by Amy Myers
‘Rick, call him Rick, please,’ Elena said.
Hearing the tremble in her voice, Georgia stretched out her hand to take her mother’s in hers. It felt warm and familiar.
‘Thank you,’ Lucien said. ‘We were downstairs in the boat. My parents had been talking to Rick, and I was listening. Then it happened, a bang, the lights went out, the darkness came and then the screams. It was so quick; suddenly I felt water and Rick’s hand grabbing hold of me as it swept us away. There was no time for lifebelts, nothing. We seemed to be in the river immediately, just the two of us. Rick sang to me—’
‘Sang?’ Peter repeated.
‘A song. I have heard it since. “Scarborough Fair”.’
The choke in Georgia’s throat returned in full force. ‘Scarborough Fair’ had been Rick’s favourite song in childhood days.
‘I could not see his face,’ Lucien continued. ‘Rick was trying to swim, holding me with one arm. I remember that. I was panicking. “Are we going to die?” I asked him. “No,” he said. “I have to get back for George’s birthday.” You know this George?’
Her voice did not seem to be her own. ‘He said Georgia,’ she managed to say. ‘It was my birthday shortly afterwards. He said he’d be there, and he wasn’t.’
Elena’s hand tightened in hers. ‘What happened then?’ her mother asked.
‘We seemed to be swept away, clear of the boat, and a rescue boat was coming for us. He pushed me into it, but then I think he was swept away and I never saw him again.’ Lucien looked at them all uncertainly, perhaps wondering whether he had helped or not. ‘But I remembered him. Always I do. I sing that song “Scarborough Fair” to my own babies.’
‘Does that finish it, Elena, do you think?’ Peter asked during the journey home. ‘Is he resting now?’
‘In an unidentified grave?’ she answered. ‘I can’t bear it, Peter.’
‘Our hearts have to be identity enough. Shall we take a trip to Scarborough, all three of us? Maybe next spring. On the cliff where we took him once as a child. Remember, Georgia?’
She remembered. They all did: she, Peter – and Elena. ‘Let’s do it,’ she said.
FOURTEEN
‘Are you ready for the next battle?’ Peter asked.
‘Which battlefield?’ Georgia asked cautiously. In unspoken agreement, she and Peter had abandoned work on their return yesterday and sat with Elena in Medlars’ garden.
‘Edgar House. The Clackingtons are expecting us at eleven thirty. They’re still wavering as to whether they believe us or not over the fake letters. Gerald said he’d ring me back when I first called him, and I got the impression that today was not a good choice.’ Peter was amused rather than irritated. ‘Something’s brewing, and it won’t just be cups of tea. For a start, Esther Tanner’s going to be there.’
‘Maybe Douglas has been invited too and will be sitting there with his inscrutable smile.’
‘I doubt it. He’s thrown his metaphorical bomb and knows he’s on safe ground with Tim and Roy at least. He’ll see no need to defend his corner with the Clackingtons. He’ll just watch where the pieces fall. What with yesterday and Jill’s birthday on Saturday it’s going to be a busy week.’
‘I wish I could work out why Douglas told us,’ Georgia said. ‘I’d feel on safer ground. At the moment we could be playing right into his hands again.’
‘I would like to say because he thought it would help point us towards Bob Luckhurst’s murderer, but it’s far more likely he’s safeguarding himself. Amelia knew the collection was fake, and he reasoned that she would tell Laura, probably blackmail her and do the same to other interested parties. I reckon he was getting the best of both worlds. Tell us so that he would look good in the eyes of the police – even if they couldn’t find evidence – and deny it until he was blue in the face to the Fettises. Clever. No evidence either way except hearsay from two interested parties.’
‘What about the publican at the Dryden Arms?’
‘No joy there. He simply closed up – and as I was cleverly manoeuvred into the summer house he didn’t know I was still there.’
‘Any ideas yet on how Douglas made that room disappear? It was a standard house, you couldn’t tell it from all the others, and so it wasn’t the sort of place to lend itself to murder in the way of magic tricks.’
‘Give me time,’ Peter said with dignity – which meant he hadn’t a clue, she thought. She could hardly blame him – nor had she.
Gerald must have seen their car arrive, because he opened the door even before she had got out of the car. He was hardly beaming in welcome, however, and there was no sign of Dora.
‘I’ll see you in,’ Gerald said neutrally, pulling the door shut behind him and escorting them to the side door. He seemed embarrassed rather than angry at the bad news he’d been given, she thought, even if it did feel as though they were being banished to the tradesmen’s entrance. Ridiculous, Georgia told herself. Bad as the news might be for the Clackingtons, she and Peter were merely the messengers, not the evil-doers. Besides, if the Clackingtons doubted what they had been told they had only to get the collection authenticated by disinterested third parties, which would either verify Watts’ claim or, hopefully from their point of view, disprove it. Once again she had a niggle over whether Douglas had been telling them the truth or not.
Stand firm and march on, she told herself, a family phrase that had always made her giggle as a child. She could see the lift ahead before they turned towards the living room and she thought of the precious letters lying on their velvet cushions and how fond Dora was of them. Her heart went out to her.
When they reached the living room she could see both Esther and David Wilson together with, surprisingly, John Collier, Amelia’s husband. She was immediately wary. For what purpose had they been summoned? To prove the collection must be genuine or to deal with the consequences of its being a fraud?
‘We’ve heard,’ Gerald began, preceded by a cough either of embarrassment or self-importance, ‘from Roy. As you no doubt know, he had a visit from the police over Peter’s story that their Jane Austen collection is not genuine.’
‘It was Douglas Watts’ story, not ours,’ Peter replied. ‘He himself told us that he had faked it.’
‘Roy assures me that Douglas said nothing of the sort. A mild jest perhaps which you misinterpreted.’ Gerald looked hopeful.
‘Roy can’t know what Douglas said. He wasn’t there,’ Peter said mildly. ‘Have you spoken to Watts yourself?’
‘Not yet. Can’t get hold of the fellow. But Dora and I had those letters authenticated by him when we came here – sorry, Esther, not doubting you, but that was only reasonable. Watts is a specialist in Austen, so that was good enough for us. The question is where they came from, which is what I hope you can tell us, Esther.’
Esther looked nonplussed. ‘I explained when the house sale went through that the Jane Austen connections were Max’s department, not mine. He told me he’d found the oil painting with the letters tucked into it and showed it to Bob Luckhurst, who checked out the artist and subject.’
David Wilson seemed puzzled. ‘You told me it was Luckhurst who found the letters secreted in the frame.’
‘Maybe I did.’ Esther looked annoyed. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter, does it?’
‘It could,’ Georgia said, earning herself a glare from Gerald. ‘You said you were both interested in restoring the Assembly Rooms, not just Max.’
‘That’s true,’ Esther replied, ‘but I told Max and Barbara they could take care of the history side. Not my thing. Not that it was theirs either.’
‘So Barbara was involved in your plans?’
‘She was an ambitious young lady. Saw a little nest-egg for herself and decided to make herself indispensable. Behaved like Lady Muck. Same now. She’s going into the trade in a big way, I heard. She and that son of hers.’
Max Tanner’s? Georgia wondered again.
David Wilson stepped into the ring. ‘Seems t
o me that we’re getting off the point. Did Max find the letters here or was it Luckhurst who slipped them into the frame when Max took the painting to him? Seems to me that they must have been planted there, not here. Maybe Luckhurst gave the letters to Max in payment for the painting. Rotten deal if so. They’re faked, but from what you say, Esther, that painting was the real McCoy.’
A small moan from Dora. ‘Did Amelia mention our letters to you, John? It really seems scarcely believable all that material was faked, and that she knew about it. Of course, I never met her—’
‘She knew nothing of the sort,’ John Collier replied vigorously. ‘And what’s more it’s unproven as to whether they are faked,’ he reminded them.
‘Did Max believe the letters were genuine?’ Peter asked Esther.
‘Of course,’ she replied immediately. ‘He trusted Bob, so he trusted the experts Bob employed.’
Interesting how protective both husbands were, both alert and ready to pounce on any implied slur on their spouses, Georgia noticed.
‘I agree with you, David,’ Peter said. ‘Tanner was probably taken for a ride by Luckhurst and Watts acting together. He wouldn’t have known whether the letters were genuine or not.’
‘Then it’s a question of who put them behind the frame,’ Georgia pointed out. ‘If Tanner hid them in the frame himself then he was in the scam. If, as you suggested, David, Luckhurst pretended to find them then Tanner was duped.’
Dora said timidly, ‘I’m sorry, John, but I agree with them. I think that Max was deceived either by Amelia or Bob Luckhurst or both.’
David began to speak, but was shouted down by Gerald’s yell of fury.
‘You’re not falling for this line, are you, Dora? After all we’ve done to this house, and you believe the first crazy story that you’re told? It’s Douglas’s word against yours, Marsh, and frankly, I prefer his, so I’d suggest you leave.’
‘Certainly,’ Georgia said. Nothing would be gained by their staying.
Dora rose trembling to her feet. ‘I believe that I have something to contribute to this argument, and I would be grateful if you could stay, Peter, and you too, Georgia.’
‘What the hell are you raving about, Dora?’ Gerald was red in the face.
‘You’re forgetting about Laura,’ Dora replied simply. ‘I saw her just before she died, Gerald. I’m certain that Laura knew the collection was faked and that Jennifer thinks so too. I’ve talked to her.’
‘You can’t believe anything she says at present,’ Gerald said sharply. ‘She’s upset.’
‘I can believe her if I think she’s right, Gerald,’ Dora said with a dignity that Georgia never guessed she possessed. ‘And I do. I think that our letters are probably fakes, and we should get another authentication.’
‘Are you going to tell Douglas to his face that he’s a fraud?’ Gerald thundered.
‘No, but I can ask for another opinion. I’m sure Peter and Georgia are right.’
‘You’re an idiot then. They’re stirrers.’
‘Don’t mind us,’ Peter said cheerfully. He was enjoying this.
Gerald didn’t. ‘Those letters belong to me as well as you, Dora, and I say you’ll do nothing of the sort.’
‘That is your right, Gerald,’ she retorted, ‘just as it’s my right to dispute any claim you might publicly make for them.’
Gerald stared at her as though wondering whom he’d been living with for the last umpteen years, but, seeing that he was about to launch another tirade, Georgia stepped hastily into the breach. ‘What will you do about Jake’s filming? Is it still beginning on Monday?’
‘Yes. Happily there is plenty to talk about without mentioning the letters,’ Dora replied.
‘Is Jake OK with that?’
‘I shall ensure that he is,’ said the new Dora.
Jill had laid on a massive spread for her birthday, with about thirty guests squeezed into their tiny Canterbury garden. Georgia watched Rosa being lovingly passed from one pair of arms to another, with Elena well to the fore. She had stayed on in a Canterbury hotel so that she could continue house-hunting and had been talking happily about how much she liked the city. She seemed to get on well with Jill, almost as though she, not Georgia, were the proud step-grandparent. Georgia realized with some astonishment that she had herself miraculously become part of a family again, and that Elena was an accepted part of it. Talk of estate agents, instead of filling her with dread, now brought the comforting knowledge that it was a done deal. Elena would be moving back to England and living nearby. What would happen then was something to be dealt with in the future, not now.
‘Coming over to Edgar House on Monday to see the fun?’ Jake asked as he strolled up to Georgia.
‘Depends on what fun you have in mind,’ she said cautiously. ‘I doubt if the Clackingtons would welcome me. I’m persona non grata.’
‘Nonsense. You might have done them a favour, and anyway, you and Peter are most certainly interested parties. Edgar House is hired as my set for the day, so come. We can always fish out a Regency costume for you and call you an extra. Unpaid,’ he joked. ‘Or if Jill doesn’t turn up you can give an erudite talk on Assembly Rooms.’
‘On the whole I prefer the latter.’
‘You’re hired.’ Jake went off to get another drink and Georgia went to join Peter, who was talking to a regally clad Jill.
‘Ah, Georgia,’ Peter greeted her, ‘Jill’s telling me—’
‘All about Assembly Rooms,’ Georgia finished for him.
Jill laughed. ‘I see Jake’s been talking. Phil too?’
‘Both, though Peter and I aren’t popular with Phil. I’ll bring my armour on Monday.’
‘Better to be prepared for combat,’ Jill agreed. ‘He’ll have to organize a new presentation, once it’s settled.’
‘What does it depend on?’
‘Jake. Jennifer’s taken some of the collection up to London for an urgent evaluation, laid on by Jake and Phil’s publishers. Evaluations take time, of course, so this one will be a snap opinion off the record, which will give enough guidance to point the way ahead. If the question mark over it looks serious, then Jake will have to move to Plan B, which means everyone moves to Plan B. Including me,’ Jill said crossly. ‘Thanks, Georgia. And Phil’s not too pleased either,’ she added as he and Jake joined them.
‘You could say that,’ Phil agreed sourly.
‘What would you have done in our position?’ Georgia asked. ‘Ignore it? We had to tell the police.’
‘If you ever had such a conversation, and if you reported it correctly,’ Philip said.
‘Any reason we should make it up or—’
‘Not that I can see,’ Jake interposed. ‘I told you that, Phil.’
Philip was quick to make amends. ‘I suppose you’re right. Maybe Douglas said it as a joke and you misinterpreted it.’
So that was the way the relationship worked, Georgia thought. Jake led, and Philip followed. She’d assumed it was the other way around.
‘It’s one hell of a problem for us, though, especially me,’ Philip continued, ‘because my publishers have had to be warned. All for nothing.’
‘Is it too late to postpone publication and make changes?’ she asked.
‘It’s set to begin printing first week of September, so I hope we can get this mess cleared up by then. If we can’t, they might scrap the whole book. It doesn’t look good.’
FIFTEEN
When Georgia arrived at Edgar House on the Monday the array of cars and vans drawn up before the house was impressive. It was also daunting, because it brought home to her that the Luckhurst case had stalled. Everyone’s attention was on the film. Reluctantly, Peter had pointed out that there was going to be no room for wheelchairs or lift accommodation today, so she should go to Edgar House alone. Which was a nuisance, he felt, because it would be an interesting day. A phone call from Mike urging her to go but keep a low-key profile reinforced this, but unfortunately neither Mike nor Pete
r seemed to have any idea what they were expecting.
She took a deep breath and went into the house. Not only was the front door already open, but also every door that she could see. Edgar House was alive with sound and energy. Voices, movements above, and a living room apparently turned into a temporary props room. There was no sign of anybody in it, but there was a sense of people scurrying about elsewhere in the house. She could hear voices from the small room to the right of the entrance hall, where Jane Austen had awaited the Godmersham carriage – that much might be true even if the appearance of Captain William Harker into her life had been discredited.
She went into the room and found Dora and Jennifer poring over a script by the window.
‘Oh, Georgia,’ Jennifer greeted her. ‘I’m so sorry – I didn’t have time to let you know what was happening.’
‘It’s been called off?’ Georgia asked in alarm.
‘No,’ Dora said with a certain complacency. ‘Very much all on. It’s a completely new focus for the film. Poor Jake’s been up most of the night. We gave him a bed here.’
‘What on earth’s happened?’
‘I went up to London on Friday and got back yesterday,’ Jennifer said. ‘Result: very definite doubts over the collection. Still only doubts, because if they’re fakes they’re good, including the signatures on the two watercolours. But there was one howler that Douglas could not have foreseen. There was a letter from a Miss Pretty about a visit she paid to Stourdens where she ran into a Miss Jane Austen in the gardens alone with a naval captain, both seeming flustered at her coming upon them so unexpectedly. It was a reasonable risk on Douglas’s part, and the Pretty family undoubtedly lived nearby. Unfortunately for him the specialist I saw did know of the Pretty family and was able to check. The sister to whom Douglas had addressed the letter had died in the preceding year.’
‘I’m afraid it looks as if our letters are therefore also suspect,’ Dora said.
She did not look in the least ‘afraid’, Georgia thought admiringly. Indeed Dora looked as if she was trying hard not to show excitement over the drama. ‘I’m sorry, Jennifer,’ Georgia said. ‘I know the collection means a lot to you.’