Death at the Abbey by Christine Trent

her head. Members of nobility had depths that were impossible to plumb. For now, she had to worry about getting this completely disorganized throng back to Welbeck. Contemplating Portland’s motives could wait for another day.
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    Violet returned to Worksop once everyone else had returned to the Abbey. She was glad to be back at Worksop Inn with her husband, finally having the opportunity to start and finish a dish of fish pie as she and Sam discussed what had happened during their past couple of days apart.
    She explained to Sam what had happened with Aristotle the raven, and the subsequent suspicious death of Burton Spencer, as well as the Duke of Portland’s eccentricities and Colonel Mortimer’s odd behavior.
    â€œSo you don’t believe that the colonel actually witnessed Mr. Spencer’s murder, and that in fact he may have had something to do with it,” Sam said as he lifted his glass of ale to wash down his beef stew.
    â€œI’m not entirely certain what I think. I just don’t see how the colonel can claim that he saw Mr. Spencer being strangled, when it is obvious that Spencer was struck repeatedly in the chest and then fell upon a sharp rock. Even in the dark, how would the two actions look alike?” As she scooped the last creamy morsel onto her fork, Violet wondered how it would look to ask for an additional portion of fish.
    â€œAnd you plan to do something about it,” Sam said. It wasn’t a question.
    Violet bit her lip. How well he knew her. “I was thinking I might return to the Abbey tomorrow to do some more investigating in the area where Spencer was found. Maybe there will be some evidence that was impossible to see in the darkness, despite the light from the tunnel.”
    â€œWhat tunnel?” Sam asked.
    Violet told him about the skylights over the tunnel she had seen, as well as LeCato’s claim that there were miles of tunnels crisscrossing the property.
    Sam’s interest was palpable. “Are they still digging tunnels?” he asked.
    â€œI believe so. Mr. LeCato said that—”
    â€œWhat method are they using for creating the tunnels? Cut and cover? Drill and blast?”
    Violet had no idea what he was talking about. “I’m sure I don’t know. He never told me—”
    â€œPerhaps they were using a bench tunneling approach?”
    â€œIt’s not anything anyone saw fit to tell the undertaker, Sam. I don’t think—”
    â€œDon’t you see?” Sam said excitedly. “The duke—or the estate manager—might well be interested in employing dynamite. I could help them be more efficient at it, with less risk and loss of life than in whatever method they are using now. I’d like to go with you tomorrow, sweetheart, and have you introduce me to the estate manager so I can propose it.”
    â€œI—I’m not sure exactly where Mr. Reed’s office is. I suppose I could ask Mr. Kirby. . . .” Violet wasn’t sure how she felt about the idea. She was hesitant about Sam’s enthusiasm for dynamite, although, if he was going to be blasting anyway, wouldn’t blasting fairly shallow walking tunnels be safer than the deep shafts needed for a colliery?
    Sam, however, was thoroughly warming to his own idea. “If I could convince Welbeck Abbey’s estate manager—Mr. Reed, you say?—that dynamite is a good idea, and then the duke was on hand to witness its benefits, why, I might have a whole new way for promoting dynamite in Great Britain. Imagine the influence such a great peer could have if he supported it. I tell you, it’s been damnably slow getting this colliery started. Far more difficult than I had anticipated.”
    â€œI thought you were enthusiastic about it. Remember all the trouble you went to in securing financing for it in London?” Violet knew she was stalling for time as she thought this out, not sure how she felt about