They climbed out of the car, switched their torches on and squelched uneasily through mud before reaching the uneven paved area by the door that led to the kitchen. Bert peered through the window.
‘No life in ‘ere.’ He shone his torch along the wall. ‘I’ll take a look round the side.’
‘I say,’ said James, ‘Mitchell said it looked as if the lights were coming from near the copse, rather than in the house. D’you think we should toddle over? ’
‘Blimey, you stupid or something? I ain’t trundling over there - it’s as dark as a miner’s armpit.’
James grimaced at Bert’s analogy.
‘We-we could always come back in the morning,’ Stephen added, more in hope than as a suggestion. ‘You know, l-look for footprints.’
Bert shook his head. ‘How’re yer gonna know who’s been where? Looks like the world and ‘is wife’s been stomping round ‘ere with ‘obnails on.’
James tried the kitchen door. Locked. He looked across at where the copse was, although it was impossible to see in the darkness. But any light would immediately show up if someone was prowling around. Bert was right. It was pitch black and no sign of life. He felt in his pocket, took out a key and nudged Stephen.
‘Stephen, why don’t you stay here, old chap? I’ll just take a quick look inside. Shout if you see anything.’
James could see that their new vicar was not overly excited about standing outside on his own, but a quick scan around the house would only take a couple of minutes. He let himself in and shivered. The lack of any regular heating had left the farmhouse cold, damp and uninviting. He flipped the light switch. Damn! No electrics.
His torch flashed a dim tunnel of light into the recesses of each room. He lifted up the carpets by the doors to take a second look at the pentagrams. The light flashed onto the volumes of books on witches and the occult. The very fact that it was dark, and Halloween, sent a shiver through him. He moved quickly, opened doors noisily, and trotted up the stairs with as much racket as possible in a sub-conscious attempt at calming his nerves.
But every room in the house lay empty, just as James had left it a few days ago. If someone had been there, they hadn’t inflicted any damage or appeared to be searching for anything. But then, Peter Mitchell hadn’t specifically mentioned the farmhouse, more the grounds surrounding it.
A muffled groan broke his thoughts. James stood completely still, cocked an ear and turned slowly. Was that inside or out? There it is again. Outside. Treading gingerly, he crept down the stairs. Reaching the hall, he tip-toed through the kitchen and out of the side door, where he collided with Bert.
‘Did you hear groaning?’ James said.
Bert nodded with a frown.
‘What d’you think it was?’
‘Search me,’ replied Bert. ‘I was out the front. Where’s the vicar?’
James shone his torch from side to side. ‘I don’t know. I left him here. You don’t think that was him, do you?’
Bert felt inside his jacket and, to James’ horror, brought out a small cosh. ‘Let’s try the back. Turn your torch off.’
Their shoes squelched in the wet mud as they crept along the side wall. James winced as cold rainwater crept into his shoes and through his socks. He whispered back to Bert. ‘Whose idea was it to come out here?’
‘Yours,’ whispered the curt reply. At the corner, Bert stopped him. They peered round the wall to the back of the house.
A subdued groan reached their ears. Bert grabbed James. ‘That sounds like the vicar.’
James switched his torch back on and eased along the wall, where they came to an abrupt halt.
‘Oh, good Lord.’ He rushed to where Stephen lay sprawled on the ground clutching his head. ‘Stephen, what on earth happened?’
‘I-I’m not sure. Just thought I-I’d walk about and someone hit me over the head.’ He stared at the cosh and then at Bert, who baulked at the intimation.
‘Oi, it weren’t me, yer dopey git.’
Stephen took his hand away from the back of his head and looked at it. He swallowed hard. ‘Oh, look. B-blood.’
‘Sit still, old chap.’ James stood up and fished his car keys out of his pocket. He tossed them to Bert. ‘Bert, there’s a phone box on the corner, further up the road here. Take my car and ring for an ambulance. Tell them to get the police down here, too. In fact, George may well have pitched up at mine. Call Beth and see if he’s there. Have you got enough change?’
‘Yep, I’m on me way.’
‘Good show, we’ll wait here.’
Bert turned and thrust the wooden cosh at him.
‘You don’t wanna be roaming around ‘ere in the black of night without some protection.’
‘Did you have that with you at the party?’
Bert avoided his gaze and shuffled about on his feet as James glared at him.
‘Good Lord, what on earth were you expecting to happen?’
Bert nodded at Stephen. ‘Well, that weren’t expected.’
James conceded that it wasn’t and, on hearing Stephen groan again, decided not to pursue the matter. Bert scurried out of sight. James heard the Jaguar purr smoothly away from the farm and he glanced back to the vicar, who had stood up and was now leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.
‘I say are you all right?’ he asked. ‘Let’s get you into the kitchen. I’m sure there are some drinks of some sort in there.’
‘Th-that would be nice.’
‘Go easy. Here, put your arm around my shoulder and I’ll take your weight.’
With Stephen draped over him, James led them back around the farmhouse and to the kitchen door. He pulled down on the handle and gave the door a nudge. Settling Stephen on a wooden chair, James searched the cupboards for refreshments and finally managed to find an unopened bottle of ginger beer. He unscrewed the top and a refreshing fizz rose to the top. Stephen took it gratefully and swigged half the bottle down.
James gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and wandered outside. He shone the torch back and forth, up and down the path and into the mud. There seemed to be plenty of footprints, but who did they all belong to? So many people had trampled about here lately.
He popped his head in.
‘I’m just taking a look round the back,’ he said to Stephen. ‘I’ll be two seconds - shout if you need anything.’
Stephen gestured that he was fine. Placing his arms on the table, he leant forward to rest his head on them.
James pulled the door to and retraced their steps around to where Stephen had fallen. The torch’s beam shone across the damp grass. Goosebumps cascaded down his arms as the night air crept into his bones. The light skipped over an uneven area, a bump that didn’t seem quite natural. He quickly redirected the torch and slowly took in every area of the raised mound.
Then he gave a startled gasp.
‘Good Lord,’ he mumbled.
He stepped onto the grass. Beneath him lay a life-size golem moulded from the earth. It stared eerily at him through the gloom as if ready to rise from the dead.
James peered through the glass and into the ward at the cottage hospital. He spotted Stephen on the left-hand side, at the far end of five beds. Anne sat on the edge of her seat at his bedside, talking quietly, with her hand tenderly holding his. James chewed his lip, wondering how welcome he would be. Poor man had only been in the village five minutes and he had nearly got him killed. He took a deep breath and walked through the swing doors. The ward sister marched over.
‘Can I help you?’
James, dressed in a silky smooth camel coat, took his felt hat off and smiled at her, giving her the full Harrington charm. He found it worked pretty well on the female of the species. It was a broad, wide smile that lit up his face and made his hazel eyes sparkle mischievously.
‘Ah, hello Sister. I’m Lord James Harrington. That’s our vicar over there in the far corner. He came in last night - got knocked over the head.’
‘The Reverend
Merryweather?’ replied the nurse. ‘Yes, he said you may be coming in. Visiting hours are nearly finished, your Lordship, so you’ll have to make it quick. I can’t make exceptions.’
‘And quite right too, Sister. I’ll just toddle across and see how the invalid is.’
He sauntered through the ward, nodding to other patients and offering a quick hello to them and their visitors. The clinical detergent smell filled his nostrils, together with that medicinal aroma that only hospitals have.
At the very end, by a large window, Stephen sat propped up by pillows with a crepe bandage around his head. A tuft of hair poked out at the top, giving him an almost comical look. James gave him a cheery ‘what-ho’ and pecked Anne on the cheek. Anne went to get up, but James gently pushed her back down and stood behind her.
‘Stephen, how are you, old man?’
Stephen glanced up with an embarrassed smile. ‘Wh-what a way to start my role.’
‘This’ll give you something to chat about on Sunday,’ replied James. ‘I say, you will be out by Sunday, won’t you?’
Anne squeezed her husband’s hand. ‘Of course. He’s coming out today, aren’t you?’
Stephen smiled and confirmed to James that he was, indeed, coming out later that morning. The doctors had carried out a thorough check on his condition. They’d prodded, poked, shone blinding lights in his eyes and sent him down for x-rays, their prognosis at the end of this detailed medical examination being a simple case of concussion. James stepped closer to the vicar and scrutinised him carefully.
‘Any stitches?’
‘Only three, th-thank the Lord. The doctor’s due round at t-twelve. He’s supposed to be letting me go after that.’
James pulled a chair up next to Anne. ‘It’s a bit of a rum do, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Can you remember anything much about last night? Who it might have been that clobbered you, I mean.’
‘Ab-absolutely nothing,’ replied Stephen. ‘It was so dark and whoever it was… well, th-they were behind me. Didn’t hear a th-thing.’
Anne turned to James with a worried look. ‘You don’t think someone was trying to murder him, do you?’
‘Good Lord, no!’ James exclaimed. ‘I think we may have been disturbing something, though, don’t you? Damned if I know what. Have the police been to see you?’
Stephen explained that they’d asked him one or two questions, but he’d been so groggy they’d left him alone. But, he confirmed, they would like to see him once he was up and about.
Anne blew her nose and wiped a tear from her eye. James threaded an arm across her shoulders and squeezed her reassuringly.
‘I say, old thing,’ he said, ‘it’ll be perfectly fine. Stephen here was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Could have been any one of us. Anyway, look, he’s fine now and I promise I won’t take him out to play again. I feel just awful getting him to come with us.’
Anne smiled her thanks at James and explained that it just wasn’t how she’d expected their first couple of weeks in the village to be. James nodded and empathised in all the right places. Bert was right about the village scene. It didn’t matter where you lived - there were secrets and lies that penetrated every nook and cranny. Even those who were completely innocent could become victims.
The ward sister walked briskly around the ward reminding everyone that visiting times were coming to an end.
‘Anne, I’ll give you a lift back. You say goodbye to hubby and I’ll wait downstairs. Stephen, get the hospital to call when you’re ready and I’ll come and get you.’
As James turned to go, he bumped straight into George Lane, who fixed him with an irritating sneer.
‘If I didn’t know you better, ’ he said, ’I’d have said you’d arranged this bloody attack just to get me interested in this blasted death.’
‘Steady on, George.’
‘I want a word - with all of you, ’said George, pointing at them with his trilby. ‘And Bert. And Mitchell. And anyone else who can shed some light on what the hell’s going on.’
The ward sister bristled. ‘Gentlemen! Kindly take this discussion away from my patients.’
James gave her a quick smile. ‘I’m so sorry, Sister.’ He pulled George toward him. ‘George, calm down, old chap. How about I get everyone gathered at my place this afternoon and you come over for a spot of tea, eh? Still some crumble left over from last night.’ He looked back over his shoulder, winked at Anne and steered George away. ‘Where were you, by the way? I thought you were coming to our little shindig - you missed Harry and Oliver.’
‘I was on my way,’ George replied gruffly, ‘until some idiot told me a vicar had been attacked and I had to put my social life on hold. Christ, you can be bloody irritating, James. Why couldn’t you have waited until I’d arrived before gallivanting off?’
James grimaced and followed him out of the ward and into the car park.
‘Yes, hindsight’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?’ He held George’s car door open for him. ‘Still, at least you’re taking an interest in the Grimes case now.’
George glared at him as he got in the car and slammed the door shut. He wound the window down. ‘There wasn’t a case until you poked your nose in.’
He started the engine, put the car into gear and drove away with a curt ‘see you later’.
James waved him off and leant on the door of his Jaguar until Anne appeared. He helped her into the car and slipped into the driver’s seat.
‘Anne, do you want to pick the boys up and come and have lunch with us? It’s the least we can do bearing in mind what’s happened.’
‘I’d like that very much, thank you.’ She turned to James. ‘Is your Inspector friend going to investigate this now? I do hope so.’
‘Oh yes,’ James replied. ‘I think this has spurred an investigation.’ He thought about the pentagrams and the life-size golem. ‘I just hope it’s not anything too unsavoury.’
CHAPTER TEN
That afternoon, James, dressed in dark grey slacks and a loose black polo neck sweater, stoked the crackling fire with an iron poker. Orange flames licked around the logs and projected a fierce heat as he pondered anxiously over the imminent events.
En-route from the hospital, he’d called by the vicarage, where he and Anne had collected Luke and Mark. Having enjoyed a light lunch of poached eggs on toast, word came through that Stephen was ready to leave the hospital, so James returned to chauffeur him back to the house. The hospital doctor, Stephen advised, had told him to take things easy for a few days, so Beth took him at his word and insisted that the Merryweather clan stay for dinner that evening.
‘I want to spoil you rotten after everything that happened yesterday,’ she said.
‘You’ve really no need,’Anne said. ‘None of this was your fault and please don’t ever think that we blame you. You really have been such wonderful friends to us from the moment we arrived.’
‘But you’ve only been here a few days and you’ve experienced such an awful attack. I can’t remember the last time anything like this happened in the village. And as for James taking on this detection business, well—’
‘Oh, but it is exciting, isn’t it?’ Anne’s eyes almost twinkled with excitement. ‘I mean, I’m completely shocked at what happened to Stephen, but what a story to tell the grandchildren!’
Beth laughed at her. ‘Goodness, your children haven’t even reached senior school yet! I know you get a kick out of all this detecting, but, as I keep telling James, this is real life, not fiction.’
On learning that they were staying for dinner, Luke and Mark squealed with excitement and asked if they could please finish off some of the crumbles that were left over from Halloween. They’d spotted them in the fridge earlier when Beth poured them some cream soda. Beth assured them that crumbles would be served for dessert and chivvied them out.
Comfortably ensconced on a sumptuous sofa, Stephen, with a heavily bandaged head, gratefully sipped hot tea, while the two boys played footbal
l on the wide patio at the back of the house.
‘Luke, Mark,’ Anne shouted to them. ‘Don’t kick that ball near these windows. If you break anything, it’ll come out of your pocket money. And you won’t get crumble.’
Beth laid a plate of lemon shortcake on the coffee table. ‘Don’t worry, Anne. ‘They don’t have a proper leather ball - it’s just a soft one that James found in the garage.’ She glanced at James. ‘What time is everyone coming?’
As if on cue, the doorbell rang and James smoothed his hair back. ‘Well, looks like now. I’ll go, darling. Perhaps we’d best get some more tea.’
Anne insisted on helping Beth prepare more refreshments. As they disappeared into the kitchen, James invited Bert through to the lounge and he was quickly followed by Pete Mitchell and George Lane. He manoeuvred armchairs forward so that everyone sat relatively close to one another and carried out introductions where necessary. Beth and Anne served fresh Darjeeling tea and distributed home-baked iced fairy cakes and cherry scones served with a dollop of butter.
James made himself comfortable in his much-loved and aged wingback chair. Stephen and Anne remained on the sofa, while Bert and Pete Mitchell took a couple of armchairs opposite them. Beth lounged on a small velvet couch with her stocking feet on James’ thighs.
George cut an authoritative pose in the middle of the room and James looked on in bemusement and pointed to a seat.
‘George, you look as if you’re about to pop on to the BBC and deliver the news, old chap. Take the weight off and sit down, for goodness sake. You know we’re all willing and able to help wherever we can, so help yourself to tea and fire away.’
George did as he was told. He rummaged around in his pockets and pulled out a notebook and pencil and eye-balled James.
‘Right. First. Just because I’m here doesn’t mean that I think there’s anything funny going on. This may just be some idiot playing about on Halloween.’
Anne glared at him. ‘I don’t call attacking the local vicar ‘playing about’, inspector.’
George’s eyes flashed with annoyance. ‘Detective Chief Inspector, Mrs Merryweather.’
LORD JAMES HARRINGTON AND THE WINTER MYSTERY (Lord James Harrington Mysteries Book 1) Page 10
