A Fatal Secret

by Faith Martin

  But it was the little girl sitting in one of the chairs facing them that Trudy and Clement had come to see.

  The chair was a little too large for her, and she was sat right back in it, allowing her legs to swing to and fro freely. This motion stopped instantly, the moment she became aware of the adult eyes that were suddenly upon her. She was a rather sombre-faced child, with dark hair and grey eyes. She looked a little like her father, but Clement suspected that, in a few years’ time, she’d probably surprise them all by turning into a great beauty.

  ‘Mr de Lacey,’ Clement said, coming forward and shaking the squire’s hand, and then turning to beam down at the girl. ‘And you must be Emily.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Emily said, watching him warily.

  She’d been up in the nursery when Mrs Roper had come to fetch her, telling her that important visitors were coming and that she was to be quiet, and speak only when spoken to.

  Now she looked at the coroner solemnly, but couldn’t help but keep sneaking peeks at the other visitor. She’d never seen a woman in a uniform before. She recognised them at once, of course, as the visitors she’d seen from the window of the nursery.

  ‘I’m Dr Ryder, and this is Woman Police Constable Trudy Loveday,’ Clement said, matching her solemn tone, but allowing a smile to tug at his lips.

  He wasn’t surprised that the child was on her best behaviour, but he needed to break down that restraint as quickly as possible. With that in mind, he turned and glanced at Mrs Roper, who was definitely hovering.

  Martin, catching the look, dismissed her with a slightly exasperated ‘Thank you, Mrs Roper, that will be all.’

  When the dragon had reluctantly departed, Clement noted the little girl relax slightly.

  ‘Please, sit down,’ Martin said, taking the chair beside his daughter, and regarding them closely. ‘Are you making any progress?’ he demanded.

  ‘Some, sir, but it’s early days yet,’ Trudy responded first, mostly because she knew he’d made the remark to the coroner, and she resented being treated as if she was invisible. Also, she was the one wearing the uniform and she was the one – well technically at least – who had the authority here.

  ‘I see,’ Martin said. It was impossible to tell whether he was disappointed or relieved by the news.

  ‘We hope you don’t mind if we just have a little chat with your daughter?’ Clement said. He’d selected another armchair, this one more or less facing the little girl, and as he spoke, he glanced around. ‘There are a lot of books here. I’ve bet you’ve read all of them, haven’t you, Emily?’

  Emily gave a little snort of laughter. ‘Not all of them,’ she had to admit honestly. ‘There are thousands and thousands!’

  ‘Ah, that’s true. But I’ve bet you’ve read the best of them,’ Clement said. ‘Lorna Doone?’

  ‘Oh yes. And Black Beauty. And Swallows and Amazons.’

  ‘Ah. Do you have a boat for the lake here? I bet you do,’ Clement said. ‘I wish I had a lake in my back garden. I’d probably play at Swallows and Amazons all day long.’

  At the thought of this white-haired man playing a game, Emily gave a little giggle. ‘Yes, we have a rowboat, but I’m not allowed in it alone,’ she said promptly, very conscious of her father’s silent presence beside her. ‘One of the gardeners always has to go with us. Usually Lallie – he likes rowing. And he knows where all the moorhen nests are, and sometimes he’ll find us some duck eggs to take back to Cook. She likes to mix them in her cakes.’

  Clement’s eyes twinkled. ‘Sounds scrumptious to me. Did Eddie like being in the boat?’

  At the mention of her friend, all the joie de vivre abruptly left the little girl, and she bit her lip, looking down into her lap. ‘He quite liked it,’ she said at last.

  ‘Could he swim?’ Clement asked gently.

  ‘Oh yes. So could I. But he didn’t like swimming much. We preferred to play in the woods and stuff.’ They had made a secret den there, but Emily wasn’t about to mention that. It wasn’t the sort of thing you told grown-ups.

  ‘Ah, I bet you played Robin Hood in there.’

  ‘Yes, I was Maid Marion,’ Emily admitted proudly. ‘We made some bows from some willows, ’cause they’re nice and bendy. And Eddie whittled some arrows with his penknife. We borrowed an old water bucket and painted a target on it, but we weren’t very good at hitting it. It’s jolly hard to get an arrow to fly right,’ she said, sounding aggrieved.

  Clement nodded wisely. ‘It takes lots of practice,’ he agreed. ‘What else did you like to do?’

  ‘Oh, all sorts,’ Emily said, shrugging one shoulder. But she was too wise to be caught out that way, and let her eyes drift to the window in silence.

  ‘Emily, do you know why Eddie went into the orchard that day when you were looking for Easter eggs?’ Clement asked gently.

  But Emily shook her head, looking genuinely baffled. ‘No. They told us the eggs were only hidden in the kitchen gardens.’

  ‘Did you know about the well?’

  Emily shrugged. ‘Oh yes. I do live here, you know,’ she added, a shade scornfully.

  ‘Emily!’ her father reprimanded, and again she bit her lip and stared down at her lap.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered.

  ‘That’s all right, it was my fault.’ Clement smiled. ‘It was a bit of a silly question wasn’t it? So had you ever explored it yourself?’

  ‘Not really. It was a bit boring, you know – just a round wall with a wooden lid on top of it. We played “King of the Castle” on it when we were really little, but we’re too old for all that kind of stuff now,’ she added matter-of-factly.

  Clement nodded solemnly. ‘Oh yes, I can see you’re far too old for that,’ he agreed. ‘Did anybody ever ask you to go into the orchard with them?’

  He noticed her father stiffen a little at that, but the little girl only looked puzzled again. ‘No. What do you mean? Who’d do that?’ she demanded.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Anyone. A stranger, or somebody from the village? One of the gardeners here, or maybe the mummy or daddy of one of your friends from school?’ Clement kept his voice level and off-hand.

  ‘No,’ Emily said, firmly. ‘Why would they do that?’ she repeated.

  Clement shrugged. ‘We’re just trying to think why Eddie went to the well that day that’s all,’ he said simply. ‘Did he say anything to you about it that morning, when you began searching for the eggs?’

  ‘No,’ Emily said firmly. Which was true, she thought mutinously. He hadn’t.

  ‘All right,’ Clement said, sensing she was beginning to get restive. ‘Had Eddie ever said anything to you about meeting a stranger in the area recently?’

  ‘No, nobody ever comes here,’ Emily said as casually as she could. It was jolly hard lying and not sounding sort of funny. She shot him a quick look out of the corner of her eye to see if she’d got away with it, and thought that maybe she had.

  ‘Emily, you’re obviously a very clever girl,’ Clement said with a smile, ‘and I dare say you’ve been thinking about what happened a lot. Do you know how Eddie came to fall down the well?’ he finally asked outright.

  He shot Martin de Lacey a quick look as he stirred in his chair. Clearly he was not sure whether he liked such a direct question being asked of his daughter, but before he could object, Emily was already answering.

  ‘No, but you’re right, I have thought and thought about it,’ Emily said fiercely, her brow puckering and her tone conveying genuine frustration. ‘But I just don’t know what he was doing there.’ It wasn’t even one of their ‘secret message spots’ where they sometimes left messages for one another to find, like real spies did.

  ‘And did you always tell each other everything?’ Clement asked curiously. ‘Or did you keep secrets from one another?’

  Emily scowled. She knew Eddie liked to play tricks on her sometimes. And if he’d discovered a really juicy secret, she knew he’d keep it to himself for a while before he could spring it on
her. It always made him buzz with excitement when he knew something that she didn’t. Not that such a thing happened often. No matter what Eddie thought, she nearly always knew about stuff that he was keeping from her, and just pretended that she didn’t.

  She shrugged graphically, realising that her adult audience was awaiting her answer. ‘I dunno,’ she eventually muttered truculently. She wished they’d go away. She was beginning to feel frightened again.

  ‘I think that’s really enough now,’ Martin de Lacey said, sensing that his daughter was beginning to feel uncomfortable, and not wanting her to become stubborn. ‘I think it’s clear that she knows nothing about all this.’ His tone of voice and the look he shot them made it clear that he was putting his foot down.

  And Clement knew when to back off. ‘Yes. Well, thank you, Emily, you’ve been very helpful. And we’re really sorry about your friend,’ he said gently.

  ‘Yes, we’re really sorry. You must miss him,’ Emily heard the pretty police lady agree.

  Emily blinked ferociously at this, but she wouldn’t permit herself to cry in front of strangers.

  But she was glad when they got up and left.

  Only then, when her father came back in the room and stood in front of her chair with that look on his face, she suddenly wished they hadn’t gone at all.

  Nervously, she raised her face to look at him.

  ‘Now then, my girl,’ Martin de Lacey said quietly. ‘I want to know just what it is that you’re holding back. You might fool them, but you don’t fool me. And don’t’ – he held up a hand warningly – ‘give me any of your nonsense. I know you and that Proctor boy had your curious little noses poked in everywhere. I’ve seen you, playing spies and writing things down in that notebook of yours. Now you’re going to sit there and tell me everything you’ve been up to.’

  Emily gulped. ‘Yes, Papa,’ she lied.

  Chapter 19

  Master George de Lacey lurked behind one of his favourite columns on the front porch and tried not to fidget. He liked lying in wait there, hoping to make people jump by leaping out at them, roaring like a lion, or doing a Tarzan yodel.

  Mind you, he’d had to give Nanny the slip first. But when he’d heard strange voices coming from the library he’d managed to accomplish that deed, and now he watched with glee as an old man with white hair and a woman in funny clothes stepped out of the porch, and Mrs Roper shut the door smartly behind them.

  He carefully waited for his moment, hoping it would be the lady who passed by closest to him, since they were the ones who screamed in fright the best. He was in luck, and just before the strangers drew level with him, he leaped out, giving his most ferocious Tarzan wail. (Billy the boot boy had demonstrated this to him some time ago, as he himself had heard it being performed at the local cinema.)

  Trudy didn’t need to feign her jump of surprise, but let out little more than a squawk as she instinctively leaped back. Then she laughed as the little boy stood in front of them, arms akimbo, a ferocious scowl on his face.

  ‘I’m Tarzan, and you no cross my jungle unless you cross my palms with silver,’ George said, somewhat confusingly. It had again been the boot boy (who’d not long since visited the local village fete) who’d told him all about the mysterious women who gazed into big glass balls and demanded silver in order to tell you your fortune.

  ‘I’m not sure Tarzan would have any use for silver, m’boy.’ It was Clement who spoke, reaching into his trouser pocket and producing a sixpence. ‘But I’m sure this will come in handy for Master George de Lacey.’

  George (not a member of the aristocracy for nothing) very quickly snaffled the bribe and shoved it deep down inside his shoe. Trudy watched, grinning openly. The lad was dressed in impeccably unsullied navy-blue shorts and a short-sleeved white shirt, but she doubted he’d remain clean for long, now that he was outside.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ George said, mindful of his manners.

  ‘Well, now I’ve crossed your palm with silver,’ Clement said, looking at him with a sombre gaze. ‘It’s time you told my fortune.’

  ‘Ah,’ George said, slightly stumped at this. At 7 years old, he wasn’t quite sure what a fortune was. The only fortune he knew about was the fortune that meant money – or treasure. But it didn’t seem to make sense that you asked for money, in order to give money back.

  ‘So,’ Clement said, seeing his difficulty. ‘Since you are now obliged to tell me my future’ – here Master George’s eyes opened fearfully – ‘let’s begin.’

  ‘Er… I’m still learning how to use the glass ball, sir,’ George said, then had a bit of a brainwave. ‘In fact, it’s in the wash,’ he said quickly.

  Trudy silently began to laugh, but was careful to keep her hand over her mouth so that the lad wouldn’t see.

  ‘Oh. In the wash, is it?’ Clement mused. ‘That’s a bit of bad luck, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It gets frightfully dirty you know. And then you can’t find the fortunes, see?’ he tacked on, suddenly realising that his inspired fib actually made sense, when you took time to think about it.

  ‘I can imagine. Oh well, never mind. We’ll use my hand instead,’ Clement said, in one stroke pleasing him inordinately, whilst at the same time, dismaying him utterly.

  ‘Hand?’ George said uncertainly, as the man with white hair leaned forward and held out his hand.

  George promptly shook it, although it was rather hard, since he’d held his hand flat out, and facing upwards. Which was a funny sort of way to shake a chap’s hand in George’s opinion.

  Clement thanked him gravely, but then held out his hand again, and tapped the bottom of his hand. ‘That’s my palm,’ he explained helpfully. ‘You’re supposed to look at it and tell me my fortune.’

  ‘Ah,’ George said glumly. And how was he supposed to get out of this one? He could hardly suggest it was dirty. Mrs Roper and Nanny would both have his guts for garters if he were to be rude to a guest.

  He sighed. There was no hope for it. He was going to have to give the sixpence back…

  ‘But not to worry, I don’t want to know anything really difficult,’ the old man said next, and at this, George’s heart lifted.

  ‘You don’t?’ he asked hopefully, looking up at him winsomely with big grey eyes.

  ‘No. Let’s see,’ the white-haired man considered for a moment, and then snapped his fingers. ‘If I were to ask you who your sister’s best friend is, what would you say?’

  ‘Oh, that’s easy,’ George said with a proud grin. ‘Eddie Proctor.’ Then his smile faltered. ‘But Eddie’s with God now, so she won’t be able to play with him anymore.’

  ‘That’s sad,’ Clement agreed gravely. ‘Did you play with him much?’

  ‘Nah,’ George said, dragging his toes across the path in front of him and watching his foot’s progress. ‘They said I was too young.’

  ‘You’ll grow up,’ Clement assured him briskly. ‘Did you like Eddie?’

  ‘Oh, well, he was all right I suppose. He played Tarzan with me sometimes. Not often. He was always playing with Emily.’

  ‘I’ve heard about that,’ Clement said. ‘Playing spies, and stuff. Do you know who they were following about and spying on lately?’

  ‘Oh, probably Uncle Oliver. But they were playing at something different now, I think.’

  ‘Oh, why do you say that,’ Clement said casually.

  ‘I think they found hidden treasure!’ George shot out, chest bursting with pride. Then he looked around nervously. ‘But I’m not supposed to know about it. Do you suppose it was pirate treasure they found?’

  ‘I don’t think that’s likely. We’re rather a long way from the sea aren’t we?’ Clement pointed out logically. George heaved a massive sigh. ‘But it might have been monks’ buried treasure. Or an Anglo-Saxon gold hoard.’

  George’s eyes opened wide again. ‘Really? Nanny told me about some old kings who buried their crowns and stuff. Do you suppose a king stayed at Briar’s Hall in the
olden days and buried his crown in the orchard?’

  ‘He might. But why do you think he buried it in the orchard?’ Clement asked, trying to keep the sharpness and the urgency out of his voice.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps the treasure was in the well, and that’s why Eddie fell in, looking for it?’

  ‘Did Eddie say there was treasure hidden in the well?’ Clement asked casually.

  ‘Oh no. I just thought… They must have found the treasure somewhere, so why not there?’ George asked sensibly. It sounded right to him.

  ‘What makes you think they found treasure? Did they tell you?’ Clement asked next.

  ‘No,’ the boy said scornfully. ‘They don’t tell me things. They keep all their secrets between themselves.’

  ‘That must have been annoying,’ Clement commiserated. ‘So how exactly do you know that they found treasure? Did you see them? Were you playing a game of spies of your own?’

  ‘Nah,’ George admitted, again dragging his toe across the path and watching it thoughtfully. ‘I wasn’t very good at it. They always caught me and told me to go home. But I did hear them talking once,’ he said, his head shooting up and his face beaming again.

  ‘What did they say?’ Clement asked, as Trudy held her breath.

  ‘They said they could buy a bicycle for Eddie. And Emily could buy a pair of roller skates for herself. Nanny wouldn’t let her have any; she said they were too dangerous for a lady. But Eddie said, now they wouldn’t have to rely on their daddies for things, or Lallie helping them build stuff like trolleys and swings and things. They could just get whatever they wanted from the shops themselves. So they must have found treasure, mustn’t they?’ George finished triumphantly.

  ‘Did they say where they found this treasure?’ Clement asked, not quite sure what to make of this tale.

  ‘Nah. They were just laughing and naming all the things they could buy for themselves if they wanted to. But…’ George frowned. ‘I don’t think Emily really meant it, cause I heard her say that they couldn’t really, because the money wasn’t theirs. So that would be stealing, wouldn’t it?’ he asked earnestly.