Murder on the Old Road (10 page)

‘I suppose that is odd,' Tim replied with surprise. ‘Si and I have got so used to the idea of their belonging to Anne now that we hadn't thought it through. It's bugged us so much in the last couple of years. You could have knocked the village down with a feather when Robert died and the bequest became public knowledge. The surviving Wayncrofts were not pleased. Quite a furore there was, but Madame Vicar just sailed through it. It's my guess she knew about it in advance. Maybe it was even her idea. Since then she's blocked every move we've made to try to get even limited public access.'

‘Are the ruins listed?'

‘Sure. But that's all the more power to her elbow.'

‘Even if she fails to maintain them?'

‘Ah, but she does maintain them. Matthew Moon went in to do some restoration work on them last year.'

‘I thought he was a carpenter, like his father.'

Tim laughed. ‘He is. A brilliant one. But the Moons can turn their hands to anything in the building trade and most of what else needs to be done in the village. Derek Moon is the same, and young Will looks as if he's in the same mould – except that they don't have quite Matthew's skill at the lathe, do they, Matthew?' He turned to the pleasant-looking man ambling behind them, whom Georgia had noticed in the crowd at the Otford palace.

Matthew grinned as he caught up with them. ‘As the Good Lord giveth, Mr Hurst. Tess has a good eye for a piece of wood too, so maybe she'll be chipping and carving away one day. You'll be Miss Marsh then?' He nodded at Georgia. She was struggling with her waterproof hood, which kept slipping off, and Matthew came over to achieve the impossible by persuading it to stay in place over her head. One clip and it was secure.

‘Thanks, Mr Moon.'

‘Mum told me about you,' he replied. There was no hint of blame or curiosity in his voice, just acceptance – and Georgia liked that. He was, she thought, a man who would make up his own mind, a good father for Tess.

‘I'm afraid I upset your mother. I'm sorry about that,' she said as he caught hold of his daughter's hand as she swung past them with Seb.

Tess laughed. ‘Easy to do, isn't it, Dad? I wanted her to tell me all about her playing Rosamund way back in history, but she wouldn't even do that. Told me I had to find my own way through the dratted thorn bushes.'

‘Are you enjoying playing Rosamund?' Georgia asked. They were catching up with Anne again now, and concentrating on the play rather than village affairs seemed a good idea.

Tess nodded vigorously. ‘Bit hard pretending that I've got a ten-year-old kid though. I'm only nineteen.'

‘There's drama groups for you,' Tim commented. ‘There's never anyone the right age with the right talent.'

Anne must have overheard because she turned round to joke: ‘I offered to play my old part. You said I was too old, Tim.'

Good humour seemed to have been restored, Georgia thought thankfully. Something about the presence of the Moons perhaps, a placid acceptance of life's foibles. Matthew was one, and Tess another. And Lisa? Perhaps if she found the right way to approach her, Georgia thought. But ahead of her she could see Julian and Val striding ahead, two dark figures against the hill's horizon.

‘Hostilities halted?' she asked Tim.

‘Let's hope so.'

‘No way.' Tess giggled, at which Anne gave her what Georgia interpreted as a warning glance. ‘Not till hell freezes.'

‘Why not?' Georgia held her breath, hoping that tongues might be loosening.

Luckily Tess wasn't put off by the vicar's presence. ‘Naughty old Queen Eleanor. She had a thing going with Becket years ago, and King Julian didn't like it one little bit.'

‘Legend or history?' Georgia asked.

‘Legend,' Anne said quickly.

‘History,' Tess said simultaneously. ‘Even Seb knows that's why Val got out of town and Aletta married Julian. He was the better bet.' She gave a nervous glance at Anne, in case she'd gone too far.

Maybe she had, but Georgia was glad of it. In compensation she switched to a safer topic, the play, although her mind was still on the antipathy between the two half brothers despite their present common cause. Where did Aletta stand in this? Val was in his sixties, but he was still a personable man, and old attractions might die hard.

By lunchtime, the rain had ceased. Half the party split off to walk down the hillside to a pub, while the others took advantage of a lull in the rain to eat sandwiches where they were and enjoy the view. Georgia opted for the latter. There'd be enough joint community eating this evening at the Dog and Duck pub, the far side of Wrotham, where some of the party were staying. The rest, she gathered, were either camping or had been fixed up at B and Bs, but for dinner everyone would be at the pub.

Anne had also chosen to enjoy the view, and she and Georgia perched on a rock in amiable companionship. ‘I didn't lay the drama on this morning just for you, you know,' Anne dropped casually into the conversation. ‘Or for the cameras.'

‘Wasn't it avoidable?'

‘Regrettably not, more's the pity. I'd have liked to have enjoyed today.'

‘The pilgrimage experience, or the Old Road itself, rain and all?'

‘Both. You can't think I wanted to have our differences aired before the cameras.'

Georgia considered this. ‘I'll plump for no.'

Anne made a face. ‘Public sympathy usually lies with the underdog, and I don't seem to be doing too well in that respect. Cranky old female vicar thwarts village wishes.'

‘That bad still? I thought I saw you talking to Val and Julian quite amicably earlier.'

‘Val perhaps. He and I are old sparring partners,' Anne said. ‘Julian's another matter altogether, not to mention his wife. But Val and I used to dance in the dew occasionally before I married and moved away.'

‘Serious dancing?' Georgia found it hard to imagine suave Val and down to earth Anne having even a mild fling together.

Anne laughed. ‘On his side – and not entirely honourably. I was a lot more attractive at twenty-one than I am now and not so obstinate. In his younger days, Val was a man of the world, and I could see we wouldn't suit, so he got a quick brush off. But we do still get on well – or did.'

‘Did?' Georgia queried.

‘Before this Becket division arose. Val always rushes in where angels fly away screaming.'

‘There's gossip that he made a play for Aletta before she married Julian. The two brothers and the lady in-between make the kind of story that, given several centuries of folk history, would turn into a legend.'

‘Legends are dangerous things, Georgia –' Anne turned to her impulsively – ‘but some, at least, are based in truth. The problem is that faced with the truth of a legend, what does one do? One holds it in one's hands and looks at it, too scared to take the next move and say this is not fiction, this is real. That step has to be taken, and Robert Wayncroft knew that.'

‘Which legend, Anne?' Georgia asked quietly. Anne wasn't speaking of Aletta now.

Anne seemed to regret having spoken, because she laughed. ‘Only speaking generally, of course. Just generally.'

There was a silence, which Anne was evidently not going to break. ‘Are you staying overnight?' Georgia asked eventually.

‘Yes. I managed to get a bed in a local farmhouse. So I'll eat with you all in the pub first of course.'

The Dog and Duck, on a minor lane on the slopes of the downs between Wrotham and the hamlet of Delmont, proved to be large and comfortable, with a garden, outside tables, dogs roaming around, and an extensive interesting menu. For a moment Georgia regretted her decision to leave that night, especially as the youngsters in the group were larking around and it seemed the whole atmosphere of the day was about to change. They had arrived mid-afternoon and had plenty of time to enjoy it. She watched Seb and Tess playing a game of croquet in the garden. Romeo and Juliet she thought. ‘A plague on both your houses': the Wayncrofts, who thought it their right to brush away all obstacles to their goal; the Moons, firmly established in tradition. The Wayncrofts would win – were it not for Anne Fanshawe standing shoulder to shoulder with the Moons. And yet, in the late afternoon sunshine that had grudgingly appeared, it seemed possible that the tension of the morning would vanish.

‘Hi.' Luke appeared from nowhere and bent over her shoulder to kiss her. ‘Survived all storms and tribulations?'

‘The rain or the dramas?'

‘Either.'

‘Both – I hope.'Even now she could not be sure she was right. The afternoon had been a mere lull in hostilities, not an ending. People came and went as they checked into their varying accommodation facilities, but by seven o'clock they were all gathered in the pub's dining area. Seated at a table by the window overlooking the forecourt and lane, with Luke, Tim and Simon, Georgia was relieved to be away from contentious issues, and it was easy to hope that the rest of the group was similarly contented.

It was not. Voices raised above the otherwise cheerful buzz of conversation quickly told her that. Three tables away, nearer the arc of the bar, Anne Fanshawe by bad management – or perhaps someone's design – was sitting with Aletta, Julian and Val, and at the next table were Seb, Tess and Matthew. As the general buzz halted for a moment, Anne's voice rang out loud and clear:

‘No chance. No chance now or ever that I would agree to open the ruins to the public.
Any
public. I'm sorry, but there the matter rests.'

Georgia could see her sitting there on the far side of the table. Everyone was very still. There was a red flush on Anne's cheeks, and she looked very angry. The Wayncrofts were watching her in silence. Then Georgia's attention was diverted, and when she next looked Seb had gone to join his parents, leaving Tess with her father. The Wayncrofts and Anne seemed to be talking very earnestly but quietly now, and she could hear nothing.

‘Phew.' Tim let out a long breath. ‘Now reassure me that
that
will blow over, Si, and that harmony and light will prevail for the good of the play. Still believe that?'

Simon did his best. ‘It might.'

Luke tried too. ‘These outbursts could just be the effect of the pilgrimage. Actors are selfish by nature. Once they get on stage, all else but them, their part and the play is wiped out.'

‘Any other time, any other play,' Tim muttered, ‘perhaps. But not this time. Stay on, Si, will you? Until we get back to Chillingham?' He was looking desperate.

Should she stay over too? Georgia wondered as Simon reassured Tim. No, she decided. Her task was to concentrate on the last pilgrimage, and everyone here was far too intent on the disputes of the present one.

As she and Luke left, there was a general movement towards departure, and as they reached their car Anne passed her, obviously on her way back to the farmhouse where she was staying.

‘Want a lift?' Georgia called as Anne said goodnight.

‘No thanks. I need some air. See you in Canterbury, if not sooner. I imagine your bulldog approach means you won't be abandoning Chillingham yet awhile?'

Georgia laughed. ‘No way. Too many interesting sticks for Peter and me to chase.'

She watched Anne set off along the road before climbing gratefully into Luke's car. Anne looked a lonely figure as she walked away from the light of the pub and forecourt and into the dark lane with only the flickering light of a torch to guide her. See you in Canterbury, Anne had said. And what would that bring forth? Georgia wondered. It seemed that, just like the pilgrims of old, they were all making this pilgrimage for differing reasons. What was Anne's?

SIX

G
eorgia struggled to open her eyes, as somewhere a phone was ringing. Whose? Luke's mobile? Hers? The landline? It was only seven thirty in the morning, for goodness sake, and the previous evening they had arrived home late from the Dog and Duck. Thankfully, Luke must already be on his way to answer it, as the ringing stopped, and she sank back into sleep again. Not for long. It was only an instant before something in his voice as it drifted upstairs made her register that something was wrong. Peter? Immediately, she was fully awake, just as her own mobile began to ring. She sank back in relief because it was Peter's voice at the other end.

‘Georgia? Thank heaven. Where are you?'

‘In bed.' It took a moment or two for it to dawn on her that something was indeed wrong.

‘Then get up. I've just had a call from Val Harper.'

That didn't make sense. ‘What on earth did he want?' But almost as soon as she'd said that, she knew it must be bad news. ‘What's happened?'

‘Anne Fanshawe – she's been found dead, and not from natural causes.'

Dead? ‘But I was talking to her yesterday,' was her inane reply. Shock makes idiots of us all, she thought as she struggled with the enormity of what Peter was telling her. Her forebodings over this pilgrimage had been proved right. ‘How?' she asked.

‘He didn't say. They need you and Luke over there as you were at the Dog and Duck last evening, and I'm coming too.'

Of course they must all go. All Georgia could think of was that last image of Anne walking off into the dark night. No point in questioning Peter any more. It would wait. She thought fast. ‘I'll pick you up in half an hour.' Her car was adapted to take Peter, and there was room for Luke too.

Even as she switched off, Luke came back into the bedroom. One look at his face told her he'd had the same news. ‘So you know,' she said.

‘Yes. Call from Tim. Yours?'

‘Peter – he's had Val Harper on the phone. Peter wants to come with us, so we're picking him up in half an hour. What did Tim tell you?'

‘He was all but incoherent – in a complete panic. I couldn't make much sense of what had happened. He just said we should get back to the pub. The police are there and will start questioning everyone soon. Did Peter tell you any more?'