by Amy Myers
Arrows pointed Gala guests through a side gate to the rear lawns and on to an extended terrace, which gave Georgia a wide view of the gathering beneath. The landscaped gardens that she remembered were covered with marquees and stalls, peopled with a mob of visitors who from here looked to be clad in some approximation of Regency dress. Georgia was impressed. The TV and film productions of Jane Austen novels must have done a good job of raising awareness of costume; bonnets were bobbing, skirts were swishing, and men uncomfortably clad in boots (or Wellingtons, which would only just have squeezed into the time period) strolled up and down in a semblance of elegance. A grey-haired thin man in rather superior boots but a peasant costume glanced up at the new arrivals, swept off his low-brimmed hat and afforded them a deep bow, which she graciously acknowledged with a curtsy. Perhaps today would not be as bad as she had feared.
It was still only 11.30, thirty minutes after the Gala had opened, and yet it looked to be in full swing. Georgia had seen Peter’s car in the car park, but so far no sign of anyone they knew. Two ladies sitting at a table at the foot of the steps down to the lawns eyed her meaningfully, flourishing what looked like raffle tickets in their hands. Were raffles invented by the 1790s? Could be, because gambling and lotteries were all the fashion then. In fact what these ladies were offering proved to be programmes in the form of a fan, with a map of the grounds and attractions. Georgia gratefully dropped a contribution into the box at the ladies’ side for donations in aid of local charities.
She studied the map but could see no sign of the folly Dora had mentioned, only of something named Abbot’s Retreat, which she assumed must be near to it. Both Retreat and Folly would probably have been part of the Humphrey Repton design for the gardens, to form points of interest to the overall effect of ‘wild untrammelled nature’ so popular in the eighteenth century when Stourdens was built. She remembered seeing an attractive small garden when she last came here and wondered whether this was Abbot’s Retreat. If so, she would pay a return visit today.
‘Georgia!’
Peter, looking rather grand in his hired costume of breeches, frilly shirt, waistcoat and topper, was wheeling himself rapidly towards her, with a somewhat frenetic look. Perhaps this was because Elena, in a pale blue low-cut silk number (which had no business to suit her years but somehow did) was doing her best to steer him – something Georgia knew he hated. Dora and Gerald were behind them, both trying to keep up with an increasingly faster wheelchair; coupled with their Regency costumes this gave the effect of a Caucus race out of Alice in Wonderland. Peter needed rescuing now.
‘I’ll deal with this, Luke,’ Georgia offered. ‘Unless you want to get involved, you can politely fade away.’
‘Done,’ Luke muttered, smiling warmly as he went over to make his apologies to Peter and Elena, with a friendly wave to the Clackingtons.
‘Georgia,’ Dora panted as she and Gerald reached them, ‘is that your dear husband? Where is he off to?’ Not waiting for an answer, she continued, ‘You simply must come to meet Laura and Roy.’
‘Roy?’ Georgia asked.
‘Laura’s husband,’ Gerald explained. ‘A good chap. They’ve agreed to take us round Abbot’s Folly. Officially it’s off bounds today, but they’ll open it for us.’
‘There they are,’ shrieked Dora, pointing to four people just emerging from the house.
If ever a group’s body language was crying out not to be interrupted, this one’s was, Georgia thought in dismay. There was an elegant woman in her fifties clad in a classical-style flimsy white dress with red spots, with a matching red handkerchief shawl round her neck, who seemed on the verge of tears; the red-cheeked man at her side in frock coat and hessian boots, presumably Roy, looked about to go off pop; and the younger couple in their twenties – a fair-haired girl who was clearly their daughter, and a dark saturnine-looking young man who held possessively on to her – looked respectively scared and furious. Nevertheless, Dora sailed blithely up to them in her flowing lilac muslin gown. Gerald at least had the decency to hang back on the grass with Georgia, Peter and Elena.
‘Laura darling,’ Dora cried. ‘So good of you to agree to our little tour. Here we all are, ready for our treat. Marsh and Daughter are simply longing to see Abbot’s Folly.’ She turned round to beckon to them, but fortunately Peter’s wheelchair gave them every excuse to remain where they were. ‘They’re simply fascinated by the murder,’ Dora explained to her friend, ‘and I told them you might show us your Jane collection as an extra special treat.’ She beamed.
For a moment it seemed to Georgia as if someone had punched the Pause button and the screen had frozen. All four remained still, emotion raw on their faces. Reluctant they might be, but this seemed an extreme reaction.
Roy was the first to pull himself together. ‘Glad to do so sometime. Very glad.’
Dora obviously wasn’t good at reading subtext because she tapped Roy playfully on the shoulder. ‘Now, you naughty man. Don’t tease us. We know you’re waiting until the announcement this afternoon to talk about it, but for old friends you can surely make an exception.’
Even Elena looked doubtful at this obviously unwelcome proposal, and Georgia would have quietly melted away into the crowd at this point if it wasn’t for Peter. He, typically, backed Dora up. ‘Just a quick peep,’ he called out blandly. ‘Can I get the wheelchair into this folly of yours?’
Georgia knew perfectly well that when he wanted to Peter could usually get in virtually anywhere and so had only raised the issue as a polite blackmail. Laura made what was clearly a supreme effort, as years of ingrained social politeness came to her aid.
‘Of course you may see Abbot’s Folly, and there’s room for the wheelchair. There’s a ramp somewhere,’ she managed to say. ‘Jennifer – Tim, I wonder if you’d do the honours and escort Dora’s friends there?’
Georgia could read the dismay on their faces, and she blenched.
‘I hope you’ll excuse me,’ Laura continued, ‘but I have to see to the catering, so I can’t take you myself. Roy . . .’ She looked in appeal at her husband, and – reluctantly it seemed to Georgia – he followed Laura back into the house, leaving them with Tim and Jennifer.
Georgia was horrified at the way the issue had been forced, and she was also puzzled. Putting on an event of this size was a lot of work, and this one, with its Georgian buffet luncheon and its dancing and fencing displays, as well as other entertainments, was a massive undertaking. Even so, it seemed to her that Laura Fettis had shown more distress than overwork would explain, although her family did not seem to share the same emotion: they had looked angry and even fearful rather than upset. This was clearly a family at loggerheads, and whatever had happened had resulted in a heated discussion of some sort.
Whatever their problem, Tim took skilful command. ‘Let’s go.’ He even managed to look enthusiastic about the prospect. ‘You OK with that, Jen?’
‘Yes, I’ll just get the key.’
Jennifer seemed glad of the excuse to leave them while she dashed back into the house, and Tim jumped down to the lawn to join the folly party. Dora, apparently oblivious to the trouble they were causing, hurried down the steps and gaily chattered on. ‘Of course, dear Jane Austen visited Stourdens frequently, and she must have known Abbot’s Folly and the Retreat. That’s the name of the garden that Laura has so beautifully restored. Stourdens, according to the records, was lying empty when Edward Austen, later Knight – Jane Austen’s brother, of course – first moved to Godmersham Park. The third baronet had just died, and the title went to a brother who disliked Stourdens – dear me, how could he? – but then he died, and his son, the fifth baronet, and widow left it some years before they moved here. That’s why there are no references to Stourdens in Jane’s surviving early correspondence. After the Great Tragedy, she might not have wished to visit it . . .’
Dora rattled on infuriatingly as they waited for Jennifer to return. Eventually she did so, looking more composed, and Tim led the part
y off with a distinct air of ‘let’s get it over with’. Grim determination had replaced his initial burst of social welcome.
Someone had to break the silence that fell as they followed in Jennifer and Tim’s footsteps, however, and it might as well be her, Georgia thought. ‘I notice Abbot’s Folly doesn’t seem to appear on the plan of the garden we’ve been given,’ she said.
‘It’s closed to the general public, that’s why. We can’t afford the insurance,’ Jennifer said, turning round to explain. ‘We will in due course, once—’
‘When all the excitement begins,’ Dora finished for her mysteriously, ‘but I can tell that—’
‘Not till after four o’clock,’ Tim reminded her pleasantly. He had one of those bland faces that could produce emotions smoothly as required, Georgia thought. He would make a good politician.
‘Oh, of course,’ Dora agreed hastily. ‘My lips are sealed.’ To prove the point she placed a forefinger over them.
‘We do have plans for Stourdens.’ Tim relented a little. ‘You’ll see in the programme that Laura will be making an announcement this afternoon. Press, TV, you name it.’
Georgia noticed that Jennifer remained silent, which reinforced her feeling that all was not well with the Fettis family.
Dora seemed about to let forth again, but Tim forestalled her. ‘The folly is on the far side of Abbot’s Retreat, which we’re just coming to.’
Georgia recognized from her previous visit where she was now, as the path left the main lawns and she could see the garden on the right. As they reached its gateway in the red-brick wall she could glimpse the small sunken garden that she remembered. It had a mock cloister round three of its walls, mostly covered in roses, and a spectacular fountain in the midst of a central flower bed with roses and lupins. At the far end was an arbour watched over by stone angels. There had been a peace and delight about this garden, and she would certainly come back to it alone later today, when she didn’t have her mind on either follies or Elena.
‘Who was this Abbot?’ Elena asked.
‘The youngest brother of the third baronet,’ Tim replied. ‘He was eccentric to say the least. He never married, lived here with his brother’s family and died in 1790 not long before the third baronet died. The story goes that he was too mad even to be given that sinecure for younger sons, becoming a parish priest. Result: he called himself an abbot, built his folly and holed himself up here.’
‘It would be nice to think,’ Jennifer chipped in, clearly with some effort, ‘that Stourdens inspired the gothic Northanger Abbey in Jane Austen’s novel, but we don’t have evidence to that effect. So far as we know no priory or abbey has ever existed on the site.’
‘If one did,’ Tim joked, ‘it surely wouldn’t be a monstrosity like this, would it?’
Georgia could see his point as they reached the folly. She thought it more of a fantasy than a monstrosity though. It was a stone building, with a large tower on either side at the rear and a forest of smaller turrets shielding a central domed roof. Overall, the effect was gothic in the extreme. The centre of the building with its domed roof might on its own have been imposing, but with the army of protecting turrets it looked more like a child’s witch house than one in which any self-respecting abbot would want to immerse himself. The gothic effect was made worse by the fact that the building was surrounded by tall trees looming so close that they seemed to form an aggressive guard of their own.
Tim managed to find the ramp and beckoned them inside the folly. Georgia assumed that Peter would be eager to shoot in first, but for some reason he was hesitating, letting Dora, Elena and Gerald precede him. As he followed them, he turned his head to call out sharply: ‘Georgia!’
There was a warning tone in his voice, but it was too late. As she went in, a wave of nausea and dizziness swept over her, which was all too familiar. ‘Fingerprints on time’ was the name she and Peter had given to the sixth sense they shared, which kicked in usually where violence or injustice had taken place, both of which were present here. Abbot’s Folly reeked with them. The atmosphere felt dank and evil. It would be easy to claim that this was sheer imagination, she thought, or that these ‘fingerprints’ had no such cause, but for Marsh & Daughter they sparked off the cases they investigated. This initial instinctive reaction was an unwelcome pivot, although from then on facts would take over in their investigations.
There were fingerprints here. No doubt about that. Max Tanner had been convicted for Robert Luckhurst’s murder, but he had maintained he was innocent. A miscarriage of justice? She’d talk it over with Peter later, when she had recovered from the nausea that still overwhelmed her.
‘Darling, you don’t look well. What’s wrong?’ Elena said anxiously, fluttering around her as they stood in the entrance hall to the folly.
‘Nothing,’ Georgia muttered. ‘Hunger pains, I expect.’ She forced a laugh, but Elena did not let it drop.
‘You were always a nervous child. Come outside,’ she urged.
‘No,’ Georgia replied. ‘I’ll be fine.’ She wanted to see how badly Peter was affected, but he was following Tim and the Clackingtons into the room on their right.
‘Did Jane Austen know this folly?’ she managed to ask Jennifer. This would be safe ground, for the girl was still exhibiting all the signs of wanting to be a hundred miles away. Change the subject, get away from murder, she thought, and this feeling will pass. Think about Jane, talk about Jane, forget fingerprints. And yet she couldn’t, because the dizziness was clogging her mind. To her horror she realized she was clinging to Elena’s arm as they followed the others.
‘Robert Luckhurst’s study,’ Tim told them.
Despite herself, Georgia was impressed. Mahogany bookcases lined the three straight walls of this oddly shaped room, and where the semicircular entrance hall arched into the study, there were tables, cupboards and office equipment. The central desk had a large computer on it, and yet nothing in this room struck a false note. She felt Jane Austen could stroll in at any moment and feel at home.
Dora clapped in enthusiasm. ‘Oh look,’ she said, ‘the very place where Robert must have communed with dear Jane. Now where, oh where, is your Austen collection kept, Jennifer?’
Jennifer was clearly unwilling to talk on the subject, because she simply replied that she did not know. Georgia took on the task of chatting to Dora to prevent her pushing the question further – at least it was a distraction from the nausea.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Elena whispered.
‘I’ll be fine,’ Georgia repeated shakily. ‘I can’t miss this.’
She could do so all too easily, and from what she could see of Peter’s expression he was suffering the same reaction as she was, although he was better at hiding it.
‘Is this the room where Luckhurst was killed?’ he asked Tim.
‘Yes, as far as I can gather,’ Tim said. ‘Robert did his duty in greeting the classic-car owners in front of the main house, then retreated back here, probably because he’d been forewarned about the protest group being on its way. Max Tanner seized his chance and barged in here, where they talked – or argued – for ten minutes or so until they heard the protest group outside, sounding pretty threatening. Max went out into the entrance hall, but the protest group pushed past him, and there was a confrontation with Luckhurst in the doorway here. Eventually, Tom Miller agreed to leave, after Robert said he would give the matter more thought. Well, according to Miller he did leave. According to Tanner, he left as well. The jury decided otherwise – that Tanner stayed behind, shot Robert Luckhurst and then went back to the pub.’
‘No doubt that it was Tanner’s gun?’
‘None. It was found back at the Edgar Arms.’
‘Didn’t he know the protest march was going to take place?’
‘Yes, he did. He just mistimed it.’
‘Would anyone in Dunham still remember it?’ Georgia managed to ask through another wave of nausea.
‘Of course they d
o,’ Jennifer said uneasily. ‘They’ve long memories, and they brood. Even when Mum bought Stourdens and told them about the path being OK for them to use, they went on foul-mouthing her.’
‘But if Tanner was convicted, why did the issue remain?’
‘I don’t know. That happens in small communities. Which is why Tim and I have made a point of making sure Dunham is included in any plans, but—’
‘Jen,’ Tim said quietly.
She stopped abruptly. ‘Sorry.’
Jennifer had clearly been on the point of disclosing something about this famous Stourdens plan, but why did she take the matter so seriously? Georgia wondered. Was she scared of Tim? He seemed to have identified himself with the family, but was that because of his relationship with Jennifer or because he was a consultant of some sort?
‘Did Amelia Luckhurst believe Tanner guilty?’ Peter asked Jennifer.
‘I’ve no idea. You’d have to ask Mum or Dad.’ Jennifer cast an uneasy look round the room and was clearly eager to leave.
Then Dora’s voice rang out – but from behind them on the far side of the entrance hall. ‘Oh, look!’ she cried.
Taken by surprise when Tim realized Dora was no longer with them, he let out one furious expletive before hurrying to join her in the room opposite, leaving them to follow in his wake.
Elena sighed. ‘Oh dear,’ she whispered to Georgia. ‘Dora really does go too far sometimes.’
This room was smaller than the study and different in style. It had less natural light, but was painted pale green to offset that disadvantage, and it was simply furnished with a sofa and three armchairs, together with several beautiful small tables.
‘Not here, please,’ Tim was saying to Dora, almost pleading. ‘You really must leave.’
