Murder at a London Finishing School

Book 7: Beryl and Edwina Mystery

by Jessica Ellicott

Genres: Mystery; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths; Historical Mysteries

Synopsis

Long before American adventuress Beryl Helliwell and prim and proper Brit Edwina Davenport teamed up as enquiry agents to solve mysteries, they attempted to unravel the mysteries of deportment and elocution. Now it’s back to school for the sleuths when murder strikes at their alma mater …
Neither Beryl nor Edwina are the least bit interested in attending events at their alma mater, Miss Dupont’s Finishing School for Young Ladies. Their lives are very full indeed in the village of Walmsley Parva. However, when a letter arrives from Miss Dupont herself requesting their help in a professional capacity, they
reluctantly pack their bags for London.
Upon arrival, they learn from Miss Dupont that her business has seen a steep decline since the days before World War I and that now she is concerned a saboteur is attempting to damage the school’s reputation. Students have reported items missing, damaged possessions, and strange noises in the night. Some of the
girls even insist ghostly forces are at play.
Then a former classmate of theirs and mother of a prospective student is found dead on the school grounds. The roll call of suspects is long, and if Beryl and Edwina are to have a ghost of a chance of solving the murder, they can’t rule out the possibility that Miss Dupont herself may have finished off the victim …

Release date: July 25, 2023

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

The day was just exactly the sort Edwina Davenport most loved. The air was fresh and a rose-scented breeze floated in through a pair of windows opened onto the back garden. She had nothing marked down in her diary for the day and had decided to allow herself the pleasure of a few hours spent working on her novel.

When she had last left her cowboy hero, he had just been bitten by a rattlesnake slipped into his saddlebag by his archnemesis, the leader of an outlaw gang, and she itched to extricate him from his difficulties. As she considered the most thrilling ways she might do so, a discreet knock landed on the office door. Beddoes, her perfect paragon of a housekeeper, entered bearing a thick stack of envelopes and placed it on the edge of the desk, withdrawing without a word.

Edwina tried to turn her attention to her typewriter once more but try as she might, the top envelope would not be ignored. The crest on the letterhead was exactly as it had been all those years ago when the first missive had arrived from Miss DuPont’s Finishing School for Young Ladies, addressed to her mother. Unable to resist, she plucked the letter from the stack and neatly slit open the envelope.

She read through the letter carefully. It was an invitation to the prospective students’ week. She heaved an assuredly unladylike sigh of relief. Neither she nor Beryl had a daughter in need of finishing. Neither had any children at all. While Edwina often felt this misfortune acutely, it was an undeniably legitimate reason to decline the invitation. She would not even have to broach what would surely be an unwelcome topic with Beryl.

She reached for the envelope once more with the intention of tucking the letter back inside, when she noticed it was heavier than it ought to be if it were empty. She tipped it up and a half-sheet of thick, creamy stationery slid onto her desk blotter. She picked it up and recognized the firm and beautiful handwriting of Miss DuPont herself.

Edwina felt her relief slink away like a dog who has been caught with his mistress’s carpet slipper in his mouth. There was no way she could avoid discussing it with Beryl now. A shiver of worry slipped between her shoulder blades.

Miss DuPont was not the sort to ask for favors of any kind. Nor was she one inclined to baseless drama. If she had penned this note, the matter was one of real urgency. The only thing that would have shocked her more would have been if the elderly lady had made the request by telephone, a practice that even to Edwina’s far younger mind was tinged with vulgarity.

She was still deciding whether it would be best to break the news to Beryl by preparing one of her favorite meals and suggesting a round of her dear friend’s favored American-style cocktails or if she ought to simply come out with it, when the object of her pondering appeared in the doorway.

“I’m not disturbing you in the middle of something, am I?” she asked, not waiting for an answer before entering the room and dropping into a chair opposite the desk from Edwina. That settled it. She might as well get it over with.

“No indeed. I was just attending to my correspondence,” Edwina said.

“Anything interesting?” Beryl asked.

“As a matter of fact, we have received a joint invitation that I am inclined to accept.”

“Has Charles finally decided to host us for bridge at his place rather than leaving it to you to proffer an invitation?” Beryl asked, leaning forward and winking extravagantly.

Beryl had somehow become convinced that the local solicitor, Charles Jarvis, not-so-secretly pined for Edwina. Until very recently she would have vehemently disagreed. If only she could congratulate Beryl on her guess. She shook her head.

“As pleasant as that surely would be, I am afraid not. The invitation comes from further afield. Just outside London, in fact.” Edwina held her breath and fixed her gaze on Beryl’s face, wondering if her friend would start to put the puzzle together.

“London! I adore London. But you are rarely keen to pry yourself away from Walmsley Parva. What on earth could have tempted you? We haven’t been asked to attend the opening of some high-end millinery shop, have we?”

Edwina allowed herself a thought as to how much she would love to attend the opening of a new hat shop. There was little she loved more than the careful consideration of a new piece of headwear, especially if she was doing so by trying on a myriad of them. With another unladylike sigh, she shook her head.

“As you so often prefer to go about bareheaded, I cannot see encouraging you to make the trip to London for something in that line,” Edwina said. “We have received an invitation to pay a visit to Miss DuPont’s.”

Edwina paused and waited for her words to sink in. Beryl’s mouth popped open in a perfect “O” of surprise. Then, her mouth snapped shut and the corners of her lips lifted in a smile.

“It must be a clerical error. Miss DuPont is far too well connected to not be well aware that neither of us has a daughter who requires finishing. And she has the good sense to realize that even if I did, I would be the last woman on earth to hold with such an old-fashioned practice.”

Edwina truly hated to be the bearer of bad news and to be responsible for returning that look of dread to Beryl’s face, but there was simply nothing else to be done.

“She wishes to hire us for a job, and one to be attended to discreetly at that, which is why she is inviting us to come to her at the school claiming to be there to evaluate the school for a goddaughter or a young cousin.”

“A job? You mean to say she requires a private enquiry of some sort?”

Edwina slid the letter across the desk and Beryl eyed it for a moment before condescending to pick it up and read it for herself. She did so with her usual speed and dropped the half sheet back on the desk as though it were a live electrical wire.

“Surely there are plenty of agencies in London she could hire rather than ask us to make such a trek.”

“Have you ever known Miss DuPont to make a request that she did not think the very best option?”

“Historically she was very exacting in her standards,” Beryl said, her usually rosy complexion blanching at what Edwina guessed was the memory of Miss DuPont’s critical evaluations. In her mind’s eye Edwina could see Miss DuPont leaning over Beryl’s shoulder and tut-tutting at her young charge’s clumsy attempts at embroidering a handkerchief.

“I expect that is why she has requested us. She believes we are the exact right agency for the job.”

“But, Ed, can’t you go without me? You know how much I have been looking forward to my getaway,” Beryl said.

Indeed, Edwina did know. After all, Beryl had made more mention of her plans to spend the next few days at a nearby hotel complete with golf course, in the company of a man she referred to as her favorite Viking, than Edwina preferred to hear. Edwina had heard her friend moving about her bedroom, humming to herself far earlier than was her habit. She had even already loaded her valise into the boot of her motorcar and planned to set out directly after lunch.

“I know that it matters a great deal to you, but I cannot see how we can refuse. In fact, I think it best if we leave today.”

“Maybe it is some sort of a hoax. The idea that Miss DuPont is in any actual difficulty simply boggles the mind.” Beryl widened her eyes at Edwina in much the same way her small dog Crumpet did when he wished to communicate the desire for a tasty morsel from the tea tray.

Edwina was no more likely to fall for such nonsense from her human companion than she was from her canine one. In her opinion, begging could simply not be rewarded no matter how pitiful the beggar. Besides, Beryl ceaselessly admonished and cajoled her into setting her entirely reasonable fears aside in order to tackle new challenges and to have new adventures. Turnabout was fair play.

“You put your finger on the heart of the matter precisely. To imagine Miss DuPont is so worried about something that she is compelled to contact private enquiry agents, is almost inconceivable. Which is why I feel we must accept the invitation and why you surely could not expect me to attend to this matter on my own. If it is a problem beyond Miss DuPont’s abilities, it will absolutely require the both of us.”

Edwina kept her eyes focused on Beryl’s face. She watched as a range of emotions, from fear to irritation to resignation flit across it with hummingbird-like speed. Then, Beryl shrugged her shoulders back down away from her ears and gave the briefest of nods.

“Since you put it that way, I suppose the Viking will have to wait.”

“That’s the spirit,” Edwina said as Beryl hoisted herself from her chair and headed for the door.

Beryl paused at the threshold. “That said, I did cheer myself up on occasion behind enemy lines, reminding myself that at least I wasn’t still at finishing school. I suggest you start your own packing as I am already packed. If we leave fairly soon, we can be there in time for tea.”

Edwina’s stomach clenched. “I consulted the timetable and then next train isn’t until late this afternoon. The earliest we could possibly arrive would be in time for dinner,” she said.

“If you will insist upon me canceling my well-deserved and long overdue romantic getaway, that’s one thing, but I refuse to miss out on taking the old bus out for a good long ramble. It’s been simply ages since she has had a real run out on the open road.” Beryl drew herself up to her full height and tapped her foot impatiently on the polished wood floor.

“You don’t mean to say you wish to drive us,” Edwina said.

“Those are my terms. If you want me to accompany you, I insist that I be allowed to drive,” Beryl said. Edwina appeared to hesitate on the knife-edge of a decision. After a few heartbeats she bobbed her head in acquiescence.

Edwina ran through a mental list of all that she would need to make ready in order to leave with confidence. “I shall be ready in two hours’ time at most.”

“Whatever do you need so much time for? You aren’t planning to torture yourself about the packing, are you?” Beryl asked.

“Not everyone is as blasé about throwing a few items haphazardly into a rucksack and calling it good. Besides, I need to take Crumpet for a walk and consult with Beddoes about running the household whilst we are away. Unless you would like to speak with her?” Edwina asked, knowing full well what the answer would be. Beryl had learned to leave any necessary communication with their most excellent housekeeper to her.

“I would not think of interfering. Besides, I must telephone to my Viking to let him know that I am obligated to cancel our getaway.”

“While you’re at it, would you please place a call to the school to tell Miss DuPont to expect us, that is if we manage to make it there alive.”

Edwina chided herself for ever having doubted that Beryl would be willing to cancel her plans in order to accompany her to Miss DuPont’s. Although her friend had enthused almost constantly about her upcoming visit with Ralph ever since he had telephoned her with an invitation two days prior, she could not imagine Beryl leaving her to handle a case all on her own, especially not one that took her to London. Well, the outskirts of it at least.

For one thing, Beryl absolutely adored the verve of city life. She positively thrived on it. But for another, she was well aware that Edwina most assuredly did not. The noise, the smells and the endless crush of strangers made Edwina’s skin feel clammy just thinking of it. She had somehow managed to survive her time at Miss DuPont’s in her youth but had not felt particularly desirous of returning to London, or any other city for that matter. She thought of her roses once more and her heart sank.

Still, she was a professional working woman now, and as such, sacrifices would need to be made. While she had not considered that their cases might take them farther afield than the outskirts of her beloved Walmsley Parva, she realized with a slight thrill that although she thought of herself as a resolute homebody, the notion of becoming a successful enough private investigator to be called out on cases as far away as London provided her a shiver of delight. And to think, Miss DuPont was the first such far-off client to request them. There was something truly remarkable about the idea of her conservative and respectable headmistress esteeming them this way. Not everyone was modern enough in their views to consider that women could perform as private enquiry agents, and Edwina was somewhat surprised to consider that Miss DuPont might be amongst them.

She tugged her thoughts back to the task at hand. While Beryl was incredibly adept at tossing a few things into a bag and feeling confident that she would find herself suitably attired for any and all occasions, Edwina despaired of ever developing such a skill. She invariably over-packed and ended up feeling as though she planned to move in permanently to any location where she merely intended to spend the night. Perhaps it was one of the reasons she did not particularly care to travel.

Surely there must be a system that would allow her to select the appropriate number of garments, shoes, and unmentionables for a set number of days. Her mind drifted off again as she thought of how such a handy guide for ladies might become a best-selling book, especially at train stations. Her stomach gave a lurch once more as she imagined what she was sure would prove a harrowing journey between Walmsley Parva and London. How she longed for the comfort of even a second-class coach on the train. But, she supposed, if Beryl could be a good sport about missing her golfing getaway, Edwina could make the best of a trip in the motorcar.

She resolved to take a knitting project with her in order to give her hands something better to do than to clutch at the dashboard in front of her. With a sigh she flung open the wardrobe door and peered inside. Crumpet nervously shadowed her every step as she placed armloads of clothing onto the bed. She wished there was some way he could accompany her to London, but did not think that would be for the best.

Within a mere fifteen minutes’ time she had packed and unpacked then packed the suitcase once again, absolutely certain she would arrive at Miss DuPont’s with nothing whatsoever to wear. Just as she was about to despair, her stomach tied in a queasy knot; she heard the stomping of Simpkins’s boots passing along the upstairs hallway. She turned to see him framed in her doorway, a look of concern on his face.

“What’s this I hear about you heading up to the city?” Simpkins asked.

Although Simpkins had recently come into a large fortune as the sole proprietor of Colonel Kimberly’s Condiment Company, headquartered in London, he had not yet come to feel entirely comfortable with the role or with the place. In fact, Edwina had a hard time imagining him with his gardener’s boots and slow gait keeping pace with city folk as they rushed through the streets past towering buildings.

“You’ve spoken with Beryl, I see,” she said.

“Indeed, I have. I assume this must be for a case; otherwise I can’t imagine you leaving the Beeches just as your roses are coming into their last flush of bloom for the season,” he said.

Edwina felt a lump forming in her throat. For as much as Simpkins could be set in his ways and inclined to contradict her about almost anything under the sun, she was touched by how well he knew her. No one else shared her passion for the grounds at the Beeches like Simpkins did.

He had invested considerable quantities of his own recently acquired fortune into renovating the gardens throughout the property and bringing them back to the condition they had enjoyed before Edwina’s own finances had taken such a turn for the worse. It was just like him to realize how much she had been looking forward to those last glorious days of scent and bloom the garden put forth as a final display of glory, before the cool weather laid branches bare and the landscape dreary for months on end.

“The trip is for a case, and one I’m afraid we cannot refuse. Both Beryl and I wish the timing were different, but alas, these things happen sometimes. You shall have to enjoy the roses enough for the both of us and hope that we are able to wrap up the case with sufficient speed that I may return before they are finished blooming.”

“If you can wrap it up in only a few days, that should leave you at least a bit of time to get back and enjoy them. What do you plan to do with Crumpet?” Simpkins nodded toward the little dog, who looked up at the sound of his name.

“I was meaning to seek you out and speak to you about him. I hardly think it professional to take him along on a case, and I can’t imagine he would enjoy being subjected to the ravages of Beryl’s driving any more than I. Would you be willing to keep a close eye on him while I’m gone? Beddoes is excellent at her duties, but I don’t think she considers dog sitting to be amongst them,” Edwina said.

“The poor little fellow and I will cheer each other up while you’re gone. I’ll make sure he gets out for a ramble now and again and I’ll see to it that he manages to eat something from time to time. You know how he pines whenever you’re away,” Simpkins said, shaking his head dolefully as he bent down and scratched the dog behind his right ear.

As if Edwina did not feel guilty enough about missing out on the last of the roses, she felt absolutely heartsick at the notion of leaving poor Crumpet behind. Simpkins was right to say that the little terrier did poorly in her absence. Generally speaking, he lay down in front of the hall tree where she kept her collection of hats and refused to budge until her return. When she had been away for a few days at a nearby country house on a case weeks before, he had only been persuaded to leave his spot long enough to take a few sips from his water bowl.

She felt a sudden surge of gratitude for Simpkins and his willingness to tend out on her little dog. If she were the demonstrative sort, she was sure she would be tempted to throw her arms about him in a grateful embrace. As she was not, she simply nodded and turned back to the piles strewn across the surface of the bed. The sooner she left, the sooner she would return.

She felt a knot gathering at the base of her skull and forced her shoulders to draw back down from around her ears. There was no way she could manage the task of packing, not even in a vulgarly overblown way, until she cleared her head. She needed a walk. And if she were to be London-bound, the least she could do was to take her dear little terrier out for an extra-long romp.

She patted Simpkins on his boney shoulder and made her way out to the landing at the top of the stairs. She whistled for Crumpet as she descended, and found him awaiting her as she reached the bottom step, his tail thumping against the carpet with anticipation. Despite her downturned mood, she spared a thought for the devoted ministrations of her new housekeeper, Beddoes.

The paragon of domesticity had arrived some weeks ago at Simpkins’s behest and had promptly set about giving the entire house a thorough bottoming out. In the few years between her mother’s death and Beddoes’s arrival, Edwina could not have truthfully said she had ever taken the carpets out to a line strung between a pair of the property’s eponymous beeches. Crumpet’s tail had done the majority of any beatings the carpets had received in those bleak days.

She plucked her third-best hat and Crumpet’s lead from the hall tree. She gave his ears an affectionate rub as she clipped it to his collar before tugging her hat onto her head. She stepped out into the sunshine and made for the shady lane beyond the drive. She turned left and meandered in the direction of the open fields on the outskirts of the village. She was in no mood for company, besides Crumpet’s.

The September sun was warm on her head, even through the protection of her hat, and she thought of how glorious the gardens at Miss DuPont’s had been at this time of the year when she was a girl. She would be delighted to see them once again; that is, if she managed to arrive in the outskirts of London in one piece and with her wits intact.

Many things had changed since Beryl had arrived the previous autumn. Edwina was no longer beset by loneliness, she had secured a place for herself in the world as a working woman, she had bobbed her hair. But one thing she had not done was to become an enthusiast of motorcars, particularly those driven by Beryl. While her friend had a generous store of fine qualities, an apparent value of her own life, or those of her passengers, when finding herself behind a steering wheel was not one of them.

Edwina vastly preferred to travel by train. It was safe, it was civilized, and it arrived where it promised vaguely on time with no unexpected detours for interesting side roads or because of tire punctures. Unlike so many of her trips with Beryl, great clouds of smoke were a sign of things functioning properly when on a train, not a harbinger of hours spent sidelined on a grassy verge whilst her friend yanked on hoses and muttered darkly under her breath. Still, if Beryl had condescended to join her at Miss DuPont’s despite her qualms, the least she could do was to bear the mode of travel with good grace.

Up ahead she spotted a dense patch of shade spreading beneath a towering oak. It was the perfect place to rest for a moment and she urged Crumpet to leave off his sniffing and to trot along. As she leaned against the trunk of the sturdy tree, she took in the view of the sweeping pasture in front of her that rolled down toward the bank of the river.

She held a small hand over her eyes as she caught sight of a tall, trim figure making his way along the river’s edge, some sort of box tucked under his arm. The figure stopped abruptly and knelt to fiddle with the box. With a few deft maneuvers of his hands, the box unfolded and transformed into an easel. Crumpet tugged determinedly on his lead. She quickened her pace at his urging and hurried forward to greet her dear friend Charles Jarvis.

While Charles wa. . .