02 - Flight of Fancy (4 page)

“Indeed you cannot.” Clara
agreed, “You are very knowledgeable, I take it you have tended the roses here
for many years?”

“Oh yes, since my father come
here in, what would it be? Summer of 1875. I would have been 14 or 15 then and
I helped him about the gardens. Old gardener had died of apoplexy winter before
and the family had let the plants go to wrack and ruin while they decided to
find a new man. Quite lucky they were to get my father, I might add. He was
considered by Queen Victoria herself, but he had an aversion to dogs which
caused them some difficulties, so he was never offered the position.”

“So you were here when Mr
Goddard O’Harris was alive?”

“Indeed I was. Funny thing…” He
hesitated.

“What is it? I hope I have not
upset you?”

“Don’t be silly missus, I’m
only the gardener, you haven’t got to fuss yourself worrying about upsetting
me. It’s just a few moments ago I came across the young master lying prone on
this very spot and it took me queer because of the remembering.”

“Remembering?

“Yes, of poor Mr Goddard and
how he was found lying just here.” The gardener had seemed to have gone very
pale and leaned without thinking against his precious roses.

“I do apologise for my ignorance,
I was unaware that any tragedy had befallen the O’Harris family.” Clara lied
sweetly, “But you look rather pale, shall we take a walk and perhaps that will
refresh you?”

“Thank you missus, most kind,
most kind. I left my barrow over by the French Marigolds I was setting, perhaps
we can walk that way?”

“Of course!”

They ambled along quietly,
Clara waiting with infinite patience to see if her new informant would start
talking again, she was not disappointed.

“I don’t usually get so
spooked, like.” The gardener looked abashed, “I am a rational man and I know
spirits don’t come back, but just for a moment when I saw Mr O’Harris lying
there it was like I was going back more than ten years to that awful night.”

“I’m terribly sorry, what a
shock it must have been to see the body of your employer lying among the
roses.”

“Oh it was a dreadful night. Mr
Goddard always smoked a cigar among the roses, I would have liked to have
complained to him about the harm it caused them, but what is a gardener to do?”

Clara nodded sympathetically.

“On that night I was late out
because the old compost heap had rotted through its wooden panels and collapsed
all over cook’s winter lettuces. So I was trying to fix it and it had taken
such a time. I was walking back to my little cottage by lamplight, quite
rightly I ain’t suppose to wander through the gardens in the evening in case
people are dining and see me go by, but I was too tired to worry and the only
soul about was usually just Mr Goddard and he was a kind-hearted fellow.” The
gardener fingered at the handle of his barrow, “I think that is why it took me
hard seeing him lying there on the ground. Then I looked up from the body,
stunned of course, and I see Mrs O’Harris standing on the steps of the terrace
with a shawl about her. ‘It’s all right Mr Riggs, I’ve sent for the doctor.’
She said, calm as anything, she was always a remarkable woman.”

Clara’s mind pinged at the information.
Aunt Florence had gone back to the body after calling for a doctor and it had
still been there! That was a different story to the one the colonel had told
and rested suspicion once again on Mrs O’Harris. What a shame for the captain.

“Mrs O’Harris must have been
dreadfully upset.”

“She was a strong women, some
say hard, but I seen her cry over the death of her best magnolia. Person who
can weep for the death of a plant can’t be bad in my book.”

“So you stayed with her until
the police arrived?”

“Oh no!” The gardener was
shocked, “What an imposition that would have been! No, I went home and went to
bed. I had a hedge to trim back in the morning.”

“Thank you Mr Riggs, I do
apologise for interfering with your work.”

“No harm done, Missus. I like
to talk about the roses.”

Clara was moving off, smiling
at him.

“Parson’s China Rose, was it?”

“Parson’s Pink China.” Mr Riggs
called out, “And they like a bit of sun but not too much.”

Clara waved to him as she
headed across the lawn.

The plane roared throatily as
it sailed through the clouds.

“This is the life!” Captain
O’Harris called back to his passenger.

“I’ve never felt so free!”
Replied Tommy, staring over the side of the plane down at the tiny houses and
gardens.

He felt like a giant stalking
over a toy town, the world spread out in a map beneath him.

“What was it like, flying in
the war?”

“Bloody terrifying!” O’Harris
laughed, “But don’t tell a soul I said that Tommy, it’s just a secret between
us war veterans.”

“Quite right.” Tommy promised.

“It was Hell being a spotter
pilot, flying over No Man’s Land, dodging whatever the Germans tried to throw
at you. Don’t get me wrong, most of their gear couldn’t reach us, but they were
working on anti-aircraft weapons and you never knew when the next machine gun
you heard was going to be the one with enough long-range on it to hit you. Then
there were the other fellows in their planes. They would swarm all over you and
all the chap behind you had was a Thompson rifle to try and shoot them!”

“Sounds about as well-organised
as us sloggers on the ground!”

“Ah, Tommy, you don’t know how
I felt for you sods as I flew over. Sometimes we were so low we could see the
bodies and then the ones who were hurt but still alive and calling for help.
The times I wished I could do something…”

“Didn’t we all?” Interrupted
Tommy, “I found the only way to deal with it was not to think about the poor
souls left out there.”

“What happened to you? If you
don’t mind me asking.”

“I used to mind, but you have
to get past it. I was machine gunned and left for dead in the mud of No Man’s Land.”

O’Harris grimaced.

“That’s grim, for all I know
you were one of the fellows I flew over and wished I could help. I reported
every man I saw you know, every single one.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, old
boy. We all had a job to do.”

O’Harris banked the plane over,
circling around his estate.

“I wanted to fly as long as I
can remember.” He said as they soared over his home, “Even before I knew such
things as planes existed. Does it sound awfully morbid if I say I would rather
die in a plane than grow old and wither away?”

“A little.” Tommy admitted,
“But I am certain most people think similar things.”

“And you?”

Tommy hesitated, then a sad
smile lit his face.

“Maybe before the war, but
after it, all I could think of was living as long as possible.”

O’Harris swooped temptingly low
over a chimney and Tommy almost reached out his hand to touch the top.

“I say, isn’t that your sister
by the barn?”

“Don’t say so, old boy, it
means the game is up!”

O’Harris laughed.

“The poor Buzzard is low on
fuel anyway, shall we treat your sister to a first class landing?”

“Don’t expect her to be
impressed. Clara doesn’t believe in being impressed by people.”

O’Harris laughed again and
brought the Buzzard around to land on the grassy strip outside the converted
barn.

“Hold tight!”

The Buzzard’s rubber wheels hit
the ground with a bump and she coasted along a few yards before her tail sank
down and her tail wheel bounced on the grass. The Buzzard rolled several more
feet, her noisy engine and propeller seeming to make a cacophony of noise
within the surrounding trees. Slowly the Buzzard came to a halt and O’Harris
cut the engine. Her polished wooden propeller finished one last rotation and
fell still. The Buzzard was at a standstill, but to Tommy she still seemed to
hum with life and energy.

“Tommy Fitzgerald!” Clara was
running up to them looking furious, “What are you doing?”

“Calm down, dear sister. I was
trying out the Buzzard for size.” Tommy grinned at her.

“My fault, I fear, Miss
Fitzgerald. I lured him in. The Buzzard likes a run every day, you know, and
company makes a flight that much more fun.”

“These contraptions are
dangerous!” Clara snapped.

For the first time Tommy
noticed how pale she had gone.

“I’m fine Clara, honestly.”

Clara bit at her lip,
controlling her anxiety. She had warned herself about being a nag as she stood
by the barn and watched the plane descend, but she couldn’t help the churning
sensation in her stomach every second the Buzzard had remained in the air.
Tommy was the last remnant of her family and the loss of him would be too much
to bear.

“Have you been busy?” Tommy
tried changing the subject.

“Just wandering around the
grounds.” Clara released the breath she had unknowingly been holding, “I met
the gardener.”

“Any new information?” O’Harris
asked hopefully.

Clara just shook her head, not
wanting to tell him that what she had learned seemed to point the finger of
blame firmly at his aunt.

“That’s a pity, but I suppose
it was to be expected.” O’Harris jumped from the plane and moved around to
manhandle Tommy out of the passenger seat. It was quite a procedure. The back
cockpit was high up and Tommy had no means of helping and had to rely on the
strength of his host. He felt a hot fury burning inside him as he clung to
O’Harris helplessly.

“The wheelchair is in the
barn.” The captain told Clara.

She nodded mutely and went to
fetch it. Several more moments of pulling and dragging succeeded in getting
Tommy out of the cockpit and O’Harris perched him on the wing of the plane.

“I hate this.” Tommy grumbled.

“Being helped?”

“Being helpless?”

O’Harris shrugged.

“What can you do about it?”

Clara reappeared with the
wheelchair.

“When was your hangar built
captain?”

O’Harris glanced up at the
surprise question.

“The barn?”

“Odd place for a barn, right
near the house?”

“Uncle Goddard planned it as a
garage, he had fondness for cars. His are still all in there, at the back under
oil-cloths. We always called it ‘the barn’ because it was so tall and, well, it
rather looks like a barn.”

“When was it built?” Clara
repeated.

O’Harris leaned against the
tail of the Buzzard and contemplated his hangar.

“The foundations were just
going in the last time I was here visiting, before Goddard’s death.”

“Your aunt completed the
project then?”

“Yes.” O’Harris hesitated
again, “Are you thinking that is odd?”

“Not if she cared deeply for
your uncle, she may have considered it proper to finish his last project.”

A smile came to O’Harris’ face.

“You make me feel better. I’ve
been worrying silly about Auntie Flo being a murderess. Come on, time for some lunch
I reckon.”

O’Harris marched ahead to chase
up some lunch, calling to his guests to meet him in the garden room. Clara
pushed Tommy away from the plane.

“There could be another reason
she finished the barn.” Tommy said quietly as their host went out of sight.

“I know.” Clara sighed, “She
may have done it to hide the body she dumped in the foundations.”

The garden room was
optimistically named as it faced North onto the drive, and the only glimpse of
true garden was the edge of some trees and a hint of grass in the distance. Big
windows drew in the faint sunshine, though most of the room was cast in shade
and chilly. The walls were lined with prints and books, a heavy desk squeezed
between two bookcases and a large leather sofa squatted in the centre of the
room.

Clara found her natural
curiosity taking her over to the desk, which she touched lightly, gently
pulling the handle to confirm it was locked.

“In another life I could
imagine you a spy or thief, old girl.” Tommy grinned at her.

“A spy maybe.” Clara shrugged,
“But I am not sure I would care for the danger.”

Captain O’Harris appeared in
the doorway with a bottle of whisky in one hand and Indian Tonic water in the
other. Behind him a maid came with a tray of glasses.

“Bit of a dismal room, isn’t
it?” O’Harris gave a sniff at his garden room, “I only brought you here because
this is all that remains of my uncle’s study. The drawing room used to be his
study, but after his death auntie Flo moved everything she could into here and
sold the rest. This is as close as you can come to meeting my uncle in the
flesh, Goddard lived for his books and work and sometimes I think I can feel
him in here among the old pages. Whisky?”

Clara declined, but Tommy
agreed and accepted his glass with relish.

“What did your uncle study?”
Clara peered at a print on the wall that appeared to depict a Roman scene with
ladies in skimpy clothes and men in togas.

“Military history mostly. He
wrote a few books on the subject, nothing particularly spectacular.” O’Harris
went to a shelf and took off several green bound volumes, “Self-published, I’m
afraid. Couldn’t find anyone to take him seriously, would you like to read
them?”

“Yes, I feel I need to know
more about Goddard O’Harris.” Clara took the volumes and glanced at the titles,
“He was interested in ancient history?”

“Only when it came to military
tactics. I did think he wrote a nice piece on the ancient Egyptians’ use of
chariots in battle. He deserved a little more attention.”

Clara put the books on a side
table and took another look at the shelves. As O’Harris had mentioned they
seemed filled with military titles, anything from the Battle of Hastings to the
Crimea. She found herself wondering what a man so intimate with ancient warfare
would have thought of the Great War.

“Can you open the desk?”

O’Harris rooted a bunch of keys
from his pocket. They hung on a wide ring, dozens of them, some small, some
large, a few so tarnished they could hardly have been used in years.

“It’s one of these.” He said
bashfully, “You would be amazed how many keys a house like this can acquire. I
haven’t opened his desk in years. It was mostly full of old business papers and
house deeds.”

O’Harris finally found a key he
seemed to like and walked to the desk and unlocked the front. Clara came
forward and started opening drawers and examining contents.

“Looking for anything in
particular?” O’Harris asked with a note of anxiety.

“Motive.” Clara smiled at him,
“So far I can’t see a single reason anyone would want your uncle dead.”

“Even auntie Flo?” O’Harris
asked keenly.

“Even aunt Florence, but that
isn’t to say I am convinced she is in the clear.” Clara pulled out some papers
and examined them, “Did he make a will?”

“Oh Uncle Goddard had one for
years.” O’Harris nodded, “I have it in a safe. He left everything to auntie
Flo. I think there was a little placed aside for some charity, let me think,
veterans of war perhaps? I didn’t get a penny, which, I must admit, was a shock
to the system. I didn’t expect money of course, and I did not think of Goddard
as my way into the family fortune, but I suppose it hurt a little to think he
had left me out of the thing.”

Clara flicked through a sheaf
of notes on Roman battle tactics.

“Did he leave any debts?”

“Not that I am aware of. He was
quite a frugal soul. Aside from the cars, in that way we were very similar. We
had a feel for engines and mechanical power, only his was decidedly more on the
grounded side.”

“What would he make of your
record attempt?” Tommy interrupted.

Captain O’Harris leaned back in
a chair and took a long sip of whisky.

“I fear he would have been
appalled. He hated travel and he was not a man for anything dangerous. He
hardly drove his cars, you know, he liked firing them up, hearing the engine
purr, but take him on a long drive and he was a nervous wreck. He always
thought something awful would happen.”

“People get like that as they
age.”

“He was always old to me.”
O’Harris smiled fondly at the memory, “He always seemed a little on the ancient
side with his books and glasses and his punctual meals.”

O’Harris laughed.

“He would never eat after nine
o’clock at night because he insisted it affected his liver.”

Clara moved away from the desk
and took a seat near the dashing captain.

“It sounds as though you were
really fond of him.”

“I was.” O’Harris leaned
towards her, “In a way. He was the only adult I knew growing up who talked to
me like an equal. He didn’t patronise or explain things. If I didn’t understand
I had to ask. I always appreciated that. When I was a child, maybe it was the
same for you, I always felt very left out. That the adult world was something
being kept secret from me and I was always trying to find my way into it, as if
it was a foreign land. School only made me feel more left out, it was us boys
against the adults then, it was a funny way to live.”

O’Harris took a long look into
Clara’s eyes. He saw himself faintly reflected in her dark pupils.

“I am not one to be
sentimental.”

“Nor am I.” Clara agreed.

“But these last few days I have
found my mind turning back to those long past times and turning over every
minute, every hour, perhaps for some clue, but more often just because I can.
I’ve always felt rather lonely.” O’Harris paused, “You have been a real breath
of fresh air these last two days Clara, it is quite remarkable.”

“Should I leave you two alone?”
Tommy spoke from behind them.

“I am being a bore, aren’t I
old boy?” O’Harris laughed, “I’m sure lunch must be ready by now. Let’s leave
the past and think about today for a while.”

He looked to Clara, but she
could find nothing to say.

Clara and Tommy arrived home in
the late afternoon. Annie was awaiting them with a joint roasting in the oven.
She remarked about the fine weather as she hustled them indoors and talked
about the local gossip, but Clara only half heard her. She was musing over her
day with O’Harris and her thoughts on the case.

After dinner she excused
herself and leafed through the Brighton directory to find the address of
Colonel Brandt. His name was listed along with a phone number, which she rang
only to be told by a servant that he was at his club for the evening. Gaining
directions Clara set out to find the good colonel and try to resolve a piece of
the mystery.

Brighton Gentleman’s Club could
not compete with similar organisations in places such as London, but in its own
humble way it provided a retreat from the outside world for those who could
afford it and, of course, who were male.

Clara entered the foyer a
little uncomfortably. This was almost uncharted territory, though she had heard
the local suffragist movement had once staged a march into the building
protesting the chauvinistic and isolationist nature of the facility. The club
butler glanced up at her as she entered, and it was not a glance that echoed
approval.

On the other hand Clara was a
Twentieth century woman and she had every right to walk into any building, she
told herself. There was no law to deny her the right to step into a Gentleman’s
Club, it was only tradition and conservative attitudes that made her feel
guilty now. She tried to hold her head high and walk confidently as she
approached the desk.

“I must urgently speak with
Colonel Brandt and I was informed he was here.” She told the butler with her
best formal tone.

The butler glared down his nose
at her.

“You are aware of where you
are?”

“Yes.” Clara said calmly, “Now
will you please inform him Miss Clara Fitzgerald is here to see the colonel?”

“That is not our policy.” The
butler said smoothly, “The Club is supposed to be an escape from the real world
and its worries.”

He did not quite risk saying it
was an escape from women, but Clara knew he was thinking it.

“If I was to tell you the
colonel’s cousin had passed away and I needed to inform him about the matter
would you go find him?”

“That is a different situation.
It would be reprehensible not to contact him immediately.”

“Very well then.” Clara nodded,
“Please find the colonel.”

The butler looked fazed. Clara
waited a moment, then added,

“Well? Go on then?”

The butler, still somewhat
bemused, left his post and went in search of Colonel Brandt. A few minutes
later both men returned, the colonel grinning.

“Miss Fitzgerald! A pleasure to
see you again.”

“Colonel.” Clara offered her
hand for the colonel to shake.

“Very modern.” He laughed,
“Shall we slip into the guests’ parlour? It is the only place women are
allowed.”

“That would be agreeable. I
have things I must talk to you about.”

“Yes, my poor late cousin.”
Colonel Brandt winked mischievously.

He led them to a small side
room furnished as a cosy sitting room, with large red leather sofas and a
copiously stocked drinks cabinet.

“I was quite bemused when the
butler brought me your message. I don’t have a cousin.” The colonel said.

“I never said you did, nor did
I say he died, I am afraid the poor man just made his own assumptions.”

Brandt chuckled.

“You are a regular modern woman
Miss Fitzgerald. Can I offer you a drink?”

“Just some tonic water,
please.”

“So, I suppose this is about
the O’Harris business?” Brandt poured her a glass of water while helping
himself to a large brandy.

“It is indeed. Do you have any
objections to talking about it?”

“I hardly see why.” The colonel
shrugged, “After all, I started the whole debate, can’t hardly back out now,
can I?”

He handed Clara her glass.

“Do you still think Flo did it?
I really must protest that assumption, it is quite awful. She was a good woman
Miss Fitzgerald, she would never have killed someone.”

“Even her husband?”

Colonel Brandt smirked.

“An age old question, yes wives
are always saying they will kill their husbands aren’t they? Truth is, I always
thought the pair were quite in love, for all the quarrelling and coldness. But
then I never married, so perhaps I can’t tell?

The colonel lowered himself
into a chair, suddenly looking weary.

“I think that a shame, now I am
old. Living in your own company seems marvellous as a young man, but you get to
a certain age and so do your friends and suddenly the thought of a lifelong
companion seems very appealing.”

“Florence filled the void for a
time, though?”

The colonel smiled softly.

“She wasn’t so much older than
me, and yes, I did enjoy her company. She appreciated how it felt being home
with no family around me. My father had died by then. Flo always did have a
soft-spot for a waif and stray.”

“And how did you feel about
Goddard?”

“Good chap, I told you how his
tales of the Boer war made me join the army.”

“Were you friends?”

Brandt considered.

“I think that is rather hard to
say. We talked a good deal, but we never drank together. Goddard could be a
touch aloof. Never joined a club, never was involved in any society, quite kept
himself to himself. He used to ask me to dine, though as far as I can tell I
was one of the privileged few who was entertained by the O’Harris’s. A couple
who were content in their own company, I suppose.”

“Did he have an argument with
anyone.”

The major swirled the drink in
his glass.

“Goddard was not the sort to
make enemies. I mean, you know the sort of man who turns the world against him,
like that butler fellow out front. Ask me if he has enemies and I could list a
few, some of them members here. But they aren’t the sort who get themselves
killed, are they? It’s always the fellows who everyone says were well-liked,
popular and quite harmless. Goddard was that sort.”

“Even the harmless sort of
fellow can upset people. A servant maybe?”

“No, no, Goddard never argued
with his servants, that was Flo’s job.” Brandt laughed and then fell silent,
“I’m helping to make your case against her, aren’t I?”

“Not really.” Clara assured
him, though in truth he was, but she didn’t want to alert him to the fact, “Do
you recall a gardener, Mr Riggs?”

Brandt sank into thought for a
while.

“No, can’t say I do.”

“No matter, it was just a
thought. Now tell me a little more about Florence O’Harris.”

“What can I say? She was a
rather stern person, but deep down she was kind and thoughtful. Look, she was
not the sort to murder a person.”

“You and I can both agree I am
limited as to suspects.”

“Yes, and if I could persuade
you that I had killed Goddard I would, whether I thought Flo guilty or not. I
don’t want to see her reputation tainted.”

“This investigation is only for
the benefit of Captain O’Harris. No one else will ever know a thing.”

The major rubbed at his balding
head, looking strained and worried.