Murder at marley chase, p.1
Murder At Marley Chase, page 1
MURDER AT
MARLEY CHASE
Marilyn Clay
A Juliette Abbott
Regency Mystery
Book Ten
Table of Contents
Title Page
Murder At Marley Chase (A Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery, #10)
ALSO BY MARILYN CLAY
A Brief Note Regarding Horse Racing In Regency England
The Primary Players
CHAPTER 1 | Not What She Expected
CHAPTER 2 | Tilda Is Displeased
CHAPTER 3 | A Most Unusual Book
CHAPTER 4 | A Mad Man On the Premises?
CHAPTER 5 | A History of Ancient Rome
CHAPTER 6 | What Tilda Saw
CHAPTER 7 | Mr. Sheridan Is Here?
CHAPTER 8 | Dora Hatfield’s Ruby Ring
CHAPTER 9 | A Most Unexpected Encounter!
CHAPTER 10 | Breaching The Rules Of Conduct
CHAPTER 11 | A Man Ran From The House!
CHAPTER 12 | The Suspect List Grows, Sort Of . . .
CHAPTER 13 | In Which An Afternoon Is Wasted
CHAPTER 14 | A Shot In The Dark
CHAPTER 15 | When His Ship Comes In
CHAPTER 16 | Have Your Wits Gone Begging?
CHAPTER 17 | A Stampede!
CHAPTER 18 | Three Dozen Bottles Of Ale On The Wall
CHAPTER 19 | To Catch A Thief
CHAPTER 20 | Ralph To The Rescue!
CHAPTER 21 | A Rogue Of Her Own
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sign up for Marilyn Clay's Mailing List
ALSO BY MARILYN CLAY
FICTION
The Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery Series
Murder At Marley Chase
Murder In Martindale
Murder On Marsh Lane
Murder At Montford Hall
Murder In Maidstone
Murder In Middlewych
Murder At Medley Park
Murder In Margate
Murder In Mayfair
Murder At Morland Manor
Historical Suspense Novels
Betsy Ross: Accidental Spy – A Colonial American Suspense
Deceptions – (First printing in hardcover, second in large print;
reprinted in ebook as Dangerous Deceptions and The Letter)
Secrets And Lies – (First printing in hardcover;
reprinted in paperback as A Petticoat And Lambskin Gloves)
Regency Romance Novels – in paperback and ebook
Bewitching Lord Winterton
Brighton Beauty (reprinted as A Pretty Puzzle)
Miss Eliza’s Gentleman Caller
Felicity’s Folly
Miss Darby’s Debut (reprinted as The Uppity Earl)
The Unsuitable Suitor
The Wrong Miss Fairfax
Contemporary Mystery
Stalking A Killer: An Amanda Mason Mystery
NON-FICTION
18th & 19th Century English Women At Sea
History of The Water Closet
Regency Period Furniture, Vol.1
Regency Period Furniture, Vol. 2 –Baubles & Necessities
Regency Period Furniture, Vol. 3 – Gentlemanly Concerns
You Are Never Alone: Gentle Reminders To Help Us Remember Who We Are
HUMOROUS CAT STORIES
(Fictional although based on truth)
Sailor’s New Bed
Daisy Grows Up: A Kitten Baby Book
MURDER AT MARLEY CHASE
Book Ten of the Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery Series
A Regency Plume Press Publication
Copyright © December 2022 by Marilyn Jean Clay
Electronic Edition Copyright © December 2022 by Marilyn Jean Clay
All Rights Reserved.
MURDER AT MARLEY CHASE, Book Ten of the Juliette Abbott Regency Mystery Series is entirely fiction. Names of persons, villages, and/or places of entertainment are all products of the author’s imagination, and if real, are used fictitiously.
This book is protected by the copyright laws of the United States of America and other countries. No portion of it may be reproduced, digitized, taped, recorded, scanned, or reprinted in whole or in part by either photocopying, printing, or copying electronically for the purpose of distributing on the web for sale, or given away for free; nor can the contents be electronically transmitted, faxed or emailed to be given away, or stored in any sort of online retrieval system in use today, or by methods yet to be invented, without written permission from the author, Marilyn Jean Clay and The Regency Plume Press. All images appearing within the book are either copyright free, or are used with permission.
Dear Reader: Piracy is not a victimless crime. It is stealing and punishable by laws designed to protect an author’s hard work. Please do not contribute to the online piracy of copyrighted material. This author, and other authors, thank you for your honesty.
Published and printed in the United States of America, December 2022.
ISBN: 979-8359138604
A Brief Note Regarding Horse Racing In Regency England
KNOWN IN ENGLAND AS the Sport of Kings, all modern day horse races with the exception of The Grand National first run in 1839, were hosted during the Regency, including the Royal Ascot, instituted by Queen Anne at her Ascot Park. During the 1700s and 1800s so many important horse races were held in England that to avoid conflicts between races, an official Racing Calendar was compiled and distributed in 1727. Horse racing was such a popular sport in all classes of society that it actually contributed to the proliferation of provincial newspapers. First-hand reports of races, names of winning horses, owners and jockeys were the top news stories of the day. Racing and wagering on races was far and away the national pastime for most all men from royals to MPs, local squires, and eager young lads who dreamt of one day sitting astride a race horse.
The famed English journalist Pierce Egan wrote about horses races and racing insiders, whom he dubbed ‘The Fancy’. Wealthy gentlemen had portraits of their winning racehorses painted by the well-known animal artist George Stubbs. Most townships had a local artist who specialized in capturing a horse’s image and the artisan was kept so busy with commissions that he could scarcely keep up.
All thoroughbred racehorses were descendants of three Arabian stallions of the early 18th C., Godolphin Barb, the Byerley Turk and the Darley Arabian Manak. When the English bred their smaller, but swifter pacers, with the large Arabian stallions, a strong thoroughbred horse that could gallop, was born. The most famous racehorses of the Regency period were Careless, Atlas and Vandyke.
In 1750, the Jockey Club was formed at Newmarket, some 50 miles northeast of London on Suffolk’s western border. Racing at Newmarket dates back to James I, who built a hunting lodge there. Newmarket’s permanent grandstands (called Epsom Stands) separated upper class swells from the rowdier and far less orderly racing enthusiasts. In 1667, the first formal horse race took place at Newmarket, and was presided over by King Charles II who awarded cups or bowls worth 100 guineas to the winners. The 1000 and 2000 Guinea Classic races are still held today at Newmarket and enjoyed as much now as they were then. My story is a fictional account of a Derby at Marley Chase in 1822. ~ Marilyn Clay
The Primary Players
JULIETTE ABBOTT – (19) a London resident who agrees to assist the wealthy Lady Marley (Augusta) select works for her new picture gallery.
Lord Marley (Nigel) – Industriously building stables, racing tracks and a tiered grandstand for a prestigious Derby he is hosting at Marley Chase.
Matilda Tompkins – (Tilda) Miss Abbott’s companion & lady’s maid.
Miss Priscilla North – (18) Orphaned daughter of friends of the Marley’s. When the girl’s parents passed away, Lady Marley took her under wing.
Clare, Sara and Jenny – teen-aged nieces of Lord Marley, visiting Marley Chase with their father to witness the horse races.
Mr. Sheridan – Miss Abbott’s gentleman friend, employed by England’s Home Office. Mr. Sheridan resides in London, not far from Marley Chase.
Ambassador, Lord Perth – A distinguished diplomat who Mr. Sheridan has been dispatched by the Crown to protect from a ruthless assassin.
Trent, Lord Parkington – Lady Marley’s brother who recently inherited their late father’s title. He and his wife Lydia both reside at Marley Chase.
Robert Bell – illegitimate son of Lord Marley and one of his mistresses.
Ned Ruston – formerly of Medley Park, banished from the estate by his father following the disclosure of the young man’s evil deeds. (Oh, my!)
CHAPTER 1
Not What She Expected
MID-JUNE, 1822
“You come very highly recommended, Miss Abbott!” declared Lady Marley moments after I was shown into her private suite at Marley Chase, the grand estate located not a great distance from London. An attractive woman of some forty years, the elegant Lady Marley was possessed of lovely auburn hair and brown eyes. In her youth I expect she had been considered a great beauty for she was still quite handsome.
“Mr. Phelps,” her ladyship went on, “was most effusive in extolling your qualifications to evaluate fine art. I confess I am, indeed, at a loss setting up my new picture gallery. At the outset, I believed I had sufficient time in which to see my project through, but now that my husband has moved back the date for his Derby by a fortnight, so as not to interfere with . . . oh, I forget what.” She huffed. “At any rate, my houseguests have already begun to arrive. I am in desperate need of your assistance, Miss Abbott. To begin at once would not be soon enough.”
Trying not to gaze about at my surroundings like a green girl who’d never beheld such grandness before, I replied, “I am in hopes that tomorrow will suit, ma’am.”
I had visited many sumptuous homes in my travels, but this one quite took my breath away. That the stone-faced butler who’d answered my rap at the door had bypassed the gold-appointed withdrawing room on the ground floor and instead led me up a wide spiraling staircase and deeper into the bowels of the immense home, had only heightened the anxiety that had begun to rise within me as Mr. Gant, my man-of-all-work, had turned off the toll-road to head up the shady tree-lined lane towards the imposing multi-storied building that sat at the top of the drive.
Despite the anxious thoughts tumbling through my mind, I managed to say, “I am most honoured to have been chosen to assist you in assembling the works for your new picture gallery, ma’am. I quite look forward to the challenge.”
Her ladyship sighed. “I truly believed I could manage the task on my own, but with all that is presently disrupting my days . . . and evenings, I find I simply cannot. I require someone with your keen eye to not only choose which paintings and artifacts to exhibit, but to see that the works are presented in a pleasing manner.”
Lady Marley and I had not yet taken a seat in the spacious chamber, so I was again surprised when she indicated that I take a seat beside her on the blue velvet settee in the center of her private sitting room, or perhaps this was her morning room. At any rate, the walls here were covered in rich blue silk; the Turkish carpet an intricate pattern of swirls against a blue and gold background. Blue velvet draperies set off the floor-to-ceiling windows whilst a pair of crystal chandeliers hung low overhead. Sunlight streaming through the long windows caused specks of coloured light to dance about.
“Briggs.” Without glancing toward the butler, who still hovered a step or two inside the doorway, her ladyship said, “Do have a fresh pot of tea brought up and instruct Cook to also send up a platter of those lovely little petit fours that arrived from Paris this morning.”
Also not glancing toward the aged retainer, I assumed he nodded before exiting the chamber to carry out his employer’s instructions. Upon hearing the click of the door latch, Lady Marley whose gaze I now felt resting upon my person, again spoke.
“Do forgive me for staring, Miss Abbott.” She shook her dark head. “I simply cannot dislodge the feeling that you and I have met before. Might you have attended the Northwood’s gala last week, or perhaps Lady Jersey’s breakfast the previous Sunday?”
Taken aback that she would think me a London socialite, I hastened to say, “No, ma’am, I-I was unable to attend either function.”
“Ah. My protégé, Miss Priscilla North, only just made her come-out this Season. Consequently, Prissy has kept me running from one ball to another for weeks now. She declares that to miss a single function will put her at a distinct disadvantage.” She smiled indulgently.
Upon recalling a tonnish event where the titled lady and her protégée might have spotted me, I said, “Perhaps you have seen me on a Wednesday evening at Almack’s, or at the Holland ball some weeks back.”
“Ah, yes; yes, of course.” She nodded assent. “You are a very pretty girl, Miss Abbott. I wonder that you have not been snatched up by some young buck in search of a bride.” Again she smiled. “Forgive me, I do not mean to pry. It’s just that this Season appears to be rife with young noblemen casting about for a wife.” Smoothing the folds of her gray silk gown, she switched topics. “Your employer Mr. Phelps assured me that of all his associates, you were the perfect choice to help me assemble the paintings for my new picture gallery.” After a pause, she said, “I expect Prissy could help, but these days, she seems . . . a trifle distracted.”
Relaxing a mite, I exhaled the breath I was not aware I’d been holding. “I am, indeed, grateful for the trust that both you and Mr. Phelps have placed in me, ma’am. I am quite looking forward to the challenge,” I said again. Because I could not help myself, I risked a quick gaze about this lovely chamber and noted that the silk-covered walls here were quite liberally decorated with fine artworks. “You appear to have a vast array of noteworthy paintings in this chambe. . .”
“Oh, no, my dear!” She quickly cut me off. “We shall not be removing any of the treasures from this room. Every painting here was chosen especially for me by my late father. Throughout his life, my father was an avid art collector. My husband and I, of course, acquired additional works during our travels, from Italy, France, Austria, even Russia and the Netherlands. However, of late, we have . . . curtailed our journeys abroad. At any rate, a good many chambers within Marley Chase are bursting with masterpieces, some of which have not been seen by a single Englishman, or woman.” She half-laughed. “To assemble an assortment of treasures in my own private art gallery has long been a dream of mine. The chamber I have chosen to display my treasures currently has no function, so my plan is to fill it with lovely works of art.”
“A pleasant endeavour, to be sure, ma’am.” I relaxed a tad bit more as I listened to her ladyship expound upon the multitude of fine works she and her husband had collected, which included paintings by the famed artist Joshua Reynolds and even the late Mr. Gainsborough.
When Mr. Phelps of The New Bond Street Auction House, a gentleman with whom I have had the pleasure of assisting with a number of similar undertakings, summoned me to his establishment to discuss this particular assignment, he indicated that Lord and Lady Marley’s collection did, indeed, include important works by prominent Continental masters and many lesser-known, although talented and upcoming, English artists.
Becoming more and more intrigued by all that Lady Marley was saying, neither she nor I noticed when a pair of uniformed maids and a footman silently slipped into the room bearing the pot of steaming hot tea and platter of French delicacies that her ladyship had ordered up. After we had both been served and the servants had noiselessly exited the chamber, we each took sips of tea and bit into a dainty petit four, whereupon she set down her cup and resumed speaking.
“I understand that you possess a lovely town home in Mayfair, Miss Abbott, is that truly the case?”
“Indeed, ma’am, I do reside in Mayfair,” I said, unable to conceal the hint of pride in my tone that always rose when I mentioned that my home was situated in one of London’s most desirable neighborhoods. “My home is in Brook Street.” Then, lest she were about to reprimand me for being an unmarried woman living alone, I rushed to say, “I’ve a trusted companion and lady’s maid, Miss Matilda Tompkins, who resides with me, and of course, I employ several house servants.”
“Ah, yes; of course. But, do bear in mind, my dear, that whilst you are engaged with my gallery project, you are welcome to take up residence here at Marley Chase. My younger brother Trent and his wife Lydia have recently arrived and will be here for a lengthy spell.” Lowering her tone, she confided, “Lydia is increasing, and Trent is assisting my husband with his plans for the Derby. Upon our father’s death, Trent inherited his title and now adores being addressed as Lord Tarkington.” When speaking of her brother, her smile turned especially indulgent.
“Miss North resides here, as well,” she added. “When the poor girl’s parents were both killed in a tragic accident, I insisted on looking after Priscilla and she has been with us . . . going on five years now. I confess, as the years pass, Prissy seems more and more like a daughter to me than the child of a dear friend. But, that has nothing to say to anything. At any rate, I think you will find that as we delve deeper into our work, it will be far more convenient for you to remain here for several days at a stretch than to travel back and forth to London each and every day.”
She reached for a tiny frosted cake and with a question in her eyes, asked if I would like another. When I declined, she went on. “I expect our work might very well prove exhausting before the gallery is complete. If you would prefer to stay here, Miss Abbott, just say the word and I shall have a suite of rooms prepared for you and your companion Miss Tompkins and your lady’s maid and footman, if you wish to bring them along. Several of my guests have already arrived in anticipation of the races, and I am expecting a good many more before the Derby commences.” She sighed. “I believe the trial races, which, I understand, are held to gauge a horse’s speed and, my husband says, to familiarize the animals and riders with the track, are already underway. I confess I know little to nothing of horse racing, and truth be known, I do not care to know a whit more,” she concluded on a haughty sniff.
