Early Bird

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…

Early Bird

 

Dotty, being a maid, was up before dawn. Her first minutes of consciousness were too busy for intruding thoughts—Mrs. Dobson, the housekeeper, expected maids to take no more than fifteen minutes between waking and working. It was always a scramble. But once Dotty had fallen into the morning routine, she had time to think.

“It’s a shame about Nigel. I could do with him—make a man of him—if he wasn’t a gentleman already,” Dotty thought, and not for the first time. “But as it stands, it’s no-go, and I’d best tell him so before it’s too late.” No time like the present, she decided, just as Kate was about to take Nigel’s morning tea tray upstairs.

“I’ll take that one,” Dotty said.

Kate was flustered. “Well, really, I don’t know,” she said. She eyed Dotty with a mixture of awe and disapproval. “I don’t know as I should,” she said.

“I know, though,” said Dotty. “Trust me, girl. I’ll not land you in trouble.”

“We-ell, I suppose I could say you picked it up when I was out of the room,” said Kate.

“If it comes up, you do that,” said Dotty. “No need to go saying things before you’re asked.” And Dotty swept away with the tray. Up the dark back stairs, into the beautiful upper hall, and there she was. She pushed open Nigel’s door.

“Tea!” she cried.

There was a groan from the bed. “Leave it on the table in the sitting room, can’t you?”

“I can—but I won’t,” Dotty said, pushing open the curtains around the bed. “Morning.”

 “Dotty! How nice.” Nigel blinked at her sleepily. “I was just lying here, trying to decide how I should murder my uncle. What do you think of poison? It’s a cliché, but I don’t see why that should matter. I wouldn’t be doing it for the art of the thing.” And he tilted his head at her quizzically.

 Dotty helped herself to a slice of Nigel’s toast. “And what would you be killing your uncle for?”

“For the money, of course. It would be best if he were to die before he changes his will. Sordid, I know, but he is awfully rich.”

“Don’t be silly—you barely care about money. Of course, you’ve always had it, and I admit that helps in not caring about it.”

“You are clever,” said Nigel, with acid admiration. “Do you know you came up in conversation yesterday? My brothers were talking about you. Called you a nice girl.” And he made a face.

“And what’s wrong with that? I’m nice enough.”

“But you’re not a ‘nice girl.’ The phrase has all sorts of frightful connotations. Flowers, and dimples, and pigtails, and all that.”

“Well, I don’t mind a nice flower now and then. But I take your point. Virginal. And I’m not that.”

“What? Not a virgin? Out into the snow, wench! I have been vilely deceived!” And Nigel made little shooing gestures with his hands. Dotty slapped them, hard.

“I’m as virgin as the next girl, I reckon. But virginal—like a stained-glass window—that I’m not.”

Nigel was blowing on his wounded hands. “That hurt,” he said.

She smiled. “I meant it to. You mad at me?”

“No,” he said. “I like you bringing me morning tea. Very domestic.”

After a little more pleasant back-and-forth, Dotty reluctantly remembered that she had other things to see to. “I’d best get back to work, or Dobson’ll skin me,” she said.

“Work!” said Nigel scornfully.

“Yes. It is how I eat. I know that seems odd to you.”

“Touché, wench.”

Dotty went out of the room, well-satisfied with life and only vaguely mad at herself for not saying her say. It could wait.

In the hall, she came face to face with Kate. Kate’s face was red, and she looked as if she might cry. This was not unusual. Kate tended to cry whenever she had strong feelings of any kind. The expression of rage she turned on Dotty was new, though.

“Dorothy Fletcher, you are a wicked, wicked girl!” Kate exploded.

“You listened at the door,” Dotty said.

“I had to! I felt responsible! Anything could have happened to you in there, and it would have been my fault for letting you take the tray!”

“No, it would have been the fault of Nigel and me. I don’t see how you come in at all.”

“The things you let that man say to you! You—you hussy! And…and…he’s going to murder Mr. Grimsby…and I’ll be responsible!” Kate burst into tears.

Dotty stared at Kate, watching the tears flow down the girl’s face. She was angry at her for listening at the door, of course, and worried about the trouble Kate would probably land her in. But mainly, Dotty was aware of a great weariness. Because of course she and Nigel wouldn’t actually marry and settle down. It wasn’t one of the things that happened. So this was her life, for the rest of her life—being tossed around by the whims of people like Kate. It was hysterical housemaids and tyrannical housekeepers, forever.

It wasn’t a cheerful prospect.

“I say,” said Nigel, popping his head out into the hall. “What’s the row?”

“Kate listened at the door,” said Dotty. “Now she’s upset.”

Nigel gave the laugh that was a danger-signal to all who knew him—then turned a formidable scowl on Kate. “Girls who listen at doors,” he said, darkly, “often die quite young. I’m not saying that there is a connection—only that there may be.”

Kate shrank back from him in terror and began to gibber.

“You’re not helping,” said Dotty to Nigel.

“Helping? Helping?” Nigel said, his voice growing louder. “I viewed my role as more punishing this idiot for her infernal cheek in listening to what doesn’t concern her, and then having the double impertinence to go howling about it in the hallway.” He seemed suddenly to realize that he was howling in the hallway himself, and calmed himself with a visible effort. “I say, Kate—if you’re going to make that beastly noise, come into my rooms and do it there.”

But Kate looked at him with absolute horror, as if he’d invited her into Bluebeard’s chamber. She backed away, her terrified eyes never leaving Nigel’s face.

“I won’t go in there! I won’t! I won’t! You’ll murder me—to prevent me from revealing your hideous schemes!”

Nigel seemed struck by this phrase. “Do I have hideous schemes?” He asked Dotty.

“She heard you talk about murdering your uncle,” said Dotty. “She thinks you mean it.”

Nigel laughed his savage laugh and glared at Kate with intense ferocity. “Well, perhaps I do,” he said.

Kate screamed and ran away.

“Damn you, why’d you have to go and do that? Now she’ll think—” said Dotty.

“What do I care what she thinks?” laughed Nigel. “She’s a fool, anyway.”

“A fool who may well get me dismissed,” said Dotty. She gently pushed Nigel back into his rooms, stepped in herself, and shut the door.

“I thought you had to go back to work,” said Nigel.

“So I do, Mr. Nigel Grimsby,” said Dotty, her voice trembling with anger. “And I’ll ask you to leave me alone in future. I was a fool, to let you take advantage like you’ve been doing.”

“But Dotty–” said Nigel.

“It’s no good you saying anything. You and I were always going to be just a bit of fun–and now you show me you don’t even have the sense not to go causing trouble for me with the other servants. If you cared for me at all, you’d have thought before you spoke.”

“Just a bit of fun. I see,” Nigel said.

Dotty shrugged. “That doesn’t matter anymore, does it? We’re done. I can’t lose my position here and go back to Mother. And now very likely I will. Good day to you!” And she walked with dignity out of the room.