Brotherly Blood

by Jean G. Goodhind

  ‘I didn’t want to advertise the fact, dear girl. You know how people are. People put two and two together and make a hundred and forty four. And before you ask me, I did not kill Tarquin for the title. I did not!’

  ‘Do you still wish me to pursue this investigation?’

  ‘Absolutely! You must. You simply must.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Miss Vincent, his late lordship’s secretary, was amazingly efficient. At some time she’d also been slender and sexy. Honey wondered if she’d been one of the trophies his lordship ‘the Thoroughbred Stud’ had collected over the years. It was definitely possible though nowadays she was skinny in the thighs and plump around the waistline. She wore her hair in a prim and proper bob, bright red lipstick on her lips and mauve eye shadow on her rather loose skinned eyelids. Her black dress had white piping around the collar and sleeves. The hemline reached mid calf. If she’d been sex on legs in the past, she certainly didn’t fit the bill now.

  Honey asked her how well she’d known Caspar and whether there had ever been animosity between him and Tarquin.

  She shook her head. ‘Definitely not.’

  ‘It’s been suggested that his lordship...’

  ‘Mr Tarquin,’ Miss Vincent corrected. ‘He didn’t like being titled. He preferred to be ordinary.’

  ‘But he wasn’t ordinary,’ Honey pointed out.

  Miss Vincent shrugged. ‘It was how he wanted things.’

  ‘What about the professor? Did you have much to do with him whilst he was here?’

  ‘He was friendly enough, and I was always courteous. He was a guest after all.’

  ‘He tells me he was looking into the family history.’

  Miss Vincent frowned. ‘Yes.’ Her frown deepened. ‘He spent a lot of time in the library. He said he had full permission from Mr Tarquin.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Mr Tarquin never mentioned it and the professor just breezed in and out each morning as though he had every right to be here.’

  At around midday Honey informed her mother that she was going to the village for a pub lunch.

  ‘Just for a change.’

  Her mother didn’t wait to be invited. ‘Good idea.’

  The smell of steak and kidney pudding and the sound of piped music wafted around the bar of the White Hart pub.

  The smell was appetising and Honey ordered a bar meal. Her mother desisted.

  ‘I have a figure to take care of. Now, do you want to know what I found out?’

  They settled themselves in a window seat and sipped their drinks. Her mother leaned closer and lowered her voice.

  ‘Mrs Cromer who does the cleaning reckons that Mr Tarquin was afraid of something or somebody. He’d gone off his food you see.’

  ‘I see.’

  Honey’s phone rang. The number surprised her. Doherty had slipped a phone onto a no phone course. From what she had gathered all technical gadgets were out of bounds. They were in the wilds of Wales – the Brecon Beacons and supposed to rely on natural skills and team building efforts.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I’m having lunch with my mother.’

  She did not add that she was staying at Torrington Towers investigating a case he’d expressly told her to stay clear of.

  ‘I thought you weren’t supposed to contact anyone when you’re on this course.’

  ‘I was bored. Somebody else managed to smuggle in a tablet and a wifi connection. My mind was going stale. I turned to a bit of research to relieve the boredom.’

  ‘So, what kind of research have you been up to?’

  ‘That funeral we went to. It wasn’t legal.’

  Honey had to concede that she’d never been to one like it before.

  ‘So what did you find out?’

  ‘I found out that it’s illegal to cremate a body on private land and can only be done in extenuating circumstances by special licence.’

  Honey thought of the men dressed in Hindu costume and the little boy beating the drum. The mourners had seemed ordinary enough, but the cremation had been somewhat bizarre.

  ‘Unless a special licence is issued cremation has to be carried out at designated establishments, i.e. crematoria provided by the local authority.’

  ‘So who gave permission for it to be done the way it was done? And why?’

  ‘No idea but I’m working on it.’

  He paused.

  ‘Have you seen anything of Christiansen?’

  ‘No. He’s keeping a low profile. But then, why would he continue to tail me – apart from the fact that I’m terribly attractive and he can’t possibly resist!’

  She waited for him to laugh. He didn’t.

  ‘Promise me you won’t stray far from home. Okay?’

  Great. He still thought she was in Bath. ‘Okay!’

  ‘Right. Gotta go.’

  ‘Bye.’

  A creepy crawly sensation spread from her spine and all over her back. Doherty had warned her not to leave Bath and here she was at Torrington Towers.

  She became aware that her mother was peering at her, waiting to be told the details of the conversation.

  ‘Something about the funeral?’

  Honey nodded. ‘It was all very odd.’

  Her mother pulled her chin in, eyes popping.

  ‘You bet your life it was! That’s how you get rid of rubbish not bodies. Right. All this sleuthing has given me an appetite. I think I’ll have a char-grilled steak.’

  The meal was good, main course only, no dessert. The waiter came to collect the plates just after Honey’s mother had headed for the bathroom. The dirty plates were replaced with the bill presented in a neat little cover.

  ‘My treat I think,’ Honey murmured and opened the cover. The bill was inside. So was a Tarot card. Seven of Swords.

  The colour drained from Honey’s face. Once recovered she called for the waiter.

  She held up the card so he was in no mistake as to what she was referring to.

  ‘Where did this come from?’

  ‘The gentleman over there asked me to give it to you.’

  Honey looked to where he was pointing. A solitary wine glass stood on an empty table.

  ‘Can you describe him?’

  The waiter adjusted his spectacles. ‘Well my glasses were a bit steamed up, so I can’t be accurate...’

  ‘Be as accurate as you can be.’

  ‘Tall. Blondish, white hair. A long face...’

  ‘Did he pay by credit card? Do you have a name?’

  The waiter, looking nervous at being asked so many questions, shook his head. ‘He paid cash.’

  Honey reached for a paper napkin then sprang to her feet. ‘I’ll just see if he’s left me anything else.’ She swooped on the glass, holding it carefully between two fingers with the napkin.

  ‘Madam, that glass belongs to the White Hart!’

  She passed him a two pound coin. ‘There you are. That should cover it.’

  She was outside by the time her mother came to find her, her footsteps crisply tapping the flagstone path.

  ‘Hannah, I thought you were waiting for me inside.’ Her indignation faded once she’d seen Honey’s perplexed expression.

  ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  Honey showed her the Tarot card. ‘It was with the bill. Somebody asked the waiter to put it there.’

  ‘Did he say who it was?’

  Honey shook her head. ‘No. He described him as being tall with blondish white hair and a long face. Have you seen anyone around looking like that?’ Honey, of course, had her own ideas.

  ‘No. And you don’t know who he is?’

  ‘No. I do not.’

  She made a decision about the glass she’d taken from the table.

  ‘Mother, can you be very discrete?’

  Her mother looked mortified. ‘Of course I can.’

  Honey wasn’t so sure, but time was of the essence and she wanted the fingerprints on the gla
ss analysed.

  She explained her plan to her mother. ‘Take it to the police station in Bath. Seeing as Steve Doherty is away you’ll be redirected to one of his officers. Tell them that I’m being stalked and ask if the fingerprints on the glass can be analysed. Don’t smudge them!’ She carefully rewrapped the glass in the paper napkin. ‘Be as quick as you can. Take my car. I’ll stay here and hold the fort. I want to ask a few more questions around here. I don’t like being sent things I can’t understand.’

  ‘You mean the card?’

  ‘I do indeed. It’s some kind of message. Unfortunately I haven’t a clue what it means.’

  She was still here. He’d watched the old lady drive off. He knew what they were up to. Clever of her to notice the wine glass he’d left behind. Not that she would find anything out from that. Yes, his fingerprints were on there, but they would only lead to a dead end.

  The card man was still out there and Honey Driver was his target.

  Caspar phoned that evening to ask if there was any progress.

  Honey mentioned the titbit of information passed from Mrs Cromer that her employer had been off his food and seemed to have something on his mind. ‘She is only a cleaning lady so I don’t know how reliable...’

  ‘Honey Driver, you know as well as I do that if you want to know anything about anything or anyone, ask the cleaning lady. I frequently take tea of a morning with Mrs Roper. She keeps me informed on everything that’s going on in my establishment. She’s better informed than I am!’

  She told him about the incident in the pub.

  ‘I don’t really understand what this Tarot business is all about,’ he said. ‘Have you asked your friend Mary Jane?’

  ‘She’s been visiting friends in the Cotswolds – not that I think she’ll be able to throw any light on the subject.’

  ‘What you mean is she’ll immediately begin doing a reading,’ Caspar responded somewhat acidly.

  ‘Possibly.’

  Dinner was at seven and tonight she’d been asked out by Professor Lionel Collins, who had returned from Amsterdam.

  ‘I would suggest the Maple Tree,’ he told her over the phone. ‘I’ll meet you there.’

  Despite the fact that she’d eaten a big meal lunch time, dining in more salubrious surroundings than the servants’ hall appealed to her, and seeing she was here by herself, her mother having gone back to Bath, why not take advantage of the opportunity?

  As she zipped herself into her favourite little black dress she asked herself whether dining out should be part of her investigation. She asked herself what Doherty would do and came to the conclusion he would go out and enjoy the meal.

  Seeing as her mother had taken her car, she flipped and flopped between borrowing a pool car right there on the estate and driving there under her own steam or calling for a taxi. On seeing Adrian Sayle checking his team down in reception, she took the third option and asked him to drive her there.

  ‘If you don’t mind that is. I don’t want to keep you from your evening meal and my mother’s gone off in my car.’

  It wouldn’t have been unexpected for him to say that he was not employed as a bloody chauffeur, but he said that yes, he would drive her.

  ‘I ate a big lunch. I can wait outside until you’re ready to come back,’ he said, beaming at her.

  ‘Do you know where it is?’ she asked him as she slid into the front passenger seat of his car.

  ‘Yes.’

  She saw his nostrils dilate and knew he’d caught a whiff of her perfume. She also knew that although his glance had been minimal, he’d taken in every detail of what she was wearing.

  Leaving the reassuring lights of the house behind, they journeyed down the drive, the gravel crunching beneath the wheels, the trees on either side waving like widows weeds in the chill wind. The narrow road wound through dark fields, the far trees like cut-outs from black paper pasted against the darkening sky.

  Neither of them spoke, which Honey found quite strange. She couldn’t help getting the impression that he wasn’t speaking because there was something he didn’t want to tell her. He’d been friendly enough back in the house, but now he was quite taciturn.

  The urge to ask him outright was overpowering, but somehow she reined herself in counselling that whatever it was he’d tell her in his own good time. She wouldn’t push it.

  However, travelling in total silence gradually wore down her patience. Silence could be a bit of a bore. Even trivial conversation helps make a long journey short. Not that it was far to the village and The Maple Tree. One of them was going to break this silence. Honey decided it might as well be her.

  ‘Did you think the funeral a little odd, Mr Sayle?’

  ‘Those were his wishes.’

  He sounded pretty cool, certainly unflustered.

  ‘Did it surprise you?’

  ‘It was different. But up to him.’

  ‘It’s been suggested that something was worrying him. Do you know what it was?’

  ‘No. Something was on his mind, though.’

  ‘Would it surprise you to know that I think I’m being followed?’

  He glanced at her.

  ‘Now why would that be?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think I need a bodyguard.’

  ‘That’s it. You’re the body. I’m the guard.’

  She heard the edge of amusement in his voice and smiled.

  ‘I’m dining with Professor Collins tonight. Was he very friendly with Mr Tarquin?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know about that. My job is with the animals.’

  ‘Of course.’

  There was no point asking whether he’d known Caspar. He was too young to have been at Torrington Towers when Caspar was growing up. Still, at least his manner had improved. He was talking to her.

  ‘Is there anything else you’d like to tell me about the family?’

  She noticed his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

  ‘I don’t think it’s my place. And p’raps it’s not yours to ask. You’re not police are you?’

  ‘No. I’m not police. I’m acting on Mr Caspar’s behalf. He wants to know who killed his brother and why.’

  ‘I can’t help you there.’

  Three gables pointed skywards above the shop-style frontage of The Maple Tree. A brass bistro rail ran the length of the window, the mesh curtain hanging from it resembling fishing net; fashionable and very popular at the moment. The heads of diners bobbed through the clear glass above the rail. There were lots of them. It looked as though the place was pretty popular.

  ‘You don’t need to collect me,’ she said. ‘I can get a taxi back.’

  ‘Have it your way. If you get stuck give me a call.’

  She dashed to the entrance, already fashionably late – well, ten minutes anyway.

  She smiled to herself as she entered the restaurant and saw Lionel Collins rising like a gentleman from his table.

  Dominic Christiansen laid his head back and closed his eyes, pleased that he was here. There had been no sign from the car in front that he’d been spotted. Now he would wait for her to emerge. She would be safe enough inside. Once she was outside he would not let her out of his sight.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Maple Tree had linen tablecloths and the waiters and waitresses glided between tables, their service seeming effortless.

  The Professor’s eyes met hers. His smile was lascivious and it was obvious he’d been drinking.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ he said, filling her wine glass before sending for a second bottle.

  Honey’s radar was on full alert. The professor was way ahead of her with the wine.

  ‘When did you get back from Amsterdam?’

  ‘This morning. I’ve been looking forward to this all day,’ he whispered, closing on her across the table. ‘Now let me see. You’re a hotelier who dabbles in crime. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’re single?’

  ‘I�
��m a widow.’

  ‘Ah! Now, that’s a novelty nowadays. Most women of your age are divorced. Do you have children?’

  ‘A daughter.’

  ‘And a lover?’

  This was too much. ‘Look, professor, I’m not here to discuss my family or my relationships. I came here on behalf of a friend to investigate the death of his brother.’

  ‘Half-brother,’ he said brusquely. On seeing Honey’s expression he made an effort to smooth over his snapped response.

  ‘Have you had many lovers in your life, Mrs Driver?’

  ‘That is none of your business!’

  She fancied his smile cut like a butter knife into the heart of most women. But she wasn’t most women and his comments, accompanied as they were by too much drink, annoyed her.

  ‘Of course it isn’t,’ he said to her. ‘I do apologise. Please. Study the menu. I will purchase anything you like.’

  She had to admit the menu was worth looking at. She was about to voice her preferences when Professor Collins took charge.

  ‘Let’s not waste time. I’ll order for both of us.’

  His choice turned out well, especially the plum and marzipan dessert.

  Their conversation was like a fencing match. No matter what Honey asked him, he seemed to dance away from actually answering.

  Asking him about his stay at Torrington Towers proved to be a complete waste of time. He couldn’t remember his way home let alone staying in a cottage a few weeks before.

  She noticed he kept patting his hair above his sweating brow, as though afraid it might it had come adrift.

  At the end of the meal he rested his elbow on the table, supporting his chin as he smiled at her.

  ‘You know there’s always a price to pay for a good meal don’t you.’

  She knew exactly what he meant.

  ‘If you’re hitting on me, professor, go take a hike!’

  Declining coffee she headed for the door. The fresh air was welcoming after the interior of the Maple Tree. Outside Adrian Sayle was waiting for her even though she’d declined his offer.

  ‘Thank you. I didn’t expect you here.’

  ‘Taxis are as scarce as hen’s teeth around here. I thought I’d hang around.’