A Killer Ball at Honeychurch Hall (24 page)

“That's what I wondered, too,” I said. “Or maybe there is another woman in the village who he's been messing around with.”

“Like who?”

“Maybe one of your friends from the Women's Institute.”

“Maybe,” Mum mused.

“I was joking,” I said.

“I wasn't,” said Mum. “The body might give out but the heart goes on.”

“You sound like Céline Dion.”

“Speaking of the
Titanic,
it's feels like the arctic up here in this bathroom. Let's go downstairs for tea.”

We trooped to the kitchen.

“And you really think Bryan just came back to the Hall to look for the silver coins?” Mum said as we sat at the table.

“Judging by the metal detector in the camper van and the books and magazines on coins and treasure,” I said. “Yes. I think that's why he came back.”

“Only to get hit on the head with a tire iron,” Mum said with a sigh. “What rotten luck.”

There was a loud knock at the door.

Mum leapt up from the table. “That'll be Alfred! Oh thank the Lord.”

“Alfred doesn't knock,” I reminded her but she'd already left the kitchen.

Seconds later Mr. Chips raced inside.

I heard Edith's voice call him to heel and then, “I'd like to talk to Alfred, please.”

 

Chapter Twenty-two

“I'm sorry, your ladyship,” said Mum nervously. “But what did you say?”

“Alfred? Where is he?” Edith demanded. “He's not at his flat.”

“He's not at his flat?” Mum said. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure! That's why I am here.” Edith's eyes narrowed. “It's frightfully important I speak with him. Since he has no car and no mobile phone, surely you must know where he is?”

“I do,” said Mum suddenly. “He's upstairs. Sick as a dog. Isn't he, Katherine?”

Oh no!
“It sounds like it.”

“What's wrong with him?” Edith demanded.

“He's got a headache,” Mum said hastily.

Edith frowned. “A headache?”

“Yes, but it's a bad one. A migraine, actually.”

Edith fixed Mum with a look that implied she didn't believe her. “And you just remembered he was upstairs?”

“Not exactly, m'lady.” Mum lowered her voice. “Alfred didn't want you to know. He told me he'd hate you to think he was a weakling. Men and their egos!”

“Perhaps it was the effects of watching
Fifty Shades of Grey
?” said Edith. “It's enough to give anyone a headache.”

“With all due respect, m'lady, a migraine is not a headache. Have you ever had one?”

Mum seemed to warm to her theme. “Awful, it is. You get nausea, disturbed vision. You can't move—and the pain is excruciating. I suffered for years and years—didn't I, Katherine?”

I merely smiled. Of course Mum had never had a migraine in her life but she knew enough about them to fake one.

“So how long does this migraine go on for?” said Edith.

“Could be days,” said Mum.

“Days?” I exclaimed.

“Just to be on the safe side,” Mum said. “And if you're worried about the horses, Katherine will help, won't you?”

“I don't think her ladyship wants my help, Mother.” Upon seeing Edith's confusion I added, “Rupert told me he'd prefer I stayed away.”

“Rupert is an idiot,” Edith exclaimed. “Hopefully Alfred will feel better soon. But in the meantime, we would appreciate your help. Thank you.”

“You mentioned you had something important to ask Alfred?” said Mum. “Was it … was it something to do with anything we talked about in church this morning?”

Edith gave a dismissive wave. “Of course not. I needed a second opinion on Tinkerbell.”

“Well, Katherine always has an opinion so perhaps she can help?”

“That won't be necessary tonight,” said Edith. “But we'll expect you at the stables tomorrow.”

“I'll be there!”

“I'll see you out, your ladyship.” Mum tried to signal all sorts of messages as she ushered Edith into the carriageway.

“I see you are using this as the entrance now,” Edith said, gesturing to the vast interior with its magnificent arch-braced roof.

“Yes. We've done a lot of work to tidy the place up,” said Mum enthusiastically. “I know we talked about having horses back in here again one day.”

Edith nodded but then looked around, frowning. “But where are your cars?”

Mum looked startled. “Cars? Where
are
our cars, Katherine?”

“Yours is still at the pound—”

“Ah, yes,” Edith mused. “Wasn't it stolen from the car park at the cinema?”

“Yes. Dreadful, it was,” said Mum.

“Not only do people gets headaches after seeing
Fifty Shades of Grey
but their cars are stolen, too—but Katherine's Golf?”

“Stolen,” said Mum quickly.

“Good grief! From here?” Edith sounded appalled.

“Mum, I think you forgot that
Eric
borrowed my car last night,” I lied.

“Eric,” Mum said. “Yes, yes, of course he did! With all this upset over Bryan's murder and that Pandora person's death, I just can't think straight.”

“Yes. Very upsetting.” Edith snapped her fingers to call Mr. Chips to heel. “Please tell Alfred that I hope he feels better soon.” And with that, she strode out of the carriageway.

The minute we were back in the kitchen Mum said, “You don't need to say anything!”

“What were you thinking? A
migraine
?”

“I panicked.”

“What if Alfred just comes back and Edith asks him how he's feeling?”

“I
know.
” Mum's eyes couldn't get any wider. “What are we going to do?”

“I have no idea what you are going to do, but I'm going up to the gatehouse to sort out a few things. I'll leave you to nurse your poor stepbrother with his migraine.”

“You have no heart,” Mum grumbled.

To be honest, I had to get away and gather my thoughts.

“You'll freeze up there,” said Mum. “Do you want to borrow my mink coat?”

“As a matter of fact, on this occasion, I do.”

I spent the next two hours sorting through my stock. Even with a paraffin heater going at full blast, it was cold and damp but I was warm as toast in Mum's coat.

It felt good to get organized and I found the mindless sorting out helped me sort out my thoughts, too.

Alfred was missing but hopefully he had merely moved the drawings to a safe location. He was on parole. He wouldn't want to jeopardize that. It wouldn't have mattered so much if he had just taken the Hollar drawings. But instead, for some unknown reason, he'd stolen a couple of paintings, as well.

Which led me to the forged thank you letter from Pandora being posted from St. Ives. Even though I knew my mother was not a Catholic or particularly religious, she did believe in the power of the Bible. Edith was satisfied that Mum had not written the thank you letter but
someone
had. Was Alfred covering for my mother?

The plethora of heart-shaped pendants seemed to indicate that Bryan had given them to all the young girls in Little Dipperton—including Pandora. But wouldn't Alfred have had access to the necklaces, too?

Mum hadn't wanted Alfred to know about Bryan being back in Little Dipperton. Yet the attack had seemed particularly violent and if anything, I would have imagined that Alfred would have given Bryan a good beating with his fists to teach him a lesson—not end his life with a tire iron—
especially since
Alfred was still on parole.

I also couldn't imagine the tremulous Seth Cropper brandishing a tire iron, either. Which left Mrs. Cropper.

Of course there was Rupert. He'd warned Bryan off last year and he'd been the one to find his body in the culvert. But again, what would have been the motive—unless it had something to do with the missing Honeychurch treasure.

And then there was the attack on Ginny. I'd seen Bryan in the area yesterday. He could easily have read the
Daily Post
and could well have had secrets of his own to hide. But now that Ginny had been found, did that mean she was still in danger?

A sudden loud crash stopped me in my tracks. It seemed to be coming from outside. It suddenly occurred to me that whoever had killed Bryan and attacked Ginny was still out there. Quickly, I flipped off the overhead light and grabbed a seventeenth-century fire-iron from my stock as a weapon. I was still waiting on having the blinds installed and felt very exposed.

I dropped to my knees and crawled to the front door where I'd left my tote bag. Pulling out my iPhone I first called Mum but she didn't answer. Then I called Shawn's private mobile number but I just got his voice mail—so much for that.
Then,
I called Little Dipperton's police station but—being a Sunday—it was closed. The recorded greeting prompted me to dial 999 but I didn't feel my life was in danger.

In the end, I rang Eric.

It took him less than five minutes to reach the gatehouse by which time I was feeling more than a little foolish especially as I had remembered that there was a tower of empty paint cans that I'd stacked at the side of the building. Even so, I cowered inside until I saw his Land Rover pull up.

“I'm sorry, Eric,” I said. “I think it was a fox or something—or the wind. I suppose I'm a bit jittery with everything that has been happening.”

“Can't be too careful, luv,” he said grimly but still insisted on patrolling the area with a flashlight.

We went out of the back door with me trailing after him. “The paint cans are down that path, there. I was going to take them to the tip.”

Eric shone the beam and sure enough, the paint cans were scattered across the flagstone path.

“At least I wasn't imagining it,” I said. “It must have been a fox.” I was about to head back inside when Eric gave a shout and waved me over.

Crouching down, he played the beam over a series of fresh muddy footprints that ran alongside the length of the path to the front of the house.

“I don't think these are yours, do you?”

“I haven't been down here for a couple of days…” I put my shoe alongside one of the prints. It was a lot larger.

“That's a woman's footprint,” said Eric.

I was puzzled. “You think it's fresh?”

Eric nodded. “It's been raining most of the day so anything from yesterday would have been washed away. Let's see where these footprints lead.”

I knew my mother didn't particularly care for Eric but tonight I saw another side of him I'd not expected. Eric wasn't so bad, after all.

“I'm so glad you're here,” I said and meant it.

The footprints ended at the wrought-iron gate that opened into the main entrance where they joined thin tire marks.

“Those are bicycle tires,” said Eric. “You were right. Someone has been snooping. Have you had an alarm put in yet?”

“Next week,” I said. “Along with the heating and the blinds.”

Eric nodded. “Yeah. I reckon someone was casing the joint. Wasn't there a break-in at Luxton's warehouse last night?”

“I believe so,” I said.

“You've got a lot of valuable stuff in there. You should tell Shawn.”

“I will.”

“I think I should take you back to the Carriage House now.”

Eric waited whilst I turned off the paraffin heater and locked up the gatehouse.

As I got out of his Land Rover I thought about Bryan and told Eric about what I'd found in Bryan's camper van.

“No wonder he was snooping about,” said Eric. “And no wonder he wanted to talk to Joan.”

“Do you know why he came back to see you last night?” I said.

“No idea,” said Eric. “But like I told Shawn this morning, he seemed upset.”

“Did you know that Bryan was married?”

“Blokes don't discuss stuff like that.”

I bid him good night.

Alfred had
still
not returned my car. What's more, when I went up to Mum's office to ask her for news, the sign on her door made it plain that she did not want to be disturbed nor was she hungry. Whether this was because she was actually writing or because she couldn't begin to think about what really was going on with her stepbrother, it was hard to tell.

I left her alone and went into the kitchen to find a note tacked to the fridge saying that Edith expected me at the stables at six a.m. sharp.

I made a quick supper of scrambled eggs and had an early night but I lay awake for a very long time. All I could think about was that first thing tomorrow morning, news of exactly what artwork Alfred had stolen from Luxton's warehouse would be public knowledge.

I just hoped that David was still enjoying his second honeymoon.

 

Chapter Twenty-three

It was dark and cold when I reached the stables the next morning but the whinnies that greeted me warmed my heart. Despite knowing that Alfred had gone AWOL, I still looked up to his flat in the crazy hope that he had magically returned.

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!