Regencyland- The Bristle Park Murders Read online

  Shea cleared her throat. “How far is the main property from the cottage?”

  Mrs. Rafferty peered at her over the lace fan she was using. “One mile or so. Why ever for?”

  Shea felt like a bug under a microscope. “I was just wondering if we’d have a chance to see it again. It was so quaint.”

  Mrs. Rafferty nodded in agreement.

  Shea let out a quiet breath. One mile. Okay. That meant that if she needed to get Cross out of here in an emergency, they’d have thirteen miles to go before she got to her car—all with a woman who wasn’t likely to be able to run that distance, let alone in a dress. From her car, it was a half hour to the nearest town and police station.

  “What’s our schedule like today?” Miss Smith asked, her gloved hands fluttering nervously in her lap. “Will we be reading from the great works of Austen, the Bronte sisters, and Sir Walter Scott? Or perhaps taking a stroll around the park? Or riding in a phaeton? Or…”

  Mrs. Rafferty smiled warmly. “Not today. Since it is already quite late into the afternoon, we’ll be showing you ladies to your rooms. We want you to have time to get settled before dinner. That’s when we’ll introduce you to the other guests.”

  Smith practically swooned. Shea kept her I’m-really-happy-to-be-here smile firmly in place, but she’d read about common foods during the Regency era, and some of it made her feel downright gaggy. Tongue, turtle soup, Pike with Pudding in the Belly. What was that even? She just hoped she wouldn’t have to find out.

  “I can’t wait.” Miss Smith couldn’t be any older than twenty-two and was stunning—tall and willowy, with porcelain skin and red hair. Almost too sweet to bear, had it been fake. As far as Shea could tell, the girl was innocent and just super excited to be here. Shea found her enthusiasm endearing.

  “Ah, and here it is.” Mrs. Rafferty pointed out the window of the carriage with her fan.

  Out of the vibrant greens of the forest, a beautiful red brick mansion came into view standing in stark contrast. Chimneys jutted skyward in at least twenty places, and ivy grew up one side, the side with the stables. A rose garden in full and colorful bloom sat on the opposite side of the edifice.

  Shea had never seen anything so regal before in her life, or, for that matter, macabre. This was the kind of place where murders happened. Although, she had to admit, that that wasn’t her cop-brain speaking. She couldn’t think of one cop who had been called to a murder in a house like this. No, it’d been the fanciful part of her brain that had supplied “murder.” The part of her brain that loved mystery novels, cop movies, and even Where’s Waldo when she was a kid.

  There must have been dozens of rooms, stairwells, nooks and crannies and probably even some secret passages. It was so mysterious. If she were really a guest she’d think it was stunning, but after her initial overwhelm wore off, all she saw was a strategic nightmare.

  Shea groaned.

  Mrs. Rafferty smiled and puffed out her chest, making it heave a little. Shea blushed and looked down at her chest. It wasn’t as big as Mrs. Rafferty’s, but in these corsets, even the most flat-chested woman looked ample. That’s just peachy. She pinched the bridge of her nose to relieve the pressure building there.

  A moment later, they came to a stop and two men in costumes and wigs helped them out of the carriage. Before she knew it, a quick meander down a main hall decorated in tapestries, and up a large grand stairwell that curved up to the right, and down a smaller but no less beautiful hall, Shea soon found herself in her room.

  As soon as Mrs. Rafferty was gone, Shea took a moment to look around. It had a canopied bed, tapestries on the walls, and rugs on the floors, a fireplace, and candles. She picked up a candle off her bedside table. Or rather, plastic candles that were battery operated. Shea also doubted they had big screen TVs or plumbing in the Regency era; her room was equipped with both.

  She fought the urge to roll her eyes over the hypocrisy of it. No cell phones or laptops but they supplied the rooms with fifty-four-inch flat screen TVs? She removed her bonnet and hid her cell and charger under her mattress.

  Why hadn’t she met Cross yet? Was she already here? Or would she be coming in later?

  Shea went to her window and peered out over the property. From her room, she had a lovely view of a spacious field with its tall rolling grass in front of the house. Leaning her cheek against the sun-warmed glass, she peered past the house to her right and to the stables. In all directions were trees and more trees. It didn’t feel like the California she knew.

  Her cheek stuck to the glass as she pulled back. A flash of light caught her attention from the closest bunch of aspens about a half mile from the front door. It disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. For a moment, she thought she’d imagined it. A small laugh sounded from below and drew her gaze to the front door just in time to see Savannah Cross escorted in by Mrs. Rafferty and an older man. She assumed he must be Mr. Rafferty.

  Another flash shone from the woods, but it was so quick she couldn’t pinpoint where it’d come from, only a general area. Several minutes later, she turned away. She wasn’t likely to see it again. Whatever it was. Had it been a camera lens or binoculars? It appeared right when Cross had arrived at the house. She’d have to sneak out later and check it out. If it were paparazzi, then Savannah Cross’s location would be blown by tomorrow morning at the latest, and Lee would need to know.

  Someone knocked on her door, and she jumped. “Oh, for crying out loud.” The house wasn’t that spooky.

  “Miss, dinner is ready,” a young woman’s voice called through the door, but by the time Shea rounded her king size bed and opened it, there was no one in sight. Just a decorative table across from her door with a large bouquet of sunflowers. She stepped into the hall and pulled her door closed behind her.

  Once down the main staircase, she headed to the sitting room she’d been shown on her way upstairs. A breeze hit her bare arms, causing goose bumps. She peeked around the curve of the stairs where the air had come from and found a small alcove with an open window. In the wall of the staircase a curved door, an inch or so shorter than her in height, hung open a crack. She’d never have found the secret room if the door hadn’t been left ajar.

  She pulled the door open and peeked inside. It was only just bigger than a broom closet, but without the brooms and with lots of cobwebs. It had a small window with lace curtains, a dusty chair and table, and a fresh candle in a candelabra. A real one this time. The dust on the floor had been recently disturbed, but everything else in the room hadn’t been touched. Or so the dust buildup claimed.

  Taking a deep breath in, dust swirled up her nose. She sneezed and stepped out, closing the door behind her. That’s just perfect. I wonder how many rooms like that there are?

  Shea turned and ran smack dab into a gathering of white cloth, with solid muscle beneath. Hands shot up to her shoulders, steadying her as she bounced back a step and away from the smothering folds of cloth—a large ribbon-like tie around the man’s neck called a cravat, she thought.

  The young man sporting the mound of fluff smiled down at her, his piercing steel-blue eyes bored into her and made her shiver. He reached up and pushed back a lock of his salt and pepper hair that had no doubt flung out of its perfect coif when she’d hit him.

  Well, this is surreal. Her first instinct was to laugh, the two of them, total strangers, dressed as they were was funny, but as she took him in she had to admit he wore his costume well. And to say he was handsome would’ve been putting it mildly. In fact, he was a hottie.

  A small chuckle fell from her lips anyway.

  He cocked a brow at her. Crap. She schooled her expression and thought back to her hour long class on Regency etiquette at the cottage and the several hours she’d spent on the internet last night reading about the period. She remembered nothing. Her mind was uncharacteristically, one big blank. Though she suspected they were standing too close. She took another step back creating the required arm’s length between them.
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  Then she concentrated. Do I say something?

  No, you’re not supposed to talk to anyone you haven’t been introduced to yet.

  Oh, right… But he’s staring at me. Wouldn’t it be rude to just walk around him?

  Or maybe in this time, it’s expected?

  Wait, I’m not even supposed to be alone with him, am I?

  He grinned, and it made her want to as well, though she didn’t because she also didn’t want to. She wasn’t here to grin. She was here to work.

  Crap, am I making faces?

  His smile fell.

  Clueless about what she should do, she chanced a curtsy. He lowered his head in a nod, then stood back to let her pass.

  Her heart beat sporadically as she made her way to the sitting room across from the stairs. That had been odd, but then again she was in a place called Regencyland. She shouldn’t expect normal for the next two weeks.

  Chapter Three

  When Shea entered the sitting room, she felt the first real pangs of awkward nervousness she’d experienced since high school. Then it was because Bobby Wright had asked her to prom. Her brothers had serenaded the poor guy with Till There Was You, when he’d arrived with roses.He never asked her out again.

  She took a deep breath as she crossed the light room, no tapestries here, though there were deep red, heavy curtains hanging from all three windows, which doubled as seats. The room was large with several seating areas and a grand piano, but aside from the three windows, the only exit was the door she came in.

  Three women sat chatting on sofas by the fireplace, and there was not a man in sight. Are the men going to make an entrance? How… weird.

  Savannah Cross sat on one of two golden arch-back sofas that faced each other in the middle of the room next to Miss Smith. Dressed in a baby blue, empire waist dress, and with her platinum blonde hair twisted up and curled around her face, she seemed so much softer than she had her in photo. Instead of a woman with the appearance of one who’d done too much with her young life, Shea saw a fun-loving and exuberant one with a friendly and contagious smile.

  Cross waved.

  Mrs. Rafferty glanced over her shoulder and seeing Shea, she stood. The other two women followed suit. “Miss Shea, welcome. Allow me to introduce you to our other guest.”

  Shea rounded the first sofa and stood across from the fireplace. It had a large decorative mirror with a golden frame. A small grandfather clock ticked silently on the mantle.

  Mrs. Rafferty signaled to Cross. “Miss Savannah Cross I’d like for you to meet Miss Elizabeth Shea. Miss Shea returns to us from the colonies.”

  They curtsied.

  Shea smiled. “Nice to meet—”

  “Miss Shea, it’s so good to see you again.” Cross rushed her, rounding the coffee table, knocking into it. A silver pitcher and glasses that sat on a silver tray clinked together. Cross took Shea’s hands as she affected a British accent.

  Shea panicked, but kept a straight face. Did Cross know who she was? Was her cover blown? And should she be attempting an accent too?

  “How long has it been since the Burgess’ Christmas party?” Cross asked, her sentences coming rapid-fire.

  Well, it’s August now—

  “I thought for certain we’d meet again shortly thereafter, but it wasn’t to be.” She continued to grasp Shea’s hand. “But isn’t it wonderful? You and me and Miss Smith, all meeting up like this again! We are going to have such a splendid time, I just know it.”

  Miss Smith spoke in a quiet tone. “Oh, I dearly hope so.”

  Shea let out a controlled breath. Her cover wasn’t blown. Phew. You’re supposed to do that here. Pretend. She gave it a try and adopted a southern drawl. “Yes, I was quite disappointed too.” It came out sort of…cockney drawl.

  Mrs. Rafferty frowned.

  Miss Smith tipped her head to the side.

  Miss Cross giggled.

  Maybe an accent wasn’t for her. Shea dropped it. “I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  “Now we can spend all our time together and catch up,” Miss Cross said, her voice a little deeper and raspier than Shea would’ve expected, like she smoked.

  Huh, spend all our time together? Well, that was convenient. “Okay.”

  “All right, ladies.” Mrs. Rafferty retook her seat. “There are a few things we must go over before we meet the gentlemen and have dinner.”

  To better watch the door, Shea took the chair that sat at the end of the coffee table.

  “While all measures are being taken to ensure that you ladies have a wonderful stay,” Mrs. Rafferty said, “I will remind you that the rules must be followed to the letter and Regency etiquette observed at all times. Your rooms are equipped with a booklet containing everything you need to know, and of course, the gentlemen and servants will help you should you require it. I encourage you to spend time reading from your booklet daily.”

  Miss Cross rolled her eyes so only Shea could see.

  Shea frowned. Did that mean Cross didn’t want to read her booklet? But it was so helpful.

  “I assume you’ve all had a chance to look it over?” Mrs. Rafferty asked.

  Shea sat tall and said, “Yes,” at the same time Miss Cross and Miss Smith shook their heads “no.”

  Shea had found a scanned copy of the document online at work yesterday. It was a little blurry, but she’d read it through, made flash cards, and memorized several parts that seemed important.

  Miss Cross smiled and wrinkled her nose. Miss Smith lowered her ginger head as though she were ashamed of herself for not being more prepared.

  Mrs. Rafferty turned to Shea. “Could you explain proper procedure for dinner?”

  “When dinner is announced, the lady of the house,” Shea pointed to Mrs. Rafferty, “that’d be you, will ask the lady in first rank to show the way to the rest of the ladies in order of rank with the lady of the house taking up the rear. Then the master of the house, Mr. Rafferty, will follow the same procedure with the men. The guests will be seated in order of rank at the table and the women will be served the meals and drinks by the men sitting closest to them.”

  Mrs. Rafferty grinned, her friendly laugh lines returning. “Very good, Miss Shea.”

  Yes, Shea fought the urge to pump her fist. She’d known those flashcards would come in handy, even though Sergeant Brown and the all the Detectives on her floor, except Lee, had made fun of her.

  Mrs. Rafferty continued, “Of course, each of you will experience romance while you’re here—”

  Shea’s jaw dropped. The phamplet had been serious about “romance?” No way.

  “—But as with all the policies, it is important that you follow the rules of propriety and courtship to the letter. Which means, in short, that there is to be no inappropriate touching of any kind.”

  Miss Cross laughed at the same moment Miss Smith choked then started coughing. Mrs. Rafferty reached over and patted her on the back.

  Am I the only one planning on keeping my hands off? Of course she was. What a stupid question. She hadn’t paid to come to this degrading place.

  Mrs. Rafferty poured Miss Smith a glass of water, which she sipped between little gasps for air.

  Shea rolled her eyes at the very idea of calling what these women would experience here “romance.” In the process, she caught movement in her peripheral vision. A man stood out of a high-backed, red suede chair near the window. She hadn’t seen him when she’d come in as his chair was partly concealed by the baby grand.

  He wore a similar fashion to the man she’d met, or had not met, in the hallway earlier, down to the ginormous, floofy cravat-tie. Compared to the other man, however, this one didn’t have on a jacket and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows. He stood at about the same height as the man in the hall, but had more of a swimmer’s build and surfer’s ease, and with his golden barrel curl’s and sea-green eyes she could practically see him on the beach. His eyes met hers and she fought the urge to look away. But his sta
re… smirk… stare-smirk felt like a challenge—one she didn’t want to give into.

  Mrs. Rafferty cleared her throat.

  Shea flinched.

  Mrs. Rafferty frowned in the man’s general direction.

  “I’m sorry to intrude, Aunt,” the man said, without an accent, “but the topic of conversation was becoming too good not to be a part of.” He winked at the older woman.

  Miss Smith giggled, and Miss Cross lowered her head then peeked at him through her lashes.

  Let the games begin, huh?

  Mrs. Rafferty sniffed, trying to hide her smile, and nodded. “I beg your pardon, ladies. I would like for you to meet Mr. Daley, my husband’s nephew.”

  Mr. Daley made his way to the couches and stopped next to Shea’s chair. She leaned away from him, trying not to be obvious about it.

  “Mr. Daley, I would like for you to meet Miss Smith and Miss Cross.” Both of the ladies nodded in turn. Mrs. Rafferty then signaled to Shea. “Of course you already know your cousin, Miss Shea, but perhaps you do not remember one another as you were both children last time you met.”

  Cousin? Shea did not remember that in her fake history. Also, why wasn’t she introduced as Mrs. Rafferty’s husband’s niece too? Regardless she found herself feeling relieved. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about avoiding him. She thought of the man in the hall and gulped as pleasant tingles shot through her.

  Mr. Daley stared down at her. “I do remember. I believe we played battledore and shuttlecock together in the gardens as children.”

  We played what now? Shea managed a small awkward smile.

  “How are you, cousin?” He released a megawatt smile on her.