Death in the English Countryside

by Sara Rosett

  I reviewed the list, then drew a line through Eve’s name. Eve didn’t know about Kevin’s visit to Coventry House until Mr. Wallings told her in the garden.

  I sighed and tilted my head to one side as I rubbed my neck. I had no real answers and too many question marks on my list. I heard my name and looked up to see Beatrice striding toward me. I quickly closed the notebook.

  “Kate, just the person I need. We were in the process of painting when Kevin came out with Mr. Dunn and his group. Alex had mentioned that they would like some photos of the drawing room after the scaffolds were down and the curtains had been rehung, something about using it as the interior for Netherfield, I think he said. But perhaps I was wrong? Don’t they want Parkview Hall for Pemberly?”

  “Yes, but they were also considering using a few of the rooms for the interior scenes for Netherfield. Cost savings you know.”

  “I see. Makes perfect sense. I wondered if it would be possible for him to come take the photos today? I know it’s short notice, but we have our soft opening for the season tomorrow. I hope you’ll come. Free admission for everyone from the village before our official opening next weekend.”

  “I’d love to come.”

  “Glad to hear it. Now, will you be in touch with Alex today about the photos or should I call him?”

  “I don’t think he’ll be able to do it. He has an appointment this morning, but I could do it. In fact, I could come over now.”

  “That would work.” The young man with the black hair brought Beatrice a Styrofoam to-go box in a plastic bag. “I’m dropping this off for Edwin on the way, so if you don’t mind a stop, you can ride with me.”

  “Much safer than me driving it on my own,” I said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Beatrice was driving the beat-up Range Rover again. The clouds had broken up and patches of bright sunlight shone through the drifts of clouds. Beatrice slipped on a pair of sunglasses, and I wished I had some as well. As we climbed into Beatrice’s car, a tall woman driving a small blue hatchback slowed as she came even with the Range Rover and rolled down her window. “Hello, Beatrice.”

  “Oh, hello, Celia. Any luck with the clothing store in Brunner’s Hill?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m sorry,” Beatrice said. “I’m sure something will turn up soon. I’ll call you if I hear of anything.”

  “Perhaps you might need an extra pair of hands at the opening?”

  “Yes, I think we might. Can you be there about seven?”

  “Of course.” The woman waved, a relieved look on her face.

  Beatrice slammed her door. “She’ll be there at six-thirty. Most dependable, competent woman in Nether Woodsmoor,” Beatrice pulled onto the road and floored the accelerator. “Still don’t understand why Eve let her go.”

  I braced a hand against the door as Beatrice took a sweeping curve like she was in the Monaco Grand Prix. When Beatrice drove me from Parkview Hall to the bridge, I’d assumed she drove quickly because of the unusual circumstances—submerged car and emergency responders on the way, but judging by the way we were flying through the countryside, I decided that it was probably her normal driving style.

  “So she worked at Coventry House?” I asked, trying not to think about how fast the hedges were flicking by the window.

  “Oh, yes. Eve let Celia go.” Beatrice shook her head. “No reason for it that I could see. Eve is an excellent household manager, but I don’t understand that decision at all. She hired that rather slatternly Sherry, who worked at the inn. She can cook—I will allow that, but Doug confided in me he was quite glad to see her go. I’d take Celia in a second if we had an opening, but all our positions are filled.” Beatrice sighed and ran her hands loosely along the sides of the steering wheel. “I shouldn’t gossip, but it’s hard not to about curious things. Here we are.” She stomped on the brakes and our seatbelts got a workout as we waited for the gates at Coventry House to open.

  We sailed up the drive and around to the back of the house. She threw the car in park and picked up the plastic bag.

  “I’ll wait here,” I said. “I don’t think Eve will be glad to see me.”

  Beatrice paused with the door half open. “So what I heard last week is true, that Grove Cottage is no longer slated to be Longbourn and Coventry House is?”

  “Looks that way. If the production goes forward.”

  “That will have Becca behaving rather like Mrs. Bennet, I expect.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Unfortunately, she’s bent on consulting her lawyer, not a doctor.”

  “I’m sure it will work out. Becca’s the type to throw a huge fuss, but like Mrs. Bennet, she’ll come around in the end and declare the whole thing was her idea—that she refused to give permission for you to use Grove Cottage or some such nonsense.”

  “That would be an improvement over the way things are now. Becca is not happy with me, and I’m in Eve’s black books, too, so I’ll stay here.”

  “You should come inside. If Edwin’s given you permission to use his house, then Eve has to deal with it. She’s gotten far too used to ordering him around. I think it’s a good thing actually, him standing up to her.”

  I reached for the door handle. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to test the waters and see what the response is.”

  When we reached the back door Beatrice didn’t knock, just opened it and called out. We entered the empty kitchen where the odor of cigarette smoke was strong. “Hmm…appears Sherry was in here recently,” Beatrice said as she led the way by the island, which was again covered. A food processor stood beside a mortar and pestle along with several dirty bowls and a mix of eggs, spice jars, medicine bottles, and milk. “He’s probably in the drawing room,” Beatrice said over her shoulder as we moved through the dining room and across the entry hall. She pushed open the drawing room door. “It’s me, Edwin. I’ve brought you some fish and chips and a visitor.”

  Mr. Wallings, situated in his chair with a tray of food in front of him, greeted Beatrice and shoved the bowls around to make room for the Styrofoam container that Beatrice handed him. “Hello, Miss Sharp—or is it Ms.? Or even Mrs. Sharp?” he asked. “So confusing these days.”

  Impressed that he even remembered my name at all, I said, “Kate. Call me Kate.” His physical movements might be slow, but mentally he was quick.

  “All right, Kate. We will be seeing a lot of you around here, I hope.” He paused as he opened the box and inhaled deeply. “Smells divine, Beatrice. Thank you. Look at the mush they feed me. Can’t get my strength back on gruel.”

  “But you do have one of Sherry’s custards there,” Beatrice pointed out as she placed her sunglasses on a side table. “They are amazing,” she said to me as she settled into a wingback chair near Mr. Wallings. I avoided the saggy couch, instead perching on a tufted footstool.

  Beatrice said, “Might I have a taste of the custard? Doesn’t look as if you’re going to eat it.”

  “I’m sure Eve will get you some,” Mr. Wallings said, but Beatrice picked up the bowl.

  “No need. A bite or two is all I want.”

  Mr. Wallings looked at me. “Did you bring the paperwork along this time?”

  “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry. I haven’t had time to get it together.”

  Beatrice said, “I kidnapped her from the pub. She’s going to take some photos of the drawing room now that the scaffolding is down.” She ate a bite. “Sherry must have changed her recipe. There’s a hint of something else. Can’t place it.”

  Footsteps sounded from the entry hall, and I swiveled toward the door, bracing myself for Eve’s displeasure. She wasn’t happy to see me, I could tell that right away, but her uncle must have made it clear that he would have his way with the filming because she nodded to me politely, if a little stiffly, then turned to Beatrice. “Beatrice, don’t eat that. Let me get you your own serving. That has been sitting out.”

  Beatrice waved her spoon. “Don’t trouble yourself. It�
�s fine.”

  “No, I insist.” She hurried across the room and took the bowl, which Beatrice surrendered. “And you’ve brought Uncle Edwin lunch. How nice of you,” she said in a tone that indicated the complete opposite of her words.

  “Don’t be such a stickler, Eve. A little pub food won’t hurt him.”

  “Just what I need,” Mr. Wallings declared.

  “I’ll just get you that custard,” Eve said to Beatrice. “Would you like some tea?”

  “Don’t bother on my account,” Beatrice said. “And don’t bring any more custard. I shouldn’t have eaten what I did. In fact, we should be shoving on. I’ve imposed on Kate and should take her up to the Hall so she can get back to her day.”

  “It’s quite all right,” I said, but Beatrice was already standing, her keys in her hand.

  She thumped Mr. Wallings’ shoulder. “You’re looking more like your old self every day. I’m glad to see it.”

  Mr. Walling said, “It’s the company, I’m sure.”

  “I doubt that. More likely, it’s the food. Nothing like Louise’s fish and chips to bring you around. Well, we’re off. No, don’t see us out, Eve. No need. I know the way,” Beatrice said briskly, but Eve followed us anyway through the house, carrying the bowl of custard, which she dropped off in the kitchen, then she followed us outside to the car.

  Beatrice opened her car door, then patted her pockets. “Left my glasses inside. I’ll be right back.”

  I stepped closer to Eve. “I know you’re not pleased with the idea of the production using Coventry House.” I’d dealt with reluctant participants before and had found that acknowledging the situation was the best way to go. Directly addressing the issue often diffused some of the tension.

  “No, I’m not happy about it. Not in the least. Since I found out about it yesterday, I’ve done everything I can to convince him to change his mind, and I’ll continue to advise him against it.”

  “But he doesn’t seem as if he’s interested in changing his mind at all,” I said in the mildest tone possible.

  “Yes, he can be quite stubborn, but I know what’s good for him and what isn’t. A movie production with its chaos, the coming and going at all hours, the invasion of privacy—it would be too much. Not to mention the disruption of his schedule, and the possibility of damage to the house.”

  “We can address all those concerns. Schedules can be worked out so that it’s as convenient for you and Mr. Wallings as much as possible, and we will put you up in a hotel. Filming can be restricted to certain areas, and I promise the crew will be extremely careful. I know Alex has worked in grand houses before, and we would only bring in people who would respect and care for the location.”

  Calling Coventry House a grand house was a bit of a stretch, but I could see Eve liked what I’d said so I continued, “If we continue down this path—if Mr. Wallings doesn’t change his mind—I hope you and I can have a good working relationship. We’ll be in contact quite a lot since you run Coventry House.”

  Her posture straightened just a touch, and I knew I’d guessed right—she wanted to be acknowledged as the “lady of the house,” the one who ran the show. “That’s right. Everything would go to rack and ruin if I wasn’t here.”

  “I’m sure it would.”

  “In fact, I have to go back. Uncle Edwin always has a bit of a lie down after lunch. I should see to that.”

  Beatrice emerged from the house, her sunglasses in place. “Will we see you tomorrow, Eve? You are coming to the open house?”

  “Of course.”

  “Wonderful.”

  Beatrice and I climbed in the car, and I counted it a win that although Eve didn’t smile or wave, she did give me a bit of a nod. It wasn’t much, but it was a tiny step. The Coventry House thing might work out after all.

  “I believe I’ll put Eve on the audio returns desk,” Beatrice murmured as she navigated through the gates. “Yes, she’d do well there.”

  “Audio returns?” I asked, noticing that Beatrice was taking the road much slower on the short trip to Parkview Hall.

  “We have an audio guide for people who want to listen to a recording as they walk through the house,” Beatrice said. “We won’t have any of the audio players walking away with Eve on duty. Got the way of a nanny about her. Dependable and efficient, but a bit of a killjoy, if you know what I mean. Edwin did need someone to help him, but I’m afraid she can’t see that he’s getting better.”

  “Perhaps she’s afraid he won’t want her around when he’s completely recovered, and she’s trying to hold him back as much as possible.”

  Beatrice frowned. “That may be true. I don’t know that she has anywhere else to go. She was made redundant at her job in Manchester. In any case, I don’t think Edwin will be able to run the place himself. I should—” Beatrice paused and yawned. “Excuse me. My late night is catching up with me—I should have left the website update until today,” she said in aside. “I should mention Eve’s future to him. He probably hasn’t thought beyond his desire to get rid of the walker.”

  Beatrice drove over the bridge, then turned down the long drive. We cruised through the forest until Parkview Hall came into view nestled in a fold of rolling green meadow. Beatrice swept the car quickly around to the back of the house, and I wished I had more time to study the design, but I would have time tomorrow at the open house. More time at one of our locations was never a bad thing, and I could indulge my anglophile country home geekishness as much as I wanted. I wouldn’t have to be professional and detached, looking for things that could trip up the production.

  Beatrice took me through the kitchen and up the back staircase. “The old servant staircase,” she explained. “It’s faster.” We emerged into a wide hallway lined with oil paintings. She pushed open tall, gilded doors, and I reached for my camera. “Beatrice, this room is gorgeous.”

  Pale gold striped silk lined the walls, rich draperies in the same fabric framed the windows, and a chandelier glittered overhead. Delicate, formal chairs and sofas were spaced around the room, and a harpsichord gleamed in the back corner. Beatrice moved around the room opening the long, narrow interior shutters. “We keep it rather dark, I’m afraid,” she said, “Protecting the carpet and fabrics, you know.”

  I set to work, snapping pictures and writing notes. Beatrice scrubbed her hand over her face and yawned. “I think a strong cup of tea is in order. Would you like some?”

  “Sure. I’ll close the shutters and find my way down,” I murmured, focused on my compass app. I needed to know the orientation of the room, so I could assess the times the sunlight would wax and wane in the room for filming.

  Once I had all the photos I needed, I spent a little longer than necessary in the room, just because it was so beautiful. There were a few modern radiators that would have to be concealed, but it wouldn’t be that hard to do. I perched on the gold and white striped sofa with curly gilded edges. I could imagine this room as the Netherfield drawing room where Mr. Darcy broodingly watched Elizabeth as Caroline Bingley strove to maintain his attention while she sent barbed comments at Elizabeth.

  Time to get back to the real world, I thought as I stood. The sofa creaked ominously, and I froze, fearful for one crazy moment that it would collapse in a heap of dust and splinters, but it didn’t. I quickly moved around the room, closing the shutters. I trailed my hand over the burled wood of the harpsichord, then went to find Beatrice.

  She was in the kitchen. Her eyes looked a little heavy-lidded, but she rose when I came in and poured me a cup of tea and offered me a plate of what she called “biscuits,” but what I would have called crunchy cookies.

  Sir Harold arrived and took a seat at the long wooden table with his cup of tea. “You look done in, Beatrice.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s this time of year. Always too much to do and not enough hours leading up to opening day.”

  “I could come early tomorrow and help, if you’d like,” I said.

  “Oh, no. I could
n’t ask you to do that.”

  “I’ll be here. I plan to come.” It wasn’t as if I had anything else to do. The investigation into Kevin’s death had stalled out it seemed. I’d been checking my phone all day, hoping for a message or a call about the investigation. I supposed Quimby and his team were chasing down all the info they could on Becca, probably confirming exactly when she went to London, and when she returned as well as examining her car’s bumper and comparing it to Kevin’s rental. I kept all those thoughts to myself. I wasn’t sure what I could share or how much of what I knew was general knowledge—probably all of it, I thought, biting into the crumbly biscuit. At the rate news traveled in Nether Woodsmoor, I wouldn’t be surprised if Beatrice brought up the news about Becca being at the river with Kevin, but I wasn’t going to be the one to broadcast it.

  “In that case, come around eight. We can always use an extra set of hands.”

  I finished my tea, dusted the crumbs from my fingers, and said it was time for me to head back to the inn. Maybe there would be a message for me there. Beatrice offered to drive me, but I said I’d rather walk. “The village isn’t far, is it?”

  “Only about a mile if you take the footpath that runs along the river.” Beatrice peered out the kitchen window then looked to Sir Harold. “But those clouds are thickening again. What do you think, my dear?”

  “We might have a few sprinkles, but no real rain until tomorrow morning before sunrise. It will clear out by seven, and we’ll have a beautiful day until late afternoon. Best plan on closing around three tomorrow.”

  “Harold has a knack for predicting rain. He’s hardly ever wrong.”

  I said my goodbyes, put my camera in my tote bag and headed out, taking the path that Sir Harold directed me to at the end of the “car park,” as he called it, which cut through a grove of oaks and took me straight down to the bridge. I paused on the bridge and watched the water glide by. The water level had gone down, exposing more of the river bank and the rusticated golden stones of the bridge supports. A few fat raindrops splattered onto the stones beside me and dotted the river.