An Unfortunate Demise (An Anna Fairweather Murder Mystery Book 2)

  An Unfortunate Demise

  Blythe Baker

  Copyright © 2021 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.

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  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

  About the Author

  Death stalks the guests at a seaside resort...

  While staying at Brighton with the formidable old Mrs. Montford, Anna Fairweather witnesses a drowning. Suspecting the “accident” is something more sinister, Anna begins a search for the truth – and the killer.

  Does a belligerent brother-in-law carry an old grudge? Is the victim’s grieving husband a little too quick to move on? With an entire hotel full of suspects, Anna must uncover the secrets, and the motives, the hotel guests and employees are desperate to hide. But with the clock ticking, will Anna get to the bottom of the mystery – or find herself at the bottom of the ocean?

  1

  Traveling to Brighton so late in the year seemed like a fool’s errand, but for Mrs. Montford, it was precisely the sort of holiday that she needed.

  In the place known for its beautiful seaside shores and cobalt waters, travelers flocked from all over to soak up the rare moments of sun and warmth. Inns and restaurants lined the streets along the coast, and shops of all sizes attracted buyers with handsome window hangings, clothes perfect for a relaxing time on the beach, and tempting treats and savory snacks.

  It might have been a pleasant destination…had it not come in the wake of the death of my master.

  “I do wish that you would look a bit cheerier,” Mrs. Montford said as she peered out the window, our train beginning to decelerate as we neared the station. She adjusted her hold on her handbag, looking out of the window with great annoyance.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said with a tight smile, though I could not bring myself to feel any different. I ducked my gaze to my hands in my lap. I knew the rigidness in my shoulders would prove me to be nothing more than a liar, so I did what I could to try and relax.

  As a child, I had heard tales of the seaside being some mysterious, magical place where nothing could ever go wrong. It seemed to be akin to heaven on earth.

  Yet as the train brakes screeched and the conductor passed by our cabin, likely to reach the door ahead of the passengers, I could not ignore the rhythmic tip-tap of rain against the window nor the dark clouds that pressed in on all sides like the shadow of some great beast.

  It had not been much more than a week since the Colonel died. No…not died. The Colonel was murdered.

  Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was the blotchy face of the killer, his arm wound up with the fireplace poker clutched tightly in his hand, readying himself to strike me dead with it.

  Had it not been for the commotion that scene had caused, I knew for certain that I would not be here now with Mrs. Montford, taking the afternoon train to Brighton.

  Familiar knots in my chest seemed to have made a permanent residence within me, which ensured I not only missed sleep, but that I had to hide for long stretches of time until my racing heart would slow and my panting breath would ease. It felt as if someone sat upon my chest all hours of the day. The fear had become crippling, striking when I least expected it, suffocating the air right from my lungs.

  I knew the murderer had been hauled away. I had heard his angry shouts as the police came to arrest him. He was not at the Montford country estate any longer. I had thought it would be better for me not to know exactly where he had gone, and yet, somehow not knowing made it a great deal harder to imagine him in confinement anywhere. What I wanted was to know that he was held in a particular place, in a particular cell…a very real place where he could never touch me again.

  I suppressed a shudder, my hands tightening in my lap, my knuckles turning white.

  The train came to a complete stop, and Mrs. Montford let out a heavy sigh. “Goodness me…I shall never understand why it is that I cannot travel anywhere without the blasted rain following after me.”

  I looked up, peering out the window, the streaks of rain trickling down the glass.

  “I shall be happy to see Mrs. Baird. It has been too long,” Mrs. Montford said.

  I pursed my lips. I wondered what this Mrs. Baird might think of Mrs. Montford bringing a solitary maid along for her stay. It might have been easily explained that she was an older woman and needed extra care, but Mrs. Montford was quite spry and she hardly needed me.

  “Let us make our way down to the platform, then,” Mrs. Montford said, getting to her feet.

  “Shall I take your bag for you, ma’am?” I asked.

  “Yes, I suppose you might as well,” Mrs. Montford said, and she handed the rose-patterned carpet bag to me.

  We made our way off the train to the platform where the conductor helped to haul Mrs. Montford’s trunk onto a trolley, doing his best to keep it beneath the overhang outside the station. He helped us into the main lobby of the station, his own suit dotted with droplets, she and I almost entirely dry thanks to his careful attendance. He bid us farewell and hurried off to help the next family.

  “Very good,” Mrs. Montford said, looking around. The station itself was painted in bright, cheerful colors indicative of summer. A large mural painted on the back wall showed happy families down by the water, sun beaming down, children playing in the sand, and couples hand in hand in the shallow surf.

  A chill ran down my spine at the sight of so much water.

  Splashing filled my mind and my throat grew tight. The suffocating feeling returned and I gripped the handles of the carpet bag as if it were a lifeline.

  “Now, where is that—”

  “Mrs. Montford!”

  I welcomed the distraction and turned to see who I could only assume was Mrs. Baird making her way toward us.

  She reminded me of a flower, all dressed up in powder blue with a matching wide-brimmed hat. She seemed far more prepared for a day at the beach than the raining, dreary afternoon that had actually been given to us. Her face, rosy and round, was pleasing to look at; she must have been quite the stunning woman in her day, with her wide hips and her graceful wave that gave me visions of dancers on the London stages that I had seen when I was young.

  “Oh, Beatrice, how wonderful it is to see you again,” Mrs. Baird said, reaching both hands out toward Mrs. Montford. She beamed at her, the broad smile lighting up her face.

  “Mrs. Baird,” Mrs. Montford said with great warmth in her voice, a warmth that I had not heard for some time. She held her hands out, and the woman bypassed them entirely to wrap her arms around Mrs. Montford’s shoulders, embracing her.

  “Oh, Bea…” Mrs. Baird said, her blue hat obscuring her and Mrs. Montford entirely from my sight. “How can I begin to tell you how devastated I am for you?”

  I noticed the ends of Mrs. Montford’s fingers clench ever so slightly, and for a long moment, she simply allowed her friend to hold her tightly. “Thank you,” she said finally, pulling away
, giving Mrs. Baird a small smile, though she did not meet her gaze for more than a moment.

  Mrs. Baird studied my mistress with sad eyes, her mouth turned down in a frown. “Bea, you must feel just terrible. I was so glad when you agreed to come and stay here. I knew the change of scenery would help. It will help, I assure you.”

  She laced her arm through Mrs. Montford’s, leading her through the station.

  I fell in behind them, making sure to stay close so as not to become lost among the crowds of people coming off the train meeting with friends and family greeting them.

  “I promise you that we have had some wonderful weather of late,” Mrs. Baird said as we stepped back outside, the chorus of rainfall challenging her words. “Unseasonably warm, you see. Not that anyone has complained. The longer the snows are held off, the happier everyone around here is. Now, where is our car…”

  She hurried us over to the car, which we climbed into so that she could chauffer us to the inn where we would be spending the next week.

  “There, now, that was not too bad, was it?” Mrs. Baird asked, a few droplets clinging to the edges of her hat. She brushed some water from her sleeves and leaned forward to her driver. “The Main Street Hotel, if you would, William.”

  The driver glanced in his rearview mirror, gave her a nod, and we were on our way.

  “What a handsome car,” Mrs. Montford said.

  Mrs. Baird preened, patting the seat beside her rather affectionately. “A gift from my husband,” she said. “He knows how I detest remaining indoors, and he wanted to ensure that I would have a safe means of getting around town. It was quite an expense, of course.”

  “Nothing but the best for his bride,” Mrs. Montford said.

  Mrs. Baird’s smile faltered. “Oh, Bea…I did not mean to make you upset. How thoughtless I was, mentioning my husband in such a flippant manner.”

  “You need not apologize,” Mrs. Montford said. “I am not so sensitive that you cannot discuss entirely normal aspects of your life. I shall speak with many in the future who have not yet had to say goodbye to their husbands, but I shall not be so selfish as to wish otherwise. It would be terribly unkind of me.”

  Mrs. Baird laid her hand over her heart. “You are so strong, Bea. How admirable you are.”

  The car took a turn at the end of the street, and the lights out the window to my right suddenly disappeared in the distance. A great blackness stretched to the horizon.

  “Oh, the sea…how I have missed it,” Mrs. Montford said with a sigh that seemed to release more of the tension than anything else had in the last few days.

  The sea…

  I turned my face away, trying my best to ignore the memories trying to break through the shield I had erected in my mind. Like a fist pounding on glass, it made me quake beneath its presence but I knew it could not reach me. Not as long as I ignored it.

  “I must admit, I am quite impressed with your young maid here,” Mrs. Baird said. “Has yet to say a word. She could teach my girls a thing or two. They thrive on gossip, let me tell you. I should like them not to whisper as if they think I cannot hear them.”

  I felt Mrs. Montford glance at me. “Anna is dutiful,” she said. “I have been pleased with her position in my household.”

  “Clearly,” Mrs. Baird said with a smile. I did my best not to look up from my hands in my lap once again. I could just see her out of the corner of my eye. “The fact that you have chosen her as your attendant during your stay here speaks volumes.”

  My cheeks burned. I wished they would continue their conversations about the Colonel or Mr. Baird…something apart from paying any sort of attention to me when I could hardly breathe for the weight pressing against me, knowing the sea lay such a short distance from me, churning and thrashing about in the wind from the storm.

  “The Colonel chose her especially,” Mrs. Montford said. “And I have been impressed with her diligence and attentiveness. Apart from a few follies as of late…I have nothing too great to complain about.”

  Nothing too great to complain about? What does that mean?

  I knew she had not been pleased when she learned of my snooping around for information with her nephew, immediately following the Colonel’s death. She had firmly scolded me for it, though I had overheard young Mr. Jerome doing his best to take the blame entirely before he and his mother left the estate shortly afterward.

  “Are you all right, girl?”

  I tensed at once, my back becoming as rigid as the seat I sat upon.

  “Yes, of course, ma’am,” I said, though I could hear the rise in my voice.

  “Goodness, what has you so nervous?” Mrs. Montford asked.

  I swallowed, or attempted to. My throat seemed dry as paper. “It is the sea, ma’am,” I said in a small voice. “The water has made me uneasy since I was a girl.”

  “Oh, there is no need to fear,” Mrs. Baird said. “It might look tumultuous right now, but once the storm has cleared and the sun comes out, it shall be a great deal calmer. Then you shall see it for its beauty.”

  Mrs. Montford studied me, her eyes narrowing slightly.

  “I know it can be quite overwhelming to see so much water if you have never seen it before,” Mrs. Baird said. “I assure you, you are perfectly safe.”

  I nodded, keeping my head bent.

  The ladies’ conversation turned to Mrs. Montford’s final goodbyes to her home in Maidstone. She told Mrs. Baird, as she had told so many others in her family, that she did not intend to abandon the country estate forever, but that she needed a change of scene in order to grieve and move past the Colonel’s death.

  As we approached the hotel, the car slowly pulled into a pretty drive flanked by tall trees and some of the loveliest buildings I had seen in all my life. Nothing at all like the dirty parts of London I had known in my youth, and yet a different sort of beauty to the sprawling fields and lush gardens of Maidstone. Despite the main building nestling tightly between two others, it seemed perfectly natural, possessing a welcome coziness.

  A sense of heightened excitement temporarily pushed my fears aside, and I allowed myself the luxury of staring up at the four-story structure that we had reached.

  The driver quickly parked the car underneath the large awning that spanned the width of the drive and helped the two ladies from the car. I followed suit quickly, keeping up with them, Mrs. Montford’s bag clasped firmly beneath my arm.

  The foyer did not disappoint. A grand staircase greeted us, two separate walkways that wound up both sides of the room, meeting in the middle and then carrying on up to the second floor. A breathtaking chandelier hung down in the center with thousands of tiny glittering crystals hanging from the golden frame. The floor reflected the whole room, the marble polished so keenly that it may as well have been a mirror.

  “Goodness me, Mrs. Baird,” Mrs. Montford said. “What a lovely, lovely place.”

  Mrs. Baird gave a small giggle, laying her hands upon her friend’s arm. “Is it not just the most gorgeous place you have ever seen?” she gushed. “I thought it just the location for you to have a bit of rest and relaxation.”

  I watched Mrs. Montford, and for the first time since the Colonel’s death, I saw a rare glimpse of her youth. When she stared up at the chandelier, the lines around her eyes eased and I could see something passing through her mind. I wondered what she could be thinking of. The Colonel? Her future? I imagined it touched upon them both.

  “Come, let us get you checked into your room. You will love the view. And dinner tonight at the restaurant? Oh, goodness me, your Mrs. Rose back at the estate might be a worthy cook, but I assure you that you will thoroughly enjoy your meals here.”

  I followed them through an opening beneath the stairwell where we found a long counter where people dressed in deep green stood. I assumed they must be the staff of the hotel. Many guests, dressed in their finery, strolled through the foyer. Others had congregated nearby to speak with the staff. A large golden plaque hung the full
length of the wall behind the counter, filled with little golden hooks where silver keys hung, spinning lazily with tiny black numbers above them.

  Mrs. Baird and Mrs. Montford stepped up to the counter and I fell in behind them, doing my best to appear uninterested in my surroundings. I allowed myself some slight glances here and there, but I knew that too much would draw attention. The ladies did not seem at all interested in anything apart from their own conversation, and so they did not hear anyone step up behind us.

  “I still think this is best,” said a woman’s voice. “I realize it may be a bit of an inconvenience, but the view from the other side of the building is going to be breathtaking.”

  “I am pleased you’re happy,” said a man, whose voice seemed to lack enthusiasm.

  “I feel I must apologize,” she said. “Had I known we had the choice from the beginning, I would have requested one from the start—”

  The man let out a small chortle of disbelief.

  “What is wrong?” she asked. “Why are you making that face?”

  “It’s nothing,” he said, but it was quite clear that it was, in fact, something.

  The woman let out a small sigh. “I thought this was what you wanted,” she said. “To come here. To get away.”

  “It is,” he snapped. “Can we just—please, let’s just drop the matter. We will ask to change suites, though it will be a small miracle if they still manage to have any on the sea side of the hotel.”

  The woman huffed. “I do not see the harm in asking,” she said. “We are paying good money, after all. And halfway through a two week stay? They will be happy to accommodate us.”

  “You underestimate the number of guests here on holiday,” he said. “Do you not see those in front of us? Carrying their luggage? They may take the last room, for all we know.”