“A friend of the family staying there on census night?”
Martin shook his head slowly. “Could be any of the above. Whoever she was, if Julia is correct, the girl seemed scared of being discovered with her lover.”
Claudia nodded. “It was a whole different world back then. She couldn’t sleep with a guy without marrying him. Hell, they still had dowries.”
“Maybe I should’ve asked what your dad was prepared to trade?” Martin winked. “As it turned out, I had to swap him a fine bottle of Scotch for you.”
“Yeah, right!” She biffed him on the shoulder. “Like I think I once said, he’d have thrown my mom into the bargain in exchange for that Glenfidich.”
“I’m more than content with whom he did allow me to steal way.”
“Oh, you say the nicest things, Mr. Grey,” she purred. “Now, buckle down, Sherlock. We got a navy guy to find, too.”
He held up a hand. “Hold on a moment. I think I’ll check out the next census return for the hall.”
“Playing a hunch?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He chewed his lip as he tapped the keys. “Here we go…Uh huh, look.”
She scanned the entry. “Oh. George is ten years older and now Sir George, Baronet, magistrate and yaddayaddayadda. No sign of his folks or dear Charlotte.”
“His father must’ve died.”
She frowned. “It looks like the list of servants is going down too. He’s got four where there were seven. We can read something into that.”
“I’ll run a check, see if I can find his mother and Charlotte Vickery.” He tapped the keys. “No, nothing in the whole of the UK. Perhaps Charlotte married and moved away. His mother may have passed away.
“Three deaths within ten years?” She shook her head. “Tough break for Georgie if so.”
“Yes, but it’s not much of a stretch if all three died. In Victorian times so many families lost lots of loved ones, often within days or weeks if it was an illness that took them.” He leaned back and stared into space. She watched him as he thought things over, smiling inwardly at the way he’d acquired her habit of chewing her lip when thinking hard.
“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked.
“I’ll check the probate records, and see if Sir Archibald made a will.”
“Can you do that on here?”
“Easily.” He worked his way through the system until he reached the section they wanted.
Another page of cramped writing appeared, but a few clicks of the mouse brought up a modern transcript. “Last will and testament of Sir Archibald Francis George Attoe, Bt. of Tennington Old Hall, Tennington St. Lawrence, in the County of Norfolk.”
“Oh wow! What a handle.”
He grinned. “‘When Adam delved and Eve span, who then was the gentleman?’”
She shot him a glance. “That sounds like something by Thomas Paine.”
“Close, but no banana. It’s an old Puritan saying from a hundred years before his time. By the way, Paine was born in the town of Thetford, here in Norfolk. It’s not far.”
“Really? Can we go visit?”
“Sure.” He turned back to the screen. “Now, what do we have here? Let’s see. ‘Should my dear wife predecease me, the main portion of my estate shall go to my niece and ward, Charlotte Jane Vickery, daughter of my late sister, along with five thousand pounds per annum drawn from the stocks in the DeBeer diamond mines. The balance of the shares shall pass to her once she reaches the age of twenty-five.’ Whew! Back then that was a considerable fortune.”
“That sounds cool for Charlotte, but what about Georgie? It sounds like his dad didn’t like him very much if he made those provisions in his will. What does George get?”
“According to this, he inherits the hall and the lordship of the manor. As male heir he’d get the Baronetcy as a matter of course, but most of the money would go to Charlotte. Hah!” He pointed to the screen. “Here we go. ‘In the event of all my aforementioned heirs and assigns predeceasing my son George, then the entire estate shall pass to him.’”
“He gets a nice house, with a neat estate by English standards. But Charlotte gets a wad of cash and shares in a diamond mine…” She shook her head. “Y’know, I’m thinking that’s a motive for murder.”
Martin looked dubious. “You think George killed his parents and cousin?”
“People have been murdered for less.”
“Yes.” He frowned. “That’s food for thought. Most murders are carried out by family members. Let’s see if their death certificates are listed. They should be.” After a few clicks Martin located the files. “Sir Archibald died in 1849 of injuries sustained from falling off a horse.”
Claudia shook her head. “He was kind of old to be riding.”
“Perhaps he should have used a pony cart or something at his age.”
“Yeah. What about his wife?”
He looked at the screen. “She died a month later, supposedly of natural causes.”
“And Charlotte?” Martin read the next entry silently and frowned. Claudia leaned over to look. “Oh my God! She died from cholera morbus the month after her aunt.”
“Yes, so it seems.”
“There was cholera around here back then?”
“Oh yes. The disease flared up from time to time across the UK and Europe, mostly in the big cities and ports. The cause of it wasn’t known until the 1860s when Doctor John Snow figured out it spreads via contaminated water.” He stared out the window. “If I remember my history right, there was a major outbreak in England in 1849. It came from abroad and entered Britain via the seaports. It’s quite possible Charlotte did contract it, love. As I said earlier, we’re not that far from Kings Lynn, which was a busy port back then. Maybe she went shopping there and caught it.”
“Yeah but even so, three deaths in the space of a few months?” Claudia felt a pain in her heart. “Either that family hit one God-awful patch of bad luck or someone saw to it that they died.”
“How?” He spread his hands. “We can assume Sir Archibald did die of a fall from his horse. It happens, and I think it’d be hard to arrange deliberately without someone noticing. As for his wife, devoted couples have been known to die within days if not hours of each other.”
“Yeah.” They looked at each other. “They fall in love and stay that way for the rest of their lives.” He took her hand and kissed it.
“Guess that’ll be us, Marty,” she said with a weak smile, “but it doesn’t make me comfortable thinking about being without you for even an instant.”
“You and me both.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her again.
Claudia held him tight, her chin on his shoulder, and brought her wrist up to check the time by her watch. “It’s still quite early. Shall we head on down to Cambridge? I’d like to see it while the weather holds good.”
He drew back and nodded. “I’ll get the car.”
* * * *
The A10 ran a reasonably straight route down to the ancient city, passing through small towns and villages with wonderful names like Hilgay, Southery, and Littleport. Ely came and went, its great cathedral standing above the flat lands like a mighty ship in a green ocean. Martin knew the way well, and Claudia noticed he seemed to perk up the closer they got to Cambridge. They passed inside the city limits around ten, and encountered a moderate amount of traffic.
“Easter term’s been over for a couple of weeks,” Martin explained as they negotiated Milton Road. “Most of the students have left, but Cambridge is still quite a tourist spot.”
“Where do we park?” Claudia asked. “It looks crowded.”
“It is. Most students get around by bike. The lanes in the center of the city are a bit too tight for cars, and there’s no way the colleges will allow road expansion to cope with vehicle traffic. I know a chap from college who lives over by Madingley Road,” he said. “Nigel Parke. He’s a bit eccentric but a thoroughly decent sort. I’m sure he’ll let us drop the car off at his place f
or a few hours.”
Nigel did indeed prove obliging. He happened to emerge from his house as they drew up outside, blinking like a mole in the sunshine as he peered at them, and greeted Martin like they’d last met only yesterday. He shook hands with Claudia in a rather shy fashion, clutching a well-worn tan leather briefcase in his other hand. “Of course you can park the motor, old fellow,” he said when Martin made their request, and waved to a vacant spot on his drive. “Park as long as you like. We’ll have to have a jar or two and catch up on old times if you’re going to be in the area. Can’t make it this week, got a frightful amount of work on even though term’s finished.” He fumbled in the pocket of his Harris Tweed jacket. It even had leather patches on the elbows, and Claudia marveled at just how much he looked the epitome of the tenured academic. Drawing a cell phone from his pocket Nigel looked at it in disgust. “Wretched object,” he grumbled. “The faculty does insist on dons carrying these things. I’d better give you my number in case.”
He and Martin exchanged numbers. Parke dropped his cell phone back in his pocket as if it were contaminated. With a cheery “toodle-oo!” he walked away, swinging his briefcase.
“He’s…quite a character,” Claudia said as they followed him at a slower pace.
“Nigel’s a card, all right!” Martin’s tone was affectionate. “He was what you’d call a hoot and a half back in college. I swear he was born aged fifty. He’s a don now, as you heard, teaching history over at the Sidgwick faculty.”
“Nice to be tenured, I think,” she observed.
“Always a source of comfort in this day and age,” he said sagely. “Come on, we’re not far from the Trinity Punt station. We can get a chauffeured punt to take us along the Backs.”
The punt station was open for business. Martin paid for a punt with a polite young man ready and willing to guide one of the green and umber craft along the River Cam. Martin helped Claudia aboard. “Did you ever use one of these when you were here, Marty?”
“A couple of times.” He sat beside her and leaned back against the cushion. “I wasn’t very good at it.”
“It’s a knack,” their boatman said complacently. “Which college did you attend, sir?”
“King’s,” Martin replied. “I read history and economics. I wanted to take archeology instead of economics,” he said to Claudia with a wry smile, “but my parents thought I should have something practical under my belt. They may have been right.”
“It’s not too late. We’re comfortable enough and can afford further education. Even here,” she said, gesturing at the mellow stone walls of the colleges gliding by.
Martin shifted in his seat. “We’ll have to talk about that later.”
What’s made him uncomfortable about the idea? Could it be Cambridge’s proximity to Julia?
They passed under bridges and by more tall, honey colored stone walls at a languorous pace. Claudia trailed her hand in the water, feeling the silky warm touch of the Cam. “Rupert Brooke and Virginia Woolf used to go skinny-dipping along the river,” Martin said with a grin.
“Not much has changed.” The boatman grinned as well.
Martin chuckled. “We had a few adventures too.”
“With Julia?” Claudia asked and immediately regretted the barb.
“Sometimes.” Martin’s expression was neutral.
“I’m sorry.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s all in the past and I shouldn’t feel so put-out about it.”
“It’s okay.” He looked at her. “I’m not going to take you to all the places I hung out at with Jules. Times have changed, and some places are still here, and I suppose a few are not. We’ll find places that will be for our memories alone.”
The boatman must have sensed their discomfort for he began to relate some history of the places they passed. Claudia could tell Martin knew as much, if not more than he did, but he sat back and let the young man do his thing.
Within a few minutes they came to the green lawns behind King’s College Chapel, and Claudia stared entranced at the soaring Gothic walls of the ancient church. Martin looked at them with a fond smile. “And there you have one of the pleasures of being in King’s,” he said.
“It’s beautiful!”
“It is. And, although I’m not religious, I have to say Evensong with the full choir is probably one of the most enchanting services in the world.” He shrugged. “The choir won’t be at full strength now term’s over, but I’m sure we can make it another time.”
“I hope so,” she replied.
When they returned to the punt station Martin gave the boatman a generous tip. “Have a drink on us.”
“Thanks!” The young man grinned.
They made their way on foot into the city and ate at a café close to the imposing King’s College entrance. Martin took Claudia for a brief tour of the college, pointing out the window to his former chambers on the staircase in one corner. “Students have to spend the first three years of college within ten miles of Great St. Mary’s church,” he said. “It’s the university church and one of the oldest laws on the university’s statute books. I was lucky enough to get chambers.”
“It’s all a bit different from University of Evansville,” Claudia said with a grin, shading her eyes as the late afternoon sun began to slant across the courtyard. “I love the history of this place.”
Martin looked up as a nearby clock chimed the hour. “Come on, we’ll head to the green behind the chapel and talk before we head back. Let’s sit on the green and talk about the situation back at the hall.”
Claudia took his hand. “I can’t think of a better place or time.”
They reached the green and sat on a park bench overlooking the water. Swans glided by on the river, beautiful and serene. Martin watched them, and Claudia watched him. “Where do we go with Julia, Marty?” she asked. “Is sex magic really necessary to finish the haunting in the Old Hall?”
“I think it’ll help.” He studied his hands for a moment, as if the answer to his dilemma lay within his palms. “My instinct says so.”
“It’s not a way for you to get into Julia’s panties again,” she said without heat.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Or for you to have a fantasy come true by sleeping with her and me together.”
He looked up at her and shook his head. “Again, no.”
“It’s difficult for me to think of doing that, now we’re away from that house,” she went on after a few moments of silence. “I love you. I’m your wife. I think of us as family, and need to protect what we have. Sleeping with another woman is not in that brief.”
“I love you too, and I know.” He gestured around them. “Back in the day I loved being here with Jules, sharing all we could share together. It’s great to see the old places again. But,” he shook his head again, “those days are over, and we’ve both moved on.” He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We can tell Julia no and find another way to help her. Either that or we walk away.”
“Walking away is not an option. I like Julia,” Claudia said. “I want to help, but feel frustrated at how it puts our relationship in this situation.”
“So do I.”
Claudia sighed and toyed with Martin’s hand. “If you think it’s necessary, we’ll do it.”
He looked her in the eye then, after a few seconds pause he nodded. “Okay.” He looked up at the clear summer sky then back to her. “Let’s go back and see if the situation’s changed. With luck we’ll not have to do anything.”
“Do you honestly believe that?”
He shook his head. “No.”
Chapter 5
They drove back through the warm summer evening. Julia returned not long after they reached the house, and they apprised her of what they’d found in their research.
“So you’re saying this Charlotte Vickery could be the woman my otherworldly lover thinks I am?”
“Could be.” Claudia shrugged. “The dates fit the coin you found and your
description of the clothing.”
“I wonder who her lover is—or was?” Julia mused.
Martin smiled. “We’re working on that, but no leads so far. Now, what about the coin?”
Julia nodded. “It’s genuine and worth quite a bit. I’d like to know why my ghostly visitor left it.” She gave them a wry smile. “I really hope it wasn’t for services rendered.”
“Who knows?” Claudia grinned.
“What do you intend to do next?” Julia asked.
“We’d like to take a look at the local church’s burial register.” Martin rubbed his jaw. “Charlotte Vickery could be interred there.”
Julia glanced at the clock and fished out her cell phone. “It’s possible, if she lived in this house. I’ll give Tom Bailey a call and tell him you’re interested in it.”
“Better not tell him why, Jules,” Martin interjected. When she looked at him he grimaced. “I have mixed feelings about the Church of England. Some pastors are okay with what I do, others will scream for the local archdeacon if I so much as set foot in their parish. There’s nothing they can do legally to stop me working, but they can keep me out of their premises and make life awkward in general.”
“What’s with these archdeacons?” Claudia asked.
“Archdeacons serve as bishops’ deputies and have a lot of clout. They don’t call them the church’s Rottweilers for nothing.”
“Tom’s okay.” Julia touched his arm and gave him a reassuring smile. “He’s open-minded about a lot of things.”
“I hope so,” Martin replied.
Julia arranged for the pair of them to view the register at the vicarage that evening after Evensong and then left them to their own devices, telling them she had work to do.
Claudia and Martin headed into the village and found the vicarage on a side road by the church. It proved to be another Georgian house in keeping with the general appearance of the village, the whitewashed walls glowing in the setting sun. A tall, thin man in his mid-thirties answered the door. He wore black slacks and a gray cardigan over a black shirt with a white collar. Mild blue eyes peered at them through a pair of tortoiseshell pattern glasses. “Mr. and Mrs. Grey?” He shook hands. “Do come in.”
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