However, on closer inspection it turned out to be surprisingly unfamiliar. Lowe did make rather a meal of turning the car in the lane. If he’d waited for a wider spot instead of following his sergeant’s barked order, the headlight would have fared better.
‘We’ll talk about that back at the station, Lowe,’ grunted Wilby.
‘Sorry, Sarge.’ Lowe got back into the car and placed the dented rim case on the floor of the vehicle.
‘Lady Swift, if you will.’ Wilby was tiring of the whole escapade and rude enough to show it.
‘Ah, there!’ she said.
The head of the track that led down to the gravelled turning circle finally surrendered its game of hide-and-seek.
Wilby’s face reddened. ‘You do realise, Lady Swift, that what we have done is driven in this here motorcar for near on twenty minutes to end up where we started! That,’ he pointed over her shoulder, ‘is the boundary wall of Henley Hall’s grounds!’
Eleanor blinked. How could it be? Then comprehension dawned…
‘Well, of course, Sergeant, what do you expect? It was pitch dark, there was a violent storm raging and… and I haven’t walked these roads for years. Understandably, I may have become a little disorientated and er… walked in a circle.’ She cut off his reply with a raised hand. ‘Now, Sergeant, shall we avoid wasting any more time and proceed?’
For a moment she was sure Wilby was going to tell Constable Lowe to turn around, but he wilted before her challenging stare and sank back into his seat, merely muttering, ‘Proceed, Lowe, and watch the tyres.’
As they bumped in and out of the numerous potholes Eleanor said to the sergeant, ‘I was lucky not to turn an ankle last night on this rough path.’
Wilby looked as if he wouldn’t have been too bothered if Eleanor had turned both her ankles.
She ignored his look and cast around for any familiar landmarks. Finding none, she shook her head. She’d navigated herself across deserts and mountain ranges and yet hadn’t realised that the quarry backed onto her uncle’s estate! At the thought, a chill went through her. Before she’d seen the murder as a distant affair, but now she realised the man had been murdered no more than a stone’s throw from Henley Hall itself.
Four
At the end of the track, Lowe stopped the car, and both men turned to face her.
‘Now we walk,’ she said.
‘So help me…’
Ignoring the sergeant’s outburst, she sprung from the car and spearheaded the way to the fence where she’d first tied Gladstone and tried to climb over. ‘There! If you look through the fence to the right you can see a small hut. That’s where I saw the man shot.’
Wilby peered through the fence at the drop on the other side. ‘That there must be thirty foot!’
‘I thought more like forty. That’s why I carried on to the gates.’
‘The gates?’
Lowe had obviously seen that purple hue to the sergeant’s face before. ‘If I may, Sarge, I do believe this track along the fence eventually leads to the quarry gates in Old Gateshead Lane. But if we go back and take the road and then Jefferson’s tractor cutting, we’d be at them gates in a jiffy. And without messing up your uniform, or the lady’s dress, on all this hawthorn.’
‘Those gates, Lowe,’ said Wilby. ‘Honestly, how are you going to file a proper report with faulty grammar?’
‘Sorry, sir, those gates, that’s where they’re to.’ He turned to Eleanor. ‘I know the way on account of a missing milk delivery I investigated this way last month. Kids was stealing old Jefferson’s milk and hiding the empties along the track here.’
They returned to the road and the car. Lowe’s shortcut turned out to be just that and they were soon pulling up at the same gates Eleanor had walked through the night before.
‘Top work, Constable Lowe.’ Eleanor applauded from the back seat.
‘Thank you, m’lady, but those gates look mighty locked. We could ask Mr Cartwright down at Pike’s Farm.’ He turned to Eleanor. ‘He’s the farmer what owns the land that your uncle’s estate backs onto. He might have a key.’
Momentarily, she wondered if she was back in South Africa as an angry trumpeting, reminiscent of an elephant, erupted from the passenger seat.
Chickens scattered in all directions as the car swung into the farmyard. A gaggle of hissing geese surrounded them.
‘Morning, gentlemen. Miss.’ A stocky man dressed in farmer’s overalls stood in the yard. He raised a dusty cap.
Eleanor automatically took charge. ‘Mr Cartwright, I presume?’
‘That’s right,’ he said.
‘Forgive us conducting the interview from the confines of this fine police vehicle, but unless you can call your geese off, I fear we must peer out at you.’
‘Interview?’ Cartwright frowned. ‘Why am I being interviewed?’
‘Relax, Mr Cartwright,’ Wilby soothed, doing a poor job of hiding his scowl. ‘This is Lady Swift. She has inherited Lord Henley’s estate.’ Cartwright shot her a look that made her glad there were others present. ‘She is helping us in our enquiries. Perhaps you can be of assistance in a potential police matter?’
Eleanor rolled her eyes but bit her tongue – potential!
‘If needs be,’ Cartwright said, ‘but I don’t see as I’ll know much, if anything.’
‘It’s not what you know, Mr Cartwright,’ Wilby said, ‘it’s what you possess. A key, Mr Cartwright. We are searching for a key to the gates at the entrance to the quarry.’
Cartwright’s brows formed a solid hedge across his face. ‘Them gates is always locked.’
‘Those gates,’ mumbled Lowe.
Eleanor was on the verge of laughter, but tried to keep her face straight to ask, ‘That’s as may be Mr Cartwright, but do you have a key or not?’
Cartwright scratched his head. ‘I got a key somewhere on account of it being my land but I leased that whole patch to the quarry company, though they’ve not worked it for some time. Not sure they’d be too pleased at folk poking around.’ He looked pointedly at Eleanor.
‘No doubt, Mr Cartwright,’ Eleanor agreed, ‘but if they knew there had been a murder—’
‘Reported murder,’ Wilby corrected.
Oh dear, this uniformed buffoon was getting extremely tiresome. She smiled at the farmer. ‘Mr Cartwright, we would be most appreciative of the use of your key.’
‘Best I meet you up there in a moment then.’ Cartwright strode off towards the farmhouse.
Finally, it seemed things were going the way of an actual police investigation: a witness, two policemen, a murder scene, and even the means of accessing it.
After Cartwright unlocked the gates, Lowe drove through and pulled up facing the workman’s hut. Wilby climbed out of the vehicle.
‘Lady Swift, please just show us what you think you witnessed and where you think you witnessed it.’
‘For your official police record, Sergeant Wilby, I don’t think I witnessed anything. I know I did.’
Cartwright followed them across the yard to the entrance of the hut.
‘Was there a light inside this here hut?’ Wilby asked.
‘Yes, through the window I saw a man with his arms up in front of him. Then,’ she hastened on, ‘I was about to try to gain his attention when—’
‘Could you identify the man in a line-up?’
‘I could not be certain of that, regrettably, but there was something about him. I’m fairly sure I’d seen him before.’
Wilby seemed unconvinced. ‘And where would you have seen this here gentleman before?’
Eleanor thought hard. ‘I-I really can’t say.’ She shrugged.
Wilby’s face registered disbelief.
She glared at him. ‘First, I forgot to say, I heard shouting… well, raised voices.’
Wilby leaned forward. ‘Did you hear what they were saying, I wonder?’
‘The wind… I… no, I didn’t.’
‘Lowe!’ Wilby turned on his heels and m
ade to climb back into the car.
‘Halt!’ Eleanor was a long way past the end of her very limited patience. ‘Sergeant Wilby, I have not, as you are acutely aware, finished telling you the full set of events. Am I to have to go to your superiors and report that you left a murder scene,’ she emphasised, ‘without gathering at least half the facts?’
‘Lady Swift.’ Wilby twitched his moustache as if it were trying to stifle a sneeze. ‘We of His Majesty’s Constabulary are most busy and would appreciate you telling us the facts a sight faster.’
Eleanor bit back a caustic reply and continued with her account. ‘First came a shot and the man fell backwards.’
‘What time was this?’
Eleanor thought for a moment. ‘I left the Hall about nine thirty and checked my watch just before I saw the light in the hut. It was ten ten, but it was about another five minutes before I saw the man shot, so roughly ten fifteen.’
‘A question. Was there any more lightning when this “shot” was fired?’
‘No.’
‘And what did you do then?’
‘I took evasive action and grabbed Gladstone as I did so.’
‘Gladstone?’
‘My uncle’s… my bulldog.’
‘So you grabbed this dog and when you stood up again?’
‘I went back to the road and nearly got hit by a car in the dark.’
‘Dark.’ Wilby pulled a small notebook from his top pocket and wrote what appeared to be three short lines. ‘Then you thought you would be a good Samaritan and see if the poor fellow who you thought was dead needed any help?’
‘I wasn’t a hundred per cent certain he was dead. Because I wasn’t standing next to him when he died… I mean, when he was shot. And yes, I thought I would do the decent thing and double check. But when I got there, it must have taken me at least a quarter of an hour, there was no body.’
‘You mean nobody?’
‘No. You know perfectly well I mean that the body was missing. And there was nobody there either. I looked in the hut too.’
Lowe gave a quiet whistle.
Wilby shuffled over to the hut and gave the inside a perfunctory glance. ‘Did you see anything else that might clarify the events of your story?’
Eleanor’s eyes narrowed as she called back. ‘I saw a patch on the ground. Gladstone thought the patch to be most interesting and I struggled to pull him away from it. I am sure it was blood.’
Wilby glanced around the dirt floor of the hut. ‘Am I missing this patch of yours, perhaps? The ground appears to be clear of any perceptive stain.’
‘Perceptible, you mean. Perceptive is what the police are supposed to be.’
Wilby flipped his notebook shut and climbed into the car. ‘Thank you for your time, Lady Swift. We have recorded your report and will be in touch if any actual evidence turns up.’
Eleanor turned to Lowe. ‘Thank you for the lift. I shall, however, walk myself home as…’
She was about to say ‘as it’s not far’ but felt there was no need to point out that small detail again.
‘As I fear any more minutes spent in the company of your sergeant might lead to a second murder occurring. And this time there will be quite a sizeable body! Good day.’
Five
That afternoon, while she was taking Gladstone for a walk around the garden, Eleanor realised something odd: she was cross and disappointed at the same time. ‘Clifford knows perfectly well why I had the police round, as I told him the full story this morning, but he hasn’t said a single word about it. You know, Gladstone, I simply can’t fathom that man out.’
Gladstone’s look suggested he’d rather be chasing a ball, if it was all the same to her.
‘Fair enough, boy, go find a ball and we’ll see if we can run a little of the fat off you.’ At the ‘b’ word, the bulldog’s ears picked up, and he loped off into the undergrowth.
She sat on one of the stone benches and gazed out over the grounds. The gardens had been designed by a friend of her uncle’s, who had a taste for exotic plants. Peppered with bergamot and ornamental grasses, the striped lawn at the back of the house ran down from an imposing balustrade that encircled the entire back of the house. Beyond this, less formal greenways sloped away, intermingling with beech, sweet gums and pin oaks.
Dotted around the lawns were marble statues, her favourite being the girl in the pinafore. During her rare childhood visits, she’d often sat cross-legged on the grass and confided her troubles to her silent marble companion.
The music of the trickling water that cascaded from the central stone fountain pulled her back to the present. It felt odd to own it all now that her uncle had passed away. She’d known he had no other relatives once his sister, her mother, had… disappeared. The Swifts had been one of the few aristocratic families to ensure that their estate and title passed equally to male and female heirs, so she was already Lady Swift. The Henleys had made the same provisions, so she supposed she could theoretically call herself Lady Henley, but she would always be Lady Swift, in memory of her parents.
She’d never expected to find herself being the last surviving member of her family.
Even odder than owning all these grounds she surveyed was to think that a man had died just beyond them. She slapped her forehead, realising what Clifford had been trying to warn her about as she ran out of the door last night! If the estate was surrounded by quarry diggings, it would indeed be a dangerous place for the unwary, especially in the dark.
She shivered. And dangerous for other reasons too. Because out there, just beyond the safety of the estate, a killer had been lurking.
A cough made her start. She glanced up. How does he do that? He just appears from nowhere.
‘Good afternoon, Clifford.’
‘Good afternoon, my lady. Perhaps you are sufficiently rested to formally meet the rest of the staff?’
Eleanor inwardly groaned; she hated formal but more she didn’t want to be a disappointment to staff who had presumably dearly loved her uncle. ‘Let’s say an informal meeting in fifteen minutes?’
‘Very good, my lady.’ He left with his customary half-bow.
The whole meeting-the-staff episode was less painful than Eleanor had feared. As she entered the sunlit morning room, they shuffled into an untidy line along the walnut display cases. Clifford indicated for the first person to step forward. ‘Mrs Butters, the housekeeper.’
Mrs Butters’ diminutive height, cuddly figure and soft, round face gave her the air of everyone’s favourite aunt. She beamed a motherly smile at Eleanor.
‘Yes, of course, Mrs Butters, we have met. You were most kind last night,’ said Eleanor, smiling back.
Mrs Butters giggled. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady. We were all so excited at your coming to stay… to live at the Hall.’
‘Thank you.’
Clifford swished her back into line with a deft waft of his hand. ‘Mrs Trotman, the cook.’ Clifford’s head barely moved as he indicated for her to step up.
A pristinely aproned woman, the shape of the perfect English pear, met Lady Eleanor’s gaze with a quiet smile. ‘Welcome, my lady. It is a joy to meet you. We all hope you will be very happy here at Henley Hall.’
‘Why, thank you, Mrs Trotman, I do too,’ said Eleanor. ‘And I must congratulate you on your paprika relish, it dressed the sausages perfectly at breakfast.’
The cook blushed and with a muttered, ‘Most kind, my lady,’ she stepped back into line.
‘Polly, the maid.’ Clifford gestured to a gangly streak of a girl, barely fifteen, Eleanor guessed. The young girl jiggled nervously on her willowy legs and curtseyed awkwardly. ‘Welcome, your ladyship. ’Tis an honour to meet you.’
‘Thank you, Polly. It is a delight to meet you too.’
The man with a weather-sculpted face and rough hands didn’t wait for Clifford’s cue to step forward. ‘Joseph Wendon, my lady. It’s been my passion to care for the gardens for nigh on twenty year for his lords
hip, your late uncle, God rest his soul.’
‘Thank you, Joseph. I’ve already enjoyed them a great deal.’ Looking along the line of welcoming faces, she continued. ‘My late uncle was most fortunate to have the blessing of such dedicated and skilled staff. I hope we will continue where he so unfortunately had to leave off.’ She was nowhere near deciding whether to stay or dash back to the safety of her old, chaotic but familiar life, but it seemed better not to reveal that.
Clifford broke the silence. ‘There is one more member of the staff, my lady, regrettably he is not with us today.’
‘Oh, yes, and who is that?’
‘Silas, my lady. The gamekeeper.’
Joseph’s smile widened. Polly blushed. Eleanor simply nodded, having seen no sign of game or a gamekeeper since her arrival.
Clifford coughed and stood a little straighter, if that was possible. ‘On behalf of all the staff, may I offer you our sincere condolences at the passing of your uncle.’
All eyes looked expectantly at her. She wasn’t prepared for this.
‘Thank you for your kindness. I would have loved to have made the funeral but I didn’t receive the details of Lord H—, of my uncle’s death… and funeral arrangements… until it was too late. I was out in the Veldt, the bush, exploring new routes for safaris…’ She shrugged. ‘It can be difficult to be found out there. Communication is sometimes a little hit and miss.’
Clifford inclined his head. ‘We quite understand, my lady. Your uncle and I spent some time in South Africa.’ At Clifford’s flick of one finger, the staff filed out.
Out of nowhere Eleanor found herself asking, ‘What did you call my uncle, Clifford?’
‘Lord Henley, my lady.’
‘I mean when it was just the two of you?’ she pressed.
Clifford hesitated. ‘Tex.’
‘Tex?’
‘Your uncle spent some time in the United States. He was a great fan of the silent movies, particularly of westerns.’
‘My uncle really was quite the English eccentric, wasn’t he, Clifford?’
A Very English Murder Page 3