Murder at Wedgefield Manor

Book 2: Jane Wunderly Mystery

by Erica Ruth Neubauer

Genres: Historical Mysteries; Private Investigators

Synopsis

In the wake of World War I, Jane Wunderly—a thoroughly modern young American widow—is traveling abroad, enjoying the hospitality of an English lord and a perfectly proper manor house, until murder makes an unwelcome appearance . . .

England, 1926: Wedgefield Manor, deep in the tranquil Essex countryside, provides a welcome rest stop for Jane and her matchmaking Aunt Millie before their return to America. While Millie spends time with her long-lost daughter, Lillian, and their host, Lord Hughes, Jane fills the hours devouring mystery novels and taking flying lessons—much to Millie's disapproval. But any danger in the air is eclipsed by tragedy on the ground when one of the estate's mechanics, Air Force veteran Simon Marshall, is killed in a motorcar collision.

The sliced brake cables prove this was no accident, yet was the intended victim someone other than Simon? The house is full of suspects—visiting relations, secretive servants, strangers prowling the grounds at night—and also full of targets. The enigmatic Mr. Redvers, who helped Jane solve a murder in Egypt, arrives on the scene to once more offer his assistance. It seems that everyone at Wedgefield wants Jane to help protect the Hughes family. But while she searches for answers, is she overlooking a killer hiding in plain sight?

Release date: March 30, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 308

Sample

England, 1926

One wheel of the biplane slammed into the ground, the wings tipping precariously, before the second wheel made contact and the little plane righted itself, hustling along the soft dirt track before coming to an untidy stop. The engine roared, the propeller a blur before my eyes.

My heartbeat evened back out as well. I had thought for sure we would crash.

“Not bad for your first landing!” I heard the shout as I turned in the seat to look at the man seated behind me. “Do you want to go again?”

I felt a grin split my face. Yes. I wanted nothing more than to go again.

“Push the throttle in just like I showed you. Steer with the pedals. Let’s go!”

I pushed the de Havilland forward, steering awkwardly with the pedals beneath my feet, the plane twisting too far to the right before I got the hang of them. I turned the aircraft around and started in the opposite direction down the track, this time with a light wind at our backs. My body was tense until the plane lifted into the air and sailed over the tree line. Even then it was difficult to fully relax, despite knowing the instructor had a matching set of controls at his seat and would take over if we found ourselves in serious trouble.

It felt as though an angel’s breath could blow us either up or down—and the few scudding clouds below us wouldn’t do anything to soften our fall. But soaring above the English countryside, rolling green hills dotted with grazing sheep, leaves turning gold and orange, I felt every care slip away. My heart filled to bursting with a sense of freedom, of open air and endless possibilities. After too short a time, I brought the plane back around to Lord Hughes’s estate and lined up with the dirt track running along the edge of his property.

This time the landing went much more smoothly, both wheels gently kissing the ground together before rolling us to a stop. A small group had gathered in the adjoining green space, awaiting our return.

“Much better! That was nearly perfect.” Group Captain Christopher Hammond pushed his goggles back as the engine stopped, revealing his twinkling brown eyes. He hoisted himself out of the back seat as I pushed my own goggles back onto the leather helmet strapped firmly to my head. I couldn’t help the smile that refused to leave my face.

Until I saw the look on my aunt Millie’s.

“I don’t know why you insist on taking these lessons, Jane.” Millie’s voice carried across the distance. She flatly refused to come anywhere near the shiny yellow biplane, as though mere proximity might catch her up and carry her into the sky. “It’s incredibly dangerous. And if you crash and die, how will I explain it to your father?” I nearly asked if having to give an explanation would truly be the worst part of my dying in a plane crash, but held my tongue instead.

“It’s perfectly safe.” Group Captain Hammond offered me a hand and helped me dismount from the front seat as I gingerly stepped onto the lower wing and then alighted onto the ground. “The Moth has an excellent safety record.” Hammond winked at me before turning toward where Millie stood, arms crossed and scowl affixed.

“Hrmmph.”

Lord Edward Hughes, the owner of the estate we stood on, patted Millie’s arm before coming forward to shake the group captain’s hand. “Good show, Hammond. Do you need help stowing it?” Lord Hughes was still a handsome man, despite being a few years senior to my aunt Millie. His gray hair was thick, and he was tall and lean like his daughter Lillian, his love of the outdoors and sports giving him an air of ruddy good health. Lord Hughes’s small white dog leaped around in circles before chasing over and flinging itself at Hammond’s legs. He bent down and gave the creature a scratch behind the ears before finding a small stick to toss. Rascal took off after it, tongue flapping in the breeze.

“No, Your Lordship. I’ll just roll it into the barn for now. We’ll probably need to refuel before we take her back up. Did you still want to go this afternoon?” Hughes nodded enthusiastically as the gentlemen walked around the aircraft, discussing logistics and the little plane. Lord Hughes and the group captain were long-standing acquaintances, and Hughes had invited the experienced flight instructor out to his estate for an exchange of sorts—Hammond would get an extended vacation in the country and Hughes would pay for flight lessons.

I removed my leather helmet and shook my auburn bob back out. It was almost a disappointment to be back on solid ground. I turned from the men and met Millie’s continuing glare with a smile. There was no way to explain to my aunt how soaring in the sky was the precise opposite of the claustrophobia that had plagued me since my marriage. Much like there was no way for me to explain to her how terrible my marriage had been.

“Shall we head back to the house?” Millie turned on her heel without answering and I trotted to catch up with her.

I could see my breath in the crisp morning air. For once, England favored us with pure blue skies, and the bright sunshine cut through the chill. Millie and I traveled the well-worn path between the house and the barn that housed several cars as well as the airplane I’d just landed—Lord Hughes had the Moth on an extended loan from one of the Royal Aero Clubs. Beside the makeshift garage sat the stables, which now housed only two horses, the rest of the herd having been sold off years ago.

We approached the manor house, a large gray stone building with a portico and white marble columns gracing the front entrance. It was a large and utterly imposing home, especially compared to the compact brick houses I was used to back in Boston. Coming from the rear of the building, Millie and I let ourselves into a small entrance off the kitchen where there was an area to leave our long wool coats and scarves. I sat on a bench and pulled off the heavy boots that I borrowed from Lillian, as well as the thick wool socks, and changed back into my own flats. By the time I had finished, Millie had already disappeared down the hall. I decided to leave her to her mood instead of following her.

I poked my head into the warm kitchen where the smell of freshly baked bread scented the air. The large room had obviously once supported a much larger household and staff, but now was the sole domain of Martha Fedec. Lord Hughes had updated a few items to make Martha’s work easier, including the plumbing system. A state-of-the-art stove stood to one side, the large stone fireplace gracing one wall now largely unused, and the racks of pots and pans hanging above the scarred wooden table shone with their newness.

Martha looked up from her large pot bubbling on the stove and glanced at me. “In or out, Miss Jane. Doorposts are the devil, you know.” I didn’t know, but did as she said and stepped fully into the room.

“Smells delicious in here, Martha.”

Now Martha beamed at me, red curls peeking out from beneath her sensible white cap. She was tall and thin, the opposite of what you would expect of such an excellent cook. Flour dusted the apron that covered her gray dress and was smeared across one pale cheek. She had been running Lord Hughes’s household for years, and her clear skin and brisk manner made it impossible to tell if the woman was thirty-five or fifty. Or anywhere in between. And her vague accent—as well as her affinity for hearty stews—made me wonder where she originally hailed from.

“You will have some for dinner. Along with red stew. But for now, there is still some food laid out in the breakfast room if you’re hungry.” I smiled and thanked her, leaving her to work in peace.

Since our escapades in Egypt, including Millie’s near-miss with death, my aunt decided that she wanted to spend time in England with her daughter, Lillian, instead of returning home to America as we originally planned. I was happy enough to go along with the change of plan, wanting to better acquaint myself with my newfound cousin, and so we found ourselves at Lord Hughes’s estate in the countryside of Essex. It was a quiet life, unless of course you were interested in golf. Lord Hughes had set up a detailed course on the sprawling grounds for Lillian to practice on, and the girl spent the majority of her waking hours doing just that. Lillian’s enthusiasm for the sport knew no bounds, and when the weather was poor she needed another way to use her clubs—thus the putting setup in what used to be the great hall.

I had no interest in the sport. Or any sport, really.

Days at the Hughes estate, fondly called Wedgefield by the family, had come to look much the same for me, a far cry from the danger and excitement of our trip to Egypt. The quiet had initially been something of a relief, but that had quickly passed only to be replaced by a restless energy I couldn’t seem to shake. Luckily, Group Captain Hammond was on hand to teach me to fly—we went up every morning, weather permitting. In the two weeks since our arrival I had already logged twenty hours and felt fairly confident in my takeoffs. I hoped before long the landings would feel just as natural.

Afternoons found me either walking the grounds or curled up in Hughes’s comfortable library with a good book. Lord Hughes had an excellent selection of current novels, and I was able to find a few murder mysteries to while away the time I spent on the ground. Even solving a real-life murder hadn’t dampened my enthusiasm for the genre.

My mind wandered to that recent mystery and my partner in solving it, and I quickly pushed the thought away. It wasn’t any concern of mine what Redvers was up to, or even where he was in the world. I hadn’t heard anything from him since my arrival in England, nor did I expect to. With a firm shake of my head, I took myself to the breakfast room for a post-flight snack.

The afternoon passed lazily, and following a pleasant dinner that night, our party moved into the drawing room. A fire had been lit and it chased away the slight chill that had descended when the sun dropped behind the hills. Lillian and her friend Marie immediately moved over to the new radio and began fiddling with the dials.

“Aunt Millie, would you care to start a game of mah-jongg?” I moved over to the table near the fire where the game was already set up.

“Only if Lord Hughes agrees to join us.” Millie flashed a rare smile at him, and he smiled in return. It was moments like these when I wondered if what had transpired years earlier between Millie and Lord Hughes was being rekindled. It still stunned me that my short, plump aunt with her sharp tongue had engaged in an affair—resulting in Lillian—with the pleasant aristocrat before us.

I grimaced. Best not to contemplate the issue too much.

“Of course.” Lord Hughes turned. “Group Captain Hammond, will you make our fourth?”

“Delighted.”

We sat down to play, and my aunt Millie began shuffling the tiles, “the twittering of the sparrows” as they called it. As she dealt the tiles to each of us, Flight Lieutenant Simon Marshall strolled into the room and joined Lillian and Marie. The girls were picking through a large stack of records near the gramophone, the radio having been abandoned when nothing caught their fancy. Lillian greeted Simon cheerfully and immediately began passing him records to help sort through. The young man’s clothes were neat, a button-down shirt with the shirtsleeves rolled up, and a pair of stylish brown suspenders attached to his often-mended tweed trousers. He was just one of several veterans that Lord Hughes employed on the estate. From what I understood, Simon took care of the cars and anything mechanical, having served as an aircraft mechanic during the war before being field promoted to flight lieutenant. I hadn’t spent much time with the young man, but he seemed indispensable to the family.

Lord Hughes took his turn at the tiles as the girls put on a jazz record from the Kit-Cat Club. Simon pushed several upholstered armchairs to the side of the room, and took turns swinging each of the girls into a frenzied Charleston, although it was obvious to anyone that Simon preferred Lillian. I watched the trio from the corner of my eye, and I could see that Marie had noticed Simon’s special attention to Lillian as well; as Marie watched them dance, her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed before her chest. But Simon’s good humor and easy grace on the dance floor were hard to resist, and when it was Marie’s turn to take a spin around the floor, Simon quickly had her smiling again.

“Pung!” Millie crowed. With her first hand, she already had a run of three tiles—the five of circles. I returned my attention to the game.

Play went around the table, and as Lord Hughes studied his hand of tiles before him, Millie turned her attention to Hammond.

“So, Group Captain Hammond. You served as a pilot during the war?” I wondered where Millie was going with this line of questioning.

“I did.” Hammond shifted in his chair. I knew he was uncomfortable discussing his time in the war, as many veterans were.

“And you never married?”

I rolled my eyes. Her machinations to see me remarried were never subtle.

“I was, but we divorced after the war.” Hammond’s voice was even and he regarded Millie with a polite smile.

I almost laughed at the pained expression on Millie’s face. The group captain’s declaration brought her interrogation to an abrupt end, as I’m sure he knew it would—Millie could never sanction my marrying a divorcé.

Millie focused on her tiles, and Hammond stood. “Drinks, anyone?”

“I’d love one.” I gave Hammond an apologetic smile. “A gin rickey if you would.” The group captain gave me a wink and excused himself to the well-stocked bar cart where he was quickly joined by Lord Hughes. Hammond was easygoing and hard to ruffle—as I well knew from spending time in the air with him. I didn’t think Millie’s question had truly bothered him, but I was still chagrined at her clumsy attempt to set me up. Again. Millie refused to accept that I wasn’t interested in a second marriage and was quite happy with my hard-won freedom. And while the group captain was attractive—with brown hair and even, pleasant features, he was also the same height as I was. In fact, back to back I might have stood an inch taller.

And there was the matter of a tall, devastatingly handsome man whose memory lurked in the back of my mind. Even though I batted any thoughts of him away as quickly as they came.

Hammond returned with my gin rickey and a tall boozy concoction for himself. Lord Hughes regained his seat carrying a whiskey highball for Millie and a snifter of Scotch. Knowing Lord Hughes, it was an expensive single malt aged for decades in some fancy barrel. He was a simple, down-to-earth man, but he appreciated fine liquor.

In that respect, he and Millie had much in common.

With the pause in the game, Millie had turned her attention to the young people dancing madly on the other side of the room. She watched as Simon spun Lillian and then dipped her low, his attention on the neckline of her modest dress. I could feel Millie bristle beside me. The music paused for a moment and Simon and Lillian collapsed into chairs beside Marie, cheeks flushed and laughing.

“Edward,” Millie’s voice was loud and carried across the room. “Do you think it’s proper for one of your servants to be socializing with the girls?” I could feel my breath catch as everyone in the room froze.

Everyone but Simon. The young man paused only a moment before bolting out of his chair, rage deforming his usually pleasant features. His face had colored to nearly the same color as a ripe tomato, and he stalked across the room, fists clenched.

“What the hell do you know?” Simon shouted.

Millie’s eyes widened and she carefully set down the tile she had been holding in her hand, never taking her eyes off the suddenly volatile figure before us. The clack of the tile was like a gunshot in the silent room.

“And who gives a bloody fig what you Americans have to say about a damned thing?” Simon stopped just feet from the table, fists clenched at his sides. “What have you Americans ever done for us? Huh? Tell me that, Mrs. High-and-Mighty.” Simon’s voice had continued to rise, and now that he had finished, his harsh breathing was the only sound in the room.

Group Captain Hammond calmly pushed back from the table and went to Simon, placing a hand on his arm. Simon shook him off, still breathing heavily, but Hammond continued to stand before the young man, saying nothing, gazing calmly at him. After a moment, some of the rage drained from Simon’s face and he abruptly turned on his heel and left the room.

After a few beats, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“Millie! How could you?” Lillian’s wail broke the silence. Her tone of accusation made me wonder whether she had welcomed Simon’s attention. I could see from Millie’s face that she wondered the same thing and did not like the prospect at all.

With another small cry, Lillian bolted from the room. Millie was starting to push back from the table when Lord Hughes put a hand on her shoulder, letting it rest there.

“Don’t,” Lord Hughes said quietly. “They’ll be all right.”

“Are you certain?” Millie settled uncertainly back into her chair as her hands fluttered in her lap. “I’m not sure she should be alone with that young man. What a temper he has!” It was rare to see Millie so unnerved, but I knew her love for Lillian had changed her, softened her in some ways. However, I also knew that she was unlikely to take any responsibility for his outburst in the first place.

Hammond moved back toward our table. “He’ll be fine in a moment. He’s just . . . easily set off.” The group captain paused, and I could tell he was trying to decide how much to say. “It’s been difficult for many of the men since the war.”

We were all quiet for a moment before Millie plunged ahead. “But what did he mean about Americans? I mean, we certainly did our part. Why does he seem so . . . venomous toward us?”

Hammond and Lord Hughes exchanged a brief look, and I could tell there was more to the story than they were willing to say. I made a note to myself to ask Hammond about the exchange later. Perhaps he would give me the full story—I knew Lord Hughes would decline to “trouble the ladies” with such details.

“Of course, you did,” Lord Hughes said comfortingly. “Let’s just forget the whole thing, shall we? We can’t let this ruin our evening.” Millie sighed and gave a vague wave of her hand before reaching for her highball. I was a little surprised that she didn’t demand further explanation, but she was obviously distracted with thoughts of Lillian.

As we awkwardly turned our attention back to the game—with difficulty—the sound of an engine racing pierced the night. Headlights from one of Lord Hughes’s vehicles washed over the drawing room windows as the car raced down the drive, gravel spitting in its wake. A moment later Lillian returned, her face pale and drawn.

“Well, he’s legged it. Again.”

Lord Hughes seemed unconcerned that one of his expensive cars had just been taken from the estate at high speed. “He’ll burn it off and come back in a few hours. He always does.” Hughes glanced at Lillian with a reassuring smile before he returned his attention to his tiles. “Chow,” he said, laying a run of tiles before him.

Marie had been pacing near the gramophone, but now she came forward and claimed Lillian from the doorway, leading her back to the record player. Lillian sat, staring distractedly out the windows while Marie tried to tempt her back onto the dance floor. Marie finally gave up and flopped into the chair beside her, letting the record play itself out. She lit a thin cigarette and smoked it in silence.

For a moment, I, too, gazed out at the inky darkness beyond the bank of windows and gave a small shiver. I hoped Simon would drive safely.

The following morning, I woke a little later than usual. With all the excitement, Hammond and I had decided to delay our usual early flight until late morning, and I had to admit that I was glad for the extra time in bed. It had taken me longer than usual to fall asleep, and I’d found myself listening for the sounds of a car returning. I didn’t know the young man, but I was still concerned for his safety. I wondered if Millie had had any trouble sleeping since it was her outrageous statement that had set him off in the first place; if I were her, I would have felt at least somewhat responsible for Simon’s well-being. But knowing my aunt, I doubted it had given her even a moment’s worry.

Donning a simple knit dress, I freshened up and headed down to the breakfast room. The space was filled with warm light which reflected off the golden hue of the walls. Portraits of solemn-faced men and women, whom I assumed were Lord Hughes’s ancestors, hung from the walls, observing us as we ate. After filling my plate at the side table with eggs, toast, and a slice of English bacon, I took a seat across from Lillian who was poking at her baked beans.

“Good morning, Jane.” Group Captain Hammond gave me a warm smile as he took the seat to my left.

“And a good morning to you, Chris.” Hammond had insisted I call him by his Christian name on day two of our flying lessons. Farther down the table, Millie’s eyebrows raised at the familiarity and I caught one corner of her mouth tipping up in a smug smile, before she remembered his admission the night before and grimaced instead. I returned my attention to my morning coffee and ignored her altogether.

Lord Hughes perused the pages of The Morning Post, one of three papers that he received daily. His hand occasionally dipped below the table as he slipped a bit of food to Rascal, who was taking his role as a foot warmer very seriously. The tension from the night before hadn’. . .