Loved From The Grave

by Maggie Carpenter

  "No. Should it?"

  "It's the man who painted Foster's portrait in 1951."

  "Huh. I've never heard of a painter by that name, but I'm not exactly well-versed in art history."

  "It probably doesn't mean anything, but my curiosity has been stirred."

  "Because?"

  "Foster's portrait is impressive, and it has some fascinating details, but I've searched and I can't find an artist by that name. I find it hard to believe. He painted an aristocrat. Surely he'd be listed somewhere."

  "Maybe you didn't read the signature correctly."

  "That's what I'm wondering. Okay, good luck. I'll see you soon."

  "Thanks, Jonathan. Bye."

  "Goodbye, April."

  Ending the call, she left the table and opened the back door for Terrence.

  "Thank you, Troy," she murmured, looking across at the wishing well. "You're helping me so much. I'm off to find that passage you showed me. I hope you'll come with me."

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  When Jonathan arrived at the house, Jake and Dan were already there waiting next to their van. Not wanting to block them in, he parked on the street and walked up the driveway.

  "I hope you haven't been waiting long," he said as he approached.

  "No, we just arrived."

  "I'm not sure where that gate is. Do you want to help me find it, or enter the servants' quarters through the house?"

  "It doesn't matter. Do you have a general sense of where it might be?"

  "April thought the back of this garage. It was two o'clock in the morning and still raining so I didn't care to check it out."

  "I don't blame you. We're already here. We may as well see if she's right."

  The garage was relatively new and was attached to the house, but the door leading into the home led into a hallway, not the kitchen. It was an awkward design, but it was obvious there'd been nowhere else to put it. A narrow walkway ran down the side, bordered by the tall brick fence separating the Hammond property from its neighbor.

  "This is an ideal spot to move something if you don't want to be seen," Jonathan remarked as they started down the narrow path. "Back your car up, and you could load it in complete privacy."

  "No kidding," Jake agreed. "It's tailor-made, and look at that."

  They'd reached the end, and looking back towards the house the gate was plain to see. From the front, the garage was flush with the house and looked as if it belonged, but from where they were standing it was sticking out like a bad afterthought.

  "This grass," Jake continued, staring at the ground. "It's grown up over cobblestones. All the stately homes had the front entrance for the family and guests, and the side entrance for the servants and deliveries. The garage was placed where there was once a large open space. It would have had a lane leading to the front door, and one that came down here, and probably went on to a stable yard."

  "You're absolutely right," Jonathan said as they pulled on their gloves. "This was impossible to see from the front, and there's that empty area over there. I'll bet a stable was there at one time."

  They pulled on their gloves, and walking up to the gate, Jonathan lifted the latch at the top with his fingertip. It slipped up, and the gate swung open noiselessly.

  "It's been used, and used a lot," Jake remarked. "Someone's been oiling it for sure. Time to cover our feet."

  Finally moving down the steps and opening the door, Jake paused and stared down at the footprints.

  "Huh. Small."

  "That's what I thought," Jonathan remarked, "and there's only one set. Excuse me, that's my phone."

  It was April. Accepting the call, he stepped carefully over the tracks and moved to the far side of the room.

  "Hi, April. I'm in the servants' quarters with Jake and Dan."

  "Jonathan, you won't believe what I've found," she exclaimed breathlessly. "I know I keep saying that, but the surprises keep popping up. Come to the library. The door to the secret passage is open. I put a heavy bronze against it just in case. Follow the passage up the stairs. And hurry. Honestly, you won't believe it."

  "I'm on my way."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  As Jonathan entered the library he found the bookcase had swung inside the wall, and pulling his small, powerful torch from his pocket he strode forward, but slowed as he entered the dark space. He'd only walked a short distance when he came to a winding staircase on the right, and another on his left leading down. He was already on the ground floor, and immediately wondered if it would take him to the room behind the cellar. As he climbed up the spiraling steps he began to see light, and moments later they ended at a landing and an open door. Walking up the last few steps, he entered a room that brought him to a stunned standstill.

  "Can you believe it?" April exclaimed, moving up to him with Terrence at her side. "I was probably wearing that same expression when I walked in here."

  The room was an art studio. Overhead skylights flooded the space with light, and a bench that ran the length of the wall offered glass jars with brushes, rags, palettes, and tubes of paint. Half-finished paintings were displayed on easels, but there were many others that were obviously completed and hanging on the walls. Cobwebs and dust were evidence of the room's abandonment, but they did nothing to take away from the extraordinary sight.

  "This is where the forgeries must have been painted," Jonathan declared. "But where did Foster find the artist? For that matter, who was the artist, and why would they agree to spend their days up here? It must have been going on for God knows how long."

  "M. Finch," April said, "but only some of the paintings bear that signature. Others show the signatures of the artists this M. Finch person copied. Nothing's been disturbed. That greedy monster behind Troy's death obviously doesn't know about it."

  "I agree."

  "What do I do about this?"

  "What do you want to do about it?"

  "I'd love to paint up here, but I'd never get the canvases up the stairs. Not without help, and I don't want anyone else to know about this."

  "It's an incredible room. It's an artist's room. I'll help you," Jonathan offered, moving around and taking it all in. "I have someone researching M. Finch, though after seeing this I doubt he'll find anything, at least not M. Finch as an artist, but Foster's portrait has me intrigued. I want to know who he is."

  "What is it about the portrait that has you so interested?"

  "Whoever painted it knew him very well. I'd even use the word intimately. It's as if the artist wasn't just painting Foster's likeness, but embodying everything the man was."

  "I'll have to take a closer look, but there's something I think you'll find just as captivating over here."

  Leading him to a corner of the room, she pointed to a canvas mounted on the wall. A beautiful woman with long dark hair, bright blue eyes and red lips was holding a baby. Exuding happiness, she was seated in a chair looking directly ahead, as if into a camera.

  "I'm wondering—this is just a wild guess—could it be a self portrait? I know Foster was supposed to be incapable of fathering children, but it feels so personal."

  "Wait—are you saying you think M. Finch is a woman?"

  "Why not?"

  "In the forties women artists didn't have a hope of being accepted, let alone be commissioned to paint a portrait of an aristocrat. I wonder if Foster's elderly relative discovered her talent and used her to make the forgeries, then when Foster came into town, she fell in love with him just like all the girls."

  "Maybe this is how she told him," April suggested. "Maybe there's an illegitimate Hammond in the village, except…he couldn't father children. This is such a mystery. Every time we get an answer, it creates another question."

  "That pin you found has been identified as a Tiffany's piece bearing the phrase Forever Love, Forever Mine."

  "Really? That's beautiful. I wonder who it belonged to."

  "Do you smell something funny in here?" Jonathan asked, wrinkling his nose. "It's v
ery distinct."

  "I do, but I can't place it. I want to say jasmine."

  "I don't know if I've ever smelled jasmine. I suppose I must have at some point, but not enough to recognize it."

  "Do you want to see where the other stairs lead?"

  "I do, but I don't want to leave here," he murmured. "It's the strangest thing."

  "I feel the same. It's as if the room doesn't want us to go."

  "But we must," he said with a sigh. "I'm coming back though, when I have time."

  "And I'll be back to clean it. Would you help me bring up a chair?"

  "Of course. As long as I have sitting privileges."

  "Deal," she said with a smile.

  "Terrence has been awfully quiet."

  "I know. He seems content."

  "It's really weird how we're both putting off leaving here. Let's go."

  Wanting to take advantage of the light, they left the door to the studio open and moved carefully down the winding stairs, but the second staircase plunged them into spooky darkness. Turning on their flashlights they spied ancient torch holders lining the walls, and when they reached the bottom they hit a dead end.

  "There has to be a way out," Jonathan said, his voice echoing as he shone his beam around the empty space.

  Taking a breath, April closed her eyes.

  Troy? Can you show me?

  Barely a second later the flashlight fell from her fingers, and opening her eyes she watched it roll across the floor.

  "April? Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine, it just slipped."

  Moving across to pick it up, she sent the beam up the wall. There was a torch holder directly above her head, and laying the flashlight back on the ground, she reached up, wrapped her fingers around the old metal and pulled. It moved, and with a deep grating sound, a large slab of the stone wall began to swing open.

  "You have to tell me how you figured that out," Jonathan said, staring at her. "Seriously. I need to know."

  "Call it instinct."

  "For the moment," he said, stepping forward and shining his beam into the darkness. "Why am I not surprised? It's the room behind the cellar wall."

  "I knew there was another entrance," April exclaimed. "Did I tell you I found a light switch as you walk in the side door? Seems like there should be one in here as well. Ah! Found it."

  "I thought I had a great nose," Jonathan muttered as the room was filled with light. "You put it to shame."

  "Why would there be a stairway off the library leading down here?"

  "This house was built in a time of battling royals," he replied. "The lust for power and the treachery surrounding it called for nobles to have escape routes. That's what this was. They could get out through the library and outside through the side door. A second wall was put up to make this secret space to hide the home's precious possessions from the Nazis. When the war was over Foster and his elderly relative must have decided to leave them here. Why put them at risk when he didn't have to? But I suspect that wall fell apart because I suspect he built it himself, he and Foster. They wouldn't have wanted anyone else to know about it."

  "I think for Foster it was more than that," April said, staring at the cloth-covered canvases. "I think he liked having the secret. People would visit and ooh and aah over the paintings, and he'd be silently laughing at them. Not having to shell out money for insurance was a bonus."

  "I should get back to the servants' quarters. Are you ready to leave?"

  "Jonathan," she said quietly, "you're getting close to breaking this case open, aren't you?"

  "I think the servants' quarters will reveal a great deal, so yes, I believe I am."

  Silently she flicked off the light, and after Jonathan pulled on the torch holder to seal the opening, they climbed back up the stairs. But he sensed a shift in her mood. It was understandable. Learning the identity of the killer would be a relief, but it carried its own emotional weight. Entering the library, she demonstrated how the bookcase opened and closed, but as she started to move away, he touched her arm.

  "April, wait a second. I know what you're feeling."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You'll soon be looking at the face of the person who murdered your husband. It's emotionally rough."

  She caught her breath.

  "Hearing you say that out loud…"

  "I said it because it will help you prepare," he said, his voice full of understanding. "It's hard to hear the words. It's harder still to process them. There's a part of you that still believes Troy will walk through the door. Accepting that you'll soon be facing the person responsible makes it blindingly real, but April, it's the last tough hurdle."

  She couldn't speak. Her throat wouldn't let her, and she could feel her face crinkling. Tears were suddenly spilling down her cheeks, and with no thought she stepped forward and dropped her head into his shoulder.

  "It's okay," he murmured, gently holding her. "It's okay. You'll get through this. It will take time, but you will."

  As Troy's form by the wishing well unexpectedly floated through her head, she was cloaked in a sense of calm, and the wave of sadness began to pass.

  "Your support, your kindness, everything you're doing, it means so much," she said, pulling away. "Thank you. Troy thanks you too."

  "Tell him he's welcome, and also tell him thanks for showing you the torch holder at the bottom of those secret stairs."

  The comment made her smile.

  "I think he can hear you, but I will anyway."

  "I should get back to the servants' quarters and see what Jake's found."

  "I can't wait to find out, but I'm thinking about driving into the village and picking up some groceries. I can't let you starve."

  "That wouldn't be good."

  "I'm just a bit—people will stare. They'll say things."

  "Yes, they will, and if it gets to be too much you'll come home. There's no shame in changing your mind."

  "What about Terrence?"

  "He can chase rabbits around the back yard. It's completely fenced. He'll have a great time."

  "I want to go."

  "Then you should."

  "Is there anything in particular you like?"

  "I'm a bloke. I'll eat just about anything. Oh, wait. The van is blocking the garage. You'll need to take my car."

  "You don't mind?"

  "Of course not. Here are the keys," he said, fishing them out of his pocket.

  "Won't it start the tongues wagging?"

  "Only about what a great guy I am," he said with a wink.

  "They wouldn't be wrong."

  Leaving the library, Jonathan headed towards the servants' quarters, while April trotted up to her room to change, Terrence sticking like glue to her side.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Jonathan drove a silver BMW SUV, and sliding into the driver's seat, April was glad she wouldn't be in her black Jaguar convertible. Driving through the village in a different car would offer her some anonymity. It was a quick trip, and being the middle of the day she had no trouble parking. Steeling herself for the looks and whispers, she entered the supermarket.

  She did receive attention, but it was a far cry from what she expected.

  People she'd never met walked up and offered their condolences. Those with whom she was acquainted didn't hesitate to hug her softly and tell her how pleased they were to see her out and about. The outpouring of kindness was almost overwhelming. There were no whispers or stares, just warmth and openness. Taking her time, she filled the cart, and as she packed the groceries into the back of the SUV, she spied the gift shop across the street. Pulling her phone from her pocket, she called Jonathan.

  "Hello. How's it going?"

  "Very well. The people here are so warm and caring."

  "That's how I've found them to be."

  "I'm checking in to see when you'll need your car back. I was thinking of making another stop before I come home."

  "Take your time. The boys will be a while. They
've just starting processing the room where the artwork was being stored, and they still have to check the steps and gate."

  "Terrific. I don't think I'll be very long. I just wanted to make sure."

  "No worries. See you when you get back."

  "Bye, Jonathan."

  "Bye, April."

  Locking the car, she walked across the street to the quaint store. The window display was beautifully done, and showed all manner of interesting items. Opening the door, a bell rang over her head, and a moment later an attractive middle-aged woman with a bright smile appeared from a back room. It was easy to see Ben's resemblance to his mother.

  "Can I help you? Oh, Mrs. Hammond. Please know how sorry I am for your loss. What a terrible thing. Ben spoke so highly of you when he came home last night."

  "That's very kind of you, thank you. He's a lovely young man. You should be very proud."

  "We are. We never expected our boy to grow up to be a policeman, but it was something he wanted from a very young age. Is there something special that brought you in?"

  "Ben said your mother knew Foster as a young woman. I was wondering if you could share some of your memories with me."

  "I'd be happy to. Why don't you come into the back and have a cup of tea?"

  "I don't have a great deal of time, but I'd like that very much."

  "Right this way. Your timing is perfect. I just put the kettle on a few minutes ago. My name's Ruth, by the way."

  "Please call me April."

  Following her through a beaded curtain, April found a small but cozy room with a table and two chairs, and a counter with a sink.

  "Have a seat. I do enjoy a good natter. What would you like to know?" Ruth asked, pouring the boiling water into a teapot. "I have enough stories to bend your ear for a week."

  "By any chance does the name M. Finch mean anything to you?"

  Ruth turned around and stared at her with wide eyes.

  "Of course. You don't know?"

  "Uh, no. Should I?"

  "Excuse me. I just assumed you would, although it did happen decades ago."

  "What happened decades ago?"