The Murder at Mansfield Manor: An Inspector Ambrose Story (The Inspector Ambrose Mysteries Book 3)

  The Murder at Mansfield Manor.

  An Inspector Ambrose Story.

  By I H Laking

  Text copyright © 2014 I H Laking

  The train chugged on through the frosty forest, its black engine charging along the tracks, hauling a dozen red carriages behind it. All around, snow lay on the thickly packed pine trees, shining bright in the early morning sun. Inside the train’s carriages, the occupants of the Traville to Mansfield Express were slowly waking up from their overnight journey.

  Each of the carriages was an ornate spectacle, for this was a train reserved for dignitaries from The Order, designed to provide them with every luxury imaginable while they travelled the twelve hour journey from the capital of the Empire to Mansfield, the most popular destination for weekend getaways, holidays, and high society scandals. The carriages were made out of hardwood, with solid steel reinforcing. Carpet inlaid with gold thread and precious materials ran the length of the train, except for the servant and Mech quarters (of course), while each and every piece of plumbing was plated with gold. The dining cart featured twenty tables, each giving a spectacular view of the passing countryside, except when the train passed through wooded areas (naturally).

  It was in this very dining car that a tall man dressed in a red Civilian Protection Force jacket sat reading a small notebook. He was well groomed; clean shaven with his dark hair combed back in a neat quaff, along with a newly pressed pair of black pants to complement his uniform. He looked like he would prefer not to be disturbed as he squinted at a small notebook and muttered to himself. In the middle of his table sat a cup of herbal tea, extra hot, alongside a small plate featuring a strip of fried bacon, two soft-boiled eggs, and a piece of wholemeal toast.

  As the man sat there, muttering continuously to himself, he absent-mindedly reached out with his left hand to take a sip of his tea. Unfortunately it was at this exact moment that the train hit a bump on the track, causing the man’s hand to spill some of the tea into its saucer. The man was so engrossed in his task that he seemed not to notice, withdrawing his hand and continuing to puzzle over the contents of the notebook. Thankfully for him, a waiter appeared, mopped up the spilt tea, and cleared his throat to get the man’s attention.

  No response was forthcoming, except for a grunt and a gentle mutter.

  The waiter, fearing the wrath of the man, who was clearly of a senior rank in the C. P. F., cleared his throat a little louder. Still no response, except for the gentle rumbling of the train as it sped on to its destination. The waiter, now beginning to sweat somewhat (and feeling quite sure his next actions would likely cost him his job), cleared his throat as loudly as he dared, with a booming “AHEM!”

  The man jolted in his seat, finally breaking his concentration. He looked up at the waiter in surprise, as if he hadn’t noticed him.

  “Yes?” he enquired

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir,” the waiter began nervously, “But we’re nearing the station, would you like me to fetch you another cup of tea to replace the one you spilled?”

  The man looked down at the tea, and the small stains on the tablecloth. “Oh!” he exclaimed, clearly confused as to what had happened, and why such a small spill should cause him to be interrupted. “No, no – thank you just the same. This tea hasn’t cooled down too much yet,” he took a sip and gave a satisfied smile. “Very good. Is that all you wanted?”

  The waiter turned slightly paler. “No sir, I don’t mean to break protocol, but I was instructed to pass an urgent message to you. You’re Inspector Ambrose, correct?”

  Inspector Ambrose nodded. “Yes, that’s me. What’s the message?”

  “We’ve been signalled that there’s a Messenger Mech waiting for you at the station up ahead.”

  Ambrose acknowledged the message and dismissed the boy with a polite wave and a smile. With the departure of the relieved waiter, the dining cart fell silent except for the rhythmic motion of the train bouncing along the tracks as it broke free of the forest and began to cut through a wide expanse of snowy fields. Ambrose found himself lost in his thoughts once more. He was on his way to Mansfield Manor at the request of his sister, where he would be the guest of honour at a charity auction, and he was deeply concerned. It was not the public speaking or the thought of spending a week with his intolerably free-spirited sister that bothered him; it was the fact that she was overtly trying to pair him up with one of her society friends. Whenever he saw his sister these days it felt like her sole aim was to find him a suitable partner, and the whole experience made him deeply uncomfortable. He took a sip of tea and glanced out the window. What he wouldn’t give for the train to be travelling in the opposite direction, away from any romantic entanglements.

  Ambrose found his thoughts turning to his partner, Detective Percy Portland. Ambrose hated travelling without him, even though Percy’s constant note-taking and eternal optimism could be grating. Percy was the balance to everything Ambrose struggled with, but on this trip he was travelling alone, as a sudden case of stomach flu had stricken the rotund detective at the last minute. Thankfully, Percy had given Ambrose his notebook (with strict instructions not to lose it). Ambrose now found himself puzzling over the notes scrawled throughout it – the detectives had been investigating a series of cases related to organised crime in Traville’s slums over the past week, and Percy’s notes were hard to follow at best. Ambrose hoped the message at the next station wasn’t from him.

  A whistle screamed out from the engine and the train began slowing to a halt. Soon the white fields were interrupted by a small town, and a long train platform. Ambrose made his way to the end of the carriage and slid the outer door open, feeling the bracing cold outside biting at his cheeks. The train slid to a halt, and he stepped off onto the wind-swept platform.

  Looking around, Ambrose realised the area was completely abandoned, except for a lanky Mech that stood waiting in the centre of the platform. Snow covered the ground, apart from where the Messenger Mech was standing, staring at Ambrose with its huge black eyes. Its polished bronze gleamed in the morning sunlight, and the numbers 343 were burnt across its chest. Ambrose pulled his collar up around his neck, and walked over to see what was so important that this Mech had to stop the entire train.

  “Hello, I believe you have a message for me?”

  The Mech nodded, and a loud click followed by a whirring sound arose from its head. “Please exercise caution. Assassins Guild in Mansfield. Intentions unclear, Percy.” The whirring stopped, and the Mech looked expectantly at Ambrose. “Would you like. To return a message. Response is free.”

  Ambrose felt a lump in his throat. What on earth is the Assassins Guild doing in Mansfield? he thought to himself, as he looked up at the messenger.

  “Yes, that’s fine. Respond as follows: Will exercise caution. Please provide more information. Any details appreciated.”

  The Mech turned and ran off in the direction of the Capital. Ambrose watched as the Mech sprinted into the distance, then turned and walked back to the waiting train. He was suddenly acutely aware of the other passengers who had gathered to watch him from their cabins.

  The trip to Mansfield Manor had barely begun, and trouble was already on the horizon.

  Clip-a-de-clop clip-a-de-clop clip-a-de-clop.

  The sound of hooves rang out in the darkness as two horses charged through the light dusting of snow that covered the road outside Mansfield. Inside the carriage, Ambrose rocked from side to side as the horses sped along
the cobblestones. The driver was doing his best to make up time, as the train from Traville had pulled in late, and he knew better than to keep the host of Mansfield Manor waiting. The clacking of the horses’ hooves dulled as they left the cobblestone streets of the township and turned onto a dirt road that slowly wound its way up the side of a rolling hill.

  Ambrose looked out the window and caught a glimpse of the Manor in the distance. Bright gaslights could be seen through the gloom, occasionally disappearing behind the trees that covered the hillside. Ambrose looked up at the sky: clouds heavy with snow were hovering overhead, and a large moon occasionally peeked out, illuminating the forest in dim white light. Some in Traville were predicting a heavy fall of snow tomorrow, though Ambrose hoped this wouldn’t transpire.

  The carriage finally reached a loping turn in the road and crested the hill. Ahead was Mansfield Manor, visible through the large iron gates that were drawn back to welcome new arrivals. The carriage passed under the gate, and the forest disappeared. On both sides of the wide cobblestone pathway, huge lawns covered in thick snow ran off until they collided with the towering hedges that surrounded the property. When the snow melted, sweeping green lawns and magnificent gardens would be revealed, but for now, all was white and still. Up ahead, Mansfield Manor loomed tall and foreboding against the night sky.

  The Manor was constructed of Brown Sandstone and was well over a century old. Its three stories gave it an imposing stature, as did the wide wings that stretched out to either side of the main entrance. Inside, gaslights burned bright, casting long shadows onto the brick pathways that skirted the perimeter of the Manor. In front of the entrance, a large fountain stood, shooting icicles into the air as it had been when The Freeze arrived. Ambrose looked closely at the fountain; seeing it always stirred a strong sense of nostalgia in him whenever he returned to the Manor – his family had been guests here several times in his youth, and the Mansfields were always welcoming when he or his sister chose to return.

  Felicity.

  For a moment, Ambrose had let his mind wander from why he was here – now he was bought back to the reality of delivering a speech and trying to deal with Molly, his sister’s friend, who he had not seen in over five years. The carriage gave a jolt and came to a halt in front of the sweeping steps that led to the main doors of Mansfield Manor. Ambrose stepped out onto the bricks and made his way up to the entrance. As a child, he had always felt intimidated approaching the hardwood frames, and even now they towered above him, despite his considerable height. Ambrose pushed aside the sudden flurry of butterflies in his stomach, adjusted his coat and collar, and proceeded to rap three times on the large doorknocker that was positioned to the right of the door.

  Ambrose thought back to his last visit to Mansfield Manor. Even though little had changed, he felt as if he was an entirely different person. The regular family visits to the Manor had slowed as he had become a teenager, until the family had stopped coming altogether; they had grown apart from the charm of Mansfield, separated by time and interests. It had taken Molly’s tenacious pursuit of Mrs Mansfield to secure the Manor for the auction this weekend, and it was that same tenacity that had bought Ambrose back as well - he would never make time to travel this far for a holiday normally.

  But perhaps I should.

  A noise bought Ambrose back to the present moment. The door creaked open to reveal a tall, broad shouldered Mech whose long face appeared to be set in a permanent grimace. His body was inlaid with straight vertical lines, and he sported two huge bulbous black eyes that stared at Ambrose patiently. The Mech tried to feign a smile, but gave up and simply said, “Master Ambrose, it is good to see you again,” his voice was formal and rich, and Ambrose couldn’t help but smile. It was nice that some things never changed.

  “Hello, Clank. How are you this evening?” he enquired.

  “Very well, Master Ambrose. I’m afraid, however, that the cold of The Freeze still affects my functions as always, so please do come in quickly. Shall I have the others gather your suitcases?” The old Mech looked past Ambrose expectantly to the carriage.

  “Yes please. I’m travelling light this time, Clank – just the one case,” Ambrose said as he stepped into the entrance hall. He was immediately enveloped by warmth as he surveyed the impressive hall that welcomed guests to Mansfield Manor. Wood panelling ran along the tall walls, as it did throughout the house. Immediately ahead, two staircases swept up the side of the room to the second storey landing. Huge double doors underneath the stairs marked the entrance to the formal lounge, and in various parts of the room, hallways could be seen running off in many differing directions. Paintings of inestimable value crowded the walls, and a great crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling.

  Clank signalled with his right hand and two nearly identical Mechs stepped forward to join him. The first Mech stood perfectly to attention and bowed to greet Ambrose, but the second failed entirely in his attempt to bow neatly, bumping into the other two before regaining his posture and bending low to the ground.

  “Clink and Clunk! So lovely to see you,” said Ambrose. “Is the cold affecting you as well, Clink?”

  “Yes, Master Ambrose. As always, I find the cold stiffens my back in peculiar ways,” the Mech also spoke with a deep, rich tone. He moved out to gather Ambrose’s bag before snow began to cover it.

  Ambrose turned to the final Mech. “And Clunk, are you still struggling with your depth perception?”

  The third Mech nodded. “I am, Master Ambrose. We really should have my eyesight seen to sometime.”

  Ambrose smiled. In all his visits to Mansfield Manor, never once had the Mansfields bothered to fix poor Clunk’s vision – he somehow managed to remain in service to the household, no doubt because of the family’s loyalty. Popular rumour held that the serving Mechs were older than Mansfield Manor itself, and had been a gift to Lord Mansfield before the rule of The Order began.

  “Shall I show you to your room, Master Ambrose?” enquired Clank.

  Ambrose was about to say a hearty yes to the Mech’s offer when a voice pierced the relative quiet of the foyer.

  “Shorty! You’re here!”

  Ambrose froze. Only one person would ever dare to call him shorty (a reference to his unfortunately small stature as a boy). Before he could react, a blur of blue exploded from the hallway to his right, and he found himself enveloped in a huge hug. Ambrose never understood why his sister always insisted on such major shows of public affection when she knew they made him so uncomfortable. He awkwardly hugged her, then stepped back to look at her.

  Felicity was wearing a long, turquoise dress which hung loosely from her shoulders in the modern style (she always insisted on being on trend with her clothing choices). Her brown hair dropped in wide ringlets across her shoulders and she smiled broadly at Ambrose, revealing the dimples that endeared her to so many suitors from around the Empire. She looked Ambrose up and down and gave a giggle.

  “Why do you insist on wearing that silly uniform whenever you travel?” she asked him, putted her hands on her hips. “It won’t do to have you meeting Molly like this, not at all.”

  Ambrose couldn’t believe it. He had only stepped foot in the Manor, and already his sister was into matchmaking mode. “Are you not even going to ask me how my journey was?” he asked.

  Felicity let out a giggle. “Oh, silly. I’m sure it was fine – you’re here in one piece, although you are very late. We’ve already had dinner, but I’m sure we can get you something from the kitchen if we’re quick and quiet,” she turned to Clink, who was carrying Ambrose’s suitcase. “Clink, be a dear and put that up in Amby’s room, would you?” Clink nodded and proceeded to slowly climb the stairs.

  “Now let’s get you to the kitchen for a bite to eat before Molly sees you.” Felicity motioned for Ambrose to follow her, and they headed down a corridor under the left staircase, with Felicity chatting all the way about how excited she was to be back at the Manor, and how amazing the auction was going
to be. She was particularly excited that the Mansfields had agreed to let a visiting performer do an act before the event.

  As Felicity chattered away (often mentioning Molly’s enthusiasm for meeting him), Ambrose could feel his stress levels rising – no one had the effect on him that his sister did; stripping away his will to get on with work and making him want to run and hide. She never wanted to settle down, had little time for hard work, and was constantly trying to interfere with his life. Still, it was good to see her, even if it meant putting up with her meddling for a few days.

  Halfway along the corridor, Felicity turned into an alcove that led down to the basement. She motioned for Ambrose to be quiet, but he already knew the drill. They had been to the kitchen many times as children, snatching apples and puddings while the kitchen staff slept.

  They entered the wide cookhouse, which was clean and ready for breakfast preparation. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling, surrounding the large preparation bench that took up the bulk of the room. In the cupboards that lined the walls, tarts and jams, cured meats and leftovers were waiting.

  By force of habit, Ambrose started looking around to make sure no one was present. Felicity let out a sudden “Oh!” and they both froze. There in the shadows, a figure was leaning against a bench. Ambrose was about to turn and run when the sweetest laugh he had heard sailed out across the room.

  “Felicity dear, why on earth are you sneaking around down here?”

  Out of the shadows stepped a young lady equal in height to Ambrose. He found himself staring at her, feeling a rush of emotion that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. The young lady had her blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, which drew attention to her striking green eyes. Her tall cheekbones were the mark of perfection, and her blue dress flowed from her shoulders to the floor. In one hand she carried an umbrella, and in the other hand there was an apple, which she proceeded to take a bite out of.