“Should I be jealous?”
“Probably.” She gave him a saucy look.
A short time later, they met their companions, who had breakfasted earlier, in the front garden. Paul and Beth announced their plans to go to Goodnestone, the family seat of Edward’s wife, where Jane frequently visited. So Elizabeth, Richard, and a silent Geraldine squeezed in the backseat behind Arthur and Claire with the Godmersham party.
A few minutes later as they walked to the house along the gravel drive from the car park, the sound of a bat connecting with a ball told them the Headington choristers were again playing cricket on the back lawn. “I rang Walter,” Arthur told Richard. “He said he’d meet you at the museum.”
The meaning was clear that Arthur and Claire would rather spend their time strolling in the park than in a small, chilly museum. What Gerri had in mind, no one knew as she set out at a brisk pace toward the wooded hillside at the far end of the house.
“That’s fine,” Elizabeth said. “You carry on with your research. I saw a photograph in the museum of a bench on the verandah where the Queen Mum sat when she visited here. I think that will do very well for me.”
Richard gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Enjoy. You are fond of those lads, aren’t you?” He smiled as he watched her trim form walk across the lawn and disappear around the corner of the house.
And the smile remained as he walked through the park with the sounds of the happy young voices behind him. Walter, indeed, was waiting at the museum. He said he had another meeting that morning, but would try to be back in time to show them through the house later in the afternoon.
Richard went straight to the Austen family display and spent a long time reading each of the letters and documents in detail. Interesting though it was, he could see nothing that would seem to lead to a nefarious plot. Surely the whole thing was nothing more than his imagination. He could return to Elizabeth knowing he had done his best to cover the ground. Perhaps they should walk back to the tearoom for lunch before their afternoon tour.
He had just started down the road toward the house when the sound of feet running on the gravel made him look up. Jack and Sahil were pelting toward him. “Come on.”
“Hurry!”
“She said to get you.”
“Whoa!” Richard held Sahil by the shoulders. “Who? Elizabeth?”
Sahil nodded vigorously enough to make his black hair bounce on his forehead. “Nilay told her and she went with him. But first she said to get you.”
“What’s wrong? Is someone hurt?” If so, why didn’t they get Mr. Graves, Richard wondered.
“It’s Stav. That man—the other one—”
“Shorter ‘n you. Blond hair.” Jack ruffled his own fringe to indicate Arthur’s thick thatch.
“Stav went with him. He made him.”
“You don’t know for sure,” Jack corrected Sahil.
“He wouldn’t have left the field otherwise, would he? Not before the innings were over.”
Richard was already hurrying down the path as he continued questioning. “What do you mean?”
Both boys started to answer at once, trotting along to keep up with Richard’s long stride.
“Wait. One at a time.” He pointed at Sahil. “You first.”
“Stav was playing long off. I was fine leg. I saw him grab Stav—” Richard knew just enough about cricket to realize that Stav would have been at the very back of the field and Sahil at the opposite end. “When I look again—he’s gone.”
“It was ages ago. And they never came back,” Jack added.
Richard understood the concern. “But why didn’t you get Mr. Graves?”
“Harrison sprained his ankle, so Mr. G took him—” Sahil began.
Jack interrupted. “I told George. He’s head boy. He said Stav’s playing silly buggers, but he set everyone to searching the park just the same.”
“But you don’t think he’s in the park?”
“Stav wouldn’t leave the match,” Sahil insisted.
“But why would Arthur take Stav?”
Sahil gave Richard a look that said he was incredibly dim, but carried on. “To get in the house. He saw us go in yesterday, but Mr. G. keeps it locked. We’re only allowed to sleep there—not run wild.”
Richard was starting to get the picture. “And Stav knew how to get in?”
“Of course. We all do.”
“And Elizabeth went in with Nilay?” Richard asked, not waiting for an answer to break into a run.
This didn’t make any sense. Why would Arthur abduct Stav? He told himself his own anxiety was irrational. Arthur wouldn’t hurt Elizabeth. Everything was fine, he told himself. But it was a hollow assurance.
His heart was pounding in his ears when he reached the verandah and bolted toward the long glass doors. Surely he wouldn’t have to break his way in.
“Sir! This way.” The two boys stood back at the edge of the drive by the dormitory wing they had described yesterday.
Before Richard reached them, they were already scrambling up the corkscrew iron fire escape. Jack pulled a wire from his pocket, and with a few twists, they were in. “He’s wizard,” Sahil said.
It was ominously quiet when they entered the hallway. Richard started to call Elizabeth’s name, then thought there might be an advantage in preserving the element of surprise. He held his finger to his lips. Was that a scuffle overhead? He wasn’t sure, but he signaled to Jack to lead them to the attic.
Richard’s stomach was churning. What was Arthur doing to her? Surely if all were well, he would hear Elizabeth and Arthur talking. Where was Claire? He thought she and Arthur were together. And why couldn’t he hear the boys moving about?
Surely the awful foreboding he felt was just nerves. They would find them all downstairs in one of the rooms discussing the architecture of the house. Please, God.
Jack stopped at the door to the attic. Splintered wood showed that the lock had been forced with far less skill than Jack’s clever lock-picking. Richard pushed the boys behind him and opened the door carefully.
Something glimmered in the dim light. He scooped it up from the third step. Elizabeth’s topaz cross. God, no!
He whirled and grabbed each boy by an arm. “Go for help. Fast!”
They scurried toward the door at the end of hall without argument.
Richard turned and took the stairs two at a time, blotting out images of Elizabeth, broken and bleeding.
He paused at the top of the stairs, straining to hear Elizabeth’s voice. Even a sob would give him hope. But all was silent. Don’t let me be too late. Please.
He took a deep breath and plunged into the room. “Oh, God! No!” It was worse than any nightmare he had conjured. Elizabeth lay on the bare floor boards in a pool of light from the small window. Blood ran from her forehead. A heavy bronze statue lay on the floor beside her.
Richard darted forward to gather her into his arms, but stopped at the threatening voice.
“Don’t come any closer.” Gerri emerged from the shadows, a knife at Nilay’s throat.
Chapter 21
RICHARD FROZE. AS HIS eyes adjusted to the dim light, he took in the scene before him: Arthur tied and gagged in a chair; Claire, lying limp and bound at his feet. Behind Geraldine, a small lump that must be Stav lay before an open trunk with stacks of books and papers strewn on the floor on each side of it. And the far wall, lined with shelves of antique books. The legendary Godmersham collection.
A bulge in the pocket of Gerri’s sweater indicated that she had found what she was searching for.
The pieces slotted into place in Richard’s mind. “It was you all along.” Everything inside him was screaming to reach out to Elizabeth, but he had to distract Gerri before she did more violence. “You killed Muriel.”
Richard was prepared for anger, hauteur, or stony silence. But not for the mocking laughter that broke from Geraldine. “She was so pushy, so demanding. All my life. I could never get anything right. Nev
er come up to her expectations. I decided this time I’d show her.
“And I have! I did it. I found it! And I outsmarted you all. Even Muriel. She thought her plan was so clever. That box of donated papers made her think of it. ‘Plant a letter,’ she said. ‘Get them all searching.’” The mocking quotations sounded eerily like Muriel’s voice. “‘Build expectation.’ It was all for her project. Her success. It was all about her. But I showed her.”
“But you could have planted that letter any time. Why break in? Why attack Claire?”
Gerri’s laugh was chilling. “Hitting Claire was a bonus. Arthur could never see me when she was in the room. I should have hit her harder. But I got a second chance.” She indicated the still form by Arthur.
“So you took the packet to make it look like a burglary. But why return them?”
“Muriel got scared when the police started looking. Didn’t want them found in our room. And she was too weak to burn them. But in the end, the strong win. I won!” The horrible laughter started again. “Of course, we had to ‘steal’ the plant back when Robert announced he was sending it off for authentication.”
“But how did you know all this was here?” Richard was sweating. He didn’t think he could hold her attention much longer.
“That old bookseller in Canterbury. The doddery fool put me on to it.”
“And then you pushed him down the stairs.”
“His own fault. Tried to stop me when he realized what he’d let slip.” She returned to her theme. “I was smarter than the whole lot of them. Showed them all I’m better than Muriel. I showed her!”
Richard struggled to keep his voice level. “She didn’t get to see your triumph, Gerri. Muriel’s dead. You killed her.”
“No!” The laughter strangled and turned to an anguished sob. “I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t my fault. She taunted me. Said I’d never been worth the trouble. She wished she hadn’t had me. She said she should have had an abortion. She would have murdered me.”
Now the accusatory tirade turned to pleading. “It was self-defense, see? And I didn’t mean to tip the bookcase over on her. She was holding on to it. I just wanted to push some books over on her. Then the whole thing fell.”
But Richard hardly heard the words that deteriorated into a whine. He was focusing on her revelation. “You mean Muriel was your mother?”
Now the bitter, mocking tone returned. “Oh, yes. That was our big secret. She was never a real mother to me. Just an exacting despot. No one could know. It would have been bad for her precious career. And everyone thought she was so wonderful, taking poor, hopeless Geraldine under her wing. But now I’ll show everybody. I beat them all!”
Richard cringed at the sound of her crazed laughter. This was hardly the time to point out that a killer could hardly reap the benefits of any discovery she might have made.
Gerri tightened her grip on Nilay. The knife moved a fraction closer to his throat. “Now I’ll be going. That is, we’ll be going. Don’t get squirmy on me, brat, and you’ll be all right.”
She pushed Nilay a step forward, then stopped in front of Arthur. “Now you just toss the car keys over by the door.” He obeyed. “Nice of you to bring them to me.” She gave him a long, hard look. “I would have shared with you, you know. If that cow hadn’t interfered. Shame she was the one who saw me coming up here. If you’d only come alone, it could all have been different. Still.” She glanced at Claire. “Gave me a chance to hit her again.”
Her eyes flicked down to Elizabeth’s still form almost directly below her. “What a lot of busybodies you all are. Pity you couldn’t have left it alone.” She nudged Nilay. “Nice and easy to the stairs, now.”
Gerri took one step when a hand shot out along the floor and seized her ankle, pitching her forward. Richard sprang to catch the knife. Nilay had it before it hit the floor.
Richard flung himself at the flailing Geraldine and Arthur moved to tie her with the ropes Nilay cut from his wrists. The moment Geraldine was secure, Arthur spun back to help the dazed Claire and Richard turned to Elizabeth. She was holding the stunned Stav, so he scooped them both into his arms.
And then the attic exploded in noise and motion as Jack and Sahil led a good portion of the Headington Boys’ School Choir into the fray, followed by their master.
Richard gave a shout of joyous victory. But the exultation died on his lips. Brian Woodhouse stood at the top of the stairs with a heavy metal object in his hand.
Mr. Graves saw him first. “Heads up!” he shouted. Every boy in the room instantly stood at attention.
“Very impressive. Now if you’ll all just kindly stay where you are.” The newcomer held out his hand and flicked on the torch he held. Richard breathed a sigh of relief. They were in England. Petty criminals didn’t have guns. Theoretically.
Brian ran his light over the shelves of books lining the attic, which Richard had only been dimly aware of before. He paused, as if considering the contents Gerri had spilled from the trunk, then turned back to her still prostrate but protesting form. He knelt, pulled the bulging packet from her pocket, and played the flashlight over its contents. “Yes. My client will be very happy to see this again.”
Elizabeth broke from the curve of Richard’s arm for a closer look. “The original Watsons manuscript. The one stolen from the University of London!”
“That’s right,” Brian agreed.
“And you’re what—a, a thief working for a private collector?” Elizabeth challenged.
“Private detective,” he amended.
“Working for the university?” Richard guessed.
“Close enough. Actually, my client is a loyal alumnus who wants a new library wing named after him. But it comes to the same thing.” He looked at Elizabeth. “Sorry about grabbing your bag in Winchester, but I saw you making notes and I needed to get a look at them.”
“You could have asked.” She turned back to Richard’s arms.
Brian pulled the spluttering Gerri to her feet. “I rang the police. It would be polite to meet them out front.”
But Richard stopped him. “Wait. How did you track the manuscript to Godmersham?”
“My client,” he held up his hand with a glance at Arthur, “who shall remain nameless—before you ask—was convinced the original of The Watsons was stolen by a fanatical collector. He hired me to track down collectors by interviewing antiquarian booksellers and scholars.
“Finding the ‘lost’ Godmersham library was serendipity. Everything pointed to it being here, but I wasn’t certain until Frances Whipple told me he believed the books had never left the house. He knew who bought the books from the Godmersham library at the auction. He remembered because he had bid against him.”
Richard’s next question was stopped by loud swearing from the hallway below, followed by heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs. “What is going on up here? Who let you in?”
Walter James charged through the doorway. He came to a sudden halt, his head twisting from one group of occupants to another. “What are you all doing here? This is private property. Who broke that door? I’m calling the police.”
“I’ve already done that, Mr. Knight,” Brian said.
“Knight?” Richard and Elizabeth said together.
“That’s right, isn’t it?” Brian challenged.
“Of course it is. I’m looking after my family’s property.”
“Do you mean to say you’re the current, er— knight?” Richard wasn’t exactly sure about the family titles, but he was quite sure the head of the family was active in the Jane Austen Society—even president, maybe? And on the board of Chawton House Library. So who was this man claiming to be?
“Edward Knight had plenty of descendants. I don’t have to have a title to care about my heritage, do I?”
“Of course not. And you have a grand collection.” Richard spoke with his most placating voice.
Walter James Knight smiled.
“It’s the addition you’ve made to it that
I’m concerned about. Or should I say, the way you obtained your prize addition?” Brian held up the box he had removed from Geraldine’s pocket and took out the tiny Jane Austen manuscript it contained.
Even in the dim light, it was apparent that Walter James paled. “I didn’t steal it. You can’t steal what’s already yours. I was just returning it to its rightful place.”
Outside, the sound of tires on the gravel indicated the arrival of the police. “We’ll let the authorities settle that, Mr. Knight. I suggest you get a good lawyer to argue the point for you.” The detective started to move both his prisoners forward.
Arthur stepped forward. “I’ll help you, shall I?”
Instead of giving him charge of one of the captives, Brian handed the valuable manuscript to Arthur. “I’d be pleased to have you take this. I know I can trust you to deliver it to your father.” Together they marched the miscreants down the stairs.
Once they were gone, it was as if the room heaved a great sigh and the Headington boys, who had remained stock-still and silent through the preceding exchange, exploded in demands for an explanation of the drama that had played out in front of them. Richard explained as clearly and as briefly as he could about the original Jane Austen manuscript that had gone missing from the library at the University of London, and about how they had been set on the trail to track it down with the ruse of a false letter hinting at a nonexistent document.
He also stressed to the housemaster how resourceful and helpful the boys had been, while avoiding any explicit reference to the lock-picking. “Without their quick thinking and action, the results might have been far less happy.” He pulled Elizabeth closer and kissed her thoroughly, which elicited a round of applause from the entire boys’ choir.
Chapter 22
THE LATE AFTERNOON SUN was golden and the street beside the table at the Chilham Tea Room reflected warmth as Elizabeth and Richard sat over their steaming cups of tea reviewing the events of the day.
A Jane Austen Encounter Page 20