Silent as the Grave

Book 1: The Eden House Mysteries

by Bill Kitson

Genres: Mystery; Amateur Sleuth; Ghost; Thrillers; Crime Fiction; Suspense

Synopsis

'Addictive. One of those books that you just cannot put down' ***** Reader Review

Christmas 1979. Former TV reporter Adam Bailey is invited by his old flame Harriet and her husband, Sir Anthony, to Mulgrave Castle for the festivities. He reluctantly accepts, intrigued by their request for him to investigate the family curse.

But within hours of arriving, a blizzard rolls in that leaves the castle and its guests stranded. And when one of the visitors is murdered, Adam and Harriet's sister, Eve, set out to solve the crime. But with danger stalking their every move, they must work fast to uncover the mystery before more lives are lost.

Is the killer a member of the house party? Or has the family curse struck again?

Silent as the Grave is the first instalment in Bill Kitson's chilling and suspenseful Eden House mystery series. Perfect for fans of Peter James's Cold Hill series, Val McDermid and J M Dalgliesh.

Readers are hooked on The Eden House Mysteries:

'I couldn't sleep until I had finished this book' ***** Reader Review

'The best book I have read in a while' ***** Reader Review

'Captivating from start to finish. Brilliant page turner. I couldn't put it down' ***** Reader Review

'Read the whole thing in a day' ***** Reader Review

'One of the best authors I have come across' ***** Reader Review

'More twists than a corkscrew' ***** Reader Review

'The characters are brilliant and the story keeps you on the edge of your seat the whole time. Would highly recommend this book!' ***** Reader Review

(P) 2021 Headline Publishing Group Ltd

Release date: December 18, 2015

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 292

Sample

Chapter One

I picked up the report and studied it once more. I thought of the man who had written it a hundred years ago. How difficult must it have been for poor Inspector Cummins to conduct a proper investigation? In those days the landed gentry wielded great power and influence. What chance did a mere police officer stand when set against such a family, if they had something to hide? And they did have something to hide; I had felt that from the first time I read the document.

I concentrated again on the passages of the report I had been sent and felt certain that some, if not all, of the five people mentioned in the document had suffered a ghastly fate; that they had in fact been murdered. I felt a strong sense of sympathy with Cummins and wondered if he had felt as I did about the people who had mysteriously vanished. Now it was to be my turn. Now I had been asked to go to Mulgrave Castle. Now I had been asked to investigate the disappearances. If it had been difficult for Cummins; how much more of a task would it be for me, so much longer after the events?

I had just one advantage over Cummins. It was the Rowe family themselves who had asked me to go; they who had begged me to try to discover the truth.

The document was headed, ‘Extract from the report of Inspector Cummins to the Chief Constable of The North Riding of Yorkshire Constabulary, 1880.



‘My Lord,

In accordance with your instructions I have carried out detailed investigations into recent and historical disappearances at, and in the environs of, Mulgrave Castle. The results of the enquiries, such as they are, I set out below. Much of what I have to report is, regrettably, hearsay and local gossip, as can only be expected given the passage of time, and this is, as I am sure your Lordship must be well aware, a poor substitute for factual evidence. In order to maintain a sense of order I have separated the events into chronological sequence.



Lady Elizabeth Rowe, disappearance in 1679

Accounts of the event have, I regret to report, become garbled and distorted, and during the course of my investigations I heard not one but several versions of this story, of the disappearance of Lady Elizabeth, ranging from the mundane to the outlandishly gothic. Nonetheless, I will set them down in the second part of this paper. First however, I will outline the facts that are incontestable.

Lady Elizabeth vanished during the month of December. Correspondence charting her absence from social events in the area, and that of her supposed paramour, would lead one to the conclusion that the date of her disappearance was between the 27th December and the 31st day of the same month.

There is little to gainsay the probability that local rumour, both at the time and since, was incorrect when it insinuated that Lady Elizabeth and Sir Robert Mainwaring were involved in a romantic liaison. The diary of Lady Elizabeth’s maid, Fanny Hardcastle – which has by some mysterious means found its way back into the possession of the Rowe family – would tend to confirm this. I examined the document and quote from it verbatim. Unfortunately, the girl, although in possession of some rudimentary elements of education, could not be considered to possess high standards of literacy. Such being the case, and as the volume is written on some poor-quality paper and the wretched girl forbore to put a date to any of the entries, its accuracy is questionable at best. However, for good or ill, here is what she recorded.

“ On Friday, my Lady was wont to visit with Sir Robt. She took greyt care of her toilette before setting out and was gone an unconsionabel time. On her return she was towsled in the hair and had high colour to her cheeks. There was sum disturbing of her robes and she bade me address her apearance as soon as may be. I asked her what had made her so disarayed in her getting out and she told me but to take care of her and ask not things that were not my consern.

Sunday. Sir Tomas to London for a week with Friends. No sooner had he gone than my Lady was away to Sir Robt. She was gone the night and only back for brakefast just on Monday. I did not ask whear she was for the night as she has been moste forthrite in telling me to look to my own matters not hers. But I have the laundryng of her attire so I can see for myself and have no doubt what is about. Poor Sir Tomas I dread to think what will happen if finds owt.

Wednesday. Matters are getting wurse. Sir Robt. came for dinner and stay’d the night in my Ladys bedchamber. I herd so much noise and disturbing that I could scarce sleep, as my room is close to my Lady. What will become of all this I wonder.

Tuesday. Sir Tomas back from London. Much distress and raised voises. Later I went to my Lady but she was not in her bedchambre, neither her attire nor her toilette things. I to Sir Tomas and told him I thought my Lady gone. He with me to her bedchamber. When he hath seen what I said were truth he cast him on my Ladys bed sobbing and weeping much.

Two weeks and no news of my Lady. Sir Tomas distrort and wanders the Castle between tymes and sets out to search for her, always returning much sadd’ned. He has taken to sleeping in my Ladys chambre and I hear him passing up and down for much of the night, oft times crying out for her. ”

That concludes the maid’s account, such as it is. In those days there was no authority to which a missing person could be reported, so independent verification of the facts is difficult. Local rumour at the time, no doubt much embroidered since, was that Lady Elizabeth and Sir Robert had eloped to the Continent of Europe. No trace of the missing couple was ever discovered, although it is said that Sir Thomas spent much time, effort, and indeed money searching for them. Certainly no remains were ever found that would tend to suggest that anything of a more sinister nature had transpired.

Two years after the disappearance, Sir Thomas travelled to Italy to look for his errant wife. It was a fruitless search, and it is said that he was so depressed by this failure that he took his own life, and was discovered in his wife’s bedchamber having hanged himself with the sheets from her bed. The estate passed to his son, Sir Matthew, then only eleven years of age, and that concludes the sparse facts about Lady Elizabeth’s disappearance.

Of the local rumour, there seems to be a consensus that the Continent was where the eloping couple ended up, although there is also a tale that the couple never left England, indeed never left Mulgrave. This story, totally without foundation in fact so far as I can judge, and in passing allows for much rustic embellishment of a lewd nature, suggests that Sir Thomas discovered the couple in a compromising situation. The story imputes Sir Thomas, maddened by jealousy, did away with his wife and her lover and buried their remains in the grounds of Mulgrave. Alternatively, he weighted the corpses and dropped them into the lake in front of the Castle. Accompanying either version is the tale of ghostly appearances, of Lady Elizabeth, her lover Sir Robert Mainwaring, and indeed of Sir Thomas himself, told with great relish by any of the local inhabitants one may question regarding the matter. So many and so frequent are these ghostly manifestations that it must be difficult at certain times to walk the Castle and grounds without being hemmed about by a considerable gathering of apparitions …

In conclusion, my Lord, after the passage of so much time, and with not a shred of evidence to the contrary, I must report that the most likely explanation for the disappearance of Lady Elizabeth Rowe was indeed that she eloped, possibly to Europe, with Sir Robert Mainwaring.



Sir Richard Rowe, disappearance in 1779

Sir Richard Rowe inherited the baronetcy when only two years old. Curiously, it was as a consequence of the birth of his younger brother, Hugo, later Sir Hugo. Their father had celebrated the happy event of the birth of his younger son rather too well, and had done so it widely throughout the county. He was returning home, intoxicated, according to reports to such an extent that he had to ride being unable to walk, when he suffered a fall over the cliff at Stark Ghyll. Both horse and rider perished.

The two boys were raised by their mother, Lady Hester, under the guardianship of her brother, the Hon. Aubrey Makepeace. Much has been recorded of his reportedly notorious life-style, and I would venture to suggest that a less suitable prospect for the position of guardian it would be difficult to find.

That much is fact, but as in the case of Lady Elizabeth, the remainder is based on hearsay and supposition. Of the two boys, Sir Richard inherited from his father an athletic turn of mind, and was adept at most sporting activities. He was accounted an exceptional shot at game for one so young, and was reportedly a fine runner, accomplished oarsman, excellent at all ball games, and was a strong and powerful swimmer. This last I consider to be of some significance. In contrast, Sir Hugo was of a vain and weak character, much addicted to        gambling and the attractions offered in London and other cities of a like nature. It is said he won and lost a fortune several times over before his untimely death from what is reputed to have been a disease contracted by his indulgence in keeping company with ladies whose virtue was of the easy persuasion. Fortunately for the Rowe estate, much of the money he might have otherwise squandered at the gaming tables had been secured by his father in entails that were unable to be broken. Certainly Sir Hugo’s young widow had more than sufficient to console her whilst supervising the upbringing of her son Sir Mark, a lively and robust six-year-old who inherited none of his father’s vices.

In the disappearance of Sir Richard, I find myself in somewhat of a quandary in reconciling the known facts and rumours with the boy’s disposition and abilities. Sir Richard was seventeen years of age when he disappeared, was accounted to be of greater than average intelligence, and was also reportedly of a calm and level-headed nature. Despite this, he embarked on a course of action that appears rash and foolhardy, more in character with his younger brother. On the morning of the last day of the year, with snow laying on the ground, for anyone, no matter how strong and talented a swimmer to undertake a swim in a fresh-water lake in these latitudes is unthinkably foolish. Nonetheless, this was reportedly Sir Richard’s stated ambition that morning.

When the boy failed to appear for luncheon enquiries elicited from Sir Hugo that his brother had stated this intention to him over breakfast. A search was immediately organized, tracks were discovered in the snow leading to the lake, and at the water’s edge a pair of boots, a robe, and towels belonging to the young baronet were soon found. The lake was not frozen over, and a boat was launched. Later, the lake was dragged, but no trace of Sir Richard’s body was ever discovered. I would venture to suggest the searches would have been rudimentary by modern standards, notwithstanding that I am puzzled that these events occurred at all.

Gossip regarding the incident follows remarkably similar lines to that surrounding the disappearance of Lady Elizabeth one hundred years earlier. In the case of Sir Richard, the story revolves around the supposed jealousy felt by Sir Hugo towards his talented sibling and the younger boy’s desire for the title and the fortune attached to it. The story goes on to postulate the theory that Sir Hugo murdered his brother and concealed the body. Methods of murder and concealment vary according to the person relating the story. None of the tales have any basis in fact, although I do consider there to be many inconsistencies and unexplained irregularities in the story of Sir Richard’s disappearance.

Reading the evidence of the Coroner’s enquiry which was held in 1787 to establish presumption of death, I am led to the belief that many questions that should have been raised were not, possibly owing to the awe in which that official held the Rowe family, and out of respect for the grief of the dead boy’s mother. The verdict was, perhaps inevitably, one of death by misadventure, although there was little by way of evidence to suggest this above all other possibilities.

It is perhaps inevitable that the wildest of stories, some of them involving a degree of superstition, should have surfaced in the light of recent events. Nevertheless, I feel there is much in the tale of Sir Richard’s disappearance that would have excited my interest had I been called upon to investigate it at the time it happened. In short, my Lord, I am far from satisfied that the full tale of the death of Sir Richard Rowe has been told.



Lady Amelia Rowe, 1879

As in the case of Lady Elizabeth, the disappearance of Lady Amelia, wife of Sir Frederick Rowe, is complete; mystifyingly so. Despite the most exhaustive enquiries absolutely no trace of the missing lady has been found. Prior to her vanishing there was much gossip and speculation regarding her friendship with the Honourable Ralph Aston. I am sure your Lordship is aware that Mr Aston has acquired a reputation for a reckless and somewhat rakish style of living, and has been rumoured to have enjoyed romantic links with a string of beautiful young ladies. I have to report that similarly thorough enquiries as to Mr Aston’s whereabouts have yielded not one iota more in the way of success than the ones relating to Lady Amelia.

It is, my Lord, well known that Lady Amelia and Sir Frederick lead separate lives. From eye-witness accounts and other circumstantial evidence I have little doubt that Lady Amelia    and Mr Aston are lovers, and that at some point between Christmas and New Year, taking advantage of Sir Frederick’s prolonged absence on a deer-stalking holiday in Scotland, the pair eloped. The fact that we have discovered no trace of their whereabouts I count as less than significant, for, if the situation is as I believe it to be, they would make every effort to avoid discovery, and if a person is determined enough to vanish, then vanish they will.

Sir Frederick’s attitude to my enquiries would tend to bear out my supposition that nothing more sinister than a romantic entanglement is the order of the day here. Sir Frederick has been cooperative, in a disinterested sort of way, and his main grievance about Lady Amelia seems to be her lack of consideration in causing my investigation to be made at this time, thus interrupting the opening days of the shooting season.

In short, unless compelling evidence to the contrary comes to light, I believe that the disappearance of Lady Amelia and Mr Aston to be no more sinister than the flight of illicit lovers.

Conclusion.

I have, at your Lordship’s behest, spent much time investigating this disappearance, as well as those previously of Sir Richard and Lady Elizabeth. Whilst I consider it to be a singular coincidence that all three events took place between Christmas Day and New Year’s Day, and equally remarkable that the events are separated by exactly one hundred-years, I have found no evidence of a connecting factor, apart from the superstitious tales of family curses and similar nonsense peddled by the locals. Superstition is a part of country life; indeed it seems to me to be fostered in part to enrich an otherwise dull existence. However much these tales might enliven a quiet evening at local hostelries I fear that without any basis in fact they must remain purely speculation, entertaining though they might be.

Lacking any contrary evidence I regret that these mysteries, if indeed they are mysterious, must remain so, for I can find no justification to recommend commitment of further resources to this matter until and unless further evidence emerges that would shed further light on them.

I remain, my Lord, your most Humble and Obedient Servant,

Albert Arthur Cummins, Inspector of Police, North Riding Of Yorkshire Constabulary.

This 24th Day of September in the year of our Lord, 1880.’

I put the document aside and thought about the contents. Somewhere within the house or grounds of Mulgrave Castle I was convinced there was evidence of anything up to five murders. That night I had a strange dream. I dreamed I was in some part of the castle. I knew there were others there with me. I could neither hear them nor see them but I sensed their presence.

It was cold; but they had long since ceased to feel either heat or cold.

It was dark; but they had long since lost the power to see.

It was silent – as silent as the grave.

Chapter Two

December 1979

I’ve never considered myself lucky with women. Mind you, I’m not that good at cards either. Even when I was a minor ‘celebrity’ – dreadful word – I couldn’t claim women were actually falling over themselves to get to me. Not that I’d have been interested anyway; for by then I was married, some would have said securely married, but such are the stresses and strains placed on a marriage by both Georgina’s profession and my own that security is a lot to hope for.

I had started out in the way many journalists do, as a junior reporter on a local newspaper. In my case this was in Yorkshire. At that time local radio stations were a novelty that had not reached as far north as the River Trent, let alone the Swale, but by the time they did someone must have seen something promising about my style of news presentation because I was invited to become a ‘stringer’ for our local, fledgling broadcaster.

As the network was in its infancy there was little sign that it would survive to adulthood, but it did, and as it grew I found my services more and more in demand. Eventually, I was offered a staff position, and from radio I transferred seamlessly to regional television almost before I had chance to realize where my career was heading. Local had become national and I was heading for London.

It was only after that; when one or two people began glancing at me in the street with an ‘I know your face’ expression that I began to understand how far I had come. Once again I was lucky; I was in the right place at the right time and was offered a post as a foreign correspondent. I had little hesitation in accepting, for I knew it was a golden opportunity to broaden my experience and knowledge, to travel; to reach a more senior position in the news business. All in all there was so much to recommend it; little in the way of disadvantages. I was twenty-seven years old, single, an only child, and both my parents were dead. There was nothing to keep me in England.

Of course any thoughts that I would become a star overnight were soon banished. This was achieved courtesy of the city of Lisbon. Don’t get me wrong; Lisbon is a beautiful city, full of friendly, charming, and courteous people. From a news reporter’s view, though, none of those facts is a recommendation. During my time there little happened. So little that I was reminded of my early days on the staff of the local paper; covering weddings, cricket matches, and village fetes. Lisbon is just like that, only on a bigger scale – and without the cricket.

From there I was moved to Paris and saw a bit more action; then I was recalled to London and told of my new posting. A week later I boarded a jet at Heathrow. I was about to begin one of a foreign correspondent’s dream jobs. I was heading for New York.

Two minutes after I had taken my seat, I started fiddling with my safety belt, and my action caused me to inadvertently grope a young woman who was bending to take the seat alongside mine. Scarlet with embarrassment, I apologized for what was a pure accident.

She turned and gave me an icy stare that melted rapidly into a warm smile. ‘I’ve heard of some different ways of introducing oneself, but that’s a new one,’ she laughed.

She sat down and held a hand out. ‘Hi, I’m Georgina Dale,’ she told me but of course by then I had already recognized her.

‘I know that,’ I smiled as I shook hands. ‘I’d have to be a hermit not to.’

‘You’re not a hermit, then?’

‘No, I’m certainly not a hermit, and your face is everywhere – films, TV, cosmetics commercials.’

‘I was just thinking your face is familiar too.’

‘Sorry, I should have introduced myself properly; I’m Adam Bailey.’

‘That’s it! I thought I recognized your voice,’ she told me.

‘I’m surprised you have time to watch news bulletins; and recognizing my voice, that’s something else again.’

‘What you must remember is that I’m an actress. In our business the voice is much more important than the face.’

I smiled at a stray, private thought.

‘What is it?’ Georgina challenged me.

‘Nothing much. I was just thinking about the way I introduced myself; I’d say the bottom was quite important too.’

She laughed. ‘Was it deliberate?’

‘I wish I could say it was. It would have been if I’d thought of it in time!’

Six months later we were married. We bought an apartment and settled down and for the first couple of years things were great. It was only after we’d been in New York eighteen months or so that gradually; imperceptibly, Georgina’s work began to get less and less frequent. At first she had been flooded with offers; then the flood became a trickle; eventually, it dried up completely. It was at that moment, with the most inopportune piece of timing imaginable, that my employers decided I was the man to be sent to cover the war in Ethiopia.

I have no way of judging if matters would have turned out differently had I stayed in New York. In my job you didn’t have a choice. Actually, I suppose that’s incorrect; you do have a choice – accept the posting, or join the dole queue.

I had been in Ethiopia six months covering the war from the insurgent’s point of view; which for the most part meant hiding out in mountain passes. There I would be subjected to strafing missions from fighters on an almost daily basis. During the evenings, I would be subjected to lectures about the deeds of glorious but long dead warriors and boasts about what the current generation were about to do to their enemies. I’m still not sure whether I preferred the bombing.

Then I got wounded; by pure chance. The injury came courtesy of a ricochet from a rifle. By the time I was able to reach neutral territory and get decent hospital treatment I was in pretty bad shape. After I’d recovered slightly, to the extent that the nursing staff had stopped trying to guess when I was going to peg out, I received a visitor.

He was a young, inexperienced, and highly nervous official from the British Embassy. It was, in all probability, the first time he’d been charged with delivering bad news. That didn’t matter; because the sort of news he brought couldn’t be told well no matter who did the telling. It was from his stumbling, embarrassed delivery that I learned that Georgina had committed suicide.

In some people it is loneliness that breeds depression. In others the depressive state is brought about by rejection; the feeling of failure. Georgina had been beset by both. My regret at leaving her, at not being there when she needed me, brought about a burden of guilt that added to my grief. It was a black and dreadful emotion I felt then, one that I have felt in a greater or lesser degree ever since; that I will probably continue to feel for the rest of my life.

As soon as I was well enough to travel, I returned to New York. A sympathetic NYPD sergeant told me all he knew. . .