Deadly Desires at Honeychurch Hall

by Hannah Dennison

  Mum came over with my drink and gave Alfred a playful cuff around the ear. “Sit down and join us.”

  Alfred withdrew a packet of cigarettes from his dressing gown pocket and fumbled for a lighter. “Want one?”

  “No thanks. We don’t smoke,” I said. “Dad never liked it.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” said Mum and took one.

  “Since when did you smoke?” I demanded.

  Mum gave Alfred a nod. “Told you she’s a nag.”

  The two laughed at my expense. Alfred lit one for Mum and then passed it over. She inhaled deeply and didn’t even cough. Yet another secret of my mother’s! Next thing I’d discover would be a cocaine habit.

  As cigarette smoke rapidly filled the kitchen, I opened a window and made a big deal of waving it out.

  “Alfred decided to come a couple of days early,” said Mum.

  “Had to hitch a lift from London,” he said. “You never know how long it’s going to take but I got lucky.”

  “He walked all the way from Dartmouth and got caught in that downpour,” Mum chimed in. “I gave him some of your father’s clothes. I’ve had to wash everything else.”

  Mum gestured to a grubby duffel bag that had been dumped in the corner of the kitchen. “That’s all Alfred owns in the world.”

  “Yep,” said Alfred. “My life is in that bag.”

  I made a superhuman effort to be friendly. “That must have been pretty tough walking in all that rain.”

  “Nah. I’ve got no complaints.” Alfred grinned again. “Not after all those years inside.” He reached across the table and took Mum’s hand. “And now I’m here and it’s all thanks to Iris.”

  The two shared a moment and I saw an exchange of genuine affection. Mum’s eyes teared up. “You’re all the family I’ve got, Alfred,” she whispered.

  “Thanks, Mum,” I said pointedly. “Believe it or not, you do have me.”

  “You won’t regret it, Iris, I swear as I live and breathe. I’ll not let you down.”

  “Let’s hope not,” I muttered.

  Alfred looked around the kitchen with a critical air. “I’ve got a couple of days before I start working with the horses, official like. I thought I could do a bit of painting. Help spruce the place up a bit.”

  “He’s already fixed the lock on the front door.” Mum beamed and gave me a look that clearly implied, “See, I told you all would be well.”

  “I thought the painters were coming next week,” I said.

  “Cancel them, Iris. I can do it. You concentrate on writing your books.” Alfred turned to me. “Now what’s this I hear about your neighbor, Eric Pugsley being difficult?”

  “What’s Mum told you exactly?”

  “She said he broke her hand and now he’s spreading rumors that Krystalle Diamond lives in the neighborhood.”

  “It’s Storm,” said Mum.

  Alfred chuckled. “See! My mind always goes to diamonds!”

  Diamonds?

  Alfred took a long drag on his cigarette. “You leave that Pugsley fella to me. I’ll make sure he’ll not give you any more trouble.” Alfred actually cricked his neck and cracked his knuckles.

  Mum looked pleased. “You don’t want to mess with my Alfred.”

  “I spoke to Eric, Mum,” I said. “He denied spreading those rumors about you and I believe him.”

  “Of course he’d say that!”

  “That Eric had better watch out!” Alfred threw a few fake punches. “I’ve still got it.” He jumped up and began shadow boxing around the kitchen. His efforts quickly dissolved into a coughing fit.

  Alfred slumped back into his chair wheezing heavily. Mum hooted with laughter and moved to thump him heartily on the back.

  “Blimey. I’m a bit out of practice. I’m just so bloody happy to be here.” Now his eyes teared up and looking at Mum, I saw hers had done so again!

  “Bloody hell, Iris,” he whispered. “Where do the years go to?”

  “How long were you inside?” I asked politely.

  “Did a ten stretch,” said Alfred. “This time.”

  “That’s ten years, dear,” said Mum. “He’s on a jam-roll.”

  “A what?”

  “Parole,” Mum said. “I’m learning the prison lingo. I thought I could weave it into the third installment of the Star-Crossed Lovers trilogy.”

  “Have you read any of Mum’s books?” I asked Alfred.

  “Not yet. Going to start right now. I knew she’d be a famous writer.”

  “And as you know, we’re trying to keep that a secret here,” I reminded him. “For lots of reasons, which I am sure you know about. Mum’s earnings being just one.”

  “I know, I know.” Alfred nodded in my direction. “Is she always so serious?”

  “Yes,” said Mum.

  “Takes after your Frank, doesn’t she. No sense of humor.”

  “I have got a sense of humor,” I said hotly. “I just don’t think it’s very funny.”

  “Stay right there for a minute,” said Mum and exited the kitchen.

  Alfred regarded me with amusement. “Don’t you worry, luv,” he said. “I’m taking care of your mum. That’s what a business manager does.”

  “Business manager!”

  “Someone’s got to look after her career.” Alfred grinned again. “Money’s my specialty.”

  “I’m sure it is,” I said darkly. “I thought you came here to look after the horses.”

  “I’m a jack-of-all-trades,” said Alfred. “I told her, you’ve got to live your life, Iris. And Kat has got to live hers. Course, she’ll miss you when you go back to the smoke, but you’ll come and visit, won’t you?”

  “Here. Remember Jazzbo?” Mum returned bearing Jazzbo Jenkins. She propped him up against the gin bottle on the table.

  “Well, I’ll be buggered!” Alfred exclaimed. “I remember this little fella.” He picked up Jazzbo Jenkins. “What was Billy’s mouse called—the one with all those badges of seaside piers?”

  “Ella Fitzgerald,” said Mum. “She’s still wearing all those badges, too. Those were the days, weren’t they?”

  “Did Mum tell you how she came to have your brother Billy’s mouse?” I couldn’t help but say.

  “No need to go into that now, Katherine,” said Mum sharply.

  Alfred’s eyes teared up yet again! I was getting exhausted from all the emotional turmoil in the room.

  “I’m glad you kept the mice,” he said. “Course, I called Billy a sissy for having a toy like this but … remember the Honeychurch dormice, eh?” He wiped away a tear and shook his head. “When we were kids, Billy and I would spend hours down at Cavalier Copse hoping to see those little buggers. Poor Billy.”

  Mum reached across and squeezed Alfred’s hand. “Alfred was there when Billy had that aneurism on Blackpool Pier, Kat.”

  “Dropped dead right in front of me,” said Alfred.

  “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. It must have been horrible.”

  Alfred seemed lost in thought for a moment but suddenly snapped out of it. “The old countess never liked me.”

  “Let’s hope you’ll make her change her mind,” I said. “You do know that she has no idea that you have a prison record? Mum told the dowager countess that you have spent the last few decades working with retired circus horses in Spain.”

  “See, I told you Iris can spin a good yarn.”

  “He’s good with all animals. Not just horses,” Mum declared. “I told you, we used to call him Dr. Doolittle.”

  “So, you’ve never worked in a circus?”

  “Course I have.” Alfred’s expression changed instantly. “That’s where I met that bastard Ralph Jackson.”

  “You mean William,” I pointed out. “Here at Honeychurch, he’s known as William.”

  “Katherine!” Mum shot me a warning look. “Well, that’s all water under the bridge—”

  “I beg to differ.” Alfred scowled. “I know all about bloody Ralph Jackson i
mpersonating my poor, dead brother. Bastard. Called himself the strongest man in the world, did Ralph. How about the biggest liar in the world! He was no friend to Billy, no friend at all. All brawn and biceps—wait a minute—” He rounded on Mum, “Is that how you came to get Ella Fitzgerald?”

  “Not exactly,” said Mum hastily.

  Alfred’s scowl deepened. “So he not only stole Billy’s name … he stole his mouse? He stole Ella Fitzgerald?”

  I let out a snort of derision. I couldn’t help it. “The strongest man in the world and his little toy mouse.”

  “Katherine!” Mum said again. “And don’t snort. It’s so unattractive—”

  Alfred slammed both fists down on the table. “If I ever get my hands on that bastard I’ll—”

  “You won’t,” Mum exclaimed.

  “Why?”

  “He’s in prison,” I said.

  Alfred looked up sharply. “Where?”

  “Don’t tell him,” Mum said quickly. “Don’t be silly, Alfred.”

  Alfred cricked his neck again. “I’ll find out. I’ve got friends that would make his visit more comfortable—shall we say.”

  “That’s a bad idea,” I said. “Edith is fond of William—Ralph … oh for heaven’s sake, he’s William to us.”

  “Not to me, he isn’t,” Mum declared. “To me he’ll always be Ralph, I swear.”

  “Now who’s lying?” I exclaimed. “Anyway Alfred, if you want to make a good impression, you’d better keep those opinions to yourself.”

  “Oooh! Will you listen to her!” jeered Alfred.

  “I’m afraid Kat’s right,” said Mum. “You should.”

  “Alright. I’ll try,” said Alfred. “But I can’t promise anything.”

  The whole thing was turning into a farce. Here was my mother, inviting her stepbrother Alfred Bushman, to work for Edith who said she’d never liked Alfred anyway. Not only that, Alfred’s position as stable manager was to “temporarily” replace Ralph Jackson—aka William aka Billy—the very man who had had the gall to impersonate his dead brother, Billy. Downton Abbey could never have come up with a better storyline.

  I had to laugh. And did.

  They looked surprised. “You see!” I said. “I do have a sense of humor!” I got to my feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will leave you to your reminiscing. I have phone calls to make.”

  “Help yourself to another drink, Alfred dear,” said Mum. “Kat and I will make you up a bed on the sofa in the sitting room.”

  “What’s wrong with William’s flat in the stable yard?”

  “I’m not sleeping in that ruddy flat,” said Alfred firmly. “Be a blight on our Billy’s memory. Your mum said I could have your room once you’ve gone. The couch is good enough for me tonight.”

  Mum followed me out of the kitchen and closed the door behind her. “Where is it?” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “The five thousand pounds!”

  “Five thousand pounds!” I shrieked. “I thought it was a couple hundred.”

  “Be quiet!” Mum pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “Don’t let Alfred know.”

  “Why shouldn’t Alfred know?”

  “He’s got ears like a bat.” Mum steered me over to the bottom of the stairs and lowered her voice. “He’ll have a heart attack if he finds out I’ve got some of that money here.”

  “I thought you said it was yours and you could do what you like,” I said. “And besides, isn’t he your business manager?”

  “Yes, yes, but the thing is—” Mum paused. “Alfred told me that he would take care of any withdrawals through his um … contact … and that I was not to go to the bank myself.”

  “Not to go to Jersey?”

  “Yes. No.”

  I rolled my eyes. “But of course you ignored his instructions.”

  “Katherine! Please!” Mum grabbed my arm tightly. It hurt. “Don’t say anything. Promise.”

  “Why? What could he do?”

  “You just don’t know Alfred.”

  “You can let go of my arm.” I removed her fingers. “Look, I’m worried about this arrangement. There was a reason why Dad didn’t welcome Alfred into our home. Are you sure you can trust him? He’s a criminal who has been inside more than once.”

  “He’s turned over a new leaf—now quickly, where is my money?”

  “Somewhere on the Honeychurch estate,” I said wearily.

  Mum gasped. “You lost it!”

  “Not lost. Mislaid. I’m sure it’ll turn up somewhere,” I said, although in truth, I wasn’t sure at all.

  “This is your fault.”

  “You kicked it.”

  “You should have caught it.” Mum glowered. “What am I supposed to do now?”

  “Go and enjoy the evening with your brother,” I said. “I promise I will have another look tomorrow.”

  Mum bit her lip. “Alfred can’t know about this,” she said again. “It would be disastrous.”

  “I know.”

  As I picked up my handbag, Valentine’s cane clattered to the floor.

  “Isn’t that Valentine’s walking stick?” Mum asked.

  “Yes.”

  She gave a shiver. “Hmm. Someone walked over my grave.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  “I know you don’t like Valentine much, Mum, but I’ve just got this weird feeling that something is wrong.”

  “In what way?”

  “I found his cane lying in the field and his car parked up by the gate on Hopton’s Crest. And then tonight, I went back up there and the car had gone.”

  “Did you try calling his mobile?” said Mum.

  “Of course I did,” I said. “His voice mailbox is full so it’s not just me that’s looking for him. I went to the Hare & Hounds and they said Valentine caught a taxi to the station.”

  “And?”

  “Why would Valentine drive to Hopton’s Crest and then call and take a taxi from there? Why not leave the car at the Hare & Hounds and call from there? He had luggage. And, according to Eric, the car was seen early in the morning.”

  “If you ask me, it’s got all the signs of being a coward,” said Mum. “You said yourself he ran out of the protest meeting.”

  “I know but—”

  “Let’s ask Alfred,” said Mum, snatching up the cane. “He’s good at channeling.”

  “Mum!” I protested but she was already on her way back to the kitchen and thrust it into Alfred’s hands.

  “Who is Valentine?” said Alfred.

  “Kat’s new man,” said Mum.

  “He’s not my new man.”

  “She gave David Wynne the boot.”

  “Who is David Wynne?”

  “The art investigator. Remember? I told you?” said Mum.

  “Quiet now. Let me think.” Alfred closed his eyes and slowly ran his fingers up and down the shaft.

  I looked at Mum and mouthed, “What’s he doing?”

  She mouthed back, “Wait. And. See.”

  Alfred snapped his eyes open. “Did he drive a blue Suzuki SUV?”

  “How do you know that?” I said sharply.

  “I saw it,” said Alfred. “A bloody big tow truck drove past me pulling a blue car. Didn’t bother to slow down and went right through a puddle. That’s why I’m wearing your dad’s pajamas.”

  “What time was that?” I asked.

  Alfred shrugged. “About four.”

  It must have been when I was in the pub but at least it explained why the car had vanished. But who had called for the tow truck? Edith had mentioned it this morning to Eric but Eric would hardly have driven me up to Hopton’s Crest if he had arranged for the car to be towed. Surely he would have mentioned it.

  Alfred suddenly flung the cane away from him.

  Mum gave a cry of alarm. “What’s the matter? What’s wrong?”

  “Can’t breathe!” Alfred leapt to his feet, eyes bulging. He grabbed
his throat. “Can’t breathe!”

  Mum grabbed me. “Do something, Kat!” she shrieked. “Help!”

  I tried to restrain him but Alfred pushed me aside and fell to the floor, gasping for air. Then, just as quickly, it was over.

  “Oh my God!” Mum exclaimed. “What happened?”

  “I think he had a seizure,” I said anxiously. “Has this happened before?”

  Alfred gave us a weak smile. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the kitchen with your sister,” said Mum firmly. “You had a bit of a funny turn.”

  We helped Alfred back to his feet and sat him in the chair. Mum thrust a glass of Scotch under his nose.

  “You had a vision, didn’t you?” she said.

  Alfred nodded. “Water. Mud—”

  “Where?” I demanded. “Here?”

  “What did you see, Alfred?”

  “Death,” Alfred whispered.

  “Who? A man? A woman?” Mum said urgently. “A platoon of Roundheads?”

  “Stop talking, Iris.” Alfred touched the cane again. “I’m not feeling too good.”

  His complexion had a grayish sheen to it.

  “Of course you’re not.” Mum turned to me and whispered, “He gets these moments after having one of his visions.”

  “Should we call the police?” I whispered back.

  “And say what?” said Mum.

  Two beeps sounded from my handbag. Someone was sending me a text message.

  “That’ll be Dylan,” Mum said, rolling her eyes.

  “Who is Dylan?”

  “Mum calls my ex-boyfriend David, Dylan,” I said, delving into my bag.

  “Why?”

  “I have no idea. Probably because she knows it annoys me.”

  There was a third beep. I pulled out my iPhone and stared at it in astonishment.

  There were three text messages.

  The first text was just the letter “k.” The second was the letter “j” and the third said, “Hello all ok.” That was it.

  “It’s a text from Valentine. He’s fine,” I said tightly. “Sorry for all the fuss.”

  “Oh, Katherine!” said Mum with scorn. “You and your imagination.” She gave Alfred another affectionate cuff around the ear. “You and your visions.”

  I felt inexplicably upset. “Sorry. Excuse me,” and darted out of the kitchen.

  Mum caught me going halfway up the stairs. “Kat my love, wait! Are you alright?”