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    Murder In Maidstone: A Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery, #6
    Murder In Maidstone: A Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery, #6
    Murder In Maidstone: A Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery, #6
    Ebook343 pages7 hours

    Murder In Maidstone: A Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery, #6

    By Marilyn Clay

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    About this ebook

    MURDER IN MAIDSTONE is Book 6 in best-selling author Marilyn Clay's popular Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery Series. Upon arriving at Maidstone Manor to begin her next assignment, Miss Abbott and her maid Tilda are stunned to find that a gentleman on the estate has only just been found face down in the knot garden, and that the killer absconded with the dead man's clothing!

     

    When Miss Abbott learns that another suitor to one of the Wentworth daughters at Maidstone Manor disappeared a few days earlier, as did the former owners of the Manor house, it is abundantly clear to Juliette that this assignment will not go any smoother than her previous ones have. Her only relief is that these murders cannot be laid at her feet! In addition to the murders, she suspects Lord Wentworth and his sons might be guilty of smuggling, but wonders how she can prove the charges without alerting the gentlemen of the manor.

     

    When her dear friend Mr. Sheridan appears, incognito, Juliette at last draws an easy breath, until she learns that the killer is determined to do away with her, and her maid! The twists and turns in this newest Juliette Abbott Regency mystery will keep readers guessing until the final explosive scene.

     

    Other titles in the Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery Series are MURDER AT MORLAND MANOR, MURDER IN MAYFAIR, MURDER IN MARGATE, MURDER AT MEDLEY PARK, MURDER IN MIDDLEWYCH, MURDER IN MAIDSTONE, MURDER AT MONTFORD HALL, MURDER ON MARSH LANE, MURDER IN MARTINDALE and book 10 in the series, MURDER AT MARLEY CHASE; all now available in both print and Ebook from major online booksellers.

     

    In the tradition of Stephanie Barron and Jane Austen, Marilyn Clay's Regency mystery novels contain no strong language or violence and are suitable for teen readers. If you enjoy the Regency mysteries of Ashley Gardner, Sheri Cobb South, Alyssa Maxwell, Adele Clee, and Heidi Ashworth, you'll enjoy Marilyn Clay's traditional, clean, and always amusing Regency-set mysteries, suitable for teens.

     

    Best-selling author MARILYN CLAY has written numerous Regency romances, all originally published in print and now as ebooks. The Wrong Miss Fairfax, Felicity's Folly, Bewitching Lord Winterton, Miss Darby's Debut, Hyde Park Spectacle, Miss Eliza's Gentleman Caller, Brighton Beauty, A Pretty Puzzle, The Uppity Earl, and The Unsuitable Suitor. Several of them and all of her non-fiction titles have earned Best Seller status online.

     

    Be sure to look for all of Marilyn Clay's historical suspense novels, DECEPTIONS, SECRETS & LIES and BETSY ROSS: ACCIDENTAL SPY, all available as ebooks online and in print!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherThe Regency Plume Press
    Release dateJun 9, 2019
    ISBN9781393205579
    Murder In Maidstone: A Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery, #6

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      Murder In Maidstone - Marilyn Clay

      The Primary Players:

      JULIETTE ABBOTT – (18) Assigned to catalogue valuable antiquities imported from the continent and rare artifacts found on the grounds of Maidstone Manor.

      Tilda – (15) Miss Abbott’s lady’s maid who accompanies her to Maidstone.

      Lord & Lady Wentworth – (Charles & Edna) Reside at Maidstone Manor. His title is Manorial, meaning he is not a peer, nor does he hold a seat in Parliament.

      Kashi & Mrs. Hashi-Kashi – The Wentworth’s Chinese butler and housekeeper.

      Frank & Percival Wentworth – (24 and 26) The Wentworth sons, who travel the world in search of antiquities, treasures and fine art to procure for their father.

      Frances & Regina Wentworth – (20 and 21) Daughters eager to alter their marital state before being consigned a permanent place on the shelf and thereafter considered unmarriageable spinsters. (Unfortunately, they are not pretty girls.)

      Lucy, Lady Lovelace – (22) the Wentworth’s widowed niece. (Up to no good.)

      William Sheridan – Miss Abbott’s friend; employed by England’s Home Office. Mr. Sheridan investigates criminal activity against the crown, often whilst incognito. In this story, he assumes several identities. (Oh, my.)

      Sir Anthony Hartley, Mr. Addison – Prospective suitors of the Wentworth sisters who attend the house party (and who manage to muddle things).

      Miss Jane Martin, Helena Roster, Elinor Herbert – young ladies at the party.

      Lesser Players: Miss Susan Weston, Mr. Henderson (dec.), and Mr. Blodgett.

      CHAPTER 1

      A Scandal in Mayfair  

      LONDON, ENGLAND

      Thursday, 23 August 1821

      It is generally assumed that a young woman who appears to reside alone is, in fact, possessed of a husband who resides elsewhere. Mayhap the gentleman is of a reclusive bent and prefers to live apart from his wife and therefore passes months or even years sequestered upon the family estate attending to matters in the country whilst his wife entertains herself taking tea with her lady friends in Town, or perhaps overseeing the come-out of an eager young miss in search of a husband of her own.

      If perchance the lady’s husband is possessed of a title, it is generally expected that for at least a short span of each year, he will join his wife in London in order to attend to his Parliamentary duties. Gentlemen, even ones who prefer their own company to that of others, including their wives, generally do take their governmental responsibilities seriously and however detached the gentleman might prefer to remain from his family, he will still uproot himself from the country in order to be on hand to voice his opinions and cast his vote upon the floor of the House.

      On the other hand, whether titled or not, the elusive gentleman might simply prefer to live apart from the hustle and bustle of London and choose instead to serve in the military, or in some other highly regarded position such as an ambassador on foreign soil. A goodly number of these sorts are often rewarded for their unselfish actions; as evidenced by the plethora of honors and accolades heaped upon their heads and reported in the news pages at home in England. Whatever the case . . .

      Ye’ll forgive me for bringin’ up the matter so soon after ye’ve arrived home, Miss Abbott, my housekeeper Mrs. Gant paused in the midst of what I was beginning to consider a tirade. "But the fact is, ye’ do live here alone and your home is in Mayfair. This ain’t no ramshackle boardin’ house where a unmarried lady might light for a fortnight or two, no; this be a proper Lunnun townhome in a proper Lunnun neighborh . . ."

      I held up a hand. Thank you, Mrs G, I do take your meaning and I truly do understand your concern. Swallowing an irritable sigh, I rose from where I sat on the pretty blue damask settee in my sitting room adjacent to my bedchamber on the second storey of my pretty home in Mayfair, and crossed the room to stand before the fire, which, upon glancing down, I noted was unlit.

      It seems a bit chilly in here, Mrs. Gant, I murmured. I daresay it will soon be time to lay a fire in every room of the house, everyday.

      True enough, miss; but, as ye’ know, it ain’t yet leaf fall.

      Nonetheless. I ran a hand up my bare arm. I feel quite chilled.

      I hope ye’ ain’t coming down with somethin’. A look of genuine concern passed over my elderly housekeeper’s face.

      Mrs. Gant and her husband had looked after me as if I were their own daughter for the half dozen years the three of us had been employed by Lady Carstairs, me serving as that titled lady’s companion right up until the day she went on to her reward. That the Gants and I now occupied an elegant townhome in Mayfair was the outcome of another story, one that, in my mind, I think of as a murder in Mayfair.

      At any rate, I now directed a somewhat distracted gaze past Mrs. G to the pair of windows gracing the painted wall beyond where she stood wringing her hands on the apron covering her serviceable dark frock. Mrs. Gant, who now serves as both my housekeeper and cook, had only just carried up a tray to my suite containing a steaming bowl of vegetable soup and soft wedge of bread, which, judging from the delicious aroma wafting from it, I assume she had only recently pulled from the oven.

      Below stairs, I expect Mr. Gant and Timothy, my young butler, were still carting in my bags from the street. Brook Street, to be exact, in Mayfair, an exclusive neighborhood of London, where, no doubt, a host of my upper-crust neighbors, who occupied one or another of the similar gleaming white townhouses up and down the street, were once again exchanging titillating innuendoes in regard to my marital status, or lack thereof. Apparently I have been the subject of my gossipy neighbors on-dits the entire half year I have lived here.

      Mrs. Gant had not let a quarter-hour pass following my arrival home from Middlewych this afternoon before confronting me with the news. Unfortunately, I was accompanied home by a gentleman who is not my husband, but who was clearly visible to the entire neighborhood as he gallantly escorted me up the walk to my front door. Carrying my adorable black and white kitten Little Georgie in her arms, Tilda followed close on our heels. Due to the wagging tongues of my neighbors, I am now doubly glad that I was accompanied by a maid, who, if you recall, was lent to me by Lady Medley of Medley Park. That fine woman had also pointed out that my reputation would likely suffer irreparable damage were I to travel about the countryside accompanied only by a gentleman, especially one so disturbingly handsome as Mr. Sheridan, the two of us shut up alone in a closed carriage with no maid or companion along as chaperone. Therefore, at Lady Medley’s urging, I had acquiesced and allowed Tilda, who had served as my lady’s maid whilst I was at Medley Park, to accompany me, and my (ahem) good friend, Mr. Sheridan, back up to London.

      On the very day we three set out from Medley Park less than a sen’night ago, (which hardly seems possibly given all that has occurred in the interim) I had no clue that we would meet with near disaster on our return journey up to Town, nor that we would be obliged to endure a harrowing four-day stay in the Cotswold village of Middlewych. I confess Lady Medley’s concern regarding the matter of my reputation is quite clear to me now. Although how on earth the mere presence of a five and ten-year-old girl could protect my virtue should either I, or Mr. Sheridan, have made the unfortunate decision to sully it, I do not know.

      Nonetheless, emitting another longsuffering sigh, I pulled my thoughts back around to the distressing conversation I was presently engaged in with Mrs. Gant. Given the horrific fortnight I had spent at Medley Park (an experience I had not yet fully got over) and immediately on the heels of it, the aforementioned harrowing stop-over in Middlewych, I was currently in no mood to address Mrs. Gant’s fears. Still, as I am the sole head of my own household here in London (and truth be known, am quite proud of that fact) it appears I have no choice but to address, and do what I can to remedy, the matter straightaway.

      Fortunately, Tilda and Little Georgie (who, if you recall, was a going-away gift from Lady Medley’s daughter Hannah) and I did, indeed, arrive back in Town with everyone’s virtue still intact. I assume Tilda was now in the kitchen enjoying a bowl of Mrs. Gant’s delicious soup whilst keeping a watchful eye on Little Georgie, who, I have no doubt, is ravenously hungry by now. My adorable kitten has eaten virtually nothing all day save a scant saucer of milk provided by a serving wench at the inn this morning where we all passed the night. At any rate, instead of being allowed to linger a few moments just now on the doorstep outside my home, or even inside the entryway, to enjoy a private, and fond, farewell with Mr. Sheridan, I was instead rushed up the stairwell by an overset Mrs. Gant to be taken to task by what she perceives to be an immediate threat to us all. Since neither room of my above-stairs suite sports a window that overlooks Brook Street, I was not even afforded a final glimpse of Mr. Sheridan as he climbed back into the dusty Medley Park coach to depart for . . . I know not where.

      Another irritable sigh escaped me. Other than a respectful nod and the flicker of a smile that softened his oh, so, handsome features, not so much as a parting word passed between us before long strides carried him out to the carriage awaiting him at the curb.

      I confess I had expected . . . well, I do not know what I expected. Perhaps, I had merely wanted . . . something . . . more.

      My heart lodged in my throat again as I recalled the gentleman’s cool departure for perhaps the hundredth time in the past quarter hour. Oh, how I wanted . . . some show of affection from him. Of course, he could not very well have gathered me into his arms there on the stoop and kissed me soundly, or even warmly embraced me, or with a longing look upon his face backed his way out to the carriage. None of that would have happened anyhow, and now that Mrs. Gant had quite vividly relayed to me the scope of the speculation and false innuendoes that have taken place in my absence, I suppose I am quite glad that my farewell to Mr. Sheridan was all that can be considered tasteful and proper. Except that I was not the least bit glad. I was very nearly brokenhearted and . . . close on to tears.

      "I don’t mean to alarm ye’, Miss Abbott, it’s just that the . . . absence of a close relative, or at the very least, a proper companion, does rather place you beyond the pale, at least in the eyes of Lunnon Society. I fear it also renders you . . . a trifle scandalous to those folks who reside here in Mayfair. She paused, a pained look creasing her wrinkled countenance. Not that I agree with the gossipmongers, mind you. I know you would . . . never . . ."

      You are quite right, Mrs. Gant, I declared crisply. "I would never . . . I paused, then when I became aware of a worried frown creasing my own brow, I inquired, You and Mr. Gant have not considered seeking employment . . . elsewhere, have you?"

      Given that my association with Mr. Henry Phelps here in London meant that my assignments took me to all parts of England, and I never knew for how long a period I would be away, I was counting upon Mr. and Mrs. Gant to always be on hand to look after my lovely home; and now, to also take care of Little Georgie for me. I could not very well carry him thither and yon on my travels, even if I should want to. And I certainly did not relish having to suddenly seek out and hire on another housekeeper.

      Oh, no, miss. The older woman’s mobcap-covered head shook. I merely thought I ought ta’ . . . bring the matter to yer’ attention, is all. After a pause, she added, Now if Miss Tilda was to remain here with ya’, as your companion, I ‘spect that would serve to . . .

      You are quite right, Mrs. Gant. I wonder that I did not think of it myself. Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention. I expect Tilda will readily agree to stay on. I shall post a note to Lady Medley straightaway.

      Exhaling a relieved breath, Mrs. G bobbed a respectful curtsy and turned to go, but near the door, paused. I most forgot, miss. This come for ye’ yeste’day. From that nice Mr. Phelps. She re-crossed the room to hand me the missive. I ‘spect comin’ from him it must be of some import.

      Thank you, Mrs. G. I glanced at the direction, then without looking up, said, Do be sure to put out something tasty for Little Georgie to eat, won’t you? And, ask Mr. G, or Tim, to take the baby outdoors for a little run. Having already broken the seal and unfolded the page, my eyes now began to scan Mr. Phelps’ fine script. And, please show Tilda up once she has finished with her luncheon.

      Indeed, miss. Mrs. G bobbed another curtsy. You want I should have Mr. Gant come lay out a nice fire for ya’ now?

      No, that will not be necessary, thank you. I continued to read the note from my employer. I fully expected Mr. Phelps was curious to know exactly what had caused me to so hurriedly exit Medley Park, or . . . perhaps he had already received word from Lord Medley . . . word, which could have very well arrived at his establishment here in London far sooner than I did, and which might not be terribly complimentary of my performance, or my hasty departure. Which meant that if I wished to retain my status as a valued associate of Mr. Phelps’ New Bond Street Auction House I had best call upon that gentleman as soon as possible.

      And I would do so, as soon as I posted a note to Lady Medley. I doubted she would voice an objection to me permanently employing Tilda as my lady’s maid. Still, given the unexpected disagreeableness that arose at Medley Park, whether or not Mr. Phelps meant to entrust me with any future assignments, remained to be seen.

      CHAPTER 2

      In Which Juliette Confronts Mr. Phelps  

      DESPITE THE SLIGHT chill in the air and the fact that I had no clue if, or when, I might ever see Mr. Sheridan again, I did quite enjoy being out of doors on such a lovely day in London. Although the haze of smoke and soot drifting from the chimney pots atop each and every edifice did cast a pall over the city, here and there through the smog I caught glimpses of a clear blue sky tinged with sun about the edges. Pedestrians conversing with one another as they scurried along the busy thoroughfare, it clogged with clattering carriages and anxious horses, was a decided contrast to the soothing sounds of the country that Mr. Sheridan and I and Tilda had only just passed through this morning. Yet, I did not find the City’s noise and bustle objectionable. I had always loved London and now considered myself quite lucky, indeed, to be possessed of a lovely home here. Were I to learn that I am still employed would provide me with additional reasons to allow the gratitude in my heart to chase away the remnants of sorrow from my mind, meaning Mr. Sheridan’s cool departure from me this morning.

      After having composed a short note to Lady Medley a bit ago, I had, with Tilda’s assistance, changed my clothes and freshened up, then left Tilda (who had indeed, happily agreed to stay on as my lady’s maid) to settle herself within a small chamber located near mine on the upper floor of my home whilst I set out alone to call upon Mr. Phelps. Mr. Gant had offered to drive me the short way to New Bond Street, but having spent the past two and a half days enclosed in a stuffy carriage, I declined the offer and instead asked him to post the note I had written to Lady Medley and also the one Tilda had quickly penned to her mother apprising her of her youngest daughter’s whereabouts and impending change in employment.

      You do not expect your mother will object to you removing to the City, do you, Tilda? I asked the girl after having provided her with pen and paper. Uncertain whether or not my new lady’s maid could read and write, I had hesitated until she did, indeed, take up the pen and held it poised above the page.

      Her blue eyes wide, Tilda shook her lank blonde curls. Oh, no, miss. She be right happy for me. All me brothers and sisters is in service, scattered about the country, they is. Me mum, she’ll be right pleased I found a post with a proper Lunnun lady.

      Well, I am not a ‘Lady’ Tilda. I am just plain Miss Abbott.

      The girl’s eyes were agog as she glanced about my sitting room. But, this house be ever so fine, miss, and it be all yours!

      Indeed, it is, Tilda. I smiled proudly.

      And, I’m to have me own room? I ain’t sharing it with no . . .?

      Your bedchamber is adjacent to mine.

      Goodness me, miss. Wait ‘til I tell me mum. Lowering her head, she commenced to write. Me . . . own . . . bedchamber, she mouthed as she wrote, the action causing a smile to lift the corners of my lips.

      When finished, my new lady’s maid exhaled a sigh of pure pleasure as she folded the missive and handed it off to me. I soon descended the stairs and exited the house intent upon my own errand.

      HOWEVER, UPON ARRIVING at Mr. Phelps’ Auction House, I was not nearly so filled with pleasure as I had been when I set out. A fit of nerves had overtaken me on the way here. My agitated state had now escalated to a fever pitch as I pondered exactly what sort of explanation Mr. Phelps might demand of me in regard to the deadly outcome at Medley Park.

      Ah, Miss Abbott. Mr. Phelps, an elderly man with graying hair, rose as I was shown into his private office. How serendipitous that you should call upon me today. Please, do take a seat, young lady. I’ve a matter of import to discuss with you.

      Despite the pleasant smile on the older man’s face, my heart lurched to my throat. Sir, I can expl. . .

      A slight frown marred Mr. Phelps’ features as he reached for a missive lying upon his desk. I do hope you have not come to tell me you wish to accept no further assignments, Miss Abbott. I only just received a note from Lord Medley who spoke highly of the manner in which you handled the ah-h . . . He directed a quizzical gaze at me. I take it some sort of . . . commotion arose at Medley Park?

      I-Indeed, sir, an unexpected bit of trouble did arise, but I . . . 

      Shaking his gray head, my employer halted me with a raised hand. You are not obliged to apprise me of the particulars, Miss Abbott. Unless some event should occur to prevent you from completing your task, then, any other matter that might come about whilst you are on assignment is of no consequence to me. He paused, and after favoring me with a smile, went on. I am fully aware that you are an unwed young lady, and a very attractive one. I am also aware that on occasion, you will find yourself in the presence of eligible young gentlemen, however, I have every confidence in your ability to handle yourself in a proper manner.

      Thank you, sir. At least my employer’s assessment of my character was closer to the truth than that of my neighbors.

      In my dealings with you, Miss Abbott, Mr. Phelps went on, you have proven to be quite astute in your judgment, to the point of being shrewd, which in our profession is not an undesirable trait. Glancing up again, he grinned. I, for one, commend you on your continued display of honesty in our business dealings.

      I began to cautiously exhale the breath I had been holding. Thank you, sir. I hope I continue to deserve the trust you have placed in me.

      I have no doubt that you will, my dear. As I was saying, Lord Medley spoke quite highly of you and . . . His eyes fell to scanning the page he held before him. Ah, yes, here it is. ‘Miss Abbott conducted herself with commendable aplomb considering the undue stress placed upon her by the wayward actions of one of my sons.’ He paused. The gentleman does not elaborate further. The hint of a question lifted a brow as he once again raised a bespectacled gaze at me.

      Beneath it, I squirmed. I daresay the . . . matter was remedied to . . . everyone’s satisfaction, sir.

      Very well, Miss Abbott. Enough said. Absently laying aside the page, he turned to shuffle through another stack of papers lying before him.

      Because my anxiety had now all but evaporated, I lowered my gaze to study the ornately carved desk behind which Mr. Phelps sat. The gentleman must have only recently acquired the handsome desk for I had never before seen it, nor one quite like it, for all that.

      Your desk is exquisite, sir! I blurted out.

      He looked up. Thank you, my dear. He ran a hand over the expanse of polished dark walnut. The provenance accompanying the piece stated that it was once used by King James I before he ascended to the English throne. Arrived in a shipment of furnishings down from Scotland only last week. I could not bear to part with it or to put it on the auction block at once, so I absconded with it myself. He laughed. I daresay I shall be obliged to give it up eventually, but until I must, I intend to enjoy feeling like a king myself.

      And, rightly so, sir, I agreed, favoring him with my first relaxed smile of the day. Following the congenial exchange, I, at last, felt the tension in my shoulders melt away. Had my employer intended to sack me, I daresay he would have adopted a far less cheerful tone before handing over the wages due me, and then calling for a clerk to show me to the door.

      Ah, here we are. Mr. Phelps withdrew several pages.  I have here what I hope to be your next assignment, Miss Abbott.

      Oh? Interest rose within me.

      This inquiry is from a gentleman who resides in Maidstone. A Lord Wentworth who, among other things, declares he is in possession of a treasure trove of . . . ruins, pottery, tools, and the like, which he declares were unearthed on the grounds of his estate. As he has no clue as to the value of such a find, he wishes us to . . . my employer’s voice trailed off.

      During the pause, I said, "Sir, I confess I know little to nothing about . . . truly ancient artifacts such as Roman ruins and whatnot."

      Given that a find of this sort is, indeed, quite rare, Miss Abbott, I daresay few appraisers are capable of assessing the age, or worth, of such antiquities. However . . . Pushing up from the richly carved desk, he walked to a glass-fronted bookcase. Reaching to the lower shelf, he extracted two thick volumes and carried them back to the desk. These should help you sort things out. You may take both books with you to Maidstone. His lordship hopes the pieces of pottery and crude tools they have uncovered might, in fact, hail from the Roman period, but I shall leave it to you to compare their findings to the drawings in these pages in order to determine the authenticity, and age, if possible, of their finds. If they do prove to be authentic, then the worth would, of course, be substantial. In addition . . . Upon resuming his seat, he absently ran a hand over the surface of the lavish desk. Wentworth mentions that in recent years he and his sons have acquired dozens of pieces of fine furniture, a cache of valuable artifacts and exquisite paintings which they purchased at a fraction of their true worth from the families of French aristocrats who lost their lives during the previous century’s Reign of Terror.

      Oh, my. Being of French descent on my mother’s side, that particular era in my country’s history also rather filled me with terror.

      As you can see, this is a multi-faceted project, Miss Abbott, and could take a good deal longer than a mere fortnight to complete. I hope you are interested and if so, that I can count upon you to see the job through to the end. I will need you to report back to me at proper intervals, and if necessary, to oversee the packing and shipping of items up to London for auction if the family so desires.

      Instead of a direct reply, I chose this moment to introduce a different topic. Sir, I have recently discovered that I am in dire need of the services of a lady’s maid; to not only assist me with my needs, but also in my work. To that end, I have procured a young lady who can both read and write and who I believe will prove to be a valuable asset to . . .

      Certainly, Miss Abbott. Already my employer was nodding assent.  "I shall be happy to increase your wages to cover

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