by Bill Kitson
‘Dreams are like that.’
‘One thing I do know, that when I woke up it was important that you were with me, and that we should be together. I knew I had to show you how much I love you.’
‘You do that all the time, Evie darling.’
‘Perhaps I do, but I’m not always sure you understand that, and it is so very important.’ She snuggled closer and whispered, ‘Just to be on the safe side, I think I should show you again, don’t you?’
I couldn’t see a problem with that, either.
Chapter Twelve
It was after 9.30 when we headed down for breakfast. We had almost reached the end of the Minstrel’s Gallery when a thought struck me, one so powerful that I stopped dead. Eve also had to stop, because we were holding hands. ‘What’s wrong, Adam?’
‘That letter of Stephen’s; the one he left with the solicitor for Robert.’
‘What about it?’
‘I’ve just had a thought. We were all so surprised by it, and by the sentimental tone, that I believe we missed the point he was trying to get across.’
‘And that was?’
‘I think Stephen wanted to direct Robert’s attention to something important that he wanted him to look at. If I remember correctly, he referred to the importance of the Pengelly family. And the need to inspect the estate records, or something of that nature.’
‘I’m not sure you’ve got the wording exactly right, though that sounds pretty much as I remember it. But what of it? Where’s the significance in that, except to highlight Stephen Pengelly’s change of heart? He knew he was dying, remember, so you can’t fault him for having regrets and harking back to the past. The poor man knew he had little future to look forward to, and he wanted to make amends as best he could before it was too late. That’s all. I don’t think there was anything more to it than that.’
‘And that’s exactly my point. I think Stephen Pengelly was far cleverer than we’ve been led to believe. He might have been weak and gullible in certain areas, but I think that letter was a masterpiece of coded writing. I believe he was afraid it might fall into the wrong hands, and if it did so, he wanted it to seem to be nothing more than the sentimental ramblings of a dying man. Whereas, in fact, he was actually giving Robert strict instructions as to where to look for something. And whatever that something is, Stephen regarded it as highly important. He disguised those instructions astutely enough to fool anyone who took the wording at face value, as you did; as we all did for that matter. However, we have one definite advantage over others who might have read the letter had circumstances been different.’
‘And what might that be? We’ve looked in the safe and there’s nothing more in there.’ Eve stared at me, and from her concerned expression I guessed she thought I’d gone mad.
‘Think about it, Evie, and imagine that you are Stephen Pengelly. You’re seated at your desk in the study when Tony Bishop brings in the milk yields for the month of August, or the lambing statistics from the spring, or the crop returns from the wheat fields. Your first thought would be to compare them with the figures for the previous year. Well, that would be my reaction, anyway.’
‘OK, what of it?’
‘In order to do that, he’d have to take the key, go through the house and down to the safe, to get the ledger. Why? Why not keep them at hand in the study, where he could reach out and check the figures instantly? It isn’t as if they contain anything secret, I’d have thought. Unless, of course, what’s on the label isn’t what’s inside the jar.’
‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’
‘On the spine of the ledgers it says, “Barton Manor Estate Accounts”, followed by the year they refer to. But, we didn’t open the ledgers to look inside and prove that was what they contained.’
‘I take your point, but if that was what happened, why do you believe Stephen went to all that trouble?’
‘Because something within those ledgers could provide the motive for his murder, or those books have absolutely nothing to do with estate records. And if you think about it, even the labelling on the spine is a bit suspicious. Why go into so much detail? Why write that they were “Barton Manor Estate Accounts”? He knew what was inside the books, or what was supposed to be in them, so why not simply write the year?’
‘I get your point, Adam, and you could well be right, but if you’re going to try and convince Robert, I wouldn’t go into as much detail as you gave me. He might view it a bit like we did Victoria’s tale last night.’
‘Is that your tactful way of telling me you think this is one of my wild ideas, Evie?’
She smiled and took my hand again. ‘Something of the sort; now, can we please go for some breakfast? All that exercise has left me ravenous.’
We entered the dining room to be greeted by the rest of the party. ‘My word, you both look well this morning,’ Robert told us. ‘I take it you slept well?’
I felt Eve squeeze my hand, which I took to be a signal for me to remain silent. ‘We did indeed,’ Eve responded, ‘the bed in the Rose Room is so comfortable.’
As she was speaking, I noticed Alison nudge Robert, who promptly changed the subject and asked what we would like for breakfast. As we were sampling the delicious kedgeree Mary had made, Eve informed Robert that I’d had a bright idea. ‘At least, Adam thinks it’s a bright idea, but I’ll let you be the judge.’
I gave Robert the outline of my theory.
‘I suppose it might be worth taking a look,’ he said, eventually. His distinct lack of enthusiasm told me I hadn’t convinced him, and neither, judging from their reaction, had my other listeners bought into the idea of a secret in the ledgers.
Victoria was the first to display her disinterest. ‘If you don’t need the study, Robert, I’m going to take another crack at those runes. Hopefully I’ll have more success this time. Let’s face it, I couldn’t have any less.’ With that, she stood up and went into the kitchen to thank Mary for breakfast. As she passed through on her return journey, Alison promised to deliver coffee to the study later. Then she and Tammy announced their intention of getting some fresh air and exercise.
‘Don’t stray too far from the house,’ Robert cautioned them. ‘Would you like me to come with you?’
I almost detected a hint of an appeal in his voice, indicating a desire to be anywhere but in the cellar examining musty old tomes, but they told him they’d be fine. With no allies left, Robert reluctantly agreed to open the safe for us. As we passed through the kitchen, Frank asked if there was anything we required.
‘No thanks,’ Robert told him. ‘Adam is keen for me to open the safe so he can inspect the estate ledgers.’
Frank stared at him, his surprise patently obvious. ‘Nay, they’re not in the safe, Mr Robert.’
‘Sorry, Frank, but you’re wrong. I distinctly saw them when we were down there.’
‘I don’t know what you thought they were, but I do know for a fact that all the estate books are kept in Tony Bishop’s office. Mr Stephen used to spend hours over there with Tony every month going through the figures. I distinctly remember Mr Stephen saying, “You need access to them far more frequently than I do, Tony, so the best place for them is in the estate office”. Then he instructed me to take all the books across there. So whatever is in the safe, I don’t think it’s the estate accounts.’
I got a dig in the ribs at that point. Eve has extremely sharp elbows – and at times, a tongue to match. ‘Take that extremely smug grin off your face, Bailey. Nobody likes a Smart Alec.’
As were passing the wine racks, Eve stopped suddenly. ‘Adam, lend me your handkerchief, please.’
I passed it to her. She unfolded it and gave me it back. ‘Now wrap it around my wrist and tie a knot in it, will you?’
‘Certainly, but why?’
‘To remind me that I’m an idiot. Robert, please accept my apologies. When we collected Victoria from the hospital we also called in and picked up those photos. I stuck them in my handbag and forgot all ab
out them.’ This,’ – she pointed to the handkerchief – ‘is to prompt me to get them when we return upstairs, otherwise I might forget again.’
‘Can I borrow your handkerchief, Robert?’ I asked, ‘because I also forgot all about them.’
‘I think we can manage with just one. And it really doesn’t matter. I don’t suppose a few hours here or there will make much difference.’
In saying that, Robert was wrong. Had we remembered the photos earlier, we would have saved Victoria several hours of fruitless toil. How easy it is to be wise after the event.
Once we had secured Eve’s memory tag, Robert opened the safe. The fact that there were only four volumes of accounts should have been a clue, I told Robert as we stared inside the cavernous chamber of the safe. ‘From memory, I believe the Inland Revenue requires people and businesses to retain records for at least six years. I certainly think they can revisit the returns for longer than four years, so retaining only four sets would be imprudent.’
‘I get that. Which one should we try first?’
‘Why not go for the earliest dated one,’ Eve suggested.
He removed the volume and opened it at the first page. We saw his face change, from an expression of mild curiosity to one of total bewilderment.
‘What does it say?’ I asked. ‘Read it out for us.’
‘That’s just the problem. I can’t.’
‘Not more runes,’ I suggested, half-jokingly.
‘No, but it might as well be as far as I’m concerned. I can’t be sure, but I think it’s written in Latin. What’s more, the handwriting is very difficult to decipher.’
‘Give it to Adam, he’s the best linguist around.’
I waited for a dig, but for once it seemed that my beloved was paying me a genuine compliment. The first thing I noticed was that the script within the book had been pasted inside, and from the look of it the original had been a much smaller volume. I was also aware that this was not the original. Despite the obvious age of the manuscript, there was no yellowing at the edges of the pages or crease marks. It was in such good condition that it must be a photocopy. Whoever had copied the original had been both painstaking and committed to their task, given the amount of work involved. To have completed the job and then pasted the contents into another book to hide them must have required hours of work.
‘Can you tell what it’s about?’ Eve asked. ‘Read it for us.’
I began to read the script aloud. ‘Mihi nomen est Domenico, cognomen Gaetano et acta haes letatio, et comites. Haec scripsi in Anno Domini MCXCII.’
‘OK, now translate it, for those of us too young to have learned Latin at our mother’s knee,’ Eve told me.
‘The opening sentence is the writer’s name. My Christian name is Domenico, surname Gaetano. Then he goes on to explain what the book is. This is the journal of my mission, and that of my comrades. I am writing this in the year of our Lord, 1192.’
I looked from Robert to Eve and then back again. ‘This obviously has nothing to do with the runic inscriptions, or anything earlier than Norman times. Why Stephen would have a journal that was supposedly written at the end of the twelfth century locked away in his safe beats me. I could have understood had it been the original, but this is quite clearly a copy. Maybe he was interested in that period of history, but I can’t begin to think it will give us any clue as to the motive for his murder. We’d better check the other books.’
Robert lifted the other volumes out in turn. The second and third contained more of the same. If I was going to be asked to translate all of that, I reckoned that, given the fact that my Latin was not so much rusty as almost falling to pieces, it might take me months, if not years. I was filled with apprehension when he removed the last of the four books. His opening words allayed my fears. ‘This is in English, and it’s what we’ve been looking for. This is the other part of the family tree. You remember? The first part was hidden in the desk compartment.’
‘Why don’t we take that and the first part of that journal upstairs so we can show the others?’
‘Good idea, Eve, the light in here isn’t exactly ideal for reading anyway,’ Robert said as he began to close the safe.
‘I don’t mind having a go at translating that journal,’ I told him, ‘but I’d rather not attempt the whole lot in one go. I might need a dictionary anyway. Added to that, even when it’s translated, I could miss the meaning, with the fact that it’s so old.’
‘If you want to, but I don’t reckon it’s of any real importance,’ Robert told me. He tapped the ledger containing the family tree. ‘I think this is far more likely to be relevant.’
With the benefit of hindsight, I realised that it wasn’t only me who was capable of making huge errors. ‘It’s going to be interesting to see what Stephen discovered about our ancestry,’ Robert continued, ‘even if it does mean I’m descended from Genghis Khan or Attila the Hun.’
‘You’d already know if Genghis Khan was one of your ancestors,’ I pointed out. ‘His date of birth was somewhere around 1170, I believe, which would put him in part one of the tree.’
‘You know what Robert means, Adam, stop being so bloody pedantic,’ Eve told me.
I can always rely on Eve to point out any minor errors or flaws in my character. I suppose the fact that I find it endearing is mildly masochistic.
As we returned upstairs, my intention was to take a further look at the journal, while the others concentrated on the Pengelly ancestral roll. However, that plan was scuppered early on.
Our arrival in the drawing room coincided with the return of Alison and Tammy, who had abandoned their walk. ‘It’s bloody cold out there,’ Tammy explained, ‘especially now the sun’s gone in. I think it might be cold enough for snow.’
Alison pointed to Eve’s wrist. ‘Have you injured your arm?’
‘Oh, I’d forgotten about that. Back in a minute.’
As Eve darted from the room, I explained that the handkerchief was an aide-memoire. ‘Except that she forgot all about it,’ I added.
She returned and passed the wallet to Robert. He took the photos out and began to examine them. ‘Oh no!’ he muttered, ‘this is all we need.’
The women crowded round, blocking my view as they stared at the photos. ‘What is it?’ I asked.
Robert looked at me over Alison’s head, his expression one of comic dismay. ‘More bloody runes, as if we didn’t have enough of the damned things.’
‘Why don’t we take them and show them to Victoria,’ Tammy suggested.
When Victoria looked at them, she pointed out there was a huge difference between these and the ones in the notebook. The photos appeared to show inscriptions that had been carved in stone. It was impossible to tell where they came from, because the camera had been in close-up mode, concentrating on the inscriptions and excluding the surroundings. From the quality of the prints, I guessed that the photographer had been very competent, and had used a top-quality camera.
As I was pondering this, an idea came to me. I left the room unnoticed, returning a few minutes later. It was obvious that they hadn’t noticed my absence. ‘I’ve another puzzle for you to work on,’ I told them.
Eve looked up and frowned. ‘What might that be?’
‘Discovering who took those photos.’
‘I assume it must have been Stephen,’ Eve retorted acidly, ‘after all they were in his possession, and he hid the negatives away in the safe. It seems logical to suppose that the man who has the negatives is the person who took the photographs, or is that too simplistic for your convoluted mind?’ She has a very sarcastic turn of phrase at times, my Evie.
I smiled sweetly at her, then pointed to the images. ‘Would you care to tell me how?’
‘How?’
‘Yes, how did Stephen take those photos?’
‘It’s called a camera, Adam, you point it at the target and press the button. The shutter opens and the image is recorded on the film.’
‘Thank you, I’m ind
ebted to you for your wisdom. Now show me it.’
‘Show you what?’
‘Stephen’s camera.’
I noticed that as our verbal sparring was continuing, Robert and Victoria were staring fixedly at the photos, while Tammy and Alison had developed a keen interest in what was happening outside, by gazing out of the window at the darkening skies.
Eve looked around the room, as if expecting the camera to materialise out of thin air. ‘It must be upstairs in his room, or in some other part of the house,’ she suggested.
‘I wouldn’t bother looking for it. That would be a waste of time and effort. It doesn’t exist. I checked with Frank and Mary. As far as they’re aware, Stephen didn’t own a camera. They never saw him carrying one, nor have they seen one in the house. Certainly not one capable of taking photos of such high resolution as those. I’m surprised, Evie, that with your deep knowledge of the photographic process, you failed to notice that those were taken by either a professional or a very gifted amateur. So, returning to my initial, naive question, who did take those photos?’
To give Eve her due, she accepted defeat as gracefully as she could, muttering, ‘Oh, lovely, just what we need, another mystery.’
We agreed to leave the prints with Professor Riley, while we returned to look through the Pengelly family tree. ‘I might give those a try,’ Victoria said, ‘I might get lucky with them.’
‘Now for the gory revelations about my dodgy ancestors,’ Robert said when we reached the sitting room. ‘I’m dreading what we might find in there.’
‘It’s a lottery, I grant you,’ Eve told him. ‘My sister Harriet did our family tree, and discovered we were indirectly descended from Mary Queen of Scots.’
‘Shame it wasn’t Bloody Mary, that would explain why you both like vodka and tomato juice,’ I retorted.
