Lord James Harrington and the Autumn Mystery Read online

After the pleasantries and the distribution of welcome cups of tea, the three of them sat down in wingback armchairs.

  James began. ‘So, which festival do you want to discuss? Harvest, Scarecrow or Supper?’

  ‘For my part, the Harvest Festival service,’ replied Chrichton. ‘The children are obviously involved in everything. We want to start rehearsing hymns for the service. I was hoping to see the reverend. You don’t happen to know what he’s planning or what he wants them to sing, do you?’

  James cast a hopeful eye at Beth who was happy to share what she knew. ‘I believe that Stephen mentioned he wanted the children to sing ‘We Plough the Fields and Scatter’. Everyone knows that and it’s the traditional harvest hymn. James is going to do a little speech about the farmers.’ She shrugged. ‘Other than that, I’m afraid I don’t have any further details.’

  ‘Our niches are the other two events,’ James put in.

  ‘Of course,’ said Chrichton. ‘I’m really best off hunting the vicar down to establish exactly what his vision is. Will the harvest be in? The weather’s been a little on and off this summer.’

  ‘Not sure. But, of course, the Harvest Festival dates are set in stone. Whatever the weather, the supper and service will take place as scheduled.’

  ‘And is the supper taking place at the outbuilding behind the pub?’

  ‘Yes. It’s easy for everyone to get to and it’s dry. Donovan’s just had a new roof put on it so we’ll be sheltered from the elements.’

  Donovan Delaney, the landlord of the Half Moon, had been keen to get the outbuilding fit for its purpose. That way, any events that could potentially be rained off could be transferred inside if need be.

  The Harvest Supper had died out in many regions, but James and Beth had kept the tradition alive and it had become a firm part of their autumn celebrations. The supper consisted of a huge feast of goose stuffed with apples and vegetables, originally laid on by the farming community but now with the whole village contributing something. This year, a few joints of gammon cooked in cider were being added to the menu.

  At every supper, a caraway seed cake was prepared to distribute to everyone. This had originally been served to the farm workers to keep their strength up and, again, James had kept the tradition going. This year, it was the turn of Rose and Lilac Crumb, the ‘Snoop Sisters’ to bake the cake. He’d nicknamed them the Snoop Sisters after they moved to the village several years ago. Their busybody ways infuriated many. But, much as he loathed their interfering, he’d learnt just a few months ago that, if they felt they were the centre of attention, they tended to integrate better.

  Chrichton sat back and sipped his tea. ‘Excuse me for changing the subject, but have you met the people up at Cory House?’

  ‘I’ve swung by on a couple of occasions, but I’ve not received any answer. Beth hasn’t had a chance to visit yet.’

  ‘No, I must get around to doing that. Stephen must have met them, darling. You know how he loves to make everyone feel part of the community.’

  ‘He’s tried on numerous occasions,’ said James. ‘Anne, too. He’s now resorted to a rather underhand method.’

  Beth tilted her head. ‘Underhand?’

  ‘Stephen’s seen the curtains twitch but they don’t answer the door. So, our reverend is going to wait until he sees the lady of the house return from her shopping or whatever she does and pounce.’

  Chrichton chuckled. ‘And when is he proposing to do that?’

  James checked his watch. ‘In around thirty minutes. The lady of the house has taken to shopping in Haywards Heath on a Wednesday morning. Stephen’s worked out her timetable. I said I’d meet him there.’

  Beth laughed. ‘So you’re in on this, too?’ She gave an eager look. ‘Well, if you’re going, you’d best take me as well.’

  He grinned and promised that he had no intention of leaving her behind.

  Chrichton scratched his head. ‘They’ve been here a few weeks now and I don’t even know who they are. Do you?’

  ‘Actually, yes,’ replied James. ‘Christie and Jeannie Cameron – moved from Yorkshire.’

  Beth stared. ‘How on earth did you know that?’

  James explained that the postman had delivered mail there. The same postman had also seen mail forwarded on to Cory House that had been originally addressed to the village of Otley, near Bradford.

  ‘It’s odd that they’ve not shown themselves.’

  Chrichton sat forward. ‘Not as odd as the stories the local children have started.’

  James and Beth instinctively edged closer as Chrichton continued.

  ‘They’re positive they’ve seen a ghost at an upstairs window.’

  Beth pulled a disbelieving face and James almost choked on his tea. ‘A ghost?’

  Chrichton grimaced and shrugged. ‘They’re certain they’ve seen it. Even the reverend’s kiddies. I know children have an imagination, but some of them seemed quite resolute about it - a face at the window – a young man.’ He placed his drink on a side table and picked up an old book. ‘It’s an old house; parts of it date back to the seventeenth century. This book mentions a ghost at Cory House but it doesn’t go into much detail.’

  ‘Who was Cory?’ said Beth.

  James straightened a seam in his trousers. ‘Cory was the name of the family who lived there. The name died out around 1890 I believe, when a fire destroyed part of the roof and finished the last Cory off with it. It’s been empty for around twenty years now. Not sure who owned it. Last people there rented it. Surprised anyone’s taken it on – it must be in need of some repair.’

  Chrichton agreed. ‘I understand the structure is actually quite sound. It was built by professional masons, so it’ll be standing long after you and I have moved on; but it would be incredibly damp. The gardens are overgrown and I notice that ivy has taken hold on the front-facing wall.’

  Beth winced. ‘That can transform a house, but it doesn’t do anything for the structure.’ She turned to James. ‘Do you remember your sister having that ivy removed from her house? They had to restore the walls once they’d finished.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘But if the last Cory died in the house, that may be the ghost. The fire destroyed the roof and the children have seen a figure upstairs.’

  James chuckled. ‘You’re as bad as the children. There’s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation. Perhaps they have someone staying with them - a relative or a friend.’ He pushed himself up, thanked Chrichton for his hospitality and helped Beth to her feet. ‘Well, darling, it’s been a while since we’ve had anything to investigate. Let’s meet Stephen and see what we can find out about the Camerons.’

  She held his hand. ‘And, more importantly, their ghost.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  James slipped down through the gears and steered the Austin Healey through the entrance to Cory House.

  ‘Goodness,’ Beth whispered. ‘I don’t know about Cory House, I’d liken this more to Bleak House.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there. It is in need of significant care and attention.’

  He remembered having seen pictures of the residence back in its glory days. A large, square house with, he recalled, four rooms upstairs and four downstairs, including the kitchen. It was a secluded building; more so now the surrounding trees and shrubs had grown unattended for decades. A landscape gardener could whip this into shape and it would make all the difference. He manoeuvred the car around established weeds. A builder’s van was parked outside and its owner was on a ladder clearing away the ivy on the front wall.

  ‘Looks like they’re making a start on some renovation.’

  Ahead of them was the angular figure of the Reverend Stephen Merryweather who was positioning his bicycle against the wall. He was dressed formally in a black suit and polished shoes. His hand reached up to ensure his dog collar was secure before he waved a greeting.

  James grabbed a bottle of sherry from the back seat and ran round to open the door for Beth. He called across to Stephen. �
��Did you think we weren’t coming?’

  ‘F-for a while, yes,’ he said with his endearing stammer. ‘This is a frustrating exercise on my own. P-perhaps we’ll have more success en masse.’

  Approaching the vicar, James lowered his voice. ‘You obviously didn’t catch her.’

  Stephen made a frustrated expression and said he hadn’t been quick enough to catch up with the lady of the house. ‘I’m pretty s-sure she sensed I was on her tail. She was carrying t-two bags of shopping and moved at an alarming speed.’

  ‘Then let us waste no more time,’ said James as he mounted the steps. He pushed the doorbell and, for good measure, hammered twice on the door. Beth glared at him. He shrugged. ‘They may be hard of hearing.’

  They stood for two minutes, glancing at the door, peering through the side window, wondering when to repeat the process. James pressed the bell again and hammered on the door even harder than before.

  ‘James!’ Beth said.

  He retreated with feigned innocence. Beth drew her wool scarf around her neck and, instinctively, James did the same. The weather cast a chill, but this place felt several degrees cooler. Stephen checked his watch. He was about to speak when a gruff voice shouted from the other side of the front door.

  ‘What do ye want?’

  Stephen appeared startled by the abrupt tone. James took the lead.

  ‘Ah, Mr Cameron?’

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  James wasn’t expecting such an aggressive greeting. He stuck his chin out. ‘We are Lord and Lady Harrington and the Reverend Stephen Merryweather. We’ve been trying to get hold of you as we’d like to formally welcome you and your wife to the village.’

  He put his ear to the door and caught the helpless expressions on Beth and Stephen’s faces.

  ‘Mr Cameron, we won’t keep you,’ shouted James. ‘We know you’re probably busy and all, but we’re keen to meet you and hope that—’

  The key in the lock turned. James waited for the door to open but it remained closed. Beth pulled his sleeve and whispered, ‘You don’t think he locked it, do you?’

  James was about to speak when he saw the huge bronze doorknob turn and the panelled oak door edged open. Cameron’s ruddy face peered out.

  ‘We’re not ones for socialising.’

  James smiled and held up the bottle of sherry. ‘And we’re not for forcing you to, Mr Cameron. We are a close-knit community and, if you prefer no intrusion, we will not intrude. However, for the sake of one neighbourly visit, will you allow us a few minutes?’

  Cameron scrutinised the three of them until, finally, he held the door open and snatched the bottle of sherry. ‘You’ll not stop pestering me until I do. First room on the left.’

  They gave each other sideways looks and entered the hallway. In front of them was another workman toward the back of the house in what James thought was a downstairs cloakroom. They wandered through to a large, square living room with a high ceiling, where a small log fire burned.

  Beth headed straight to it and held her palms up to feel the warmth. ‘I would imagine you need a few of these to warm the house through,’ she said. ‘It had been empty for quite some time, you know.’

  Cameron, dressed in wool trousers and an oversized Aran sweater, appeared nonplussed. ‘We’ve fires in the rooms we use – no more.’ He went to the door and called out. ‘Jeannie, we’ve visitors.’ He reluctantly waved at the various seating options in the room.

  James chose one of the armchairs by the window. He was pleased that Cameron hadn’t asked for his jacket and scarf. But, having thought about it, it seemed unlikely that the man would encourage any lengthy stay. Although the fire was welcome, the room emanated damp and felt unusually cold. Beth sat on a fireside chair and shuddered. Stephen stood alongside. He threw James a concerned frown. James returned it with a raised eyebrow. The atmosphere was unwelcoming to say the least.

  Footsteps coming along the hall directed James’ gaze to the door, where Jeannie appeared. He stood up. She wiped her hands on a towel and focussed on Stephen.

  ‘You’re persistent, I’ll give ye that.’

  ‘F-forgive me, Mrs Cameron, I—’

  ‘It’s Miss Cameron.’ She drew herself up. ‘You’re here now, so you’d best sit down. Tea, brother?’

  Cameron nodded and took his seat by the fire. His sister turned back down the passageway.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Cameron,’ said James. ‘We thought you were husband and wife.’

  Cameron gazed into the fire. ‘She’s taken her place with the Lord. Jeannie moved in – she never married.’

  In the uncomfortable silence that followed, they waited for tea. The three of them attempted to converse with Cameron, but they received little more than a yes or no. Beth, usually beguiling with her winning smile and inquisitive nature, also failed to break the ice. Jeannie reappeared with a tea tray. The stillness was filled with the crackling fire, the ticking mantel clock and chinking of crockery. Stephen cleared his throat and began the story of his own welcome to the village just under a year previously.

  ‘E-everyone was so friendly and Lord and Lady Harrington keep many traditional events and f-festivals running. It creates a w-wonderful community spirit.’

  ‘That’s one of the reasons we’re here, actually,’ said James. ‘We have a number of activities over the next couple of weeks, what with harvest time coming, so we thought you might want to join us. We have the scarecrow festival in the next couple of days, then the Harvest Festival. After that, we have a harvest supper in the stone barn behind the Half Moon.’

  ‘Scarecrow festival?’ Cameron’s eyes narrowed. ‘We’ll not join you for any pagan rites.’

  James saw Beth bristle.

  ‘I say, it’s nothing untoward,’ said James. ‘Just a bit of fun where the locals try and outdo one another in the costume stakes. I don’t believe scarecrows go back to pagan times, Mr Cameron.’

  Stephen gave him a covert shake of the head and directed his eyes to the wall above the fireplace. James followed his gaze and saw a simple wooden cross. He then noticed the bible stand and the bulky family bible open upon it. On the wall to the side was a dusty old tapestry with the words ‘We Live by Faith’ embroidered on it. As his eyes scanned the sparse room, he realised that, the little decoration there was, highlighted a strict religious belief and nothing else.

  He shifted awkwardly. ‘Well, perhaps not the scarecrow festival, but you’ll join us at church for the Harvest Festival service, surely?’

  The silence in the room left James feeling uneasy. A sound above distracted him. Creaking floorboards? Footsteps? Cameron, oblivious to any noise, thrust an arthritic finger at Stephen.

  ‘You’re one of these modern types, aye?’

  ‘M-modern?’

  ‘You’ll no’ be preaching against scarecrow festivals?’

  ‘A-absolutely not, Mr C-Cameron. As Lord Harrington specified, it’s simply a parade – no religious connotation.’ Stephen cast an anxious look at James.

  ‘I say, Stephen here will conduct an excellent harvest service,’ said James. ‘We’ll certainly not pester you to join events that aren’t to your taste.’ He made a cursory gesture toward the decor. ‘You’re obviously a man of faith and—’

  Cameron slammed the arm of his chair with a fist. ‘Aye, I am and I don’t need the likes of you and your modern ways.’

  Beth leapt up to help Jeannie fill her cup. ‘Let me help you with that.’ She added milk and forced a nervous smile. ‘What part of Scotland are you from?’

  ‘Glasgow.’

  Cameron scowled.

  ‘Really? We’ve not been to that particular area, have we James? James has family near Inverness. This must be quite a change from Glasgow.’

  ‘We’ve no need for city ways,’ Jeannie said.

  ‘But our postman indicated that you’d moved from Yorkshire. What made you move all the way down here?’

  Jeannie ignored the question. Beth sat back down with
a helpless shrug to James, who loosened his collar and surveyed the room. A shiver went through him at the faint creaking of floorboards. His attention was drawn to the ceiling; a sense of trepidation churned in his stomach. Perhaps the children were right – perhaps the place was haunted. Sitting here in the daytime was giving him the heebie-jeebies. What on earth was it like in the dead of night?

  He silently admonished himself for thinking such foolish thoughts and decided the occupants of the house were responsible for this atmosphere. They were decidedly hostile. His gaze darted from the ceiling to the Camerons and out to the hall. Was someone else in the house? Perhaps there was another workman upstairs. The floorboards above creaked again.

  Cameron leant forward to stoke the fire. ‘Jeannie, we’ve need for more logs.’

  Stephen offered to help collect some wood, but James insisted he remain chatting with the Camerons. ‘I’ll grab some firewood for you, Miss Cameron. I wonder if I could use your lavatory?’ On seeing a workman walk past the doorway he added: ‘I’m presuming you have another upstairs?’

  Jeannie scrutinised him for longer than was necessary. She jerked her head to the hallway. ‘Logs are on the side unit – two logs will suit.’ She signalled to the stairs. ‘Upstairs, on your right.’

  Jeannie’s eyes were still on him as he collected two logs and handed them to her. He smiled politely and trotted up the stairs to the lavatory. He glimpsed back and was relieved to see her remain with the others in the lounge.

  He held the door ajar and listened. He could hear Beth talking about Cavendish and the various residents. He peered down the landing and saw three further rooms, all with their doors closed. The floorboards creaked from the room above the lounge – the one facing him now. It wouldn’t hurt to take a peek in. He slipped out and tiptoed across the landing and turned the doorknob.

  ‘Damn,’ he mumbled.

  Squatting down, James squinted through the keyhole. He caught his breath as a shadow passed. It was so fast he wondered if he’d imagined it. The room was dimmed and the curtains closed, but James was sure he could see a candle flicker. Downstairs, Beth started coughing with unnatural force. He slipped back to the lavatory, flushed the cistern, and returned to the lounge where he was greeted with suspicious looks by both Jeannie and Christie. He clapped his hands together.