Mydworth Mysteries - Murder in the Dark E-Book

Matthew Costello

• Herausgeber: Bastei Entertainment
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: A Cosy Historical Mystery Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 171

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

From the authors of the best-selling series CHERRINGHAM

Harry and Kat take the sleeper train to the Scottish Highlands for a New Year’s weekend, guests of an American movie mogul who’s bought himself a ‘real live castle’. But when a massive blizzard leaves them isolated, it soon becomes clear that the other guests who've made it through the snow all have secrets. And after an 'accident' that is clearly no accident, our two heroes wonder...could murder be ringing in the New Year? Can they discover - in time - who is in mortal danger, here in the snow-covered mountains, and most importantly...why?

Co-authors Neil Richards (based in the UK) and Matthew Costello (based in the US), have been writing together since the mid-90s, creating innovative content and working on major projects for the BBC, Disney Channel, Sony, ABC, Eidos, and Nintendo to name but a few. Their transatlantic collaboration has underpinned scores of TV drama scripts, computer games, radio shows, and the best-selling mystery series Cherringham. Their latest series project is called Mydworth Mysteries.

Leseprobe

Contents

Cover

Mydworth Mysteries

About the Book

Main Characters

Title

1. One Month Earlier

2. All Aboard The Highlandman!

3. A Change in the Weather

4. Welcome to Inverdoran Castle

5. Festive Fun

6. Murder in the Dark

7. A Breakfast Chat

8. Secrets Revealed

9. Geoffrey Speaks

10. A Snowy Trail

11. The View from Lookout Point

12. A Feast and Fireworks

13. A Clear Case of Murder

14. In the Middle of the Night

15. The Scene of the Crime

16. The Last Gasp of Night

The Authors

Next Episode

Copyright

Mydworth Mysteries

Mydworth Mysteries is a series of self-contained novella-length mysteries, published in English and German. The stories are currently available as e-books and will soon be available as audiobooks in both languages.

About the Book

Harry and Kat take the sleeper train to the Scottish Highlands for a New Year's weekend, guests of an American movie mogul who's bought himself a 'real live castle'. But when a massive blizzard leaves them isolated, it soon becomes clear that the other guests who've made it through the snow all have secrets. And after an 'accident' that is clearly no accident, our two heroes wonder...could murder be ringing in the New Year? Can they discover – in time – who is in mortal danger, here in the snow-covered mountains, and most importantly...why?

Main Characters

Sir Harry Mortimer, 30 – Born into a wealthy English aristocratic family, Harry is smart, funny and adventurous. Ten years in secret government service around the world has given him the perfect training to solve crimes; and though his title allows him access to the highest levels of English society, he’s just as much at home sipping a warm beer in the garden of a Sussex pub with his girl from the wrong side of the tracks – Kat Reilly.

Kat Reilly –Lady Mortimer, 29 – Kat grew up in the Bronx, right on Broadway. Her mother passed away when she was only eleven and she then helped her father run his small local bar The Lucky Shamrock. But Kat felt the call to adventure and excitement, first as a nurse on the battlefields of France, then working a series of jobs back in New York. After finishing college, she was recruited by the State Department, where she learned skills that would more than make her a match for the dashing Harry. To some, theirs is an unlikely pairing, but to those who know them both well, it’s nothing short of perfect.

MATTHEW COSTELLONEIL RICHARDS

Murder in the Dark

1. One Month Earlier

Geoffrey Sayles glanced at his older colleague, Peter Neville, as the performance of The Lady From Paris neared its rousing conclusion.

Neville, though certainly more of an opera buff – very much a regular at Covent Garden – looked to be enjoying it easily as much as Geoffrey: a big smile on his face.

Meanwhile, the stage of Drury Lane – the famed and historic “Theatre Royal” as it was more commonly known – had been absolutely filled with the entire company. Dancers lined up in front, while the leads stood on elevated sets upstage, as the silhouette of the Paris skyline slowly came into view behind them.

And what superb leads, Geoffrey had to admit.

Reviews had been good, the show regularly selling out. The music: light and bubbly as champagne. And the lead singer, Lucille Young?

What a voice! But also, such wonderful comic timing! A star to be, that was for sure. The programme indicated that she had more West End musicals lined-up and, with her new movie to be released in the new year, a successful career looked assured.

The orchestra soared through the romantic finale. And the dancers – pretending to be from the scandalous Folies Bergère, but here garbed much more decorously – high-kicked their way through the closing song about young love in the fabled City of Light.

All jolly good, Geoffrey thought. The cast were clearly enjoying this spectacle of song, light and dance as much as the audience.

The music now swelled, and Lucille Young and her co-star – a dashing enough chap, but all but invisible next to her – had their final solo, the chorus briefly silent.

Their two voices rising...

And then the climax came, and the full company joined in for the big finish.

Thunderous applause already beginning, the red brocade curtain came flying down and everyone in the theatre stood up and clapped as if this ending had come all too soon!

*

Then came the curtain calls – so many of them. The director, Freddie Francis – a rising star in his own right – took a bow, graciously even inviting the conductor to come up from the hidden orchestra pit for another burst of applause.

And it was finally over.

Time for the audience to stream out of the theatre, people chatting away, eager to share their personal reviews of this grand entertainment, smiles all around.

Geoffrey and Neville stepped out into the late-night bustle of Russell Street, crowds milling, London’s theatre crowd out in force on this December evening.

“So, what did you think?” he said.

“Absolutely loved it,” said Neville. “And well done you, old chap. Back in the office I heard you were a driving force in suggesting we invest in the show.”

“Oh, you know how it is,” said Geoffrey as modestly as he could. “Pure luck it passed across my desk, that’s all.”

“Nonsense,” said Neville, patting him on the shoulder. “You’ve caught the eye of the partners, that’s for sure.”

Geoffrey wondered if there wasn’t a bit of an edge to that comment, and he scanned Neville’s face for a clue.

Though Neville’s responsibilities in the investment house lay in the exciting new area of movies rather than his own more staid theatre department, Geoffrey didn’t want Neville to see him as a rival on the slippery ladder to a partnership.

Word in the office was that Neville wasn’t someone to get on the wrong side of.

But the congratulations seemed genuine enough.

“Peter, I could get us a visit backstage if you like, meet the stars? Lucille Young? Freddie Francis himself?”

But though Neville was smiling, he shook his head.

“Awfully kind of you, old boy, but I think... not. Love to remember the whole lot just as we saw them now, singing their hearts out on the streets of Par-ee.”

Geoffrey – offer declined – did feel a tad disappointed. Backstage visits were always so special and fun, and one of the bonuses of his little niche in the world of theatre finance.

He wondered if Neville might have other plans for the rest of the evening?

And indeed he did.

“I was thinking, rather, perhaps a nightcap at the Savoy? Chase away that bit of chill in the night air? What say you to that?”

Geoffrey gulped. He’d only once had drinks at the Savoy and the round had come to more than his weekly rent!

But he nodded, as if he were a regular visitor. “Splendid! I mean, the bar at the Savoy? How could anyone say ‘no’?”

“Precisely!”

They left the theatre and turned into Catherine Street – Christmas lights twinkling – making their way through the dispersing crowd, and heading down to the Strand, towards what was, in Geoffrey’s opinion, the best bar and hotel in all of the capital.

*

This is the life! thought Geoffrey.

But, too soon, the brandies were all good and done. He was just thinking perhaps another round was in order – more fun still to be had – when he saw Neville look at his watch.

“I say, old chap,” said Neville, draining his glass. “Afraid it’s getting a bit late for me. I’d best toddle off.”

Geoffrey had been enjoying sitting at this table: the festive decorations so charming, the smart set chattering away all around them, a piano playing nearby, feeling he had come such a long way from his modest roots in Manchester.

And damn the expense if it got him into Peter Neville’s good books!

Still, he joined his colleague in settling the bill, and together they walked out to Savoy Court, and again to the Strand – the wide street quieter now, shops and restaurants closed, just the occasional cab chugging past.

“You heading for Charing Cross?” said Neville, as they buttoned up their coats against the night-time chill – Geoffrey, glad of his silk scarf.

“Yes, still living south of the river,” said Geoffrey, keenly aware how much he needed a promotion before he could afford a smart flat in Albany like Neville. “Should just catch the last train.”

“I’ll walk with you,” said Neville. “Clear my head a bit after those brandies!”

They crossed the street so that Neville could buy some cigarettes from a machine on the corner, then they strolled off down the Strand.

For a few minutes, they walked together – chatting about affairs at the office, pending deals – already, the fun and fizz of the night giving way to preparations for another day in the city.

Geoffrey even being rather forward now in his opinions!

They came to Heathcock Court, a little alleyway right by the Adelphi theatre, and Neville stopped.

“You know what, old chap?” he said. “Think I’ll turn in here. Bit of a shortcut. Change of pace for my way home, eh?”

Geoffrey peered into the narrow alley, brick walls rising high on each side, a lone gas lamp giving out barely a flicker, the filament clearly having failed.

The darkness... ominous.

“You sure?” he said, dubious. “Looks rather—”

“Nonsense,” said Neville, laughing, and shaking Geoffrey’s hand. “Do it all the time. Many thanks for the evening, by the way. I owe you one sometime very soon.”

Geoffrey knew that Neville’s prestigious apartment was the other side of Piccadilly, so perhaps the decision made sense – after all, he was nearly at the station, anyway.

“My pleasure, Peter. It’s been great fun.”

Neville smiled, and Geoffrey watched him turn and head off into the gloomy darkness of the alley.

He continued on his way, hoping he’d not missed his train – pleased with the way the evening had gone.

But he’d only taken a few steps when he heard a strangled cry.

Geoffrey stopped. Probably nothing, he thought. A sound in the night. Someone in his cups taking a late-night misstep.

The sound came again – louder –coming from precisely the alley down which Peter Neville had headed for his brisk walk home.

Geoffrey turned and started to trot back in that direction; then, hearing another cry, picked up the pace. He rounded the corner and rushed into the alley. He could just make out two shapes. One person on the ground, arms up, and a man looming over him.

Then – worse – something in that man’s right hand catching the light.

Now, Geoffrey Sayles didn’t necessarily think of himself as a brave man.

Many a night at the Front, all those years ago in Belgium, he’d lain awake, absolutely petrified of the battle and blood that the next day would bring.

But here, he knew that he had no choice.

He ran into the darkness, towards the figure, and – summoning his best and loudest voice – shouted at the standing man.

“You. There. Back away this minute.”

In the narrow alley, Geoffrey’s voice echoed off the walls of the buildings on either side. Anyone in the flats above would surely hear the commotion, and, better still, if they had a telephone, summon the police.

He saw that Neville’s attacker wore some kind of face covering, even though, in this darkness, without it, anyone would be hard pressed to make an identification.

For a moment, Geoffrey imagined that the man would turn and then come right at him with his blade!

But the yell had stopped things. Geoffrey added a little inducement to the man to think twice about that.

“Police have been summoned! Here any minute!”

Then, really for lack of anything better to do, Geoffrey raised his arms at an angle, like a pugilist ready for the bell, fists balled.

And, amazingly, the man actually took a step backwards! Then another – until he turned and started running, down the dark alley, until he disappeared from view.

Geoffrey looked down and saw Neville, upper torso now raised, resting on one arm – his body half on the cobblestone, half on the sidewall.

“I must say, Geoffrey, you do have the most impeccable sense of timing. Bit of a damn close-run thing, eh?”

*

Geoffrey led the way back to the much brighter lights of the Strand. It was late, but there were still a few people out strolling.

“I can walk you home, Peter? Make sure all is okay?”

But he saw Neville shake his head. “Oh, I’ll be fine. But whatever is London coming to these days? Rowdies and ruffians rampant in the West End? Stone’s throw from the Savoy? Things in the capital must be slipping.”

Geoffrey smiled, his colleague apparently already having shaken off the attack.

“Least he didn’t get my wallet!”

But now Geoffrey saw Neville rub at his side. “His blow right here, though? Imagine that will leave a rather nasty black-and-blue mark by morning.”

Geoffrey nodded. “You think he was after cash?”

“Oh, I imagine so. A type like that? Haunting the darkened doorways, the alleys, waiting to pounce on an innocent fellow like me and relieve them of their funds.”

“But, Peter – the knife. He could have—”

But Neville shot up a hand.

“Yes, well, thanks to you, I’m fine.”

“You will go to the police tomorrow?”

“I most certainly will not. That is a headache I don’t need. Answering all their silly questions, filling out forms... And to what end? Not as if I can provide any identification of my attacker.”

“But that knife... What if he’d actually—”

“Well, thanks to you, old bean, he didn’t get that chance now, did he? Anyway... bit of a timely lesson. I shall be more careful – at least while prowling our city’s lesser-frequented streets late at night.”

At that, Geoffrey had a thought. Could Neville have been seeking some other form of entertainment to close out the evening?

After all, he didn’t really know the man all that well.

That alley led in the direction of Neville’s apartment – but was it also perhaps a shortcut to the more unsavoury pleasures of Soho?

And with the two of them standing there on this well-lit street, ready to part once again, he watched Neville come close to him.

“So, Geoffrey. No police. No point, eh? And I would appreciate word of this not getting out?”

“But... why? You’ve done nothing that could be—”

Peter’s hand shot up. “Of course not! I know. Still, an attack like that – and people with their questions? Fodder for office gossip! I’d just as soon put it past me, eh? Be glad you heard my cry and came to the rescue! So, agreed?”

Geoffrey quickly nodded. “Of course. Whatever you wish.”

And Neville put an appreciative hand on his shoulder. “But, thank you. You’ve been a literal life-saver.”

“No more than anyone else would have done, I’m sure,” said Geoffrey.

“Well I won’t forget it,” said Neville. “In fact, here’s a thought. What are you doing for New Year?”

“New Year?” said Geoffrey, knowing he had no plans. “Um, well—”

“Fancy a bash in the Highlands? Got a spare plus one for a client’s party. Why don’t you join me? I’m planning on wrapping up a bit of business – you could help me out with the paperwork.”

“Well, that’s, um, very kind of you,” said Geoffrey, trying not to overplay his excitement at the offer.

“Splendid!” said Neville. “I’ll have my secretary sort your travel.”

And with that, he was off, already marching away in the direction of Piccadilly.

“I bid you goodnight again, Geoffrey – my comrade in arms!”

To which, after this rather unusual evening, Geoffrey echoed back with his own: “Goodnight, Peter!”

He turned and hurried to Charing Cross station, his mind racing with unsettling questions:

Why was Neville so determined to hush this up?

Had his attacker really been just after his money? Or...

Was something else in play?

But then he thought about a New Year’s trip to the Highlands and, in the dizzying excitement, those worrying questions flew away into the London night.

2. All Aboard The Highlandman!

Kat took Harry’s arm as they followed the porter – his barrow stacked high with their luggage – having raced into the teeming terminal of King’s Cross station from their little apartment in Bloomsbury.

Kat had never seen such crowds. With New Year’s Eve just a day away, it seemed that half of London had decided to leave the great city in time to celebrate.

Or perhaps they were all aiming to avoid the celebrations!

“Reminds me of Thanksgiving getaways, Harry. Grand Central, Penn Station...”

“Oh, I remember we passed those on our little New York jaunt, didn’t we? Positively mammoth. Like the pyramids! Next time we visit, I think—”

But his words were cut off as the porter asked: “Are you for the main train, sir?”

That meant nothing to Kat, but Harry responded quickly. “We are, indeed.”

The porter nodded knowingly. “All the way to Fort William, sir?”

“No, we shall be getting off at Tyndrum.”

“No matter, sir, no matter. Still the main train. I’ll see that your bags are properly sorted for your journey... and departure.”

They had – with the porter slicing a brisk way – gone through a barrier, alongside well-heeled passengers walking down the platform to their respective cars. The porter left their luggage to be loaded, deftly pocketing a tip from Harry as he went.

Kat clasped Harry close as they passed car after car, the winter wind blowing cold in the cavernous station, swirls of smoke and steam from the great locomotive ahead billowing up to the glass and steel roof way above their heads.

“Glad you speak the lingo, Harry.”

“Oh, yes. Though this is my first time taking this particular train – the mighty Highlandman.”

And soon they reached their first-class sleeper car – with a capped and suited attendant on the platform, smile at the ready, eager to guide passengers to their exclusive, and pricey, quarters.

“I think,” Harry said, “you’re going to enjoy this.”

*

“All to your liking, Sir Harry, Lady Mortimer?” the attendant asked.

For Kat, yes, it all looked lovely: the bed with crisp white sheets and tartan blankets, a compact easy chair, a small desk, and even a water closet. Richly appointed, albeit rather cramped. But...

“Harry, the bed—”

“Ah, ma’am, let me reassure you. You do – of course – have two adjoining cabins booked. The door connecting them may be open or closed, as sir, madam prefers. Oh, and might I suggest that I book your table for dinner service now? Can get rather busy.”

Kat was still eyeing the other matching cabin, realising that – as cosy as this night train to the Scottish Highlands was – based on the separate accommodations, it wouldn’t be that cosy.

Well, she thought, imagine we can always get creative.

Harry placed their travel valises in a rack above them and turned to her, holding the moment in that way he sometimes did. A way she so enjoyed, looking as if he had won some grand prize by having her as his wife.

“Now, much as I would love to linger, Lady Mortimer, I do believe they commence serving dinner on departure and I certainly could do with a gin and tonic.”

“Oh, me too,” said Kat.

Just then, she heard the guards’ whistles followed by a flurry of slamming doors, and then – with an enormous rush of steam from the locomotive – felt the car jolt.

As she rushed to the window in the corridor, with Harry close at her side, she saw the platform begin to slide past.

“We’re off!” said Harry.

“The Highlands here we come!” she said.

“A proper Hogmanay celebration!” said Harry.

“Hog—?”

“Oh, sorry. The Scots word for the last day of the year.”

“Ah, yes. Isn’t this going to be fun?”

After a brief kiss, they went back into their cabins to dress for dinner.

*