Murder On Marsh Lane: A Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery, #8

By Marilyn Clay

MURDER ON MARSH LANE by Marilyn Clay is Book 8 in the Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery Series. What can possibly go wrong when Miss Abbott agrees to spend a pleasant fortnight chaperoning two young ladies during their first London Season? The ladies are no sooner settled into Mrs. Dandridge's home on Marsh Lane when Juliette begins to suspect that things in the country house are not what they seem. Already being bandied about is a gruesome account of the murder of Mrs. Dandridge's former housekeeper.

 

When one of the Dandridge grandsons is accused of murdering the son of an earl, Juliette's dear friend Mr. Sheridan is dispatched by the Home Office to run the killer to ground. But when Juliette and her maid Tilda are accused of yet another crime, their lives teeter on the edge as they anxiously await Mr. Sheridan to save them from the gallows. But, can he reach Miss Abbott and Tilda before the killer hiding out on Marsh Lane takes Mr. Sheridan's life?

 

"Hold on tight! Murder On Marsh Lane is a fast-paced caper fraught with unexpected twists and turns designed to capture a reader's imagination! -- Mystery Digest Reviews

 

MURDER ON MARSH LANE by best-selling author Marilyn Clay is now available in both print and Ebook from all major online retailers. Other titles in the Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery Series include: MURDER AT MORLAND MANOR, MURDER IN MAYFAIR, MURDER IN MARGATE, MURDER AT MEDLEY PARK, MURDER IN MIDDLEWYCH, MURDER IN MAIDSTONE, MURDER AT MONTFORD HALL, MURDER IN MARTINDALE and the newest MURDER AT MARLEY CHASE.

 

All titles in this series contain no violence, offensive language, or graphic situations and are suitable for teen readers, as are all of Marilyn Clay's Regency romance and historical suspense novels. Look for Secrets And Lies, A Jamestown Historical novel by Marilyn Clay, the story of four young English girls who board a Bride Ship in England to journey to the New World in 1620. All of Marilyn Clay's novels are well-researched and historically accurate to the period. Other historical novels by Marilyn Clay include, Deceptions: A Colonial Jamestown Historical Novel, and Betsy Ross: Accidental Spy set in 1776 Philadelphia.

 

Marilyn Clay has also penned many Regency Romance Novels, all originally published in print and now available as Ebooks.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Regency Plume Press
• Release date: Feb 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393741749

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Unexpected Callers

LONDON . . . EARLY April 1822 

Following a restless night, or perhaps I should say another restless night, I lingered an uncommonly long time in my cozy sitting room this morning, a second, or third, cup of tea at my side and my sweet kitten, Little Georgie, purring nearby. Despite my lowered spirits, I nonetheless offered up a prayer of thanksgiving that at long last the air today felt a tad less chilly, hinting at the promise of warmer days to come. The winter months this year had been particularly harsh and I now longed with all my heart for a string of sunny days and blue skies with the sweet scent of lilacs and honeysuckle on the air. 

This morning when my housekeeper Mrs. Gant brought up my tray, she lifted the windowsill a few inches, letting in a breath of the slightly warmer air outdoors. We both remarked upon the fact that despite London’s ever present cloud of soot that perpetually hung low over the city, today the sun’s rays appeared to be burning through the fog and warming the edges of the cool wintry air. Again I acknowledged that the hint of warmth was, indeed, a welcome relief from the blustery, bone-chilling cold that my maid Tilda and I had endured on our ill-fated journey up to Montford Hall a few months earlier.

Upon hearing the trill of an early robin flitting through the treetops beyond my window, I inhaled another deep breath as I picked up this morning’s edition of The London Gazette. After scanning the headlines, I turned to the page heralding the most recent Parliamentary Acts passed into law. Truth to say, I was not so much interested in keeping up with the recent rulings as I was of reading news from the Home Office, hoping for a mention of  . . . oh! again I pushed the unsettling thought from mind and attempted to focus upon the details of a new Act designed to consolidate several existing laws regarding idle and disorderly persons, vagabonds, and other vagrants in England. A commendable notion, thought I, as I absently reached for my teacup and took a sip. Beside me on the settee, Little Georgie lifted his black and white head, a sleepy golden gaze pinning me. My kitten is now nearly a full-grown cat, at least in size, which, I expect, is partly a result of him being quite expert at begging bites of whatever any human seated near him is eating.

You do not like tea, I murmured to Georgie. And you have already helped me eat all the biscuits Mrs. Gant brought up. You must wait until luncheon for anything more. Georgie responded with a little trill in his throat, then settled back down to continue his nap whilst I turned to the next page of the Gazette.

A bit further on, I read of a new Act for lighting the town of Dover in the county of Kent with gas, and doing the same throughout a warren of narrow streets in Canterbury. Thinking of Canterbury brought to mind an image of Aunt Helen in nearby Margate, and her niece, my friend, Miss Kathleen Haworth. I had not received a letter from either recently. I did hope Kathleen and her new little son were getting on well. Of course, thinking of Aunt Helen also put me in mind of Pansy, her adorable orange cat, who’d been romping about on the beach with me the day I first encountered Mr. Sheridan. Feeling a rush of moisture well in my eyes, I again pushed unsettling thoughts of that gentleman aside. But not for long.

Oh, why had I not heard from him, I thought irritably. Apart from the one short note that had been awaiting me the day I returned home from Montford Hall, and which contained nothing of substance regarding when he might return to England, I had not received a single additional word. Truth to tell, I was very nearly beside myself with worry, which is partly why I was so eager each and every day to scour the newspages in the hope of coming across a notice from the Home Office regarding the dangerous mission Mr. Sheridan had been dispatched to remedy on the continent in January. It was now April! I bit back the sob that, of late, continually threatened to erupt from my throat.

Of course, I knew the details of Mr. Sheridan’s assignment were considered Confidential, meaning the details regarding the serious nature of his mission were not likely to be bandied about in the newspages, nonetheless, if word of his success, or failure, did filter back to England, I wished to learn of it as quickly as possible.

With another ragged sigh, I forced my attention back to the current, and somewhat more calming, Parliamentary news. Apparently a new law had been enacted to reduce the rate of duty payable for carriages and hansom cabs used to convey folks about London, which I assume meant that it would now be less costly to hire a private cab to carry one thither and yon. Since I was possessed of a tidy closed carriage and two fine horses, which my man-of-all-work Mr. Gant took pride in caring for, this new Act would not affect me. I was not now, nor in recent years had I been, in the habit of hiring a cab in order to find my way about the City. Which, of course, had nothing to say to anything, most especially not to the worrisome matter niggling at the back of my mind.

A bit further down, a rather odd notice arrested my attention. How this new law, designed to ease the cruel and improper treatment of cattle, was to be implemented was not addressed. I wondered if it meant that the poor animal was to be blessed by the church mere moments before it was slaughtered? Or was the doomed beast to simply be treated more kindly right up to and including the day it was put to death? Goodness, did our esteemed MPs not have more important matters to consider? Such as limiting the number of dangerous tasks assigned to England’s bravest and most heroic gentleman, Mr. William Sheridan?

An especially noisy sigh escaped me, which caused Georgie to once again look up. Go back to sleep, Georgie, I softly urged the cat.

Thus far, I’d seen no notices from the Home Office. However, just as I was about to lay aside the newspages, another item caught my attention. An Act for more adequate punishment of servants convicted of robbing their masters. So, did this mean some ingenious lawmaker had determined that hanging was not an adequate enough punishment? The notice did bring to mind those light-fingered thieves whom I had had a hand in exposing at Medley Park. Had Miss Hutchens’ younger brother Dickon paid for his crimes with a rope about his neck, or had he merely been sentenced to transportation? What of the others? What had ultimately happened to them?

After taking a few more calming sips of tea, I decided I would pen a note to Lady Medley this afternoon and inquire after the family. To do so would provide me with a pleasant diversion, and perhaps also serve to prevent me from dwelling endlessly upon the elusive whereabouts of my dear friend, Mr. Sheridan.

SOON AFTER LUNCHEON I repaired to the desk in my study, situated on the ground floor of my lovely home in Mayfair, which as I am sure you know, is one of London’s most prestigious neighborhoods. I had inherited the tall, narrow town home following a set of unusual circumstances that in my mind, I now think of as a murder in Mayfair. The chamber designated my study is the first room in the house that I laid eyes upon the day I initially called here. The room continues to hold an abundance of memories for me, some more pleasant than others.

The front wall of the chamber is composed of a pretty bay of floor-to-ceiling windows that when the draperies are drawn aside, allows plenty of daylight to stream in, which completely negates the need to light candles.

Beyond my study lies the foyer, a bright cheerful affair, with light streaming in from a pair of long windows adjacent to the heavy front door. Against one wall stands a sideboard where, throughout the day, I pause to check to see if a missive, or note, might have arrived for me from across the sea; although I have instructed both Mrs. Gant and Tilda to bring the post up to me the moment it is delivered, and to not let it lie unattended upon the sideboard. More than once I have observed Little Georgie hop to the table top in search of I-know-not-what, meaning that whilst he is nosing about, he could very well shove a note to the floor, or pick apart the red wax seal and then rip the page to shreds. Cats mean no harm, but at times, they can be a good bit destructive.

Thus far, nothing has magically appeared on the sideboard for me, nonetheless, I have no doubt that I will maintain my vigilant inspection of that narrow piece of furniture, even going so far as to look beneath and behind it in the off chance that the note I so long to receive might have slipped (or been shoved by a furry paw) to the floor.

I had no sooner settled in my study and put pen to paper, when a disturbance arose on the cobblestone street fronting my home. In moments, I heard the insistent rap of the doorknocker and Mr. Gant’s hurried footfalls as he, acting as butler (one of his many roles here) answered the summons. My senses were instantly arrested as I listened for the familiar sound of a masculine voice, which would tell me that my caller was, indeed, the very gentleman I longed with all my heart to see. Instead, I heard a well-modulated feminine tone, although try as I might, I could not place the voice, or clearly decipher the woman’s words.

In seconds, Mr. Gant, a wiry older man with a wrinkled countenance, stuck his thinning gray head round the doorjamb. A trio of society ladies to see you, miss.

Oh? A quizzical look furrowed my brow. Who amongst London upper reaches might be calling upon me, and why? Did not one of them present a card, or at the very least, a name? I inquired.

No, miss. Mr. Gant’s head shook. The elder of ‘em just asked to see you straightaway. Said it was urgent.

Ah. Very well, then, show them into the drawing room and ask Mrs. Gant to send up a fresh pot of tea, and also a plate of those tasty biscuits she took from the oven this morning.

I rose as my elderly retainer hobbled off. Hurriedly running a hand down the front of my long slim skirt, I was glad I had put on a fresh frock for the day, and that the gown was one I was especially fond of, a long-sleeved blue and green plaid merino trimmed about the cuffs and square neck with white braid. Of late, I had been taking especial care to look as presentable as possible each and every day, in case the illusive Mr. Sheridan unexpectedly appeared at my door.

Pausing before the oval mirror on the wall just inside the study, I reached to tuck a few strands of my curly blonde hair back into the knot on the back of my head. Sadly, my coiffure very nearly always looked a trifle untidy. No matter how fervently I wished to restrain my long curling locks, it appeared nothing could be done to keep even the simplest of hairstyles in place. Lifting my chin and pasting a smile of greeting upon my face, I advanced across the corridor to the drawing room to welcome my callers, whomever they might be.

However, the instant I entered the chamber and spotted the three ladies standing before the hearth, I admit to being quite astonished, indeed!

Miss Abbott’s pretty Mayfair home

CHAPTER 2

An Unexpected Proposition . . .

UPON SPOTTING ME, MISS Hannah Ruston of Medley Park squealed with delight and rushing forward, threw her arms about my person.

Oh! Miss Abbott! How lovely to see you again!

I am delighted to see you, as well, Hannah. Looking past her, my gaze met the somber countenance of her mother, the tall regal-looking Lady Medley, now standing before the low-burning fire, her chin aloft.

Speaking around the crush of Hannah’s bonnet pressed to my cheek, I said, I only just sat down to pen a note to you, Lady Medley. How delightful to instead find you and Hannah here within my home.

Miss Abbott. Lady Medley nodded. A gracious lady, we had parted some months ago on quite good terms, in fact, it was she who insisted that Tilda, who now serves as my lady’s maid, accompany me back up to London the day I rather hastily quitted Medley Park in the company of my dear friend Mr. Sheridan.

I do hope you can forgive our intrusion, said she. The girls and I arrived in Town this morning and there was insufficient time in which to send ‘round a note. Please, do forgive us pushing in on you unannounced.

I am delighted to see you! Do take a seat, please. I glanced at my friends’ companion, a young girl with downcast eyes who appeared to be about the same age as Hannah, six and ten, or perhaps a year above. I have ordered up a pot of tea and biscuits. Please do, sit down, I said again.

Hannah’s arm continued to encircle my waist as she and I moved across the room. We settled onto the sofa as Lady Medley took a seat on an upholstered wing chair near the fire. Their companion, who had not yet been made known to me, slipped onto a chair opposite her ladyship.

As if suddenly remembering the presence of her friend, Hannah’s gloved hand indicated the girl. "This is my friend Miss Eleanor Palmer, who resides in Birmingham. Ellie, this is my dear friend, Miss Juliette Abbott, whom, as you know, I have often spoken of." Hannah favored me with a sweet smile.

A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Abbott, the timid girl murmured, her hazel eyes peering up shyly.

The pleasure is mine, Miss Palmer. I nodded. Welcome to my home. The slim girl was nowhere nearly as lovely as Hannah, and also no taller than either of us. At only three inches above five feet, Hannah and I are near the same height, whereas Lady Medley is quite tall and statuesque.

"We are so pleased to have found you at home, Juliette! Hannah enthused. When we discovered that Ellie’s aunt has become all but an invalid, she exhaled a breath, I told mother we simply had to seek you out! Oh, I do hope you will come." Her anxious tone sounded as if she feared I might refuse whatever favor the ladies had come to request of me.

Hannah, who, I daresay in the months since I departed Medley Park had become even prettier with her soft black curls and periwinkle blue eyes was quite fashionably turned out today in a blue linen pelisse fastened with decorative black frogs, her puffed blue bonnet tied beneath her chin with black, instead of blue, ribbons.

I can clearly see the confusion upon your face, Miss Abbott, began Lady Medley, with a small set smile. Do permit me to explain.

She looked elegant today in a forest green gown that set off her thick brown hair, it topped with a matching green toque bonnet. Although a handsome woman, I did note that today the attractive woman’s features appeared a trifle haggard. Clear to me was that something was amiss.

Hannah interrupted her mother. You look as pretty as ever, Miss Abbott! The smile on her lips widened. Isn’t she as pretty as I said she was, Ellie? Hannah gushed.

Her friend nodded. Indeed, Miss Abbott is quite lovely, murmured the girl, again shyly peeking up from beneath her lashes.

Thank you, Hannah, and Miss Palmer. But . . . I . . . I directed another questioning gaze at Lady Medley.

Her expression still shuttered, she went on. "As I was saying, Miss Abbott, we only just arrived in Town this morning and although we were expected, it seems upon our arrival . . . well, suffice to say, we suddenly find ourselves in a bit of a quandary. Rather than turn about at once and head for home, Hannah insisted that we seek you out instead. I do hope you will be agreeable to . . . to helping us."

I am so sorry for whatever trouble you have encountered, ma’am. I will be glad to do whatever I can to help. As I said, I was thinking of you this morning, and had only just sat down to pen a note inquiring after Hannah and her . . . a quick gaze darted to Hannah, your brother, Cecil.

Oh! Hannah’s blue eyes widened. Cecil will be thrilled that you asked after him! She leaned closer. Does this mean that you are no longer . . .? Awaiting my reply, she clasped her hands beneath her chin.

Growing a trifle flustered, I looked down rather than reply. You see, when I departed Medley Park, there was . . . or had been, a-a bit of . . . nothing really, nothing of consequence, that is, between Cecil and me. Hannah had wished it above all things, and I rather suppose Cecil was of the same mind, but I  . . . simply could not go along; because I did not feel the same about him. As things stand now, my heart is . . . indeed, elsewhere. I aimed a look at Lady Medley. Do tell me what the trouble is, ma’am. I shall be happy to do whatever I can to help, I said again.

"So, you will come? Hannah cried, then addressed her mother. I told you she would come, Mother. Oh, I am so glad! She turned to Ellie. We shall have a lovely time. Juliette is a delightful companion! We had a jolly time at Medley Park, did we not? Remember the afternoon we went shopping in Stoksey?" She clapped her gloved hands together again, then, as if everything were, indeed, settled, began to remove the fine blue kid gloves one finger at a time.

Hannah, said her mother. "Do make an effort to contain your enthusiasm, dear. We have not yet presented our case to Miss Abbott. She may very well have other, more . . . pressing matters to attend to. Her smile faltered. Although I-I do hope that will not be the . . .."

"Do make haste to enlighten her, Mother, please!"

Over the next quarter hour, Lady Medley informed me, although not without additional interruptions from Hannah, that Miss Palmer’s elderly aunt, Mrs. Dandridge, who resided on the outskirts of London on Marsh Lane, had generously offered to sponsor both girls’ debuts into Polite Society this Season. However, unbeknownst to Miss Palmer’s guardian in Birmingham, or to Lord and Lady Medley, the elderly woman had recently suffered a fall and had not yet recovered from her injuries.

The poor dear can scarcely move from her bed to the chamber pot and back again, Lady Medley told me, her head shaking sadly.

A surgeon attends her regularly, and her housekeeper Mrs. Norris appears to be quite attentive, Hannah added. "Mrs. Dandridge is very rich, and appears to have a good many servants, she told me. Almost as many as we have at Medley Park."

Yes, well, Lady Medley allowed, from all accounts, it does appear the older lady is . . . well looked after. She glanced toward Miss Palmer, who nodded with agreement, but said nothing. Mrs. Dandridge possesses a large, older home . . . Pausing, Lady Medley glanced about. "My, but, your home is quite lovely, Miss Abbott. And, located in such a fashionable part of London. I had no idea," she marveled.

Thank you, ma’am. Mayfair is, indeed, a lovely area of Town.

Do you live here alone? She seemed interested.

Not altogether, no. I employ an older couple, a man and his wife. Mr. Gant serves as my butler and man-of-all-work; whilst Mrs. Gant is both housekeeper and cook. And, then there’s Tilda. You remember Miss Thompkins, do you not? The young girl in your employ whom you . . .

Indeed. Lady Medley nodded. I do remember Tilda. So, she is working out well for you, then, is she?

Oh, yes, Very well. Tilda is quite a congenial young lady. We get on famously. I half laughed. "In the past months, we have shared several rather . . . unusual adventures . . . or perhaps I should say misadventures."

I see. Well, at any rate, as I was saying, Ellie’s aunt, Mrs. Dandridge, is presently unwell and cannot possibly make good on her promise to the girls, so far as their come-outs are concerned, that is. Her home is . . . well, it is a good bit larger than this house, of course, but . . . to say truth, it is a rather dark, somewhat gloomy-looking affair, and on closer inspection, in places, does appear sadly in want of attention. Which has noting to say to anything. She fidgeted with her gloves whilst flinging an apologetic look at Ellie.

Who finally said, I believe my aunt does employ a steward, ma’am; or at least, she previously had one. Although, it is possible that when my uncle . . . the girl’s voice trailed off as she looked away.

I was still on tenterhooks waiting to hear exactly what Lady Medley meant to ask of me. If she, or Hannah, thought that I could sponsor the girls’ come-outs, that would be quite out of the question! Not being a member of London’s upper ten thousand, I have no connections to speak of in Town and know next to nothing of London’s society doings.

Lady Medley went on. As I said, Mrs. Dandridge generously offered to sponsor the girls, to take them shopping and to dinner parties, and what not, perhaps to Almack’s assemblies and . . .

And now she cannot! Hannah impatiently cried. "So will you help us, Miss Abbott? Ellie and I cannot possibly go anywhere alone!"

Still a good bit confused, I looked from Hannah to her mother. "But . . . cannot you . . .?"

Oh, my, I neglected to say, Lady Medley continued. My husband is also presently unwell and then, there are the boys, Hannah’s younger brothers. Surely you recall, Miss Abbott, that without a strong hand to guide them, the boys can be quite . . . unruly. She exhaled a breath. At the onset of my husband’s illness, Cecil was, of course, pressed into taking over the task of running the estate, so he is of no help in that quarter. And, with no proper governess, that is, now that Miss Hutchens is . . . is no longer . . .

But, I thought the two younger boys were away at school.

This brought a giggle from Hannah. Both little hooligans were sent home in less than a fortnight! Not even the headmaster could contain them. He declared their manners were quite appalling and that they were upsetting all the other boys in both dormitories.

Hannah! scolded Lady Medley. That is quite enough. She shifted on the chair where she sat. "So you see, Miss Abbott, I am sorely needed at home. I do have friends in Town, of course, but neither of them . . . well, they are otherwise engaged. One of my dear friends only just launched her daughter last year. The girl did settle on a suitor, which was good news, indeed, but she is presently . . . increasing, she lowered her voice, in fact, she may already be in confinement; so, of course, I can hardly prevail upon her to help. All I am really asking of you, Miss Abbott, is to simply be on hand to assist the girls, take them shopping; see that the gowns they choose are appropriate for the balls and dinner parties they will be attending. And, of course, accompany them whenever . . . necessary."

"Will you, Miss Abbott? Please? Will you?"

Well, I-I . . .

"Please!"

Lady Medley added, "If you have other commitments, or engagements, I . . . we . . . do understand, of course. It’s just that . . . without someone possessed of sound judgment to . . . surely you can understand my predicament, Miss Abbott. If I were able to stay with the girls, I most certainly would, but . . . given the circumstances, I . . . really . . . cannot."

I glanced toward the other young lady to gauge her reaction to this turn-about in their plans. Could not Miss Palmer’s mother, or . . . perhaps another aunt . . . or older sister? I suggested a trifle lamely.

Ellie’s mother is no longer with us, Hannah said, so we can hardly send for her. And she also hasn’t an older sister who could . . .

I am so sorry for your loss, Miss Palmer, I murmured. Then, directing a gaze at Lady Medley, I sat up straighter. Very well, then, I shall be delighted to help the girls with whatever they need, ma’am. I am possessed of a carriage and it will be no trouble to take the girls shopping, or to Gunter’s for an ice on a warm day.

Oh! cried Hannah, her blue eyes alight. That would be lovely!

Indeed, Lady Medley concurred, "but you do understand, Miss Abbott, that I am not merely asking you to take the girls shopping, or to help them select the appropriate gowns, but to actually accompany us, now, at this moment, to Mrs. Dandridge’s home; and to stay with the girls, as a sort of live-in chaperone for the next several weeks, or perhaps a . . . a bit longer, if need be. She paused, then added, I am prepared to compensate you for your time, of course."

In the moment of silence that followed, we were all distracted when Tilda entered the room, carefully balancing a heavy tray in both hands. I had to restrain myself from jumping up to assist her, as that would be quite improper, and instead watched with bated breath as she deposited the bulky tray onto a small tea table, then turned to her former employer and bobbed a polite curtsy. Ma’am.

Lady Medley’s nod was almost imperceptible; then following the flurry of everyone being served tea and a saucer of treacle-sprinkled biscuits, Little Georgie ambled into the room, a crook at the tip of his tail. The black and white cat padded straight over to where Hannah sat and parked himself before her, his golden eyes peering upward.

Munching on a biscuit, Hannah grinned. Is this the little black and white kitten I presented to you the day you left Medley Park?

Indeed, it is. As you can see, he is very nearly all grown up now.

Little Georgie continued to stare up at Hannah.

She leant forward to more closely study the cat. I believe he remembers me, she declared. Do you remember me, little fellow?

I rather expects he hopes you will give him a bite of your biscuit, I said, smiling. Georgie is quite expert at begging treats from all of us. I glanced at Tilda who was still standing mutely beside the tea table. Tilda, why don’t you take Little Georgie back down to the kitchen? It is quite unseemly of him to beg treats from our guests.

Already Hannah was holding up a piece of biscuit for the cat, who rose on his hind legs in order to