Laura laughed. Glastonbury, where they would go next, was known as a mecca for occultists, new age types and mystics, standing as it did on the reputed site of the first Christian Church as well as being the place where the legendary Arthur and Guinevere were thought to be buried.
“We can compare notes,” she said with a smile. “I’ll be very interested to hear what William thinks about our fellow participants. He is very perceptive.”
“He is indeed,” Lady Longtree agreed. “I am sorry, my dear, that we left you to deal with the police alone,” she added apologetically. “I can’t bear publicity. If you have a lady attached to your name, people feel they can say the most outrageous things about you. And then, of course, there is William…”
She broke off as William came into view. “Off you go, my dear, and we’ll join you in a moment,” she instructed, waving Laura toward the room where the luncheon was being held. Laura obeyed. One just did obey Lady Longtree, she reflected.
Everyone was milling about looking self-conscious, as people always did in these circumstances. Turning to the nearest person, Laura introduced herself.
She immediately wished she hadn’t. The man, who announced that he was Dr. Ludwig Bernstein, looked exactly as she had always imagined a mad psychiatrist might look. He was short, not fat but definitely sturdy, had dark skin, a dark pointed beard and intense olive eyes that bored into hers. When he explained at some length that he was a pediatrician turned child psychiatrist who had a particular interest in the subconscious and the occult and children’s latent ability to tap into them, she almost choked. It was much too easy to visualize him in an old science fiction movie, doing experiments on his unsuspecting clients. He even had the right accent. German, she thought, which turned out to be correct as well. He also used a distinctive and cloying aftershave. Laura massaged her nose surreptitiously, and managed not to sneeze.
An extremely attractive woman came up beside them and Dr. Bernstein introduced her as his wife, Claudine. Her accent was different; Laura placed it as French, possibly because Claudine looked exactly like her internal picture of a Parisian woman. Everything about her was elegant; her clothes were perfectly cut, her hair perfectly coiffed, her make-up discreetly applied. Only a few lines of disillusionment and discontent marred her otherwise lovely face.
They made desultory conversation until another participant joined them. He was small and neat, with white hair belied by a youthful face. His sharp blue eyes were in constant motion, seeming to take in everything that was going on around him even as he made charming conversation. He was from Switzerland, and his name was Hans Gruber. When he heard that Laura had just finished a walking trip, he told her she must come to his villa in the mountains of Switzerland to walk next summer.
“Switzerland is the most beautiful country in the world,” he enthused. “We have snow-covered mountains, valleys filled with flowers and lakes, and trains or busses or cable cars to take you to the high places, so you do not have to climb all the way. You are on the top from the very beginning, and the world spreads out around you.”
He gestured expansively, almost upsetting the tray of drinks that had appeared at his elbow. “Let me know when you come and I will show you it all,” he promised, taking a mug of beer.
“I may do that,” Laura replied. “I won’t forget.” She wouldn’t, either. Switzerland was definitely on her list for walking places she wanted to visit.
The tour director, Alan Mansfield, a handsome man in his forties, came to greet her, bringing in his wake three women who had gathered around him like bees drawn to honey. He introduced everyone with an easy patter that covered each person’s status and interests. The two younger women were English, medical technicians at the same hospital who loved gardens especially, Laura gathered; the third woman came from Japan and was interested in photography, as was her taciturn husband.
Alan Mansfield was very good at his job, Laura decided, watching him circle the room to chat amiably with each of his clients. He charmed the women but was careful not to be too attentive, lest his intentions be misconstrued. The men seemed eager to impress him. The same kind of competitive masculinity she saw in apes was at work, Laura suspected, with each male jockeying for status.
The tour director appeared at her elbow again, this time without his retinue of eager followers. “You had an unusual experience in the Baths, I heard,” he said quietly. “I hope it didn’t distress you unduly.”
Laura was horrified. Did all these people know about the baby? What an appalling way to start a trip!
“No, it didn’t,” she answered, “but I do hope the story doesn’t get about. Being known as the woman who found the baby in the Baths could get tedious.”
“I don’t think anyone here is aware of your involvement,” he assured her. “The only reason I know is because the guide who will take us through the Baths this afternoon told me what had happened.”
“Are the Baths open again?” Laura asked.
“Yes. I gather they think the call about the bomb was made to keep people out of the Baths until the baby had been picked up, but you foiled the plan.”
“I’m glad they don’t have me down as a baby-stealer any more,” Laura said. “When I was in the police station I was afraid they did.”
Alan Mansfield smiled sympathetically. “Of course they don’t,” he assured her, “but if there is any further trouble, please come to me. We are here to help.”
“Thank you.” Laura was grateful. She didn’t understand the British police system, and a sympathetic local ear would be welcome.
“At any rate, I shall do my best to see that the story does not get around,” the director went on. “Probably the less that is said about it, the sooner people will forget,” he added smoothly, which Laura suspected was a polite way of telling her not to talk about it either.
“I intend to put the whole matter out of my mind and concentrate on the tour,” she assured him.
Alan Mansfield nodded. “Excellent. I am sure the case will be resolved very soon anyway. The police here are very good.” With another reassuring smile, he went off to tend once more to the others.
Feeling that she had earned a break, Laura retired to a corner to watch her fellow travelers. It would be interesting to see if her initial impressions of these people held up. As a start, she suspected that although Alan Mansfield was careful, he wasn’t averse to a pleasant romance if one came his way without complications. She wondered which woman he would choose, or more likely, who would choose him. Her bet was on one of the young medical technicians, who were both rosily pretty despite a few extra pounds, maybe even the lovely and discontented Claudine, if he was sure he could get away with it and she seemed cooperative.
Another person appeared in the doorway and stood observing the group. Laura watched her curiously, wondering who she was. She was almost six feet tall, had a mop of unruly dark red hair and an intent gaze that made Laura think of a friendly hawk, perhaps because of her yellow-brown eyes. Laugh lines decorated her face and she had the ungainly look of a colt despite middle age.
Their eyes met and the woman smiled, a quirky smile that told Laura they intuitively understood each other. She smiled back, delighted. It was rare for her to feel that instant rapport with another woman, and when it happened she treasured it. She looked forward to getting to know the red-headed stranger.
Alan Mansfield called everyone to the table, and as they consumed an excellent lunch, he provided an informative and interesting overview of the sites they were to visit and the philosophy of the tours he ran. “We call this a limited, independent tour,” he told them. “Independent means that escorted activities are always available but there is no compulsion to join them. I will point out, however, that our clients find the background information we provide as we go through each attraction quite valuable.
“Limited means that we restrict the number of people to fifteen, and we limit the tour to the attractions in this area that most appealed to you in
the survey we sent out. That way, we can set a leisurely pace and spend more time at each place. I will also note that our schedule is flexible. If it rains, we focus on indoor activities, on fine days we concentrate on the gardens, which are particularly popular with most of you.”
Laura was pleased. Those were exactly the reasons she had selected this tour, and it was good to hear them confirmed. Rushing from one place to the next in a huge group held no appeal. No one could feel atmosphere that way. An added inventive had been the surprisingly low cost.
Alan answered a few questions and distributed a detailed itinerary. From Bath they went to Glastonbury and stayed for two nights to see the various attractions; three nights in a well-known manor house followed. Those days would be spent visiting nearby attractions like Stourhead Gardens, Longleat House and Safari Park, and the ancient city of Wells, where they would attend a rehearsal performance of the famous Cathedral Choir. A final day in Bath and a concluding dinner completed the tour.
A brief description of the people on the tour, based on information each had provided, was also included. They were well done, Laura thought, scanning them. They told her more about each person’s interests and background and would serve as a valuable shortcut to establishing friendly relations. The unknown red-haired woman wasn’t on the list, she saw, and wondered why.
She glanced at her own profile and found it accurate if embellished with superlatives she hadn’t provided. Professor at a well-known American University, she read, whose course on gender evolution was a resounding success last summer. This summer she will teach a new course on the effects of religious and political turmoil on women’s status today. Dr. Morland has spent the last year conducting research on this very topical issue.
Alan’s voice recalled her. “This afternoon, we are taking those who wish to join us to the Roman Baths, the Museum of Costume and Bath Abbey. Elise Brown, who is an authority on all these sites, will conduct the group. I recommend that you take advantage of her expertise. There is also the benefit of not having to stand in line since immediate admission is included in the tour and we are expected.”
He consulted his watch. “Coffee will be served on the terrace, and at two thirty, we leave for the Roman Baths. It is only a short walk from here, but the van is always available if anyone wishes to ride. Just let me know.
“Thank you everyone for listening.”
A polite smattering of applause followed, and then they filed outside into the charming little terrace off the dining room.
The red-haired woman was sipping a cup of coffee and Laura joined her. “Quite a pet, isn’t he?” the woman said, gesturing toward the psychiatrist. “He’s so perfect for the role one wants to reach out and pat him. And the wife - now there’s a study in frustration.” Her voice was low and gruff, and very pleasant.
Laura grinned. “Do you suppose there’s any truth in the theory that psychiatrists go into the field because they’re a bit crazy themselves?”
“Or terrified of being crazy,” came the prompt answer. “By the way, I’m Violet, Violet McLarty. Ridiculous, I know, I mean the Violet part, and you are permitted to laugh. My dear misguided Mum apparently thought I looked like one as an infant. Little did she know how overgrown her darling little plant would turn out to be.”
Laura did laugh. “Once I had a student called Primrose. She was skinny as a rail, over six feet tall and black as an olive. She had pink and yellow t-shirts made with: I am a Primrose inside printed on them.”
Violet emitted a hearty guffaw that drew all eyes in their direction. “That’s what I should do, except mine would say: No shrinking Violet here!
“I think Violet is a great name,” Laura commented. “I wish I had a name with some character, but mine’s very ordinary. I’m Laura Morland.”
Violet looked suddenly embarrassed. “Uh oh,” she said gloomily.
“Why uh oh?” Laura asked.
“I’m a late arrival,” Violet confessed. “I really want to come on the trip but Alan tells me there are no more rooms at this late date, and he’ll have to see if the person with an extra bed in the room will share. That’s you, if I remember correctly, and I hate asking favors of someone I already like.”
“Let’s stop worrying about it and give it a try,” Laura suggested.
“Do you really mean that? I’m actually a great roommate as I’m almost never there,” Violet added candidly. “You can have the bathroom first too. I’ve also managed to get a room for some nights, including tonight.”
They grinned at each other. “It’s a bargain,” Laura said.
They stood in companionable silence until people began to file out of the room. “Time for the Baths,” Laura said. “Are you going?”
Violet nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, despite a generic dislike of groups. We’ll get special treatment, get in right away to the exhibits and so forth. I gather that Elise is very well-informed, too. How about you?”
Laura nodded. She hadn’t been able to examine the Baths properly this morning and she wanted to see if the key worked. She didn’t want to miss the Museum of Costume and the Abbey, either.
She and Violet were about to cross the street to the Baths entrance when a dark car roared past them. It looked completely out of control. Pedestrians scattered, but one elderly man was unable to get out of the way in time. With a sickening thump, the car sent him tumbling into the street. Gunning its engines, it sped away again.
A group of people gathered around the old man. “Ambulance,” a woman called to a man with a cell phone. Nodding, the man punched in numbers. Within moments, an ambulance careened to a stop, and two medics leaped out. A police car was right behind them. Pushing through the crowd, the medics did a quick but thorough examination, placed the man gently on a stretcher and slid him into the back. With a slam of doors, they were off again, leaving the policemen to question people and disperse the crowds.
Laura heard the murmur of conversations around her. “Ran him right down, the car did, almost looked as if it was aiming for him, and then took off. The old man never had a chance, did he? I mean, some of these drivers…”
“Poor old sod,” said another woman. “He was just standing there, and it came at him so fast. Couldn’t have got out of the way. Imagine, here in Bath, right after that bomb scare. And the baby being found in there, too. Don’t know what this world is coming to…”
Laura closed her eyes, feeling sick. Surely, though, it wasn’t possible. No one would run down an old man just because he had tried to talk to her.
She was aware that Violet had taken her arm. “You need to sit down,” she said firmly, and led Laura over to a low stone wall.
“Thanks,” Laura mumbled weakly. “I was just startled, I guess.” Violet looked at her skeptically but made no comment.
Laura took deep breaths and waited for her head to clear. Surely, there was more than one old man in Bath. Why should she jump to such a ridiculous conclusion?
She stood up again determinedly. “I’m all right now,” she said. “We better hurry. They’re all lined up already.”
“They can wait another minute or two,” Violet commented, but she didn’t try to stop Laura as she made her way toward the group.
Alan Mansfield came up to her. “That wasn’t what you needed just now,” he said, his voice concerned. “I am so sorry. Nothing for you to worry about, though,” he added. “Just a hit and run case, I gather. A rather disreputable old man who hangs around the Baths and didn’t look where he was going.”
“What was his name?” Laura asked, unable to stop herself, unable to think, either, why she had used the past tense.
The tour director looked at her in surprise. “I’m not sure,” he answered. “He was called Joe, I think, but that is all I know.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Laura tried hard to concentrate as Elise explained the history of the Baths and the meaning of the various displays that filled the rooms, but she couldn’t get her mind off Joe and the possibility
that he had been run down on purpose. He had tried to tell her something about the baby and been dragged away, and then he had been the victim of a hit and run attack. Could that be sheer coincidence?
They filed into a dark corridor with large glass panes, and Laura realized with surprise that she was staring down into the springs from a point opposite the platform where she’d stood this morning. The rusted door was right in front of her.
She looked around for William but couldn’t see him anywhere. Had he decided not to come? He had seemed so eager to try the key earlier. How disappointing!
“Excuse me, M’am,” a voice said at her elbow. A tall man in coveralls inserted a key in the lock, nodded with satisfaction, and gave the door a push. It opened easily.
“Oiled,” the man said briefly.
Laura looked up at his face. “William,” she breathed.
“Yes, M’am,” he said. “Been told to look at the stairs.” Closing the door behind him, he went down, stooping to examine each step. Laura was tempted to follow, but thought better of it. Unlike William, she wasn’t dressed like a repairman, and the presence of a tourist in the springs would only draw attention to him.
Lady Longtree materialized at her elbow. “His mechanic costume,” she explained. “Rather good, I thought, on such short notice.”
“Quite convincing,” Laura murmured. “I wish I’d thought of that.”
“I imagine he’ll be down there for quite a while now that he’s got the chance to explore,” Lady Longtree went on, “though I do hope he doesn’t try to get into that tunnel he spotted behind the grill. I should hate to have to go in after him if he gets stuck.”
Laura shuddered. If William did get stuck, she wasn’t going in after him. Panic set in at the mere thought. Fortunately, it wasn’t necessary. William reappeared in his normal clothes before they left the Baths.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a confused kaleidoscope of the now familiar subterranean spaces of the Baths and the elaborate silk bustles, impossibly tiny waists and enormous hats at the Museum of Costume. After that, Elise led them back to the square through a jumble of twisting, hilly streets lined with a fantastic variety of tiny storefronts that had once housed blacksmiths and bakers and weavers.
Wading Into Murder Page 4