The Butler Did It Every Chance He Got: A Dreadfully Funny Murder Mystery

By Helen Parramore

In 1906 two carriages arrive at Oddsen End, the estate of Lord and Lady Pilkington, each bearing an orphaned infant girl. In the first, Houndstooth, the butler, arrives with Pandora, daughter of the Pilkingtons oldest son. Her parents died in Africa. In the second is Lady Pilkington with Minnie, from a convent in Bavaria, to be a companion for Pandora. The tiny infants bear strong resemblance and skullduggery abounds! Members of the household switch them in their cradles for various reasons until no one knows whos who. The girls grow up, Pandora the heiress apparent, and Minnie apparently the maid.

Lady Pilkington lost her estate through a forced marriage. If Lord Pilkington dies first, the estate is hers and she names her heir. If she dies first, he does. Their second son, Henry, is their spare, but he holds no hope of inheriting. Then, during a wedding party, Lord Pilkington takes a catastrophic fall down the main staircase and later, Lady Pilkington is found dead on the floor of the wine cellar. Were they pushed? Who died first?

Enter Detective Inspector Gotchas of the Flitwick Police. He and Houndstooth will sort things out and set things straight. Or will they?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475952582

Helen Parramore

Helen Parramore taught Art and Humanities in Florida universities for 30 years. She has published books for adults (memoir, mainstream, mystery/comedy) written and illustrated for children (two pre-school and two mid-grade.) She has three grown children, seven grandchildren, one great-grand and lives on Boca Ciega Bay in St. Petersburg, Florida.

Book preview

ONE

1906, Nigeria, Office

of The British Commission

A h yes, such a tragic event. A dreadful attack. Sir Jonas Throckton, British High Commissioner in Nigeria, wiped a tear from his eye, sighed deeply, and after a snuffle and a blow said, I can tell you, we here at Government Headquarters we were absolutely devastated by the news. Sir William and Lady Ophelia both gone in an instant and this precious infant, not yet a month old, left both motherless and fatherless. So sad. Oh I say, so terribly sad.

Across the desk from him a man and woman, middle aged and well dressed in good English tailoring, sat nodding solemnly and making the sign of the cross as he continued his story. "As you both undoubtedly know, elephants are truly marvelous creatures, quite intelligent, often affectionate and cooperative, but on occasion and with no warning whatsoever, it’s squish! And that’s it. Or, in this case, it was squish, squish, and that was it twice over. Well, at least the babe will never miss her parents, never having had the opportunity to know them. And of course her parents won’t miss each other either. They’ll be together forever in more ways than one. And you two have come to escort the babe back to her ancestral home, Oddsen End, into the loving arms of her grandparents, Lord and Lady Pilkington. As these messy events go, I’d say this particular one was rather tidy. Remarkably pain free. Not really a tear anywhere. He shuffled papers on his desk. I have the letter with your names here somewhere, let me see… ."

Houndstooth, the man said. I am Houndstooth, head butler at Oddsen End, and this is Miss Birdie, nursemaid and governess to the family.

They nodded and bowed slightly from their seats. Sir Jonas nodded in return. Ah yes. Just so. The bodies are in a beautiful, hand-carved ebony casket and will be on the same ship as you’re taking for your return voyage.

Houndstooth raised his eyebrows. "A beautiful casket? Just one?"

Yes. When an elephant gets through stomping one—or in this case two—it’s hard to tell where one leaves off and the other begins. Actually, we didn’t even require a full-sized coffin. We more or less scooped them up like, oh, ah, like spilled jam, you know, and tucked them in as best we could. Fitting, don’t you think, for such a devoted couple?

Houndstooth shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. Has the infant been christened?

Yes, Sir Jonas said. Her father named her Pandora. I have all her papers and her parents’ papers ready for you. Lord and Lady Pilkington will no doubt be comforted to know the elephant involved had its feet cleaned thoroughly, its nails filed, and has been sent to live in the forests of Tanganyika, far from contact with any other English people.

Houndstooth nodded. I’m sure they’ll be pleased to know.

Sir Jonas yanked his bell rope. The door opened and a Nigerian woman holding a tiny baby wrapped in white linen entered, followed by a turbaned manservant carrying several baskets of supplies. The woman placed the baby in Birdie’s arms and the man stacked the baskets by the door. Bowing to the High Commissioner, they backed from the room. Sir Jonas reached under his desk and brought forth an exquisite silver box about the size of a cigar box. Its top and sides were decorated with images of elephants worked in abalone and ivory.

I’ll entrust this to you, Houndstooth. Birth and death certificates, wills, jewelry, christening papers, passports—all here, and the key for the box also. It’s a small key, easy to lose, so I took the liberty of attaching it to one of Lady Ophelia’s silver chains.

Much obliged, said Birdie, reaching for the chain. She put it around her neck and dropped the key down her bosom. Could you explain, sir, why they named the child Pandora? Wasn’t Pandora the one who supposedly caused all the troubles of the world?

Possibly. It’s an old tale, but of course would have been a woman, would it not? Without giving Birdie a chance to respond, he turned to Houndstooth. The casket’s been sent on ahead to the ship, and your carriage is waiting. Shall we go?

Their ship, The Mary Twice, so named by the captain who had married a Mary twice—not the same Mary but two different ones and on different occasions—sailed north along the west coast of Africa, and up the coasts of Portugal, Spain and France. Calm weather and light winds prevailed and after three weeks at sea, they docked at Southampton where the party and all their baggage including the casket, was transferred to the railroad station for the journey into London. At Victoria Station they detrained and waited on the platform while Houndstooth procured a carriage and driver to take them last leg of their journey. When he returned with the carriage, the baggage was stashed and lashed tightly wherever it would fit. The casket was lashed to the top because no one wanted to squeeze it in and maybe have to sit on it or use it for a footrest. Getting to Oddsen End, located in the heartlands about eighty miles north and west of London, would require an overnight stay along the way. En route, passing through Liphook, Leatherhead and Wormly, they encountered heavy rain and a succession of muddy roads, potholes, deep ruts and overflowing gutters. The driver and horses became exhausted. Inside the carriage, the baby suffered from motion sickness and cried constantly. As the evening shadows began to fall, the driver spotted a roadside inn ahead. Without asking permission, he pulled over at the sign of the Shaggy Doggy. There they dismounted and the horses, humans, and most especially the baby, got dried off. They spent the evening by the fireplace drinking and dining before blessed sleep closed their eyes.

After breakfast in the morning, they packed sandwiches and beer and milk for the baby, loaded the carriage and went on their way for another day through wind and rain and rough terrain. The going was slow and bumpy, the carriage rocked from side to side. The journey seemed endless. The last twenty miles they traveled through darkness, pelting rain, crashing thunder and gusting winds. Tossing branches raked the carriage windows like hungry wolves scratching to get in. At last, lights from the village of Flitwick could be seen twinkling at a distance and everyone’s spirits lightened knowing Oddsen End was only a few miles beyond the town. When lightning flashes revealed the towers of the manor house ahead in the rain, and finally, when the driver turned the carriage into the gate and started up the long drive toward the porte-cochere at Oddsen End, all embraced and cheered knowing their journey was coming to an end. Even the baby stopped crying.

Birdie, carrying wee Pandora, hustled inside the manor while Houndstooth and the driver unloaded the valises and boxes and unstrapped the casket from its precarious perch atop the carriage roof. As they worked under the protection of the porte-cochere, despite the noise of the storm, they heard galloping horses, the crack of a whip, and shouts of an excited driver. Another carriage raced up the drive, splashing gravel and mud, apparently trying to outrun the devil himself. It came to a clattering stop under the roof, with the horses rearing, their nostrils flaring and saliva dripping from their gasping mouths. The carriage door opened and Lady Pilkington stepped down holding a bundle in her arms.

Good evening, Houndstooth, she said. How nice that you’re here to greet me. If you remember, I left for Europe the very day you left for Africa, and now we return together. Serendipitous, is it not? Would you be so kind as to give this package to the governess—ah, what’s her name? Barbie? Bertha? Bee… ? Ba… ?

It’s Birdie, milady. Birdie Blackthorn. I’d be happy to take it to her.

He reached out and took the bundle, which had the unmistakable feel and smell of an infant, and without the slightest expression of surprise, he turned and carried it inside. A good butler does not ask questions.

TWO

1924. Oddsen End,

Lord Pilkington’s Estate

F choum! Fchoum! called Lord Percy Pilkington, sounding as if he were coughing up a hairball. Florence Nighthawk, his nurse and companion for many years, came to his aid. Among all the residents of Oddsen End, she alone understood his mangled efforts at speech. Some twenty years past, a short while before his eldest son had been killed in Africa, he had suffered a dreadful illness. He survived and recovered some of his faculties, but thereafter he was confined to a wheelchair and unable to speak coherently. Most people thought his mind was gone because of his gibberish, but Florence learned to communicate with him. Over their years together they had many stimulating, entertaining and frequently newsworthy conversations. Lord Pilkington made her promise to keep his true state of mind a secret. It gave him a certain advantage and some protection to be thought of as a doddering old idiot. He and Florence both knew an intentional poisoning caused his original illness, and if it hadn’t been for Florence’s competent and constant care, he would have died then or would have been finished off later by other means. Confined by his wheelchair to his apartment on the second floor of the manor, he took great delight in whatever gossip and news came his way through Florence, Minnie and Pandora. For the most part others ignored him.

He waved a hand at Florence and smiled. Humrph glaspa bubba tuba, he said.

Minnie will be in to do your room very soon, Florence replied. You do so enjoy her visits. I can’t blame you for that. She’s a pretty girl, smart and happy. It’s lovely to have her here to cheer us up. I mean, really, milord, what would we two do without our dear girls? Like rays of sunshine they are in this dark, old place.

Clhuuush awa schluby.

Yes, Florence said. Minnie is a fine upstairs maid, but more than that, she and Pandora are dear friends. With no other children to play with, they’ve grown up together like sisters. They even look like sisters with their red gold curls and their quick, happy laughter.

Afeflah huckka lubbeyboob.

Oh my, yes. They do indeed have impressive knockers. But more than that, they are dear girls, just lovely, dear girls.

Aqrghs schompt anhurriez! Lord Pilkington tapped both feet rapidly and waved his fingers.

Florence laughed aloud. But of course, milord. What a wit you are.

A tap on the door signaled Minnie’s arrival. He smiled widely and called, Ahnousch sheeh! Minnie, laden with cleaning equipment, entered.

Good morning, my dear, said Florence. Lord Pilkington’s been awaiting you.

He smiled broadly with just a wee bit of drool, shuffled his feet and waved his arms in a happy greeting. Minnie set her equipment down, bent over and gave his lordship a hug and a kiss on the cheek, which pleased him greatly. Then she set about her work with vigor, sweeping out, dusting off, picking up, washing down, turning over, tucking in and folding under whatever required that particular sort of attention.

Whaaa plonka tschu? Lord Pilkington asked.

Florence translated. He wants to know where Pandora is this morning.

She went to see about her horse. Sean said her mare seemed a bit under the weather.

Ah, said Florence, nodding. Sean O’Casey would know that if anyone would. I believe he knows more about horses than most doctors know about people.

Minnie blushed, hiding her face behind her fingers.

Why, Minnie! I do believe you’ve got the sweets for Sean. Can’t say as I blame you. He’s a handsome lad, smart and dependable, too, but still a stable boy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, especially for an upstairs maid.

Hearing Florence talk about Sean brought even more blush to Minnie’s cheeks. Lord Pilkington watched and listened intently. He nodded and tapped a foot, indicating agreement, and said, Bhloophey muggsley sep.

Minnie dear, he wants you to go to the barn and ask Pandora to come see him. He gets lonesome at times. Of course I do my best, but he especially loves having you girls stop by and chat him up a bit.

Minnie’s eyes sparkled. I’d be happy to. I’ll go right now. She left the room, flew down the stairs, ran across the yard and into the barn. Sean! Sean! she called.

You might as well save your wind, girl. A gruff voice came out of the shadows in the barn. He isn’t here. He’s walking Pandora’s horse. Damned horse is colicking again.

Startled by the voice in the barn, Minnie turned to find Desmond sitting on a barrel cleaning and waxing saddles and harnesses.

Yes, it’s only me, Desmond. Sorry to disappoint you, but somebody has to do the work around here.

Desmond worked on the estate with his father, Sir Henry Pilkington, who was the second son of Lord and Lady Pilkington. After Lord Pilkington became incapacitated by his dreadful illness, and William, their eldest son, had been stomped in Africa, Lady Pilkington installed Henry, his wife Leticia, and their small son Desmond, as permanent residents at Oddsen End. There was never any doubt that she was not in charge after Lord Pilkington fell ill, however she did require a man she could trust implicitly to help her deal with the financial management of the estate as well as the quotidian problems of maintaining staff, buildings and grounds. She chose her second son because after all, if William’s wife, Ophelia, had been carrying the infant Pandora on the day of her stomping, Henry would clearly be the one to inherit the estate and his father’s title. But because of a whim of fate, he worked, his wife worked, and his son worked to keep Oddsen End in proper order for his deceased brother’s daughter to inherit if and when Lord Pilkington finally had the good grace to die. Desmond and his mother Leticia resented their position, but Sir Henry smiled and said, Tradition! It’s held these old estates together for centuries. Who are we to complain?

Minnie smiled at Desmond, hoping to lighten his mood. We all have to earn our keep, Desmond, one way or another. Have you seen Pandora this morning? Her grandfather wants to see her.

He does, does he? Well, isn’t that lovely. He never wants to see me. He’s my grandfather, too, but I’d never know it.

So do you know where she is?

Yes, I do. Desmond continued working the leather pieces on his lap in silence.

Will you tell me where she is?

Depends on how good you are to me. Hang these reins on the hooks there and give me that small saddle.

Minnie did so, saying, And where is she then?

What’ll you give me if I tell you?

I’ll give you the small saddle and a kind thank you and nothing more.

Ah, you’re just like everybody else in this miserable place, aren’t you? Pass me that saddle soap and a rag.

She did so, slapping them down beside him impatiently. It’s not me that wants to know, Desmond. It’s Lord Pilkington who’s asking.

For your sake, not his, I’ll tell you. Pandora’s out riding this morning with that prig, Alfred Frothingham. The two of them are off in the woods together. Now, I ask you, what’s dear Grandpapa going to think about that?

’Tis none of my business, and none of yours either, Minnie said. I’ll do as I’m told. The Frothinghams have been friends and neighbors of Lord and Lady Pilkington for many years. Highhand Manor and Oddsen End have been adjoining and peaceful estates for three centuries or more. I’d watch my mouth if I were you.

Desmond laughed. Spoken like a good servant girl, Minnie, but might I remind you, that’s your role, not mine.

Sean O’Casey, leading a bay horse by the halter, walked across the field toward the barn. Seeing Minnie there he called, Top o’ the morning to you, my girl. ’Tis a fine, fine day for sure. To what do we owe the honor of your visit?

Minnie blushed to the tips of her red-gold curls. Lord Pilkington sent me to find Pandora. He wants to see her this morning.

She’s out riding with Master Alfred. Those two are getting on famously. Me thinks he comes a’courting, but ’tis surely none of my business.

Sean held the head of the bay while Minnie petted the nose of the big horse. Desmond picked up the harness pieces and took them to the tack room at the back of the barn. Sean said quietly, Minnie, my lass, t’ would please me greatly to walk with you this evening after your chores are done.

Minnie smiled. Meet me in the kitchen at six. I’ll be ready.

He pulled her behind the horse and gave her a quick, sweet kiss while Desmond was out of sight, but catching a glimpse of him returning, he said, You’d best run along now. Houndstooth will be looking for you.

When you see Pandora, please send her to Lord Pilkington. Don’t forget. He’s waiting for her. Minnie winked at Sean, turned and skipped happily across the yard, through the gate, into the garden, over a low fence, up the steps, through the door and into the kitchen.

There at the big kitchen table the cook, Shellie Escargot, peeled onions and wept copiously. Oh, and its always onion soup they’re wanting for lunch, she moaned. Always onions and more onions! Fetch me a hanky out of me bag there, before I salt the soup with my own tears, would you Minnie? There’s a dear girl.

Minnie did her bidding and Shellie took the hanky gratefully, mopping her eyes and blowing her nose. And now, dear girl, what can I do for you?

Do you know where Houndstooth is? He asked me to help him this morning when I finished upstairs.

I believe he’s in the butler’s pantry. But I do know he wants you to polish the silver. Rumor has it that we may be having a grand celebration here at Oddsen End fairly soon.

Minnie’s eyes widened. Here? We never have parties. What’s the occasion?

I’m not at liberty to say. And don’t you let on I said a word, or you and me both will be out the door in a wink. Mind now! When the time comes it’ll be announced properly, but in the meantime, we in service must get started. There’s endless work in preparing for an event such as this will be. Run on now and find Houndstooth. He’s expecting you.

As she started to leave, Minnie heard Pandora’s voice outside the kitchen door, sobbing and groaning, and the voices of Sean and Alfred Frothingham, soothing and encouraging her.

Shellie dropped the onions and wiped her hands on her apron. Oh no, she said. Don’t tell me that girl’s gone and hurt herself again. I’ve never seen the like of it. Every time you turn around, something’s happening to her. Bring her here, boys, and let’s see to it.

Sean and Alfred, one on each side of Pandora with their hands making a seat between them, carried her, whimpering and moaning, inside. Shellie pulled her chair around so Pandora could be eased into it without being jarred unnecessarily.

Run upstairs to fetch Nurse Florence, and be quick about it, Shellie ordered, propping Pandora’s wounded leg up on a stool.

Minnie flew out the door, down the hall, around the banisters, up the stairs, into the hallway, and rapped on Lord Pilkington’s door. Florence! Florence! she called, Come quickly. Pandora is hurt.

From inside Florence called, Not again! Not again! She grabbed her medical bag, which was always packed and ready, and raced out the door toward the kitchen with Minnie close on her heels. Behind them, the door to Lord Pilkington’s apartment gaped open. Inside, seated in his wheelchair, Lord Pilkington’s eyes opened wide in surprise, his feet tapped a rapid staccato while his fingers played on the air with feathery joy, and he rolled his chair cautiously, quietly, out the door.

THREE

The kitchen at Oddsen End

With practiced efficiency, Florence reorganized the kitchen into an emergency medical space. Shellie put water to boil and covered the table with clean sheets. Alfred and Sean lifted Pandora onto the table and then turned away like true gentlemen while Florence and Minnie removed Pandora’s riding habit and covered her with another sheet.

Pandora stopped moaning and grew calmer under the attentions of the women.

Sean took the opportunity to question her. What happened, Pandy? I told Desmond to saddle Tinker for you. She’s not your usual horse, but she’s a gentle mare.

Pandora groaned. Gentle? Not today. She seemed high strung and jittery, but Desmond said it was because she wasn’t used to me and I needed to show her who was boss. Then he laughed at me and said, ‘That’s a female for you.’

Florence interrupted. No more questions now. I’ll be asking you boys to leave the room while I examine Pandora. Don’t go too far, though. I may need you to ride into town to fetch the doctor.

I’ll wait here in the garden, Alfred said. Sean has to get back to the barn to tend the horses.

After they left, Florence examined Pandora from top to bottom. You’re very lucky, my lass. Your top’s fine, and your bottom’s finer. Your right leg is bruised and your ankle got a bit of a twist, but I’ll treat it with heat and it’ll be well within the week. But I advise you to stay off horses. It’s a long way to the ground, and you may not be so lucky next time. Shellie, I’m ready for the boiling water now, if you please.

Pandora bolted up screaming, No! No! Not boiling water!

Alfred heard her screams. Seeing his