The Shadow of Langley Hall

by Dilys Xavier

  ‘Magnificent. The gardens are absolutely beautiful, and the house ... well, it’s impressive to say the least. That really is the only way to describe it - impressive.’

  ‘Well, if your latest piece of equipment takes off you might be able to splash out on a place like that yourself.’

  Richard was about to walk into his office when he remembered something about Nicole’s previous work experience. He tapped the desk with his finger.

  ‘You worked for a solicitor once, didn’t you? If you wanted to trace someone, say the beneficiary of a will, or whatever, what would you do? How easy is it to find someone?’

  ‘A lot easier than most people think. The detective agency we used didn’t have much difficulty tracking someone down even if they had changed their names. Although, you have to appreciate that people opt out of situations for a reason, usually a very personal one. The last thing they want is someone from the past making contact with them if they want to leave it all behind.’

  ‘So if someone asked the private detective not to disclose their whereabouts the investigator would probably agree to keep it quiet?’

  ‘Exactly. Most of them are decent men with families, and will use their discretion. They hear so many sad stories about abuse and harassment that they don’t make an issue of it. It’s not like what you see in the movies. British private eyes don’t carry on like Mickey Spillane, or Mike Hammer, you know.’

  ‘So unless there’s a criminal charge to face, they’ll often agree not to disclose the person’s whereabouts?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Richard thanked her, went into his office and dropped down onto a chair deep in thought. Just suppose his mother really was Sir Hugh’s daughter. What if someone had found her? She might have asked that her whereabouts remain secret – just to thwart her father. But what about later on, when the old man had died? He tried to imagine what he would do if he were a beneficiary to the will. Would he make much of an effort to find someone who could deprive him of an inheritance, particularly one as great as Langley Hall? Probably not. Of course, he would make a token search, but ... but not much more. He doubted whether Catherine Lowestoffe would make a great effort to find the true heir. By all accounts the estate was her life; she would not want to give it up.

  As soon as he had locked up for the day, Richard hurried home. He remembered bundling his mother’s old letters and mementoes into some boxes and storing them in the attic. Something had stopped him from disposing of them along with her clothes after she had died.

  He had chided himself for being sentimental at the time, but maybe now he would be pleased that his emotions had prevented him from throwing them away. They might just contain something of importance.

  He picked the mail up off the hall floor, draped his coat over a chair, and kicked off his shoes, then padded out to the kitchen and pulled a can of beer out of the fridge. The blinking red light indicated that there was a message on the answer-phone; he triggered the mechanism and heard the voice of an old friend who had recently moved house. I’ll give him ring later, he decided, but not until after I’ve taken a look in the attic.

  The loft was a veritable treasure trove of odds and ends. The large open expanse was coated in a fine layer of dust and festooned with wispy spiders’ webs. The floor space was littered with boxes of various sizes and shapes, and odd bits of furniture that his mother and aunt had gathered over a lifetime. Most of it was probably worthless. He directed the torch beam towards a collection of boxes that he had stored against a cupboard shortly after his mother’s death. An old footstool on the other side of the water tank caught his eye so he brushed it clean and sat down.

  Pulling a bundle of letters out of the nearest box he began to go through them one by one. Some made sense, others didn’t; some were interesting, and others were simply trivial correspondence. However, he reasoned that if she had so conscientiously kept all those letters, it was highly unlikely that she would have thrown away anything of value. She had died in this very house, so any documents she may have kept were probably still on the property - somewhere.

  ‘It’s no good trying to sort things out up here,’ he muttered, wiping his dusty hands yet again. Taking care not to lose anything, he carefully replaced everything into the cardboard boxes and carried them down into the sitting room where he could go through them properly in comfort.

  Slowly, over the next few hours he began to piece together some of his mother’s past. Most of the old photographs of people and places meant nothing to him, but they provided links in the chain of events. However, one stood out from all the rest. The faded sepia print had obviously been torn in half and then stuck together again at some time. He stared at the picture of a dark-haired, formally dressed man holding the hand of a small girl in what appeared to be a well-kept garden of magnificent proportions.

  When he studied it more carefully, he came to the conclusion that it was an old snapshot of Langley Hall. Of course the layout of the grounds was different, but there was no mistaking that magnificent building or those mature oaks and copper beeches that surrounded it. Yes, it was quite definitely the house he had visited that morning. So the man was obviously Sir Hugh Williams. And the little girl? He turned it over; the inscription read, ‘Papa and Elizabeth on her 4th birthday.’ His skin suddenly prickled all over.

  Richard picked up a hand written letter and spread it out. He looked at the shaky signature at the bottom - signed by his great Aunt Judith – then he went back to the beginning. The first few lines concerned her health, which was apparently very poor. She went on to say that the solicitor had drawn up a new will to name Elizabeth as sole beneficiary. He skipped the next few lines, then read the remaining part of the sentence. ‘ ... your father behaved abominably. He had no right to refuse your request for reconciliation. However, I do think you should have persisted in your efforts, but of course I know how stubborn he can be in certain circumstances.’

  The next few sentences reminisced about old times. But the words on the last line leapt out at him. ‘ ... and I am still mindful of your request not to divulge your whereabouts to anyone.’

  Richard lowered the letter and stared into the middle distance. So he was right. There really was a connection. Suddenly, he remembered seeing an old family bible amongst the things in the attic and wondered whether it had been used to record family births and deaths. It was worth a look.

  He had just returned from the attic when the phone rang.

  ‘Hello, Richard ... darling.’ The woman’s voice was cloyingly sweet. ‘I was sitting here feeling lonely, and suddenly I said to myself, I’ll give Richard a call. So here I am.’

  ‘Oh, hello, Helen,’ Richard said, cautiously. ‘I’ve been meaning to ring you, but I’ve been very busy of late. I’m running behind schedule, and ...’

  ‘But you know what they say; all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’

  ‘Yes, well, I don’t have enough time to play at the moment,’ Richard said, with a hollow laugh. ‘Look, Helen, I’d love to catch up with you again, but right now I’m in the middle of something extremely important. Let me call you back later, eh?’

  He put the phone down with a sigh. Helen had worn out her welcome a long time ago, but she still phoned him every time she felt horny. For a brief moment he allowed his mind to dwell on the woman. She had lasted longer than any other secretary before her, but in the end she had expected him to give up all his other girlfriends, and even hinted that they should get married.

  ‘But she was always red hot in the cot,’ he murmured, with a self-satisfied smile.

  Richard forced his mind back to his quest. He opened the bible and ran a finger down the faded names on the flyleaf. The lineage went back quite a way, but it only dealt with Judith’s side of the family. Her name was written alongside that of her sister, Maria, who was the maternal grandmother he had never known. The next line stated that Maria Elizabeth had married Sir Hugh Bernard Williams, and below that was the last entry in Judit
h’s handwriting it read; Elizabeth Mary.

  He was unsure of his mother’s age when she died. Unable to find her birth certificate, he had guessed her date of birth when asked for her particulars. And of course he had known her parents were called Williams, but as his mother remarked, it was a common name. However, he had now found indisputable evidence that his grandmother had married a Sir Hugh Williams and borne a daughter, an only daughter called Elizabeth Mary. What more did he need?

  ‘Well, certainly more proof than an old family bible,’ he muttered.

  Richard glanced at the pile of old letters again. Why had his mother kept quiet about all this, and why, in heaven’s name, had he never shown enough interest to persuade her to talk about her past? Surely, she would have realised he had a right to his inheritance, to his title? Could she have felt such strong animosity towards her father that she would deny her own son his birth right? Then he shrugged; she must have had good reason.

  Gathering up the letters, he stuffed them into a cardboard box and carried them into his study. He placed his great Aunt Judith’s letter in the bible and laid it, almost reverently, on the antique dresser that had been part of their inheritance. As he turned away he recalled the family motto he had seen at the manor; ‘Quid Nunc’. What did that mean? He racked his brains to remember, but for some reason or other the meaning eluded him. Maybe his friend Derek Johnstone knew the answer; he was interested in heraldry and things pertaining to ancient and family mottoes. He dialled the man’s number, but there was no reply.

  Then he glanced at the clock. No wonder he felt hungry, it was nearly half past nine. He rummaged through the deep freeze and found a packet of sweet and sour pork with a sachet of fried rice. That would have to do. When he had finished eating he rang his friend again. This time the phone was answered.

  ‘Hello, Johnno, it’s Richard. Look, I’m sorry to bother you at this time of night, but it’s important that I find out the meaning of a family motto. I know you’re into all that coat of arms business. Can you tell me what Quid Nunc means.’

  Richard laughed when his friend replied,

  ‘Oh yes. It means ‘What now.’’

  How very apt, he thought, as he thanked the man and hung up. It was quite appropriate under the circumstances. He pulled a bottle of Calvados out of the liquor cabinet and poured himself a good measure.

  ‘I’ve earned that,’ he murmured, as he raised the glass to his lips. The apple brandy not only warmed him, but gave him a sense of well-being, too. He lifted the refilled glass into the air in salutation to his reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. The face that looked back at him seemed to glow.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be Sir Richard of Langley Hall,’ he said, softly. The words rolled easily off his tongue as though he had uttered them a thousand times.

  He dropped down onto a chair and stared into his glass. Why was he not told of the family connection? What reason did his mother have for denying him the knowledge of his lineage? What secret was she covering up? He felt sure that she had a good reason for her actions and maybe he would find out one day.

  Then he thought of Catherine Lowestoffe.

  ‘She’s going to get one helluva big surprise,’ he murmured. He casually crossed one leg over the other, and linked his hands behind his head as he contemplated his future. It certainly looked a lot different than it had done that morning.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Catherine’s best friend, Cecile Katsoulis, rang that evening and apologised for not attending the funeral. She went on to explain that she had only arrived home from the south of France that afternoon and heard about it on the local radio station. When Catherine asked about the vacation, her friend sniffed depreciatingly. Apparently things had not turned out the way she had expected.

  ‘Maurice turned out to be a pain in the neck. I think he was worried that his wife might catch him out,’ Cecile said. ‘Anyway, he suddenly remembered an important board meeting and suggested we should return home immediately.’ Then she chuckled, ‘It’ll teach me to be more careful in the future, won’t it?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Catherine gave a little laugh. ‘You’re incorrigible, but then I don’t have to tell you that, do I?’ The two women chatted for a few more minutes and then agreed to have a celebratory lunch together the next day in their usual place.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?’ said Cecile.

  Catherine found Peter saddling one of his horses when she walked into the stables the next morning. He waited for her to join him and together they headed out across the fields. She watched him put the gelding over a fence and wondered how he managed to stay upright in the saddle when the animal landed on the other side. Whoever had taught him to ride had not explained some of the basic techniques of jumping, but he seemed to enjoy himself and hardly ever fell off.

  As they cantered back into the yard Catherine asked him to make sure that Louise was all right and if need be to run her into the village. When he pulled a face and argued that he did not think it was his responsibility to look after her guests, she just smiled. Then she slipped off the horse and handed the reins to Sally, the stable girl.

  ‘I’ll be back sometime after lunch,’ were her parting words.

  She had just climbed out of the silver Mazda when Cecile swung her red Alfa Romeo Spyder into the next parking space. The two women greeted each other warmly and made their way into the restaurant. While they waited to be served Catherine went over the events of the previous day; she spoke about Richard Carlisle’s intrusion and his likeness to Sir Hugh Williams. After the waitress had taken their order and moved away from the table, Cecile looked inquiringly at her friend.

  ‘Do you think that this man is related to your stepfather, or could the physical resemblance be just a coincidence?’

  ‘Logically, I’d have to say he just happens to look like Papa,’ Catherine replied, hesitantly, ‘but my intuition tells me otherwise. As you know, once I’ve turned thirty all other claims will be null and void, and even if a rightful claimant comes along it will be too late.’ She sighed deeply. ‘It would be just my luck to lose out now. It’s only a few weeks until my birthday.’

  Cecile toyed with her spoon for a moment and turned to Catherine with a calculating smile. ‘If he is the rightful heir, and I say that guardedly, he still has to prove it in a court of law. And of course he’ll have to make a claim before the expiry date.’ She paused to emphasis her words. ‘So all you have to do is to make sure that things are held up until it’s too late.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘We’ll think of something,’ Cecile replied. She patted Catherine’s hand condescendingly.

  ‘First things first; let’s find out who he is, and anything else that might be useful. Why don’t you invite him to a dinner party at Langley Hall? You can pair him with me, but float provocatively in the background.’

  ‘So that you can practice your womanly wiles on him?’ When Cecile nodded, she continued, ‘But go on, tell me what you have in mind.’

  ‘I can pretend to be interested in his line of business and then you can ask about his family. It will give us a chance to question him without making it look too obvious.’ Cecile chuckled softly. ‘If he’s like most men, he’ll be flattered to have two beautiful women giving him their undivided attention and hopefully we’ll get all the information we need.’

  ‘Well, it’s worth a try.’

  While they waited for coffee, Catherine looked across the table at her companion. The woman was nearly the same age and height as herself, but that was where the likeness ended. Whereas she was blonde and almost willowy, Cecile’s naturally dark hair framed a pair of deep brown eyes set against a soft almond complexion, with a figure bordering on the voluptuous. Men went crazy for her. Cecile broke into her line of thought.

  ‘When will you pick up your new car?’

  ‘Reasonably soon I hope,’ Catherine replied, then signalled for the bill. ‘I’ll ring you as soon as I’ve arranged the dinner party.’ She laid
her Visa card on top of the itemised account. ‘Let’s hope your idea to pump Mr Carlisle is successful.’

  *

  Peter was still nursing his anger towards Catherine when he drove away from Langley Hall later that day. Why did she swan off to have lunch with her friend and leave him to entertain Louise? He didn’t dislike the woman, but she was rather a bore, always prattling on about Catherine finding the right man. She just wouldn’t accept that her cousin was prepared to marry him, but then of course Louise didn’t understand how much Catherine wanted to be in control of things.

  As he neared the industrial estate where the vans were kept, Peter felt a tinge of fear. He had intended to lay down the law to Murphy and his friends, but he was mindful that they were a rough bunch and they might not be prepared to listen. However, after yesterday’s phone call, it had become increasingly clear that it was time to end his association with them.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Murphy glanced up from the girlie magazine he was reading as Peter walked into the garage. ‘I told you yesterday that I’d get the van fixed. I don’t need you spying on me.’

  ‘I’m not spying on you, as you put it,’ Peter said, defensively. ‘I just need to make a few things clear, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’

  ‘Yes, I’m rather concerned about what else you’re bringing back from Belgium and France.’ He gestured to the parked vehicles. ‘I financed these vans so that we could take advantage of European laws and bring in cheap booze, and then when you suggested that we go to Belgium for the tobacco I went along with the idea. But that’s all.’

  ‘You’ve done all right out of it.’

  ‘That’s beside the point,’ Peter said, aggressively. ‘I accept that we were bringing in far more booze and tobacco than we were entitled to, but then so is everyone else. However, I made it clear in the beginning that I wanted absolutely nothing to do with drugs. If you’re running drugs, then the deal’s off.’

  ‘Is that right?’