Death on Swift Wings (Gertrude Harrington Mysteries Book 1) Read online

  Today was Herbert’s day off from the Barrington-Smythe estate, but Grainger knew that didn’t mean he wasn’t working hard elsewhere. It was Wednesday. That meant he was up at the Manor.

  Grainger didn’t like Parkes, the head gardener at Castleford Manor. He wasn’t local and Jack Grainger didn’t trust anyone who refused to reveal anything about their past. Parkes was secretive. He wouldn’t even tell anyone his first name. That alone warned Jack that there was something shifty about the man.

  Parkes was hiding something; of that Grainger was certain. He just didn’t know what, and he wasn’t sure of the best route to finding out. He wanted to ask Herbert to do some surreptitious digging, but wasn’t convinced that Herbert could do anything so subtle. Besides, he didn’t want the lad to become embroiled in anything potentially dangerous or illegal.

  Parkes had only been working at the Manor for three years, and Grainger didn’t know whether Lord Castleford knew anything about his newest employee. The Earl himself was an odd fellow, as far as Jack was concerned. Since inheriting the title before the war, he had tried to lord it over the village, but none of the villagers could ever take him seriously. Since the war, however, Lord Castleford seldom gave anyone the time of day, aloof and imperious like he was some kind of war hero.

  Grainger smiled smugly as he recalled the moment he well and truly put the arrogant Earl in his place about his son. Lord Castleford had already retreated into his own private little world, and it was this enforced seclusion which made it easy to see why Lord Castleford employed staff from outside of the village. None of them would have known just how arrogant he had been.

  Mrs Grainger appeared in the scullery doorway. ‘Jack Grainger, you’d best get yourself and your lackeys in here right now.’

  When his wife used her commanding tone, Jack knew better than to question her. She didn’t use it often, but when she did, sure as dammit there was trouble brewing. ‘What’s up, Elsie?’ he asked, setting down his pruning shears. By the look on her face, one of the hired help had been up to no good. It wasn’t the first time, but he usually managed to keep that sort of thing from his wife. Clearly this time someone had seriously overstepped the mark.

  ‘Don’t you ‘What’s up Elsie’ me!’ Mrs Grainger snapped icily. ‘Someone’s been meddling with the gun cabinet, and the Brigadier is not best pleased to say the least. He ordered me to find out who it was, and I need everyone in the kitchen right away so you go and round everyone up.’

  ‘I’ll see to it at once, Elsie, but Herbert’s not here today.’

  ‘I’ll deal with him tomorrow. Right now, I need to speak to everyone else.’

  Mrs Grainger disappeared back into the house, leaving Jack to his own thoughts as he went in search of Thomas Sugden, the handyman who came whenever the Brigadier required manual labour done around the house. He found the swarthy dark haired man chopping wood down by the copse that formed the boundary between the Barrington-Smythe estate and Castleford Manor. ‘We’re wanted up at the house,’ Jack said, marvelling at the way the man half his age swung the axe, splitting the log in a single fluid movement. Ah, to be under thirty again, Grainger thought wistfully.

  Thomas set down the axe, dropping the chopped wood onto the pile beside him. He grabbed his shirt, wiping the sweat from his brow before putting it on. ‘What am I supposed to have done now?’ he drawled in his thick Yorkshire accent.

  ‘Mrs Grainger has been ordered to gather the staff together for a grilling,’ Jack muttered, as usual unappreciative of Thomas’s surly manner. National Service had done little to cure Thomas’s bad attitude. He declined to tell the handyman what had happened. He turned on his heel and headed back to the house leaving Thomas uncertain what to expect.

  Grainger had already decided that the six-foot-six hulking brute of a man was the most likely suspect.

  He made his way into the house, closely followed by Thomas, who demanded to know yet again what he was supposed to have done. In the kitchen they found Mrs Grainger lining up Hester Bloomberg the cook, along with Sally the live-in maid. Only Herbert was absent.

  ‘What’s all this about?’ Thomas demanded coldly. ‘I don’t take kindly to be ordered about by the likes of you, Mrs Grainger. You might rule inside the house, but not outside.’

  ‘I’m just following the Brigadier’s orders. Now stand over there with the others. You too, Jack.’

  Standing the other side of the kitchen table, on which Hester had started preparing that evening’s meal, Mrs Grainger faced the gathered staff. ‘It gives me no pleasure to have to question you all. I had thought every one of you loyal to the household and beyond reproach.’ She noted the quick glance between the two men. Clearly her words had already struck a chord between the pair. ‘Now then, you are all aware of the rules in this house concerning the Brigadier’s valuable collection of weapons.’

  Her statement met with silence and downward glances from everyone. She had hoped her initial words would elicit a guilty response, but was unsure whether to be pleased or dismayed that every one of the staff gathered before her had reacted in a guilty manner. ‘You all know that instant dismissal awaits anyone who tampers with any of the collection. I alone am permitted to clean most of it, and only the Brigadier may handle his guns.’

  ‘Everything is locked away from us anyway, Mrs Grainger,’ said Sally quietly. ‘We couldn’t mess with any of them even if we wanted to.’

  ‘Quite so,’ remarked Mrs Grainger, ‘and yet someone has tampered with the Brigadier’s guns. He’s livid, as you can imagine, and has instructed me to find the guilty party. Now, do any of you have anything to say on the matter?’

  ‘How could we fire the guns?’ demanded Thomas, unable to keep his tone civil. ‘I don’t like being accused of shooting his revolvers.’

  Mrs Grainger stepped around the table, coming to rest immediately in front of the handyman. She stared straight into his eyes, her face inches from his, her gaze unflinching as he shifted uneasily. ‘I didn’t say which guns had been tampered with. I didn’t say that they had been fired, either. So how do you know I’m talking about the revolvers?’

  ‘Stands to reason, don’t it?’ Thomas blustered. ‘If it were the rifles, someone would most likely have seen the culprit with them. Revolvers can be hidden. Also stands to reason that they’ve been fired. Why mess with the guns if you’re not going to shoot them?’

  Mrs Grainger smiled thinly. ‘Well saved, Mr Sugden, well saved. But don’t think that explanation gets you off the hook. The Brigadier will have my head if I don’t find the culprit, and I don’t plan on losing my job for someone else’s misdemeanour. So, until we find out who fired the guns, I’m afraid none of our jobs are safe.’

  She returned to the other side of the table, fixing each staff member individually with her best steely glare. ‘Better one person loses their job over this than all of us, don’t you think?’ She smiled. ‘So – who’s going to take the fall?’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Gertrude sat in the front room of her sister’s cottage, watching through the kitchen door as her two young nephews helped their mother prepare lunch. As the ex-cook of the grand Templemead Hall in Clyst St James, she often found it difficult to watch others cooking. It had been a passion in her life for so many years that it had become her raison-d’etre.

  ‘Do you need some help in there, Gracie?’

  Seated beside her on the small green chesterfield, Juliet chortled. ‘Oh Auntie, you just can’t help yourself, can you?’

  Gertrude shook her head. ‘I was thinking of your mother’s hands. How’s your arthritis today, Gracie?’ she called through the kitchen door.

  Grace poked her head through, smiling as she responded. ‘My hands are fine, Gertie. They’ve been all right for months, so I’m beginning to think Dr Gillespie was wrong. Besides, I’m not even fifty yet, so how can it be arthritis?’

  Grace returned to the kitchen and Juliet leaned over and whispered in Gertrude’s ear. ‘I told you she’s in
denial. Just like you’re in denial about missing cooking for Lavinia Rushbrook.’

  ‘Well, cooking is my whole life, you know that. It doesn’t matter where I go – if someone’s cooking I just want to help.

  Juliet grinned. ‘You mean take over! Are you beginning to regret leaving your position at Templemead Hall? I mean, at least there you were in charge of the kitchens.’

  A look of sadness passed across Gertrude’s face as she thought back to her reason for quitting her old position. Truth be told, the reason was never far from her thoughts. Mabel's death whilst in service at Templemead Hall had been a shock to the entire Harrington family, but not so much as the shock of Gertrude leaving the job she adored so much.

  Having such passion for her chosen vocation had made every day at the Hall a delight. No two days were the same and there was never a dull moment downstairs in the kitchen. Gertrude had diligently worked her way up from scullery maid to kitchen maid before becoming the cook to the entire household. She created the most delicious meals that were the envy of every guest who visited Templemead Hall, and she had the perfect knack of rescuing any recipe from disaster.

  ‘You know I couldn’t stay on there after what happened to Mabel. I couldn’t bear to see the place where she died every single day. Leaving Templemead Hall was the best thing I could have done. It allowed Glenda, Geoffrey and myself to stay in Clyst St James, and to remain close to all of you.’

  Juliet’s mother came into the parlour carrying a plate of sandwiches, closely followed by the twins who brought the teapot and accoutrements. Jack and Joseph were eight years younger than their sister, and were the absolute pride and joy of their mother. They could do no wrong as far as Grace was concerned. She either turned a blind eye to their numerous pranks or else genuinely didn’t notice their mischief making. Juliet didn’t know which, but favoured the former excuse. She didn’t mind: her brothers’ pranks were mild in comparison to what some boys got up to in the village, so she counted her blessings. Besides, they'd soon have the mischief knocked out of them when they started boarding school in the autumn.

  ‘Thank you my dears,’ said Grace, settling herself between Gertrude and Juliet. ‘As you have finished your chores you can run along and play.’

  ‘Thank you, Mother,’ the boys chorused in unison.

  Grace peered through the window at the black clouds that had started obscuring the lunch-time sun. ‘Mind you come back though if it starts raining hard.’

  ‘We will,’ cried the boys, scampering out of the house like errant imps.

  Grace turned to her daughter. ‘So, when can we expect Herbert to make his appearance?’

  The disdain in her voice was clear to Gertrude, who decided she would force herself to pretend to like the young man even if she didn't. A sidelong glance at Juliet showed she was correct in her assumption that her niece genuinely loved Herbert. The pain and hurt at her mother’s disapproval of her beau was etched across Juliet’s face plain enough, and yet Gertrude could also tell that Grace was oblivious to the unhappiness that she herself was causing.

  ‘He said he’d meet me at midday,’ Juliet said, glancing up at the clock on the mantle which read a quarter after twelve. ‘He’s obviously running a bit late.’

  ‘A sign of things to come, perhaps?’ asked Grace, her tone unquestionably sniping.

  ‘Mother, will you give it a rest!’ snapped Juliet irritably.

  Gertrude felt her cheeks colour with embarrassment at being caught in the middle of a mother-daughter disagreement over an apparently undesirable suitor. A part of her couldn’t wait to meet the mysterious Herbert, more determined than ever now to give him the benefit of the doubt. Another part of her, however, grew increasingly worried that her sister might be right about the unsuitability of Juliet’s fiancé.

  Grace continued as though her daughter hadn’t interrupted. ‘An unreliable youth will not make a good husband for you, my dear. Surely you can see that marriage to him will only lead to heartache a few years down the road?’

  Juliet bristled with indignation. ‘If he leaves me, which I doubt he will, then that’ll be for me to deal with.’ She turned to Gertrude. ‘Auntie, can’t you please speak to Mother about this? All I want is to be happy.’

  ‘And all I want is for you to be happy, darling,’ interjected Grace, her face tight with irritation at her daughter’s stubbornness.

  Gertrude reached across and gently touched her sister’s arm. ‘Now, Gracie, let’s not all quarrel on Juliet’s birthday. I’m quite certain that Herbert is just delayed a little. That doesn’t make him unreliable, any more than it might make him unsuitable.’ She held up her hand as Grace opened her mouth to object. ‘Enough, Gracie. Today is a happy day. We’ll discuss Herbert’s suitability another time.’

  Grace sighed, realising she was fighting a losing battle to get her sister on her side. She forced a smile, deciding for the moment to let the matter rest. ‘You’re right of course, Gertie.’ She faced her daughter. ‘You only turn eighteen once, after all.’

  Juliet slumped back into the comforting leather of the chesterfield, grateful for her aunt’s intervention. ‘And not forgetting that it’s Aunt Gertie’s birthday, too.’ She stroked the arm of the chesterfield. ‘Although it’s not usual to give a gift on your own birthday, Auntie, I think Mother would agree that buying us this settee was truly a lovely gesture. It arrived yesterday. It must have cost a fortune.’

  Gertrude smiled. ‘It was my pleasure. When I came at Easter, I thought your old one was getting a bit threadbare, and all things considered, this was quite reasonably priced. I felt it a good use for some of my savings.’ She shifted appreciatively on the well upholstered seat cushion. ‘It’s remarkably comfortable, and being made of leather it’ll last a good deal longer than your old one.’

  ‘Quite,’ murmured Grace. ‘It was most generous of you, Gertie.’

  Gertrude glanced up, noting with some dismay the subtle tone of ingratitude in her sister’s voice. She chose not to comment upon it. Grace was a proud woman, who had never once asked for financial help following the death of her husband during the war. Bringing up three young children alone on a War Widow’s pension and a part-time position in the village shop hadn’t been easy, but no more difficult than their own childhood.

  Seven of us, she reminisced, all crammed into two tiny bedrooms while Mother and Papa slept downstairs in the parlour. Life was hard, especially when Papa died, so I had to go out to work from an early age. We never moaned, but we were never too proud to accept help when it was offered, especially when Mother passed away. The generosity of friends and neighbours can never be repaid.

  Grace’s voice interrupted Gertrude’s reverie. ‘Happy birthday, Gertie. It’s not every day you reach the grand old age of sixty.’

  Gertrude sighed deeply. She had hoped to get through the day without anyone mentioning her age. She realised she should have known better. Three-score years was a milestone their mother hadn’t quite achieved, and an age their father had missed by some large margin. She realised it was actually just a number and nothing to be afraid of, and now her life in service was well and truly behind her, she could look forward without worry.

  ‘So, do you still miss the daily grind of working in the kitchens at Templemead Hall?’ asked Grace, handing around the plates on which she had placed several sandwiches.

  Gertrude ruminated thoughtfully for a few moments before answering, unsure how she actually felt. ‘The daily grind I don’t miss,’ she eventually said. ‘I do however miss the general hubbub of working alongside other hard-grafting people. Not one of them up at the Hall shirked their duties. The staff at Templemead Hall worked diligently all hours of the day. Everything went like clockwork, and that was all thanks to Mr and Mrs Pankhurst.’

  She recalled with some fondness the butler and housekeeper at Templemead Hall. Husband and wife for more years than Gertrude had known them, they had worked their way up the ranks of household staff and ran that household wit
h an iron rod. If anyone stepped out of line, then dismissal awaited. Hard taskmasters they might have been, but they were scrupulously fair and honest. What most of the servants and maids often failed to realise in their general sniping was just how hard working were Mr and Mrs Pankhurst.

  Gertrude knew, though.

  She herself had tried hard to emulate their standards when she became head household cook. She alone had made the decisions about what food went up to the dining hall and what was left for the staff. She ruled the kitchens firmly and fairly, quite often giving the kitchen maids the opportunities she herself had been given by her predecessor. Mrs Lawson had taught her everything she knew, and it was because of Mrs Lawson that she knew which flavourings were perfect partners. Mrs Lawson’s famous rhubarb pie was a favourite with the mistress of the house, and always on the menu list at major dinner parties. Mrs Lawson insisted it could not be improved, and the guests agreed.

  Gertrude however had improved upon its flavouring immensely, transforming it into a stupendous rhubarb and ginger pie. And she hadn’t stopped there.

  The death of her niece up at Templemead Hall was the sole reason for her leaving. Professor William Rushbrook’s wife, Lavinia, had begged her not to leave, but perfectly understood her reasons. By way of thanking her for her services over the years, and almost as an apology for the tragic death of Mabel, Lavinia had written Gertrude a far from paltry cheque as well deserved severance pay.

  Gertrude never divulged to her other relatives just how much that cheque was for, but it allowed her to purchase Spring Cottage in the village of Clyst St James, where she now lived with Glenda and Geoffrey, her remaining unmarried siblings. As and when she felt prudent, she also bestowed gifts upon well deserving relations, but if any one of them actually asked for money she refused. She had seen up at Templemead Hall what happened to money grubbing relations. Greed often led to unhappiness and jealousy, which could also sometimes lead to murder.