Kate Eavesdrops

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…

Kate Eavesdrops

Kate, ever since she’d overheard Mr. Nigel plotting to murder Mr. Jack, had been on the horns of a dilemma.

On the one hand, Mr. Jack should be warned. She felt this strongly.

On the other hand, everyone she’d consulted, most notably Mrs. Dobson, had told her not to do it. And Kate always obeyed Mrs. Dobson. But in this case—well, she was sure it wasn’t right. Kate had a duty, and she was shirking it.

As a result of this dilemma, Kate was becoming mildly obsessed with Mr. Jack. She tended to lurk near him. Even she was unclear about her motives in doing this. Was she gathering the courage to defy Mrs. Dobson and Tell All? Or was she more of a guardian angel, watching over him so that, when the blow fell, she would be on hand to prevent it?

She didn’t know, she was sure. But she couldn’t seem to keep away from the man. Whenever she wasn’t near him, she was lost in an anxious trance, wondering if the blow was falling even now.

Also, lurking near Mr. Jack—spying on him, the ungenerous might call it—had its compensations. For example, she’d managed to overhear most of Jack’s recent conversation with Penny. That had been full of interest. Marry Dr. Camphor? Jam? Boys out in the snow? Whose boys were they—and who was the sinister Scumble?

And then Jack had retreated into his rooms to write letters. Kate at first felt thwarted. But then she thought of the Blue Bedroom. It needed an airing, she was sure. She repaired there at once, leaving the hall outside the morning room only half-dusted.

She opened the Blue Bedroom windows, and found that she could hear the scrape of Mr. Jack’s pen through the open window of his bedroom. In order to hear this, she had to be pressed up against the window, with her head sticking out into the warm summer air, but that was all right. The window frames, she decided, were really awfully grimy; they could use a decent scrub. She obtained a bucket of soapy water from the scullery and set to.

For a time, all was well. Kate would scrub for a moment, and then pause to listen for the scribbling of Jack’s pen. After a few seconds of this, she’d start scrubbing again. It was peaceful. Kate felt calm.

And then there was a knock on Jack’s sitting room door. He went to answer it.

“Oh hi! Come on in and sit down. Here, let me close the door to my bedroom—there’s a bit of a draft,” said Jack. And, a second later, the sound of Jack’s door closing.

Kate despaired. The sitting room windows were closed and the curtains were drawn. She could hear nothing, see nothing. What was happening in that sinister sealed sitting room? And who was Mr. Jack’s visitor? Kate dangled out of the window at a slightly more perilous angle. Positioned thus, she could hear the murmur of conversation, but couldn’t make out any words. Still, if Mr. Jack was conversing, he probably wasn’t also being horribly murdered.

Suddenly, the conversation crescendoed in volume, and Kate heard a few words of what was said. “…skunk that night,” she thought she heard Mr. Jack say.

Then, very distinctly, Jack yelled, “hey! Peddle that somewhere else!” This was accompanied by a clatter, as if Jack had leapt to his feet. Kate, fearing the worst, braced herself for action—but a moment later, Jack spoke again.

“So that’s who Emily is,” said Jack, after some further angry murmuring.

And then, “…inherit all my money—I don’t think!” This was spoken with contempt.

And then Jack said something like, “no!… tomorrow… balloon goes…”

Suddenly, Kate was dragged back into the room by a totally unexpected pair of bony hands. The hands spun her roughly round, and Kate found herself eye to eye with Hettie. The old woman was glaring at her.

“Spying, are ye, me girl?” cackled old Hettie into Kate’s face. “Let’s close this window first.” And she slammed the window down with a loud bang. “Now. What did ye hear?”

“Oh! Oh! Miss Hettie, don’t tell Mrs. Dobson—you won’t, will you? Oh, say you won’t!” Kate knew she was babbling, but in her panic, she found she could not stop.

 “Tell me what you heard, then, and we’ll see. Out with it!”

Kate told her everything.

“What was that about Emily?” asked Hettie, gripping Kate’s arm in a way that Kate later found had left bruises.

“He said, ‘oh, that’s who Emily is,’ Miss Hettie. But he didn’t say it nice at all—angry-like!”

“And you don’t know who he was talking to?”

“No, I never heard the other voice, not enough to know who it was. Oh, Miss Hettie, you don’t think Mr. Nigel is in there with him, do you?”

“And supposing it is? Now, young Kate, you’re going to keep your mouth shut, tight. If I hear you’ve been talking, I’ll tell the family you’ve been spyin’ on them, and then it is out of a job you’ll be, and no more than you deserve, for your sly, sneaking ways! Do you hear me, girl?” And Hettie gave her a good, hard shake.

“Y-yes ma’am. Oh, let me go—I won’t say anything!”

“Don’t go telling Mrs. Dobson about this—or I’ll tell her how you’ve been neglecting your duties, spyin’ on Mr. Jack. Don’t you tell no-one,” said Hettie.

Kate nodded numbly. She meant it, too. She did not like how strong the old lady’s hands were; she did not like the expression in her rheumy eyes; she did not like anything about the current situation. All she wanted was for it to be over, so she could never think of it again.