Death in the English Countryside

by Sara Rosett

  “You’re giving me a definite storming-the-castle vibe.” We climbed out, and I slammed my door. “With all your drama, I’m almost expecting someone to come out of the house waving a gun at us.”

  “With Eve, I wouldn’t be too sure. Of course, this is England, so she probably wouldn’t have a gun. A crossbow or mace, possibly.”

  Alex led the way along a rock-paved path through a kitchen garden to a door at the back of the house. He tapped on the frame, and stepped back. We both expectantly watched the lace curtains that covered the window set in the door…and waited several minutes. Alex knocked again. “Perhaps the gate opening was a malfunction,” I said.

  Alex sent me a dark look. “Let’s not be pessimistic.” He leaned close to the window and squinted, trying to see through the fine holes in the lace. I turned and surveyed the back. Beyond the kitchen garden, the land spread in a wide green lawn with several interesting features. Thick hedges enclosed the lawn, and there was a wooden gate at one side with the hedge covering it in an arch as well as an oak tree with a rope swing hanging from one of the gnarled and twisted branches. “I can see why you’d want to use this place. I love the gate and the rope swing. And all that space outside the hedges, is it all property of Coventry House?”

  “Yes, even into the woods in the distance.”

  A flash of movement on the other side of the door caught our attention. Through the distortions of the lace, I could see a shadowy figure moving slowly. A large hand, the joints as gnarled as the oak tree branches, parted the curtains, and we had a swift glimpse of a red cardigan over a flannel shirt, two bright if slightly rheumy blue eyes, and a thin shock of pure white hair. The curtain dropped and the door opened slowly.

  Alex leaned forward, “Mr. Wallings, I’m Alex Norcutt. This is my colleague Kate Sharp. We’re here—”

  Mr. Wallings, his hold tight around the handles of a walker, was in the process of backing up so the door could open wider. He waved a hand, and I noticed a slight involuntary tremble before he gripped the walker again. “I know who you are. Movie people,” he said with relish.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mr. Wallings had inched backward, clearing a space for the door to swing wide. “Come in. Come in.” He shifted the walker and shuffled down a hallway, calling over his shoulder. “Close the door behind you, if you don’t mind.”

  We stepped inside and followed him down the hallway through a completely remodeled kitchen with stainless steel and bland cream countertops. Alex looked gutted. I sent him a sympathetic look. It could have been a kitchen in any house in any city in Middle America. Every trace of English Country House had been removed. Dishes were stacked in the sink and the island was cluttered with a crusty loaf of bread, a jar of spice, a bottle of olive oil, a mortar and pestle, and a food processor. It looked as if someone had stepped away and would be back in a few moments. I wondered if Eve Wallings was in the next room. If we ran into her, I had a feeling she wouldn’t welcome us with open arms.

  “Let’s go in here,” Mr. Wallings said as he moved laboriously through a dining room painted a pale gray, which retained its elegant lines with wainscoting and simple trim. A funky modern chandelier and padded, contemporary style seats surrounded the dark wood table and were at odds with the architecture of the room.

  We moved across an airy hall with a wide staircase and through the open double doors to a drawing room. Mr. Wallings continued on into the room at his slow pace, but Alex and I both paused on the threshold and let out matching sighs of satisfaction, quickly cataloguing the highlights of the room: high ceilings, an Adam fireplace, and tall windows, which—as Austen would have described them—went all the way to the ground and gave a view of the green lawn. A set of French doors in the middle of the room opened onto a terrace.

  I wasn’t sure if the deep burgundy paint on the wall was Regency accurate, but it gave the room a warm feeling and contrasted nicely with the delicate stuccoed reliefs of garlands on the fireplace as well as the white wainscoting. A huge rug in the same rich burgundy tone with cream and blue accents covered the floor. The furniture was modern, a mix of squashy couches, deep chairs, and a hodgepodge of end tables that ran the gamut in style from delicate pie-edged to modern glass, but the room didn’t seem disjointed or hectic. It felt cozy and lived-in, as if the room had been a place where families had gathered for hundreds of years.

  I felt a little shiver that I sometimes got when I knew a location was ‘it.’ It was hard to describe, but despite the modern furniture and bold paint—even with the television on a cart tucked into one corner of the room—I knew that with some changes, this room would be the perfect setting for the Bennets. A glance at Alex confirmed that he felt the same way.

  Mr. Wallings settled into a sturdy camelback chair upholstered in a cream and red plaid. He expertly swung the walker into an open space that was obviously reserved for it. On an end table at his side were a remote control, a box of tissues, several paperback books, a few prescription pill bottles, a stack of newspapers, and a mug filled with pens and pencils. His chair was positioned close enough to the windows that he had a wide view of the sweep of lawn down to the boundary hedge, and inside the room, his chair was angled so that the television faced him directly. “Oh, look, we’ve interrupted your lunch,” I said, eyeing a tray with soup, bread, and a bowl of what looked like pudding or custard. “Should we come back another time?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alex send me a look that clearly said, what are you thinking? But I stayed focused on Mr. Wallings. No matter how hard it was to get in the house, interrupting Mr. Wallings’ meal wasn’t good form.

  “I wasn’t hungry. Can’t stand that bland, tasteless stuff. Perhaps you could move the tray for me?”

  “Of course.” I moved it to a nearby table that Mr. Wallings indicated. As I set it down, a stack of papers slid to the floor. “So sorry.” I crouched down. The papers had splayed out in a fan shape, and I shuffled bills, typed letters, a will, and newspapers folded open to the crossword together, then slapped an article torn from a magazine about an antique clock worth millions on top. A single paper had slid under a chair. I retrieved it, a note page covered with what looked like sketches for remodeling projects with bold slashed lines indicating new doorways or knocked-out walls. I added it to the other papers.

  I looked around for a place to set down the bundle. Mr. Wallings held out his slightly trembling hand. “Don’t worry. Need to do a good clear out of this room. I’ll take them.”

  I handed the papers over and he shuffled through them. The vibration in his hands transferred to the pages, making them quiver. “What a mess.” He shook his head as he rearranged the order of the papers. “These should be in my desk.” He paused over the sketch, a displeased frown on his face then he put the pile down on the table beside him, causing the pencil jar to rock, but it didn’t fall over. I took a seat beside Alex on a sagging cream-colored couch.

  “Now, I suppose you’d like to look around, like the other chap? Evie’s not here, but you don’t need her,” Mr. Wallings said. “I can help you—just like I did with him.”

  “So you spoke to Kevin Dunn?” Alex struggled to inch forward to the edge of the cushion, but the couch had attempted to swallow both of us and seemed to sag more as he struggled.

  “Oh, yes. A fine fellow. Appreciated the old place, he did. I gave him the grand tour. He was interested in everything, said the library was perfect and the morning room and the bedrooms were just what he was looking for.” He ran his gaze over the room, from the corners of the ceilings to the tall windows, but I had a feeling he was picturing the other parts of the house beyond the walls of the drawing room. He let out a dry wheezing sound. I realized Mr. Wallings was laughing. He gathered his breath and said, “I would let him make a movie here whether or not he liked the house. We need some shaking up here.” The wheezing laugh came again. “Just to rile Evie, I would have said yes.”

  Alex and I exchanged another look. It’s never good
when the parties involved in a shoot are at odds with each other. Mr. Wallings picked up on the glance we shared and waved a shaky hand. “Don’t worry. I am the sole owner, despite how Evie acts. I have the right—and authority—to grant use of my property to whomever I please.”

  “Does Eve know about your decision?”

  His grin widened. “Not a clue.” He was delighted with the idea of doing an end-run around Eve.

  “You see, Evie enjoys managing people. She calls it taking care of people, which she’s been doing for me.” He rubbed his hand along his leg. “Broke my hip a couple of months back. She moved in. I had to have the help. Couldn’t have made it without her, but now…I realize that I shouldn’t have let her…immerse herself in my life. I had a touch of pneumonia at the time. I was weak as a kitten. But now that I’ve got my strength back, things are going to be different, starting with this movie. You can’t be subtle with Evie. I need something big to show her things have changed.” He clasped his hands together. “Now, let’s get on to the paperwork.”

  Alex struggled forward and managed to balance on the edge of the cushion. “Mr. Dunn mentioned paperwork?”

  “Yes. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? That and the photos? Dunn didn’t have time to take any pictures inside. He said he had a plane to catch, but he’d send his associate along to photograph everything inside and bring the paperwork. Now, I want my solicitor to read over everything. You can leave it with me, and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Mr. Wallings, I have to confess that this is all news to us,” Alex said. “You see, I have some bad news about Mr. Dunn.” Alex hesitated, clearly debating how much to tell him.

  The gleeful excitement seeped out of Mr. Wallings’ face. “Something has happened. Out with it, lad. I’ve heard my share of bad news.”

  “I’m sorry to tell you that Mr. Dunn has passed away.”

  Mr. Wallings reared back in his chair, his eyebrows raised. “But he was the picture of health.”

  “It wasn’t like that,” I said. “His car ran off the road into the river—”

  I had to stop and clear my throat, but Mr. Wallings nodded, and murmured to himself, “So that’s what Sherry and Evie were whispering about this morning. As if I have to be sheltered.” He shook his head, then refocused on me. “I’m sorry to hear that. He seemed a good chap, and I was looking forward to meeting with him again. But seeing as it has happened, it doesn’t change a thing. I’ll still agree to the filming. Where are those papers?”

  Alex wrestled his way out of the cushions and stood. He adjusted his jacket, resettling it on his shoulders, then moved to a straight-back chair set at a right angle to Mr. Wallings’ chair. “I don’t have any papers with me today. I’m going to be completely honest with you, Mr. Wallings. I had no idea that Mr. Dunn had even contacted you.”

  Mr. Wallings’ rather significant eyebrows squished together. “Are you telling me you don’t want to use Coventry House in your movie?”

  “Oh, no, sir. Just the opposite.” Alex looked toward me.

  “It’s perfect—exactly what we want,” I said.

  “So we’re still on?” Mr. Wallings asked.

  “Yes, if the project moves forward,” I said. “With the death of Mr. Dunn, well…that could impact it.”

  “Might use someone else, you mean? For the—what did he call it? Location scouting?”

  “Yes. That’s the term,” I said. “And that’s the situation. We’re unsure of what will happen.”

  “Bring me the papers anyway.”

  “I will.”

  I leaned forward, “Do you remember what time Kevin was here on Friday?”

  “I suppose it was about two. He wanted to stay longer, but couldn’t because of his flight.” Mr. Wallings deftly swung the walker into place in front of his chair. “Let me show you around before you go. You can get your pictures now.”

  Alex gripped my wrist and pulled me free of the man-eating couch. I popped up and landed with my hand on his chest, so close that I could see a faint scar that ran along his hairline. I stepped back swiftly.

  We photographed the drawing room and made notes, then set off at Mr. Wallings’ slow pace, moving through the house, recording the morning room at the back of the house, papered in pale green striped silk, as well as a steamy conservatory and, finally, two bedrooms that were being used for storage. They were packed high with boxes, trunks, and odds and ends, like a coat stand, an old phonograph player, and stacks of dusty magazines. One room had an art deco bedroom set shoved to one side. Beyond the dresser with the smooth lines, I could make out another beautiful Regency-era fireplace. Delicately patterned wallpaper covered the walls in each room above the wainscoting, yellow stripes with vines in one and tiny blue and white flowers in the other. Once everything was cleared out, the rooms would be perfect. The light was good and the rooms were large enough to film in. I used a compass app on my phone and made notes in my Moleskine notebook. Alex took photos and measured the room, jotting down the numbers on his forearm. As we turned to follow Mr. Wallings down the hallway, I whispered to Alex. “This place is wonderful.”

  “I know. I can see why Mr. Dunn would jump at the chance to get it.”

  We returned to the main floor in a creaky elevator that was surely from the Victorian era, but the accordion grill was well-oiled and slid silently into place, and Mr. Wallings operated the circular crank without hesitation, so I assumed it was his normal mode of changing floors. Earlier, he’d sent Alex and me up the stairs and met us at the top after riding up in the elevator.

  “This was a dumbwaiter,” Mr. Wallings explained as he unlatched the grill.

  I was pressed up against Alex’s chest, a fact that seemed to take over my brain and made it hard for me to think of a reply. I managed to say, “How interesting.” It seemed incredibly stuffy in the elevator, too, but it must have just been me, because when I tilted up my head, Alex didn’t look uncomfortable. In fact, he had a teasing smile on his face as if he knew exactly how flustered I felt wedged against him.

  We emerged from the elevator into an alcove in the hallway between the dining room and the kitchen. I brushed my hair out of my face and tried to compose myself. What was wrong with me? I wasn’t some starry-eyed tween with a crush. I was a grown woman in the middle of an important business meeting. “Thank you for meeting with us and showing us your home. It is lovely.”

  Mr. Wallings’ face creased into a smile. “I certainly think so. I’m glad you agree.” The smile slipped. “Again, I am sorry to hear about Mr. Dunn. Give my regards to the family.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Let’s go out this way—you haven’t seen this room yet.” Mr. Wallings inched his way through the dining room and turned to another door near the drawing room. I think I let out an audible sigh when I crossed the threshold. The small room was a library, fitted out with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Leather bound, gold-embossed tomes filled the shelves. Cushy armchairs were scattered across a navy Axminster carpet. A round table in glossy wood with books of maps, their page edges crinkled with age, filled the other side of the room. Scarlet drapes with gold trim bracketed the two sets of French doors, echoing the rich tones in the carpet and the bookbindings. Mr. Wallings moved to the French doors and exchanged his walker for a cane that was positioned against the wall near the door.

  We followed him out onto a slate terrace that ran the length of the house. Large pots positioned along the terrace held evergreen bushes trimmed into tall cone shapes, effectively enclosing the space. A set of shallow steps led to a gravel path lined with boxwood hedges. A fountain, which was dry and only had a few brown leaves in it, was positioned in the center of the garden. One side of the stairs had been fitted with a wooden ramp, and Mr. Wallings made his way easily down the slight slope to the gravel.

  The house seemed well modified for him, and I was a little surprised that Eve had been able to completely cut off communication between Alex and Mr. Wallings. But then again, maybe he only mov
ed easily on his own property. I supposed getting into the village would be another matter. I wondered if he was able to drive.

  I was about to ask how often he visited the village when I heard the sound of feet crunching across the gravel. We all turned in the direction of the sound, the back corner of the house. Eve appeared, walking alongside a young man who pushed a wheelbarrow containing some of the large, flat stones I’d seen so often in the boundary walls. A shapeless canvas hat with a wide brim shaded Eve’s eyes. She wore a tan windbreaker over a black sweater and jeans, which were tucked into knee-high rubber boots. She held a pair of work gloves in one hand.

  She had been moving slowly and a bit wearily, but the moment she spotted us, her shoulders snapped back, and she shot forward as if she’d had an electric shock.

  “Uncle Edwin, where is your coat? You shouldn’t be outside without it. The wind—”

  He cut her off. “It’s mild enough here in the garden.”

  She threw a quick, searing glance at Alex and me. The words, “I’ll deal with you in a moment,” weren’t spoken aloud, but they didn’t need to be. Her look said it all. The young man with the wheelbarrow swerved, taking a course that kept him on the outskirts of the garden. He whipped through the exterior plantings and disappeared behind a tall hedge.

  “And you’re using your cane,” Eve said, her tone exasperated. “You know what the doctor said. You’re to use the walker at all times. Where is Sherry? She’s supposed to be with you.”

  “School called. Her son was sick. I told her to go on.”

  Eve glanced briefly at the sky and muttered, “Going off and leaving him alone. What was she thinking? Let’s get you back inside,” Eve’s voice changed abruptly to fake brightness, the sort of tone that teachers use with cranky preschoolers. “Watch that slope into the house. It can be tricky.” Eve moved a half a step toward the house, but Mr. Wallings pointed his toes toward the center of the garden where several chairs ranged around the fountain. “None of your bills, and papers, and signatures, today, Evie. I fancy a bit of time in the sun.” He set off at his slow pace. Eve’s face pinched and flushed.