by Brett, Simon
Graham admitted that he certainly was.
‘So am I. Carole Seddon.’
‘What a busy Priest’s Hole we have today. Are you another researcher after knowledge, Mrs Seddon?’
‘In a way, I suppose I am.’
‘Hm. Graham, you’d better come out of there.’
‘Very well, Auntie,’ he said with childlike docility, and started laboriously to pull his heavy bulk up the rungs to the surface.
‘I’ve just been talking to Professor Teischbaum,’ Belinda Chadleigh went on, ‘and I’ve made a decision.’
‘Oh?’ he puffed, heaving himself up to the next level.
‘I think we should allow Professor Teischbaum to see the archive down there.’
‘What!’ Graham was appalled. ‘But after all the trouble we’ve gone to to protect it . . . Auntie, you’re going against everything you’ve believed in all your life.’
‘Then maybe the things I’ve believed all my life were wrong. I’ve come to the conclusion, Graham, that the truth cannot be suppressed.’
‘I’m so glad to hear you say that, Miss Chadleigh,’ Marla cooed. ‘Truth is the goal of all academic—’
‘Nobody asked your opinion!’ Graham Chadleigh-Bewes snapped.
There was a silence and, though she couldn’t see them from down in the cell, Carole could sense the drop in temperature as the two rival biographers faced each other.
‘Auntie, you can’t let this woman invade our family’s most precious secrets. I thought you swore to your parents that you’d never let anyone see this material.’
‘Yes, I did, Graham, but I think there comes a time when you have to question the hold the past exerts over the present. Maybe all these oaths and secrecy have done the Chadleigh family more harm than good over the years. Maybe in some way they contributed to the death of Sheila Cartwright. I don’t know. All I do know is that I’ve decided Professor Teischbaum should have access to these hidden archives.’
‘But, Auntie, you can’t—’
‘That is what I have decided, Graham.’
The strength in her words, and the silence that followed them, showed the power the old woman exercised over her nephew.
‘Now,’ she said, continuing to take control, ‘I’m sure Professor Teischbaum would like to have a quick look at the riches on offer.’
‘I sure would love that.’
‘Mrs Seddon, you seem to have made a start. Maybe you’d be so kind as to show the Professor what you’ve discovered so far.’
‘Of course.’
Carole had been initially surprised by Belinda Chadleigh’s sudden co-operation with the American, but she quickly rationalized it. The old lady seemed such a peripheral figure that she was easily ignored. All of Professor Teischbaum’s previous approaches had been made to the more dominant Trustees. Perhaps from the start all that had been needed to break the deadlock was a direct approach to Belinda.
‘I can’t thank you enough, Miss Chadleigh.’ Already Marla Teischbaum’s elegantly trousered legs were making their way down the rungs into the lower cell.
‘Just have a quick look now. The archive will be open to you whenever you need to consult it in the future. When you’re ready, come over to the cottage for a cup of tea . . . and I dare say we could all manage a nice slice of ginger cake . . .?’
‘You bet, Auntie.’
Marla Teischbaum had been kitted out with a Camping Gaz lamp which spread light throughout the small cell. As the woman straightened up to her full height, Carole could see the gleam of triumph in her eye.
‘Oh, Mrs Seddon,’ she heard Belinda Chadleigh call from above. ‘I just met Gina Locke on the way over here, and she was asking if I knew who owns a white Renault car in the car park.’
‘It’s mine.’
‘Apparently it’s in the way of some big trailer the local farmer’s trying to manoeuvre into a field.’
‘Shall I come and move it?’
‘Don’t worry, just throw the keys up. Graham’ll move it.’
‘Will I?’ he grumbled.
‘Yes, you will.’
‘Oh, very well. Chuck them up here.’
Carole did so. The two women in the cell looked at each other in silence, as they heard the pair of footsteps above recede into the silence of the old house.
Then, with an even more triumphalist beam, Marla Teischbaum announced, ‘I did it! I knew if I stuck at it, I’d get there. It was a matter of getting past bloody Graham. Gard, every time I tried to get through to the aunt, he’d stand in my way. But then I found out which days Graham wasn’t there . . .’
‘Who did you find that out from?
‘Gina. She set it all up for me. Told me the right time to ring Belinda, Belinda agreed to see me and . . .’ She gestured flamboyantly around the small space ‘ . . . here I am.’
‘You got off lightly, Marla. I virtually had to break in.’
‘Don’t worry, I’d have broken in too . . . if I’d known the damned place existed. If you want to get information, you have to reckon on a bit of breaking and entering.’
‘You mean you’ve done it before?’
The tall American shrugged. ‘Hardly breaking and entering when the door’s left open, is it?’
Carole had a sudden insight. ‘That’s what you did during the Emergency Trustees’ Meeting, didn’t you? As soon as you saw Graham and his aunt come over to Bracketts, you walked into his cottage and started going through his research notes.’
‘Now that’d hardly be ethical, would it?’ But the way Marla said it convinced Carole that her conjecture had been right.
‘So when they came out of the meeting so early, they must’ve caught you snooping.’
‘No, they didn’t.’ Realizing she’d given something away, Marla Teischbaum smiled easily. ‘OK, I was there. What the hell? I wasn’t getting information any other way. Yup, and it did give me quite a turn when I heard Graham coming back into the cottage. It was raining so hard, I didn’t hear footsteps or anything, just the front door opening. I stood there in the study, trying to think what clever explanations I’d come up with when he walked in. But I was lucky, he didn’t. I heard him going into the kitchen, then he just stumped off upstairs. Tell you, I didn’t need no second invitation. I hightailed straight outta that place.’
‘And went to wait in George Ferris’s car?’
‘Oh, you are clever,’ said Marla mockingly. ‘Well done.’
‘Just a minute, though. The rain. I’ve never seen it raining like it was that night. And when I saw you earlier, you didn’t have a raincoat. You never went out of Graham’s cottage and risked your precious hair in weather like that.’
‘I did too. I borrowed a coat. There was a great bunch of them hanging up in the hallway.’
‘Was it a blue coat with a hood and some logo on the front?’
‘Sure. Why, it wasn’t yours, was it? You’re not accusing me of stealing your damn coat?’
Carole Seddon shook her head, hardly hearing Marla’s question. Her mind was too full of the new possibilities that had just been opened up. Everything suddenly slotted into place.
Two tall female figures in identical hooded waterproofs. Carole and Jude had been wrong all along. They shouldn’t have been trying to work out who killed Sheila Cartwright. The murderer’s intended victim had been Marla Teischbaum.
This thought only just had time to register, when the women’s attention was attracted by a creaking noise from above.
Both looked up in horror. Carole leapt forward, as if she could do something to change their fate.
But she couldn’t. Colour drained from both their faces, as they saw the seesaw floorboards slowly arc back into place.
They were trapped.
Chapter Forty
It was late afternoon before Jude was told that Laurence had recovered consciousness. He was deathly pale and wired up to various machines like an undernourished early experiment of Dr Frankenstein.
‘Jude, my dear,
’ he croaked incorrigibly. ‘I suppose a cigarette’s out of the question . . .?’
The nursing staff said he was stable, and Jude could detect an undercurrent of annoyance that they should have to deal with someone whose illness was so patently self-inflicted. They said Mr Hawker’s condition was unlikely to change much overnight. She could stay if she wanted to, but it’d probably make more sense if she went home.
As she left the hospital, she tried Carole on the mobile. Answering machine. Back at Woodside Cottage, she went round next door. But there was no reply.
Jude felt restless. The hospital had her mobile number; they’d call if there was any change in Laurence’s condition. She had a nasty feeling that if they did call, it would not be with news of a change for the better.
She looked around her cluttered sitting room, amazed at how much Laurence Hawker had imposed his identity during the short time he had been with her. He was a man of few possessions, and yet he left a trail wherever he went of open newspapers, literary journals, books, and cigarette ends. Every fabric in the house was impregnated with the tang of his tobacco.
And she knew, in a way, that it hadn’t worked, the idea of their cohabiting for the last stage of his life. The cohabitation wasn’t the problem, it was the illusion that they could achieve it while maintaining the same bantering affectionate disengagement with which they entered the agreement. She wasn’t sure whether Laurence felt the same, but Jude had realized that she couldn’t live with someone and not love them. However light and semi-detached they kept their relationship, the latest haemorrhage had brought home to her how much she loved Laurence. It wasn’t the kind of love that would worry about him being with other women; but it was a love that would miss him terribly when, inevitably, he was no longer there.
With an effort, Jude stopped her emotions from going too far down that road. She decided that, if Carole didn’t come back, she’d treat herself to supper down at the Crown and Anchor. Ted Crisp was a restful companion, surprisingly sensitive when things were going badly. And that evening Jude didn’t want to be alone.
They still had light, but that was all they had. They certainly didn’t have hope.
‘God, I was so stupid!’ Carole fumed. ‘To give away my car keys. Everyone’ll think I drove myself away. Then, when they find the car abandoned miles from anywhere, that’s where they’ll start looking for me. Not here.’
‘But surely lots of people know about this Priest’s Hole?’ Tension made Marla’s voice sound even more nasal and whiny. God, thought Carole, if I am going to die here, I’d have chosen another companion to die with.
The thought of never getting out of her prison brought to her the image of Gulliver. Poor, stupid, big, endearing dog, standing by the Aga, waiting for the mistress who was never going to come home. The thought physically hurt her.
‘Lots of people must know about it,’ Marla Teischbaum whinged on.
‘Lots of people know about the Priest’s Hole. Very few, so far as I can gather, know about this hidden bit beneath it.’
‘But people will be in and out of the house. They’ll hear us if we holler.’
‘I’m not so sure they will. The walls of this place are pretty thick. Anyway, Bracketts is closed for the winter. Cleaners do their stuff about once a week, I think. Apart from that, nobody comes in here.’
‘Except for the people who locked us in?’
‘And who do you think they are?’
‘Well, I don’t know. I’d kind of assumed it was Graham. He’s never made much secret of the fact that he despises me. And now his aunt’s given me access to the archive, he might want to get some kind of revenge. He’s a funny guy.’
‘Yes. Or it could be the aunt herself. Maybe her agreeing to opening the archive for you was just a ploy to get you down here, so that she could lock you in.’
‘Why would she do that?’ Marla Teischbaum had that unawareness shared by many insufferable people of just how insufferable she was.
‘Or it could be both of them together. Then there’s Gina,’ Carole continued thoughtfully. ‘She certainly facilitated my visit here today, and you say she set everything up for you . . .’
‘Couldn’t have been more helpful.’
Carole tapped her teeth. ‘And it was Gina who asked for my car to be moved, which was why I handed over my keys . . .’
Marla wasn’t listening; she was riffling through her mind for some shreds of hope. ‘Maybe this is just someone’s idea of a joke. Your famous English sense of humour. Someone gives us a fright for an hour or so, and then . . .’
‘Maybe,’ said Carole grimly.
But Marla didn’t even believe her own fantasy. Slowly, pathetically, she started to cry.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Carole snapped. ‘That’s not helping anything.’
‘It’s helping me,’ the great Professor wailed like a two-year-old.
‘You should be ecstatic.’ Carole gestured ironically to the shelves of dusty boxes. ‘You’ve spent so much of your adult life wanting access to Esmond Chadleigh’s private archive, and look – you’re in it!’
‘Yes, I want to be in it,’ Marla Teischbaum howled, ‘but I don’t want to die in it!’
‘I don’t suppose,’ asked Carole coolly, ‘that you by any chance have a mobile phone . . .?’
The tears vanished instantly. The confidence and the smile returned to Marla Teischbaum as she reached down to her bag and crowed, ‘I do too!’
‘Your bloke gone back then, has he?’ asked Ted Crisp.
‘He’s in hospital.’
‘Ah. Didn’t think he looked too clever last time he come in.’
‘No.’
‘Haven’t seen your mate Carole in here much recently either . . .’ Even so long after their brief relationship, there was still an awkwardness when he said the name.
‘I’m sure she’ll be in soon.’
‘Yes. Yes. Sure she will.’ He appeared to put the subject out of his mind. ‘Now, can I get you another of those white wines?’
The lifeline had gone. Either Bracketts’ remote situation or the thickness of the walls that encased them prevented any signal from reaching the mobile. Marla Teischbaum had tried and tried, stabbing emergency numbers with increasing ferocity into the unresponsive unit. Finally, she had given up and lain down on the stone floor, sobbing like a child.
Where’s your gung-ho, can-do American spirit now, thought Carole bitterly. Still, having Marla crying was marginally preferable to having her talking.
Once again the reproachful image of an abandoned Gulliver was conjured up in Carole’s mind.
She could feel panic rising in her, threatening to overwhelm her body and mind, but she swallowed it back, and tried to concentrate on the facts she knew about their current situation.
The thesis made sense that she and Marla had been lured to Bracketts, so that they could be disposed of. Or it made some sense. In her case, she had hardly been lured. She had suggested a time to visit the house, and Gina Locke had said, yes, that was fine.
Marla Teischbaum’s situation was a little different. If Carole’s theory was correct, then the incarceration was a second attempt on the American’s life, the first one having mistakenly killed Sheila Cartwright. Marla’s visit to Belinda Chadleigh had been set up by Gina Locke. Either one of the women – or indeed both working together – could have engineered its outcome.
And that still didn’t include as a suspect the person whose animus against Marla Teischbaum was strongest – Graham Chadleigh-Bewes. He it was who had been rudest about her, he whose fear of the threat she represented to his precious biography had become almost pathological. He had certainly wanted Marla Teischbaum dead.
But then, after what happened at the Emergency Trustees’ Meeting, he had probably wanted Sheila Cartwright dead too . . .
Carole found it was all very confusing. And difficult to concentrate when facing the imminence of a long, lingering death.
Oh well, at least they still
had light. Marla’s Camping Gaz was burning steadily. They’d wait till that ran out before they switched the torches on. Fortunately, Graham had left his down there, so light was not an immediate problem.
Nor was food. Yet. Death by starvation lay a long way off. Though Carole was already uncomfortably aware of not having had any lunch. She looked at her watch. Nearly eight in the evening. The minimal chance of anyone other their captors coming into Bracketts had dwindled to nothing.
She stood up to ease the incipient cramp in her legs and, as she did so, felt her foot scuff against some fabric on the floor. She looked down to see the tattered blanket which Mervyn Hunter must have used.
A new thought started in her mind. A hopeful thought.
Mervyn Hunter had used the secret cell as a hideaway. When he’d first come to Bracketts after his escape from Austen, he couldn’t possibly have known that the house had been closed to the public. So he must have assumed that Guided Tours would still be clattering through on a regular basis. Which meant he couldn’t have risked leaving the concealed floorboard entrance open. He’d have been found straight away.
So, unless he’d had an accomplice . . . And that seemed unlikely. Jonny Tyson was the only potential candidate and from what Jude had said, Jonny’s only involvement had been supplying one of his mother’s packed lunches. Mervyn Hunter must have known a way of getting out of the secret cell from the inside.
‘Has anyone you’ve loved ever died, Ted?’
He gave his beard a pensive scratch. ‘Yes. Not while I was still with her. Girl I used to know on the comedy circuit. Clever she was, Jude, sharp as the crease on a car salesman’s trousers. Doing well. I kept bumping into her round all these upstairs rooms of pubs, and that. Then one evening . . . as the old music hall gag goes, one thing led to the other . . . We had . . . I suppose . . . six weeks together. Then she moved on. Didn’t dump me, just let me down softly, like when you got a slow puncture in an airbed. I felt a bit . . . you know, wistful, but . . . got on with things.