“Do you think that refers to the scold’s bridle?” said Mum.
“You can’t help who you fall in love with,” Piers said.
He had echoed Alfred’s words from the night before. I looked at Piers with his tousled hair and boyish face and for a moment—just a moment—wondered if I was being too cynical and that I should give him a chance to redeem himself.
“Why would someone put a scold’s bridle on her?” I said with a shudder.
“No one really knows. Punishment? Jealousy? Spying?” he said. “Or just plain spite.”
“What about her sister, Lady Frances?” Mum said suddenly. “She must have known what was going on. Wouldn’t she have intervened?”
“The role of women was very different in those days,” I pointed out. “There would have been nothing she could do—particularly in wartime.”
“Didn’t Nicholas try to find her?” Mum asked.
“I’ve found traces of correspondence that seem to imply he did, but the country was falling apart. It was all people could do to survive.”
“But who killed her?” said Mum.
“The dagger in her grave was proof enough for me,” said Piers. “As well as confirming the crest on the blade, my father found James Honeychurch’s initials engraved in the hilt.”
“But that’s terrible!” I exclaimed.
“She was betrayed by her own kin,” Mum declared. “Just like me—oh, wait.… Betrayed! That’s it. Betrayed! Excuse me. I must write this down.” She turned away and grabbed a block of Post-its and began scribbling away.
Piers caught my eye. I gave a shrug. “Taking notes,” I said.
“We must tell his lordship,” Mum went on. “Lady Eleanor should be buried in the family mausoleum at St. Mary’s church.”
“Absolutely not,” said Piers forcefully. “She must be buried with her husband in our family chapel. That’s where she belongs.” He got to his feet, picked up the parchment letters and carefully slid them back inside the plastic protector sleeves.
“What about his lordship?” Mum said.
“You can tell Rupert whatever you like.”
“Thank you for showing us these letters,” I said. “And for the flowers.”
“And the ring is exquisite,” Mum chimed in.
I walked Piers out to his car.
“Have I redeemed myself?” he asked.
“A tiny bit. Yes. Although I fear that my reputation is in tatters.”
I watched him drive away. There had been no mention of another date and I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or disappointed.
“Come on,” said Mum, who suddenly materialized at my elbow. “Let’s go and get Alfred. We need to go back to St. Mary’s.”
“Why do we need Alfred?”
“Given the circumstances, I’d like to know the exact date Eleanor died,” said Mum. “We’ve got some lock picking to do.”
We climbed into Mum’s MINI and headed for Little Dipperton. Twenty minutes later the three of us were walking into St. Mary’s church.
Alfred wrinkled his nose. “Can you smell that?”
“Bacon sandwiches,” Mum and I chorused.
“That’s good, because perhaps Violet is here and we can ask for the key—I can’t think who else would be eating bacon sandwiches.”
We headed up the aisle and into the vestry and approached the enormous Parish chest.
“That’s weird,” I said. “It looks as if the chest has been moved. It was flush against the wall when we were here last time, but now it’s not.” In fact, it stood a good three inches away from the wall.
“It’s still padlocked,” said Mum. “See what you can do with that, Alfred.”
Alfred knelt down and withdrew a lockpick from his pocket.
“Shouldn’t someone stand watch?” I said nervously.
“Shush,” said Mum. “Look and learn.”
Alfred began to noodle away on the padlock.
I looked around the vestry. It was then that I noticed a bottle of bleach cleaning fluid. It was under the chair—a strange place to leave such a thing. I picked the bottle up.
“Keep still!” Mum hissed. “Alfred needs absolute silence; otherwise he can’t hear the clicks.”
I stopped.
“Shush!” Mum said again. “Listen! Someone’s coming!”
She was right. I could hear footsteps and they were heading our way.
“Quickly, Alfred! Leave it!”
Alfred jumped to his feet just as Violet walked into the vestry.
She regarded us with suspicion. “I thought I saw you heading for the church. What are you doing in here? Stealing candles?”
“Candles?” Mum exclaimed. “Why would we want to steal candles?”
“Well, someone is.” She marched over to the ambry and brought out the box. “I’ve been counting them. You see? This was a full box last Wednesday.”
“And you have no right to accuse poor Alfred here of lurking in the churchyard last night,” Mum went on.
“I know what I saw,” Violet said stubbornly. “And I saw you with him, too, and that’s what I told the police.”
“But I was nowhere near the church!” Mum shouted. “You need your eyes tested.” She pointed at poor Violet’s cracked glasses. “What you saw were two little boys playing ghosts. Isn’t that right, Kat?”
“Harry and Max were in the churchyard last night,” I said to Violet.
“I know. I found Master Harry’s scarf,” said Violet. “I posted it through Muriel’s letterbox. Master Harry is very fond of that scarf.”
Well, that explained how the scarf ended up in the post office.
“It was a man and a woman,” Violet insisted.
I thought for a moment. “Did you see Muriel in the churchyard as well, Violet?”
“Yes,” said Violet. “She always goes to Fred’s grave to say good night.”
“You see!” Mum exclaimed. “It must have been Muriel that you saw, not me.”
“Did you hear anything?” I asked. “A scream perhaps?”
“The boys make a racket,” said Violet. “I’m always hearing them. It’s wicked. They shouldn’t be allowed to climb over the graves in the Lord’s garden. It’s disrespectful. Poor Muriel.”
“You’ve certainly changed your tune. I thought you couldn’t stand Muriel.”
“When it comes to outsiders, blood is thicker than water.”
“How can that be?” said Mum. “Although it wouldn’t surprise me if you were related. Everyone seems to be related to everyone here.”
“We’re cousins twice removed,” said Violet with a sniff.
“What are you doing in here anyway?” Mum demanded.
“I’ve come to do the flowers,” said Violet. “I keep the church clean.” She snatched the bleach bottle from my hand but then paused, wrinkling her nostrils. “Can you smell bacon sandwiches?”
“Yes,” said Mum. “It’s hard not to. For someone who likes to keep this little church clean, your standards are slipping.”
“I told Lady Carew not to eat bacon sandwiches in here.”
“Jess?” said Mum. “We haven’t seen her this morning. Why would she be eating a bacon sandwich in the church?”
“I make them for the workmen at the barn,” said Violet. “That Pippa doesn’t fry anything. Says it’s unhealthy.”
“What’s going on in here?” Shawn entered the vestry.
“You called the police?” Mum gasped. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“Ms. Green did no such thing,” said Shawn. “Thanks to Kat, Harry told his mother, and she urged him to call me about what the boys witnessed in the churchyard last night. I’m afraid this is now off-limits.”
“Why?” Mum demanded.
“We’re quite certain that Muriel was not killed in her own home—”
“Muriel was murdered!” Violet cried. “But I thought … thought … no, who would do such a thing?”
“Eyewitness accounts and the expertise of our f
orensic maestro have proved otherwise,” said Shawn.
“You think she was killed in the churchyard?” I said.
“She visited Fred’s grave every night,” Violet whispered.
Shawn suddenly spotted the bleach that Violet was holding. “Where did you find that?”
“I found it,” I said. “It was under the chair.”
“Under the chair?” Violet said with a frown. “I always put my supplies away in the bucket behind the door. I would never leave it under a chair.”
“I’ll take that if you don’t mind,” said Shawn.
“Can’t you just tell us what is going on?” I said.
“I’m sorry. No.” Shawn paused. “Can you smell bacon sandwiches?”
“I make them for Lady Carew,” said Violet again. “She gives them to the workmen at the barn.”
Shawn regarded Mum, Alfred and me. I noted that Alfred hadn’t uttered a word since the police officer had arrived. “And what are you all doing in here?”
“I was doing some research for his lordship about the Honeychurch family and wanted to look through the Parish registers.” Mum pointed to the Parish chest. “But it’s locked.”
“You wouldn’t have had much luck anyway,” said Shawn. “All the Parish registers were moved to the county record office twenty years ago.”
“We thought Violet would have a key to the padlock.”
Violet frowned. “But why would I have a key?”
“You didn’t put the padlock on?” said Mum.
“I would never do that,” said Violet.
“Perhaps the dowager countess knows,” Shawn suggested.
“She’s in London. I’m picking her up from the railway station tomorrow,” I said.
“Oh, I’m so relieved her ladyship caught the train to London,” said Violet. “I’ve been so worried.”
“If only my worries were as small as yours, Violet,” said Mum rather unkindly, I thought.
We were a subdued party on the drive back home. The thought that the boys may have heard Muriel’s dying screams just made my blood run cold.
“You don’t think it’s remotely possible that Muriel saw something and died of fright?” said Mum.
“You mean, she teleported her way from the churchyard to her kitchen, tried to write a suicide note and—”
“It was just a theory,” said Mum crossly.
“Alfred?” I said. “You’re very quiet.”
“I’m thinking,” he said. “That wheelbarrow had been moved.”
“Wheelbarrow? What are you talking about?” said Mum.
“Yesterday, when Mr. Chips dug up the biscuit tin, the wheelbarrow was in the middle of the path. This afternoon, the wheelbarrow was behind one of the headstones.”
“You think someone wheeled Muriel’s body back to her kitchen?” Mum gave a snigger. “You’re daft, you are. Are you going to tell the policeman?”
“Never,” Alfred snarled. “Matter of principle. I’d never snitch.”
“Didn’t you say Muriel was only wearing one shoe when you saw her in the kitchen?” I said suddenly.
“That’s right.”
“And you expect Alfred to tell the police?” Mum scoffed.
“But that’s really important,” I said. “But no, of course he can’t.”
Back at Jane’s Cottage I felt inexplicably depressed. I couldn’t stop thinking about the letters that Piers had shown us. It was all so tragic. And there was poor Muriel. The more I thought about her death the more I was certain she had to have seen something in the churchyard. Perhaps the boys knew more than they realized. Could Alfred have done something after all? It could have been an accident and he’d tried to cover it up by making it look like a suicide—but then why not finish the job? As Alfred liked to say, he was a professional.
I climbed into my pajamas even though it was only eight o’clock, poured myself a glass of wine and ate scrambled eggs on toast.
I must have dozed off, because I was jolted awake by the shrill ring of my mobile phone. To my astonishment, Pippa’s name flashed up on the caller I.D.
I looked at the clock. It was just past midnight.
“Come quickly,” she said. “Something terrible has happened.”
My stomach gave a sickening lurch. “Is Harry alright?”
“Yes, yes, of course he is.” Pippa gave an anguished sob. “Everything is ruined. I don’t know who else I can trust.”
“Slow down,” I said. “What’s happened?”
“I think she’s dead.”
“Who!” I exclaimed.
“Violet.”
I tried to take this in. “What on earth is Violet doing at your house so late?”
“Oh, Kat, I’m not home.” She paused to control herself. “A car accident. I don’t know why she was out so late. We saw it happen.”
I was horrified. “The boys saw it?”
“No, no, of course not. They’re not here,” said Pippa. “You have to come. Please, Kat.”
“Where are you?”
“Bridge Cottage,” she whispered.
“Bridge Cottage!” I exclaimed. “Whatever for? But … but what about Harry and Max?”
“Don’t judge me! Not now,” Pippa sobbed. “Just come. Quickly!”
Chapter Twenty-eight
Pippa was waiting for me as I pulled up outside the ruins of Bridge Cottage. In the full moon I caught sight of her clothing—a short skirt, a low-cut T-shirt. Not the usual clothing I ever saw her wear.
Violet’s Morris Minor had hit a tree at the bottom of the hill just before the bridge where the lane made a sharp curve.
It wasn’t the first time something awful had happened in this cursed part of the village.
“Thank you for coming,” Pippa said miserably. “Violet’s still in the front seat.”
“Did you call for an ambulance?”
Pippa nodded. “After I spoke to you. I had to walk up to the top of the hill to get a signal.”
“Is she alive?”
“I don’t know,” Pippa said miserably. “She’s slumped over the steering wheel. I didn’t want to touch her. She wasn’t moving.”
I hurried over to the car. Violet had a bloody gash across her forehead, but thankfully she was wearing a seat belt. Fortunately, I was able to open the door. I reached out for her neck. The pulse was there. Faint but, thankfully, still there.
“What on earth was she doing out driving so late?”
“We heard a car coming,” said Pippa. “It was coming so fast! She didn’t even attempt to brake; she just—” Pippa struggled to control her emotions. “It was horrible. I’ll never forget the sound of the crash or her screaming.”
I was deeply troubled. Was it Violet who had been creeping about the countryside at all hours of the night?
“You’ll have to tell the police,” I said.
“No! I can’t. I can’t do that.”
I had a sudden thought. “Where’s your car?”
Pippa couldn’t meet my eye. “I walked.”
“I’m not stupid!” I exclaimed. “Were you meeting someone here? Is that it?”
“I … I can’t tell you. Please, please don’t ask me,” she begged.
I was stunned. “So whoever it was just drove off and left you to deal with it?”
“It wasn’t like that,” she whispered. “His car was stolen.”
“What do you mean?”
“We were … distracted. He’d parked it a little far away and … someone stole it.”
I was speechless.
“Don’t judge me, Kat. Not you. You’ve had an affair with a married man.”
“Is this about Rupert Honeychurch?” I said coldly. Piers had been right all along. “And for the record, my relationship was out in the open, so it was not an affair. Pippa! Have you thought what that would do to Harry if he ever found out?”
A siren and flashing lights ended our conversation and within moments it pulled up alongside followed by Shawn in his panda car.<
br />
“Oh great,” I muttered.
The Cruickshank twins—Tony and John—leapt out. “We’ll take over from here, Kat,” said Tony or John. As they were identical twins, I could never tell one from the other.
Pippa and I and sat on the wall that bordered the stream.
The minute Shawn saw me he stopped in astonishment. I realized I was still wearing my pajamas.
Pippa, who was openly sobbing—although I felt quite certain it had nothing to do with poor Violet—haltingly told Shawn about the runaway car.
“And what were you doing down here at this time of night, Ms. Carmichael?” Shawn demanded, pencil poised above his notepad.
“I often take a late walk,” Pippa lied. “It’s only twenty minutes from the village. Suddenly Violet’s car came out of nowhere. I was upset and that’s when I called Kat.”
Shawn regarded Pippa with suspicion. “It’s no secret that you and Violet Green can’t stand each other.”
“It’s true. I don’t take kindly to blackmail—forget I said that. I’m in shock,” she said quickly.
“Blackmail is a serious accusation,” said Shawn.
“I told you!” she exclaimed. “I’m in shock, that’s all.”
Shawn switched on his flashlight and swept the beam up and down the lane. It was dry as a bone.
“No skid marks,” said Shawn thoughtfully. “What on earth was Violet doing out here so late?”
Tony or John strolled over. “She’ll survive. Though it’s a miracle. Those old cars don’t have air bags, but they do offer a lot more protection than some of the modern rubbish we have today.”
“We’ll talk more in the morning.” Shawn closed his notebook with a snap. “I suggest everyone go home and get some sleep.”
I drove Pippa back to the village. Neither of us spoke.
As we pulled up outside her cottage, I noticed a flurry of activity in the churchyard. A flashlight suddenly went out.
“Those boys shouldn’t be out alone at night,” I said.
Pippa got out. “Harry, Max, in. Now!” she yelled without any consideration for those villagers who were asleep. “And I mean now!”
The two boys peeped over the low wall. I left them to it and drove back to Jane’s Cottage.
I was far too upset to go to bed. Pippa had mentioned blackmail. Had Violet found out about Pippa’s affair? I could see Muriel trying to blackmail someone but never Violet. But then again, I had found from personal experience that people were rarely what they seemed. Wasn’t that the message Alfred channeled from my uninvited guest?
Murderous Mayhem at Honeychurch Hall Page 20
