“What do people think of Nigel?” Laura asked, once again steering the conversation back to the matter at hand.
“He’s a good boy,” Maude declared firmly, “talented, too. He came in here one day and the bell was broken and he fixed it right up. And those faces he makes! Hard to believe they’re not real. Does those tours, too, and they’re a real attraction. He’s going to do mystery ones next summer, I hear. People like that. Brings tourists into town. Mind you, there’s some who criticize him because he hangs out with those hippies that live up in the woods, but I don’t pay any attention to that. Not bad kids, just mixed up. There’s new ones now, though, I’ve heard, and people aren’t so keen on this next lot. Bit of a bully, one of the kids, so they say.”
“How about the gardener?” Laura asked. “He seems a hostile fellow too, or at least he didn’t seem to like me.”
“You’re right about that,” Maude agreed fervently. “They hired him to be the butler first. He scared the guests off, so they got another butler and used him as a gardener. I can’t think why they didn’t just get rid of him instead.”
A customer entered and she hustled away. “Good talking to you,” she called back as she disappeared behind the curtain.
“Thank you so much!” Laura called after her. “I’ll be off now.” Leaving a generous tip on the table, she retrieved her boots and found the trail again. The second half of today’s walk was easy, the notes said, and she was glad. She felt too full of scones and undigested information to walk fast. Maude had been a veritable goldmine!
Questions poured into her mind. Why had a man as surly as the gardener been hired as a butler and then kept on instead of fired? Had he found out about Antonia’s affair with the groom and the other unknown man, and had threatened to blackmail her if she didn’t let him stay on? Or did he know something incriminating about the missing cook? Was the body hers? And where was it?
A horn brought Laura back to the present. Without noticing, she had turned onto a narrow road that accommodated only one small car going one direction at best. Both she and a six-wheeled lorry, English for truck, were trying to proceed along it. Worse, a car traveling the other way was almost upon them. Laura stepped into the bushes. Both drivers waved politely before they sped on at a pace that made her shudder.
Another car approached, going even faster. It was sleek and low, a sports car, a brand new and very expensive one, she suspected. Royalty and rock stars were reputed to live in this area, and she watched with interest as it sped by.
Her eyes widened in astonishment. The man driving it was the surly gardener! How could a gardener afford a car like that? The answer came quickly. The license plate spelled out Lady T. It must be Antonia’s car. Why was a gardener driving his employer’s high-priced car? More blackmail? And if Antonia could afford a car like that, why was Torrington Manor taking in paying guests?
Laura’s curiosity deepened. She would never be able to concentrate properly on her walking trip, she realized, until she had gone back to Torrington Manor to look for answers to her questions. But how was she to do that without bumping into Thomas? That she refused to do, at least just yet.
Inspiration struck. She would go on one of the tours they advertised. Viewing Torrington Manor as a tourist would provide excellent cover for snooping around. She wasn’t likely to run into Thomas, either. Tours never took people through the occupied parts of the house.
Pulling out the brochure she had picked up, Laura saw that there was one today, another in two days. She would go to that one, she decided. By then Thomas would probably have left. After that, she would get on with her walk and enjoy it as she should.
Re-invigorated, Laura set off briskly for Stourton.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Laura followed the path into a grove of trees. Bluebells made a carpet of azure on the floor of the woods, and their light scent filled her nostrils. All tension spilled out of her as she breathed it in. This was what walking was all about: peace, beauty, the glorious sensation of easy movement, not fast but steady and somehow reassuring.
She passed into a field filled with frolicking lambs and their watchful mothers. Laura threaded her way through them, delighting in their antics. The cows in the next field were less welcoming. They eyed her warily, worried about the tiny calves nestled at their feet. Cows were large and intimidating anyway, but when they had young, they were apt to harass unwary walkers.
Laura turned away from them and skirted cautiously along the edges of the fence. To her relief, they didn’t bother her. Emerging in the woods again, she sat down to rest for a moment by a small stream. Propping her back against a tree, she closed her eyes to take in the scents and sounds, and breathe…
A sharp tapping roused Laura, and she looked at her watch. She must have fallen asleep. It sounded as if someone was hammering on rocks, maybe repairing one of the beautiful old walls of Cotswold stone. She decided to watch for a few minutes. They were such marvelous walls, and it was good to know they were cared for.
To her astonishment, instead of workmen and walls, she saw Nigel. Sitting beside him was the green-eyed beauty, far lovelier in person than as a mask. Sunlight glinted off her dark hair, revealing reddish streaks; her skin was translucent, her eyes large and very, very green. She was also more girl than woman, Laura realized. But what were they doing here?
Nigel was crouched over a large piece of gray stone, making precise cuts with well-aimed blows. He was so intent on his task that he didn’t notice Laura even when she came up behind him. The girl looked up, startled by Laura’s approach, and gave Nigel a gentle poke. “Company,” she mumbled, and wandered away.
She behaved like a skittish colt, Laura thought, and decided not to speak to her but to wait for Cat to decide it was all right to return.
Nigel blinked, freeing himself from his absorption. “Oh, hello, Laura,” he said, his voice friendly. “Like my grasshopper?”
Laura knelt beside him, awed. It really was a grasshopper, carved in stone. A huge one, but so beautifully made that it looked ready to hop away.
“So you’re a sculptor in stone, too,” she said admiringly. “I think you are truly the most talented young person I have ever had the pleasure to meet. How did you learn to do things like this?”
Nigel looked embarrassed, but she knew he was also pleased. “Dunno exactly,” he answered. “Just comes out, I guess.”
Laura smiled at him. “Then we’ll all just hope that it keeps coming out,” she told him. “You are very good.”
“My father doesn’t like the idea,” he said with a grimace. “He wants to send me to some boarding school. Can’t make a living on art, he says.”
“How about your mother? Or the Baroness?”
Nigel looked embarrassed. “My mother’s dead, has been for a long time,” he explained, and hurried on before Laura could frame the conventional murmurs of sympathy. “Antonia, she’s my stepmother I guess, isn’t too bad about the art stuff, but that’s because she doesn’t care what I do as long as I keep out of the way.” He grinned, taking the sting out of the words. “Gram’s the best, though. She’s an artist too, and she thinks I’m better off here. Even my father doesn’t argue much with her.”
Angelina had also called the grande dame “Gram,” Laura remembered. Did that mean the Baroness was grandmother to both of them? Or could the term just be a nickname for an older relative?
“I can understand that,” she agreed with a laugh. “There is something about the Baroness that precludes resistance.”
“You talk like a teacher,” a voice behind her said conversationally.
Laura laughed again. “Maybe that’s because I am,” she answered. “And you sound like an American.”
Cat took another step forward but didn’t answer. She was very young, Laura saw anxiously, much too young to be the missing wife - unless Thomas was a cradle snatcher as well as a womanizer.
Laura turned back to Nigel lest she spook the girl with too much attention. “Have you
done other sculptures in stone?” she asked, settling herself comfortably on a convenient log.
Cat answered for him, which was a good sign. “He’s done lots,” she announced. “There’s a toad - he’s my favorite - and a bullfrog, and a lizard of some sort. The grasshopper’s the biggest though.”
“I’ve got a whole group planned,” Nigel elaborated. His supercilious pose had completely disappeared and his eyes were alight with enthusiasm. “Next I’ll do a mouse, because I’ve found a rock that has a mouse in it. I mean, it’s the right sort of rock for a mouse. Then I’ll do a cat, staring at it, and I’m not sure what else yet.”
“I want my dad to see them,” Cat told her spontaneously. “He’s very dull because all he cares about is old art, the stuff in museums, but he’d still be a good person for Nigel because he’d know what to do with art, or maybe help him get training.
“But I don’t want to be here when he comes!” she added with a dramatic shudder. “He might try to take me home again!”
“Does your father live in England?” Laura asked casually.
Cat rolled her eyes heavenward. “Good grief, no! He lives in New York now, at least I think he still does. I don’t see him much anymore.
“I don’t want him here, either,” she added darkly, “but I wouldn’t put it past him to come looking for me. He’s always worrying.”
A startling idea occurred to Laura. Not a lost wife, a lost daughter, though why Thomas would lie about it she couldn’t imagine. She would have to tread carefully if she was right.
“I met a man who was looking for a missing wife yesterday,” she contributed in an easy voice, “though he didn’t say anything about a daughter. Nigel’s father thought he was the thief who’s been taking the silver, and that I was his wife, and that we were in cahoots. We managed to convince him that we weren’t thieves, but I’m afraid he still thinks I’m the missing wife.” She glanced at Nigel, hoping he would pick up the cue.
Cat looked skittish again, but also curious. “What did he think that for, about the silver, I mean?”
“Oh, that’s just my father,” Nigel reassured her. “He suspects everyone of everything, but I don’t think he cares that much about the missing silver.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “As long as nobody takes his horses, he’s okay.”
“Well, he doesn’t exercise them enough,” Cat retorted hotly. “He ought to ride them more, or have that groom ride them.”
“Stewart’s too busy making out with Antonia,” Nigel replied without rancor. Laura was startled by his casual acceptance of Antonia’s affair, but she tried not to show it. She wondered if Thomas knew.
“Does your father know that?” Cat asked. “Would he care if he did?”
Nigel looked embarrassed again. “I’m not sure. I don’t think he knows exactly, I mean. Just as well.”
“You’ve got that right,” Cat agreed. “My dad found out that my Mom was having it off with some guy and he went ballistic. Refused to give her money, and got out the lawyers. But she only did it because he was always away on one of his boring cases.”
Not all boring, Laura thought caustically, if a woman like Antonia was waiting – if her guess about Thomas was right. Cases sounded interesting too. What kind of cases did Thomas have?
“Mom says he’s a bastard,” Catherine added, shrugging her thin shoulders as if she didn’t care.
“Don’t be so hard on him,” Nigel objected. “Your dad’s okay and he isn’t boring. He liked my masks, too, said they were brilliant.”
Cat stared at him. “You mean he is here?” she squeaked.
“That’s what I came to tell you,” Nigel answered. “I just hadn’t got around to it yet. And I think you should talk to him. I mean, how do you know your mom’s telling the truth about him? You ought to find out, at least. He and Laura were both at the manor,” he added nonchalantly. “He’s the man she talked about, the one my father thought was the thief, but of course Laura didn’t know he was your father then.”
Laura smiled her thanks. Nigel was very quick. It was a relief, too, to know that Thomas wasn’t a cradle snatcher as well as a ladies’ man.
“Damn,” Cat exploded. “I wish he’d get lost. Does he know I’m here?” She put her hands on her hips in a threatening gesture. “If you told him, Nigel, if you told him…”
“Relax, Cat. I didn’t have to tell him. He saw you on the horse.”
“Oh God,” she moaned. “Wouldn’t you know. And my name is not Cat. It is Catherine. I am not a cat! Got that?”
Fiery! Laura thought. No wonder he’s having trouble with her. About time he came to find her, she thought critically – if that was really why he had come. Catherine needed finding. She looked less like a cat than a stray kitten, with her skinny frame and tangled hair.
“Okay,” Nigel said, abashed. “I’ll try to remember.” He looked at his watch and sighed. “I’ve got to go. There’s a tour today, so I can’t be late. I take them round and explain stuff.”
“Your tours sound very enterprising,” Laura told him. “I’d like to come on the next one if that’s all right. Torrington Manor is fascinating.”
Nigel looked pleased. “That would be great. I think you’d like it. Most people seem to. I don’t show them the whole place, of course, but there are plenty of rooms to spare. It will be even better when I get the figures into them. Like Madame Tussaud's, you know. Tourists really like that.
“I’m not so sure about the mystery part of it after last night, though,” he added apologetically. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to have you find Lottie. Must have been quite a shock for you. She was really out!”
“It must have been an even worse shock for you,” Laura replied.
“It was,” Nigel agreed fervently. “Well, I’ve got to go. See you later, Cat - I mean, Catherine,” he amended hastily.
“Good to see you again, Laura,” he added politely. “Thanks for what you said about my work.” He smiled at her, an unexpected smile that lit up his narrow face, making it almost handsome. He gave a small salute, grabbed the bicycle leaning against a nearby tree and pedaled off.
“He’s great,” Catherine said, and Laura nodded. To be an entrepreneur as well as an artist – and an actor – was quite remarkable.
“I hope he gets the chances he ought to have,” she said earnestly, and wondered if Catherine would find this sentimental.
Apparently she didn’t. “Yeah,” she sighed, perching near Laura. “I hope he does.”
“Not easy,” Laura agreed. “Parents are well meaning usually, but they can get in the way. I did, I’m sure.”
“You have kids?”
“Two. One just started college and the other just got married,” Laura answered. “So they’re independent now, or mostly independent.”
“I wish my dad felt that way about me,” Catherine said forlornly. “My Mom says he thinks I’m too young to be here, just hanging out with a bunch of guys, living in the woods and all that. Wants me to go back to school, but school’s boo-ring.” She drew out the sound as if savoring the word.
“Mom doesn’t mind though,” Catherine added more brightly. “She’s cool. She doesn’t care what I do. Gives her more time to hang out with her new boyfriend.”
Laura wished she could give the absent mother a swift kick. Her vote was with Thomas on the school issue. This girl looked barely sixteen. To leave her entirely on her own was simply irresponsible – or uncaring.
“What about your father? Does he have a girlfriend?” she asked, striving for a neutral tone.
Catherine snorted with laughter. “My dad? You’ve got to be joking. He is the most straitlaced man in the whole world. If he has someone in his life he’s going to be married to her. That’s why he went ballistic when mom started having an affair. She said he’d have another fit if he knew I was coming here with a bunch of guys.”
Interesting, Laura mused, though not necessarily accurate. Children seldom knew or wanted to know about their parents’ lov
e lives, or thought they were too old to have one. At least Thomas hadn’t flaunted his to his daughter - if it existed - as the mother had. She gave him credit for that.
Catherine looked cautiously at Laura. “Not that I… I mean, I’m not what he thinks,” she said, and the fierce tone was back. “He just has a nasty mind.”
“Fathers do tend to think the worst,” Laura answered, remembering Donald “going ballistic” as Catherine put it, when Melinda had started going out with boys. If she’d known then that Donald was having an affair at the time she would have gone ballistic herself. What a hypocrite!
“What does your father do? I mean, for a living,” she asked.
Catherine shrugged dismissively. “Oh, he’s an art detective, kind of.”
Laura was astounded. “An art detective?”
“Old, boring stuff, like I said,” Catherine answered. “I think he works for art museums, finding paintings and other stuff that got stolen. That’s why he’s never home. He’s always in Rome or Naples or whatever,” she finished vaguely.
“Masterpieces,” Laura murmured, trying to take in this unexpected information. “He tries to find missing masterpieces.”
The revelation put an entirely different aspect on everything that had happened at Torrington Manor, and her brain worked feverishly to fit it back together again. First, Thomas as art sleuth was less likely to commit a murder, and if he was on a job, there was good reason for his room to be searched. She remembered how he had examined the paintings in the study, asking if they had been cleaned. Had something unusual about them caught his expert eye? On the other hand, he could be at Torrington Manor for the simple reason that he was looking for Catherine and heard she was in the area.
Catherine’s voice brought her back to the present. “I guess you could call it that, finding masterpieces I mean,” she mumbled. Her expression changed and she looked mutinously at Laura. “And now I guess you’re going to tell me to talk to him, too,” she said, trying to sneer and failing. “All my teachers do.”
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