LORD JAMES HARRINGTON AND THE WINTER MYSTERY (Lord James Harrington Mysteries Book 1)

by Lynn Florkiewicz

  James’ brow furrowed as a rather unwelcome thought crossed his mind. Enough to kill? He quickly dismissed the notion as if too horrific to contemplate. No, a woman couldn’t do this, that’s a ridiculous suggestion. Wilkins is our man, has to be. He’s lied, he’s dodging the police, he’s acting suspiciously, and his knowledge of the Roman period is far superior to anyone else’s in the village. His motive is greed. It has to be. Not to mention the kudos of a Professor having a haul of Roman treasure, or the discovery of an ancient site on his doorstep.

  Philip Jackson’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.

  ‘Are you word perfect?’

  James closed his eyes and groaned.

  ‘Hardly. To be honest, Philip, I’ve not looked at this script since last week. What with Halloween and Bonfire Night, not to mention this business with Keith Grimes, it’s all been a bit of a nightmare.’

  ‘Yes, Graham’s the same. He’s having problems with his bank manager, so hasn’t been sleeping well. I think he and Sarah had a bit of a bust-up earlier about it. She’s furious about him giving Grimes that loan.’

  ‘Mmm, I must admit, I’d be loathe to do such a favour for someone I didn’t know well.’

  ‘Perhaps he knew him better than we thought?’ replied Philip.

  Dorothy’s no-nonsense request for the Players in the ‘Golem’ scene to gather spurred Philip into action.

  ‘Come on, James, that’s us.’

  James stroked his chin as he followed Philip. Could Graham have killed Grimes? He didn’t think so, unless it was a fit of temper, or an accident. But if he had murdered him, how would he get his money back - unless he knew about the jewellery? But if he did, why not take it at the same time? Or perhaps he knew about it but couldn’t find it?

  Dorothy thrust a script into his hand.

  ‘You don’t appear to have your script with you, Lord Harrington.’ Her face lit up as she retrieved it from him. ‘Oh, but of course, you’ve learnt your lines.’

  James snatched it back with an embarrassed smile. ‘Sorry, old thing, haven’t had a chance. I promise I’ll knuckle down this week.’

  Dorothy’s lips pursed as she pulled Bert toward them and counted the group. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ she said. ‘Where on earth are George Lane and Ian Connell?’

  ‘Ah, Ian’s up at mine,’ James said and checked his watch. ‘He and Beth will be along at around seven.’

  Dorothy attempted politeness, but James noticed the flash of annoyance in her eyes.

  Bert leant close and whispered. ’Oi, don’t piss our eminent director off any more. She’s already spitting daggers that we ‘aven’t learnt our lines, and now she’s short of two actors and a wardrobe mistress.’

  Before James could answer, Dorothy’s frustration erupted.

  ‘Really, is it too much to ask for people to give up an evening a week and be here on time?’ She waved her hands dismissively. ‘You’ll have to rehearse two short. And, if George isn’t here tonight, then his part will go to someone else.’ She stormed off, leaving James, Donovan, Graham, Philip and Bert gawping after her.

  ‘Blimey,’ Bert said, ‘if I’d ‘ave known I’d get out of this just by not pitching up for a couple of rehearsals, I wouldn’t ‘ave bothered.’

  They chuckled at one another, each knowing they had all thought the same. Their chuckles dissolved into general chit-chat. Graham turned to James.

  ‘Is Ian doing some work for you, James?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve asked him about resurfacing the patio at the house and getting something rather grand over at Harringtons. I picked up the idea from an Italian hotel brochure. When the evenings are balmy, the guests can dine outside - use it as an extra room, so to speak, during the summer months.’

  Graham nodded, quietly impressed by the venture. ‘Nice. Is Beth doing all the arranging, then?’

  ‘No - well, yes and no. It’s just that Beth is the more artistic one, so she’s thinking about the brickwork, patterns, that sort of thing. I think she’s got some intricate sort of masonry work she’d like. I’m the one dictating the size of the thing and the cost implications.’

  Graham’s reaction to his last statement was not lost on James.

  ‘I heard you went to the bank manager?’ enquired James.

  ‘Tch, more like the bank manager came to me.’

  ‘Listen, if you’re short of the readies, I can—’

  Graham’s enormous hands stopped him mid-sentence. ‘No. Thanks all the same, but I should’ve stuck to my old mum’s mantra. Never a borrower or a lender be.’

  ‘There’s a lot to be said for it, old man. Where’s Stephen and Anne?’

  ‘I think they’re backstage,’ replied Graham. ‘I saw them earlier. There’s the vicar, just come through from the green room.’

  Philip cleared his throat and got their attention. He straightened his script out. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I think perhaps we’d better make a start, show willing. Otherwise, I’ll be treating Mrs Forbes for a heart attack—’

  Just then, everyone started as the main door crashed open. Two constables barged through followed by a flu-ridden DCI Lane. The room hushed except for Dorothy Forbes who, despairing of this latest frustration, marched toward him.

  ‘Well, really! Inspector Lane - what do you think you’re doing?’

  George brushed past her and approached James’ group, flashing his badge.

  ‘It’s Detective Chief Inspector Lane and I’m here on official business.’

  He sneezed violently and a few of the older villagers murmured ‘bless you’. James grabbed his arm.

  ‘I say, George, what’s going on?’

  George ignored him and faced Donovan Delaney. He shifted on his feet, finding it difficult to look at George.

  ‘Donovan Delaney, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Alec Grimes and attempted murder of Keith Grimes.’

  The villagers reeled with astonishment, while a few mumbled their surprise at the mention of Keith Grimes.

  ‘No!’ Kate Delaney bellowed ferociously as she jumped down from the stage and lunged toward George. Her eyes bore into the detective with a monstrous stare. ‘Leave him be! He’s done nothing.’ She raised her arm and formed a fist.

  A constable grabbed hold of her before she had the chance to assault George. James looked on in disbelief as the burly PC struggled to maintain his grip.

  George glanced at Kate with some disdain before returning to the matter in hand.

  ‘You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but what you say may be given in evidence.’

  Donovan’s jaw dropped as the second constable placed handcuffs on him. ‘No - this isn’t right,’ he began. ‘I didn’t kill him.’ His eyes urgently sought James. ‘James, I didn’t kill him. Honest to God, I didn’t.’

  ‘Take him away,’ George ordered, and gestured toward Kate. ‘Bring her, too.’

  Kate spat her opinion of George like a venomous snake. James caught her arm, swung her round and shook her.

  ‘Kate! Stop it. You’re not helping Donovan with this behaviour. You go along with him and I’ll get in touch with our solicitor.’

  He put his hand under her chin and forced her to look at him. Her fierce eyes took on a haunted look. Was that a look of fear, or simply the panic of a wife and mother? He wanted to believe the latter as her tears welled up.

  ‘The children…’ she cried.

  Stephen stepped forward. ‘W-we’ll take them, Mrs Delaney. We’ve got a spare room. D-don’t worry.’

  Donovan twisted and wrestled with the constable. He shouted back to James as they marched him out. ‘Your man Grimes, he was already dead!’

  The door slammed shut. The act of arresting Delaney had taken a matter of minutes and the chaotic madness in that time suddenly descended into a numbing silence. Men, women and children glanced at one another. However, the small rumbling of gossip and opinions slowly began filtering around the hall. Bert pulled James toward him.

>   ‘Did you know this was gonna ‘appen?’

  James mumbled that he didn’t and his glazed eyes stared ahead. What was George thinking? What did Donovan mean by’He was already dead’? His head swam with the complexity of it all.

  Villagers began asking random questions, trying to make sense of it, while others commented on the mention of Keith Grimes, the arrest, the attack on Stephen and whatever else they could think of. Bert snapped James out of his thoughts.

  ‘Jimmy, d’you think we should go down to Lewes - give him a bit of moral support?’

  ‘Oh Lord, I don’t know.’

  Stephen put a hand on his shoulder. ‘M-might be best to, for Kate’s sake,’ he suggested.

  ‘He’s right, Jimmy boy,’ said Bert. ‘She was like a rabbit caught in the ‘eadlights.’

  James checked his watch - just gone six-thirty.

  ‘Well, the first thing I’d better do is get our solicitor down there. I’ll call Beth, tell her and Ian not to bother coming down.’

  He felt his pockets for change and wandered out to the cloakroom in a daze. He dialled his home number and waited for Beth to pick up. As she did so, the pips sounded and he shovelled a few coppers in the slot.

  ‘Hello, darling?’

  ‘Oh, am I glad to hear from you!’ she gushed. ‘Good news, we—’

  ‘Darling, George has arrested Donovan Delaney.’

  ‘What!’

  James let her take the news in and found it difficult to say anything else.

  ‘But, what evidence does he have?’ she asked at last.

  ‘I’ve absolutely no idea. Donovan said something very interesting, though. Something about Grimes already being dead. So he must have been there, mustn’t he? But listen, darling, I need you to call our solicitor. Ask him to get down to Lewes asap. Can you do that?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Oh, and tell Ian not to bother coming down. I don’t think anyone’s up for any more drama tonight. If you’re all right with this, Bert and I are following George down to Lewes.’

  ‘Okay,’ Beth said, hesitantly, clearly distracted by the news.

  ‘You all right, sweet pea?’ he asked. ‘I can always drop someone else off there and come home.’

  ‘No, no, you carry on there. Donovan will need some support, I’m sure.’ Beth explained that Ian proved to be good company and she’d pass the news on and get their solicitor straight away. James went to say goodbye, but stopped himself.

  ‘I say, what was that about good news?’

  Beth forced an upbeat chuckle. ‘Oh, it’s not going to seem important now, but Mrs Jepson called. She’s been calling when she can, but either we’ve never been in or she couldn’t get through. She did leave a message with the local police, but wanted to speak personally.’

  ‘What did she have to say for herself?’

  ‘Stan Jepson’s mother died suddenly. Of a heart attack. She lives in the Forest of Dean, a cottage in the middle of nowhere with no telephone. That’s why they disappeared so quickly. Stan told her they didn’t have time to call in and that they’d ring but, of course, they couldn’t reach us and she forgot all about sending a telegram.’

  ‘Oh Lord, and here’s us trying to put them in the frame. Well, that’s one mystery sorted.’

  The pips beeped.

  ‘Blast,’ James felt his pockets. ‘I’ve no more change, darling. I’ll catch up when I see you.’

  The line went dead and James returned to the subdued villagers in the hall.

  Philip, who was deep in conversation with Dorothy, waved him over.

  ‘James, we were just saying, should we carry on? What d’you think?’

  Anne rushed across to join them.

  ‘I’ve just heard. Is it true?’

  Dorothy held her forehead. ‘Yes, it’s all very distressing. I’m not sure we should continue. I mean, people’s minds aren’t on the play tonight, are they?’

  Stephen insisted that they weren’t and all eyes settled on James for the decision. He shook his head.

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you,’ he said, ’but it wouldn’t seem right to continue. And I want to get down to Lewes, give a bit of moral support and all that. How about knocking it on the head tonight? We’ll rearrange for Monday, yes?’

  ‘I think that’s wise,’ said Dorothy, her shoulders relaxed. She swung round, clapped her hands and issued a loud announcement that the rehearsals would be postponed. ‘We will all meet back here on Monday evening at seven o’clock. I know we’re all in shock, but the show must go on.’

  The WI further announced that they would continue serving tea and cake. Stephen rallied those villagers fit enough to help tidy up. Bert encouraged the children to help fold up chairs and stack them in the corner. The only spanners in the works were the snoop sisters, who fed on the arrest of Delaney like vultures on a carcass. Rose sidled up to James with a cup and saucer.

  ‘Not what we thought he was, is he, that landlord?’

  ‘Yes,’ added Lilac, ‘always thought he was a bad one.’

  James felt his blood pressure rise. ‘Ladies, the world will be a better place if you were to keep your opinions to yourself.’ He shouted over their heads to Bert, ignoring Rose’s hardened expression. ‘Come on, Bert, let’s get down to Lewes.’ He shot a piercing glare at the sisters. ‘I need to get out of here.’

  George slid open his desk drawer and brought out a half-bottle of whisky and two glasses.

  ‘I thought you said Bert was here.’

  James crossed his legs and explained that Bert Briggs never felt terribly comfortable in the confines of a police station, let alone the Sussex headquarters of a police authority, and had decided, last minute, to catch up with some market traders in the local hostelry. George smirked and hinted that he may well get Briggs in for questioning over the warehouse robbery.

  ‘What, the one with all the fireworks?’ asked James.

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘No, George. Bert’s dodgy, but he wouldn’t play robber on his own doorstep.’ He brushed some dust from his trousers. ‘Besides, the evidence went up in smoke.’

  He smiled at George, who found it difficult to remain poker-faced. He unscrewed the whisky bottle, poured a double in each glass and pushed one toward James.

  ‘So, you want to see Delaney?’

  ‘If pos, yes. My solicitor’s been contacted, but he’s in London, so he may be a little while.’

  A natural lull in the conversation occurred as the two men took a swig of their drinks. George stared at the bottle for a while. Then, he picked it up, found another glass and gestured for James to follow him.

  They wandered wearily down a narrow corridor with offices on either side, where police officers and detectives worked tirelessly. The constant tapping of typewriters, ringing telephones and paper shuffling from desk to desk drowned out any discussions from the officers inside.

  At the end of the corridor, George opened the door to a small, windowless room with one solitary light, a desk and four wooden chairs. Behind the desk sat Donovan Delaney, who leapt to his feet.

  ‘James! For God’s sake, tell me you’re taking me home.’

  ‘Sorry, old chap. Just come to dish out the support of the locals, really.’

  ‘Where’s Kate?’

  George put the glasses down and poured drinks for all of them. ‘There’s a constable looking after her. She’s down in the canteen.’

  Donovan slumped back down on the chair and James and George sat opposite him. His red-rimmed eyes had lost their sparkle. His hands fiddled with the glass in front of him, rotating it this way and that, swirling the whisky and examining the liquid as the golden amber swished about. He breathed deeply, giving the suggestion of a man lost in the wilderness. James leant forward and put his elbows on the table.

  ‘Listen, old chap, my solicitor is on his way, but he won’t be here for a while. Why don’t you tell us what happened - the day you went to Grimes’ farm?’

  ‘
The man was already dead,’ replied Donovan. ‘I’m telling you.’

  James glanced at George. ‘Well, what did you see? I mean, why did you go over there? And why not report it?’

  Donovan sighed and swigged the shot of whisky down in one go. He pushed the glass toward George, who topped it up for him.

  ‘You know he had some awful opinions of my Kate,’ he replied. ‘I don’t know why, but he was dead set against her. And the kids. I mean, they were nothing to him. He knew nothing about them, but he took to hating Kate the minute we took over at the pub.’

  George flipped his notebook open.

  ‘What sort of dislike?’

  ‘Well, Kate’s a no-nonsense sort of a woman, can give as good as she gets. They had a couple of run-ins about things.’

  ‘What things?’ George asked.

  Donovan closed his eyes in exasperation. ‘I don’t know.’

  James couldn’t help but think that Donovan did know. He knew very well. He leant back, crossed his legs and cradled his glass.

  ‘Well, you need to think, Donovan,’ he said. ‘It could be important.’

  Donovan slumped back and stared at the ceiling. Then, with a resigned sigh, he looked at James and then at George.

  ‘Religion. Kate and me, we’re not that religious. I think religion’s a personal thing. You shouldn’t talk about it publicly – it’s between yourself and your God. That’s what I think, anyway. Kate, on the other hand, I remember she said something, I don’t know what, but it really riled Grimes.’ Donovan slammed the table with his fist. ‘I don’t like airing dirty linen. D’you know what I mean?’

  James assured him that he knew exactly what he meant, but surely it was better to open up than refuse information and be charged with murder. Donovan wrestled with his conscience and stared at his hands.