Chat

Hello, and welcome to my 2025 Blogging From A To Z April Challenge! This year, I’ve written you a complete murder mystery novelette. The setting is rural England, a few years after WWI. The extra challenge that I set myself for this story is that the first murder will not take place until the letter “M”–halfway through! And the second murder will happen at “S.” There may be murders after “S,” of course, but they are less structural or foundational or something.

And now, without further ado…

Chat

While Frank was talking to Jack in his study, Frank’s three sons were having an emergency meeting over port in the billiard room. They tended to drift there when under stress—and right now all three of them were feeling the strain.

“He’s coming here to tell us he’s cutting us out of his will,” said Reggie mournfully.

“In favor of this abomination—this Penelope creature,” said Nigel, with his characteristic unbeautiful smile.

“We don’t know that,” said Stephen. “I saw them arrive, you know. He looked like a nice chap.”

“He’ll do it quite nicely, I’m sure,” said Reggie. “It’ll be, ‘hi, Frank! Great to see you again! By the way, I’ve got a daughter now, and she’s getting all my money when I check out. You don’t mind, do you?’ And father will say, ‘of course not, old chap! It’s your money, after all! Now come and have an expensive meal—or maybe we’ll just open a bottle of the rare stuff and pour it down the drain.’ You mark my words.”

Nigel laughed savagely. “Reggie is correct, Stephen,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

“I still say we don’t know,” said Stephen.

“Penelope,” said Reggie, his voice a drone of despair, “is twenty-one this month. So saith the letter of doom.”

“I don’t see how that comes in,” said Stephen.

“It’ll be a nice present for her,” said Reggie. “The whole packet. And it must be a packet we’re talking about. Uncle Jack is Jack’s Jams. Just about the right size of packet to save the estate from the hammer—but that won’t happen now.”

“I still don’t see,” said Stephen, rather stiffly (for his gentlemanly instincts ran deep, and he did not like to discuss money even with his brothers), “what evidence you have that Uncle Jack is planning to do anything of the kind.”

Nigel groaned hollowly. “I see that your child-like faith in the goodness of mankind survived the trenches. Mine didn’t.”

“You never had any. It isn’t how you’re built,” said Reggie to Nigel. “But Stephen asked for evidence, and evidence he shall have. Point one, already mentioned, is that this visit coincides with Penelope’s twenty-firster. An excellent time for a doting parent to inform his only child that she’s an heiress. Point two: Uncle Jack has requested that old Jacobson, the family solicitor, join our cheerful little family party. He’s coming next week. Why do you think he wants the family solicitor? I think I know. Point three: Uncle Jack hasn’t seen us or expressed much of an interest in us for forty-five years—how much do you think he cares about the old family home? No, he’s coming to hand us the bad news, all right. And the tone of his letters—Dad showed ‘em to me—very stiff and formal. Not at all loving. Dad thinks we’re getting the mitten, too. He won’t say so, but he does.” Reggie eyed his two brothers like a general surveying his last remaining forces. He didn’t seem cheered by the sight. “Right. So it’s obvious one of us had better marry the Penelope excrescence. Stephen, I elect you.”

“I say, steady on! She’s my first cousin, isn’t she?”

“Not actually illegal, you know. Happens all the time—especially when people want to keep family money and family estates together—or at least prevent the family money from going back to America.”

“I don’t think I could. Besides, she wouldn’t look at me,” Stephen protested. He was, truth be told, rather shocked by the idea of marrying for such a sordid reason. Not if he didn’t at least quite like the girl, too.

Reggie viewed his brother critically. “That’s a point. Not romantic in appearance. Of course, you could dress differently—borrow some of Nigel’s togs. But you are more full of solid worth than you are of charm, if you don’t mind me saying so. And I expect she’s like one of those dynamic American girls you see on the stage—full of colorful prairie expressions and skilled at bare-back riding. You may be a touch conventional for a girl like that. Nigel had better do it.”

Nigel rose a languid eyebrow. “And why not take her on yourself, since you’re so set on keeping her money in the family? That would make the best sense of all, since it is in fact you who will inherit the estate.”

“I am engaged to Geraldine Camphor, as you well know,” said Reggie, stiffly.

Nigel blinked in entirely synthetic surprise. “Oh—is that still on? Well, I imagine you could wriggle out of it.”

Reggie looked bleakly down at the billiard table. “No, old man—I couldn’t. I’m a man of my word, you know.” For a moment, he was lost in some private world of his own. Then he shook himself free of the gloom. “So—we’re agreed, then? Nigel will marry this Penelope creature?”

“Are we?” Nigel smiled unbeautifully. “I think you forget about Dotty.”

Reggie looked at Nigel with deep disapproval. “That’s not on, you know. Dotty is a maid in this house. You shouldn’t take advantage.”

Stephen was stirred up by this, too. “Yes, Nigel. I meant to mention that to you. Only an absolute cad would trifle with a nice girl like that.”

“Why you should think I’m trifling with her, especially, I don’t know,” Nigel said, with a hint of his devilish smile remaining on his mouth but sullen anger in his eyes. “Or what affair it is of yours if I do.”

“No gentleman would—” began Stephen.

Nigel gave his ugly little laugh. “Really, Stephen, how you can still talk about gentlemen and ladies after the war baffles me. Didn’t you see enough blood and guts spilled to come to the conclusion that all men are basically the same on the inside? Leave talk of gentlemen to Reggie. He didn’t go to the vulgar old war.”

“I was not asked,” said Reggie, sounding defensive. “Presumably, they thought me too old. Or perhaps it was my eyesight. I don’t know.”

“He didn’t go because he wasn’t asked. Won’t do, to crash into a war without an invitation! As for Dotty, you leave that alone. She’s a grown woman—not a child—and she knows exactly what I am and what she’s doing.” And Nigel gave his harsh and sudden unhappy laugh. Stephen and Reggie stared at him, dismayed. That laugh was never a good sign. Time to change the subject.

“I really feel, after all, as if you should have a stab at her, Stephen,” said Reggie. “You may just win out.”

“Yes, and then you can parcel her money out to me and Reggie,” said Nigel. “Won’t that be nice for her?”

“I still don’t think he’ll cut us off,” said Stephen, stubbornly. “Why should he?”

“He has a daughter? And he hasn’t been home in forty-five years?” said Reggie.

“Yes, Stephen, do try to think. From his perspective, why shouldn’t he cut us off?” Nigel sneered.

“Of course, we can’t ask him—which would be the really efficient thing. But it won’t do,” said Reggie, regretfully but firmly.

“That would be frightful cheek!” said Stephen, looking horrified.

“Frightful,” said Nigel, with only the slightest suggestion of irony. “Best just marry the girl, thus avoiding all awkward conversation.”

At that, the three brothers parted.