Lurking in the Darkness (1832 Regency Series Book 4)

By Patricia Catacalos

London, 1832...A despised man, Henry Gilbert, has been murdered and there are countless suspects including his own three daughters who he had physically and verbally abused. The assigned investigator, Chief Inspector Harrison Mendham, is physically attracted to one of the suspects, Sydney Gilbert. But he must remain focused and solve the case without allowing his chaotic emotions to sway his investigative instincts. After all, Sydney could be the murderer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patricia Catacalos
• Release date: Aug 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005331382

Patricia Catacalos

I hold a BA in Theatre from Seton Hill University and a MA in Theatre from the University of Denver. Years ago, when still single, I acted in and directed plays in the Philadelphia area but suffered the fate of many artists, struggling financially. So I entered a career in sales. But, my creative spirit needed to express itself and several years, ago, I started writing historical romances. I discovered that writing historical romances is my passion. I love weaving historical personalities into my plot, interacting with my fictional characters. Recently, I began writing historical mysteries/intrigue and again, love the aspect of interspersing historical fact and personalities into my story line.I am married to a loving and supportive man with a Greek heritage (which influenced a couple of my novels) and we live in southern New Jersey.

Book preview

Chapter One

London, July 1832

He entered his study with determined strides, slamming one of the double-doors shut behind him. If he woke someone in the sleeping household, so be it. He truly did not care. Hurriedly, he crossed to his liquor cabinet situated against a side wall to the right of his massive oak desk when facing the writing table.

The night had been intolerable, not at all what he had expected, and he wanted a drink…no…he needed a drink to wash away the sour taste he had in his mouth…the taste of loss. Lady Luck had abandoned him, on this night, and he had lost copious amounts of money at the gaming tables. Quickly, he poured a brandy into a crystal snifter and gulped it, tossing his head back as he did. He then poured a second drink and as with the first, drank it in one gulp.

He sighed as he poured a third drink. He lifted the glass to his lips but paused.

He sensed a presence in the room.

Turning abruptly, he scowled as he surveyed his surroundings. The large room was illuminated only by a lit oil lamp resting on his desk. He peered into the shadows beyond the pool of light, but he could not discern any objects. Nor did he sense any movement. But he knew there was someone lurking in the darkness enveloping the room.

Who goes there? he demanded as he stepped closer to his desk. As he held the glass in his left hand, he pulled the small left desk drawer open and sought the object he had secreted there. The drawer was empty.

His beady eyes widened as panic gripped his mind. Beads of sweat peppered his balding pate as his breathing deepened.

He heard a scuffling sound…soft footsteps slowly approaching where he stood. A lone figure emerged from the darkness and eased into view.

Henry Gilbert’s eyes narrowed. "What are you doing in here?"

The figure did not move but stood, grinning.

I asked you a question and I demand that you answer me! Mr. Gilbert irately shouted as he angrily circled the desk, moving toward the insolent person.

The intruder’s right hand rose, waist-high, and Henry Gilbert stopped his advance, reaching for the back of a chair in near proximity to balance his stance. Held firmly in a gloved hand was the object missing from Henry Gilbert’s desk drawer.

The report of a pistol echoed throughout the high-ceilinged room, muffled only by the numerous leather-bound books aligned neatly upon the bookshelves gracing three of the four walls. The sound of shattering glass, as a snifter splintered on the wooden floor, punctuated the gunshot.

Henry Gilbert dropped his eyes to his protruding paunch, disbelieving his own vision as he spied blood seeping through his vest. He dropped to his knees as he pressed a fleshy hand against his gut. Excruciating pain spread throughout his torso like splayed fingers.

He lifted his eyes to the slowly approaching figure who simply continued grinning, seemingly without an ounce of remorse.

Y-you shot me? he gasped as he collapsed on his left side, beside the chair positioned in front of the desk, still pressing his hand on the bleeding wound.

Silence was Henry Gilbert’s only response to his accusation.

The intruder lowered the pistol and crossed around the left side of the desk to the French doors architecturally designed parallel to the double-doors through which Henry Gilbert had earlier entered. The figure unlocked the two glass-paned doors, opened one of the doors and paused, looking back at the wounded man now moaning and gasping for air.

Within minutes, Henry Gilbert was dead.

The solitary form slipped through the door, disappearing into the blackness of the night.

****

The stooped butler lifted his right veined fist, but paused before knocking on the closed portal. He dropped his hand to his side, sighing as he frowned, deepening the wrinkles on his aging face. He truly did not want to hear a tirade from his ill-tempered employer. But it was nearly nine in the morning and Mr. Gilbert had not yet broken his fast. Habitually, Mr. Gilbert ate his morning meal promptly at seven.

He leaned his left large ear to the portal, expecting to hear some movement in the room beyond. But he heard nothing. He had already spoken with the valet who informed the butler that Mr. Gilbert had not slept in his bed and had not been in his bedchamber when the valet arrived to assist him with his morning toilette.

The butler shook his head. Such abnormal behavior, on the part of Mr. Gilbert, did not bode well for the servants…or for his family. Mr. Gilbert was a man governed by routine and when his rigorous schedule was disrupted, his mood became foul and abusive.

The butler knew that there was no other choice but to knock on one of the study’s double-doors and accept the scathing scolding he would no doubt receive for interrupting Mr. Gilbert in whatever activity he was presently performing.

He hesitantly lifted his right fist and tentatively knocked on the door.

There was no response…no rude bellowing as Mr. Gilbert demandingly questioned who dared to knock on the portal.

The butler knocked again, louder, but only silence could be heard beyond the portal.

Something was amiss!

Slowly and gingerly, he turned the brass knob and eased the door open. He immediately noticed that one of the double French doors, behind the desk, was open, allowing a wafting breeze to flutter the curtains on one of the two windows flanking the French doors. Sunlight poured through the glass panes of the doors and windows, suffusing the area behind the desk with light. A solitary lit oil lamp rested on the desk where the butler had left it, on the previous night, in anticipation of Mr. Gilbert’s arrival home from his night’s activities. Its lit wick offered illumination to the area directly in front of the massive functional furniture, extending enough light to allow the butler to spy a body lying on the floor.

He rushed forward, as quickly as he could on his arthritic legs, as he gasped, Mr. Gilbert…!

Within a foot of where Mr. Gilbert lie, he abruptly stopped, instantly spotting the blood staining the wooden flooring around the stiff body and beneath a chair positioned in front of the desk. Shards of glass, peppered throughout the blood, sparkled in the light of the oil lamp.

He stood momentarily stunned. And then…a slow grin graced the butler’s face.

He would not be getting a scolding on this morn…or any morning, for that matter, from Mr. Gilbert.

The dead have no voice by which to berate.

Chapter Two

Good morning, Chief Inspector, a constable greeted as he stood as sentinel at the double-doors of the study wherein the crime had taken place. It’s a bloody one, sir.

Chief Inspector Harrison Mendham nodded his head at the young police officer before crossing the threshold into a cavernous room, dominated by shelves upon shelves of books. He slowly crossed to where a body lay on the floor and as he did, he surveyed his surroundings. If truth be told, he was somewhat envious of the numerous books gracing the shelves, silently begging to be read. Harrison was an avid reader with varied interests and he was certain that the many shelved books contained wide-ranging topics he would thoroughly enjoy studying.

The victim is Mr. Henry Gilbert. Shot in the gut.

Harrison lowered to his haunches as he carefully examined the scene before him. It was obvious that rigor mortis had set in, placing the death at least three to four hours prior. What do we know so far about the victim, Richards?

Richards looked at the notes he had written in a small notebook. He is a wealthy Financier, widowed, who lives here with his elderly mother and three daughters. He was five and fifty years of age.

Who discovered the body? Harrison probed as he rose to his feet and began slowly walking around the body, visually examining every nuance of the crime scene. The victim’s right hand was covered in blood, suggesting that he had pressed his hand against the wound. Harrison surmised by the amount of blood, surrounding the body, that the bullet had immediately severed the aorta.

The butler discovered the body at approximately nine this morning. We have touched nothing here in the room and the scene appears as we found it. The information, I have collected so far, I have garnered from him, Richards responded. All family members have been sequestered in the drawing room, awaiting your arrival, Chief Inspector.

Please bring the butler here. I wish to speak with him, Harrison calmly ordered as he began to cross behind the desk, its surface appearing orderly. He instantly noticed that a small drawer, to the left of the desk chair, was slightly ajar. He eased the drawer fully open, but its cavity was empty.

Harrison slowly eased around the writing table and back toward the victim, whose left cheek was pressed against the bloodied floor. He retrieved a notebook and pencil from the inside pocket of his jacket and sketched the position of the corpse. Hearing approaching footsteps, he lifted his eyes to the two men hurriedly entering the room.

This here is the butler, Chief Inspector, Richards announced.

I am Chief Inspector Harrison Mendham. To whom am I addressing?

I am Dagmar. I have served this family for nigh onto thirty years, serving Mr. Henry Gilbert’s father prior to working for him. Dagmar’s eyes dropped to the body but his face remained impassive.

Now that your employer is dead, Dagmar, I ask that you be perfectly candid with me and honestly answer my questions, Harrison requested as he watched the man’s seemingly emotionless demeanor.

Dagmar lifted his eyes to Harrison’s face and peered directly into Harrison’s intensely blue eyes. I shall be completely forthright, Chief Inspector.

Tell me about your employer. Was he a likeable man?

Likeable man…? Dagmar parroted before shaking his head. No, sir, he was perhaps one of the most despicable men I have ever encountered. In fact, anyone who knew the man most likely despised him.

Harrison’s right eyebrow rose, quizzically. And, what of his family? Did they loathe him?

I cannot speak for the family, sir. You must ask them, individually, how they felt about Mr. Gilbert. But I will tell you this. He was verbally and physically abusive to his daughters, his elderly mother and…to the servants. I, personally, do not regret his death.

So, you are suggesting that anyone associated with Mr. Henry Gilbert might have motive to kill him. Does that include you, Dagmar?

Dagmar smiled a thin smile. Yes, sir, that would include me on your list of suspects. But…I did not kill him. I might dance on his grave, with my arthritic legs, but I did not dig the grave.

Harrison smiled. I believe you, Dagmar. Now take me through what occurred when you discovered the body.

Dagmar nodded before repeating what he had earlier told Constable Richards.

Harrison turned his head toward the open French door. Was that door open when you discovered the body?

Yes, sir, it was. And, I thought that to be a mite strange as the French doors are always locked.

Harrison sauntered to the open door and peered outside. The door led to a stone patio with several steps descending into a multi-colored garden where plants and flowers were paying homage to the nourishing sun on this July morning. A perfect location to hide a weapon. Harrison spied a second set of French doors across the patio. To where do those French doors, across the veranda, lead?

They lead to the music room, sir, and they too are always locked.

Harrison crossed the few steps to the desk as he inquired, What did Mr. Gilbert keep in this drawer?

Dagmar stepped forward to determine to which drawer the Chief Inspector was indicating. He could clearly see that the small drawer, to Harrison’s left, was empty. That is where Mr. Gilbert kept a recent purchase…an Indian pattern pistol with a cap lock mechanism. He recently purchased it from a former officer of the East India Trading Company.

Do all the servants know about the existence of the gun?

Dagmar shook his head. I doubt that anyone other than me knew that the gun was kept in that drawer. And I only know because I witnessed Mr. Gilbert admiring the gun before placing it into the drawer.

Would that supposition, that you were probably the only one who knew of the gun’s location, include Mr. Gilbert’s family members?

Again, sir, I cannot speak for the ladies.

Was Mr. Gilbert home all evening or had he gone out?

Mr. Gilbert went out for the evening, leaving the house immediately after dinner, and I cannot say to where he went or at what time he returned home. He asked me to leave an oil lamp lit on his desk, but not to wait up for him as he was uncertain as to when he would arrive home.

Harrison’s eyes dropped to the oil lamp with its wick now distinguished. Were Mr. Gilbert’s daughters and their grandmother all home last evening?

"Yes, sir, as his daughters are never permitted to leave the premises without Mr. Gilbert as chaperone. Not even his mother is allowed to leave without expressed permission from her son."

So, would you characterize Mr. Gilbert as an exceedingly controlling man?

Yes, sir, an exceedingly controlling and obsessively possessive man, Dagmar emphatically declared.

Harrison scribbled a note on one of the pages of his notebook. One last question, Dagmar…where was Mr. Gilbert employed?

"He was not employed anywhere, sir. He was the employer, owning an Institutional Investors company on Regent Street. It is titled Gilbert & Co, a business started by his father."

Thank you, Dagmar. You may return to your duties.

Dagmar nodded as he began walking backward toward the exit.

Do you think that the killer used the victim’s own gun to kill him? Richards asked Harrison as Harrison lowered his lean, athletic six-foot frame onto the leather desk chair.

It would appear so. And, since we have not recovered the weapon, apparently the perpetrator took it with him…or her.

Her…, sir? Poison is more a woman’s choice of lethal weapon. Rarely a gun…

Harrison opened the desk’s middle drawer and searched its contents, finding nothing of import. According to Dagmar, the man verbally and physically abused his family…a family consisting of three daughters and their grandmother. Everyone…male or female…has a breaking point. The choice of weapon may have been spontaneous and not premediated.

Richards visually surveyed the room. There is no sign of a struggle.

Harrison proceeded to open all the desk drawers, scanning various documents. "True…there is no sign of a struggle in this room."

Richards smirked. Do you think that there may have been an altercation somewhere else in the house and the killer ran in here to collect the gun in self-defense?

Harrison closed the last drawer he had thoroughly searched before standing. Looking directly at two policemen who stood silently and patiently awaiting orders, in the far corner of the room nearest the exit, Harrison ordered, You may remove the body now. Go through the kitchen. I do not wish to further upset the ladies in the drawing room by witnessing the body’s removal. Then, he addressed Richards, Please search the entire house, Richards, to determine if indeed there was a struggle in another room. I will continue to investigate here and when I am done, I will meet the family…and interview each woman, individually.

Yes, sir, I shall. Richards turned to exit the room but halted at the double-doors. Whirling around to face his Superior, he teasingly cautioned, Try not to be intimidated by their beauty, sir.

Harrison’s right eyebrow rose, inquiringly. A lock of blonde hair caressed his forehead, giving him a boyish look belying his one and thirty years of age. Beg pardon?

One suspect is elderly but…the other three female suspects are all rather beautiful. Richards chortled. Try not to be blinded by their beauty, sir, as one of those ladies may be our killer.

Indeed…

Chapter Three

Thirty minutes later, Harrison paused before crossing the threshold into the tastefully, if not somberly, decorated drawing room. Richards had teasingly cautioned him not to be blinded by the beauty of the three young ladies who may prove to be suspects. But now seeing the women, who awaited his arrival in various poses around the room, Harrison did not think that the caution was entirely offered in jest.

He could see the faces of two of the young women, but the third had her back to him as she consoled an extremely distraught sister, seated beside her on the settee situated in front of the fireplace. The weeping sister had lifted her teary brown eyes to Harrison and he was surprised that even with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks, she appeared rather pretty with a thin, delicate face.

Another sister sat on a Chippendale chair, facing toward the double-doors connecting drawing room to the foyer and the entrance through which Harrison was about to enter. She looked as if she were in a trance, not blinking her large brown eyes, and seemingly unaware of Harrison’s visible presence just beyond the threshold. She too was extremely pretty with a flawless complexion and dark brunette hair pulled tightly back from her high forehead. She sat stoically with an impassive expression on her narrow face.

Standing behind where the entranced woman sat was an elderly woman, perhaps in her mid-seventies, whose hand rested on the back of the chair as if the piece of furniture anchored her. She was also exceedingly attractive, for a woman of her advanced years, with beautiful high cheekbones and large brown eyes. Her hair was gray and styled in an outdated hairstyle, pulled atop her head in a large bouffant bun. She instantly spied Harrison but gave no facial reaction. Instead, she turned a scowling expression to the weeping granddaughter. Stop with your theatrics, Eleanor. Your father does not deserve your tears however falsely flowing.

The granddaughter who had been consoling her mourning sister angled her face toward her grandmother, but still not clearly visible to Harrison, as she chided, We all grieve differently, Grandmother.

Please spare me the platitudes. Your father was an evil man, undeserving of grief.

"Mayhap Eleanor is grieving for the father that he could have