“This young man’s death is a tragedy, of course.” Isabel set down her coffee and turned to me. I could see tears in her eyes and her forehead wrinkled into a frown, something I hadn’t thought possible. “But his death shouldn’t drag others down with it—you wouldn’t let that happen, would you, Julia? Even if it meant someone close to you were responsible?”
I couldn’t speak, I was so shocked. I knew what she meant. She was pointing the finger at Linus—accusing him of killing Freddy to eliminate the blackmailer.
—
And now lounging round the Hall on my day off had been taken away from me. I took my cup back to the kitchen and told Sheila I was going out—a long walk round the estate to clear my fusty head.
“And your breakfast?” she asked, knowing I’d had none.
“I’ll eat a good lunch.”
“You’ll take a sandwich—we’ve ham. I’ll leave it for you here.”
I took longer than I thought upstairs, as I received a text from Beryl: “Contractions started and stopped.” I rang and talked with Bee for a moment as she paced her bedroom.
When I stopped by the kitchen for my sandwich, Sheila had her arms full of linens. She sighed. “I hope we won’t need to begin scheduling the laundry—Lady Fotheringill beat me there again today. She seems to spend her days in the shower or washing clothes—it’s an odd fetish to come on her so late in life.”
“How long do you think she’ll stay?” I asked in a whisper, looking over my shoulder to the door.
Sheila shrugged an answer and left.
Tucking the sandwich and my field glasses into my bag, I walked out into the chill sunshine. Just outside the yew arch that marked the bottom of the formal garden, I paused and considered where to go. But my feet had already decided, and I struck out on the footpath that led through the wood and across the field to Adam Bugg’s orchard.
—
No smoke rose from Addleton’s chimney—I could see the red door of the gamekeeper’s lodge between tree trunks as I stayed on the footpath through the wood. I suppose it should be called the agent’s lodge now. Not far out of the wood, I reached the spot where I’d found the dead sparrow hawks. I looked back; Addleton lived quite close. He had said he’d been out on the estate the day before—most likely when the poisoned bait had been laid out—and he’d seen nothing.
More than a week after I’d found the dead birds, I saw no sign of my discovery in the brown grass. Dad told me that after they’d removed the birds and the bait, the area had been flushed with water—if it were the pesticide he suspected, it broke down quickly in soil and so would do no harm. It had done quite enough harm already, hadn’t it?
At the orchard, I walked down a row of young, vigorous trees to find Adam up a ladder in the middle of lichen-encrusted branches on a tree so gnarled and twisted I expected it to come to life like in a fairy tale.
“Good morning,” I called up to him.
“Hiya, Julia. Your day off?”
“It is—and you?”
“No, I’m on in the library for the afternoon. I like the schedule—gives me mornings out here.”
“This tree’s been around for a while,” I said, patting its cold, mossy trunk.
“Sweet Alford,” Adam replied as he climbed down and pulled off a red knit cap, shaking bits of dried leaves and twigs off it before stuffing it in his jacket pocket. His black eye had aged to the shade of a green woodpecker. “From Devon, eighteenth century. This one was planted about a hundred years ago, I’d say, but it still bears. It’s worth keeping, even if it does get a bit of scab. I’ll need to work on it this winter.”
“How did you get interested in apples?” I asked.
“Thorne used to work this orchard—at least part-time. Thirty years ago, when Linus inherited, he took on a load of debt and the entire estate had to tighten its belt. Thorne doubled up—for years he worked as butler and kept the orchard going. He’d bring me along, so I as much as grew up here.”
“And Cecil, too, before Linus and Isabel divorced?”
“Yeah, when she’d let him,” Adam said as he tucked secateurs in his belt and picked up a pair of loppers. “It’s never a good idea to be friends with the hired help, according to Lady Fotheringill. At least not after the age of five.”
I walked down the row toward the shed with him, dodging low-hanging branches and avoiding a few rotting fallen apples. “Did you know about Freddy blackmailing Cecil?”
He stopped. “You want to know if I think Cecil could’ve killed Freddy—no, he couldn’t. We grew up together, Julia—he’s like my brother.”
This didn’t exactly allay my fears that either or both had been involved in Freddy’s death. Families stick together, after all. “You and Cecil were arguing,” I said, and blushed at the revelation of my spying. “I saw you outside the Hall a few days ago—on my way into the village.”
He nodded. “We had a disagreement—he never should’ve given in to Peacock’s demands. He knows that now, of course.”
“You didn’t care much for Freddy, did you?”
“No, I didn’t,” Adam replied, as he paused to lop a broken stem off a branch. “He was a leech, feeding off others. He took advantage of people’s weaknesses.”
“And he had taken a fancy to Louisa.” My heart thumped at my audacity.
Adam’s eyes burned. He ran his hand through his cropped hair. “So now you think I’m the one who topped him?”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t need to say it—I can see it’s what you’re thinking.” He jerked his head, pointing the way. “Come on, then.” He took my wrist and dragged me along. In a panic, I realized I’d told no one where I was going. I had half a mind to break and run, but knew I wouldn’t get far if he wanted to overtake me. And running would make it look as if I was scared of him. And I wasn’t. Not much.
When we reached the shed, he opened the door and released my arm. I stepped back and he shook his head and walked in ahead of me. I peered in, dim light filtering through windows thick with dirt. Sacks and bags, bottles and jugs—all coated with grime and attached to each other by years of cobwebs—lined the filthy shelves. In the corner, long-handled tools, some half rotted away, stood in a tangled, upright heap.
“I’ve been meaning to clean this out since I started here five years ago. But I haven’t yet—I only reach in for what I need and shut the door. I wouldn’t use any of that rubbish in any case,” he said, nodding to the chemicals. “Not for birds or for people.”
“I wasn’t accusing you,” I said. “But the poison must’ve come from somewhere—and why not an abandoned shed where all this”—I gestured to the shelves—“has been forgotten?”
We stood in silence for a moment. I searched for a way to ease his mind—and mine, too. “Do you see much of Mr. Addleton?” I asked. “He doesn’t live all that far away. He helped on Cider Day, didn’t he?”
“Yeah. He had come out the day before, too, for a look round—counting trees, asking me questions, poking his head into the cider house and the shed. Getting to know the tenants, he said. Wanted me to clean out the shed so we were in line with all the new EU regulations for chemicals.”
He hung the loppers from a peg, and when he turned, he caught me peering closely at the shelves. I blushed and looked away.
“You go on and look,” he said.
“No,” I said. “I really only came out for a walk and thought I’d stop.”
“Well, you don’t mind if I keep working?”
“Not at all.”
Adam headed for the cider house, but I stayed in the shed. Lots of people had the opportunity to nip into the shed on Cider Day and make off with the poison that killed Freddy. But the sparrow hawks were already dead that morning, so it must’ve been someone who’d come by another day.
I pulled out my key ring and switched on the tiny torch I carried—a gift from Rupert, who didn’t want me stuck in a dark place—and began scanning the shelves. Product names weren
’t the same as the actual chemical name, and so I floundered searching for something that might contain the chemical Dad had mentioned: mevinphos.
“Looking for something?”
Chapter 33
I gasped, dropping my bag and torch and squinting at the tall figure in the doorway. I recognized the short swept-back haircut and the touch of frost to her voice.
“Good morning, Inspector Callow. It’s my day off,” I said. Sticking my chin in the air, I picked up my bag and tiny torch and walked to the door. The inspector moved aside to let me out.
Adam stood near the cider house with his hands stuck in his pockets, DS Glossop at his elbow. I looked from one officer to the other.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” I said.
“Ms. Lanchester, good morning,” he said with a smile. “Lovely day—you know, the sunshine and all.”
“Glossop,” Callow said.
“Yes, boss,” the DS replied. Dropping the smile, he walked past us into the shed carrying a large torch.
Callow went over to Adam, but I stayed where I was. I sensed a question on Callow’s lips—something along the lines of “What are you doing here looking in the chemicals shed?” and thought I’d deflect it.
“Adam,” I said, “we’ll need to talk further about the wassail day in January.” Adam looked at me with a blank stare. True, he hadn’t heard about it yet, but whereas the pub quiz came out of my mouth unawares, I already had this idea in mind. I’d read about it in a Suffolk Life article profiling a large orchard south of us, and I didn’t think they’d care if we stole it. “What else is there to do in the dead of winter, after all?” I asked, upturned hands in the air. “It will be lovely to come out to the orchard for a bonfire and the ritual of thanking the trees, and with dancing and…whatnot.”
“Yeah, fine,” Adam said.
“Ms. Lanchester?” the inspector asked.
“Yes?”
“Are you finished here?”
“Oh, yes, right. That’s me away.” But instead of leaving, I took a few steps, set my bag on the ground, and began to rummage round in it. “Now, what have I done with my phone?” I muttered loud enough for them to hear.
Callow turned to Adam. “May I look inside here?” she asked, nodding to the cider house. I watched as they walked round the far end to the door, and when they were out of sight, I backed into the shed.
DS Glossop stood scanning the shelves, the wide beam of his torch touching on each package and jug. When I entered, he turned the light on me and I threw my hand up in front of my eyes.
“Sorry,” he said, sending the beam off in another direction.
“I know what you’re looking for, Sergeant,” I said. “Mevinphos.” A gust of wind made us both jump, but when no Callow appeared at the door, I leaned in to read a package. Glossop leaned, too.
“Don’t touch anything, Ms. Lanchester. Fingerprints, you know. Although it doesn’t look as if anything has been shifted from these shelves for years. You can tell. See here—the surface dirt not scraped away, none of the packages wiped clean. And the cobwebs—well, you couldn’t reattach those now, could you?”
“Sergeant, I appreciate how you are willing to”—what, leak information? No, that wouldn’t sound right—“share certain aspects of the investigation with me. It helps keep the lines of communication open. Don’t you think?”
“My DI is an exceptional police officer, Ms. Lanchester—I’m lucky to work with her.” He shrugged. “It’s only that, well, I see a case differently. I prefer to seek out the knowledge of the community so that we don’t overlook any small detail that could assist the police in the apprehension of the person responsible for Mr. Peacock’s death. It’s important to be seen as a collaborator, not an inquisitor. Inspector Callow understands that.” Still, that understanding did not prevent DS Glossop’s nervous glance out the slightly opened door and toward the cider house.
“It’s an admirable professional relationship, Sergeant—and you and DI Callow seem to have worked it all out.”
“Yes, well.” Glossop blushed.
“Sergeant, if you do find something amiss here…well, you’ll remember that on Cider Day there were loads of people out here in the orchard.”
“Yes—you, his Lordship, Mr. Fotheringill, Mr. Addleton, Adam Bugg and his mother, Louisa Larkin, Nuala Darke. And all of you had access to Hoggin Hall.” I saw a shadow of the officious scowl cross his face.
I didn’t like hearing everyone listed in such a cold fashion. “Well, that hardly makes any one of us a murderer, does it?”
“Opportunity, Ms. Lanchester. You all had it.” I crossed my arms and frowned at him. “Ah now,” he said, “better this killer be caught and locked up in the nick than on the loose.”
I didn’t reply. Natty glanced over my shoulder through the open door and continued. “Could’ve been put anywhere—his glass of whisky, that cup of tea from the mantel, as well as the sandwich Mr. Peacock never had the chance to finish. We’re still waiting for the toxicology results.” He tsked and shook his head. “Slow coaches.”
“The woodcut print of the sparrow hawk, Sergeant?”
He shook his head. “Not worth more than a couple hundred quid, as it turns out.”
“The inscription—was it old?”
“Wasn’t new.”
I took a breath, ready to speculate on the dead sparrow hawks, but I heard the large door of the cider house rolling shut—my cue to get out of DI Callow’s sight. “Oh, must run.”
Chapter 34
As far as the lane, at least—I had no desire to return to the Hall. I had a sandwich in my bag, the day was bright and fine, and I had another two hours before my appointment with Rosy at The Hair Strand. I’d walk into the village.
I surveyed my surroundings—fields, small copses with oak, ash, and beech. The ash had already dropped its leaves, but the beeches were only now beginning to turn to gold. I hadn’t taken this route before, but knew it would be no trouble finding my way. I located the footpath sign that pointed diagonally across a field—that way to the road and the village. I struck out, hoping to shake off the lethargy that dogged me. As I made my way, I occasionally pulled out my binoculars to watch fieldfares perched on the bare branches of a rowan, gobbling its berries. As I walked, I thought.
If Cecil took drastic action and killed Freddy, would Linus try to cover it up? Would the police believe Linus had murdered to stop his son from being blackmailed? Which deed did Isabel accuse him of?
I wanted to pull these threads apart to examine them and follow the events of the days before Freddy’s death, but I couldn’t concentrate. I knew what I needed—I needed to talk this through with…yes, with Michael. But we weren’t talking.
I stopped for a moment and looked round me trying to get my bearings. Shouldn’t I have reached the road by now? Where was I? I struck out again, this time heading off through a second field at a different angle. I walked across a lane and found another sign, this one rusted through with the bottom half dangling so that it pointed in two directions at once. I thought back on all the times I’d told visitors in the TIC how easily they could traverse the estate on footpaths, and I wondered if I’d run across the remains of any of them out here.
The third time I passed the hawthorn with a trunk so twisted it looked like a tea towel that had been wrung out, I stopped, and sat down on the stile. I’d find my way eventually, but first I needed a rest. I texted Beryl for a baby update. No news.
I decided to lunch on the spot, but had taken only two bites of my ham sandwich when I heard a car approaching. I rewrapped the sandwich, stuck it in my bag, and waited. Along came a blue Honda with Mr. Addleton behind the wheel. He pulled up and lowered his window.
“Ms. Lanchester.”
More sparkling conversation.
“Good afternoon. I don’t suppose you could give me a lift out to the road? I was heading into the village.”
“You weren’t going that way, were you?” he asked, nodding in the dir
ection I had been heading. “It would be a long walk.” I do believe he was making a joke. “Climb in.”
As he raced along the lane, I put my hand on the dashboard and thought to take advantage of my situation.
“Mr. Addleton, you’ve been getting to know all the tenants, haven’t you? Stopping by to introduce yourself, getting tours of the farms, looking at what they plant, how they take care of things. You had a chat with Adam Bugg, didn’t you?”
“I’ve been carrying out my duties as agent for his Lordship, yes.”
I’d need to be more direct. “Have you spoken with the police?”
We met a lorry round one bend, and Addleton pulled into a gap in the hedge to let it pass.
“Is this about Freddy Peacock?”
“Did you know Freddy?”
“I know his sort.”
Right, well, that didn’t get me far. “Freddy died of the same poison those sparrow hawks did,” I said, and then added, “possibly. You’ve seen what chemicals are used and what’s sitting on the shelves all over the estate—have you seen mevinphos? Have you ever used it?”
“You know what it is?” he asked, glancing my way before pulling out into the lane.
“Of course I do.”
“Does that make you a suspect?” he asked.
“I wasn’t accusing you.”
“And are you privy to the progress of a police investigation?”
“No, of course not,” I said, wondering how I got on my back foot in this conversation. “It’s only that someone may be blamed for this who had nothing to do with it.”
Addleton pulled out of a side lane and stopped at the bridge on the north end of the high street. I got out. Before I closed the door, he said, “I wouldn’t let that happen, Ms. Lanchester—if it comes to that.”
—
Rosy massaged my temples with her thumbs and ran her long nails across my scalp as I lay back with my head in the sink at The Hair Strand. It’s a pity she couldn’t rub the muddle of thoughts out of my brain. Names had rearranged themselves, and now Geoffrey Addleton had taken top billing. I thought how he had appeared from nowhere, asking for the post before Linus had ever decided he needed an agent. Now that Cecil had come home to claim his responsibility as Fotheringill heir, did Addleton feel his position was in danger? Would he set Cecil up for a murder in order to keep himself safe?
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