At home, I dismissed the death of Abigail Winterton from my mind and concentrated instead on work. I was making rapid progress on my new mystery novel, and at the rate I was going, I’d have a first draft in a couple of weeks, even with time spent delving into the real-life murder practically on my own doorstep. I settled in for a long afternoon and evening of plotting murder and mayhem.
By the time I was ready for a break from the computer—even vampires get stiff necks from too much time at the VDT—I was about ten chapters into a new Dorinda Darlington. More than enough to have earned myself some time off. I snuggled into my bed for a nap and woke up about two hours later, refreshed, ready to greet the dawn.
I spent a couple of hours catching up on fan mail, which normally I enjoy doing. But this morning I was impatient for the hands on the clock to reach a decent hour for calling on people. I was rarin’ to go (as we say back in the Deep South, where I’m from) and start collecting information on possible suspects in Abigail Winterton’s death. Now, mind you, no one had as yet officially confirmed the death as murder, but why let the little details dampen my enthusiasm?
Thinking about having to catch up on my backlog of correspondence and getting my office organized had given me an idea. I needed some subterfuge with which to approach some of the folk involved in the case in order to extract information from them. I didn’t think that playing the brash, nosy American—which I can do all too well, thank you very much—would quite come off in this case. Vulgarity has its place, but this situation called for more subtlety.
I could chat with the various folk involved in this case and ask their opinions on finding someone suitable in the village to serve as a part-time secretary. And while we were discussing that safe topic, surely it wouldn’t be a surprise if the conversation strayed to what was really on everyone’s mind?
With whom should I start?
Lady Prunella Blitherington seemed as good a choice as any.
A quick call to Jane Hardwick gave me the information I needed. Lady Prunella, ever a creature of habit, usually walked her Precious (which Jane assured me was anything but) promptly at nine every morning. A chance encounter with the lady and her Peke was just the thing to start off my sleuthing.
I rummaged around in my closet and managed to find a track suit. I had bought it on a mad whim—one of those occasions, while I was still mortal, when I thought I might actually exercise enough to get myself into shape. But, alas, that kind of physical effort and I were not made to coexist happily. Fortunately, death brought me the figure I always aspired to in life. A cap and sunglasses completed my ensemble. The sun was bright this morning. Oh, for a cloudy day!
But Lady Prunella wasn’t to know that I looked upon exercise with as much fondness as I regarded a stake through the heart. I could assume my camouflage, trot by her and her dog, express surprise at seeing her, and then launch into my oh, so subtle interrogation.
Track suit in hand, I rooted around for a pair of trainers. (Those are running shoes to you and me from across the Pond; learning to speak the language here is half the fun.)
Half an hour later, suitably attired, I was jogging down the lane toward the acreage that constituted the Blitherington estate. According to Jane, much of the family’s lands had been sold off over the last generation or so, leaving the estate much diminished but still impressive enough. Lady Prunella liked to give. Precious a chance to stroll down the lane from Blitherington Hall into the village, half a mile away, where she (Lady Prunella) was wont to stop and talk with folk while he (Precious) left his mark upon his favorite targets.
I met the lady and her dog moments after I had trotted into the lane near Blitherington House. I made a show of huffing and puffing a bit, hoping that Lady Prunella wouldn’t notice the lack of perspiration upon my unlabored brow. This morning, however, Lady Prunella seemed much occupied with something else, so much so that she hadn’t noticed me.
“Good morning, Lady Blitherington,” I chirped. Anyone would think I absolutely adored exercise, I was so perky. “What a pleasant surprise!”
“Oh,” Lady Prunella exclaimed, drawing back sharply on Precious’s leash. The dog took one good, long look at me and retreated behind Lady Prunella, where he whimpered quietly. Dogs aren’t terribly fond of vampires, and Precious had pegged me almost immediately. He wouldn’t be happy until I was well away from him. Thankfully, Lady Prunella seemed as oblivious to the creature’s distress as she was to most everything else.
“Dr. Kirby-Jones!” Lady Prunella invested my name with evidence of her displeasure at being so accosted. “You quite startled me.”
“I do beg your pardon, Lady Blitherington! I was just out for my morning run. I do apologize for startling you.”
Somewhat mollified, Lady Prunella warmed up a fraction. “That is quite all right, Dr. Kirby-Jones. After all, one is to be commended for exercising. A healthy mind in a healthy body, and all that.” She unbent so much as to smile briefly at me. “Others could emulate your example instead of staying up to all hours and then lolling in bed most of the day.”
The venom invested in that last sentence surprised me. To whom was she referring? I wondered. Her son and heir?
“You are quite right, Lady Blitherington,” I assured her. I walked beside her and Precious as they began moving again toward the village. “There are so many things to accomplish in a day’s time, one should make every effort to get up and get busy.”
“Quite so!” Lady Prunella nodded vigorously in approval. “Your attitude is a credit to you.”
“Thank you,” I replied in my most modest tone. So this was the way to Lady Prunella’s good graces. “I imagine that you have tremendous responsibilities here.”
“Quite so!” Lady Prunella affirmed, much more cheerful now. “One must do one’s best to uphold the social fabric and all the responsibilities of one’s God-given position in life.”
Or the position that one had married, I thought, remembering the tidbits I had gleaned from Jane Hardwick.
Lady Prunella sighed deeply. “Things are much different these days. One does not always receive the respect to which one is naturally accustomed. ”
Choking back a snort, I replied, “Our modern world simply no longer respects persons of good breeding the way it once did.” I sighed heavily.
Lady Prunella cast a quick glance at me, not certain whether I was having her on, but my demurely innocent mien reassured her.
“Quite so!” she said forcefully.
“I must say, Lady Blitherington,” I said, launching into my shtick, “that this was a fortunate meeting for me, because I had hoped to ask your advice on a matter of some importance to myself. I asked myself last night, Now who, of all the folk in Snupperton Mumsley, could give me the best suggestions toward finding someone suitable to assist me with some occasional secretarial work? And I naturally thought at once of you, my dear Lady Blitherington, because of your position of leadership in the village. I knew that you could advise me whether there is anyone at all suitable hereabouts. After all”—I leaned closer and dropped my voice—“it would simply not do to have someone unsuitable in one’s home, and with access to one’s work.”
Lady Prunella beamed at me, little knowing she was stepping right into a pile of manure up to her neck.
“My dear Dr. Kirby-Jones,” she practically purred at me. Even Precious was taken aback; he stumbled and fell flat on his ugly little face. Then he started scrambling backward again, for all the good it did him. Lady Prunella jerked him up by his lead, far more interested in yielding to my blandishments than in comforting an unhappy dog. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were a base flatterer.” She simpered this time. Ye gads, what a sight!
“You are quite correct to be cautious in this day and age. You simply would not believe some of the tales I could tell, with regard to finding suitable servants for Blitherington Hall. Such attitudes these young people have, and even the older workers, who were reared to know and appreciate their betters, why, you wouldn’t believe how rude they can be, too! When one is only trying to do one’s duty toward those less fortunate.”
“I can imagine,” I oozed in my most comforting tone. “Such challenges you must face.” She probably couldn’t afford to pay many folks what they’d charge to put up with her authoritarian ways. “But perhaps you might know of someone suitable, anyway?”
I could see the wheel turning in her mind. That little gerbil must get awfully tired sometimes. Lady Prunella was probably trying to come up with someone acceptable to me who also owed her something. That way she could collect information on yours truly without having to act directly herself.
“I might know of one or two persons,” she finally admitted. “There are two women in the village, now somewhat retired, who have secretarial experience. One worked for my dear late husband, and another had considerable experience in the City before marrying and retiring here.” She paused for a moment. “I do believe it might be best if I approached them on your behalf, since you are a newcomer here. Yes”—she nodded briskly—“that would be best. And if either of them is available, I will suggest that they call you to set up an appointment.”
Quite the little stage manager, she was. I pursed my lips to keep from laughing. “My dear Lady Blitherington, you are most kind, most kind indeed! I shall await the outcome of your talking with these ladies.”
By now we were within sight of the village. I’d better get to the main purpose of this conversation before Lady Prunella started her daily rounds (Jane said locals referred to it as “the Inquisition”) among the shops.
“I must say,” I said, dropping my voice to a confiding level, “that I was most distressed and shocked this morning to hear of the death of Miss Winterton. After all, one doesn’t expect the police to show up on one’s doorstep in the morning! I had met Miss Winterton only twice before. The poor woman! One is left wondering what kind of accident could have befallen her.”
Lady Prunella threw me another surprised glance, this time not making much effort to mask her emotion. She stopped abruptly and seized my arm. “Dr. Kirby-Jones, I must tell you, Abigail’s death was not from any kind of accident!”
I provided a suitable expression of dismay and horror. “Surely,” I sputtered, “you can’t mean that her death was... was deliberate?”
Lady Prunella nodded grimly. “Yes, it was deliberate. Abigail Winterton was murdered!”
“How horrifying!”
Lady Prunella leaned closer and fixed me with her best basilisk gaze. “There is a stalker loose in our village, and Abigail was his first victim!”
“My dear heaven!” I gasped, playing along. “A stalker? Here? In this delightful little village?”
Lady Prunella glanced furtively around, checking to see that the information she was about to impart would not be overheard by less couth ears. “I know it seems impossible. Some madman has been stalking me for weeks. He’s killed Abigail, and I’m probably next on his list!”