Victoria's Nightmare: A Debutant's Mystery, #2

By Anita K. Mills

Murder, Kidnapping, and Mayhem!

While on a year's trip to the Mediterranean, I, Victoria Blankstone attended the Causton Ball, where I met a Captain Roland Smith. I disliked the man straight off, as he asked rather a lot of questions about the people in Cornwall and in particular, my own family. Cautiously, I replied. I was curious as to his reasons, but after the dance, I did not see him again, for which I am grateful. That night is when my nightmares began again. I returned home shortly after only to be questioned by another Captain this time a son of a close friend. What did these two captains have to do with each other? And why were they interested in my family?

I asked questions of my own of my brother and stepbrother and soon all three of us were in trouble. Can Captain Philip Elston help or is it too late? Will the madman in my dreams steal me away before we solve the mystery?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anita K. Mills
• Release date: Apr 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215271650

Anita K. Mills

Anita started writing back in the early 1990s when she was diagnosed with fibromyalgia and her first novels have taken over twenty years to write. She loves writing and hopes it continues long into the future with plenty more adventures for her characters. She says, Fibromyalgia does not hold me back; if I can, I will. Anita lives in Nottingham, Great Britain, and enjoys visiting new places, meeting new people and visiting family. Follow her at: https://www.facebook.com/anita.mills.33 Website: https://blakemanbooks.weebly.com https://YouTube.be/F4KtPER25oQ

Book preview

Chapter One

The Homecoming

The carriage pulled through the large open iron gates and then onto the gravelled drive, which led up to the Blankstone house. This large house, which sits on the embankment of the Thames in London, still looked splendid and I was glad to be home.

It wasn’t a particularly long driveway, but both the occupants of the coach had time to look out of the window. I noticed as the house came into view that nothing had changed in the last year or so in my absence, except the leaves. They were on the ground back then, covered in snow and now it was the middle of April and the grass was visible, very green and soaked. The sun shone this morning and the promise of warmer days was in the air, but now it was raining again. Not a down pour, I might add, but a drizzle. The sort that was kind to the plants and flowers, but did nothing for humans, especially the females.

I shared the carriage with my companion, Miss Charlotte Shelby. We were returning from our trip to Europe, where we were visiting my aunt.

After my father's second marriage to Elizabeth Warrentage, in late December, who I liked on sight many years ago, I left to visit friends and relatives abroad. My trip allowed my father and his new bride to enjoy a year alone. My brother promised to keep an eye on them while I was away. Though my father was not much on writing letters, Elizabeth had taken it up soon after they returned from their honeymoon in Paris. She wrote every week. She was not my only source, so I knew all that had taken place in and around London while I travelled abroad. My parents went down to the estate in Cornwall so my father could rest shortly after their return. There, they spent a few weeks in the family home we shared with my father’s three brothers and their families, but they returned last week to get ready for my homecoming and my coming out season.

I turned and smiled as I saw my companion’s face light up with wide open brown eyes, taking everything in. It was the first time my companion viewed Blankstone house and like all who visited it for the first time, their reactions were awe inspiring.

Victoria, you never said it was this grand? Her lovely eyes met my China blue ones and cried, Is it all like this?

Wait and see, I replied. I thought to myself, if she thinks this is grand, wait till she sees the Manor and estate in Cornwall.

I met the younger woman at King’s Cross station a year and two months ago. She only just arrived from the resident boarding school for young ladies, which we both attended in Devon. Though we met there and enjoyed each other’s company, we had also written to each other after I had left. We were firm friends despite the year’s difference in our ages. Charlotte’s only living family was a maiden great-aunt, Regina Shelby, who was pleased to have the girl ‘off her hands,’ as the old woman had said to Elizabeth. Not in a nasty way, just too old and too ill to be responsible for a young woman, yet hoped once her education was complete and the old lady was still here, the younger one would visit at least once a month. To which she agreed. So, my new mamma had engaged her as company for me and we travelled to Southampton on the very next train to meet the ship that was to carry us to the French coast to complete our education.

Mrs Jayne Appleby had been willing to chaperone the ‘two wee girls’ to Paris and hand them to my cousin at her dear sister’s request. She lived in Scotland for many years before her husband, the Minister of Scottish affairs, died. She then moved back to England to live out her days closer to family. We had a few days while we waited for my cousin Sabastian to arrive. Mrs Appleby was pleased to show us around her second home and would return here when we were ready to go back to England. We thanked my new aunt as she deposited us, baggage and all, at the train station in front of my well-dressed continental cousin and his wife Christina, for her due care and attention over the past few days.

Charlotte and I toured the continental scene for almost a year. We learned two new languages, watched the fashion and the seasons change, then spent the last five months with my aunt at my cousin’s home.

We travelled by train or ship from Paris, around the Mediterranean coast, then to the Venetian coast and on to the home of Sabastian Corroselli and his mother, my mother's sister, Caroline, who I had not seen since Christmas five years before. I spent the Christmas with my aunt and attended a few balls, afternoon teas, and morning and afternoon recitals. The schedule was not much different from home when I was there.

The only change between arriving there and arriving home now was the climate. The sun had shone brilliantly then, in Venice and the warmth was always welcoming, especially in the early mornings. Here, it was going to rain hard later, and probably for the rest of the day.

Our carriage pulled up outside the main entrance. The two pillars outside looked like two stone warriors standing guard on the steps of one of the largest houses on the banks of the river. A ten windowed, double door frontage that looked towards St James Park, between Lambeth Bridge and Big Ben, in the Borough of Westminster. With the joining of Marylebone and Kensington and Mayfair and St James, it was quite the affluent side of the Thames. It sat close to the Houses of Parliament, the Abbey Church, Convent Garden, Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park and Regents Park, as well as the new university. The university brought in new revenue for the city by being open to the public, along with the museum and library. Even the walk along the promenade of the Thames was pleasant enough if you stayed away during the height of summer. The smell from the gardens and parks, not to mention our own, hid the smell from the Thames during most months of the year, but not during the heat of July and August. Luckily, we, the family, spent this time down on the coast in Cornwall in the large family manor house with my uncles, aunts and cousins.

Beside the great pillars stood four men, though not as tall. They were in the same colours; black trousers and jackets. Three were older than the one that hurried to open the carriage door. The smaller of the three men came forward and held out his hand to steady the two alighting young women. I emerged from the carriage