by Amy Myers
‘Which of the soldiers was the one Robert saw die?’ Peter asked. ‘Private John Wilson or the Frenchman? That was Lieutenant Christophe Bonneur, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s it,’ Molly exclaimed. ‘Bonneur. That was the name of the French fellow Jeannie Miller married. Not a Christophe, but the surname was Bonneur all right. He came over looking for information about his dad or uncle. He’d heard about the memorial, came to see it and asked for Robert Wayncroft. Mr Wayncroft was away so he never met him, and he ran off with Fred’s wife instead.’
Bonneur. That name now rang a bell with Georgia too, and she scrabbled in her memory.
‘Isn’t that the family Valentine Harper married into?’
FOURTEEN
The end of the pilgrimage. Canterbury, and the last night of Becket. Georgia found it hard to believe that this was the same play, the same actors and the same production that she had watched only a few days ago. The cast must have sunk deeply into their roles in the course of the intervening performances in order to give such a mesmerizing performance. The battle between the King and Becket, Julian versus Val, dominated the play to such an extent that, for the first time, Eleanor’s part in the conspiracy seemed almost a sideline, good though Aletta and Tess were in their roles.
After Tim had said his few words in memory of Anne, the play had taken off right from the beginning, and as it reached its final scene she almost wanted to cry out, ‘Look behind you!’ as Becket entered and the knights, led by Seb Wayncroft, advanced. The King himself, the main enemy, was not present in that scene, but his power was evident. As she watched them on stage, it was not hard to see both the love and hatred between them, locked into an impossible situation that ended in murder, and nor was it hard to see the parallels in today’s Chillingham – save that love did not seem to exist between Julian and Val.
‘Into thy hands O Lord . . .’ Val was a superb actor. No doubt about that. Becket’s last words jerked painfully and movingly from his mouth. Playing Becket had been Henry Irving’s last performance on the stage, and he had died very shortly after those final words. And Hugh Wayncroft had uttered them in 1967 and died the following day. Hugh had been gentle by nature, but strong when it came to defending the Wayncroft family. She had seen few signs of gentleness in Julian or Val. Which would win if Armageddon had to be fought in their power struggle? Val, she decided. He had cunning, whereas Julian had only strength – and Aletta. Which way would Jessica jump, however? To her beloved Val or to the Wayncroft heir?
‘Quite something.’ Luke drew a deep breath, after the curtain had fallen and Tim had added a few more valedictory words on Anne.
‘Seconded.’ Peter was as impressed as Georgia was.
Outside in the small foyer, Luke managed to collar Tim and congratulate him. He seemed in such a daze that it was even an effort for him to say thanks. The strain of the last few weeks was still visible, but he looked genuinely happy at the way the play had gone, and Georgia was glad. He deserved it.
‘Come along to the party,’ Tim managed to add. ‘It’s at Seymour House, further along this road. Can’t miss it. Stands in its own grounds with a whacking great forecourt.’
‘Sure?’ Luke queried. ‘Not just a cast thing?’
‘Everyone’s welcome after a success,’ Tim said happily.
Peter elected to go straight back to Becket House, but Georgia could see Luke was keen to attend. It might even help, she thought. Tongues might be loosened as the cast relaxed, and she’d be a fool to miss the opportunity. The party was being held in a ground-floor room at the front of the house, and as Luke parked and they walked round towards the front door she could see Julian and Aletta inside, and Val’s tall figure moving around. The cast must have changed into party gear quickly to get here so soon, no longer delayed by having to remove the lashings of stage make-up that she dimly recalled from her own youthful acting. The smell and the way it had clung were with her still. Atmospheric perhaps, but today’s lighting had done away with that.
Luke was driving, and so there was the added inducement that she could indulge in a glass or two of wine. By the time they entered, the party had spread outside at the rear of the house on to a paved area and garden lit by lanterns, which gave the effect of presenting another stage for another play. Ideal for an after-show party, as it continued the make-believe, she thought. Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible for her.
At first it seemed pleasant enough as, with Luke engrossed in talking to Tim and Simon, she wandered round on her own.
‘Enjoy the show?’ Seb was grinning at her with his arm round Tess.
‘Terrific performance – and especially by Fair Rosamund and Reginald Fitzurse.’
Another grin. ‘Not bad, are we, Tess? I’ll get to play the king once we put it on in Chillingham.’
‘No aspirations for Becket?’
‘No way. We Wayncrofts like doing the regal stuff.’
‘So the Chillingham theatre project is going full speed ahead now?’
‘Nothing to stop us once we get planning permissions and all that dreary stuff. There’s the matter of funding of course, but Val’s got his head round that. Lottery money, community grants and stuff.’
Tess pulled a face. ‘Don’t be too sure, Seb. Big plans can hit the dust. The opposition’s still strong.’
‘You’ll all come round, sweetheart.’ Seb hugged Tess. ‘The plans are already drawn up for submission.’
‘That was quick work,’ Georgia said. ‘You’ve only had a week.’
‘Did them ages ago. And for the ruins too.’
‘But you only knew about the legacy a week or so ago.’
Seb shrugged. ‘Val got cracking on them as soon as he knew Robert had died. It all got put on one side when he found out about Anne having inherited them, but once she told us the happy news about her legacy—’
‘Anne told you?’ Georgia asked. ‘When?’ She could hardly believe what she was hearing.
Seb looked surprised. ‘At the pub that night. They were all talking about it when I joined them just before she left.’ Seb must belatedly have realized how this could reflect on his parents because he flushed, muttering, ‘They probably knew already.’
The damage had been done, however. Seb had obviously thought that this was general knowledge and must be grappling with the fact that his parents might not have mentioned this to the police. So that, Georgia realized, was the reason the table where Anne was sitting had gone very quiet after the row had finished. Anne had been telling the Wayncrofts that the ruins would eventually come back to them. The eventually must have struck home to Julian and Val – and Seb himself. Too late, perhaps, to save Chillingham Place.
Seb made his escape with Tess, and Georgia sympathized. It was easy at his age, especially with drink loosening tongues, to say too much and even to distort the truth. She shouldn’t place too much reliance on what he had said. That was what she told herself, but she could not help doing so. What Seb had said fitted in all too well with what she remembered of that evening. And what a motive if, driven beyond endurance by Anne’s intransigence, one of them had seized the opportunity to force the issue.
Georgia retreated into the house to find a drink and some food, still wrestling with Seb’s information. Anne hadn’t apparently cared about development in the long term, only in her lifetime. Which pointed surely to her desire and Robert’s to skip a generation. She wondered if Jessica, too, realized the implications, as Julian or Val must surely have told her about Anne’s disclosure. Georgia could see her sitting alone in a corner, looking rather white, and went over to her.
‘Are you all right, Jessica? Can I bring you a drink?’
‘It’s good of you, but no.’ She did not sound well. Then, out of the blue, she added, ‘My boys don’t always see eye to eye.’
However true, that seemed an odd statement to make at such a time. ‘Tonight’s success bodes well for your proposed theatre and other plans. Your sons are united over them.’
Jessica smiled. ‘In theory. But which one has the prize?’
It seemed unfair to take advantage of Jessica in a rare moment of weakness, but Georgia could not miss the opportunity. ‘You mean the Becket bones,’ she said flatly.
Jessica stared at her vacantly. ‘It’s not about theatres or bones. Perhaps it was once, but not now.’
To Georgia’s frustration, just as Jessica seemed about to continue, Julian arrived with a look of thunder on his face. ‘I hope you’re not pestering her with questions.’
‘No,’ she retorted. ‘Your mother looked ill, so I came over to see if I could help.’
‘I heard you talking about the Becket bones.’
‘And why not?’ Jessica roused herself indignantly. ‘Val says you have our jewel in the crown.’
Julian went white with fury. ‘I do not. My darling brother has. Why can’t you see that? And you –’ turning to Georgia – ‘stop meddling. You’re upsetting her.’
‘Not me,’ she replied firmly.
‘I agree, Georgia.’ Val appeared from nowhere at their side. ‘It’s you, Julian. Don’t you have any sense of restraint? This is hardly the place to be brawling over our family affairs in front of poor Georgia.’
‘Family affairs?’ Julian’s eyes glittered. ‘What family? You’re not a Wayncroft, remember? You’re an unwelcome guest at that party.’
‘Julian—’ Jessica said sharply.
‘It’s no use, Mother. I’ve had enough. You can get out, Val. We don’t need you. Seb and I can run things very nicely without your destructive input.’
Val’s face turned a sickly colour, but before he could speak, Jessica intervened. ‘Enough,’ she said. ‘Nothing changes yet. You understand me, both of you? We can’t afford it. Either you or Val have the answer, and Chillingham needs one.’
There was a dead silence, then Julian, completely ignoring Georgia and Val, helped Jessica up and escorted her away. Val took one look at her. ‘I need a drink,’ he said.
‘Please do. I’ll be fine on my own.’
Val looked ill at ease, but without outright rudeness could hardly leave after that.
‘I was looking at the memorial in the church, the one to the victims of the raid in 1942, and I noticed the name Bonneur,’ Georgia said chattily. ‘I remembered Anne telling me that you married into that family.’
‘Not the same family,’ he said too quickly for credibility.
‘Someone said a relative of his came to Chillingham in the 1980s asking for information about him. Then he ran off with Fred Miller’s wife. I thought it might be through him that you met your wife.’
‘It wasn’t. It’s a common enough name. My ex-wife had no connection, so far as I know. If you’ll excuse me . . .’ He walked away without a glance back at her, which told her that she had rattled not one, but at least two cages this evening.
As was often the case with after-show parties, she could see that by now there were two distinct groups, the outsiders and the insiders, the latter being the cast and stage staff. It was almost as if the insiders were declaring themselves a united family for the last time. From her own knowledge of drama groups, once everyone had resumed his or her daily life, the sense of unity would vanish. The walk back to Chillingham would postpone that for a day, however, and tomorrow she would be walking with them. For tonight, however, she had had enough, and when Luke came up to join her, he made no demur when she suggested leaving.
Luke had decided to stay over at Becket House, but again he left early on the Sunday morning, promising to be back to meet her as the pilgrims arrived home. When she went in for breakfast, Peter was waiting for her, but before she could even begin to tell him about the previous evening, he said, ‘You’ve heard?’
‘Heard what?’
‘Julian Wayncroft.’
‘He was there last night and—’
‘Attacked last night.’
Her head began to reel. Julian? ‘What happened? Is he dead?’
‘No, but critical, so Molly says. She had the news from Lisa. He was run over.’
‘How? Where?’ she asked.
‘Apparently while walking to his car, where Jessica was waiting for him.’
‘Accident?’
‘No one stopped. Jessica didn’t see what happened, and so the next person out had the happy surprise of finding him.’
Georgia tried to cope with this new horror. An accident would be pushing coincidence to its extreme. She could not face a heavy breakfast and so compromised with a slice of toast and tea. Then Luke rang her mobile.
‘I’ve had Tim on the phone,’ he said.
‘We’ve heard about Julian.’
‘He’s beside himself, poor chap. Kept saying it couldn’t happen again. It couldn’t be one of them.’
‘Is the walk still going ahead?’
‘Believe it or not, yes. Don’t know about the celebration.’
‘But Aletta and Val—’
‘Aletta, Seb and Jessica are at the hospital. It seems Val has nobly offered to lead the triumphal walk back for the rest of them. Tim asked me to tell you it’s leaving from the cathedral as planned at two p.m.’
Georgia switched off her mobile with mixed feelings. Half of her wanted to go nowhere near the Old Road, and the other half knew that Peter would point out that that was all the more reason for her to do so.’
‘I take it from your expression that you don’t want to go,’ Peter said.
‘No, but I should. I haven’t told you yet what happened last night.’
A keen look. ‘Do so, and make it good.’
His eyes gleamed as she related Seb’s staggering information. ‘I’ll ring Will Whitton with that. It takes us a whole lot further.’
‘You mean Will.’
‘And possibly us as well.’
When she went on to tell him of the spat with Julian and Val, Peter almost crowed with delight. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m glad you’re pleased,’ she said drily. ‘Val wasn’t. He had to contend with the threat of being evicted, plus my bringing up the subject of the bones again.’
‘Tell me the exact words Jessica used, if you can.’ When she did so to the best of her ability, he continued, ‘The references to “the jewel in the crown” and “the answer”. Answer to what?’
‘Both refer to the Becket bones, I presume.’
‘Really,’ Peter said with satisfaction, ‘this case is most interesting.’
‘Which case?’
‘You do right to remind me. But Bonneur, Georgia, Bonneur.’
‘Val didn’t like my bringing up the name one little bit.’
‘Understandably so, I believe. I have not been idle,’ Peter announced. ‘I researched army records for Private J. Wilson. Not an uncommon name, but I think I have the right one. Went with the Royal Engineers in the Expeditionary Force to France in 1939; based in England in 1942, having been evacuated from Dunkirk in 1940. As was Robert Wayncroft,’ he added.
‘And as were well over three hundred thousand other men,’ Georgia pointed out.
‘That is true.’ Peter looked complacent. ‘I would suggest that if Lt Christophe Bonneur was alive and well in Canterbury in June 1942 then it’s odds-on that he was in the Free French forces also evacuated from Dunkirk.’
‘As were roughly twenty-five thousand of his countrymen.’
‘Wilson and Bonneur died in the raid. Robert Wayncroft survived.’
‘Which only means that he felt that his fellow servicemen deserved a memorial.’
‘But why were they all in Canterbury in the first place? Robert, I understand, but neither of the other two was stationed nearby.’
‘On leave?’
‘Perhaps. It’ll take more time to get at the Free French force records, but the same question mark hangs over Bonneur.’
‘Where’s this going, Peter?’
‘Like all good journeys – to Canterbury. I also did some research into the Bonneur family. Did you know that it goes back to med
ieval days?’
‘So do all families. They’re just not all on record.’
‘Kindly be constructive, Georgia. In medieval times the head of the Bonneur family was very close to the kings of France. It supported the king at all times. It shot to real power under King Louis VII, who seems to have been devoted to pilgrimages. He was also the first husband of Eleanor, who later married Becket’s adversary Henry II of England and a large part of France. Both Henry and Louis did penance at the tomb of Thomas Becket.’
‘So?’ A few bells were beginning to ring in her mind.
‘Big shot Henry II decided it would be fun to extort that huge ruby, the Regale, out of Henry VII as a donation to the shrine, which helped save his own pocket.’
‘Isn’t that the jewel that disappeared into the King’s coffers in Tudor times and not long afterwards disappeared for good?’ She stopped as Peter’s implication hit her. ‘Do you mean,’ she asked incredulously, ‘that the jewel in the crown Jessica was talking about was that and not the bones?’
Peter nodded. ‘I invite you to consider that possibility. Also, I recall you told me that the Wayncroft papers contains the injunction that “your heritage is wisdom”, and the Bible tells us that the price of wisdom is above—’
‘Rubies,’ she finished for him.
Peter sighed with pleasure. ‘Consider, therefore, that the heritage of the Wayncrofts might actually be to protect that ruby and not the bones?’