The Inexplicable Affair of the Mesmerising Russian Nobleman

By Neil Willcox

Gentleman adventurer Heinrich von Schneemann has been sent on a mission by his mysterious patron, Lady Glenshire. The quiet country house weekend is disrupted when the host is murdered. Schneemann must find the killer to prove his innocence as he is in the unfortunate position of his alibi being that he was burgling the room next door...

Schneemann, respectable if not always respectful, uncovers clues to the perpetrator of several crimes in high society; one Count Andropoff, a rich, well-connected occultist who is rumoured to be able to grant the heart’s desire of a man (or even a woman). As he closes in on his enemy, will he solve the greatest mystery of all – what does lie in the heart of a man like Schneemann?

A comedy crime novel set in 1902, The Inexplicable Affair of the Mesmerising Russian Nobleman pokes outrageous fun at murder mysteries, heists and Edwardian England.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neil Willcox
• Release date: Dec 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463668474

Neil Willcox

Having worked in the back office of an insurance company, as a fruitpicker, in a call centre, as a teaching assistant and as a ticket seller Neil is in no way qualified to write historical fiction, let alone make jokes about it. Yet here we.

Book preview

Another Country House Weekend

Chapter 1.

Heinrich von Schneemann opened the window and cursed. Years of scheming and months of greasing his way through the drawing rooms and offices of London high society were to be put at risk by a simple act of burglary. His partner had insisted. So he had arranged the invitation to this insipid country house party being held by some of the most ghastly people he had ever met, solely to steal the object. He hadn’t been told why. The arrangement he was entangled in was looking more and more one sided.

To the business at hand. He reached into the night and firmly grasped the drainpipe. Ensuring it was securely attached to the wall he swung himself out and began to climb.

There was no moon, and no illumination – the house was set in the middle of magnificent if empty countryside. The elaborate facade made his progress relatively simple. Moving by feel he slowly made his way up to the window that previous reconnaissance had indicated was his target.

The window was closed against the cold air but he forced it open. Thankfully it had not been locked or latched, although only the most paranoid of householders would expect a burglar in the country, especially on the second floor. He paused to make sure that no one had heard the scrapes. He slid inside, carefully keeping his clothes from catching on the frame. Again he waited, listening for any sign that he might have been detected.

The room was just barely lit by a faint glow from the ajar door – a nightlight in the bedroom. It was enough for him to make his way across the dressing room to the jewellery box. Working by feel he categorised the contents – it seemed that her diamond studs were paste – until he found the catch. Moving aside a truly enormous ruby, he pushed and the bottom of the case opened up. Inside was a small, slim volume bound in brown leather. He mentally confirmed that it matched the details he had been given. He slipped it into his pocket and took one final look around the darkened room, his gaze lingering for a moment on the open cupboard full of shoes.

As he padded back to the window he heard a murmur from the bedroom. He froze. There was a whispered reply. He listened as hard as he could but silence again reigned. Were Lord and Lady Allenmore not as estranged as their behaviour suggested? Or was some other party involved? He was surprised that she was not asleep – the laudanum in her sleeping draught would knock out an elephant. He wrenched his thoughts back to his current task. Time enough to investigate this when he was not in the middle of a robbery.

Outside he hung from the frame as he slid the window closed. It wouldn’t stay in place and jamming it shut from the outside, with one hand, was a difficult manoeuvre. After several futile attempts he shoved it hard. It ground into place just as his foot slipped from its spot. For a moment he hung by one hand, three stories above the ground.

Cursing silently he grabbed the window sill and replaced his feet. After taking a moment to catch his breath and slow his pulse he made his way back down, slowly feeling for each foothold before trusting his weight to it. As he reached the window back into the library he heard a scream.

"Gross Gott!" he said. He dropped inside, and saw that the door to the hallway was now open. If he hurried perhaps he could get back to his room before anyone got up to investigate.

Oh please no! the unmistakeable voice of Lady Allenmore wailed. Somebody help me!

What was wrong with the woman? It was only a book. There was no need to carry on as though...

My husband has been murdered!

Ah, thought Schneemann as doors opened along the corridor separating him from his bedroom. This situation was becoming a little tricky.

Chapter 2.

Previously...

He had been unhappy from the start. Lady Glenshire, I object!

She sat calmly, a still figure in an elegant neutral grey dress, face half hidden under a large matching hat. Her shiny black shoes were almost hidden under the hem. Object away von Schneemann.

He got up from his seat and began to pace up and down the small sitting room. For weeks now you have had me investigating Count Andropoff and the source of his mysterious fortune. He has been the centre of much speculation. They say he can grant a man’s most heartfelt desires.

She nodded. "Well, it is my desire that you undertake this task."

He continued to walk. ‘A matter of urgency’ you called it. ‘We must find out what he is up to before he ruins another business or embarrasses another gentleman.’ That is what you said Lady Glenshire.

She waved her fan delicately about her face. Well remembered von Schneemann. Although it is a little tiresome to listen to hear one’s own words barked back at oneself.

He stopped in place, allowing his annoyance to show. If Andropoff is no longer so urgent then there are other affairs to look into. Lady Smith-Smythe’s wardrobe or that Westenra business. Or even my personal concerns, which I was promised I could take care of.

A slight smile crossed Lady Glenshire’s lips. "You will conduct your personal concerns, as you call them, when I give you permission. However you may be less unwilling if you will allow me to explain the assignment to you.

It is, of course, just another country house weekend. Lord Allenmore and family, his business partner, and a friend or two. I believe you already know the Honourable Edward Allenmore?

Schneemann examined his cuffs. They were immaculate. I am acquainted with the gentleman.

Indeed. I believe he may feel indebted to you after you helped clear up a misunderstanding involving a coach accident, six prostitutes and a High Court Judge.

Seven prostitutes as it happens.

I stand corrected. She folded the fan up, and took a sip of tea. I think he would be pleased to invite you to a quiet weekend with the family. A break from the bustle and noise of town. Some riding, brisk healthy walks in the countryside, that sort of thing.

Is there, perhaps, some other business I might conduct out there?

Lady Glenshire wafted her teacup airily. There might be a tiny favour you could do for me while you are there. Lady Allenmore has acquired a book. It details a trip into the Orient, taken in the Seventeenth Century, in which the author describes many visits and conversations with the monks of the Great Himalaya Range. Her ladyship is very interested in spirituality. I am not, but I am interested in this book.

Schneemann raised an eyebrow. So I should display an interest, admire it and ingratiate myself to the extent that Lady Allenmore will lend it to me?

No von Schneemann. I wish you to steal it. She waved down his protest. I have been informed that she keeps it in a hidden compartment in the base of her travelling jewellery case. I doubt you would be able to admire it there, no matter how well you ingratiate yourself. You will have to slip into her dressing room, remove the book, and then keep her too busy to look into it until you are safely away. That should be within your abilities.

You wish me to act as a common thief.

Not at all. I wish you to be a most uncommon thief. There is an additional inducement, something that might make you more eager to undertake this commission. Mrs D’Argent, the widowed sister of Lord Allenmore, is currently residing at his house. You may have heard of her late husband, Hugh D’Argent.

Schneemann nodded thoughtfully. He was the cousin of that Conquest woman. He spat the name like a viper would.

"It may be that you will be able to lay the groundwork for some of your personal concerns with the Conquest family. Just so long as you get that book for me."

Chapter 3.

Schneemann had arranged matters so that he was alone in the first class railway compartment. As the train crawled through the countryside towards Lower Bellows Halt, he inspected himself in the mirror. His black, lustrous hair was swept back to reveal a wide brow, pale eyes and a dagger of a nose. His dark complexion showed a faint scar that ran diagonally down and back from the corner of his right eye.

He wore a cream suit, deliberately chosen to be slightly more appropriate for a day trip in summer than for a country weekend in the spring. Similarly he would allow a hint of accent into his voice. The English would always underestimate an awkward foreigner. He adjusted the carnation in his buttonhole and admired the mirror shine on his shoes. A smart straw hat sat on top of his portmanteau. It was an extravagant amount of luggage for four days, but in these circles he would require three changes of clothes every day.

Despite this he had brought no servant with him. Unless he was very much mistaken he would want to avoid having someone whose job was to keep track of him and take care of his possessions. The fewer people coming in and out of his bedroom the better and he would prefer to keep the contents of his bag private.

The train began to brake as the track emerged from woodland. The country here was broken up into valleys, each with a large stream or small river at the bottom. For a moment Schneemann could see the village and the surrounding farmland before it vanished behind a sheep covered hill. The platform came into view, and he stood up.

Lower Bellows Halt! cried the conductor. Despite the sunshine the wind was cold on his face as he stepped off the train. He waved at the porter who marched over with his trolley. Other than himself the only other passengers to alight here were two old ladies.

I am on my way to Black Rose Hall, he informed the porter. The young man grinned and tipped his cap.

Certainly sir. The trap is here to meet you.

Outside on the rutted road was a smart carriage with an efficient looking bay in the harness. Sitting in it, whip in hand, was a woman. He tipped his hat in salute.

Miss Allenmore! I did not expect so gracious a welcome, nor so pretty a driver.

She smiled at him. Hello Mr Schneemann. I didn’t know if you would remember me.

I could hardly forget. We were introduced at the Trafalgar Ball as I recall. You wore blue in honour of your Royal Navy. Even your dancing slippers were blue. For the sea and the sky and the sailors you said.

Today she wore a dove grey riding habit covered by a dark grey coat. The tips of her black boots peeked out from under the skirt. Blonde hair was piled under a tall black hat. Her round, smiling face was flushed in the cool air. The porter had loaded the portmanteau on to the back of the carriage and tied it in place. Schneemann tipped him sixpence. It never hurt to be generous. At her invitation he climbed aboard and they set off.

There was no need for you to come yourself to meet me Miss Allenmore. I could have hired a carriage of my own.

She snorted. "Johnson would have taken you up, but I would hardly call his cart a carriage. To be honest I was glad to get out of the house."

Oh?

She glanced over at him. Well Daddy was absolutely beastly over lunch and all Mummy wants to talk about is the world of the spirits and ancient wisdom and all that rot. Rather than listen to her and Madam Volkova going on and on about their hidden masters I decided a quick drive down to Lower Bellows was just the thing.

Schneemann made encouraging noises and she continued to list the short-comings of the other inhabitants of the house. While part of his mind listened and compared her impressions with his own knowledge, he looked about the lane they were on. They had passed the turn off to the village and were now in a deep cut surrounded by trees. As they clattered along, birds scattered from the verges into the new foliage and undergrowth. A tiny bridge crossed a burbling stream and they came out into the open. On one side were a set of fields, each rising above the next up the slope of the hill. The crops were just starting to sprout above the ground. On the other side was the dark stone wall of the estate.

Teddy took off with the... with Mr Van Hoot, to try and catch some fish. I can’t think of anything more boring, can you?

I believe boring is the point. A quiet change from regular responsibilities.

She barked laughter, briefly spooking the horse. When she calmed it down she answered him. Well perhaps. Mr Van Hoot has nothing but responsibilities – he does all the boring business stuff at Daddy’s dreadful shipyard – but Teddy has never even heard of the word. If he catches a fish he doesn’t even clean it himself.

Schneemann raised an eyebrow. To be sure, a gentleman should always clean his own fish.

Jack cleans his own fish; in fact he would build a fire, fillet it and cook it to perfection with woodland herbs, as quick as a flash. Teddy could learn a lot from him.

I’m sorry. Who is Jack?

Her face had lit up when she started to talk about him. Oh, Jack. Jack Spooner. The American? I’m sure you’ve heard of him.

Schneemann had indeed heard of him. He knew that Spooner, although rich, was generally considered brash and uncultured. It was rumoured that Lord Allenmore had forbidden him from courting his daughter.

Wanting to hear more he feigned ignorance. The name is familiar, but I don’t recall any details. Perhaps you can enlighten me?

Well he’s tall, perhaps an inch or two taller than you, Mr Schneemann. Very fashionable hair. Very fashionable everything; he gets all his suits from Raynes Brothers you know.

Schneemann did know; they did fine work. For himself, he patronised a Jewish tailor in the East End who made an equally distinguished garment for one fifth the price.

He grew up in Montana, out in the Wild West. His father owns gold mines though he prefers hunting or riding out on the cattle ranches. Can you imagine it Mr Schneemann? The wide open prairie, the sky so big and blue, not a person for dozens of miles. Eagles soaring above the hills, buffalo grazing peacefully, the simple life in unspoiled countryside. I think it must be the most romantic place in the world.

He didn’t need to imagine it. He remembered an uncomfortable month in a snowbound cabin, the daily visits of the wolves eager to break in and eat their stores. The improvised sled they built to take them through the eerie forests and empty plains. The surprise of waking up to discover themselves surrounded by silent Sioux, who waited an hour then left them without ever saying a word. And, of course, he also recalled a week in the jail of the Great Falls Sherriff’s office; a misunderstanding over a card game. He was not fond of the state. Perhaps he simply was not a romantic man.

She continued. Of course his manners are a little unpolished, but that is a fault that all young men share. Mummy says that it is the vocation of a lady to turn a lout into a gentleman.

Perhaps so, mused Schneemann as they came to a gap in the wall and turned off the lane into a wide carriage drive. My goodness, what an extraordinary facade!

Isn’t it ghastly? Grandfather bought the house and added the East Wing. When Daddy inherited the old pile he rebuilt the West. So we ended up with all this mismatching architecture.

He inspected the building eagerly. He had been unable to discover any recent descriptions of Black Rose Hall, let alone a floor plan with Lady Allenmore’s dressing room conveniently labelled. If by some mischance he had to enter from outside each part looked climbable. In the centre, the rough red bricks included plenty of decorative protrusions which would warm the heart of a burglar or amateur mountaineer. The East Wing on the left was covered in trellises and vines despite the North facing aspect. The West seemed to have a drainpipe by every window, creating a network of metal hand and footholds.

Still, that would be a last resort. He was confident he would be able to talk or sneak his way inside without resorting to such distastefully energetic methods.

Miss Allenmore brought the trap into a neat turn and stopped in front of the house. The horse snorted, unimpressed. As Schneemann jumped down, a smartly dressed man with greying slicked back hair appeared from the front door.

Ah Jenkins. This is Mr Schneemann.

Jenkins nodded deeply. Good Day Mr Schneemann. Lady Allenmore has asked if you would join her in the solarium for tea. As soon as you have recovered from your journey, of course. He waved at the livery clad lad who had followed him out. His ginger locks were escaping from under his cap. Terrence! Collect Mr Schneemann’s luggage then call one of the stable lads to put the trap away.

Not to worry Jenkins. I’ll drive it around myself. The smiling girl clucked at the horse and shook the reins.

He frowned in disapproval, but made no reply. Instead he turned back to Schneemann. If you will follow me, Lady Allenmore has put you in the Indian room.

They walked through the carpeted entrance hall decorated with several enormous portraits and up the grand stairway to the first floor balcony that surrounded it on three sides. As Terrence puffed along behind them under the weight of the portmanteau, Jenkins led them down a corridor into the West Wing.

Here we are sir, murmured Jenkins as he opened the door. That door leads to your private bathing room. The boiler in the basement supplies hot water to the tap marked with the red H for hot. I hope this is satisfactory to you. Please ring if you require anything. He indicated the bell pull on the wall.

Schneemann hesitated in the doorway. I am curious. What is that at the far end of the corridor?

Jenkins paused from frowning at Terrence’s efforts to place the bag on a stand. That is the Library sir. It has windows on three sides, as well as the electric lighting to allow reading even when the sunlight is inadequate. Will that be all?

Schneemann inspected the room while Terrence unpacked his suits. The walls were decorated with a variety of pictures depicting life in the British Raj. The furniture was a gorgeously polished teak, the desk legs carved to look like elephant’s heads. For some reason the pen-knife was a large curved dagger, completely impractical. An enormous fan with a painting of a peculiarly distorted camel graced the wall above it. He snorted at a scroll displayed in one corner; either no one in the house was literate in Sanskrit, or they had an especially filthy sense of humour.

He stopped the boy with a thrupenny bit and sent him on his way before he got to the bottom of the case and the items he preferred to keep discreetly hidden from the staff. He washed his face and hands, changed into an afternoon lounge suit in tweed and selected an exquisite pair of brown walking shoes. Looking the very image of a country gentleman he rang the bell, asking the maidservant who responded for directions to Lady Allenmore.

On the ground floor of the main part of the house he took a moment to explore. The central part was less modern and also appeared less comfortable than the West Wing. The floor was stone flags which even the pretty rugs could not make warm and soft. Here was a breakfast room, a dining room and a sitting room, all decorated in a slightly old fashioned style.

He walked out of the back of the house to discover the solarium. The tiled floor amplified the sound of his footsteps. The room was filled with plants from tiny cacti the size of his thumb to twelve foot trees brushing the glass ceiling in pots the size of a half hogshead. Shafts of sunlight peeped through the foliage, the glass panes of the walls and ceilings mostly hidden by the greenery.

Three women sat around a table supporting a silver tea service crowned with a triple storey cake stand. Closest to him was a lady in a purple robe and matching turban. As she turned to look at him he could see that it was decorated with a pin topped with a bright blue jewel that matched her suspicious, peering eyes.

Beside her was Lady Allenmore in a severely old fashioned blue and white striped dress. Her greying blonde hair was bound up under a sunhat. She smiled at him in greeting.

He took a quick glance at the last lady. She was very fashionable in a yellow outfit, dark curly hair spilling out from under a daringly small hat. As she put down her cup, her sunflower yellow shoes vanished under the hem of the dress.

Ah Mr Schneemann. Please join us. Allow me to introduce my sister-in-law, Mrs D’Argent, and the renowned medium and mistress of the spirit world, Madam Volkova.

Schneemann bowed to all three, then sank into an uncomfortably soft armchair. A maid appeared from the undergrowth and poured him a cup of tea.

How was your journey Mr Schneemann? Mrs D’Argent seemed slightly distracted, asking the question more from good manners and habit than curiosity.

Not unpleasant. I was fortunate enough to be met at the station by Miss Allenmore who drove me through your wonderful countryside.

If you liked the countryside, you must see the park, said Lady Allenmore. As you can see from the window, we have formal gardens as well as the wood down by the lake.

He turned and nodded in appreciation. Your rhododendrons are very fine. They could almost be at home in the Himalayas rather than at your so-English Black Rose Hall.

You have visited the Orient Mr Schneemann? Have you perhaps studied with any of the masters of the mountain monasteries? I so wish I could travel out there myself, but it would be quite impossible, even if Lord Allenmore could manage without me.

Madam Volkova studied him intently and hissed, Yes Mr Schneemann. Tell us what you know about the mysterious east.

****

Schneemann sat in the lotus position, hands on his knees, shaven head bowed. The cell was cool, but the maroon and saffron coloured robes were surprisingly warm. He knew that he was being watched. It no longer seemed important. He was not, perhaps, meditating in a style that the monks would recognise or approve of, yet they would not be able to fault the intensity of his concentration.

He breathed, slow and deep, feeling the air fill him up as it came in, then leave him empty as it left. His senses seemed preternaturally sharp. He could smell the cold air overlaid with the bitter aroma of mountain herbs, the reek of warm butter and the ever present sour touch of tea. The slight vibration of the flagstones through the rug he sat on told him that someone was walking past the door.

It seemed that days had passed since dawn though the angle of the sun suggested that he had waited about an hour when the door opened. He raised his head and stood, silently following the monks in their garishly embroidered slippers and robes.

In a small room overlooking the courtyard they left him. It was shadowed, but the movement of the sun was bringing it around to shine through the barred window. He sat in front of the old man who was waiting there, arranging his body into the preferred position.

Time passed, as time does. When the shadows had moved across the floor to bring Schneemann into the light, the old man spoke.

There is a tale of a woman whose son was sick. So she went to visit the Buddha where he sat under his tree and asked him if he could save her son’s life. The Buddha asked her to bring him a mustard seed from a house that had never known death. So she went to the town and asked at every house. But in every house, no matter how small or large, death had visited. At last the woman returned to the Buddha, saying that she had learnt the lesson. Explain this to me.

Schneemann lifted his head and raised an eyebrow. The Buddha has much to tell us about death. There is a saying ‘If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.’

The old man’s brow furrowed. They sat there still for a time, breathing in the air, spending their time by experiencing the moment they existed in.

As the sun reached its zenith the old man spoke again. I am sorry. I do not understand, wise master.

****

"I met one or two lamas but I can’t say that I am an expert on Thibettan beliefs. I understand that it takes many months of study, as well as fasting and performing other acts of devotion, merely to gain entry to a monastery." Schneemann took a sip of his tea. The smoky flavour of Lapsang Souchong could be tasted even through the milk that had drowned it. Still, it was better than yak butter.

We could all stand to learn from the ancient wisdom of the oriental masters, intoned Madam Volkova. In their mountain fastnesses they have kept the elder knowledge of ante-diluvian times safe for our own fallen epoch. If I had not my students depending on me here I would sail to India to spend my remaining years studying at the feet of the gurus.

"It is a pity you have people keeping you here, said Mrs D’Argent, I wish that I could send you on such an expedition. But Mr Schneemann, tell me. How did you come to join us here? It seems an age since we saw a fresh face."

I was fortunate enough to befriend your nephew Edward. We have been of some assistance to each other navigating the awkward shoals of London society.

Madam Volkova clucked. Edward is going to the bad. He shows no respect to anyone. The spirits know he should mend his ways.

Schneemann leant forward and helped himself to a cucumber sandwich. He is young, and perhaps he is a little headstrong. I have done my best to, not so much restrain him, as to channel his enthusiasm into more productive pursuits. To join a club and involve himself in charitable work. He has promised to introduce me to your sport of cricket, which I must admit I find baffling. However I understand it is a respectable and healthy activity.

Oh please tell me the cricket season is not upon us again. The clapping and cheering quite disrupt a pleasant afternoon with friends admiring the young men. I recall that we were hearing some delicious gossip about the Duke of East Phalia when we were interrupted by the sudden arrival of the ball in the salmon mousse. I never did find out who he had the assignation with, or what happened to the steam frigate. All anyone would talk about was the ‘remarkable six’ or some such.

Quite against his inclinations Schneemann was starting to like Mrs D’Argent.

Is there much entertainment in the district? I am quite a stranger to the English countryside. These shoes, for example. In Germany they would be considered suitable, as we would anticipate spending much of our time walking or hunting in the country. Customs are a little more formal here.

The three ladies considered his feet and to his satisfaction revealed their own footwear. Mrs D’Argent had slim, petite feet in the delicate yellow shoes he had glimpsed before. Madam Volkova affected wide, if short, purple slippers with a tassel. They did not quite match the colour of her robe. Lady Allenmore had on sensible black boots, the lowest button of which could be seen under the hem of her dress.

They are... acceptable.

Lady Allenmore expanded. For an informal afternoon tea they are not, ah, inappropriate. For walking or driving about the countryside and then popping in to visit a friend, perfectly adequate. Or for an early morning breakfast before going out for the day. Not for dinner of course.

Of course.

Madam Volkova took a slice of cake, one of the dry cream-less objects the English seemed to enjoy. You asked us about entertainment. We mostly study and exercise, which I am glad of as these things are better for the spirit than frivolity.

Mrs D’Argent sighed. I am afraid that Ekaterin is correct. At this time of year we are mostly bereft of company. Lord Allenmore finds it convenient for his business affairs, and so long as his party or the government do not need him in parliament, we are staying away from London.

I only wish we could get Teddy to join us more often. I fear he has come under some bad influence in town. Not you of course Mr Schneemann.

Schneemann nodded. Lord Allenmore’s business is so important to him?

Mrs D’Argent snorted. Anything to keep Jess away from that American fellow.

Lydia! Lady Allenmore caught her gaze. "I’m sure Mr Schneemann doesn’t want to know about our family squabbles. I wouldn’t want