Evil at Alardyce House: A page-turning historical mystery from Heather Atkinson

By Heather Atkinson

The history of the Alardyce family is fraught with scandal and intrigue.

But after her eldest son Robert leaves the country, finally Amy Alardyce can enjoy some peace. Robert is wanted by the police for some unspeakable crimes, and his family hope he has run far enough and never looks back.

A decade after his disappearance, Robert has forged a successful life for himself, making his fortune from the diamond and gold mines of Africa. But when he sees a death notice in the newspaper, the call to go home to Scotland grows ever louder.

At Alardyce House, there are big changes too, and the fragile peace the family have enjoyed for so long is feeling more fragile than ever. And as the past comes back to haunt Amy and her children, will she have to finally accept that the curse of the Alardcye family can never be outrun…

If you love Emily Organ and Ann Granger, you’ll love the Alardyce series. Discover bestselling author Heather Atkinson and you'll never look back...

Please note this is an updated and extended version of the previously published The Ancestral Tides

What readers are saying about Heather Atkinson:

‘OH MY GOD what a book! We are transported back to the Victorian times. It sure has hell doesn’t disappoint it is dark, twisty and incredibly gritty!’

‘One of the best books I've read in a while. Couldn't put it down. Can't wait for the next instalment.’

‘Hope there is more to come, I am hopelessly hooked and need there to be a follow up. These books are certainly not for the squeamish, but if you can get past the bloodlust the stories are excellent. No the bloodlust is a major ingredient, just enjoy the books for what they are, a good story extremely well told.’

‘Heather just keeps getting better and better. Could not put this book down, love the characters Henry, Amy and even bad boy Robert. Exciting, sad and thrilling all at the same time - really would make a great tv drama.’

• Language: English
• Publisher: Boldwood Books
• Release date: Jun 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781804158166

Heather Atkinson

Heather Atkinson is the author of over fifty books - predominantly in the crime fiction genre. Although Lancashire born and bred she now lives with her family, including twin teenage daughters, on the beautiful west coast of Scotland.

Book preview

1

ALARDYCE HOUSE, EDINBURGH, 1910

Amy sat on a bench close to the house, enjoying the fresh autumnal air, watching Henry stride across the grounds with the agility of a man considerably younger than his fifty years, having an eager discussion with the estate manager. Her husband never seemed to age, while she felt like an old lady. She looked down at her hands, the deformity now obvious even with her thick gloves on. Over the last couple of years, her arthritis had worsened and they were ever more gnarled and almost constantly painful. Magda, the village healer, who everyone thought a witch but Amy knew was just an exceedingly clever woman, had given her various tinctures that were increasingly ineffective and, despite her friend’s best efforts, she’d been unable to come up with a more effective solution, so Amy had to accept that she was slowly losing the use of her hands. She’d been forced to give up her beloved embroidery and watercolours altogether. Thank goodness she could still hold a book, but that was about all she was fit for. She even walked like an old lady thanks to the aches that had appeared in her hips.

After her son Robert had left twelve years ago, she’d succumbed to another fever of grief. It hadn’t been as severe as her previous fevers but it had left her perpetually weakened. The cumulative effects of these illnesses, along with all the trauma her body had endured over the years, had prematurely aged her. Even her chestnut hair was fading.

Lately she’d started to worry that Henry would stop desiring her, but their relationship remained as intimate as ever. The vast majority of rich gentlemen had at least one mistress but taking one was something he’d never done. He spent practically all of his time on the estate, with her.

It was no wonder she was feeling her age after everything she’d been through. Her life had fallen apart when she was just seventeen years old and had been sent from London to live at Alardyce with her aunt and uncle on the death of her parents. She’d started an affair with Matthew Crowle, a very handsome footman, and fallen pregnant. When her vicious aunt had wanted to take her baby from her, she’d fled and toiled as a governess for years just so she could keep her oldest son, Robert. After almost being killed by her insane cousin, Edward, she’d discovered the boy she’d given up everything for was a monster just like Edward and his biological father. She’d survived several attacks, as well as the rejection of herself and Henry from society because of all the scandal. It could have been so much worse and every day she counted her blessings.

Henry spotted her and waved. Amy smiled and waved back, resting one hand on the walking stick she now needed to help her get around. She was too young to be so decrepit, she was only forty-six, but she supposed it was only natural after everything her body had been through.

Life at Alardyce, Henry’s ancestral home, was a lot quieter these days. Their youngest son, Stephen, was away at boarding school, where he was doing very well. John had left school and returned to the estate to learn how to run it. The world was changing, the old ways of the Victorian era falling away, and a lot more effort was required to keep Alardyce ticking over. As the eldest son, the estate would become John’s on Henry’s death, but the energetic seventeen-year-old wasn’t showing much interest in his new lessons and preferred the company of his friends in the city. In a lot of ways, he was very like Robert, his older half-brother, but his friends were all respectable, although Amy knew that he did on occasion visit the local brothels. Fortunately he had Henry’s goodness, so she was reassured that he would never go down the dark path his older brother had taken.

Their daughter Lydia was the belle of Edinburgh society and a renowned beauty with her long chestnut hair, just like her mother’s, and her father’s pale skin and dark eyes. She spent most of her leisure time at balls and soirées. As her parents wanted nothing to do with society, she often stayed with the Trentons, friends of Robert and his wife Jane. Jane had introduced them during one of her visits from London and Nadia had taken to the girl immediately. As she only had sons, she longed for a daughter to introduce into society and, as Amy had no wish to do that herself, Nadia had thankfully taken on the burden for her. Nadia and Lydia were incredibly close, although nothing could interfere with the strong bond between Lydia and her mother.

No one had heard from Robert since the terrible confrontation that had taken place at Alardyce House when he’d attacked his own mother and fought his stepfather. Amy had no proof he was still alive, but she felt strongly that he was, certain she would know if he had passed away. Part of her hoped she would see him again before she died but she knew that if he ever did return, he’d bring carnage in his wake. He always did, and their family was so happy and content now. Robert had been forced to flee Edinburgh, not just because he was becoming a danger to those he loved, but Inspector Murphy, the darling of the Edinburgh police force, had been on his trail. Murphy had known Robert was responsible for not only the attacks on the women in the city but at least two murders of men he’d considered to be his enemies, but he’d lacked any proof. Henry had used his influence to get the inspector to stop intermittently harassing their family. Fortunately, Murphy had ceased to be a threat when he’d retired four years ago.

Amy’s gaze drifted to the top of the crypt that was just visible through the trees. Henry had it sealed years ago, just like he’d promised, and no one else would be buried there. Their family had their very own sizeable plot in the village kirkyard and it was a comfort to Amy to know that she wouldn’t have to share a resting place with the man who’d almost destroyed her. Henry’s younger brother Edward had been hanged for assaulting and murdering four women, although everyone thought his body count was much higher, as well as for attacking and almost killing Amy herself. He was the reason why her hands were in such a state now. Henry had his body secretly placed in the crypt. As he hadn’t been married or even engaged to Amy back then, he’d seen nothing wrong with this, but he’d never found the right time to tell his wife. She’d only found out when Robert had blurted it out during that final, terrible confrontation with him twelve years ago. Knowing her son had only told her to try to drive a wedge between her and her husband, Amy had immediately forgiven Henry and refused to allow it to come between them.

Amy shook herself out of these sad reminiscences of the past and smiled as she watched Henry say goodbye to the estate manager then stride over to her.

‘Any sign of John?’ he asked, sitting on the bench beside her.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘He stayed out all night.’

‘Again? That boy really needs to learn some responsibility.’

‘He’s seventeen. I suppose it’s only natural. At least he’s not eloped to Gretna Green like Robert did at his age.’

‘There’s a lot John hasn’t done that Robert did at this age, so I suppose we should be grateful. I just wish he’d knuckle down and learn about the estate. He needs to take more of the burden onto his own shoulders. That would leave us more time to do things together. I was thinking we could take a trip to Riverwood, just the two of us,’ he said, covering her hand with his own, referring to the mansion they owned in the Lake District.

‘Sounds lovely,’ she smiled. ‘But are you sure you want to go with a decrepit old woman like me?’

‘I don’t understand why you insist on calling yourself an old woman. You’re as lovely as the day we met.’

‘Perhaps you should visit your doctor?’

‘Why?’

‘There’s obviously something wrong with your eyes.’

‘No, there isn’t. You need to stop being so hard on yourself. And you certainly weren’t an old woman in bed last night,’ he beamed, leaning in to kiss her.

‘Yes, that was rather good,’ she smiled. ‘But I do feel like an old woman and I’m losing the use of my hands. You still look so young and handsome. I’m afraid you’ll find someone younger and more attractive.’

Gently he took one of her hands in his own, mindful of how painful they were. ‘I think the exact same thing about you. To me, you’re no different to that scared girl who came to live here all those years ago. I feel like I’m the one who’s slowing down, getting older.’

‘Henry, you just walked across the garden with the agility of someone in their twenties. Stephen would be hard pressed to keep up with you. I’m the one with a walking stick.’

‘I’ve used a walking stick for years.’

‘You use a cane, not a walking stick, and it suits your brooding good looks.’

‘It does?’ he frowned.

‘Yes. It’s only an affectation. You don’t need one to get about as I do.’

‘Amy Alardyce, I’ve loved you and only you my entire life and I will never look at another. You’re the only woman I want or will ever want. Even when we’re in our seventies, you will always be the fiery, beautiful woman I fell in love with. Now stop all this nonsense.’

‘Sorry,’ she said with a self-deprecating smile. ‘I am sounding a bit sorry for myself.’

‘Yes, you are. Now come on,’ he said, getting to his feet.

‘Where are we going?’ she replied, having to lean on her walking stick to get up off the bench.

‘To bed, to prove to you that you’re not old.’

‘I don’t know, that idea is really ingrained in my mind now. I think it will take some time to persuade me otherwise.’

He smiled at the twinkle in her eye. ‘Get inside, you naughty girl,’ he said as they walked back to the house together, arm in arm.

‘Oh, for God’s sake. Are you ever conscious any more?’

Amy sat up in bed with a frown, assuming Henry had spoken, but he was asleep beside her. Her attention was drawn to the chaise longue at the end of the bed where Matthew was reclined on his side, propping himself up on one elbow.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she sighed. ‘It’s been a long time. Twelve years, to be precise.’

‘And it seems nothing’s changed. Every time I visit, you’re asleep.’

‘It’s not my fault if you choose to visit me in the middle of the night. Or have you been dead so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in a human body?’

‘Never mind all that nonsense. Our boy’s homesick.’

‘Robert,’ she breathed, the name causing a pang in her heart. ‘He’s still alive then?’

‘You know he is, Amy.’

‘I do. I would have felt it if our bond had been severed.’ She frowned as she realised the meaning of his words. ‘Do you mean he’s thinking of coming back?’

‘He’s certainly pondering it. He misses you all. I can understand why he misses you, but as for the others…’ He trailed off and grimaced.

‘Do not talk about my family like that.’

‘Well, they’re all dull, insipid lilies. None of them have your fire and passion.’

‘I don’t feel like that any more. I’m an old woman now.’

‘You have more life left in you than you think and you’re going to need it.’

‘Robert’s going to return, isn’t he?’

‘If he does, let’s just say things will get pretty lively around here, which can’t be a bad thing. This quiet life of yours is exceedingly dull.’

‘No, it’s not. I love my life. Just because I’m not imprisoning and killing people doesn’t mean my life is boring,’ she sniffed.

His smile was fiendish. ‘I beg to differ.’

‘Look, I’m very tired, so if that’s all…’

He sat up with such speed it made her jump. ‘Oh, that’s not it. I want to remind you that when you do eventually decide to throw off this dreary existence, I’ll be waiting.’

‘Yes, so you keep saying,’ she replied in a bored tone, even though inwardly she was unnerved.

‘Finally, it will be our time and your pale fop won’t get in the way,’ he added, nodding at Henry’s sleeping form. Something in his eyes changed. They widened slightly, one side of his mouth lifting into a malicious smile.

‘What is it?’ she frowned.

‘Nothing,’ he replied, looking back at her. ‘But I will say one thing – you’ve got an eventful time coming up, my love. You’d better get all the rest you can.’

‘What are you doing?’ she gasped, scrambling backwards up to the headboard when he climbed onto the end of the enormous bed and started crawling across it towards her on all fours.

‘I want you, Amy,’ he growled, the shadows sliding across his face, distorting it, voice deepening. ‘Now.’

‘You can’t have me,’ she gasped. ‘Henry,’ she cried.

But he didn’t stir.

‘Your pale fop can’t hear you,’ he spat, his hand closing over her leg. ‘It’s just you and me.’

Her eyes widened with horror when she saw his fingers looked more like claws.

‘I’m coming for you, Amy,’ said Matthew, grip tightening on her leg. ‘I’m coming.’

Amy jumped awake with a cry, her breathing slowing when she realised she was safe in bed at home with her husband. She looked to the chaise longue, but Matthew wasn’t there.

‘Thank God,’ she breathed, running a hand across her sweat-soaked brow.

Settling back into the pillows, she turned on her side to nestle into Henry, pulling the bedclothes up higher when she felt how cold his skin was. She did have a habit of hogging the covers and leaving him with none.

Resting her head on his chest, she frowned when she didn’t feel the steady rise and fall as he breathed. A sickening sense of wrongness gripped her and she clung onto him tighter.

‘No, please,’ she whispered. ‘No.’

When his arms failed to go around her, she forced herself to raise her head, a cry flying from her lips when she saw how blue his skin was.

‘No, no, no,’ she wailed. ‘Henry?’

She prodded his arm, which would normally have been enough to wake him, but still he didn’t stir. His expression was serene, as though he’d slipped away in his sleep.

Her howl filled the room, bouncing off the oak-panelled walls, the sound full of horror and despair. She felt so numb that it took her a moment to realise the sound was coming from her.

A tidal wave of grief slammed into her and she gathered his lifeless body in her arms, gently rocking him, praying for his eyes to open. But they didn’t. Now she knew why Matthew had smiled in that malevolent way. He’d seen what had happened. This realisation made her wail even louder.

Her screams roused the rest of the house and there was a hammering at the door followed by demands to be let in. She could tell the voice belonged to Lydia and Amy knew that she should go to her daughter and comfort her, but she was locked in a prison of her own grief and she couldn’t escape. Neither did she want to leave Henry’s side for an instant. She never wanted to let go of him again.

Lydia’s voice was replaced by John’s deep baritone and the blows on the other side of the door started up again with renewed vigour.

With a crack, the door gave way and John stumbled inside along with Samuel, the footman. Lydia entered behind them, along with Amy’s maid Hazel and Forbes, the butler, all in their nightclothes. Amy’s cries had been so loud they’d reached the servants’ bedrooms in the attic.

‘Oh, no,’ cried Lydia, a hand flying to her mouth. ‘Father.’

Hazel wrapped a comforting arm around her while John approached his mother, gazing sadly down at his father, swallowing down his tears so he could help her.

‘He’s gone,’ he gently told her. ‘There’s nothing you can do for him.’

‘No, he’ll wake up, I know it,’ she said. The tears were pouring down her face unchecked, and dripped onto Henry’s cheek.

‘He won’t,’ he said, attempting to get her up off the bed. ‘Not even he could beat this.’

‘Yes, he can,’ she snarled, shoving his arm away. ‘Leave me with him.’

‘Mother, we can’t.’

‘Leave me,’ she yelled.

‘Shall I call the doctor, sir?’ said Forbes. ‘He might be able to help.’

‘Call him and let him make all the arrangements,’ replied John, his sad gaze on his father’s face. ‘But fetch Magda to tend to my mother.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he replied before leaving in his dressing gown.

‘Leave us,’ John told the servants.

When they’d gone, Lydia and John sat on the bed either side of their mother, who still cradled her dead husband in her arms, refusing to let him go.

‘I love you, Father,’ breathed Lydia, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

‘How did this happen?’ said John, who was in a state of shock. ‘He was the picture of health.’

‘The doctor will be able to tell us more,’ replied his sister.

‘At least it was peaceful.’

‘And Mother was by his side,’ she said, looking at Amy, who continued her bizarre rocking. She wasn’t sure she could hear them or was even aware of their presence, she seemed to be locked in her own world. Tears spilled down Lydia’s face when her mother ran her twisted fingers through her husband’s hair and down his face, as though she could wake him up, and when he didn’t stir, she cried harder, a low keening sound emanating from the back of her throat.

Unable to bear it any more, Lydia leapt up, buried her face in her hands and started to cry.

John went to her and held her, allowing her to cry on his shoulder while looking down at his father, wishing he hadn’t wasted the time they’d had together. He still had so much to learn. He wasn’t ready to run Alardyce. Now he would be expected to steer the family through this fresh tragedy and see to the estate and he was painfully aware that he was ill-equipped for the task. He’d give anything to have his father back.

Magda burst into the room half an hour later, having been fetched from the village by the coachman, and John was more than happy to hand responsibility for the situation and his mother over to her. Magda was not only one of Amy’s closest confidants but she had saved her life more than once over the years.

She flung off her white cloak, letting it drop to the floor, and strode to Amy’s side. Amy finally looked up when she placed her hand on her arm.

‘He’s crossed over,’ Magda told her. ‘You need to let him go.’

‘I… can’t,’ Amy gasped between sobs.

‘You have to, for your children’s sake. They need you.’

Magda’s penetrating silver eyes and gentle but authoritative voice managed to break through the fugue surrounding Amy, who nodded.

Amy looked down at Henry and kissed his cold lips. ‘Goodbye, my love,’ she breathed before gently laying him back on the bed.

Magda assisted her to her feet and Amy stood looking down at Henry, shivering with shock.

‘I don’t want to leave him,’ she said.

‘But you must. There are things that must be attended to.’

Amy nodded and looked to her children, feeling guilty for being so wrapped up in her own grief and ignoring theirs. She went to them, hugging first Lydia, then John. She took her son’s face between her hands. His resemblance to his father had never been more pronounced. He’d inherited Henry’s pale skin, tall, slender frame and dark eyes.

‘Let’s go downstairs,’ he said. ‘I think we could all use a brandy and a warm fire.’

Magda wrapped Amy in her dressing gown and the four of them left the room. Amy paused to look back at Henry, feeling her heart break in two. This was the worst pain she had ever experienced. Edward’s torture had been nothing compared to this agony.

2

The fire had already been lit in the drawing room and the curtains drawn in every room of the house. They would remain closed until after the funeral. Everyone avoided the armchair Henry had favoured out of respect.

‘I don’t understand how it happened,’ repeated Lydia. ‘He was fine yesterday. I saw him striding about the estate as usual.’

‘Some ailments can strike suddenly,’ said Magda. ‘It could have been his heart or an aneurysm in the brain.’

‘Magda, please,’ said John, indicating Amy with a nod of his head.

‘Your mother has never shrunk from the truth in her entire life and she’s not going to start now.’

Amy merely nodded and sipped her brandy, her gaze on the fire. She had to grip the glass with both hands because she was shaking so badly and because her hands were painful.

‘We need to call Stephen home from school,’ Lydia told John.

‘I’ll arrange that in the morning,’ he replied. ‘Let him sleep for now.’

‘I’ll telegram Aunt Esther and Aunt Lily.’

Lydia bit her lip and looked down at the floor when she realised there was no one else to call. The infamous Alardyces had very few real friends. Their only other friends, Arthur Buchanan and his wife Mildred, had died years ago. Her parents had needed only each other. Now one half of that partnership was gone and she feared her mother would be unable to cope. The last fever she’d suffered when Robert had left had weakened her considerably and it was unlikely she would survive another.

‘You can leave all the arrangements to me, Mother,’ said John. ‘I’ll sort everything out, don’t worry.’

Finally, Amy raised her head and the fire in her eyes heartened them all. ‘I want to make the arrangements. It’s the last thing I can do for him and I won’t let him down. You’ll have enough on your hands with the estate. You’re head of this family now, Sir John.’

‘I don’t want it. I’m not ready.’

‘What you want is irrelevant because it’s already happened and you’re more than capable. You just have to believe it yourself,’ she said, before returning to her quiet contemplation of the fire.

The doctor arrived and John led him upstairs. The steadfast Dr Parlow, who had attended to Amy when she first fell pregnant with Robert, sighed at the sight of Henry’s body.

‘This is terrible. He was such a vital man. I thought he had years left in him.’

‘Which is what’s puzzling us,’ replied John. ‘What could have caused this?’

‘He did have a weakness of the heart. It could have given out while he was sleeping.’

‘Weakness of the heart?’ he frowned.

‘He didn’t tell you?’

John shook his head.

‘He came to me with a disturbance of heart rhythm and some chest pain. I sent him to see a specialist in the city, who said it could possibly be angina but he wanted to conduct more tests. Your father had another appointment with him next week. Your mother knew nothing about it, Sir Henry didn’t want to worry her.’

‘So you think the angina did this?’ he said, nodding at his father’s body.

‘Angina in itself isn’t life threatening but it could mean he was more at risk of a heart attack. He hadn’t officially been diagnosed but I’d say his heart problems could well be responsible for this.’

‘I think my mother needs to know for sure.’

‘You mean… a post-mortem?’

‘It’s the only way to be certain.’

‘You’re aware of how invasive a procedure it is?’

‘I am and I hate the thought of it being done to him, but I know he’d approve if it gave my mother some peace.’

‘I’m happy to fill out the death certificate right now with myocardial infarction as the cause of death but I can arrange a post-mortem, if you’d prefer.’

John looked down at his father’s body and swallowed hard. ‘I need to discuss it with the family.’

‘All right, but I recommend you don’t leave it long. Shall I arrange for the body to be taken away or do you want to do everything here?’

‘I don’t know,’ John said, feeling completely lost and useless. His father had been the most capable man he’d ever known, he would have known the answers to all these questions. ‘I’ll go and ask them now.’

He hurried out of the room, feeling he’d disgraced himself in front of his father’s body. He wasn’t ready for all this responsibility. He had no idea what he was doing and his mother was in no fit state to guide him.

He returned to the drawing room to find Lydia standing at the window openly weeping while their mother stared catatonically into the flames. Magda sipped a cup of tea, serene as always.

He cleared his throat. ‘Er, Dr Parlow wants to know if you want him to arrange to have Father taken away or…’

‘No,’ snapped Amy. ‘No one’s taking him away. He’ll stay here until the funeral, it’s his home. I’ll wash and dress him myself.’

‘I’ll help you,’ said Magda.

‘Thank you.’

‘Do you want me to stay for a few days?’ added Magda.

‘Yes, please, if you don’t mind.’

‘I don’t mind at all.’

Amy’s smile was sad, eyes shining with gratitude. John was relieved Magda would be staying with them, she was excellent in a crisis and would be able to handle his mother.

‘Dr Parlow told me something else,’ he said slowly, not sure whether he should say this now, but they had to decide about the post-mortem. ‘Father had an irregular heartbeat and he was experiencing chest pains.’

‘What?’ rasped Amy, eyes filling with fresh tears.

‘He didn’t want to worry you, so he was keeping it quiet until he found out what was going on. Parlow sent him to see a specialist who thought it might be angina, but before he could have the tests done, he… you know.’

Amy stared back at him in bewilderment. ‘But I watched him walking yesterday, he looked so fit and strong. He wasn’t clutching at his chest. I never once saw him in pain.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’m going to speak to Parlow and I want to talk to this specialist too,’ she said, striding for the door.

‘Why don’t you let me do that…’ began John but she walked past him and out the door.

‘Let her do what she needs to do,’ said Lydia, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘You won’t be able to stop her.’

‘What do I do, Lydia?’ he said. ‘I’ve no idea. I feel so useless.’

‘Just grieve for Father. Everything else can wait.’

It was what he needed to hear and the two siblings clung onto each other, crying. Magda slipped out of the room to give them some privacy.

‘You,’ said Amy, striding into the bedroom where Dr Parlow waited. She came to a halt at the sight of Henry’s body, the grief hitting her all over again.

‘How can I help, Amy?’ he