We stayed there some time, my knees grew cold, even Foggy started to shiver. I sent some silent prayers while Lady Penelope whispered hers, then she said, ‘Amen,’ and stood up. I put Fogg down and followed suit.
‘It was necessary.’ She raised her eyes to mine.
‘What was?’
‘To offer our prayers to the Lord for the sake of the souls.’
‘Yes… erm, right.’
‘The old church is no longer consecrated, so I come here.’
‘Ah, yes,’ I replied. ‘I saw it by the sweet chestnut trees.’
‘It was Randolph’s workshop.’ She was still gazing up at me. ‘You have something of his looks, dark blond hair and blue eyes… he was as tall as you, I think. Six foot two.’
‘I’m six three.’
She nodded, then blew out the candles. ‘It is done.’
‘Wait. I’d like to know more about the castle and the history. Could you tell me about it?’
‘Oh, of course.’ She smiled and led the way back out into the interior courtyard. ‘Well, the tall tower holds the Lady Chapel, where the Chatelaine and her maids would say their daily prayers.’
‘How old is it?’
‘It dates from the conquest.’ She was leading me alongside the roofless banqueting hall. ‘The St Georges arrived with William the Conqueror, at first they built a simple castle here of wood and thatch.’
‘A motte and bailey,’ I added.
‘Yes, it was replaced by stone as soon as they could.’ She smiled, then asked, ‘Do you like to be called Heathcliff?’
‘No, it was my mother’s idea. How anyone can land their child with such a ridiculous name…’ I stopped as she laughed, a delightful musical laugh.
‘Oh dear, poor you. Sinclair’s first name is Godolphin. He hates it. He won’t allow anyone to even whisper it.’ She looked mischievous. ‘I call him by it when he’s being exasperating. He grows quite red in the face.’
We had arrived at some fallen stones and turned to sit down on the largest. Fogg went off, his nose to the ground. We gazed at the tumbledown buildings, the towers, the keep and the ragged surrounding wall, which kept the wind off and the world out.
Lady Penelope sighed. ‘I asked Sinclair not to touch it and he agreed quite readily.’
‘So he does have a soul,’ I remarked.
‘I like to think so.’
I decided that Lord Sinclair had dominated enough of my day and turned the subject to history. ‘So, the St Georges have been here since 1066?’
‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘The land was called Lanscombe even then, I think it was something to do with the type of sheep they bred here.’
‘They took up farming?’ I returned her smile.
‘No, I think they would have been quite hopeless at it. The men were knights, they went off to war and left their wives behind to manage the land and castle.’
‘The chatelaine,’ I said, having always liked the term.
‘Yes, exactly.’ She laughed lightly. ‘The lady of the castle.’
‘It must have been quite different then?’ I prompted her.
‘I imagine so. They built the castle alongside the existing lake and excavated a moat. The water was diverted to make the castle into an island.’ She pointed at the gateway in the remains of the keep. ‘The entrance was protected by a portcullis and drawbridge. They’d always feared an invasion from the Continent, but it was their own king who destroyed them.’
‘Really? Which one?’
‘King John, he was a terrible man. He inherited the crown from his brother, Richard the Lionheart.’
‘Ah, John was the one who persecuted Robin Hood.’ That was one of my favourite stories.
‘Yes, and was forced to sign Magna Carta. That was in…’ she stopped, a slight frown between her brows.
‘In 1215.’ I was showing off, then admitted, ‘Our history teacher drummed dates into us.’
She laughed. ‘Yes, that was it, 1215, I’m dreadful with numbers. Everyone hated John and there has never been an English King with that name since.’
I knew that too. ‘Why the war?’
‘Because the Barons wanted more say in how the King ruled the country. John held absolute power and he was monstrous, he killed with impunity. The Barons made him sign Magna Carta to curtail his authority, but nothing changed, so they decided to be rid of him. They invited Prince Louis from France to reign in John’s stead…’
I cut in, surprised. ‘The English asked a Frenchman to rule the country?’
‘I thought you’d studied history?’ She raised her brows.
‘The interesting bits, mostly.’
‘It is interesting,’ she assured me. ‘Prince Louis came to England with an army and was welcomed, he was even proclaimed King at Old St Paul’s in London. John was incensed and began a civil war. I suppose he didn’t have any choice, really.’
‘He was a tyrant,’ I reminded her.
‘And acted predictably.’ She sighed and resumed the story. ‘Sir Parcival St George joined the rebel Barons and was captured and imprisoned by the King’s troops. King John swore revenge on the rebels and set about destroying the castles of any who had stood against him. One day he came here.’
‘And broke the castle down,’ I said.
‘He did worse than that.’ Her face became solemn. ‘There was a village near where the old church stands, John’s forces raided at dawn and rounded all the people up. He slaughtered a dozen of them and threw their bodies into the moat. Then he threatened to kill them one by one until Sir Parcival’s wife, Lady Rosamond, gave up the castle. She climbed to the top of the keep and held up the Cross of St George. She told King John she would place it in his hands if he gave his word that he and his soldiers would release the villagers and leave.’
‘What do you mean by the Cross of St George?’ I asked.
‘It was a solid gold cross, purportedly the same size and design as the brass one on the altar of the Lady Chapel. There were myths and legends attached to it and it was extremely valuable. I suspect that was the reason why King John had chosen to attack the castle.’ Her face darkened, although I think she was enjoying telling the story as much as I enjoyed hearing it.
‘The drawbridge and portcullis would have been closed,’ I encouraged her.
‘Yes, King John couldn’t bridge the moat, that’s why he began killing the villagers.’ She nodded. ‘The King agreed to Lady Rosamond’s offer and he gave his word of honour that he would depart in exchange for the cross. The drawbridge was lowered and Lady Rosamond walked out with the cross held high. He grabbed her, laughing at his own duplicity, then ordered the castle to be destroyed and everyone in it put to death.’
‘What happened to Lady Rosamond?’ I asked.
‘She fought with him, clawing at his face, he drew a dagger and stabbed her, but she struggled free. Her men came out to defend her and she managed to flee back inside the castle still clutching the cross. There was said to be a hidden place underground, a sanctuary, and she entered it. John’s soldiers began the slaughter, they put the guards to the sword and tormented the rest, trying to force out the secret of Lady Rosamond’s hiding place. They threw people from the tower, one by one. Nobody knew where the sanctuary was, or wouldn’t admit to it. After they’d killed everyone, the King searched for the cross, when it couldn’t be found he ordered the place burned down. The fire raged for days until only the stones remained.’
‘Did they find her?’
‘No, and she was never seen again,’ she replied quietly. ‘It’s believed she’s still here somewhere.’
I looked at the ruins and wondered where lay the tomb of the Chatelaine.
Chapter 12
‘May I escort you to the house?’ I asked.
Lady Penelope smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘Right…’ I offered my arm, then stopped. ‘No, wait, I forgot my dog, he’s probably chasing ducks.’
This brought a trill of laughter. ‘I must go an
d supervise lunch, but I will see you at dinner?’
‘Yes, you will.’ I returned her smile. ‘And I look forward to it.’
She walked briskly away. I exited the castle shouting for Fogg. He was dashing in and out of the lake, ducks were taking to the air and quacking noisily. I picked him up to put under my arm, then returned to Lady Millicent’s garden and the back door.
‘Lennox, where did you go?’ Swift spotted me as I entered the porch. ‘Sinclair asked us to investigate and you disappear.’
‘I was investigating. I found the source of the stick,’ I replied in my own defence. It didn’t garner me much.
‘The stick doesn’t prove anything. The Laboratory sent the results back, the fibres were all from my coat.’ He was tetchy. ‘The police were here, we searched Trent’s rooms and now they’ve taken him away. The electrical engineer came and I had to handle all of it myself. You should have told me where you were going.’
‘Why?’ I said as I pulled my jacket off.
‘I… because…’ That flummoxed him, he’d never entirely absorbed the fact that I wasn’t an underling. ‘It looks better, that’s all. And… and it’s good manners.’
‘Yes, sorry.’ I apologised as he was right about the manners. ‘I interviewed Lady Penelope and Max.’
‘Hum,’ he didn’t seem mollified. ‘Where was Max when Monroe was killed?’
‘He said he was in the boathouse, or possibly the workshop. And Lady Penelope told me about Lady Rosamond and the cross of St George.’
He wasn’t exactly thrilled. ‘Look, come upstairs, Lennox. I need to make notes.’
I could hear noises from the kitchen and the smell of baking.
‘I’ll just go and ask about tea…’
‘They’re in the middle of cooking.’ He cut me off. ‘It’s almost lunchtime.’
We went up to his room, he threw some logs onto the smouldering fire and we sat before it. I told him about the castle, the old church – and the fact it had been Randolph’s workshop – repeated what Max had said, which wasn’t very much, and finally recounted the tale of Lady Rosamond. He didn’t write a word of it down.
‘Fine,’ he opened his book when I finished. ‘I’ll tell you about my morning while I write my report. The police examined the fuse room and dusted for fingerprints. They didn’t find any of significance. The electrical engineer was asked to examine the fuse box and wiring while the police and I looked on. He concluded that, somehow, a connection had been made between the incoming power source and the handle. The wet floor would have contributed to an unfortunate set of circumstances. There was nothing of note in Trent’s rooms.’ He wrote all this down as he spoke.
‘Did you tell anyone about the strip of copper?’ I asked.
Swift stopped writing and admitted. ‘No.’
‘Why? I thought you said Scotland Yard should be involved.’
He put his pen down. ‘I rang my old chief, and he said we’re well positioned to deal with this.’
‘You mean Scotland Yard wants to leave it in our hands!’ That was a feather in our cap.
‘When he said we are, he actually meant I am.’
‘Oh.’ I deflated. ‘But he sanctioned the investigation?’
‘Yes, we have official approval,’ Swift explained. ‘And I can call on the local police force for support if necessary.’
‘Marvellous.’ I realised he’d soon be insufferable. ‘So, why didn’t you tell the police about the copper strip?’
‘Why do you think?’ His eyes narrowed – he was testing me as if I was some sort of novice.
‘Swift, just tell me.’ I sat back and folded my arms.
He sighed. ‘Right, it’s because the copper strip is evidence of murder, not evidence of who committed it. And as we already know it’s murder, there’s no reason to broadcast the fact.’
‘And we might use it to trip someone up later,’ I added.
‘Exactly.’
‘Is Sinclair behind this authorisation?’
‘He had spoken to the chief before me,’ Swift admitted.
I knew what that meant, Sinclair thought he could control us. ‘He might be the killer.’
‘Well, if he is, we’ll make damn sure he hangs for it,’ Swift replied tartly.
My mind wasn’t entirely on the discussion. ‘Have you seen Persi this morning? Since she left breakfast, I mean.’
‘Yes, she was with Finn in the drawing room.’ He frowned. ‘We need to stay focused, Lennox.’
‘Fine,’ I replied, wondering why she thought it was necessary to sit with Finn in the drawing room. ‘Do you think he’s after Sinclair’s fortune?’
‘Possibly, although killing two of his men would be a strange way to go about getting it.’
‘Why kill them? I can’t understand it.’
‘No, well that’s the mystery, isn’t it.’ He sounded exasperated.
‘What about Mullins? They were all in the army together,’ I reminded him.
‘Trent said no-one was missing on Sunday afternoon,’ Swift argued.
‘I think you should add him to the suspect list.’
‘Fine.’ He wrote it down.
‘And Randolph.’ I said.
‘What?’
‘Perhaps he isn’t dead after all and he’s come back to exact revenge.’
‘Lennox, that’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve said all day.’ He closed his book with a snap.
The gong rang downstairs. I was off in an instant, not having eaten a thing since breakfast.
Greggs was in the kitchen.
‘Oh, there you are,’ Lady Millicent said gaily. She held a basket of ripe blackberries and placed it on the sunny windowsill. ‘We’ve had such a time of it. I went to the orchard to gather eggs, then I picked berries from the bushes.’ Her face was alight with joy. ‘And dear Greggs has prepared lunch.’
‘Excellent. Well done, Greggs,’ I congratulated him.
He simpered.
‘Such a time we’ve had.’ Lady Millicent almost sang.
‘Would you be seated, m’lady?’ Greggs came to her side and pulled a Windsor chair from the table. He took the napkin from over his sleeve, and flicked it across the seat, then helped her settle with a plump cushion at her back.
‘Oh,’ she sighed happily.
We sat too, though without any cushions or help from my butler.
‘I have prepared a dish to her ladyship’s own recipe.’ Greggs sounded very pleased with himself. ‘A little je ne sais quoi.’
Good Lord, now he was spouting French.
‘What is it?’ Swift asked.
‘A surprise, sir,’ he replied.
Bertram St George shuffled in and came to join us at the kitchen table. He was attired once more in the thick dressing gown and slippers, but without the deerstalker. He banged a spoon on the table-top. ‘What’s all this about, eh? First Monroe, now Trent, what is it, a madman on the loose?’
‘Yes,’ I replied.
‘What?’ St George’s mouth fell open.
‘It’s nothing to worry about.’ Swift frowned at me.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Greggs announced as he advanced slowly upon the table holding a steaming dish between two thick serving gloves. ‘Cheese soufflé!’
‘Bravo.’ Lady Millicent clapped her hands.
Greggs placed the dish with the surging soufflé on the table, where it promptly sank.
We all groaned.
‘Cheese pancake it is then, Greggs.’ I remarked and picked up my knife and fork.
It was chewy, but tasty and I was starving.
‘Come along, tell me about Trent,’ St George demanded between mouthfuls. ‘Didn’t like the man but didn’t expect him dead.’
‘He was electrocuted.’ Swift told him.
‘I know that, young Billie came with the tale. They’re saying someone did it deliberately. Can’t have it,’ he boomed. ‘Killing men, what’s it all about?’
‘It may have been an accident.’
Swift lied.
Lady Millicent wasn’t in the least perturbed. ‘I’m sure it was, Bertie, and they always come in threes, you know.’
‘I had a look around the castle.’ I attempted to divert the conversation.
‘Oh, Lady Rosamund,’ Lady Millicent said. ‘Poor soul.’.
‘Dead, all King John’s doing. The knave,’ St George banged the table. ‘Burned the village and the castle, killed everyone. Bad show. Family abandoned it! Moved away to Cornwall, had land there, lost it.’ He became animated. ‘No brains for commerce the St Georges. Soldiers, that’s what they were! Brave and loyal to a man. Old Simon St George joined the battle against the Spanish Armada for Queen Elizabeth. 1588 it was. Simon saw those blasted foreigners off, fought alongside Drake himself. Good Queen Bess was generous. Handed over bags of gold, silver and what have you. Simon came back to Lanscombe, built this house and lived like a king.’
‘He didn’t build it in its present style.’ I waved towards the Palladian splendour beyond the corridor.
‘He did not, it was a proper house in those days, not this modern nonsense of Sinclair’s.’
I didn’t like to mention that everything was modern at some time.
‘Persi said it was in need of some work.’ Swift was more tactful.
We’d finished the rubbery soufflé and Greggs was serving tea with macaroons, I had a particular penchant for macaroons.
’Nonsense, it was just like this, perfectly comfortable,’ St George blustered.
Lady Millicent laughed. ‘It was not! The roof had gone and we lived here, it’s the old servants wing. There was just us and Randolph, it was such a happy time.’ She sighed.
‘And did Randolph and Penelope settle here when they married?’ Swift was eyeing the tiered cake dish, as was I.
‘They were in Bath for a short while, that’s where Penelope comes from. He met her there on an outing,’ Lady Millicent continued, seemingly quite willing to talk about her dead son. ‘They fell head over heels. Always laughing…’ She stopped suddenly.
‘Now, now Millie.’ St George tried comforting words. ‘Max will fill the place with children one day, you see if he doesn’t.’
The Tomb of the Chatelaine: A 1920s Country House Murder Mystery (Heathcliff Lennox Book 6) Page 11