The Maiming of the Shrew: Pratford-upon-Avon mystery series, #1

By Hannah Clemson

Shakespeare lover, bookshop owner and now amateur sleuth, Beatrice Hathaway finds herself searching for answers to life's great questions when she accidentally buys a bookshop in England. With another failed relationship under her belt, she arrives in the real home of Shakespeare, in search of the truth. Pratford-upon-Avon with its quaint Tudor cottages, cobbled streets, old English pub and a whole host of characters seems the perfect escape - so what could possibly go wrong?

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When Charles Deverill, a newspaper tycoon and the owner of Deverill Manor is found poisoned, the night before his Daughter's wedding, the finger of suspicion firmly points at the village's newcomer - Beatrice Hathaway. 

With the help of Antony Marsden, an archaeologist from Egypt who's been summoned to the Manor, and Beatrice's only friend in town, they unravel the mystery of the Deverill dynasty, with devastating consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hannah Clemson
• Release date: Sep 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393286745

Book preview

Act 1 – Scene 1

there's small choice in rotten apples

"SO WHEN DO YOU FLY out Beatrice?

I bet you can't wait

It's going to be so romantic!

My girlfriends, Laila, Amy and Zoe, are gathered around me in our local neighbourhood coffee shop sipping lattes and breaking a tiny chunk off their shared chocolate brownie whilst they bottle-feed their ravenous newborns. I won't see them for two weeks as I am flying out tomorrow to visit England, fulfilling a lifetime’s ambition.

Maybe tonight will be the night Beatrice! Laila beams with excitement.

Or perhaps he’ll wait until you’re in England. I think he’ll take you to an English castle or propose to you from Juliet’s balcony Zoe says, as she places a hand over her heart.

I don't want to kill Zoe's enthusiasm, but it's highly unlikely Bill will propose from Juliet’s balcony, because Juliet’s balcony is in Verona, and we’re going to England. But it’s a nice idea.

Laila’s daughter Apple begins to cry as soon as Laila takes the bottle out of her mouth. Her thirst seems insatiable and she doesn't want to leave her mother's arms at all. It's so nice seeing my friends with their little ones. They all had their children around the same time, with only a couple of months difference between each baby.

Would you like to hold her? Amy asks, as she hands me Tallulah. Tallulah’s big brown eyes stare back at me and I kiss her forehead, which is adorned with a crown of yellow hibiscuses.

I worked with Laila, Amy and Zoe at the station up until a year ago when they all got pregnant within a few short months of each other. They were all already married and  enjoyed spending time planning their big days and then buying houses with their new rich husbands. They were the same age as me, which only highlighted my lack of success. They were at the finish line. They had bagged a successful husband, a beautiful house, a nice car and now a beautiful baby, all before reaching 40.

Well, we're going out for dinner tonight, so I'm hoping he'll pop the question. It’s so exciting! When we get back from England, I’m going to move into Bill’s apartment, before we find a real family home.

I take a forkful of my deluxe triple-layer chocolate fudge cake and wash it down with a gulp of my full-fat flat white.

Be careful Beatrice, you might be walking down the aisle soon. As much as men say it’s OK to carry a little weight, I don’t think they mean that much Laila chuckles to herself.

I push the chocolate cake away and take a sip of water instead.

I was thinking, perhaps if Bill doesn't ask me tonight, do you think it would be romantic if I asked him? I ask.

Laila, Amy and Zoe all look at each other in shock and simultaneously burst into fits of giggles.

Absolutely not. It’s not right, not traditional Laila says.

It sounds a little desperate Bea Zoe chimes in.

I think any man who has to wait for a woman to ask him, just isn’t that into her Amy bluntly flattens any remaining enthusiasm I have for the idea anyway, Bill is going to ask you tonight, so don’t worry!

I'M ON MY WAY TO MEET Bill at an Italian restaurant in Little Italy, it's one of our favourite restaurants and I can't wait to order a big bowl of their spaghetti carbonara, it's the best carbonara I've ever tried and the most authentic outside of Rome, or so I'm told. I’ll start the diet tomorrow.

Bill texts to say he's running a few minutes late, but he'll be here as soon as he can. I take the opportunity to enjoy a glass of Chianti at the bar, and to run through the itinerary for tomorrow. I double check the flight times, transfers and hotel information. Everything is ready, I've been planning this trip for ten years and I can’t wait to get there. I don’t know whether it’s the magical castles, the museums, the art, the history, or seeing Buckingham Palace and catching a glimpse of the Queen that I am most looking forward to. Someone at work told me that I have to visit Charing Cross Road in London, and take a look at the rows of antiquarian bookshops that line the street. The bookshops are bursting with rare books, manuscripts and periodicals, with piles of heavy leather-bound first editions weighing down the sagging shelves, and stacks of books piled high on the staircases, and in string-wrapped bundles on the floor. I love England’s history and I am a super-fan of Shakespeare as well, though my friends never get it, so I’ve organised for us to spend some time in Stratford-upon-Avon, the home of the Bard.

I see Bill walk through the door and wave at him so he can see me. He is still wearing his NYPD uniform and looks like he's come straight from the station. We sit down and Bill orders appetisers to share.

Tough day? You look tired? I ask.

Yeah, not great. Sorry I’m late Bea.

I raise my glass to meet Bill’s and tell him I’ve just triple-checked everything for tomorrow and we are all set. My carbonara arrives and tastes unbelievable. I can’t wait to try more European food, and I am looking forward to tucking into an English roast beef dinner and fish and chips.

What are you most looking forward to Bill?.

I sense Bill is distracted and he keeps looking at his phone. Perhaps this is part of the proposal? Maybe he’s waiting for a delivery of some kind? Maybe it’s a string quartet, how romantic!

Bill......Bill? What are you most looking forward to?.

I'm sorry Beatrice.

It’s OK Bill, I know you're tired, this last few weeks have been difficult at work. Listen, we have two weeks off. This time tomorrow, we’ll be flying to London. A few days away and you’ll feel much better I say.

No, Bea, I’m sorry because....

Act 1 – Scene 2

"My tongue will tell the anger of my heart,

or else my heart concealing it will break."

I RUN ALL THE WAY FROM the subway to my apartment, trying to avoid the puddles of rain forming on the ground from teeming blue-black rain coming down from the heavens. I get my key card out and swipe open my apartment door. Once inside, I throw my purse on the floor and dive onto the sofa, the rain and the tears now leaving their own puddle on the white linen fabric.

I hear my cell phone buzz on the glass coffee table. It’s Amy. Unhelpful notifications pop up on the screen cheerily announcing that I have 'new messages’. Looking around the apartment, I see packed up boxes all ready for the movers. The movers are due to come the day after tomorrow, the new owners are moving in a few weeks. I feel my chest tighten, and my throat dry up.

A few weeks ago, I finally sold my small apartment. I’ve lived in Hempstead, New York since I was born, and I grew up in this apartment. When my dad died, I inherited the apartment, but I haven’t dared move a thing since, let alone re-decorate. All the rooms have an 80s Dallas feel, there’s a huge white puffy couch, which I’m currently crying into, like it’s a life-size Kleenex, and a line of gold-rimmed picture frames with pictures of me, mom and dad.

Bill’s always said it’s old-fashioned, but it reminds me of my parents and I didn’t want to change it. I didn’t want anything to change. The apartment is in a co-op building and most of the neighbours are old ladies with lots of cats. I am terrified of ending up living alone with only cats for company. So when Bill and I decided to move in together, I put the apartment on the market and got packing.

I remember I’d chilled a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator for Bill and I to drink tonight. OK, I got a bit ahead of myself, I thought we’d be celebrating. After all, it has been three years! I go to the fridge and pop the cork, right now I need a drink and who cares if I’m drinking the bottle on my own. I’ll probably be alone forever now anyway - drinking cheap wine, ordering take-out and not leaving the couch.

Another notification pops up on my phone, but this time it’s Sophie. I drink a whole glass down in one and refill the champagne flute.

Hi Bea, free to chat?.

It’s 8.32pm here, which means it’s 1.32am in England. I wonder what’s wrong and open my laptop and press the Skype logo. Sophie is a pen-pal of mine. It’s a bit strange, because we’ve never met, but we’re the best of friends.

We’ve known each other for 10 years, as long as I’ve been planning my trip, and Bill and I were due to meet Sophie in England. Sophie lives near to Stratford-upon-Avon, the home of Shakespeare, so I was finally going to meet her. She will be devastated when I tell her I'm not coming. I met Sophie through the NYPD development study scheme. Sophie was assigned to help me 'progress' in my career and escape the filing department, but it's never happened. She is a DCI with Warwickshire Police in England, but she’s on maternity leave at the moment - as she - like everyone else I know - has just had a baby!.

Sophie answers the call, and after a few seconds of video fuzziness, I see Sophie’s face.

Bea!!! I’m so excited! Sophie saw me take a gulp of my champagne.

Hope I haven’t disturbed anything? Is that champagne?

I can see Sophie’s mind ticking over and thinking why I’d be drinking champagne.

Oh, Bill has asked you! Congratulations! Beatrice, this is perfect! I’ll be totally honest with you, I really didn’t think he’d do it, thought he was a bit of a loser frankly and that you could do better, but he’s finally done the decent thing.

I pour another glass of champagne and drink it down in one go. I don’t want to tell Sophie what has happened. I don’t want her disappointment on top of my own.

Well, I guess you’re excited, one little glass won’t hurt, but remember you’ve got a flight tomorrow Sophie reminds me.

He didn’t ask me Sophie. He said he wants to take a break and he thinks I should go on the trip on my own. He said it was my trip anyway, and that he really wasn’t bothered about seeing some dead guy’s birthplace.

Oh, Bea, that’s terrible, you must be heart-broken.

I know! Some dead guy, right? I reply.

After Sophie stops hyperventilating, she begins to cry and I feel like I need to comfort her. I don’t know why people do this, but she starts to tell me how wonderful her husband Luke is and how she wants me to meet someone like him. Right now, I hate the world and all the men in it, and that includes Luke.

Sophie convinces me to still visit England and go on the trip on my own. She is right, there’s no point wasting the vacation and everything’s paid for, but right now, I’d rather just curl up and die.

I'm reminded of the only reason I'd never do that when Rosencatz, my cat, murmurs and meows, and comes in for a big cuddle, bemused by all the emotion. Her ginger and white striped legs tip-toe on top of mine, and her almond-shaped emerald green eyes give me a knowing look which is more than a polite request for some food.

Sometimes I feel Rosencatz is my only true friend. She's been with me since my dad died and she's a tough old thing with more self-worth in one of her slinky paws than I’ll ever have. She wouldn’t let anyone mess her about and I treat her like a princess most of the time, but there’s one thing she doesn’t like. 

The phone buzzes furiously as Sophie is frantically sending me emails of things to do in England when travelling alone. Sophie, unlike me, believes you can Google search your way out of heartbreak.

It’s a stark realisation, but I guess I could make the best of it? I open an email entitled Stratford-upon-Avon for the solo traveller - great! Sophie says she will be around lots too, so maybe it’ll be OK? I click on another email and see about twenty different links to day trips, food tours, book readings and other 'exciting adventures' anyone who’s ever been abandoned can enjoy.

Rosencatz looks at the screen and meows I know sweetie, but you can’t come with me. You have to go to the cattery, and I know you'll love it there. What about the cat pampering sessions, massages, luxury food and the cat sensory room? I’ll be back in no time.

Rosencatz stands up on her back paws and looks away from me, defiantly refusing to accept the situation.

I’ll be back soon and then we can find somewhere to live, I’m not sure where though. Maybe some place with a nice garden, so you can play out? Would you like that? Yeah, course you would. I tickle Rosencatz’s belly and kiss her forehead.

Look at me, on the brink of 40 years of age, alone, single, drinking my he-didn’t-even-ask-me-to-marry-him champagne by the gallon and talking to my cat. An all-time low by anyone’s standards.

Should I text Bill? Oh my God. I wish my mom and dad were here, they’d know what to do. I walk over to the sideboard and I pick up a picture frame with a photo of their wedding day in it, which I haven’t put in a box yet and therefore still takes centre stage on our white and gold sideboard near the dining table. I kiss the picture of my mom and dad, hoping they’ll give me a sign and tell me what to do. But nothing happens.

I pour another glass of the sad champagne and spend a few more hours searching the internet for things to do in England. I meander through the net and spend an age looking at eBay and a listing for a small bookshop in England pops up. Maybe you can Google search your way out of heartbreak?

The advert reads: Ye olde English bookshop for sale - in Shakespeare’s real home!

The bookshop looks so warm, cosy and inviting and is piled high with books lining the shelves and running along the window sill. It has an old wooden counter with a cash register on it, and two faded brown leather chairs.

It is housed in an old Tudor cottage and has a little apartment upstairs. It's very old fashioned, even more chintzy than my apartment, and it's in Shakespeare’s home town! It needs a lot of work, but the owner is clearly keen to sell. So keen, in fact, he’s listed the shop on eBay for a quick sale, which ends tonight. The listing only has a few hours left and the price is stupidly inexpensive for Stratford-upon-Avon - only a few thousand British pounds. In a moment of madness, I bring up the currency converter on my phone and enter the details. The price in dollars is more than bearable.

I'm single again, with no commitments or responsibilities, I say to myself trying to make the best of it, and I have the money from the house sale sitting in my account. I've always wanted to live in Stratford-upon-Avon - Shakespeare’s birthplace! Is this fate? Maybe this is a sign? Maybe this is my parents telling me what I should do!

I am overly-excited, like a child on Christmas morning, but I sense a familiar cloud of self-doubt descend on me.

I’m a realist, nothing is going to change this situation. I need to snap out of it. The bookshop is a steal, but I need to buy a new apartment with the money from the sale, I can't waste a cent, now that I am on my own again. And, I certainly can't buy a bookshop in England! New York prices  are constantly going up and Bill and I agreed to pool our resources, we needed the money from both our properties to buy even the tiniest of  houses. Now, it's just me, and I sold the only home I've ever known. Whatever will I do?

Then I look down and see the empty bottle lying on the wooden floor. Some decisions are best made with a clear head, so I decide to go to bed. Maybe I can take a look at bookshops in New York when I come back? Perhaps get a part-time job in one first, before I dive in? Bill always said only fools