The Vicar's Deadly Sin: Lady Jane Bartholomew and Miss Margaret Renard Mysteries, #1

By Miguelina Perez

A Touch of Romance…A Touch of Regency…A Touch of Murder…

Lady Jane Bartholomew and Miss Margaret Renard have been friends since the age of twelve.  Together they share their dreams, hopes and a love for reading.  However, it is their wild imagination and a penchant for solving mysteries that will test their abilities when the Vicar of Dover is found murdered.  

The young ladies are joined by two gentlemen, also eager to find the murderer in order to prove to the ladies that detecting is a man's job, though the gentlemen find their beauty, wit, and pride more troublesome than solving a murder.

The Vicar's Deadly Sin is a delightful and witty Regency romance mystery about two friends and their love for solving crimes, while keeping society and its rules at bay.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Miguelina Perez
• Release date: Jan 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781463551575

Book preview

prologue

September 1815

Dover, England

At half past midnight, the moonless sky hid him as he crossed the cemetery toward the small church. Vane knew the entire town was fast asleep, except for those who used the night for illicit activities.  He smiled.

Once inside the church, he saw his target.  Creeping between the pews, he closed in on the vicar.  Tonight, the church with its protective comfort and arched stained-glass windows could not protect its sole occupant.  That his prey was a man of God made no difference to him.  No mercy would have been shown to Vane had he been the one being stalked.  The town’s vicar had allowed greed to get the best of him and it was up to Vane to prove that he had become weary of those who stood in his way.

The vicar murmured words from the book he was reading.  Vane wanted to laugh at the irony of the man’s mission of bringing people closer to God, and now it was up to him to send the vicar to meet his Maker.

Everything Vane ever wanted, he had worked hard for and would be damned if he handed over his dreams on a silver platter and to a greedy man no less.  The vicar was a fool to think he could blackmail him and get away with it―an unfortunate and fatal error, in fact.  Vane continued to advance and when he was close enough to smell the man’s perspiration, he noticed a small marble statue of the cross.

Sensing him, the vicar lifted his head from the Lord’s book, relaxing a little when he realised Vane had come to discuss his terms.

Oh, hullo. You gave me a fright. You are early, but nonetheless, I’m glad, the vicar said.  Must be getting back to the house, and the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can leave.

Vane slowed his approach, staring at him.  The vicar was a short man with a belly that protruded from his jacket.  He wore a white linen shirt wrinkled from the day’s activities.

You don’t have to be gloomy about this, he added a smirk on his face.  Pay up, and I will keep quiet for a very long time, he promised turning back to the Bible.  Placing a piece of paper to mark the spot he had been working on he slammed the book with a thump.  

The pristine smell of the church sickened Vane.  The vicar’s eyes, reflecting greed, and his demeanour of cockiness were all too much for him.  Picking up the statue of the cross, he studied it for a second.  The cold stone smooth but heavy in his hand. The muscles in his right arm tensed as he tightened his grip, the rock digging into his palm.  Before the vicar turned back to face him, the massive stone came down upon his head. Blood splattering all over including the pulpit.  Pleased, Vane let the statue fall from his hand and watched it land on the floor with barely a chip to it.

Before turning to leave, Vane thought of one final act.  Next to the Bible lay an ornate mother of pearl cross.  With a swift blow, he stuffed the cross into the dead man’s mouth.  Task done, he felt satisfied that all is as it should be.  His father had tried to stop him from his goal and met with the same fate as the vicar.  Their deaths had been necessary.

Chapter 1

The lively bustling of the servants as they prepared for her father’s return did nothing to ease Lady Jane Bartholomew’s disquiet.  Her only consolation—was the anticipated reunion with him on the morrow.  She longed for the moment she could once again stroll by his side, laughing away her cares and concerns. Her father had been absent for a fortnight, and she missed him frightfully.  But for today, she would have to be content with her friend Margaret’s visit later in the afternoon.  Until then, Jane spent a good portion of the morning wrapping small gifts she either bought or made for her father during his absence, knowing well he would be doing the same for her.  She cherished the small tokens he brought her from his travels. She looked at the bracelet she now wore, with its small golden flowers and centred rubies, a gift from Italy.

He had bestowed a similar one on Margaret, but instead of rubies, hers had sapphires—her favourite gemstone.

She and Margaret often were mistaken for sisters.  To her father, Margaret might truly have been his daughter.

During his travels, his sister Adora journeyed from Shropshire to stay with her.  Though she loved her aunt, Jane always counted the days until her father’s return.  She missed the peace and tranquillity of the house.  Having been raised without a mother, she and her father had developed a private routine.  Falling into a comfortable habit, every evening they retired to the drawing room after a light supper to read and talk about the events of the day.

However, unlike her pleasant conversations with her father, her aunt’s incessant gossip quickly became tiresome.

Jane! called Aunt Adora, rushing into the drawing room in a frenzy.

I am here, Aunt, Jane said, rising from the writing desk where she had been wrapping her last gift.

There you are, dearest.  Are you unwell?  I heard you about late in the evening, and for a moment, I thought we were being robbed.

Jane laughed.  Her aunt was of a peculiar countenance—short, plump, and always behaved as if she was late for an engagement.  No, Aunt. I am fine.  With Alojzy in the house, there is never any need for fear.

Hmmm, that man is barbaric.  I recall hearing Papa describe him as so.

Oh, Aunt, he is a good and trustworthy fellow.  Papa and I trust him with our lives.

Her aunt laughed.  That is why I insisted on coming to live with you.  Both you and my dearest Charles are too soft.  It is unheard of for a single man to live in the same house as a Lord and his young, unwed, daughter.

Jane sensed a headache coming on, closing her eyes she willed it to go away.  Please not now, she begged.

She hoped a cup of tea would do some good but was prevented from excusing herself when she and her aunt heard a knock, Come in, both cried out in unison.

I beg your pardon, my lady.  A shy housemaid glided across the room.  Mrs. Appleby wishes a moment with her ladyship.

Her aunt jumped up from her place on the settee.  Oh, yes.  I forgot to tell you; I received a post from Gertrude early this morning.  She is coming for a visit, her aunt declared.  Cheeks roasting pink, her aunt waved her hands over her face.

Jane liked everyone, but Mrs. Appleby was an exception.  The woman had a propensity for gossip.

Turning to the servant, Jane’s aunt ordered some refreshments.

The maid turned to Jane, unsure of whom to obey.

Thank you, Eloise.  Please don’t forget to bring us some fresh cakes as well, Jane assured the maid.

Whenever Aunt Adora visited, she took charge of the household, picked the menus for their meals, and directed the servants until every rug had been dusted, the China gleamed, and every piece of silver shined.

Yes, my lady.

That will be all.

The maid curtseyed before leaving the room.

Mirroring her aunt’s necessities for the dramatics, Gertrude Appleby whooshed into the room.

Gertrude! cried her aunt.

Jane raised her hand to still her head from the shrill of the woman’s voice.

Ado, it is wonderful to see you again.  But I come with dire news, declared Mrs Appleby.

Oh my, Aunt Adora said, pulling the large woman over to the settee.  You look ill, my dear.

Mrs. Appleby’s propensity for attention was her trademark, just as Aunt Adora’s was the dramatics.

Oh, dear, dear, Mrs. Appleby said, looking around to see if she’d acquired an audience―a frustrated sigh escaping from her thin lips at not finding anyone else but Jane.  Turning back to her friend, she stated ominously, Murder!  The vicar has been murdered.  Dark dealings, it was.

What? Jane exclaimed.  A murder in Dover?

Horrible, from what I’ve heard, Mrs. Appleby declared picking up her tea and taking a sip.  To be murdered in the very place where he preached to us every Sunday.  Can you imagine? I mean, is nothing sacred these days?  Of course, one never likes to speak ill of the dearly departed, but I found him a tad self-righteous.

What happened? All sorts of questions busied Jane’s mind. Who would want to murder the vicar? When did it happen?

Mrs. Appleby acknowledged Jane’s presence for the first time.  Dear Lady Jane, she declared curtseying―a thin smile playing on her face, delighted at having an audience after all.  It happened late last night.  He was hit from behind with a heavy statue, from what I heard.

Aunt Adora swayed in her seat, a hand to her heart.  Oh, dear, she whispered.

Jane rang for a servant and rushed to her aunt’s side.  Aunt, are you, all right?

A maidservant came into the room.  Quick, Eloise, a glass of elder wine for my aunt.

Mrs. Appleby raised a hand to her neck, a mild cough escaping her throat.

Jane raised an eyebrow.  Make it two glasses.

Oh, Jane, you are such a dear child, declared Mrs. Appleby.  Murder temporarily forgotten, she added, As a matter of fact, I told Mrs. Stately how unfortunate you have been in obtaining a marriage proposal.

Not that again, Jane thought.  Here it comes.

I know Miss Renard is your dearest friend, but I believe her connections have hurt your prospects, dear, continued Mrs. Appleby.

It is not as if she did not have her share of marriage proposals, but Jane wanted to marry for love.  She cared none for the line of potential suitors who were either too involved in themselves or merely wanted her fortune.

I could not agree more, interjected her aunt.

Jane hated being ambushed.  Margaret is my best friend. She is like a sister to me.  Why should it be peculiar to marry for love? Or want to be married to someone who respects my opinions and beliefs?"

Oh, we know, dear, agreed her aunt.  We just want you to understand that society―

The maid returned with the wine, interrupting her aunt before she could go on and on about the responsibilities a woman owed society.

Thankful, Jane said, Please have your wine.  I need to talk to the cook about lunch and dinner.  She marched out of the room with determination and gratitude, and very quick steps to escape their company.

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Margaret Renard stood a little longer at the window, watching as the thick fog swirled around.  Though it threatened to ruin the day, she hoped for the best, looking forward to her visit with Jane.   Returning to her bed, she picked up the book she had been reading the night before, placing it on her bedside table.

Her bath readied, she had been left alone to enjoy the warmth waters.  Lowering herself into the tub, she inhaled the sweet smell of rose salts.  As soon as she was covered in the water, she felt the disquiet evaporate through the pores of her skin―carried away by the steam.  Overall, other than the occasional nightmare, Margaret had no worries in the world.  She often thought of her family and with it came the pain of loss—when at the age of twelve, her mother died in childbirth along with her baby brother.

At age sixteen she had found her father dead in his study.  The magistrate ruled it a suicide, explaining that her father had given in to the despair he felt over the loss of his wife and son.  Margaret argued that she did not believe it to be so, especially since her father had of late been in good spirits and had planned to take her on a ride the following day.  On the night of his death, she argued further with the magistrate that someone had come into her room to watch as she slept.  She had asked the servants if any of them had gone to her room, but none had.  Hence, she had deduced that someone had been in their home the night of her father’s death.

Margaret argued with the magistrate that his death should be considered a murder.  She related the argument between her father and their late estate manager, Gilbert Binet.  The man was let go because of mismanagement of estate funds.

The magistrate dismissed her easily because not only was she of the female persuasion but a young one.  Besides a woman had no place in these types of affairs.

Leaning back into the tub, Margaret let out a deep sigh, releasing her anger toward the law and society.  Had she been a man, the magistrate would have perhaps thought differently about her father’s death.

An hour later Margaret had dressed, enjoyed a breakfast of eggs, toast, and a hot cup of tea.  Readied for her visit with Jane, she was met at the door by the housekeeper.

Helping Margaret into her pelisse, the housekeeper asked, Are you sure you do not want to take one of the male servants with you?

I will be all right, Mrs. Roth.  Alojzy will no doubt be coming to fetch me, and if I am not safe with him, then I am not safe with anyone else, Margaret said reassuringly.

But— began Mrs. Roth ready to argue the rules of proper behaviour for young ladies of English society.

Any further disagreements on the matter were set aside for another time, as the carriage to fetch Margaret approached the entrance to her manor.

I shan’t be back in time for dinner, so please do not have Rivers keep something warm for me.  Gloves on, she walked out through the manor doors and straight to the waiting carriage.  With a deep sigh and an eagerness to taste the fresh air, she climbed into the coach with the assistance of a servant.  She looked out the window and up to the skies.  The morning had improved much―blue skies, birds singing, and gentle breezes were in abundance.  This day was going to be a great one, Margaret thought.

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Good day, John, Margaret greeted the servant, gleefully. Spending time with her friend was her favourite thing to do in the whole world.

The footman bowed.  And a good day to you, miss.  Her ladyship would be in the parlour.

Margaret thanked him and proceeded to the arched frame of the entrance to the house.  Her friend had done a wonderful job in decorating and maintaining the home.  She loved coming to Wellington Manor, named after Lord Crittenden’s hero, thinking of it as her second home.  She halted, admiring the painting of Jane’s father in the front hallway when the door to the sitting room burst open.

Jane flung herself at her friend, hugging her.  Oh, thank goodness you’ve come.  I have missed you awfully, and I will be selfish now and hold you here for a few moments.  I am glad to see you.

When Jane finally let go, she led Margaret into the parlour.

Jane, is everything all right?

Something has happened, but mostly I have been anxious for Papa to come home, not to mention missing you.

I’m sorry, dearest.  Perhaps I should have insisted you come and stay with me for a few days.  That dreadful fog had me crawling up the walls.

Jane’s creased brows relaxed.  Oh, it is nothing.  Besides, I could not have abandoned Aunt Adora.  But now you are—

Speaking of Aunt Adora, where is she? Margaret showed surprise at the woman’s absence.

She’s gone to Fullerton for the afternoon.  You know how I feel about her, but I will be overjoyed when she’s returned to her home, and my dear papa is home safe in her stead, Jane said as she poured the tea, her hands slightly trembling.

Jane, what’s the matter?

Taking a deep sigh, Jane said, Mrs. Appleby came this morning for a visit with aunt.

Goodness, it’s no wonder you are shaking.  That woman alone is enough to make me wish I were a man facing the enemy at the war front, Margaret chuckled.

Margaret, Vicar Bosworth has been murdered.

Murdered? Goodness... How could that be?  Who would do such a thing? Margaret’s rosy cheeks paled.

We haven’t a clue.  The only thing we know is that he was struck from behind with a marble statue and had a cross stuffed in his mouth, Jane continued.

The shock of it all sent Margaret to a seat, placing her cold hands underneath her thighs for warmth.

I have been waiting for you.  We must visit Mrs. Bosworth to pay our respects.

Of course, we should go immediately, Margaret agreed. She would bet her entire fortune that the magistrate and his men would dismiss the murder as impossible to solve.

Poor Mrs. Bosworth.  Let us go and see if we can offer our assistance.

Jane recognised the look on Margaret’s face.  Margaret, you are talking about murder, she said, sitting back down on the settee.  As much as I would like to aid Mrs. Bosworth, solving a murder is beyond our minuscule expertise.

I know, but it would be great if we were to find some clues that would lead to solving the murder.  Can you imagine what it would do for us in society?

No, but I can imagine what society would do to us, Jane said, rising once again to pace around the room.  On her third lap about the room, she abruptly stopped and ungraciously called out for Alojzy.

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Alojzy Krowkowski burst into the parlour, his new land cavalry pistol in hand, ready to do battle with whoever had accosted his charge.  

Poor man, Margaret thought.

Having been his lordship’s trusted valet for years, Alojzy was as proud of his Polish heritage as he was of his position under the service of Jane’s father, and no doubt would give his life for Jane, as he would for her father.

With his knack for telling wild stories, Margaret and Jane often imagined him to have been a pirate.  He is swift with a blade and even faster with a pistol.

The dramatic fashion of the man’s entrance nearly drove Margaret, whose hands were covering her ears, mad with giggles.

Her friend took to pacing once again around the room.  Put the gun down, Alojzy, Jane said, rolling her eyes at the man’s melodramatic entrance.  I need you to bring the horses and carriage around―the vicar has been murdered.

Do we have a place in mind? he asked.

Yes, we are going to pay our respects to Mrs. Bosworth and then we’re going to the scene of the crime, Jane said, noting her friend had remained silent.

Very well, my lady, he said as he bowed to her.  

Oh, and Alojzy ―

Yes, my lady, he responded at attention.

Bring your gun.

Alojzy bowed once again in response.

I believe you gave him quite the fright, Jane, Margaret said, putting her arms down.  They had grown stiff as she protected her ears from Jane’s shrilled voice.

I know... He is getting quite on.  Not as young as he used to be, Jane declared sadly.  But come, we must get ready for our trip.

Wait! Margaret exclaimed, pulling her friend to a stop.

Yes?

I thought, you―

Yes, yes, I know what you thought, said Jane, but I decided that what I didn’t like most is the thought of someone running around in our beloved town murdering our neighbours.

Chapter 2

Since they were off to perform sombre tasks, the girls rode in silence.  Twenty minutes later, the carriage pulled up in front of the vicarage.  Alojzy remained outside as the girls set about with their visit.

Entering the vicar’s home, Margaret and Jane were not surprised at the entourage of dowagers fluttering about the widow.  All wanting to be of assistance, but instead finding themselves at odds over who would do what.

The vicar and Mrs. Bosworth had been part of the community for over ten years.  Though never blessed with children of their own, the vicar and his wife were sensitive to the orphans and made it their mission to help those in need.

Curious, Margaret asked, Mrs. Bosworth, do you have any thoughts as to who could have done this? And why?

Margaret found herself staring into glazed eyes, feeling sorry for the woman.  She knew too well, what it meant to lose a loved one.  Who would want to kill the vicar?  Regardless of his often-self-righteous attitude—she agreed with Mrs. Appleby on that count—he had seemed to be a good man who loved God’s children.  It was beyond reason why anyone would want to murder him.  But perhaps the vicar was not the man everyone believed him to be.  He certainly must have angered someone enough for them to want to commit such a heinous crime.

She recalled the times she and Jane had visited the vicar’s cottage.  Memories of sweets made by Mrs. Bosworth, and the vicar as he practiced his sermons would always remain dear to her.  Margaret reached over and placed her warm hands over Mrs. Bosworth’s cold fingers.  Has the magistrate been here?

What? Mrs. Bosworth jumped slightly as if just realising that Margaret had been speaking to her.  Oh, dear, pray do forgive me.

Please, it is I who should be asking for forgiveness.  Here I am plying you with questions when you have lost your dear husband, Margaret said, keeping Mrs. Bosworth’s now warmed hands in hers.

Mrs. Bosworth smiled warmly at her guests. Did you say the magistrate? Oh, yes, yes.  He came with others and asked a few questions, then left.  Promising they might be back, but I doubt he will give it another thought.

Did they look in your husband’s study? Margaret asked, unable to help herself.

Margaret! Jane said incredulously.

It is all right, Lady Jane, the widow said, then turned back to Margaret. I...I believe so, she added before bursting into tears.

There, there, Margaret took the woman into her arms, taking one hand and soothing her back.  Did the vicar say anything to you before his death, anything out of the ordinary?

All I know is one evening he went out for a walk, for he felt that communing with nature helped him with his sermons.  She reddened at the notion, babbling.

The girls patiently waited for her to continue.

When he came back, he had a strange look about him as if he was pleased with himself.  I took it to mean that he had found what he had been seeking.  When I asked him about it, he merely replied that opportunities sometimes presented themselves when one least expected them. I, of course, thought it strange, but you know how sometimes he got with his sermons.

Margaret and Jane nodded and smiled.

I know my husband could be a tad sanctimonious at times, but he was a good man.

My dear, Mrs. Bosworth, there is never justification for murder, Jane said as Margaret’s head shook in agreement.

I am afraid they will never find out who killed him, she cried, fresh tears streaming down her face.

True, while she and Jane fancied themselves sleuths, their proclivity for solving crimes had begun with small puzzles.  The magistrate on the other hand, charged with investigating crimes; either cared not to do so or was quite incompetent at doing the job.

Rising from her seat, Mrs Bosworth added, I must go and lie down.  Standing up she straightened her skirt. Please make my excuses to the other ladies.  In a whisper, she added, Feel free to look around if you wish.  With a slight smile, she kissed Margaret and then Jane lightly on their cheeks.

They would be fools if they did not take advantage of the opportunity to search the vicar’s study.

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I feel as if we are intruding on the man’s privacy, Jane said, moving about the study methodically. 

Margaret shut the door behind her.  Well, he’s dead, Jane.  I doubt he, or anyone else for that matter cares at this point.

Margaret! cried, Jane.  That is not true, and you know it. We all care, including when your father died.

I am sorry, Jane, but you know the magistrate has no intentions of doing anything about this, Margaret confessed.

We do not know that.  I could ask father to speak with the magistrate and see what his thoughts are the vicar’s death.

Margaret sensed Jane had only been trying to appease her and did not know whether to be touched or angry by the gesture.  Nonetheless, it would not hurt to find out what the magistrate’s thoughts.  That is a fantastic idea.

Jane’s face softened. I know what you went through with your father, Margaret.  I believe he, too, was murdered.  He would not have left you all alone, but there is nothing that can be done now except to try and find out who killed the vicar or provide the magistrate with clues necessary for him to solve the murder.

Margaret’s rigid muscles relaxed. I am sorry for doubting you.  I know I can be difficult when it comes to the magistrate. But let us continue with our search.  We still need to visit the church.

Jane did not fault Margaret one bit.  The loss of one parent, she believed a tragedy, especially in the manner of the person's death, but to lose both parents, was more than a young person could or should have to endure.  Hence, the magistrate’s lack of concern over the consequences of such crimes had a way of making her friend a little overzealous.

She stood for a moment, surveying the room with its masculine taste.  Wide windows behind a large mahogany desk and leather chair shed enough light even on overcast days.   Today they allowed her a good look at the built-in maple bookcases lining the rest of the walls, housing hundreds of books neatly arranged alphabetically.  Not at all sure, what they were looking for, Jane realised Margaret had begun searching one of the bookcases, so she decided to explore the other.

After a while, they both huffed and puffed with exhaustion and frustration of not finding anything out of the ordinary.  So as solemnly as they had come, the girls departed to their next task—the scene of the crime.

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When the girls arrived at the church, they found the area empty.  No doubt, parishioners had stayed away due to the superstitions that surrounded the occurrence of a murder― especially one which took place within the walls of a sacred space.  This afforded Jane and Margaret the opportunity to do their investigation without interruptions.  Descending from the carriage with Alojzy’ s assistance, they set out to work.

Margaret, did you notice all of the chapel windows are closed, and none seemed to be broken?  Jane pointed toward the windows, straining her eyes in the bright sun.

Yes, I did, which could imply the assailant entered through the front or back door.

It would be the most logical approach.  The church being a place of refuge and solace, its doors were always left open, Jane deduced.

They were about to enter when Alojzy stopped them.  If you do not mind, my lady, I would like to go first, just as a precaution.

Jane wanted to wave him away but knew if she did not cooperate with him, he would insist on leaving at once.  Very well but be careful and quick.

The girls patiently waited as Alojzy turned the doorknob and found it locked.  Pulling a long, narrow piece of metal from his sleeve, he placed it into the hole of the lock and wiggled it with little effort until the latch gave way.

They gasped in astonishment. What is that? the girls asked in unison.

Something I acquired in one of my adventures.

It’s amazing.  Can you teach us how to use it? Jane asked.

It would come in handy during other investigations, added Margaret.

His eyebrows scrunched together, and his lips stiffened, I will most certainly not, you both are in so much trouble already. When his lordship hears about this—

Well now, I do agree with you, began Jane, However, it would be harder to argue with father as to why you let us come in the first place.  Don’t you think? Jane asked, pleased with herself.

As the poor man was about to retort, they heard the click of the lock being opened.  The girls, in their eagerness to start investigating the premises, pushed forward and entered the church, leaving him standing alone in their wake.

Once inside, Jane felt the force of the severity and sadness of the vicar’s death.  Slowly, she and Margaret made their way to the altar.  A deep rose stain, where blood had pooled before it was poorly washed, marked the area where the vicar had fallen to his death.

Look, Margaret that must’ve been where he laid after he was struck.

They stood for several