Murder at the Fox Estate

It was a night much like any other in mid-August in the English countryside. As I peered out of the cab window at the lush forest quickly passing by, I observed my tired and weary-eyed reflection, with stubble creeping up every corner of my face. I had not travelled more than a day’s trip from my house since the end of the war, but this was a special occasion: my cousin’s wedding. Dottie and I had both been raised by our grandmother, so to me, she was more like a sister than a cousin. However, aside from a handful of letters, I had had little communication with her over the last several years. I was 19 the last time I saw her, just a boy eager to defend his country against the Germans. I returned now a man, and a changed one at that.  

As the cab slowly rolled to a halt, I was greeted by a grand limestone manor with ivy creeping up the walls and encircling the stained oak window sills. I had seen few places so beautiful in my life. As I thanked the driver and stepped out of the car, bag in hand, the large greenhouse to the right caught my eye as the fading light that managed to clear the forest at this time of day reflected off of it. I slowly walked up the cobble path to the double doors of the main entrance. I grabbed the handle of the leftmost brass knocker and rapped it three times. 

After a few seconds, the door quickly swung open and I was met by a burly man with dark hair and a greying beard. Behind him stood two young women; one with dark hair and a sharp nose, whom I did not recognize, and a familiar, albeit older, face topped by golden hair that I would know anywhere. She quickly ran up and greeted me with a delighted smile.  

“Jonathan! I haven’t seen you in ages,” exclaimed Dottie as she ran up to me.“I’ve missed you more than you could possibly know.” 

“Hi Dottie, it's good to see you again," I said.  

“Oh, where are my manners?” she said. “This is Charles, the Fox family butler.” 

He gave a quick hello with an accent I could not identify and reached out to shake my hand. He had quite a firm handshake. Despite his stature, there was a kindness behind his dark brown eyes. During this interaction I noticed the woman behind him walk up the large staircase with a disgusted look on her face, apparently disinterested by my presence. 

“Sorry about her,” he said in a low voice. “I believe she was expecting her aunt and uncle to arrive.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” added Dottie. “I’m sure she’ll love you once she gets the chance to know you!” 

The house was filled with relics and oddities from around the world. Beautiful Persian carpets, full sets of armour that as far as I could tell were authentic, and even some gold coins that seemed to be Roman in origin. It was a far cry from the tiny cottage I was accustomed to.  

Charles led me up the staircase to the room I would be staying in. As I walked through the halls, I heard two unfamiliar voices talking through a cracked open door.  

“You go on ahead. I’ll catch you in a minute,” said Dottie. 

After she left, I crashed into my bed, exhausted from the long journey.  

Around half an hour later I was awoken by a gentle knock on my door. It was Charles.  

He informed me that dinner had been prepared and the rest of the guests were already gathered in the dining room.  

Just as I joined the others at the long ornate table tortured by the delicious smells of steak and wine and the growling of my stomach, there was suddenly a soft rhythmic knock on the door. The older looking man with a well-kept beard (who I assumed was the family patriarch) and Charles stood up simultaneously.  

He quietly voiced, “It’s alright Charles, I can answer it.”  

The dining room was but one room away from the main entrance, so I was able to hear him open the door and his short conversation with the newcomers. 

“Hello, Cornelius,” said the man at the door. 

“Good to see you Reg! Come on, shake my hand!" said Cornelius. 

“Reg, where is Dad’s watch?” 

“I left it at home today.”  

“Good to see you as always Matilda, my little brother hasn’t been causing any problems for you, has he?” asked Cornelius. 

“No more than he has in the last 30 years,” she said, chuckling a bit. 

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, the man I now knew to be Cornelius (who I was mildly acquainted with through some of Dottie’s letters) and the new guests sat down at the table. 

Reg sat to my left and introduced himself and his wife. They both seemed well-mannered, but you wouldn’t have guessed that they were of high standing were it not for their lavish clothing.  

After a few more minutes, Charles, who at some point during my conversation must have snuck out, walked in with several large platters. One contained the steak I had been smelling, another, a fish, herring from the looks of it, and the other, a variety of fancy sides in ornate silver bowls. It was all delicious.  

After dinner we moved into the parlour where I got to know some of the other guests better. The other woman who was at the door when I arrived was named Evelyn. She didn’t work or have any real ambition as far as I could tell, aside from tending the large greenhouse at the far side of the manor. She grew all sorts of herbs to be used in the meals, and flowers for the arrangements that were displayed around the house. She was quite boastful of the arrangements she had recently made for the wedding, explaining the flower she used to tie the whole thing together was foxglove, in reference to her family’s last name, Fox, which made Charles grimace for some reason when she brought it up.  

Reg was Cornelius’s younger brother and business partner. He was married to Matilda, but the two had no children. They were both quite adored by their niece and nephew, though. I connected with Reg over our time in the service. While we may have served in different wars, it was still comforting to have someone here in this larger-than-life place who had at least some experience with the harsh realities of human conflict.  

Marcus, Dottie’s fiancé, and the older brother of Evelyn, was the apparent heir to the Fox estate. He seemed to be the most eager of the family to get to know me. It seemed Dottie had spoken very highly of me and he was trying to earn my approval. He was a broad, tall man that I imagined was the spitting image of his father at his age, given some of the portraits hanging in the house. He seemed a bit brash but was clearly well-educated and driven, unlike his sister. I did get the sense that there was tension between him and his father every time they interacted, but that did not stop us from getting along rather well. I talked with him and Dottie well into the night.

I woke up late the next morning. I quickly got dressed and made my way downstairs to the parlour where I heard Dottie having a conversion with Matilda. They were drinking aromatic tea with a unique scent. I listened in on their chatter about the latest fashion trends in London, and though I thought the dress Matilda was wearing was rather much, it clearly drew my cousin’s admiration. We were shortly joined by Reg, who, upon coming into the room, said he had just been talking with his brother who now wanted to see Dottie. As she prepared to leave, he also said, “He asked for a cup of tea to be brought up.” 

“Okay,” she said with a nod.  

I spoke with Reg for a few minutes and, as I didn't know much about the family and its fortune, inquired how the family came to own the estate. 

“We originally owned a small steel plant, nothing too special if you ask me, but once the first war happened, Cornelius saw a chance to capitalise. He couldn't enlist due to his bad knee. Since then, we’ve opened several more plants and converted them to help manufacture armaments. It’s been quite successful. I’ve been urging Cornelius to take us public, but he seems reluctant to do so.” We chatted for a few more minutes while playing a game of chess. He was a good deal better than I. 

Suddenly, I heard a loud crash, the sound of glass shattering upon a strong impact, followed shortly by a blood-curdling scream. The three of us sprung up and sprinted towards the noise. We soon saw Evelyn on her knees, covering her face, dripping with tears.   

The scene that I would soon be met with was something I would never forget. 

There was a star-shaped hole in the glass roof of the greenhouse, and as I stepped closer it became apparent what had broken the glass. Cornelius lay motionless on the floor soaking in a pool of his own blood.  

Matilda rushed down the stairs, followed shortly by a soaking wet Marcus.  

“I can’t find the greenhouse key!” Evelyn exclaimed in a panic. “It has a flower on the handle!”  

Everyone scrambled to look for the key, but we were unable to find it.  

“Forget it!” Marcus yelled. “What if he’s still alive?! We don't have time for this!” Marcus charged towards the glass door of the greenhouse with his left shoulder. His brisk strike shattered it in one go. He ran towards the spot on the ground where his father lay and was followed quickly by myself and the others.  

Cornelius’s blood seeped through the cracks of the vibrant tiled floor; the sparkling glass that had fallen from the roof formed a ring around his body. The metallic odour of blood overpowered the surrounding plants.  

Death was not new to me, but seeing a man’s body so horrifically splayed out like this was still harrowing. This death was unnecessary, meaningless. 

We circled around the spot where he lay, adrenaline pumping through my veins. 

His eyes, still open, were heavily dilated. It was clear from the deep blue eyes he shared with his brother and children that Cornelius Fox was dead.  

His hand, outstretched at an uncomfortable angle, appeared to be holding something. I unfolded his stiff, spindly fingers and retrieved the piece of paper he was holding.  

“What are you doing?!” shouted Marcus. “I knew he was a miserable old man, but I can’t believe he’d off himself like this.” 

Despite having spoken to this man for no more than a few minutes myself, I couldn’t believe it either. Why throw yourself through the roof of a greenhouse? If you were to jump from this house, there would have been plenty of better places to do so.  

“Someone had to have killed him,” I said in a hushed tone. I carefully unfolded the paper. The header read “Last Will and Testament of Cornelius D. Fox.” Before I could finish reading the paper in its entirety, Evelyn snatched it out of my hand.  

“Well, it’s obvious to me who’s responsible for this,” said Evelyn, failing to conceal the anger and sadness in her voice. "No one had a reason to want the man dead other than Dottie!" 

“What do you mean?” Dottie shouted. 

“Marcus has been written out of the will,” I said. “All 50% of Cornelius’s equity in the company, as well as the estate, are to go to Evelyn.” 

Marcus grimaced. “You knew as well as I did that he didn’t approve of our marriage, Dot.” 

“I talked to him earlier today and told him I did not care for the money, and I would marry you either way. It makes no difference to me Marcus.” I noticed a cut on his left hand likely from charging through the glass door of the greenhouse. 

"So, you admit you were with him earlier! It looks like you were too late though!" Evelyn said with a sneer. 

Dottie looked like she was on the verge of tears. 

“There’s one problem,” I said. “This will isn’t signed.” 

“What!” Evelyn said, examining the paper again. 

“Should I phone the police?” asked a sick looking Matilda. 

“No,” said Reg. “Not until we know who is responsible, the death of Cornelius is sure to garner media attention and that is the last thing we need right now.” 

Another piece of glass suddenly fell from the ceiling, narrowly missing Charles. It brought my attention to the balcony above. “What room is that?” I asked. 

“Why, that’s Cornelius’s study!” Charles said. 

“If we want to get to the bottom of this, I imagine investigating that room is pertinent. But before we can do that, we need to establish everyone’s whereabouts. Myself, Reg, and Matilda were in the parlour for about 45 minutes prior to the incident,” I said, Matilda softly nodding in agreement.

“Well as you could tell from my condition when I arrived downstairs, I had been taking a bath,” Marcus said.

“Can anyone vouch for you?" I asked. 

Charles raised his hand and said that he could hear running water around that time from the kitchen where he had been for most of the day. 

Evelyn then volunteered that she had been in her room for a good part of the day, and had just arrived at the greenhouse moments before her father came crashing through the roof. 

“How about you, Dottie?” She asked with a glare.  

“I had met with him about 45 minutes beforehand, he wanted to assert that he would write Marcus out of the will if I were to marry him. I told him that it made no difference to me and then went to the library.

“So you admit you were the last one with him! The library is two doors down from his office!”

“Now isn't the time for accusations!” Marcus said in a fierce tone. “We need to investigate his office before we jump to any brash conclusions.”

The seven of us went up the suddenly more imposing staircase and eventually reached Cornelius’s study. It was the room I had heard two muffled voices in yesterday. As the door swung open, a large open room, highlighted by a stained-glass window framed above a balcony with an intricate brass railing. I pulled the chain cord on the lamp nearest the entrance, illuminating the space. In the centre was a large oak desk before collections of 17th and 18th-century books, likely what was contributing to the musty smell of the room. To the right, near the entrance, was a closed door which, upon further inspection, was a bathroom far less fancy than the rest of the well-decorated office. As I approached it, I noticed a broken teacup on the floor surrounded by a puddle.  

 While the others looked around the office-proper, I chose to focus my attentions here to quiet my racing mind. The small window above the tub was open, which struck me as peculiar given how hot it gets in this part of England in August. The basin of the tub was still wet; so was the lone towel in the bathroom.  

After about 20 minutes of investigating, little seemed out of the ordinary.  

"We’re getting nowhere!” Evelyn exclaimed, "We need to split up!" 

“Alright, meet in the parlour at midnight and if a culprit is yet to be identified I think we ought to alert the police,” Marcus said. “I’ll go with you, Evelyn.”  

Matilda and Reg paired up as well, leaving me with Dottie and Charles. I detested this idea. If we weren't careful, it could give the culprit a chance to destroy evidence. Even worse, multiple culprits could end up paired with each other. I was no longer able to keep a watchful eye on the others, and I was with the only person I knew to be innocent, Dottie. Something like this is simply not in her nature. Regardless of her lack of alibi, I know that to be certain.  

I felt there was still more to be seen in the study, so the three of us remained there. I had yet to take a real look at his desk. There was little of interest: a stack of papers, a magnifying glass, and a teacup still full of the aromatic tea. Charles found it odd there were two teacups in the office, as the only one he had prepared for Cornelius was the one that Dottie had brought up to him, but he seemed to think it of little importance. I rifled through the stack of papers while Dottie and Charles looked under chair cushions, carpets, and the like. While I was doing that, something rather odd fell out of the stack. It was a handwritten note on the back of a receipt. It said 45 pounds per share. There was a line for a signature, but — much like Cornelius’s will — it was left unsigned. The other side was a banknote for a withdrawal of roughly £80,000, more money than most would likely see in their lifetimes.  

I asked Charles how much a share of the Fox company was worth. He asked, “Is this really a time to be concerning ourselves with finances?” However, realising the importance that it may have under the current circumstances, he reluctantly agreed to tell me:   

“The stock is not publicly traded, but given the value of the company as a whole, probably around 60 or so pounds per share. It’s privately held though, so the only one that you’d be able to sell it to is the company or in this case, Cornelius.” 

There was one place in the room where I had yet to examine: the balcony. From the inside, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Standing over and seeing the spot where Cornelius had fallen was daunting. Had the greenhouse not been illuminated, I would have been able to see very little, as the sun had well since set. As I placed my hand on the railing, I noticed that the brass balcony bannister had a small smear of blood on the left side. 

The next place I wanted to look at was the library. Nothing seemed out of place aside from the wedding arrangement near the entrance. Several of the flowers looked mangled, a far cry from the normal meticulous workings of Evelyn. The book that Dottie said she had been reading after her meeting with Cornelius was still out; I sighed with relief.   

We next decided to search the guest rooms. They were all nearly identical to mine and I found little of interest in Evelyn’s room. It was incredibly neat, with all sorts of gardening accessories mounted to the wall.  

I took a brief break to go to the bathroom between her and Marcus’s room while Charles and Dottie examined it. They didn’t find anything. Dottie said, “See, I told you, Jonathan!” almost boastfully, which seemed inappropriate given the situation, but that’s Dottie for you.  

Next, we went into Reg and Matilda’s room. I shook the bed sheets and didn’t see anything abnormal. Reg had apparently only packed two suits: the one he was wearing, and a far more casual one in his suitcase — a stark contrast to his wife, who had multiple pieces of luggage to store her excessive wardrobe.  

“Don’t you want to take a look in my room?” Dottie asked innocently after leaving Reg and Matilda’s. 

I considered her above suspicion, but decided to humour her. After shaking the sheets of her bed and lifting the mattress, as I had in the other rooms, something fell to the ground. It was a large brass key with a flower on the handle.  

I heard the grandfather clock in the parlour strike midnight and knew that my time to investigate was over. I looked at Dottie, startled by the revelation.  

"I haven't the faintest idea how it got here. You have to believe me, Jonathan!" she said. 

It all became clear. I know who killed Cornelius Fox.