A fatal feast at bramsfo.., p.10
A Fatal Feast at Bramsford Manor, page 10
The heavenly scent of bangers frying—those delectable, juicy, fat, spicy pork sausages—hit Bunny the moment she entered the sanctuary of the kitchen. Although she’d just enjoyed a spot of tea and biscuits, her stomach growled, nonetheless. One of the sous chefs, Rodger, had just put a dozen sausages in a hot pan glistening with golden melted butter. Good move, Bunny silently approved, flashing a smile at the man. Fat was essential for good flavor, and the salty butter would combine nicely with the sausage fat as it oozed and sputtered into the pan. The reason the Brits called the sausages bangers to begin with was due to the popping sound of the skin as it sizzled and split during cooking. The brown bits remaining in the pan with the fat drippings were also essential to make the flavorful onion gravy that the sausages would be served with. Although the sausages were only beginning to fry, Bunny knew the kitchen was prepping for the evening’s dinner. The star of the evening’s menu would be bangers and mash (creamy mashed potatoes) in onion gravy with a side of buttery green peas. It was classic British comfort food, and Bunny secretly applauded the choice. Because after such a gruesome murder the people deserved comfort food. Amen! She was also sorry to think that she wanted to play her part in the making of the meal. She saw another prep cook removing yet more sausages to be fried, along with a mound of potatoes yet to be peeled.
After depositing the tray and teapot in a bus tray near the industrial dishwasher, Bunny headed to the kitchen office, knowing that Lilly Plum was taking refuge there. Sure enough, the moment Lilly spied her moving about the cooking stations, she popped her head out of the office door.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked, attempting to keep her voice free of suspicion. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working.
“Thank you for the tea. I wanted a word with you. May we talk?”
Lilly studied her for a moment before ushering her into the tiny office.
As Bunny took her seat, she noticed that Lilly’s hands were shaking slightly. The poor thing is terrified of me, she thought disparagingly. However, were I in her shoes—sitting in a small room with a woman suspected of being a murderer—I might feel the same way. Bunny forced a sympathetic smile. “Lilly, you’ve shown me nothing but kindness since I arrived, and you have nothing to fear from me. I promise. I’m simply a visiting chef who is now caught up in this terrible crime. While I understand that you feel uncomfortable with me in your kitchen, I just had to come back here and ask you a few questions regarding that poor man. You made a comment a little while ago while I was making tea. You said that Marcus had a curious mind and an endearing way of getting under Sir Charles’s skin. What did you mean by that?”
Lilly laced her hands together to stop them from shaking and pressed them tightly to her lap. “I meant nothing by it,” she offered with a shake of her chic, silver-haired head. “I hate to speak ill of my generous employer.”
“I understand.” Bunny was doing her best to lower the tension in the room, but Lilly was wound tighter than a loaded spring. Offering a conspiratorial smile, she confessed, “I used to work for Mary Stobart. And while the opportunity she offered me was invaluable, and I was so very grateful for it, she had her moments. Did Marcus not get along very well with Sir Charles?”
Lilly exhaled as she gave a little wave of her hand. “They got on just fine. The academic and the wealthy patron. It was only that every once in a while Marcus would stumble on some arcane piece of information that would contradict Sir Charles’s favorite family narratives regarding his predecessors.”
“Can you give an example?”
Lilly thought a moment. “Sir Charles is very fond of his family history, especially when it comes to the world wars,” she said. “He used to brag about how his great-grandfather, Winston Wallingford, was a war hero in the First World War. He has a fine collection of war memorabilia in his private wing that he’s very proud of. Unfortunately, not long after hiring Marcus Bean, Marcus brought him the news that his great-grandfather had never served in the war, but instead had served the British interest in India by overseeing one of the British railroad companies there. It was a lucrative position, and while the family made out like bandits, the fighting on the Continent continued. Young Winston Wallingford, envious of the war heroes returning home to fanfares and accolades around the same time he was returning home from his service in India with his moneybags, paid some young officer for both his uniform and his tales of heroism. Old Winston kept the charade going until his dying breath. Sir Charles was crushed by that bit of information, but he handled it quite well in the end, eventually having a good laugh over it.”
“That had to be hurtful,” Bunny offered, wondering how well she would have handled such news. However, it was old news and hardly relevant in the great scheme of things. Learning that one’s ancestor had been more concerned with amassing wealth than doing his duty for King and country, might shake up the family tree a bit, but was it a reason for murder? Bunny wasn’t sure. However, being a fond tabloid reader, she knew that if ego and pride were aligned with the same purpose, anything was possible. Did Sir Charles have a big enough ego? Was his pride worn like a coat of armor, or a mere gossamer shell? She would have to find out.
“I believe it was hurtful at first,” Lilly continued, “but it sure brought the old boy down a peg, if you know what I mean. Although he’s quite a laid-back chap, Sir Charles is very aware of his station and wealth. Although, to be honest, ancestral wealth is getting harder and harder to hang on to these days. Hence the reason Bramsford Manor is now open to the public.”
“Do you think it’s possible that Marcus might have stumbled onto something else that might have angered Sir Charles?”
Lilly leaned forward in her chair. “What are you suggesting? Are you suggesting that Sir Charles had something to do with Marcus’s murder?”
“Look, I’m just trying to get to the bottom of things here. I don’t like it any better than you do, but Sir Charles hired the man.”
“If he didn’t like him, he could have terminated his employment at any time,” Lilly heatedly argued. “What reason would he have had to murder Marcus?”
That was the question. Maybe Marcus had stumbled onto something else . . . something far more damaging than a lying, avaricious great-grandfather. Sir Charles might have had a motive to want his historian silenced, but now was not the time to press the issue. Lilly was visibly upset, causing Bunny to wonder if she had any romantic ties to the handsome aristocrat. It wasn’t out of the question. That was something she’d need to look into as well. Instead, she thought it best to steer the conversation in another direction, lest she get kicked out of the kitchen again.
“What about access to the kitchen? Do you lock up at night?”
“You’re thinking about your missing knife, aren’t you?”
Bunny nodded.
“I told you that things sometimes go missing around here. An oven mitt, a wooden spoon, an egg timer, things of that nature. One of the staff will complain that they put an item away, only to find it missing. It happens in other parts of the manor as well. Most times it’s a simple case of a misplaced item. The item is found elsewhere, due to the fact that someone had moved it and forgot about it. However, other times it’s not so simply explained away as that. A small item will disappear for a time. Then, quite out of the blue, it will reappear again, right in the place where it was last seen, only no one claims to have touched it. Those incidents are harder to explain. We generally blame them on paranormal activity.”
“While that is unsettling, a missing oven mitt has never been used in a murder, I’ll wager. My knife was. Who has access to the kitchen besides the staff?”
Lilly grimaced. “I do lock up at night, mainly so that guests don’t come poking around in the fridge or attempt to make a midnight snack. Both have happened in the past. However, Sir Charles, Morgan, Callum Digby, and Peter Billingsley all have keys.”
Bunny made a mental note of it before firing off her next question. “How well did you know Marcus?”
Lilly flushed at the question, causing Bunny to wonder just how close their relationship might have been. Lilly cleared her throat and said nonchalantly, “I knew him about as well as anyone else around here. Marcus was a good man but a bit of a flirt. He was bright, intelligent, passionate about his work . . .” And not bad-looking, Bunny mused, watching Lilly squirm a wee bit as she spoke. Then, however, another thought blazed in the woman’s eyes. “The ghost hunt,” she suddenly remarked. Her dark eyes, still touched with a dose of suspicion, held to Bunny’s. “I know you’re claiming to be innocent of murder, and maybe you are, but I think Marcus’s murder had something to do with this ghost hunt of yours.”
“Hey, I’m just the chef on the show,” Bunny told her, bristling a bit at the accusation. “I leave all that ghost business to the lads.”
Lilly noted this before continuing. “We all knew that Marcus especially loved to delve into Bramsford’s haunted history. There is something quite wistful about the ghost story of Ann Copeland, and yet it’s so hauntingly sad in the same breath. I’ve seen her, you know.”
That gave Bunny the shivers. She shook her head, mumbling, “No. Do tell?” She was only being polite. She really hoped Lilly wouldn’t tell. Yet Lilly, like every other person who’s ever heard a bump in the night, was compelled to share the tale.
“It was out on the elevated patio,” she stated, staring off at some spot on the spine of an old cookbook. “They say the Fleur-de-Lys room is the most haunted in the manor. That was Ann’s room . . .”
Bunny’s eyes bugged outward at this. Holy shizzle! That was her room! Was she serious? Did they seriously put her in the most haunted room in the haunted mansion? No wonder the rabbit had plagued her. And yet, as she inwardly melted down, Bunny forced a serene smile as Lilly continued.
“. . . But that poor, weeping bride is seen in many places, including standing by the mistletoe chest. It’s a wonder couples want to tie the knot in this place, given Bramsford’s unlucky history. But they do, all the while the Mistletoe Bride keeps weeping over her misfortune. When she confronts you,” Lilly continued, shifting her gaze back to Bunny, “they say some can feel her pain and sorrow. Most break down in tears without ever really knowing why. Marcus never did. However, the ghost of Ann Copeland held a particular fascination for him. I think he wanted to help her.”
“Help her? She’s dead.”
Lilly nodded. “I specifically remember Marcus telling me about your new show, and how he wanted to reach out to your producer and extend an invite to come investigate here. I know he was a big fan of Brett Bloom’s from his days on Ghost Guys. I think he believed Brett and the team might not only contact Ann’s ghost but be able to help her in some way. When he received the news that Food and Spirits had accepted his offer and was going to film its pilot episode here, we couldn’t believe our good fortune. We were all genuinely excited. International exposure would do wonders for business. We all want Bramsford Manor to be successful. Our jobs depend on it.”
“You said that Marcus liked to dig up dirt on people, particularly Sir Charles,” Bunny reminded her. “Yet Sir Charles could have fired him at any time. However, he could have stumbled upon something else, some other little tidbit of information about somebody else that they didn’t want revealed?” As Bunny asked this, Rodger poked his head inside the office. “Did you ever hear anything regarding this?”
“Sorry to bother you, Chef,” Rodger apologized, stepping into the room, “but I’ve used the last of the potatoes. You’ll have to order more.” He then turned to Bunny and said, “There was a rumor.”
“What rumor?” Bunny asked, intrigued. Lilly also held her assistant in a curious look.
“The one about Bean’s secret reveal during the ghost investigation,” Rodger clarified with a conspiratorial grin.
Bunny’s jaw dropped, recognizing that this wee tidbit of information could potentially be a huge lead. She looked at Lilly to see if she’d heard this rumor too.
Lilly wiggled her eyebrows in answer. “I did hear something about that, but it was just a rumor.”
“Where did you hear this rumor?” she asked them both. “Do you have any idea what this reveal of his could have been about?”
Lilly looked at Rodger, then shook her head. “I have no idea. The thing about Marcus was that he was always very secretive about his research until he had all his ducks in a row. Once he was certain that his research was sound, only then would he share his discoveries. He was very professional in that way.”
“He must have discovered something important,” Bunny surmised.
“It’s only a rumor,” she cautioned, casting an impatient look at Rodger. “He never said a word about it to me.”
“But both of you had heard this rumor,” Bunny reminded them. “You must have heard it from someone.” Bunny covertly crossed her fingers on both hands, hoping one of them would spill the beans. Kitchen gossip could be so proprietary!
Lilly shrugged. “I heard it from Rodger,” she admitted, looking at the sous chef, who was lingering a bit too long in the kitchen office for her taste.
Rodger shrugged. “Betsy Copperfield. I overheard her mentioning it to one of our other servers the other day. I even asked Betsy about it. She claimed she didn’t know what it was, only that it was bound to be a bombshell. Those are her words, not mine. Naturally, I came into the office and mentioned it to Lilly.”
“Naturally,” Bunny agreed with a conspiratorial grin.
“We couldn’t imagine what it was,” Lilly admitted. “And I didn’t really care. It was typical Marcus Bean.”
“Well, we will never know now, will we?” Rodger gave a sorry shake of his head and left the office, heading back to his station in the kitchen.
To Bunny, a secret reveal during a ghost hunt had all the makings of a reason for murder. She forced her excitement down and offered instead a sincere thank-you to the chef.
She then added, “As you know, we are all going to be here for a while. I might as well make myself useful and check out this rumor. And speaking of being useful, do you need any help with tonight’s meal? Bangers and mash is a specialty of mine.”
“I imagine so. But we’re only cooking for a small party of guests tonight, and you, Bunny, are one of those guests. Thank you for the offer.” Lilly ended their little chat with a stiff smile.
Foiled again, Bunny mused, casting a wistful glance out the office window. She then thanked Lilly and left the woman in peace. Although she might not be allowed to slip into the kitchen and cook with the staff, Bunny also knew that she was no longer entirely banned from being in the place she felt most comfortable. The mere thought lightened her heart a measure.
Yet the real meat of the meeting had been the mention of this supposed rumor. Was Marcus Bean planning a surprise reveal in front of the cameras during a ghost hunt? What did it mean? And was there any truth to it? Even if it was just a wild-goose chase, Bunny was going to do her best to track that lead down, wherever it might take her.
Chapter 16
“There you are.”
Bunny had just left the kitchen with her sights set on finding Betsy when the familiar voice stopped her. She hadn’t anticipated seeing Brett there, and attempted to cover her surprise with a quick, “Hello. Fancy seeing you here.” She glanced around his broad shoulders, noting that the dining room was empty. “Where’s my grandmother?”
“They’ve taken their séance off to the drawing room, where Mike and Ed have joined them. The guys were in town raiding a fish and chip shop. Are you hungry? They’ve brought back an entire sack of fried food.”
“Sounds lovely,” she began, noting that Brett seemed adorably contrite. She was sorry to think it was a good look on him. “However, I’m going to have to pass on the offer.” Then remembering the remark about her gran, she asked, “She’s not really holding a séance in there, is she?”
Brett’s chuckle was deep and melodic as he denied the séance comment. However, he did admit, “She’s got them spellbound, Giff particularly, and is answering their most probing questions regarding the afterlife. She’s very fascinating. She told me that my grandfather was proud of me.”
With eyes narrowed, Bunny remarked, “Did she, now. And is that something you wanted to hear?”
She could tell he found her question intriguing. “I didn’t ask for it, no. But to your point, it made me happy to hear it. Is it, in fact, just a party trick?”
Answering the probing question in his eyes, she offered, “Sometimes I think it is. My gran is very good at reading people. She’s quite observant and sometimes uses tiny things revealed in one’s personality or what a person is wearing to spark a conversation. Taking a leap like that, telling you about a deceased grandfather when you’ve just met, takes you off guard and makes her the center of attention.”
Brett shook his head in dismay. “You said she was clairvoyant, and now you’re telling me she’s a mentalist?”
“I said she sometimes does that. I think her aim in taking you off guard is that it allows her to make a connection. When she makes a connection, she can see things. Heck, I’ve seen her walk up to strangers in Tesco and tell them personal things—while they’re selecting produce—that make them burst into tears. It can be embarrassing. I think she enjoys it.”
“But she is the real thing, and that’s why you called her,” he said, just to be clear. Bunny nodded. Brett then motioned for her to walk with him out to the stately patio that overlooked the gardens and rolling lawn.
Although there was a chill in the air, Bunny found the view to be as breathtaking as it had been from the kitchen windows, only the patio sat an entire story higher and had two sets of sweeping stairs that emanated from an oval outcropping. The stairs led to a lower patio in the garden. Flanking the picturesque garden on both sides were high brick walls with rustic archways leading to yet more natural delights. On one side Bunny could see a grove of fruit trees, while on the other was a maze created out of manicured hedges, with a lovely marble bench in the center of it. Bunny imagined what a spectacular wedding venue the manor must be. Then, because she couldn’t help it, she had the audacity to visualize herself as a bride, dressed in a pure and flowing gown of white while holding a spectacular bouquet of roses. Her groom—here she cast a covert glance at the man walking beside her—would be a sun-kissed, blond-headed man. Yes, she silently mused. Definitely a tall, strapping man with clear blue eyes. Her groom would be waiting in the lower garden, watching as she descended the curved staircase with her gown billowing in the breeze behind her. She was shocked at how clear this fantasy was in her mind, yet just as she was about to take her imagined groom’s hand, her vision changed to something terrifying and soul-crushing. Her lovely hand with its firm young flesh and capable fingers had turned skeletal. It was now just a jumble of white phalanges atop metacarpals atop carpals reaching out to thin air. An ear-splitting cry ripped through her brain before the wailing began. It was haunting. It was soul-hacking. It was the ghost bride of Bramsford Manor. That was all Bunny knew before her knees gave out from under her.
