“The kitchen was spotless when I got there,” I said.
“That’s because I mopped and cleaned. And I took the knife with me. As I said, I’m thorough in my work.”
“And his shoes?”
“Ah yes, you asked me about that on the phone, didn’t you? One of his shoes came off when I was dragging him. I tried to put it back on, then realized I’d put bloody fingerprints on the calf leather. So I took off his other shoe and threw them both away.”
“Where did you put them?”
She laughed. “You’re a good little sleuth, Kate. Maybe you’ll figure it out.” She exhaled loudly. “It sounds callous, I can see that. But it wasn’t premeditated. You believe me, don’t you?”
It didn’t matter what I believed. Lucy was going to have to face Inspector McMahon very shortly. Over our heads came a volley of shouts and what sounded like a cattle stampede. A minute later, I heard a crash and someone swearing on the decrepit stairway. Seconds later, two policemen burst into the room, waving torches. As one of them helped me up from the floor, pins and needles pricked my feet and legs. He kept his hand under my elbow and led me towards the door while the other officer crouched down next to Lucy.
“Don’t forget to call that reporter,” Lucy called. I turned around. In the glare of the torchlight, she stared at me intently as though willing me to do her bidding. “I’m counting on you.”
The policeman exerted gentle pressure on my arm and I started back towards the door. “Sergeant Piper,” he said, introducing himself as we picked our way up the broken stairs. “I’ll stay with you, miss, until Inspector McMahon arrives.”
When we reached the salon, I was still wondering if he was there to provide support or to keep an eye on me. We arrived just in time to see Fergus being carried off on a stretcher. My chest tightened.
“He’s fine,” Josh assured me. “It’s what they do, just a check-up to make certain he’s all right.” He took me in his arms and squeezed so hard I couldn’t breathe.
Sergeant Piper stayed close as Josh, Alistair, and I followed the paramedics down to the entry hall, listening to Fergus insist the whole time that he was perfectly well. Outside, in the watery sunlight, I checked again to be sure. The aura had disappeared. Fergus needed medical care, but he wasn’t going to die. Joined by Lachlan and Mrs. Dunsmore on the front steps, we watched while he was loaded into an ambulance.
“I’ll be back,” Josh said. “I’m going to the hospital. I want to be there for Fergus.” He dashed to his rental car and started down the driveway behind the ambulance. Halfway to the gate, he pulled over as Inspector McMahon’s green Renault drove in. They both lowered their windows and talked for a minute or two. As the ambulance continued on and turned out of sight, Mrs. Dunsmore started to cry.
“Why don’t you make everyone some tea,” I suggested to her. “I’ll wait for the inspector, and we’ll come down to the kitchen.”
The housekeeper patted the tears from her cheeks. “Good idea. Would you like one, officer?”
“Aye,” Piper said, smiling for the first time. “I never refuse a cuppa.”
Mrs. Dunsmore’s way inside was momentarily blocked by the medics bringing Lucy out on a gurney. She raised herself on her elbows when she saw me and told the crew to stop. “One more thing, Kate. You have to rescue the codex,” she said. “Don’t let Stanton Knox lay his grubby hands on it. You need to find the combination to the desk.”
“I know the combination,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed. “You had it all along?”
“Did you ever look inside the Russian books? The ones you took from the library?”
“Briefly. I didn’t have much time to examine them.”
“Thanks to Mr. Ross,” I said, “I did.”
37
The ambulance crew were sliding Lucy’s stretcher into the ambulance when Inspector McMahon drove the last hundred meters up the drive and parked his car close to the entry steps. He got out, slammed the door shut and strode towards us, his tartan scarf flapping in the breeze. With dark circles under his grey eyes, and the suspicion of a five o’clock shadow on his usually well-shaven jaw, he looked exhausted.
“I’m sorry we weren’t able to find Lucy before she got to Fergus. Things could have ended badly if not for you, Kate.”
“Well, all that matters is Fergus is safe. His aura has gone.”
McMahon shot a look at Alistair, as if wondering what he’d make of the mention of an aura, but Alistair’s expression didn’t change. I’d already shared the good news with him. He’d done a sweet little victory jig and had planted an unexpected kiss on my cheek.
“We’ll know more in the next twenty-four hours,” McMahon continued. “After I have the opportunity to interview Lucy in depth. Our initial findings show she never did return to London. She kept the car that Duncan had rented and hid out in Oban.”
I thought back to the phone call when we’d talked about Duncan’s shoes. I had assumed she was in London, of course, as she’d intended me to. Just another thread in her web of lies and untruths. Alternative facts, as they’d say in the States.
“Someone called in a report of a car abandoned by the side of the road a mile from here,” McMahon said. “It had been there for several hours. Turned out to be Duncan’s rental car, which means Lucy dumped it and walked the rest of the way.”
“And she must have sneaked into the castle sometime earlier today.” I remembered the creaking floorboards in the east wing when I visited it with Alistair. “She was waiting for a final opportunity to have another look for the codex before Knox took possession of the estate and didn’t need her any longer.”
McMahon raised an eyebrow, so I explained what Lucy had told me about Stanton Knox paying her to find the ancient book. “What else did she tell you?” he asked.
I looked down, examining the specks of glittering mica in the grey stone of the steps. Noticed my boots needed polishing after all that traipsing around in the dust.
“Kate?”
When I looked up again, the inspector’s eyes were the color of granite. “I’m aware of her attack on Fergus,” he said. “But did she confess to killing Duncan?”
My stomach cramped. My father had been a barrister in London before he retired, and I’d picked up a rudimentary understanding of certain aspects of the legal system. Dad was a stickler for rules. If he were here, he would warn me to be very careful about what I said next. Anything I told McMahon would almost certainly make its way into the legal record. Lucy had shared her story with me in the expectation that I would argue her innocence with the inspector. The problem was that I didn’t believe she was innocent. I had no intention of blocking McMahon’s investigation, but, even so, it was hard to get the words out. “More or less,” I said finally. “However, she claimed it was self-defense.”
“But he was stabbed in the back,” Alistair blurted out. “How can that be self-defense?” His cheeks burned red. “I’m so sorry. It’s not my place to comment.”
“Duncan was threatening to go to Fergus, to reveal the arrangement she had with Knox to find the codex,” I continued. “They argued, and it became violent.”
McMahon remained silent, his eyes on my face.
“Remember our conversation about the missing shoes?” I asked him. “Duncan’s tan loafers? It would help if you could find them.” I didn’t specify why. That Lucy had admitted her bloody fingerprints were all over them.
McMahon nodded, as though accepting I’d said all I could at this point. After a long pause, he pulled his scarf more tightly around his neck, glancing up at the sky. “It might rain. You should get inside. I’ll be back with more questions soon. Come with me, sergeant.”
Sergeant Piper’s face fell. He’d probably been looking forward to a nice cup of tea in the warm kitchen. I watched as the two men strode off, and then McMahon stopped and turned. “I’m very glad about Fergus,” he said. The corners of his mouth twitched with a faint hint of a smile.
I w
as glad too. I smiled back at him. The grey damp blanket of anxiety that had been smothering me for the past five days lifted. I felt almost euphoric, a feeling I’d experienced after other auras had disappeared. For now, I intended to put Lucy out of my mind, confident that McMahon would deal with her, and that the oiled wheels of justice would carry her case to a resolution. All I wanted was for Josh and Fergus to come home, for one more check to be sure Fergus’s aura had truly disappeared, and a chance to hug Josh and tell him how much I loved him.
And there were things to be done. I needed to bring Fergus up to date on Knox’s role in the nefarious quest for the codex. Knox may not have broken the law, as Lucy had, but his actions were despicable. More importantly, we had to search the desk. I hoped with every fiber of my being that the book was inside. It was a challenge not to run up and play with those dials myself, but it was only fair to wait for Josh and Fergus. I followed Alistair inside and down to the kitchen where we passed the time drinking tea with Mrs. Dunsmore and rehashing the events of the last few days.
When Josh and his uncle arrived an hour later, Fergus had a bandage on his neck, but the color had come back to his cheeks, and he wore a broad grin. The air over his unkempt silver hair was clear and still. Josh had stopped clenching his jaw, and his light green eyes sparkled for the first time since I’d told him Fergus had an aura.
Fergus enveloped me in a hug. “Thank you for what you did, lass. You saved my life.”
My voice caught in my throat, so I squeezed his arm instead.
“I think we should bring this little adventure to a close,” he said. “Shall we examine the desk?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I replied. “Let’s go.”
Alistair put his cup in its saucer and looked up, his eyes shining. “Do you mind if I come along?”
“You’re more than welcome, if you don’t mind cobwebs and rotten floors,” Fergus replied. “Mrs. D.? Would you like to join us?”
Mrs. Dunsmore was at the sink, rinsing out the teapot. “I’ll be fine here, thank you. I’ve scones in the oven to wait for.”
Stopping at the hall cupboard to collect a torch, the four of us tramped upstairs and along the corridor. Fergus paused for a second at the east wing door, no doubt thinking of Lucy leaping at him with a knife. Inside, he gave the torch to Josh.
“You know the combination number?” Fergus asked me.
Glancing at Alistair, I recited it. “51088.” Alistair nodded his head in agreement.
Fergus repeated it. “That’s my grandfather’s birthdate,” he said. “The fifth of October, 1888. He was only 53 when he died, a few months before my dad’s nineteenth birthday.”
He cracked his knuckles before leaning into the desk. One by one, he turned the five tiny dials until they showed the correct number. I heard a faint click, and a previously invisible panel in the left pedestal swung open to reveal a narrow cubbyhole. A single book nestled inside.
“Wait.” Alistair pulled a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to Fergus. “Better not touch the cover.”
With the cotton fabric wrapped around his fingers, Fergus released the book from its hiding place. I gasped at the same time as Alistair. Small with a tan leather cover, it was exactly the same book that I’d seen in the vision of the murder at the priory.
“Let’s get out of the dust and gloom,” Fergus suggested.
We followed him downstairs to the drawing room where he laid the codex on the coffee table, and we gazed at it, absorbing the fact that it had lain hidden and abandoned in the east wing for nearly eighty years. Fergus carefully raised the leather cover. On the title page was a short paragraph of looped writing, the initial letter of the first word beautifully illuminated in red, blue and gold. At the bottom was an elaborate signature.
“Is this it? The codex?” Fergus asked.
“Yes,” Alistair answered. “See this?” He pointed, his finger hovering an inch above the smooth vellum. “This is Aethelwin’s signature.” He clasped his hands together as though in prayer.
“I can’t understand a word,” Fergus commented after we’d stared at the page for a minute.
“It’s Old English,” Alistair explained. “A Germanic language brought to Britain by the Anglo-Saxon raiders in the fifth century. Beowulf is probably the most famous work written in that language. More specifically, this codex was written to the Winchester standard, a classical form of Old English established by Aethelwold, Bishop of Winchester. However, following the Norman Conquest of Britain in 1066, there was a gradual evolution into Middle English, the language of Chaucer. Relatively few Old English manuscripts have survived the passage of the centuries, as you can imagine.”
“I’m at a bit of a loss for words.” Fergus looked dazed, which was hardly surprising given Lucy’s attack and the incredible discovery of the book. Just then, Arbroath bounded in, tongue hanging out, panting with excitement at seeing his master again. Fergus grabbed the codex from the table, enveloping it in the white cotton. “We don’t want dog slobber on it.” He patted Arbroath. “Sit, boy, sit.”
Cradling the book on his lap, Fergus leaned back against the cushions. “What do we do next?”
“I have a friend at the British Museum,” Alistair offered. “Perhaps we can ask him how best to proceed? You can keep it, of course, or perhaps you want to sell it?”
“Is it mine to sell?”
“Of course it is,” Josh said. “Your grandfather bought it. It’s part of the estate and your inheritance. And you haven’t signed the sale documents yet.”
The sale documents. I doubted the American would go through with the estate purchase now the codex had been found. It might be bad news for Fergus, but I had to tell him what Knox’s real objective had been.
“There’s something you need to know.” I leaned forward towards him. “Stanton Knox knew all about the codex and believed it was hidden here in the castle. He hired Lucy to find it. Then, when she wasn’t making the progress he wanted, he ran out of patience and decided to buy the castle so he could search for it himself. If he’d found the book after the sale, it would have been his property, legally purchased with the rest of the estate. But he never got that far.”
“Why go to the trouble of buying a rundown pile of stones just to get hold of an old book?” Fergus ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, leaving it sticking up in spikes.
“Because,” Alistair said. “It is worth a great deal of money. I don’t know how much you’re selling the property for…” He shook his head as Fergus started to speak. “You don’t need to tell me. It’s none of my business. But I’d take a bet it’s far less than the codex would bring at auction.”
Josh and I exchanged looks. If Alistair was right, and I trusted his opinion, then money would never again be a problem for Fergus. He could keep the castle if he wanted to. And, one day, I realized with a jolt, Josh would inherit it.
Fergus didn’t seem to have absorbed the information Alistair had just shared. Instead, his face was creased in confusion. “So Knox was after this all along? How did he know Lucy? Where did she come into it?”
It took a while to explain everything, by which time Mrs. Dunsmore had found us and delivered a tray of tea and scones still warm from the oven. When Fergus explained that we’d found an ancient book in the east wing, she sat on the edge of a chair, fanning herself with her a napkin. “My goodness. Have you told Lachlan?”
“Why would Lachlan be interested?” The lines on Fergus’s forehead deepened.
“If I’m not mistaken, he knew about that book,” Mrs. Dunsmore answered. “Saw a vision, he did, out on the moor, of a young woman holding it in her hand before she was murdered.”
Fergus gaped. “Lachlan saw a vision?”
“Aye,” Alistair said. “He did, the same one that Kate saw. And I did as well. It’s what set me off delving into the history of the codex and what had happened here in the 1500s. But it wasn’t until Kate arrived that I had any faith the book mi
ght once again be in the castle.”
“I’ll be damned.” Fergus took a swallow of tea. “Lachlan, eh?”
“Can we examine more pages?” Alistair ventured. “If the rumors are true, Aethelwin wasn’t able to complete his opus, so the final few pages were left blank. Many of the book’s owners wrote notes or signed their names on those pages, creating a historical record— incomplete, but nonetheless fascinating— which considerably enhances the worth of an already priceless volume.”
Using the handkerchief, Fergus placed the book on the table and gently opened the vellum pages. We saw mathematical formulae, paragraphs of hand-written text, and drawings of clock gears and other mechanisms. In the margins were random images resembling the doodlings of a bored student. Then came a page bearing a single line of script in French and a signature.
“What does it say?” Fergus asked.
Alistair adjusted his glasses and peered closely. “The signature is Napoleon Bonaparte’s,” he said. “And the sentence says something like ‘Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever.’ It’s remarkable.” He sat back and patted his forehead.
I thought about Lucy and her quest for glory. She wanted to be a superstar amongst her peers, she’d told me. Her fear of obscurity must have been heightened by her renewed contact with Knox, who had achieved the fame and fortune she craved. But even Stanton Knox was only a comma in the annals of history. Would he be remembered in two hundred years’ time? Or fifty years or even ten?
I turned my attention back to the book as Fergus leafed through the pages. There were other notes in different hands, in English, French, and Russian. We identified the signatures of Charles I, signed as Charles R., and of the first Duke of Marlborough, the revered ancestor of Sir Winston Churchill, but most were hard to read. It would take experts to decipher the full record of ownership over the last five hundred years. Still, my heart beat faster to see this evidence of the book’s migrations, remembering Alistair’s account of the crimes and deaths that had occurred in its pursuit.
The Complete Kate Benedict Cozy British Mysteries Page 115
