The Mystery of the Black Widow ~ A Gay Victorian Romance and Erotic Novella Read online

  “Thank you,” I said as the stout driver quickly helped me with my luggage.

  I paid him for his service, and he thanked me in return before he hurried to be on his way, although I doubted that he would get back to Moretonhampstead before dark.

  Nevertheless, I was quite relieved to get away from the dark, wet and chilly weather outside as I stepped through the low doorway to the inn and heard the horse carriage rapidly depart down the road behind me.

  *

  The common room had whitewashed walls and smelled homely of a combination of apple cider and vaguely of new-baked pies. A log fire in the middle of the rectangular room spread some welcoming warmth, and I thought I saw a servant in a white apron disappear around the corner as I entered the room.

  “Hello?” I called out to her before I realised that I had been mistaken and there was no one there. “Is anyone here?”

  The place was empty, and none of the wooden chairs around the rounded tables or benches were occupied, and I could not see anyone behind the till at the shorter end of the room, which seemed to serve as both a pub area and also possibly as the check-in desk for guests staying at the inn. If it had not been for the burning log fire in the rustic stone fireplace and the brightly lit lanterns in the windows, I would almost have assumed that the inn was deserted, because it seemed unnervingly quiet.

  It is almost like time has slowed down here, I thought, because nothing in the room looked like it had changed since the time of Queen Elizabeth.

  Suddenly, I had a strange sensation that if I stepped outside, several hundred years would have gone by and everyone I had ever known or met would have been dead and buried long ago. I was so lost in my thoughts I flinched badly when a middle-aged man with bushy eyebrows stuck his head into the room from what I assumed was the kitchen area.

  “Ah, hello there. I am sorry, did I startle you, sir?” he said with a little nervous laugh.

  “No,” I replied quickly. “Not at all.”

  “I thought I heard someone calling out, but I thought it was…” he said before he stopped himself. “Oh, never mind. My imagination plays tricks with me sometimes. My name is Neil Taylor and I am the innkeeper here. How can I help you, sir?”

  “My name is Cedric Davidson,” I said. “I have been sent here on the behalf of Powell and Drakes attorneys from London.”

  “Oh, I see,” the innkeeper said, and for a second I thought a strange expression, which I could not decipher, crossed his rounded face before he continued, “Are you here to sort out the legal paperwork at Lydford Hall?”

  “Yes,” I replied, slightly taken aback. “Has someone sent a telegraph message here? I did not know that I was expected.”

  The innkeeper laughed jovially.

  “Telegraphed?” He chuckled. “No, sir. The Crown’s Inn is too far to be reached by sending wire messages. Indeed, I am not even sure that an express rider would be able to come here after the dreadful weather we have been having ever since September. As a matter of fact, I am surprised that you could even find someone to drive you here.”

  I told him that my carriage had been prearranged from London, and he nodded sagely.

  “So, what can I offer you, then, Mr Davidson?” he asked. “A room, I suppose? A warm meal together with a mug of cider, perhaps? My wife has just finished some home-made mutton pies for tomorrow, and we brew the cider here at Crown’s Inn by ourselves, using a secret family recipe, which has been handed down through generations.”

  “That sounds nice,” I replied, and indeed, the thought of hot food and a mug of cider made my stomach rumble quietly.

  “Well, why do you not sit down with a cider while I carry your luggage to your room and tell my wife to get your meal ready,” he suggested with a friendly smile.

  I sat down by one of the tables close to the log fire with my cider, and after a while a chubby woman in her mid-thirties with curly strawberry-blonde hair and a white apron showed up and served my food.

  “We did not expect any guests this late, but I have prepared the Grey Rabbit room for you upstairs,” the woman said in a broad local accent as she served steaming hot mutton pie with winter vegetables at the side. “I hope you will find it to your liking, sir.”

  “Thank you, I am sure I will,” I replied.

  “I have had our servant girl, Letty, light a fire in your room, and it will soon be warm and cosy for you. It takes some time to get the room warm, though, since the stone walls are so thick. If you find it too chilly tonight, let me know and I will send up Letty for more blankets and a bed-warmer if you should need it.”

  “Thank you, that is very kind,” I said, and I began to eat. The crust of the pie was golden brown and piping hot, and the vegetables were cooked with butter.

  The innkeeper’s wife seemed to linger for a while longer than necessary, so I took it as a pretext that she was interested in continuing to talk.

  “I hope the weather will turn for the better in the morrow. It seemed quite changeable,” I said politely and told her about how foggy the road had been on the way. “Is it often like that?”

  “It is the Dartmoor weather, sir,” she said and shrugged as if that would explain everything. “It is fickle as always, but especially during spring and autumn.”

  “Do you often have guests here?” I asked.

  “Mostly during the summer,” she replied and began to wipe off a nearby table with a tea towel that hung from her apron. “This time of year, we make pies for the tin workers to eat during work, and they usually come in Friday and Saturday evenings. We will have some travellers and guests passing through, but during winter, it is often rather quiet here.”

  “I see,” I said and continued eating.

  She paused for a moment.

  “The two other attorneys that came down from London to sort out the business at Lydford Hall stayed up at Warren’s Inn…” she said after a while. “But it did not end well for them, bless their souls.”

  “Do you…” I hesitated. I did not want to pry, but not for the first time, curiosity got the better of me. “Do you know what happened to them?”

  “Oh, the poor fellows,” she said with a little sigh. “The first one was a young man, perhaps five-and-twenty years old, like yourself. He stayed at Warren’s Inn, so I only met him once. I thought he seemed a little bit pale perhaps, but then again so is everyone who arrives from London, I suppose. Apparently he worked hard, going through the late Lord Lydford’s documents, but then he suddenly took ill.”

  “Ill?” I said and leaned forward.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “The local physician, Dr Van Brunt, was sent for directly. He examined him and said that he thought it was some sort of uncommon brain fever. But there was nothing to be done, and the poor man died within a couple of days.”

  “Poor fellow,” I said and thoughtfully stroked my chin.

  “Indeed, as if there had not been enough deaths up at Lydford Hall,” she said and sighed. “You know, with Lord Lydford, who died of heart failure, and his brother, James Lydford, who passed away with brain fever too.”

  How peculiar, I thought. But then again, fevers are not uncommon, and brain fever could sometimes be deadly, even to younger persons.

  “The second gentleman from London came a week later,” she continued. “His name was Mr Nicholson, if I remember correctly. He was a tall, gangly man, perhaps thirty years old or thereabout. He seemed… ordinary. Neat and proper, and a little bit dull, perhaps. But upon my word, I could never have guessed that he had problems with his nerves!”

  “What happened?” I said.

  “He stayed at Warren’s for three nights. I help out up there sometimes as a cook, so I met him several times. The day before it happened, I thought I heard him talking to someone in his room in the evening, but when I got closer–to make sure that everything was all right, of course, not to eavesdrop!–it appeared that he was talking all to himself. And the next day he just wandered straight
out on the dangerous part of the moor, talking to invisible characters who were not there!”

  “Oh dear!” I said.

  “Yes! And if the gamekeeper, young Chris Morgan, had not been there, I think the gentleman would have drowned himself, but he managed to drag him up from one of those bottomless sinkholes and saved his life. But it was too late anyway, because the man never spoke a sane word again.” She lowered her voice. “They had to take him back to London, and he had to be locked away at a private asylum, but the last thing he said was–”

  “Martha!” the innkeeper called out as he suddenly appeared in the doorway. I flinched and spilled some cider on the table. “Are you gossiping again?”

  “What? No, of course not!” she replied, but her cheeks turned scarlet. “I never gossip; we were merely talking about the weather, and… and the attorneys that came down from London.”

  She hurriedly finished cleaning the nearest table.

  “You must excuse my wife,” the innkeeper said to me. “She is my better half, but if you let her, she would stand around chatting the whole day.”

  His words were softened by a smile that he gave her as she walked past him.

  “That is not true,” she told him affectionately before she left the room. “I am just sociable with our guests, and I make sure they feel welcome. That is all.”

  “Women,” the innkeeper said and shook his head. “Once you get married, there will never be any more peace and quiet in your house, if you know what I mean?”

  “Of course,” I lied smoothly, although I was not married and never would be.

  However, the innkeeper did not notice my little white lie, and he did not seem entirely unpleased with his younger wife or his situation in life as he left me to finish the last of my meal in silence before I retired to my rooms for the evening.

  *

  It did not take long for me to unpack my few belongings. All of the rooms at the inn had names, and the Grey Rabbit was a small room with whitewashed walls and thick, exposed wooden beams that held up the ceiling. A narrow bed, a slightly chipped porcelain washstand, a small writing desk, and a rustic set of drawers completed the furniture. It was simple, as one would have guessed, but the oak floor had been rigorously scrubbed with salt and soda recently, the bed sheets were clean, and the bed was comfortable with a newly stuffed horse mattress. It was clear that the inn did not have many visitors during this time of year, just like the innkeeper’s wife had told me, and although there was a fire burning merrily in the stone hearth, the air was still a little bit chilly.

  I stayed up late to go through my papers, write in my journal, and go through the Lydford file. The estate and title had belonged to the late Lord Lydford, who had passed away recently, and the legal will prevented the estate from being divided. Lord Lydford had no heirs, and there were no male relatives alive in the family, so the case seemed rather uncomplicated and straightforward.

  I tried to concentrate on the documents, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the innkeeper’s wife’s tale about the previous attorneys, and a couple of hours later the exhaustion of my traveling and my early morning caught up with me.

  It is so chilly in here, I thought as I rose from my chair and rolled my stiff shoulders. The temperature in the room was still rather cold, so I decided to see if I could get an extra blanket or two before I went to bed.

  I suppose working in front of a desk next to a window in the draught has not exactly helped keep me warm, either, I thought and shivered slightly as I placed a couple more logs on the fire. I should have brought warmer clothes.

  Just as I opened the door to my room, I saw, at the corner of my eye, a servant girl walking by. She was carrying a pile of fresh towels, and her hair was braided in two long thick braids, and she wore a dark dress, a white apron, and a rather old-fashioned muslin cap.

  Ah, that must be the servant girl that the innkeeper’s wife mentioned, I concluded. What extraordinarily good timing!

  “Excuse me, miss…?” I called out after her while I tried to remember the servant girl’s name. However, she did not appear to have heard me because she continued to walk straight ahead and rounded the corner at the end of the corridor.

  How annoying, I thought, and a little bit vexed, I strode after her with long steps. I did not want to call out again, since it was rather late. However, once I walked around the corner, she was nowhere to be seen, and I stood alone in an empty corridor with two doors at either side and a small window straight ahead.

  Where did she go? I thought with a frown. She must have entered one of the rooms, I concluded, because it seemed like the only logical explanation.

  For a moment I debated quietly whether or not I should try to knock on all the doors to find the servant girl. However, I was not entirely sure which room she had entered, and I did not want to risk knocking on the wrong door. The innkeeper’s wife had said that they seldom had guests at this time of year, but she had not said if I was the only guest staying at the inn, and I did not want to disturb anyone at this time of night.

  Indeed, it is rather late, I realised after a glance at my steel pocket watch. Both of the thin metal hands on the watch had made their way past twelve and it was after midnight, so I went back to my room with my errand unfulfilled. It was too late to rouse the innkeeper or his wife, and instead I added an extra log to the fire and hoped that the temperature would increase during the night.

  Restlessly, I spent another hour going through my papers in the chilly room before my candle burned low and I decided to give up and try to go to sleep. Although I was tired from my journey, I slept uneasily that night and woke up several times, tossing and turning and haunted by strange, but not unfamiliar, dreams.

  *

  ~ Chapter Three ~

  My fitful sleep and troubled dreams did not give me any rest, and although I normally always wake up before dawn, I slept heavily past daybreak. A knock on the door finally brought me back from Morpheus’ realm, and without being entirely awake, I hastily donned a pair of breeches before I stumbled over to the door and opened it.

  “Mr Davidson?” asked a man with chestnut-coloured hair and dressed in rough country clothes.

  I froze, speechless. My heart skipped several beats in a most alarming manner when a shadow of a small smile crossed his face and his amber eyes met mine.

  In front of me stood a disturbingly attractive young man of my own age. He was handsome, but in a rugged kind of way, and might even have been called beautiful if it was not for a thin, jagged scar that ran from the side of his forehead to his temple. It disappeared into his half-long unevenly cut brown hair, and I thought it made him look mysterious in a way that I could not explain, but which I–against my own will–found dangerously attractive.

  “I-I,” I stuttered and without thinking, I ran my fingers through my dark hair, which was more ruffled than usual after my restless night. I cleared my throat and tried to mentally force my heart to beat slower. “I am Cedric Davidson, yes.”

  He was taller than myself and had broad shoulders and strong arms, which made him look like he had spent the last couple of years dedicated to hard outdoor physical work, or so I thought, while I desperately tried to get my disobedient thoughts and sudden acute desire under control.

  Get a grip, I told myself sternly. Get a grip now!

  But I could not stop myself from inspecting him closer. He wore simple clothes, a dark knee-length leather coat, sturdy boots, a collarless farmer’s shirt, and a green waistcoat. He had a perfectly straight nose, and a broad jaw enhanced his masculinity together with a two days’ dark stubble, which covered his cheeks and made me instantly want to reach out for him and pull him close to me.

  “My name is Christopher Morgan, I am the gamekeeper at Lydford, and I am here to drive you up to the manor,” he said and paused just long enough for it to almost sound like an invitation. He leaned casually against the side of the door. “Most people call me Chris.”

>   He raised an eyebrow at me slowly and tilted his head slightly to one side as he inspected me. A small smile played at the corner of his mouth as he unabashedly let his eyes wander over my body, from my head to toe, in a manner that made me feel like I was not wearing any clothes at all. I forced myself not to blush while I pretended that I did not notice that his eyes were lingering at my open nightshirt, which left my naked chest half-exposed, before I hastily drew it closer around me. I had a sinking feeling that my initial unguarded reaction had already betrayed my secret and forbidden preferences; however, I desperately tried to cover up my mistakes.

  I am an attorney sent here on an important legal case, for God’s sake! I reminded myself firmly and swallowed hard.

  I forced myself to regain control and took a small step back away from him.

  “Thank you, Mr Morgan,” I said in a perfectly steady voice and pronounced his family name with extra care. I will most certainly not call him by his given name! I thought, slightly shocked by the very idea. “I will be down momentarily, let me just arrange a couple of things.”

  “Of course,” he said with a small, alluring smile, which told me that he had not been tricked or, unfortunately, put off by my cold behaviour. “I will be waiting for you, then.”

  “Excellent,” I replied stiffly. “Capital.”

  It felt like there was a hidden ambiguous message in his comment, and he remained by the door a couple of seconds longer than necessary. For a bewildering moment I thought that he would cross the threshold and enter my room, but instead he simply turned around and went down the stairs at the end of the corridor, leaving me equally disappointed and relieved. I quickly closed the door to my room and leaned hard against it, with a rapidly beating heart.

  What in the Devil’s name just happened? I thought.

  For a short moment I wondered if I were still sleeping and my vivid and strange dreams had somehow followed me into reality. The thought was deeply unsettling, and to be on the safe side, I pinched the upper part of my arm hard for good measure, but nothing happened, of course.