The Meadowford Mysteries - Book Two: Mayhem at Wood Hall & Mallarky at St. Mildred's

By Sheila Wright

Wood Hall, former home of the late Hepzibah Hamilton-Tracy and scene of a distressing drowning, has become a Hotel. Surprisingly, saucy Amelia has been released from prison to earn her living for the first time, as receptionist. Newcomers to the village set tongues wagging, and it is not long before events take a sinister turn.
In the second tale, St. Mildreds church is in dire need of repair and the vague but lovable vicar finds himself in his
wifes bad books . but maybe fortunes can be turned around through a starchy lady archeologist who longs to
research St. Mildreds musty crypt? Discoveries in the bluebell woods may hold a clue. As usual in the Suffolk village of Meadowford Magna, the unexpected just keeps on happening.
What the critics say about the Meadowford Mystery
series
Author Sheila Wright has cooked up a perfect pair of cosy mysteries set in rural Suffolk, England, in the 1920s. Each has its own murder, but the characters and setting overlap. Mystery fans will love these traditional tales, which read like Agatha Christie or P. D. James. Wright knows her craft, and it shows.
Blueink Reviews
Wright, born in Leicester, England, just after the era she writes about, creates entertaining characters who
embody the mindset of societys elitethe quirky personalities and antics of the characters are amusing and
keep the tone light-hearted.
Foreword Clarion Review Service
In the style of Agatha Christie, Wright fashions a story around a mysterious murder in an English country
village. Wright follows in the footsteps of the old masters, and the prose lives up to its stellar antecedents. The
hired help speak in their cockney dialect, whilst the upper classes converse with the delicate articulation one would
expect of someone in their echelon. The characters have depth and presence.. however recognizable, the
characters wont be denied their charisma.the colorful images of life in post-Great War England elicit the charm
of a bygone era. Once again, a formulaic element comes into play, but when done this well, it adds to, rather than
subtracts from, the storyline.
For anyone in the mood to solve a murder mystery while taking a pleasurable romp through merry olde England,
it would be a crime to miss this one.
Kirkus Indie A review service from Kirkus Reviews
Sheila Wright M.A. (nee Jones) was born in Leicester, England, in1939. Married to Ron,
music teacher and Bandmaster, home a Tudor farmhouse. Seven children and numerous
grandchildren. Sheila is an Anglican Reader, taught in village schools for twenty years,
and in retirement gardens, paints, sings, plays violin and writes books.
Look out for more stories of these eccentric villagers in Book One of the Meadowford
Mystery series. In time, hopefully, you will discover further stories in Book Three!
Cover pictures by the

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477238172

Sheila Wright

Sheila Wright M.A. (nee Jones) was born in Leicester, England, in 1939. Married to Ron, music teacher and Bandmaster, home a Tudor farmhouse. Seven children and numerous grandchildren. Sheila is an Anglican Reader, taught in village schools for twenty years, and in retirement gardens, paints, sings, plays violin and writes books.

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© 2012 by Sheila Wright. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse 10/22/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3815-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3816-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-3817-2 (e)

Contents

MAYHEM AT WOOD HALL

ONE - MEETINGS

TWO - PREPARATIONS

THREE - THE SOIREE

FOUR - TROUBLE IN THE TULIPS

FIVE - TRUTH WILL OUT !

MALLARKY AT ST. MILDRED’S

ONE - MAYTIME IN MEADOWFORD

TWO - WOOD LANE ENCOUNTERS

THREE - CHOIR PRACTICE AT THE VICARAGE

FOUR - MORE SURPRISES

FIVE - DISCOVERIES IN THE BLUEBELLS

SIX - A TANGLED WEB

DETAILS OF OTHER BOOKS BY SHEILA WRIGHT

MAYHEM AT WOOD HALL

ONE-MEETINGS

Constable Black was wheeling his pushbike along Low Lane. His helmet was in the basket fixed to the handlebars, with his packet of cheese sandwiches. The tight helmet and its leather chinstrap were such a trial on this unusually warm Spring day. He had dismounted to walk companionably alongside Dora Brown, whose shopping bag was now hooked over his saddle. He would go with her as far as her cottage.

Constable Jim Black got fed up sometimes, riding the length and breadth of the village and scarcely meeting a soul to talk to. Now the days were lengthening, even the fun of accosting cyclists riding without lamps was denied him. He was enjoying chatting with Dora whom he had known since their schooldays in the tiny Victorian village school.

‘That Amelia’s a brazen one, and no mistake! She only come out two month ago, and blow me if she din’t get a job at the new Hotel! Right where that ‘usband of ‘ers drownded!’ said Dora.

‘So I ‘ear,’ answered Jim. ‘No shame, some folks! Don’t know ‘ow she got let out so quick neither-must’ve wrapped the judge round ‘er little finger or summat!’

‘Mr. Ponsonby’s out as well,’ continued Dora with relish. ‘And they do say ‘is wife’s bin carryin’ on wi’ some gentleman friend while he’s been away. But that’s maybe jus’ gossip, she’s a sweet kind woman, Mabel says.’

‘So I ‘eard,’ replied Jim. ‘Mr. Ponsonby’s no criminal, an’ ‘e idolises ‘is pretty wife. But people always talk. Poor man, that were just an accident really, ‘e couldn’t think straight with the shock an’ that.’

‘I ‘eard another rumour….’ began Dora eagerly, her voice trailing off into silence as three figures came into view around a bend in the lane.

The piercing tones of Lady Imogen Greenleaf reached their ears. ‘Shall we keep walking, John, or is your leg troubling you? William might like to see how the village has changed since he’s been away.’

The rather stout young man walking beside Lady Imogen adjusted his pince-nez and gazed over the fields and woods. ‘Well-it doesn’t seem very different actually, Imo. But it’s certainly pleasant seeing the place again. The air’s so fresh, blows away the cobwebs.’

‘I’m happy to keep going, I have my walking cane and we can take our time,’ said Sir John.

They came abreast of Dora. The Constable had jumped smartly into action, jamming his helmet on his head and handing Dora her full shopping basket before leaping onto his bike and riding off busily in the opposite direction. Dora lowered her gaze and gave a slight bob as the three ‘gentry’ passed her, receiving nods of acknowledgement, and a polite ‘Good morning’ from Sir John. After putting a comfortable distance between herself and her so-called ‘betters’, Dora turned to stare at the three retreating backs, curious to know who Lady Imogen’s guest might be.

At the crossroads, the party of three were hailed by Colonel Mortimer Blunkett. ‘What ho, Sir John! Good morning, Lady Imogen. Fine day for a walk, what?’

Lady Imogen gestured towards William. ‘Mortimer, I don’t think you’ve met my brother William, have you? He’s a good deal younger than me. In fact I still think of him as my little brother!’

‘Steady on, Sis!’ said William. ‘I am in long trousers now, you know!’ He shook the Colonel’s broad hand. ‘Delighted to meet you, Sir! Weatherhead’s the name. William Weatherhead.’

‘Welcome to Meadowford, William. I’m Mortimer Blunkett, from The Gables, just up the lane here.’

Lady Imogen explained ‘William’s a journalist, he’s lived in London for years. He needed a change from all the rush and bustle of town.’

‘Yes, I resigned my position on ‘The Times’ last week,’ said William. ‘Decided to move on, have a complete change, spend time with my sister. Don’t know how long they’ll put up with me, of course.’ He smiled winningly at Imogen. He was enjoying the comforts of The Hall, after years in a succession of dubious London digs.

Sir John was gazing into the distance where something seemed to have caught his eye. ‘By jingo!’ he now exclaimed. ‘Look who’s coming!’ He pointed with his cane and everyone turned to see two slender figures approaching, arms linked and heads close together as if deep in conversation.

‘Well, blow me down!’ exclaimed the Colonel, pointing down the lane with his Malacca cane. He hailed the newcomers. ‘Capital! Good to see you back with us again, Gerald old man! Welcome home!’

The approaching couple, although entering their sixties, from a distance appeared much younger. Gerald, in flannels, flamboyant striped blazer with silk cravat at the neck and a panama hat, was reminiscent of an Oxbridge student. His graceful wife in her blue linen dress and jacket, silk stockings, dainty court shoes and pert little hat under which carefully styled fair hair showed, might have been his girlfriend. The grey in her hair simply made her

seem more blond. Lady Imogen, always so correctly attired to suit her station, knew she herself looked all of her sixty-four years. Glancing at her husband in his worn plus-fours and tweed jacket, thick wool socks, walking boots and tweed cap, she sighed to herself. Her John was feeling and looking his seventy years and his leg gave him a slight limp. She felt envious of Gerald and Rosanna who still had the demeanour of a young couple deeply in love. But as they drew closer tiny worry lines were visible on their faces, and Gerald had blue shadows under his eyes. Poor things, thought Lady Imogen. These last few years had taken their toll. But how nice to see them back together again!

A chorus of excited greetings followed. Hands were vigorously shaken, backs slapped; Lady Imogen even went so far as to place a chaste kiss on Rosanna’s smooth cheek before gesturing towards her brother. ‘And this is William, my brother! Just staying with me and John for a while. He’ll soon feel at home with you and all our Meadowford friends.’

‘Splendid! Splendid!’ Sir John was saying. ‘And you’re looking well, Gerald. Food not too bad, then, I gather? And bed not too hard?’

‘Better than I expected, I suppose,’ said Gerald. ‘But it’s tophole being out again, Sir John, I won’t make a habit of being incarcerated like that!’

William was intrigued by this strange conversation and was looking from one speaker to the other hoping to be enlightened. Noticing this, Lady Imogen said hastily ‘I’ll put you in the picture later, William.’ Turning to Rosanna and Gerald she explained that they were all walking down to show William Wood Hall.

‘It’s a Hotel now,’ said Sir John, ‘opened just after Christmas. There’s a fine view of it further down the lane, across the water meadows. Quite a transformation, those builders did a fine job.’

‘Well, I’m not in a hurry,’ said the Colonel. ‘Let’s all go. It’s a pukka job all right! Grounds look top hole too.’

‘And talking of top hole,’ said Sir John, ‘I hear the manager is thinking of creating a golf course. Only nine hole, of course.’

‘Grand!’ said Gerald, ‘fancy our sleepy little village having its own golf course!’

‘And Gerald,’ said Lady Imogen, lowering her voice confidentially, ‘you’ll never guess who the new receptionist is, at Wood Hall Hotel. It’s Amelia! Amelia Fleetwood, old Miss Hamilton-Tracy’s niece. After everything that happened!’

‘Yes, Amelia, the baggage!’ agreed the Colonel. ‘The minute she came out, she rushed helter skelter back to Meadowford!’

‘The minute she came out, you say? In that case, this Amelia must be very young,’ commented William.

‘Young? No, no, Amelia’s well into her thirties now, William,’ said Lady Imogen. ‘Mortimer didn’t mean Coming Out as in young ladies-girls-starting their first season.’ She lowered her voice dramatically. ‘He meant coming out of gaol!’

William was taken aback. He gasped, then enquired ‘Gaol? Did you say gaol, Sis?’

‘Spot on, young Sir!’ said the Colonel. ‘Yes, gaol! Amelia’s quite shameless, y’know. You’d think she’d not show her face back in Meadowford after what happened. But one has to admire her spirit, I suppose. And she’s a fine figure of a woman, y’know!’

‘Admire her?’ responded William, shocked. ‘A convicted criminal? Well, I’ll be blowed! I’d forgotten the name, but now you mention it, of course I remember the case. I was appalled that such a thing could happen in my home village. It was in all the papers, even The Times of course.’

‘Yes, it was a terrible business. In our own village,’ said Lady Imogen, ‘and at a party where all our friends were guests! Once again our little community

was seen as notorious! I was mortified ‘ Lady Imogen broke off suddenly as

her glance fell upon Gerald and Rosanna, who were fidgeting and avoiding everyone’s gaze.

William was curious. ‘What do you mean, once again seen as notorious, Sis?’

Sir John put a firm hand on his wife’s sleeve and spoke quietly, bending towards her ear. ‘Come now! Some things are best left in the past, my dear. That’s quite enough said.’

Gerald, who had been unhappily regarding his polished shoes, raised his head defensively. ‘Accidents happen, you know! People can get into deep water and things can spin out of control….’

The Colonel interrupted with a deep guffaw. ‘Poor Basil got into deep water all right!’

Sir John spoke severely to his old friend. ‘That’s enough said, Mortimer! No more talk about accidents and gaol, please.’

Rosanna was looking upset. She grabbed Gerald’s arm, saying ‘Gerald darling, I really think we should be going home now. I feel rather weary, I’m not used to long walks.’

Lady Imogen patted Rosanna’s shoulder affectionately. ‘I’m sorry, Rosanna, I was being thoughtless. We’ll change the subject, we mustn’t spoil Gerald’s homecoming. It’s wonderful to see you two lovebirds together again.’

The Colonel gave a deep chuckle. ‘Talking of things spinning out of control, Gerald.. you’ll hardly recognise old Maudie when you meet her again. She’s dolled up like a dog’s dinner these days. Pours lavender water all over herself,

sloshes powder on her face, even slaps on lipstick ‘

‘Usually in the wrong place, she reminds me of an Aunt Sally at the fair, poor old girl!’ put in Lady Imogen. ‘And she’s even taken to wearing jewellery! Dangly earrings, bracelets, brooches, necklaces! Overdoes it, you know, looks like a cheap Christmas tree!’

‘I don’t suppose that daft little dog likes her mistress transformed into a lavender-scented showpiece either!’ added Sir John.

‘It’s rum,’ said the Colonel. ‘Dotty’s actually getting even more walks than usual. Most days Maude goes striding off across the water meadows to meet that manager fellow at the Hotel.’

‘That’s right!’ said Rosanna brightly. ‘We saw them together, didn’t we, Mortimer, when we walked over there a week or two ago. We