by K. M. Peyton
The packet he offered up was, presumably, money. Antony took it.
‘Try not to say any more than you have to. Stave them off a bit. Don’t land at home – not today at least. I’ll be gone from here in no time and we shall probably not meet again, so goodbye, old chap, and thanks for your help. You’re a winner.’
And he smiled widely, happily, in a way Antony had never seen before, jumped down and hurried away into the open doors of the reception.
Antony sat stunned.
Was this man truly his father or someone else pretending? Murder and mayhem seemed to have given him a new lease of life. This departing, happy man was not the father Antony in any way recognized. One presumed he had friends to go to, in another country, money to burn, and complete confidence in not getting caught. All very hard to take in.
Another small plane landed and came up past him and the men who had ignored him went to greet it. Antony decided to take off before anyone came to see who he was, the sooner the better. To be detained in France would be a disaster. The sky was clear. He taxied back down the runway, almost expecting people to be running after him, but it was clear that his visit was of no concern to the French, and so he took off and flew away, miraculously undisturbed.
Once in the sky again he felt quite faint with shock. He concentrated on picking up the road and railway to Amiens to find the way home and then, on track, felt the enormity of this sudden change in his life overcoming him. He had no idea how his father’s crime might affect him; he had no idea of what he was going home to.
Not to go home, as his father had instructed: lie low if he could … his mind whirled. Brooklands was too close to home. He would go to the little airstrip in Wiltshire where Lily had done her parachute jump. A pal from school lived nearby and might give him a berth for the night. But no, he didn’t want to have to talk to anyone … he would land and walk away. His plane would be safe there until he could retrieve it. He would lie low … he could sleep out in the fields and perhaps come to terms with what had happened whilst communing with nature … the thought made him laugh.
And then a seed of delight broke into his mind: he was a totally free man, his future was whatever he wanted! Answerable to no one.
He just hoped there was plenty of money in the packet his father had shoved into his hand.
17
Lily’s father wasn’t happy.
‘Did your friend Antony tell you that he couldn’t pay the staff until his father comes back?’
‘He said he went to the bank and they wouldn’t let him have any money.’
‘So when is his father coming back?’
‘Antony said he was supposed to be back two days ago. He’s waiting for him now.’
‘So we all live on air until then? We none of us have been paid for over a month now.’
‘I’ve earned a bit, at the vicarage. And Mrs Carruthers wants me on Thursday, to help in the kitchen. And the pub might find something for Squashy. We’ll get through till he gets back, Pa.’
Gabriel had knocked off his heavy schedule since none of the other servants had come back to work and was now fretting, unused to leisure. He had enjoyed the freedom at first, putting his own garden in order, but now his conscience was pricking him, letting the beautiful herbaceous borders up at the manor run to seed and the lawns go uncut. He found it hard to witness the neglect, but none of the lads, the so called under-gardeners, would come back to work without pay, even if he went up there to do some tidying. All the house staff who lived in the village were complaining loudly. Claude Sylvester’s strange dereliction of duty was the only talking point.
Lily had heard Antony’s aeroplane take off earlier in the day. Her father, being a bit deaf, hadn’t heard it, but Lily had run out and seen that there was a passenger in the plane. She thought it very strange, as Antony would have told her if he had been planning anything. She had wandered up to the big house only the day before and had a chat with him, and he had seemed perfectly relaxed and not up to any tricks, saying he expected his father home any minute. He was worried about telling him of Helena’s death, but had said nothing about flying anywhere.
Squashy, catching on to his father’s complaints about how they would all be starving if Sylvester didn’t come back soon, went out to go fishing and stock the larder. He never caught anything save tiddlers, but lived in hope. Lily was doing the washing in the scullery when Squashy came back, very excited.
‘There’s soldiers up at the big house. All over the place. I saw them!’
‘Soldiers! Don’t be daft.’
‘Lots of people.’
Lily stopped squeezing sheets and went outside. Across the lake it was true that there were several people wandering across the lawns, but they weren’t soldiers. ‘They’re policemen!’ They seemed to be beating about the flowerbeds, looking for something. Lily was shocked. ‘Whatever’s happened?’
She called her father out of the cabbages in the back garden and he came grumbling.
‘Look, Pa. Policemen! What’s up, do you think?’
He had no answer, save his brain connected the police intrusion with Sylvester not having paid him for over a month.
‘The old man’s in trouble perhaps? He’s acting queer, not paying us. Unless it’s young Antony.’
‘No, he’s not in trouble.’
He wasn’t there, she knew. He had flown away in his aeroplane, with someone in the passenger seat. Lily felt strongly that she wouldn’t tell anyone of seeing that flight. Not a word. Probably a few other people had seen the plane depart, but it hadn’t flown over the village, so it wouldn’t be common knowledge. Maybe some workers up at Butterworth’s might have seen it, even Cedric, but it was possible that no one knew of it but herself.
Antony had scarpered, and who had been in the back seat? His father? Had he just been giving his father a lift to somewhere, or were they fleeing together for some unknown reason? She felt very frightened. The police never came to their little village, and certainly not in numbers, only a pair at the most.
She said she would go up to the village and get a loaf of bread. Her father wouldn’t approve of her going to gawp, as he would put it, but curiosity drove her. The police being there was surely connected with Antony’s flight. But I don’t know anything about that, she convinced herself. Not a word.
Everyone was out gossiping, stunned by their village being a hotbed of crime. They were saying that there had been something on the radio about Claude Sylvester being wanted for questioning concerning his latest trip to South America, but as only two people in the village had this new-fangled radio and they were not given to street gossip no one knew any details. Everyone was saying that of course they knew something fishy was up when all the staff had been sent away without pay.
‘But that was young Antony’s doing, not his father’s,’ someone else remarked. ‘So’s he could have that terrible party.’
‘So where’s young Antony then?’
‘The police’ll have him. He’s up at the house.’
‘Yeah, waiting for ’is father.’
‘Someone said there’s been a murder.’
‘That can’t be true!’
‘Perhaps young Antony’s been murdered!’
Lily kept her head down, listening. She realized that no one knew about Antony’s departure in the aeroplane; they all thought he was up at the house, either dead or alive. If she hadn’t seen the plane, she would be in a real panic listening to the wild conjectures being offered up. As everyone knew she was a familiar in the big house she was asked if she knew anything about it or whether she had seen Antony lately, but she just kept saying no, lying through her teeth.
When she wandered up to the gates of Lockwood Hall she found a chain across the entrance and two policemen standing guard. There was a group of people there, amongst them Simon.
‘Do you know what’s happened?’ she asked him.
Simon’s face was pale. ‘They say there’s been a murder. But they won’t
say any more.’
‘Oh, Simon!’
He was thinking it was Antony, she could tell. But her secret was so crucial she could not reveal it even to Simon. He was bound to tell his parents, and then everyone would know. She just whispered to him, ‘It’s not Antony. I know. I’ve seen him. But I’m not saying a word.’
‘Oh, thank God!’
‘Don’t tell anyone I’ve seen him, whatever you do.’
‘No. Let’s keep out of it. God knows what’s happening.’
But as they spoke a police car came down the drive and the guard policemen went to meet it, removing the chain. They spoke for some time and Lily heard shreds of the conversation: ‘Everyone must be questioned. The whole village … the suspect is Sylvester. We’ve got to find him …’
‘I’m going back,’ Lily whispered to Simon. ‘I don’t want to be questioned.’
‘What do you know, for God’s sake?’
‘Nothing!’
‘Me neither, if poor old Ant is involved.’
By the time Lily had gone back through the village and bought her loaf the word was out that it was a policeman who had been murdered and the suspect was Claude Sylvester, of whom there was no trace. Not a word about an aeroplane. Everyone was to be questioned as to what they might have seen early in the morning. Lily went home and reported all this to her father.
‘Well, dang me! And him a gent and all, a proper gent. And what about young Antony then? Is he involved? He was up there, wasn’t he?’
‘I don’t know, Pa.’
The news had traumatized the village. In the morning the newspapers all led with the story: the well-known financier Claude Sylvester being wanted by the police in connection with the shooting at his home in Surrey, Lockwood Hall. He was known to have arrived home early on the morning of the fifteenth of August and been interviewed there by Detective Inspector Higgins of the Metropolitan police. Later in the morning the body of the detective was found in Sylvester’s study, shot through the head, and since then the whereabouts of Mr Sylvester was unknown. He had lately been travelling in South America.
Later in the day when the evening papers came through Claude Sylvester was headline news. And what headlines!
CLAUDE SYLVESTER
TRAITOR AND MURDERER!
Sources today reveal that Claude Sylvester, lately suspected of the murder of D.I. Alexander Higgins at Lockwood Hall in Surrey, is also suspected of selling copies of secret files, concerning the government’s involvement in arms deals, to South American companies.
The small print continued with details in a vein that Lily found difficult to understand, the words being too long and incomprehensible for her limited education. She did her best to read it to her father who was still finding it hard to believe that this story concerned his erstwhile boss with whom he had had many pleasant conversations about the herbaceous borders.
Lily noticed that although the newspaper knew that Sylvester had vanished they seemed so far not to have any news of how, nothing about an aeroplane nor a word about Antony. No policemen so far had come to question her, although they were obviously combing the village and nearly everyone had been grilled. When she next saw Simon he said they had been a long time with his parents who had told them all they knew, but not much bothered with him. He said that they did not seem to know that Antony had been living up in the house.
‘Surely he was there when his father came home? He was expecting him, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, he was there.’
‘He must have seen the murder, or heard it, surely?’
It was evening and going dusk and Lily was talking to Simon out in the garden of his house. It seemed she was the only person in the world who knew how Mr Sylvester had managed to disappear. The knowledge of it was weighing on her; if Simon had already been interviewed she thought he might as well share her secret.
‘I saw Antony fly away in his plane, with a passenger, who must have been his father.’
‘Crikey!’ Simon was stunned.
‘I haven’t told a soul I saw it. And if they ask I shan’t say. It flew the other way, not over the village, so no one else did see it. But I did.’
‘Blimey, you’re a hot witness! And nobody’s been near you?’
‘No.’
‘Where did they go? I wonder. It must have been abroad, surely? Over the Channel. God, poor old Ant! His father must have had his pistol in Ant’s back, giving orders! So where are they now?’
‘Ant will come back, don’t you think? He wouldn’t want to go off with his father.’
‘No, but there’s nowhere for him to come back to. The house is all sealed off,’ Simon said grimly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘All boarded up. Keep out and all that.’
‘But he lives there, all his stuff is in it.’
‘Well, let’s go and have a look. Maybe there’s some way of getting inside.’
It was easy enough to enter the property without going up the front drive where the gates were locked and a policeman still stood on guard. They walked through a thicket off the lane and came to the little stream that wound down to the lake, a way they were perfectly familiar with. Following the stream brought them out onto the lake proper and the lawns below the great sprawl of the house. It was true what Simon said: all the windows and doors had great boards nailed over them, making the place uglier than ever, more like an abandoned prison than a home.
Lily remarked on the poor trampled flowerbeds. ‘Pa’s out of work now. I don’t know what on earth we’ll do.’
‘He’ll get work in the village, won’t he? He’s got a very good reputation.’
‘Our cottage belongs to Mr Sylvester. Perhaps we’ll be boarded up shortly. Crikey, Simon, I hadn’t thought of all this!’
It was true, she hadn’t. So wrapped up in Antony’s plight she hadn’t thought of her own. She realized now that her father had got the message some time ago.
The sun was going down and the house was casting its heavy shadow across the lake. It was just like the evening before the party, with the same swans drifting on the lake, the water turning gold, the willows still hung with the lights that would never twinkle again. The lawn where they sat was growing shaggy and the lovely smell of mown grass no longer hung in the soft damp of the evening.
Lily suddenly felt close to tears. ‘What is going to happen?’
‘What, to you? Or Ant? It’ll be all right, Lily, you’ve lots of friends, and the police have nothing on Ant. None of it was his fault.’
Simon put his arm round her as she sniffed miserably and she knew that he was a good friend too, not as good as Antony, but the companionship went back so far. It was as little children they had first romped down by the lake, making mud pies and swimming like fish, chasing each other, making dens in the woods and cooking sausages on sticks, mocking Squashy, fighting, climbing trees, quarrelling, laughing … it had been a way of life, the gang together, she the only girl. And now they seemed to have been catapulted onto a world stage. The dull, benign figure of Antony’s father, who had given them the freedom of his domain, was now in line to be hanged. It didn’t seem possible.
‘Antony will come back here, I’m sure. He’s nowhere else to go,’ Simon said. ‘Only to his Aunt Maud and he hates her like poison.’
‘Gosh, she might come, mightn’t she? How awful. I hadn’t thought of that.’
Lily went home comforted by Simon, but not sure of anything any more. The next day the papers proclaimed that the police had now traced Claude Sylvester to Le Bourget airport, from where the trail went cold. If he was trying to return to South America, which seemed likely, all possible shipping ports were on the lookout for him, but it was assumed that he had contacts in Paris or elsewhere in Europe where he could lie hidden for the time being. He was known to have travelled widely in his job.
‘Knew lots of sticky politicians,’ they said in the village.
No mention of his son. Where on earth could Antony be? Lily
worried. But at least, although her father had lost his job, there didn’t seem to be any move on the part of the authorities to take over the workers’ cottages. Along with Gabriel’s there were five others in the row and no one had heard anything amiss. They now assumed they were safe. They didn’t have anyone to pay rent to, but Gabriel put it on one side every week in case. He was going up to see Butterworth to ask if there was any work suitable for him on the farm, but without much hope. Mrs Carruthers in the village told him she could do with another man if he was hard-pressed, but working for Mrs Carruthers was notoriously awful. Even Lily could tell him that. Do this. Do that. Gabriel was used to working on his own, trusted. Old habits were hard to break. Also, she wouldn’t have Squashy anywhere near.
‘Old bitch,’ was Gabriel’s verdict. ‘I’d rather starve.’
Missing Antony, Lily began to think, was the least of her problems.
18
Three days later, when Simon came home after a day out fishing, he found Antony sitting in the kitchen devouring what remained of the supper the family had already eaten. Mrs Goldbeater was hovering over him like a mother hen, beaming her welcome.
Simon stopped in surprise. ‘Holy cow! The wandering boy! Where’s the aeroplane? We never saw it.’
‘I’ve left it in Wiltshire. I brought it back. Stayed clear for a bit and now find I’ve no home any more. It’s all boarded up.’
‘We’ve just been telling him, Simon, he’s got to go to the police. He can’t stay hidden. After all, there’s nothing he can be found guilty of.’
‘Aiding and abetting?’
‘Well, hardly, when it’s your own father you’re aiding, especially when he’s got a pistol in his hand,’ Mrs Goldbeater said firmly. ‘But there’s no hurry. The boy’s worn out, he needs a good night’s sleep and then we’ll sort it all out.’ She bustled away to make tea and Simon sat down opposite Antony who was mopping up the last of the stew with a lump of bread.