“This’ll do to begin with,” he said. We both turned at the jingle of the door.
Yes, this is what I had longed to fill my morning with—Geoffrey Addleton and Cecil.
“Good morning, Lord Palgrave,” Addleton said.
Cecil turned slightly pink. “Mr. Fotheringill will do, Mr. Addleton, please. And for you, too, Ms. Widdersham,” he said to Vesta.
“Thank you, sir—and look here, you’re just in time for tea. Won’t the two of you come through and join us?”
Addleton carried the map back with him, and we settled at the table with tea and a plate of assorted biscuits. Vesta had cleared out our stash—chocolate digestives, bourbon and custard creams, malted milk, and Hobnobs. We’d need to go shopping.
“And how do you find the estate, Mr. Fotheringill, coming home, as you have?” Vesta asked, locking her eyes on Cecil and giving him a warm smile.
He swallowed and glanced at Addleton. “I don’t pretend to know everything yet, of course, but I intend to do my best.”
“It’s a great responsibility, isn’t it?” she asked. “All these people relying on you and your father for their homes and employment and to keep the estate such a lovely place to live. We’re grateful for your commitment.”
Cecil blinked at Vesta, and I saw his shoulders relax and the muscles in his face soften—he practically melted under her gaze. “Thank you, Ms. Widdersham. It’s kind of you to say so.”
I needed a few Vesta lessons.
With tea finished, Addleton drew out the map and unfolded it on the table.
“You won’t mind, will you, Ms. Lanchester, pointing out the farms and such to me?” he asked.
“I can show you,” Cecil said. “Here now, in the corner, are those three farms just gone organic.”
He tapped on the map, and quick as anything, Addleton had pulled out a pen and scribbled something. I looked closer—no, not scribbled, drew. He had drawn a beanpole, a head of lettuce, and a…
“Pumpkin,” Cecil said. He pointed to another spot. “And near the brook are those caravans Julia wants to turn into holiday rentals.” Caravans appeared under Addleton’s pen. And it continued—as Cecil recited each hamlet and light-industry site on the estate, Addleton followed it with a drawing.
I ate a malted milk biscuit and drank my tea, feeling extraneous to this entire exercise, yet fascinated as Cecil became almost animated, pointing out features of the estate followed close on by Addleton’s drawing for each. Cecil knew his stuff—he was much more aware of everyone and everything on the estate than I’d’ve ever given him credit for.
“And across that field is the orchard Adam’s working now.”
Addleton looked at the spot and then at Cecil. He held out the pen. “Would you mark that one for me?”
Cecil hesitated. I thought he might be about to put the estate agent in his place, but instead he took the pen and drew a leafy tree with a few dark round blobs on it.
“So, now,” Addleton said, “let me make sure I’ve got this straight.” He proceeded to point to every drawing he’d made on the map and recite—correctly—the name of the tenant, how much land they had, and what they did.
“You’ve a good memory, Mr. Addleton,” I said.
“I’d rather memorize than read, Ms. Lanchester, it’s just my way.” He folded up the map and stood. “Mr. Fotheringill, I’ve a mind to stop in at the garage on the north end of the village, there’s a question about a roof repair. If you’ve the time, would you come along?”
“Yes, Mr. Addleton, I’d like that.”
The men thanked us and walked to the door. Cecil turned round, pointing to our newest window display. “Julia, what’s this about a pub quiz night?”
“Oh, did I forget to tell you? Why don’t I let Mr. Addleton explain it, we were discussing it just before you arrived.” I smiled at the estate agent, who either smiled or grimaced back at me—it was difficult to tell.
I watched the two men walk up the high street.
“They seemed to get along,” Vesta said. “That’s good for Mr. Fotheringill, don’t you think? He seems quite alone.”
“He isn’t alone, Vesta, he’s got his father—Linus thinks the world of Cecil. I hope Cecil realizes that.”
Chapter 20
After lunch, Vesta left to distribute fliers and solicit prizes for the quiz night, first reminding me to ring Linus. I tried him again but had to leave another message. I didn’t want him thinking I had some dire announcement, so I kept it light. “Nothing urgent, don’t worry. I’ll talk with you soon.”
I made myself a cup of tea and sat quietly for a moment, watching the steam rise from my cup and letting my thoughts drift. I’d had a good night’s sleep after the events of Monday night into Tuesday morning, and thought I could carry on as normal. I hadn’t realized the effect Freddy’s death had on me until Addleton needled me—it was as if he knew what to say to set me off. My phone rang and I jumped, a surge of adrenaline getting me ready to talk with Linus. But it was my dad.
“Jools, why haven’t you phoned to tell me what happened at the Hall?”
Well, I didn’t need to, did I? “Did Michael tell you? Is it in the news?”
“Yes to both,” he said. “Although only a small item online.”
“I didn’t want you to worry. Did Beryl get off all right?”
“She’s already arrived at Bianca’s. Listen, why don’t I come over there and see how you are?”
My dad—his wife gone for eight hours and already at loose ends.
“There’s no need for that, but listen.” I described to him Sergeant Glossop’s shock when I mentioned the poisoned sparrow hawks.
“That Inspector Callow left me a message wanting to talk,” he said. “I’ll ring her now.”
A quarter of an hour later, as I dusted shelving and peered out the window for Michael, he rang back.
“She had a fair few questions for me,” he said, sounding none too pleased. “I told her I believed it to be mevinphos. She wanted to know when it was banned, if it has an odor, how fast it worked, how much it would take to…Well, I told her I’d get back to her with a report.” His voice drifted off. “Mind you,” he returned with force, “I’m happy to answer her questions, but I don’t see why she wouldn’t answer any of mine. Does this mean that fellow Peacock was poisoned? Is it safe for you to stay at the Hall? That’s what I want to know.”
“I’m perfectly safe. I don’t want you to worry about that—you’ve far too much going on. And I’m expecting Michael to stop by.”
“Is that why I gave him the afternoon off?” Dad asked. “Well, it’s all right—he certainly works hard enough. But please remind him I want to see next week’s schedule.”
“He remembers to copy the crew, doesn’t he? You know how Basil Blandy needs at least a week to be ready for any filming.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I still miss you working alongside me.”
“Michael is a fantastic assistant.”
“He is that. I can’t complain.”
And there he came—I spotted Michael as he parked a few doors down and walked up the high street. “Bye, Dad.”
Michael had come straight from his meeting about the new foundation; he still had on a dark suit with a shirt of a pale, dusky blue that turned his eyes the same blue-gray color. His black hair was in its usual disarray, and he’d loosened his tie. He stood for a moment, glancing to the back of the TIC. But we were alone. I slipped into his arms and he held me fast, triggering a release of all the dreadful images in my mind, even squeezing a few tears out of me that I didn’t know were there. I didn’t want to let go, but a shadow passed the window, and I remembered I was at work.
“That’s silly, now,” I said as I whisked away the tears.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is that the way you greet all your visitors here in Smeaton-under-Lyme?”
I laughed. “We’re a welcoming village.”
He took my chin between thumb and for
efinger. “You all right?”
“Pffft,” I said. “Little thing like a dead body in my corridor can’t get to me.”
I’m glad to say he knew better, and took it upon himself to provide some much-needed comfort.
Resting my forehead against his cheek, I said, “It’s as if the ordinary parts of that evening have melted away. I told the police all of it, of course, but what I remember now is leaving you and driving back, but after that, what stands out are the awful bits.”
“You’re still in shock,” Michael said.
“Come on,” I said, leading him to the back. I switched the kettle on. “I’m sorry I’ve no cake for you.” Instead, I dug out the last of the biscuits, which were mostly broken pieces. We held hands over tea, and I told him about Sergeant Glossop’s visit and showed him my photos of the bird print.
“Coincidence?” Michael asked. “Dead sparrow hawks on Saturday, and dead Freddy Peacock on Monday—in possession of a picture of a sparrow hawk.”
“Freddy poisons birds and the birds strike back?” I shrugged. “I can’t see the connection and we still don’t know for certain how he died.” I drew my finger along the back of Michael’s hand. “Will you stay to dinner?”
“Stoat and Hare?”
“No, at the Hall—it’ll be fun.”
“Fun? Is that what you’ve been describing to me lately?”
His eyes sparked like flint, and so I knew he meant yes. “I’ll ring Sheila. And Linus.” I jumped up. “Oh God.”
“You think he’ll say no?”
“It isn’t that—it’s the pub quiz on Friday. He doesn’t know yet.” I plopped back in my chair and told him the story.
“That’s brilliant,” Michael said. “You did the right thing.”
“But I shouldn’t have done it without him knowing—not that he won’t say yes, it’s only, well, he is in charge.” I grabbed my phone. “Right, here goes. And I can tell him you’ll be at dinner.”
“He’ll like that, won’t he?”
“He’s always saying I should ask friends,” I said, as if Linus were my dad.
“His Lordship fancies you,” Michael said.
I leaned over the table and gave Michael a kiss that told him whom I fancied. I was put into Linus’s voicemail again. I would leave the subject of the pub quiz night for when we could discuss it face-to-face. “Linus, I wanted to let you know that Michael is able to come to dinner at the Hall tonight—and so we’ll see you soon. And also, there’s something else I want to talk with you about. Later.”
I rang Sheila, too, to let her know. For the first time in a while, I looked forward to dinner at Hoggin Hall.
—
We dawdled in the TIC after closing. I spoke briefly with the cook at the Royal Oak, promising extra help in the kitchen Friday evening. Michael began assembling questions for the quiz—I couldn’t believe it when he told me how many we would need—eight rounds of ten questions each. And at least two rounds needed to be about the war, the Americans, and, I supposed, airplanes.
Not a sign of life when we walked into Hoggin Hall, but I knew everyone would gather for drinks soon. “I need to go up to my room and change,” I said to Michael as I hung our coats on the rack.
“You need any help with that?” he asked.
I took hold of his tie, got nose-to-nose, and whispered, “If I take you up to my bedroom, I’m afraid I’d never let you out again.”
“Ooh,” he said, his hands on my hips, “I like the sound of that.”
“Come along,” I said, leading him round the staircase. “I’ll leave you in the library. Thorne will be in before long to get the drinks tray ready, and I’ll be back before anyone else appears.”
Chapter 21
I had taken longer than I intended to change. After rifling through my wardrobe in search of that lovely blue sweater the color of Michael’s eyes, I switched earrings twice, and when I fluffed my hair in the mirror, I realized I was in desperate need of a trim. Until my move to Smeaton-under-Lyme—a sudden change in my life—my hair had been long and easily dealt with by tying it back or twisting it into a bun. Now, with a stylish bob and long fringe, it needed regular attention. I texted Rosy at The Hair Strand for an appointment. Right, I thought, catching my reflection one more time before I headed down, this’ll have to do.
I reached the library door as Michael said, “You might want to hear what she has to say first.”
Conversation ceased when I stepped in, and all eyes turned to me, but not in a good way. Cecil had one hand on the mantel, a drink in the other hand, and an eyebrow raised. Linus frowned—his brows furrowed so tightly that his face seemed squashed. Addleton stood stiff and straight. Michael, with a solemn look, came straight for me and took my hand.
“Mr. Addleton was just asking his Lordship about the pub quiz on Friday,” he said.
You snake, I thought, glaring at the agent. He had sensed I hadn’t told Linus and couldn’t wait to tattle and see what trouble he could dump me in. I squeezed Michael’s hand before walking over to the fireplace grouping, holding my head high.
“And I hope you explained the details?” I asked Addleton. “What a fine opportunity we have to increase awareness of the Fotheringill estate to overseas tourists? What a boon this could be to all concerned?” I turned to Linus, wishing I could apologize profusely, only not in front of Addleton and Cecil. “This was a last-minute opportunity, Linus; I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get you on the phone. I did try.”
Linus held up his hand. “We’ll discuss this later, Julia.” His voice was distant and distinctly aloof with a note of disappointment. But when he glanced at Michael, I realized he may be more annoyed that Michael knew about the event before he did than he was at me for thinking it up to begin with.
“There’s no need,” I said. “I’m happy to explain my thought process to everyone here.” I had had no thought process, but I couldn’t explain that.
“Your Lordship, you shouldn’t let yourself be talked into any wild scheme,” Addleton said.
“I don’t talk Lord Fotheringill into anything,” I shot back. “He’s perfectly capable of weighing the benefits and costs of a project based on the facts.”
“Quiz nights cost little to put on and pay off soundly with what the bar takes in,” Michael said. “And that’s apart from the exposure. I wouldn’t dismiss it out of hand. Julia saw a good opportunity and took it.” I could’ve kissed him right then and there. I’d catch up later.
“The tour director emailed me at the end of the day,” I said. “Thirty of her group jumped at the chance to attend the pub quiz. Add to that a crowd of locals and the place will be heaving. And more importantly, we’ve made a contact—this woman brings American groups over twice a year.”
“Don’t you need quite a few people to help out for the evening?” Cecil asked.
Yes, we did—a dozen at least. Keeping an eye on the tables, signing teams in, scoring each round. Hadn’t quite sorted that yet. The silence in the room was deafening as I ran down the possibilities, Vesta, Akash, me, Michael, Willow. I looked across at Michael. His eyebrows were slightly raised—he was asking if I needed help in laying out my case. No, I had to do this on my own.
“We’ve already had several people volunteer,” I said, which may not have been technically true but was true in spirit, because I knew they would as soon as I asked.
“Who’ll run the quiz?” Addleton asked.
One last punch to the gut. I searched my brain while the room waited for my pronouncement. To run a pub quiz, you needed to be outgoing, fun, able to handle a crowd and make a joke, too. Not afraid of appearing in public, accustomed to extemporaneous speaking. Doesn’t hurt if you’ve got a recognizable name.
My eyes locked on Michael’s, and at the same moment we both said, “Rupert.” We laughed and the others murmured—what, approval?
“Sir Rupert now,” Michael added. Yes, Dad had been on the Queen’s birthday honors list in June.
I looked at
Linus, waiting for his judgment. I could hear the seconds ticking away. His face revealed nothing as he stared at the pattern on the rug. Trust me, Linus, please. At last, he looked up and gave me a small smile.
“We’ll all help out,” he said. “Thorne, Cecil. You, too, Addleton.”
I could’ve kissed him at that moment—Linus, that is. “Thank you. Really, it’ll be a wonderful evening.”
—
The atmosphere lightened. Michael and I sat on the love seat while Cecil and Linus took chairs on either side of the fireplace; Addleton remained standing. We chatted about the estate during the war. Linus confirmed my story about officers billeted in the Hall, but hesitated for a moment when Addleton asked where—apparently, the north wing had been used, including Freddy’s room. A dark cloud appeared in our midst, and we all took a moment to think of Freddy—at least, I supposed we did—before picking up and carrying on.
Linus had finished telling a story about a farmer off the estate who, only a few years ago, had plowed up a nest of bicycles that had been buried by departing American servicemen, when Thorne appeared at the library door. We rose, ready for the call to dinner.
“Your Lordship, Inspector Callow and Sergeant Glossop are here.” We stood like statues, as if moving would somehow make us look guilty. “Shall I show them in?”
“Yes, of course.”
Thorne disappeared, and we waited. I fingered my empty sherry glass, and I saw Addleton down the rest of his whisky. At last, the police walked in, looking much as they had at four o’clock Tuesday morning, well put together in their suits, but this time without a collar point out of place. The sergeant had the large portfolio under his arm. I stared at it and up at him; he caught my eye and looked away.
“We’re sorry to disturb you so late in the day,” DI Callow said, her cool eyes scanning our faces and stopping at Michael’s. “And you have a guest.” An unspoken request for identification.
Michael crossed the room, hand outstretched. “Michael Sedgwick.” He took Callow’s hand for a brief shake; Glossop offered his up with a smile.
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