Deadly Desires at Honeychurch Hall

by Hannah Dennison

“Protest meeting?” Mum turned to me. “Protest meeting?”

  “There was a huge hullabaloo,” said Lavinia. “And apparently, that frightful Prince-Avery stormed off in a huff.”

  “I tried to call you several times, Mum,” I said desperately.

  I felt my mother’s fury coming off her in waves but I knew she wouldn’t want to make a scene. I made all kinds of silent gestures implying that I’d explain everything later but she pointedly ignored me.

  “It was supposed to be on Thursday!” Mum said.

  “Eric changed it,” said Lavinia. “I have no idea why.”

  “Oh really?” said Mum. “I think I do.”

  “Of course, having Kat as the face of our campaign is fantastic.” Benedict beamed with pleasure. “The auction idea is excellent.”

  “How fantastic to have Kat’s face,” Mum said sweetly. “What a treat.”

  A loud rat-a-tat-tat sounded at the front door. “I’ll go.”

  “It’ll be for you anyway,” said Mum, adding, “It’s her daily delivery of flowers.”

  “That’s an exaggeration,” I said as I left the kitchen.

  I opened the front door to a young woman with a pierced nose holding a large white orchid. “It’s another orchid,” she said. “Sorry. I try to ring out the changes but it’s October and there’s not much around.”

  “Thanks, Bethany.” David had sent me so many flowers that I was on first-name terms with the delivery girl.

  “How did the protest meeting go last night?” said Bethany. “I couldn’t make it but Aunt Muriel told me they raised five hundred pounds at the pub.”

  “Would you know if Muriel met with one of the compensation consultants by any chance?” I said.

  “Yes. Yesterday morning.” Bethany’s expression hardened. “Some twit with a fancy name.”

  “Valentine Prince-Avery?”

  “That’s right. He really upset her. I heard he was practically booed out of the pub last night. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

  “He has a thankless job,” I said, feeling more than a little sorry for Valentine. Needless to say I hadn’t heard a squeak from him this morning.

  “Well, that’s his choice,” said Bethany.

  I agreed and, joking that I’d see her tomorrow, closed the door, popped the orchid into the sitting room, and returned to the kitchen. Benedict’s map from the night before was spread over the table.

  “What do all these different colors mean?” I heard Mum say. “What’s a SAFETY ZONE?”

  Once again I listened to Benedict’s spiel and watched my poor mother’s face grow longer and longer. It was only when Benedict discussed his idea of suggesting an alternate route that I noticed a glimmer of hope.

  “You’re hired, as far as I’m concerned,” said Mum grimly.

  “Good,” said Benedict. “I’ll contact my people and we’ll get to work.”

  “Wonderful!” Lavinia beamed. “And I do think that since Iris and I are in a better financial position than most of my people, we should carry the brunt of the cost—at least at the very beginning, don’t you, Iris?”

  I looked at Mum who was nodding her head in agreement. “Whatever it takes.”

  “So how much are we talking here?” I demanded.

  “I’d say, five thousand pounds each to begin with,” said Benedict.

  “Five thousand pounds!” I exclaimed.

  “Take no notice of her,” said Mum. “Will you take cash?”

  “Cash, checks, jewelry.” Benedict laughed. “Whatever you’ve got.”

  “How are you going to pull that off without telling his lordship?” Mum asked suddenly.

  Lavinia looked startled. “I do have a trust fund, you know—but since you mention Rupert—” Her face turned pink. “We’re all agreed that my part in this goes no further than these four walls.”

  “Of course, m’lady,” said Mum.

  “And do call me Lavinia,” said Lavinia. “Now we’re in cahoots I think we can drop the formality, don’t you?”

  Lavinia rose from her chair so we all got up.

  “Where are you staying in Devon, Benedict?” Mum asked. “Presumably, not at the Hall.”

  “Nor at my old family home, unfortunately,” said Benedict with a trace of bitterness.

  “Benedict’s family used to own Thornton Park on the River Tamar,” said Lavinia. “Frightful shame. Place is a retirement village now. Ab-so-lute-ly ghastly.”

  “Thornton Park was listed in the Domesday Book,” said Benedict. “So you see, I know how important it is to keep our heritage.”

  “So you do understand,” Mum said gratefully.

  “Iris, I’ll be in touch tomorrow about the moolah so Benedict can get cracking,” said Lavinia.

  “Shall I see you at the yard at eleven?” I asked.

  Lavinia’s pink flush returned. “Actually, not this morning. I’m going to show Benedict the estate whilst you and Edith ride out.”

  “And those awful HS3 placards,” Mum reminded her. “Don’t forget to show him those.”

  “I’ve already told Eric to remove them,” said Lavinia.

  “Didn’t you want to photograph them?” I said, surprised.

  “I completely agree with Lavinia that we should protect the dowager countess as much as possible,” said Benedict. “There is no need to alarm her at this point. We’ll find some other backdrop to take your photograph for our campaign.”

  Benedict slipped the map back into his portfolio whilst I returned their coats.

  “Frightful business about Joyce Gully,” said Lavinia.

  “What about Joyce Gully?” Mum asked.

  “Didn’t Katherine tell you?” Lavinia seemed astonished.

  “Katherine doesn’t tell her mother anything,” said Mum coldly.

  “I was going to,” I said. “Unfortunately, Joyce was on her way to the meeting—”

  “So Joyce knew about the meeting, despite the fact that she doesn’t even have a phone—”

  “Mum,” I said horrified. “Joyce had a tragic accident. She died.”

  “Oh! Forgive me. I’m so sorry,” Mum mumbled. “I didn’t know.”

  “Mrs. Cropper told me that the police think it was either a heart attack or brake failure,” said Lavinia. “Those scooters are death traps.”

  “It just goes to show we never know when our number is up,” said Benedict, fixing Lavinia with a look of such admiration that she blushed. “Life is just too short, Vinnie, isn’t it?”

  Vinnie?

  I saw them out and returned to the kitchen, preparing myself for Mum’s wrath. Instead, I found her busy scribbling on her yellow Post-it Notes.

  “I suppose Lavinia and Benedict are your next victims for one of your torrid love stories.”

  “Ah! You detected it, too,” said Mum gleefully. “Poor girl. She really is so unattractive when she blushes.”

  “At least he calls her Vinnie,” I said. “Rupert calls her Lav.”

  “But he is strange,” said Mum. “Perhaps it’s those heavy glasses? I never trust a man with a small head and he’s got such a peculiar complexion. It’s almost orange.”

  “Bad luck,” I said. “They’re just friends. They’ve known each other for years. Lavinia is besotted with Rupert, you know that.”

  “That may be so but when there is trouble in paradise, a woman like Lavinia is easy prey.”

  “So says the expert who was married for forty-nine years to the same man.” I scoffed and then, “Mum, I’m sorry but I did try to phone you.”

  “I know,” said Mum. “Tell me, was there really a riot?”

  So I did but I left out Valentine’s late-night phone call to me.

  “I know it’s none of my business but five thousand pounds is a lot of money,” I said. “Do you have that amount of cash laying around?”

  “Don’t we all have a trust fund?”

  “I’ve seen this sort of thing happen before,” I said. “The surveyors draw up more plans, which need even
more money, and before you know it, you’ve spent a fortune and you’ve gone too far to wriggle out.”

  “I’m not daft,” said Mum.

  “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Chapter Eleven

  At exactly eleven o’clock Edith and I, mounted on Tinkerbell and Duchess, clattered out of the yard with Mr. Chips bearing an unwieldy stick and bounding along beside us. Just watching him making forays into the undergrowth or tearing along ahead, then racing back at great speed, made me feel exhausted.

  I had been riding sidesaddle for the last three weeks and was still adjusting to feeling lopsided on what had to be the most awkward riding position ever invented.

  Edith had praised my “light hands” and “excellent balance” and insisted I give it a try since she believed riding sidesaddle was the “only way a lady should ride.” A part of me was vain enough to want to learn and I found I was hooked! There was something elegant and romantic about wearing a riding habit although I wore a sidesaddle apron over jodhpurs for regular hacking. Edith, however, always rode in a full habit complete with hat and veil.

  I’d actually splashed out on some riding togs despite Mum’s comments that it was a waste of money because “where will you ride sidesaddle in London?”

  With Lavinia showing Benedict around, I found myself alone with Edith for a change. This morning she seemed very subdued and rode on ahead. I was glad. Edith wasn’t stupid and I found it hard to believe that she wouldn’t know what was going on literally in her own backyard.

  It had rained heavily in the night with gale-force winds that had brought down dozens of boughs and the roads were scattered with broken branches. Water pooled in huge puddles along the country lanes and the bridleways were thick with mud. The wind blew in gusts and sent the falling leaves swirling around the horses’ legs. Mr. Chips plunged into the hedges, snatching at sticks that he then bore away to bury.

  Duchess hated the wind and I nearly came off when a squall threw open a five-bar gate with a deafening crash and she leapt sideways.

  It was only when we reached Hopton’s Crest that Edith finally reined Tinkerbell in and waited for me to catch up. She was gazing over the tops of the hedgerows. I braced myself for Edith’s inevitable questions regarding the HS3 placards but when I joined her was relieved to see that they had all been removed. All that was left were a few telltale mounds of earth. Eric had followed Lavinia’s orders.

  “One of my favorite views.” Edith turned to me and looked directly into my eyes. “What did Harry say? Something about a runway being built—or perhaps, he meant a railway line?”

  I really did not want to lie to Edith and was about to come clean when I felt a peculiar fluttering in my stomach. Across the valley, parked next to a five-bar gate was a metallic-blue SUV.

  Edith spotted it, too. She gestured with her hunting crop. “Harry told me that a man in a metallic-blue car was digging holes and putting in posts with big red signs.”

  “How is Harry?” I said, desperate to steer the conversation onto safer ground. “Did he get back to school safely?”

  “But it does look like we have a mole problem in that field—” Edith fixed me with a hard stare. “And rather an odd one given the size of those molehills.”

  “Yes. Very odd.” I could feel myself reddening.

  “Well?” Edith demanded. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “I just don’t think it’s for me to—”

  “Tosh! I see. If you won’t tell me then let’s go and ask this so-called trespasser what he’s up to, shall we?” Calling Mr. Chips to heel, Edith nudged Tinkerbell into a brisk trot.

  I followed on Duchess with a heavy heart.

  Moments later we came upon Valentine’s car. Thankfully, it was empty. There was a banner running along the rear tinted window—OGWELL CAR HIRE YOUR CHOICE FOR LUXURY.

  Edith tapped her hunting crop on the roof of Valentine’s car. “How frightfully inconsiderate. Completely blocked the entrance. This vehicle is rented, I see. Well, that explains it. Obviously not from around here.” Edith scanned the area. “We can get into the field down by Bridge Cottage. Come along.”

  The Gullys’ home seemed more depressing than ever in daylight. It was made of the usual cob but in dire need of a coat of paint, the thatched roof was patchy, and the front wicket gate hung off its hinges. Half-drawn curtains hung at grimy windows. Two were boarded up with planks of wood and the whitewashed rendering was cracked and gray. Wooden pallets leaned against the outside wall together with some old car tires and sheets of corrugated iron.

  I thought of poor Patty living here alone and wondered what she would do now that her mother had gone. As she had so bitterly pointed out, thanks to Operation Bullet, selling the cottage would be impossible.

  Behind the hedge, a tractor engine exploded into life sending Duchess into a frenzy of fear. I held on for grim death as she backed dangerously away from the sound, her rear hooves scrabbling to find their grip on the riverbank. She plunged forward then barged into Tinkerbell who squealed and kicked out, narrowly missing my ankle. Mr. Chips darted around in circles barking, thinking it must all be a great game.

  “Turn it off!” yelled Edith as she, too, struggled to keep Tinkerbell under control but her voice was drowned out by the clatter of the diesel engine.

  Eric and his red Massey Ferguson tractor appeared in the gateway. The moment he saw us he cut the engine and cried out, “Sorry, m’lady. Didn’t know you were there. I didn’t see you!”

  But our horses continued to lunge and spin in circles as Edith and I struggled to calm them down.

  Eric leapt from his seat. “So sorry,” he said again.

  “What on earth are you doing down here?” Edith demanded. “Have you finished clearing the ditches in Cromwell Meadows already?”

  Eric’s eyes met my own. He gave a tiny, imperceptible nod that I took to mean that he’d moved the placards from the field per Lavinia’s order.

  “Well?” Edith demanded. “Cat got your tongue?”

  Eric seemed nervous. He licked his lips. “Er … well … Tom told me the water trough wasn’t filling up so I came to check.”

  “Why?” Edith barked. “That’s Tom’s job.”

  “It needed two pairs of hands,” Eric mumbled. “And then I saw I couldn’t use the top gate. That damn car has been parked up there since early morning. Tom saw it when he came to feed the cows at first light.”

  “There’s no sign of the driver at all?” I said sharply. Surely Valentine’s car couldn’t have been there all night.

  “I’m going to get that thing towed if it’s not gone by the end of the day,” Eric declared.

  Edith didn’t seem to hear. She studied the silent tractor that—to me—seemed as monstrous as Duchess believed it to be.

  “You go first, Katherine,” Edith commanded. “And be firm with her. She won’t like it.”

  Edith was right. Duchess snorted and spooked at the big red monster and its trailer before finally tearing past, bucking wildly.

  “Sit down in the saddle,” Edith screamed. “Keep those hands low! Show her you’re in command!”

  It was only later as we rode across the field that I realized that Eric’s flatbed trailer had been empty. Where could he have hidden the placards? Judging by Eric’s horrified expression when he saw our horses careening all over the place, he’d definitely not expected us to show up.

  “What do you think about Parks, the new housekeeper?” said Edith, breaking my thoughts.

  “I’ve never known anyone to get so excited about cleaning the silver,” I said. “But there is something I’d like to ask you.”

  “Go on.”

  “Did she mention anything about the book club she plans on starting in the village?”

  “Good heavens. What an extraordinary question. Why would I be interested in a book club? Especially one arranged by the housekeeper.”

  “Oh.” Edith’s disdain threw me for a moment but
I plunged on. “The reason I mention it is that their first selection is Gypsy Temptress.”

  “I’m sorry?” Edith said. “Should that mean something to me?”

  “That’s my mother’s book,” I reminded her. “She’s the romance writer, Krystalle Storm?” I hoped I wouldn’t have to explain Mum’s complicated alter ego all over again to Edith.

  “Of course, of course. I remember now,” said Edith. “We’re all sworn to secrecy.”

  “You don’t think—” I hesitated. “I just wondered if Eric might have let Mum’s real identity slip accidentally.”

  “It would never have come from Eric,” said Edith firmly. “He wouldn’t dare defy my orders to keep Iris’s secret safe for as long as she wanted.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said. “Angela has called the club the Ravishing Romantics.”

  “Ravishing Romantics? Good heavens. What an extraordinary name!” Edith laughed. I’d never heard her laugh so hard and I started to laugh, too.

  “Pity you’re going back to London,” she said with a snigger. “I like you. You’ve got a good sense of humor. Not like poor Lavinia. I wonder—” Edith paused before regarding me shrewdly. “Have you ever thought of conducting your business affairs from here?”

  “You mean, here? In Devon?” I said, surprised. “No. My life is in London.”

  “I must have been mistaken,” said Edith dryly. “I thought you disliked all the trappings of stardom.”

  “I do.”

  “Then … perhaps it is the allure of the theater, museums, and art galleries that you find irresistible?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  “The noise? Bustle? I can see how that must appeal to one when one is younger.”

  “And I’m definitely not in that category anymore,” I said ruefully.

  “Or perhaps your gentleman friend, the art investigator, has divorced his wife at last?”

  Despite the fact that Edith often admitted to enjoying the gossip columns, I was embarrassed.

  “No. That’s over,” I said quickly. “I just think that London is the best place for business.”

  “Nonsense!” Edith declared. “Clearly you have not spent much time at some of our country auctions. London has such inflated prices. There are lots of bargains to be found in the West Country. Take Chillingford Court, for example.”