by Nancy Warren
Her eyes opened in alarm. “No, please, Lucy. Stay.” She put her good hand to her head. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said to the two officers, “but I’d feel better having a friend with me while I’m questioned.”
Ian gave a reluctant assent, and I agreed to stay. What could I do? I didn’t want to leave her alone when she was feeling so poorly. Besides, I felt an interest in this case since I’d arrived at the scene almost as soon as the police had.
Ian cast me a glance of resignation rather than surprise.
We all walked into the living area, and Fiona invited them to sit. The flat wasn’t designed to hold many people. There was seating for three, two on the couch and one in a chair, and then barstools at the kitchen island. Sergeant Barnes elected to stand back by the wall with his ever-present notebook open and pen poised while Ian took the chair across from Fiona and I sat beside her.
Ian began by asking Fiona how she was feeling.
She admitted to feeling weak and shaken. “The doctor says nothing’s broken, so that’s good.” She sounded like she was putting on a brave face.
“I’m glad.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “Hopefully you’ll be feeling better soon. I won’t take up too much of your time, but we need to ask a few more questions about last night.”
She closed her eyes briefly and seemed to pull all her resources together before she opened them again. She was pale and wan. “Of course, I’ll help in any way I can.”
“When did you go into the library last evening?”
“It was about half past four. I wanted to check the source for a quote in a talk I’m giving next week.”
It was my turn to nod encouragingly. “Pre-feminism and the Brontës.”
She gave me a tremulous smile. “That’s right.”
“Do you think you’ll be well enough to give it?”
I could almost see her backbone straighten. “Of course, I will. I won’t let a few bruises and a knock on the head stop me from doing my job.”
“It’s open to the public, so I plan to go,” I told her.
She seemed very pleased. “A friendly face. How nice. Anyway, as I said, I went into the library at about half past four. I only intended to stay for a little while.” She glanced at me. “I was going to a knitting class that evening in Lucy’s shop. I knew I had to leave by six-thirty. Well, research is a funny thing. I began looking at one thing and then it led to another and before I knew where I was, it was after six.”
She’d just missed Rafe then, who’d left after four.
“Who else was in the library?”
“I was alone, I think. There are a number of alcoves in the library, so it’s always possible someone else was there, but I didn’t see anyone.”
“The caretaker? Was he there?”
“Wilfred? No. I don’t think so.”
“Do you remember falling from the ladder?”
She shook her head and then winced. “I really don’t. Lucy asked me if I’d heard anything—” And that earned me a stern look from Ian. “But when I’m doing my research, I’m often oblivious to what’s going on around me. I become very engrossed. I lose track of time and, sometimes, even where I am. Though I think I heard male voices.”
“Did you hear what they said?”
“No. I’d have said they were arguing, but I could be wrong. I’m a bit fuzzy on what happened.”
“Did you speak to the caretaker that day?”
“Yes. I’d seen him in the library earlier. We didn’t talk about anything much. He was repairing a window.”
“Did anyone else come into the library while you were there?”
She put her good hand up in a helpless gesture. “They might have. As I said, when I’m engrossed in my research, I don’t notice things. Besides, I was rather tucked away in the corner alcove.” A little smile played around her mouth. “The Brontë collection. St. Mary’s collection is quite remarkable. I’m still getting to know its delights.”
I wondered if Ian knew about the missing Brontë and Shelley manuscripts.
“Ah, yes. Speaking of the Brontës, have you ever heard of missing manuscripts that belonged to St. Mary’s? I understand one was in Charlotte Brontë’s own hand?” Well, that answered my unspoken question.
She looked truly sad. “Of course, I have. It’s one of the tragedies of the Victorian literary establishment. I believe there were also drawings done by Charlotte herself of the characters as she imagined them. As you can imagine, there are very few extant examples of correspondence by these remarkable women. If Dickens scribbled a note to the butcher, it was carefully preserved. But in the case of the Brontës, George Eliot, even poor Jane Austen, so little of their correspondence has been preserved.” She’d dropped into a teacher’s voice, and I got a glimpse of what it must be like to sit in one of her tutorials. DS Barnes faithfully made notes, so this police questioning did resemble a tutorial. “Imagine if we could read those letters, especially if the authors talked about their works in progress, what we could learn.”
Ian asked, “Did you hear Wilfred Eels fall?”
She opened her eyes wide at the sudden change of subject. “Wilfred Eels suffered a fall as well?”
“Yes. You didn’t hear anything?”
“No. You said he died, I believe. Can you tell me what happened to him?”
“Wilfred Eels was found at the bottom of the library stairs. His neck was broken.”
She put her good hand to her throat. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry to hear that.” And she glanced between Ian and me. “It’s odd that he and I should both fall on the same evening. Do you think the two”—she paused here—“accidents are related in some way?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.”
She seemed to be taking in this new information. “Statistically, two incidents happening like that in the same place in a short space of time is quite improbable. Not impossible, but improbable.”
“Ms. McAdam, can you think of anyone who might want to harm you?”
Her mouth twisted in wry amusement. “I think some of my students occasionally harbor rather violent fantasies when I return their essays. I don’t believe in coddling university students, you see. I’m known to be a tough taskmaster, but I’m always fair.”
“Other than that?”
“Do I have enemies?” She gazed across at her computer and the paper stacked neatly beside it. “I work in the gentle realm of early ladies’ novels. Hardly a high-risk profession, Inspector.”
“What about Wilfred Eels? Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt him? Did he ever talk to you about anything that was worrying him?”
She shook her head. “Our conversations were very pleasant, but they were generally about the weather. Perhaps we’d make a few remarks about how much maintenance the old building required. How we were both finding Oxford. That was the extent of it, I’m afraid.”
“Did he look worried or upset yesterday?”
She shook her head. “He seemed exactly as he always did. Though I sometimes wondered if there was something in his past he was trying to escape from.” She gave a little laugh. “Call me fanciful. He seemed like a man who’d known trouble.”
Ian nodded, though he didn’t appear terribly impressed by that insight. Perhaps everyone who dies mysteriously could, in retrospect, have appeared troubled. He rose, saying, “Thank you very much for your time. If you remember anything, please call.” He put a business card on the table. “I wish you a speedy recovery.”
She began to rise with him and then, with a wince, sat back down. “Inspector Chisholm…I’m not in any danger, am I?”
“You said yourself you hardly work in a dangerous field. Can you think of any reason why you might be in danger?”
“No. Not at all. The way your questions tended, I wondered if you suspected foul play.”
“Nothing’s been ruled out as yet.”
“But you will let me know? I’d feel so terrible if something happened to that p
oor man and I could’ve done something to prevent it.”
“We’re just glad that you’re all right.”
She shook her head. “Those poor students. I’ll worry about all the young people in that college if there’s someone dangerous about.”
Chapter 5
When I got to Cardinal Woolsey’s after taking Fiona home from the hospital, Violet was unpacking a box of chunky Merino and restocking shelves. We’d had a particularly cold December and January, so there’d been a run on the warmest wools. She took one look at me and said, “Lucy, what’s wrong?”
“How do you know something’s wrong?”
“Because I know you. You haven’t looked this worried since they filmed that TV show in the shop and one of the contestants was murdered right in the very spot where you’re standing.”
Well, that cheered me up. I took a hasty step to the left. “It’s Fiona McAdam.” I filled Violet in on everything that had happened.
“Do you think she was attacked?” She put two skeins of wool on the counter as though she’d forgotten she was shelving them. “And do the police think the caretaker was murdered?”
“Ian won’t say, but with Wilfred Eels dead at the bottom of the stairs and Fiona thrown to the floor, it looks pretty suspicious, you have to admit.”
Vi abandoned shelf-stocking completely to give me her full attention. Violet was always happy to have an excuse to stop working. “Didn’t Fiona remember anything?”
“She’s got a concussion. She remembered seeing Wilfred Eels earlier that day in the library, and she remembers why she was in the library herself, but the fall’s a blank.”
“How inconvenient.”
“I’m worried about her, Vi. She said herself that two accidents in the same place at nearly the same time is very unlikely. What if Wilfred Eels was killed and his attacker thinks Fiona saw him, or her, and decides to finish off the witness?”
Violet seemed to consider the possibility. “I’m better at spells to make people forget things than spells to make them remember, but Margaret Twigg might have one.”
I hated meddling with people’s minds. It seemed rude and intrusive. “She already has a concussion. We should give her mind a rest.”
“Maybe she should go back on holiday until the danger’s passed.”
“She seems like a dedicated teacher, and she’s got a lecture scheduled for next week. I doubt she’ll leave.”
“We’ll do a protection spell, then. It will help. And that’s not interfering with her mind.”
I was much more comfortable with using magic to protect someone than to pry into their minds, so I agreed that a protection spell was an excellent idea.
The bells rang telling us that a customer was coming into the shop. I didn’t need to turn around; I knew who it was from the shiver that went down the back of my neck.
Sure enough, when I turned, Rafe was standing there. “How’s Fiona?”
“How did you know I picked her up from the hospital?” Did he have more powers than I realized?
He glanced at Violet. “I asked your cousin where you were when I came in earlier. She told me.” So he’d relied on nothing more mysterious than regular shop gossip.
I gave him an update on Fiona’s condition and told him the police had been by asking questions and that she hadn’t remembered much. “She thought she was alone in the library, though she admitted she gets so carried away with her research that sometimes she loses track of time and her surroundings.”
“A better academic than witness, then.”
“Rafe, do you think Wilfred Eels was murdered?” It was difficult to imagine two accidents happening simultaneously in the old library, but it wasn’t impossible. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.
“Undoubtedly,” he said, with no hint of hesitation.
My heart knocked against my ribs in sympathy with the dead man and the woman who’d been hurt. “How can you be so sure?”
“It’s the most logical explanation.”
“Logic can be wrong.” Did that even sound logical?
“If we assume murder and we’re wrong, that’s one thing, but to waste energy presuming an accident leaves too much leeway for a murderer to remain at large and kill again.”
Okay, that made sense. “So we assume the man was murdered, and if it turns out he had a fall, then we can heave a sigh of relief.”
“Something like that.”
“If only there’d been more students in the library that day. Fiona would not be hurt and poor Wilfred Eels might still be alive.”
He stared at me. “Most of the students won’t even go into the library, and if they do, they make sure they’re not alone.”
“Why?’
“They’re frightened of the poltergeist.” He spoke in a careful, measured way, leaving me space to read between the words.
“You’re saying the poltergeist might have murdered the caretaker?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. There have been documented cases of unexplained deaths that resulted in restless ghosts. Usually the victims died abruptly through disease, accident, or murder. With no time to prepare for death, the energy gets stuck, and often it’s angry.”
I didn’t know Fiona McAdam very well, but I liked her. I didn’t think it was fair she should be attacked by an angry spirit. “Fiona thought she heard two men arguing, but with the concussion, she’s not sure. What can we do?”
“First, we’re all assuming that Wilfred was the intended victim and Fiona McAdam was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Collateral damage. But what if it’s the other way around? While the police are looking into Wilfred’s background, I’ve asked Theodore to see what he can find out about Fiona’s past.” Theodore was a vampire who had been a policeman in life. He was old-school but very thorough.
It was one thing to pry into the affairs of a dead person, but researching a live one felt like snooping. “Do you really think that’s necessary?”
“A thorough investigation is always necessary. Perhaps there’s something in her background that might be connected to the attack and the murder. We’ll look into everyone who’s been seen there recently. I don’t want you going in without knowing what you’re getting into.”
I was puzzled. “Why would I go into the library? I’ve only been once, with you, and it’s not an experience I’m in a hurry to repeat.”
“Right. I wanted to talk to you about that. I’ve got an idea that you might be able to help.”
I couldn’t remember the last time Rafe had asked me for help. Probably because he never had. What possible skills did I have that he didn’t? I raised my eyebrows and waited for him to go on.
“The poltergeist never appears to me. I’ve been alone in the library many an evening. I’ve tried to call to it, even provoke it, but nothing.”
Violet said, “That’s because you are…a vampire. And old. Poltergeists are drawn to younger energy, especially that of someone going through a difficult time.”
“Wilfred Eels wasn’t young, and he’d definitely had experiences with the poltergeist, or he said he had. I thought it might appear to me.”
She shook her head. “It’s the undead thing. Kind of repels them.”
She tapped her fingernails on the top of the counter. “I might be able to summon the poltergeist. In fact, I’m almost certain I could.” She glanced at me, and a sly, know-it-all expression came over her face that I’d seen before. I got a very bad feeling. “But Lucy, you need the practice. You know what Margaret Twigg says. There are dark forces coming our way. You need to be ready. This is an excellent opportunity for more training for you.”
I felt like I needed to sit down, but if I did I’d be physically lower than these two, who were both being so bossy with my time and possibly my life. “You’re telling me that you want me to deliberately go to a place where two people have been killed and one left for dead and try and rouse this murderous poltergeist?”
They exchanged glances, and Violet said, “
Yep.”
Rafe was a bit more concerned for my safety. “But you will not go there alone, of course. I will always be nearby.”
“But how do I even get in the library after dark? There’s security. I can’t just waltz in there humming the Ghostbusters theme song.”
Violet snickered, but Rafe said, “The what?”
I shook my head at him. “You’ve got to get out more.” He’d been unbelievably snobbish about popular culture, especially movies, so one of my missions was to educate him. We’d seen a few blockbusters that he’d missed, but clearly, more American movie outings were required. “It’s a movie.”
Both Violet and I broke into a bad rendition of the Ghostbusters theme song. We ended, saying in unison that we weren’t afraid of no ghosts. Which was easy to say in a brightly lit shop.
Rafe looked bemused, probably at our very bad vocals. “People pay money for this entertainment?”
“I’m adding Ghostbusters to the list of movies you have to see,” I said, taking out my phone to make a note.
“Back to St. Mary’s library,” he said, clearly lost by this foray into American pop culture. “You’ll go in as my assistant. I’ve already talked to the principal and explained that you have an expertise in and interest in unpublished manuscripts about handcrafts from the Victorian era.”
I stared at him. “I can barely knit a scarf and I’m supposed to convince a university prof that I’m an expert in Victorian knitting?”
“All handcrafts, actually. There are books and journals there about tatting and lace-making, ways to dye fabric and wool using the most extraordinary ingredients. I think you might find it very interesting.”
“Sure I would. But I have a job. A shop to run.”
Violet said, “I can run things for you, Lucy. We can also work on ways to provoke the poltergeist so it appears to you.”
Oh, goody.
Rafe looked at me very seriously. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
The truth was, I was intrigued. I didn’t know anything about getting ghosts to appear, even angry ones. All I knew was that two people had died, one had been hurt and a whole college was in peril. Besides, Violet was right. I did need to work on my skills, especially if Margaret Twigg was right and dark witches were on their way. “I’ll give it a try.”
