by Cathy Ace
‘She certainly did it today, and right under your assistant’s nose. Carol has a filmed record of her depositing half a dozen volumes on the shelves in the rear part of the shop.’
Henry sounded engaged. ‘There’s someone delivering books to your shop and you don’t know who they are? Sounds a bit off to me. Wouldn’t you know all the delivery personages in your sort of field?’
Bryn looked at Mavis with puzzlement. She said, ‘His Grace has not been informed of the enquiries we have been making on your behalf. Her Grace, the dowager, does not share professional information with family members. It’s up to our clients to decide what information they want to share, and with whom.’
Brightening, Bryn spoke directly to the duke. ‘Some unknown person has been leaving books in my shop without my permission, Your Grace. It’s given me a bit of a strange feeling about my business, and the WISE Enquiries Agency has been investigating on my behalf. They have used some natty equipment to spot who’s been doing it, and now at least I can see the person’s face.’
Henry nodded sagely. ‘But you don’t recognize them, eh?’ Bryn agreed. Henry was desperate to see the face of the nefarious character for himself. ‘Mind if I take a look. I get to see a lot of faces around these parts.’
‘With pleasure, Your Grace,’ replied Bryn, just as Althea and Stephanie entered the room.
Henry had to admit, with disappointment, that he didn’t know the woman in the photograph. He handed the phone to his wife who peered at the photograph and delighted everyone by announcing, ‘I have definitely seen this woman before.’
A chorus of ‘Where?’, ‘When?’ and ‘Who is she?’ followed. Stephanie swatted away all the questions, and closed her eyes. Henry thought she looked very young when she screwed up her face with the effort of recollection.
Eventually she admitted defeat. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t think where I’ve seen her, or why.’ Stephanie sounded frustrated. ‘I … I seem to think she was wearing a hat when I saw her. A rain hat? Maybe we met outdoors? Maybe in the winter? Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I do recall she had an accent that told me she was from the north of England somewhere. It was quite strong. Maybe Yorkshire? That’s all I can grasp.’
‘In the classes I took about how to recall information to be a better witness, they said it helped if you sat in a dark room and tried to talk your way through the memory. You have to work through things like sounds and smells. You get to the other information that way. I could do it with you if you like, Your Grace,’ offered Mavis.
Henry noticed that, for some reason, Althea looked proudly at Mavis when she spoke. He wondered why.
‘Thanks, Mavis, I might take you up on that,’ replied Stephanie, ‘but I have to deal with something else of immediate importance. Henry and I have to meet with Lady Clementine and Nurse Thomas.’
Henry felt his tummy turn. ‘I’d almost forgotten about that,’ he admitted.
‘How surprising,’ remarked his mother acidly.
‘If Your Grace were to be available, maybe I could come to the hall tomorrow morning to help you with some recollection techniques,’ ventured Mavis.
‘That would be marvelous,’ blurted out Bryn before adding with embarrassment, ‘though I don’t want Your Grace to go to any bother.’
‘Anything I can do to help you, Bryn, and Val, of course,’ replied Stephanie. ‘How about meeting me at the estate office first thing, Mavis? We could find a quiet place where we can work together. How long would it take, do you think? We have a fete committee meeting at nine thirty sharp. I’d need to be able to attend that. How about eight thirty? Would that suit?’ Henry beamed with delight to see his wife in action.
‘Very well then, it’s a date,’ said Mavis, pulling her phone from her pocket and making notes on the keyboard. Stephanie did the same thing.
‘The things one can achieve with technology these days is quite something, isn’t it?’ noted Henry.
‘Aye, the world’s changing, no doubt. So long as we use it, and don’t allow it to run our lives, I dare say it’s generally a good thing,’ observed Mavis.
‘Of course it is,’ agreed Althea. ‘All the equipment Carol stuffed into Mr Jenkins’s shop, and being able to now look at the culprit, none of it would have been possible without technology.’
‘I dare say one human being sitting in the shop might have achieved the same results, Mother,’ said Henry. ‘Don’t you have someone working there while you’re here, Mr Jenkins?’ It seemed to Henry that would be a necessity.
Bryn nodded. ‘Indeed I do, Your Grace, but it seems she’s not the most observant type. Young people these days seem to be so completely unaware of their surroundings.’
‘However many signs there are in a place, we don’t think cameras can see as much as they do. Carol showed me the website for the company that makes the equipment she used. It was fascinating. Do you know they have tiny little cameras that look like buttons? You can hide them all over the place. I could stick one onto a cardigan, and you’d be none the wiser,’ said Althea merrily.
Henry didn’t like that idea at all. ‘Surely it’s illegal to just go about filming people in goodness knows what sort of private situation? You’d have to get their permission, wouldn’t you? What if people started showing up here with gadgets all over their bodies and secretly filming our home? Good heavens, they could be working out how to rob us blind and we wouldn’t even know.’ Henry was unsettling himself as his mind raced through the possibilities.
‘We make it quite clear that no filming is allowed on the premises, Henry,’ replied Stephanie. ‘Photographs are allowed, of course …’ Henry noticed she looked suddenly concerned. ‘But you’re right, dear, there’s very little we can do to prevent people from filming those parts of the hall for which they have paid to gain access. But let’s just rest assured we have a new, and extremely thorough, security system installed that would thwart most attempts to rob us of any items of value. Unlike a year ago.’
Henry didn’t feel as comforted as he suspected he should have done, and wondered if his worries had shown on his face.
FIFTEEN
Mavis MacDonald was wearing her comfy walking shoes, and was on the job. It had been agreed – in other words she’d informed the team – she was going to spend the rest of the day making the rounds of businesses in Hay-on-Wye with the photographs of the woman who’d deposited books at Bryn’s shop. She’d promised herself a spot of tea at The Swan as a reward, and planned on suggesting to Bryn he might like to join her, if he could get away.
Mavis reckoned it was best to work on a door-to-door basis, and she began as she meant to go on – entering the premises in question, waiting until the person in charge was available for a quiet word, then introducing herself and asking those working there if they recognized the person in the photographs. As was always the case in such circumstances, she knew she might need a good reason for asking, as a suspiciously hesitant response wasn’t unusual. Since she didn’t want to give the real reason for her enquiries – thereby ensuring her clients’ privacy – she had decided to resort to a back-story that usually worked: a friend of the unknown person’s family had lost contact and was trying to get in touch with urgent news, so they’d asked Mavis to undertake some professional enquiring. Since Mavis was the designated ‘public face’ of the agency, she didn’t have to worry about retaining an undercover profile. Indeed, she made sure she carried a bundle of business cards to hand out if there was the merest hint of interest in the services the agency offered. She’d picked up quite a few contacts that way, many people not knowing a discreet enquiries agency existed in their neck of the woods.
A couple of upmarket women’s clothing shops yielded no information, a bookshop specializing in maps and atlases was no more helpful. Mavis hesitated on the doorstep of an outlet offering children’s clothing, handmade toys, yarn and other knitting and crocheting paraphernalia, but went in believing it was best to be thorough. Nothing.
After forty-five minu
tes, and about ten more shops, the retired nurse was beginning to flag. The whole process was so repetitive, and dispiriting. Two pubs, a coffee place and a shop specializing in children’s books later, and knew she needed to pause for a rest. Just a wee one. The feet that had carried her thousands of miles along hospital corridors were letting her down. She hated it when Annie Parker used the term ‘gumshoeing,’ but she was beginning to wonder if a pair of something squishy and ‘gum-like’ on her feet might have helped.
A couple of worn wooden chairs on the pavement outside a thrift shop looked inviting. She picked up one of the little leaflets, that told her all about how the money raised by the shop would benefit cancer research, as she rested her rear on one of the rickety seats.
‘You thinking of buying those chairs?’ asked a sharp voice. ‘They’re for selling.’
Mavis looked up into a mass of just-colored-and-set dark, tight curls and a pair of tired eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she said, smiling, ‘I was just reading your pamphlet. You’re supporting a good cause.’
The woman eyed her suspiciously. ‘Yes. We are.’ She hesitated. ‘If you want to come in we’ve got comfier seats inside, and I could get you a glass of water.’
Mavis hoped it was the chair creaking when she rose. ‘Very kind of you. Don’t mind if I do.’
With Mavis enjoying a glass of cool water and the two women who staffed the shop peering at the photographs following her explanation of her task, Mavis felt much better.
‘I know her,’ said the manager.
Mavis’s spirits rose even further. ‘That’s good news. Do you happen to know her name, by any chance?’ She pulled a notepad from her handbag.
The woman looked suspicious. ‘I thought you said you knew her, or at least that you were acting for people who knew her. You’re sure this is all above-board, are you? How come you don’t know her name?’
Mavis nodded. ‘I do,’ she lied, ‘I just need to make sure you do.’ She could tell the woman was sizing her up.
The women shrugged at each other. The older one spoke. ‘Sarah Cruickshank. Runs a posh old folks’ home in Three Cocks. It’s called Oakdene, or Oakview, or Oakdale … something like that. I’m pretty sure it’s Oak-something, anyway. She’s only brought in a few little pieces now and again. Nothing to write home about. The odd vase or two, a few boxes and bits of general bric-a-brac.’
‘Would you happen to know where she gets the items she brings in?’ asked Mavis.
The women exchanged a significant glance, then the older of the two lowered her voice, as she said, ‘None of our business.’
Mavis decided it was best to not say more than: ‘No matter. I’m sure I’ll be able to find her with the help you’ve given me. The friends and family trying to get in touch with her will be pleased, I’m sure. I understand from them she’s a caring sort, so an old folks’ home doesn’t come of much of a surprise. Is she married, do you happen to know?’
The more junior of the two women – in age and station – replied, looking coyly at her superior, ‘Oh yes. He sometimes meets her outside here. I expect they come into Hay together and go their own ways. A lot of couples do that. To be honest with you, it’s why we have the chairs outside. Husband Chairs we call them – lots of places have them. Somewhere for him to perch while she browses.’ She looked furtive as she lowered her voice and leaned toward Mavis. ‘He’s a bit of an old goat, truth be told. Filthy laugh on him. Talks like something out of a Carry On film, he does. Puts me in mind of Sid James, even though he looks nothing like him. Wears one of those hats, he does. She’d have to be a patient sort to put up with him, or maybe he’s not like that with her all the time, who knows. I couldn’t cope, myself. It’s all well and good to see it on the telly, but to have that sort of banter at all hours? Drive me twp it would. But there, she’s giving us odds and ends we can sell, so I shouldn’t speak ill of them.’
‘Got anything here at the moment she’s brought in?’ asked Mavis hopefully.
The two women cast their eyes about the shop. The younger one pointed to a wooden box on top of a chest of drawers. ‘She brought that in a while ago, didn’t she?’ They both agreed she had.
‘Mind if I take a look?’ asked Mavis. She got up and strolled to the item in question. The worn, light-oak wooden box that had clearly once held a cutlery service in its velvet-lined interior was empty. ‘The cutlery wasn’t in it?’ she asked.
Both women shook their heads. ‘We were thinking maybe someone would be able to get all the innards out and just use it for odds and ends,’ said the younger of the pair.
‘How much do you want for it?’ asked Mavis.
Sensing a sale, the more senior woman took the box and gave it a good going over. ‘Fiver?’ she said.
Mavis glared. It was contrary to her nature to not haggle on such an occasion, but she reasoned the money would go to a worthy cause, and she could pass on the cost as an expense – or find a use for the box herself. Either way, she felt she had to accept the price quoted.
A few moments later, invigorated by what she hoped was useful information – and in possession of a box she wasn’t sure she really wanted – Mavis paused on the pavement and sent off a few texts, then headed toward Bryn’s shop to invite him to join her for a pot of tea. She planned to return to her task of entering every establishment in Hay and asking about the woman in the photographs after she’d properly refreshed herself. Having information from one source was handy, but having it verified or augmented by a second, and even a third if possible, was Mavis’s preference. However, she believed she’d earned a break, so set off with a spring in her step.
SIXTEEN
‘And you’re sure it’ll be alright for me to join everyone for dinner up at Chellingworth Hall tonight?’ asked Alexander of Christine as the sleek Aston Martin purred along through Ystradgynlais.
‘Yes, I checked with Althea. We’re all to be her guests, she said. Something about wanting Clemmie to have a proper dinner party to enjoy. So you’ll be expected to be your most charming self.’
‘I’ll do my best. Want to stop for a spot of late lunch on the way? Those bacon butties we grabbed for breakfast won’t keep us going until eight o’clock tonight.’
Christine gave the matter some thought. ‘We’ll be passing Craig Y Nos Castle soon. It’s a fascinating place; built by a sea captain in the 1840s, all his family died out in Shakespearean style and a chap named Morgan Morgan bought it, lived in it, and then his son did too. He was also named Morgan Morgan. No wonder they all give each other nicknames around here.’ She grinned at Alexander who smiled, but didn’t take his eyes off the narrow, winding road. ‘So then along comes Dame Adelina Patti, the world-famous operatic soprano, who falls for the place, buys it and pours money into it. She built a theatre there that seats a hundred and fifty. Anyway, the great and the good all visited; she even had her own private railway station and traveled the world from her Welsh home until she died. The place became a hospital, and now it’s a hotel. With a bar. We could go there. I’ve always fancied seeing the place.’
‘Thought you knew it inside and out, the way you were talking,’ said Alexander grinning. ‘How d’you know so much about the place?’
Christine shrugged. ‘Places like that call to me, somehow. Growing up in our draughty old Georgian pile in Ireland meant I knew what it was to live in a big house but with no money available to make it more than shabbily comfortable. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to do a place up just as you want it. It would be marvelous, don’t you think?’
‘You’ve seen where, and how, I live. I don’t care for a lot of stuff about the place.’
Christine knew he was right, and it bothered her a little because she preferred the idea that more was good, and layering was even better. Some called it clutter, she liked to think of her preferred style as ‘Victorian’ … but in a good way. ‘Well, it’s not far now, so what do you think? We could try.’
‘Agreed.’
Ten minutes later t
hey were back in the car and heading off again. ‘Shame about that. I should have guessed it would be the time of year when they’d be busy with weddings, but not on a Monday. What an odd day to get married. I mean, it’s a lovely day for it, to be sure – and can you imagine those photographs? The place is stunning. Maybe we can come back some time?’
‘I’ll phone them up and see when they can fit us in. Booking for two hundred people, OK?’
As the last syllable left his lips, both Alexander and Christine clamped their mouths shut and looked out of their respective windows. Christine could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She knew Alexander had not just proposed marriage, but she also knew what they were both thinking at that precise moment. She forced herself to breath. Silence reigned until they’d wound their way up to the Crai Reservoir and stopped to take in the view.
Standing in a little lay-by, the patchwork-green of the rolling Brecon Beacons around them and the view across the vast body of water before them, Christine felt she had to break the tension somehow, but wasn’t sure where to begin.
‘It’s grand here,’ she dared.
‘Are you aware you revert to full-on Irish when you’re off in your own little world?’
Christine wanted to say so much, but satisfied herself with: ‘We’re neither of us quite what the world thinks we are, are we?’
Alexander’s eyes narrowed as he replied, ‘It’s good we have each other then – someone we can be our whole self with.’
Suddenly nervous he was going to utter words he would never be able to un-say, Christine was relieved when she was, quite literally, saved by the bell; her phone rang.
She pulled it out of her pocket, looking puzzled. ‘I can’t believe I can get a signal up here.’
She listened to her call, and shouted above the gusting wind which, if the shape of the few stunted trees that could be seen was anything to go by, blew constantly, and in one direction. Finally she hung up. ‘OK, new plan. There’s a place out past Brecon and Talgarth called Three Cocks. It’s on our way back to Chellingworth from here. Mavis has asked us if we can find an old folks’ home in the area called Oak-something, run by a couple named Cruickshank. She believes the wife’s the one who’s been dumping books in the shop. I said we’d do it. Apparently there’s a decent old coaching inn there too, with a good reputation for its food. So let’s press on, eh?’