Murder at Newstead Abbey Read Online Free PDF

and married her. Folks say her uncle dying and leaving her that little cottage they lived in had something to do with it. Anyhow she didn’t care for the rat catching. He worked as an ostler at the George Inn for a spell, then Minnie left him and he took off for London to work in some hotel there. He come before long, more’s the pity. Shouldn’t we be getting back home?”
    “Lord Byron’s out riding. There’s no rush. What does Vulch do now?”
    “Odd jobs, whatever needs doing. Helps out at harvest time, if anybody’s fool enough to hire him. Does a bit of rough carpentry. Has the little cottage that rightly belongs to Minnie, where he keeps a couple of hens and a milcher. Hangs about the Green Man. That’s a local inn. He don’t seem to want for money. Throws his leg over a gelding that’s as good as anything in his lordship’s stable. Says he won it at cards, but I’d like to know who from. That gelding was never in this parish and he didn’t ride it back from London, for he come on the stage.”
    Coffen looked all around. It wasn’t likely there’d be any clues here after all the time that had passed, so he finally left. He felt sorry for whoever was buried on the island, but some part of his mind was more excited than sad. There was little he loved more than a good mystery, and if it came with a murder attached, so much the livelier. He knew the girl buried under the mud hadn’t died any natural death, or she’d be buried properly. It was either an accident or murder. He could rule out suicide. Suicides don’t bury themselves. And he even had a few suspects to start with. He’d have to find out about this Vulch fellow, and the Richardsons. At this rate, he’d hardly have time to check up on the ghosts. The lovely Grace had already faded from his mind.
    As Byron and the others hadn’t returned yet, Coffen went in search of Luten, who had finished his work and was just about to go out for a look around the estate.
    “You won’t believe it, Luten. I’ve found a body,” he announced.
    Luten knew by Coffen’s glowing eyes that he spoke the truth. Death, especially violent death, acted on him like catnip on a cat. Luten’s thin eyebrows rose a millimetre, which was his manner of expressing astonishment. “A dead body?”
    “That’s right. A corpse.”
    “You’re sure it was dead?”
    “The flesh was falling right off the bones.”
    “Good lord! Where was this?”
    “On that island in the lake.”
    “What kind of a body? Man, woman, child?”
    “Not a man, by the looks of the hand, which is all I really saw, but it’s attached to an arm right enough. The rest of it’s buried. We’ve got to get over there and dig it up.” Coffen was always first over the fence when it came to chasing clues.
    Luten drew out his watch. “The others should be back any minute. Best wait for Byron. It’s his island, after all.”
    “So it is, but it’s my murder. I found the corpibus delectibus.”
    Unlike Prance, Luten never paid any attention when Coffen mangled the King’s English, or any other language. “Why do you leap to the conclusion it was murder? Probably some trespasser took ill and died.”
    “Use your head, Luten. A woman or child trespassing all alone on that island? And who buried her? It may not be murder, but there’s something havey-cavey about it.”
    “Tell me all about it while we wait.”
    Coffen described what he’d seen, and what he’d learned from Stanley.
    Luten listened closely, then said, “It’s hardly likely Lady Richardson’ maid found her way here from London and got herself killed. Vulch’s wife seems a more likely victim.”
    “Or it might be someone else altogether.”
    Coffen peered out the door to see they weren’t overheard, then said in a low voice, “You don’t suppose it’d be a girl from one of them orgies Byron had here? You mind yesterday he was boasting about that uncle who’d killed his neighbor over who had the most rabbits. No denying