Beneath a Moonless Sky: The Laurelhurst Chronicles, #1

By Kellie Butler

Nothing good ever happens past twelve. When thirteen-year-old Lydia Cavert returns to Laurelhurst Manor, the wild, lush boyhood home of her beloved Papa, she rediscovers that its secret rooms and locked doors are more sinister than any London street.

Orphaned by the blitz of 1940, her guardian uncle Alistair and his circle of friends hold Lydie captive at the estate. Lydie must unravel a dark web of deceit, jealousy, and revenge to expose who really murdered her mysterious aunt on that fateful night in 1932.

Will she restore her family's name or suffer her aunt's fate?Set amidst the backdrop of the Second World War, Beneath a Moonless Sky is a suspenseful coming of age tale of the power of memory, innocence lost, redemption restored, and the triumph of light over darkness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kellie Butler
• Release date: Oct 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9798201306427

Kellie Butler

Kellie Butler is the international bestselling author of Beneath a Moonless Sky, Before the Flood, The Broken Tree, Out of Night, and The Ties that Bind, all part of the five-star rated The Laurelhurst Chronicles series. Kellie has lived and traveled around the world but now calls the high desert of Arizona home. She loves coffee, walks with her dog, yoga, knitting, reading, classic rock, lofi hiphop, and classic film.  

Book preview

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Part One

Chapter 1

Papa had once said there’s a thin line between darkness and light. A line so gossamer thin that the boundaries between love and hate blurred. As she sat next to Edward on a train bound south in May of 1945, Lydie had scarcely believed that only five years ago she had made her first solo train journey to Laurelhurst — her beloved papa’s boyhood home. She had been part of the waves of children that had evacuated the cities in preparation for the Blitz. It had seemed like a lifetime ago she stood on that platform next to Papa and Mummy in London’s Euston Station as she prepared to make the long journey north to Lancashire, a place she had only visited once as a child.

She closed her eyes on a packed train carrying a mixture of soldiers and civilians alike and vividly remembered that day.

Don’t worry, duck. You’ll be back soon. Nicholas handed Lydia’s cases to the gentleman on the train, and her tickets and papers to her. Now hop on.

I will miss you and Mummy.

Behind her, other children jostled to get on. Children, parents, and soldiers filled the station, and mothers pushed tins of biscuits into the hands of fussy children cramming the carriages. Her parents handed her a tin of chocolates as she boarded the train.

Must I go, Papa?

Yes, duck. You’ll be safer there. Lancashire is a beautiful place. I loved it as a boy. Just re-member blue skies are coming.

I’ll miss you both, Papa, she had repeated, as if it might make the pain of parting less.

We’ll miss you too, ducklet.

I don’t want to go, Papa. Can’t I stay here with you and Mummy?

No, duck. We’ve already discussed this. You’re going to a new school where you will meet new friends and get to know where I grew up. I expect all sorts of adventure from you.

Aye, get out of my way. You’re holding up the line.

Another child ran into Lydia’s back, forcing her to make her way down the train corridor to her seat. As they announced final boarding, she weaved through a sea of children to the win-dow where others like herself tried to get a glimpse of their families and the last sight of home for a long time. As she stuck her head out the window, her mummy waved, and her pa-pa sent his secret signal as the whistle blew. A puff of smoke gushed into the air, and the train jerked into motion pulling out of the station. She leaned out of the open window, trying to grasp her father’s hand before the cloud of coal-black smoke enveloped her.

Lydie remembered those fragile first days as she had struggled to adapt to a landscape that had felt so foreign to her. The Lancashire dialect had been difficult for her to understand, and her transition hadn’t been made easier by living at Laurelhurst. Her papa had told her many stories as she’d been preparing to live there for the duration of the war, but she found it to be nothing like he had described. She had been thirteen then, and her parents had enrolled her at Mount Carmel, a convent school over near Clitheroe.

* * *

At the beginning, she had been a day student at Mount Carmel, traveling back and forth from Laurelhurst to school on weekdays. It had been a period of adjustment, and she had struggled to keep up. Sister Esther, her math instructor, had been ruthless with her when she’d first arrived. Granted, part of it had been Lydie’s fault. She’d failed to complete her exercises whilst other girls had solved them effortlessly, thus she had become all too familiar with the short, sharp sting of Sister Esther’s ruler.

One late morning in May, a nun had sent her to Sister Agnes’s office. Oh, if Papa could have been there to help her sort it out, things would have been easier. She tugged at her uniform skirt as she waited for the headmistress to call her into her office. The last thing she needed was another infraction to top off whatever was coming her way. Her short legs stuck to the hard oak bench. She had waited for the heavy wooden door to open.

Come in, Sister Agnes said, breaking her reverie. Lydia picked up her satchel and straightened her uniform again. The last thing she needed was a uniform infraction on top of whatever was coming.

Sit down. Sister Agnes motioned to Lydia from behind a massive desk. Most girls at the school loved their headmistress. Now Lydia, it seems you are having difficulty adjusting to Mount Carmel. Why don’t you tell me about yourself? How old are you and where are you from?

I am thirteen, and I am from London.

Sister Agnes penned notes. I understand you’ve evacuated due to the war. Tell me about your parents.

My father is a doctor, and my mother volunteers with the auxiliary forces.

Have you always lived in London?

Yes, Sister Agnes.

And where do you live now?

With my uncle at Laurelhurst Manor.

Ah yes, I have heard of it. Do you have any siblings, Lydia?

Yes, an older brother who is a medical student at Oxford. His name is Edward.

How are you adjusting to your move? Do you like living there?

Not much, really. My uncle’s a widower and has no children. I don’t think he knows what to do with me. Living at Larelhurst is unlike back home where it’s full of warmth and love. It’s a lonely place.

I’m sure it is a change for you both. He may not be used to having a child around. Tell me about your life back in London. Do you have a good relationship with your parents?

Oh, yes. We spend as much time as possible together. Well, except for Edward. He’s always away at school. We have dinner together when Papa isn’t busy at the hospital. Mummy and I play the piano together, and my father takes me on trips to the museums and the zoo.

It sounds like you have a balanced childhood. Were you in a school or were you educated by a governess?

I had a governess until last year. My parents thought a structured school would help prepare me for coming here. Miss Mitchell and my parents took me on frequent outings to reinforce my lessons.

To museums and such?

Yes.

Sister Agnes placed her spectacles down on a pile of papers. Lydia, you are in my office because you are inattentive in class for the third time this week, and you are not performing your lessons as assigned. This cannot continue. I want to understand what is causing it. You are a bright, capable, and talented student. Your teachers think you can do the work, but you perform beneath your ability. Your lessons are correct once you complete them. Is the structure of a college too much for you?

No, Sister, there’s a reason I can’t focus in class. I have difficulty sleeping well at night. When it’s time to wake up in the morning, I’m still groggy. I doze or wander off in my early classes because I’m tired from the previous night.

What’s keeping you from sleeping well, Lydia?

Nightmares, fretful nightmares, that keep me awake. They’re so vivid that I can’t go back to sleep. My uncle’s friend gives me a tablet to help me sleep, but it makes my head feel like it’s in a fog. I can’t concentrate.

Did these nightmares occur in London as well, or did they begin with your recent move?

I had a few, but they were nothing like this.

You said your father is a doctor. What does he think of these nightmares? Did you have grogginess in the morning?

Occasionally. Papa said that I’ll outgrow them. I’m less groggy back home than up here. The images in my head are more vivid since I moved north.

Sister Agnes shifted in her chair. Lydia, I realize this transition may be difficult for you; however, you’re at an age where studying during wartime is a luxury. You’re thirteen years old. Next year many boys and girls your age will leave school and start earning a living. To stay in college past that point means you must perform at an acceptable level.

The headmistress stood up and walked over to the window overlooking the courtyard. Afternoon students scurried towards various buildings loaded with satchels. Lydia, come here. Lydie rose and joined her. "Do you see those children outside on the grounds? They are recent evacuees. Most of them have arrived with their name, their papers, and a suitcase for their journey. We are striving to meet the surrounding needs of our area. We have our campus, which is a luxury. That could change if the war demands it.

Our Sisters are committed to each student. Therefore, we must have students who make their best effort. We need bright young minds to help us win the war ahead. You have so much potential, but I need to know you want to be here.

I assure you I do.

Good. We encourage charity and contribution to the war effort here. To keep expenses down, many of our students perform chores after they finish their day’s schedule. Perhaps you could work in the afternoon like other students. I have something in mind for you. It is summer, and that means we’re in the growing season. Our school has an attached farm, which provides for ourselves and those in need. Why don’t we try you out working in the garden or in our kitchen prepping for meals? Is that something you would consider?

Yes, whatever is necessary.

I think contributing after school will benefit you, Lydia. Don’t consider it punish-ment. Consider it an opportunity. Your parents would agree, yes?

Yes, they give back to the community every chance they get.

As a bonus, you may find the extra exercise and sun may help you rest better at night. You’ll meet more of the girls, and they’ll get to know you better. It will be a change from coming to school and then going home. I’ll send you to our kitchen manager Sister Clara. You’ll meet with her to get started. She’ll give you some lunch first.

Lydia rushed to meet a small, round-faced nun dressed in a blue-striped cotton habit and a white apron who had waited for her in the dining room. Good afternoon, Lydia. I’m Sister Clara, and I’m in charge of the kitchen, dining hall, and kitchen garden. I understand you are coming to help us.

That’s correct.

Have you worked in a kitchen before?

No, Sister.

Why don’t we start you off with something simple like peeling vegetables? We have enough help outside right now, but we may move you out there later. You’re a day student, yes?

That’s right, Sister.

Hmmm. How far do you travel to and from school?

An hour by car.

Most of our girls here finish by four or five. Why don’t we start you off with a couple of hours each afternoon? Once you settle in, we’ll increase it.

Yes, Sister.

Good. Let’s get something to eat before you start work. I’ll show you where everything is in the kitchen. I’ll give you until one o’clock. We’ll keep you until three today.

My guardian doesn’t know I will be late, Sister Clara. I leave right after lunch. It might cause a problem.

Is someone waiting for you?

Yes, Sister.

In that case, we’ll start you out on one task, and I’ll see how well you do. I won’t keep you long today, but I’ll expect you to stay the next time. Understand?

Yes, Sister.

Lydia, eh? I knew a girl by that name a long time ago.

Lydia ate her hearty bowl of vegetable soup, a crust of wheat loaf bread, and a cup of tea. As she devoured the last sips of steamy broth, Sister Clara returned and directed her towards the kitchen. Lydie completed her first task as she carried her dishes to the sink. Afterward, Sister Clara gave her a paring knife and a bucket full of potatoes. On the floor below was a metal bucket for the skins. We save them for other things. Nothing goes to waste here.

Lydia struggled with her first one, muttering as she nicked her hand. The brown skin of the peel came off like shards, dropping into the galvanized metal bucket like petals. I’m useless at this.

You’re not used to scullery work, are you?

No, I’m not. I’ll learn how to do it.

You’ll get better. It’ll just take time. Try to adjust the way you hold the knife. Hold it to where you can peel the skin in a longer strand, yet not take too much of the flesh. Sister Clara demonstrated with a large tuber. Now, try it. It’ll help your hands cramp less.

Lydia’s second attempt yielded better results. This time she managed not to cut herself.

That’s better. You’ll get it. Now, go wash your hands and give me that potato. We’ll start you with prepping vegetables next week.

As she washed her hands, the scalding water hurt like mad.

Good work, Lydia. We’ll continue next week seeing as today is Friday. The first go is al-ways the hardest bit. Have a safe journey home.

* * *

Hodgkins, Uncle Alistair’s chauffeur, waited for Lydia to finish her day. His old, wrinkled hands underneath white gloves clutched the wheel of her uncle’s car. A salt and pepper lock fell on his face as he wondered what had kept the young miss. No doubt Mr. Alistair would be short-tempered upon their arrival. Hodgkins liked the young miss. It was nice to have a child back at the manor. There hadn’t been one living there for twenty years. Maybe more than that. At half-past one, a flash of reddish-gold hair raced to the car and slammed the door shut. She threw her satchel down beside her and took off her jacket.

Please forgive me for being late, Hodgkins. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, she said.

Difficult day, Miss Lydia?

Yes, Hodgkins. I’m having to do chores after lunch.

Aye, well that isn’t so bad, is it?

No, but Uncle Alistair will be cross.

I expect he will be. Just be honest about it. That’s all you can do.

Do you think you can say a prayer? I’m going to need it.

Lydia settled back into the car and peered out the window at the countryside. She’d have to explain her delay at school, but she had time to craft one. She watched as the lush country-side flew by. The drive followed the river as the car journeyed westward. The car veered north around Preston, leaving the city behind as the road sauntered towards the Forest of Bowland. After they passed a few old stone cottages and villages that appear stuck in time, the car turned left from the main road onto the drive and paused at the gate. Towering trees and flowering shrubs flanked each side. Before them, a road wound through the greenery with the forest looming beyond in the distance.

She pulled her jacket tight and took a deep breath as Francis, the butler, waited for her at the door. Lydia had known by his reproachful expression and his habit of pacing that her uncle was furious. Francis and Hodgkins started service to the Cavert family at the same time. Francis gave Lydie an uneasy feeling and she wasn’t sure why. The moment the car stopped in the drive, the butler stepped forward and opened the car door for her.

Miss Lydia, the master is waiting for you in his study.

Thank you, Francis.

What happened to your hands? Francis examined the small red lines on Lydia’s right hand which resembled cut marks.

I nicked myself, Francis.

Why today? Your uncle is already delayed as it is.

I couldn’t help it.

He won’t view it in that light, Miss Lydia. Most displeased.

Lydia followed Francis to the hand-carved mahogany door of her uncle’s study and wait-ed for him to knock. From within came a muffled reply. Francis opened the door to let her in, heading off to take care of other business. With trembling legs and sweaty palms, she crept towards the desk. Alistair Cavert sat behind it reading his letters.

A tall man of athletic build, Alistair was fifty years old. His walnut-colored hair gleamed in the sunlight pouring in through the windows. A few moments ticked by as he read. Placing the papers back on his desk, his slate-blue eyes assessed Lydia.

Well, my dear Lydia, it seems you are tardy returning from school. Care to account for this obvious lack of thought of my time? Pray make it compelling, as I am delayed for an im-portant meeting. Be brief, please.

It was unexpected, as I met with Sister Agnes to discuss after-school chores. I didn’t have a warning.

Am I to assume Mount Carmel doesn’t have a telephone where you could have called to notify someone?

There is one in Sister Agnes’s office, but I understand it’s only for emergencies.

Alistair considered this. Hmm. Yes. Why were you discussing afternoon chores with Sister Agnes today, Lydia?

Lydia took a deep breath and began. Well, Sister Agnes believes it’s a wise idea for me to do some war work in the afternoons. She thinks chores will help improve my concentration and help me be more productive.

Oh, is that all? So, you are staying behind at school as a lesson, are you?

Yes, sir.

Well, at least they are trying to discipline you, Lydia. It is one of the reasons I suggested Mount Carmel to your father. He is lax with you, and you need structure. You will thank the headmistress for her understanding and patience in this matter. What else did she say?

She said if I don’t improve, they may re-evaluate my standing at school.

And what did you tell her?

I thanked her and promised I would make a better attempt.

You will follow through and you will not lose your standing. I won’t have it, nor will your parents. Now, for your punishment. I was planning a little treat for you. A small one as I am leaving today and won’t return for a few days. Your father said you are skilled in riding. I planned for you to receive a new mount. I only keep one for myself and perhaps a guest; however, since you have more pressing matters such as studying, I will delay that.

But Uncle…

No exceptions, Lydia. Is that understood?

Yes, sir,

Now go upstairs, change your clothes, and start on your schoolwork. I’m sure you have plenty to do. Your treatment is lenient compared to my day. I’m confining you to your room until further notice.

Yes, sir. Be careful, and have a safe trip.

Thank you, Lydia, for your concern for my welfare. Close the door behind you as you leave.

Lydie skulked out of the door and up the stairs before he could say anything else.

Chapter 2

A few letters arrived from your parents, and your brother arrived via post today, miss. You also have several parcels, Francis said as he escorted Lydie said as he escorted her to her room.

Thank you, Francis. Oh! Mummy said she is sending yarn and fabric from the shops.

Excellent, Miss Lydia. Best to stay out of the master’s way for a while. Francis hesitated.

Yes, Francis?

Behave for a few days, Francis said. I’ll be back later with your dinner.

His snow-capped head disappeared after he closed the door. Lydia entered her room and set her satchel on a chair in the corner of the room. She changed of her uniform into a light jumper and a long cotton skirt that fell to her ankles because of her petite frame. Picking up a brush from the antique cherry dresser, she brushed her hair. Her fair skin had freckles on her nose and cheeks from the sun. She set the brush back down and raced to