The Case of the Purloined Pages, page 1
THE CASE OF THE PURLOINED PAGES
GRAVESYDE PRIORY MYSTERY, #5
PATRICIA RICE
CONTENTS
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Author’s Note
The History of Wycliffe Manor
Characters
One
MINERVA AND PAUL: TUESDAY MORNING
Two
CLARE: TUESDAY NOON
Three
MINERVA: TUESDAY NOON
Four
PAUL: TUESDAY AFTERNOON
Five
HUNT: TUESDAY DINNER
Six
CLARE: WEDNESDAY MORNING
Seven
MINERVA: WEDNESDAY NOON
Eight
PAUL: WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
Nine
HUNT: WEDNESDAY DINNER
Ten
CLARE: WEDNESDAY LATE
Eleven
MINERVA: NEAR MIDNIGHT
Twelve
PAUL: THURSDAY BREAKFAST
Thirteen
MINERVA: THURSDAY BREAKFAST
Fourteen
CLARE: THURSDAY BREAKFAST
Fifteen
HUNT: LATE THURSDAY MORNING
Sixteen
MINERVA: THURSDAY MORNING
Seventeen
PAUL: THURSDAY BEFORE LUNCH
Eighteen
CLARE: THURSDAY BEFORE LUNCH
Nineteen
HUNT: THURSDAY NOON
Twenty
MINERVA: THURSDAY NOON
Twenty-one
PAUL: THURSDAY, AFTER LUNCH
Twenty-two
CLARE: THURSDAY AFTERNOON
Twenty-three
MINERVA: THURSDAY BEFORE DINNER
Twenty-four
PAUL AND MINERVA: THURSDAY BEFORE DINNER
Twenty-five
CLARE: THURSDAY RECEPTION
Twenty-six
PAUL: THURSDAY EVENING
Twenty-seven
MINERVA: FRIDAY MORNING
Twenty-eight
CLARE: FRIDAY MORNING
Twenty-nine
PAUL: FRIDAY MORNING
Thirty
MINERVA: FRIDAY MORNING
Thirty-one
CLARE: FRIDAY NOON
Thirty-two
PAUL AND MINERVA: FRIDAY NOON
Thirty-three
CLARE: FRIDAY AUCTION TIME
Thirty-four
PAUL: FRIDAY AFTERNOON
Thirty-five
MINERVA: FRIDAY EVENING
Thirty-six
CLARE: FRIDAY EVENING
Thirty-seven
PAUL: FRIDAY NIGHT
Thirty-eight
MINERVA: FRIDAY NIGHT
Thirty-nine
CLARE: FRIDAY NIGHT
Forty
PAUL: FRIDAY NIGHT
Forty-one
MINERVA: SATURDAY MORNING
Forty-two
CLARE: SATURDAY CELEBRATION
Forty-three
HUNT: SATURDAY AFTERNOON
Forty-four
MINERVA: SATURDAY AFTERNOON
Forty-five
CLARE: LATE SATURDAY AFTERNOON
Forty-six
PAUL: SATURDAY NIGHT RECEPTION
Forty-seven
MINERVA: SATURDAY NIGHT DINNER
The Wedding Epilogue
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Gravesyde Priory Mystery
School of Magic Series
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About the Author
Also by Patricia Rice
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
For those who enjoy following the growing family relationships, there is a partial of the earl’s family tree on my website, https://patriciarice.com/wycliffe-family-tree-2/.
For those of you who have difficulty remembering names (as I do), a character list follows, along with a brief history of Wycliffe Manor.
The Gravesyde Priory Mysteries can stand on their own, but it’s a little more fun to start at the beginning to see how the family comes together and grows and to watch the village and manor spring to life again.
For the grammarians among you, I have chosen to modernize the spelling of “blond/blonde” because I can. Unfortunately, I cannot single-handedly eliminate the idiocy of lie/lay. I must hand that to future generations. . .
THE HISTORY OF WYCLIFFE MANOR
Wycliffe Manor is the ancestral home of the Earls of Wycliffe, built on the remains of Gravesyde Priory, for which the village is named. In the way of medieval fiefdoms, the earls resisted district boundary changes, so the estate, in 1815, is an exclave of Shropshire, although south of Birmingham and surrounded by Worcestershire, creating legal havoc when it comes to crime.
George Reid, the fourth Earl of Wycliffe, lost his only son, and with no male heir apparent, arranged to distribute his wealth and all other estates to his female relations upon his death in 1781. His son’s widow, Lady Gabrielle Reid, held a life interest in Wycliffe Manor and lived there until she died in 1801.
The fun begins when the trustees of the last earl’s estate attempt to dispose of the manor after the viscountess’s death. Since the earl left his worldly goods to ALL his relations, the manor belongs in equal parts to every Reid descendant, including that of his siblings and a growing family he never knew.
Except our story takes place at the turn of the nineteenth century, a time when male trustees are reluctant to turn over a substantial estate to females, bless their feathery little heads. The lawyers insist on a male to accept the inheritance and the responsibility, and the only one they can find is an American Army officer, Captain Alastair Reid Huntley. Family legend says he is a descendant of Lady Reid’s affair with a French count, but the marriage lines and birth are appropriately recorded.
By the time these legalities are decided, however, Captain Huntley is busy fighting the British, and it takes two years of war and recuperation from serious injuries before he very reluctantly agrees to sail to England.
Amidst all the legal squabbling, the manor was abandoned to a pair of elderly caretakers for nearly fifteen years. The earl left a legacy for maintaining the manor, so important repairs were made, but bats will play when the master’s away.
And so our story begins in 1815, in The Secrets of Wycliffe Manor, with the arrival of Captain Huntley. As the heirs gradually return to their ancestral home, they discover unresolved mysteries and stir up new ones. Fortunately, the Reid family enjoys a good puzzle.
CHARACTERS
FAMILY and FRIENDS
George Reid, Fourth Earl of Wycliffe—deceased; left Gravesyde Priory to all his family
Captain Alistair Huntley—US Army engineer; legal if not natural great-grandson of earl
Clarissa (Clare) Knightley—spinster; great-granddaughter of earl
Oliver Knightley Owen—Clare’s seven-year-old nephew
Arnaud Lavigne— Hunt’s artist cousin, eldest son of late Comte Lavigne
Henri Lavigne— Arnaud’s younger brother, tavern owner
Lady Elspeth (Elsa) Villiers de Sackville—great-granddaughter of earl; Jack’s wife
Honorable John (Jack) de Sackville—retired soldier, son of Baron de Sackville
Baron de Sackville—Jack’s father; bibliophile
Benedict Bosworth Jr.—banker; the earl’s illegitimate grandson
Lady Lavinia Marlowe—dowager baroness, earl’s daughter;
Lavender Marlowe—seamstress; illegitimate granddaughter of Lady Lavinia
Elaine, Lady Spalding— dowager marchioness; earl’s granddaughter; Hunt’s aunt
Marquess of Spalding—stepson of Lady Spalding
Dorothea (Dottie) Reid Talbot—granddaughter of earl’s brother David
Davy Talbot—Dottie’s 8-year-old brother
Frances Huntley—Hunt’s mother; Lady Spalding’s sister
Adele and Jules Lavigne—Henri and Arnaud’s aunt and uncle
Sofia Lavigne—daughter of Adele and Jules
Daniel Walker—Hunt’s friend, steward
Meera Abrams Walker—physician/apothecary; Clare’s best friend
Paul Daniel Upton— new curate
Henrietta (Nettie) Upton—curate’s stepmother; granddaughter of earl’s younger sister
Patience Upton—Nettie’s daughter and curate’s stepsister; gardener
Minerva (Penn) Peniston—great-granddaughter of earl’s youngest sister
Colonel Peniston—Minerva’s father; steward of Duke of Castlefield
OTHERS
Terrence Birdwhistle—tutor
Lady Catherine Colwell—widow of Baron Colwell; daughter of poor northern earl
Willingham—(Toad) bookseller
Xander—librarian of Duke of Castlefield
Yardley—agent for Marquess of Spalding
Zachary—wealthy Cit; bibliophile
Lt. Teeter—retired soldier, Xander’s assistant
Duke of Castlefield—Xander’s employer; bibliophile
ONE
MINERVA AND PAUL: TUESDAY MORNING
June 20, 1815
Rain stopped beating against the carriage roof as the horses halted under a dilapidated portico attached to the most horrendous Gothic monstrosity of a manor Minerva Peniston had the displeasure to encounter. This was Wycliffe Manor? Once the home of the wealthiest earl in the kingdom?
Charming. Well, monstrosities did not matter to her task here. Rain blurred the harsh gray stone of the walls around the cracked and aging wooden side door. A proper butler awaited, as if he’d been watching for them. Which he couldn’t have been, because they hadn’t told anyone they were arriving. The fewer who knew, the less prepared the thieving assassin would be.
Their footman swung down, and a lad ran out of the manor to help unload their trunks. Lady Catherine anxiously plumped her skirts, adjusted her bonnet, then tied her cloak. Minerva had learned to endure her companion’s constant primping. Well, she was supposed to be the companion. Lady C was her camouflage.
“This is so exciting,” the older woman whispered. “My husband talked so much about the late Earl of Wycliffe. To actually see his library. . . Do you think they have luncheon? I am fair starved.”
In her urge to investigate, Minerva refrained from shoving the lady out but tolerated her chatter until their footman set the stairs and assisted them down. Once the lady was inside the building, Minerva could look around. She wouldn’t melt from a few leaking rain drops.
An urchin dashed under the portico, out of the rain, shaking a sodden cap and approaching the rather massive butler attending the luggage. “Mr. Upton says as he needs Mrs. Walker right away. Mrs. Brown is a’having her baby!”
Not her problem any longer, Minerva told herself, watching the servants carry in their trunks to be certain hers was properly unloaded.
“Mrs. Walker has gone to Birmingham,” the butler intoned. “I will see if Mrs. Brown’s mother is in the sewing room.”
“Her ma is with her! She says somethin’ is wrong.” The lad looked anxious. “She’s screamin’ somethin’ fierce.”
A stout older woman in an apron emerged in the hall, presumably the housekeeper. She did not appear pleased at their arrival. “I don’t have rooms prepared for ladies. We had no warning. You will have to wait in the parlor.”
“We have an invitation.” Minerva indicated her bag as if it might be in there. She didn’t intend to identify herself by sharing it.
“Mrs. Upton,” the lad cried over their dispute. “Mrs. Brown is a’havin’ her baby!”
Minerva tried to maneuver around the housekeeper and this domestic crisis. She didn’t like letting Lady Catherine too far out of sight. The lady would have them both thrown out on their ears if left to her own devices. Discreet was not in the garrulous woman’s vocabulary.
Whereas Minerva’s mission required being unobtrusive, a skill in which she excelled.
With trunks piling up, the carriage driver impatiently holding the restive horses, and the boy wailing, more people gathered in the dark, narrow hall to view the entertainment. Devil take the boy, calling attention to their entrance. She had not counted on this. She couldn’t afford failure—her father’s position rested on her success.
The housekeeper and butler frantically consulted. Minerva caught snippets about Mrs. Brown being all the help the curate had for his invalid grandfather and the unlucky mother being the main provider for a houseful of siblings.
At the same time, Lady C was escaping down the hall, happily oblivious to chaos, admiring the ugly paintings and peering in doorways. Really, Minerva should have found someone with more class. But Lady Catherine knew things Minerva didn’t.
She hated choices like this. It only multiplied her chances of failure. But if the mother might die anyway. . . Resigned, Minerva hid her face in her cloak hood before speaking. “I have delivered babies. Perhaps I can help.”
At least she wouldn’t be here to blame if Lady C got flung out in the downpour on her pretty curls before the auction even began.
Paul Upton offered prayers of relief as young Georgie raced into the gloomy cottage, dripping from cap and coat and shouting he’d brought help. The anguished cries in the back room were escalating, and despite the cool damp, Paul wiped sweat from his brow.
He was a bachelor. This was his first parish. He’d been educated at Oxford and practiced under the tutelage of experienced clergymen, in towns much larger than Gravesyde Priory. He could read Latin and quote scriptures. With the right connections, he could become a vicar someday.
He had never delivered a child.
“Meera,” he cried in relief, standing up to greet the manor’s apothecary. Carrying her own unborn child, Meera Walker did not regularly visit patients. She was more chemist than physician, but she possessed knowledge a common bonesetter or midwife did not.
The cloaked woman entering behind Georgie was not Meera.
She was Meera’s petite size, but she hurried across the cottage with a purposeful stride that in no way resembled the little apothecary’s swaying step. Of course, Paul had never seen the colorful physician wearing black from head to toe either. He might be wrong. . .
The newcomer did not acknowledge his presence but strode straight to the chamber from which the cries emanated.
Had an angel dropped from heaven to rescue the babe? Paul might believe in Eternal Paradise, but he was fairly certain angels did not regularly fall to ground in Gravesyde, not even dark ones. He could see nothing of her beyond the black hooded cloak, but she acted with such authority, he had to assume she knew what she was doing.
She closed the door on the back room, where his grandfather’s housekeeper screamed in agony, and the patient’s helpless mother wrung her hands. Paul touched the small testament in his pocket and said a prayer before confronting young Georgie, who appeared prepared to bolt. “This isn’t Mrs. Walker. Where did you find her?”
“At the manor, sir. She said she delivered babies. Mrs. Walker been gone to the city.”
Meera needed her own midwife. Perhaps she’d found this one?
The screaming had blessedly reduced to long moans and grunts. Paul desperately wanted to leave. He knew nothing of women’s troubles, which was why he needed a wife and helpmeet to aid in his parish duties.
But aside from the fact that he could barely support himself, Gravesyde Priory was a wasteland of few inhabitants. The return of some of the late earl’s family had brought in a few more people, not enough. He was grateful at his good fortune in finding Mrs. Brown to help with his invalid grandfather. Beyond her, there were very few young village ladies.
And as much as Paul admired the single ladies at the manor, they were not cut out to be an impoverished curate’s wife.
Georgie ran off. Paul wished he could too. He was singularly useless for anything except flinging coal on the fire to keep water boiling.
Mrs. Brown’s mother bustled from the back room to gather towels and blankets. She nodded at him. “You go on, parson. Thank ye for sending the lady. We’ll be all right now.”
Properly dismissed, he gathered his hat and cloak and didn’t even ask the lady’s name. He supposed he’d find out in due course. Perhaps she was a lady’s maid.
That raised his hopes a little too much. A lady’s maid might make a curate’s wife.
TWO
CLARE: TUESDAY NOON
Biting her bottom lip, dipping her pen in the inkwell, Clare Knightley neatly copied a fresh page. With Elsa and Jack’s wedding over, she really ought to be anticipating her own, but they had to wait on her fiancé’s mother to arrive from Philadelphia.
