Walking Into Murder

by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

  Laura flinched. How horrible! If she was right, Antonia must be crazy with worry. No mother deserved that. Lord Torrington and the Baroness must be frantic by this time, too.

  Angelina’s voice interrupted. “Morris said we were going to come here together and have a party and play games, but he didn’t play any and I don’t like him anymore,” she said, with a charming pout of her rosy pink lips that Laura suspected was a well-rehearsed moue designed to win sympathy.

  “Pierre ne l'aime plus, lui non plus,” Angelina added in French, addressing the ragged-looking bear that now hung limply from one hand. “Il est mechant, Maurice, n'est-ce-pas, Pierre?”

  Laura’s jaw dropped. The child was full of surprises. She spoke French as easily she spoke English.

  “C'est vrai,” Catherine replied in passable French; then lapsed back into English. “I’m not surprised that Pierre doesn’t like him anymore, either.”

  “I bet you’d like us to take you and Pierre home again now,” Laura put in.

  Angelina thought about that. “Peut-etre; I guess so,” she commented with a Gallic shrug. Laura repressed a smile. No doubt Angelina was weighing the possibility of games and candy in the cottage with Catherine against the familiarity of home.

  Catherine compromised. “We’re going to be here together for a bit; then we’ll take you home,” she told Angelina. “Now, let’s see what we can find to eat.”

  Catherine was a master at this, Laura thought admiringly. Where had she learned to deal with small children so well?

  Angelina settled for chicken soup, since there was no more candy, and bread with lots of butter. Laura made herself a cup of tea while Catherine and Angelina talked.

  “I’ll give you a clue about how I knew who you were,” Catherine said. “It’s a person who lives in your house and plays games with you there.”

  “Nigel?” Angelina looked delighted.

  “You’ve got it,” Catherine told her with equal delight. “Nigel is a friend of mine and he told me all about you.”

  “Nigel knows someone named Cat,” Angelina announced. “Is that you? You look like that, sort of.”

  “My name is Catherine, not Cat,” Catherine told her firmly. “I told Nigel to call me Catherine, too. Cat was a kind of baby name. Like you being called Angie.”

  Angelina digested this information; decided it was satisfactory, and turned to look at Laura. “What about her?” she inquired doubtfully.

  “Laura’s a friend, too,” Catherine assured her.

  “She wouldn’t let me look at Lottie,” Angelina accused. For the first time, Catherine looked stumped.

  Laura decided to intervene. She didn’t want Angelina focusing on dead bodies right now, or Catherine for that matter. “We’re going to have an adventure,” she announced. “You and me and Catherine.”

  Angelina was dubious. “What kind of adventure? Do we have to go outside again? I don’t like to go outside when it’s raining.”

  Not a good start, Laura thought. The great difficulty might not be getting out of the cottage but getting Angelina down the muddy track.

  “We’ll be like Indians, sneaking along so quietly that one sees them,” Catherine explained. “First, though, you have to help us find a way to get out of the house because some nasty person has locked us in.”

  Angelina looked interested. “I’ll help,” she offered, jumping up.

  “Good. I need someone to help me get a window in the cellar open so we can escape,” Catherine told her. “I hope you’re not scared of cellars.”

  Angelina looked as if she was scared of them, but she shook her head bravely and followed Catherine down the hall.

  “Are there spiders?” she asked nervously as they started down the steep stairs. Catherine assured her that there weren’t. Spiders were much smaller than people, she added, so they were the ones who ought to be scared.

  Laura listened to their voices recede and nursed her tea, knowing she should get up and help, but wanting to think. If only she knew what this was all about, what role the diverse characters played in the plot, if that was what it was, and who was in charge, she could make more sensible decisions about what to do next. All she knew so far was that Thomas was an art detective and that paintings were involved, but in what way remained a mystery. She also had the strong feeling that some person who remained hidden from view was manipulating everyone else, an unseen puppeteer who pulled the strings, making people conform whether they wanted to or not. She wondered if she, too, was being subtly manipulated by those unseen hands….

  The sound of a car brought Laura out of her reverie. She dashed to the cellar door. “Car’s coming,” she yelled.

  She ran back to the kitchen, thinking fast. It could be someone coming to rescue Angelina, but more likely Roger and Stewart were returning. They had to get out of here quickly, or hide at least, until they knew who it was. What might they need? Anything she could take, she decided, and grabbed her pack, Catherine’s, their rain gear, the little pink boots and the forgotten bear, some biscuits and what was left of the bread and cheese, and hauled them down the cellar steps. She ran back up and closed the door hard behind her. It didn’t open easily and that might give them an extra minute or two.

  “Can we get out the window you found?” she gasped. “It could be Roger again. I’ve brought our packs and rain gear.”

  “If we can get it open enough,” Catherine replied calmly. “It’s tiny but at least it’s at ground level, and it didn’t get boarded up. I’ve got it part way open with this thing.” She held up an iron spike. “Help me wrench it up more. Then we’ll get our coats and boots on and give it a try.”

  Opening the window proved easier than getting Angelina dressed. She took a dim view of the pink boots and an even dimmer one of the coat. “It crackles,” she objected, “and I can’t get my arms in.”

  Laura shoved the arms in anyway. “Remember about the Indians,” she urged. “They don’t get caught if they’re quiet.”

  Angelina nodded eagerly and put her finger against her lips. Laura made a final adjustment to the coat, noticing as she did so that the child had an unusually pointed chin. Where had she seen a chin like that?

  Catherine’s voice interrupted. “I’ll go first,” she whispered, “then send Angelina through before you come.” She inserted her lithe body into the narrow opening easily and wriggled outside.

  “Okay, your turn,” she whispered to Angelina.

  Angelina balked. “I’ll get my party dress dirty,” she wailed. Laura forbore to point out that the dress was already filthy and fastened the raincoat firmly around the child’s belly instead. It was decidedly tight. Angelina had her mother’s blue eyes, but lacked her slender physique.

  “Now the dirt can’t get in,” she assured Angelina, and hoisted her into the window frame. “Off you go!” she hissed. Angelina opened her mouth to scream but thought better of the idea when she saw the forbidding expression on Catherine’s face, and wiggled through instead. Laura followed with difficulty, wishing she had been less enthusiastic about buttered scones.

  Rain greeted her, but it was gentler now and didn’t obscure her vision. Catherine had chosen well, she saw. The window opened onto the side of the house opposite the back door through which they had entered, and thick bushes grew in front of it, blocking them from sight. Just to their left was a small copse of trees. Incongruously, the children’s train chose that moment to release its series of shrill whistles.

  “If we can get to the trees, we should be all right,” Catherine whispered when the sound finally died away. “They’re still in the car, I think. I don’t hear them, anyway, although no one can hear much over that racket.”

  “You go first with Angelina, then I’ll come,” Laura suggested.

  Catherine nodded. Grabbing Angelina’s hand, she sprinted for the trees.

  Laura heard the ominous sound of the noisy bolt being drawn back on the kitchen door. She ran. “Let’s get out of here,” she gasped when she reac
hed the others. “When the car starts back again, I’ll angle toward the track to see who it is.”

  “Can I go first?” Angelina asked in a loud whisper. Catherine nodded and pushed the child in front of her as they walked cautiously through trees. Absorbed in the game, Angelina was mercifully quiet, as was the train.

  Laura listened for the sound of a car returning. After what seemed like a long time, it came. She veered closer to the track and peered through the bushes. It was the same car that had brought them here, and she thought Roger was driving, with Stewart beside him, but the windows were fogged up and she couldn’t see clearly.

  She hurried back to Catherine and Angelina. They were sitting side by side on a log, and they looked up at her trustingly, waiting for her to tell them what to do next.

  Laura felt a surge of panic. She was responsible for their safety, only there wasn’t any safety. Someone – perhaps that unseen guiding hand she had sensed – wanted them out of commission and wouldn’t give up until they were. At the same time, she had to get Angelina back to her family, and she had to find out what had happened to Thomas, for Catherine’s sake even more than her own. That meant she had to go back to the manor – the most dangerous place they could be. On the other hand, she mused, it was probably also the last place anyone would think to look for them.

  An idea began to form in Laura’s mind, an idea that grew until it actually began to seem possible. True, it involved some risk, but mostly to her, and with some help she was sure it could be managed. Surely, someone would be willing to help them. But who?

  The familiar faces of everyone she had met since she had come paraded through Laura’s mind. One at a time, she dismissed them for the possibility of collaboration, as in Dr. Banbury, or a tendency to talk too much, like Maude. Secrecy and the ability to act decisively were crucial to their success.

  When she had finished her assessment, only two names were left: Nigel and the Baroness. Both were too intelligent not to be aware of any underhanded activities going on at Torrington Manor, but she didn’t think either of them would be an active participant in anything illegal. Nigel would help them to the best of his ability, but he was also very young, too young to be saddled with so much responsibility. She needed someone older, someone with authority. The grande dame was the only logical choice. Surely, a woman of that caliber wouldn’t condone the virtual kidnapping of her own granddaughter. The grande dame had too much integrity.

  Catherine touched her arm lightly, jerking Laura back to the present. “Where to now?” she asked.

  Laura grinned. “Somewhere unexpected,” she answered. “Somewhere no one would ever think to look.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Laura and Catherine and Angelina sat in the front seat of the first car behind the small steam engine. With an ear-splitting whistle and a noxious emission of black smoke, the train started off. Angelina hung on tightly to the railing, her face ecstatic. Behind her, rows of similarly entranced children were perched in their seats, surrounded by watchful caretakers.

  “You’re right. No one would ever think to look for us here,” Catherine remarked as she removed her hands from her ears and the scarf from her face. It hadn’t been clean to begin with, but now it was black with soot. The train had a roof, which mercifully protected them from the continuing drizzle, but the sides were open. This had the effect of letting in uninterrupted fumes and noise as well as unrestricted views.

  Laura laughed; then her face sobered. “I hope no one will think to look for us at our next port of call, either. It’s an unexpected place to go, certainly, but a lot will depend on luck.”

  She had consulted the map and managed to work out a route to their next destination – Torrington Manor. As she had hoped, her memory had been accurate. The children’s train wound along a curving track from a station near the cottage until it reached a similar station to the east; then it turned around and went back to its starting point. Passengers could get on and off at either station, and the second station was less than a mile from the manor. They could walk from there.

  Laura’s lips tightened. She still thought the manor was the last place anyone would think to look for them, but it was also the place where their enemies gathered. She comforted herself by recalling that the house was very large and that there must be plenty of empty rooms to hide in, if they could just get to them unseen. Besides, if her plan worked, no one would recognize them anyway.

  Catherine’s voice broke into her reverie. “This was an inspiration!” she yelled as the train gathered speed, clattering noisily along its tracks after another deafening series of whistles. “Angelina actually lives up to her name in this setting.”

  Laura smiled. It was true. Angelina’s face was transfixed with delight. The poor child probably didn’t get to indulge in children’s activities very often. It was hard to imagine Antonia or anyone else bringing her here, yet the little train was only a few minutes drive from Torrington Manor.

  “Thanks,” she yelled back, pleased that this part of her plan was a success. As well as providing much needed transportation, the promise of a train ride had been the only way to persuade Angelina to keep walking. The major problem now, Laura realized, would be persuading her to get off the train again when they reached the halfway point.

  Her assessment was correct. Angelina put up such a fuss when the time came that people began to stare. Fearful of attracting unwanted attention, Laura decided this was not the moment to press home lessons about how tantrums did not get the desired results. Instead, they returned to their starting point and embarked on a second trip, and when Angelina still showed no signs of cooperating, on a third. They had to wait until evening to put the rest of the plan into operation and this seemed as good a way to spend the time as any other, Laura reasoned, although distinctly dirtier.

  “We’ve only got a short walk and then we’re there,” she said brightly when they finally extracted Angelina from the train after the third ride. Laura hoped she was right. She didn’t want to walk on the roads for fear of being seen, so she had decided to go cross-country, using map and compass for direction. It didn’t look very far, but with no clear walking path it was hard to tell.

  Angelina regarded them mutinously. “I don’t want to walk anymore,” she stated, and sat down on the station bench, hands firmly clenched around its slats. Catherine sighed, unable to think of a solution. Laura remembered early hikes with her own children and had an inspiration.

  “Do you have M& M’s or anything of that sort?” she whispered to Catherine.

  “Only an old chocolate bar somewhere in my pack,” Catherine answered. “Why?”

  “When my kids were little, I bribed them with M&M's at intervals, to keep them going,” Laura answered shamelessly. “We had to get them to the campground to spend the night, and that was the only way they were going to move any further.”

  Catherine laughed. “Not so different than carrots for a horse or chunks of bread for the dogs,” she said. “I think it’s a great idea.”

  She went back to Angelina. “I know you don’t want to walk any more,” she said, “but I have another game. It’s called the chocolate game. Every time ten whole minutes have passed, you get a chocolate reward if you keep walking all that time.”

  Angelina hopped off the bench. “I bet ten whole minutes have already passed since we got off the train,” she ventured.

  “But you haven’t been walking,” Laura countered. “Let’s get started right now, and then the ten minutes will be up even sooner.”

  Angelina began to flag after five minutes but walked on gamely until the time came for the reward. Catherine reached into the depths of her pack and pulled out a squashed candy bar. Angelina regarded it dubiously.

  “Is it good?”

  “Marvelous,” Catherine assured her, and broke off a generous chunk.

  Even a triple bribe, however, failed to move Angelina when they came to a thick swath of gorse and blackberry bushes. Laura could hardly blame her.
The child’s legs were bare. Sighing, she heaved Angelina onto her back. The trouble with using a map and compass as guides, she realized belatedly, was that they had to walk in a straight line, and that could be downright hazardous. In the absence of a path, there was nothing gentle about this countryside.

  Angelina was a solid child, and Laura was glad to put her down again when they reached some fences. She was also an unpredictable one. She scrambled expertly under the fences, looked appraisingly at the trickling streams that ran through the marshy ground ahead, and announced that she wanted to walk now. Splashing happily, she managed to get all of them very wet.

  “As long as water doesn’t come in the form of rain, it’s acceptable,” Catherine commented in exasperation. “Where are we, anyway?”

  Laura consulted her compass. They still seemed to be on course. “The manor should come into sight just over that next hill,” she answered with a confidence she wasn’t sure she felt.

  They trudged up the hill; then staggered down unexpectedly steep cliffs on the other side, hanging on to trees or sliding on their backsides so they wouldn’t fall. At the bottom of the hill, they dragged themselves under yet another barbed wire fence and set off across the field it enclosed. A group of cows trotted over and stood blocking their way. The chimneys of Torrington Manor loomed tantalizingly beyond them.

  Angelina approached a cow and stroked its nose. The animal put its head down, swiped it sideways in a sudden movement, and knocked Angelina off her feet. “Stupid bloody cow,” she screamed. “You’re not supposed to do that. Cows are supposed to eat grass!” She pushed the cow full in the face with a clenched fist. It turned and fled. The other cows followed, their hoofs thudding into the soft earth.

  “I don’t like cows any more,” Angelina announced.