“How did a large envelope get left behind? Wouldn’t it be redirected by Royal Mail?” I asked.
Michael shook his head. “We moved house when I was fifteen, and although my dad had filled in all the proper forms, still half of our post got sent to the old place. Including my issues of Radio Times,” he said with disgust.
“Addleton,” I whispered, and looked over my shoulder as if Mrs. Penny still listened. “Addleton murdered Freddy. How long had Freddy been blackmailing him—and was it only by chance they both arrived at Hoggin Hall?”
“Freddy found something, but can we say he was blackmailing Addleton over it?” Michael asked, representing the voice of reason. “The people in Dorset—the Drakes—they didn’t know Peacock?”
I shook my head. “Never heard of him. I’d so hoped they could tell me the link—what drew Addleton away from Monks Barton and to the Fotheringill estate.”
“Whatever he found—papers, photos from that envelope—it was from a long time ago. Did Addleton kill for it?” Michael asked. I was happy to see him slide into a speculative way of thinking. “And did he get back what he wanted?”
“He didn’t get the print of the sparrow hawk. That got left behind. Freddy must’ve had it hidden. Addleton had to hurry and lock Freddy in, and so he didn’t look thoroughly,” I said. The smoke had billowed up and threatened to overtake him, too, perhaps.
“Who sent Addleton the print?” Michael asked. “Someone had written a dedication to him.”
“According to Mrs. Penny, the envelope had never been opened.”
I pulled out my phone so that we could gaze once more at the black-and-white woodcut print of the sparrow hawk. “To my own sparrow hawk,” it read. “Swift, silent, sure.”
“Police must’ve searched Addleton’s lodge and buildings first off, don’t you think?” I looked straight out the windscreen as I asked.
“I’d say they did.”
“I wonder if they missed anything. I wish we could take a look.”
Michael’s head whipped round, his eyes wide in disbelief. “Breaking and entering?”
“Certainly not,” I said. “I wasn’t suggesting anything of the sort—I only said I wish we could pay him a visit. I’d tell him I met the Drakes—and we’d see what sort of reaction we got from him.”
“We’ll let the police handle it.”
“Yes, yes. But handle what? ‘Look, Inspector Callow, thirty-something years ago Geoffrey Addleton worked in Essex where five-year-old Freddy Peacock lived. Addleton killed Freddy over a sparrow hawk.’ ” I sighed. “She won’t be happy with us, I’m sure. But if it shifts the spotlight from Cecil, it may be enough. I wonder should I ring Linus first. He’s been so upset about Cecil lately, it wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t try to confess to Freddy’s murder himself, in hopes of pushing Cecil out of the police’s viewfinder.”
“Would Cecil even have access to mevinphos?” Michael asked.
“He would have access through Adam,” I said. “Adam has a shed full of chemicals—leftovers from years past, and probably loads of them that were banned long ago. If kept well, they’d have a long shelf life. Mevinphos might be there.”
“But why would Cecil poison birds?”
“Yes, it’s all too outdoorsy for Cecil. If he were going to kill Freddy, why not push an antique armoire over on him or throw him in front of a bus in London? Mevinphos much more suits Addleton. It’s just that Cecil was being blackmailed, and he won’t say where he was that night.”
“But now we’ve this envelope—and the feather.” Michael looked at my phone in my lap. “Will you ring or shall I?”
“I’ll do it.”
And so I rang DI Callow, who didn’t answer. Maybe she and Chloe had struck out on the Essex Way and were walking to Coggeshall and back. I left no message.
Chapter 49
We sat for a moment. “Well, we tried. Right?” I asked. Michael shrugged, which I took as agreement. “I’ll ring again later. But now, I must get to work,” I said, starting up the car and driving off. “Straight to the TIC; Vesta has been on her own for days now. I’ll ring Sheila and let her know I’ll be back this evening.”
“You can’t think of staying at the Hall now. With someone trying to poison you?” His voice was firm, uncompromising—but surely he knew that was pointless?
“Michael, don’t, that’s too…dramatic. We still don’t know if anyone’s done anything to me.” But reminder enough of my situation. “And I’ll be safe, because you’ll be around. Right?”
He reached over and touched my cheek. “I will,” he said, “but where? I don’t suppose Thorne wants to take in a lodger?”
—
If I asked Linus about Michael staying at the Hall, he would know that I meant in my own room—but it felt too much like asking my dad permission. No, I had another idea—I told Michael about the rooms above the other village pub, the Stoat and Hare. He’d be quite near.
Vesta had her hands full when we arrived. A man at the counter claimed to be a direct descendant of Wuffa, sixth-century king of the East Angles. The fellow felt sure that he and Lord Fotheringill were cousins from the same line, and wanted to discuss the matter. I took him off Vesta’s hands, and she began with the next person while Michael engaged three other people who had been waiting, finding them maps and walking brochures.
An hour later, the door tinkled shut, and Vesta sank into a chair while I switched on the kettle and Michael nipped into the loo. “Not too bad for a Saturday in November,” I said, chuffed at our business. “I hope you haven’t been overwhelmed while I’ve been away.”
She shook her head. “It’s been steady, but manageable. And Willow and Cecil were a great help.”
“Were they?” I said, opening up the biscuit tin and sitting down for a good chin wag. There’s just so much a mind can hold at one time—and at that moment, I happily let tourism and my life in Smeaton overtake thoughts of murder. “Who would’ve thought those two would get along?”
“You should’ve seen them the day they painted the papier-mâché Hoggin Hall,” Vesta said, taking a digestive biscuit, “laughing and making a mess of things. It’s as if he could be himself round her—and himself isn’t too bad a fellow, as it turns out.”
I glanced at our window looking for the model of the Hall. “That’s right, where is the beast?”
“They’ve decided to add landscaping,” Vesta said as Michael emerged from the loo. “Cecil transported it to the real Hall for this next phase, as they’d truly run out of space round here.”
“Biscuit?” I asked Michael as I finished off my first Hobnob.
“No Garibaldis, please,” he said. “I’ve still got currant paste stuck to my teeth.” He reached for a chocolate digestive. “Is this lunch?”
No wonder I was so hungry—it was lunchtime. “I’ll get us sandwiches,” I said. “But first, I’m going to ring Peg at the Stoat and Hare. Michael is staying round the village for a few days,” I explained, “and the pub has rooms upstairs. I’ll see if they have a vacancy.”
“That’s lovely you’re staying, Michael,” Vesta said. “But you’ll not stay above a pub. I have a perfectly suitable box room—with nary a box in it—and you’re welcome to it.”
“That’s generous of you, Vesta,” Michael said.
“Thanks,” I said, giving Vesta a quick hug as I stood for my lunch run. Michael walked me out, and we hesitated on the pavement outside the TIC.
“Akash has moved in with Vesta,” I said, introducing the subject obliquely.
“Has he now?”
I took Michael’s hand and drew him into the semi-privacy of the doorway.
“Thanks for staying close,” I said.
“Not all that close.”
“No, not as close as I’d like to be…on a more permanent basis.” There—I’d said it, and my surrender left me breathless. When I had the nerve to look up at him, his eyes were a shade of blue I’d not seen before. Clear, deep blue like a Highland
lake on a sunny day.
With his free hand he caressed my cheek, and I melted. We parted reluctantly—Michael went back in to help Vesta and I floated down to Akash’s shop. I chirped away at him about nothing as I bought lunch—chicken-and-stuffing, ham-and-cheese, egg-and-rocket. On the return walk, swinging my bag of sandwiches, I stopped to chat with a pied wagtail that darted about on the pavement and bobbed its tail at me. I suspended the conversation when an elderly gentleman came out of the chemist’s and gave me a wide berth.
Just beyond the TIC, Gavin Lecky hovered in a dark shop doorway as if it weren’t a perfectly fine day.
“Gavin,” I said. “Are you lurking?”
“Julia, there you are,” he said, glancing over my shoulder from where I’d come. “Only, I was in the area, and thought I’d stop and see if you were working today.” Again, a glance over my shoulder.
“Yes, Michael is here,” I said. “I’m sure he’d love to see you.”
“Yeah, that would be great, but I can’t stay—I heard tell of a black-necked grebe and thought you might…well, never mind.”
My spirits dropped as he reminded me of his sight problems and how I had volunteered to be his eyes. But not today. I was about to tell him so, when a movement far up the high street caught his attention.
“Ah, there she is again,” he said to himself, smiling that sly, sultry smile he saved for women. “Those blond curls. Wearing those leather trousers, too. I’d like to get my hands on those.”
I followed his gaze, and could see the form of someone looking in a shop window. When I squinted, I could at last discern the object of his leering—Isabel. I turned my head toward Gavin, a slow realization beginning to burn inside me. Gavin cut his eyes at me, and his face lost color.
“You can see,” I said.
“What? No, I…what do you mean?” he asked.
“You can see!” I shouted.
He blinked rapidly and opened his eyes wide. “Wait—I’m not positive, but I think I can see. That’s amazing.”
I shoved him, and he backed himself up against a wall. “How long, Gavin? How long have you had your vision back?”
“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of,” he said, straightening his shoulders and squaring off.
“You lied to me—you could see perfectly well the day we went out for the pied wheatear, couldn’t you?” I demanded.
“Would you have gone with me otherwise?” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “You’re the only woman I know who can put up with me, Julia—twitching. We make a good pair, and I thought if we spent a bit of time together, you’d remember…what it was like.” That smile.
“It was ‘like’ one afternoon a long time ago, Gavin. And I went out birding with you because I felt sorry for you—which is just how you planned it. Right, tell me—when did your vision come back? Could you see the day we met at the green? Could you see that brambling?”
His face drooped, a little boy caught in a lie and forced to confess. “I came here the day before—on that Monday. My vision had cleared—I’d been to the doctor, and she was happy with it. I thought you’d be pleased I could see again. But your tourist center was shut. Well, I wasn’t going to knock on the door of the Hall, was I? So I hung about—it’s an all-right place, this village. Found a pub and spent the evening there. I’ve a mate lives in Stowmarket, and I slept on his sofa that night and came back here the next day. But by then”—he shrugged and had the decency to look embarrassed—“I’d thought of the other thing.”
The other thing, pretending he’d lost his birding vision. I covered my face with my hands; how could I have been so gullible? I sighed, all the anger dissipated at his pathetic story.
“Gavin, you need to treat your girlfriends a bit better, and perhaps they’d stay with you longer. Don’t just drag them out to a windy bluff to stand for hours on end—take them to a nice lunch after, or tea in a hotel. Maybe they’d enjoy your twitching then.”
But Gavin wasn’t listening. He looked over my shoulder and his body stiffened. I glanced behind me to see Michael standing in the doorway of the TIC.
I smiled and walked over to him. “Look, Michael, Gavin has stopped to give me the news—he can see.”
“Can he, now?” Michael said. I had no need to check on the iciness of his stare.
“Could all along, as it happens,” I said. “That’s the real news.”
Gavin shrugged. “Well, I’ll see you round, Julia. Or not.”
A corner of my resolve crumbled. “Of course we’ll see you round, Gavin. And remember what I said—take her out somewhere lovely.”
Gavin left, and I took Michael’s hand.
“Who is that he’s taking out?” he asked.
“Whoever his next girl is.”
Chapter 50
After lunch, Michael left to settle into his new, albeit temporary, digs. I rang Linus late in the afternoon and left a message about dinner guests—I had invited Vesta and Akash, as well as Michael. I should’ve tried DI Callow again—or at the very least, DS Glossop—but instead I opted to ring Sheila, promising I’d be out straight after work to help her with dinner.
—
As always, the Hall stood silent in the hour or so before drinks in the library. I took my case and made for the laundry, looking into the kitchen—empty—on my way.
I had the washer to myself, and so dumped in knickers and camis before applying myself to the spots on my clothes left by Bianca’s brood. I reached over and started the machine, at the same time looking out through the ground-level windows above me. Light was fading quickly, but I could easily spy a set of men’s lace-up brown leather shoes standing on the gravel near the door. Cecil, alone, but I thought I could hear his voice. He must be on the phone. On the phone outdoors where he wouldn’t be overheard by someone in the Hall. I lifted the lid of the washer, which stopped the noisy rush of water, and tilted my head. I still couldn’t hear distinct words, but I saw the door to the outside standing open a few inches, and so I tiptoed over and up the stone stairs, stopping three steps from the top.
“The assignment was to complete a planning prospectus for a hamlet or village,” he said. “I’ve based it on the settlement on the other side of the orchard, and the professor approved, but, Louisa, before I send it in, would you take a look for me?” Silence, then “Yes, six o’clock is good—at your flat?” Silence. “No, tomorrow I’m working on the cider press with Adam before Father and I go out. And listen, I’ve kept up with Willow’s suggestion that I write cursive. She’s onto something, it does make it easier.” A brief silence, then a slightly panicked tone to his voice. “No, Louisa, you can’t ask her to dinner—I barely know her….Right, well, I’ll see you later.”
I made no attempt to flee from my eavesdropping, but instead marched up the last three steps and met him when he opened the door.
“Julia?” The tone was cold, accusatory, but it didn’t faze me one whit. I had some accusing of my own to do.
“Louisa is a tutor. Louisa is your tutor,” I said.
His face flushed red, but he stuck his nose in the air. “I’m disappointed that you would skulk round the Hall listening in on private conversations.”
I backed him out the door and closed it behind me. “Drop the toff act, Cecil, it won’t work any longer. That’s where you’ve been when no one knows—working with Louisa?”
He clamped his mouth shut and stared down at me. I said nothing and stared back. He broke first.
“It’s none of your concern.”
“You were with Louisa the night Freddy was poisoned, weren’t you?” Tires crunched on gravel in the front courtyard, and we both paused for a moment, but I returned to the business at hand. “You must tell the police, Cecil. Why are you being so stubborn?”
“I had nothing to do with Freddy’s death, and how I spend my time is no one’s concern but my own,” he said.
“Well, it’s quite obvious you’re hiding something. Your silence only m
akes the police suspicious, and your father is sick with worry—how can you do this to him when it would be so easy to clear everything up?”
“Do this to him? I’m doing this for him,” Cecil said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “I want him to believe I’m capable of running the estate and not the errant son making a bollocks of every single attempt at a profession.” He huffed and his breath came out in a cloud. Neither of us was dressed to stand out in the cold, but I wouldn’t show it until I got the entire story.
“And so, the night Freddy died?”
He frowned and nodded. “We work in her flat above the Royal Oak—Adam was there, too. I’m doing an online course on estate management. Louisa reviews my assignments looking for mistakes. She doesn’t make the fix herself—she insists it be all my own work. Hard taskmaster,” he muttered. I saw a shadow of a smile. “She and Adam are my only friends and supporters.” I could see his shoulders relax as if a great weight had been lifted from them.
“Not the only ones,” I said. I wasn’t talking about myself, of course—what good had I been? “I don’t suppose anyone else saw you?”
He nodded. “Hutch—the publican. On one of his frequent smoke breaks.” The police hadn’t thought to ask Hutch if he’d seen Cecil, and Hutch, I knew, wasn’t one for idle chat.
“If you don’t tell your alibi to the police and your father, I will. Once the police eliminate you as a suspect, they can find Freddy’s real murderer.”
“What good am I to Father or the estate if everyone sees me as a liability—someone who has trouble with simple sums and reading and writing?”
“They’ll see you doing something about it. Look at Willow—she isn’t ashamed of the difficulties she’s had to overcome.”
Cecil fidgeted but didn’t speak. In the ensuing moments of silence I heard a blackbird call from the roof. At last, Cecil huffed. “Yes, all right.”
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