Sneak Peek at the sixth installment in a Roaring Twenties Mystery!
Yorkshire Dales, Great Britain — December 1924
The world changed rapidly after the Great War—more so in the United States than for my English friends across the pond. The old estate several miles outside town symbolized the past—an institution that did not intend to change to fit modern society. The lord of the manor disappeared six weeks earlier, and the family wanted to move on, declare him dead, and install the next in line—all except for one of them.
Lady Anne Worthington, now a good friend of mine, sucked in a breath and exhaled in spurts. The fog of her breathing mixed with the other passengers at the Briar Glen Station and rose into the air creating misty clouds above our heads.
“I want to interview the townspeople, Penelope,” she said. “And we must speak to the detective investigator in charge of the case. My uncle was not a complainer but according to some of the staff, he’s been troubled lately.”
I motioned to our massive traveling party as snowflakes fell on the shoulders of my heavy wool coat. “We better make sure everyone settles in first.”
Since she hired the Heist Society team to investigate the missing lord at Christmas time, our families tagged along on the ‘vacation.’ Accepting their presence was easier than making up more lies to keep them from coming. But the journey wasn’t easy. Three days by train from Dallas to New York and ten aboard the luxury liner to Southampton. Mother peppered me with questions, whittling away at the truth of my job until a bout of seasickness confined her to her quarters. Doggie duty fell exclusively to me as the rest of the family could not stomach the rough winter seas.
My miniature red poodle loved the travel. With a few sawbucks passed to porters, I managed to smuggle Ginger anywhere on the ship. She explored with me and kept me sane amid family arguments. As we disembarked, Ginger woofed at me, curiosity and joy evident in her smile. I patted my leg, encouraging her to follow me.
On day thirteen of the voyage, I longed for a soak in a hot bathtub. A shiver raced up my back. Was that even possible? I had no idea what the plumbing situation would be for a centuries-old castle in the English countryside. I guess you’ll find out within an hour.
The train station in Brair Glen was quaint, with Victorian-era architecture, old wooden benches worn smooth by years of use, and a sense of history lingering in the air. The clopping of horse hooves echoed from the waiting carriages, mixing with the revving of automobiles. Briar Glen was a village stuck between times.
A train of posh vehicles waited outside to transport our cast of thousands to Bellbrooke Abbey. Polite gentlemen gathered our luggage with speed and efficiency.
The team's lead investigator, Tobias Hutchinson, lugged his wife’s satchel over his shoulder and dropped it in the sparkling car. He traveled several weeks earlier and met us at the station. The younger man who resembled him had to be Liam, who worked at Bellbrooke as a chauffeur. I eased to the platform's edge and stuck my nose into their conversation.
“…built four or five years ago. This is the world’s finest automobile, Margo.” Liam spoke faster than Tobias and shared his brother’s passion for cars. “This is a Rolls Royce Silver Ghost. I can carry six in her.”
“Hi, Liam. I’m Penelope van Kessler. I work with your brother and Margo.”
Liam tipped his peaked driver’s cap and bowed. “Tobias mentioned a widowed woman worked with him but I’m ashamed to admit I pictured an old biddy.” He grinned. “Leave it to my brother to understate your beauty. An auburn-haired princess from America.”
“Texas,” I said, holding my hand to shake his. His sandy brown hair stuck out from underneath his cap. He was in his thirties, more Margo’s age than Tobias’.
Our boss, Theodore Waley, took over and instructed various family members into the Rolls and another car Tobias called a Daimler Six. I was assigned to the silver vehicle with Lady Anne, Waley, his wife Evalynn, Margo, and Tobias.
Jack Bentley, the final member of our team, tried to squeeze in, and his troublemaker grin was already working overtime. “Room for me?”
I shoved my hip to the side and placed a hand on the thick belt of the tweed jacket. It had wide lapels and a fur collar for warmth. The double-breasted brass buttons added to the elegance of the otherwise utilitarian cloak. I motioned to the weed he carried. “What is the meaning of that?”
“It’s mistletoe. Perhaps you’ve heard of the tradition—”
“To steal a kiss?”
He shrugged. “Who me? Do something sneaky? Never. I took this away from that lothario son of Waley’s. Mistletoe can be a lethal weapon, you know. We’ll need to keep an eye on him around your little sister.”
Waley clapped him on the back. “Take the other car, Jack. Entertain the children with one of your parlor tricks.”
Jack eyed the passengers in the Rolls. “Am I going to miss anything?”
“Nothing important. Some logistics. Stuff that bores you.”
“Right, you are, Captain.” He spun on a shiny loafer. “I wonder how much money young J.W. Waley carries. He looks like a budding gambler.”
Waley chuckled. “Get in, Penelope.”
“Aren’t you worried about Jack taking Junior’s dough?”
“Nope. J.W. could use getting knocked down a peg or two. No fourteen-year-old kid should have his blind confidence.”
Our car motored through the quaint village, already decorated for Christmas. The holiday season was in full swing, and garlands of holly and ivy draped the old-fashioned gas lamps lining the street. A small wreath hung on a shop’s door, the red berries bright against the dull winter gloom. From a pub, the faint sound of a piano playing seasonal carols drifted, mixing with the whistle of the train and the distant crunch of tires on snow.
Lady Anne motioned to candles in the windows of some of the shops. “A tradition meant to guide lost souls to their home. My uncle was a large presence in the village. Everyone is praying he’s found before Christmas.”
“Is he respected or feared, Annie?” I asked.
“The people in Briar Glen adore him. As do the servants at Bellbrooke.” She flipped her long brunette hair over her shoulder. She favored purple and chose a light shade for her jacket. “I’m quite anxious to start the search. Fair warning: My family is an odd group.”
“I understand. Mine never allowed for a moment of peace during this arduous journey.”
Waley clapped his hands. “This is not an ideal situation, folks. We can't get ourselves distracted with my kids and Penelope’s family around. We have enough to handle with being outsiders in a grand estate.”
His wife Evalynn placed a hand on his arm. “Darling, no worries. I plan to keep Penelope’s brother and mother busy with social outings and teas. I will try to find Archie a proper English girl. Maybe one with money, a title, or both.”
“Alright, Evie. How about the young’uns?”
She adjusted her stylish cloche hat, and her dark hair framed the edges of her face. She was a woman of style who did not hide her wealth. She wore rows of pearls and fingers full of rings. I first met her on the train to New York and was surprised to learn she knew about her husband’s clandestine activities.
“Leave it all to me. This breathtaking atmosphere and joyous season holds many exciting adventures for the children.”
The Yorkshire Dales featured rolling, picturesque hills, expansive moors, forests, and scattered villages. Mist, snowfall, and tree shadows kept the winding roads in near darkness. In December, most of the trees had bare limbs, though the occasional rows of Scots Pines with evergreen needles gave the landscape a pop of color.
Lady Anne trembled, barely maintaining her demure mask. “This is where I belong.” Her voice lowered, only above a whisper. “I should have been here.”
“Your uncle’s disappearance isn’t your fault.”
“He encouraged me to go to America and find a wealthy husband. The agreement was I would return.”
“You came alive in Texas,” I said. “The Sherlock Holmes tour, the inventions…the Texas Ranger.”
Her eyebrows raised at the mention of the potential beau. “But my family obligation comes first. My duty is family. Not to indulge my adventurous desires.”
Around the next corner, where the quiet countryside stretched beyond the station, the silhouette of Bellbrooke Abbey came into view through the falling snow. The estate’s distant bell tower rose above the trees, its shadowed form imposing against the midwinter sky, hinting at the mystery waiting to unfold.
I leaned close to her. “There are worse places to be stuck, Annie.”
“This is a dark, cold place in the winter.” She shivered.
I gazed at the magnificent castle stretching out in front of us like something out of a children’s fairytale. “How does such an important man simply disappear?”
Lady Anne swallowed the lump in her throat. “I fear foul play.”
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