Murder at the Old Abbey

by Pippa McCathie

  “You could Google it.”

  “I know, but I’d rather talk to someone face to face. I must remember to give him a ring.”

  “You worry too much.”

  “Maybe.” Matt sat in brooding silence for the rest of the journey.

  * * *

  Rodric was determined to keep busy, it was the only way he could keep his mind off the disasters that seemed to be accumulating around them. For want of anything better to do, he decided to drive up to the farm suppliers in Raglan. He’d wandered around the place, with its familiar smell of animal feed and fertiliser, bought a new wax jacket he didn’t really need, a chew for Mabel who was sitting patiently waiting in the car, and loaded the back of the Land Rover with bags of winter feed for the sheep. It was always a good idea to be prepared, he told himself, knowing perfectly well that they’d have to get a load more delivered soon enough.

  He told himself that when he got back, he was going to have things out with Delma. There was so much she wasn’t telling him, he knew that, but part of him was too afraid to push her for answers. He swept through the gateway, up the drive and into the courtyard, then let Mabel out of the car and strode up the steps. As he did so he called for Delma, but there was no reply. He took the stairs two at a time to their bedroom, but she wasn’t there, so he went back downstairs and checked the other rooms, with no result. Finally, he went along the corridor to the kitchen, where he found Nonna busy making pastry.

  “Where’s Delma?”

  “I don’t know, Rodi, probably in the stables as usual.” She glanced at him, then went back to rolling out the dough on a marble slab. “The police were here earlier,” she said.

  “Not again! What did they want this time?”

  “They came to see Delma. I don’t know what about, exactly. They were very polite, but they made it clear they wanted to speak to her alone.”

  “This is harassment,” he muttered. “Don’t they realise what we’re going through?”

  “They have little respect for grieving, those people.”

  He sighed. “I suppose they’re just doing their job, given what’s happened.”

  “But what if the post-mortem result was wrong, Rodi? I’ve heard of that happening, particularly now the funding for such things has been cut. What if your father’s death is down to something else entirely?”

  “I don’t think that’s likely, Nonna,” he said, frowning at her. “I wouldn’t have thought it was the kind of mistake a pathologist would make. That’s just wishful thinking.”

  “I suppose.” She gave him a straight look. “I tell you something, though, I wouldn’t put it past that brother-in-law of yours.”

  “What? You mean he was responsible for Father’s death?”

  She nodded. “Think about it. Your father might have found out about that business with the silver and challenged him.”

  “But I didn’t tell you–”

  “I know, but Rodi, I’m not stupid. And had you noticed there’s other stuff missing? It’s possible Caradoc noticed too.”

  “Nonna! Like, what?”

  She stopped rolling, laid a cloth over the pastry and wiped her hands. “Come with me,” she said.

  Nonna led him through the hall and round the back of the staircase to his mother’s deserted sitting room. Once there, she pointed to a patch on the wall where a picture had hung. “You see that space?” she asked him.

  Rodric glanced at the rectangle of darker wallpaper, surrounded by a faint line of dust. There was even a triangular mark where the string had rested against the wall, hanging from the dado rail above.

  He looked at Nonna. “But that was the sheep in sunset picture, I remember it now. You used to tell us it was Mother’s favourite.”

  “Yes, and it was very valuable – a Wystan Jones. Someone had replaced it with that,” she pointed to a rather ugly still life propped against the wall.

  “Where has it gone?”

  “I don’t know, Rodi, I’ve looked for it everywhere. If your father sent it to be cleaned, he never told me, and I don’t think he would have done so anyway, he very rarely came in here. And it’s not the only thing that’s missing. The police making that inventory made me wonder,” she went on, “so I thought I’d do some checking. There are several small pieces missing from the china cabinet in the sitting room. It’s so crammed with bits and pieces that I didn’t notice until I had a really good look. So far, I’ve discovered that your Mother’s Fabergé egg has gone, as have the two Roman coins from Caerleon; they were in a leather case, do you remember them?”

  He nodded wordlessly.

  “They’ve gone, and that set of eighteenth-century Limoges trinket boxes – they were rare and worth quite a bit – they’ve gone as well. I haven’t finished checking everything yet, so I don’t know if anything else is missing.”

  Taking a deep breath, he asked, “And what are you suggesting, Nonna?”

  The look she gave him was full of compassion. She put a hand on his arm. “In spite of the silver, Rodi, it may be that Delma knew nothing about these– these other bits and pieces. Perhaps it was Mike. I wouldn’t put it past him to have simply helped himself, but unfortunately now we can’t ask him. But I think you must tackle Delma. She won’t tell me anything, I’m sure of that, but she might talk to you. Maybe he forced her in some way. I think she was afraid of him, so perhaps she had no choice, and now he’s gone she might be more willing to talk, since he’s no longer here to bully her.”

  “You’re not suggesting she might have–” Rodric couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

  “What?”

  “No, that’s absurd.” He shook his head, rubbed his hands down his face. “Okay, leave it with me, I’ll try and talk to her.”

  “I think it would be best, Rodi love, I really do.”

  Nonna went back to the kitchen and her pastry and Rodric followed her. Mabel, who had settled herself comfortably in front of the Aga, got up and trotted after him as he made his way out of the kitchen door and through the grounds to the stables. It was the only place he hadn’t looked for Delma so far.

  He called for her and, a moment later, she came out of Moonlight’s stall, a currycomb in her hand. “Oh, you’re back,” she said, without meeting his eye.

  “I am. I gather the police came while I was out.”

  She gave a gusty sigh. “They did.”

  “What did they want?”

  “Oh, yet more questions.”

  “Obviously, Delma,” Rodric said, sounding exasperated, “but what about, exactly?”

  She shrugged and turned back to Moonlight’s stall. “Just more of the same.”

  “Delma!” His voice echoed around the courtyard. “Don’t give me that. I’ve had enough! Do you hear?”

  She turned slowly to look at him, contempt in her eyes. “And what about me, Rodi? My brother has just died, been killed for Christ’s sake, probably by your half-brother if what I heard Megan say was right, and all you can do is shout at me?”

  Normally he would have backed down for the sake of peace, but it had gone beyond that. “Only when you drive me to it,” he said, “and what do you mean about Garan?”

  “Ask Megan,” she snapped.

  “I’m asking you.”

  “She said he reacted as if he’d had something to do with it.”

  “She told you that?” Rodric was incredulous.

  “No, not me, I heard her talking to Nonna.”

  He sighed. “I’ll ask her about it.”

  “Go ahead if you don’t believe me.”

  Rodric ignored this and said, “Put that damn comb down and come inside. I’ve got to talk to you, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  “I’m busy,” she said, but she wasn’t so sure of herself now.

  Teeth gritted, he said, “Delma. Come inside, now.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise tinged with shock. This wasn’t what she was used to from him and she wasn’t sure how to deal with him in this m
ood. For a moment there was a stand-off, then she went back into Moonlight’s stall. Rodric heard her talking quietly to the horse and, a minute later, she came back out and, glaring at him, said defiantly, “Okay, but I will not be shouted at, do you understand?” Her defiance didn’t quite mask the fear in her eyes.

  He followed her into the house and when they got to the kitchen, Nonna was no longer there. Rodric ordered Mabel to stay and said to Delma, “There’s something I want to show you in Mother’s sitting room.”

  When they got there, he pointed to the wall. “The picture hanging there was very valuable, and someone had replaced it with that.” He pointed to the still life. “Do you know where it is?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Nonna says it’s nowhere to be found.”

  “So? Maybe your father got rid of it.”

  “He wouldn’t do that. You know how he felt about family heirlooms. And it’s not the only thing missing. Come on.” Grabbing her by the wrist, he marched out of the room and Delma was forced to follow him. She did so without a word.

  Standing in front of the glass fronted marquetry cabinet, Rodric turned to his wife. “There are several pieces missing from this, some Limoges, a couple of Roman coins, Mother’s Fabergé egg, and Nonna says there could be other bits missing; she’s not checked against the inventory yet.” He turned and studied her expression, his eyes hard. “So, do you know what’s happened to it all?”

  “Why should I?” She sounded defiant, but her voice shook.

  “Delma! After you took that silver you promised me it wouldn’t happen again, you said it was a one-off. Now we find piles of other valuables are missing. Did Mike steal them?”

  “Steal? He wasn’t–”

  “Don’t give me that! If he didn’t, who did?”

  “Okay, yes, it must have been him.” She sounded relieved, as if she’d found a solution that would take the spotlight off her. “He must have taken them.”

  “You knew about it, didn’t you?”

  “No, I swear I didn’t.”

  “Don’t give me that,” Rodric said with weary scorn. He knew her too well. “And now we have no way of checking. That must be a relief for you.”

  “How dare you say that?” Delma demanded, trying to retrieve some dignity from the situation.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, woman, give me a break. I’ve done with playing these ridiculous games.” He pulled her over to a chair and forced her into it, then pulled another up and sat down in front of her, barring her escape. His behaviour was so out of character that she succumbed without a murmur.

  “Now,” he said, “you’re going to tell me exactly what’s missing. If Mike took the stuff, tell me. I’m willing to grant that he may have forced you to cooperate, but I’m absolutely sure you knew about it. How did he persuade you, Delma?”

  Head bent, she stayed stubbornly silent.

  “You told me that’s what happened over the silver and, more fool me, at the time I agreed not to tackle him about it. God knows why, now I look back on it. I suppose I didn’t want Da to be upset. But this is different, this isn’t a couple of thousand, this is much more, and precious family pieces at that. How could you?” he asked, sounding anguished.

  Slowly she raised her head. Her eyes were swimming with tears, but unusually, they had no effect on Rodric.

  “He forced me, Rodi.”

  “At last we’re getting to it.”

  She stretched out a hand to him, but he sat back and crossed his arms. “Go on.”

  It all came tumbling out. Mike had threatened her, he wouldn’t leave it alone, and when he was like that, he scared her so much, she’d had no choice.

  “Why? What did he threaten you with?” Rodric asked.

  “He said he’d tell you things.”

  “What things, Delma?”

  She started crying in earnest now, sobbing into her hands. “Oh Rodi, I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “Look, things couldn’t get much worse than they are. You’d better tell me everything.”

  “It was just a fling. I was bored. It didn’t mean anything.”

  What she was trying to say gradually dawned on him, but his feelings were dulled now, he was hardly surprised. “You’ve had an affair?”

  “Yes, but I tell you, it didn’t mean anything,” she said again, her tone pleading for understanding.

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t want to say.”

  “Who was it?” he shouted and grabbed at her shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh.

  “Rodi, let me go! Alright, alright, I’ll tell you. It was Stewart Parker, the vet, but Rodi, it ended ages ago.”

  Abruptly Rodric let her go and she slumped back in her chair. He stared across at his wife, his voice quiet now, and asked, “Wasn’t he the one who came and treated Moonlight? He had to sedate him.” There was real fear in his eyes now. Slowly he went on. “He was here only last week. And you want me to believe it’s all over?”

  They sat silently gazing at each other, neither saying a word, then Rodric pushed his chair back, got up and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  * * *

  “You look exhausted,” Anjali said when Fabia finally got home at about five o’clock. “What’s happened?”

  Fabia told her all about it, ending with the fact that Garan was being interviewed by the police.

  “That’s not good. Why did they take him to the police station?”

  “That sort of interview has to be recorded,” Fabia told her. “I think he’s telling the truth. I don’t think he would have drugged Mike, but if he didn’t, who did?”

  “From what you’ve told me, Mike doesn’t sound like a very nice person. He’s what my gran-mère would have called a mauvais garcon, a bad boy.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” Fabia commented.

  “All this trouble,” Anjali said, frowning. “It seems, since I arrived, that everything is going prune shaped.”

  Fabia smiled briefly. “I think that’s pear shaped, actually.”

  “Sorry, sometimes my English fails me.”

  “And suggesting you’re in any way responsible for what has happened is nonsense,” Fabia said firmly, although it flitted across her mind that it probably wouldn’t be what the Mansell family would think. That was one of the reasons she was wary of Anjali going to stay at the Abbey, but she wasn’t going to think about that now.

  Anjali gave her a hesitant smile in response, then straightened her shoulders. “You know what the Mauritian medicine would be? A large glass of whisky and a good curry. What do you think?”

  “You’re a woman after my own heart. Come on, let’s go for it. I’ve got some takeaway menus.”

  “No, no,” Anjali said, smiling. “I’ve got it all planned. I am going to make you a Mauritian curri poulez for supper.”

  “Does that translate as chicken curry?”

  “Yes, but this is the best ever, you will love it.” A look of uncertainty came into her face. “Sorry, I’m being a pushy. Maman tells me this is one of my worst faults. I went to the High Street, to that delicatessen we passed when we went to buy the cheese? I found all the spices that I needed. Shall I get started?”

  “You go ahead,” Fabia said, “I’ll get the drinks.”

  Once they both had a glass in hand, Fabia subsided on to a chair. Normally she might have found it difficult to have a guest taking over as Anjali was doing, but she felt so miserable that it was actually quite a relief. She sat at the kitchen table, her fingers round her glass, and watched as Anjali cooked and talked about the dish she was putting together. The scent of garlic, onions and spices began to permeate the kitchen and, as she sipped at her drink, Fabia was grateful for Anjali’s presence, and her tact. Firmly she pushed aside a wish that Matt was there too.

  Chapter 18

  Fabia’s eyes snapped open. Scrabbling for the light switch, she flung the covers back and swung her legs out of bed. She could feel t
he sweat on her body chilling as it came into contact with the night air. She shivered, but not only because of the cold. Come on, breathe deeply, she told herself. As she waited for her heart to stop thumping, she squinted at her bedside clock. It was ten past two.

  She hadn’t had the nightmare for weeks. Why now?

  She stumbled to the bathroom and splashed her face with water, gasping at the cold. She was glad that it woke her completely, but the lingering visions still retained their terror. She knew from experience they’d hang around, haunting her, for hours. As she curled up under the duvet, once more her mind picked at the wound, unable to leave it alone.

  There had been a balcony of polished wood, or something like it, and a woman running. Dark haired, in some sort of long, full-skirted garment, the material swinging about her legs, heels clicking. There’d been stone steps and enclosing, claustrophobic walls. The dread that she had become used to had pervaded the dream, but this time something else was added, some knowledge she had that threatened her, or was it someone else that was threatened? Someone she cared about? She couldn’t work it out.

  In her dream she’d found herself on the balcony and, leaning over, she’d seen a body far below, splayed out on the flagstone floor, the colourful garment spread around it like untidy wings. She’d known someone was behind her, that she might be the next one to be pushed down on to the floor below. Terror had spread. Should she run or turn and face whatever or whoever it was? But she couldn’t move. She’d felt a blow to her back, and then she was falling… in that instant she knew who it was behind her.

  That was the moment she woke up.

  A shaft of moonlight cut through a gap in the curtains. Fabia had never liked moonlight, it always felt threatening to her. She’d have to get up and close the curtains, shut it out, but it took her some time to pluck up the courage to extricate herself from her safe cocoon. Don’t be stupid, she told herself. You’re not a child, you’re a grown woman. Quickly she padded across the room and, a moment later, was back in bed, the duvet drawn up tight. It was only then that she realised what it was that had been different about this dream. Pushing herself upright, she switched on the light once again, grabbed the notebook she always kept by her bed, and began to scribble. Tomorrow she must phone Matt.