by Amy Myers
Elena was shorter than she was, and slenderer, and years of living in France had given her a poise and sophistication that Georgia felt today at least she could not begin to match. And yet for all that elegance and for all her self-centredness, Elena had an inner fragility that Georgia knew she could no longer ignore. It was Elena who was the child now.
‘Georgia, there’s something I want—’ Elena began as she walked beside her.
‘To talk about your return to Kent? That’s splendid. Where are you thinking of settling?’ Georgia asked, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
Elena looked taken aback. ‘Probably in Canterbury. I have friends there.’
How to interpret that? Did Elena mean male friends? If so, that would lift the burden from Peter. Or would it make it worse? Georgia wondered. She had a terrible suspicion that the answer to that was yes, but she could not battle with the implications. Think of Abbot’s Retreat instead, Georgia told herself. After all, the ‘abbot’ must have gone there for its peace and quiet, to get away from his own problems.
‘Of course,’ Elena was saying, ‘I’d have to have a garden.’
A garden. Georgia remembered Elena and her garden. Remembered herself as a child, sitting on the grass playing while Elena pruned roses, weeded, tended her sweet peas – they were her favourite flower. Could one recreate that peace? Did she want to help Elena do so? Did she seek it herself?
As they reached the gate into Abbot’s Retreat, Georgia could hear the tinkling water of the fountain, even smell the roses blooming in their peaceful home.
‘Isn’t it lovely?’ Elena whispered behind her.
‘Lovely,’ Georgia rejoined automatically as she drank in her first complete sight of the garden. The cloisters, the statues, the roses, the petals by the fountain – and what was that? Scattered rose petals? No, more. Someone was sprawled there, someone wearing a white dress with red spots, someone whose head was buried in the red petals that spilled out across the stone path.
Only, now she could see that they weren’t rose petals. It was blood.
FOUR
This couldn’t be happening. This must surely be some costume drama into which she had been unwillingly cast. Her role? Reluctant witness. The person who found the body. Georgia shuddered. Clad as she was, it felt wrong to be sitting silently on the terrace of Stourdens at a Regency event waiting for the all too real twenty-first century police to interview her for the second time. She tried to imagine what it must be like for the police with three or four hundred possible witnesses to record and interview, but gave up the attempt. She could only think of Abbot’s Retreat, of Elena’s screams and of herself, stricken to frozen horror.
Her automatic reaction had been to rush to the fountain to see if what she dreaded was true. It was. There had been no doubt that Laura Fettis was dead, probably shot in the head. Then the screaming had begun, as Elena had unwisely followed her. People would be gathering, and Georgia had braced herself for a supreme effort. Ensure Laura was no longer alive – no doubt there, but a ghastly task. Ring for the police. Keep everyone at bay to maintain the scene as free of contamination as possible. Fortunately, one of the early spectators to arrive had known what was needed and taken that task on. Elena had been shepherded away, and Georgia had waited for the police. The minutes had dragged by as she tried to concentrate on anything other than what she could see. Her mother – was someone looking after her? But it was hopeless, for she could not drag her thoughts away for more than a moment from Laura Fettis’s terrible end.
Now it was gone six o’clock. Luke was with her, as were Peter and Elena. Every so often on the lawns, or passing to and fro from the house, Georgia glimpsed someone she recognized. Naturally, there was no sign of Roy Fettis or Jennifer, but every so often she saw a haggard-looking Tim trying to cope with the one PR job he could never have dreamed of being his responsibility. Dora seemed to be in perpetual motion, alternately coming to join Elena and trying to cope with Gerald, who was sitting at the former entrance table and looking as dazed as though he, not Roy, were the bereaved husband. Dora, remarkably, was far from being hysterical herself and was managing Elena’s distress much better than Georgia could. She could see Philip and Jake were still around, and she recognized a few other faces as they flitted past her on the lawns or moved in and out of her sight like characters in a silent movie. Overall, however, the number of guests was quickly diminishing as the police checked them off.
By the time Georgia had left Abbot’s Retreat, the cordon tape was already in place and incident vans had parked by the side of the house. The SIO from Kent Police Stour Area was a DI Diane Newton, whom she had not met before, but the good news was that Chief Superintendent Mike Gilroy had arrived. She had supposed that Peter had rung him, but it seemed not.
‘Too much of a coincidence,’ Mike had explained, when he came over to speak to them. ‘First you ring about the Luckhurst murder, Peter, and twenty-four hours later there’s another one in virtually the same place. Sure you haven’t turned to murder in your old age?’
‘The deaths are twenty-five years apart,’ Peter pointed out.
‘Linked, do you think?’
‘I can’t see how – not yet.’
‘Which means you intend to look into it. Our job, Peter,’ Mike said in warning.
‘Of course,’ Peter promptly agreed. ‘However, the fact that this is a day devoted to Jane Austen and—’
‘Thus useful to gain access for those intent on killing,’ Mike cut him off. ‘Just as Tanner took advantage of the protest march in 1985. But let me point out that Robert Luckhurst’s murder was due to revenge plus possible personal reasons. Jane Austen never got a look-in.’
‘Nevertheless, today she’s upgraded to star status as far as Stourdens is concerned,’ Peter commented. ‘Laura Fettis was murdered before she could make her speech, which almost certainly would have involved Jane Austen’s connections with Stourdens and the memorabilia held by the family. There seemed to be some family distress about the matter.’
Mike looked interested. ‘Do you smell a motive?’
‘I can’t see how there could be, but it’s easily settled. The husband and daughter are going to know what Laura intended to announce. I expect you’ve heard that she didn’t appear as planned.’ When Mike nodded, he added, ‘There was certainly something troubling them all in a big way this morning.’
‘I’ll pass that on right away.’ Mike frowned. ‘This must have been a big shock for you, Georgia, and for Mrs Congreve.’
Who? Georgia wondered – then realized. Elena, of course, who was sitting on a garden chair with Peter’s arm round her. She was very white, and her pale blue dress emphasized it. All the pretensions and artistry that her face usually presented had vanished.
‘I’m told DI Newton has taken your statement, Georgia, but I’d like to know first-hand what made you walk over to the garden,’ Mike continued. ‘And you too, Mrs Congreve,’ he added, turning to Elena.
Georgia answered him. ‘It seemed a good idea – while everyone else was rushing off to tea after the let-down over Mrs Fettis’s speech. Abbot’s Retreat isn’t the sort of place to appreciate with a lot of other people around. I had some crazy idea about walking in a garden where Jane Austen must have walked, and my mother –’ she was surprised to realize that the word was coming more naturally to her now – ‘decided to come with me.’
‘Yes,’ Elena faltered. ‘I’m only here for a short visit, and I thought it would be nice.’ Tears welled up again, and Peter put his arm round her once more.
‘Have you any idea why Laura Fettis should have gone there, Georgia?’ Mike asked quickly. ‘I’m told she was ill all day, so it seems odd to decide to go for a walk.’
‘I didn’t know her, Mike. I saw her this morning, and it’s true she didn’t look well, so I agree it was odd.’
‘Her husband says she was lying down in the bedroom when he last saw her about three o’clock, and that she told him then she wouldn�
��t make her appearance at four. But he went to double-check at about five to four only to find no one there. He and his daughter quickly checked the house, but there was no sign of her, so he went ahead shortly after four o’clock, while his daughter checked the house again. What did he actually say in this announcement, Peter?’
‘That there wouldn’t be one until a later date.’
‘So the family might have already known she was dead?’ Mike said.
‘Your job, Mike,’ Peter said mildly. ‘I take it you don’t know exactly when she died yet?’
‘We do. Roughly, anyway.’ Mike looked at his notes. ‘A Mrs Dora Clackington seems to have been the last person to see Mrs Fettis alive when she looked in on her just before three thirty to wish her luck for the big speech. She was in a downstairs room by then and told Mrs Clackington that she was too ill to make the speech.’
‘No more?’
‘No. Probably wanted to get rid of the woman. Can’t blame her. Have you talked to her?’
‘I’m staying with her,’ Elena put in somewhat reproachfully.
Mike grinned. ‘Don’t worry. I don’t see Mrs Clackington wielding a gun, silencer or not. Do you?’
‘No.’ Elena managed a weak smile in response.
‘Was the gun still around?’ Peter asked. ‘Georgia said she didn’t see one.’
‘No. And before you ask if it was the same one used in 1985, I can’t say yet. The 1985 handgun was a Beretta, found, as I’m sure you know, at the Edgar Arms where Max Tanner was the landlord.’
‘Thank you, yes,’ Peter replied calmly. ‘Of course,’ he added, ‘Luckhurst’s murder was an open and shut case, so I suppose there wasn’t a large-scale investigation.’
A steely glare from Mike. ‘From what I read about it, that wasn’t called for. It came down to Tanner or the leader of the protest march, one Tom Miller.’
‘Any idea what happened to Tanner?’
Mike sighed. ‘Knowing you, Peter, I had it checked out. I was going to ring you on Monday. Released in 2000, not re-offended. No record of him since, under that name or any other. We had no reason to keep tabs on him, and DNA was in its infancy. His prints were on the gun. So was his DNA.’
‘As they both could well have been, quite innocently. So there’s no clue as to whether he’s still in this area?’
‘None.’
‘I gather Amelia Luckhurst—’
A look from Mike quelled even Peter, but all Mike said was, ‘Luckhurst will have to wait. I have to get back to that poor woman’s murder. Any detail you remember that you haven’t yet told Newton, tell her right away. I have a feeling this one’s going to be tricky.’
‘The tea tent still seems to be operating,’ Elena said timidly after Mike had left. ‘Would anyone like something to drink?’
‘Yes,’ Georgia replied, hardly able to believe she had said that, even though from the look on her face and the quaver in her voice it was clear that Elena needed it. Nevertheless, it seemed bizarre that tea should go on as usual in the midst of a murder investigation. On the other hand, she supposed that keeping normal life going was a sensible idea.
‘I’ll bring some back here,’ Luke offered.
Georgia decided to go with him. Action, any action, was better than sitting on this terrace with her mind full of that red spotted dress. Luke seemed about to suggest she remained, but he refrained. Once walking on the lawns and part of the general scene, Georgia felt it easier to cope, even though her costume began to seem even more incongruous with uniformed police everywhere, not to mention the scene-suited SOCOs.
‘I’ll get everyone some cake as well,’ she suggested. ‘Eating can take one’s mind off things – if that’s possible today.’
‘Depends on the cake,’ Luke observed. ‘It will need to be a good one.’
The tea tent was acting as a refuge for all those not yet given permission to leave. Luke had told her that Mark and Jill had been allowed to go because of the baby, but there were still a few children running around in their restricting Regency clothes. Luke and Georgia’s presence was immediately spotted by Dora, however, who came anxiously over as they joined the queue.
‘How’s Elena?’ she asked, although it was barely ten minutes since she’d asked the same question of Elena herself. ‘I’ve been so busy helping the police – what a terrible ordeal for the poor darling. I’ll look after her, Georgia, you can count on me.’
Georgia knew she could. There was one field in which the Dora Clackingtons of this world excelled – they knew how to fuss and cosset, and thank heavens for them. And yet she remembered that Elena had chosen to sit with Peter and herself on the terrace, not join the Clackingtons. Was that significant? Georgia pushed the thought wearily away. She could not cope with everything at once, and her mother’s future was too emotional a question to deal with at present. Instead she tried to concentrate on Dora, who still seemed to be in shock.
‘If there were something I could do,’ Dora mourned. ‘But Roy is with Jennifer, and of course I cannot intrude. The police asked me all about seeing Laura. I was the last person, it seems, except the person who . . .’ Her voice trailed off, and tears followed. ‘Laura said she was feeling a little better when I saw her. How can she suddenly have been murdered in that garden less than an hour or so later?’
‘Perhaps her murderer timed it for when Roy would be speaking,’ Luke commented. ‘And if she was feeling stronger that would explain what she was doing outside the house.’
‘But why Abbot’s Retreat?’ Dora wailed. ‘As she was downstairs I thought she was going to make the speech after all, but she said she wasn’t. She was too ill. So why go out? And the family was so upset.’
‘Perhaps something had happened that morning?’ Georgia ventured. ‘Jennifer looked very worried when she took us to Abbot’s Folly.’ She longed to ask whether Dora could talk about what the intended announcement was about in case that had relevance to Laura’s murder, but with Dora in her present state that would be a step too far.
Dora broke down. ‘Oh, I can’t bear it. I really can’t . . .’
Seeing her tear-blotched face and heaving shoulders, Georgia immediately felt remorseful for questioning her, but Luke was made of sterner stuff.
‘How long were you with her?’ he asked.
‘Only five or ten minutes,’ Dora sobbed. ‘I could see she wasn’t well. She was in the Yellow Room at the front of the house, huddled in an upright armchair, not even lying down. “Go back to bed,” I told her. “Perhaps I will,” she said.’
‘Did anyone else know where she was, or did you tell anyone?’ Georgia asked, more sharply than she meant to.
Dora looked up, and for a moment it occurred to Georgia that Dora might not be as innocent and childlike as she had assumed. ‘I’m not sure. I might have mentioned it to one or two people.’
Which meant she had, Georgia thought ruefully, and couldn’t remember who. To be fair, with four o’clock fast approaching it would have been natural enough to chat to all and sundry about how Laura was. Luke was at the head of the catering queue now, and Georgia had to turn her attention to the matter of orange versus almond and rose-water cake, and try her best to push away images of Laura Fettis.
She and Luke were on their way back to the terrace when Dora wrong-footed her, having insisted on accompanying them. ‘Georgia,’ she said earnestly, ‘I do hope that dear Elena does come to live here. She needs caring for.’
Don’t we all, Georgia thought mutinously. She murmured something in response, but it was inadequate and she knew it. Soon she would have to deal with the problem of Elena, but not now, not now. Fortunately, Dora was approached by one of the PCs, which enabled Georgia to escape.
Back on the terrace, Luke handed out tea and cake while she joined Peter and Elena who were deep in conversation with Philip and Jake. She thought this would mean nothing was expected of her, but Jake turned to her, and she was forced to say something to them both. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Di
d you know Laura well?’ It sounded trite, but at least she was trying, she thought ruefully.
Philip looked at her as though she were speaking a foreign language, but Jake replied readily. ‘Yes, we both did. She was a good friend to us.’ A quick look at Philip. ‘It seems crass to mention it now, but it’s got to be thought of. There’s a TV documentary about Stourdens which is all signed up, and Laura was very keen on it. That meant we saw a lot of her, and of course she helped Phil enormously with his book.’
So there was a book. ‘Is that what Laura’s announcement was about?’ she asked.
‘Part of it.’ Jake glanced at Philip apologetically. ‘It was focused on general plans for Stourdens, though.’
‘Based on the Jane Austen connection?’
Neither of them answered, which was an answer in itself. Georgia tried to rescue the situation. ‘Perhaps the film can go ahead in due course, even if it’s postponed.’
Jake shrugged. ‘Postpone is a word one doesn’t use in filming. It’s all booked in for late August. Sorry,’ he added, ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Shock does odd things to you, and Phil and I still can’t take in what’s happened. Who would want to kill Laura of all people? She was one of the most popular people I’ve met in a long while.’
Not with everyone, it seemed. And what, Georgia wondered, was the family situation? This morning it had not been a happy one. This was hardly the time to raise the matter though, and anyway, that was Mike’s territory, not Marsh & Daughter’s.
How could a garden as peaceful as Abbot’s Retreat be reconciled with anything as frightful as Laura Fettis’s murder? Georgia remembered Laura’s pale, troubled face earlier that day, with the fine lines of worry etched between the delicate features. She hadn’t known Laura Fettis, and yet just that one indelible image of the morning now had to be set beside the one she could never eradicate.
She left Stourdens with relief at seven thirty when they were finally given permission to go. Peter assured her that he would be all right driving home alone. He confessed that he had hastily claimed one of his turns was coming on when Elena showed signs of coming with him, and she was returning to Edgar House with the Clackingtons. Georgia knew full well that what Peter was longing to do was to return to his own house, heat up the dinner left by his carer, Margaret, and withdraw to living room or bed, whichever took his fancy. His expression told her that for today he had had enough, and that hardly surprised her. He’d been interviewed, without being in a good position to interview – always a situation guaranteed to drive him to distraction. If this had been his case, he had muttered to her – but of course it wasn’t. Not even Robert Luckhurst’s murder was ‘his’ case yet, despite those fingerprints. By tacit consent that subject had been left until Monday.
