Cherringham--Mystery at the Manor

by Neil Richards

“I think you mean ‘we’, don’t you?”

  And as Grace laughed, Sarah just had to join in.

  “So, starting at the top. The plans for Mogdon Manor which your American heard about were drawn up by Phillips and Co, Chartered Surveyors exactly three months ago.”

  “Hmm. Local, huh …?”

  “And Phillips and Co were instructed by the architects — Dream Designs — about a month before that. And the client who instructed Dream Designs was … hmm, now where did I put that name …”

  “Don’t do this to me, Grace!”

  Grace laughed.

  “Ah, here we are,” she said. “Susan Hamblyn, Davies Associates, Oxford.”

  Sarah sat back in her seat.

  “Well, isn’t that interesting?”

  She looked at Grace — but Grace wasn’t finished.

  “Now that’s not the only interesting thing I found,” she said, conspiratorially. “When I asked my pal at Phillips about the plans they were working on for Mogdon, guess what she said?”

  “Go on — surprise me …”

  “She said — ‘which ones?’ — because we’ve got two. And guess who instructed them about the others?”

  Sarah didn’t have to think.

  “Vanessa Coole, at Coole Solutions?”

  Grace played mock disappointment.

  “How did you know that?”

  “Let’s just say I’m beginning to get used to the way the Hamblyn family operates …”

  “Anyway, they’re going to email the plans before they close today,” said Grace. “I told them I’d deleted them by mistake and they didn’t even ask why I had them in the first place.”

  Sarah stood up, and noticed for the first time it was beginning to get dark outside.

  “Grace, you’ve done an amazing job. When they come through, print them out for me and leave them on the desk, could you?”

  “Sure,” said Grace. “Are you heading off?”

  “I’ve got some ancient history to explore with an old friend of my dad’s,” she said. “But I’ll drop by the office in the morning to pick up those plans.”

  “Did I do well, boss?” said Grace in a joke American accent.

  “You sure did, officer,” said Sarah. “There’ll be a medal in this for you.”

  “Forget the medal. Just leave me a croissant tomorrow morning and I’ll be happy.”

  ***

  Jack was walking back along the river bank to the ‘Grey Goose’ in the moonlight when his phone rang.

  It was Sarah.

  “How are you, Jack?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Sound a little distant …”

  Jack paused just at the bend in the river where he could see his boat in the distance. The Thames swept silently by just yards away, soft light reflecting from it. Muffled sounds came from the other houseboats lined up along the riverbank.

  Across the river in the meadows he could see the outlines of a herd of cattle, still munching silently. Apart from them — he was alone.

  “Just walking home.”

  “I tried you earlier — but you were off the radar.”

  “Yep,” he said. “Went out for dinner.”

  “Oh. Somewhere nice?”

  “Yep. Very.”

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. An awkward silence, Jack suddenly realized with a smile to himself. He could imagine Sarah wondering if she could ask just one more question … Just one more … But to his relief, she didn’t.

  “Good,” she said. “Now while you’ve been discovering that there is such a thing as English cuisine, I’ve been working on the case.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “I hope you’ve got some answers.”

  “You bet.”

  Jack listened as Sarah went through the information that Grace had gleaned from her pals across the county.

  “Kinda chilling,” he said, when she’d finished. “And you know what? Susan and Dominic weren’t the only ones who had plans for Mogdon.”

  “Let me guess — young Terry was also planning for his retirement too?”

  “You got it. But nothing as simple as apartments. Oh, no. He was going to open Cherringham’s first Monster Truck arena. Just what the village needs.”

  “You have to be kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “What a family,” she said, laughing. “But you know what, Jack — I still can’t quite see them as killers.”

  “Killers don’t wear a uniform,” said Jack. “But listen — what did you find out about the box?”

  The chill began to seep through his coat and he started walking again, eager to get back onto the boat.

  “I dropped everything off with Praveer,” said Sarah. “He promised me he’ll read all the letters and get back to me by lunchtime tomorrow.”

  “They’re definitely Hindi, yes?”

  “Yes,” said Sarah. “But wait till you hear this. The necklace is important. It’s symbolic. It’s called a Mangalsutra.”

  “Uh-huh?” said Jack. “What’s it a symbol of?”

  “Marriage,” said Sarah. “In Hindu weddings, the groom gives it to the bride. And it stays with her for life.”

  Jack stepped onto the deck of boat and stopped to think.

  “Well, now I’m really confused,” he said. “Unless Victor was a collector — which is quite possible — then I think perhaps he had a real secret.”

  “A secret that led to his death?” said Sarah.

  “Could be.”

  From inside the boat, Jack could hear Riley scratching, waiting to be let out.

  “Sarah — I gotta go …”

  “Oh one last thing — I dropped the film off at the school and my friend up there said she’d digitize it so I can download it tomorrow morning.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Jack, unlocking the shutters and stepping back as Riley ran round his legs joyfully. “Hope says they’re reading the will on the dot of noon up at the Manor and she’d appreciate both of us being there to support her.”

  “I’ll be there soon as I can,” said Sarah. “I just hope the letters give us some answers. We don’t even know how the fire started …”

  “Oh, I do,” said Jack. “Tell you tomorrow.”

  “Jack! Don’t do that to me …”

  “Ha! I’ve got a stove to light and a nightcap to enjoy, Sarah — night night!”

  And with a smile to himself, Jack called for Riley to come back from the riverbank and headed down into the cabin.

  17. Where There’s a Will …

  Now this is classic, Jack thought.

  Chairs had been set up in two rows in the manor’s large living room, and the Hamblyn family sat at attention, front row, not talking to each other, only sitting stock-still.

  Waiting.

  Each one of them expecting to be the beneficiary of their father’s untimely death.

  Inherited money.

  Does anything good ever come from it?

  Jack looked at Hope sitting next to him, and she smiled back. They had talked so much at dinner last night — and Jack felt for the first time since Katherine’s death … that maybe it might be time to, as they say, get out there.

  Though as much as he liked the good-hearted Hope, he wasn’t sure if he was ready. Or ever would be …

  The solicitor, Tony Standish, sat at a table that had been dragged to face the grim row of relatives.

  He cleared his throat, and looked up.

  “Shall we begin?”

  Hope shot Jack a look. No Sarah. Maybe a problem with her work, the translation of the letters …?

  Either way, Victor’s solicitor had no reason to postpone the main event.

  Jack leaned into Hope, a whisper: “She’ll be here. She wouldn’t miss this for anything.”

  Jack’s words summoned a glare and a sneer from Susan Hamblyn.

  Keep doing that, lady, and by the time you’re my age you will look like one of those baked apple ‘heads’ the kids make around
Halloween.

  She had already voiced her opposition to both he and Hope being there, but Standish had overruled her.

  Jack wondered whether the solicitor has a few secrets as well.

  “Very well.” Then a smile from Standish, which did nothing to lighten the mood in this grim room, still reeking of the sodden wood, the burned timbers.

  “As you know, I have represented your dear departed father for decades now, ever since my own father passed his practice on to me.”

  Jack saw Dominic nod, and then lick his lips.

  Each one of the potential heirs radiating … just get the hell on with it.

  “And among other duties, I have been entrusted with the care of your father’s will. And there are, in fact, two documents. A will, which my father helped Victor Hamblyn draw up in the autumn of 1952.”

  He held up a large faded yellow envelope.

  “This, the original will, has been sealed since that date. I have no knowledge of its contents. And this …“

  Now he brandished a smaller envelope.

  “The contents of this were drafted by me, at Victor’s instructions, and represent a codicil to the original will. I will read the original first, followed by the codicil …’

  “Oh, do get on with it,” Susan Hamblyn muttered.

  The comment made Standish sit up straight, as if shocked by the rudeness. Sarah had told Jack that her own family always used Tony for legal matters, and that he was about as ethical and kind as they come.

  And now he has to deal with this lot, Jack thought.

  “Are there any questions before we begin?”

  No one said anything but Jack fired a look at the door. Sarah was indeed missing a great show.

  “Very well.”

  Standish took a long metal letter opener shaped like a rapier, and opened the large envelope containing the 1952 will.

  Jack had to admit…this is exciting.

  It seemed like all the potential heirs slid a bit forward in their chair, ready to hear every word about their good fortune.

  Standish began with what was basic boiler-plate for wills, with references to ‘sound body and mind’, before he got to the meat of the matter.

  Who gets what.

  Standish paused, his eyes on the words. This document was, after all, new to him as well. And the length of the pause indicated that in Standish’s quick scan, he saw something that stopped him cold.

  But with sniff of the musty air in the room, he recovered:

  “Therefore, I, Victor Hamblyn, bequeath my entire estate, and all its possessions, to my beautiful wife, Geeta Hamblyn nee Anand and all her heirs, to be shared equally.”

  And with that line, it was as if someone had thrown a packet of firecrackers right into the centre of the living room.

  The three not-heirs ran around the desk, trying to yank the aged will out of Standish’s hand.

  But Standish was quick, tall, and literally held it over his head.

  “Please!” he said. “Sit down. There must be decorum. This is the reading of the deceased’s will!”

  Jack wondered whether he might have to stand up to defend the man.

  But slowly, like hyenas circling prey at a water hole who then decided to withdraw, Susan, Terry, and Dominic — the latter backed by an equally fierce Vanessa — returned to their seats.

  “You’ve got to read the … the second bit now!” Terry stammered, showing that he had well-fortified himself for the emotional morning to come.

  Jack was sure that there were even greater surprises ahead.

  He thought about the letters, the 8mm movies, now this woman in the will, Victor’s wife — Geeta?

  How could that be?

  But Jack’s questions didn’t compare to those of the Hamblyn family.

  And this ceremony began to seem more like a raucous auction than a sombre reading of a man’s last words …

  18. What You Don’t Know

  “That document is pure rubbish,” Susan Hamblyn said. “Our father was married to our mother, Elizabeth. She’s the wife, we are the heirs. And that is that!”

  “Yes, absolutely,” Dominic said, joining his sister, all of them now probably thinking that a third of property was better than none.

  Standish put the old will down and picked up the other envelope.

  “But you see, and this is the odd thing. As your father’s solicitor, I should have had a copy of all his important legal documents. And there was one he never provided me.”

  A pin could drop and the noise would have been deafening.

  “Go on,” Susan finally snapped.

  Standish looked like he didn’t know if he could bear to share the bit of information he was about to reveal.

  “You see, your father never provided me with … a marriage certificate.”

  The room exploded with “whats?”, ‘bloody hells” and various forms of “ridiculous” and ‘damnits’.

  Standish waited until that storm subsided.

  “And I did ask repeatedly.”

  “Well, I will have my solicitor find that,” said Dominic. “Should not be a problem — at all. Local records. A total non-issue.”

  Standish held up the other, small white envelope.

  “Shall I read this now?”

  “Yes, please,” Dominic said. “I’m sure it will clear up all this nonsense. Geeta, indeed!”

  Jack heard a creaking noise behind him, the big door to the manor opening, and in moments, Sarah entered the living room.

  The Hamblyn clan barely took notice of her, all eyes locked on the envelope that — Jack guessed — they assumed would save their skins and fortunes.

  Sarah shot Jack a smile. She had a laptop in one hand, and a file folder in the other.

  No box with the jewel, which was probably a good thing considering the rapaciousness of this crowd.

  She sat in a chair next to Hope and patted her friend’s hand. Hope whispered to Sarah, getting her up to speed on what was happening here.

  Things — Jack felt –were about to get even more interesting …

  Again the rapier-like letter opener, slicing a neat incision at the top of the envelope.

  Then Standish withdrawing a single sheet of paper.

  Of course, he knows full well what’s in it, Jack thought.

  The solicitor looked up. No smile now.

  Jack guessed that the news coming wouldn’t be good.

  Again, there was more legal language, before getting to the key paragraph.

  Another pause. Another dramatic clearing of the throat. Standish was nearly done, just a few more lines to get through …

  “I therefore make, in the presence of my solicitor, Mr Anthony Standish Esquire, one emendation to my previous last will and testament.”

  The edge of the seats had even more weight applied. Terry Hamblyn now leaned so far forward that he looked ready to catapult to the other side of the room.

  “To my dear carer, Hope Brown, I leave the sum of 10,000 pounds in deep appreciation for her kindness and professionalism.”

  Everyone waited for the next bit.

  But there was no next bit.

  Vanessa now stood up, taking on the role of spokesperson for them all.

  “Well, that measly codicil means absolutely nothing since we know who the old man was married to and it was not Geeta, that’s for …”

  Sarah stood up, distracting Vanessa from her speech, and walked to the front of the room, her file folder in her hand.

  Sarah looked at Jack, who gave her a reassuring smile.

  Sarah began quickly since she knew the mayhem that would follow when she was done.

  “There was a box, an Indian chest …”

  “I knew it,” Terry said, slapping a meaty fist into his palm. “The secret treasure.”

  “Of a sort.”

  “Everything in this house, including that box,” Susan Hamblyn announced with authority, “will go to the rightful heirs. Us!”

  She saw the sib
lings for once united in their head bobbing.

  “I imagine so. It did contain a jewel, a Mangalsutra. A wedding necklace.”

  Confusion now played on the Hamblyn family’s faces.

  “And that’s not all the box contained. So many letters, sent to his Geeta in India, all returned unread. All love letters.”

  Sarah paused. Then:

  “Oh, and there were some old 8mm films. Had them digitized for you, and made a disc for each of you. Your father and his beautiful wife Geeta.”

  “Geeta?” said Dominic, his face glowing red. “Just who the hell is this Geeta woman?”

  “She was nobody!” Terry said.

  Sarah quickly shook her head. Both Susan and Dominic had their eyes locked on her.

  “And … there was also a marriage certificate.”

  She opened the folder and handed a paper to Tony, who immediately began scanning it, then reading.

  “June 12, 1946, yes, performed at the British Court House, Bombay. Victor was married to Geeta.”

  “Impossible!” Susan said.

  But Tony looked up at her, then to the others and said, “No. I’m afraid it is perfectly legal, has the raised seal and everything. This marriage certificate proves that his heir and his wife is this woman, Geeta.”

  “But if that’s true …“

  Sarah watched Dominic turn from Susan to Terry, all of them seemingly engaged in a competition as to who could look more gob-smacked.

  “Then if she was his legal wife, then that means … we’re all …”

  “That’s right,” Sarah said with a cheery smile. Some days were indeed better than other. “You are all bastards.”

  And at that Jack had to laugh, as he stood up.

  Sarah was glad that Jack came and stood beside her since now the Hamblyn clan had also stood up and started yelling at each other.

  “So, I bet it was you who set that idiotic fire,” Susan said to Dominic.

  “Accusing me to cover for yourself, my dear? Or …”

  Dominic spun on his heels towards Terry. “Maybe it was you, the ‘brains’ of the family, hoping to push things along? After all, you always did barrel on about being dad’s favourite.”

  Amazing, Sarah thought … looking at Tony who clearly wanted to conclude this, and then to Jack whose face showed that this was all too much fun for him.