Poisoned Heart

  Contents

  Copyright

  Poisoned Heart

  Poisoned Heart (A Lady Marmalade Mystery)

  by

  Jason Blacker

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Lemon Tree Publishing

  Copyright © 2016

  Jason Blacker

  Visit www.JasonBlacker.com on the web to stay up to date

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

  Poisoned Heart

  The Abernathy Castle is one of England’s smaller castles. Located just outside of Ashley in Hampshire, it is run by Lady Alys Apleby. Her husband is Lord Godfrey Apleby who made his money in the import business. Of course, they are not as well off as they used to be. First, was The Great War which almost decimated Godfrey’s import business. Then, on top of that, came the Second World War which is barely behind us. This was almost the knock out punch. Godfrey had never looked more haggard.

  The Abernathy Castle is one of the smallest castles in England that still has a moat around it. Though of late, it has started to fill with algae due to lack of care. The grounds, nevertheless, are still quite well kept considering. And the moat, well, if you were a good high school long jumper you might be able to jump clear across.

  Lady Frances Marmalade was crossing the bridge into the castle in her red Triumph Renown. Forward thinking and forthright in approach, Fran was on the cutting edge of the women’s movement.

  She pulled in front of the main entrance as the Apleby’s butler Eustace Parris opened the front door. Fran took off the scarf that covered her head and shook Eustace’s hand.

  “How are you today, Eustace?” she asked.

  “Very good, my lady,” he replied. “Please, come this way.”

  The Aplebys were having a gathering of some friends, as they usually do. It was mid afternoon and in the large sitting room were a few clumps of wealthy and aristocratic folks.

  Eustace brought Fran right up to Godfrey, then bowed and led himself away.

  “So good of you to come, Fran,” said Godfrey.

  “My pleasure, how are you, Godfrey?” asked Fran.

  “Just marvelous, simply marvelous,” he lied.

  “Have you met Lord Louis Mountbatten?” asked Godfrey.

  “Certainly. How are you Louis?” asked Fran, taking his hand.

  “Well, quite busy as you can imagine, Fran. They want me to take the governorship of India next year. In the summer. Really, who wants to be in India in the summer.”

  He winked at her and chuckled. His mustache dancing on this upper lip like a furry caterpillar.

  “Well, we couldn’t have hoped for a better man for the job,” replied Fran.

  “You’re always too good to me, Fran,” Mountbatten replied.

  Godfrey was swaying on his feet, purposefully. He held a tumbler of brown liquid in his hand. Probably Scotch. His cardigan was pulled tight around his rotund belly. His ginger, curly hair was unruly, strikingly opposite to the pencil mustache on his face. Lady Apleby, always impeccably dressed, walked up to the group. She touched Fran on the shoulder.

  “So good of you to come,” she said, “you must be absolutely parched. What can I get you?”

  “A gin and tonic would be lovely. Let me help you.”

  The two ladies excused themselves and walked over to the serving station where the liquor and soda water were kept. Alys mixed Fran a gin and tonic.

  “Absent friends,” said Fran, clinking her glass with Alys.

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Alys.

  The ladies took a seat on a large sofa.

  “How are things, Alys? Any improvement since the war ended?”

  Alys shook her head sadly.

  “No, I’m afraid not, and Godfrey’s burning through what little savings we have. I fear we’ll be destitute before the decade’s out.”

  On the backside of the castle a young man walked into the kitchen. He had black wavy hair and long sideburns. He was wearing a blue jacket over gray slacks.

  Christine Crane looked up from preparing cucumber sandwiches for the guests. She dropped the butter knife that was in her hand and it clanged on the floor.

  “Mother,” said the young man.

  She put her hand to her mouth.

  “Is that really you, Raustin?”

  “Who else would it be?” the young man asked.

  On the side table by the stove, was a plate with a single sandwich. Raustin looked at it.

  “Why did you ignore all my letters? I’ve written you a dozen letters.”

  Christine picked up the fallen knife and took it to the sink where she cleaned it. Raustin reached over to the plate with the single sandwich cut in half. He took one half and took a bite of it. Christine looked over at him.

  “It’s not good for you to be here,” she said. “You could have me fired.”

  “Really? How could I have you fired.”

  She glanced down.

  “The lord doesn’t know about you. He doesn’t think I have children. It just won’t do if he found out.”

  The butler, Eustace, walked in.

  “Lady Apleby is asking about her sandwiches Christine,” he said.

  She looked at him as he came back to the table in the middle of the kitchen where she was preparing their sandwiches.

  “Yes, they’ll be right along,” she said.

  Eustace was about to turn around when he noticed someone walking past the hedge outside, headed towards the kitchen’s back entrance.

  “Looks like your no good ex-husband is returning. Do you want me to get rid of him,” he asked her.

  “No, I’ll deal with it,” she said.

  Eustace turned around and left the kitchen.

  “So you have time for your ex-husband but not for me?” asked Raustin.

  “I’m sorry, you’ll have to go, I just can’t deal with this now.”

  “You can’t deal with this now. I had to deal with being tossed aside by my own mother. I spent eighteen years in an orphanage. Do you know what hell that was?” he yelled.

  Christine was putting butter on the bread.

  “Please, keep your voice down. I’m sorry about that. I thought it would’ve been better for you. I was living on the streets then. For god’s sake, I was raped. I didn’t want to be reminded of that.”

  A middle aged man stumbled into the kitchen. His complexion was ruddy and his breath sweet. His nose was big and bulbous and his gray hair a messy nest.

  “Hello luv,” he said to Christine, “you look beautiful today.”

  “What do you want Harry?” she asked him.

  “Nothin’,” he said, pretending to be hurt by the accusation.

  Harry Mallowburne was Christine’s first husband and it ended quickly once she lost her last job. He spent all her money and when there was none left, he left.

  “I’ve told you, you’re not welcome here. You’ll get me fired like you did the last time,” she said to him.

  Raustin took another bite of the sandwich and placed the quarter back on the plate with its unbitten half brother.

  “I just need some walkin’ money,” said Harry. “Five pounds shouldn’ be too much to ask, is it luv’?”

  “Yes it is,” she said, “now, leave.”

  She pointed back the way he came with her butter knife.

  “I’ll even take a pound. Just one single pound,” he said.

  “I only make just over five pounds a week Harry, you should know that
. And I’m not about to give you one fifth of it. Now, bugger off.”

  “No need to talk so high ‘n mighty. I’ve seen you getting money from his lordship” he said through a hiccup.

  Raustin watched wearily as the two argued back and forth.

  “No, Harry, you’ll get no more from me. That’s none of your business anyway,” she said.

  “You’ll be sorry,” he said. “Take care that nothin’ bad happens, Chris. You been warned.”

  He was shaking his fist at her.

  “Here, have two shillings,” said Raustin, “but don’t be spending them on drink.”

  He put two shillings in Harry’s hand.

  “Much obliged to you good sir,” Harry said.

  “Now, get,” said Christine.

  He snarled at her and walked back out of the kitchen the way he had come. Raustin turned back to the plate with the sandwich. He stared at it for a while but he didn’t take another bite.

  “You, too,” said Christine. “You have to go too.”

  “You’re going to dismiss me just like that. You cow. You bloody cow!” he yelled.

  Christine was visibly shaken. Her eyes were misty.

  “I don’t want to see you again, Raustin, I’m sorry. I just can’t bear to. The memories are too much.”

  She dabbed her eyes with her apron hem. Raustin pushed a whole pile of plates onto the floor from the table she was working on. Several of them shattered and broke as they landed.

  “I hope you choke on your lunch,” he said. “You horrible cow.”

  He stormed out of there. Eustace came back in to see what the trouble was. He helped her sweep up the broken plates and put them in the dustbin.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, dabbing at her still wet eyes.

  “If you hadn’t been so offhanded with so many, me included, you might not be in the mess you find yourself in.”

  “Don’t you start. You’re too old for me. I told you that.”

  Eustace’s face contorted, his mouth puckered.

  “You know your son’s right.”

  “Right about what?” she asked.

  “You are a bloody cow,” he said. “Something bad will happen to you. Of that I’m certain. You can’t treat people so poorly.”

  He stormed off.

  Alys Apleby was wondering what on earth was taking her help so long to get the tea and sandwiches ready. She ushered everyone outside to enjoy the pleasant, if not fuzzy, sky and she went back to check in on Christine.

  Alys entered the kitchen to find Christine arguing with a young man. He had brown hair and he was dressed like a commoner. She inquired about the sandwiches and was assured they’d be out within a matter of minutes. As she left, she bumped into Eustace.

  “Excuse me my lady,” he said as he moved to the side.

  “Do me a favor, Eustace, make sure that Christine gets those damn sandwiches out to the guests in the back right away.”

  She huffed and sped off. She was visibly upset. She’d have to find new help if this kept up. She rejoined her guests outside. Lady Marmalade was talking to Lord Mountbatten and Lord Apleby. She joined them.

  “The Indian summers are quite something else,” said Mountbatten, “it’s a good thing that, being a military man, I’ve been acclimatized to some of the hottest climates around. Still, my wife is not going to like it.”

  Godfrey chuckled.

  “Dare say I wouldn’t like it either,” said Godfrey.

  “Sounds terribly uncomfortable,” said Fran, “I can’t imagine how people live with that oppressive heat.”

  “Tea,” said Mountbatten. “It’s a strange thing, but the Indians swear by drinking hot tea. They say it helps them cool off in the summer heat.”

  “Really?” asked Alys.

  “Oh yes,” said Mountbatten. “It’s quite odd but it works. I’ve found the same thing myself. A cup of hot tea in the afternoon shade and you soon feel as fit as a fiddle.”

  “Speaking of tea, I think we could die of thirst,” said Godfrey.

  Alys looked at him sternly.

  “I’ve already spoken to them,” she said under her voice.

  “Well, I’m going to find out for myself what’s taking so long. Excuse me.”

  Godfrey left and walked around back before entering the kitchen. He was passed by a young man he hadn’t seen before. When he got into the kitchen, Christine was finishing up the sandwiches and steeping the tea.

  “Good heaven’s girl, what’s taking you so long?” he asked.

  “Sorry, my lord, I’ve had some unexpected visitors. It won’t happen again.”

  “Better not. We have very hungry and thirsty guests out there and I’m not paying you to visit with your friends when you’re working for me.”

  Christine looked down.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “If the tea is not out there in three minutes you’ll have to find yourself a new job.”

  He watched her make the rest of the sandwiches and she put another one on her plate at the side table. Godfrey left and rejoined his guests out on the lawn.

  “Won’t be long now,” he said. “She’s just finishing up.”

  He smiled thinly.

  “Hard to find good help ever since the war stopped,” he said. “Seems a lot of the young ladies are still a bit shell shocked.”

  Mountbatten had a good laugh at that. Fran thought he might find better help if he paid better. Or perhaps paid on time more regularly. But she wouldn’t say that in polite company. She feigned a smile.

  “What a wonderful day it is. Not too hot, not too sunny. Just perfect.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Alys.

  She looked over towards the back of the house. Christine was rounding the corner with a large tray of sandwiches. She stood up straight, seeing them watching her, and brought them over to the table. She lay them down on the table cloth.

  “I’ll be right back with the tea, my lady,” she said to Alys.

  Alys nodded as Christine headed back into the house. She reappeared just a few moments later with another big tray holding a large silver tea pot, matching jugs of cream, a bowl of sugar, and eight tea cups. She placed it on the table, then put her hand to her forehead and wiped it.

  “That’ll be all, thank you,” said Alys, not looking up from pouring tea for her guests.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Christine as she left again towards the house.

  Fran saw her stumble a moment before rounding the corner to make it back in to the kitchen. She thought the young lady looked a bit peaked.

  “Sugar and cream?” asked Alys, looking at Fran.

  “What, oh yes, please. A big splash of cream and three sugars will do just lovely.”

  Alys poured and stirred the sugars in before passing the tea over to Fran. Fran took a seat in a chair that was in the shade of a large canopy. She was feeling hot, wearing her cardigan on this late summer day. She sipped her tea and smiled.

  Alys poured tea for her other guests and offered it around. They all took a seat under the canopy and Alys came around again with the sandwiches.

  “Not for me, thank you, dear,” Fran said to Alys as she was offered one.

  “You know, I heard about that murder of the vicar that you solved a few months back. How extraordinary,” said Godfrey.

  “Do tell,” said Mountbatten. Fran was seated between the two men.

  “Nothing really to tell,” said Fran. “People misbehaving. It’s quite simple, really. There is usually a good reason for murder.”

  “She’s being modest,” said Godfrey. “The vicar was murdered by a parishioner. Quite the scandal it turned out to be. This parishioner, this woman, was having an affair with the vicar and his wife found out. Wouldn’t stand for it. So he had to end it. Poor woman was absolutely mortified and destroyed. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, you know.”

  Godfrey took a big bite of his sandwich. Something to help maintain his robust figure with.


  “You don’t say?” inquired Mountbatten.

  “Tell him,” said Godfrey to Fran through a mouthful of cucumber sandwich.

  “Quite true. Though it wasn’t just the poor girl’s fault. The vicar should share some of the blame. Not that I absolve her of his murder, but honestly, what is a man of the cloth doing having an affair?”

  “Quite,” said Mountbatten, sipping on tea. “I wonder what the world is coming to.”

  They sat under the canopy talking about the effects of the war and the general poor state that the country was in. Many gentry and nobility had felt the tightening of the purse strings since the end of the war and Godfrey Apleby was amongst the biggest losers, though he refused to accept or speak of it.

  Fran Marmalade was enjoying her second cup of tea, listening to some birds chirping in the trees close by during a lull of conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught some action. She looked towards the castle to find Eustace running towards them. Running, at least insofar as a man of his advanced age was capable of.

  “My lady,” he said, leaning on his knees gasping for breath.

  “What is it?” asked Godfrey getting up from his chair. Lord Mountbatten, Lady Apleby and Lady Marmalade all gathered round Eustace.

  “It’s... it’s Christine, she can’t breathe,” Eustace said.

  Mountbatten took off like a sprinter towards the house. Godfrey was behind him jogging liking a swaying bowling pin with the ladies bringing up the rear. They made their way up around the back of the house. Fran stopped to pick up something that was glinting blue in the hazy day. It was in the bushes as if it had been tossed aside.

  Inside, Christine was on her back with arms and legs akimbo. Her eyes were open and glassy. Her complexion, rosy. Mountbatten bent down on one leg and put his cheek to her nose. He checked her pulse on her wrist. He shook his head slowly.

  “I’m afraid she’s dead,” he said.

  “Good God, are you sure?” asked Godfrey.

  “Yes, quite sure.”

  “Ring for the police Eustace,” said Fran.