by Cathy Ace
‘Yes,’ said Annie, sounding bored.
‘And your charger for your phone?’
‘Why do you always pick on me?’ asked Annie, sounding hurt.
‘Because you forget things dear,’ replied Mavis, on Carol’s behalf.
Annie made a noise that spoke volumes as Carol continued, ‘So, what else can I do for you three before I head off home?’
‘Any news on any other cases?’ asked Mavis.
‘Yes, actually, there is a bit. We finally got paid by Mr Mumbai’s Curry-in-a-Hurry chain for all of the mystery dining we did. Well, you three did. You’ll be pleased to know he said he’d recommend us for any future work of the same type. He especially mentioned your uncovering of how one of his chefs was sneaking meat off the premises and replacing it with more vegetables, Mavis.’
‘Aye, well, if you’re going to charge a Scot for lamb and give them mostly potatoes, you’d best be a lot better at it than that man was,’ replied Mavis, smiling proudly.
‘I’ll deposit the money in the bank on my way home,’ added Carol. ‘And that’s that. I’ll be off then. I’ll have my phone on while I’m on the Tube, so you can try to reach me there, though you all know how bad the reception can be, and then I’ll hook up everything when I get home and be available all weekend. I’ve told David what’s happening, and I’ll be at your beck and call whenever you want. I thought I’d stay at home on Monday and work from there, then meet you all back at the office on Tuesday for debriefing and billing. With receipts, all right?’
‘Yes, Carol,’ chorused the travelling team.
FIVE
The journey to Talgarth continued unremarkably, though it took longer than they had all hoped. Christine and Mavis listened to BBC Radio 4 while Annie plugged in her headphones and nodded her head to the sixties soul music which provided the soundtrack to her life. By the time they arrived at the ancient market town, nestling beneath the Black Mountains which formed a natural barrier along the border between Wales and England, it was dark.
Uncurling herself from the back seat of the Range Rover, Annie Parker groaned. ‘Oh, Gordon Bennett, stiff as a flamin’ board I am.’
‘You wee things have no idea what it’s like to age,’ replied Mavis as she began to pull bags from inside the tailgate.
Christine stretched, arching her back like a cat. ‘We’ve been sitting for a long time, Mavis, and you know Annie’s a martyr to her back.’ She winked at her colleague as she spoke.
Annie’s head shot up as she heard her own frequently used phrase being thrown in her direction. ‘Oi, you, no poking fun.’ She pointed the tip of her tongue at Christine, then put it back where it belonged when she caught Mavis’s stern expression.
‘Let’s get checked in, some food in our stomachs, with not too much alcohol to wash it down’ – Mavis directed her gaze toward Annie as she spoke – ‘and let’s find out what Carol’s sent us. Then I suggest an early night.’
‘Good plan,’ replied Christine, and the three women made their way into the eighteenth-century building that was to be their home for the night.
By the time they finally settled into their surprisingly comfortable beds, they were all full of good, if stodgy, home-made food, tired and ready to sleep, but, as Mavis pointed out, they needed to read their briefing notes before they slept, so they each opened their electronic devices and scrolled to the document Carol had sent them earlier in the day. Silent reading ensued.
TO: AP, MM, CW-S
FROM: CH
CASE: #27 DOTTY DOWAGER
REF: BACKGROUND BRIEFING
1.a)Contact is Henry Twyst, 18th Duke of Chellingworth, Powys. Age 55. Single. Second son of Harold Twyst, 17th Duke of Chellingworth (died 10 years ago).
b)Older brother, Devereaux, died aged 47 (12 years ago), no wife, no children.
c)Henry has one sister, Clementine, aged 52. She has use of their house in London and a suite at the hall. Moves between the two, but mostly in London.
d)Mother Althea, Dowager Duchess, aged 79. Second wife of 17th Duke, whose first wife died giving birth to older son. Althea Wright wasn’t from a titled family (I am looking into this – can’t seem to find out much about her for now). She popped out a spare (our client, Henry) and then a daughter very quickly.
e)When his brother died, Henry (our client) was called back to Chellingworth Hall from an artists’ commune near Arles, France, where he was living and painting. Clementine was there with him, but she stayed on in France when he returned. Henry only had a couple of years to come to terms with becoming the next duke, rather than not having to do anything much with his life, which is what he seemed to be doing.
2.Staff at Dower House: (NB: there was no dowager immediately before Althea. The 17th duke’s mother died when she was quite young, so didn’t survive her husband to become a dowager. Thus, the Dower House was opened up, and staffed, after the death of the 17th duke, to accommodate Althea, his wife. This was about 9 years ago. After it was agreed that the house should be reopened, it cost a fair bit to spruce it up, because it had to be brought up to new building codes, so it took a while.)
a)The cook, Mrs Mary Wilson. Widow. Lives in. Been there since it was staffed, so 9 years. Aged 63. Relatively local, from Hay-on-Wye. Duties include planning menus, cooking, etc.
b)The handyman/factotum, Ian Cottesloe. 27. Single. Lives in. Born and raised on the estate. First language Welsh, speaks perfect English. Does anything and everything from driving to gardening to maintenance. Father and grandfather did the same before him.
c)Lady’s aide, Jennifer Newbury, 33. Single. Lives in. Originally from Swindon, I think. I’m looking into this again. She says she’s from Swindon, but I can’t find a record of her at all. I have found something for a Jennifer Newbury of the same age from Leytonstone, but I have to dig around a bit more. Is a general helper for the dowager in all her personal needs.
d)A company from the village provides cleaners on an as-needed basis, and they also work at the hall. Am awaiting a roster of details from the Estates Manager – see below.
3.Staff at Chellingworth Hall:
a)Estates Manager is Bob Fernley. 60. Lives in a house on the estate. Married, no children. Wife is Elizabeth. Very involved with the village. Originally from Stourbridge, Wiltshire. Was appointed by 17th duke and kept on by 18th. Runs the farming operations on the Chellingworth Estate, plus oversees the maintenance of the fabric of the hall, the Dower House, all the various buildings, etc.
b)Public Operations Manager is Stephanie Timbers. 32. Lives in a cottage in the village, owned by the estate. Single. Ex-PR person from a London agency. Events, public access, marketing communications, etc. New appointment by 18th duke, been there 3 years.
c)Housekeeper is Mrs Violet Davies. Widow. 58. From village. Lives in since husband’s death. Appointed by 17th duke and kept by 18th duke. She has staffers who come to help when needed, help with catering for tea room at hall, etc. She oversees all this, as well as looking after duke. Also in charge of cleaning staff, list to be obtained from Estates Manager, above.
d)Various farm-workers live on the estate, but rarely have occasion to visit either the hall or the Dower House, with the exception of delivering any fruit, vegetables, eggs, etc. Usually such deliveries are made to both properties by the wife of the Estates Manager, Elizabeth Fernley, but sometimes they are brought directly by the producer to each dwelling.
4.The village of Anwen-by-Wye, and history: (Anwen means ‘very fair’ or ‘beautiful’ and it’s close to the River Wye)
a)Population of about 175. It’s in Powys, which is on the Welsh side of the Wales-England border. Land owned by the Chellingworth Estate. There used to be a sheep market there, but it isn’t held any longer, though the Market Hall, built circa 1565, remains. The village was established in 1490. The earliest building was the village church, St David’s, which was begun in 1490, and finished in 1515. There are three pubs, one church, one post office. Otherwise it’s largely a
development of homes around the crossroads which forms the village, all four roads leading to the common at the heart of the village. This is still common grazing ground, and there’s a right of way into and out of the village for anyone wanting their animals to use it.
b)The Twyst family was granted the dukedom in 1459 by Henry Tudor, Henry VII, in recognition of services rendered in supporting him with Welsh troops that allowed him to successfully overcome Richard III at the Battle of Bosworth. The Twysts supported Henry Tudor because he was Welsh-born. Their star rose with his. When his son, Henry VIII, acceded to the throne, the then Duke of Chellingworth, Devereaux Twyst, was one of the young king’s trusted advisors. The Twysts made their early fortune from wool (sheep). The name of Chellingworth is used for the estate and dukedom because the original Twyst married a Chellingworth, so they used both names, one for the family, one for the dukedom.
c)I can’t find out much about the people who live in the village at this short notice, though the Coach and Horses is the biggest pub there, and seems to be quite the social center. It looks like most people who live there make their living from the Chellingworth Estate in some way. That said, there’s an antique shop, a couple of tea rooms, and a list of activities that take place on the common mainly in the summer months. It’s never won anything like ‘Prettiest Village’, but the photos show it as being very nice, but not overly primped. There seem to be a lot of meetings at the church hall about property prices in the area, and the village seems to be facing the problems that are common for such places – there’s not enough housing stock for the young people who want to stay, so they leave, then only older folks are left behind. Because the Twysts own the village and many people rent, they are able to stay, but farmers who own surrounding lands are now selling up and new housing estates, as well as fancy executive developments, are getting closer to the Chellingworth lands.
d)You said that the duke had referred this case to the local police. There’s a mobile police station that operates in this area, part of the new austerity measures. Because of the rural setting, they use Police Community Support Officers (PCSOs) in the region. They are the ones who are visible in the communities, keep in contact with local community leaders to understand which people might be likely to display problem behavior, or understand possible times or places where trouble might be expected. They liaise with members of the police force proper. In this area that’s the Dyfed-Powys Police. Powys is the largest county in Wales, covering about a quarter of the landmass of Wales, but has pretty much the lowest crime rate in the entire UK. It’s very sparsely populated. Nearest police station is Hay-on-Wye, and Divisional HQ is in Brecon. The duke told me he dealt with PCSO Davies to begin with, then got referred to PC David Thomas, then to Sergeant Rosie Price, then to Inspector Phillip Phillips. That seems to be as far as it went, though I have to say I suspect that the local inspector would probably have got in touch with Divisional HQ about the bobble hat, given that we’re talking about the duke and the dowager.
Have fun in Wales, and don’t drink too much beer, Annie – talk soon! Carol
‘It sounds like we’ve all got our work cut out for us, with all these people to investigate,’ said Christine pensively.
‘At least you two have got a starting point,’ grumped Annie. ‘There’s nothing here to speak of about the village, except a load of history.’
‘All the more fun for you if the landlord of the pub is to be your fount of all wisdom,’ said Mavis as she turned off the bedside lamp. ‘Now sleep, girls. We have a lot to do tomorrow.’
SIX
David Hill stretched out his arm to brush his wife’s hair from her eyes. He loved to watch her sleep. The duvet squashed her face into wrinkly, beautiful mounds, and he even loved the way her nose was pushed sideways by the pillow. He found it hard to believe that inside this person he loved so much was another person, yet to be met, held, loved, played with and enjoyed.
Carol Hill snuffled and rubbed her hand through her hair. She snuggled herself deeper into the bedding and began to snore. David smiled. Still five months to go before he could hold his child and tell him, or her, about their wonderful mother. A woman who’d dragged herself up from a poor little farm in west Wales to hold down one of the top systems management jobs in the City of London. A woman who’d used her wits and her brains to allow men to see her as something more than a secretary. A woman who never had a bad word to say about anyone, even when they were belittling her in front of others. A woman who didn’t need to be cruel to prove a point, she’d just prove it, by her actions, and move on.
David could hardly believe that she’d fallen for him. He was just a worker bee. She was the queen. But she had, and here they were. He was still scurrying off to the City every day, and Carol was now an enquiry agent. An agent!
David rolled onto his back, and his wife mirrored his actions. They each wriggled a little until they found the perfect distribution of limbs within the bed.
Staring at the ceiling, David contemplated Carol’s new life, and began to fret. He knew she was always safe, because the other three made her stay at the office. And he knew she enjoyed what she did, that it gave her a sense of purpose. But he still worried. David worried that someone might bump into Carol when she was on the Tube. Hurt the baby somehow. He told himself that was ridiculous, and squeezed his eyes shut.
Please let the baby be all right. Please let the baby be all right.
David sighed as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb his wife. He glanced over at her heaving figure. Now on her back, she was snoring more loudly and rhythmically. He loved it. She was being so careful to do everything right for the baby. They’d both read volumes about how she should eat, exercise, drink, look after her skin, prepare for the birth and so on. It had taken them five years to get pregnant, and they both knew this might be their only chance, ever, to have a child, because Carol was thirty-five, after all.
Please let the baby be all right. Please let my wife be all right. Please let them both be all right.
David wished there was more he could do. He felt so helpless, as though he’d contributed all he could to the process, and now his wife had to do everything else. It wasn’t fair. He wanted to be a part of it all. Both he and Carol were aware of the hormonal changes they could expect during her pregnancy, and he could spot the moments when she counted to ten to stop herself from snapping at him when he was being maybe a little too attentive, trying to be a little too helpful. But David couldn’t stop himself sometimes. He needed to be useful.
He wondered if they’d ever find somewhere new to live before the baby came along. They’d both hoped they could find somewhere a bit less urban to raise their firstborn, but, apparently, so did half the world’s population. Anything good, that they could afford, was snapped up before they’d even had a chance to view it. Things weren’t looking too good. Carol’s income was down to nothing, and he was sticking with his job in the City because they needed the good money he was earning. But he wasn’t happy there. Since Carol had left the company, things just hadn’t been the same. He missed his wife. They’d met because they worked together, then they’d become a couple, then they’d married, and had been so happy to be in each other’s company all day, every day. He knew that wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but it had worked for them. But the stress had been too much for her, so now she did this. If only he’d had the guts to go it alone when Carol had. But now wasn’t the time to take the risk. Now was the time to put his head down and be the breadwinner.
Carol’s steady breathing finally lulled her husband to a happier place. He loved it that she thrived on the work she did with the other ‘WISE Women’ as he called them. Nice women. Good company for Carol, and it gave her a chance to keep doing something she was good at. But, as Carol had said as they enjoyed sharing their dinner together that evening, a baby changes every life it touches, directly and indirectly. They saw it in the faces of the first-timers they’d seen at the meeting at the clinic. Varyin
g levels of panic, or denial. Each couple facing a common life experience, but from a different place, with different challenges ahead.
Instead of sleeping, David ran through his list of chores for the weekend. Carol would be working through, so he’d have to get the shopping done, and take care of her. He liked that. In fact, the idea that, in a year or so, he might resign and Carol could go back to her much-higher-paid job in the City didn’t appall him. He’d make a good house-husband, and Carol was the one with the better earning potential. They hadn’t talked about that option. But would Carol ever turn her back on her enquiring counterparts? He doubted it.
SEVEN
Alexander Bright alighted from a black cab in Savoy Court and enjoyed sensing the excitement of the early crowds entering the Savoy Theatre for that evening’s performance. Pushing his way into the adjoining hotel through the wooden revolving doors, he felt quite at home as he crossed the dramatic black and white marble floor, surrounded by the mixture of Edwardian and Art Deco elegance at which the Savoy excelled.
He was pleased that the renovations had managed to allow the place to still feel the same as it always had, yet also have a refreshed air. Crossing the Thames Court, with its unique ironwork gazebo and stunning grand piano, he was looking forward to his meeting, and the chance to enjoy a couple of drinks at his favorite London watering hole.
Luxurious carpeting sprung beneath his handmade shoes, and he smiled inwardly that a ragged little street urchin from the worst estate in Brixton was now able to feel comfortable in such surroundings. The Savoy had been one of the first places he’d visited to study how to act correctly in proper society. He’d watched with fascination as people ordered, ate and drank. He’d seen how accommodating the staff members were to those for whom visiting the illustrious hotel was, clearly, either a one-off experience, or at least a new one. He was grateful that, during those early visits, he’d never once been made to feel inadequate, or intimidated by the history and culture surrounding him – something he suspected might be the result of the place having a background steeped in theatrical history. He’d been impressed by the fact that, of all the people they could have chosen, the Savoy had selected the wonderful Stephen Fry to be the first guest to officially check in following their multi-million pound restoration project. The man who’d made him laugh in countless episodes of Blackadder and, before that, in Jeeves and Wooster and Fry and Laurie. A funny man. A delightfully well-read and eloquent man. Alexander had learned a lot from watching and listening to him over the years.