Weird.
The rough wooden table — perhaps designed for a simple farmer’s meal — was instead dotted with rows of metal soldiers facing off against each other, sabres drawn, guns pointed, the table dotted with bits of rock and plastic trees making terrain for the impending skirmish.
She had questions for this Brimley but, just for another moment, she kept looking.
A doll — of course! — sitting above the small mantelpiece above the fireplace.
This doll, though, with its chubby cheeks and those oh-so-spooky eyes, was dressed in a cowboy outfit, with a small broad-brimmed hat, tasselled leather jacket — and Sarah thought she even spotted a tiny star pinned to that jacket.
The sheriff of this menagerie of weirdness.
To the left, a mannequin, unclothed she noted, hairless, graceful arms ending in gesturing hands as the mannequin’s eyes perpetually looked to the side and down.
Did Brimley have a wardrobe for the thing?
“You said,” Brimley said, his voice startling, loud in the close confines of the house, “that you had some questions?”
Brimley took a step closer to Sarah, and tilted his head, a strange grin on his face, eyes still looking ready to pop out of their sockets.
“So ask them.”
“Actually — I just bumped into Guy Gibbons. Some problem going on?”
She thought that her question might make Brimley recoil.
But his eyes kept scanning her even as she struggled to stay on track with her questions.
Thinking … I do wish Jack was here.
Just to be safe.
“Problem? Maybe — for him, for that lot. The idiot Conservation Trust! You see, I told him. I have lawyers. Real lawyers. I have rights. And,” Brimley looked away at that, “well, I actually haven’t hired one yet, but I’ve left messages. Going to get one for sure. Then they’ll see!”
Sarah cleared her throat. Another glance, and she spotted a small stuffed monkey standing in the corner. Next to it, where one would normally have a fireplace poker, stood a metal spear of some kind, its rusty blade a foot long.
“See? About what?”
“They think that because my daft grandfather gave the whole place to them, and that all I got was this nothing place, nothing land … that I have no rights. Well, I tell you—”
He took another step closer to Sarah, hostile, in her face, as though she was allied with whomever was depriving him of his rights.
“I’m the heir. The only heir. And — hello, anyone home? — I didn’t give away any of my rights. They’ll see! They’ll all see.”
“You want to,” Sarah searched for both the correct words, and also words she hoped wouldn’t ratchet Brimley farther into his tirade, “stake a claim? On the manor? The property?”
Brimley nodded, but didn’t answer. Perhaps, she thought, he didn’t know exactly what he wanted, except more.
More land. Maybe even more of this stuff from the house.
Which prompted: “I must say, you have a lot of interesting things here.”
He nodded at that. His manic grin had faded.
Sarah continued. “Almost like a miniature version of your grandfather’s rooms, his collection?”
Another nod. “Yeah.” And Brimley turned and looked around. “All this. Each birthday I could ask my grandfather for one thing. From his collection. One thing, that was my birthday gift. And it’s all here. A gift for every year.”
Sarah was about to say how nice, but she was pretty sure that wasn’t exactly the right response.
Standing here with Peregrine Brimley, surrounded by this flotsam and jetsam from all over the word, she almost felt sorry for him.
How could you grow up with all that and not become more than a little eccentric?
“That night?” Sarah said instead, shifting gear. “The fire at the manor house? You must have been able to see it from here. Did you go outside to—”
His head started shaking right and left, as if the number of swivels would reinforce the truth of what he was saying.
“No. I did not. Did not go out, did not see any fire, did not—!”
And as his voice rose with each denial there was suddenly a welcome sound. Rapping at the door.
The cavalry? Sarah wondered.
The knocks stopped Brimley. And, shooting her a quick glare as if she was responsible for the interruption, he brushed past Sarah and opened the door.
9. A Welcome Interruption
Jack had looked at the small cottage, still catching the last glow from the sun about to vanish over the nearby hill, and figured …
Maybe Sarah went there.
Lately, when it came to such things, she didn’t hang back.
Even if there might be danger involved.
Jack had hurried up the pathway, hearing at least one voice, loud, yelling. He knocked, cutting that voice off.
The Brimley heir pulled open the door. Though the room was dark, shadowy, Jack could see Sarah inside.
And he even caught her smile, perhaps relieved at his unplanned appearance.
Jack didn’t wait for an invite, but simply barged his way into the room, to go stand close to Sarah.
He kept his eyes on Brimley — who had, only moments before, been yelling — barely taking in the completely random collection of junk that filled the room.
“Jack,” said Sarah loudly, as Brimley turned from the door, left open as if it might encourage them to walk out.
“Mr Brimley here was just telling me he saw nothing of the fire.”
That had Brimley’s head bobbing.
“Right. Right. Didn’t see—”
But Jack shot up a hand.
“Mr Brimley — or can I call you Peregrine, like the—?”
“Hawk? No! You cannot call me that. My father liked raptors, but I couldn’t care less. You call me Mr Brimley!”
Jack nodded as though the dialogue both made sense and was somehow important.
“Regarding your claim of not seeing the fire, just want to check I got that right — you didn’t go down there that night? To try and help, maybe?”
Jack’s words had made Brimley stand stock still, paying perfect attention.
Then he wheeled around, circled the room, eyes darting left and right.
“Down there? Where? To the damn house? Good God no! Never go down there! Won’t go down there — ever! Not ever. Not until … Until …”
“Jack, Mr Brimley has been telling me how he has plans to regain control of the estate,” said Sarah. “Isn’t that right, Mr Brimley?”
Jack could see that Sarah’s calming words had just that effect.
“Yes, control. Get rid of all those awful people. My house — you see? Manor house. My house. Grew up there. Had a little room, right at the top. Fond memories. Very fond.” Brimley took a breath, looked away. Then, as if he’d received an edit from outer space, he said “Mostly fond …”
“Totally understandable,” said Sarah. “I would feel just the same.”
“You would?” said Brimley, stopping dead.
“Terrible thing losing your childhood home,” said Jack, catching Sarah’s eye.
“Terrible? Of course!” said Brimley, looking from Jack to Sarah and back as if unsure whether to trust this sympathy. “Dreadful. Appalling.”
Then — as if he’d suddenly made up his mind that Jack and Sarah were harmless — Jack saw Brimley’s face break into a beaming smile.
“I say. What kind of host am I? Would you two care for a cup of tea? Or something … stronger? Sun’s over the yard arm! Whatever a yard arm is!”
“Well …” said Sarah, catching Jack’s eye quickly.
“Kind of you,” said Jack. “Very kind, Mr Brimley. But it’s late — and Sarah and I have to get back to Cherringham.”
“Ah yes. Cherringham.” Another breath. “Stupid village. Everyone always looking at me!”
“You’ve been terribly helpful,” said Sarah.
“I have?”
<
br /> A genuine look of confusion bloomed on his face.
“Very.”
“Okay. Right. Well. Got to make the most of a bad situation. So, the two of you — you’re leaving, hmm?”
Jack nodded.
This guy changes gears faster than someone on a twelve-speed, leading the Tour de France, he thought.
“Right. Good. Yes, well that’s good. Getting late, you know. I’m a farmer, see, busy all day, even got livestock. Can’t stay up late like this. Early mornings for me, you know, tick-tock.”
“Absolutely,” Jack said. “Tough job.”
“Ha!” said Brimley. “Don’t I know it!”
He saw Sarah slowly — which was probably the best way to do anything around this wired fellow — put her notebook back in her side pocket. The tiniest click of a pen.
“Lovely to meet you, Mr Brimley,” she said, reaching out to shake his hand.
Jack saw Brimley inspect her hand — as if he’d never seen one before — then he shook it and smiled at the both.
“Do pop in, any time, won’t you?” he said. “Kettle’s always on! Welcome at the hearth!”
“Great, Mr Brimley,” said Jack.
“Perry, please,” said Brimley deciding his first name was now okay and suddenly offering his own hand out to Jack. “You must call me Perry!”
“Perry it is,” said Jack, shaking his hand.
This departure taking quite a bit of time.
He gave Sarah a smile as if to say, we will be getting out of here, sooner or later!
“Just like the drink!” said Brimley. “Made out of pears!”
Jack saw Sarah smile back. But had she been rattled by her time alone in this Chamber of Oddities?
He knew what he’d suggest as soon as they left here.
Lot to catch up on.
Peregrine crossed the cramped floor-space of his cottage, and went to the door to let them out.
*
Sarah followed Jack down the path that led back to the manor house and looked across at the secluded valley: the sun had set while they’d been in the cottage and the fields glowed under the rose-tinted sky.
“What a gorgeous place to live,” she said, picking her way carefully across the rutted surface.
“Amazing,” said Jack.
“Best not turn around,” she said, laughing
“Too right,” said Jack. “Don’t want to give my new pal Perry an excuse to come after us, continue that conversation.”
“Exactly.”
When the path broadened, she caught up with him, walked alongside.
“You okay?” he said.
“Sure,” said Sarah, surprised. “Why? Were you worried about me?”
“Me? Course not. You’ve got — as we say — skills.” But then, “Should I have been?”
“Well … Brimley was pretty unpredictable, to say the least. Decidedly odd. But — I think — harmless.”
“Maybe,” said Jack.
Sarah looked at him.
“Hmm, well that’s a leading answer if ever I heard one,” she said. “Tell me.”
“Turns out our Mr Brimley’s lying about not seeing the fire.”
“Really?”
“Think so.”
“Go on.”
“Ben Davis told me he saw Brimley standing down by the manor watching it burn. Standing … hiding by the trees.”
“You believe him?”
“I do.”
“Interesting,” she said. “But why would he lie?”
“Why indeed. Wanna hazard a guess?”
“Hmm. What else did you—?”
But then her phone pinged. Once, twice, then several more times.
“Uh-oh,” she said. “Picked up a network — and sounds like I’ve missed some messages.”
She stopped and took out her phone, swiped the screen, scrolled through, while Jack waited at her side.
“Trouble?” he said.
“Daniel,” said Sarah, putting away her phone. “He’s at a festival. Had his wallet stolen. Needs cash — like, an hour ago.”
“You going to go find him?”
“When we get to the car I can sort it. Send some money to his phone. Online banking — if the networks allow.”
She saw Jack nod.
“Better get going then.”
*
When they reached the car park Jack paused by the car.
“Quick question,” he said. Then he pointed up to the front of the manor house.
“You see the two windows at the top of the house — the ones in the eaves?”
He waited for Sarah to orient herself.
“Could one of those be Sophie’s office?” he said.
He saw her shake her head.
“Up on that floor? No — she showed me her office on the way out of the building. Right by the kitchen. Small, but a table, computer, books …”
Jack told her about the room — and the kettle and laptop he’d seen, and the scratch marks on the lock.
“Wow. Interesting,” said Sarah. “Maybe the Trust uses it? When they’re down here? Or Clifford perhaps?”
“All possible,” said Jack, “I’ll phone Jessop tomorrow, see what he says. Meantime, we’d better get going.”
“Right. And I’d better get online,” said Sarah, climbing into the little sports car and clicking her belt into place.
*
The journey back to Cherringham took only ten minutes or so.
Jack drove in silence, aware of Sarah struggling with the intermittent cell coverage to send her son some survival funds.
He’d hoped to review events of the day with her while the conversations were still fresh in their minds — always a pleasure, this catch-up.
But with Daniel’s troubles, seemed like it was not to be … least not yet.
He turned into Cherringham High Street, the village looking deserted now the tourist season was over.
As they passed the Spotted Pig restaurant — his and Sarah’s long-time favourite eating place in the village — he saw there were still a couple of tables free.
Impossible when the tourists swarmed.
Maybe not reserved? he thought. Worth a shot …
He pulled in opposite, caught Sarah’s eye and gestured to the Pig.
“What say we treat ourselves?”
“Hey — why not?” said Sarah, looking up from her screen. “Daniel’s certainly not around. And Chloe’s AWOL. You think they have a table?”
“I’ll go see,” said Jack, turning off the engine. “If they do — I’ll give you a wave.”
He climbed out of the car, and crossed the road towards the warm glow of the best restaurant in Cherringham.
10. House of Secrets, House of Lies
“Ah, is that ever a welcome sight,” Jack said, as Julie, co-owner of the Spotted Pig, made his martini land on the table perfectly, nary a drop spilling.
The glass perfectly frosted, the lemon twist ready for its little nudge into the pool of vodka.
And — rare for Sarah — she had followed suit, albeit with olives.
Different strokes, Jack thought.
But martinis for the two of them — it had been that kind of day.
And no better place for a catch-up and some all-important planning than here at the Pig.
“Perfect, Julie.”
And, with a smile, the owner left, dinner orders already in place, her husband Sam visible in the semi-open kitchen, about to work wonders.
Jack picked up his glass, and slowly brought it to meet Sarah’s.
“Salut!”
“D’accord,” she said. The tiniest of clinks, and they each took a sip.
“Heaven,” she said.
“That it is. You manage to sort Daniel?”
“In the end, yes. How on earth did we get by before online banking?”
“Ha, seem to remember we survived well enough.”
“Spent less, that’s for sure,” said Sarah, taking another sip of her martini.
“True fact,” said Jack. Then he took out his notebook, flipped the pages open. “Okay, so it’s sharing time, hmm? Shall I go first?”
“Why not? I am curious to know what else you found out about our good-looking young gardener.”
“Curious, are we?” Jack smiled. “Well, we all know where curiosity led the cat. Let’s hope — not true here.”
And with both of them now having their pads out, ready for new notes and ideas as they brainstormed possibilities, Jack told Sarah about his conversation in the hothouse.
*
“Thing about Ben though … I didn’t buy his story at all,” said Jack.
“Really? Instinct?”
“Well, partly, yes. Experience, too, I guess. A few red flags …”
“He’s lying?”
“I would say … undoubtedly.”
Sarah clicked her pen top. “Some specifics?”
“Of course. First, he says he came here hiking the Cotswold Way.”
“So?”
“Doesn’t it strike you a bit far afield? To get here, from London, no car, to hike the trails? They are pleasant and all. But seems like, well, a big effort.”
“Okay. A little odd.”
“There’s that word again.”
And yes, she had to admit that seemed to be the one-word summary describing this case.
And, certainly, the cast of characters as well.
“Then, that whole thing about seeing an ad in the local paper. Gardener’s assistant. Wastes no time applying for it, and gets this job — doesn’t even go back to London for his stuff.”
“Did he have it sent on?”
“Supposedly. Not much it seems, but, still … curious.”
“Anything more?”
“His attitude. I mean, I’m getting used to everyone on that lovely estate being hostile and uncooperative. But he practically bristled. I did disarm him a bit, helping him do a clean-up. Oh, and that hothouse?”
“Let me guess. ‘Odd’ as well?”
Jack laughed. “Not exactly, but—”
And at that Sam followed his wife Julie out with two plates, their mains arriving. Always a treat in this special restaurant.
*
Julie put down the plate with Sarah’s order, a crispy duck breast that she had sampled a number of times before. So good, hard not to order it …
And Jack, forgoing his usual rib-eye with a red wine demi-glace for the risotto special, with shrimp and scallops swimming in a sea of arborio and spinach.
Cherringham--The Secret of Brimley Manor Page 6
