Aunt Dimity Beats the Devil (Aunt Dimity Mystery) (23 page)

I came out of my trance and sat beside Nicole on the sofa. Hatch was gone and Guy was in the armchair nearest
the hearth, his wounded arm resting on a tasseled pillow in his lap, his booted feet propped on a leather ottoman.

“It’s a rather complicated story,” Guy warned, “one you may find difficult to believe.”

“I’ll believe whatever you tell me, Captain Manning,” said Nicole.

Guy acknowledged her pledge by addressing his opening remarks to her. He spoke calmly and directly, a professional soldier delivering hard facts.

“A year ago, when the refurbishment of Wyrdhurst Hall commenced, someone started a campaign designed to make you and your husband feel unwelcome in the village of Blackhope and uncomfortable in your new home.…”

Guy quickly recapitulated the information he’d passed on to me beside the church in Blackhope. He described the flowers left before Clive Aynsworth’s memorial, the building of the Guy Fawkes Day bonfire within sight of Wyrdhurst’s towers, the revived rumors of the schoolteacher’s murder, and the resurrection of the Wyrdhurst ghost.

“Someone even went so far as to re-create the ghost,” he told Nicole. “The noises you heard at night, Mrs. Hollander, were quite real.”

“I know.” Nicole’s head bobbed eagerly. “Lori thinks they were made by burglars.”

“I’m afraid we’re dealing with something far more serious than burglary,” said Guy. “Those noises were, like the rumors, part of a plot to force you to abandon your home.”

Nicole looked perplexed. “Why would anyone want me to leave Wyrdhurst?”

“You were in the way.” Guy took a careful breath and eased his arm into a more comfortable position on the pillow
before dropping a bomb every bit as unexpected as the explosions that had shattered the windows. “For the past three years, Mrs. Hollander, Wyrdhurst has been used as a weapons cache by a band of terrorists bent on assaulting and destroying the Scottish Parliament.”

Nicole’s mouth fell open and a long moment passed.

“Terrorists?” I croaked.

“I rather think I preferred ghosts,” Nicole said weakly.

“Forgive me,” said Guy. “I know how upsetting this must be for you.”

Nicole lifted her chin. “It’s far less upsetting than not knowing the truth. Do go on.”

Guy bowed to her wishes. “Three years ago Wyrdhurst was, to all intents and purposes, an abandoned ruin. Its isolation and its proximity to the Scottish border made it an ideal place to store the weapons and high explosives the group was slowly acquiring.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” Nicole broke in, “that my husband and I have been living in a house filled with high explosives?”

“I’m afraid so,” Guy said.

Nicole gave a hiccuping giggle, cleared her throat, and told Guy to continue.

“Wyrdhurst’s proximity to the artillery range was also an advantage.” He turned to me. “The strange rock formation you and Chase discovered on the moors is, in fact, a full-scale mockup of the floor plan of the Scottish Parliament building in Edinburgh. Those involved in the plot used it to practice and time their takeover maneuvers.”

“Good grief,” I muttered, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. The army didn’t fire on the quadrant
nearest Wyrdhurst, and the range as a whole was barred to civilians. As long as they stayed near Wyrdhurst, the terrorists wouldn’t have to worry about being bombarded by the army or interrupted by casual hikers.

Guy paused for a sip of coffee before continuing. “The hall’s refurbishment took them by surprise,” he said. “None of the locals knew what was happening until the first work crews arrived on site.”

Nicole flushed. “It was a rather sudden decision on my uncle’s part,” she confessed. “I asked him to give me Wyrdhurst as a wedding present.”

The flicker of pain in Guy’s eyes had nothing to do with his arm, but he masked it with another sip of coffee.

I gave him a moment before asking, “Why didn’t Dickie’s workmen find the weapons?”

“Most of the weapons were cached in the dungeons,” he explained.

“Which have yet to be cleared of rubbish,” Nicole said, sighing.

“Correct.” Guy drained his cup and returned it to the table at his elbow. “Once the refurbishment began, the presence of so many work crews, working round the clock, made it impossible for the miscreants to retrieve their materiel. Afterwards, Mr. Hollander’s excellent security system foiled their attempts.”

Nicole studiously avoided Guy’s gaze as she refilled his cup, but she couldn’t avoid what was coming next.

Guy pulled no punches. “It took the men very little time to discover that, during your husband’s absences, Mrs. Hollander, you failed to utilize the security system properly. You made it easy for them to come in through the terrace door.
Once inside, they made their way to the dungeons via a circuitous but secure route, which they’d discovered before the hall was occupied.”

“The secret staircase?” I hazarded.

Guy confirmed my guess. The intruders had used the staircase to reach Jared’s conveniently unoccupied bedroom. From there, they’d gone down the servants’ stairs to the dungeons.

“They went to the third floor as well,” Nicole reminded Guy. “They tromped around up there repeatedly, for the sole purpose of frightening me.”

Guy tugged on an earlobe. “They deny doing so more than once,” he said. “But it’s early days yet. I expect further interrogation to elicit further details. By the way,” he added, “the laughter you heard, Lori, was made by a recording device installed by one of the group.”

I found it interesting that Guy had so far avoided referring to the terrorists by name. Was it because the names would mean nothing to us, I wondered, or because one name would mean too much? If Jared was involved in or even
aware of the plot, Guy would find himself in an extremely awkward position. How did one tell the woman one loved that her husband was a criminal?

“Guy,” I said, with a sidelong glance at Nicole, “you mentioned interrogations. Have you caught the thugs?”

“We caught them last night,” he said. “Your accident, in fact, led directly to their capture.”

“The gate.” I made a wry face as the penny dropped. “They opened the gate to the military track, and forgot to close it.”

“A small but significant mistake,” Guy observed. “It was the gate that drew my attention to the plot.”

Guy had known from the start that none of his men would have left the gate open, and he’d set out to prove it. He’d lifted the imprint of a tire from the muddy track, and used it to identify a nonmilitary vehicle. It had taken him two days to identify the vehicle’s current owner.

“Tell us his name,” Nicole demanded.

I held my breath.

“Bart Little,” Guy replied.

“The publican?” I exclaimed.

“Mr. Little asked me to apologize to you, Lori.” The merest hint of irony crept into Guy’s voice. “He thinks it unsporting to harm women.”

“What about the women in Parliament?” Nicole asked.

“Consistency is not a trait one usually associates with fanatics.” Guy gingerly crossed his legs. “I didn’t know it at the time, but the landlord of Her Majesty’s pub is also a rabid ultranationalist. He and a small band of followers believe that Britain’s greatness has been vitiated by the devolution of
power to Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. Mr. Little considers himself a patriot. Hence his respect for the military.”

In my mind’s eye, I saw the Union Jack hanging above Her Majesty’s bar, along with the color portraits of the queen and the heirs apparent. Recalling our red-carpet treatment, I murmured, “Lunch is on the house, Captain Manning.”

Guy allowed himself a brief, humorless smile. “It was the perfect cover,” he conceded. “A publican is very like an intelligence officer, keeping abreast of local happenings that might affect his operations.”

Guy told us that Bart Little had placed the call to Adam’s publisher, hoping to glean information about the mysterious stranger who’d rented the fishing hut. While Mr. Little gathered information on the ground, his son James scoured the Net for weapons suppliers. James had also rigged the tape recorder that had given me such a scare.

“The boy is adept at electronics,” Guy noted. “He regarded the device as something of a joke.”

No one in the room was laughing. Nicole looked stunned, the captain disgusted. I felt a strange mixture of relief and self-reproach. In light of what Guy had just told us, my suspicions about Jared seemed childish. I was glad I’d never shared them with Nicole, and ashamed of myself for suspecting him in the first place. Nicole’s husband might be a pompous prig, but he wasn’t evil.

“Before I could question Mr. Little about the gate,” Guy said, “my men spotted him coming up the military track in a small van—the same van whose imprint I’d taken. I ordered them to keep out of sight.”

Guy wanted to find out what was going on. He followed
Bart and three of his men from the military track all the way to Wyrdhurst’s dungeons, where he watched them retrieve three wooden crates. When they’d gone, he opened the few that remained.

“They contained automatic weapons,” Guy informed us. “We learned subsequently that the explosives had already been removed.”

“Thank heavens,” Nicole said fervently.

“I’d just alerted my men,” Guy continued, “when your call came through, Mrs. Hollander, telling me that Lori had spotted an intruder.”

“Adam must have spotted them first,” I said. “That’s why he went to the mauso—”

“Did they hide
weapons
in the
mausoleum
?” Nicole interrupted, her voice quivering with outrage.

“They won’t admit to it,” Guy acknowledged, “but as I said, it’s early days.”

I turned to Nicole. “I’ll bet Adam came downstairs to reread Edward’s letters, saw men who appeared to be carrying boxes away from the mausoleum, and tried to stop them.”

“It was a damned silly thing to do,” Guy said brusquely. “He could have been killed. You both could have been killed, and it would have been left to me to notify your next of kin.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, head bowed and heart clenching.

“Can’t we allow Adam and Lori a little bravery?” Nicole coaxed. “I think they were trying to protect me.”

“We were all—” Guy’s voice broke. He took a long draft of coffee before adding gruffly, “We were all concerned for your well-being, Mrs. Hollander.”

Nicole’s large eyes grew solemn. “What happened on the moors last night, Captain Manning?”

“War.” Guy’s mouth tightened, and the lines around his eyes deepened. “I don’t know what else to call it. My men were lying in wait, ready to take Mr. Little into custody for the illegal possession of firearms. We intended to do so peacefully, but he and his men fired upon us, and somehow set off the explosive devices in the van. The van’s driver was killed—a Mr. Garnett.”

“The mechanic.” I put a hand to my mouth, aghast. “He tried to keep Adam away from Wyrdhurst by telling him about the ghost.”

“He also put the flowers in front of Mr. Aynsworth’s memorial and proposed moving the bonfire to its old site,” Guy said. “He was the only other villager involved in the plot, though I dare say a few knew that something untoward was going on.”

“And your men?” Nicole asked gently. “Was anyone else wounded, besides you?”

“Fortunately not,” said Guy. “But the moors have soaked up another dead man’s blood. I truly regret it.”

Guy fell silent, gazing past us through the windows, as if he could still see fire in the sky. For a moment I forgot his rank and was aware only of a very young man burdened with awful responsibilities, a man not much older than Edward had been when he’d gone to war.

“Is it the first time you’ve been wounded?” I asked.

Guy’s smile was heart-wrenching. “I’ve never been shot at before. I’ve never been in combat. I never imagined that my enemy would also be my countryman.” He ran his tongue
along his lips, as though his mouth had suddenly gone dry. “As he took aim at me, he called me a traitor.”

“How
dare
—” Nicole’s heated protest ended abruptly when the study doors flew open and Dickie Byrd burst into the room.

“What the devil is going on?” Dickie was red-faced and bristling, a bantam rooster itching for a fight. “Nickie, love, are you okay?”

“Uncle Dickie?” she said, blinking in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard that all hell had broken loose up here.” Dickie caught sight of the boarded windows and rounded on Guy. “If you’re to blame for this shambles, my lad, I’ll have something to say to your commanding officer.”

Nicole jumped to her feet and boldly interposed herself between Guy and her pugnacious uncle. “How
dare
you, Uncle Dickie! I’ll have you know that Captain Guy Manning is the kindest, bravest, most courageous, best, and most admirable man who ever lived. What’s more, he’s
punctual!
”

Dickie Byrd listened thoughtfully to his niece’s furious tirade, then looked past her at Guy. “You married, young man?”

“No, sir,” Guy replied with amazing self-possession. “But your niece is.”

“That’s about to change.” Dickie gripped Nicole’s shoulders and looked her square in the face. “Wait till you hear what your worthless lump of a husband has been up to in Newcastle.” He turned toward the study doors and bellowed, “Jared! Get your bum in here!”