by Amy Myers
‘I quite understand,’ Peter told Janie gravely. ‘Tell Mrs Hunt I can easily find out what I need to know from Mrs Atkin.’
Even Georgia could hear the alarm in the voice at the other end of the line. ‘Birdie?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Peter assured Janie. ‘I won’t tire her too much, and I’ll check in with Christopher first.’ He replaced the receiver, remarking with satisfaction, ‘Something seems to have been stirred up.’
‘Let’s hope it’s not a mare’s nest.’
That evening Peter rang Georgia at Medlars in the middle of their dinner.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked anxiously. Peter seldom rang in the evenings save in emergency, if he felt one of his ‘turns’ coming on, or had a minor accident. Even then it was usually Margaret whom he summoned.
‘Of course,’ he announced blithely. ‘About tomorrow. I’ve a date with Birdie, provided their lift is working. But it appears Christopher has taken a fancy to you, and insisted on your presence too. I’ll drive and drop you off so that you can trot along with Christopher alone.’
‘Why on earth does he want to see me?’
‘Your charm, darling.’
So what was all this about, Georgia wondered? It was more likely that Christopher rather than Birdie had suggested her presence. Birdie didn’t strike her as the sort of person to be overawed by male company. But why? Was this something to do with her row with Matthew Hunt? Was Christopher going to deliver words of warning? That seemed unlikely as Matthew was fully able to do that himself. And in any case what would Sean have to do with Alwyn Field? Georgia gave up the attempt to puzzle out any sense in this.
‘Drop me in the village,’ she asked Peter the next day. A large box of chocolates from the village shop would be a passport to Birdie’s approval and at the same time she could ask after Emma, not to mention have a brief word with Alice. The latter hope was dashed, as Alice was out. She was luckier with Emma, who proved to be fully recovered although Georgia noticed there was still a silk scarf elegantly arranged over her shoulders and neck. She assured her that there had been no repercussions from Sean – or Matthew.
That in itself was odd, Georgia thought, as she walked to Christopher’s cottage. An apology might have been expected, if only because Sean wouldn’t want to hand Emma over to Adam without a battle. Silence from Matthew or Sean did not bode well.
Christopher looked pleased to see her, which was a relief, and without more ado he led the way to the footpath at the rear of his garden. It had been raining and so she had hoped to avoid this, but it was clearly his set route. Rain or shine he would plod along here with his hold-all of Birdie’s current needs.
‘They seem no nearer to finding Damien Trent’s murderer,’ she said conversationally, when he remained silent. She still half expected a message from the chair of the trust to be delivered through his henchman, but nothing so far.
‘Won’t find him,’ Christopher assured her.
‘You seem very certain,’ Georgia said. ‘Do you know who murdered him?’
‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘I do.’
That made her very uneasy. ‘Have you told the police?’
‘No.’
‘But who—’
‘Can’t say.’
‘But you should.’ If his lips were sealed, did that imply the trust was implicated?
Try as she would, Christopher refused to elaborate. All he would say in response to questions about Damien’s murder was, ‘Matthew said not to talk about it. Not to you.’
So the word had gone out to his henchman. She suppressed her annoyance. It wasn’t Christopher’s fault. ‘I met him,’ she explained.
He looked puzzled. ‘You weren’t here then, were you?’
They were at cross-purposes – not difficult where Christopher was concerned.
‘Do you mean Alwyn Field’s death?’ she asked hopefully. Was she getting somewhere at last?
‘Matthew said he hung himself.’
‘Alwyn Field? I thought you implied he was murdered.’ Her head was beginning to spin now, with the effort of keeping up with Christopher both mentally and physically, as he strode ahead leaving her stumbling over the rough ground behind him.
‘No, never did that,’ he threw over his shoulder at her.
‘Damien then,’ she tried once again desperately. ‘Does the whole village know who killed him? Is it keeping silent for a reason?’
She had to get to the bottom of this, but Christopher must have remembered Matthew’s orders, for he merely said, ‘I don’t know.’
For all his simplicity, Christopher was not lacking in intelligence, Georgia realized. He was the kind of person who remained dedicated to one course in life at a time. At present that was his mother. By extension, however, it was also the Fernbourne Five and Matthew Hunt.
‘My father’s hoping to ask your mother more about Shaw Cottage,’ she said, trying to sound casual. ‘It’s a shame you didn’t like Elfie Lane and had to move out.’ Christopher made no comment, and so she persevered. ‘When she died, didn’t you consider moving back there?’
‘I like my cottage better. Mum said it was good for me to be independent.’
Her brief glimpses of the interior of his cottage revealed nothing that suggested he was a fan of the Five, and plenty to suggest his parental upbringing. The hunting scene paintings on the walls and the off-putting cases of stuffed birds were down to his father and the watercolours and drawings of local scenes were all Birdie’s. No sign of independence there.
‘Even so, she must have been upset when you left.’
‘Mrs Elfie was there.’
I’m making a pig’s dinner of this, Georgia thought. Detectives were supposed to take control and here she was very much in her witness’s wake. She was relieved when they reached the home, still not sure why he had demanded her presence in view of Matthew’s edict. Peter was already installed with his chair next to Birdie – to Christopher’s displeasure, Georgia noted. Birdie seemed even more frail than she had on her first visit. Perhaps frail wasn’t the word. She looked brittle and autocratic. The beak nose was turned firmly towards her.
‘I wanted to see you,’ she announced, thus settling one puzzle. ‘Do put that bag on the bed, darling,’ she ordered Christopher and he hurried to obey. Birdie accepted the chocolates graciously, and the long elegant fingers closed around the box. Then it too was handed to Christopher for disposal.
‘You were asking about Alwyn, weren’t you?’ Birdie took command of the situation, her quick eyes dancing everywhere. ‘It seems everyone wants to know about him now. I won’t have it.’ She stabbed her finger impatiently at Peter. ‘I’ve had Matthew here, Janie, even Madam Clemence arrived. Quite an honour. But that’s enough. I’ve been told to say nothing and I shall not. My brother’s dead, and he shall rest in peace. Is that understood?’ She sank back against her cushion as though to indicate the interview was over.
‘It might be hard to avoid talking about him,’ Peter said rationally. ‘You’re speaking at the opening of the manor next year. Alwyn was one of the Five, and so his name is bound to come up. A lot of people will be interested in him. That’s the point of the ceremony.’
Brave words, Peter, Georgia thought.
Birdie seemed to cede the point. ‘If it does, it does,’ she said dismissively, with her quick glance and sly sideways smile, as though she were in a delightful conspiracy with her audience. ‘But I don’t have to talk about it now.’
‘Not if you don’t want to,’ Peter agreed. ‘There is a biography being written about Roy Sandford, however. You know about that?’
Birdie looked pleased with herself. ‘She’s been here too. Molly understands.’
‘About your love for Roy?’ Georgia put in.
The gaunt face was turned to her. ‘Certainly. That’s new and important. All you want to do is rake around the old pigsties.’
‘If there’s nothing in them, it should be no problem,’ Peter said lightly. ‘We hoped you mig
ht like to talk about the old days, even though you went through a bad time with your brother and—’
‘What bad time?’ she rasped indignantly.
‘The rough music, when the villagers came to your home banging their pots and pans. Is that what Damien Trent wanted to ask you about?’
Her expression registered nothing. Her hands tightened on the arm of her chair, but all she replied was a flat, ‘Yes.’
‘Did you know Joe Baker?’ Georgia tried.
‘What does he have to do with anything?’ she asked sharply.
‘He led the rough music and probably incited it.’
Another pause. ‘He was the butcher,’ she said loftily. ‘I do remember him.’
‘Did you like him?’
‘Like him? He was the butcher. Not my lover.’ An amused tinkle of a laugh. Then, as if she realized this might give a bad impression, the charm was back. ‘Joe was all right when you got to know him, and he had a lot to put up with from that dreadful daughter of his.’
‘Jenny?’
A cool look. ‘A minx, that girl.’
‘She was the reason for the rough music.’
‘She claimed Alwyn attacked her.’
‘And did he?’
‘Very probably.’
‘But Alwyn loved Elfie.’
A scornful laugh this time. ‘Elfie had a husband. Not that one would have known it. She was a strange one. She and her love-in-a-mist. Couldn’t help liking her – until you saw the way the men fell at her feet in worship.’
Including Roy? Georgia suddenly wondered. Was that a reason for disharmony at Shaw Cottage? ‘Clemence told us Elfie’s parting from Gavin was amicable,’ she asked, ‘but that doesn’t seem to fit with his idolizing her.’
‘My dear girl, there was nothing amicable about the way Gavin used to barge up to the cottage demanding to know where they were copulating.’ Another quick grin that dared them to rebuke her for her naughtiness. ‘He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He would storm into our house, search the gardens, search the bedrooms, until he found her and Alwyn together. Sometimes he did, sometimes he didn’t. Ten to one they’d just be sitting hand in hand, or she’d be drawing him or he her.’
‘You mean they didn’t consummate their relationship?’ Georgia asked incredulously.
‘Goodness me.’ A delicate hand was held up. ‘Consummate indeed. Yes, they consummated it. They consummated it every opportunity they got, and there were many of those.’
‘How do you know?’ Peter asked with interest.
A laugh. ‘You can’t catch me, Mr Detective. You mean, did I see it with my own eyes? No, but I heard. And I lived with that woman for years, so I was told every detail, saw every photo of them.’
‘Making love?’ Georgia was taken aback.
‘As good as. You look at some of her drawings of elves and pixies and you’ll see Alwyn, all desire and lust. Look at the drawings of Alwyn himself – no, you can’t. Or any of his drawings of Elfie. Master Matthew took everything to do with the Five away, as soon as they’d succeeded in putting me behind bars and her ladyship had died.’
‘Why would he do that?’
Birdie looked tired but she rallied at this. ‘He didn’t want anyone to see his mama in the altogether, particularly with a pixie of her own at her side. Alwyn mooned over her like a lovelorn sheep.’
Georgia couldn’t stand this. ‘Yet he raped Jenny Baker.’
She thought she’d gone too far, but Birdie answered dispassionately. ‘She asked for it. I told him she’d be trouble.’
‘Did the rough music affect him?’
‘Of course it did. What do you think?’
How did Birdie constantly manage to put her in the wrong? Georgia wondered. ‘Why was the rough music so long after the event?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ Birdie said. Then she frowned. ‘I reckon Joe had only just found out. The girl wouldn’t tell him straight off.’
‘Elfie must have been upset by it. Even though she wasn’t living with you then, she must have heard about it.’
‘She didn’t believe it.’
‘But she chose to stay with Gavin,’ Peter pointed out. ‘Perhaps that was the reason.’
‘Gavin was richer,’ Birdie snorted.
Georgia tried another tack. ‘Do you remember when the rape happened?’
Birdie looked at her as though she were out of her mind. ‘How could I? She was at it all the time. The girl used to come to the house or garden all doe eyed and swaying hips. She was like the wicked witch of the east, unlike Madame Elfie who was … I can’t remember.’ She snapped her fingers in frustration. ‘Billie Burke played her.’
‘In The Wizard of Oz?’ Georgia suggested.
‘That’s right. A GI bride she was …’
‘I don’t think so,’ Georgia said gently, but Birdie was asleep. Or pretending to be. The audience was over.
‘Vicars’ wives seem to have changed from the stereotype I recall,’ Peter remarked as they drove home, leaving Christopher still with his mother.
‘Old age, perhaps,’ Georgia said charitably.
‘I’m inclined to think it’s role-playing.’
‘Why should it be?’
‘Getting ready for next year perhaps. Hindsight can turn fantasies into reality. Perhaps she believes what’s she saying, but I doubt if Matthew would encourage her to put over that view of Elfie in her big speech.’
‘So we’re still hovering in square one. Whatever that stream at Shaw Cottage had to tell us, we haven’t yet discovered it. We need one more throw of the dice – Clemence.’
‘Unfortunately the dice seem to have been confiscated by Matthew Hunt,’ Peter said wryly. ‘I still can’t get to speak to her.’
The doorbell was ringing, but deep in the middle of Suspects Anonymous with Peter the next morning, Georgia left it to Margaret to answer. Suspects Anonymous was more accommodating now that they had put additional data in, although attempts to get hold of Alice were as futile as trying to track Clemence down. Georgia heard Margaret’s cry of surprise, then a familiar voice, and rushed out herself.
‘Luke, what on earth are you doing here?’ Luke never took time off work to come to the Marsh & Daughter office, save for the occasional pub lunch, but at ten thirty in the morning, lunch was hardly on the agenda.
‘You tell me.’ Luke was torn between humour and barely suppressed frustration. ‘It seems we’re off to Canterbury. I’ve got Mrs Hunt, aka Clemence Gale, in the car.’
‘How on earth did you manage that?’ She thought at first he was joking.
‘I didn’t. She did. A taxi dropped her at Medlars. Apparently we’re both needed at an art gallery in Canterbury.’
‘But I can’t—’
‘Mrs Hunt says you can – and that I can too.’ If Luke was going to abandon work then she obviously had to seize the opportunity fate had presented.
‘Give me a moment to explain to Peter.’ She rushed back into the office to grab her coat and shoulder bag, and returned, with Peter’s full approval, plus a grumble about wheelchairs.
‘I’m sorry,’ Clemence said at once as Georgia climbed into the back of Luke’s car. ‘I believe you’ve been trying to get hold of me, so I want to make it clear that I can make my own decisions about what I do or don’t do. All right?’
‘By me, yes,’ Georgia said, wondering why Clemence was forced to go to these lengths to escape her daughter’s jurisdiction. There was no doubt about Clemence being in her right mind.
‘On the other hand, I don’t believe in going out of my way to upset Janie or Matthew. I understand he’s been warning Janie that I’m being pestered by you against my will, and issued instructions that I am to be gagged. I have therefore organized this entirely legitimate excursion. I have to visit Canterbury over some of my current work, so we can conduct our business over lunch.’
So that was it. Fortunately the business was fairly quickly dealt with, and at midday Georgia was relieved to see Clemence’s
short determined figure stomping back to the car park as arranged.
‘And now,’ Clemence proclaimed with satisfaction, ‘for lunch. Janie has clear ideas about what I should eat and where, but luckily for you I have quite different ones. She favours healthy fare, I favour good food. There’s a pub I’ve heard of about five miles away, if you’d be so good as to take me there. I have reserved a table.’
Clemence elected to eat on the terrace, to Georgia’s pleasure, and even Luke seemed to have resigned himself to abandoning work for ever and a day.
‘We won’t see the sun much more this year,’ Clemence said. ‘So I honour it where I can.’ Outside, with the glow on her face, she looked a lot younger than her age, and much more relaxed than at the manor.
‘I heard you were both mixed up with the kerfuffle outside the King’s Head the other night,’ she continued. ‘Matthew told me. I gather Sean was involved, and the police arrested him.’
‘Yes,’ Luke said grimly, ‘and then released him on bail.’
‘I doubt if he was as blameless as I’ve been led to believe.’
‘No.’
‘He was a nice lad once,’ Clemence said reflectively, ‘and before you tell me that so was Adolf Hitler, I don’t think Sean is quite in that class. There was a little problem with drugs at one time, and now he needs another lesson. Being sent off to an IT training course doesn’t seem to have achieved it.’
‘He has an odd way of wooing the village maidens,’ Luke said firmly. ‘I take it you know Georgia had to save Emma from being throttled after the police released him.’
‘No.’ Clemence looked startled. ‘Matthew didn’t tell me that.’
‘Luke …’ Georgia began, intending to tell him to go easy on this, but it was too late. Luke was still fuming over the affair.
‘Georgia had to intervene physically,’ Luke told her flatly. ‘Matthew no doubt would tell you it was an unprovoked attack.’
‘The Hunts always protect their own, I’m afraid,’ Clemence said wryly. ‘I admit I don’t see Georgia in the role of yob-cum-prize-fighter. Was Emma hurt?’
