Murderous Mayhem at Honeychurch Hall

by Hannah Dennison

  “And why would I do that?”

  “In those days you could change sides if you wanted to. Uncle Piers said that people only had to swear an oath not to take up arms again and they could go home for dinner. Jolly lucky, don’t you think?”

  “Then I would change sides all the time,” I declared.

  Fortunately, we had reached the end of Hopton’s Crest and had to fall into single file. The track narrowed to a steep path that wound down through sloping woodland.

  At the bottom, Harry waited for me to ride up alongside him. He looked worried. “If there was another war, whose side would I be on? Father is a Honeychurch and Mummy is a Carew.”

  “First of all, there won’t be another war like that one,” I said. “And one day you’re going to be the Earl of Grenville, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “In which case that makes you a Honeychurch.”

  “Oh.” He still didn’t seem convinced. “But let’s not tell Uncle Piers that.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Now it’s your turn to tell me about last night’s surveillance in the churchyard? Was it successful? Did you see any ghosts?”

  Harry nodded eagerly. “It was wicked.”

  “Wow. So you actually saw a ghost?”

  “Mrs. Jarvis from the post office saw it, too,” said Harry. “She was scared.”

  “Muriel Jarvis?” I said sharply. “You saw Muriel last night in the churchyard?”

  Harry nodded. “She was saying good night to Mr. Jarvis at his grave. Mummy told me that Mr. Jarvis had a heart attack and died when he was doing the weeding. I hope Cropper doesn’t die when he does the weeding. He’s much older than Mr. Jarvis.”

  “I hope Cropper doesn’t, either,” I said. “What did this ghost look like? Are you sure it wasn’t a zombie?”

  Harry laughed. “Of course it wasn’t a zombie! It was white.”

  “And where did you see this white ghost?”

  “It came out of the church, so we hid behind the tombstones and then there was a scream, so we ran back to Max’s house.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of this. “What did Max’s mother say?”

  “She was asleep,” said Harry.

  “So she didn’t know that you crept out of the house in the middle of the night?”

  “It was a top-secret mission,” Harry protested. “I dropped my scarf, but luckily, I got it back again.”

  This was even more puzzling. According to Shawn, he’d found Harry’s white scarf in the post office.

  “And I found this!” Harry pulled out a mobile phone from his pocket. “Finders, Keepers, Losers, Weepers!”

  “Let me see that!”

  Harry passed it up to me. It was a cheap pay-as-you-go mobile phone. Something similar to the one I’d noticed in Jess’s handbag. Perhaps she had dropped it.

  “It doesn’t work yet,” said Harry. “Max says I have to charge the battery.”

  “Where exactly did you find this?”

  “In the churchyard,” said Harry. “Max has a phone, so now we can phone each other. Can I have it back please?”

  I gave it to Harry. “You’ll need a power cord, though.”

  “We’re going tonight to see if we can get photographs of the ghost,” Harry went on.

  “I thought you already took photographs?”

  “We were scared, but tonight we’ll be ready and then we can sell them to the newspapers and be millionaires and then I can give the money to Father so he can paint the windows.”

  “I think you should ask your parents if that’s okay, Harry,” I said. “They may not like you hanging around the churchyard in the middle of the night.”

  “You won’t tell them, will you?”

  “I won’t tell them,” I said firmly. “But only on the condition that you do. And please, tell them about seeing Mrs. Jarvis in the churchyard.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s on a need to know basis, but it’s important. I’d tell you if I could. I promise.”

  Harry nodded. “Alright. Yes.”

  Once again we had to break into single file as the track narrowed into an animal path that wound through the trees. Eventually it opened into a grassy bridleway. We cantered past Harry’s tree house, skirting Coffin Mire, and turned down another track that led by Bridge Cottage.

  A blue Prius was parked under a bank of overhanging trees, but as we trotted on by I noticed that it was empty.

  It was only when we approached the five-bar gate that I spotted Eric sitting in his Land Rover. Next to him was none other than Jess Carew.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “Hello,” said Harry cheerfully as he peered into the front of the Land Rover. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were friends.”

  Eric’s face was scarlet and Jess looked like a deer caught in headlights. I too was stuck for words.

  “Yes. We’re just friends.” Jess flashed me an earnest smile. “Nothing more.”

  I thought back to the gatehouse and how the pair had obviously recognized each other back then. If Jess was having an affair with anyone, it was—hard to believe—Eric.

  “Where’s Gramps?” Harry demanded.

  “He and your uncle Piers are rehearsing today,” said Jess.

  “But why are you talking to Eric?”

  “I had a message from your grandfather for him,” said Jess smoothly. “He’s hoping that Eric will help organize the weapons for next Saturday.”

  “He can’t do that,” said Harry, and then clapped his hand over his mouth. “Oops. It’s a secret.”

  “I love secrets,” said Jess.

  “But why are you here?” Harry said again.

  Jess laughed. “Goodness, Biggles, I feel like I am being interrogated!”

  Harry didn’t laugh. “You are.”

  “I was driving along Cavalier Lane and saw Eric’s Land Rover,” Jess went on—not so confident now. “I wasn’t going to interrupt his day, but then I changed my mind and parked my car just a little farther up the road and walked back.”

  “But why are you both sitting in Eric’s Land Rover?”

  “Oh, Harry, does it matter?” Jess snapped, but quickly smiled again. “Well, I must say time is moving on, so I really need to get going.”

  “And we should go, too,” I said to Harry.

  We left the guilty pair and headed for home at a brisk trot. Harry didn’t mention it and neither did I, but I couldn’t stop thinking about them.

  The rest of our ride passed uneventfully, but my mind was filled with Eric and Jess. I was disappointed. I liked her and had begun to believe she actually cared for Aubrey. I just hoped she wasn’t expecting to draw me into her confidence. I was growing weary of being the keeper of secrets for all and sundry.

  I found Mum in the kitchen making sandwiches. “Did you post your pages?”

  “Oh yes!” Mum exclaimed. “And guess what? I saw the shop in Dartmouth where Jess must have purchased your bangle. I can tell you that it was not cheap.”

  “Oh?”

  “I popped in and told them you’d received a gift and would they change it for a larger size and they said it wasn’t a problem at all.”

  “I have to go to Dartmouth tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll go in and see them.”

  “I’d avoid tomorrow, dear,” said Mum. “It’s the Dart Music Festival. The place will be a zoo.”

  “By the way, Lavinia wondered if she could have more Vicodin—”

  “Who does she think I am?” Mum grumbled. “Her dealer? Ah—here is Alfred now. Lunch?”

  Alfred strolled into the kitchen looking furious.

  “Whatever’s the matter?” Mum cried.

  “That bloody stupid woman—Violet whatever her name is—insists she saw me in the churchyard,” Alfred snarled. “And she heard a scream.”

  “I think she saw Harry and Max,” I said, and relayed Harry’s conversation with me. “The boys also saw Muriel in the churchyard last night.”

  “Wh
at time was that?” Alfred demanded.

  “I didn’t ask. Sorry.”

  “What about Pippa Carmichael?” Mum suggested. “Wouldn’t she have been woken up by Muriel’s screams—if it was Muriel screaming, of course, and not the ghost?”

  “Apparently Pippa was in bed fast asleep.”

  “So we’ve just got to deal with Violet and her appalling eyesight,” said Mum with a sigh. “What a load of gossips.”

  “The boys must have crept out very late.” I was worried. Little Dipperton may seem safe, but with the re-enactment coming up sightseers had started to trickle in. I thought of the man who had been hitchhiking and who might have been the same man who had been standing in the middle of the lane the night that Piers drove me home in such fury. I made a mental note to mention it to Shawn. I assumed the stranger would be staying at the Hare & Hounds, but it was odd that he’d been lurking around the village so late.

  Alfred slammed his hand down hard on the kitchen table. Mum and I jumped. “I didn’t go into that churchyard,” he fumed. “I tailed Rupert until the A38 but gave up to go back and find your damn manuscript, Iris.”

  “You left one page behind,” Mum snapped.

  Alfred glowered. “You told me five pages were missing. I brought five pages back. I wasn’t to know there was another page. If I had, I would have looked for that page.”

  “Did the police ask for your fingerprints?” said Mum. We all knew that if Alfred’s fingerprints were put into the system his criminal record spanning over fifty years would be out in the open. Of course I knew that Alfred was on parole, but I never thought to ask him if he reported to a parole office every day or what the terms were for that parole.

  “No. They did not,” said Alfred. “And that’s the last time I do any of your dirty work, Iris.”

  “You won’t do mine, but you’ll spy on his lordship for Lady Lavinia?”

  Fortunately, a rapping on the front door allowed me to escape. “I’ll go,” I said, and left the pair of them bickering in the kitchen.

  For the second time today, I was caught off-guard. There, standing on the doorstep, was Jess. She looked worried.

  “Can I talk to you?”

  I hesitated. “Now?”

  “Please. I need to tell you the truth,” she said earnestly. “It really isn’t what you think.”

  “Okay. Follow me.”

  The Carriage House formed part of a quadrangle. A range of outbuildings still in varying states of decay formed two sides; and a half-dilapidated barn, the fourth. I opened the door to the disused feed shed and ushered her inside.

  “I knew Eric before I met Aubrey,” she blurted out. “I love Aubrey. I really do.”

  I tried to remember when Eric’s wife, Vera, had died. It had been shortly after I first moved to Devon. That was nine months ago. As far as we all knew, Eric had never had a girlfriend since then—at least not one we had been aware of.

  “I had just got out of an ugly relationship and didn’t want anything serious.”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean, when you and David Wynne broke up—”

  “We’re not talking about me,” I said. “We’re talking about you.”

  “Yes. Yes. You’re right. We are.” She took a deep breath. “So I tried online dating.”

  “Okay.”

  “I told you, I didn’t want anything serious. Eric didn’t want anything serious. It was just a fling. I didn’t expect to see Eric ever again.”

  “Didn’t you know where Eric lived?”

  “I never asked,” said Jess. “We used to meet in Taunton. In a hotel.”

  “But why the secrecy? Why couldn’t you be out in the open about it?”

  “Eric was married.”

  “Oh.” Of course I’d known that Eric’s marriage to Vera had been volatile, but even so.

  “My ex-boyfriend was the jealous type and I didn’t want to risk him finding out.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “I wanted you to hear it from me,” she said. “Eric was cut up about the fact I ghosted him.”

  It was the second time I’d heard that term in twenty-four hours. “Poor Eric.”

  “Why poor Eric?” Jess exclaimed. “He was the one who didn’t play by the rules. Everyone knows what you sign up for with adult online dating.”

  “Adult online dating!” I exclaimed.

  “You know, Ashley Madison? Life is short. Have an affair, or something.” Jess blushed. “It’s for people who don’t want a commitment. It’s non-exclusive, no questions asked. Just sex. You know how it is.”

  In this case, I didn’t. I had never been that kind of girl.

  “We, I mean me … I was moving around a lot at the time for work and it suited me.”

  “I thought you had a jealous ex-boyfriend?”

  “Oh. Yes. And that, too.”

  “Is that why Eric called you Maureen?”

  “He called himself Christian!” Jess exclaimed. “He told me he was an entrepreneur and ran a successful car dealership—not a scrapyard!”

  Despite myself I had to laugh.

  A flicker of a smile crossed Jess’s features. “He was actually very skilled in the bedroom.”

  “Argh! No details please!” I said.

  “You can’t tell anyone about this.”

  “Who am I going to tell?”

  “Lavinia. Piers.”

  “That’s not my style,” I said. “But be careful. This village is a hive of gossip.”

  “Like the postmistress?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she really go through people’s post?”

  “Supposedly.”

  “Maybe that’s why she committed suicide?”

  I was surprised. “Is that what you heard?”

  “Didn’t she? I thought there was a note.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Violet. You mean she didn’t?”

  “Have you spoken to Shawn yet?” I asked.

  Jess shook her head. “Why would he want to talk to me? Carew Court is miles away.” She cocked her head. “Shawn’s nice. He’s single, isn’t he?”

  “Don’t play matchmaker.”

  “Honestly, you should be open. Look at me! I never thought in a million years that I would end up married to Aubrey!”

  “You never told me how you met.”

  “I was waiting tables for a charity gala and we got talking. He was—is the most fascinating man I’ve ever met. He makes me feel safe. He’s so kind to me, Kat.” She looked miserable. “Do you think Eric will cause any trouble? I think I hurt his feelings.”

  “Even if he said something, why should it matter?” I said. “This was before you met Aubrey anyway.”

  “Yes. Yes. You’re right. It was. It’s just—” She bit her lip. “I suppose it’s not Aubrey that I’m worried about. It’s Piers and Lavinia. Piers loathes me. He thinks I’m a gold digger, but I’ve already proved that I’m not. I didn’t sign a prenup or anything like that.” Tears brimmed over and trickled down her face. “I really love Aubrey, you know. I’ve done things in my past, things I’m ashamed of that I would never want to come out. But I’m changed. Really I am. Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I believe we all do.”

  And with that, Jess left the feed shed and went back to her car. I was troubled. I knew she wasn’t telling me everything. She was hiding something, but I didn’t know what. Didn’t Shakespeare say, “The lady doth protest too much”? Why bother to convince me of her love for Aubrey? Why the need to prove something to me? We weren’t friends, much as she liked to think otherwise.

  As Jess’s Prius left, so Piers, in his Mercedes, arrived.

  I could tell it was going to be another one of those days.

  Piers got out of the car clutching two bouquets of roses and holding a leather portfolio under his arm. “What was she doing here?”

  “Just saying hello,” I said.

  He sco
wled. “You should watch her. She’s not who she seems and I’m going to prove it.”

  Piers’s words echoed those of Alfred when he supposedly channeled my “uninvited guest.” But what could Jess possibly do to me?

  “I come bearing gifts and an apology,” he said, all smiles once more.

  “The flowers are beautiful. But two bouquets is a little extravagant.”

  “I have to claw my way back into your affection,” said Piers. “But in fact, one is for Iris. There is something that you both should see.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Kat said that you were the self-appointed Honeychurch historian, so I thought you might be interested in these.”

  “Of course I am!” My mother stared in wonder at the six parchment letters with their broken wax seals that lay on the kitchen table. The script was spidery and very difficult to read, but Piers had copied them into a notebook in surprisingly neat handwriting.

  “The Carews keep everything,” said Piers with more than a hint of pride. “Nicholas and Eleanor were friends from childhood. But Eleanor had been betrothed at birth to her cousin, James Honeychurch.”

  “Ah, the pirate,” said Mum. “Bootstrap Jim.”

  “But he was a cousin,” I said. “Wasn’t it illegal for first cousins to marry?”

  “The monarchy were always marrying first cousins and cousins once removed,” said Mum. “In fact, the entire line of succession to the British throne stems from a first-cousin marriage between Frederick William the First of Prussia and Sophia Dorothea of Hanover. There are over five thousand descendants who are currently alive—”

  “Including Emma Bunton?” I teased.

  Piers looked confused.

  “From the Spice Girls,” said Mum helpfully. “Emma is one hundred and third in line to the throne.”

  “Sorry, private joke,” I said. “You were saying?”

  “The war broke out and Nicholas and Eleanor eloped. He returned to fight but got caught up in the Battle of Naseby. By the time he got back, Eleanor had vanished,” said Piers. “No one knew what had really happened to her until now.”

  I looked up from reading one of the transcriptions. “Listen to this.” I read, “How it doth pain me so but I do this willingly for you my love and would suffer a thousand more barbs just to see your face once more.”