Lois stared at the man in astonishment.
“Whatever are you saying? Do you really think I would just get up and go with a strange man I have never met on a trip with no one else, and—”
“I understand your concerns, and I try not to seem strange, but I was hoping you would make an exception.”
“What I will do is call Mr. Hendricks,” said Lois, reaching for the phone. “And don’t you underestimate him; he’s quite capable of coming up here and—”
“I don’t doubt it for a minute. And of course I spoke to him already before I came up. But perhaps it would help if I provide a personal recommendation?”
“From whom?”
“One moment, please.”
Siger took a mobile phone out of his coat pocket—somewhat to Lois’s surprise—and sent a text. Then he put the phone back in his pocket and said, “If he is in, this should only take a moment.”
Lois just stared at Siger for a moment and said nothing. Siger said nothing, either, just watched the lights on the lift, which showed that someone was coming down from the top floor.
Now the lift chimed and the doors opened. Mr. Rafferty stepped out. He saw Siger, showed recognition more than surprise, and then turned to Lois.
“Hello, Lois.”
“Mr. Rafferty—do you know this man?”
“Yes. I’ve known him for quite a few years.”
“Is he … is he … well, sane?”
“I believe so.”
“Do you think it is … safe … for me to travel to Cornwall with him?”
Rafferty considered carefully before answering. Finally, he said, “Lois, I can assure you that whatever Mr. Siger’s intentions are, they are strictly honorable. Although I cannot speak to his merits as a traveling companion, I can say confidently that you have nothing to fear from him. You must follow your own instincts, of course. But—”
“But what?”
“But I can also tell you this: If you do not accompany him, I believe the continued residence of the Baker Street Chambers at this address may well be in jeopardy.”
17
It was a five-hour drive, according to the travel apps, from London to Newquay, in Cornwall, but Lois managed it in just over four. If Siger was terrified along the way, he concealed it well—for most of the drive at least.
Aunt Mabel’s estate, known to the registries as Darby House, had been built in the seventeenth century, a genuine castle with turrets of yellow-gray stone. It was highly civilized now, with indoor plumbing on all floors, though it wasn’t always functioning properly. Lawns and low garden hedges extended hundreds of yards in all directions.
The estate was protected by a manned security gate off the main road. As Lois and Siger drove up, the guard came out with his clipboard. He saw Lois, recognized her immediately, made a face that seemed rather like a grimace, and opened the gate.
Before they drove in, Lois rolled the window down and spoke to the guard as though he would know exactly what she was talking about.
“Once again, let me just say that I am so very, very sorry.”
The guard said nothing and waved them in.
“Hmm,” said Siger as they drove in.
“What?” said Lois.
“The paving on this driveway is pristine, but in front of the gate, I saw metal and rubber scuff marks of the kind made when someone changes a tire. And the security guard has minor scrapes on his knuckles, indicating that he was the one doing the work, even though the only transportation of his own nearby is a golf cart. So, given your profuse apology just now, I surmise that the paparazzi used the old ‘We have a flat tire; won’t you help us?’ ploy to distract the guard and get in the gate.”
“Yes,” said Lois as they drove onto the roundabout in front of the house. “Pretty much. So kind of you to bring it up.”
“I believe it was you who brought it up at the gate,” replied Siger.
Now they were in front of Darby House. The heavy oaken door opened, and a butler came down the steps to greet them.
He introduced himself as Spenser. He looked to be as old as the sycamores that shielded the estate from the main road, but he was not nearly so tall. He had a comb-over of his balding pate that was so obvious, it screamed defiance—it knew it was an obvious comb-over, and it didn’t care.
“Lady Darby will be so … pleased … to see you,” said the butler to Lois, not trying to disguise his doubt very much. “And your … friend.”
“Oh, he’s not my friend,” said Lois quickly. “I mean, not like that Italian fellow I brought from the wedding rehearsal.… I mean, he’s not a paparazzo; I’m quite sure of it. He’s just … a fellow who came up from the tube station this morning, and he … well, never mind, I’m sure that’s not important. Anyway, I just want to say that I am just so very, very sorry about everything that happened.”
Spenser said nothing in response to that, apparently pretending that no explanation was necessary, and he proceeded to escort Lois and Siger through the main level of Darby House.
“Hmm,” said Siger as they followed Spenser.
“What now?” asked Lois.
“Nothing,” said Siger.
“Go ahead, say it.”
“I noticed a second golf cart parked at the edge of the front lawn. An estate of this size must have a groundskeeper, who would have a small domestic tractor/mower for doing his work. This golf cart, though, is for the butler, so he can get around quickly and supervise things.”
“And? Don’t stop now.”
“I noticed two different kinds of mud on the wheels, and even a bit on the running board of the cart. Some of it matches that in the front garden, where there have recently been some hasty repairs. But there’s also a grayish, less domesticated bit of earth that would have had to come from the uncultivated area adjacent to the estate lawn. And on one of the doors I saw a brown substance that I’m sure isn’t mud at all, but something like—”
“Yes?”
“Melted chocolate, I would guess, without tasting it. Also there are traces of a whitish substance—cake frosting. Probably buttercream. So, given all those facts and your profuse apology to the butler, I would venture that the paparazzi attacked not only by car through the gate but also on foot, sneaking through the gardens, and even tromping across from the moors. Someone—I presume Mr. Spenser here—jumped in his cart to try to corral them after they had breached the estate, but he had limited success. They must have penetrated all the way into the reception itself, and in a desperate attempt to deter them, someone—you, Lois, I presume—not only tried to tip the chocolate fountain into their path but also attacked them with the wedding cake, and Spenser drove through it all as he pursued the knaves in his cart. Do I have it right?”
Siger addressed the question to Lois, but it was the butler who answered.
“Not all of it, sir,” observed Spenser matter-of-factly. “You missed the part where they scaled the cliffs from the beach and came at us across the back lawn.”
“Yes,” said Siger. “I imagined they might, but I wanted to see the back lawn before offering an opinion.”
Lois stopped walking now.
“Something wrong?” asked Siger.
“Yes,” said Lois. “Would you please stop enumerating all the disasters that I caused?”
“I will if you will,” said Siger.
Now they continued on to the back of the house. Spenser opened the doors to a terrace overlooking the back lawn—or park, really, from the size of it. The garden hedge to the south was at least a quarter mile away, and whatever boundary there was for the lawn to the east was completely out of sight, beyond a gentle uphill slope.
Two hundred yards or so to the west were the cliffs and the Atlantic Ocean.
On the terrace, the scene was quite tranquil at the moment. Aunt Mabel was already there, having tea and scones and lemon marmalade, and a morning newspaper lay on the table. The green lawns of Darby House stretched out in the distance.
Spe
nser announced Lois and Siger to Aunt Mabel and then went away.
Aunt Mabel was in her seventies, tall, with a leisurely pace in her speech that conveyed that at this stage of her life, with all that she had already seen, she could no longer be ruffled.
She looked up, saw Lois, controlled any sign of alarm, smiled slightly, and cleared her throat.
“Do sit down, both of you. So good of you to drop by. Spenser will be back with fresh tea in just a moment.”
Siger was staring out toward the cliffs.
“They had a rather short runway, didn’t they?” he said as he sat down. “I can see the impressions of the plane’s wheels in the grass from here. You keep the plane in the barn by that stand of sycamores. Under normal circumstances, it would be pushed out from the barn fifty yards or so, and then get up to speed on that nice long field to the east, but they were in a hurry. I gather they started the plane while still in the barn, and came straight out and—well—straight over the cliff.”
Aunt Mabel ignored that long enough to take care of more important business.
“There’s sugar, milk, and lemon,” she said to Siger, because he didn’t seem to be paying attention to them. “You may take your choice, as I’m sure you won’t want them all in one.”
Now she looked out toward the cliffs and sighed.
“Yes, I’ll admit my heart was in my throat for the brief moment in which they dropped out of sight, but then we heard the engine at full throttle, and up they came. They flew out over the water first, and then turned around and went off to the east, and before we lost sight of them, Laura waggled the plane’s beautiful turquoise wings for us, in celebration of their escape.”
Aunt Mabel allowed herself a little self-satisfied smile, then said, “One of the paparazzi was so busy with his camera that he almost fell over the cliff himself. Such a shame that he didn’t.”
“But you haven’t heard a word from them since?” asked Lois.
“No, dear,” said Aunt Mabel. “But I’m sure they’re fine. Laura is an excellent pilot. The last time she took the plane out, she handled it just brilliantly. I remember it very well; it was to celebrate her … twenty-first birthday.…”
Aunt Mabel’s voice trailed off as they all did the math and realized how long it had been since Laura had flown.
“Well,” said Aunt Mabel finally. “Where is Spenser with that tea? Have either of you seen the morning paper yet?”
She picked it up from the table and began to unfold it.
“I find these days that there are some headlines that I’m willing to read, and others that I just can’t bear to—”
She stopped mid-sentence, staring at the paper. For a moment, she didn’t breathe.
Then she laid the paper down on the table, and with great effort, she held her composure and remained very still.
Lois reached for the paper. Siger watched Aunt Mabel’s eyes as Lois read the heading and first few lines aloud, Aunt Mabel showing a glimmer of hope that somehow it would be different when Lois read it. And then the glimmer vanished when the words were the same.
Early that morning, the wreckage of a small plane had been discovered in the national forest preserve near Bodfyn. It was a vintage Cessna 150 with turquoise wings.
“The … victims have not been identified,” said Lois. “And neither has the serial number of the plane. It says that right here.”
“Yes,” said Siger informatively, “often in such instances bodies are burned beyond recognition.”
Lois gave Siger a look, then said, “There can be many old planes with wings of a particular color. I mean, it doesn’t say that here, but it’s what I think.”
Lois said that for Aunt Mabel’s benefit, but Lois herself was holding it together only with effort.
“Bodfyn is to the north,” said Siger. “But you said they deliberately turned and went east. That’s the wrong direction for where this plane was found.”
Lois couldn’t tell whether Siger was trying to be better at consolation now, or just picky about the facts.
Aunt Mabel nodded in response.
“Yes,” she said quite softly. “But they could have done that just to throw the paparazzi off.”
“Well, I’m sure they wouldn’t be heading toward this place called Bodfyn anyway,” said Lois, consolingly. “Who goes there?”
“Laura went to school near there, in the year or so between when her parents died and when I brought her to live with me,” said Aunt Mabel.
“So you think she had fond memories and wanted to go back?” asked Siger.
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly. It’s not where I would have sent them on their honeymoon, God knows. There’s just nothing there, it is so out of the way. But perhaps that would be the point—to get away to a place where tourists and paparazzi never go?”
The more they talked, the more worried Aunt Mabel had become, and now she stood suddenly, on the verge of tears.
“I’ll have to go there,” said Aunt Mabel. “I’ll have Spenser bring the car around. You are both welcome to stay here, if you like, and—and—”
Aunt Mabel steadied herself on the table for just an instant, and then her entire tall frame just seemed to collapse.
Siger was up in an instant to catch her before she hit the ground.
18
Laura’s aunt Mabel was sitting up and drinking tea once more. The doctor had been summoned when she fainted, and Lois and Siger had remained to be sure she was all right.
But Spenser was there in any case, and he had the situation well in hand—rather aggressively in hand, in fact, not allowing Lois and Siger to do much of anything, and actively encouraging them to be on their way.
Lois tried to reassure Aunt Mabel before leaving.
“You mustn’t worry about a thing,” she said. “I’m sure all is fine. It most surely was not Laura and Reggie’s plane, just one that resembled it. No one can ever agree on what turquoise looks like anyway, and there are many small planes with blue wings. I’m so certain of it that we will go there ourselves to be sure. Won’t we, Mr. Siger?”
“Yes,” he said. “We will.”
Aunt Mabel half-raised herself out of her chair and said, “Lois, dear, please just be very, very careful in whatever you do.”
Lois wasn’t sure whether that remark was regarding their safety or about not bolluxing things up. She decided not to ask for clarification.
Aunt Mabel sat back down, sipped her tea, and directed Spenser to help them to their rental car.
Spenser nearly slammed the door on Siger’s fingertips as he wished them (or so he said) Godspeed.
They got under way, heading out on the long estate drive, past the green lawns, and onto the main road.
Siger turned to Lois and said, “That was clever of you, using Aunt Mabel’s distress as an excuse for us to go to the site.”
“What excuse?” said Lois. “That is why we’re going, isn’t it?”
“Oh. Yes, of course,” said Siger.
* * *
It was dusk now, after nearly two hours on the road.
Lois drove, because Siger said he hadn’t done so in more than twenty years. She was trying to fight back tears. It was just as well that she was doing the driving, she thought, because if she had not been, she would have given in to them altogether, and surely that would help no one. Perhaps herself, but it was no time to be selfish.
Siger, in the passenger seat, amused himself for a while with Lois’s smart phone. Then he put it away, and for the remainder of the drive just sat with his eyes closed and his hands folded over his diaphragm, fingers interlocked. He was silent, but Lois didn’t think he was asleep, because the tips of his thumbs were now pressed together, as his fingertips had been when he sat in the chambers at Baker Street.
After nearly two hours on the road, they reached the turnoff for the village of Amesbury. Lois slowed for the turn, and Siger opened his eyes.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Taking
the turn to Amesbury.”
Siger shook his head.
“There’s no point,” he said. “The coroner’s office is only open to the public until five, and it’s past that, so if he is in town, we won’t get to see him until tomorrow anyway. But if he’s doing his job properly, he isn’t even there. He should still be at the crash site with the air investigations team, and that’s a few miles up ahead.”
Lois brought the car to a stop on the side of the road. She didn’t say anything; she wouldn’t even look at him.
It took Siger a moment, but finally he saw a tear running down her left cheek, and he understood.
“If you feel unable to view the crash site,” he said, “we won’t go there. At least not tonight. I reserved two rooms in Amesbury. We can spend the night there and wait until the coroner’s office opens in the morning.”
Lois considered it, then shook her head.
“No,” she said. “Aunt Mabel deserves to know, one way or the other, as soon as possible. I owe them that much. If you think the coroner will be at the crash site, then we will go there now.”
“Another ten minutes down the road, then,” said Siger. “Although I disagree about what you owe.”
Lois said nothing to that, and she pulled out onto the road.
With the last sense of the sun faded, and no lamps at all on the country road, it was near pitch-black. Lois put the high beams on, but their trajectory in the rental car was poorly adjusted—she could see in the distance at an angle, or up close straight ahead, but she could not do both at the same time. She switched back and forth anxiously between them, certain that she would miss the turn.
A Baker Street Wedding Page 12
