But as the family took turns accusing each other of setting the fire, of actually killing their father, Jack finally raised his voice.
And that stopped them.
“Hang on, folks. When I did some digging around the other night, I think I can show you who made the fire happen, and how.”
A pause, each of them looking guilty.
Could be any one of them, Sarah thought.
“If you will follow me. To the basement.”
Jack started for the back door that led to the cellar, and stairs down … and when one of the Hamblyns did not immediately fall in line, Jack stopped.
“Coming along, Terry?”
And Sarah saw from the sick expression that Terry might have a clue as to where this would lead.
***
Late afternoon sun still filtered into the narrow windows of the cellar. The room felt chilly, the stone floor uneven.
Jack ducked under low cross beams until he came to a wine cellar, motioning the others towards the wine rack, which looked as though someone had been playing battleships with it — dotted as it was with so many empty slots.
“But where is all the wine? Last time I was down here,” Dominic said, “these racks of vintage reds were full.”
And all Jack had to do was point, and the group turned.
To a pile of empties stood by one wall, looking like glass soldiers mowed down.
“Someone liked to come down here, have a bottle or three,” Jack explained. “Maybe bring one back home. But you see …”
Jack walked behind the massive chimney bottom, around to the back, and returned dangling the space heater he’d found in the bin at Terry’s caravan.
‘Gets quite cold down here at night, after Victor was asleep. So cold that a little space heater could take the chill off, isn’t that right, Terry?”
“I … I just … I mean, he didn’t drink any of it so I thought …”
Jack nodded.
“And yes — guess you’d sit … right about here.”
A wooden chair with a tattered cushion sat next to the empties. And behind it, an electric wall socket.
And that too was blackened.
“I don’t understand,” Susan said.
But Jack wasn’t about to rush.
He gave them all a smile.
“I imagine the wiring down here is even more ancient than most of the house. And do you know what room is right above here, on the same primitive circuit?”
Everyone looked up to the dark floorboards above them.
Jack could see Sarah, trying to imagine the layout of the ground floor.
But Dominic nodded.
“The library …”
Jack’s smile faded.
“Yes. And the electrical fire may have started here, an overload … but it triggered the main one up there.”
Dominic came and grabbed his brother by the lapel and Terry — though built like a bowling pin — seemed to become an empty bag of air as his brother shook him left and right.
“You killed him! You killed …”
But Jack intervened.
“No. All old Terry did here was sample some free if expensive wine. When the heater blew the circuit, I imagine,” he turned to Terry “that you grabbed the heater — ran out, panicked?”
Terry nodded.
“I called out to Dad. I thought he’d hear and get out. Then the fire trucks showed up. They’d get him out, I thought.”
“So you bolted. Nice,” Jack said.
“Bloody typical,” said Susan Hamblyn. “You always did run away, you little …”
And now Jack had to step sideways, to protect Terry from his sister whose hands reached out to grab at his long, greasy hair …
“Please!” said Tony Standish. “This is most uncivilized!”
Vanessa Coole then hurled herself into the action.
In the midst of the scuffling, Jack managed to turn and smile to Sarah who was backing away with Hope.
“See you upstairs?”
He saw her roll her eyes and usher Hope away in a graceful retreat.
And then he returned to the fray.
Sarah stood by Hope outside the front door of the Manor, breathing in the fresh air with relief. Out here there was only silence — not a hint at the mayhem that had just gone on inside.
“You okay?”
Hope nodded. “Just thinking — he had something most of us never do, a love that lasts a lifetime.”
There was more to tell her friend about that love, and one more thing to be done, Sarah knew.
But for now …
She saw Jack emerge from the house, pulling his jacket straight. He stopped and seemed to consider.
“You know, in the end — there wasn’t a murder,” he said. “There was just one awful and messed up family.”
“They still at it?” said Sarah.
“Oh yes. But I think Tony’s got them under control now.”
“Time for a cup of tea — don’t you think?”
Jack pursed his lips. “Maybe, dunno—something stronger?”
And both she and Hope nodded.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s head up to the village. Grab one at the Angel.”
“What do you mean — one?” said Sarah.
“First round’s on me,” said Hope.
And the three of them headed up the gravel drive, the tall figure of Jack in the middle, their shoulders hunched in the chill afternoon wind.
19. A Visitor from Bombay
A week later and Sarah stood next to Jack, staying back a bit at the graveside of Victor Hamblyn, as their visitor took some steps forward, and placed some white lilies there.
All was quiet, with the leaves mostly gone, and winter looming.
The woman’s name was Anindita. The daughter of Geeta, she had come from India to claim her inheritance after Sarah tracked her down.
After a few moments of kneeling by the grave, Anindita reached out, touched the stone, and then stood up.
“You now, all those years, with that money coming into the school’s account … I wish I had known that it was him.”
“I guess Victor didn’t want you to feel obliged.”
Jack nodded. “Bet he felt good just knowing how much he helped.”
“And now this … inheritance …”
“Tony Standish has all things arranged for you?”
She nodded. “Yes. He will act with power of attorney, arrange for the sale, take care of all the bank details. He’s been wonderful.”
“One of the best,” Sarah said.
“So you have read the letters?” Jack asked.
“Yes. So heartbreaking. I know my mother’s family would have sent them back. What my mother and Victor did, her breaking with tradition, would have been unacceptable back then. Even now such things are hard …”
“It seems he stopped writing after a decade. But somehow he learned of you, and your school.”
“Without him, it would have been impossible. My country has been so poor.”
“And the photos of your mother with Victor,” Sarah said. “Geeta — so beautiful.”
Anindita did a slight bobble with her head. “Yes, she certainly was. Even when she was old, before she passed away, still such a serene and beautiful face.”
“Here. Just a few old movies. The colour faded, but …”
She handed the Indian woman a disc.
Anindita took it with a smile, “Thank you.”
“You’ll see them together, laughing, so young. Victor in his dress whites, your mother’s sari blowing in the wind. So happy.”
Anindita looked at the disc.
“For such a short time. And yet, it lasted for their whole lives.”
Then they all stood quietly as if by talking about Victor, he was somehow there with them.
But then Anindita reached out and took Sarah’s hand.
“Thank you for everything …” then to Jack. “And you too, Mr Brennan.”
Sarah sensed that Anindita had something to say, maybe something that she wasn’t sure of.
Until …
“You know the date of the marriage certificate?”
“Yes. June. 1947,” Sarah said.
Anindita smiled, then a look down to the grave.
Another bobble, the smile so warm … happy. “Perhaps you can guess.”
She looked Sarah right in the eyes.
“I was born … In the spring of 1948. March.”
Sarah nodded.
Yes, she thought, I had guessed as much. Nine months after Victor married his Geeta.
Now Anindita released her hand.
“And now, I must go, so many relatives in London to visit! But thank you both for helping me come here, to pay respects to the man who helped me and my school.” A deep beat. “My dear, sweet father.”
And with that, Anindita said:
“I will think of you and him often!”
And Sarah took Anindita’s hand as they left the graveyard.
She looked back at Jack and thought … only the two of us could have unravelled all this.
We’re a team.
And on a cold October day, that thought made her feel warm indeed.
Next episode
Just two weeks to go before the Cherringham Charity Christmas Concert. Choir rehearsals are in full swing. Then the worst thing happens: Tabby Kimball, one of the singers, is found dead from a severe allergic reaction to one of the home-made rehearsal cakes. Jack is pulled in to help bolster the depleted choir - and soon he’s convinced that Tabby’s death was no accident. Sarah agrees, and quickly the two of them are immersed in the jealousies, rivalries and passions of Cherringham's Rotary Club choir …
Cherringham - A Cosy Crime Series
Murder by Moonlight
by Matthew Costello and Neil Richards
Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series
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Cherringham--Mystery at the Manor Page 9
