THE COUNTRY INN MYSTERY an absolutely gripping whodunit full of twists

by Faith Martin

  ‘Sure she was friendly, right, honey? All the am-dram people were. Like Sir Hugh over there,’ Silas said evenly, nodding and then smiling over at Vince, who, suddenly finding himself the focus of all eyes, looked a bit like a rabbit caught in car headlights. ‘And that young fellah that played Reginald Truby. All the actors were good sports and talked to us.’

  Franklyn’s lips twitched. Clearly here he had a worthy opponent, who wasn’t going to be tripped up easily. Nevertheless he persevered gamely.

  ‘I understand Miss Norman was a rather attractive young lady?’ he tried next.

  ‘Indeed she was,’ Silas said. Too canny to deny it, and too smart not to see where this was heading, he made no move to try and demur, but neatly took the bull by the horns. ‘From what I could tell, she and that fellah playing Reginald Truby had been an item at one time. And I think that Welsh fellah found her very attractive too. And why not? She was a glamorous actress. She was bound to turn heads — only natural, if you ask me.’

  Franklyn acknowledged the neatness of this with a curt nod.

  ‘So she definitely was flirtatious, would you say?’

  Silas gave a man-of-the-world shrug and another broad smile. ‘And why not? Nothing wrong with an attractive gal flirting is there, Inspector?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Franklyn said just as heartily. Two, after all, could play at this game! ‘So long as men don’t get the wrong idea. Take yourself for instance. A man of a certain age, shall we say? Did she flirt with you too?’

  But Silas wasn’t about to be put on the back foot so easily. ‘Hell yes, son, of course she did. And I’d have felt insulted if she hadn’t! We, along with everyone else staying here, paid good money for this Regency Extravaganza thing, and everyone was making sure we had a good time. Our landlord and landlady have been great, the food’s been purely wonderful, and the amateur dramatics were a real treat. No doubt Rachel and all the others made it part of their job to be pleasant to us paying guests.’

  Jenny bit back a grin and couldn’t help but admire his stand. (Also, his comment about the food being purely wonderful hadn’t gone unnoticed or unappreciated.) If Inspector Franklyn was intent on making something of Rachel’s play for him, Silas was just as determined to play it all down.

  ‘Min and me were saying only last night how much we were enjoying it all. Weren’t we, honey?’

  ‘Yes,’ Min mumbled.

  And, clearly sensing an easier target, Franklyn promptly turned his attention her way.

  ‘But didn’t you mind, Mrs Buckey?’ he asked silkily. ‘This attractive young actress flirting with your husband?’

  But if he hoped that the American woman would break down, or make some kind of damning statement, he was doomed to disappointment. Like her husband, Min was made of sterner stuff.

  ‘Oh no, Inspector, that would have been silly,’ Min said, her chin coming up slightly. ‘She was only doing her job, after all. And Silas wasn’t the only man she flirted with. We all took it in good part. A bit of fun never hurt anyone.’

  Franklyn, clearly frustrated by this reasonable rejoinder, nodded briskly. ‘So it was all a harmless bit of fun was it?’ he grated. ‘You didn’t feel at all threatened by it?’

  ‘Goodness, Inspector, why would I? We’re only here for the weekend, remember?’ Min said innocently. ‘Tomorrow Si and me are off to learn all about your William Shakespeare, up in Stratford-upon-Avon. And we wouldn’t have seen Rachel, or any of these other good folks again,’ Min pointed out with devastating logic, as she waved a hand around the room.

  And Jenny had to acknowledge the truth of that with a small nod of her own.

  For even if Rachel had been making a serious play for Silas Buckey, she’d only had a few hours in which to do so. And given that the Buckeys’ marriage was clearly a happy one, and had been for the last twenty-five years, she could hardly have had time to present much of a threat.

  Certainly not to the extent that Min would feel the need to kill her.

  Besides, it was clear to everyone that she couldn’t have done it. She simply hadn’t had the opportunity. Nor had Silas, either, for at the time when Rachel Norman had been breathing her last, they’d had between twenty and thirty people looking right at them!

  And as an alibi, that had to take some beating.

  But then, Jenny had the feeling that the inspector wasn’t thinking of them as being in the frame for the actual killing of the actress. But it was clear that Min’s screaming fit had come at such an auspicious time. Whether intentional or not, the Buckeys had clearly provided a major distraction, just when it must have been most needed.

  Which, Jenny thought grimly, begged an obvious question.

  If Min, and maybe her husband, had deliberately created a diversion, who had they created it for? Who, in other words, was their accomplice?

  And here, Jenny found herself stumped. For, as Min herself had just stated, the American couple didn’t know anyone here! They had arrived in the village barely forty-eight hours previously.

  But, just supposing for argument’s sake that either Min or Silas together had decided that they needed to kill Rachel for some reason as yet totally unclear. Surely they couldn’t have just stumbled upon someone else at the inn who also wanted her dead? The odds against that had to be astronomical. And although Jenny knew that sometimes in life really bizarre coincidences could happen, she just couldn’t swallow it.

  What’s more, even if they had somehow discovered another enemy of Rachel’s at the Regency Extravaganza, the Buckeys surely wouldn’t have had enough time to convince this mythical other someone to join forces with them, thus risking life in prison, in a conspiracy to kill her. Why would the accomplice trust them?

  Unless, of course, they’d met before.

  Even given all these problems, Jenny nevertheless began a mental run-through of the list of candidates.

  Ion Dryfuss. When would Min and Silas have had a chance to meet him? Their tour of Europe had definitely not included Wales yet — this much she knew from the Buckeys themselves, who were rather voluble about their travels, and themselves. (Which is how Jenny knew they’d not long celebrated their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary!)

  Dr Rory Gilchrist? Well, Oxford wasn’t that far away. And it was conceivable that they might have run into him in London perhaps. But what did a distinguished academic and a wealthy American couple have in common?

  The same went for Vince, or Matthew or anyone else in the am-dram society.

  Unless, of course, chance had played no part in this at all? Jenny suddenly stiffened in her seat.

  What if it had all been planned out well in advance? For all Jenny knew, Min and Silas and their as yet unknown conspirator might have been planning this for some time. Everyone here at the inn had given the impression that they didn’t know one another before — but who could say whether that was true or not?

  Jenny sighed in frustration. No doubt the inspector would have someone checking out the Buckeys’ European itinerary thoroughly, as well as their backgrounds. And if some link could be found between the Buckeys and someone else here, then an arrest might well take place soon.

  So why did Jenny think that was highly unlikely to happen?

  * * *

  Franklyn, after another ten frustrating minutes questioning the Buckeys and getting no further forward, finally drew the interview to a close and glanced around the room for further victims.

  There was a concerted bobbing movement as virtually everyone in the room tucked their heads down and became very interested in their drinks.

  Consulting his notebook, Franklyn whispered something to his sergeant, who glanced around, and then nodded over at Jenny.

  Or rather, at the two men seated behind her.

  ‘Oh hell, looks like we’re next, Vince,’ she heard Dr Rory Gilchrist drawl dryly. ‘Feeling up for the third degree?’

  The country solicitor snorted. ‘There’ll be nothing of the kind — at least not as far as I’m concerned,�
�� Vince Braine said, his voice sounding grim and not a little huffy. ‘And I have to say, I think Mr Buckey was most unwise to insist on being questioned in public! That’s most uncalled for, I think. I’m surprised the inspector allowed it.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, I think it showed a certain devil-may-care flair,’ the Oxford academic said with a smile, clearly slipping into the role of devil’s advocate with relish. But probably more out of professional habit, Jenny judged, than with any real conviction in what he was saying. She suspected that Rory Gilchrist spent so much of his time in learned debate at his college, both with his fellow dons and with his students, that he was probably unable to do anything else, even in his down time.

  ‘Our American friend was playing to the room as much as the inspector,’ he continued expansively, ‘and who can blame him? The moment they came into the room they singled him and his wife out. It was clear to everyone that he was in the firing line, and that has to make a man’s hackles rise. He was just making it clear to everyone that he had nothing to hide. That’s just a normal human reaction, isn’t it? Nobody wants their peers to start looking at them as if they’re beyond the pale.’

  ‘Hmph! The jails are probably full of people who thought they had nothing to hide and were soon proved how wrong they were,’ the older man shot back, sounding less than convinced. ‘We don’t have a right to remain silent in this country for nothing,’ he continued grimly. ‘If only people would have the good sense to use it more often! But they’re afraid to, that’s the problem. The police make them think that they’ll look guilty if they refuse to speak.’

  Oh dear, Jenny thought, hiding a smile. It sounded very much as if the legal eagle was getting on his high horse. No doubt when it came to am-dram Vince was willing to play second fiddle, but when it came to matters within his own area of expertise he was going to be a stickler for the rules.

  And she thought, as she watched the two police officers approach them, that Inspector Franklyn and his pretty sergeant were going to get rather short shrift here.

  And right on cue, she heard Vince say sternly, ‘If you’ll take my advice, Rory, you won’t say anything without your solicitor present.’

  Rory gave a small smile. ‘You are my solicitor, Vince,’ he pointed out dryly.

  ‘I was, in the matter of your divorce,’ Vince said, lowering his voice now as the two police officers were almost upon them. ‘But I’m not now, unless you officially engage me. But after what happened last time, I’m not sure if—’ He broke off abruptly as Franklyn’s shadow loomed over them and it became clear that he could now hear what they were saying.

  Jenny obligingly hitched her chair around a little, giving the police officers better access to the window seat. And she wasn’t surprised when the inspector nodded his thanks at her, selected one of the chairs that had been pushed under her table, and drew it up a little closer to the two men, giving them the illusion of privacy.

  The sergeant, Jenny noticed, remained standing, leaning unobtrusively against the wall, and was quick to flip out her notebook.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ Franklyn began amiably enough, turning first to look at Rory Gilchrist. ‘I take it you’re the Dr Gilchrist who’s currently staying at a room in this inn, sir?’

  ‘Guilty as charged, officer,’ Rory said with a bright smile, making the older man beside him wince.

  ‘This is no time for levity, Rory,’ Vince Braine chided sharply. ‘Poor Rachel’s dead, remember!’

  ‘No. Of course, you’re right.’ The academic had the grace to flush slightly, and lifting his glass of whisky gave it a slight shake. ‘Sorry, I think I’ve had a bit more to drink than I should have.’ Although who he was apologising to — his friend or Inspector Franklyn — was rather hard to distinguish.

  ‘That’s quite all right, sir,’ Franklyn put in smoothly. ‘I’m sure the events of the day have been a shock for you all. And a little snifter of what you fancy doesn’t necessarily hurt, in the circumstances.’

  And, Jenny thought with a silent smile of inner amusement, if the Oxford don became a little squiffy and started blurting out his secrets, Inspector Franklyn wasn’t going to complain.

  ‘Yes, er . . . yes,’ Rory agreed, a shade uncertainly now. ‘I didn’t know her well, obviously, but it’s still a tragedy when one so young and beautiful dies, isn’t it?’

  ‘Ah, so you and Miss Norman weren’t friends then?’ the inspector put in silkily.

  Rory looked genuinely startled by the question. ‘What? No, of course not. Why should we be?’ And then he frowned aggressively. ‘And if someone’s been telling you differently, Inspector, then I’m afraid you’ve been misled. Until I arrived here on Friday evening, I’d never met Miss Norman.’

  ‘No need to get upset, sir,’ Franklyn smiled at him wolfishly. ‘Nobody has said that you were close. No, I was just wondering, sir, why a man of your, er, stature and learning, and coming from so close by, like, booked for this weekend at all? I mean,’ he continued, noting that his witness had begun to flush uncomfortably, ‘it just struck me that it was kind of odd. Leaving Oxford, which isn’t that far from here, in order to spend three nights away, when you could easily commute it.’ Franklyn sighed and shook his head. ‘It didn’t make much sense. Especially when all the others are from much further away, which does makes sense. Mr Dryfuss all the way from Wales, and Mr and Mrs Buckey from across the ocean.’

  Franklyn paused to scratch his nose portentously. ‘You expect people to go some distance away if they’re going to bother to take a break, don’t you?’ And not giving Dr Gilchrist time to respond to this, he then swept on ruthlessly, ‘And to go in for a bit of amateur theatricals, telling a tale that seems to me to be rather more fictional than historical . . . well, it just didn’t seem to me to be the sort of thing a man like you would be interested in. If you see what I mean, sir.’

  Beside him, Vince Braine shifted uncomfortably, and Rory gave a wry smile. No doubt, Jenny thought with a pang of sympathy, the Oxford man was beginning to wish he’d taken his friend’s advice and kept his mouth shut!

  But, having embarked on answering the inspector’s questions, he couldn’t very well change course now without appearing to have something to hide, Jenny mused. So perhaps there was some merit behind the trial-by-public-opinion method that the policeman had stumbled upon?

  ‘In that you’re quite right, Inspector. I can’t say that the rather dubious tale of Lady Hester and her young lover was of much interest to me,’ Rory confirmed, sighing heavily.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘However,’ Rory swept on smoothly, ‘the local eyecatcher that they have here is very much of interest. What’s more, they are something of a hobby of mine, Inspector. So when I saw this weekend advertised, it looked like a good opportunity to leave Oxford and all her many distractions behind, and settle down to write a nice little article about it, in peace and quiet.’

  Jenny noticed that Sergeant O’Connor frowned very slightly over the word ‘eyecatcher’ as she was scribbling away in her notes, and realised that here was someone else who had no idea what it meant — which made her feel, a little shamefully, rather pleased.

  Clearly Sergeant O’Connor’s immediate senior didn’t know what it was either, for Franklyn’s next question was a simple repeat of the word.

  ‘Eyecatcher?’

  Rory smiled. ‘The Faltringham Eyecatcher to be exact, Inspector. It lies barely two miles outside the village on the estate of the Faltringham family. Who had it built back in 1742.’ Rory leaned back in his chair a bit, and clearly relished delivering a short lecture. This, after all, was well within his comfort zone, and allowed him to take a break from being on the receiving end of so many pertinent questions.

  ‘Back in those days, Inspector, the landed gentry had money to burn, and a near inexhaustible supply of labour, such that they could pay peanuts. Consequently, they spent their money freely on all the latest fashions and fads, regardless of what they were, in order to display the
ir status in a game of one-upmanship with their neighbours. And one of the best ways of showing off was to landscape vast amounts of their lands to complement their more formal gardens, adding lakes, grottoes and especially small buildings. And in the case of the Faltringham eyecatcher, this consisted of having three great stonking arches built, in the local stone, right on the crest of a hill in direct line with Faltringham House. Thus giving their guests a “vista” to look at far beyond the boundary of the rose gardens and more formal areas surrounding the house.’

  ‘A sort of folly, you mean,’ Franklyn interrupted somewhat impatiently, sounding deeply unimpressed. ‘Like those little domed pagodas and temple-thingies you see in big fancy gardens?’

  ‘Not quite, Inspector, but in that area,’ Rory corrected him with an amiable smile — as he might a less-than-bright student. ‘A folly can be anything, from a grotto to a tower or a temple-thingy as you so rightly say, but it could be placed anywhere — in a stand of trees, say, or in a hollow, or anywhere else out of sight. A grotto, by its very nature, would be in a cave, for instance, or underground. But an eyecatcher was something specifically built out in the open, in order to catch the eye. Specifically so that the ladies and gentlemen of the time would have something to see in the distance. In this case, three stone arches built to mimic a ruined priory or abbey perhaps. To give the illusion of gothic, romantic ruins.’

  ‘Ah,’ the inspector said, still sounding less than impressed.

  Jenny nodded to herself and had to smile. Once explained, an eyecatcher seemed rather self-explanatory!

  ‘It was actually a fascinating craze, and for an historian like me, naturally, it was of interest. That’s where I was this afternoon, in fact,’ Rory swept on, now raising his own voice a little, in the manner of Silas Buckey. And, like the American, was stating his alibi loud and clear for all those listening to hear.

  Just like Silas, he didn’t want any nasty rumours spreading around that might connect him to a dead, pretty young actress. Men such as himself, a professional with a reputation to guard and a social standing to uphold, had to be careful, after all.