Chapter 25
It had been a strange three days. Cesca had wondered about the prospect of another lunch date with Will – if it had ever been a date in the first place; she’d hoped for it even. But she’d heard nothing from him. Was he waiting for her to contact him? She had no idea, but aside from talking to him about the case – and she had no more news on that front, having also lost Kristofer to the same man-swallowing black hole that seemed to have descended on the Dorset countryside – there was no professional reason to speak to him. As for personal reasons, she was even more in the dark about where she stood with him there than she was about the nature of his claim on the Silver Hill find.
Mulling it over and over was pointless and unproductive, so Cesca had thrown all her energies into one last attempt to get to the bottom of the mystery about his family ring, hoping it would shed some light on the rest of the trinkets found with it. She’d phoned Kristofer on more than one occasion for his input and got no reply. Not especially odd, but when she did manage to speak to him and asked if he’d like to meet up to exchange what they’d both found out, it was to be reassured that he was still researching at his end but that he was tied up and couldn’t meet. She didn’t want to ask why, because he didn’t seem keen to volunteer the information, and though she had no right to expect his help, she couldn’t help but wonder at his apparent change of heart. He’d been excited to get involved, but now, though he hadn’t exactly told her to stay away, she had the distinct impression that he was keeping her at arm’s length.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a shrill ring from under a stack of maps on her desk.
‘That’ll be your phone calling,’ Duncan said from across the office as he studied a piece of ancient-looking pottery.
‘Thanks for pointing it out,’ Cesca said with a grimace and she heard him chuckle. ‘You know the only person who thinks you’re funny is you.’
‘As long as I do, that’s all that counts.’
Cesca clamped the phone to her ear. ‘Francesca Logan… Oh, hi, Sunita, what can I do for you?’ She listened intently, every so often murmuring understanding or bobbing her head as she doodled around scribbled names and numbers on her notepad. After a couple of minutes, she spoke.
‘I see. Let me collate what I have at this end and we’ll talk again if that’s OK.’
Planting the receiver back into its cradle, Cesca leaned her elbows on the desk and massaged her temples as she gazed out of the window. It was breezier than of late, the sky an ever-changing patchwork of white and blue, delicate petals of crab apple blossom racing across her view of the road outside, blown from a nearby tree. Cesca loved that tree when it bloomed, but that brief, glorious explosion was always over too soon. After today, the blossoms would be all but gone.
Picking up her mobile phone, she dialled Kristofer’s number. When the answer message began, she clicked to end the call rather than leave a voicemail. It was easier to try again later than explain now. She needed to speak to Will too, but it was a conversation she wanted to put off for as long as possible, at least until she was sure they’d done everything they could on his behalf.
‘The British Museum?’ Duncan asked.
‘Yep.’
‘They can’t find any marks of ownership on the Silver Hill pile?’
Cesca let out a long breath. ‘No.’
‘What are you going to do?’
She turned to him. ‘I have no idea. I think I’ll give it one last go to see what I can find and if nothing turns up by the end of the week then I’m going to have to pass it on to the commission. They won’t let us drag our feet for much longer anyway.’
‘Are you going to tell Lord Frampton what the situation is?’
‘I suppose I ought to, though he’s not going to like it.’
‘Want me to speak to him? I don’t mind.’
Cesca turned back to the window. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’d better.’ She reached for the phone, but then put it down again. ‘I’ll go up there later,’ she said. There was no reason to break the news in person, but some small part of her wasn’t listening to reason.
* * *
‘So the ring was almost certainly given away?’ Harper asked.
Kristofer nodded. ‘I don’t know what different conclusion to draw. It was late last night when I found the second account of the trial and I didn’t want to phone Cesca in case she’d gone to bed, but I’m going to call her at lunchtime to let her know.’
‘Call her now if you like,’ Harper said, angling her head at the near empty tearoom as they both stood behind the counter together, Kristofer towering over her in his tiny floral apron, seemingly oblivious to how ridiculous he looked in it. In fact, he looked vaguely proud to be wearing it, now standing with his hands sunk in the front pocket as he surveyed the fields beyond the window.
‘I don’t want to leave you alone.’
‘I’m hardly rushed off my feet,’ she said. ‘Nip out now and if a bus full of customers arrives I’ll call you. In fact, if a bus full of customers arrived I’d probably faint from the shock.’
He threw her a grin and went into the back, yanking his phone from the pocket of his combat trousers as he did. But he came back a few moments later with a frown.
‘No phone signal,’ he said, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
‘Oh, sometimes it’s like that here; we’re in a bit of a black spot. It often improves later in the day – no idea why.’
‘I’ll try again later.’
‘I’m almost sorry that Will doesn’t have his proof,’ Harper said.
‘You want him to take the valuables?’
‘If they belong to his family, then yes.’
‘You think it does?’
She shrugged slightly. ‘I don’t see why not. Who else around here would have had the money for that sort of bling? Not that I know much about the history of Cerne Hay or Silver Hill, but it just makes sense to me that the gold would have belonged to the family. It’s hard to imagine who else it could have belonged to.’
‘There’s no reason why it could not have been brought to this place from further afield,’ Kristofer said.
‘But to be brought in from somewhere else and just happen to include a ring that looks exactly like the ring in Will’s family portrait? And to be buried here, out of all the places it could have been buried?’ Harper shook her head. ‘Doesn’t make any sense to me. I think it’s Will’s.’
‘I would love to know how it got here,’ Kristofer said. ‘I wonder if we’ll ever discover that. Even if the ring was given to the servant, that doesn’t explain how the rest of the collection ended up with it in a box buried on the nearby farm.’
‘It is weird,’ Harper agreed. ‘For a start, I’d take it as far away as I could if I’d stolen it.’
‘But I do know that plague came to this village,’ Kristofer put in.
Harper turned to him. ‘Did it?’
‘Around that time there were many deaths; the village was almost wiped out. I read a lot about it.’
‘Then maybe the thief got ill before he could make his getaway? Maybe he buried it in the hope he’d get better and never did, so it stayed there?’
‘It’s one explanation,’ Kristofer said. ‘The farm belonged to a widow at that time, and she was friends with Frizzell so that would offer a good reason for it to be buried here.’
‘So what if she took him in and helped him hide the loot and they both died!’ Harper grinned and she saw it in Kristofer’s face too – that whiff of excitement, the thrill of the chase, the allure of a mystery too intriguing to ignore. ‘Nobody would have ever known where it was!’
‘It does not tell us about how it was taken from Silver Hill House. It would have been a big theft, and yet I can find no account of it apart from the trial for the ring.’
‘Perhaps Will can help,’ Harper said.
‘I’m sure he would have told Cesca about it if he knew.’
They were silent again, both gazing ahead at the bree
ze sweeping the fields beyond the car park.
‘We should go up there,’ Harper said into the gap. ‘When we close up we should go and see him – tell him our theories.’
‘They are only theories,’ Kristofer said doubtfully.
‘He might be able to fill in some of the blanks, though, bring us closer to the truth.’
Kristofer turned to look at her. Was it her imagination that she saw in his eyes, just for a second, her own longings reflected back at her? Was his pulse now just that little bit faster, as hers was?
‘It matters to you,’ he said.
‘Why wouldn’t it?’
‘Some people would be happy to know a reward is coming to them. They would sit quietly and wait. You need the money – Shay said so.’
‘Everyone could do with more money. Doesn’t mean we need it. People who live on the streets need it, people in war-torn countries need it – we could do stuff with it for sure, but it doesn’t make it right, taking what shouldn’t be ours. And it would be a shame to see Silver Hill House go to ruin when I could help save it. By saving it, ultimately, I’m helping the farm anyway by improving the tourist potential for the area. Everyone wins. And Will’s very nice, despite what people think. He even came down here after Shay had insulted him to bring me a vase as a gift. I’d say that’s a nice person, wouldn’t you?’ She was rambling, and she sounded ridiculous, but it was all she could do to stop herself from saying something that she shouldn’t.
But when she looked up again he was gazing at her like she was a puzzle he needed to solve, and in her mind she played a scene where he stepped forward and took her face in his hands and kissed her.
‘You are remarkable,’ he said with a faint smile, and for a moment, Harper thought it was going to happen.
‘Excuse me…’
They both turned at once, that feeling of being caught somewhere she shouldn’t be forcing Harper to colour as she tried to smile for the woman at the counter.
‘Sorry,’ the woman said, glancing from Harper to Kristofer and back again. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt but we’ve a spillage and the table is currently dripping with milkshake. I don’t suppose you have a cloth.’
‘I’ll take care of it,’ Kristofer said, bounding into the kitchen while Harper kept that smile stapled to her face for the customer.
‘He’s lovely,’ the woman said as she waited for him to come back.
‘He is,’ Harper said.
‘Very handsome – if you don’t mind me saying. Lovely accent. I suppose you get a lot of attention in that regard.’
Harper frowned slightly.
‘Have you been together long?’ the woman asked.
‘You mean…’ Harper felt the heat rise in waves from her toes to her crown. ‘Oh, no…’ she stammered, ‘we’re not… no, Kristofer just works here. I mean, he doesn’t exactly work here but he’s helping me—’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ the woman said. ‘I just thought…’
Kristofer appeared, an amiable smile on his face and a cloth in his hand. ‘Everything under control,’ he called cheerfully as he followed the woman to her table, and as Harper watched him, she wondered if what she thought she’d seen in his eyes had ever really been there at all.
* * *
‘Cesca…’
Cesca looked up from her screen to see Karen, one of the reception workers at the museum’s main entrance, peer around the office door. ‘Hey, Karen.’
‘There’s a man in the foyer,’ Karen said. ‘He says he wants to speak to you if he can. What do you want me to tell him?’
‘Who is he?’ Cesca asked. It wasn’t normal for them to see visitors without an appointment and she was slightly confused that Karen hadn’t told the visitor as much.
‘He says his name’s William Frampton. Says he knows you and if I came to get you you’d see him.’
Cesca shot up in her chair, glancing across at Duncan who was, by now, listening to the conversation too.
‘A visit from royalty,’ he said with a grin. He turned to Karen. ‘I hope you curtsied for Lord Frampton.’
Karen gave Cesca a confused frown.
‘Ignore Duncan,’ Cesca said, pulling a disapproving face at her colleague. ‘You know what he’s like. Tell Will I’ll be right out.’
Karen disappeared again and Cesca reached for her handbag. Duncan’s grin broadened as she spritzed herself with perfume.
‘I had onions on my sandwiches,’ she said in reply to his silent and irreverent question.
‘You felt the need to explain it to me,’ Duncan said.
‘Honestly, I don’t know where you get the idea that I have the hots for every male I come into contact with.’
‘I just want you to find your prince, that’s all.’
‘Well,’ Cesca said with a wry smile, ‘when a five-foot man comes in singing “Purple Rain”, I’ll let you know and you can throw a party.’
‘Say hello to Lord Frampton for me!’ he called as she let the office door shut behind her.
Shaking her head, she made her way down the maze of corridors that connected the back rooms and exhibitions of the museum and emerged from a side door into the main foyer. Will had his back to her, pacing in little circuits as he waited, Karen’s eyes flicking from her computer screen every now and again for a furtive look at him. Clearly, the news that he was a fully paid-up member of the aristocracy had made him something of an enigma. Cesca had to admit that his being there on a whim was something of a mystery to her too.
‘Will,’ she said, and he turned to face her. As was his way, he looked sombre, but he greeted her warmly.
‘It’s very rude of me to call unannounced,’ he said. ‘But I was close by attending to some business and… well, perhaps I can be excused for wanting to surprise you.’
‘You certainly did that,’ Cesca said with a bemused smile. ‘Is there something in particular you wanted?’
He glanced towards the main desk, where Karen quickly buried her head in a file full of receipts, clearly trying to look as if she wasn’t listening.
‘Well…’ he began in a low voice. ‘I wondered… will you be leaving work soon?’
‘I don’t know; I usually see what’s on my desk and then decide when five o’clock comes. Why do you ask; is there something you need to see me about?’
‘I thought…’ He scratched at the back of his neck, that strange show of nerves she’d seen before when he’d asked her to stay to lunch evident again. ‘Perhaps you might like to come and have a drink with me. I completely understand if it’s not convenient but I thought… well, I didn’t want to be this close to the museum and not ask. It seemed rather rude.’
‘Will, I—’
‘Apologies,’ he said. ‘Ill-mannered of me to arrive here with no warning and assume you could drop everything. I’ll go – please… excuse me…’
‘I was going to ask if you could wait for half an hour,’ Cesca said, unable to prevent a smile. ‘I need to talk to you anyway, so a drink would be perfect.’
‘That’s marvellous!’ He pointed to the door. ‘Should I…?’
‘Wait outside? It seems a bit mean. We are a museum after all – why don’t you take a look around while I finish up and I’ll phone you when I’m ready?’
‘Great idea,’ he said.
‘That way, if you want to start at the beginning.’ Cesca angled her head at a doorway marked PREHISTORIC. ‘And try not to get lost in the natural history forest!’ she called after him as he headed towards it.
He glanced back and gave her a little nod. ‘I’ll try not to,’ he said, and she had to laugh at how seriously he seemed to be taking her warning.
* * *
Half an hour later she found him pondering an Iron Age skeleton in a glass case.
‘I see you’ve made Fred’s acquaintance,’ Cesca said from behind him. Will spun round.
‘I didn’t hear you come in,’ he said.
‘I don’t know how you missed these big clumsy foots
teps,’ she replied.
He looked down at her shoes, as if giving them as much consideration as he had the skeleton a few moments earlier.
‘I don’t think they look too bad,’ he said.
‘Thank you – I think. Where were you thinking of going?’
‘Going?’
‘For that drink?’
‘Oh… well, I had thought perhaps you could recommend somewhere. As you know the city better than me.’
‘There are a few places we could go,’ she said. ‘It depends if you want loud music that you have to shout over, extortionate prices or someone trying to sell you hard drugs.’
He blinked at her and she laughed. ‘Or we could drive out to find a nice quiet pub in the country.’
‘Please don’t suggest the Rising Sun,’ he said with a grimace.
‘I won’t if the idea offends you that much,’ she replied as they began to walk to the exit. Lights were already going out as they passed them, the museum winding down for the day. ‘You don’t care much for the village of Cerne Hay as a whole, do you?’
‘I don’t think they especially care for me.’
‘Why not?’
‘There is a lot of history there.’
‘History is one thing I know about,’ Cesca smiled. ‘If you prefer not to talk about it then that’s fine, but I won’t judge if you do.’
‘I suppose it’s my brother’s fault really. My entire family was blamed for his wrongdoing and things got nasty. We tried to explain but people didn’t want to listen. Now it’s all too ghastly to try to put right, so I’ve learned to steer clear.’
‘This is the brother in prison – the one who’s disinherited?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you mind me asking what he did?’
‘Not at all. He embezzled some money from the bank he worked for. It’s not pretty, but there it is.’
‘I don’t see how that would get all the villagers in a sweat – banks are probably defrauded every day and nobody even notices.’
At the main doors he stepped forward to hold them open for her.
‘In this particular case,’ he said as they emerged into the balmy evening air, ‘it had a huge impact on one other member of staff at the bank. She’d been persuaded to help him, in return for a share of the money. Consequently, when they were found out, she killed herself rather than face jail and the shame of her family learning the truth.’
The Summer of Secrets Page 22