There were times when Honey regarded her mother as a selfish woman. She would have commented but the phone interrupted.
It was Caspar. ‘I’ve made all the necessary arrangements. You’re booked in at Torrington Towers to investigate further.’
‘Right! Are you coming with me?’
She sensed it would be a negative.
‘No. I don’t want to go near the place.’ Another pause. ‘You’re not going to let me down are you?’
Honey sighed. Awkward cuss that he was, she was quite fond of Caspar and the swiftness with which he’d made the arrangements amazed her.
‘I could do with a few days away.’ She bit her lip. Doherty would disapprove, so Doherty mustn’t know.
Caspar expressed his gratitude and went back to whatever he was doing.
Her mother peered at her, face alive with interest.
‘You’re going to stay there for a few days? How about I come with you?’
Chapter Sixteen
Before setting off for her stay at Torrington Towers, Honey tracked down Uncle Percy. After he’d expressed his surprise and asked her how her mother was doing, he finally asked the reason for her call.
‘I’m taking it you want to talk to me about your father. Am I right?’
She told him he was.
‘Was he a spy?’
Percy laughed. ‘You’ve been watching too many of those 007 films, my girl.’
He sounded condescending. It was only what she’d expected.
‘Do you know a man named Lord Torrington? The family name is St John Gervais.’
A pregnant pause followed. His hesitation was enough to answer her question.
‘I’m not sure...’
‘I went to his funeral the other day. It was a very odd occasion, a funeral pyre in an orchard at a stately home. His death was suspicious. The police are very hands off and I’ve been asked to investigate by a close relative of the victim. In doing so I’ve uncovered some details about my father and his death. Do you happen to know anything about Tarot cards?’
Total silence. ‘Where are you, my dear?’
‘Bath. I run the Green River Hotel.’ She gave him the address.
‘Is your mother with you?’
‘My mother is never far from me.’
‘Good. Look, leave this with me. I’ll look into it. Okay?’
Honey had listened to her father’s brother with some consternation. His hesitancy made her suspicious and for no valid reason she found herself having second thoughts. When she redialled, the number was engaged so she left a voice message.
At the other end of the phone a big man with white hair and a tight chest was trying to get his breath. His lungs were shot away – too many rich cigars and French brandy. Hearing the bad news hadn’t helped. Somehow the Tarot man had been resurrected. Whoever it was had to be a relative of the original one, the one who’d reached his zenith of operation in the midst of the Cold War. A few enquiries and he knew for sure. The Tarot Man had taken on his father’s mantle and was out for revenge. All he, Percy, could do was call in a few favours and hope he was wrong; that his niece wasn’t one of those in the firing line.
Honey’s room at Torrington Towers had a high ceiling from which clusters of plaster hung down from an intricately patterned background. The clusters were intertwined leaves and brambles ending in a Tudor rose. Dark oak panels adorned the walls and the carpet beneath her feet was thick enough to drown in. A four poster bed of splendid proportion dominated the room and a lead paned oriole window afforded a breathtaking view of the grounds.
Her mother had the room next door. It had similar proportions and both had bathrooms.
‘Thank goodness,’ stated her mother. ‘I wasn’t looking forward to trotting down a draughty corridor in the middle of the night.’
Honey wasn’t entirely sure what her mother’s role would be during the investigation, but was glad of the company. Doherty would have been a hell of a lot more useful, but as he didn’t approve of her getting involved, she hadn’t told him. Anyway, he was going on a course for the days that coincided with her stay at the stately home.
Honey decided also not to tell her mother that she’d spoken to Uncle Percy. It would do no good to dredge up old memories her mother was loath to revisit.
A Mrs Crompton made sure they had everything they needed and told them when dinner would be served. She was very chatty and told them as much as she could about the old place and when Mr Tarquin – his lordship - had last been seen there.
‘The last time I saw him I made him breakfast, but he didn’t seem that hungry.’
‘Did he have much to say?’
Mrs Crompton shook her head vehemently which sent her double chins quivering.
‘No. But then, he never did. Mr Tarquin enjoyed his food. You could say he concentrated on his food.’
‘But he didn’t have much to eat that morning.’
‘No. He did not.’
‘A man who eats a hearty breakfast one day then doesn’t the next, had something on his mind.’
Honey knew her mother was right. All the talk of food had made her hungry. She looked at her watch. There was just enough time to wash and change before dinner.
‘I’ll meet you downstairs,’ Honey declared.
‘No. I’ll call for you.’ Gloria looked around her tellingly. ‘This old place is very grand, but the shadows get longer at twilight. I think Mary Jane would call it a house of history where ghosts lurk in the shadows. Who knows what things have gone on here?’
She had a point so Honey fell in with her wishes.
Her mother was disappointed to find they were to dine in the servants’ hall.
‘But I’m not dressed for the servants’ hall!’ she exclaimed, indicating the pure silk dress she was wearing.
Honey sighed. She had emphasised that she was here on business and needed to interact with the staff, but obviously her words had fallen on stony ground. Her mother had visions of them staying five star style with knobs on!
Not all the staff was at dinner, but those that were offered what help they could, though most of it was pretty much along the lines of what Mrs Crompton had told them.
There was only one exception. Adrian Sayle was the head ranger with overall charge of the safari park.
‘Somebody from his past. That’s who I reckon it was.’
Honey pasted on an interested expression.
‘Have you seen any strangers around here?’
‘There are always strangers around here,’ he exclaimed, a chunk of steak and kidney pie speared on his fork. ‘We take bed and breakfast guests in some of the cottages out back. Not all of them, just those not occupied by members of staff.’
Honey was fascinated. Adrian Sayle had cast aspersions on person or persons unknown.
As a hotel owner, she was very aware that few people stayed in bed and breakfast accommodation for longer than one or two days. Tourists liked to see all they could as quickly as they could.
‘Were there any who stayed longer than normal?’
The brusque, rough looking man, his muscular calves bare beneath the long legs of his shorts, responded to her interest.
‘Not many. The longest was some historian bloke who was doing research into the family and the ancient burial sites around here. Then there was some naturalist studying the mating habits of big cats and wanted to study those in captivity. He was here quite a while.’
‘And there was the artist,’ one of the zoo keepers added.
‘She was a girl,’ Adrian Sayle pointed out. ‘A girl couldn’t have killed him, not one like her anyway.’
‘Was she pretty?’ asked Honey’s mother.
The ranger looked flustered. ‘Well. Yes...’
‘Stunning! Gorgeous figure.’ The keeper used both hands to indicate the classic hour glass shape.
‘Then she didn’t need to be strong,’ said Gloria. ‘She could lead him anywhere – if he was that way inclined.’
‘I knew there was a reason I brought you here,’ Honey whispered to her mother.
Honey added things up. If his old friend Clara was telling the truth, he was certainly that way inclined. If her mother was right, the girl could have been a honey trap, and dear old Tarquin could easily have fallen into it.
‘Do you have names and addresses of those people who rented the cottages?’
Miss Vincent, the estate secretary said that she did. Apparently she didn’t live at Torrington Towers but drove in each day from the village.
‘I only stayed here tonight because Mr Caspar said that you were a very well respected detective and I should help you all I could. Mr Caspar always was a nice boy. So obedient compared to Tarquin who used to get up to all manner of mischief.’
To Honey it seemed a pretty good summing up of what Caspar was like. It was easy to imagine him as a small boy looking as prim and proper as he did as an adult.
Honey made notes. It wasn’t lost on her that Miss Vincent was likely a mine of information on Caspar’s past as well as that of his lordship.
‘Did you see Mr Tarquin leave on the last morning you saw him?’
Miss Vincent shook her head, then paused and looked thoughtful. ‘I did pass a car on the road, but didn’t recognise it. I presumed it was one of the bed and breakfast people.’
‘OK.’ Honey nodded her appreciation for the list Miss Vincent handed her.
Her first act was to ring Professor Lionel Collins, the historian who had stayed at the cottage for about six weeks.
Honey explained her reason for calling.
‘I’m just checking to find out if you saw Lord Torrington leave and whether you saw him with anyone else.’
‘I’m a historian not a private detective. I wasn’t here to spy on him.’
Honey applied her most sugary voice. ‘I notice you live at Dunster. That’s not too far. I don’t mind driving down...’
‘I’m sorry. That’s not possible.’
He explained that he couldn’t spare much time as he was off to give a lecture in Amsterdam.
‘Seeing as you don’t live that far away, was there any particular reason you stayed for six weeks?’
His response was abrupt. He’d moved into a converted Methodist chapel in the village about a year ago which needed some building work. The builders had moved in and he’d moved out.
‘I trust they did a nice job.’ Actually she’d never liked church and chapel conversions very much because they never ceased to look what they were.
‘Look, I’m sorry to have troubled you, but the brother of the deceased has asked me to look into his death. He’s quite unhappy about it. I’m sure you understand.’
The sweet voice again. This time it seemed to work. First there was silence, then a reluctant sigh.
‘Look. If you want to drive down before I leave, you’ll have to do it now.’
Honey jumped at the chance. ‘I’m at Torrington Towers. It won’t take me long.’
She persuaded her mother to stay behind and keep an eye on things.
‘Can I snoop with impunity?’ her mother asked.
Honey assured her that she could.
She set out immediately after breakfast and got to Dunster at around eleven thirty.
The converted chapel had a circular window of coloured leaded glass above a pillared entrance porch.
Lionel Collins answered the door wearing the typical professor attire; corduroy trousers, denim shirt and tweed jacket with leather inserts on the elbows. A pair of wire rimmed spectacles hung from a bootlace around his neck.
His hair was awry, a veritable lion’s mane of thick greyness receding from his forehead and hanging around his shoulders. Honey assessed him to be around fifty-five years of age, though judging by the way he moved and the directness of his manner, he pretended he was younger. About six feet two inches tall and well built, she had to concede that he must have been a handsome man when he was younger and was still worth a second look.
‘Enter,’ he said extending his arm in a flamboyant flourish. ‘Straight ahead.’
He directed her along a narrow passage and into a room with a vaulted ceiling.
Honey tilted her head back and eyed it with interest. She felt it was only polite to make a complimentary comment.
‘Impressive.’
It was the best she could come out with. Her eyes took in everything else. Both man and house were best described as shabby chic.
Although the interior had been tastefully modernised, the arched windows were still in situ, the bottom halves letting in light to the ground floor, the arched upper halves to the upper storey. The lower halves were crowded with bookshelves stuffed with books.
At one end was the gallery where worshippers used to sit, gazing down on their pastor and the pews beneath. Dark red oriental rugs covered oak floorboards.
Honey declined a drink, but accepted the offer to sit in a cane armchair with a peacock style backrest, the sort used in magazine shots where long haired models with skinny legs gaze out with elfin innocence.
Professor Collins poured himself a coffee and sat down opposite her, a ready smile on his face. His eyes were intently blue.
‘From what you told me on the phone, I doubt I’ll be much help, but fire away.’
‘Do you mind me asking what aspects of family history you were researching?’
‘The family tree going way back, but particularly the family’s involvement in the English Civil War.’
‘Did you find out anything interesting?’
‘Basically no more or less than I expected. Like a number of other families they were in the habit of changing sides depending on who happened to be winning.’
‘I drove past Dunster Castle. Wasn’t that involved in the Civil War?’
‘It was indeed.’
Her attention was drawn to a glass display cabinet beneath an overhead gallery.
‘Fascinating stuff,’ she said on taking a peek at what was on view, mostly ancient weapons, their blades holed and rusty with age. ‘Are they valuable?’
He invited her to step closer. The professor shook his head. ‘Not in money. But knowledge?’ He shrugged. ‘They are old. Look at them and wonder how many people this blade or that blade would have killed. The one advantage old weapons have over modern weapons is that at least you looked your enemy in the eye – not like today. One ICBM and we’re all blown away.’
‘Bad world,’ said Honey.
He pointedly looked at his watch. ‘Much as I would love to spend more time with you, I do have a plane to catch.’
‘I do apologise, but if I could ask you one more question. I understand there was a young lady staying in one of the cottages at the same time as you. Her name was Hermione Standish. Apparently she was very young and pretty. Do you recall her?’ This was the information Miss Vincent had given her.
Lionel raised his eyebrows. ‘Now let me see. Yes. I believe I did see her. She spent quite a bit of time with his lordship...’
‘Right.’
It popped into her mind that if Caspar inherited, he would acquire the title, something he had failed to mention. My word, but he was pretty insufferable at the best of times. Referring to him as my lord would only make him worse.
‘Did you see Mr...his lordship leave on the morning he was killed? It would have been about a month ago.’
The professor shook his head. ‘No. To tell you the truth I’d had a bit of a shindig at the pub in the village the night before. I went to bed late and got up late – me and a ruthless headache that is!’
‘I take it you were in good company.’
‘Very jolly company.’
‘Male or female?’
‘Are you enquiring about anything specific?’
She caught the professor smiling sidelong as though not in the least bit interested in what was past, but definitely interested in her.
‘No,’ she said, inadvertently blushing. ‘Just anything that struck you as odd.’<
br />
He shook his head, his eyes twinkling behind the lenses of his spectacles.
On the drive back to Torrington Towers she diverted into Bath telling herself her mother couldn’t possibly get into any trouble at Torrington Towers.
No matter that she’d been absent for less than two days, she couldn’t get it out of her head that the Green River could not run at full proficiency without her.
Lindsey didn’t look surprised to see her.
‘We’re still here. Nobody’s burned the place down, none of the guests have complained about anything and the chef has not attacked any of the diners with a meat clever.’
Somehow disappointed by this – nothing going wrong made her feel kind of unwanted – she lay her palms face down on the reception desk.
‘Have there been any bookings or is November still as barren as the Sahara Desert?’
‘We’ve picked up a coach party for a two day stay, plus a honeymoon couple, plus a minibus of senior citizens from Alabama. Oh, and the Walsall Psychic Society have booked a two day conference; I think Mary Jane had something to do with that.’
Feeling unwanted Honey finger tapped the desk.
‘How about Doherty? Has he phoned?’
Lindsey shook her head. ‘No. Were you expecting him to break silence at this course he’s on?’
‘Of course not!’
Of course she was. Okay, he was on some outward bound camp in the middle of nowhere, living off the land and doing all that self development stuff, but he could still have found the time to phone her.
‘We’re managing quite well,’ Lindsey added reassuringly on noticing her mother’s far away look.
Honey sighed. ‘I just thought I’d pop in just in case there was something...’
Something did spring into her head. Caspar. She dialled his mobile number.
‘Honey! You’re back.’
‘Am I speaking to Lord Torrington?’
There was silence. Eventually Caspar gathered himself.
‘Ah!’
‘You know, Caspar, I always thought your name was a little put on and when the truth about your birth came about I wasn’t surprised. Even if I’d reached the conclusion you might really have come from the seedy side of town I think you would have let me believe that. Instead I find that you’ve inherited a title. When were you going to tell me?’
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