Staplewood Park

Michelle Grahame

Description

Mystery and Romance in Victorian England
The County of Kent 1838
Mistress of Mairsford Manor, Rosalie, Lady Benedict St Maure, a lovely, but reclusive, 40-year-old widow, and Charles Hargreaves, 48, a small-town solicitor, who has unexpectedly inherited the title and the estate of Staplewood Park, seem unlikely detectives, but together with Rosalie’s sister-in-law, Amanda. Lady Coverdale, they set about trying to discover the identity of a young man, found collapsed and injured, on Rosalie’s drive. He gradually recovers his health, but not his memory, either of the events that brought him to Mairsford, or even of his own name! A gold signet ring engraved with the letters MS, his only possession. decides Rosalie to call him Matthew.
Meanwhile a Bristol solicitor, Steven Pettigrew, is endeavouring to ascertain the whereabouts of a Matthew Stuart, who apparently arrived on a ship from New York, but has not been heard of since. The discovery of his gold watch at a pawnbroker’s shop, makes Pettigrew fear the worst. In a book on English castles and great houses, found in Mr Stuart’s cabin trunk, Pettigrew discovers a folded paper, marking the page for “Coverdale Hall”, and writes to the marquis in the hope of acquiring more information.
Events at Staplewood have taken another turn, when an accident to Lady Julia, Rosalie’s niece, leads to the discovery of an underground chamber. Could this be the key to the first Lord Hargreaves rumoured, but missing, fortune?
Rosalie and Charles are drawn together, but he knows that his financial circumstances, he run-down state of the house and land and the predations of the previous owner, including the loss of the famous Hargreaves silver ship, makes it impossible for him to declare his feelings. And neither can Matthew follow his, for Lady Julia, but she is a determined young female, and takes matters into her own hands, causing concern for her reputation, and a consequent pursuit.
Will everyone’s expectations come to nothing, when a man arrives at Staplewood Park, claiming that he is the rightful heir to the title and estate? And does the “fortune” still exist?

Sujets

• Historical
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse UK
• Date de parution: 03 janvier 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781728375519
• Langue: English

Extrait

Staplewood Park
 
 
 
 
MICHELLE GRAHAME
 
 
 
 

 
 
AuthorHouse™ UK
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403 USA
www.authorhouse.co.uk
Phone: UK TFN: 0800 0148641 (Toll Free inside the UK)             UK Local: (02) 0369 56322 ([phone] from outside the UK)
 
 
 
 
 
© 2023 Michelle Grahame. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
Published by AuthorHouse 01/09/2023
 
ISBN: 978-1-7283-7549-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-7283-7550-2 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-7283-7551-9 (e)
 
 
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
Contents
Dedication
About the Author
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
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Acknowledgements
 
 
 
 
 
By the same author:
Love Will Have to Wait
Lord of H ades
Rhapsody in B lack
The Yellow Dia mond
Dedication
To my children: Katie, Richard and Alex.
About the Author

M ichelle Grahame lives in Northwest Kent, and enjoys visits from her family, reading and taking part in local activities. “I love creating characters and plots for my novels.” Says Michelle. As an avid collector, she likes attending boot and antique fairs, where a random purchase can become an inspiration for her writing. A qualified Art Historian and lecturer, now retired, she has had many opportunities to engage with people who share her interest. The YELLOW DIAMOMD, and its sequel, STAPLEWOOD PARK, are her first historical novels.
Chapter 1
T hunder and lightning rolled and flashed across the sky, and torrential rain drenched the young man standing in the middle of the lane. He was looking up at a three-fingered signpost situated on a grassy island, trying to shield a scrap of paper from the downpour. A streak of lightning forked to earth, and the peal of thunder that followed deafened him to the sound of a horse-drawn vehicle racing towards him at top speed, until it was almost too late. He just managed to jump to one side, but a wheel clipped his shoulder and spun him into a ditch, his head striking a stone wall that rose above it .
The vehicle careered on. The seventeen-year-old driver, having completely lost control of the galloping horse, was aware he had hit someone but was powerless to do anything about it. With reins torn from his hands, all he could do was cling, terrified, to the side of the carriage and hope it didn’t overturn. Eventually the horse slowed and, within a few strides, came to a complete stop, totally exhausted. It stood, sides heaving, legs trembling, head down, unable to take another step. The driver got down cautiously and retrieved the reins. He had no idea where he was, but he knew he must have travelled several miles from the signpost. The rain had eased somewhat, and the storm was moving away. He was concerned about the tall dark figure he had nearly run over. He needed to report it to someone, if only he knew where he was. The horse was in no condition to continue, so he hitched the reins to the side of the kicking board and set off on foot.
It wasn’t long before he recognised a lane leading off to the right and knew he was only about a mile away from his new home. With immense relief, he reached the iron gates of his house, Staplewood Park, and he was soon inside the building, calling for his father.
Lord Hargreaves came out of his study, newspaper in hand, and took one look at his white-faced mud-bespattered son. ‘What in God’s name has happened to you!?’ he exclaimed.
‘Horse bolted, frightened by thunder and a tree falling.’
His father looked out of a hall window but could see neither horse nor vehicle. ‘Where is it now?’
‘Dunno, but it’s worse than that. I think I hit someone. He was standing in the middle of the road and didn’t have time to get out of the way.’
The baron noticed his son begin to tremble with shock. ‘You’d better come in to the study. I’ll pour you a brandy, and you can tell me more. Better get rid of that wet coat, though.’ He raised his voice. ‘Parsons!’
Through a door, at the back of the spacious hall, a black-clad figure emerged. ‘Yes, My Lord?’
‘Please take Mr Nicholas’s coat to be dried, Parsons.’ Hargreaves looked at his son’s rain-flattened blond curls. . ‘Did you have a hat?’
‘It fell off somewhere along the way,’ his son replied, allowing the butler to remove his rain-soaked garment.
Once seated by the fire in his father’s study and fortified by a small brandy, Nicholas was able to tell his father more clearly what had happened. But he still had little idea where the accident had occurred, or where exactly his horse and vehicle had ended up.
‘Well, we’ll have to do something. We can’t leave a probably injured man lying in a ditch. It’s a pity we don’t know the area well.’
‘There’s hardly been time, Papa. We’ve only been here less than a month.’
‘Ring for Parsons. He may know the place you describe.’ Moments later, the butler arrived.
‘Are you a local man, Parsons?’
‘No, M’lord. I am a Londoner, sir.’
‘Send someone in who knows the area. I want to talk to them.’
‘Yes, My Lord.’
‘I also want Hampton to bring my carriage to the front door. And send a groom out to find Mr Nicholas’s gig. Where did you say you think it is, son?’
‘About a mile or so along the road to the left of the main gate.’
‘Have you got that, Parsons?’
‘Yes M’lord.’
‘‘Very well, then. Get to it.’ The butler bowed and retreated. ‘And you, son, had better go upstairs and change. Get out of the rest of those wet things. Get Joseph to help you. Then be ready when Hampton brings the carriage round.’
‘Right away, Papa.’
There was a discreet tap on the door, and a young maidservant entered nervously, smoothing down the creases in her apron and dropping a curtsey.
‘Don’t be scared. What is your name, girl?’ said his lordship, moving over to a desk.
‘Maisie, sir.’
‘Well, Maisie, Mr Parsons says you know the area round here well. Is that so?’
‘Born and bred, sir.’
‘Perhaps you can tell me where I might find a three-fingered signpost on a road somewhere on the left as you leave the drive?’
‘I think so, sir.’
‘Good.’ Hargreaves pushed a piece of paper and a pencil towards the girl. ‘Can you write down the names on the post for me?’
The girl said nothing, and the apron smoothing began again.
‘Well, Maisie?’
‘I can’t rightly read nor write, sir, beggin’ your Lordship’s pardon.’
‘I see. Well, never mind.’ Hargreaves made a mental note to find out how many of his newly acquired staff were illiterate. ‘Perhaps you can draw me a map of the roads or lanes I need to take to get there?’
With some difficulty and much licking of lips, Maisie produced a diagram of sorts, which they could probably follow.
‘Thank you, Maisie. That will be all. You’ve been very helpful. You may go.’ He followed her into the hall, just as his son was descending the stairs. ‘That’s better, less like a drowned rat. I can hear the coach coming.’ He noticed that Nicholas was carrying a pillow and a couple of blankets. ‘Good thinking, son. Your idea?’
‘No, sir, Joseph’s. I told him what had happened, and he thought we might need them if someone was injured.’
‘That man is very thoughtful. I don’t really know what to do with him. But nevertheless, I’m glad Royston and his wife decided to come with us from Ludlow. Now, the sooner we can find the casualty, the better. It must be well over an hour since it happened.’
The coachman was able to follow Maisie’s diagram without difficulty, and although the rain had stopped, and a watery sun had appeared, progress was slow. The torrential downpour had softened the road’s surface, and the lanes were narrow, making the possibility of getting bogged down very real.
Sticking his head out of the carriage window, Nicholas exclaimed: ‘There it is, I’m sure that’s the one.’
‘Pull up along here, Hampton.’ Hargreaves, despite his forty-eight years, jumped agilely down from the vehicle, followed by his son.
Nicholas rushed forward, pointing to the grassy mound. ‘The man was standing just here, Papa.’ He took up the position. ‘He jumped a little to one side, but I was coming too fast, and something—a wheel, probably—caught him. He must have fallen to the side, into that ditch perhaps. But I passed so quickly—’
Hargreaves went over to the spot his son was indicating. There was certainly no one lying in the ditch now. ‘I’ll walk down this way and keep looking. You go