Reverend Hewitt nodded. His white surplice flapped in the wind. He opened up the missal and then, with a gentle clearing of his throat, began …
“Dear friends, family — a reading from Isaiah 25 … ‘He will swallow up death in victory; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces; and the rebuke of his people shall he take away from all the earth: for the Lord hath spoken it!’”
And then — the first drops of rain.
It, too, had waited long enough.
“Sarah, thank you so much for coming.”
Hope, ever resourceful, had brought a large enough umbrella to shelter them both from what had turned into a steady downpour.
Over her friend’s shoulder, she could see workmen with shovels preparing to cover up the grave.
“No worries. I got to see the Hamblyn family in action, didn’t I? They are quite the family.”
Hope nodded, looked away, and then back at Susan.
“There’s something I wanted to mention to you.” Hope chewed her lips and Sarah couldn’t imagine what had her looking so serious.
“Of course.”
“I mean, I know you’re friends with that American, from New York.” A pause. “The detective.”
“Retired detective.”
“Yes. But here’s the thing, Sarah …”
It helped that they huddled under the umbrella, making the conspiratorial whispering look not so conspiratorial. “The night Victor died …”
Sarah nodded.
“You see, they found him in a room that he told me no one was ever to enter, way up in the attic. No one, ever. He said that if any of his family visited and I was in the house, I had to make sure they never went up there.”
With a small smile, Hope looked over at the grave to where Victor’s children had just been standing.
“Though how I was supposed to do that was anybody’s guess.”
“A forbidden room, then?” Sarah said.
“Yes.”
“And do you know what secret was in that room?”
“No. You know me, Sarah. Never asked and he never told. But I have to tell you this …”
Hope’s umbrella, the size of a small tent, was doing a good job of keeping the heavy rain off them.
“I never — ever — in all my years looking after him so much as saw him look at the door leading up there. Only — once in a while, especially if he’d sneaked an extra sherry or two — he’d stare right at me and repeat that no one must ever go up there. I’d say, of course, you told me …”
“Did he mean … even after he died?”
“Possibly. Some hope with his fine lot of kids prowling over the place.”
“Interesting,” Sarah said. “I can imagine they’re all itching to scour the house.”
Another mystery, she thought. Old Cherringham was turning to be more mysterious than she would have ever expected.
But she also sensed as Hope stood there, her face set, eyes narrow, a worried look — that there was more.
“Sarah, I think there’s something wrong here. The fire, Victor going upstairs when he should have been trying to get out of the house, going up where I never saw him go.”
Hope took a breath.
“Something’s wrong.”
Sarah, not sure she agreed, nodded.
Things happened in life.
She knew that well. Married with kids one day, the next a single mum back in the home village. Life is full of surprises …
Hope reached out and grabbed Sarah’s free hand.
“Can you ask your friend? To look into it.”
“Gosh Hope — I don’t …”
A squeeze. “Please, Sarah. You know I’d never normally ask but Victor was such a sweet old man. A little strange perhaps, a bit poor — but I just feel like something’s not right here.” A gust of wind sent rain flying in under the protection of the umbrella.
“Can you?”
Sarah looked at the grave in the far corner, the workmen shovelling heavy black earth. Victor Hamblyn just another resident in a place where — what was her father’s corny joke? — everyone’s dying to get in.
Victor Hamblyn was gone. But if Hope was right, a mystery remained.
“Okay. I’ll talk him, and see what he thinks.”
Now, a full on smile from Hope. “Thank you. I won’t forget this Sarah.”
Another gust, more rain spatters. “And we best get indoors. Do you want to come up to the office for a cuppa?”
Sarah nodded, and together they walked round the corner and into the village square.
3. An Unfortunate Accident
Sarah knocked on the door of the ‘Grey Goose’, Jack’s river barge. A gentle rap at first, but then harder.
“Jack? You in there?”
She hadn’t seen much of him, what with the past few weeks being so busy — just a quick hello as they passed at Gramley’s Market or the newsagents. Jack had gone back to being the quiet, invisible ex-pat.
Then a louder rap. “Jack?”
Finally she heard a growl — his dog, Riley — and then steps.
Jack opened the door dressed in rumpled cargo shorts and a frayed Hawaiian Smokin’ Joe’s T-shirt. A volcano sat above words that promised ‘air-conditioning and the best place to return any cursed lava rocks you might have picked up’.
Guess the volcano gods weren’t to be trifled with.
Though mid-morning, Jack had obviously just woken up and Sarah found herself wondering whether it was because he’d had a late night, or whether he’d stayed awake thinking about the past.
She should drop in more, she thought. People, even former NYPD detectives, can vanish into their own hidey-holes.
“Sarah, um …”
“Sorry for waking you.”
Jack smiled, the lines on his face receding. “No — um — worries. Should have gotten up earlier. Stayed up a bit last night. Reading.”
Sarah nodded. Jack could be quiet, and she knew best not to dig deep.
“Got a minute? Something I’d like to talk to you about.”
His smile broadened. “Oh, do you? Let me guess, is something, as your great Mr Conan Doyle might write, afoot?”
“Could be.”
“Then let me get the kettle on — see, I am picking up the ways of you natives here — and we’ll talk.”
But Riley stuck his snout in the door, and looked left and right.
“Er, Jack — maybe Riley needs a walk first.”
“Right. Okay … walk the dog, then the kettle. Going to be a bit mushy out there.”
Jack reached to the side of the open door, grabbed Riley’s leash, and clipped it to the dog’s collar before pulling on his boots. The dog led the way out to the meadow that sprawled from the riverfront, away from the barges and boats.
Jack soon let Riley run free through the meadow. An occasional gull swooped down, and dog and bird almost seemed to be playing a game of tag.
Stayed up reading? Jack thought …
True, he loved to get lost in his history books but last night, there was too much Brooklyn, too much Katherine, too many memories floating around to get lost in his new history of Stalingrad.
But now the morning air felt good, clearing cobwebs.
And seeing Sarah? Always good. Although she had two devoted parents right in the village, Jack felt something he could only describe as fatherly concern for her. Raising a family on your own was always tough …
As Riley dashed, Jack turned to Sarah.
“So your friend says that the old man never went up to this room. And yet, a fire breaks out and up he goes? Or maybe … he was already there?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe he was already up there?”
“Possible. But why? In the middle of the night …”
“Right.” He looked away. Riley had stopped, his nose pointed straight into the air at the taunting gull. A lot of thoughts swirled in Jack’s head. He had dealt with a lot of suspicious fires in his days in N
ew York. Some were simply fires — things happen — and some weren’t.
He turned back to Sarah.
“What do you think?” she said.
“I’m guessing you’re asking me if I want to play detective again?”
“Well, not sure if ‘play’ is the right word, after all, I’ve seen all those plaques and commendations — you must have done something for them.”
He held up a hand, laughing. “Okay. Well, on first glance what you’re telling me is interesting. Still — it could be nothing. Old people do odd things — for lots of reasons. Maybe he thought he was going downstairs.”
“And maybe he knew exactly where he was going.”
“You are the suspicious one, aren’t you?” He took a breath. “I like that.”
“If you’d seen the show put on by his family …”
“The ne’er-do-well offspring, hmm?”
“Accusations flying, all of them looking relieved that their dad was in the ground.”
Jack nodded. “Okay. I’m … in. Or rather, we’re in. A team, yes?”
“Of course. Though I need to do a bit of work — just blew the whole morning and I have a highlands resort waiting on a layout for their brochure and website. But after that …”
“And I need that cup of tea.”
“Where do we start?”
“You know … some people will talk to us, some people won’t. And since this is a fire matter, how about we start with your Fire Department … and the Fire Chief? That what you call them here?”
She laughed at the question. “It’s called the Fire and Rescue Service, and we have a Chief Fire Officer Barnes.”
“There you go. Not so different. Let’s have a chat with him — if he will chat. When can you be free?”
“Half-two, three …”
He grinned. Slowly, the expressions here were becoming normal. Half-two.
“Great. Saw the fire station out towards the school …”
“Brand new, almost.”
“Meet you there not at half-two but, say … two-thirty?”
And now Sarah grinned.
***
Sarah saw Chief Fire Officer Barnes standing outside the station as his men washed a bright red fire engine lined with yellow stripes.
She looked at her watch. Half-two, and no Jack.
Then she heard his Austin Healy take the corner near the station, the engine’s low rumble more distinctive than even its vintage sports car profile.
She popped the door as Jack parked across the street and twisted and turned his way out of the driver’s seat.
He really needs a bigger car.
He had put on khakis, a crisp blue shirt, his rumpled morning look gone.
“You want to start?” he said quietly as they got closer to Barnes who had seen them.
“As long as I can pass it to you. What I know about arson could fill the back of a postage stamp”
The Chief took a few steps towards them.
“Sarah Edwards?”
“Chief Barnes.”
The Chief Fire Officer wore a smile.
Had he heard about how Sarah had helped find Sammi’s killer back in the summer? If so, he might know what she was doing here.
“Your dad told me at the Parish Council meeting a few months ago that you were back. Couldn’t leave the old village life?”
She waited for the next bit, the part that always seemed laced with an air of judgement.
“And two kids as well, hmm?”
Sarah nodded. She fired a quick look at Jack, who stood there taking little interest in this chit-chat, instead watching the men hosing down the fire engine.
Sarah hoped he might step in and redirect the conversation. But no such luck.
“Yup — Chloe and Daniel.”
“Yes, watched your boy play cricket last weekend. Kid’s got some real skills.”
Sarah smiled, this loop of chit-chat feeling interminable.
Finally Jack intervened. “Jack Brennan,” he said sticking his hand out.
With an unhidden sense of caution, Barnes stuck out his hand and gave Jack’s a firm shake.
But at least it stopped the ‘catching-up’ train.
“Chief, my good friend Hope was Victor Hamblyn’s carer.”
From the corner of her eye she caught a fireman nearby looking over, still polishing the engine which already looked as shiny and bright as possible.
Barnes nodded, and also folded his arms, the body language clear.
Sarah continued. “She thought that there was something wrong, about the fire and …”
Barnes unfolded his arms and put a hand out as if directing traffic.
“Now hang on, Sarah. I can’t talk about that incident, an unfortunate accident. There’ll be an inquest in due course, and until then I can’t say anything.”
Sarah nodded. She watched as Barnes looked over to Jack as if expecting an argument there.
“I know,” Sarah said, searching for words that might make this by-the-book Fire Chief bend the rules just a bit. “But Hope, she told me …”
Barnes shook his head. “If your friend has any information, I suggest she write up a report and submit it. We’ll be working with the police on the incident and will be glad to look at anything.”
Sarah felt the heavy virtual thud of a door slamming shut.
She looked at Jack, as if to say … c’mon, nothing to say here? No magic words from the New York detective to rock the Chief’s boots a bit?
“Makes sense,” was all that Jack said.
Sarah thinking … good grief.
“Okay,” Sarah said. “I’ll make sure she does that.”
Chief Barnes smiled. “Good. And I’d best see to my desk. Love fighting fires, hate the paperwork!”
Barnes turned and walked away.
Sarah shook her head, turned to Jack who signalled with a nod of his head that they should move on but they had only taken a few steps before Sarah felt someone touch her elbow.
4. Smoke and Fire
Sarah turned around, with Jack, and saw one of the firemen, his uniform dotted with water from the engine cleaning, standing there.
“Excuse me,” he said. He sounded breathless, whether from dashing to catch them or from whatever had prompted him to drop his soapy rag and follow them.
She watched the fireman look back to the station house but no one seemed to be watching.
Jack’s eyes were locked on the young fireman. His nameplate above the pocket of his shirt: Gary Scott.
“Yes?”
“I—I couldn’t help what you two were talking about back there. I know Hope. She took care of my gran, very near the end. A big heart, she has.”
“She does,” Sarah said.
“My family owed her. Could have been a bad experience. Know what I mean? But Hope, was, well like really special …”
Nothing important here, Sarah thought. Just a thanks to pass along to the gentle, caring Hope — who would of course dismiss the compliment, saying she just did what anyone would do.
Sarah smiled, ready to go back to her car, and talk with Jack to see what else they could look into when the young man, with a quick glance behind him, leaned forward to say something more.
“I heard your question.” He said quietly. “If Hope is concerned, I dunno, maybe something was wrong there.”
Which is when Jack spoke. “Did you see something? That night?”
The fireman nodded. “This last year, we’ve been out to the Manor a lot. Hope probably knows that. The wiring in that place was a mess. Decades overdue for an upgrade. So little electrical fires started all the time. Every month nearly. Think she called in one or two of them. But mostly the old man. He was old, you know, but sharp.”
Jack: “So, it wasn’t the first night you’d been to the house?”
Gary Scott nodded. “Right. And, truth be known, the place was ripe for fires. Should have been condemned, least till the wiring was upgraded.”
“A
nything else?” Sarah said. She was concerned that Barnes might walk out of the station again, and the young fireman would get in trouble for his help.
“Well, I don’t know if you know anything about electrical fires. Usually start in the wall, often near the sockets. Can take a while for them to turn into anything. Even in those old places, the wires were kept free of exposed wood, the walls.”
“Something … strange about this one?”
Another nod. “Yes and no. The fire started in the old library. There were no traces of accelerant we could see.”
“Accelerant?” said Sarah.
“Lighter fluid, petrol — you know? Deliberate stuff,” said Gary. “Anyway, far as I know, that room never got used by Mr Hamblyn. Whereas the other call-outs we had — it was in the living areas. But what really struck me was the old fella right at the top of the house. I mean — he had to use a stair lift just to get to bed! Whatever he was up to — he was desperate. Know what I mean?”
Sarah shot another look at Jack. Though a warmish sun beat down on them, hearing Gary’s words chilled her. And she knew: Hope’s instincts were spot on.
“Maybe he was just disorientated?” she said.
“Nah. Sharp as nails old Victor was. He knew the way out in a fire.” He looked over his shoulder again. “Anyway, I better go. Chief will have my head if he caught me with you. But one other thing. That night, when we got there, we saw someone near the house.”
“Running from the house or …?” Jack said.
Gary shook his head. “No. Just like — standing there. Like they wanted to go in. Maybe someone out for a walk. The pub’s not far. But as soon as we rolled up …”
“They ran away?” Jack said.
Gary looked at Jack. “Exactly. And we had our hands full. And by the time we were suited up, tanks, masks, and inside — it was too late for the old man.”
“Can’t have been pleasant,” said Jack.
Gary shook his head. “Never is. But he wouldn’t have known much about it. Smoke, you see. His age — coupla deep breaths, that’s all it takes. Anyway. Gotta go. Wish you guys luck.”
He turned, ready to bolt back, but then:
Cherringham--Mystery at the Manor Page 2
