Exclusive Excerpt from A GRAVE DECEPTION by Connie Berry:
It was almost six thirty when Ivor and I set out for Finchley Hall, a short fifteen minutes’ walk from the village center. The sixteenth-century estate had been gifted to the National Trust the previous January when Lady Barbara had admitted she could no longer afford the massive maintenance costs.
That morning, knowing I wouldn’t have time to drive home and change before dinner, I’d brought with me a mid-length, pearl-white satin skirt and a fitted black jacket. I changed clothes in the shop’s single bathroom, brushed my dark shoulder-length hair into a ponytail, and slicked on a layer of the cherry-colored lip gloss I wore on special occasions. Tom had texted earlier in the day to say he’d meet us at seven unless the unexpected happened, which it did with disturbing regularity.
The path from the church car park led us through Finchley Park with its stands of old oaks. It was a beautiful summer evening. Drifts of purple iris bloomed along the banks of Blackwater Lake. In the farmer’s field to the north, a small herd of black-and-white cows rested in the evening shade. Beyond that, on the far side of a fence, we could see rows of neatly hoed young turnip plants.
I cast a surreptitious eye at Ivor, who was puffing. He’d recovered well from his double hip replacement surgery a year ago, but I knew his stamina hadn’t fully returned. “You all right?”
He said nothing, rather pointedly.
Ten minutes later, Finchley Hall rose before us, the old bricks glowing rose-red in the slanting rays of the sun. The property had closed to visitors at four o’clock, but a number of the National Trust staff workers were still there, emptying waste bins, scrubbing the picnic tables outside the café, and laying out bedding plants in the Elizabethan garden.
I carried my black slingback heels in a string bag, along with a bottle of wine for Lady Barbara. Ivor – who’d always been unconventional, so why stop now? – had wrapped up a mid-Victorian baby rattle in the shape of a cat playing a fiddle.
We entered the house, not through the main entrance, which was now locked, but through a side entrance leading directly to Lady Barbara’s apartments in the east wing. A Portland stone staircase led us up to the first floor where we were met by Francie Jewell, Lady Barbara’s cook and live-in companion. “Come in, you lot. They’re waiting for you.” She collected our jackets and scurried off with them.
Lady Barbara appeared, beaming. “Welcome, darlings.” She looked me up and down approvingly. “Very chic. Perfect with those blue eyes.” Lady Barbara looked pale but lovely in the rose-colored silk dress she reserved for special occasions. Like the former queen, Lady Barbara paid no attention to fashion trends, preferring instead what she called “timeless pieces,” meticulously maintained but often slightly threadbare.
“How are you coping with all the visitors swarming the estate?” Ivor asked while I removed my flat shoes and slipped into my heels.
“Oh, I quite like them. This house was never meant to be lived in by one old lady. Now it’s full of life again – and being cared for as it should.” She added in a conspiratorial tone, “Sometimes, for a lark, Francie and I put on our old Barbours and headscarves and stroll around the grounds, listening to people talk. We feel like spies.”
It was just like Lady Barbara, who’d had more than her share of sorrow in her seventy-plus years on earth, to make the best of whatever pleasures life afforded her. I knew she was grateful the National Trust had agreed to take on Finchley Hall, saving her from the trauma of a public sale to a pop star or footballer or, worse yet, some multinational corporation with plans to turn the mansion into an executive leisure center. I knew she was grateful, too, for her lovely apartments in the east wing and for the help and companionship of Francie Jewell. If she grieved for the daughter she’d lost at birth, for the husband who’d died too young, for the son who’d thrown his life away for drugs . . . if she regretted being the last of the Finchleys or mourned the progressive loss of her vision, no one would ever know.
We handed her our small gifts, and she thanked us, unwrapping the silver baby rattle. “Well, my goodness,” she said with a straight face. “I’ve always wanted one of these. However did you know?”
Ivor blushed.
Holding the gifts, Lady Barbara led us into the drawing room with its coral-pink walls and exquisite plasterwork frieze. Even in late June, a small fire had been lit in the Portland stone fireplace. A young woman in a black dress and white apron offered us each a glass of wine. I recognized her as the shop girl from the co-op in the village. Another young woman, one I didn’t recognize, followed her with a tray of canapes. “Spiced pear in filo, madam.”
I took one to be polite, but I was saving myself for Francie’s dinner.
Vivian Bunn stood near the fireplace, chatting with three men and two women, the guests of honor. Two of the men had apparently been arguing because the oldest of the trio, a large man somewhere in his early fifties, put up a hand. “No offense, old chap, but you know as well as I do that plague pits are more folklore than history.”
“It’s not folklore.” The youngest man’s voice was tight with anger. “The discovery at Lincolnshire proves that, and we have good reason to believe -”
“No, Mark. It’s no good.” The older man shook his head. “We just don’t have the -”
“Everyone, please.” Lady Barbara shook the rattle, which turned out to be loud enough to traumatize an unsuspecting infant. “I’d like you to meet my dear friends.” She transferred the wine bottle and rattle to Francie Jewell. “Please welcome Kate Hamilton and Ivor Tweedy from The Cabinet of Curiosities. Kate, Ivor – you know Vivian, of course. I’ll just go ’round the circle, shall I?”
Copyright © 2025 Connie Berry
A GRAVE DECEPTION by Connie Berry
Antiques expert Kate Hamilton dives into the past to solve a fourteenth-century mystery with disturbing similarities to a modern-day murder in the sixth installment of the Kate Hamilton mystery series.
Kate Hamilton and her husband, Detective Inspector Tom Mallory, have settled into married life in Long Barston. When archaeologists excavating the ruins of a nearby plague village discover the miraculously preserved body of a fourteenth-century woman, Kate and her colleague, Ivor Tweedy, are asked to appraise the grave goods, including a valuable pearl. When tests reveal the woman was pregnant and murdered, the owner of the estate on which the body was found, an amateur historian, asks Kate to identify her and, if possible, her killer. Surprised, Kate agrees to try.
Meanwhile, tensions within the archaeological team erupt when the body of the lead archaeologist turns up at the dig site with fake pearls in his mouth and stomach. Then a third body is found in the excavations. Meanwhile, Kate’s husband Tom is tracking the movements of a killer of his own.
With the help of 700-year-old documents and the unpublished research of a deceased historian, Kate must piece together the past before the grave count reaches four.
Thriller Crime | Mystery Amateur Sleuth [ Crooked Lane Books, On Sale: December 9, 2025, Trade Paperback / e-Book, ISBN: 9798892422932 / eISBN: 9798892422109 ]
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About Connie Berry
Connie Berry writes the USA Today best-selling Kate Hamilton Mystery series, set in the UK and featuring an American antiques dealer with a gift for solving crimes. Connie grew up in the world of fine antiques. Her parents, unrepentant antiques fanatics, instilled in her a passion for history, fine art, foreign travel, and all things British. She graduated from DePauw University and earned her master’s degree in English at The Ohio State University. She also studied at the University of Freiburg in Germany and St. Clare’s College in Oxford, England. Her debut novel, A Dream of Death, won the IPPY Gold for Mystery and was a finalist for the Agatha Award. Her latest, The Shadow of Memory, is a finalist for the 2023 Edgar Awards. Connie is a member of SinC, MWA, CWA. She’s on the board of her local writers’ group and on the Steering Committee for Guppies. She lives in Ohio and northern Wisconsin with her husband and adorable dog, Emmie.
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