Collecting a hot toddy each from the pub, they wandered across to the tree to be greeted by the villagers. An elderly vicar was distributing song sheets and appeared a little doddery on his feet. James noticed he had a rather florid expression. Perhaps an over-indulgence in hot toddies, he surmised. The vicar examined Stephen and did a double-take. ‘Merryweather – am I right?’ he slurred.
James caught Anne’s smirk. The vicar was clearly tipsy. He swayed a little as he observed Stephen who recognised him immediately.
‘W-we met at the ecumenical m-meeting a few months ago.’
‘Of course.’ He steadied himself. ‘How are you getting on? You’re in Cavendish, aren’t you?’
‘That’s r-right.’ Stephen quickly introduced everyone to the Reverend Joseph Lee.
The vicar’s eyes opened wide. ‘Lord and Lady Harrington! Welcome to our little service. I’m surprised you’ve come all the way here for this. Don’t you have your own little thing going on down there?’
James explained that their main reason was to visit John Carlton. The vicar sighed.
‘Oh yes. A sad business. Cynthia was very well liked in the village, you know. She belonged to a number of clubs; was on the committee for our charity work. I heard that someone did her in – that’s not right is it?’
James gave him a quick shake of the head. ‘We’re not entirely sure what happened.’
The vicar raised an eyebrow then took a step forward to keep his balance. Anne wrapped her hands around the warm glass. ‘Do you know Major Carlton well?’
The vicar made a face. ‘Been here twenty years. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve spoken to him. He’s a total opposite to Cynthia; and their son John.’
‘H-he’s a war hero, isn’t h-he?’
‘John?’
‘N-no, the Major.’
‘Ah yes, the Major. Saw some bad things I gather. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t come to church. I would imagine your faith would be tested.’ He frowned. ‘I thought if anyone would get killed, it’d be him.’
James gave a start of surprise. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘We-ell, you hear rumours you know, small village and all that.’ He lowered his voice. ‘He took exception to people asking where his medals were. They wanted to display them but he was having none of it. Got quite rude.’ He handed them a song sheet. ‘He’s generally an unpleasant man. I know I shouldn’t be scathing of my parishioners but if it were up to me to decide who ended up dead in that family, I would have gone for the Major.’ He looked up to the sky. ‘Forgive me, Lord, but I can’t help what I think.’ With some hesitancy he stated: ‘I can imagine he’s made a number of enemies.’
Before James could put another question to him, the vicar swung round and ordered everyone to come closer. As they did so, they heard the distinctive sound of an organ. Beth’s jaw dropped.
‘Where’s that coming from?’
A villager nearby pointed to a young woman who was seated with an antique pump organ.
‘Good Lord,’ said James.
He watched as the woman pumped the bellows with her feet while playing the introduction to ‘We Three Kings’. With the vicar conducting, they launched into the carol with great gusto. It was certainly a jolly way to spend an hour and they managed to get through six carols before the children did a solo turn with ‘Away in a Manger’. At the end, a charity box was passed around to collect funds for a new door to the village hall.
The Reverend Lee staggered across. ‘Thank you so much for coming. You’re off to see John now, are you? One of the villagers has just told me the Major’s missing. Is that right?’
James explained that they were simply paying John a visit to see how he was. He was reluctant to divulge anything more. The vicar was knocking back the drink like it was going out of fashion and he could imagine him having a loose tongue.
‘You don’t think he killed his wife, do you?’
‘I think that’s unlikely, don’t you?’
Anne handed her song sheet back to him. ‘You don’t know where he might be staying do you?’
The vicar uttered a drawn-out ‘No’, collected the sheets and wished them well. ‘Tell John that my door is always open.’
Back in the car, Beth and Anne burst out laughing.
‘W-what are you l-laughing about?’
‘The vicar,’ Beth replied. ‘That was the best piece of free entertainment I’ve seen in a long time.’
‘Did you see him swaying as he conducted? I thought he was going to fall flat on his face.’
The ladies continued giggling as Stephen explained that he remembered him having had a tipple the last time he met him. James grinned at the hilarity, fired up the engine and drove out of the village toward Major Carlton’s house.
The property was surrounded by iron fencing with ornamental spikes on top. The gates opened onto a long gravel drive that led to a huge red-brick house; in some ways, very similar to James and Beth’s residence but with far more acreage. James’ father had insisted that their land remained as part of Harrington’s country hotel and, although they still had a substantial plot, it didn’t compare to the sprawling estate he saw here.
James parked by the front steps and, as they emerged from the car, John opened the front door to greet them. He looked pale but managed a greeting as he thanked everyone for coming.
‘Did you enjoy the carols?’
Beth and Anne were quick to share their delight and enquired after the vicar’s health. John grinned. ‘I’ve never known him not be sloshed. He gives quite an amusing sermon, especially if he helps himself to the wine.’ He pushed the door open further. ‘Please come through.’
They were shown into a large lounge with windows along one side and French doors that opened on to a small paved area. Beyond this were extensive lawns with shrubbery to the rear and behind that the spiked iron railings that bordered the property. James surmised that the Carltons were not gardeners. Although they had an immense amount of land, there were few trees and relatively little in the way of flowers or shrubs; unlike James and Beth who specifically employed Ernest Appleton to bring their landscape to life.
John brought a tray of tea and biscuits in and placed it on a large table in the middle of the lounge. There were half a dozen comfortable wing-back chairs surrounding the table and a long sofa to one side. They each opted for a chair and sat in a circle while John poured the teas. James accepted his with a thank you. ‘How are you bearing up, John? It must still be raw for you.’
John appeared reluctant to speak. Emotion hovered beneath the surface and one show of sympathy appeared likely to set him off.
‘I’m bearing up. I’m still in limbo; I can’t quite take in what’s happened. I mean, we were plodding along as a normal family and then suddenly things take a turn. I can’t quite get to grips with what’s happened to Mum. And where the hell has Dad got to?’
Stephen accepted his tea and shifted to the edge of his chair. ‘I-I’m aware that you may not have a faith, John, and if you do it is likely to be tested; b-but please be assured I am here should you wish to talk. As is A-Anne. I can p-promise to steer clear of religion if it suits.’
‘You’re very kind. I suppose I do have a faith. I used to go to Sunday school when I was little and Mum is….was always involved with the church. I tend to go when you’re obliged to ̶ Easter, Christmas, you know.’ He sipped his tea. ‘I may take you up on that, though. You’re more my age group than that old codger we have in the village. And you’re not part of the village. The vicar here is less than confidential when he’s had one too many.’
Stephen and Anne immediately suggested popping in later in the week. James crossed his legs and looked out of the window. ‘Your parents have quite a place here.’
‘Yes, it was a culmination of inheritance. My parents were not rich people, Lord Harrington. They were among the upper classes but not to this extent. A number of family deaths allowed them to purchase this house. We’
re a small family and there were very few people to leave an estate to so everything came their way. Mum and Dad moved here when I was around four years old.’
‘Where were you before?’ asked Beth.
‘In a house near Wisborough Green.’
James knew the village well. He’d always thought it pretty and well laid out with two pubs; he’d frequented one of them with the cricket team - it was aptly named The Cricketers. The church stood on a small hill overlooking the village green. He and Beth remembered taking Oliver and Harry there as children to feed the ducks that had taken up residence on the pond. Stephen gave him a subtle wink. They’d agreed earlier that they didn’t want everyone involved in the investigation so Stephen steered the conversation toward the many books lining the shelves. He and Anne got up to peruse the titles. Anne was quick to spot a number of children’s books. John joined them.
‘Mum loved children’s books and collected a number of first editions. Why don’t I show you next door? She kept a small library.’
As he ushered them out, Anne turned and gave James and Beth a thumbs up. James rolled his eyes. Anne loved a mystery and made no bones about it. When John returned, James settled back in his chair.
‘John, we’d all love to help you make sense of what’s happened. Perhaps talking it through may help. You said, when you were staying with Mrs Keates, that your mother had been acting strangely.’
John stared at his tea. ‘That’s right. It started about eighteen months ago, two years at the most. I visit quite a bit – I only live a few miles away but she was agitated for a while and hinted that Dad was getting paranoid about things.’
‘What sort of things?’
‘Claimed he was being followed – that someone was spying on him. It sounded a bit too far-fetched for my liking. I mean, Dad’s always been a bit off with people. He doesn’t trust anyone. You only have to look at him odd and he’ll read something into it.’
‘But what would make him feel that way?’ asked Beth.
‘Can you remember a time when he wasn’t like that?’
‘Not really, but the last couple of years has been more intense. And it’s only recently that Mum acted strangely too. She started going out more; attending more social gatherings and getting involved in the community. It’s as if she was annoyed with Dad and had finally lost all patience with him.’
‘And this all started a couple of years ago?’
‘I believe so.’
‘And what do you know about his exploits during the war – the Great War. You hinted that it might be something to do with that.’
‘He received a commendation for bravery but he threw his medals in the drawer. Mum’s always wanted to display them but he won’t have it. He’s never discussed the reasons why. Whenever I asked him about what he did, he’d get angry. Mum said that it was because of what he’d seen; that a lot of the men who served choose not to talk.’
‘Did he keep a diary?’
‘If he did, he never told me.’
‘Have you gone through any of his belongings? There may be something there that would shed some light on this.’
John confirmed that he hadn’t and felt apprehensive about doing so. ‘I fear that there’s something dirty at the bottom of all of this. And if Dad found out I’d been looking through his things, I’m not sure how he’d react.’
Beth empathised with him. ‘And you have no idea where he could be?’
‘We have no relations and I can’t remember the last time he actually had a friend.’ He gazed out of the window. ‘I hope he’s not lying dead in a ditch somewhere.’
‘Oh, dear,’ said Beth, ‘you mustn’t think like that. Your dad is probably suffering from shock. He certainly appeared shaken when this happened. Grief affects us in different ways. He may have checked into a hotel to be on his own.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘I say, does he have an address book or anything? If we take a look through that, there may be a contact that you don’t know about. Perhaps an old army colleague or something.’
John led them through to his father’s study. This was opposite the lounge and was a much smaller oak-panelled room with a solid oak desk and another set of doors leading to gardens at the side of the house. John opened the drawer and pulled out an address book. Beth squeezed John’s arm.
‘We’ll do our best to find him.’
John expressed how grateful he was and suggested more tea. Beth was quick to offer help in the kitchen.
As the door closed behind them, James sat on a worn leather chair and reached down to open four drawers that hung on either side of the desk. None of them gave up any secrets. He focussed his attention on the address book. At first, the contacts appeared to relate solely to Cynthia: Women’s Institute, knitting circle, the local choral society and the ladies’ bridge club. Then, as he flicked a few pages on, one name leapt out. General Niven Short. The address was a Sussex one: Hove, just along the coast from Brighton.
James snatched a piece of paper and jotted down the details and the telephone number. He continued flicking through the book and raised an inquisitive eyebrow as he read a familiar name. The Royal Sussex Convalescent Home. How many times had that name cropped up in conversations recently? Underneath this was an entry for the Sussex Regiment Museum. He added the details of these to his list and sat back. The walls were bare except for a couple of landscape paintings. He felt a twinge of disappointment. There was nothing here to highlight a problem. Beth peered around the door and announced that fresh tea was available. He thanked her and wondered if he could find an excuse to see the bedrooms.
He was about to join her when Stephen and Anne scurried in. The door slammed behind them. Stephen grinned.
‘You’ve found something, haven’t you?’
‘Oh James, I think we have,’ said Anne rushing to him with a book in her hand. ‘This was on the table. I sent it flying when I tripped over the rug.’ She opened it up to show the pages had been cut out to form a secret box. In it were a handful of letters.
‘We-we’ve read one and i-it’s rather disconcerting. I’m not sure that showing them to J-John would be a good thing.’
‘Showing me what?’
They looked up. John stood in the entrance.
‘I heard the door slam and wondered if you were all right. Have you found something?’
James waved a piece of paper in the air. ‘I have a couple of contacts of your father’s that I’ll pursue – see if we can’t track him down for you.’
‘I’d like him here for Mum’s funeral.’
They made to go through to the lounge but John stopped them. ‘What else did you find? I’m going to have to know and, if it’s bad, there’s never going to be a good time.’
James hastily suggested that they return to the lounge where Beth had poured fresh tea. As they entered, he could see from the look on her face that she sensed the anxiety etched on their faces. Anne pressed the book into James’ hands. Stephen sat down and rested a hand on John’s arm.
‘A-are you quite sure you w-want to know.’
John swallowed hard and nodded. James opened the book, took out six envelopes and checked the dates on the postmarks. Satisfied he was opening the first letter, he took out a single sheet of paper and unfolded it. On it were two sentences made up of letters cut out from a newspaper.
‘You’re the guilty one. You’re no more a hero than I am.’
James scanned the group and his gaze settled on John. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’
John shook his head and motioned for him to continue. James pulled out the second message: ‘You murdered him to save your own skin. You played a hand in every death.’
James felt the bottom of the envelope and peered in. His heart sank as he pulled out a white feather. John’s shoulders slumped. He stared at the ceiling but then motioned to James to continue. Anne pulled her chair closer to John and held his hand. James pulled out the third piece of paper.
‘I’m w
atching you. You’ll get what’s coming to you.’ Again, a white feather accompanied the communication. James chewed his lip. ‘I think we get the picture with these. I’m sure the rest are more of the same.’
‘Please,’ said John, ‘read them.’
The fourth was a little more detailed. ‘You sent men to their deaths. You claimed the glory but you never fought. You are a fraud and shouldn’t be here.’ The fifth reiterated the last message. The sixth stated ‘I know what you did’. Each was accompanied by the now familiar white feather. James stacked the envelopes together. ‘Has there been any more post since your parents left for Harrington’s?’
John looked at him as if he didn’t understand but James could see that the young man was trying desperately to hold his emotions in check. John ran his hands through his hair.
‘Yes, yes, there has been post. I didn’t think to look at it.’ He made his way out of the room.
Beth nudged James and mouthed the word ‘fingerprints’. James called out to John and told him to handle everything with a handkerchief. As he returned with the post, James put his gloves on and explained that he would need to take these particular letters to George. John handed him three envelopes and returned to his chair. Two were bills; the third had a similar type on the envelope to the others. He examined the type and couldn’t identify anything particularly unusual. He supposed the police could make a match if they found the typewriter. He took out the letter and groaned.
‘I’ll see you at Harrington’s.’
‘Oh God,’ said John. He gripped Anne’s hand. ‘That arrived the day they left. He never opened it.’
‘D-did your father n-not report all this to the police.’
John was quick to confirm that he wouldn’t. ‘I know what these letters mean; I know what the white feather means. No matter how much I want to deny that my father was a coward, the way Mum was over the last few months, she must have discovered something. She must have done – why else would she have changed?’ He closed his eyes. ‘He’d built up a lie. If Mum found out, and I’ve no doubt she did, this would have had a domino effect.’
Beth frowned. ‘How?’
Lord James Harrington and the Christmas Mystery Page 15
