by Amy Myers
‘You’re right, Dora,’ Jake said. ‘Count me on your side. It’s an A1 story and I wouldn’t be putting all my time into it without being sure that Phil and I are on firm ground.’
‘We have to be sure too,’ Peter said mildly. ‘That’s our job.’
‘Which is Robert Luckhurst’s death from what I heard,’ Philip rejoined.
‘It is, but bear in mind that Bob Luckhurst was the owner of the Austen collection, save for these letters here, and now there has been a second death.’
A moan from Dora. ‘Please . . .’
‘Seems a rum do to me,’ Gerald said vigorously. ‘The police don’t seem to have a clue about finding Laura’s killer. My instinct is that some maniac crept in from the footpath behind the folly.’
‘Why?’ Peter asked.
‘Don’t have to have a reason nowadays,’ Gerald grunted. ‘Drugs. That’s what’s behind it.’
‘But even a drug-crazed maniac usually has a grievance if he comes out armed with a gun, as this one did. Why did he choose Laura?’
‘Must have picked on the wrong person,’ Gerald mumbled.
‘It was a killing at close quarters,’ Georgia pointed out, ‘so unless her killer didn’t know his victim by sight that’s unlikely to have been the explanation. More likely he knew very well whom he was killing, especially as it’s almost certain she came from the house with her killer.’
‘Oh, I can’t bear it,’ Dora cried. ‘I really can’t.’
Jake put a comforting arm round her shoulders but nevertheless said gently, ‘The police have to work out how she was persuaded to go there so quickly after you saw her, Dora. You’re sure she had no plans to leave the house?’
Dora shook her head violently. ‘She didn’t.’
‘Not even to listen to what Roy said in place of her announcement?’
‘No, no, no!’ she screamed. ‘Can’t you understand that?’
‘Steady on, Dora,’ Gerald said.
Jake still pursued the subject. ‘Odd though. Half an hour or so later she was in the garden, so someone must have gone to see her or contacted her somehow immediately after you left.’
Despite Dora’s anguish, Georgia knew she ought not to let the opportunity slip. ‘It takes eight minutes to walk from the house to the folly along the usual path, but—’
Jake saw her point immediately. ‘I was on the terrace and so were plenty of other people, which means Laura must have gone out of Stourdens’ front door to reach the woods and Abbot’s Retreat unnoticed. Why though? If someone suggested they walked that way she would surely have thought that weird.’ A silence. ‘I’m wrong. Laura wouldn’t have done that,’ Jake eventually continued. ‘She had a will of iron under that sweet exterior, didn’t she, Dora?’
‘Yes,’ Dora said weakly. ‘Oh yes, she had.’
There was something here she could not grasp, but Georgia was determined not to let the subject drop. ‘Her family were looking for her about four o’clock. You left her at what time, Dora?’
‘About twenty to four,’ she whispered.
‘And roughly ten minutes later she must have gone with her killer to visit the garden for reasons unknown. The woodland path would take much longer, so she would have to have hurried to be in—’
‘No,’ Dora moaned. ‘Not if she took the tunnel.’
A moment of horrified silence, and Dora flushed red.
‘What tunnel?’ Georgia asked flatly.
‘Gerald . . .’ Dora appealed to him, but in vain.
‘What tunnel, Dora?’ he barked.
Dora must have realized there was no escape. ‘Laura told me about it. There was a tunnel – is a tunnel – leading from the house right over to Abbot’s Folly. I think it has two exits: one in the folly itself, the other just behind its adjoining wall in the Retreat. Laura said it was built by the Mad Abbot, so that he could disappear from the house any time he chose – and not get wet,’ she ended pathetically.
‘Is it still in use?’ Peter demanded. ‘Have you told the police?’
‘I didn’t think of it until now,’ Dora wailed. ‘Laura told me about it, but I never saw it.’
‘Who told her about it?’ Georgia asked abruptly. ‘Amelia Luckhurst?’ This could affect more than the death of Laura Fettis. It could be the answer to Robert Luckhurst’s murder too.
‘I don’t know.’ Dora looked confused. ‘Laura only found out about it not too long ago. Tim had something to do with it.’
‘Is it still open?’
‘I don’t know,’ Dora wailed again. ‘I really don’t.’
‘I think,’ Jake murmured, ‘that I see a whole new scenario for my documentary. Secret assignations in the grotto for Jane and William. I thought the tunnel was just a legend, didn’t you, Phil?’
‘I knew there used to be one,’ Philip said. ‘I never dreamed it still existed.’ He looked very white – and no wonder, Georgia thought.
‘Does it affect your book?’ she asked.
‘I doubt it, luckily. Sorry, Jake, but there was no evidence about the tunnel or mention of Jane and Harker being down there, so how could I have known?’
‘Eighteenth-century tunnels usually had grottos,’ Jake ruminated. ‘Look at West Wycombe.’
‘What I’m looking at,’ Georgia said firmly, ‘is the need to call DI Newton right now.’
EIGHT
‘That tunnel.’ Peter was still fuming two days later. ‘It has to be the answer, and we’re forbidden to see it until after Her Majesty has finished there.’
‘By “Her Majesty” I assume you mean DI Newton,’ Georgia said.
‘I do,’ he replied sourly. ‘Out of bounds until her team’s finished. Understandable, but it’s frustrating not knowing more about it – or what Tim had to do with the matter. That young man seems to have established himself very nicely under the Stourdens’ table. Mike told me yesterday that the tunnel is stable, so presumably the Luckhursts must have looked after it, and depending on how recently Laura Fettis was told of its existence, she too. Which means Roy and Jennifer must have been in the picture. Workmen or even surveyors couldn’t have worked down there without their knowledge.’
‘So why didn’t they tell the police about it? Did Mike comment on that?’
Peter did not reply for a moment or two. Georgia knew how keen he was to see the tunnel but also that it was unlikely to accommodate a wheelchair. It would be her job to explore the tunnel, and it was not one to which she would look forward. Little as she had had to do with Tim and Roy, and much as she liked Jennifer, a long tunnel, presumably only lit by hand-held torches, was not the best of places to get to know them better. If it was built in the late eighteenth century, it was likely to be creepy, if only because ‘delicious horror’ had been the objective of such tunnels. Grottos, temples, follies, all contributed to the shivers that ran up and down the eighteenth-century spine. She had walked through several such tunnels in her life, and if one needed evidence that violence and injustice could leave their indelible mark behind it was to be found there.
‘According to Mike,’ Peter replied at last, ‘the Fettis family, including Laura, knew about it because there were mentions of it in the archives, but they assumed it had fallen in long ago – and they didn’t know where it was, anyway.’
‘So how come it’s in good condition now?’
‘Only Tim might be able to supply the answer to that – and so far we don’t know what it is.’
‘It’s interesting that Amelia apparently didn’t tell Laura of its existence.’
‘And also significant if she’d used it on the day of Bob Luckhurst’s murder.’ Peter beamed. It was a small step forward, but one they had needed. ‘You’d think the local tongues would wag though if they had maintained the tunnel well. Amelia must have had domestic help at Stourdens – cleaners, gardeners, handymen, and so on.’
‘Even the trial reports don’t mention any evidence that Amelia was involved. Which suggests the police investigation had more or l
ess cleared both her and Tom Miller, if they ever did look on them seriously as suspects.’
‘They would have done,’ Peter said simply, and she could not disagree.
‘I suppose there was no mention of tunnels in the police reports?’
‘If so, I would have picked up on it,’ Peter replied with dignity. ‘Mind you, tunnels wouldn’t have been likely to pop into Hamlyn’s mind.’
‘Whose?’
‘Vic Hamlyn’s. It was his case. Funny chap.’
‘Still alive?’
Peter looked horrified. ‘Georgia, I’ve been asleep at the switch. I don’t know. Anybody else I’ve overlooked? What about Barbara Hastings as villain as well as witness?’
‘She doesn’t seem to have a motive, and she told me she was on duty at the pub that day. Just because she was alive at the time of both murders doesn’t mean she’s the missing link.’
‘But she could be,’ Peter muttered in exasperation.
‘Rubbish,’ she retorted. ‘Even supposing she had a yen for Tanner or vice versa, sex as a motive for one murder and greed for another isn’t a likely combination. One stems from passion, the other demands calculation.’
‘Don’t generalize,’ Peter snarled.
Georgia was tempted to shout back, ‘Why not? You do,’ but restrained herself just in time. Childishness would get them nowhere, which, she reflected, seemed to be where they were heading, anyway.
Every parking space in Chilham Square, including the disabled ones, had already been taken when Luke drove up into the village for Laura’s funeral the following week. Fortunately, Georgia and Luke had brought Peter in their car, which meant he could disembark here and make his own way along the path to St Mary’s church, which lay back from the square itself. Luke then parked at the foot of the hill, and they walked back up to the square past Chilham’s glorious medieval houses.
At least Jane Austen had known Chilham well, and it was still a lovely village. It was compact, perched at the top of a hill, with its shops, ancient houses, church, castle and pub huddled together around the small central square. Cottages sprawled down the hillside in every direction. It was so unchanged that it was easy to imagine Jane Austen arriving here in the Godmersham carriage perhaps to shop or to visit Chilham Castle.
By the time they had returned, Peter had already taken up a position at the rear of the church where he said he could best keep a discreet eye on the congregation. ‘You never know who might be here,’ he told them.
The church was nearly full. To Georgia, it seemed that the entire population of Dunham had turned out together with everyone who had attended the Gala. The press were heavily but discreetly represented, and she had seen TV cameras outside, which made her realize that there might be some sense as to why the burial and gathering afterwards were to be private. Even so, she felt sorry for Dora for being excluded, and it did indeed seem a pity that the service was taking place here and not St Lawrence’s, which had such strong Austen connections.
Luke still maintained that families were entitled to plan funerals as they wished, but Peter agreed with Georgia. If Stourdens was to trade on its links to Jane Austen it would seem right for the funeral to take place in St Lawrence’s, although she wondered if that were the very reason that Jennifer and Roy wanted it further afield. But who was family in this case? Would Esther Wilson, formerly Tanner, count?
She saw Peter’s point about his position at the rear. When the funeral procession entered the church, it was hard for her to see through the sea of faces as she was squeezed in with Luke into the far end of a pew and up against the church wall. All that was visible were the large black hats of the women in the funeral party and a few faces she recognized here and there. She spotted Barbara Hastings next to Craig and thought she glimpsed Amelia Luckhurst, now Collier, but could not be sure. She also spotted another familiar face, Alfred Wheeler, and Georgia wondered what his connection with the Fettises was.
The service was a long one, during which Jennifer made a moving tribute to her mother, ending with the wording on Jane Austen’s tomb, which she read with a trembling voice, saying that they could easily refer to Laura: ‘The benevolence of her heart, the sweetness of her temperament, and the extraordinary endowments of her mind obtained the regard of all who knew her, and the warmest love of her intimate connections.’ Georgia wished she had known Laura Fettis, and the tribute added to her determination to do all she could to help Jennifer.
By the time she and Luke had waited their turn to leave the church and rejoin Peter, she saw that the funeral party was about to depart. Most of the cars ready to follow the coffin looked full, and only Tim and Roy remained to greet the rest of the congregation. As she and Luke waited their turn, she noticed with surprise that Philip Faring and Jake Halliday were getting into one of the cars. Not solely family then, she thought wryly.
Other people had clearly noticed that too. She could see Barbara Hastings staring at the cars with a grim face, and more poignantly Dora and Gerald. Dora’s face was puffed and red from crying, and it must be doubly hard for her to see that the family-only rule had been relaxed – but not for them. Funerals roused strong emotions, and not just in the family concerned.
Gerald took Dora’s arm, and Georgia heard him say, ‘Let’s go to the White Horse, darling. We need a stiff drink.’
Many of the congregation seemed to have the same idea, for the pub, which was on the square and next door to the church, had a steady stream of customers making their way along the path towards it.
‘Shall we go?’ Luke suggested.
‘Why don’t we try the Bat and Trap?’ Peter said, apparently casually.
Remembering that bacon sandwich, Georgia could not believe he was serious. She had assumed he would follow Dora and Gerald to the White Horse because they had agreed it hadn’t only been the tunnel preying on Dora’s mind. There was something else, but perhaps Peter thought this was unlikely to emerge in pub surroundings. When they reached the Bat and Trap, there were familiar faces here too, including Tom Miller’s, whom she didn’t at first recognize clad in his Sunday best.
She half expected that the buzz of conversation would abruptly halt as they entered, but she was wrong. Not only Peter, but she and Luke were positively welcomed. Perhaps Peter’s liberal offer of drinks had played a part in that. While Peter joined Tom Miller, she and Luke were surprisingly beckoned over to a table with Barbara and Craig, who must be off-duty today.
Georgia trotted out the relevant conversational gambit. ‘I’d expected the funeral to be in St Lawrence’s,’ she observed to Barbara.
‘So did we all,’ was the grim reply.
‘I reckon the family didn’t want us yobs there,’ Craig growled. ‘That sort likes to keep themselves to themselves.’
‘Don’t you go blabbing, Craig,’ Barbara said quietly. ‘You know where our bread’s buttered.’
‘Don’t stop us thinking though, do it?’ Craig said.
‘Think all you like, but say nothing,’ Barbara told him firmly. ‘We need this catering deal. Just a shame we aren’t working for Mrs Laura.’
‘There’s Jennifer,’ Georgia said. ‘Won’t she be involved?’
‘Yeah, but that Tim will steamroller over her. Not got her mother’s guts.’
‘But her father wouldn’t allow that?’
Once on the subject of Tim, Barbara seemed to have forgotten her own edict. ‘Wouldn’t he just. Tim’s got him where he wants him. Butters him up so he slips through whatever Tim wants.’
‘It’s the wedding soon too, isn’t it?’ Georgia asked as casually as she could manage.
‘September the seventeenth. Surprised he hasn’t rushed it forward,’ Barbara replied. ‘Can’t wait to get his snout in the trough. There’s a way to go yet though. Seven weeks is seven weeks.’
‘I take it you don’t like him,’ Georgia said.
‘Liking don’t come into it with that sort. He’s pleasant enough, if you do what he wants. So as long as he doesn’
t interfere with my job, I’ll go along with it,’ Barbara generously declared. ‘There’s Tom’s land to think of too. Wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t try to wriggle out of that.’
‘Could that happen legally?’
‘Tom says it was agreed, nothing actually signed.’
That sounded bad. ‘And you, Craig?’ Georgia asked. ‘Will you be joining the new company?’
‘Give it my best. Build up the drinks side and run the bar at Stourdens. Spruce beer should be a winner.’
The bar? Georgia wondered where that fitted in, but decided not to stop the conversational flow by querying it.
Barbara’s face lost its usual impassivity and her eyes brightened. ‘As soon as the word comes we’ll get going. The company’s all legal now. It’ll be good to have my own business at last. All down to Jane Austen, eh? Poor old Max. If only he could have foreseen this. I could have done it for the Edgar Arms, easy.’
A fleeting thought crossed Georgia’s mind. Could Craig possibly be Tanner’s son? He’d be about the right age. ‘We haven’t been able to trace Max Tanner yet. I suppose you haven’t had any more ideas as to where he might be?’
Barbara opened her mouth to speak, but turned excitedly to Craig. ‘That’s who it was. I said I knew that woman walking up the aisle. Her with the big hat. Didn’t I, Craig? It was Esther Tanner. I’d swear to it.’
‘The news will have spread,’ Peter remarked as they drove him home. ‘The time has come for us to have a word with the power behind Stourdens, Tim. Perhaps he might enlighten us as to where his father is now.’
‘Visitors,’ Luke remarked early that evening as she heard a car draw up outside. He went over to peer through the window. ‘Good grief, it’s Dora Clackington.’
‘And Gerald, I presume,’ Georgia said, leaping to her feet.
‘No. On her own. Why’s she driven over here?’ Luke took a second look. ‘She seems pretty agitated, Georgia. This is going to be girls’ own talk so I’ll leave you to it, and vanish.’
‘Thanks a bunch,’ Georgia said crossly, although conceding that Luke was right. Dora was more likely to need her than Luke, although she could have done without her company this evening.
