Devil May Care (A Jonathan Harker Mystery) Read online

  Devil May Care

  (A Jonathan Harker Mystery)

  Tony Evans

  © Tony Evans 2013

  Tony Evans has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 2013 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Extract from The Complete Hester Lynton Mysteries by Tony Evans

  Introduction

  Some forty years ago, after I had fully recovered from the dreadful events which took place at Count Dracula’s Castle in 1893, I had feared that the resultant publicity might harm my career as a junior partner at the Exeter practice of Joplin, Kaplan and Penfold, Solicitors at Law. However, once the first rush of interest in that shocking affair had died down, an unexpected consequence followed. A number of clients who had found it hard to obtain legal advice due to the peculiarly baffling or outlandish nature of their difficulties felt that a person such as I – who had experienced irrefutable proof of a world beyond that of everyday experience – would be eminently qualified to act discreetly on their behalf. Mr Joplin, then Senior Partner, persuaded me to undertake my first investigation of this kind. Although the facts of the case were never made public, some word must have leaked out, because more assignments of a similar nature periodically came my way.

  Following my recent retirement from the practice of law it was my wife, Mina, who suggested to me that writing an account of my occasional investigations of the abnormal and arcane might be a pleasant way to fill some of my leisure hours. Now that my manuscript is complete it is my intention to give it for safe keeping to our son Quincy, with the instruction that it is to be published only when there is no possibility of any person now living being offended by the contents. As to the dead, they must make of it what they will. My future readers – if any – are welcome to interpret the events described in these pages as fact or fiction, according to their wishes.

  Jonathan Harker, 20 April 1933

  Chapter One

  After our train left Exeter St. David’s Station the urban landscape of busy roads, terraced houses and gasworks was soon replaced with the fields and farmhouses of the rolling Devonshire countryside. I settled back in the comfortable window seat of our first class carriage and smiled contentedly at my wife, who sat opposite me.

  ‘You’re looking particularly pleased with yourself this morning, Jonathan,’ she observed. ‘Is it the prospect of remaining incommunicado for a week or two which gives you such pleasure? Let us hope that your colleagues do not write to you every day with reports of legal matters needing your immediate attention. Perhaps we should have told them we were going to Paris rather than Cornwall.’

  ‘You may be looking forward to a break from your labours, my dear Mina, but don’t forget that in my case our expedition is intended to be work, not pleasure. If anyone in the office attempts to distract me, he will get a frosty answer, believe me.’

  Mina chuckled. ‘I do not intend to be entirely idle. As the last two chapters of The Secret of Lady Connaught have still to be written, I may well devote some of my time to completing them. Mr Stebbins has asked for my manuscript before the end of next month.’

  I nodded. When Mina and I had returned to Exeter from Transylvania almost two years ago, we had been in a state of nervous exhaustion following the violent and horrifying adventure which had concluded in the final destruction of Count Dracula. Our good friend Professor Van Helsing, now resident in London, prescribed the following remedy for both of us: a month’s complete rest, followed by a return to the rigours and discipline of work. Whilst I had been more than happy to return to the solicitors’ office where I was now a junior partner, Mina was reluctant to resume the occupation she had held before our marriage – that of a schoolmistress. Indeed the general prejudice against married women in that role would probably have disbarred her. Instead she announced that she would be taking up the profession of a writer of novels. Any well-concealed scepticism on my part was soon replaced with admiration, as some twelve months later The Ambassador’s Daughter was published with considerable success.

  ‘It sounds as if you may be working harder than I. Of course if all I have to do is to assist in the drawing up of a marriage settlement, then that will occupy a day or two at most. But a circumspect investigation of Mr Haywood’s concerns could take a good deal longer. His letter to Mr Joplin seems to raise more questions than it answered.’

  Mina lent forward. ‘As you have already taken me into your confidence, would it be possible for me to read Haywood’s letter? I assume you have brought it.’

  I knew my wife well enough to trust her discretion. ‘Of course. It’s here in my valise. I thought it best to keep it with me, rather than in the rest of our luggage.’

  I retrieved the letter and passed it across to Mina. She removed it from the envelope, which had been marked “Private and Confidential”, and read it through.

  Mr Nathanial Haywood to Mr Maurice Joplin, Esq., Joplin, Kaplan and Penfold, Solicitors at Law: 7th October 1895

  Dear Mr Joplin,

  You will I am sure recall acting for me just over five years ago, when you drew up my last will and testament: a document which I am happy to say has yet to prove its worth. I am writing to you in this instance to ask for your professional services concerning another matter.

  The first part of my request can be simply stated. As you may remember, my wife and I have an only daughter, Flora, who is now twenty years of age. She will be twenty one next January. Flora is engaged to be married to Sir Owen Velland, Bt., a local landowner who lives at Carrick Manor, near the village of Gwithian about six miles from St Ives. We would like your firm to ensure that her marriage settlement is correctly drawn up according to our wishes, and in consultation with Sir Owen’s own solicitors, the well-established St Ives practice of Penning and Makepiece.

  The second part of my request will require a good deal of delicacy and discretion: qualities which I am confident your practice will be able to provide. Sir Owen is forty five years old, and for that reason alone Nellie and I are less than enthusiastic concerning the engagement. He has been very recently widowed under tragic circumstances, and it hardly seems proper for him to marry again so soon. Furthermore, for some time he has been the subject of gossip and speculation of an outlandish and bizarre nature, even to the extent of suggesting that the baronet has unnatural powers and abilities. Of course isolated communities such as ours are understandably prone to superstition, and it may well be that the rumours which have circulated are without foundation. However, I would be most grateful if your firm could undertake an investigation into the baronet’s background and character. If this task could be combined with overseeing Flora’s marriage settlement, I dare say it could be concealed from Sir Owen, whom we have no wish to offend.

  Can I add that my wife and I consider your junior partner, Mr Jonathan Harker, to be entirely suitable for this commission. I am of course aware of Mr Harker’s dramatic adventures in the Carpathian Mountains, culminating in the destruction of the notorious Count Dracula almost two years ago. Whilst I have no suspicions that any comparable dangers await him in St Ives, Mr Harker will by necessity be more open to consideration of the unusual and outré than many of his legal colleagues, and has already proved his courage and capability.

  If
Mr Harker agrees to my request – and of course if you are willing to release him – can I suggest that he lodges with us at Chevin Villa for a week or two, arriving as soon as he is able.

  Yours etc., Nathanial Haywood

  Mina passed the letter back to me. ‘I hope that Mr Haywood was not offended when you declined to take up his offer of hospitality.’

  ‘Not at all. Mr Joplin has explained to him that I would prefer the freedom and independence of action offered by arranging my own accommodation – I have taken a room at the George to use when necessary. As a hard-headed businessman, I’m certain Haywood will understand. However, I’m not sure what my client will make of the fact that I will be paying regular visits to a pretty young woman living nearby.’

  Mina smiled. By a happy coincidence one of her old school friends was married to the curate of St Elwyn church in the parish of Hayle, only four miles from St Ives. She had therefore arranged to stay with Edith and the Reverend Charles Ashby for as long as I remained in Cornwall, whilst I would divide my time between the Ashbys’ house and the George Hotel in the town.

  *

  We had passed through St. Germans and were travelling towards Liskeard when Mina took the manuscript of The Secret of Lady Connaught out of her travelling bag. While she looked over the last few pages I continued to observe the rapidly changing scenery which flew past the carriage window. Our route at that point ran through gently undulating countryside, and for some miles the train was either plunging through the dark depths of a cutting, or perched on top of an embankment with views to the horizon on both sides.

  After some miles of such travel the train reached a wooded down slope, no doubt gentle enough when observed by a trackside bystander, but sufficient to increase our speed considerably. As we travelled through a dense mass of oak trees – just cleared sufficiently on each side of the track to allow our safe passage – a remarkable sight met my eyes.

  In front of the woodland’s edge there stood a striking woman. She was young – not much more than twenty two or three, I thought – with a tall, slim figure and long, luxuriant black hair flowing loosely to her shoulders. She wore a thin grey walking dress, hardly suited to the outdoors in mid-October. I was facing in the same direction as the train was travelling, and she must have been no more than fifty yards away when I first saw her. She stood with her right arm held out, pointing directly towards me. In a moment her image flashed past the carriage window and as it did so I noticed the unnatural paleness of her face, and the expression of intense sadness which suffused her features. It seemed that for a moment her eyes had met mine, although I realised that she could hardly have seen inside our carriage, let alone been able to fix her expression upon me.

  The whole disturbing incident must have lasted for no more than a second. I looked at Mina, who was sitting opposite me still leafing through her manuscript, but she had obviously observed nothing. For a moment I considered telling her what I had seen but then thought better of it: I did not want to spoil the enjoyment of our journey together. At that time we had every hope of turning my task into something of a holiday by combining business with pleasure. It was perhaps fortunate for our peace of mind that we did not then realise that there would be rather more of the former – and less of the latter – than we might have wished.

  Chapter Two

  We arrived at the small station of Hayle just over four hours after leaving Exeter, the Great Western Railway having conveyed us to our destination with its usual efficiency. After making sure that all our luggage had been unloaded from the goods van and put in charge of the two elderly porters who were on duty, I gave instructions for two of my own suitcases to be taken on to Penzance and sent to the George Hotel, where I was expected the following evening. Hearing a voice calling out to me I turned round to see that the Reverend Ashby had already reached the platform. The curate strode towards us with his usual athletic step, a broad smile illuminating his cheerful, open features. He was wearing an old Norfolk jacket which contrasted strangely with his clergyman’s shirt and collar.

  ‘My dear Mina and Jonathan!’ he said. ‘I’m very pleased to see you. Edith and I greatly enjoyed our visit to Exeter, and it will be a pleasure to return your hospitality. If the porters can take your trunk and bags to my pony and trap, I’ll drive you to our cottage myself. Our groom has also to serve as our handyman and gardener, and I did not wish to take him from his labours in the vegetable patch. You must forgive my appearance. I was picking blackberries with our daughter when Edith reminded me that your train was due to arrive very shortly. Given the choice of arriving on time, or being more suitably dressed, I thought you would prefer the former.’

  We shook hands with our friend and returned his good wishes. Mina had known his wife since they were both fourteen, and I knew that she was pleased that Edith’s husband combined his pleasant and unpretentious character with a keen intellect and good prospects. Although he occupied a relatively humble position as Curate of St Elwyn Church, Charles Ashby held an Oxford degree and had the family connections which were so important if a young clergyman were to rise through the ranks of his vocation.

  ‘And are the children all well?’ I asked.

  ‘In excellent health, as you will soon see,’ he replied. ‘Wilfred and his sister really need a children’s nurse, but as yet I have been unable to convince Edith that anyone is suitable.’

  ‘I suspect her standards are very high,’ Mina said.

  ‘Indeed. Fortunately our maid of all work, Lucy, is able to assist her in looking after Grace and Wilfred. Lucy is a very reliable young woman and well used to children, as she is from a large family herself.’

  I could see a flicker of sadness pass over Mina’s face as she heard Charles pronounce the name of his maid: a name shared by her dear friend Lucy Westenra, whose terrible ordeal was still fresh in my wife’s mind. Not for the first time, I thanked G-d that although Mina had learned of her friend’s fate, she had not herself been present that night two years ago when Quincy Morris, Arthur Holmwood, Professor Van Helsing and I had been forced to drive a stake through poor Lucy’s heart.

  Mina bravely suppressed her emotions and pointed across the fields to where a small patch of blue could just be glimpsed. ‘Is that St Ives Bay, Charles? Do tell us about your parish church. Is it near the sea? Edith tells me that you do all the Reverend Trewellard’s work as well as your own, but I am sure that cannot be true.’

  Charles chuckled. ‘The vicar has many interests. He is a well-known naturalist and fossil collector, and is also a noted bibliophile and antiquarian. The collection of early religious texts in his library is really quite exceptional. I’m afraid that his intellectual pursuits often leave him little time for the more mundane elements of parish business.’

  *

  When we arrived at Rosehill I could see that the Ashbys’ home was really more of a small farmhouse than a cottage. Edith Ashby was just as I had remembered her: a short, rosy-cheeked young woman with dark curly hair and an independence of thought and action somewhat unusual for a clergyman’s wife. After our exchange of greetings, their servant Lucy arrived with their two young children. When two year old Grace and six months old Wilfred had been suitably admired and complimented – reminding me of a private observation that Mina had once made to me, to the effect that all babies look exactly the same – we spent a pleasant afternoon in the house and garden.

  Charles and Edith were aware of the ostensible reason for our visit to Cornwall, as Mina had mentioned in her letter that I was to assist in the drawing up of Flora Haywood’s marriage settlement. I had made up my mind to tell them about my further mission – to ascertain if Sir Owen Velland would be a suitable husband – and to ask them what they knew about the reclusive baronet. I knew the Ashbys well enough to trust their discretion absolutely. However, by tacit agreement we postponed any mention of business matters until later that evening, after dinner had been served and their maid had cleared the dishes.

  ‘You may go home
now, Lucy,’ Edith said. She turned towards me. ‘Lucy’s parents live only a mile away and it is rare that I need to keep her here overnight. Take the lantern, Lucy – and remember to bring it back tomorrow.’

  She bobbed her head and left us. Lucy Wollas impressed me as a sensible young woman. Her tall slim figure and fair hair gave her a more than passing resemblance to Mina, although she did not have the delicacy of features that was to be seen in my wife. Edith smiled at her husband. ‘I suppose at this point – if I were a more conventional hostess – I would suggest that we ladies retire to drawing room, leaving you two gentlemen to discuss matters of business. However, as we are all good friends, I propose that Mina and I remain. The port was a present from Charles’ uncle and is excellent.’

  Charles turned towards me. ‘I fear that Edith is rapidly turning into a New Woman,’ he said, ‘although perhaps I should be thankful that she does not smoke. However, her suggestion is a sensible one. If you wish to garner any local knowledge, her presence will be invaluable.’

  He filled glasses for the four of us and continued. ‘Tell me, Jonathan, is your assignment in St Ives merely a matter of drawing up a marriage settlement?’

  ‘You’re very perceptive, Charles,’ I replied. ‘As you have correctly deduced, such a task could easily have been done by a local solicitor. I confess that I do have a further object, which I am sure that you will both treat as a matter of confidence.’

  After I had explained the real reason for my visit, Edith took another sip of her port and leaned back in her chair. ‘It seems to me that there may be as much to be discovered in London as there is in Cornwall,’ she observed. ‘After all, Sir Owen Velland only returned to Gwithian five years ago. Should there not be an investigation of his background?’