“You caught me at a vulnerable moment,” Ryan muttered, thinking back to a very memorable evening the week before.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Doctor Anna Taylor brushed an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve, then grabbed him by the lapels. “Look, we’ve been staying on the estate for almost four months, it would be rude not to go to the party.”
Following the actions of a murderous madman known as The Hacker the previous spring, Anna’s riverside cottage in Durham was now a burnt-out shell and Ryan’s apartment was up for sale after a deep clean and extensive redecoration. Unfortunately, no amount of industrial chemicals could remove the lingering trace of violent death. It stood empty while the couple relocated to a long-term holiday cottage for the remainder of the summer within the estate grounds of Cragside house, on the outskirts of the Northumberland National Park. The tranquil setting offered a perfect base where they could recuperate, allowing Anna to complete her latest historical textbook on Viking Northumberland before the start of a new academic term, while Ryan oversaw the tying up of numerous loose ends following The Hacker’s demise. Over the last four months, they’d become immersed in life on the estate and when a gilded invitation to a murder mystery-themed party had come through the letterbox, it was clear they had finally been accepted into the fold of Cragside’s select community.
“It’s the staff summer party,” Anna continued. “It’s very kind of them to invite us.”
“Food, drink and a few laughs is one thing,” Ryan said. “Wearing this ridiculous get-up to a murder mystery night is another thing entirely. I have a reputation to uphold.”
Anna laughed.
“If you’re worried I’ll tell Phillips about your little foray into period costume—”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Ryan paled as he thought of his sergeant and the banter that would spread like wildfire through the hallways of the Northumbria Criminal Investigation Department once the word got out.
“You should be more worried that I’ll make you wear something similar at our wedding,” Anna gave him a guileless smile and walked her fingers up his back. “I think you’d look rather fetching. There’s another couple of weeks before the big day, still plenty of time to make a few wardrobe changes.”
Ryan let out a sound halfway between a growl and a whimper but he admired the way she’d neatly boxed him into a corner. He turned to look down into her mischievous face.
“You’re a foxy woman,” he murmured, casually flicking the rim of his hat so he could dip his head to hers for a thorough kiss.
*
Cragside house stood resplendent against the summer sky, built like a gothic fairy-tale castle against a craggy hillside surrounded by acres of lush woodland. The air was fragrant and heavy as Ryan and Anna made their way along the footpath from their rental cottage toward the main house and a light breeze stirred the avenue of pine trees, providing a welcome balm to their overheated skin. The usual influx of tourists had departed hours ago and the estate was deserted, aside from the people who stayed on to celebrate another year as custodians of a slice of Northumbrian history. Ryan glanced across to where Anna walked beside him, long skirts rustling against the ground, dark hair swept back from her face. He tucked her hand inside his arm, thinking that he might as well embrace his old-world character for the evening.
“You look beautiful,” he said quietly. “But doesn’t it hurt?”
He lifted a hand vaguely toward the corseted waistline of her pale blue dress.
“Like hell,” she said. “I’ve already decided to take this contraption off before dinner. Nothing’s going to stop me enjoying a four-course meal.”
He grinned and moments later they emerged from the forest canopy, finding themselves at the foot of the hillside looking up at a dramatic house built on various levels into the rock face. Turrets and towers, arches and mock-Tudor beams vied for attention with Rhenish gables and gardens that were any landscape architect’s dream.
Ryan let out a slow, appreciative whistle.
“Remind me of the story behind this place?”
Anna gave him a pained look, lamenting the fact he would never share her passion for local history however much she tried to convert him. Then again, she had no desire to solve grisly murders for a living, so it was horses for courses, she supposed.
“The house belonged to William Armstrong, who was one of the world’s leading industrialists back in the nineteenth century; he built ships, arms, all kinds of innovative machinery. You might say he built most of Newcastle city centre too.”
She continued with her potted history as they slowly made their way up the incline leading to the main entrance.
“He was an inventor, really. Cragside was the first house in the world to be lit by electric bulbs, powered by hydroelectricity using water from the lakes on his estate. It’s privately owned by the Gilbert family now but they open it to the public most days.”
Ryan frowned, trying to remember if he’d met Lionel and Cassandra Gilbert.
“They’ve been on holiday,” Anna decided to help him out. “They flew back from Barbados last week to throw their annual staff party, as a ‘thank you’ to everyone who keeps the place ticking over while they’re gallivanting around the world.”
Ryan grunted.
“How’d they make their millions?”
“No idea,” Anna replied. “They’re both getting on a bit, though. He’s in his eighties and she’s somewhere around seventy.”
“Children?”
“No. Yes,” Anna corrected. “Cassandra has two children from her first marriage but neither of them live on the estate.”
Conversation died as they reached the grand portico leading into the house and other figures dressed in lacy finery began to materialise, dispelling the whimsical notion that they had the place to themselves.
“Showtime,” Ryan pronounced.
*
Balmy rays of early evening sunshine trailed across the countryside and turned the windows of Cragside house into a glistening beacon for miles around but when Anna and Ryan stepped inside its thick stone walls, they were engulfed by Victorian décor. There was an abundance of dark panelled wood and fussy wallpaper bearing elaborate Chinese silk prints. Almost every mullioned window boasted a spectacular view but the interior remained oppressively dim, illuminated only by a small number of antiquated lamps dating back over a hundred years. They happened to know that the house was connected to the National Grid but it was a point of conservation that it continued to be powered by hydroelectricity, as it had been in the old days. Fortunately, the atmospheric lighting provided the perfect backdrop for a murder mystery party.