‘What in particular?’
‘Well, if we go back to the beginning, what did Dame Amanda tell us had been happening?’
‘That Goodall and Smythe told her there was no interest in Mallowan Manor because of a report that it was haunted. Then she started hearing strange things at night.’
‘Right,’ said Fran. ‘And the report had only just emerged. Coincidentally, neither her son or her nephew wanted her to sell it.’
‘We didn’t hear anything that contradicted that,’ said Libby.
‘No, but everyone denied knowing anything about any old tales of hauntings or being involved with the current ones.’
‘And then Dorian and Gerry admitted they knew about the possible existence of this crown, or whatever it is.’
‘And who told them?’
Libby stared. ‘John English …’ she said slowly. ‘Except he said he didn’t. He said he didn’t know how they found out.’
‘And do you remember what else he said?’
‘About being investigated by the security services?’
‘Yes. When?’
‘When Dame Amanda bought the house. Oh!’ Libby sat up straight. ‘But he said at first he didn’t know anything about the rumours until Dame Amanda decided to sell the house!’
‘So, which was it?’ asked Fran.
‘I don’t know.’ Libby frowned. ‘But if he knew, why didn’t he say something about it when Dame Amanda instructed him to sell?’
‘Because he says the security services instructed him not to, but to tell them. But I can’t see an official body putting out rumours of hauntings, can you?’
‘So do you think he’s behind it all?’
‘I don’t know.’ Fran sighed. ‘But he’s the most likely suspect. If Dorian or Gerry had known of a possible treasure here before, surely they would have tried to find it?’
‘So what about the interrogation centre? Is that relevant?’
‘As a cover, yes.’
‘But who for?’ said Libby. ‘John English is now letting out the facts about the interrogation centre to prevent people from buying the property in case they find this so-called treasure. Is that it?’
‘That’s obviously what Gerry believes,’ said Fran. ‘That’s why he’s been looking for the cellar.’
‘But John English didn’t want the cellar opened,’ said Libby. ‘Which was when he became so informative.’
Fran stared at the dead fire. ‘Do we know if Dorian and Clemency were adopted before or after this house was bought?’
‘No. Why?’
‘I wondered if John English was involved in the adoption. Do you have to have a solicitor?’
‘I suppose if it has to go before a family court you do,’ said Libby. ‘And Dame Amanda said Dorian’s father had disappeared. She had to try and find him.’
‘So John English is quite likely to have been involved in that?’
Libby shook her head. ‘He’s too young. More of an age with Dorian, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Sooo …’ Fran stayed silent for a moment. ‘If John English was asked to act in the purchase of this place it was well after the adoption.’ She sighed. ‘So that won’t work …’
‘Won’t work? What won’t?’ Libby wasn’t following at all.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I just wondered about collusion between Dorian and John.’
‘But collusion about what?’
The door of the library creaked slowly open and the two women froze.
‘Oh, you’re both here.’ Dame Amanda shuffled into the room leaning on her stick. Her hair hung down her back in a long plait and she was wrapped in a thick, old-fashioned dressing gown. ‘Are you trying to figure things out?’
‘Yes, we were,’ said Libby. ‘It isn’t as simple as we thought, is it?’
‘Can I ask you a few questions?’ said Fran, helping Dame Amanda into one of the other deep leather chairs.
‘Ask away, dear. I can’t see the wood for the trees, myself.’
‘When did you buy this house, and was John English already your solicitor?’
‘Eighteen or nineteen years ago,’ said Dame Amanda looking surprised. ‘And no, John was newly qualified. He was an old schoolfriend of Dorian’s.’
‘Ah!’ said Libby and Fran together.
‘Why? Is that significant?’
‘I think so. But I’m not sure why. Did he know Dorian before he was adopted?’
‘No – I sent Dorian to a new school. It coincided with his changing schools anyway, so it worked well. John was the only friend he told about his background.’
‘Right. So …’ Fran was frowning, obviously working things out in her head. ‘So if we go back to the beginning of the current business, it was immediately after you’d announced your intention of selling that the rumour started. About the haunting.’
‘Yes. What are you saying? That Dorian and John started them?’ Dame Amanda suddenly looked her years. ‘But why?’
‘I don’t think the story about the treasure is any more than a legend,’ said Fran, ‘so not that.’
‘That’s not what Gerry thinks,’ said Libby.
‘And the interrogation centre? Where does that come in?’ Their hostess was visibly wilting.
‘I don’t know. A cover-up.’ Fran shook her head.
‘So what’s behind the alcove in the drawing room?’ said Libby. ‘I assumed it was the entrance to the cellars.’
‘I think it is,’ said Fran, ‘but can you imagine the government or the MOD or whoever it was leaving anything down there? I doubt it.’
The door creaked open again, revealing Coolidge resplendent in a figured silk dressing gown.
‘What are you doing up?’ he said, coming over to Dame Amanda, who held out her hand to him.
‘Couldn’t sleep,’ she said, laying her cheek on his hand. ‘Neither could the ladies.’ She smiled at their expressions. ‘I thought you’d have guessed by now. Coolidge is my husband.’
‘Oh – is that why Dorian doesn’t like you?’ blurted Libby, and Coolidge and Dame Amanda laughed.
‘It is. I had the temerity to marry his adoptive mother.’ Coolidge perched on the arm of his wife’s chair. ‘And the set-up here amused us.’
‘Have you got a first name?’ asked Fran.
‘Never used,’ said Coolidge with a grin.
‘Did I wake you? I tried not to.’ Dame Amanda looked up at him.
‘No, but I thought I head something down here, so I came to investigate. But I think,’ he said with a frown, ‘that it was someone in the drawing room.’
‘Gerry!’ said Fran and Libby together, leaping to their feet.
‘What?’
‘His last chance to get at the treasure. That’s what he thinks, anyway.’
Coolidge was already at the door. ‘Stay here, ladies.’
‘No fear,’ said Libby.
‘Not a chance,’ said Fran, as they followed quickly along the passage and across the hall.
But the drawing room was silent. Coolidge, a finger to his lips, began to ease the door open.
Dorian, poker in hand, sat on the floor in front of the open alcove which led to the cellars, over the sprawled and bloodied body of his cousin.
The other body, now skeletal remains, that lay just inside the false panelling, was formally identified well after Christmas by DNA evidence, but Dame Amanda and Coolidge were able to tell Libby and Fran the rest of story a couple of days after the weekend when they came to take up temporary residence at Steeple Farm.
‘The whole place was a crime scene and I couldn’t stand it,’ said Dame Amanda. ‘So kind of you to let us have this place, Libby.’
‘It belongs to our friend Peter and his brother – Ben’s cousins. We did it up to live in – but somehow never did,’ said Libby. ‘And Peter is bringing a take-away from his partner Harry’s restaurant so you won’t have to cook.
‘And I’ve got a couple of bottles,’ said Fran.
‘So have we,�
�� said Coolidge, ‘so let’s have a drink and we’ll tell you what happened.’
Once settled round the log fire in the sitting room, Coolidge began his story.
‘As you know, Dorian didn’t try to escape or even move until the paramedics and the police got there. Gerry is still in hospital, and is expected to be as right as rain in a few weeks.’
‘And he believed the story about the treasure?’ said Libby.
‘Fed to him by Dorian and verified by John English,’ said Dame Amanda, and shuddered. ‘When I think …’
‘Was John English really investigated by the security services?’ asked Fran.
‘Oh, yes. All of that was quite true, but not quite as hush-hush as he made it sound. The problem was that he’d used his knowledge to help out Dorian, and further to cover the tracks when it looked as though you were going to sell.’
‘And the body?’ asked Libby.
‘Dorian’s father.’ Coolidge nodded at their shocked faces. ‘He tracked Dorian down a few years ago and decided there was money to be made out of the situation. We were away at the time, so Dorian asked his father to meet him at Mallowan Manor and killed him. Then he told John English, who had already investigated the false panelling, and together, they pushed the body in there and replaced the panel.’
‘I’m surprised we didn’t smell anything,’ said Dame Amanda, wrinkling her nose.
‘It was very well ventilated,’ said Coolidge.
‘When you decided to sell the body could have been discovered,’ said Fran. ‘So they hatched up the plan.’
‘I think it got out of hand,’ said Coolidge. ‘They couldn’t decide whether to go for treasure or the interrogation centre, but Gerry latched on to it and provided the hauntings, although it was simply him looking for hiding places for the treasure. And then he went for it for the last time.’
‘As we thought he would,’ said Libby. ‘And Dorian caught him at it.’
‘He’d been sitting up waiting for him,’ said Dame Amanda. ‘But he didn’t mean to kill him. Just warn him off.’
‘But Gerry was still drunk and refused to believe Dorian when he said there was no treasure.’ Coolidge shook his head. ‘Poor soul.’
‘My fault,’ said Dame Amanda. ‘I should never have taken them in …’
‘Oh, don’t say that,’ said Libby. ‘You did a fine thing. And look at Clemency. Lovely woman.’
‘And standing by John English,’ said Dame Amanda with a wan smile. ‘I never guessed, but apparently …’
‘Yes,’ said Fran, ‘I thought so. And is he being charged?’
‘With accessory or something,’ said Coolidge. ‘He was initially seduced by the story of the treasure, you know.’
‘But soon realised it wasn’t true,’ said Dame Amanda.
Libby and Fran exchanged glances.
‘Well, have as happy a Christmas as you can here in Steeple Martin,’ said Libby, raising her glass. ‘We’ll all make sure you have a good time, won’t we, Fran?’
Ten miles away, Mallowan Manor sat silent and dark under a starlit sky. Inside, on a ledge high up behind the drawing room fireplace, a lump of gold waited for the day it would once more grace the head of a king.
Other short stories by Jodi Taylor
For more information about Lesley Cookman
and other Accent Press titles
please visit
www.accentpress.co.uk
Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2014
ISBN: 9781783759101
Copyright © Lesley Cookman 2014
The right of Lesley Cookman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Aberycnon,, CF45 4SN
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