A Murderous Inheritance: The Discreet Investigations of Lord and Lady Calaway, #3

By Issy Brooke

There's something foul in the air around Tavy Castle.

The old Lady Buckshaw can't say the word "trade" without feeling ill and the new Lady Buckshaw can't say much at all - at least, not much that makes sense. She's always been a sensitive soul, but have the oppressive swamps around her new home finally driven her into a very Gothic insanity?

Madness and death seem to go hand in hand, and it's not long before a corpse turns up in the ice house. Theodore, Lord Calaway is all set to use his considerable powers of investigation but he's immediately thwarted by a stereotypically bumbling inspector from Plymouth who declares it all an accident. 

Theodore and his wife Adelia disagree. 

Adelia is busy enough with matchmaking for Captain Everard, helping to plan a Floating Ball aboard a ship, and trying to bring order to Tavy Castle. But her people-skills are essential in helping her rather-too-rational husband to make sense of the murder.

They think they are making progress until the next murder happens unexpectedly. Chaos breaks out. The inspector returns. Arrests are made which devastate the Buckshaws and the Calaways.

If Theodore and Adelia can't find the evidence to bring the real culprit to justice, then their own daughter will hang for it.

This is the third book in The Discreet Investigations of Lord and Lady Calaway. It is written in British English, which may use unfamiliar spellings, vocabulary and grammatical structures. Enjoy with a nice cup of Earl Grey tea and perhaps a biscuit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Issy Brooke
• Release date: Mar 15, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201139803

Book preview

1

Tavy Castle, near Plymouth, England’s south coast

September 1893

Author’s note: this book is written in British English. It has been edited professionally, but the grammar, spelling and vocabulary may be unfamiliar to some readers.

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Adelia stepped out of the Norman keep and onto the stone walkway that ran all around the top of the square tower. A high wall with crenellations stopped any accidental plummeting to one’s death many feet below, yet she still felt an illogical tingle of nervousness as she put her hands on the top of the rough stone and looked out at the view. The ground far below seemed to tug at you, she thought.

Even with dusk falling, the scene from the high tower that stood at the heart of Tavy Castle was impressive. The rolling hills of Dartmoor were black lumps against a sky so deeply blue it was like a jewel, and to the other side, she could see a flat silver line which was the sea. Beyond the horizon, more sea, endless sea, seas upon seas – and somewhere sailing upon them was her son-in-law, Percy Seeley-Wood, the twelfth Earl of Buckshaw. Tavy Castle was his ancestral seat, not that he seemed to do much sitting in it. Lord Buckshaw was an explorer, driven by the curse of the British Empire to scour the globe for things to acquire – spices, cloth, gemstones … and of course, land. He said it was in the service of Her Majesty but Adelia was not fooled. He served his own wanderlust. When Adelia had suggested that he might be a potential suitor to her daughter Felicia, she had almost swooned with delight at the idea of being wed to a dashing buccaneer.

Adelia sighed. And how well was the marriage going, now? The Earl of Buckshaw wasn’t even here.

Lights twinkled on the ships in the far docks and harbours where the River Tamar spilled out to the English Channel. One of those vessels was the HMS Erebus II, and she shook her head at the idiocy of naming a ship after one that had been lost in such an ill-fated expedition decades before. What had ever happened to those men who sought the North-West Passage in 1845? She laughed to herself. Explorers were a funny bunch, it had to be said. But this new ship was to be hosting a grand floating ball in a few weeks’ time, just as the original HMS Erebus herself had done on a trip to New Zealand in the eighteen-forties, and everyone was abuzz with excitement for it. She had to admit that even she was intrigued. She had been to many balls in her long life, but one afloat was new to her.

Adelia turned her attention to the grounds immediately around the castle itself. While this central tower was ancient with nods to the Norman Conquest, many of the actual living quarters of Tavy Castle that had sprung up around the tower were merely Tudor in origin, with low beams and wide fireplaces and leaded windows that let in more cold than light. Right now, she longed for a breath of cold air. September was stuffy, hot, stifling in fact, with not a breeze to be had. She’d climbed the endless stairs to this tower just to seek out a whiff of freshness but she was disappointed. The atmosphere was as close and oppressive up here as it had been down in the main house below.

Another light caught her attention. A stocky man was down there in the grounds, carrying a lantern as he approached Tavy Castle. There was still enough twilight to let her see that he was coming from a man-made hump in the gardens, which was probably the ice house that had been built close to a stand of stumpy alders and willows. The man was too far away for her to be sure, but she thought it was likely to be Hartley Knight, the arrogant house steward, and she hoped that there would be ices at dinner that night.

A noise alerted her to someone else coming out of the tower and onto the walkway to join her. She turned and greeted Lady Agnes with a warm smile. Good evening. There’s no fresh air to be had, even up here, Adelia told her ruefully.

Lady Agnes nodded and did not return the smile. I didn’t expect so, but one always hopes. I long for this weather to break. All the ships in the harbour are quite becalmed.

It will at least be better for the ball, Adelia said. I cannot imagine how it would be in a storm. It would not do to have to chase one’s supper across a tilting deck.

Lady Agnes allowed herself a laugh and said, I might dance a little better if I am being thrown about the floor. I am not blessed with light feet.

Comments like that always took Adelia by surprise. For most of the time, Lady Agnes was a dour, silent, uncommunicative spinster in her fifties, who kept her thoughts and feelings to herself. If she shared anything, she probably did so with Percy’s grandmother, the indomitable ninety-three-year-old dowager who lived in the south wing in relative comfort. Relative comfort, that was, compared to the rest of the castle. Everyone called this aged lady The Countess except for Percy who called her Nanna as if he were still a child.

And Lady Agnes was Percy’s aunt, the sister of his late father. She was the daughter of The Countess, and she had inherited the right to be called lady though with no surname attached to the title. She had also inherited the daughterly obligation to look after The Countess until they both of them were dead. At the current rate of things, it looked like The Countess might actually outlive her own daughter Lady Agnes.

Adelia wondered what The Countess’s secret was. Perhaps the squalid air around the castle had hidden health benefits, like the smelly springs at Bath. She sucked in a deep breath. It was a mistake.

It’s the swamps, Lady Agnes said as Adelia tried not to cough. Behind those trees there it’s all marshland; just peaty, boggy, nasty land of no value at all. This place is built on an outcrop of rock but the rest, all around us, is just swamp which gives off foul and foetid air all year round.

Adelia revised her opinion of the health benefits of the surroundings. As she looked at the trees which masked this particular unpleasantness, she spotted another light which flickered and wavered like a candle would. Night was coming on fast now. She said, There’s a fire in the woods. Oh! Could it be a Jack a’lantern or some will-o-the-wisp?

Such things are fairy tales. This was delivered in Lady Agnes’s more usual style of dry denial.

According to Theodore, it’s a natural phenomenon due to the ignition of certain marsh gases and since you mentioned the swamp, I thought it more a likely explanation.

Oh. Well, that is actually interesting and far more plausible. But no, I suspect it’s only Oscar Brodie. That’s the sort of thing he does.

He lights fires?

He … lurks.

Adelia peered into the thickening darkness. She had met the young man a scant few times and always in company, never to speak with on a more intimate basis. He was Percy’s nephew and he lived in the gatehouse alone with his mother, Katharine, the older sister of Percy. Adelia said, And will Lady Katharine and Mr Brodie be joining us at dinner?

Lady Agnes snorted in pure derision. Katharine and Oscar will not be joining us tonight. Or on any night.

Adelia noted the lack of respectful honorifics and filed that away for future enquiry. Lady Katharine had married a commoner who was now dead, but she retained her title as Lady Agnes had done, though no title would pass on to her son Oscar. It was a courtesy title only, marking her as the daughter of an Earl.

Lady Agnes had already ended the conversation by turning and heading for the door. Speaking of dinner, it is time to dress.

Will The Countess be dining with us tonight? The elderly woman often ate with Lady Agnes privately, choosing her own times to suit her aging digestion.

She will, tonight. Be gentle with her.

Adelia felt affronted. Why would she be anything other than gentle with The Countess? What would make Lady Agnes think such a thing? The Countess could be brusque and difficult but Adelia knew how to honour her elders. She started after Lady Agnes, saying, And what about Felicia, is she well enough to…

But Lady Agnes, though she had clearly heard Adelia speak, picked up her pace and disappeared through the door into the tower. By the time that Adelia reached it, the room she had passed through was empty.

How rude.

Lady Agnes had always puzzled Adelia. She could be bright, appealing company and then close up sharp like a tin box, quite unexpectedly.

Adelia wondered what it was like to know one’s whole life was to be devoted entirely to one’s mother, and she felt a pang of sympathy for Lady Agnes.

Surely there was something Adelia could do for her.

Especially considering that The Countess herself was such a … Adelia stopped her unworthy train of thought.

One must forgive the elderly, mustn’t one?

Theodore had spent most of the day resting in their suite of rooms, citing the ardour of the recent journey and the oppressive air around the castle. Adelia knew that he was actually sulking because they had travelled most of the way by train and he resented that fact. However he did perk up as they sat down to dine that night. They were joined by Lady Agnes, The Countess, and Felicia herself who looked a little pale but no doubt she was taking pains to avoid the burning sun, as a good lady should.

No one knew when Percy was going to return. September had been the vague promise, contingent however on storms, baggage, and all the general vagaries of international travel. Adelia thought it was a great shame that the long dinner table in the large dining room was so empty; Percy ought to have been there, and Lady Katharine too, and her son Oscar. It seemed silly to exclude them. One glance at Lady Agnes’s face, however, warned Adelia that now was not the time to ask any probing questions.

A light soup, made of cool pale cucumber, was served and its strange tastelessness was oddly refreshing. Felicia was asking Theodore about his recent adventures as a gentleman-detective and he was happy to relate all the details of his investigations. While he talked and everyone listened, Adelia took a closer look at Felicia.

She was the fourth of their seven daughters. Mary was the eldest and the frailest and sickliest; Dido came next and had always assumed the mantle of eldest, becoming sensible and matronly almost immediately, taking the place that Mary should have done. Then there was a gap of a few years followed by Margaret who – well, what was Margaret like? Adelia had never quite understood how she thought or what she did and Margaret was not one to open herself up. She seemed to always want to be someone else, somewhere else, as if she had wanted to be born into a different family altogether. A year later and Felicia had appeared, and been as silly and sweet as a girl should be. She had made up for all of Margaret’s odd coldness.

Adelia smiled at the memories. While Dido had been playing at housekeeper and learning how to do the household accounts, and Margaret had been reading unsuitable books and disappearing for hours at a time, poorly Mary and air-headed Felicia had become firm friends in spite of the six years between them. Felicia’s uncomplicated and pure delight at the world had made Mary seem almost staid and sensible. Felicia loved stories of fairies and gnomes, princesses and knights, kittens and talking animals. It had also meant she was inclined to believe everything that she was told without questioning it and she had grown up as the butt of many a practical joke at the hands of her sisters. She had suffered night terrors all through her childhood and even now, the slightest surprise could trigger fits of weeping or anxiety. She was, in the politest way one could express it, sensitive.

Adelia had arranged the match between Felicia and Percy though she would not have forced them to marry if Felicia had been against it. But Adelia knew her daughter very well, and Felicia fell for the dashing adventurer on first sight, just as Adelia had predicted she would. They were made well for one another, with her breathless enthusiasm and his energy and zeal. Adelia had hoped that his energy would carry her daughter through her rocky patches when the world seemed to overwhelm her.

Yet he was not here. And there was just a hint of something threatening to overwhelm Felicia. Underneath her bright smile and her shining eyes, she was carrying a darkness. From time to time, her hand shook. Sometimes she drew in a deep breath and then almost immediately another one as if she were struggling to fully breathe. Mid way through sentences she tailed off, looked at the far corner of the room, and blinked rapidly. The others talked over her and no one remarked upon it. Adelia cast her mind back. Had she always been this way? Perhaps.

Theodore had stopped regaling them all with his tales and was asking The Countess about her earrings. This was surprising, as Theodore was not known for his interest in jewellery and fashion. Then Adelia realised what his main point was.

Ah, lapis lazuli! I had wondered about the hue. A rare jewel indeed, he said.

The Countess preened and smiled, turning her head this way and that to let everyone admire the blue pendants. They didn’t catch the light as blaringly as sapphires did, but there was a remarkable depth of colour to them that other gems simply could not match. Theodore was leaning across the lobster, peering at them as closely as he could. If he had not been at a formal dinner, he would have been reaching out to touch them. Afghan, I assume. I can see no flecks, no calcite at all…

The Countess touched her fingers to her ears. Afghan, of course! We do have standards, dear boy.

Adelia smiled at the man in his fifties being called a boy.

The Countess went on, her voice piercing and her tone condescending. "Inferior jewels might pass to the untutored eye as the real thing but those who know, know. And of course our family was built on this … ah, forgive me for using this vile word trade but … well, anyway, she said, ending with a laugh, That was before the curse fell upon us. And here we are!"

Mother… Lady Agnes hissed.

Felicia clattered her fork against her plate and Adelia was not sure if it were deliberate or not. She was either rattled, or trying to distract everyone. But who would be distracted from ignoring the word curse? Unless the real word of concern was trade.

Theodore seized upon The Countess’s words instantly. Smiling, he asked, What curse is that? He looked around the dining room, stocked from floor to ceiling with artefacts from around the world. A Persian rug covered most of the floor, yards wide. Display cases were brimming with porcelain, ivory, carved wood, scrimshaw and knick-knacks made from precious metals. A shaggy brown bear dominated the alcove between two leaded windows, thankfully thrown into shade by the bright lights to either side. Felicia’s hobby of decoupage covering anything wooden with cut outs of pictures of fairies and flowers, had not been allowed in this particular room. This place hardly looks cursed to me.

It’s not the place that is cursed, it’s the family, The Countess replied. But like Theodore, she was also laughing, her eyes narrowed in genuine delight. "We do not … ahem, trade in lapis lazuli any longer, anyway. We have learned our lesson."

Of course, of course. And since Guimet and Gmelin – how many years ago? – since they discovered the new process and they had their little spat and ultramarine was made synthetically, then … what? What’s wrong? Theodore had not realised that no one was listening to him beyond his first few words, and it took Adelia kicking him under the table to make him stop. Sorry, my love. I understand. Not everyone wants to hear about chemical processes.

Not everyone wants to hear about trade, The Countess said.

Quite, quite. Where were we?

More wine, Felicia said, a shake in her voice as she waved her fingers at Knight, the house steward. He should have been ready to pour before being summoned, but he too had been openly distracted by the talk of the curse. He hurried over and began to twist the bottle to prevent any drips from marring the tablecloth as he poured, but Felicia coughed suddenly and jerked her shoulder, and jolted him. He had been leaning just a little too close to her, Adelia thought, blaming the steward entirely for the spray of red wine that now splattered over the plate, the white tablecloth and Felicia’s satin dress.

But it was Felicia who cried out and began to apologise as the steward tutted – he actually tutted, as if he weren’t a common servant! – and then he moved away. With a distinct lack of hurry he went to the sideboard to place the bottle out of the way before lazily returning with cloths to mop up the mess.

It doesn’t matter, Adelia said to break the silence that had fallen.

The Countess shook her head and rolled her eyes. It does matter – what a sinful waste. The state of the cloth, too! All that food will need to be sent back and thrown away. She stabbed at her own food, eating with solid stubborn determination.

I’ll eat it, I will; it doesn’t matter, does it? Felicia said, turning her eyes to Adelia, pleading like a small child trying to avoid a beating. Her voice was rising.

You cannot possibly eat it now, The Countess snapped, looking up from her plate briefly. Don’t be ridiculous.

The spoiled food was whisked away by a maid, and the steward followed her from the room, muttering under his breath. Felicia sat awkwardly with nothing in front of her, her head bowed. She was not being treated as if she were the mistress of the house.

Adelia’s mouth had gone dry. She pushed a few morsels around her plate before giving up. Her clothing was too tight, and the air in the room was growing more stale by the minute. Will there be ices? she asked, knowing that it was rude to second-guess a hostess but no longer caring. She pointedly addressed the question to Felicia.

Ices? Felicia said, still looking down at the table, her hands knotted in her lap. Oh, no. No. There are never any ices.

But your ice house…

There is no ice in the ice house. We never go down there. It’s all shut up.

Lady Agnes jumped into the conversation before Felicia had finished speaking, with another flash of uncharacteristic chattiness, clearly forced. So, Lady Calaway, do tell me about your role in the last investigation. I heard about a mad chase to Lancaster, is that right…? Did you really…?

Felicia looked miserable and The Countess’s eyes were flashing with danger. Theodore seemed confused.

Adelia smiled thinly and answered as politely as she could. She could not wait for this strange meal to end.

2

The gathering had been too small and intimate to allow Adelia any chance to speak privately with Felicia the previous evening. Nothing remarkable happened for the remainder of the meal but still Adelia slept badly that night. When she pressed Theodore about the meal, he told her that he had seen nothing out of the ordinary in anyone’s conduct and Adelia gave up in frustration. Something was off kilter here in the castle, and she was determined to find out what it was. Felicia had been writing to her for some time, alluding to problems within the household. Why could she not speak out openly? Was she scared? If so, of whom?

Adelia’s suspicions could not help but settle upon The Countess with her snobbish nastiness and, by extension, her companion and daughter Lady Agnes, who Adelia thought ought to step in to defend Felicia against her mother’s barbs. In spite of that, a part of Adelia liked the spinster Lady Agnes. Her flashes of wit, her uncomplaining service to her elderly mother, her evident intelligence – all were things that endeared her to Adelia. Lady Agnes was well-read, curious about the world, and perfectly able to hold a conversation about anything from trade deals to politics to the importance of not wearing exotic feathers in one’s hat. In fact, she was at her most alive when talking of serious subjects. In essence, Lady Agnes was not one for frivolous chatter. And Adelia liked her for it.

But she could not shake how Lady Agnes had treated Felicia the previous night, and her warm feelings dissipated. Lady Agnes’s silence made her complicit in The Countess’s treatment of Felicia, and Adelia could see it as nothing but bullying, plain and simple. Before breakfast, she headed out of the suite of rooms and went in search of her daughter.

As expected for the early hour, Felicia was in her own bedroom. But, in a more unexpected discovery, she was kneeling on the floor at the far end, frantically pushing thin strips of fabric between the bottom of the long window and its wooden frame.

Felicia, what on earth are you doing? Adelia cried, rushing over to her side and pulling at her daughter’s shoulders. Felicia was wearing a comfortable cotton day-dress, the floral blue fabric perfectly complementing her dark hair and pale skin. But her nose was red, as if it had been running or itching. And her eyes were wild.

Help me, mama; I need to stop it getting in.

What is getting in? Stop this, Felicia, get up! Adelia tugged at her shoulders but Felicia shook her off.

The swamp air, it’s getting in everywhere. Can’t you smell it?

In truth, I can, but that bit of cloth won’t stop it.

Felicia rocked back on her heels and looked up at her mother with big, scared eyes. Then what will? What can I do? Will papa know what to do? Let’s ask him! She jumped up, but stopped suddenly, catching her breath with her hand pressed to her side.

Adelia steered her to the bed and they sat down together. Are you all right?

I stood up too quickly.

I mean, in general. I am worried about you. Are you sick?

Yes! Felicia’s voice rose. Yes, of course I am sick! The swamps are suffocating me, mama, I cannot breathe here!

There was a tap at the door which was already ajar and the worried face of the housekeeper peered in.