by Bill Kitson
Eve and I smiled politely at what we considered to be the absurdity of Hardy’s comment. Eve explained about Jeremy Powell’s phone call, and the mystery weapon that had intrigued us. ‘We went to talk to Robert Pengelly and as a result we’re going to stay at Barton Manor for a few days. That was what we went to tell you, but Holmes was a bit dismissive and got Adam annoyed, so we left without explaining what we’d learned.’
‘Holmes is a good lad and will make a decent detective in the long run, but he’s a bit wet behind the ears and it’s unfair on him to be saddled with the responsibility of a murder case at this stage in his career. I’m going to speak to him later this afternoon, and I’ll tell him to get in touch with you at Barton Manor. Is that OK? I’ll suggest he listens to you.’
‘Barton Manor? Isn’t that where your accident happened?’ Sylvia asked.
‘Yes, there or thereabouts.’ Hardy seemed suddenly uncomfortable, and I guessed this was another subject he found embarrassing.
Despite his unwillingness, I pressed him for details. ‘Care to tell us what happened, or can’t you remember?’
‘I can recall bits and pieces, but to be honest most of it is a bit of a blur.’
‘He’s fibbing again,’ Sylvia told us. ‘What he really means is that he can remember fairly well, but he doesn’t want to talk about it because he’s afraid that people won’t believe him or that they’ll think he was hallucinating, or simply that they’ll laugh at him.’
‘I don’t think that should worry him, not where we’re concerned,’ Eve told her. ‘Let’s be honest, we’ve told him plenty of incredible things ourselves, and he didn’t laugh at us. Mind you, he didn’t always believe us either, until they were proved correct.’
Hardy looked at Eve, then at me, and after a moment’s pause, began to speak. ‘I’d to drive from Thorsby, so it was almost dusk by the time I passed through Barton-le-Moors. I’d arranged to meet Holmes at the manor. I’d almost reached it when something on the car radio distracted my attention for a split second. When I looked up, I was horrified to see the shape of a large animal directly in front of me, in the middle of the road.’
Hardy paused, reached over to the unit alongside the bed and took a sip from the glass of water on it before continuing. ‘I know it was the wrong thing to do, but my reflexes made me swing the wheel to avoid hitting it. In doing so I must have clipped the grass verge and next thing I knew, the car was on its side, then on its roof, before ending face down in the ditch. That’s all I remember. I must have passed out, because when I woke up I was here.’
‘I don’t see why that should embarrass you. It seems a perfectly natural thing to have done,’ Eve told him. ‘What was the animal you saw? Was it a deer? Did you hit it?’
Hardy looked even more embarrassed. ‘It might have been a deer. It must have been a deer. But, no, I didn’t hit it, although I can’t understand why not.’
‘How do you mean, it must have been a deer? Either it was a deer or it wasn’t.’
Hardy looked at me for such a long time that I thought he wasn’t going to answer. Eventually, when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. ‘I said it must have been a deer because there’s nothing else that big in this country, and yet it didn’t look like a deer. I only got a fleeting impression of it. One second it was there, the next it had vanished. But in that brief glimpse, I’d say it was taller than a deer, and more erect, not on all fours, so to speak.’
I realised that Hardy did have some idea as to what he thought he’d seen, but wasn’t prepared to admit it. ‘What happened to it? You say you didn’t hit it.’
‘That’s the other thing I don’t understand. The thing was in the middle of the road, right in the path of the car. I was travelling at close on sixty miles an hour, and yet I didn’t touch it. It was as if it vanished before I reached it, but no animal I know of can move that fast.’
‘Come on; tell us what you think it was. I promise we won’t say a word to anyone.’
Reluctantly, he said, ‘I thought … at least I imagined … it must have been imagination, but it looked a bit like … a bear. Either that or a barghest.’
Sylvia shook her head in disbelief. ‘Don’t tell me you subscribe to old legends like that?’
Hardy looked from me to Eve and back again, clearly looking for signs of our amusement. I didn’t feel at all like laughing. For some reason, his words sent a chill down my spine, and I could tell that Eve was similarly affected. ‘By what DS Holmes told us,’ I said, ‘it sounds as if you were doubly lucky. Obviously, surviving a crash like that was fortunate, but he told us about what happened to the van that hit black ice further along the road. It sounds like your crash was the lesser of two evils. And perhaps what you thought you saw actually saved your life.’
Sylvia’s statement had been right, the tale was difficult to credit, and had it been anyone less down-to-earth than Hardy, we might have scoffed at what he’d told us. Even now, what he said is almost beyond comprehension.
Chapter Three
Barton Manor wasn’t quite a stately home or a mansion, yet it bore the unmistakeable signs of affluence.
The grounds were extensive and well-kept, an indication, I thought, that Frank Jolly was good at his job. Beside the drive, banks of rhododendrons provided a natural screen. Behind them, massive poplars acted as sentinels. As we approached the house, I got occasional glimpses of huge evergreen shrubs that had been shaped into beautifully symmetrical circular mounds, I wondered if the outstanding topiary work was down to a visiting expert, or if the credit was due to Frank Jolly. Surrounding the large shrubs was an immense lawn that stretched to the low stone wall where the drive opened out in front of the house. The focal point of the frontage was a three-tier fountain. I parked just past it, next to a shallow flight of steps that led to the lawns beyond. These were immaculately clipped, and although the growing season was past, I could still make out the razor-straight lines made by the mower. Whatever his other faults, Stephen Pengelly had obviously cared about the appearance of his property.
I looked across at the house. The grey stone walls were covered with ivy that threatened to encroach on the leaded windows. Age had weathered the stone, softening the hard lines to give a pleasing, almost welcoming impression on the eye. Having parked up, I took our holdalls from the boot and followed Eve to the sturdy oak door, which, framed by a stone arch, formed the front entrance. I glanced around, taking in the splendid setting once more, the beauty enhanced if anything by the soft light of the early November afternoon, which was beginning to fade towards dusk. Eve pressed the ivory-coloured button, for all the world like a giant eyeball, set in a highly polished brass surround. From somewhere deep within the house I heard the lazy clamour of an ancient bell.
As we waited, Eve pointed, directing my gaze to an irregular, slightly maroon stain on the large stone flags directly in front of the door. I guessed that these marked the place where Stephen Pengelly had bled out, and that Mrs Jolly had been at work trying to eradicate the grim reminder of his violent death. Even the repeated application of bleach and hot water would not totally remove the evidence, it seemed. I dismissed a fleeting thought about Lady Macbeth as inappropriate.
A few seconds later, the door swung open and Robert Pengelly peered out. ‘Oh, hello, I thought it might be the police. Come on inside, out of the cold.’
We stepped across the threshold into a truly magnificent entrance hall. To our left, a stone hearth almost the size of a football goal housed a huge log fire, whose cheerful blaze provided the perfect welcome. The draught from the open door caused fragrant woodsmoke to waft into the air. At the rear of the hall, which had sufficient space to cope with even the biggest influx of guests, a broad central staircase rose to the upper floor, flanked on either side by beautifully carved and highly polished wooden balustrades.
‘Why did you think it might be the police?’ I asked after we had taken in our surroundings.
‘There’s been a break-in. We think
it must have happened overnight, because the police were here until early evening, added to which Frank and Mary were in the house until past eight o’clock, getting things ready for our arrival.’
He gestured to our bags. ‘Leave those here. I’ll get Frank to take them to your room later. We’re all camped out in the kitchen at the moment. Come through and have a cup of tea.’
He walked to the midpoint of the entrance hall and opened a door on the right which led to the dining room. ‘We only arrived here half an hour ago. As we pulled up, Alison noticed a small pane in the window of Stephen’s … in the study was broken and the window was wide open. When we looked inside, the room had been trashed. Fortunately, for whatever reason, the thieves concentrated on the one room. Either that or something disturbed them, because there’s no sign of damage elsewhere.’
‘Whereabouts is the study?’ Eve asked.
Pengelly gestured towards the front of the house. ‘To the front of this room. But the kitchen’s this way.’
He guided us through a doorway into the dining room. It was as impressive as the entrance hall. The centrepiece was a huge dining table, which I guessed would have seated a couple of dozen guests without cramping them. Despite its size, the table didn’t dominate the room, and neither did the huge dresser and sideboard that stared at one another from opposing, oak-panelled walls. As we walked down the room, my eye was drawn to a portrait hanging over the slightly smaller but still more than adequate fireplace. It was of a young woman, and I couldn’t help but notice the striking similarity to our host.
Eve was also admiring her surroundings. ‘How old is the house?’ she asked.
‘Early Georgian, I believe, but there has been a dwelling here since long before that. The manor of Barton is mentioned in the Domesday Book.’
‘Has it been in the Pengelly family all that time?’ I asked. I was curious, because Pengelly isn’t a Yorkshire name. To me, it seemed more in keeping with Devon or Cornwall perhaps.
‘No, we’re relative newcomers.’ Robert smiled. ‘One of my ancestors, Oliver Pengelly, was a banker and took the house from a defaulting debtor around a hundred and fifty years ago. Before that, the family was based in Cornwall and around the West Country.’
He opened the door leading to the kitchen, which was in as grand a scale as the rooms we had already seen. There was another huge fireplace to the left, but this one, instead of an open fire, housed an Aga range cooker, and a separate boiler, which between them not only cooked the guests’ food but also warmed their bedrooms via the central heating. On either side of the inglenook were storage units with worktops where food could be prepared for immediate transfer to the oven or hob. I was struck by the absence of fridges and similar white goods. These, as I learned soon afterwards, were stored in a separate utility room adjacent to the kitchen.
Mary and Frank Jolly were seated at the kitchen table, which would have done justice to most dining rooms, and Alison was standing alongside them pouring tea from a large teapot. ‘Two more for tea,’ Robert told her.
We were greeted with enthusiasm, which I guessed was in part from relief. No matter how law-abiding people might be, there is something daunting about having dealings with the police. We sipped our tea, listening as Alison and Mary described their actions since arriving at the manor from the train station. ‘Once we knew about the burglary,’ Alison told us, ‘I said we shouldn’t touch anything unless we had to, because of fingerprints, and even then to cover our hand with a handkerchief or cloth. Did I do right?’
‘I’m no expert, but I’d say you took all the precautions you could.’
‘I had to open the freezers and fridge to put some food away,’ Mary added, ‘otherwise it would have been spoiled.’
‘I hardly think that would have been their target, do you, Adam?’ Eve asked.
‘No, I doubt very much if they would even have come into the kitchen.’
I was pleased to see that our tea was presented in mugs rather than cups. Everything at Barton Manor seemed to be on a grand scale. We had just about finished ours when the police arrived. There was no advance warning; no wailing sirens or flashing lights, merely the tolling of that doorbell. ‘That should be them,’ Robert said. He left to answer the door, and a few minutes later returned, accompanied by DS Holmes. Robert asked Mary to pour another mug of tea, and as he sipped it, Holmes made notes about the time the burglary was discovered, and everyone’s actions since then.
He finished his tea and stood up. ‘I’m going to check on the room where they got in and have a word with the fingerprint officers. Would you come with me please, Mr Pengelly?’
We watched them leave, and after the door closed Eve looked at me. Her expression clearly showed her belief that Holmes was determined to ignore us. I shrugged, and had resigned myself to the fact that we were to be excluded from the inquiry, only to find within a few minutes how wrong I was.
Robert returned, and said, ‘DS Holmes would like a word with you and Eve. He’s waiting in the hall for you.’
The detective was standing with his back to the log fire. He looked thoughtful, as if he had much on his mind. ‘First off, I must apologise for yesterday,’ he began. ‘I was a bit uptight, with what happened to the governor and this being such a big case.’
Eve gave him one of her reassuring smiles.
‘DI Hardy rang me and put me straight about a few things; said how helpful you’ve been to him, uncovering details in other cases.’ Holmes paused and took a deep breath. ‘To be honest, I’m not sure I’m cut out for this job. I thought I’d be OK, but being left in charge of a murder case wasn’t exactly what I’d imagined for this stage of my career. The expression “golden opportunity” doesn’t come to mind. On the contrary, I think poisoned chalice would be more fitting. If I had any doubts on that score, I’ve just been reminded of how difficult this investigation is likely to prove.’
‘Have you any specific reason for thinking that way?’ I asked.
‘Before I came here today, I spent a couple of hours transcribing my notes from the house-to-house enquiries I carried out in the village after the murder. Nobody admitted having seen or heard anything unusual on the day. No one reported having seen any strangers in the vicinity, or anyone acting suspiciously. What they did convey was the almost unanimous impression that Stephen Pengelly would go unmourned, and that both he and his father were loathed and detested by virtually everyone who came into contact with them.’
‘Did anyone suggest a motive for the murder?’ Eve asked.
Holmes smiled slightly. ‘Apart from making the world a better place, you mean? No. Although I reckon they could have told me of lots of folk with strong reasons for wishing Pengelly dead, they certainly weren’t forthcoming with them.’
‘It sounds to me as if Robert Pengelly is the one who has been handed the poisoned chalice,’ I suggested, ‘if the family as a whole is so widely detested.’
‘Actually, I think that rather depends on him, and how he behaves,’ Holmes replied. ‘He seems a likeable enough chap, and one or two of the older villagers remember him from when he was a small boy. They were sorry for him, because word had got round of the way his father and brother mistreated him. I said to one bloke that Robert Pengelly seemed all right. The man said, “In that case he must have inherited his mother’s character, which is a good thing.” I asked what he meant by that, and he said that Robert’s mother was a beautiful woman, and a real lady in the proper sense of the word. Anyway, that showed me what I was up against, and I wanted to say sorry, and to ask if you would let me know if anything does turn up. To be honest, I now realise I need all the help I can get.’
It takes guts to offer an apology like that, and I felt it merited a response of equal generosity. ‘DI Hardy told us this is your first major investigation, and that because of what happened to him, you’ve been thrown in at the deep end without having learned to swim. I’d guess that standard practice would be for you to accompany a senior officer for some ti
me, listening and learning as you go.’ I smiled sympathetically. ‘Let me tell you something. When I started out as a TV reporter, I was so nervous that the first interview I had to do was recorded three times before the producer was satisfied that I’d asked the right questions. I don’t think anyone is born with the gift. I think you have to learn on the job and profit from your mistakes.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate that, and I would be grateful if you can help. However, I must be off in a few minutes. I’m due to meet the Chief Superintendent at the hospital. Between them, he and Hardy are going to want a briefing from me, and to know what I intend to do from now on.’ He grimaced. ‘That should be fun.’
I glanced at Eve, who, as always, knew what was in my mind. ‘How about we meet up with you tomorrow morning in Barton-le-Dale and we can tell you what we’ve found out? If anything,’ I added.
‘That would be a great help. Sorry to have to cut this short, but I really will have to leave.’
‘One thing before you go, will it be in order for us to have a look at the study as soon as your people have finished? And I think it will be sensible to devise some means of making the house secure until the window the thieves smashed can be replaced.’
‘I can’t see any objection to either of those ideas.’
We watched Holmes leave, and as I closed the front door, Eve said, ‘That was big of him, don’t you think?’
‘I certainly do.’
‘Did you invent that story? The one about your first TV interview?’
‘No, but I exaggerated. There were only two takes.’
‘We returned to the kitchen, where the subject of security was under discussion. ‘We can’t do anything until we get the all clear,’ Robert said.
‘Yes, but we can’t leave the house wide open for anyone to climb in and out at will,’ Alison objected.
‘Don’t panic,’ Eve told them. ‘DS Holmes has given permission for a temporary repair to that window, that will be some deterrent.’