Walking Into Murder

by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

  “But please don’t let Catherine get into any more dangerous situations,” he had begged. “Things could get really nasty. I don’t want her hurt, or you for that matter.” Impressed by his serious tone, Laura had promised.

  She looked at her watch. Thomas had also said he would try to call in the morning, but so far he hadn’t. Was that because he didn’t have access to a phone or because he was incapacitated? There was no way to tell.

  The weather didn’t help, she thought gloomily. Rain slashed at the windowpanes and poured from the gutters in gushing torrents. Laura dashed out to get some cash after breakfast with the vague idea that she might need more money now that Catherine was with her. If she didn’t hear from Thomas soon, she decided when she returned to the hotel, she would call a cab and go to Torrington Manor on her own. Perhaps she and Catherine could help to look for Angelina, and in the process, check on Thomas.

  She waited for another half hour; then she and Catherine put on their rain gear and loaded their packs with essentials in case they had to roam the countryside searching for Angelina. Laura was just about to call for a taxi when their host knocked at the door.

  “Gentleman to see you,” he said cheerfully.

  “I wonder if it’s Adrian,” Laura said as they went downstairs. “He must know about Angelina, too. Maybe he wants us to help.”

  Instead, a burly man holding a very wet cap was waiting in the hall. The hostile gardener, she realized, except he looked friendlier now. He even attempted a smile.

  “Dr. Banbury sent me to fetch you,” he told them politely. Laura was even more astonished. Why would Adrian send this man?

  “I thought you were the gardener for Torrington Manor,” she objected, aware that that the thought of getting into the car with this man made her uneasy.

  “I’m gardener and chauffeur in both places,” the man answered in the same polite tone. “Dr. Banbury would like to meet you at Torrington Manor.”

  Laura felt deflated. She’d made a mystery out of nothing. He had been driving Antonia’s Mercedes because he was also her chauffeur.

  “Why does Dr. Banbury want us to come?” she persisted.

  “He didn’t tell me that,” the gardener replied, and she heard impatience in his tone. Still, he was trying to be pleasant, and she decided not to antagonize him by asking more questions. Surely, Adrian wouldn’t send him unless it was all right. Besides, he would take them to Torrington Manor, which was where they wanted to go.

  A remarkably sleek-looking car stood at the curb. Adrian must do very well indeed as a vet, Laura thought, impressed. She wished he had used this car last night. Her derriere might feel a good deal better.

  The gardener cum chauffeur opened the back door for them, closed it carefully and slid into the driver’s seat. The car’s engine purred to life.

  “I dunno about this,” Catherine whispered. “I think he’s one of the men I saw loading paintings. And why would Dr. Banbury send him?”

  “He’s his chauffeur and gardener,” Laura explained in a low voice. “Same at Torrington Manor, so it should be all right.”

  Catherine was looking out the back window. “We’re being followed,” she reported nervously. “There’s a dark car right behind us.”

  “You’ve watched too many TV shows,” Laura said with a laugh that sounded forced even to her own ears. Her uneasiness increased. Was this really the way to the manor? The road didn’t look right to her, and they hadn’t passed the pub where the taxi had left them last night.

  She leaned forward. “I thought we turned left back there for Torrington Manor,” she told the gardener, and wished she had asked for his name.

  “Have to go around the back way,” he replied. “The other road is under water still with all the rain.”

  That sounded reasonable to Laura. “I don’t know your name,” she commented, trying a friendly tone. If she could butter him up a bit, she might learn something useful.

  “Roger,” he answered shortly.

  “Have you worked for Lord Torrington and Dr. Banbury long?”

  “No,” was the curt reply. Roger cut the wheel abruptly to avoid a hole, as if to emphasize that he had to concentrate on driving, and Laura subsided into the back seat. There seemed nothing else to do. If the man really was trying to take them somewhere they didn’t want to go, they could always open the doors and leap out. The car was moving very slowly, due to the rain and the muddy road, so it should be possible. Or was it? She tested the door handle and found it was locked. The various buttons and knobs she tried failed to release it.

  “Car’s still with us,” Catherine reported softly.

  Laura didn’t respond. She was suddenly filled with misgivings. Catherine was her responsibility and she had promised Thomas to keep her out of danger. They should never have got into this car.

  Unexpectedly, Roger pulled over and the car stopped. Laura stared out the window and saw nothing but trees and bushes. This couldn’t be Torrington Manor.

  “Out,” Roger said. “We walk from here.”

  “Where are we?” Laura asked. “I’m not getting out until I know where we are and why we have stopped here.”

  “Please yourself,” Roger replied with a shrug. Laura didn’t believe him. His tone was light, unconcerned, but his eyes told another story. They were mocking, even triumphant, and her stomach tightened with fear. He didn’t mean them to have a choice. Why had she ever got into this car?

  She knew she was right when the car behind them turned around in a farm track and pulled up facing their car. Stewart climbed out. When she looked back at Roger, she saw a gun in his hand.

  “Uh, oh,” Catherine muttered. “A different duo. Armed, at that.”

  “Yes,” Laura agreed, horrified that she had got Catherine into this. She wished fervently that she had the cook’s walking stick, but Thomas had kept it as evidence.

  Maybe she could bluster their way out instead. “Put that damned gun away,” she snapped irritably to Roger. “This isn’t cops and robbers, and it makes me nervous.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Roger’s face darkened with rage. He pointed the gun at her. “Out,” he snarled. “Now!”

  Laura knew that this time he meant it. The mockery had left his eyes, and she saw only implacable dislike.

  Catherine took her hand. “I guess we get out,” she said.

  “Stick together,” Laura told her in a whisper as they left the car. “Hang on to each other and don’t let go. They might try to separate us to get the advantage.”

  “Do you think Dr. Banbury really sent him?” Catherine whispered.

  “I doubt it, but we can’t be sure. He could have,” Laura replied grimly.

  Stewart started up the road he had used to turn the car around, and Roger gestured with the gun that they should follow. He came behind, his heavy footsteps squelching into the wet earth. The track led up a long hillside filled with sheep, then curved down between two hills. It was a lovely place, or would have been in any other circumstances, with fine views in all directions. Laura was glad she had her pack. Her compass and maps were in there; if she could get to them, she would try to orient herself.

  The rain had eased during their drive, but now the clouds opened again, quickly turning the farm track into a quagmire. Stewart slipped with every step. His shoes were more suited to London sidewalks than a rough track, Laura noticed, and he had no rain jacket. Both seemed odd for a groom who presumably spent most of his time out of doors. Laura examined him as he struggled through the ever-deepening mud. He was handsome in a macho way, with almost Grecian features and a sturdy build. He wasn’t a type that appealed to her, but she could imagine that Antonia might find him sexy, with his curly dark hair and stubble, at least in comparison to Lord Torrington’s country gentleman looks, which didn’t seem Antonia’s style.

  “Stop,” Roger ordered behind them, and Laura’s stomach tightened again. Were they going to be shot in this remote place?

  Stewart disappeared u
p the track, and Roger trained the gun on them. He appeared to be waiting. Laura and Catherine watched him, their muscles tense with readiness in case a chance came to escape.

  Incongruously, the playful whistle of a steam engine cut into the silence.

  “It’s the kids train,” Catherine murmured. “Runs near here.”

  Laura nodded. She had seen the tracks on her map, and the local shops were full of posters and brochures advertising the little steam engine and its glorious ride. The contrast between her present situation and the innocent tourist attraction was ludicrous. Here she was with a gun in her back, and a short distance away, eager children and their indulgent parents steamed happily through the countryside.

  Silence fell when the train had passed. Laura wondered what would happen if she and Catherine dived simultaneously into the bushes. Before she had time to evaluate this possibility, Stewart returned. He nodded at Roger, communicating a message of some kind. Roger motioned with the gun for them to continue along the track.

  “At least he didn’t shoot us there,” Catherine whispered jauntily.

  “Right you are,” Laura agreed, feeling her spirits rise a little. She had a lot to learn about courage from Catherine.

  They rounded a corner and saw a low stone cottage. Built against the hillside, it was surrounded by a clearing that must once have been a garden. A few roses and a border of bright flowers still sprawled haphazardly across the earth. Laura would have found the setting charming if she had come across the place in an innocent ramble. Then she noticed a disturbing anomaly. All the windows were boarded up. She felt a thud of panic deep inside.

  She turned to face Stewart and Roger. “Where are we, and why have you brought us here?” she demanded. Neither man answered, but she noticed that Stewart looked tense and miserable, even afraid. Aha, she thought. He might be the weak member of the team. The knowledge could be useful.

  Stewart pushed open a door at the back of the cottage. He didn’t look at either of them. “In there,” he said with a swift gesture. He had unexpectedly delicate hands, and there was paint under his fingernails. Laura was surprised by both facts. Had he been interrupted in some painting job to come here?

  She was about to refuse his order with the vague hope that he might intervene on their behalf, but a glance at Roger’s face stopped her. He looked as if he would welcome an excuse to shoot. Stewart’s eyes, in contrast, were almost pleading. Was that because he didn’t want to see them shot, or was there another reason?

  She and Catherine went through the door and found themselves in a tiny kitchen. To their astonishment, it was well fitted out with appliances, pots, pans and everything else a kitchen might need. There was even some food stacked on the counter - cans of soup, packets of tea and coffee, a loaf of bread and some cheese. The lights were on, too. How extraordinary! This must be a holiday cottage, for people to rent. Why had they been brought here?

  She took another step into the room and heard the door close behind her. She whirled, but knew immediately that she was too late. A key turned in the lock, and a bolt scraped noisily as it was driven home on the outside of the door.

  “They’re locking us into this place!” Laura said in disbelief, and felt an irrational urge to laugh. She had been expecting a bullet, or at the very least a dark and smelly cellar inhabited by rats and lacking food or drink. Instead, she was being locked into a well-stocked cottage.

  “This is ridiculous!” Catherine muttered with an hysterical giggle.

  Her face sobered instantly. “Look!” she exclaimed in horror, pointing at a row of boots at one end of the room. Laura followed her gaze but it took her a moment to see the significance. One pair of boots was very small. They were also pink.

  She had seen them before, on Angelina.

  **********

  Laura stared in horror. What were Angelina’s boots doing in a boarded up cottage? Had she been kidnapped, or worse? Surely, no one would harm an innocent child. Things like that didn’t happen in these sleepy villages and gentle hills, did they?

  “Why would anyone bring Angelina here?” Catherine asked softly. Her face was stiff with fear.

  “I don’t know. You wait here while I look for her,” Laura answered, not wanting Catherine to see Angelina if anything dreadful had happened to her.

  Cautiously, she ventured out of the kitchen, through a small living room and into the bedroom. Catherine paid no attention to her order and followed her. The bedroom was darker, but there was enough light to see that Angelina was lying on one of the beds.

  Laura bent over her and felt her body crumple with relief. Angelina was all right. She was only asleep, not unconscious, or worse. Her breath rose and fell at comforting intervals, and there were no visible injuries.

  “Angelina’s all right,” she assured Catherine shakily. “She’s just asleep.”

  They stared down at Angelina. Her face was tear-streaked, her dress dirty and torn, and even in sleep her hands clung to a bedraggled bear. She looked forlorn and pitiful, and Laura’s heart ached for the child.

  Catherine sighed behind her. “Poor kid,” she said softly. “She must have been here all this time by herself.”

  “That’s awful,” Laura whispered angrily. “How could anyone be so cruel?”

  “At least she hasn’t been hungry,” Catherine commented with a touch of macabre humor. She pointed at a large pile of candy wrappers beside the bed. “Probably thought she was in heaven while they lasted.”

  “Probably got sick, too,” Laura said wryly, “if she ate all those. Better to let her sleep while she can,” she added, leading Catherine out of the room. “In the meantime, we can evaluate our position. This is a pretty upscale prison, but we’re still locked up, and that makes me mad. Let’s see if there’s a telephone first.”

  There wasn’t. It hadn’t even been pulled out of the wall or anything dramatic like that. There just wasn’t one. “I don’t know who we’d call anyway,” Laura said gloomily.

  “So what do we do?” Catherine asked.

  “We get out of here somehow,” Laura replied. “We have to let someone know that we’ve found Angelina and that she’s all right.”

  “We’ve got to get out so we can make sure my dad’s all right, too,” Catherine said shakily. “I’m worried. Why didn’t he call this morning?”

  Laura’s stomach twisted. What was she going to tell Thomas this time? She had promised to keep Catherine safe. Worse, she might never get the chance to explain.

  “Two excellent reasons to escape as quickly as possible,” she told Catherine, determined to keep their spirits up. “There’s a way out, we just have to find it.”

  The thought seemed to energize Catherine. “At least there’s a bathroom,” she commented as she went into the next room. “It’s pretty luxurious too.”

  Laura joined her. “That’s good to know,” she said, surveying the antiquated but well polished fixtures. “The proverbial bucket in a corner in novels never did have any appeal.”

  Catherine wrinkled her nose. “Smelly. Now what?”

  “I’ll check out the closets,” Laura suggested, “see if there’s anything useful like tools. A hammer would be great.”

  “I’ll try the basement,” Catherine volunteered. Grabbing a flashlight from her pack, she wrenched open a creaky door and disappeared down the steep stairs.

  Laura found a few items in the closets – a plunger that might do duty as a battering ram, a long unused wrench, a screwdriver but no hammer. The fireplace yielded tongs and other heavy implements. If they could open a window and knock the boards off from inside, they could escape that way. She examined the windows in the living room, which were big enough to climb through if they could get the boards off, but sealed shut by layers of paint. She chipped at it with a knife from the kitchen.

  An outraged voice made her spin. “You don’t belong here!” Angelina yelled at Catherine, who had just emerged from the cellar.

  The child had an obsession about who belon
ged where, Laura thought with exasperation, and then she softened. Maybe the child’s need to have everyone in the correct place was a way of putting her small world to rights, despite the inexplicable actions of adults. How very sad.

  Catherine wasn’t perturbed. “No,” she agreed. “I don’t belong here. You don’t either, though, so I guess we’re even.”

  Angelina looked mutinous. “You were in the green room,” she said, her tone accusing, “but I don’t know who you are.”

  “Aha!” Catherine exclaimed. “I beat you on that because I do know who you are.”

  “No fair!” Angelina objected and opened her mouth wide to scream.

  Catherine forestalled the explosion. “I bet you can’t guess how I know,” she challenged.

  Angelina was stumped. “I’m hungry,” she announced crossly.

  “You sure can eat a lot of chocolate bars,” Catherine told her. “Where did you get all those?”

  “Morris gave them to me,” Angelina confided. “He said I could eat all of them if I wanted to.” Her small face looked suddenly pathetic. “He said he’d be right back, but he didn’t come. Nobody came and I couldn’t get out. The door wouldn’t open, and anyway it was dark, and I didn’t like being here all alone. It’s horrible.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes. She squeezed them shut tightly, determined not to let anyone see her cry. Laura resisted an unexpected impulse to hug her.

  “That’s why we came,” Catherine told her, “so you wouldn’t be alone any more. And now that we’re here, we are going to stick to-gether!” She spaced out the word with dramatic emphasis, and Angelina giggled.

  Catherine grinned back at her. “Did Morris bring you here from your grandmother’s?”

  Angelina nodded. “But then he went away again and he didn’t come back. I didn’t like it here then.”

  “That wasn’t very nice of Morris,” Catherine responded.

  Laura frowned, wondering why Morris had brought Angelina to the cottage. Was it possible he had hoped to extract money for her safe return? She remembered him telling Antonia that he needed “a spot of the ready,” which she assumed meant cash. Would he really try to pry money out of his sister by kidnapping Angelina?