Love To Be.

By Chris Cook

“Love To Be” is a detective murder mystery novella set in Victorian seaside Brighton.
It is Christmas 1841 and society archaeologist Countess Maria Bassano has discovered a unique legendary treasure as well as the love of Lord Richard Goodfellow.
Surprisingly she informs Sylvanus Kent that she fears for her life. Within hours Sylvanus also has another visit from a mysterious mustachioed man who also fears for his life.
How many murders will there be before Sylvanus can find the killer.
“Love To Be” is an exciting mystery novella of approximately 32,000 words
Murder & Mystery in a Victorian fishing community. Psychological detective Sylvanus Kent’s in a race to find the killer.
Two magical treasures protected by curse
Two strangers who fear for their life

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Cook
• Release date: Feb 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370573332

Book preview

Love To Be.

By Chris Cook

ISBN

Copyright © Chris Cook 2017 All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Reviews

Bibliography

Biography

Chapter 1 - Thursday 23rd December 1841 - The day before Christmas Eve.

Maybe the windows had ice inside and out but she still felt it was home. It didn’t take her long to get a fire going in the downstairs hearth and soon the whole house was feeling warm and cosy. Such was the benefit of a small cottage.

It was not long after 9.30 and barely light between the narrow lanes when the bell unexpectedly rang. It was still tinkling as it swung to and fro when she opened the door.

Standing there was a rather shivering cold looking lady well wrapped up but still not handling the cold well.

‘Come in please.’ said Annie.

‘Would you like to sit here?’ continued Annie gesturing to a chair beside the fire.’

‘Yes please.’

‘Tea?’ Annie continued.

‘Please.’

Annie already had the kettle on the kitchen range so within a few minutes she returned with the hot tea in a nicely decorated fine china cup and saucer.

‘Thank you,’ said the lady, grabbing the warm cup in her frozen hands. She was obviously of good breeding but terribly stressed by something.

‘Here is one of our cards, how can we help you?’ Asked Annie

‘Sylvanus Kent. I need his help.

It is not easy to say now, but, someone is trying to kill me,’ said the lady with choking emotion in her voice.

‘Perhaps I can take some details and then we can see how we can help you.’

‘Yes, but please help me. I am so afraid.’

‘We will do everything we can.

Can I take your name?’

‘I am the Countess Maria Bassano.’

‘That is a wonderful name if you don’t mind me saying so?’ replied Annie.

‘But it is no good to me dead. Now I must go before I am spotted.’ She immediately jumped up and placed down the empty cup before dashing to the door.

‘How will we find you?’

‘I will find you again, if they don’t get me first. Here.’ She said passing a sealed envelope to Annie.

With that she was gone into the cold outside, shutting the door and leaving the bell rocking and ringing again.

Annie sat in a muddle. She was having trouble making sense of what had just happened. She must get a message to Sylvanus who was at his London practice for another couple of days before returning to Brighton for Christmas.

This lady Countess was obviously in terrible trouble and had decided that Sylvanus was the one who could get her out of this predicament.

Annie sat, head in hands trying to plot a course of action. She occasionally glanced out of the beautiful bow fronted window of the house which was now the office of Sylvanus Kent, detective and iatric doctor. At least it said so in gold lettering on the window.

This was their first Brighton client and Annie was scared she had messed things up already.

‘What would Sylvanus think?’ She said aloud to herself as if asking the oracle for answers. ‘Perhaps he would say – ‘Where does she live? Who is after her? What does she look like even?’ In all these things Annie felt she had let him down. All she had was her name and a note.

Annie decided to write down all she could about the lady.

Short about 5 ft 2 inches, well dressed, pretty in her mid to late 20’s. Spoke well but with a delightful Italian accent.

Annie was good at accents having previously worked for a short time in the seafront bar of the Imperial Hotel.

Just then the door bell rang again.

Annie could see a gentleman at the door, this time somewhat taller than her previous visitor.

She opened the door.

‘I would like to employ the services of Sylvanus Kent.’ He said in a husky voice.

‘Very good,’ said Annie. ‘Please be seated. Would you like some tea?’

‘Yes please.’

‘Please sit down sir I will be with you in a moment.’

Annie was soon back with the tea made from the hot water already on the range.

The man quickly scurried away from her desk where he had been standing and pawing the papers.

‘My name is James Baker,’ he said.

Annie hurriedly sat at the desk and threw a blotter over her previous notes about the Countess.

Taking another piece of paper, she wrote.

James Baker.

‘And your address?’

‘I have no time to discuss this now. All I will say is that I am afraid. I am afraid that they will get me. They will kill me.

I must go now.’ He said, as he stood and shuffled toward the door. His cloak was long and trailing on the ground.

‘Here is our card,’ said Annie handing him one of the newly printed stack of cards.

‘Please may I just have a contact address?’ she continued.

‘Not now I must hurry, I will be in touch.’

With that he left. No further details. Not even a sealed note like the Countess.

Annie hurriedly sat and continued her writing.

‘Gentleman, Well dressed. Moustache, Late 20’s. Under threat of killing. Gruff voice, Queen’s English voice of Surrey / London area. No address given.’

Annie once again sat perplexed at the desk.

‘Was this to be her life from now? Taking scanty details from people who believed their life was in danger.

The old saying that once is once, twice is co-incidence but three times is something meant went through her mind as she stared out at the lane outside the window. It was still busy with fishermen returning with their catch. Dragging and jiggling their nets and floats along the brick passage between the houses.

She wondered if her third visitor would come and how she could possibly do better.

‘If they won’t talk any more to me how can I make them?’ She puzzled.

Soon a thought came into her head. Sylvanus must be told as soon as possible. His London office was near to Victoria station where the new locomotive line had a terminus. If she could get a letter on that train perhaps Sylvanus could be alerted sooner to this crisis in Brighton and return earlier.

‘Also, there is the new penny post which may get to him likewise.’ She thought

He already planned to return for Christmas day with his beloved Annie but an imminent murder or two may focus his attention.

Annie started a note to Sylvanus in her very best Sunday school writing

‘Dear Sylvanus,

We have had two clients enter the shop today already. Both suspect they are the targets for murder.

Please return to Brighton on your first occasion to offer advice.

Your ever-loving Annie.’

She blotted the ink and addressed the envelope before sealing it in an envelope with red wax and the impressed SK seal that Sylvanus liked to use for correspondence.

She repeated the process and sealed it into another envelope to which she affixed one of her penny black stamps.

This done she could wait no longer for her third client and headed to the station.

‘Gone out for 30 mins – back soon,’ said the note on the door.

Outside, the smell of fish was strong. These lanes had been the home of the Brighton beach launched fishing fleet for years and the fishermen had only the short walk south to find their boats.

Now in its newly found wealth, the Lanes of Brighton had become a novelty to the rich and famous who regularly weekended here to partake of the health-giving waters.

Annie zigzagged North West towards the North Laines and the newly completed London Brighton and South Coast railway terminus which stood at the top of Queens road looking south towards the sea.

Beside the station was a red letterbox sporting the letters VR to celebrate the new postal service which had recently been introduced to enhance communications throughout the commonwealth.

Annie posted the stamped letter before continuing to the station.

Next, she summoned up all her confidence and bravery and approached a platform where a snarling locomotive was hissing and steaming, ready to take the train to London.

‘Could you take this letter to London and see it is delivered. It is a matter of life and death,’ she asked the man in uniform.

The ticket collector looked a little perplexed.

‘I am afraid I have no means of dealing with this but I will ask the guard if you like? I can’t promise of course.’

With that the collector ambled past the locomotive to the last carriage and entered.

A few moments later, he returned to Annie.

‘The guard says he will do what he can. He lives near Victoria so he may deliver it himself by hand. No guarantees though I am afraid.’

‘Oh, thank you, thank you,’ replied Annie.

‘No promises like I said.’

‘Whatever you can do,’ added Annie.

She felt perhaps that a gentleman or less attractive lady may not have received such a response from the ticket collector but times were difficult for ladies and they must use all their guile.

With that Annie began her return