Deadly Curious Read online

  Daphne would be vastly relieved with their arrival at Allenton … as would Sophia. Actually, the thought should have made her feel much better. However, as Sophia listened half-heartedly to her mother’s complaints about being left all alone—with her son and eight servants—she realized that getting permission to visit Allenton Park had been relatively easy compared to everything else she would have to do once she arrived.

  She had to clear her uncle’s name, soothe Daphne’s fears, and—most importantly—discover who had killed Andrew a year ago. It was an impressive list and a great deal to accomplish … especially with her lack of experience.

  Sophia squared her shoulders. This was the new way of things—Sophia’s new life. Marriage was no longer on the horizon; she had to make the future her own, untraditional and yet fulfilling.

  What else does one do when all plans go awry?

  Sophia had been greatly disappointed by the cancellation of her Season, though not for the usual reasons. Not a romantic sort, Sophia had seen the traditional process of husband hunting as a step toward independence. Uncle Gilbert’s incarceration had put an end to her aspirations of finding a suitable husband. The Thompsons could not show their faces in London, let alone throw balls and invite eligible bachelors to dine. The Thompsons were no longer socially acceptable—they were related to a felon.

  Sophia would be Miss Thompson forever, at the beck and call of her mother, unless she found some other means of establishing her own household. She had thought on the problem for months until she decided that she needed a career. Ever curious and a great reader, Sophia had come across a book in the library. No, it wasn’t merely a book: It was a beacon of inspiration.

  Sophia nodded to herself; Investigating Murder and Mayhem: A Runner’s Journey would have to come with her to West Ravenwood. She would reread the list of devious behaviors; that should help pinpoint the appearance of a cold-blooded murderer and how such a person acted. She would discover the name of the villain and see him brought to justice.

  Not only would her investigation help her cousin’s family regain their peace of mind, but it would also go a long way toward establishing Sophia’s credentials in the art of detecting—something that would be required, if she was to convince anyone of her skill.

  Sophia would be the very first female investigating officer for the London Bow Street Runners. All she had to do was catch a killer.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Defective Detective

  Mr. Jeremy Fraser, newly appointed trainee of the Bow Street police force in London and—some would say more importantly—fourth son of a minor baron, leaned closer to the coach window to stare at the scenery flashing past. They were coming into West Ravenwood.

  Reaching across the opposite seat, Jeremy slid the driver’s speaking window open, and he shouted over the sound of the pounding horse hooves and their jangling equipage. “I’m told Allenton Park is on the far side of town, Stacks—beyond the bridge. But best to ask.”

  Hal Stacks acknowledged Jeremy’s statement with a nod and an unintelligible comment.

  Jeremy sat back, trying to collect his thoughts and ease his nerves. He had been told the situation at Allenton Park was urgent—involving a murder. He had then been rushed out of the Bow Street office and into a carriage before he could ask any questions. Why the great hurry was necessary he could only guess, but Jeremy was fully aware that this was a test. He was on his own to sink or swim. This, his third case, could bring him either accolades … or his termination papers.

  There had been a murder in West Ravenwood, and he had been sent to find and capture the culprit. And yet … he was certain there was a twist to this story. Sir Elderberry had smiled slyly when he had given Jeremy the address and sent him on his way.

  Shaking his head, Jeremy wondered if he was riding pell-mell into a prank. Would he get to West Ravenwood and find that the deceased was a cat, or that there was no place called Allenton Park after all? The more seasoned officers loved to “initiate” new recruits with such schemes.

  Still, he had no choice; he had to treat this so-called “murder” as a valid case until he learned otherwise. If it was to be a sink-or-swim situation, then Jeremy had every intention of swimming … metaphorically speaking, of course.

  As the carriage slowed to allow for other traffic, Jeremy noted that West Ravenwood was fairly sizable—definitely more of a town than a village. The steeples of at least four churches were visible towering above the chimney pots of the cottages, and the high street was lined with shops offering fine cheeses, lace, and millinery.

  A quick conversation with a man on the side of the road established the location of Allenton Park. Stacks guided the horses up over the short bridge that spanned the narrow River Coope and then turned uphill.

  The approach to Allenton Park began with an impressive carved gate depicting rearing unicorns and snarling dragons, followed by a steep drive lined with majestic oak trees. The sizable manor that crowned the hill was of the style built a century earlier, with various juts and add-ons to accommodate the changing needs of the family. The cut masonry of the facade showed varying shades of gray with touches of ochre. Chimney pots abounded, as did oriel windows. Substantial and imposing, Allenton Park offered an air of elegance and authority; formal flower beds accented the flagstone path leading to the main entrance.

  No sooner had Stacks pulled the horses to a stand than the front door flew open. A young lady of seventeen or so stepped out and then frowned at his carriage. She shifted, as if she were about to return to the house.

  “Excuse me,” Jeremy called as he opened the carriage door and stepped onto the flagstones. He signaled for Stacks to stay on the driver’s bench. “Is this Allenton Park?”

  The girl hesitated as if unsure of the answer or of her duty to reply. With a flip of her long dark hair, she frowned at Jeremy. “Yes, it is.”

  It appeared as if she wanted to say more, but she clamped her lips tightly together. Then she lifted her gaze over his head, past the coach and down the drive.

  Jeremy swiveled to identify the cause of the sudden clatter coming up the hill. It was another coach—dusted with the dirt of the road—and four horses, looking tired and in need of hay and a brushing.

  “Excellent!” the girl said to … no one. Then she turned toward the still open door. “They’re here!” she shouted with great enthusiasm.

  A footman—or so Jeremy assumed by his attire—leaned past the threshold for a peek. He frowned at Jeremy and was about to say something when a voice called from inside the manor. The footman turned and nodded to an unseen person.

  Suddenly the entrance was filled with people. A tall bespectacled gentleman with his hair brushed away from his face stood leaning on a cane next to a woman of a diminutive stature; she had surprisingly short grayish-brown hair and a Grecian nose. A young man, likely Jeremy’s age of twenty, with a half-grown Vandyke beard joined them. They all shared the same oval-shaped face and deep-set eyes as the girl, obviously her family. Accompanying them was a thin older woman, looking prim and proper with her gray hair pulled tightly into a bun at the nape of her neck and an unadorned black gown; she had the aspect of a housekeeper. Added to this mixture were the footman, and a stodgy-looking man that was very butlerlike in his appearance and demeanor.

  Clearly, Jeremy had arrived at an inconvenient time. Some sort of arrival was imminent and questions about a murder were entirely out of place. Looking from one eager face to another, Jeremy was quite certain that he had indeed been the victim of a hoax after all. Yes, Allenton Park existed, but there had been no murder.

  The footman stepped around the motley collection of souls, opened the door of the newly arrived coach, and handed out a young lady—a rather attractive young lady with black hair swept up under a wide-brimmed straw bonnet; she had a lithe physique and dainty features. Following on her heels was a gentleman with gray curls and a broad smile.

  As the crowd gathered to greet the newcomers, Jeremy tried his best t
o fade into the background. He kept stepping backward until he encountered a solid wall. Only, the wall was in fact a person.

  “And who might you be?” a deep masculine voice asked.

  Jeremy turned to face the gentleman he assumed was Mr. Edward Waverley.

  “I do beg your pardon. I arrived just before your guests. I’m here … I was sent here by Sir Elderberry of Bow Street.” Jeremy tried to sound confident despite being anything but. He attempted a smile but knew it was weak at best. “I’m a Bow Street Runner … or will be soon enough. An … investigator.”

  “I have sent many a letter to Sir Elderberry about a number of things. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  Taking a deep breath, Jeremy straightened his waistcoat. Now was not the time to let his insecurities get the better of him. “I am here about the murder, Mr. Waverley.”

  Silence. Sudden silence.

  Each word resounded and echoed beneath the overhang of the entry.

  The reaction was more dramatic than he anticipated. Mr. Waverley turned red in the face and then lost all color. Mrs. Waverley slumped, leaning heavily on the arm of the gentleman by the coach, and the younger members of the family gasped.

  Only the young lady in the straw bonnet reacted in a sedate and reasonable manner. She lifted her brow at Jeremy. “A police investigator?”

  * * *

  “Shall we start with your name, young man?”

  Mr. Waverley strode across the floor of the dark wood-lined study—the cane in his hand more of an affectation than a need. He gestured toward a chair sitting in front of a substantial mahogany desk. The gentleman’s complexion had returned to a more normal hue, and the wary look had disappeared from his face—though Jeremy was not sure that irritation was a promising alternative.

  Jeremy stood in the doorway, ignoring the chaos in the entrance hall as the family exchanged greetings and the staff took hats and traveling cloaks.

  “Principal Officer Fraser—”

  “Yes, yes. You are one of John Fielding’s men. A Bow Street Investigator.”

  “Indeed, sir.”

  “Come into the room, young man, even if you have no wish to sit!” Mr. Waverley shook his head, muttering to himself for a moment before continuing. “And you are here about the murder of my son.”

  Jeremy frowned. He stepped closer to the desk, ignoring the chair, and huffed a sigh. “I was under the impression—obviously a mistaken impression—that you requested assistance in the investigation and hired the Runners.”

  Mr. Waverley laughed. It was not an amused laugh, though, but one of scorn. “I have been trying to get the attention of Bow Street for many months. Why have they finally deigned to send an investigator?” He dropped into the chair behind the desk and stared at Jeremy with a look of hostility.

  “I couldn’t say, sir.”

  Mr. Waverley shook his head again. “So you are a Bow Street Runner—a green one by the looks of you—and you have come regarding the murder, which took place nearly a year ago. I have long since given up on the local constabulary, but I had expected better of the Runners.”

  “I know nothing of that, Mr. Waverley. I was assigned to the case three days ago.”

  “Bow Street sent you with little to no information. Really! That is most unimpressive—as is your youth. An experienced man would have been more to my liking. Is this your first case?”

  “No, indeed not,” Jeremy was hasty to reassure, while not admitting that the number was all of three.

  “I don’t need eager enthusiasm; I need someone who knows what they’re doing. This is not a trivial matter. We are talking about the murder of my son, and I want justice!” Mr. Waverley, in his apparent grief, seemed to be spoiling for a fight. “I’ve been privy to a discovery—a development, if that is the right word,” the gentleman said. “Of which I informed Bow Street months ago.”

  Jeremy reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pad of paper. From his hip pocket, he drew out a pencil. As he prepared to record the details of the crime, he allowed a smidgen of his tension to waft away. He had not been sent on a wild goose chase after all. Though now he understood Sir Elderberry’s smirk. He had sent Jeremy into a tense situation without any warning.

  “About three months ago,” Mr. Waverley began, “I was searching Glendor Wood, as I have been doing almost daily since last Michaelmas—”

  A loud burst of nervous laughter echoed into the room. Mr. Waverley leaned to the side, looking around Jeremy and out into the hall.

  “Searching Glendor Wood…,” Jeremy prodded.

  As much as he tried to hide his “youthful eagerness,” as Mr. Waverley had labeled his fixed attention to his duties, Jeremy was eager. He was energized by the hunt: ferreting out clues and bringing justice to victims, and this was his first murder. He was on his own, and outside London in an area of the country he had not traveled before. It was the perfect proving ground.

  “Yes, indeed…” Mr. Waverley blinked at Jeremy, visibly trying to collect his thoughts.

  Another burst of laughter crashed over the threshold, startling them both.

  Mr. Waverley lifted his chin in a clipped manner. “You have arrived at a most inconvenient time.” He flapped his hand as if shooing a fly. “This crime should have been solved long since. I have waited and waited for help to arrive. Now you will have to wait as I have a duty to greet my guests. Go. Take a place in West Ravenwood; there are several inns. Come back tomorrow.”

  Mr. Waverley stood, pushing his chair back behind him. “This crime needs to be solved quickly or it will never be solved at all. Someone must pay for what they did to my son.”

  These proved to be Mr. Waverley’s final words on the subject, for the gentleman marched across the room and out the door without waiting for Jeremy to comment. Jeremy hesitated a moment, and then, with a shrug, he stuffed the paper and pencil back in his pockets, and he stepped into the hall.

  His footsteps echoed throughout the grand two-story entrance as Jeremy made his way to the front door. He was about to signal the liveried footman to open it when another set of footsteps caused him to turn. Jeremy scanned the marble entrance hall and then up the twin staircases on either side of the room.

  Two young ladies stood on the balcony between the staircases looking down at him—another footman stood nearby, valises in hand.

  “The Unicorn and Crown is better than The Black Cat,” the younger girl said. Then she pivoted, disappearing down the corridor with the footman at her heels.

  A frown flashed across the face of the girl in the straw bonnet. She tipped her head as she briefly met his gaze.

  “Curious,” she said in a near whisper, though her words were clearly audible in the large, empty room. Then she, too, turned and hurried down the corridor.

  Jeremy glanced at the footman feigning disinterest by the front door. “The Unicorn and Crown?” Jeremy asked.

  “An inn in West Ravenwood, sir,” the man replied helpfully. “It’s a tad more costly, but The Black Cat has bedbugs.”

  “Good to know. Thank you…?”

  “Darren, sir.”

  “Thank you, Darren.” Jeremy stepped out the now-open door and then turned back. “Where might I find the parish constable, Darren?”

  “That be Mr. Marley—Constable Marley. And being that he has the haberdashery, he keeps an office in The Pins and Needles on the high street.”

  Giving Darren his thanks once more, Jeremy climbed into his carriage and directed Stacks to find the Unicorn and Crown. He would drop off his luggage at the inn and then set off immediately for Constable Marley’s office. If he couldn’t get the details of the case from Mr. Waverley, he would get them from the constable.

  * * *

  Jeremy arrived at the inn to claim the last available room, and Stacks was relegated to the common space above the stables. After depositing his cases in the room, Jeremy rushed over to the haberdashery only to find that Constable Marley had gone on a delivery and would not
be back until morning.

  And so it was that Jeremy Fraser had rushed from London, conscious of the ticking clock, worried that he would not arrive in a timely manner, only to sit in a pub, twiddling his thumbs in complete ignorance of why he was there.

  “It might not be wise,” Stacks said, pushing his dinner plate away from him. He was a thin man of thirty years or so, with a square chin and a shaggy mop of reddish-brown hair. He had come with the carriage: vehicle, horses, and driver hired for the time it would take to see this case through. Apparently, it was not the first time Stacks had assisted the Runners; he was rather opinionated.

  “What might not be wise?” Jeremy asked, glancing around the crowded pub of the Unicorn and Crown. He sighed heavily, wondering if the abysmal day could possibly get worse.

  “Not wise to put it about that you be working for the Runners. There be plenty what don’t appreciate such an association.”

  Jeremy scrunched up his forehead and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “Stacks, I really don’t understand what you’re trying to say. Please explain.”

  “You don’t know if this be one of those towns what has gone ahead with the enclosures.”

  “No, and I’m not sure of the relevance.”

  “Well, you see…” Stacks sat back in his chair with his arms folded behind his head. He smiled a cat-in-the-cream grin, clearly pleased to be the one explaining the lay of the land to a Bow Street trainee. “Common land is no longer for common folk.”

  Jeremy nodded in agreement.

  “In places like these—” Stacks glanced out the multi-paned window overlooking the main street. “Most of the land belongs to the big estates. Common people used to hunt rabbits and the like, to help get by in the hard times, but a law were passed against the common use of land; landowners are putting up fences and hedgerows to stop what they say is poaching now. And if you be caught poaching, the punishment be harsh. Prison, transportation—even hanging.”