by Carola Dunn
“No point. He’s unconscious, and the less disturbance, the better.”
It was Jocelyn who put into words what Eleanor did not choose to voice. “Doctor, is his life in danger?”
“Brain injuries are unpredictable, Mrs. Stearns. I can give no assurance that he will recover.”
THIRTY
The Stearnses left to take Roland Bulwer home to Port Mabyn. He was going to get his own car and come back to Bodmin. Shortly after their departure, Teazle returned unscathed from her unexpected trip to Launceston.
“She slept most of the way,” DC Dawson reported. “On the doctor’s knees on the way, and on mine on the way back.”
“Didn’t she get in your way, driving? I never let her do that.”
“Better hope she won’t expect to now. I let her out for a moment when we got there, so we can leave right away if you’re ready.”
Having been refused permission to see Nick, Eleanor was ready. She reckoned Megan and Tariro must have reached Tintagel long since and explained their disappearance to Sir Edward, so she wouldn’t have to. Just as well, as the more she considered the events of the day, the more questions she had.
Many of them were questions DI Scumble had asked her, which she hadn’t been able to answer. At least that meant a possibility that he would find out the answers, and with luck Megan would pass them on. She decided to start making a list.
With Dawson at the wheel, the return to Tintagel was accomplished in record time. Eleanor directed him round to the tower door, feeling in the pocket of her slacks for the key. She was sure she’d put it there, but she couldn’t find it, nor in any other pocket, and she hadn’t carried a bag for a walk on the cliffs, the original aim of the expedition. Either she hadn’t brought the key, taking for granted that Tariro or Megan would have one, or it had fallen out at some point in her subsequent adventures.
By then, Dawson had opened the car door for her and was waiting patiently, and Teazle had already hopped down. She thanked Dawson warmly for his chauffeuring and his patience, then went to ring the doorbell. He got back into the car but stayed watching until Norton opened the door for her. She looked back and waved as she stepped inside. Dawson zoomed off, far too fast for a car park.
“Her ladyship will be relieved to hear you’re back safely, madam. I shall inform her while you—”
“Thank you, Norton, I’ll tell her myself. I know I’m not fit to be seen in company, but if I go to my room, I’ll probably have a bath and go straight to bed.”
“Very good, madam. May I bring you a hot drink?” He surveyed her with his impassive gaze. “Or a brandy, perhaps?”
“A brandy would be most welcome. And Teazle hasn’t been fed yet.”
“I shall see to it at once, madam.”
Eleanor went up to the sitting room.
Tariro was the first to see her. He jumped up, grinning, looking very cock-a-hoop. “Mrs. Trewynn!”
Gina welcomed her back with open arms. “My dear, you must be exhausted! Come and sit down. Have you eaten? I held dinner back for half an hour, but we had no idea when you would get here, so we went ahead and ate.”
“I’m sorry, I should have rung up from the hospital. It’s been such a … a confusing few hours.”
“You were hurt?”
“No, not at all.”
Tariro became solemn. “You went to the hospital they took Megan’s Nick and the other poor chap to? How are they?”
Eleanor gave them a brief report. Sir Edward and Nontando stopped what appeared to be an acrimonious dispute to listen. The secretary, Payne, murmured something in Sir Edward’s ear. Sir Edward nodded, looking resigned, and came over to offer his sympathies.
“Friends of yours, I gather, Mrs. Trewynn. A very shocking thing to happen. I must admit I could scarcely believe my ears when Tariro and your niece told me the story.”
“I doubt they told you the half of it.”
“We didn’t,” Tariro said regretfully. “Megan warned me not to, and she left out lots that she said could compromise the case.” He gave Eleanor a meaningful look, which she interpreted as a warning not to talk about her part in arresting Carpenter.
Norton came in with a tray of drinks, followed by Teazle. Eleanor gladly abandoned the subject that had occupied her thoughts to the exclusion of all else for the past several hours.
Gina, as always, had plenty of anodyne chat to supplant touchy topics, at least until Eleanor had taken her last sip of cognac and declared her intent to take a hot bath and go to bed. “I’ll go up with you,” Gina said, “and get you a couple of aspirin in case you have trouble sleeping.”
The door closed behind them. “A transparent ruse,” said Eleanor. “I never have trouble sleeping. What did you want to tell me?”
“Oh, just about the sliver of excitement we had here while you were off doing your derring-do. And incidentally, Tariro won’t breathe a word about whatever it was you did, but he’s full of admiration.”
“He’s a nice boy. Now tell. Is it secret from your husband?”
“Not at all. It’s just that I didn’t want to set him off again, him and Nontando. He’s not happy, poor dear. She and DS Faraday between them have convinced him a German couple staying here are East Germans spying for the Russians. Mr. Faraday seems to think he’s scared them off without letting them know there’s actually anything going on that they might be interested in.”
“How clever. I expect he’s right. Megan says he’s a good policeman.”
“But Edward says the very fact that they’re here shows there’s been a leak and renders the whole business null and void. And Nontando, who favours the Chinese, seems to think Edward could have them arrested and charged if he tried. She’s annoyed with DS Faraday, too. I suspect, if she ever attains a position of power, she’s not going to be terribly scrupulous about the rule of law. Like Madame Mao, she’ll make her own.”
“Heavens above! What a lot of drama. Is Sir Edward abandoning the whole idea?”
“The idea of secrecy. Not the idea of getting to know and hoping to influence the younger generation. He’s thinking of approaching them singly, though. Tariro and Nontando are not a happy combination, in spite of your noble efforts, for which I thank you. Good night, my dear, sleep well.”
After her bath, Eleanor had intended to start a written list of her questions arising from the day’s events. She was too sleepy. Drowsing in bed, she found one in particular circling in her head. What was Freeth’s relationship to Rosie Mason/Stone? At first, she had thought they might be brother and sister, perhaps estranged when she found out he was gay. But she had been Rosie Carpenter before marrying Stone, it seemed—unless Carpenter was as fake a name as the egregious Adrian Arbuthnot.
Or were Freeth and Rosie cousins? Against that, against their being any sort of close relatives, was the fact that Carpenter/Arbuthnot had not, apparently, recognised Alan Freeth. Or perhaps he had, but had some inscrutable reason for not admitting it.…
Eleanor fell asleep.
The following day, the tower party broke up. Saying good-bye to Tariro, Eleanor invited him to come and stay if ever he felt like a holiday in Cornwall. Sir Edward sent him and Payne to Launceston station in his Bentley, driven by Norton, as Megan was otherwise occupied. Nontando and Ken Faraday left together, to all appearances reconciled. When the Bentley returned from Launceston, the Bellowes gave Eleanor a lift to Port Mabyn on their way to the Scillies.
Eleanor wished them good weather for the crossing.
Two days later, Nick came home, as promised. Megan brought him from the hospital in an unmarked police car. She had to take an official statement, she explained to Eleanor.
Later, Eleanor told Jocelyn, who was driving her to pick up Nick’s car, just released from police custody. With some trepidation, she added, “And she moved in with him because he needs looking after until he’s fully recovered,”
The vicar’s wife was scandalised. “That’s no excuse.”
“His shoulders
are still very painful. He’s not allowed to paint, though the doctor says he may draw, as long as he takes frequent breaks. But he’s not supposed to lift anything heavier than a cup of tea. He can’t manage on his own.”
“Megan is away at work most of the day.”
“During the day, I can look in now and then,” Eleanor countered. “It’s no good making a fuss about it. That’s the way young people do things these days.”
“They’re both in their thirties,” Jocelyn said stringently. “Quite old enough to make a proper commitment to each other, if that’s how they feel.”
“Commitment is in the mind and heart, don’t you think?”
“Not in the eyes of the Church or the law.”
“Just consider the divorce rate.”
“That’s what Timothy says. Really, sometimes I don’t know where he gets his odd notions!”
They reached Mrs. Mason’s house, already looking forlorn and deserted, with police barriers surrounding it. The three cars—Freeth’s Range Rover, Nick’s Traveller, and another that must have been Rosie Mason’s—were each individually barricaded, but Megan had told Eleanor to go ahead and move the barriers round Nick’s.
Teazle hopped out as soon as Eleanor opened the door. She wanted a walk. It was a beautiful day, windy but sunny.
“I’ll just take her up to St. Materiana’s,” said Eleanor, having thanked Joce for the lift. “Do you want to come with us?”
Jocelyn hadn’t brought any suitable shoes, so Eleanor and Teazle enjoyed a walk free of theological debate.
Eleanor also enjoyed the drive home to Port Mabyn in a car that barely rattled at all. Nick wasn’t allowed to drive for at least a week, so she was to have the loan of the Traveller while the Incorruptible was in the shop for a new starter and rust repair.
Nick was cheerful, in spite of his aches and pains and the fact that his envisioned painting of King Arthur’s castle had gone wonky on him, as he put it. Megan had retrieved his sketches from Mrs. Mason’s house; the drawings of the kitchen now absorbed him and he could talk of little but angles and planes.
Things were otherwise with his fellow kidnap victim. Alan Freeth still drifted between life and death.
The brain surgeon had decided that moving him would surely kill him, and had instead operated in Bodmin in less than ideal conditions to relieve pressure on his brain.
Roland Bulwer, growing visibly more haggard, spent every day working like a demon to serve his partner’s clients as well as his own. The first two nights, he had spent in fitful sleep in a hideously uncomfortable plastic chair in the bleak hospital waiting room.
Eleanor and Jocelyn persuaded him to take a hotel room near the hospital, where he could easily reach Freeth’s bedside in a few minutes if there were any change in his condition. The matron had been unwilling to recognise his right to information and access, but in the end she couldn’t resist Timothy Stearns’s dog collar and gentle persistence.
Megan was sent up to London for a couple of days to consult Scotland Yard’s records and make other enquiries about Stone, Carpenter, Rosie Mason, and the father of the last two.
When she came back to Cornwall, Megan also returned to Nick’s, bringing many of her possessions with her, although he was getting about very well on his own now. So there she was, living right next door to Eleanor, but she still wouldn’t answer any of her aunt’s questions. It was infuriating.
Eleanor attended the inquests on Rosie Mason and Victor Stone, as a prospective witness. Both were adjourned for three weeks after medical evidence was taken. She didn’t have to testify, and she learned nothing new except that Stone was considered to have suffocated rather than drowned. However, the pathologist couldn’t state with any certainty whether Mrs. Mason had died of a heart attack or head trauma. Both had occurred virtually simultaneously.
But Alan Freeth lived. Another few days passed before he was declared out of danger, as Jocelyn reported to Eleanor.
“Mr. Bulwer says they’re as sure as they can be at this stage that there’s no significant brain damage. He’s still in serious condition, of course. Roland’s visits are limited to fifteen minutes, but at least Alan is awake, alert, and able to talk.”
“What a relief! No other visitors?”
“Not yet. Not even Timothy. The police are going to be allowed to question him for a few minutes at a time, as long as they don’t upset him.”
Megan, as CaRaDoC’s only woman detective, was chosen as least upsetting. After a week of regular visits, she admitted to Eleanor, “He’s filled in practically all the gaps in our investigation. But sorry, Aunt Nell, I’m still not allowed to discuss it with you. And the guv’nor said to warn you again not to talk to the press. If David Skan turns up on your doorstep, tell him he’ll just have to wait till after the resumed inquest. Freeth will be home soon. Then I’ll be able to take a full statement from him, in time for the inquest.”
Eleanor sighed. “I suppose at the inquest I’ll find out as much as I’m ever likely to find out.”
“I wouldn’t say that. There’ll be the trial after that, and much more comes out at a trial than at an inquest.”
“A trial? Even though Carpenter has confessed?”
“One reason I can’t talk to you about the case is that Carpenter may have confessed to you, but he’s clammed up, on the advice of his solicitor. He hasn’t said a word to the purpose since he was arrested. He’s not making things easy by pleading guilty. Your evidence is going to be extremely important.”
* * *
A couple of days after Alan Freeth came home from the hospital, Eleanor received an invitation to drinks before lunch on Saturday, three days hence. As Sunday was a more usual day for such occasions, she assumed the day had been chosen with an eye to the Stearnses’ Sabbath duties.
It wasn’t one of Jocelyn’s days for the LonStar shop, so Eleanor went next door first to Nick’s to see what he made of it, and whether Megan had had a hand in it.
Nick was completely recovered except that his shoulders were still painful at times. Eleanor and Teazle found him in the studio behind his gallery, painting flower miniatures. Along with his Cornish landscapes, they were his bread and butter. The jam was provided by the abstract and semi-abstract paintings that sold occasionally for quite astonishing sums.
“I can do these without moving my arms too much,” he explained, adding delicate touches of bright yellow to the blue Dutch iris blooming on the small rectangle of canvas.
“Whatever happened to make such a mess of your shoulders?” A question she hadn’t thought of before.
“I was unconscious part of the time, and I’d rather not dwell on the rest.”
“Sorry, Nick, I shouldn’t have … I came to ask, did you get an invitation from Messrs. Freeth and Bulwer?”
“Yes, two. At least, I got one, and there’s a similar envelope addressed to DS Megan Pencarrow. I’m not certain that’s what it is, since she had already left for work when the post came.”
“It’s jolly lucky Mr. Scumble’s letting her use a police car to drive back and forth.”
“She’s in his good books at the moment. Clearing up the Stone murder so fast looks good on his record, as well as hers. His benevolence has already lasted longer than we expected.”
“It’s not a quality he’s noted for.”
“So far, he’s found some sort of work for her to do over in this direction most days. Yesterday, she took Alan Freeth’s official statement, and this morning she got the typed copy signed before heading to Launceston. She’s keeping on her room there for bad weather or working late.”
“Sensible.” Eleanor was itching to ask whether marriage had entered the picture yet. She managed to hold her tongue.
“Besides, there’s not enough room here for all her stuff as well as mine. As it is, I’ve got her blouses hanging over in that corner.”
They both glanced round the studio, crammed with art, art equipment, and art supplies. If they married, they’d probably
move. The thought dismayed Eleanor.
Nick added, “Not trusting in Scumble’s continuing benevolence, we were going to go prospecting for a car for her on Saturday.”
“You won’t be accepting Alan and Roland’s invitation, then?”
“I can’t answer for Megan, if that’s what hers is. I’ll be there. Freeth and I are practically blood brothers, now, after all.”
“I’m glad he’s feeling well enough to celebrate. I dropped in yesterday to enquire and Mrs. Raleigh said he’s already doing some work upstairs in the morning. Not seeing clients yet, though, and in need of an afternoon nap, and early to bed.”
“Poor devil.” Nick frowned at his iris and picked up a paintbrush.
“I’ll leave you in peace,” Eleanor said. “Come on, Teazle.”
They started up the hill towards the vicarage, only to meet Jocelyn on her way down with a shopping basket. Joce was far too proper to enquire about an invitation that Eleanor might not have received, so Eleanor asked her.
“Yes, I’ll be there. Timothy wants to go, but at that time on a Saturday, he’s usually struggling with his sermon. I believe he has some parish visits scheduled at St. Endellion in the afternoon. It’s no picnic covering three parishes, I can tell you, not when you’re as conscientious as Timothy is.”
“I’m sure no one could do more than he does,” Eleanor said soothingly. Pastoral visits were the vicar’s forte, and often used as an excuse for avoiding social visits, which left him floundering. “He was magnificent when Roland needed his help. They’ll understand if he can’t make it to celebrate with them.”
“Celebrate? Is that what you’re expecting? I was rather hoping for an explanation, myself.”
“Who knows, perhaps we’ll get that, too, though I hardly think they owe us any explanation.”
“Not owe, no. However … I wouldn’t admit this to anyone else, Eleanor, but I, for one, am simply dying to know the story behind all your melodramatic goings-on. And that unfortunate woman … Don’t tell me you aren’t curious.”
“Of course I am. I’ve got a list of questions as long as your arm. Megan won’t answer them and I can’t possibly put them to Alan, so I’m hoping he’ll tell us without prompting. Hmm, Megan’s invited, though. She may stop him revealing all, if there’s a chance it’d compromise the case. Anyway, if it’s just a celebration, I’m ready to celebrate.”
