The Murder at Mandeville Hall: The Casebook of Barnaby Adair: Volume 7 Read online

  The Murder at Mandeville Hall

  The Casebook of Barnaby Adair: Volume 7

  Stephanie Laurens

  SAVDEK MANAGEMENT

  This e-book is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be sold, shared, or given away.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  THE MURDER AT MANDEVILLE HALL

  Copyright © 2018 by Savdek Management Proprietary Limited

  ISBN: 978-1-925559-12-5

  Cover design by Savdek Management Pty. Ltd.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Savdek Management Proprietary Limited, Melbourne, Australia.

  www.stephanielaurens.com

  Email: [email protected]

  The name Stephanie Laurens is a registered trademark of Savdek Management Proprietary Ltd.

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  Contents

  About The Murder At Mandeville Hall

  Cast of Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Also by Stephanie Laurens

  About the Author

  About The Murder At Mandeville Hall

  The Seventh Volume in The Casebook of Barnaby Adair Novels

  #1 NYT-bestselling author Stephanie Laurens brings you a tale of unexpected romance that blossoms against the backdrop of dastardly murder.

  On discovering the lifeless body of an innocent ingénue, a peer attending a country house party joins forces with the lady-amazon sent to fetch the victim safely home in a race to expose the murderer before Stokes, assisted by Barnaby and Penelope, is forced to allow the guests, murderer included, to decamp.

  Well-born rakehell and head of an ancient family, Alaric, Lord Carradale, has finally acknowledged reality and is preparing to find a bride. But loyalty to his childhood friend, Percy Mandeville, necessitates attending Percy’s annual house party, held at neighboring Mandeville Hall. Yet despite deploying his legendary languid charm, by the second evening of the week-long event, Alaric is bored and restless.

  Escaping from the soirée and the Hall, Alaric decides that as soon as he’s free, he’ll hie to London and find the mild-mannered, biddable lady he believes will ensure a peaceful life. But the following morning, on walking through the Mandeville Hall shrubbery on his way to join the other guests, he comes upon the corpse of a young lady-guest.

  Constance Whittaker accepts that no gentleman will ever offer for her—she’s too old, too tall, too buxom, too headstrong…too much in myriad ways. Now acting as her grandfather’s agent, she arrives at Mandeville Hall to extricate her young cousin, Glynis, who unwisely accepted an invitation to the reputedly licentious house party.

  But Glynis cannot be found.

  A search is instituted. Venturing into the shrubbery, Constance discovers an outrageously handsome aristocrat crouched beside Glynis’s lifeless form. Unsurprisingly, Constance leaps to the obvious conclusion.

  Luckily, once the gentleman explains that he’d only just arrived, commonsense reasserts itself. More, as matters unfold and she and Carradale have to battle to get Glynis’s death properly investigated, Constance discovers Alaric to be a worthy ally.

  Yet even after Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard arrives and takes charge of the case, along with his consultants, the Honorable Barnaby Adair and his wife, Penelope, the murderer’s identity remains shrouded in mystery, and learning why Glynis was killed—all in the few days before the house party’s guests will insist on leaving—tests the resolve of all concerned. Flung into each other’s company, fiercely independent though Constance is, unsusceptible though Alaric is, neither can deny the connection that grows between them.

  Then Constance vanishes.

  Can Alaric unearth the one fact that will point to the murderer before the villain rips from the world the lady Alaric now craves for his own?

  A historical novel of 75,000 words interweaving romance, mystery, and murder.

  Praise for the works of Stephanie Laurens

  “Stephanie Laurens’ heroines are marvelous tributes to Georgette Heyer: feisty and strong.” Cathy Kelly

  “Stephanie Laurens never fails to entertain and charm her readers with vibrant plots, snappy dialogue, and unforgettable characters.” Historical Romance Reviews

  “Stephanie Laurens plays into readers’ fantasies like a master and claims their hearts time and again.” Romantic Times Magazine

  Praise for The Murder at Mandeville Hall

  “Stephanie Laurens never fails to delight with her tales of romance, mystery, and adventure set against the elegant, glittering backdrop of British high society.” Irene S., Proofreader, Red Adept Editing

  “A shared passion for justice turns into a shared passion for much, much more in this clever whodunit from Stephanie Laurens.” Angela M., Line Editor, Red Adept Editing

  “(The investigators) must sort through layers of intrigue and family pride to find the killer. At posh and proper Mandeville Hall, even murderers mind their manners." Kim H., Proofreader, Red Adept Editing

  Cast of Characters

  At Mandeville Hall:

  Percy Mandeville – host of the house party, an annual event

  Mrs. Enid Fitzherbert – Percy and Edward’s ancient aunt; a deaf dragon to lend countenance

  Edward Mandeville – Percy’s older cousin; an unexpected addition, rigid and stuffy

  House party guests:

  Miss Holly Weldon – a connection of the Mandevilles; a delightful young lady as yet unmarried, an acquaintance of Miss Johnson

  Mrs. Fortuna Cripps – Miss Weldon’s chaperon; retiring but eagle-eyed

  Miss Glynis Johnson – another delightful unmarried young lady; an acquaintance of Miss Weldon

  Mrs. Dillys Macomber – Miss Johnson’s chaperon; kind-hearted but given to dithering

  Mrs. Rosamund Cleary – a friend of Percy; an experienced widow

  Mrs. Prudence Collard – a friend of Percy; a racy matron with a good heart

  Mrs. Tilly Gibson – an acquaintance of Percy; a well-heeled widow with her eye on a prize

  Mrs. Hetty Finlayson – an acquaintance of Percy; a matron with a wandering eye

  Mrs. Mina Symonds – an acquaintance of Percy; another matron with a wandering eye

  Alaric, Lord Carradale – childhood friend of Percy and nearest neighbor

  Mr. Montague Radleigh – Carradale’s heir and a longtime friend of Percy; confirmed bachelor

  Mr. Henry Wynne – the Earl of Dorset’s nephew and a friend of Percy; has his eye on Mrs. Cleary

  The Honorable Mr. Guy Walker – nephew of Lady Islay and a friend of Percy; currently looking over the field

  Mr. Robert Fletcher – heir to Viscount Margate and a friend of Percy; also looking over the field

  Cyril, Viscount Hammond – a friend of Percy; intent on consorting w
ith Mrs. Gibson

  Mrs. Caroline Hammond – Cyril’s sister-in-law; a matron testing the waters

  Mr. William Coke – an acquaintance of Percy; intent on enjoying himself

  Mrs. Margaret Coke – dutiful wife of William; bent on enjoying herself

  Colonel Walter Humphries – an acquaintance of Percy; long past active duty

  Mrs. Maude Humphries – dutiful wife to the colonel

  Captain Freddy Collins – a friend of Percy; very taken with Miss Weldon

  Arriving later:

  Miss Constance Whittaker – a distant cousin of Miss Johnson; a lady Amazon sent by Miss Johnson’s family to fetch her home

  Pearl – Constance’s maid; mature and knows what’s what

  Vine – Constance’s groom; there in support of Pearl and his mistress

  Staff: all locals and long established in their positions

  Carnaby – the butler

  Mrs. Carnaby – the housekeeper

  Various footmen

  Various maids

  Mitzy – the tweeny

  Hughes – the stableman

  Gardeners and grooms

  At Carradale Manor:

  Alaric Radleigh, Lord Carradale – a sophisticated rakehell in search of the right wife

  Staff:

  Johns – manservant

  Morecombe – the butler

  Mrs. Morecombe – the housekeeper

  Hilliard – the stableman

  From Elsewhere:

  Senior Inspector Basil Stokes – of Scotland Yard

  The Honorable Barnaby Adair – longtime friend of Stokes, acting as consultant to the Yard

  The Honorable Penelope Adair – Barnaby’s wife, longtime friend of Stokes, not about to be left out of the investigation

  Constable Philpott – one of Stokes’s regular team, an efficient note taker

  Constable Morgan – another of Stokes’s regular team, baby faced and good with staff

  Sir Godfrey Stonewall – local magistrate; thinks highly of himself

  Peters – innkeeper of Tabard Inn in nearby village of Wildhern

  Chapter 1

  August 26, 1839. Mandeville Hall, Hampshire

  What am I doing here?

  With practiced languor, Alaric Augustus Radleigh, ninth Baron Carradale, strolled among the guests in the Mandeville Hall drawing room and endeavored to conceal his impatience to be elsewhere. Around him, the twenty-plus acquaintances the Honorable Percy Mandeville had summoned to his annual weeklong summer house party smiled, chatted, flirted, and preened. As it was after dinner and nearing ten o’clock on the second night of the planned revelry, amid the laughter and unceasing chatter, invitations of an intimate nature were being issued, not with words but with arch inviting looks. Or by a gentleman gazing into a lady’s eyes while holding her fingers in a possessive clasp—as Mr. Henry Wynne was presently doing with Mrs. Rosamund Cleary, a fashionable and racy widow.

  Giving no indication he’d noticed the couple’s intent interaction, Alaric smoothly skirted the pair and continued moving through the crowd. He was passingly acquainted with all those present; Captain Freddy Collins determinedly caught his eye, and perforce, Alaric paused to exchange opinions on the latest fancy—and to bestow upon Freddy’s attractive companion, Mrs. Hetty Finlayson, the pleasant but distant smile he’d perfected as a means of conveying to lovely ladies that he was reluctantly, but definitely, otherwise engaged.

  Mrs. Finlayson wasn’t the only bored matron attempting to lure him, but with gentle ruthlessness, he refused all offers; he had no interest in any short-lived and inevitably unfulfilling liaison.

  He’d had a surfeit of such affairs over the years. Admittedly in the past, he’d found such engagements mildly amusing and had indulged when the mood took him. This year, however…he’d changed.

  For the past decade and more, he’d prowled the drawing rooms and ballrooms of the upper echelons of London society and, in short order, had been deemed one of the more dangerous wolves of the ton. That long-established reputation was well known to those gathered at Mandeville Hall; they assumed it was the reason he was there.

  Of course, by “dangerous,” the grandes dames had meant that he was likely to turn the heads of impressionable young ladies, leaving them smitten and dreaming of him rather than of the more attainable gentlemen their mamas and said grandes dames steered their way. He embodied a threat to the grandes dames’ schemes that, courtesy of his birth and station, was largely beyond their control—and such ladies never approved of anyone they couldn’t rein in.

  If they could see him now…the grandes dames would cackle themselves into fits. The notion of him finally biting the bullet and seeking a suitable wife would have them grinning evilly; that was one of the reasons he was determined to make his choice quickly, efficiently, and with as little social noise as possible.

  The other major reason was his sisters. One older and two younger, all were happily married and comfortably settled, and all three had long been of the oft-stated opinion that he should join their company. Well aware of his age and situation, lately they’d shown signs of growing restive. If they heard or saw enough to suspect he’d finally come to the point of selecting a bride, they’d be on his doorstep offering to help within the hour. In his mind’s eye, he could see their faces alight with enthusiasm… He would never be able to harden his heart enough to dismiss, deny, and disappoint them. Better he avoided the necessity altogether.

  His parents had died more than a decade ago, leaving him as head of his ancient house, with the associated title and estate. Consequently, marriage at some point had always been in his cards, not least because his current heir, Montague Radleigh, also present at the house party, was viewed by the entire Radleigh family—Monty included—as unfit to inherit.

  Monty had strengths, but those strengths did not include the talents required to run an estate. Although Carradale Manor, the house, was relatively modest, the wealth that lay behind it courtesy of farms, woodland, and funds invested was significant. So significant the family made a point of keeping that reality close to their collective chest; no one wished to see Alaric hunted by matchmakers intent on snaring a wealthy gentleman for their charges.

  Luckily, Alaric’s intentionally well-founded reputation afforded him some protection, ensuring that matchmakers did not glance his way and never looked deeply enough to stumble on the family’s wealth. However, now he’d finally decided it was time to select a suitable lady and propose, the instant he took a public step in furtherance of that aim, the matchmakers’ eyes would narrow, and they would delve and find out…

  He judged he would have not more than a week to cast his eyes over the likely candidates before he became a hunted man.

  The advisability of learning all he could about suitable young ladies prior to returning to town in a few weeks when society regathered in the capital was weighing on his mind and making the hours he was wasting at Mandeville Hall all the more frustrating. Admittedly, there were two marriageable young ladies present, but neither fitted his bill; both were too young for his taste.

  Given it was late summer, as was his habit, he was in residence at Carradale Manor, his ancestral home, located approximately half a mile away through the woods. He’d spent the past weeks ensuring his affairs were in order and the manor was in excellent repair so that his way would be clear to make an offer for his suitable young lady the instant he found her.

  He’d yet to decide whether to secretly appeal to his older sister for assistance; he wasn’t at all sure she would agree not to tell the other two, and then…

  With his ineffably urbane smile firmly in place, he finally stepped free of the crowd and paused by the wall, turning and pretending to idly scan the throng.

  “Enjoying yourself, old man?”

  Alaric turned his head as Percy Mandeville—his host—lightly buffeted his arm.

  Smiling genially, Percy settled shoulder to shoulder with Alaric and surveyed his guests. “A good b
unch, this year. Everyone seems to be getting on with no unexpected tensions.” After a second, Percy glanced sidelong at Alaric. “Sure you wouldn’t rather stay over the nights? You have before, and you know you always have a room here.”

  Alaric’s smile grew more sincere. He shook his head, then met Percy’s brown eyes. “I know, but this year, I have business to attend to.” Deciding on the right wife surely qualified. “I didn’t want to miss your house party, but to justify attending during the days and evenings, I need to retreat to my library at night.”

  And he needed the escape—and the safety of his own house. There, he was in no danger of having an unwanted companion attempt to invite herself into his bed.

  “There you are, Carradale!”

  In time with the booming words, a bony finger jabbed his arm.

  Alaric turned to find himself being minutely examined through an old-fashioned quizzing glass wielded by a crone swathed in diaphanous draperies; thankfully, there were too many layers to permit any sight of what lay beneath. A silk turban in a hideous shade of puce wobbled atop the old lady’s head; steel-gray curls protruded beneath the turban’s lower edge. Knowing what was expected of him, he swept the old lady an elegant bow. “Good evening, Mrs. Fitzherbert. I would inquire as to your health, but I can see you’re in the pink.”