The Secrets Of Mead

by Michaela James

  “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  A strange smile forming, Claudette replied, “Why the hurry? Have a drink with me. Let’s talk about Jude.”

  Mentally visualizing where she’d left her phone, Sydney said, “I’m sorry, I don’t have time. I’m expecting someone.”

  “You were going to share that meager pot of soup with a guest?” Claudette asked.

  “Please leave,” Sydney replied.

  “As soon as you show there are no hard feelings by having a drink with me,” Claudette retorted.

  Heart racing, Sydney asked, “Tea or coffee?”

  Claudette laughed. “What is this, the women’s guild? Empowered women drink scotch, Miss Bennett.” Retrieving two picnic style tumblers with plastic lids, she added, “I have a delightful single malt right here.”

  Claudette lifted the bottle from her basket with a flourish.

  Staring at it, Sydney responded, “I don’t drink.”

  “You’re becoming quite tiresome, Miss Bennett. I wonder at my son spending so much time with you.”

  Unsnapping lids from a pink and blue cup, Claudette poured amber liquid into each.

  Seizing her moment, Sydney ran past Claudette and into her living room. Hearing the clattering of chairs behind her, she kept running towards her front door. Two strong arms embraced her trembling body.

  66

  The Dying Duck

  “What led you to believe Primrose Cottage was inhabited?” Craig asked.

  Sydney placed her latte on the table. “Jude and I would ride along the edge of the river, right before the sun started to go down. Being on horseback, and we’re talking a horse that’s sixteen hands high, we could see over trees bordering the river. One evening, we noticed smoke coming out of Primrose Cottage’s chimney. I wanted to investigate, but Jude wasn’t keen. Days later, he died, and Primrose Cottage didn’t enter my mind again.”

  “Understandably,” Craig replied.

  “I thought she was dead,” Sydney declared with a shudder.

  “That belief was her intent,” Craig replied. “I asked some of my old colleagues in Manchester to do some digging. What they learned from officials on the Isle of Man, is the alleged drowning occurred two months after the Atwell’s visit.”

  “Margaret was using her discovery of Claudette to blackmail Jude?” Sydney asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I suspected it but didn’t press Jude on the subject. He liked to keep our conversations light and fun. Although, four or five months ago they did become a little heavier. He wanted to fix things, despite the complexity of the situation.”

  “It was the fixing part his mother had a problem with. Her voice was one of many I heard on that compact disc, but before speaking with her last week, it made little sense.”

  “What did she say?” Sydney enquired.

  “The recorded message said she thought he’d understood. Wasn’t he aware how many lives he’d affected? Then she went on to say how disappointed she was with him. How she’d believed him to be a better man.” Craig shrugged. “Aside from not recognizing the voice, its tone wasn’t that different to Molly’s, Margaret’s …”

  “Or mine?” Sydney interjected.

  Craig shook his head. “Yours, like Tracy’s, was more sad than accusatory. I confess I only listened to it once.”

  “Lucky for me. If you’d scrutinized it more, I could have been high on your list of suspects.”

  Craig smiled. “You talked about missing out on so many years. You said more but you were crying, and I couldn’t understand it. Like an idiot, I assumed it was a lovers’ quarrel.”

  “As you’re aware,” Sydney responded, “you weren’t alone in thinking Jude and I were lovers. It’s interesting how people see what they want or expect to see.”

  “Knowing you and Jude were inseparable this last year, it was hard to imagine he hadn’t been madly in love with you.”

  Sydney giggled. “Jude and I were very much father and daughter. It was a relationship we’d both craved for some time.”

  His voice softening, Craig said, “I’m so sorry he’s not still here for you.”

  “Thank you,” Sydney replied. “When Jude found out he’d been sleeping with his son’s ex-wife, he was devastated. He broke it off with Cynthia immediately. Of course, the timing made it look as if I were the reason. Mark had given me the okay to let Jude know about him and our marriage, but I never mentioned the death of Mark’s mother. It wasn’t my story to tell, and I felt Jude had no part in it. Mark’s father killed his mother because he was an abusive drunk. Not because Mark was the result of a sperm donor.”

  “But Mark sees things differently?” Craig asked.

  “He’s hurting and needs someone to blame. Not long before Jude died, Mark had a few too many beers and called him. I was there with Jude when Mark left that heartbreaking message. I told Jude it was high time they talked.”

  “Do you believe Mark was jealous of your relationship with Jude?”

  “Yes, but I don’t believe on a man, woman level. I suspect it goes far deeper than that. Mark, naturally, deeply disliked the man he’d believed to be his father. There was little more affection for the grandparents. His mother’s parents both died young. I suspect Mark has covered his heart with layers of protection. If you peel away some of the anger, you’ll find relief at discovering his birth father was a decent and kind man. Beneath that relief was a desire to know Jude. And then maybe, just maybe, there’s a layer, dangerously close to his heart that needed to be loved by him.”

  Craig cradled his coffee mug. “He wanted what you had with Jude?”

  “I think so. But the Mayor’s anger and stubborn pride stopped him. I’m sure Mark, as we all did, imagined they’d be plenty of time.” Sydney shook her head in an attempt to dislodge melancholy thoughts. "Tell me more about Mrs. Ryland’s faked drowning.”

  Craig gulped his rapidly cooling coffee. “When the Warnock Report put an end to the fertility clinic, Claudette didn’t hang around. Her French mother had lived on the Isle of Man since leaving Mead when Claudette was thirteen years old. That’s where she retreated to.”

  “Her mother was still there?” Sydney enquired.

  “Yes, by all accounts, a very sweet lady,” Craig replied.

  Wide-eyed, Sydney enquired, “Does this poor old woman know her daughter’s been arrested?”

  “She’s dead,” Craig replied. “From what my friends on the Manchester PD discovered, she’d been unwell for some time and died of natural causes. The timing, however, proved too tempting for Claudette. Margaret had recognized her, and she imagined it was only a matter of time before the police came knocking. She found herself a crooked cop, sadly not impossible to do, and paid him to lie about who had died. The cop’s story was he’d been taking his daily morning walk at the beach when he came across the washed-up body of Claudette Ryland. The death was ruled an accidental drowning and the corpse was identified by her mother, Simone Landry.”

  “But it was Claudette posing as her mother?” Sydney interjected.

  “Yes. Simone had been housebound for the last five years, and Claudette had been her sole carer. No one missed the older woman. The younger one, who worked part-time as a hairdresser, under a false name, left the island and returned to Mead.”

  “To kill her son?” Sydney asked in a hoarse whisper.

  Looking towards the bar and waving, Craig said, “I think we need more caffeine. Turning back to Sydney, he said gently, “I now believe Jude did, in fact, commit suicide?”

  “Impossible,” Sydney retorted. “She … Claudette … she tried to kill me too.”

  Nodding, Craig replied, “Forensics found the same poison that killed Jude in one of the plastic beakers she brought to your home.”

  “So that proves it,” Sydney reasoned.

  Craig thanked the waitress for two additional lattes. “You know that I, despite consensus, maintained my belief Jude was murdered. But I confess, inwardly, I had a fe
w nagging doubts. Tell me Sydney, would you have allowed anything that woman handed you past your lips?"

  “No. I’d have slapped it out of her bony hands.”

  “And if those bony hands had found their way around your neck and forced your mouth open?”

  Sydney slumped back in her chair. “You found no evidence of a struggle with Jude?”

  “None whatsoever. I think Jude knew what was in that glass but drank it anyway.”

  “But … why … I mean … we were … I guess I thought; I hoped …”

  Craig placed his hand over Sydney’s. “I think your thoughts and hopes were accurate. Claudette shared another Mead secret with Jude that night. A secret, I imagine, he found too much to bear.”

  67

  The Manor House

  “I’ll have you know,” Lord Abbott Rigg declared the second Craig entered his library, “I’ve consulted with my solicitor, and you haven’t a leg to stand on.”

  Craig smiled and motioned towards a brown leather chair. “You won’t deny a legless man a seat.”

  “Sit for as long as you like,” Lord Abbott Rigg replied. “But we have nothing to discuss. You have no proof anything untoward occurred that night. If it’s her word against ours, we know who’ll come out on top.”

  “Thirty years,” Craig began. “I kept hearing how I’d need to go back thirty years to solve Jude’s murder. And it was true.”

  Lord Abbott Rigg began to argue how this had nothing to do with him, but Craig promptly cut him off. “Just recently I learned the secrets of Mead went further back than thirty years. How old were you forty-eight years ago, Reginald?”

  Turning his lip up at the detective’s use of his first name, Lord Abbott Rigg said, “I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”

  Craig looked out a floor to ceiling window. “The history of Mead is fascinating. I discovered Tudor Lodge used to belong to you and your wife, Emily. You employed a French housekeeper named Simone Landry.”

  “If we did I don’t remember,” Lord Abbott Rigg snapped.

  “Really?” Craig responded. “If I gave someone a house; I'd remember them. You considered it a fair trade, didn’t you Reginald? A large beautiful home in exchange for Simone taking care of her daughter’s problem and the two of them going away. How did you explain it to your wife, I wonder? Did she know about your secret depravity?”

  “Depravity,” Lord Abbott Rigg scoffed. “How dare you. So, I had an affair. What planet are you from, Detective? It’s called life, and it’s none of your business.”

  Craig raised his brows. “An affair is a rather socially acceptable word for the unacceptable act of having sex with a minor.”

  Red-faced, Lord Abbott Rigg responded, “Whatever you’re chomping at the bit to charge me with; you can discuss with my solicitor. I’m done listening to you ramble on. You’re no longer welcome in my home.”

  Craig stood. “One last thing, Reginald. Simone was Catholic, and they’re not okay with abortions. They kept the baby, and they named him Jude. I’ll see myself out.”

  68

  Meadow Cottage

  “That poor girl, how did she take it?” Mark asked.

  “Surprisingly well,” Craig said. “Jude had mentioned his reservations about her husband. I believe Tracy took that to heart and was planning her exit from the Manor house.”

  “But Jude’s reservations weren’t regarding this bombshell?” Sydney pointed out.

  “No,” Craig agreed. “Jude, in counseling a young woman, learned of Lord Abbott Rigg’s dark side. I think while maintaining his patient’s confidence; he urged Tracy to seek a life away from Reginald.”

  “All those years, Lord Abbott Rigg was living down the road from his son and had no idea!” Mark exclaimed.

  “He assumed the pregnancy had been terminated,” Craig explained. “Reginald Abbott Rigg is a man used to getting his way.”

  “You said Claudette was a teenager when she had Jude?” Sydney enquired.

  “Yes. After Reginald and Emily Abbott Rigg acquired Tudor Lodge, they hired Simone Landry as their housekeeper. Claudette was thirteen when she and her mother arrived in Mead. Two years later, Reginald began visiting Claudette in the guest house.”

  “Was it rape?” Mark inquired.

  Craig shrugged his shoulders. “Claudette was vague on that. Legally, it’s statutory rape. She was barely fifteen, and he was forty-two.”

  Shuddering, Sydney said, “And then mother and daughter moved to the Isle of Man.”

  “Yes. Jude was born five months later. Claudette changed their surname to Ryland. When Jude asked after his father, he was informed the man had died before he was born. Jude attended private boarding schools until the age of eighteen. Then medical school in Birmingham. The day he graduated, his grandmother handed him the deeds to Tudor Lodge. The current tenant's lease was expiring; Mead Surgery was expanding, and here he stayed.”

  “Until his mother killed him,” Mark added dryly.

  Sydney lifted her beer bottle towards Mark. “Craig’s not so sure.”

  Frowning, Mark asked, “You don’t think it was Claudette?”

  “I suspect the woman's original goal was to see a son she hadn’t laid eyes on in many years. Her cover blown and mother's subsequent death, Claudette's life was in transition. Instead of embracing her only child, she chose to fixate on his intentions."

  “She told Craig she’d repeatedly called from the Isle of Man, a few months back,” Sydney said. “Apparently Jude told her about me and how we planned to lobby for more regulations.”

  “From what Syd told me,” Mark contributed, “she was furious with him for speaking out.”

  “Yes. Claudette gave me the same story she fed Sydney. She’d provided a great service to women in need and wasn’t about to let Jude smear her life’s work.”

  “Did Jude, at any point, believe she was dead?” Mark asked.

  “He was next of kin, so I imagine he’d been notified,” Craig explained. “Certainly, he knew the truth once the phone calls began. When Claudette realized she couldn’t dissuade Jude from going public, she paid him a visit.”

  “And then the phone calls were coming from just two miles away?” Sydney said dryly.

  “Yes,” Craig said. “She was living in Primrose Cottage.”

  “No one saw her? No one recognized her?” Mark inquired.

  Craig shook his head. “She returned to Mead twice. When she was thirty-three years old and most recently at fifty-seven. Neither time was she linked with the Abbott Rigg’s housekeeper. Or more to the point, the young daughter Simone had in tow."

  “So, after fleeing Mead for the second time. Claudette returns to see her son,” Mark suggested. “Then she learns what he plans to do and does him in.”

  “But it was the secret she revealed that did him in,” Sydney responded with sadness.

  “Jude Ryland was Lord Abbott Rigg’s son,” Mark declared, shaking his head.

  “And our grandfather,” Sydney added with a grimace.

  “Claudette played her final hand,” Craig explained. “She knew Jude would be mortified to learn his father and daughter were married. What she couldn’t have known, was how much Jude already disliked the man.”

  Mark exhaled. “She hands him the drink, and he knows, or at least suspects, but drinks it down anyway.”

  “Regrettably, I didn’t know Jude,” Craig began. “But my guess is, after shouldering so much blame and regret, this final secret was too much for him to carry.”

  69

  The English Rose

  Lord Abbott Rigg, a male nurse at each arm, approached Craig’s table.

  Once seated, he waved his aids away. “I’ve been waiting until you were alone.”

  Craig nodded, and the older man continued, “I’d like to know your intentions.”

  “Regarding?” Craig enquired.

  Reginald Abbott Rigg attempted to loosen his paisley bow tie. “You have information that, despite my expensive solicitors, cou
ld be somewhat damaging. I’m an old man, Detective. I’d rather not live out my last few years in shame.”

  His eyes focused beyond the older man’s head, Craig said, “I have no plans to put an announcement in the post office window.”

  “I appreciate your discretion. You're aware my wife is leaving me.”

  “I had heard that,” Craig admitted. “I would imagine discovering you’re her grandfather was hard to reconcile.”

  Reginald changed the subject. “That business with the young girl. I didn’t mean any harm by it. We assumed the lady was accustomed to a little innocuous touching. If we’d known she was Norman’s daughter, of course, we’d have minded our manners more.”

  Craig eyed the man briefly before returning his attention to the patio. “If Miss Bell wishes to press charges against you and your friends, that’s her business. How you choose to handle it, is yours.”

  Reginald cleared his throat. “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. Mead may be too small for both of us. Do you imagine Miss Bell open to the following? I finance her college tuition and a nice flat in London for the next four years. When she comes home to visit, I and others at the party agree to stay out of public places for as long as required. Andrew Beauchamp will be retiring to Spain within the next year anyway. Lloyd, as you know, was incapacitated that night and the remaining live in Harrington.” Reginald lifted his shoulders. “Do you think that might be acceptable to her?”

  “It’s worth having a mediator convey it,” Craig replied casually.

  Reginald swept a liver marked hand across his mouth. “As for this other unfortunate business. Of course, I had no idea how young Claudette was at the time. They took off in the middle of the night you know. I had no idea where they were, and certainly, I wasn’t privy to them keeping the child.”

  “Would things have been any different had you known?” Craig enquired.

  “Well … I,” Reginald’s body appeared to shrink into his wicker chair. “Emily and I never had a baby. She’d have loved Jude, and I’d have been proud to call him my son. Isn’t life queer, Detective? The child I chose to deny life has been instrumental in giving it to so many others.”