Murder at Waldenmere Lake

Michelle Salter

Description

A murder shocks the small town of Walden. And it’s only the beginning…

Walden, 1921. Local reporter Iris Woodmore is determined to save her beloved lake, Waldenmere, from destruction.

After a bloody and expensive war, the British Army can’t afford to keep the lake and build a convalescent home on its shores yet they still battle with Walden Council and a railway company for ownership. But an old mansion used as an officer training academy stands where the railway company plans to build a lakeside hotel. It belongs to General Cheverton – and he won’t leave his home.

When the General is found murdered, it appears someone will stop at nothing to win the fight for Waldenmere. Iris thinks she can take on the might of the railway company and find the killer. But nothing prepares her for the devastation that’s to come…

'A fabulously well-researched historical cosy mystery... The Iris Woodmore mysteries are fast becoming some of my favourites.' M J Porter

‘A cracking addition to the series … superbly written… lots of drama, intrigue, twists and turns.’ Gingerbookgeek

‘WOW!! Another fantastic addition to my favorite historical series by Michelle Salter… So many unexpected developments, twists, shocking revelations, my god!!’ thebookdecoder

‘I have fallen head over heels for this series.’ Booksbybindu

‘A terrific historical cozy mystery that will keep readers gripped …With plenty of tension, intrigue and suspense, Murder at Waldenmere Lake is an addictive historical cozy mystery … perfect for Anne Perry and Verity Bright fans.’ bookishjottings

Praise for The Iris Woodmore Mysteries:

‘A real page turner and couldn't put it down. So much so that I stayed up until the early hours to find out what happens.’ ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ reader review

‘What a great book! I loved the characters and the ever deepening plot.’ ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ reader review

‘An incredibly well-written historical mystery … interspersed with fascinating tit-bits of information both about the suffragettes and their sister organisation, the suffrage societies.’ ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ reader review

‘Starts well and then gets better! ’ ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ reader review

‘I recommend this book to anyone who loves a twisty plot line that keeps you guessing.’ ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ reader review

‘As soon as I started reading, I knew that I was reading something special … Iris Woodmore … is such a fun, feisty and determined young lady.’ ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ reader review

‘Excellent read … Brilliant storyline.’ ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ reader review

‘The writer's attention to detail and historical fact was very good … The characters are well drawn and believable.’ ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ reader review

‘The characters are brilliantly written and swept me along.’ ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ reader review

Sujets

• Policier & Thriller
• Policier
• Thriller
• Mashups
• Women Sleuths
• Private Investigators
• Amateur Sleuth
• Traditional
• Historical Fiction
• Feminist
• 20th Century
• World Literature
• Historical
• Women
• Coming of Age
• Inglaterra
• Friendship
• Cozy
• Interwar period
• General officer
• Woman
• Feminism
• The Women
• General
• Crime
• England
• Reporter
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Boldwood Books
• Date de parution: 21 mars 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781837510504
• Langue: English

Extrait

MURDER AT WALDENMERE LAKE
AN IRIS WOODMORE MYSTERY


MICHELLE SALTER
For Mum & Dad
CONTENTS



Prologue

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

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44


More From Michelle Salter

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Michelle Salter

Poison & Pens

About Boldwood Books
PROLOGUE
WALDENMERE LAKE



November 1918

Silently, the metal beast began to descend. Water closed over it, ripples subsided and no trace was left – nothing to say it had ever been there. Waldenmere was motionless once more.
The soldiers watched the man scramble to shore. His uniform was caked in mud and he struggled to stay upright in the waist-high water. They heard him swear when his torchlight flickered and died.
After the man had gone, they crept from their hiding place and returned to camp. The soldiers would say nothing of what they had seen. Soon they’d be gone from here, back to their old lives.
War was over. Peace was just beginning.
1
WALDEN, HAMPSHIRE



May 1921

‘Waldenmere is not for sale.’ General Cheverton burst into the office, waving the latest edition of The Walden Herald . He marched past my desk, his silver-topped cane tapping on the wooden floor. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Woodmore.’
Elijah, who’d been dozing in his chair, woke with a start. He struggled to his feet as the general slapped the newspaper on his desk. It contained an article suggesting the army was about to sell Waldenmere to the highest bidder.
The Walden Herald ’s headquarters consisted of two rooms above Laffaye Printworks. Its editor, Elijah Whittle, ran operations from his smoke-filled den, where he could keep an eye on me and anyone entering the main office. I was the only permanent reporter. The rest of the newspaper’s staff were housed in the printworks below.
‘Waldenmere belongs to the British Army.’ General Cheverton lowered his tall frame into a chair.
‘It should belong to the people of Walden.’ Elijah rummaged through the papers strewn across his desk, searching for his cigarettes.
I stopped typing so I could listen to their conversation.
‘I know townsfolk are sentimental about the lake.’ The general took out his pipe and Elijah passed him a box of matches. ‘But our plans won’t cause any disruption. We just want to give our war heroes somewhere peaceful to recuperate.’
‘I’ve heard the army doesn’t have the funds for a convalescent home.’ Elijah took back the matches and lit a cigarette.
‘It’s in hand.’ A halo of smoke circled General Cheverton’s mane of grey hair. ‘These things always take time.’
‘Why not let the council buy the lake? That way, its future is more secure.’ Elijah was fast disappearing behind his own cloud of smog.
‘It’s not at risk. Townsfolk will always be welcome at Waldenmere.’
‘They were forced to keep away during the war.’
I coughed as tobacco fumes wafted across my desk.
‘There’s a difference between active soldiers and veterans. Now the training camp has gone, local people can enjoy the lake alongside recovering soldiers.’
The general puffed contentedly on his pipe while Elijah took long drags from his cigarette. They appeared to be enjoying their exchange.
With fifty-two acres of open water, Waldenmere was the perfect location for a convalescent home. Before the war, the lake had been used to trial floatplanes and prototype battle tanks had been tested on its marshes. In 1914, a military camp was erected on the lake’s shores and remained there for five years.
Locals had been hostile towards the army camp and most were in favour of the council buying Waldenmere. However, General Samuel Cheverton was a popular figure in Walden and many would be swayed by his view.
I was torn between my personal attachment to the lake and a sense of obligation to those men who’d given so much for their country. Deep down, I wanted Waldenmere to go back to the way it had been in my childhood and had misgivings about an institution looming over its shores. The lake was an old friend to me and I didn’t want it to change.
Elijah hefted himself out of his chair and fished a whisky bottle and two glasses from the filing cabinet. I started to type. He smiled at my futile attempt to pretend I hadn’t been listening and kicked his office door closed.
The only sound was the noise of the printing presses below. I decided to leave them to their whisky and coax any gossip out of Elijah in the morning. It was nearly six and George might be waiting for me downstairs.
I took out my powder compact and checked my face in the tiny mirror. Picking up my jacket and bag, I was about to leave when Elijah reappeared.
‘Make sure you’re here by nine tomorrow. We have an appointment with Mrs Siddons at the council offices.’ He slammed the door shut before I could ask any questions.



* * *
I went downstairs and emerged onto Queens Road into a sticky heat. The smell of ink chemicals rose through the grate of the printworks, replacing the clinging odour of tobacco fumes from above.
‘At last.’ George was standing in the doorway of the printworks, his jacket was slung over his arm and his tie hung loosely around his neck. He tossed his cigarette to the ground and we strolled along the road until we reached the shortcut to the lake. By taking a footpath that ran through the woods and then curved alongside Grebe Stream, we could follow the flow of water until it wound its way into Waldenmere.
‘You’re late. Don’t tell me something newsworthy has happened in Walden?’ George worked in the council offices on the high street. When he finished at five-thirty, he’d stroll down to Queens Road to wait for me. He was never in a hurry to catch the train home to Basingstoke. Instead, we strolled by the lake together and at some point, he’d end up at the railway station.
‘It’s this lake business. General Cheverton paid us a visit to put us right about the army’s plans.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Apparently, Aldershot Military Estates, the army unit that holds the land deeds, has no intention of selling Waldenmere to anyone.’
‘I’m not sure that’s true.’
‘He admitted they don’t have the funds to build the convalescent home yet. But he’s adamant it will go ahead. I think he just wanted to chew the fat with Elijah. The whisky bottle was out by the time I left. Have you heard anything?’
‘Nothing I can tell a reporter,’ George teased. ‘You should ask your friend, Mrs Siddons.’
‘I will. We’ve got a meeting with her tomorrow at the council offices. Has she taken up residence there?’ I could imagine her commandeering an office.
‘She has. I’m exhausted.’
I noticed he walked a little stiffly and tried to slow my pace without him noticing. ‘I don’t imagine Mansbridge is happy about that.’
The previous year, Mrs Siddons had become MP for Aldershot and the third woman to take a seat in the House of Commons. She’d done it by standing as the Liberal candidate in the local by-election and beating the Conservative candidate, Councillor William Mansbridge.
He yawned. ‘She’s had us digging out old maps and finding out about boundary lines.’
‘Does that mean she’s the one behind the plan for the council to buy the lake?’
He nodded.
‘Excellent. That means it has a chance of happening.’
He didn’t seem convinced, but I knew how influential Mrs Siddons could be. Even before she’d entered Parliament, she’d moved in political circles and had the ear of Prime Minister Lloyd George.
‘How did you become friends with the famous Mrs Siddons?’ he asked.
We left the footpath and pushed our way through the bracken to reach Bog Myrtle Glade and the seclusion of our bench.
‘She was kind to me after my mother died.’ I didn’t want to talk about that. I looked over at the lake. Bathed in sunshine, it was beautiful. The air was still and the only sound came from a warbler singing from the cover of the reedbeds.
‘Will Elijah be with you tomorrow?’ George stretched out his leg. I suspected he was in pain, but I knew better than to ask.
I nodded.
‘Does he know…’ He trailed off. I guessed he wasn’t sure how to describe our relationship.
‘No. No one does.’ I felt a little embarrassed. Tomorrow’s encounter could be awkward.
‘Shall I pretend I don’t know you?’ His dark eyes crinkled in amusement.
‘Of course not. Just don’t…’ It was my turn to fumble for the right words.
‘Don’t what?’ he whispered into my ear, his nose touching my face.
‘Don’t let on that we’ve been spending so much time together.’ I kissed him lightly on the nose to temper the meaning behind my words.
‘I get the picture.’ He moved away from me to the end of the bench. ‘I wouldn’t want anyone to get the impression we were anything more than casual acquaintances.’
‘I’m just worried about your reputation.’
He laughed and slid back to wrap his arms around me. Few people knew our bench existed. It had been there so long the roots of an ancient oak had grown over its iron legs. The canopy of the tree hid us from view – we could glimpse the lake in the distance, but no one could see us.
‘Water hides its secrets,’ George observed.
‘ What do you mean?’ I touched his cheek, tracing the line of a faint scar that ran along his left temple before disappearing under a mess of dark curls. The same shellfire that had injured his left leg had also grazed the side of his face.
‘Look at the land and you’ll find tell-tale signs of war, but water swallows everything up. When this place was an