Snowballs and Scotch Mist

Book 0: The Belchester Chronicles

by Andrea Frazer

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Traditional Mysteries

Synopsis

Lady Amanda Golightly receives an invitation to spend Burns' Night with friends in Scotland. Although she is dismissive of the idea, her chum Hugo is thrilled at the thought and persuades her to agree to the trip. With Beauchamp, her long-suffering manservant, and her friend, Enid Tweedie, the four head to Rumdrummond Castle for a 'wee break'. Before long, however, murder enters their lives once more, and they begin to suspect some very dirty dealing is going on under the under the respectable veneer of castle life. Bagpipes, haggis, tartan, and kilts all make their appearance, as dastardly deeds are done amidst a snowy landscape.

Release date: May 22, 2014

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 190

Sample

Chapter One
Two weeks later

‘Oh, Lord!’ exclaimed Lady Amanda Golightly, holding a stiff invitation card that had just arrived in the post, in her hand. ‘Blast! Damn! Poo! Well, I simply shan’t go. I can’t face it again, so I shall refuse.’

‘What’s that, Manda?’ asked Hugo Cholmondley-Crichton-Crump, her elderly friend. ‘Where do you refuse to go? What can’t you face?’

‘It’s the blasted McKinley-Mackintoshes. They’ve invited me for Burns’ Night. I don’t know; my grandmother’s sister marries into the family, then her daughter marries one of her McKinley-Mackintosh cousins, and suddenly we’re close kin. My mother put up with it, but I never have, and I won’t now.

‘I haven’t been up there since before Mama died for the first time, and I’ll be damned if I’ll go again – not to that draughty old castle right in the middle of hundreds of acres of Mac-nowhere.’

‘Is that the Mac-nowhere in Scotland?’

‘Where else?’ asked Lady A, crossly.

‘And for Burns’ Night, you say?’

‘Are you getting hard of hearing, Hugo? Of course it’s for Burns’ Night.’

‘So you’ve been invited to a castle in Scotland for Burns’ Night?’ Hugo persisted.

‘How many times do I have to tell you? That’s what I’ve been complaining about, isn’t it? Are you sure you’re not losing your marbles?’

Ignoring this last disparaging remark, Hugo replied, ‘Oh, Manda; I’ve never spent a Burns’ Night actually in Scotland. And in a castle too. Please say yes and take me with you as your guest. Please, please say you’ll accept.’ Hugo had always been very susceptible to the skirl of the pipes.

‘Oh, really, Hugo, you can’t be serious! You want to go all that way, in January, to the wilds of Scotland, just for a haggis dinner?’

‘Pretty please, Manda. I’m getting on a bit now, and if they invite you again next year, I might be dead, and never get the chance to do it.’ Hugo was adept at emotional blackmail when he wanted something badly enough.

‘Don’t say that, Hugo! And you really want to go, do you?’ Lady Amanda was astounded by the light of enthusiasm in his eyes, and not willing to contemplate a life without his company now, decided she’d better think twice.

‘More than anything. For me. Just this once.’

‘I capitulate, but you’ll owe me big time for this one,’ she replied, with a wince at what now lay ahead of them.

‘Will there be a piper? And an address to the haggis? And Scottish country dancing? And … maybe some sword dancing?’ he asked, as eager as a child promised an esoteric treat.

‘Oh, there’ll be all of that, and more. There’ll be long, cold, stone passageways with real torches flaring along their length, and deerstalking, although the only thing shooting these days are cameras. There’ll be gamekeepers and ghillies all over the place, and absolutely everything will be covered in tartan, both dress and hunting.’

Hugo rubbed his hands together with glee, just before Lady A exclaimed, ‘Damn and blast!’

‘What is it now, Manda?’

‘We’ve apparently got to bring our own butler/valet and lady’s maid. Whatever am I going to do about a lady’s maid? I’ve never had one, and I don’t intend to start a habit like that so late in life.’

Hugo, noting the ‘we’ve’ with satisfaction, suggested, ‘What about roping in Enid? She’d probably be game for it. Get it? Game? Scotland? Deerstalking?’

‘Hugo?’

‘Yes, Manda?’

‘Shut up! But you’re right. She’d be perfect. I’ll get Beauchamp to collect her, so that I can get her exact measurements, then I’ll make a call to Harrods and have them send something down. Beauch … aargh!’

‘Yes, your ladyship?’ A tall, impeccably garbed figure had suddenly appeared at her side like magic. It was taking some time to get used to the fact that her butler and general factotum was also her half-brother, but she was dealing with it as best as she could.

Neither could see any good reason to change the status quo, as they were both perfectly content with the way their lives ran, but sometimes it gave Lady A a strange feeling, when she asked – or told – him to do something, then remembered that he was, in actual fact, kin.

‘I’ve told you before not to pad about like a cat. You must’ve taken years off my life over the years, just turning up like that, when I’m about to call you.’

‘Sorry, your ladyship. What can I get you?’ Beauchamp’s voice was exactly as it had been before Lady A had known about their blood kinship, but that was probably because he had known the truth for most of his life, and had just kept it to himself.

‘Enid, is what you can get me. Could you just run into Belchester and bring her up here? I want to measure her for a lady’s maid’s uniform.’

‘Is she by any chance going into service, your ladyship?’ Beauchamp asked, a little perplexed at this request.

‘Sort of, but I’ll explain all when she gets here. If she asks, just tell her there’s a little holiday in the offing.’

‘Yes, your ladyship. Will there be anything else?’

‘Not for now, but when you get back, we’ll all have a little cocktail to give us a chance to discuss arrangements.’

‘The McKinley-Mackintoshes’ for Burns’ Night?’ queried the manservant, a knowing glint in his eye.

‘No names, no pack-drill, my man. Now, the sooner you go, the sooner you’ll be back, and we can all have a lovely little chinwag about it. But not a word to Enid until she gets here. I don’t want her to get wind of what’s in the air until it’s a fait accompli.’

‘You mean you don’t want her to suddenly have another engagement that makes it possible for her to wriggle out of it. You just want a chance to bully her before she knows what’s coming,’ commented Hugo, tapping one side of his nose with a forefinger.

‘Exactly!’

When Beauchamp had gone off on his mission, Hugo became lively again, and asked, ‘Can we have tartan, Manda? Please. I’ve always fancied myself in a kilt.’

‘We can, but you’ll have trews and be done with. I have no desire whatsoever to be faced with your scrawny old legs every hour of the day,’ she replied, waspishly. ‘And I shall have a long skirt and one of those over-the-shoulder shoulder sash-cum-shawl thingies. I can order those, with accurate measurements, from a little place my old friend, Ida Campbell, uses in Scotland. She’s so clan-crazy she’s even got tartan carpet; makes me feel quite ill after a while, so I don’t visit often.’

‘But I don’t want trews,’ Hugo wailed in disappointment.

‘Do you know what’s actually worn under a kilt, Hugo? Nothing: absolutely nothing. You’ll freeze your wrinkly bits beyond recovery. Do you really want to do that?’

‘Not really? Is it so very cold there?’

‘Hugo, it’s January. It’s in the north of Scotland. There’ll probably be feet of snow, and the only heating in that humongous stone castle is from log fires, which may look huge, but, if I remember correctly, the heat never reaches further than two feet away from the seat of the fire, and the rest of the space might as well be outside, as far as temperature goes.’

‘Hmm.’ Hugo took a moment lost in thought. ‘I think trews might be a better idea. I don’t suppose I can wear a sporran with them.’

‘Absolutely not! That would look, to my mind, rather obscene, as if you were … hm-hm,’ she cleared her throat self-consciously, ‘flying without a licence.’ This description gave Lady A a flush of embarrassment, and she hurried on with, ‘I’d suggest you pack lots of warm jumpers and your winter underwear, and we’ll discuss it further when Enid arrives.’

Enid joined them about half an hour later, and Beauchamp immediately went off to mix some cocktails of sufficient strength to persuade their poor guest that she really wanted to stay in a draughty old Scottish pile, not as an invited guest, but as a lady’s maid.

Enid was all of a flutter, wondering why she had been summoned at such short notice, delaying the explanation even further by divesting herself of several layers of clothing before settling on a sofa, eager to hear what was afoot.

Before any explanation could be made, Beauchamp returned bearing a tray with four double tulip glasses on it, handed it round with his usual air of formality, then announced, ‘I made Frozen Melon Balls, which seemed rather appropriate, but I used the larger glasses, as the usual size seemed a little – shall we say, unpersuasive.’

‘Quite right, too, Beauchamp, and it’ll give Hugo pause for thought on the subject of kilts,’ Lady A intoned, puzzling the two who had not been party to the conversation about the merits of trews over kilts, then she came over all embarrassed again, as did Hugo himself, at the name of the cocktail, and the thought that they might begin to discuss his private parts as if they were an everyday subject of conversation.

Enid broke the impasse by raising her glass and twittering, ‘Chin-chin, everybody, now what am I here for?’

‘Chin-chin,’ they all repeated automatically, and Lady A, recovering her aplomb, speared her with a steely gaze, smiled a wolfish smile, then asked her how she would like to celebrates Burns’ Night in a castle in Scotland where they had their own piper.

Cunning old vixen, her words had Enid hooked immediately, and imagining all sorts of romantic images of what it would be like. ‘Oh, I’d love to, Amanda.’ For she had been invited to drop the ‘Lady’ when addressing someone who was now more of a friend than an employer, but that was not to last for long.

‘Excellent, but you’ll have to start referring to me as Lady Amanda again, and after we’ve had this drink, I must get you measured for some lady’s maid’s outfits, if they’re to be here before we leave. I’ll measure you later, Hugo, so we can get the trews exactly right.’

She had successfully changed the subject, as Hugo declared that he knew his own measurements, and would verify them himself, in private. This was getting a bit near the knuckle again, and he willed Enid to butt in and ask some questions.

She obliged exactly on cue, having sat with a bewildered expression on her face, as Hugo protested about letting Lady Amanda at him with a tape-measure. ‘What exactly are you trying to inveigle me into, now? I don’t think I like the sound of lady’s maid’s uniforms. What’s going on? What are you planning?’

‘I’ve been invited – it’s all right, Hugo, it does say ‘and guest’ – for Burns’ Night, to Castle Rumdrummond. You know, the McKinley-Mackintoshes’ pile in the north of Scotland? That invitation I’ve been turning down every year since Mama and Papa died.

‘Well, Hugo really wants to go, as he’s never been in Scotland for Burns’ Night before. I usually just refuse out of hand, but I’ve capitulated this year because of Hugo’s heart-rending plea. However, the invitation insists that I bring my own butler/valet and lady’s maid. And I thought it would give you a nice little holiday, and a change of scenery.’

‘Waiting on you hand, foot, and finger. Yes, that really would make a lovely change for me. Just what I’ve always wanted, to be a skivvy in a cold and draughty building in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in the north of Scotland,’ Enid replied, a positive sting in her voice.

‘It won’t be anything like that, I promise you. You’re only going as a maid to help me out, not to actually carry out the duties of a maid,’ Lady A told her in her most persuasive voice, before turning to Beauchamp and asking him to refresh the cocktails. He rose, with a knowing wink, collected the glasses, and disappeared into the interstices of Belchester Towers to make fresh drinks.

Unlike Castle Rumdrummond, Belchester Towers was not a magnificent ancient pile, but had been built by one of Lady Amanda Golightly’s forebears, early in the nineteenth century, to incorporate every luxury of the day, being updated, as new-fangled domestic fashions became popular, including a rope-pulled lift, when Queen Victoria had such a thing installed in her newly built Isle of Wight home.

This fad of modernisation continued, so that, when Lady Amanda was born, the imposing building boasted electric lighting, central heating and the luxury of several bathrooms, each with its own hot water supply. The fabric of the building had not been neglected either, and it had been kept in good order, unlike Castle Rumdrummond, which had spent a century or more crumbling around its owners’ ears, they being landed gentry, and unlike the Golightly family, merely nouveau riche, and therefore more financially stable.

Belchester Towers was of red-brick construction, with a tower at each corner, and had three floors and extensive cellarage. The original folly of a real moat with drawbridge had been done away with long since, and it now boasted a rather more conventional means of entry.

Its current owner was a short, portly woman past retirement age, with startlingly bright green eyes, suicide blonde hair, and a positive mania for good manners, except when it applied to her. She spoke as she found, always telling the truth and shaming the devil.

She had found her friend Hugo mouldering in a local nursing home the previous year. A man whose family friendship dated back to her childhood, Lady Amanda immediately rescued him from his depressing and utterly boring existence, and installed him in Belchester Towers as a permanent resident.

She then set about solving the mobility problems which had been the cause of his original incarceration in such a demotivating dump, arranging appointments with an orthopaedic surgeon, to set in place a plan to replace both his hips and his knees, and relieving him of the financial burden of living alone.

After some initial difficulties, they had settled well together, and Hugo, after the first two operations of the planned surgery, had progressed from a walking frame to a pair of walking sticks, and was much livelier than he had been when she had first come across him again. Their shared younger years rejuvenated both of them, and they were better for each other than any therapy or medicine that could be offered to them.

Enid Tweedie, at one time an occasional cleaner at the Towers, had become more of a friend, and her life had become spiced with excitement in the process. Prior to this change in status, she had been a frequent visitor to the local hospital, always having some procedure or another done. Now she had little time to consider her health, she was much the better for it. She had, as the modern saying goes, ‘got a life’.

Beauchamp, whom Lady Amanda insisted on calling ‘Bo-sham’, declared, equally strongly, that the name in England was pronounced ‘Beecham’, and this was a constant running battle between them, and had been for decades, for Beauchamp had spent his entire working life at the Towers, employed first by her parents, and now, by her.

During the last, eventful year, a few family skeletons had been evicted from the closet, revealing that Lady Edith, Lady A’s mother, had not died in a car crash some twenty years before, but had, in fact, faked her own death and spent the intervening two decades on the Riviera, then finally, in Monte Carlo, where she had died at New Year.

Lady Edith’s final revelation had been to reveal that Beauchamp was Lady Amanda’s half-bro. . .