Deadly Desires at Honeychurch Hall

by Hannah Dennison

  With most of the trees devoid of leaves, the view from the garden looked straight across the fields to Cavalier Copse. I still kept hoping for a glimpse of Mr. Chips but suspected he’d probably be back at the Hall by now—with, or without, Mum’s money.

  Fifteen minutes later I walked into the pub feeling like a drowned rat. Although Doreen and Stan were “open all hours,” the bar was relatively empty. Fred the duck was in his usual spot nesting at the end of the counter next to the donation bucket.

  “You’re soaked!” Doreen exclaimed. “And what have you done to your face?”

  I’d forgotten all about my fall. “I fell off Duchess.”

  “You need to put a nice steak on that eye,” said Doreen. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  “No need. Mrs. Cropper already gave me one.”

  “Good heavens, girl!” Doreen suddenly spied my sodden footwear. “What were you thinking?” She gave me a peculiar look. “Surely you didn’t walk here in those?”

  “Actually, yes, I did,” I said brightly. “I’ve got this really painful ingrown toenail and these are the only shoes I can wear.”

  “And you’ve no coat!”

  “It wasn’t raining when I set out,” I said.

  “You could do with a hot toddy,” said Doreen.

  “I would love a hot toddy,” but then I realized I had come out without any money, either. “Never mind. Actually, I’ve got to get back.”

  Doreen gave me another peculiar look. “So, what can we do for you? Have you come to see Patty?”

  I hadn’t. “Poor Patty,” I said. “How is she holding up?”

  “So-so,” said Doreen. “She insisted on spending the night at Bridge Cottage though. Stan picked her up this morning. Did you want to speak to her?”

  “No—that is to say I’m actually here about Valentine Prince-Avery,” I said.

  “He went back to London this morning,” said Doreen.

  “This morning?” I was taken aback. “I found his walking cane in the field and wanted to return it.” I brandished the cane feeling more than a little foolish. “He told me it was of sentimental value.”

  “Not that sentimental if he left it laying in a field,” said Doreen. “No, he just cleared off. Didn’t even say good-bye. He already paid in cash up front. I reckon we frightened him off last night, don’t you?”

  “It certainly looks that way,” I said. “Did he leave an address?”

  “I’ll ask Stan.” Doreen disappeared into the kitchen.

  I waited and scanned the room. The notice board at the end of the bar bore Angela’s Ravishing Romantics Book Club and an enlarged color photocopy of the Gypsy Temptress book jacket. Yet another disaster waiting to happen, I thought.

  The front door opened and Benedict and Eric strolled in, deep in conversation. Benedict was holding a high-end Nikon camera that I suspected cost thousands of pounds.

  “There she is!” beamed Benedict. His face dropped when he saw mine. “What happened to you?”

  “I’m sorry. As you can see, it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to do the photo shoot.” I explained how I’d fallen off Duchess.

  “We could meet in London,” said Benedict. “I think that will be a better idea. I’ll take you to dinner and we can discuss the auction. I’ll be going back early next week and your mother mentioned you would be there, too.” Benedict turned to Eric. “We’re not having much luck today, are we?”

  “Where did you hide the placards, Kat?” said Eric with a tinge of annoyance.

  “Placards? I thought you took them.”

  “No. They were gone when I went up there this morning.”

  “Maybe it was someone else from the village?” I suggested.

  “Maybe,” said Eric dubiously. “Like who?”

  “Never mind,” said Benedict. “I’ve got a better idea. A friend of mine owns a chopper. We could get some aerial shots. He owes me a favor. All we pay for is fuel.”

  “That’s a bit extravagant,” I said.

  Eric’s eyes widened. “I’ve never been in a helicopter before.”

  “We’ll need those aerial shots anyway to give to my chap who is working on the new route and possible tunnel—ah, Doreen!”

  Doreen returned from the kitchen with Patty in tow wearing yellow Marigold gloves. I was surprised to find her actually working. Eric mumbled something that sounded like, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Benedict echoed the sentiment leaving an awkward silence all around.

  “Gentlemen, go and take a seat and I’ll be right with you in one moment,” Doreen said briskly.

  “We’d rather prop up the bar,” said Benedict.

  Doreen turned to me. “Stan says Prince-Avery didn’t leave an address,” she said. “And Patty was the one who cleaned out his room this morning.”

  “That’s right,” said Patty. “He told me he had to leave in a hurry and that he was catching a train back to London.”

  Patty fiddled with her gloves and wouldn’t look me in the eye.

  “What seems to be the problem?” said Benedict, sidling closer although I sensed he’d been eavesdropping.

  “Mr. Prince-Avery scarpered back to London this morning,” said Doreen.

  “He left this.” I showed Benedict Valentine’s ox bone walking cane.

  “That’s a very fine cane.” Benedict took it and stroked the shaft. “Very fine. I could take it with me if you’d like. I’ll be seeing him in London at some point, especially once I’ve got the proposal all squared away.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll hang on to it,” I said. “Since Valentine is the compensation consultant assigned to this area, I’m sure he’ll be back.”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Benedict. “He’s still got to meet with half the village, but if I run into him beforehand, I’ll tell him you have it.”

  I thought for a moment. “I wonder how Valentine got to the railway station. He left his SUV along Hopton’s Crest.” I turned to Patty. “You’ve got a good view from Bridge Cottage. Where were you last night? Did you see—Oh—I mean—” Too late! What a horrible snafu.

  Patty gasped. Her eyes filled with tears. She turned on her heel and fled back to the kitchen.

  I was mortified.

  “She’ll be alright,” said Doreen. “She’s been doing a lot of crying.”

  Benedict laid a hand on my arm. “I think what Kat is trying to say is that it seemed a strange place to leave a rental car.”

  “Not if he was in a hurry to catch the train from Newton Abbot,” said Doreen. “Ogwell is in the wrong direction. Why?”

  “No reason,” I said quickly.

  “Your Valentine is just not into you,” Eric joked. “Isn’t that what they say these days?”

  “Very funny, Eric,” I said. “I only just met him yesterday.”

  “You’re a fast worker,” said Eric. “Someone saw you coming out of Prince-Avery’s bedroom last night.”

  “Angela saw me, you mean,” I said crossly. “I was just talking to him about my mother’s options, if you must know.”

  “Whoa! Nice slippers.” Eric laughed and gave Benedict a nudge.

  “They’re moccasins, actually.”

  “Very sexy,” said Benedict.

  “She’s got an ingrown toenail,” Doreen chimed in.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get home.”

  “You can’t let Kat walk back in all this rain,” said Doreen, fixing Eric with a stare that dared him to do otherwise. “Call yourself a gentleman.”

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Of course I’ll give her a lift,” said Eric. “Talk to you tomorrow, Benedict.”

  Eric and I bid our good-byes and I followed him out of the pub with mixed feelings. I’d be lying if I weren’t grateful for the ride home.

  Even though the car park was practically deserted, a Prius was parked next to NO PARKING HERE—AND THAT MEANS YOU! Mud was spattered halfway up the body and the windows were smeared with dirt.


  “Took a ride with Benedict in that,” said Eric. “I felt like I was sitting in a tin can.”

  “They’re supposed to be very economical,” I said.

  “Yeah. Well, give me a Land Rover any day. You should have seen the inside. Covered in mud.”

  “In that case, do you want me to remove my moccasins?”

  “Don’t be daft,” said Eric. “I’m not averse to a bit of mud.”

  Eric gallantly opened my passenger door and helped me up. “You’re cold, lass,” he said gently. “Make sure you have a hot toddy when you get home or you’ll catch your death.”

  “Thank you.” To say I was surprised at Eric’s concern was putting it mildly.

  “Had you met Benedict before last night?” I asked as we set off.

  “Nope. He’s been out of the country for years. But I know he and her ladyship have been friends since childhood,” he said. “In fact, if you ask me, there’s a bit of how’s-your-father going on between them, what with his lordship gone off and all.”

  I was torn between wanting to know the details and not being drawn into local gossip. “Hasn’t Rupert just gone to London on business?”

  “All very secretive about it, too,” said Eric. “According to Mrs. Cropper, he won’t say where he is or how long he’s going to be gone.”

  “How is Angela getting on?” I said, neatly introducing her into the conversation.

  “You asking me if I fancy her?”

  “No.”

  “Not my type,” said Eric. “She needs her teeth fixed.”

  What was this obsession with teeth that everyone—including my mother—seemed to have?

  “Mum and I think she’s angling to go with you to Italy since you decided to accept Vera’s prize, after all.”

  “So that’s what you think, is it?” Eric said. “I’m doing what Vera would have wanted. She won that contest fair and square.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather have the money instead and put it toward a worthy cause—like this campaign, for example?”

  “I’ve already had this conversation with Iris and the answer is no,” said Eric. “Why should Honeychurch matter to you? You’re an outsider.” Eric’s annoyance seemed to translate to his foot as the Land Rover surged forward in a sudden burst of speed.

  “I’m no more an outsider than Benedict Scroope—and can we not drive so fast?”

  “He’s still a Devon man,” said Eric. “We’ve lived here all our lives and our parents and grandparents before us,” he exclaimed. “This is the only life we know. The folks in the village, Doreen, Stan, Muriel at the post office, and the sisters who run that fleapit of a cafe, that’s all they know, too. Having this train run through here is—” His voice broke but he covered it with a hearty cough. “Is like a slow death.”

  “I know and I’m sorry.”

  “Benedict is the only chance we’ve got,” he continued in earnest. “Did you know there is a kingfisher that lives along the river at the bottom of her ladyship’s equine cemetery?”

  “A kingfisher?” I said. “I know about the Honeychurch dormice in Cavalier Copse—”

  “Them, too. But kingfishers are protected by law and you can get fined five grand for disturbing a nest.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said.

  “That’s what Benedict said and I checked and he’s right. So you see, he’s going to do right by us. Take the environmental route. Shawn told us to do it properly and that’s what we’re going to do so stop meddling.”

  “I’m not meddling!”

  “Goddamn it woman! Where the bloody hell did you put those placards!”

  “Don’t speak to me like that!” I felt a flash of anger. “I told you, I didn’t touch them. Perhaps Lavinia beat you to it? Did you even think to ask her?”

  “It’s hardly the thing her ladyship would do,” said Eric. “Benedict was really pissed off.”

  “Maybe that was why Valentine went back to Hopton’s Crest?” I said. “Perhaps he put them back in the boot of his car? You have to admit that things got pretty ugly last night.”

  Eric fell quiet for a moment then said, “Yeah, maybe.”

  “You don’t think Patty knows something, do you?” I said. “She went back home. Maybe she saw Valentine doing just that? It’s easy to see Cavalier Copse from Bridge Cottage at this time of year.” And then I had a thought. “You didn’t see Mr. Chips earlier this afternoon?”

  “Yeah. He’s always around,” said Eric. “Especially now I’ve been digging up those ditches. Why?”

  “Was he carrying a blue packet?”

  “A blue packet?” Eric hesitated. “Nope, can’t help you. Maybe he’s buried it somewhere. Maybe in that upturned soil from my ditches. I’d start there if I were you. Why? Is it important?”

  “No. Not important, at all.” Damn again. Eric’s ditch digging spanned practically the entire estate. “Are you saying you did see him this afternoon?”

  “No,” said Eric. “After I saw you and her ladyship out riding, I went to meet Benedict at his hotel in Dartmouth. We spent the last few hours driving around the area taking photographs.”

  I drew a mental timeline. I’d been riding with Edith at eleven, got back around noon, then Angela had turned up, and shortly afterward I went after Mr. Chips. It looked like Eric was telling the truth.

  We drove on in silence.

  “Eric,” I began tentatively. “It means a lot that you’ve kept Mum’s identity secret. I know you don’t always see eye to eye, but she really appreciates it.”

  “Iris and I can’t stand each other,” Eric said bluntly. “Don’t worry. I’m not keeping quiet for her sake. Lady Edith asked me. And besides, the campaign needs Iris’s money.”

  “Wow. At least you’re honest!” I actually laughed and for the first time, Eric grinned.

  We came to the fork in front of Bridge Cottage. Taking a left would lead back to the tradesman’s entrance and a half a mile farther on, the gatehouses that flanked the main drive to the Hall.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Eric turned right and we made the slow, winding climb up to Hopton’s Crest.

  The Land Rover rounded the top bend and drove along the ridge. Eric’s headlights carved out a tunnel along the long, straight track that was flanked by hedges and scrub. The wind had picked up again and leaves skittered and swirled before us.

  We passed the five-bar gate and reached the end where the track funneled into a narrow bridleway that was framed by overhanging trees.

  There was no sign of Valentine’s car.

  It had vanished.

  “Satisfied?” said Eric.

  “Yes. Thank you.” But of course I wasn’t.

  “As I said before—” Eric smirked. “Maybe it’s your slippers.”

  “Moccasins.”

  As I walked back to the Carriage House through Eric’s scrapyard, I tried Valentine’s phone twice more only to get the same automated message that his voice mailbox was full. In the end, I sent him a text telling him I had found his cane and to call me about picking it up.

  Resolving not to waste another minute on Valentine Prince-Avery—a man who I was definitely not into—I marched up to the front door.

  I braced myself for the inevitable hysterics.

  Mum was going to freak out when I told her the money was gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  To my chagrin, the front door was locked and I had to hammer and yell for what seemed like hours.

  Finally, Mum threw it open.

  “Are you okay?” I said warily. “You fixed the lock.”

  “Yes! It’s fixed! Hooray!” Mum’s face was flushed and her eyes bore the signs of the happy drinker. She engulfed me in a huge embrace. “Oh. You’re wet.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m celebrating,” Mum said happily. “Guess who is waiting in the kitchen.”

  “I have no idea.”

  “No, go on. Guess!”

  “The Queen of England.”

&nb
sp; “Not yet.”

  Mum turned on her heel and practically skipped down the hall and into the kitchen shouting, “Here she is!”

  I put down Valentine’s cane and kicked off my moccasins and trooped after her.

  “She looks like a drowned rat,” I heard her say. “Now, don’t be alarmed about Kat’s face!”

  “Why?” said a gravelly voice with a thick cockney accent. “If’s she got your face, she’s a beauty.”

  Sitting at the kitchen table was a man in his mid-seventies wearing Dad’s old striped dressing gown. I gave a start. For a moment, I was transported back into our kitchen in Tooting on a Saturday morning when he and Mum would do the crossword puzzle together.

  But of course it wasn’t Dad.

  This man was wiry with a thatch of white hair and steel-rimmed glasses. He had a heavy jaw and reminded me of the bulldog on Valentine’s cane.

  “You must be Alfred?” I ventured.

  “I told you she’d know who you were,” said Mum.

  “Sporting a shiner like a real Bushman,” said Alfred, showing what few teeth remained. Presumably he’d lost them in the boxing ring.

  “But I’m not a real Bushman, am I?” I couldn’t help but say. “Isn’t Mum your stepsister?”

  Mum laughed. “Don’t take any notice of grumpy pants.”

  “Pull up a chair,” said Alfred. “Have a drink! Let’s get acquainted. What’s your poison?”

  Alfred was nursing a Scotch—Dad had been a whiskey drinker and Mum must have kept a bottle in the cupboard. Alfred’s knuckles were scarred and everything about him seemed dangerous. Both forearms were heavily tattooed with birds of prey.

  “Kat drinks gin.” Mum poured me a large one. “I’ve told her all about you.”

  “You don’t want to believe everything you hear,” said Alfred, winking at Mum. “I know how Iris loves to tell a good story. She was always one for spinning a yarn.”