Accomplished In Murder

Accomplished In Murder

  By Dara England

  Edited by Lauren Dee

  Cover art by Dara England

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Excepting brief review quotes, this book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the copyright holder. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, real events, locations, or organizations is purely coincidental.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Accomplished In Murder is the first in a series of historical mystery novelettes featuring intrepid Victorian heroines up to their bustles in crime. These works are only loosely connected and can be read in any order. Learn more about the Accomplished series by visiting www.daraenglandauthor.com.

  DEDICATION

  This work is for Mom and Dad, with whom I have enjoyed many a fictional murder.

  Chapter One

  Near the village of Morcastle, off the coast of Cornwall

  Celeste’s delicate boots sank deep into the muddy earth. Her hair was mussed by the wind, her hem dampened by the dew-soaked weeds creeping over the cemetery path.

  Still, she felt freer now than she had in a long time. Anything was better than being cooped up in the big house with Absalom and his horrid family. Not even the distant rumble of thunder and the wind’s promise of a coming storm deterred her resolve to seek solitude in the ancient cemetery.

  Such a strange place this was to bury one’s dead. Not a church in sight, not even a wrought iron fence to keep out the wild animals and other unwanted visitors.

  As she wandered among the tombstones, Celeste shivered, suspecting she was one of those unwelcome trespassers. She wasn’t of the family after all, except by marriage. Might the dead resent her intrusion? What an odd notion. But then one got strange ideas after spending enough time among the locals here. They were a superstitious lot, these Cornish.

  As she walked deeper into the graveyard, she was struck by the stark contrast between the rough, stone markers standing side by side with intricately carved marble angels and crosses. Here was proof of the contrasting affluence and decline the family had experienced over the centuries.

  They were suffering through one of those periods of deterioration now, as was evidenced by the overgrown condition of the rambling burial ground.

  She had no sooner had the thought than a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her.

  Stopping, she sank down onto an elaborately carved bench beneath the shadow of an ancient mausoleum. The bench was shaped like a pair of intertwined angels’ wings and an inscription across the seat listed the birth date and death of some past ancestor’s “Beloved Child.”

  Celeste forced her mind to happier thoughts. She was far too inclined to brood these days.

  Resting her palm against her as yet flat belly, she thought of her recent suspicion, one she had yet to share with her husband. She had no wish to disappoint him should her hopes prove false. Absalom could prove nasty when disappointed.

  A soft rustling nearby broke into her thoughts. Over in the stand of trees lining the cemetery something large was moving behind the screen of leaves and branches. What was it? Perhaps there was a wild animal hiding in the gloom, watching her.

  Even as her heart beat faster, she told herself the reaction was ridiculous. Most likely it was only a gentle deer cowering in the thicket. Or possibly a goat had escaped one of the neighboring farms and strayed onto the landlord’s property.

  Nevertheless, she could not stop her thoughts from returning to other similar occasions over these past few weeks where she had felt watched by hidden eyes. It was never anything she could prove, never anything more than the tread of soft footsteps trailing her down lonely halls of the great house. The whisper of a cloak disappearing around the corner whenever she turned to look back.

  But she was not imagining these incidents. Someone had begun following her with secret, possibly evil, intentions. And it might be that same someone watching her now.

  Suddenly the graveyard seemed a less safe place.

  Her dizziness had passed now. Even if it hadn’t, she would not have lingered here. Unease spurring her on, Celeste abandoned her seat and hurried along the path that would return her to Blackridge House.

  Chapter Two

  Hanover Square, London

  Drucilla Winterbourne rapped softly at the closed door of her brother’s study and didn’t await permission to enter before letting herself into the enveloping warmth of the inner room. A lively blaze crackled in the fireplace and a stream of pale sunlight slanted through the window to fall across Edwin, seated in a familiar pose. Ensconced behind his mahogany desk, he was all but concealed behind a wall of precariously stacked papers.

  Seating herself daintily on the edge of a plump armchair opposite him, Drucilla heaved a delicate sigh.

  There was no response from her brother.

  Her next sigh was a little more pronounced.

  Edwin never glanced up from his work. “I suppose I am expected to ask to what do I owe the pleasure of this interruption?”

  She ignored his irritable manner. “I have had a letter from Celeste.” She took her time withdrawing the rumpled missive from her pocket and offering it to him.

  His curiosity did not seem piqued so she added, “She sounds rather distraught.”

  “Distraught?” He did not go so far as to set aside his work, but at least he lowered it.

  “Well, perhaps I put it too strongly. But I know Celeste, and there is definitely an anxious undercurrent to her message. She has returned from her marriage trip and settled into her new home in Morcastle. Now she asks for my company.”

  “Why? Is she unwell?” Despite himself, her brother displayed concern. Drucilla knew he was fond of her girlhood friend. Celeste had spent so much time in their home she was practically a fixture of the house. Drucilla privately suspected Edwin had even entertained notions of offering for her hand. But that had never happened. Instead, Celeste stunned everyone this last year by suddenly choosing to marry a wealthy gentleman with a country estate in Cornwall.

  Taking pity on Edwin, Drucilla assured him, “Of course she is well. I’m sure she is enjoying more sunshine and fresh air than either of us have seen for a season.”

  Edwin’s relief turned to annoyance. “Then what is so urgent it couldn’t wait until tea?”

  “Kindly allow me to finish, dear brother, and you shall find out. Celeste certainly sounds to be in good health, but there is something troubling her. I suspect it may have to do with her new husband or his family. She did not name the problem in so many words, of course, but it is clear she is most…anxious.”

  Deep unease stirred within her as she remembered a particular passage from the letter.

  Please come to me, dearest Cilla. I shall feel safe with you near.

  Safe. Such an odd choice of words. Drucilla suppressed a shiver but did not quote the passage to Edwin, for she felt that would be a betrayal of Celeste’s confidence. Besides, the hint of danger it suggested would disturb her brother and run counter to her purpose.

  Already, Edwin was frowning as he assumed a lecturing tone. “Other people’s marital bliss, or lack of it, is their own affair, Drucilla. I’m sure you are reading too much into this. There was probably some little kerfuffle between Celeste and her husband. She penned an agitated letter to you and forgot the matter soon after posting it. The married state is made up of such tempests in teapots.”

  As if you would know. She refrained from speaking the words aloud and smoothed her skirts instead. “If you say so, dearest.”

  She was always most outwardly docile when inwardly dete
rmined to dig in her heels. She knew by her brother’s narrowed eyes he was aware of the meaning behind her soft words and careful rearrangement of silk.

  His forehead creased and he tried reasoning with her next, as she had known he would. “Even given there was truly some problem with Celeste’s new family, I fail to see what you expect me to do about it.”

  “What I expect of you is precisely nothing. I simply came down to inform you of my plans to depart for Cornwall before the week is out. Celeste needs my support. I’ve set one of the maids to packing my things now and sent a footman out to check the train schedule.”

  Edwin rubbed wearily at his high forehead, suddenly looking older than his years.

  Drucilla tilted her head to one side to consider his unfortunate pallor in the grey light filtering through the window. He spent far too little time enjoying himself out of doors, she decided, and expended too much energy dabbling in politics. But apart from his paleness and the faint rings beneath his green eyes, he remained a fine looking man. His wavy golden hair was the opposite of her own dull, black mane and he had inherited the soft, narrow features of their deceased mother, whereas Drucilla carried the angular jaw and sharp nose of their father. Despite his having absconded with the lion’s share of physical virtues in the family, she was rather proud of him.

  But in this case she could not allow him his way.

  She said, “Would you please cease fussing over everything that might go wrong and instead set that marvelous mind of yours to work at aiding me with my travel arrangements? I mean to be away in a day’s time.”

  “Impossible. You know I cannot get away so quickly.”

  She smiled innocently. “But of course. I would never ask you to abandon your work. I shall manage quite well enough making the journey on my own. Naturally, I shall bring Aunt Bridget along so that all will look well and proper. I have already sent word to her of the impending journey and am certain she is looking forward to it. You would not deprive an elderly lady of a holiday to the coast, would you?”

  By bringing Aunt Bridget into the plan she had managed to trap him and he knew it. That much was clear by his silence and doleful expression.

  “I suppose,” he said after a long stretch of quiet, “the fresh air on the coast would do you both good.”

  Drucilla smiled softly. “As you say, dear brother. I shall remove myself from town as quickly as possible.”

  She quitted her seat to lean over the desk and offer him a quick peck on the cheek. For all his pomposity, he was still her only immediate family.

  “You needn’t worry about me while I am away,” she said. “I vow I shall be prudence itself.”

  “I very much doubt that,” he said.

  She ignored his sarcasm and scurried from the room, her mind already leaping ahead to preparations for the journey.

  Despite the ominous tone of Celeste’s letter, Drucilla was rather excited at the prospect of traveling to Cornwall. Whatever troubles loomed over her friend in Blackridge House, she would somehow smooth them away.

  Chapter Three

  Blackridge House, Cornwall

  Celeste shivered as the wind cut through her hastily donned shawl. Overhead, thunder rumbled and dark clouds blotted out the moon, casting the empty rooftop where she waited into sinister shadow.

  All at once, she became aware of another presence, one whose footfalls were so soft she hadn’t heard them over the wail of the wind. The familiarity of the approaching figure did nothing to still the sense of dread within her. If anything, her heart pounded a little harder.

  “You’re late.” How she hated the way her voice trembled! Not that it mattered. Not that he didn’t already know she feared him. His mocking eyes said as much. She had never trusted those eyes.

  He raised a dark brow. “You were so eager for my arrival?”

  She refused to rise to the bait this time.

  “Of course I’ve been impatient. It is positively frigid out here; I think it’s about to rain. Whatever possessed you to suggest a meeting in such a place?”

  He moved nearer and leaned casually against the rail beside her. Together they peered out into the darkness, down to where the craggy rocks met the angry surf far below.

  He said, “This was the only rendezvous point I could think of where I could be certain we would not be observed alone together.”

  Celeste wiped suddenly sweaty palms against her skirts and tried to smother her rising alarm. She raised her voice above the gale. “And what have we to say to one another that must be kept secret? This had better be urgent, a matter of life and death.”

  “Oh it is,” he assured, his eyes glinting in the darkness. “For one of us.”

  There was something dangerous in his voice. An intensity Celeste had never heard from him before.

  Before she could do more than draw in a startled breath, he had taken her up swiftly in his arms and she found herself held in the air.

  “Good-bye, dear Celeste,” he said. “I cannot claim ours has ever been a friendly association but I think I shall miss you, in a way.”

  “What are you talking about? Put me down at once!”

  She wriggled in his grip but it was too late. She felt herself hoisted over the rough stone railing, skirts dragging behind her. For a terrifying moment, she was suspended between heaven and earth and only then did she remember to scream.

  He released her and she clutched at him, grabbed for the railing, anything. But some frantic part of her knew it was too late.

  She fell, as heavily as a stone dropped from the parapets, her amber-colored skirts billowing around her in a final, grotesque show of glory. The rocks rose swiftly to meet her.

  The ocean roared and the wind wailed. Lady Celeste Litchfield was dead.

  Chapter Four

  Paddington Station, London

  “For heaven’s sake, girl, could you move any slower if you were trying?” Drucilla asked.

  It was not really a question, and the maid, puffing down the crowded platform of the train station, was too busy with her bags to answer.

  Drucilla knew she was being unfair but the delay caused by her great aunt was putting her in a foul mood. And to worsen matters, they were in danger of missing their train. All because cranky old Aunt Bridget, even with the aid of her two accompanying maids, still could not get her things packed and her many bags and trunks in order.

  Drucilla didn’t glance back at the entourage following her. She knew the sight of the panting Aunt Bridget and her stream of servants, trunks, and cats would only sharpen her annoyance.

  It was a relief to clamber aboard the train and settle into a seat against the window, even if she was shortly joined by the breathless old lady. With an effort, Aunt Bridget arranged her bulky skirts and proceeded to bury them both under an excess of heavy lap rugs, bags containing the articles she could not do without, and a hamper of sandwiches.

  At their feet, she rested another basket from which escaped the most miserable hissing and yowling sounds. Drucilla deduced from the noise and the pulsing movement of the basket that her aunt’s two cats were not pleased to find themselves so confined.

  As they pulled away from Paddington Station, she thought without relish of the journey ahead. Between her elderly companion’s wheezing breaths and the smothering cloud of perfume surrounding her, Drucilla was in discomfort enough without adding the stifling heat of the unnecessary lap rugs to the mix.

  Aunt Bridget tut-tutted disapprovingly as Drucilla extricated herself from the rugs. “You’ll catch a chill, my dear. Dreadfully unhealthy anyway, these trains. One never knows what manner of disease was hosted by the last occupant of one’s seat. Nor of those sharing one’s compartment.”

  The old lady cast a suspicious glance at their fellow passengers.

  “Bundling up is hardly likely to prevent either of us contracting disease,” Drucilla pointed out reasonably.

  Aunt Bridget ignored the remark. “I cannot understand why your brother di
d not secure a private compartment for us. As if traveling were not danger and inconvenience enough. I do not know how I allowed you to persuade me to accompany you away from London. The country will be quite dreary this time of year. I only hope Celeste makes certain our accommodations are adequate…”

  She rambled on, clearly only half-aware of any presence besides her own.

  Drucilla took advantage of that and extracted from her bag the novel she had purchased at a bookstall in the train station.

  However, she found it difficult to concentrate on the words before her. Unbidden, concerns at what lay ahead rose up to taunt her. She had been so anxious to fly to Celeste immediately that she had not taken the time to pen a response to the invitation. Now she wondered if that had been a wise decision. How would Celeste’s in-laws at Blackridge House react to being suddenly descended upon by unexpected guests and a hoard of servants? For that matter, what would Celeste’s new husband think?

  Drucilla mulled over what she knew of the gentleman in question. It was little enough. A year ago, she had never heard the name of Absalom Litchfield and neither, she would wager, had the rest of London. Celeste had made his acquaintance while visiting relatives in the countryside last summer. Though her letters to Drucilla had been full of him at the time, there was little practical knowledge there, just the lovesick praises of an eighteen-year-old girl who had clearly been swept away by the charm of her first real suitor.

  Perhaps it was unfair of Drucilla to form an ill opinion of a man she had not yet met. But there had always seemed to her something strange about the whirlwind courtship, followed by a hasty marriage. In a matter of weeks, Absalom Litchfield had walked into Celeste’s life and carried her away from her home and all her friends.

  Drucilla realized Aunt Bridget had finally run out of things to ramble about and was snoring noisily beside her.

  She leaned her head back as well and closed her eyes.