Cherringham--The Gentleman Vanishes

by Matthew Costello

  “I do love discovering parts of your world that are still new to me.”

  Sarah laughed at that. “Getting harder to do that.”

  She looked up. The sun was still up, clocks not yet turned back. But they’d be driving home in the dark. Daniel apparently sorted for dinner at a mate’s house.

  Not much call on Sarah these days to get dinner on.

  Still — maybe an opportunity to catch up with Jack. Supper together in the village, perhaps?

  It had been a while, and she never liked more than a week or two to go by without them sitting down, for a real talk.

  “Ah — let the walls begin.”

  And she saw that Jack had slowed. Somewhere along this line of ten-foot tall bricks that paralleled the road, there would have to be a gate.

  And some kind of entry system, probably with security cameras locked on.

  “Maybe slow down a bit, Jack … I think it’s just ahead.”

  And Jack eased up the throttle on the little sports car, finally taming the chilly breeze.

  I’m definitely going to ask for the top to be up for the return trip, Sarah thought.

  Until—

  “There it is. Just ahead.”

  Jack slowed, then pulled off the road at the entrance gate and stopped.

  She saw the intercom box on the right, and Jack started edging up to it.

  “That is some gate.”

  Sarah looked down to his black corduroys, seeing that they were dotted with mud, probably from this morning’s romp with his dog, Riley.

  “Tea. In a country house,” she said. “Not sure we’re dressed for the occasion!”

  And that made Jack laugh.

  He reached out and pressed the call button.

  And a clipped voice answered.

  “Yes?”

  “Jack Brennan. Sarah Edwards. To see—”

  But he didn’t get to finish as Sarah heard a buzzer, and that voice again.

  “Come straight through. To the main house.” Then, a pause. “We’ll be waiting.”

  And as the gate swung fully open, she saw Jack take a breath, driving slowly up the gravel path.

  Both eager to see exactly what kind of mansion existed on the other side of that gate.

  4. The Mystery of Mandeville Towers

  Over the last few years of investigating together, Jack and Sarah had visited plenty of Cherringham’s outlying country houses.

  But as they pulled up outside the broad stone steps that fronted Mandeville Towers, Jack reckoned this one probably won the prize.

  He and Sarah climbed out of the car and just … stared.

  Perched on a hill with views for miles, Mandeville Towers certainly lived up to its name. Like a fantasy version of a medieval German castle, it was all tall clusters of chimneys, round towers and domed roofs — five that he could see so far but who knew if there weren’t more round the back?

  And unlike the usual warm Cotswolds stone, this place seemed to be built of grey granite and slate.

  Silence — only the ticking of the car’s engine as it cooled.

  “Not exactly a warm welcome,” said Sarah. “Come on.”

  Jack followed her as she climbed the steps to a massive front door banded with heavy black iron, and inset with grilles.

  “Next time there’s an invasion, remind me to head up here,” said Jack. Then he spotted an outsize handle on the wall with the word “pull” engraved on it.

  “Guess we do what the man says,” he said and pulled hard.

  From deep within the house a bell tolled. Jack grinned. “Hear that? Gonna take them ten minutes to get here!”

  But barely two seconds later the door opened and an immaculately dressed butler stood there.

  Guy must have been waiting right behind the door, thought Jack. Sneaky!

  Jack saw him give them both an appraising scan, the man’s eyes flicking immediately to the mud on Jack’s trousers, a momentary frown shifting to unconcealed disdain. A pause, then:

  “Sir. Madam. Allow me.”

  Jack followed Sarah as she entered and the butler closed the door, then walked past them into an imposing marble-tiled hallway. He saw two semi-circular staircases curving gracefully up to a portrait-lined landing.

  “Quite the place,” said Jack, smiling at the butler.

  The man stared back beneath heavy-lidded eyes.

  “The family will see you in the drawing room,” he said. “This way, please.”

  Jack winked at Sarah and they both followed as the butler led them down a wide corridor to a pair of double doors, which he pushed open, gesturing them to go through.

  The butler — making no effort to conceal his scorn — more like a stock character.

  “Thanks, pal,” said Jack with a smile, deliberately patting the man’s shoulder.

  As the butler jolted in surprise — Jack turned and entered the room behind Sarah.

  For a second, Jack felt like he’d been tossed into one of those black and white Hollywood movies about the English aristocracy. The room — simply enormous: oak floors, rugs, carpets all over the place, floor-to-ceiling windows, two separate sofa areas, a dining table, oak desk, portraits, chandeliers …

  The works.

  And sitting at a pair of sofas in front of a stone fireplace as big as a truck, two women, motionless as if they were posing for a painting. One tall, with blonde hair, lots of jewellery, white blouse, red skirt. The other: stocky, dark hair, all in brisk tweeds like she was about to climb on a horse and ride out of here.

  Both in their forties, Jack guessed.

  The doors behind Jack and Sarah shut — a tad noisily — and the two women now stood.

  “Sarah! I’m so pleased you could come,” said the tall blonde woman, getting up and walking over to take Sarah’s hand.

  “Not at all,” said Sarah. Then she turned: “My colleague — Jack Brennan. Jack — Lucinda Blaine.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ms Blaine.”

  “Lucinda, please.”

  She stepped close to Jack, gave him a lingering look and took his hand lightly in both of hers.

  “Jack — I have friends in the village who speak so very highly of you.”

  Jack saw Sarah raise her eyebrows — a suppressed smile.

  “It’s all true, Lucinda,” said Jack, leaning in a little. “Every word of it. Least the good parts!”

  He stepped back as the dark-haired woman approached and thrust a hand in his direction — forcing Lucinda finally to let go of Jack.

  “No nonsense” would be an apt description for this one.

  “Eve,” she said, shaking Jack’s hand firmly. “You’re American.”

  “Guilty as charged,” said Jack. “That a problem?”

  “Not for me,” said Eve, frowning and turning to her sister as if for confirmation.

  Jack was again aware of Sarah, standing behind Eve — her expression bemused.

  “You’ll take some tea, I assume?” said Eve, turning back to Jack.

  “Tea?” came a male voice from the far corner of the room. “I’m sure our American friend would prefer something stronger — no?”

  Jack turned — the room so big he hadn’t even noticed someone seated by the distant window.

  The man stood — walked over. Tall, thin, dark lank hair and dark suit. Pale skin. Younger than the others. A crystal glass in one hand. Scotch? Brandy?

  Obviously operating under the theory that it’s five o’clock somewhere.

  A night creature, thought Jack, a sudden memory stirred from back in the day of similar young guys he’d met who lived 24/7 in the high-end bars of New York.

  “My brother Theo,” said Eve, going to a tasselled rope by the fireplace and pulling on it. “He has issues with alcohol.”

  The man ignored the crack.

  “Theophilus,” he said, going not to Jack, but first to Sarah, taking her hand and stepping just a tad too close. “A pleasure. I assume you’re the brains of this little detecting partner
ship?”

  Then he dropped her hand and turned to Jack.

  “And you — must be the muscle?” he said, approaching close as if to inspect.

  “Me?” said Jack staring back at him. “Oh, I’m a pussycat.”

  “Best not get on the wrong side of Jack,” said Sarah. “He used to be a detective in New York.”

  “Gosh!” said Theophilus. “A real life Noo Yoork cop, here at Mandeville Towers. Well how ’bout that?”

  Jack smiled politely at the goofy American accent. For a second he thought Theophilus was actually going to squeeze his arm — but then Eve interrupted.

  “Oh, for goodness sake Theo! We’re here to find Daddy, not play silly games.”

  Jack watched Theo round on his sister.

  “I know,” said Theo. “I know. I’m the one that supposedly bloody lost him, aren’t I? You don’t need to lecture me on the mess we’re in. Though why we can’t hire a proper detective agency in London, is totally beyond me.”

  “We’re not going through all that again,” said Lucinda.

  “Damn right we’re not,” said Eve. “And God, Theo, do try not to get too drunk will you — at least not until our guests have gone!”

  “Our guests? Your guests you mean! Oh, this is too much!”

  Jack watched him spin away, fling himself upon one of the sofas and take out his smartphone, swiping the screen dramatically and sighing loudly.

  At which point the door opened and a perfectly dressed maid entered carrying the tea tray.

  “Ah, perfect timing, Mary,” said Lucinda, then she turned to Jack and Sarah. “Why don’t we sit at the table while Eve and I tell you exactly what happened on the day Daddy disappeared?”

  “Good idea,” said Jack, and as they walked to the far table by the window, he saw Sarah roll her eyes discreetly at him, as if to say — welcome to the mad house.

  *

  Sarah put down her pen and notebook and took a sip of tea. “So — just so I know we have this absolutely right — let me run it back to you …”

  Sarah looked at the family as she repeated the story as told, knowing Jack would have his eyes on them as well.

  “Last Sunday — the eight-thirty Cotswolds Express. Your father was seated alone in a first-class compartment, as usual. There are witnesses who saw him on the outward journey to Cheltenham. Staff at Cheltenham are adamant that nobody departed the train there.”

  A look to Jack to see if he wanted to jump in. But just a nod.

  “The train made no stops between Cherringham Junction and Cheltenham — on either leg. And then, when it returned to Cherringham, there was no sign of your father. Police the next day walked the line and searched the fields for the length of the route and found absolutely nothing.”

  “Yes,” said Lucinda. “That’s pretty much it.”

  “Did the police search the train at the same time?” Jack asked.

  “Yes,” said Eve. “And, of course, that morning we went down to the station — and made damn sure that every inch of that train was scoured.”

  “And there’s no way Theo might have missed Mr Mandeville at the station when he went to pick him up?”

  “I am bloody here, you know,” said Theo, looking up from the sofa. “And no I didn’t miss him. He. Did not. Get off the damn train!”

  “Actually,” said Eve, “none of the staff recall seeing him either. The police told us that the CCTV footage at both Cherringham Junction and at Cheltenham was checked. Not a sign. Nothing.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking — how sound of mind is your father? Could he have been confused perhaps? Got lost at the station? Drifted off somewhere, caught up in the crowd? CCTV is never infallible …”

  “Daddy isn’t well,” said Eve. “But he has a physical condition, not a mental one.”

  “What exactly is wrong with him?”

  Sarah saw the two women glance at each other.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to be intrusive — but whatever it is, we need to know.”

  “I understand,” said Lucinda. “Here’s the thing — Daddy was ill for over a year before we finally got to grips with the problem. The local doctor — Finch — do you know him?”

  “I do,” said Sarah. “He’s been our family doctor for years.”

  “Hmm,” said Eve, with what sounded to Sarah like a tone of dismissal.

  “Was there a problem with Doctor Finch?”

  “Was there ever,” said Eve. “Finch may be perfectly adequate, that is if you present him with measles or a sore thumb. But anything more serious than that? Let me tell you, you’re better off using Google.”

  “Ah,” said Sarah. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  But then she thought, that description of Finch was … surprising. Finch was a doctor she trusted and respected. Not someone she assumed would miss something.

  “What were your father’s symptoms?” said Jack.

  “Aches. Night-time cramps. Muscle loss. Shaking. Weakness. Headaches — very debilitating headaches …”

  “At first, he played them down,” said Eve. “Stiff upper lip you know. A quality I, for one, happen to admire in people.”

  “Finch ran a few tests, couldn’t find anything,” said Lucinda.

  “Bloody idiot!” said Theo from the sofa. “I wouldn’t let the bugger treat my donkey let alone a human. If I had a donkey of course. Which I don’t.”

  Theo laughed at his own witticism.

  Sarah looked over at him. The sisters stared. He turned back to his phone.

  Must be lots happening on Facebook today.

  “Every time Daddy went out, he became more and more fatigued,” said Eve. “In the end, we got a specialist from Harley Street to come down and see him.”

  “Best thing we ever did,” said Lucinda.

  “His name?” said Sarah, notebook ready.

  “Doctor McTavish,” said Eve. “A week later — finally! — we had a diagnosis. Amyotrophic sclerosis.”

  “Ah,” said Sarah. “I’m not sure I’ve heard of it …”

  “Hardly surprising,” said Eve. “It’s a neurological condition.”

  “Requires absolute care and rest,” said Lucinda.

  “Unfortunately — progressive,” said Eve.

  “Incurable,” said Lucinda.

  Sarah looked at the two women, their brusque matter-of-factness momentarily gone. They both seemed on the verge of tears.

  But — Sarah noted — they didn’t cry.

  A pause. Then:

  “Am I right assuming it was unlikely your father could have gotten off the train on his own?”

  “Not just unlikely,” said Eve. “Impossible. He could barely walk more than twenty yards without Seddon holding him up.”

  “Seddon?”

  “The butler,” said Eve. “Anyway, Daddy certainly couldn’t open a train door without help.”

  “Train window?” said Sarah.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Theo. “Do we have to spell it out for you? Daddy was bloody crippled — don’t you understand? Broken! Buggered! Kaput!”

  Sarah looked across at Jack, then back at Lucinda and Eve. Lucinda — her face in her hands.

  “I understand how distressing this is for you all,” she said, “but, I wonder, could you show us your father’s room?”

  “What?” said Eve, eyes wide. “What on earth for?”

  “It’s pretty standard procedure,” said Jack. “Gives us a different angle on him. Maybe there’s some clues in there — as to what might have happened?”

  “All those notes you took … and you don’t have any ideas yet?” said Lucinda.

  “None at all,” said Jack. Sarah nodded as well.

  “No surprise there,” said Theo, not looking up from his phone. “New York detective … ha!”

  “For God’s sake, Theo — shut up will you?” said Eve, then she turned to Jack and Sarah.

  “Once again — my apologies for my inebriated imbecile of a brother.�
�

  Sarah forced a smile.

  “If you don’t mind … Bernard’s room? And perhaps some of the rest of the house?”

  Sarah saw Eve place her hand on her sister’s shoulder. Lucinda looked up and nodded.

  “Yes, yes — of course,” she said, getting up from the table. “Follow me.”

  Sarah got up, Jack following. As Eve joined them, she turned to her brother:

  “We don’t need you, Theo. Why don’t you stay here and try to sober up? Hmm?”

  “Whatever,” said Theo, reaching for his tumbler of whisky and draining it.

  Eve shook her head and marched over to the door.

  Sarah caught Jack’s eye — then they waited for Lucinda and followed the two sisters out into the hall.

  Wondering what surprises the rest of the house had in store.

  5. A Room with a View

  The four of them walked up one side of the enormous curved double staircase — Jack and Lucinda side by side, Eve and Sarah a couple of steps behind.

  Jack might not have any idea what had happened to old Bernard — but he certainly was enjoying seeing this mansion.

  Quite the palace …

  He took in the line of tall ancestral portraits that spiralled up to the first floor.

  “Looks like the Mandevilles have been here quite a while,” he said.

  “The house was built in the 1870s,” said Lucinda. “Before that, the family had a large estate near Oxford.”

  “I hope this isn’t too personal a question,” said Sarah, “but is Mrs Mandeville …?”

  “Our mother passed away two years ago,” said Eve.

  “I’m sorry,” said Sarah.

  Jack waited for more information from the two sisters but none came.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, some instinct made Jack look down at the marble hall below.

  Seddon, the butler, stood staring up at him, a white hand towel over one arm. As Jack watched, the maid Mary appeared from a side room, stepped close to Seddon and started talking to him.

  He saw Seddon muttering something — then Mary stopped abruptly and looked up at Jack.

  Another word from Seddon — and she scurried away.