The Cliff's Edge

Book 13: Bess Crawford Mysteries

by Charles Todd

Genres: Historical Mysteries

Synopsis

In the aftermath of World War I, nurse Bess Crawford is caught in a deadly feud between two families in this thirteenth book in the beloved mystery series from New York Times bestselling author Charles Todd.

Restless and uncertain of her future in the wake of World War I, former battlefield nurse Bess Crawford agrees to travel to Yorkshire to help a friend of her cousin Melinda through surgery. But circumstances change suddenly when news of a terrible accident reaches them. Bess agrees to go to isolated Scarfdale and the Neville family, where one man has been killed and another gravely injured. The police are asking questions, and Bess is quickly drawn into the fray as two once close families take sides, even as they are forced to remain in the same house until the inquest is completed.

When another tragedy strikes, the police are ready to make an arrest. Bess struggles to keep order as tensions rise and shots are fired. What dark truth is behind these deaths? And what about the tale of an older murder—one that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with the Nevilles? Bess is unaware that when she passes the story on to Cousin Melinda, she will set in motion a revelation with the potential to change the lives of those she loves most—her parents, and her dearest friend, Simon Brandon…

Release date: February 14, 2023

Publisher: HarperCollins

Print pages: 320

Sample

Chapter One

Somerset, July 1919

Simon brought in the post, set it on the salver in the hall, and went on through the house and out across the back garden to his cottage just beyond the wood. I’d watched him go from my window.

Since we’d returned from Ireland, he’d spent most of his time there.

Iris, our maid, claimed he was writing his war memoires, like all the generals were doing just now. I reminded her that he wasn’t a General. But, of course, Iris just shook her head and said, “There’s no rule says a Sergeant-Major can’t do the same, is there?”

“Well, no,” I’d told her then. Iris always has her own interpretation about any situation. Still, I didn’t believe her, because most of Simon’s war, like the Colonel Sahib’s, was still officially secret.

I was just coming down the stairs as she collected the post from the salver.

“Mostly for the Colonel Sahib,” she said, looking up at me as she sorted the letters. “I’ll set it on his desk, shall I?” Then she stopped. “Oh, look, Miss, something for you.”

She acted as if I never received any letters at all and this was a treat. Which warned me that it wasn’t the usual post. Now she was holding up the last envelope. “And for your mother, Miss. Shall I take it back or will you?”

“I’ll take it. I wanted to ask her about making new curtains for my bedroom.”

“Oh, Miss, what about spring green? I’ve always fancied spring green,” she said. She was still holding on to my letter, as if reluctant to go on about her duties until she’s seen me read it.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I said diplomatically, and held out my hand.

Mine wasn’t a letter after all. It was a postal card. From Australia.

No wonder she was curious!

My second thought was, Had Simon seen it?

Iris was pretending not to watch me as I looked at the front of the card—a drawing of a kookaburra bird—and then slowly turned it over.

I knew who it was from, and why. Sergeant Lassiter . . . It read simply, Changed your mind yet?

There was no signature. I didn’t need one. He’d proposed to me near the end of the war, and I’d said no, and I hadn’t seen him since then. I’d assumed—rightly, it seemed—that he’d returned with his regiment to Australia.

Clearly disappointed that I hadn’t satisfied her curiosity about the sender, Iris handed me the letter for my mother.

I was still standing there when she went on about her duties.

The Sergeant and I had had a history. I hadn’t been in love with him—besides that, I was still a nursing Sister, and the rules set out for us by the Queen Alexandra’s was no romantic attachment while serving, on pain of dismissal. But the Sergeant had saved my life and I’d saved his, during the war, and somehow he’d always found out if I was in any difficulty. I’d hear that strange laugh—the call of that bird—and there he would be. I’d wondered sometimes how he managed it, with a war going on all around us.

Sighing, I tucked the card in my pocket and turned to walk back to the morning room, where my mother was working.

As I did, to stop the direction my thoughts were running—back to the war, where oddly enough, everything seemed so much clearer—I idly turned over the other letter. The postmark was Kent, and that usually meant Cousin Melinda.

My mother was just finishing writing a letter. She was no longer officially serving with the regiment as the Colonel’s lady, but the wives of many officers and even men in the ranks from our old regiment treated her as if she were still, asking advice, sharing news, or just staying in touch.

“Here’s another,” I said lightly, setting it on her desk.

“Melinda?” she asked, smiling. “I expect she wants us to come and visit. Your father isn’t back from London, and he may not wish to leave again so soon. But it would make a nice change, wouldn’t it?”

She picked up the brass letter opener—there was a carved elephant in place of a handle, one of our purchases in a bazaar in Calcutta—and opened the envelope. “That’s odd. Two letters . . .”

My mother began to read the first one. “She’s well—Ian is out of the clinic and she has been worried about him returning to the Yard so soon. I expect he was ready to put the war behind him as quickly as possible. But you know how much she cares for him. Ah—this is about the other letter.

“‘Clarice, this is from an acquaintance of many years. Lillian Taylor was Nanny to an officer I knew, and we’ve kept in touch. At present she’s companion to a woman who is about to have her gallbladder removed, and the doctor insists that Lady Beatrice must have a nurse to attend her when she comes home from hospital. Lady Beatrice is refusing outright. And so I’ve been asked to come at once and persuade her to heed her doctor. I can’t leave at the moment, and I wonder if Bess might go in my place? It’s lovely there this time of year, and I’m sure you’d like Lillian as much as I have done. But whether you go or stay, please do me another favor and don’t—’”

My mother stopped, glanced at me, and then said, “I expect it’s about Richard’s birthday. Let’s keep this between us, shall we?”

Now when my mother asks me to keep something from my father, I’m doubly suspicious.

“What does the other letter have to say?”

She picked it up and unfolded it. “Hmmm. Not very much. Well, of course you ought to read it. Melinda is recommending you. Still, I know how much you have to do just now—”

“Mother—” I knew what was on her mind—that I’d only just got home, we’d had a number of people staying with us for nearly a fortnight, and she would very much like to have me to herself, at least for a bit.

“Darling, I thought you were looking at samples of curtain fabric? Have you made a decision?”

I really wasn’t interested in curtain fabric. The problem was, I was restless. For the first time in over four years, I had time on my hands. I’d helped my mother design and p

lant a new rose border, I had helped her make jam, I had even helped with the rigorous spring cleaning she and Iris had given every room in this house.

Yet I had been accustomed to wounded being brought in to the surgical tent at all hours, one after the other, as fast as we could work with them. I’d taken a line of ambulances back from the Front to a base hospital, trying all the while to keep men alive until we could give them more care than we were able to provide so close to the fighting. I’d worked in a forward aid station when German aircraft strafed the site, and I’d been overrun by the German Army, dealing with wounds no matter which uniform a man was wearing.

I loved working with my mother, watching her happily planning where to put the yellow climbing rose. But I wondered sometimes if she missed India or South Africa or Kenya, the excitement of the regiment, a foreign country, dealing with a Maharani today and a tribal chieftain tomorrow. She would have followed my father anywhere, made the best of anything. With cheerfulness and enthusiasm. And here she was, finally planning a new garden.

I’d been standing next to her desk. I sat down now in the chair beside her.

“Mother . . . I don’t really need new curtains. What I do need is something new to think about.”

She frowned. “Are you unhappy here, darling? It’s very different from France.”

And she had worried for me there every day of the war. I felt a surge of guilt.

Taking a deep breath, I said, “Do you miss India?”

She looked away. “I’m delighted to be in my own home again. We traveled most of our marriage. Most of all, it’s nice not to have to worry about your father—or for that matter, Simon—when I heard a troop coming in late from an action.”

“I understand that. I worried too. But you enjoy going into London with me. Let’s do ourselves a favor, and one for Cousin Melinda as well, and run up to Yorkshire together. Florence Dunstan lives in York, we could spend a few days with her, as well. Father wouldn’t mind, and Simon can fend for himself for a week. I’m sure Lillian, whoever she is, wouldn’t mind having both of us stop in first, to deal with a gallbladder.”

She turned and looked at me thoughtfully. “What went wrong in Ireland, Bess? You’ve been restless ever since you got home. And don’t tell me it’s the war, and coping with the wounded.” She hesitated, and then added, “It isn’t the young Irishman you left behind? You were worried about him.”

Oh, dear.

How to answer that?

I smiled and told the truth. “Terrence is in love with someone else. And while I came to like him in the end, I didn’t fall in love with him.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” She smiled. “I don’t know what the neighbors would have thought if you had brought him home with you.”

A man with a price on his head . . .

I said wryly, “I remember telling Simon just that. Still, I think the Colonel Sahib would have come to like him too.”

We laughed together, as I’d intended for us to do.

“If this woman needs a nurse until she’s fully recovered, why don’t you go and persuade her it’s necessary? I know, she sounds a terror, but you’ve dealt with worse.”

But I didn’t want to be someone’s nurse, I’d resigned from the Queen Alexandra’s when I came home from Galway. And the last thing I wanted was to be the nurse of a woman like this one promised to be. At her beck and call, treated like a servant and threatened with dismissal five times a day. I’d met women like her during my training, and I heartily disliked them. Besides, she probably had a lapdog that bites.

My mother must have read my mind. “I don’t think Melinda would have asked you to do this favor for her if she thought it would be anything but a short visit.”

I held back a sigh. “Read the rest of the letter.”

She picked up Lillian’s letter, rose from her chair, and moved to the cold hearth to read it. I saw her eyebrows go up.

“What is it?”

“See for yourself.” She handed the letter to me.

Dear Mrs. Melinda Crawford,

I write to you because you’ve always taken an interest in my welfare. You know how grateful I am for that! And I’ve been grateful as well for this lovely position. But I’m worried about Lady Beatrice. Her doctor has told her she must have her gallbladder removed, and that a nurse must be at hand when she comes home. She refuses, in spite of the fact she has a tricky heart. Neither I nor her doctor can convince her to change her mind. You knew her in Kenya, she has the highest regard for you, and your encouragement could make her reconsider. I have come to care for her myself, and I am truly worried about her. Nor can I think of any other way to persuade her. I wouldn’t ask if I could find any other solution. It’s such a long way to Yorkshire, I know. But please think about it. At present her surgery is scheduled for Friday next.

“Who is Lady Beatrice?” I asked, passing the letter back to my mother. “Do you know anything about her?”

“I’ve heard Melinda speak of her. She was a cousin of the Governor of Kenya, and went out there in 1905, after her husband’s death. She was so distraught, the family decided she needed a change of scene. She stayed a year or two, and then came home again. I think Melinda met her out there.”

“Surely she has family who can step in now?”

“I have no idea, darling. But I expect Lillian has no authority with her—or perhaps she fears losing her position if she pushes too hard.”

“Worse and worse.”

“Well, if Melinda liked her, she can’t be all that bad.”

I leaned back in the chair beside my mother’s to contemplate this situation and my other issue. What my mother wasn’t aware of was that the estrangement between Simon and me was something I didn’t know how to repair. It had begun in Ireland, and it was gnawing at me. When my parents were there, Simon appeared to be his usual self, but he avoided me, and I had begun to avoid him as well, which probably only served to make matters worse, I’m sure. But it lessened the pain I was feeling.

And so to my own surprise, as well as hers, I changed my mind and said, “If we can visit Florence in York on our way home, I’ll go.”

“I’ll write to Melinda this very minute. I’ll leave it to you to ask Florence if a visit is convenient just now.”

But two days later, when we were to travel up to London to take the train north, Cook accidentally scalded her hand and couldn’t use it for the next week. And my mother had to stay behind to prepare meals.

That’s how it happened. I traveled to Yorkshire alone, to meet the dreaded Lady Beatrice.

 

There was a stop in Peterborough, and the family sharing my compartment got down. I was glad to have it to myself,

because it had been rather crowded with two restless children in such a small space. I was hoping, when no one came, that I might have it to myself for the rest of the journey. And then just before the guard gave the signal to pull out, the door to my compartment was opened by a nursing Sister. She peered in, smiled at me, then turned back to speak to someone I couldn’t see. A man stepped forward, and she assisted him into the compartment, said a cheery farewell, and shut the door again.

I couldn’t see his eyes, for bandages covered them, only the lower part of his face, high cheekbones and a strong jaw, and he had a walking stick by his side to help him find his way.

Shrapnel in the eyes? I’d seen it often. Some cases cleared up without treatment, while others resulted in partial or permanent blindness.

I said, “Good morning,” so that the man would know someone was sitting across from him.

His gaze swung toward the sound of my voice, out of habit, but of course he couldn’t see me. “Good morning.”

He was cold, indicating that I shouldn’t ask questions about the bandages.

“Are you traveling to York?”

“I am.” Again, curt enough to indicate a lack of desire for conversation.

And so I returned to looking out the window.

But when we got there, no one was waiting to meet him.

I offered my help, but he said, “I can manage.”

“Don’t be silly. I was a nursing Sister during the war. I’m accustomed to being useful.”

So he did accept my assistance descending from the carriage, and I was starting toward the stationmaster when a nurse came hurrying through the passengers milling about as some got down and others were eager to get aboard.

She came up to him and looked shocked at the bandages, then recovered quickly to say, “How lovely to have you home at last! Oh, my dear!” But he pulled away as she attempted to take his arm.

“I can manage,” he said again in the same harsh tone, and she dropped her hand as quickly as if he’d struck it away.

I watched them walk on, his cane tapping, and sometimes losing his direction.

He—whoever he was—was home. But it was not going to be a happy homecoming.

I was still watching the pair when someone coming toward me said, “Pardon, Miss. Could you be Sister Crawford?”

I turned to see a middle-aged man in dark green livery heading my way in the thinning crowd. The train was beginning to move out, and he was looking rather disturbed, as if he thought he had missed me.

“Yes, I’m Sister Crawford.” I could understand his confusion, for I no longer wore my uniform.

“I’m Wilson, Miss. Lady Beatrice sent me to collect you. Do you have luggage?”

“How kind of her.” I looked around, then pointed to the cases that the guard had set down for me. “Yes, just those.”

“I’ll see to them, then. If you’ll follow me, please?”

I did.

I’d been told I’d be met, but not by whom. We went out to where a matching dark green Rolls was waiting. He dealt with my two valises—it still felt strange not to travel with my kit—then settled me comfortably in the long Rolls. He took his place in the chauffeur’s seat, and we set out toward the north.

As it turned out, the little village that was associated with Lady Beatrice’s estate was thirty miles to the northwest of York, and it was a long drive. Even with the blanket over my knees, I could feel the difference in the temperature from Somerset.

Wilson assured me that today was chillier than usual, and that the wind would drop by nightfall.

The countryside was striking. Outside the city, we were soon in rolling dales that were as beautiful in their own way as Somerset. We passed through a number of villages, where the dark stone houses crowded the street, and one small town even had a market in progress. The people seemed to be less friendly than those at home, staring at us without smiling. Or perhaps, I told myself, it was Lady Beatrice’s motorcar they recognized.

I was already regretting coming.

But I was here, and I would make the most of it, for Melinda’s sake.

When we finally reached the village where Lady Beatrice lived, it was close to dusk, the streets were empty, and the day’s chill had become cold evening.

The manor house sat just outside the village, close to a mile away, and a man stepped quickly out of the gatehouse to open the gates for us to pass through, waiting to close them behind us.

The “manor house” I was expecting to find at the end of the long drive through parkland was in fact a stately home. Not palatial in appearance, but still large enough to lose the Colonel Sahib’s old regiment in it, and have rooms left over.

Built of mellow stone, it had a parapet running around the roof and several wings, one a tower that looked possibly fifteenth century, maybe the oldest part of the house. The grand entrance was framed by a pillared portico, and the crest above the door was rather impressive.

And so when I walked up to the grand doors and they swung open to allow me to enter, I wasn’t prepared to meet my hostess straightaway. I had been expecting her to see me at her convenience—especially as she would not be pleased with my arrival. She hadn’t sent for me—Lillian Taylor had.

But to my surprise, as I walked through the heavy inner doors, she was waiting for me in the great hall. She swept f

orward to welcome me as if I were the daughter of a friend, and greeted me warmly.

“Welcome, my dear. You must be exhausted by your journey.”

Lady Beatrice was a tall, attractive woman in her seventies, her gray hair beautifully set, and her gray dress simple in design but expensive. Her only piece of jewelry was a lovely thistle pin, silver and amethyst. And her smile reached her eyes as she spoke to me. Behind her stood a quiet, slim woman of perhaps sixty, who must, I thought, be Lillian Taylor. Her hair was still fair, and her eyes were blue. She also smiled—in relief, I thought—as we were introduced.

After inquiring about my journey, Lady Beatrice turned me over to a housekeeper by the name of Mrs. Bennett, and I was whisked upstairs to my room. I was politely informed that I had thirty minutes to change for dinner, but that it would be informal tonight. And then I was left alone.

My room was enormous, with long windows overlooking a garden in full bloom, and furniture that appeared to be Georgian. A tray with a silver tea service stood on a table in the middle of the room, and I saw the coat of arms on each piece. The pot was hot, the tea ready to pour, if I felt like refreshing myself after my journey.

I quickly bathed, then changed my traveling dress for something suitable for dinner in a house this size. My mother had wisely suggested I pack a pretty shawl, and I was grateful for it across my shoulders as a maid appeared to escort me down the stairs. It was quite chilly outside in the passages.

I tried not to gawk like a schoolgirl, but there were such lovely things everywhere I looked, that I couldn’t stop myself from enjoying them. The hall where the stairs ended was a pale blue trimmed in white and filled with Roman statues and busts that would have done justice to a small museum. Another door led to the salon, where I was seated to have a sherry with Lady Beatrice before the meal. This room was decorated in golds and reds, and one could imagine standing here conversing with one’s fellow guests while awaiting the King’s pleasure.

Only, I was the sole guest. Lady Beatrice asked after Melinda, and then my mother, with a kindness that quickly won me over.

“Have you been to Yorkshire before, my dear?”

I told her that I knew York and had visited Fountains Abbey. She nodded. “We’re a long way from both, but it’s amazingly beautiful here. Although, when I first came to this place as a young bride, I was certain that this must be the most desolate place in England.” There was a sudden sadness in her eyes as she added, “But ours was a love match, and I’d have lived in a cottage with Hugh. His mother was still alive, and happy to teach me how to run this house. Now it’s home, and I love it dearly.”

We chatted for a while. Lillian spoke when she was addressed but mostly sat quietly and listened. I thought she might be shy, but I soon realized that she was worried. She’d hoped for Melinda, and instead had gotten me. And she wasn’t quite sure whether I could cope.

We were called in to dinner, and the meal was excellent. After we finished, we were joined for tea by Dr. Halliday, Lady Beatrice’s physician, who would see to her care after the gallbladder surgery. He appraised me, as if uncertain whether I was fish or fowl. Too young to be a competent nurse, surely . . .

But when we began to talk about the war, he seemed to change his mind. In fact, he knew several of the doctors I’d worked under at the Front. That too must be reassuring, I thought. At first glance, he must have believed me to be just out of training, with little or no experience to speak of.

We called it an early night, I think out of courtesy for me, tired as I was. We went up to bed as soon as the doctor departed. The fire had been replenished, and there was a hot water bottle between my sheets.

I was just about to fall asleep when there was a tapping at my door. I found my robe and went to open it.

Lillian Taylor stood there.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you at this hour,” she said quietly, “but Lady Beatrice found it hard to sleep tonight. She’s nervous, as the surgery is only three days away. I have found that reading to her is soothing.”

“Come in,” I said, and led the way to the chairs by the hearth.

“You said you were in the war? I should have known that Mrs. Crawford had found someone who could manage. Thank you for coming!”

She began to tell me a little more about the surgery. “It will be performed in York. At least for the first two or three days, Lady Beatrice will stay in hospital to be sure all is well. And then a private ambulance will be ordered, to bring her home. We’ve persuaded her to have a bed made up in one of the smaller sitting rooms, so that she won’t have to climb the stairs. Dr. Halliday and I have tried to think of everything. It isn’t that she’s being difficult, but she is used to being independent, and it’s hard to face being immobilized for two weeks or more.”

“What is the problem with her heart?”

“I’m not quite sure. With the need for an anesthetic during the surgery, there is some concern. But the gallbladder is making her wretched, and so she has come to the conclusion that the only hope for less pain is to be rid of it.”

“Yes, I understand. At least arranging that procedure hasn’t been a problem.”

Lilian sighed. “She wanted the surgery done here, but Dr. Halliday told her in no uncertain terms that he would not allow it. She likes him, and so she didn’t argue very much.”

“Does she have any family?”

“She has a son. He sits in Parliament when it’s in session. The rest of the year he prefers his house in London because it’s more comfortable.”

“Will he come up for the surgery?”

“Oh no, we have been forbidden to mention it to anyone. Least of all to Jonathan.” She smiled. “Lady Beatrice dotes on him, but you’d never know it. She tries not to show how much she misses him. The doctor refuses to allow her to travel to London just now, or she would have had her surgery there. She told Dr. Halliday that she’d ask the Queen to lend her the Royal Train. And she would have done, you know. Very likely they’d have agreed!”

I told Lillian that I planned to visit a friend while Lady Beatrice was in surgery. Her eyebrows rose. “Oh—I’d thought you would be available for the surgery. I heard her tell Dr. Halliday that she was pleased with you and would agree to having you with her for the whole two weeks.”

“Tell me about her?”

“Her father was an Earl, and she married another one. But you’d never guess. She’s kind and thoughtful and cares about the people around her. Nothing pompous about her. I’ve come to love her.” She smiled a little. “How could I not? It’s a lovely place to call home, and after years of being a governess to impossible children, and companion to demanding women—and one man—I’m grateful.”

Indeed, that had been my impression as well. But I didn’t say what was on my mind, that Lady Beatrice also seemed to have a marvelously developed skill at getting her own way.

The next morning, I broached the subject of my staying here to Lady Beatrice herself. She said bracingly, “Not a problem, my dear! Why don’t I ask Wilson to drive you to York directly, and you can visit your friend there over the weekend, while I am having my operation. He’ll return for you on Monday morning, and you’ll be here to care for me when I return from hospital.”

“Lady Beatrice—”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “No, my dear, I’m delighted to arrange this for you. And while you’re in York, perhaps you can do one small errand for me. I’ve ordered new dressing gowns for my convalescence. They are ready to be collected—I can even have them delivered by hand to your friend’s house. You have only to bring them back with you.”

“Lady Beatrice—” I began for the second time, but she said, “Evensong at the Minster is lovely. I’ll have Wilson arrange for both of you to attend. I believe you would enjoy that. The sound soars. It’s truly beautiful. I could almost wish I were going with you.”

When I found Lillian afterward looking for a book in the handsome library, I said, “She’s impossible. How on earth do you manage?”

Lillian shut the glass door that protected that set of shelves and turned to me. “What’s wrong, Bess?”

I realized she had no idea what I was about to say.

Sighing, I tried to explain. “I only came to Yorkshire to persuade her that it was wise to have a nurse in the house while she recovered. ...