Soon, all thoughts of Alfred and the last few days faded as I fed, watered and mucked out the stables. I found I was thoroughly enjoying myself and even when I tacked up Tinkerbell for Edith, and Jupiter for Lavinia, and they set off for a morning ride, I was happy to stay behind and putter in the yard.
There was one awkward moment when Harry stopped by on his way to school to give Thunder an apple. He asked how Alfred was feeling, but other than that, the satisfaction I got from manual labor lifted my spirits.
Edith had left a list of chores for me in the tack room that mostly involved cleaning tack and repairing New Zealand rugs. I thought back to the time I had dreamed of working with horses but Dad had said it just wasn’t practical. He told me there was no money in it. How differently my life would have turned out!
Out of habit, I put the kettle on in the tack room to stop for a morning cup of coffee. Presumably the cracked mug and dried-up jar of Coffee-mate belonged to Alfred.
A knock at the tack room revealed Mrs. Cropper standing in the doorway wearing a dark blue raincoat. She’d swapped her mobcap for a matching headscarf that she had tied tightly under her chin. In her hand was a wicker basket. Instinctively, I looked at the size of her feet. Even though she was wearing galoshes, her feet were far smaller than mine. I had no idea if she owned a bicycle.
“I heard that Alfred was poorly,” she said. “I always bring him some coffee and currant buns for elevenses but I thought you might like them instead.”
“That’s very kind of you.” I gestured to the kettle on top of a makeshift cupboard. “I’ll turn that off.”
Mrs. Cropper set the basket on the sofa and brought out a thermos and Tupperware. The thermos was plaid—orange and black—and reminded me of when Mum used to make Dad a packed lunch for the office. He always got a thermos, too, and the coffee was never very hot.
“Sugar?” said Mrs. Cropper as she unscrewed the plastic cup and poured the milky liquid into it. The coffee looked weak but I didn’t mind.
“No, thanks.”
She removed the lid from the Tupperware. “Take as many currant buns as you like.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m starving. I only had a banana for breakfast.”
Mrs. Cropper made no sign of leaving. She just stood there watching me eat her currant buns and drink her coffee—which was tepid, just as Dad’s always was.
“How is Alfred this morning?” she said.
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully. “I didn’t see him.”
“Probably a handful, if he’s anything like my Seth when he’s feeling poorly.”
“I’m sure my mother knows how to manage him.” Good answer, I thought to myself as I took a second currant bun. It was no wonder that my clothes were getting tight.
Still, Mrs. Cropper showed no sign of leaving.
“Did you want to sit down?” I said, gesturing to the sofa. “But sit at the far end. There are still a few springs in that bit.”
“Thank you, but I won’t, dear.”
There was a silence. I knew she was bracing herself to say something and I started feeling a bit peculiar. “Is everything alright?”
Mrs. Cropper gave a heavy sigh. “I remember Alfred back in the old days, you know.”
“Well, he is unforgettable,” I said lightly.
“Alfred had a bit of a temper. He was always baiting the local lads to join him in the ring and then he would beat them to a pulp.”
“Oh.” I was taken aback. “To a pulp? Surely not, Mrs. C.”
“And there was one person Alfred Bushman couldn’t stand and that was Bryan Laney.”
I had a horrible feeling that I knew where this conversation was going. “He didn’t seem to be very popular with any of the men on the estate.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mrs. Cropper demanded.
“I heard that you were quite a beauty, Mrs. C.” Actually I hadn’t but I could tell that she would have been a handsome woman. “I would expect any man would feel threatened by Bryan and his unwanted attentions.”
Mrs. Cropper looked startled.
“Bryan definitely had his eye on you,” I said with as big a smile as I could muster. “Didn’t you get one of the special heart-pendants?”
“Did Iris tell you that?” Mrs. Cropper exclaimed.
“I shouldn’t worry. It seems that Bryan was handing out those pendants to everyone he fancied.”
“But it was Iris he wanted.” A peculiar expression crossed Mrs. Cropper’s features. Was it jealousy? “Iris wasn’t yet sixteen but he didn’t care—and nor did she. Poor Joan.”
“Joan? Joan Stark? What about Joan?”
“You leave Joan out of all this,” said Mrs. Cropper hotly. “She’s suffered enough. And Iris didn’t care about her, either.”
I regarded the elderly woman with curiosity and wondered why was she telling me all this.
“To be honest, Mrs. Cropper,” I said. “Whatever you want to say about my mother, you should say to her directly—not to me. If you really must know, she thinks of you as a friend.”
Mrs. Cropper turned pink. She seemed embarrassed but just said, “Have you finished your coffee? I’ve got to get on.”
She took the Tupperware and slapped on the lid but not before I’d snatched the third currant bun. I returned the thermos.
“Thank you,” I said. “That was delicious.”
“If anyone is responsible for any of this, it’s Alfred,” Mrs. Cropper declared. “And I don’t think for one minute that he’s got a headache. He’s run off. He knows he’s been caught. He did Pandora in and Bryan, too. Those Bushmans were a bad lot,” she went on. “You should all go away. Go back to where you came from.”
Stunned, I watched Mrs. Cropper storm to the door. There was a cry of surprise.
“I’m so sorry,” said a familiar voice. “Are you alright?”
I didn’t hear Mrs. Cropper’s response because I was in shock.
David walked in.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Good heavens,” he said. “I barely recognized you!”
“What are you doing here?” I said.
Suddenly all my insecurities came flooding back. I was aware of my dirty clothes, my hair clamped under the slumber net and no makeup. My fingers were grimy, nails unkempt and in my hand I was clutching a currant bun.
“A ‘How are you?’ would be nice.” David took a step back and raked in my appearance. I took in his. Smart Florsheim shoes; casual sports coat under a Burberry raincoat. Even though his dark hair was streaked with silver, he was still impossibly handsome but impossibly shallow.
David pointed to the currant bun. “Country living seems to be giving you quite an appetite.”
“And a Hawaiian honeymoon has definitely given you a tan,” I retorted.
David looked pained. “Let’s not go there, Katherine. Please?”
“If you are going anywhere, it’s away from here,” I said coldly. “Please leave.”
“Fine. But you must know why I’m here.”
“Nope. No idea.” But of course I knew. It was exactly as I had feared. David had found out about the Hollar drawings. Why else would he turn up?
“I knocked at the Carriage House but no one was there, so I drove up to the Hall and the butler—who reminded me of Anthony Hopkins from The Remains of the Day—”
“I’m sure Cropper would be flattered you thought so—”
“He told me I’d find you here.” David took in the tack room. “No antique shop after all then?”
I just smiled. Let him think what he liked.
“Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
“I can’t think of anything we need to talk about.”
“Believe me, you do.”
“Right here is fine. Please…” I gestured to the sofa. “Do sit down.”
“On that?” David pulled a face. “I’m fine standing but first…” He turned away and closed the door. “I don’t want us to be interrupte
d.”
I was instantly aware of his charisma and suddenly felt vulnerable.
David pointed to my face. “I see you still wear the pearls.”
My hands flew to my ears. They were my standard, everyday earrings and ones I never thought twice about putting on. I had completely forgotten that David had bought them for me. “Mikimoto, yes?” David said. “Remember when I bought them for you in Tokyo?”
I was furious. Angry. I wanted to throw something at him—a metal curry comb would do quite a bit of damage with its sharp edges—but instead, I calmly took both earrings out and gave them back.
David rolled his eyes. “You’re being childish, Katherine. They were a gift and an expensive gift at that.”
“And I’ve enjoyed wearing them,” I said. “But I don’t want them anymore.”
David looked at the earrings in his hand. “You’re upset. I understand.”
“I’m rather busy so what exactly do you want?”
“You really don’t want them?”
“No.”
He shrugged and slipped the pearls into his pocket. “There was a robbery at Luxton’s warehouse on Saturday night,” he said. “Four paintings were stolen. Two were topographical drawings by an artist called Wenceslaus Hollar. Both were of Honeychurch Hall.”
“Oh? Really,” I said. “But surely, you should be talking to the dowager countess, not me.” I tried to keep my voice steady but I was a terrible liar and he knew it. “You should talk to her—or Rupert.”
David actually laughed. “Nice try, Katherine, but I know you too well. You’re playing the ignorance card.”
“I’m not playing anything.”
David studied my face. “If only you weren’t so beautiful.”
“As you said to me a few minutes ago, don’t go there.” But I kept my voice even. “So let’s not.”
He stared at me in silence. I stared back.
“Look, I’m trying to help you,” he said harshly. “Just because things didn’t work out between us doesn’t mean that I don’t care.”
“Work out between us?” I was astonished. “Work out?”
“You just couldn’t wait,” David said angrily. “You had to have it on your time schedule.”
“You are unbelievable!” I cried, finally giving in to my fury. “How does renewing your vows fit into my time schedule?”
David had the grace to look embarrassed. “You can’t begin to understand!” In two big strides he was beside me and grabbed my hands. “I’m trying to protect your reputation, you must know that.”
I snatched my hands away and stepped back, only to collide with a saddle rack. “I hardly think my reputation matters given Saturday’s Daily Post exposé! Let me think. What was the headline? ‘Honeychurch House of Horrors’?”
“I had nothing to do with that,” David protested. “In fact, I begged Trudy to leave you alone and she did. The article was written by that young reporter girl—Ginny something.”
“And rewritten by your wife.”
David shook his head vehemently. “No. Trudy wouldn’t do that. It was one of the conditions I made about us getting back together.”
“Wow! So I was a condition,” I said. “I’m flattered.”
“You can believe what you like,” he snapped. “But I’m only trying to help.”
I didn’t know what to say. Did I believe that Ginny had lied? Possibly. Did I believe that Trudy had promised to keep her word to get David back? Yes. Absolutely.
“Kat,” he said gently. “I know those drawings were on the watch list.”
“Not sure I follow.”
“Do I have to spell it out? The Hollar drawings were on the watch list from the robbery in 1990.”
“Really?”
“Apparently, they were brought in and registered by Eric Pugsley,” said David. “He signed them in. He lives on the estate. I wonder how he came to get them?”
“I wonder.”
“They must have been here all the time.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
David’s face was flushed, a sure sign that he was getting angry. “What do you want me to do? They’ve been stolen for the second time—”
“Along with some other pieces of art,” I pointed out. “Maybe they’ll never be found.”
“Maybe your Uncle Alfred may never be found, either.”
“Maybe not,” I said. “And then what?”
“Surveillance footage of the warehouse,” said David. “CCTV. We’ll be watching all points of entry naturally—airports, ports, train stations.”
“Good idea.”
A tick started to flicker in David’s jaw. “Well, we’ll need to interview the dowager countess of course—we’ll have to tell her the paintings were already listed as stolen—along with the Titanic Steiff mourning bear and a whole other list of items, which I cannot quite recall at this precise moment.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” I exclaimed. “That would kill her. Leave Edith out of this.”
“It would add to the series of Honeychurch scandals, I would think.” David forced a sigh. “I’m just doing my job and you know I’m very, very good at doing my job.”
“And I think you should allow us to do ours, sir.”
Shawn flung open the door and strolled into the tack room.
Chapter Twenty-five
I wasn’t sure whether I was pleased or horrified at Shawn’s sudden appearance. I wondered how much he had heard. I didn’t even know if Shawn was aware of the insurance scam—it had happened so long ago.
“Detective Inspector Shawn Cropper.” Shawn stretched out his hand. I noticed a smudge of jam at the cuff. “And you are…?”
“David Wynne,” said David. “Art and Antiques Unit.”
“So soon!” Shawn seemed impressed. “I only just heard half an hour ago that there might be items from the dowager countess’s collection that had been among those stolen.”
“There were,” said David firmly.
“Very good of you to come here and help us out. In fact, we’re honored!”
“My pleasure. Well—”
“But I can assure you, we are working closely with Newton Abbot,” Shawn went on smoothly. “And naturally, if we need the help of a man as great as yourself, we will be in touch.”
“Oh, I’m quite sure we will be in touch,” said David pointedly.
Shawn reached into his pocket. “My business card. Feel free to call any time.” Then, to my astonishment, Shawn turned to me. “Sorry I got caught up. Is everything alright, darling?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “David was just leaving.”
David looked from me, then to Shawn. Shock registered on his face before he seemed to compose himself. “Ah. I see. Not quite your type Katherine but I’m happy for you. It didn’t take you long.”
“I think you should leave, sir,” said Shawn curtly. “Unless you want to be arrested for trespassing on private property? I’m sure you saw the warning signs when you came in through the front gates?”
I saw a flash of sadness cross David’s features but then it was gone. He turned to go but paused. “I never meant to hurt you, Kat,” he said quietly. “I know you’ll never believe me, but it was … just too difficult. All of it.”
And with that, he vanished. I was exhausted and sank onto the sofa. I didn’t even notice the lack of springs or the abundance of dog hairs. To my horror, I found my eyes were swimming with tears.
Shawn thrust a grubby handkerchief into my hand. “Sorry about the smell of bananas,” he said.
I managed a smile. “Yes. I’ve noticed that a lot.”
“My mother-in-law,” he said ruefully. “She helps with the laundry and she buys this disgusting fabric softener with a fruity fragrance. The twins love it.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m alright. Really I am.”
“Good.” Shawn paused for a moment and then gently squeezed my shoulder. “What was all that about, Kat?”
“Nothing.” And it was better t
o say absolutely nothing. With Alfred on the run, David chasing the drawings and the horrible conversation I’d had with his grandmother earlier on, the last person I wanted to confide in was a police officer.
But Shawn’s boyish gallantry had touched my heart. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For coming to my rescue.”
“As you may or may not know the dowager countess’s Hollar drawings were two of the items stolen.” Shawn briskly changed the subject. “I hope her ladyship was insured. I know she was counting on selling them to repair the plasterwork ceiling.”
So it seemed that Shawn didn’t know about the scam in 1990. I wasn’t sure if this was good news or bad.
“Newton Abbot is confident they’ll be able to identify the perpetrator despite the fact that he was wearing a balaclava.” Shawn studied my face. “Are you sure you don’t have anything to tell me?”
“No. Why?”
“Your mother’s MINI was found in Heathfield Business Park,” said Shawn. “Very close to Luxton’s warehouse. I don’t believe in coincidences.”
I couldn’t look Shawn in the eye. I was almost certain that my own car would be seen on CCTV sooner or later. I hated lying to him but didn’t know what else to do.
“How is Ginny?” I said. “Have you seen her yet?”
“Not to talk to,” he said. “Roxy is staying with her for the moment just in case.”
“You mean…” I was horrified. “You expect her attacker might come back?”
“We’re not taking any chances,” said Shawn.
“Roxy and Ginny are good friends, aren’t they?”
At this, Shawn’s expression hardened. “From childhood—like most of us around here. We’ll be taking disciplinary action once this is all over.”
Despite what Roxy had done, I felt sorry for her. She was a good policewoman.
“I think someone was spying on me last night.” I went on to tell Shawn about the paint cans and the footprints in the mud.
Shawn looked concerned. “And you didn’t think to call?”
“I couldn’t get hold of you—”
“Did you leave a message?”
A Killer Ball at Honeychurch Hall Page 19
