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Cambridge Fellows Mystery #16
When the normally reliable Mortimer Pollock goes missing, amateur sleuths Jonty Stewart and Orlando Coppersmith are called in to investigate. But the country is at war, time away from secret duties is scarce and edicts come from on high not to get involved.
Then a dying man insists on Jonty’s father being informed of his death, an apparent accident that appears less accidental by the moment. Are the two cases related, will the combined Stewart family resources be up to the task and who is leaving a distinctive trace of perfume behind them?
Oh how I love this series! Some mystery series can get tired and repetitive over time but IMO Cambridge Fellows is not one of them. As I've said many times, the author could write a full length novel or a 2-page pamphlet and I would snatch it up without a second thought. Drs Stewart and Coppersmith just never get boring, whether its early on, later in life, or anywhere in between they remain fresh, intriguing, and fun as they were in book 1, Lessons in Love. Jonty and Orlando are right up there with Holmes and Watson for mystery solving duos, even if that comparison would infuriate the lads, especially Orlando.
As for Lessons in Tracing a Dangerous Scent, YAY! just YAY!
The author takes us back to the early days of WW1 as we see the lads working in the respective elements of codebreaking and administration, and of course by going back to this era, we also get to see the always fun and entertaining Mr. and Mrs. Stewart. As a matter of fact, this just may be the most we've seen of the parents of all the entries, they may not be front and center but as close as they could without the complete removal of the MCs. I won't lie, it makes me intrigued by the idea of them having their own mystery to solve😉😉.
I won't go into too many details on the mystery front as this always has been and remains a spoil-free zone. There are times when I was confused(but in a good way) and thought there couldn't possibly be any more questions before some answers started to pop up, but frankly, in a great mystery there are always questions until the very reveal(hence the confused in a good way wordage😉). The confusion cleared but not until just a few pages prior to big reveal and the fact that it took that long for me is what makes this so yummy(well the duo themselves plays a little factor too😉).
Because the author does jump around the timeline from entry to entry, you really don't need to read more than the first couple in the series to enjoy all the crimes and mysteries of the Cambridge Fellows Mysteries. I say it that way because I really do recommend at least the first couple of books to fully appreciate the characters, the setting, the era, and everything that makes the lads who and what they are. Once again, the author has proven why I rank her as one of the top Queens of Mystery. Here's to hoping for many more crime-solving adventures for the Cambridge crew.
March 1915
“‘It is a truth universally acknowledged’,” Orlando Coppersmith read aloud, “‘that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.’ What a load of nonsense.”
“I told you not to read that book.” Jonty Stewart viewed him over the top of his glasses. “I knew you’d get annoyed at it. But would you listen? Would you my Aunt Fanny.”
“It’s well regarded in the college. Drs Peters and Panesar were singing its praises.”
“That I admit. As I do my own partiality to the story.” Jonty laid down the book he’d been occupied with. “However, I was able to get past the first line and appreciate the rest. It’s Jane Austen’s opinion, you know, not something set in stone like Pythagoras’s theorem.”
“Well, it’s a stupid opinion.” Orlando shut the book and laid it down in a marked manner. Perhaps he was in too bad a humour to appreciate the prose, having recently heard that one of his old professors at Oxford had been spouting unpatriotic opinions. “You possess a good enough fortune, but you aren’t in want of a wife.”
“That’s because—item one—I have no inclination to share my life with any member of the female of the species and—item two—I have your good self to meet my every matrimonial need. If only in the true state of our shared life, rather than the name given to it.”
Despite England having moved from the Edwardian to the new Georgian age, a romantic relationship of any kind between two men would be liable to find the two spouses incarcerated, unless they were lucky with the front they put up, as this pair had been. Two Cambridge academics who shared a house for convenience and because nobody else would have put up with them had proved a successful cover story.
However, Cambridge and academia had been temporarily—they hoped temporarily—put aside for London, where they were currently living with Jonty’s parents and tootling off every day to cramped rooms in Whitehall. One to his codebreaking duties and one to more of an administrative role, both placements secured by the good offices of their colleague Dr Panesar, who’d dropped a word in the right ear that this pair were just the chaps the head-hunters were presently looking for. All hands to the pump in a war that hadn’t been over by the previous Christmas, and jolly well looked like it would outlast the next one.
A distinctive triple knock on the door of their little sitting room no doubt heralded the arrival of Jonty’s father.
“Come in, come in, whoever you are, Papa,” Jonty said.
“Sorry to intrude on your precious leisure time.” Mr Stewart poked his head round the door but intruded no further. “Do you have a moment now or later when I could avail myself of your brains?”
“Several,” Orlando replied, a hopeful look in his eye that read as plainly as the text of any book. It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of an exceptional mind, must be in want of a mystery to solve.
Mr Stewart sidled into the room, seating himself in the third chair. “This does seem rather less important than whatever it is you two do when you’re wherever you’ve gone to do it, but it’s bothering me.”
“Then tell all, Papa. Orlando is quite capable of solving a murder, developing an abstruse piece of mathematics and writing a letter to the Kaiser simultaneously.” Jonty glanced at his partner in both love and solving crime, amused to find his face now reading, I’m trying to pretend that you exaggerate my qualities, all the time believing that you don’t really.
“Thank you. There’s a chap at my club, Mortimer Pollock. He’s gone missing.” Mr Stewart raised his hand before they could make any comment. “I think we can safely eliminate one of the current reasons why a man might disappear from circulation. I doubt he’s lied about his age, signed up and is currently heading off to training camp, because he’s my age and walks with a limp. Unless they’re more desperate for men than anybody is admitting, I doubt the King’s shilling has been bestowed on him.”
“If he could have signed up, would he? What’s he like, in terms of character?” Orlando asked.
“A reliable man and a sensible patriot with a realistic outlook on events abroad, I’d say. Not like some of the old buffers who go on and on about how the war would have been over by now if they had been in charge. Pollock’s not a man who’d shirk responsibilities or danger were they to come his way. Therefore, I also don’t believe he will have taken himself off to the furthest tip of Wales or anywhere else he would be out of the range of airships.”
Orlando grinned. “You’ve understood my question perfectly. Are his family worried about him?”
“He’s a widower, without issue, which is why he haunts the club so regularly and why his absence was remarked upon.” Mr Stewart ran his hand across his hairless scalp. “Sir Charles Bracken proposed that he’d go round to Pollock’s house, ostensibly to return a book he’d borrowed, but really to see if the chap was, for example, dangerously ill. Before he could undertake his reconnoitre, Pollock’s butler contacted the club. His master hadn’t returned home the previous night and the man was becoming gravely concerned. At that point, which was Wednesday morning, he’d not been at the club since he left late on Monday afternoon.”
“By which,” Jonty said, “one might conclude that whatever befell him—or whatever he decided to do—can be dated to Tuesday morning. Two days ago. Did anyone ask this butler whether Pollock had taken a bag with him?”
“Not at the time, although I did this morning when our friend still hadn’t shown his face. I may, possibly, have played the Stewart as in ‘Stewart and Coppersmith’ card when I was on the doorstep.” Mr Stewart grinned sheepishly. “Broom, the butler, appeared suitably impressed. No bag had been packed or taken by his master, simply the umbrella Pollock always carried, come rain or shine.”
This mystery sounded exactly their cup of tea. “And what else did you ask Broom, oh Sage?”
“I didn’t need to ask him much. Our names alone loosened the floodgates.” Mr Stewart produced a small notebook. “I made some notes afterwards, although it’s possible something evaded my memory. Significantly, it was out of character for Pollock to have gone anywhere and not left word of where he’d be. He would normally inform Broom of his plans for the day, including whether he had an appointment with his doctor or solicitor or whoever. Pollock did regularly visit an old friend from university days, but the household would obviously be informed well in advance and he’d take a suitcase with what he needed for the stay.”
“Has this old friend been contacted?” Orlando asked.
“Not that I’m aware.” Mr Stewart pursed his lips. “Broom said he wasn’t sure of this person’s name and there are plenty of people listed in Pollock’s address book.”
Orlando shared a glance with Jonty. “Could be significant, that Broom wasn’t told the name, given that Pollock visited this man—or woman—frequently.”
“Yes,” Jonty said. “Especially if this person wasn’t invited to the Pollock house in return. Our staff would know all the comings and goings, wouldn’t they, Papa?”
“They would, my boy. I suspect they’re aware of our every move.”
Orlando, clearly unsettled at the notion of those below stairs knowing exactly what went on upstairs between him and Jonty when the chance presented itself, hurriedly said, “Is it possible that Broom knew the name and was holding it back?”
Mr Stewart considered for a moment. “I didn’t get that impression. I believe he was trying to be as helpful as he could be. Broom’s clearly a worried man.”
“Then maybe Pollock is drawing a veil over this person’s identity,” Orlando suggested, “because it’s a woman whom he’s visiting to…ah…satisfy the particular needs he has now that he is widowed.”
Mr Stewart nodded. “Quite possibly. Yet if he’s gone to her this time, why make the visit without so much as a spare collar or a ‘by your leave’ to anyone else?”
“What else did Broom tell you?” Jonty asked.
“That he, very sensibly, has been in contact with the police and the local hospitals and has drawn a blank. Nobody matching Pollock’s description has been brought in, for example following an accident, and he’s not hard to mistake because he still has a fine head of black hair apart from the white patch on his crown he’s apparently had since he was a child. He might, of course, have travelled further afield and be trussed up in a hospital ward miles away but he appears to be the kind of man who’d get word sent home.” Mr Stewart spread his hands. “Unless he’s out for the count with concussion.”
“Or unless he’s been leading a double life and has totally abandoned his present situation for the new one. Run off to join the circus as a strong man, with his beloved bearded lady.” Jonty chuckled. “Do they still have circuses during the current unpleasantness?”
“I wouldn’t know, my boy, although I do know Pollock, and unless he’s managing to hide his true character from us, he’s a man of integrity, with no obvious inclination to the flying trapeze and no obvious enemies, to boot.”
“Can a man truly have no enemies?” Jonty asked. “We three must have accumulated some over the years, given the number of people we’ve helped bring to book, and there will be others, with no connection to our detective activities. Anyone from the college next door, to start with, simply because we are St Bride’s men.”
“Pollock’s private life could have generated people who’d wish him harm,” Orlando pointed out. “What if he has a married woman as mistress and her husband has discovered what goes on behind his back?”
Mr Stewart steepled his fingers to his chin. “I confess I didn’t specifically probe Broom on such intimate matters, as the man was so upset. Would you like me to return, with a list of questions?”
“Perhaps we could find time to go together, when we’re not on one of our shifts,” Orlando said, wistfully, “although trying to co-ordinate all three of us would be difficult.”
Jonty slapped his knees. “We’re all here now. Papa, would Mama—or indeed the cook—allow us to defer dinner by half an hour so that we could employ some time now to nip over and see Broom?”
Mr Stewart beamed. “I’m sure that can be accommodated, given the circumstances. The problem will be persuading your mother not to come with us. I wouldn’t like Broom to be presented with a scrummage at his master’s door.”
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Because wherever Jonty and Orlando go, trouble seems to find them. Sunny, genial Jonty and prickly, taciturn Orlando may seem like opposites. But their balance serves them well as they sift through clues to crimes, and sort through their own emotions to grow closer. But at the end of the day, they always find the truth . . . and their way home together.
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Be sure and check the author's website for a complete chronological list of novels, novellas, free short stories in the Cambridge Fellows Mysteries Universe.
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Charlie Cochrane
As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice - like managing a rugby team - she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, predominantly historical romances/mysteries, but she's making an increasing number of forays into the modern day. She's even been known to write about gay werewolves - albeit highly respectable ones.
Her Cambridge Fellows series of Edwardian romantic mysteries were instrumental in seeing her named Speak Its Name Author of the Year 2009. She’s a member of both the Romantic Novelists’ Association and International Thriller Writers Inc.
Happily married, with a house full of daughters, Charlie tries to juggle writing with the rest of a busy life. She loves reading, theatre, good food and watching sport. Her ideal day would be a morning walking along a beach, an afternoon spent watching rugby and a church service in the evening.
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EMAIL: cochrane.charlie2@googlemail.com
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