Smoke and Mirrors: The next instalment of the riveting Marnie Walker series

by Leo McNeir

  “How d’you know that?”

  “Just guessing.”

  Another nudge. “Looks like you’re right. Could that be him?”

  Donovan emerged from the station and looked around. Anne waved. He nodded before setting off across the road. Predictably he was wearing grey jeans and a black shirt, the edge of a white T-shirt visible at the open neck. He was carrying a black hold-all and walked more slowly than usual.

  “He’s not as tall as I expected, not bad looking, though. His colouring’s like yours.” Danny laughed. “Pale and interesting.”

  Donovan insisted he would be fine in the back of the Mini, but Anne noticed that he winced when climbing in and sat with his legs stretched out across the footwell as they travelled back to Glebe Farm.

  Anne had deliberately left the lorry tarpaulin in place so that Donovan could see how well Exodos had been concealed. The three of them unrolled it together and stacked it on the bank. Once Donovan had dumped his hold-all on board and opened all the windows and doors, Anne suggested a tour of the dig sites. First, they headed for the office barn to leave Danny’s pink hold-all in the loft. They turned the corner to find an Audi convertible in the courtyard.

  “Uh-oh.” Anne pulled a face.

  “What is it?” Danny asked.

  “Soap opera time.”

  “That belongs to your Princess Di look-alike?”

  “You guessed.” Anne turned to Donovan. “The Lady of the Manor is paying us a call.”

  “Not your favourite person?” Donovan said.

  “She acts like she owns the place, keeps insisting that Sarah was a witch, has to be the centre of attention at all times and treats me like a scullery maid.”

  “Apart from that?”

  “She’s charming.”

  “And she really does look like Princess Di,” Danny added.

  They dropped the hold-all in the office and walked round to the HQ barn. Celia was holding court at the edge of the field, surrounded by Timeline people, listening attentively to Crispin Wade, the producer, who was pointing towards the slopes. It was obvious from the expressions on the faces of the TV crew that they regarded Celia as a gift from the gods. They were already working out which were her best angles and they were spoilt for choice. Standing there in a royal blue silk knee-length dress, Celia could feel the camera lenses aching to zoom in on her. She looked happy and relaxed.

  Marnie, standing a little outside the charmed circle, wearing her everyday office clothes of shirt and jeans, spotted Anne and her friends and came over.

  “Hi. Nice to have you back, Danny. Donovan, glad you could make it. Feeling better?”

  “One day at a time.”

  “Good.”

  Anne canted her head slightly and spoke in a whisper. “We’re about to be honoured.”

  Marnie waited until Celia spoke before turning round. “I’m sorry I didn’t get down to see you yesterday, Marnie, as I hoped. Something urgent came up.”

  “That’s all right. I had plenty to keep me occupied. You know Danny, of course, but I don’t believe you’ve met our friend Donovan.”

  “Hallo.” Celia smiled. “Are you an archaeologist, too?”

  “No.”

  In the absence of further elaboration, Marnie explained.

  “Donovan had an accident, injured his foot, so we offered to take care of the boat until he was fit enough to come for it.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Celia oozed sympathy. “Are you better now?”

  “Much.”

  “So you fancied a trip to see the filming?”

  “No. I just came for my boat.”

  “Ah, yes, of course, only I’ve noticed that whenever TV cameras appear they always attract their share of onlookers and hangers-on.”

  Donovan continued looking straight at Celia. He said nothing. Marnie broke the silence again.

  “Oh, that’s all right, Celia. You’re welcome to come down at any time, you know that.”

  Celia struggled visibly to maintain her composure. Danny had a sudden coughing spasm, giving Anne the opportunity to dash to the HQ barn to fetch a cup of water. Donovan remained impassive, though he flicked an admiring glance at Marnie, who took Celia’s arm and led her off to visit the dig.

  Danny spluttered trying to drink the water, while Anne bent beside her, doubled-up in silent laughter.

  “Nice one, Marnie,” Donovan muttered under his breath, watching the two women rounding the corner of the HQ barn.

  Danny straightened up, gasping, a grin splitting her face in two. “Whoo! That was good.” Seeing Anne’s expression, Danny lowered her voice. “You’re not afraid of her, are you?”

  “She’s a client, a pain in the butt, but still a client.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No harm done. So what shall we do?”

  Donovan shrugged. “I’m easy.”

  “Danny?”

  “Let’s go and see the dig.”

  Archaeology is usually about patiently digging, shovelling and trowelling for hours or even days on end, picking up tiny apparently insignificant objects, each one a clue to something in the big picture. That day was an exception. Celia and Marnie barely had time to reach the first test pit when one of the older archaeologists set his trowel aside and knelt on the ground. He carefully parted the soil with his fingers, lifted something from the earth and laid it in the palm of his hand. It glinted as the sun reflected off a shiny surface.

  “What’s that you’ve got, Michael?” A girl student walked over to inspect his find.

  Between thumb and forefinger he held it against the skin below her throat to admire it, before letting her hold it.

  The girl tilted it to catch the light. “Is it gold?”

  “Possibly gold gilt, a pendant, I think. It suits you.” He smiled as she gave it back to him.

  “Who does it belong to?” Celia held out a hand. “May I see?” She examined it, turning the object over with exquisitely manicured fingers. “It’s a fleur-de-lys, isn’t it?”

  The archaeologist agreed. “It has a loop at the top, you see, where a fine necklace passed through.”

  “How old would it be?”

  “Could be thirteenth or fourteenth century. That design was popular around then.”

  Celia turned it over in her hand. “Do you think it belonged to the lady of the manor?”

  “That isn’t the right question,” Donovan said.

  “Oh?” Celia frowned. “What is?”

  “What was she doing down here?”

  “Ah, yes. What would a lady of quality be doing in a place like this, a muddy farm?”

  “Perhaps she had an assignation with someone from the farm,” Danny suggested.

  “Archaeology isn’t about guessing games.” No-one had noticed Dick Blackwood arriving on the scene. “It’s about facts and evidence.”

  “We don’t even know if there was a farm here at that time,” Donovan said.

  “Exactly, though it is quite possible. We need more evidence and to get that, we need to get back to digging. Come on, everybody!” Dick clapped twice. “Come on!” Lowering his voice, he said to Celia. “Can I have that, please.”

  “What will happen to it?” She handed it over, as the archaeologists went back to work.

  “It’s got to be bagged, logged and put with the other finds.” Dick looked at Donovan. “I don’t think we’ve met. Are you with Timeline?”

  “No. I’m just a friend.”

  “It’s hard to know who’s who these days, with so many people around. I’m Dick Blackwood, site director.”

  “Donovan Smith.”

  They shook hands.

  In the OB van a technician adjusted the view from one of the surveillance cameras. It was mounted on the end of the barn, giving a clear shot of the group gathered round the fleur-de-lys. Although there was no sound feed available, the pictures told their own story: the precise moment when a find was made; colleagues, including the beautiful lady, clustered together in discu
ssion; a flash of sunlight on gold; the site director ordering the archaeologists back to work; a congratulatory handshake for one of the team. It was a perfect episode.

  *

  Marnie had managed to extricate herself from the visiting party and had retreated to the office, where she was able to work uninterrupted for over half an hour before Anne put her head round the door and suggested a tea break by the water.

  When Marnie came through the spinney, she found Celia seated at the table under the parasol with Dick Blackwood. Anne had made lemon tea. Danny was arranging biscuits on plates. Marnie did not recognise the type, but they looked appetising.

  “Donovan brought these,” Anne said, pouring tea. “They’re German.”

  “Thanks, Donovan. They look nice.”

  “You’re welcome. They’re good at biscuits in Germany. My aunt brought these over, thought I’d share them.”

  “It’s like a teddy bear’s picnic,” Celia said, smiling. She turned to Dick. “And we’ll have no talk about witches or anything unsavoury to spoil the occasion.”

  Dick smiled innocently. “I wasn’t going to talk about anything of the sort.”

  “Good. Tea-time would be spoilt if we started on about witches being burnt at the stake and so on.”

  “They weren’t burnt at the stake,” Anne corrected her.

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Celia accepted a biscuit.

  “Anne’s right,” Dick confirmed.

  “Splendid.” Celia nibbled.

  “They were hanged in England, weren’t they?” Danny looked pleased with her knowledge.

  “Or drowned,” Dick added.

  Celia’s smile was fading rapidly. “Really?”

  “Really.” Dick drank his tea.

  Danny looked doubtful. “I’ve never heard that before.”

  “Would that have anything to do with ducking stools?” Anne asked.

  “Stop!” Celia held up her hands. “I thought we’d agreed we weren’t going to talk about such things. They’re horrible.”

  “Your biscuits are really good.” Marnie attempted to change the subject. “These have a kind of vanilla flavour.”

  “Kipferl.”

  Everyone looked at Donovan as if he had landed from Mars.

  “They’re called Kipferl,” he explained. “That’s their name, sometimes Vanilla Kipferl.”

  They sampled the Kipferl in a silence that was appreciative but awkward. The conversation had been fractured by Celia’s intervention.

  “Er …” Dick hesitated.

  Celia shot him a warning glance.

  “I was only going to say –”

  “Nothing about witches, I hope.” Her tone was ice cold.

  “Well, what if I told you an amusing story about them?”

  “Is such a thing possible?”

  “Trust me.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Marnie was not happy that Celia appeared to think she could dictate what was discussed at the table, her table, where Celia was a guest.

  “Perhaps,” she began. “Perhaps it might prick the bubble, make the subject less of a taboo, less intimidating?”

  Celia frowned. “I think –”

  “What harm could it do?” Marnie smiled. “Mm?”

  “Go on, Dick,” Danny flashed him an encouraging smile. “Tell us your funny witch story.”

  Celia drank her tea without looking up.

  “Okay. It happened in this very county, actually. That’s what made me think of it. A woman was accused of being a witch, denounced by other people in her village. The lord of the manor agreed she should be put to the trial.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to like this story,” Celia murmured.

  Dick continued. “It was decided that she’d undergo ordeal by water.”

  “A ducking stool?” Danny suggested.

  “No, in the river.”

  “How does that work?”

  “The idea is, you throw the accused witch into the river. Remember, most people couldn’t swim in those days. If she drowned, that proved she wasn’t a witch but a normal human being.”

  “Too bad that she’s dead,” Danny observed.

  “This is meant to be amusing?” Celia had regained her voice.

  Dick resumed his narrative. “That was the theory. If the woman floated, it proved she was a witch after all, protected from drowning by the Devil.”

  “A lose-lose situation,” Anne said.

  “Well, yes. If she floated and was therefore identified as a witch she was –”

  “You did say this was an amusing story,” Marnie reminded him.

  “Oh, yes. Well, on the occasion in question, everyone was lined up on the bank and the guards threw the denounced woman into the river. She bobbed up to the surface, so the vicar declared she was obviously a witch. Before she could be dragged out, a young woman, daughter of the so-called witch, rushed forward to beg mercy of the lord of the manor. She threw herself at his feet with such force that he stumbled, slipped and fell into the river. As he knew how to swim, he too floated and managed to climb out of the water.” Dick paused for dramatic effect.

  “Go on,” Celia said.

  “The crowd all cheered, and the lord had no choice but to declare that such an ordeal by water was invalid. He ordered that the woman be pulled out and set free, then he stormed off to change into dry clothes.”

  “Lucky for the woman that her daughter caused an accident,” Danny observed.

  Dick turned to face her. “You think it was an accident, really?”

  “You mean –”

  “Exactly. She did it on purpose, knowing the lord could swim.” He looked across at Celia. “There you are, how’s that for a happy ending?”

  “Is it true?”

  “Yes. We have it on record.”

  “The lord wasn’t a Devere was he?” Celia asked.

  Dick hesitated. “I’m sure it was some other part of the county.”

  Celia seemed mollified, and there was no further talk of witches, trials or ordeals. When Marnie announced that she had to get back to the drawing board – I’m working on your project at the moment, Celia – the party broke up and Celia went home.

  Donovan went to sort things out on his boat, while Danny wandered off to watch the archaeologists at work. Marnie and Anne were heading towards the office barn when Dick touched Marnie’s elbow.

  “I was going to say –”

  “It’s okay. I guessed.” She smiled at him. “Did it happen here, or were you going to tell me it was all made up?”

  “No. It really was documented and, well, yes, it happened, let’s say not far from here.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t tell Celia that.”

  “There was quite a lot I didn’t tell Celia.”

  “Such as?”

  “The ending wasn’t entirely a happy one.”

  “Don’t tell me, the lord chopped off the girl’s head with his sword?”

  “Nope.”

  “They hanged the woman anyway, just to be on the safe side?”

  “No. No, she was let off. Public opinion was on her side, you see. The twist in the tale was that from that day forth, they bound accused witches hand and foot and soaked their clothes to make sure they sank.”

  Marnie and Anne exchanged bleak looks.

  “Those were the people who preached God is love, is that right?” Marnie said.

  Dick nodded. “Yes, and knew how to control the peasants.”

  Back in the office Marnie returned to her designs while Anne studied the scheme for refurbishing a hotel. Unusually, Marnie found her attention wandering, her concentration faltering. She looked across the office to where Anne was sitting, head bent over her papers, writing notes. Without warning, Anne suddenly looked up and caught Marnie staring at her.

  “What’s up, Marnie?”

  “I was just … thinking about Dick’s story.”

  “Were you wondering if he’d made it up after all? I wonder what sor
t of account was kept of that sort of thing.”

  “No, I believed him when he said it really happened. I expect something was written down, maybe a report for the church authorities.”

  “So what were you thinking?”

  “It’s odd but when Dick told that story, I imagined you as the girl who’d pushed the lord into the water, accidentally on purpose.”

  Anne laughed. “Me?”

  “That’s just the kind of thing you’d have done.”

  Chapter 26

  Image

  Early on Thursday morning the curtains were closed on Exodos, so nobody called to invite Donovan for breakfast. When they started work, Danny helped Anne for half an hour with the filing. Soon the first sounds from the dig reached them. A convoy of vehicles was heard. Timeline was on the move.

  Anne and Danny went to watch the crew setting up. While they stood looking on, a young man from the TV company approached them and asked if they were connected with the farm.

  “D’you know what time the university archaeologists arrive?”

  “About nine.”

  “Do you know Dr Cardew?”

  “He’s the one in charge,” Anne said.

  “Are you likely to see him? Could you give him a message?”

  “Sure.”

  “Could you ask him to see Crispin Wade or Suzi Fraser-Jones? They want to arrange an interview with him this morning.”

  “I’ll let him know.”

  “That’s great.” He looked from Anne to Danny. “You two were filmed yesterday, weren’t you?”

  Anne shook her head. “No, not us.”

  “You were. I saw it. Someone found a little pendant, a fleur-de-lys? You were talking to that posh woman about it, blonde, blue dress.”

  Danny grinned. “The lady of the manor.”

  Anne looked thoughtful. “Who filmed us? There wasn’t a camera crew anywhere near.”

  “You were caught on one of the location cameras.” He turned and pointed at a surveillance camera fixed to the end of the barn. “One of those.”

  “True fame.” Anne struck a pose, grinning.

  “It could be,” the young man said. “They’re running a trailer tonight after the six o’clock news. You might be on.”

  *

  Half an hour of watching archaeologists scrape dirt with their trowels was more than enough for Danny. The temperature was rising, with not a cloud in the sky. The TV crew seemed to be locked in a discussion in the shade at the side of the field while the helicopter droned over the site in circles. With more than an hour to wait before her first run as water-girl, Danny set off through the spinney to the docking area.