Mystery and Crime Fiction posted April 13, 2025 Chapters: 1 2 -3- 


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A Clue To The Past
A chapter in the book Landingham Hill

Landingham Hill Chap 3

by Begin Again


The fire in the drawing room had burned low, casting long, soft shadows across the floor. The conversation had shifted to lighter things — art, wine, gossip — but Charlie remained distracted, her thoughts still circling Rosalie's tight-lipped fear, the missing historian, and the sudden chill she'd felt earlier.

The telephone call was a welcomed distraction. She stepped into the hall and hurried across the foyer to the phone. A dispatcher spoke as soon as Charlie said hello.

"Inspector, we just received a call we thought you'd want to hear directly. It's recorded so I'll play it for you."

"This is for Inspector Charlotte Morgan. You don't know me, but we met this morning at the Devil's Den. I believe we have a mutual acquaintance — Arthur Bell. I can't say more on the line. You'll meet me at the Crooked Lantern if you want the truth. Tomorrow morning — six a.m. Come alone."

The voice was low, deliberate, and British, but faintly cracked with tension. Though he never said his name, something in her gut said, "This is the young man from this morning." She asked the dispatcher to replay the message, listening closely this time to the pauses — the way he almost choked on the word "truth."

Jack stepped into the hallway behind her, wine glass in hand. "Everything alright?"

Charlie turned toward him slowly, eyes narrowing. "I just got a meeting request."

"Charming. From anyone I know?"

She hung up the phone as she answered, "Says he knows Arthur Bell. Claims to have information for me alone."

Jack's brow arched. "Alone? Hmm, sounds like something out of a crime novel or my past. Rarely ends well."

"It's at a pub," she said. "The Crooked Lantern."

Jack took a thoughtful sip. "That's the one off Barrow's Lane, isn't it? With the tilted sign and the questionable lighting?"

"The very one." Charlie laughed. "Leave it to you to know all the back-alley dives in Landingham."

Jack sighed. "Creepy name, off-the-map location, and a mystery informant. Classic Morgan bait."

Charlie gave a tight smile. "Exactly."

Jack's expression turned serious. "You're not actually going alone, right?"

Charlie hesitated, then nodded toward the stairwell. "I'll go alone. You'll go with me. Just — not officially."

Jack grinned. "Ah. The usual dance."

She nodded. "I don't trust this guy. But I think he wants to tell me something real. And if he's connected to Arthur."

"Then he might be our thread."

Charlie looked at the phone again, the voice still echoing in her head. If you want the truth, you'll meet me. "Well, I guess, we wait until tomorrow."

*****

The Crooked Lantern was the kind of pub that didn't ask questions. Nestled on the edge of the old village, its windows glowed amber like tired eyes, and the wooden sign above the door creaked in protest with every gust of wind. Charlie pulled her coat tighter and stepped inside.

The air was thick with smoke and the scent of dampness and old beer. A fire cracked halfheartedly in the hearth. Two older men played chess in the corner. The bartender glanced up from drying a glass and nodded like he'd been expecting her.

He tipped his head toward the area in the back. There were no windows to allow the rising sun to shine in and share some light — just a metal shade over a grimy light bulb. "Back booth," he murmured.

She spotted him instantly. Young, mid-twenties at most, hunched into himself, pale beneath a mop of unkempt hair. His eyes darted to hers, then to the door, and back again. He didn't rise.

Charlie crossed the room, slid into the booth opposite him. "You asked me to come. So talk."

His fingers trembled around the chipped teacup. "Coffee? It's meant to steady the nerves."

Charlie wore her poker face, nothing to portray what she was thinking. "My nerves are fine, Mr. —" She raised an eyebrow. "This is usually where you tell me your name."

M-m-y-y name?" He stammered. His gaze shot around the room, flaring wide when the bell above the door jingled and someone came in.

His eyes flicked to the door. "That man. The one who just sat at the bar. He's watching me — us. I said to come alone." He slid to the edge of the booth, his eyes shifting, planning an escape route.

Charlie glanced over her shoulder. A man in a dark coat had just stepped in, tall, square-jawed, scanning the room like someone born suspicious. She should have known — it was Jack.

She relaxed a touch, turning back. "That's Jack Lexington. He watches everyone. It's his hobby."

The young man exhaled. "Lexington? He's registered at the castle."

Charlie leaned in slightly. "You know who's registered at the castle? Did you know Arthur Bell."

He nodded, pursing his lips. "He was warned, but he wouldn't listen. He wasn't supposed to find it. But he did."

"Find what? The ring and key?"

The young man hesitated. Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a folded paper — aged, torn at the edges, ink smudged by what looked like water or sweat.

"Arthur made notes. He believed there was a chamber beneath the cellar. One that was sealed off when the last of the original family disappeared. He thought it tied into the legend of the Ghost Bride."

Charlie took the paper carefully. "Why not go to the authorities?"

"I did. Or tried to. No one would listen. Or maybe someone made sure they didn't listen." His eyes flicked up again. Jack was leaning against the bar now, watching without watching.

The young man whispered, "He wanted to tell Eleanor. He said she'd believe him."

Charlie's heart skipped. "Eleanor knows about the cellar?"

He nodded. "Well, Arthur suspected she did. Something about the land remembers. Do you know this Eleanor woman?"

Charlie tucked the paper into her coat. "Where's Arthur now?"

He looked haunted. "I think someone's keeping him from speaking. He disappeared."

"Do you think he is alive?"

"I — I think so. But not for long. If you know this Eleanor woman, you should give her the key."

He started to rise. Charlie reached out. "Wait. At least give me your name —"

But the pub door creaked again — another man in a hoodie, face not visible. The young man froze. Jack had stepped away from the bar, heading their direction.

"No," the young man whispered. "I've said too much."

He slipped out of the booth like smoke and vanished through the rear door.

Jack slid into the seat he'd left behind. "He was skittish. Want me to follow?"

Charlie shook her head, still watching the empty doorway. "No. Not yet. He gave me something."

Jack glanced at the folded page in her pocket. "You think he's telling the truth?"

"I think," she said quietly, "we're standing on a trapdoor and someone doesn't want us to open it."
 
"Or maybe they do," Jack mumbled.
 
*****

The Devil's Den was quieter than usual, the lunchtime crowd long gone and the evening patrons not yet arrived. A low fire crackled in the hearth, and Jack was nursing something expensive and unnecessary while Charlie reviewed notes at the table they'd claimed as their unofficial headquarters.

Charlie's eyes hadn't left the crumpled paper the informant had given her. Jack had already made three sarcastic comments about secret chambers and cursed rings and was halfway through another when the pub door opened behind them.

"Well," came a voice smooth as aged wine. "You two look as guilty as a pair of teenagers caught sneaking out after curfew."

Charlie blinked and then did a rare double-take. "Eleanor?"

Jack slid from the booth, one eyebrow arching upward. "Speak of the devil." He immediately scooped Eleanor into his arms and planted a purposely demonstrative kiss on her cheek.

"I heard that," Eleanor said as she glided past Jack and slipped into the booth. "I would expect you to keep better company than a pub called the Devil's Den, but then again—" She gave Jack a pointed look, "You are who you are."

Jack chose to ignore Charlie's glare as he slid in beside Eleanor. "You wound me. I know this is a far cry from the castle, but you are here by choice or so I assume."

"I considered making my presence known at Landingham," she said, settling into the seat with a satisfied smile. "But something told me the living were deep into something mysterious and you know how I love a good mystery."

Charlie gave her a fond, weary look. "How long have you been in town?"

"Long enough to walk past the castle, circle the block, hear whispers I don't like, and still arrive in time for whatever this is," she said, motioning toward Charlie's notes. "I assume it's not a Sudoku puzzle."

Jack chuckled. "We were just talking about you, actually."

"Of course you were," Eleanor replied. "I have that effect."

Charlie slid the folded page across the table. "Someone says Arthur Bell found a sealed chamber under the castle before he disappeared. He left this behind."

Eleanor's eyes scanned the paper. Her lips pressed together at the name Ghost Bride. "I see the rumors have gotten ambitious."

Jack leaned in. "Ever hear of a sealed chamber under the cellar?"

"I've heard of more than that," Eleanor murmured. "But I never found one while I lived there."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "But?"

Eleanor looked up. "But I always thought certain parts of that castle were never meant for the living to see."

Jack tossed back a sip of his drink. "Which begs the question — where is he now? And what happens if someone else goes poking around?"

"He's alive," Eleanor said softly. "I haven't felt him cross over. But something is keeping him quiet. The castle has many secrets."

Charlie nodded slowly. "That's what the informant said, too. Said he tried to go to the authorities and someone made sure he wasn't believed."

Eleanor sat back. "That sounds like the Fixer."

Jack swirled his glass. "Funny how he keeps showing up without ever showing his face."

Charlie stood. "We were about to head back to the castle."

Eleanor rose with them, adjusting her coat. "Well, I suppose I'll join you. I'd like a word with Nathaniel."

Jack offered a gallant bow. "Shall we ride together?"

Eleanor tilted her head. "Why, Jack Lexington. Are you offering me a lift, or do you need one of my inspiring lectures?"

"My carriage is at your disposal, my lady," he said, grinning. "After spending the afternoon with this fair damsel, I can do without the lecture."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "I'll follow behind. Some of us don't enjoy being trapped in a car with flirtation and innuendo."

"Suit yourself," Eleanor said, already heading for the door.

Jack lingered behind for one more sip, then followed her out, calling back, "You just don't appreciate the classics, Inspector."

Charlie grabbed her coat, muttering, "I appreciate silence — something you don't appear to be fond of."

******
The sleek black car glided out of the village and onto the narrow, tree-lined road leading toward Landingham Hill. Twilight was sinking in, and the trees cast long shadows like spindly fingers across the road. Inside the car, Jack drove with one hand resting lazily on the wheel, the other on the gearshift.

Eleanor sat beside him, perfectly composed, her expression unreadable as she watched the countryside roll by.

"So," Jack said after a stretch of silence. "Back from the beyond to meddle in mortal affairs again?"

Eleanor didn't look at him. "You're still driving like you're auditioning for a James Bond film."

"And you're still dodging questions like a woman with far too much history," he shot back.

"I don't dodge," she said lightly. "I just wait until the right people are listening."

Jack smirked. "You always were good at that."

They rode in silence for a moment longer. The tires hummed softly over the road.
"She doesn't trust Nathaniel," Jack said suddenly.

"Charlie?" Eleanor asked.

He nodded. "She won't say it outright, but I know her face. He's too polished for her. Too smooth. He gives answers before questions are even asked."

Eleanor tilted her head slightly. "He's an art dealer, Jack. And now — due to no circumstances of his own — he finds himself in several different roles, keeping secrets he'd rather not be involved with."

"Does that somehow involve the woman he's taken under his wing?"

Eleanor nodded. "It's amusing that you should describe their relationship that way. But your intuition is spot on, as always. He did stumble into Rosalie's life, and because I asked, he agreed to help her."

"Stumbled or was it something else? A man of his caliber meets many women."

Eleanor couldn't contain her laughter any longer. Jack was used to being in control of a question-and-answer session, and now he found himself dealing with both Charlie and her. Feeling mischievous, she answered, "You might say he found her in his bed."

Jack grinned, pleased with himself, like the Cheshire cat spotting a mouse. "Aha! So she had a tumble in the sack with our smooth-talking art dealer."

"You've been dwelling in the gutters too long, Jack. I hate to pop your bubble, though I'd love to continue toying with your mind. Rosalie is in need of protection. She has every reason to be afraid. Even though Zhang and Garland are out of the picture, her life is still marked."

"Oh wow. No wonder the girl is trembling underneath that polite exterior. That kind of fear doesn't come from a rude waiter or a noisy neighbor."

Eleanor's tone shifted. "The moment I passed the threshold of that castle, I could feel trouble lurked in many corners. The house knows something's stirring."

Jack exhaled and drummed his fingers on the wheel. "Charlie said the kid mentioned you by name. That Arthur wanted you to have the key."

Eleanor was silent for a long beat. Then, softly, "Arthur and I spoke once at a gallery event. He asked me about the painting. He was the kind of man who could see the story behind the brushstroke."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "The painting that's now missing?"

"It was mine," she said, her voice cool and even. "And it belonged right where it hung above the landing of that staircase. I felt its absence before I saw the wall."

Jack gave a low whistle. "Well, that complicates things."

"Doesn't it always?" Eleanor murmured.

They rounded a curve. The spires of Landingham Hill rose in the distance, etched against the darkening sky. Jack shifted gears. "Do you think Arthur's alive?"

"I know he is. Barely," she said. "But he's hidden. Not just physically. Someone is keeping him behind a curtain of silence. And not all the voices in that castle are friendly."

Jack gave a tight smile. "You mean the ones we can't see?"

Eleanor looked out the window. "Them, too."

Jack slowed slightly as they neared the castle gates. "So what's the play, Eleanor?"

She turned to him then, meeting his eyes. "We walk in with our eyes open. We listen. We watch. And we don't trust anyone who smiles too much when asking if we've had a good night's sleep."

Jack laughed under his breath. "Fair enough."

As the car rolled up the final hill, the castle lights flickered like distant, watchful eyes.
"Home sweet haunted home," Jack muttered.

Eleanor's lips twitched. "Let's see who's waiting for us."

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Eleanor - ghost detective
Jenna - Eleanor's daughter, and falling in love with Donatelli
Matthew Donatelli - Bayside's lead detective
Margaret (Maggie) - daughter of Jenna and Matthew Donatelli
Garth Woodman - FBI Agent and widower (Allie)
Tango and Poppa - Garth's top agents and constant sidekicks
Danni - Jr. ghost detective working with Donatelli
Dylan Weldon - Eleanor's nephew and art curator
Charlotte (Charlie) Morgan - England's Metropolitan Police Inspector
Jack Lexington - a retired gangster in the U.S.
Frank DiVito - retired gangster, childhood friend of Garth
Danny Veraci - casino owner who walks on both sides of the line
Sam -Frank's right-hand man
Nathaniel - wealthy art curator and working undercover
Rosalie Jarvis - a young lawyer who got caught up in underworld activities
Stacy Trudeaux - society darling with a past
Arthur Bell - local historian researching the castle's past

Ghostly Castle Residents --
Thomas, Margaret, Elias, Penelope, Gaston,
Maynard, Jason, Elder Whitcomb. Chester
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