirpy when ’e got into me conveyance. When we got to the station ’e told me ’e was quite lookin’ forward to goin’ back to college.

†

Later that day, Inspector Stuttart was informed by the Oxford force that they had still been unable to locate one Horatio Henderson.

This is beginning to be look grim, Victor. I had better let the Home Secretary know and make sure the chief super is up to date as well. We’re going to need additional resources on this one, I think.

Do you think the killer followed the young lad and has done him in as well? theorised Hambro.

I haven’t a clue what to think. First, I thought the lad might have been involved in some way with the family murders himself, but if he’s been butchered as well, then we’ve got a completely different scenario on our hands.

The sergeant could see his inspector