Murder with manners sylv.., p.1
Murder With Manners (Sylvia Shipman Murder Mysteries Book 4), page 1
MURDER WITH MANNERS
BLYTHE BAKER
Copyright © 2023 by Blythe Baker
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CONTENTS
Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About the Author
A visit to relatives in Newport is supposed to give Sylvia time to rest and consider the latest revelation about Miles’ past. But when a picnic hosted by the local yacht club ends with a mysterious death, Sylvia is drawn into a dangerous investigation.
1
Dear Elizabeth,
I hope this letter finds you well. I must apologize that it has been some time since our last correspondence, as life around here has been rather…interesting. Between the stock market downturn and other familial events that have transpired, I fear I have had little time for such luxuries as writing letters, which is a great shame because there is so much that I wish to tell you.
Perhaps the most important development is that I have taken up a hobby, as some might say. I might say that it was thrust upon me and I had little choice in the matter. Regardless, mysteries have found their way to me and I have taken the liberty of solving them. I will not bore you with the details, but I have managed to unravel many criminal matters that had left the real authorities perplexed.
In other news, I know that you will ask, and no, there is no one important enough to speak of yet in my life. Not without my mother trying, mind you. And I have an aunt that I am to visit soon who has taken it personally that I am not yet married. I imagine she intends to remedy that. I might allow her the chance to surprise me, but I have no expectation of being swept off my feet.
How about you? How has your engagement with Mr. Walton been? Your wedding is this spring, is it not? I wish that I could be there for it. You will be a beautiful bride and I know that you and Mr. Walton will make one another happy.
There is one last thing that I would like to ask you, and I suppose you could say that it has something to do with this newfound interest of mine. You are in a unique place, and I would not be entirely truthful if I didn’t admit that this letter was in some small part due to this question that I have for you.
I am looking into an unfortunate tragedy that occurred in London, not terribly long ago. Apparently, a woman was found murdered in Hyde Park, and the assailant was supposedly her husband. I have very little information about the matter, but if you have heard anything about it or could send anything for me to look at, I would be grateful.
All that aside, I have recently been going through some of my old things cleaning out my room, and I stumbled upon some of the stories that you and I wrote up for my sister Joan’s plays when we were in school together. To say they were rough would be an understatement, but I had a laugh and it brought me such joy to remember.
Take care, my friend. And please be sure to give your parents my love. Oh, and happy belated birthday! I hope you spent it doing something you love.
All my best,
Sylvia
“Sylvia! Are you ready?”
“Almost,” I said, quickly sweeping my gaze over the letter one last time to make sure there were no mistakes. When I was confident that it read clearly, I hastily folded it up just as Joan pushed the door to my bedroom open.
My sister had already dressed in her traveling clothes, which included a thick wool coat, gloves, and a knitted scarf done by our grandmother some years before that was a rather odd shade of yellow. She tossed it over her shoulder. “You don’t look ready,” she said, eyeing me. “What were you doing up here?”
I held up the letter before turning to slide it into an envelope. I really did not want her seeing what was written inside. “I was just finishing this,” I said as I picked up the pen to begin scrawling Elizabeth’s full address onto the front.
Joan walked up beside me. “Now?” she asked. “What was so urgent that you couldn’t wait to write that after you arrive?”
“I have been putting it off for too long, and I thought it would be best to get it sent off,” I said. “I will have enough to worry about when I am there.”
Joan crossed her arms, eyeing me warily. “Are you sure you’re all right with this trip?”
“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” I asked, adding our own address. As it was heading overseas, there needed to be a little bit of extra information to ensure that it would reach its destination.
Joan started, eyes widening. “It’s a trip all about you. I think you’re lying.”
I sighed, picking up the letter. “What would you have me say?” I asked. “I couldn’t very well turn Aunt Rachel down.”
“Well, no, but it just surprises me that you were willing to go along with it,” she said with a shrug. “I know she’s grateful that you helped clear Michael’s name, and it even makes sense that she would invite you for a visit…but you must realize she’s planning to introduce you to all sorts of eligible men?”
I shrugged. “Yes, well…”
“Well, what?” Joan asked.
“I suppose, sooner or later, I may want to get married,” I said, walking over to my bed where my suitcase was lying, still propped open. I reached for the cardigan lying beside it and started to pull it on. “I could use a rest at our aunt’s luxurious home, and if the price to be paid is that she wants to introduce me to people… Well, who knows? Maybe I will meet the man of my dreams.”
Joan’s eyes narrowed. “You hate being the center of attention.”
“Yes, that I do,” I said. “But to be honest, I have been rather looking forward to getting away from the city for a bit.” I tried not to look at the lockbox tucked away on the shelf of my side table, where the gun that the fisherman had discovered lay locked away. “This seemed like an answer to my prayers.”
“If you say so,” Joan said doubtfully. “Personally, I don’t see anything relaxing about being whisked around to boring social functions by Aunt Rachel and having a lot of strangers pushed at you.”
“Well, take my word for it,” I said. “I am happy to be going to Rhode Island. It has been a long, long time since I have been there. Perhaps you should even come with me. I know for certain they would be overjoyed to have you visit as well.”
Joan scoffed. “No chance of that. I have no intention of suffering under Aunt Rachel’s helpful intentions.”
I laughed, walking back over to my suitcase, feeling a bit more lighthearted.
“Who is the letter for?” Joan asked.
I grabbed the last few dresses that I had laid out the night before and tucked them into the top of my suitcase. “It’s for Elizabeth,” I said.
“I haven’t heard you mention her in some time,” Joan said. “What made you want to write to her so suddenly?”
“She is getting married soon,” I said, glancing over at her. “Not to mention her birthday was almost two weeks ago.”
Joan’s eyes widened. “It’s unlike you to miss something like that.”
“Yes, well, life has been a little busy as of late,” I said, closing the top of my suitcase. I didn’t quite meet her eye. I didn’t want her to know the real reason I had wanted to write to Elizabeth was about our butler, Miles, and what Elizabeth might be able to find out for me.
I had kept the pistol hidden for weeks now. Christmas had come and gone, and as wonderful as it had been this year, the secret of what the fisherman had found in the river remained a constant thorn in my side whenever I looked at Miles. I made it a point to stay near to Joan, and when I spoke with him it was cordial at best. He often watched me, and it took a great deal of concentration to not return his glances. I had to pretend that nothing was wrong, but my sheer lack of communication with him proved that I was blatantly lying. I knew he would see right through it.
I didn’t want to guess anymore. I didn’t want to depend on my own feelings anymore. I needed facts…and then I would have to come to a decision.
Until then, I needed to guard myself…as difficult as it was.
“Well, I am glad that you are reaching out to some of your friends,” Joan said. She twirled a strand of hair at her temple. “I have been thinking about doing the same. Something about all the gloomy attitudes has made me want some companionship. I realize it might only be nostalgia tugging at my heartstrings, but I suppose there is nothing wrong with reconnecting with people, is there?”
“Nothing at all,” I said, patting the top of my suitcase. “I’ll send Miles up for this.”
Joan pursed her lips.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s nothing,” she said. “I just guess this house will feel strange and dull without you.”
“I won’t be gone for more than two weeks,” I said. “As long as the weather cooperates and I can take the train back on time.”
“While I am gone, my room is your room,” I said. I laid a hand atop the suitcase again, pressing my fingers against the surface to ensure that I had slid the keyring inside. The cool metal was definitely inside. I didn’t want anyone discovering the pistol while I was gone.
She walked with me down the stairs to the foyer where my mother waited beside Miles.
“And do stop at the grocer’s on your way back to pick up some dried roses for me,” she was instructing. “I need them for the soap I have asked Mrs. Riley to teach me to make.”
“Mother, are you certain you want to take up that task?” I asked. “Mrs. Riley already does such a wonderful job, and I worry that you are hoping to take up another hobby you will discontinue in short order.”
Mother smiled at me. “Oh, you just worry about yourself,” she said, laying a hand against my cheek. She pulled me toward her and kissed my forehead. When she looked at me, I found myself thinking of a time when I could not have been more than six or seven, about to travel to visit my grandparents. It had been my first trip away. She wore the same sad expression now, hidden behind a fragile smile. “I hope you will have a wonderful time, dear.”
“Thank you, Mother,” I said. “I am sure I shall.”
“Is your suitcase ready, Miss?” Miles asked.
I nodded, and when I did not give him any further verification, he slipped up the stairs to fetch it.
“Are you all right, dear?” Mother asked.
“Yes, why would I not be?” I asked.
Her brow wrinkled. “You seem quite short with Miles as of late. Did he do something to upset you?”
That would be a weak word…I thought. Not for the first time, I considered telling my family what I had found. And once again, I came to the same conclusion; how would it be anything but unfair for me to tell everyone what little I knew without any solid facts to back up my suspicions? Everything could have been true, or it might not be. I needed more proof before I brought this into the open. Besides, I could hardly dump this sort of concern upon them right before I left. Miles would certainly be dismissed without hesitation, which might not even be what he deserved.
If he wanted to harm my family, he had plenty of chances to do it before my trip away. I doubted that he would try anything now. Why should he? No, I did not greatly fear leaving them behind. A small flicker of doubt plagued me that I might come to regret that later…but there were so many reasons why I knew that I could trust Miles, at least for the time being.
My family was not his target. He may very well just have been using us as a place to hide after he had murdered his own wife. Or not. But I mustn’t jump to conclusions so quickly.
“No,” I said, doing my best to keep my reservations hidden. “I suppose I have just had a lot on my mind lately.”
It seemed to satisfy my mother, but Joan did not look convinced.
Miles reappeared soon after, carrying my suitcase downstairs. He gave me a brief smile as he walked it past me out through the front door.
I said goodbye to my mother and Joan, both of whom seemed genuinely upset to see me go. My throat tightened, and I did my best to quell the tears welling up behind my eyes.
I waved at them from the backseat as Miles started the car down the street.
“You don’t need to worry, Miss Sylvia. I will keep a close eye on everything while you’re away,” Miles said from the front seat.
“Thank you,” I said, staring out the window at the passing rowhouses. Somehow, his promise did not reassure me.
I realized this was the first time we had been alone since working on Michael’s case together. The air hung thick and cold in the car, and I shivered as the muscles in my jaw clamped tight.
“I realize there is a chance someone might come around looking for you while you are gone,” Miles said, his head swiveling back and forth as he tried to look for oncoming traffic. “You have gained a reputation for helping people unravel difficult secrets, and others may hope you can do the same for them. Would you like me to have them leave their information and problem? I could easily write to you and then you could – ”
“I have no interest in any such things while I am away,” I said, cutting him off. I didn’t bother to look up at him. “If anyone does come, and their difficulty is not immediate, I can easily contact them when I return home.”
“Very well,” he said, but I noticed some of the warmth had left his voice.
I felt a twinge of guilt, but shook it aside. What if he did kill his wife? Should I treat him as such now? I wondered. On the other hand, what if he didn’t?
These were things I had no idea what to do about.
“I left a letter on my writing desk,” I said. “If you could get that sent for me as soon as possible, I would appreciate it.”
“It will be done,” he assured me.
I hoped more than anything that he would resist any sort of curiosity that might come upon him and not attempt to read it. Maybe I should have let Mrs. Riley take care of it for me instead…
We arrived at the station soon after, though it felt longer than it ever had before. Miles helped to set my suitcase into a luggage cart, wheeling it to the gate for me.
“Take care of yourself,” he said, giving me a smile.
“Thank you,” I said. “And you as well.”
He tipped his hat, leaving me at the ticket booth. As he strode away, he and I might as well have just met, as civil as we were. Regretfully, I watched him hop back into the car and leave.
I purchased my ticket and settled in to wait for my train to arrive. Mercifully, the weather had held out, though I wondered if it would still be as clear when I reached Rhode Island.
I laid my head back against the bench seat, drawing in a deep, slow breath.
I could not shake the gnawing worry devouring my insides. Why had I allowed this possibility of Miles being a killer to entirely encapsulate my mind?
I needed answers…but I wouldn’t find them while I was away.
All I could hope was that being out of the city might distract me long enough to give some peace of mind.
2
By the time I reached the station in Newport, I remembered why I did not like to travel alone.
When I had stepped onto the train at Grand Central Station, I had secured myself a compartment near the very back. I knew that most travelers would not care to walk as far as that, and knew that I would likely have the place to myself. I very well might have had the back four compartments all to myself had an aristocratic couple not come all the way back and selected the compartment straight across from my own. That troubled me little, apart from the slight annoyance at my personal space being invaded, until they decided to start squabbling with one another.
They fought for almost two hours straight.
She had a shrill voice, and his had a sharp edge. They went back and forth, about entirely inane matters like the color of the carpet in the front hall and the orientation of the front hall stairwell. They went on to accuse one another of hoarding money, of making unwise purchases, only to entirely put it all aside when the lady with the lunch trolley came passing through to offer us refreshments.
If that wasn’t bad enough, when the train began to slow, we were not yet at the station. Apparently, a train that had pulled in before us had not left, due to an internal issue. I waited and waited, along with the others onboard.
A man strode down to the back car of the train, rather bored by the looks of him, only to linger by my compartment door. He told me I must be lonely, all by myself. I assured him that I was not, but he cared little for what I said and went on bothering me until one of the conductors came through to inform us that we would be moving again soon.
