Dinosaur Island: A Collection of Historical, Mystery and Romantic Short Stories

by Dawn Harris

  ‘So it must have been one of them.’

  ‘Mmm. But why?’

  She shrugged. ‘How would I know? You’re reading the book, not me. Could be any number of reasons.....’ she stopped and stared out of the window, her eyes suddenly agog with interest. Jumping up, she came and stood beside me, still holding her yoghurt. ‘Hey, Kelly, look at that hunk coming out of the bungalow opposite.’

  I looked and, remembering Ms Lovelace’s earlier visitor, I dug my elbow into Melissa’s side. ‘Ms Lovelace isn’t doing too badly for a Monday. That’s the second bloke she’s had in there today.’

  ‘Really?’ she chortled. ‘She must be quite a raver.’ She stood watching as the hunk opened his car door and got in. ‘I’d settle for him any day of the week.’

  I laughed. ‘I thought you’d given up on men.’

  She fluttered her eyelashes at me. ‘You must be confusing me with some other divorcee.’

  The man drove off and Melissa flopped back into her chair with a long sigh. She started on her yoghurt again, only to stop transfixed, her spoon suspended in mid-air. ‘Did you say that was her second caller today?’

  I nodded. ‘The other one was shorter and more rugged. Not your type at all?’

  ‘Did he carry a briefcase?’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ I said, puzzled. ‘Why?’

  ‘Men with briefcases,’ she whispered, wide-eyed. ‘That man just now had one too. It’s just like your book. A woman living alone in a leafy suburb being visited by men with briefcases.’

  I burst out laughing. ‘You’re not serious?’ But I saw from her face that she was. ‘Come on, Melissa, that’s fiction. That kind of thing doesn’t happen in real life.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, doesn’t it?’ And she glanced at the clock. ‘Heavens, I’d better go.’ Grabbing her bag, she hurried towards the door. ‘Get reading that book. Find out what happens. That woman could be in danger.’

  That afternoon a third car stopped outside number six. A young man stepped out, carrying a briefcase. The boys came home soon after and I forgot about the goings-on over the road. The likeness to the book had to be coincidence. Things like that didn’t happen in real life.

  The following morning, after the family had left, Henrietta and I were back sharing the window seat. That morning she’d left two dead mice and a bird on our doorstep. I was always telling her to leave the birds alone, but she never took any notice.

  I picked up my book and, this time, there were no visitors across the road to distract me. When Melissa arrived at lunchtime, she dashed in and dumped two giant-sized chocolate éclairs on my lap. Another diet had bitten the dust. Before we could start on the éclairs a car screeched to a halt outside the bungalow opposite, and another, different, young man got out. Melissa stared at him goggled-eyed. ‘He’s carrying a briefcase,’ she whispered. ‘This is getting scary, Kel. We’ve got to find out what’s going on.’

  ‘In the book,’ I said, cold shivers running up and down my spine, ‘the police think the men were her lovers....’

  ‘What ....and one found out about the others?’ She dismissed that with a vigorous shake of her head. ‘Too obvious.’ She looked across the road at the bungalow. ‘Have you seen this Lovelace woman?’

  ‘Once. On the day she moved in.’ I began to eat my chocolate éclair. Well, I was hungry.

  ‘What’s she like?’

  I considered. ‘Black horn-rimmed glasses and wears her hair in a bun.’ I licked the cream from the éclair off my fingers. No point in wasting it.

  Melissa looked dubious. ‘I think those men are crooks,’ she said. ‘And they’re copying what happened in your book. I read of a case like that once.’

  ‘Yes, but....’

  ‘Kelly, hand me your book. I want to look at the ending.’

  I snatched the paperback up and sat on it. ‘No way. I don’t want to spoil the story.’

  ‘Damn the story. I want to know what those men with briefcases are up to.’

  I glanced over at number six. It looked like all the other bungalows in the Avenue. ‘She could be getting estimates for double glazing,’ I said, ‘or a new kitchen.’

  ‘No, Kelly, she couldn’t. She’s renting the place --- remember?’

  I promised Melissa I’d finish the book that evening. But when I did, I was so disturbed by it, I told Rick about it. When I finished I said, ‘I’m beginning to think Melissa is right. Someone could be copying the plot.’

  He laughed. ‘You sound just like Miss Marple---‘

  I cut him short. ‘Listen Rick – Ms Lovelace lives on her own in a quiet road, and men with briefcases call during working hours, while the neighbours are out at work. That’s what happened to the woman in my book. And she ended up getting herself shot.’ I indicated the bungalow opposite. ‘We’ve got to warn her.’

  Rick stared at me for a moment, then he threw back his head and howled with laughter. ‘That’s the last time I buy you a detective novel.’ When he’d finished mopping his eyes, he quaked in a high-pitched imitation of my voice, ‘Oh, Ms Lovelace, whatever you do, make sure you don’t let any nasty men with guns into the house.’

  Put like that, it did sound ridiculous. He took another book from the pile beside me. ‘Here, read this instead. That’ll calm your overwrought imagination.’ I looked at the title. Pride and Prejudice. But even Jane Austen couldn’t get the men with briefcases out of my mind, and when Melissa arrived the following day with cream doughnuts, I still hadn’t decided what to do.

  ‘What happened in the book?’ she demanded the instant she walked through the door. ‘Who did it?’ I hesitated. Ought I to tell her? Was it all too far-fetched? ‘Kelly,’ Melissa demanded impatiently. ‘For heaven’s sake tell me. I’ve got to be back at work in half an hour.’

  I pulled myself together. ‘Well, the woman wasn’t as innocent as she seemed. She’d once worked for a top-class jewellers, making up pieces to order. The men were a gang of thieves, and they brought what they’d stolen, in briefcases, during working hours, so that it looked like they were calling on business. She reworked the jewellery into other, unrecognisable pieces, and they split the proceeds.

  ‘Wow!’ breathed Melissa. ‘So, what went wrong?’

  ‘She took to salting away odd bits of jewellery, and one of the gang found out and shot her. He then removed all the jewellery she had in the house, so it didn’t look as though anything had been stolen.’

  Melissa whistled in awe. ‘Ingenious.’ A moment later she was struck by the same thought that had kept me awake half the night. ‘But if we’re right, Kelly.......’

  ‘Ms Lovelace is a crook.’ We stared at each other. Warning Ms Lovelace suddenly didn’t seem such a good idea.

  Melissa urged, ‘Let’s go to the police.’

  We were so engrossed that we didn’t notice a visitor walking up the drive, and the unexpected loud hammering on the door made us leap out of our skins. Melissa peered through the net curtains and gasped, ‘Oh no. Black horn-rimmed glasses and hair in a bun. It’s her.’

  My blood ran cold and when the knocker sounded again, even more impatiently, Melissa clutched fearfully at my arm. And I gulped, ‘Better see what she wants.’

  She soon returned, white-faced, with our visitor. From behind the woman’s back, she tapped frantically at her own neck and then pointed to Ms Lovelace, who wore an expensive looking necklace and matching ear-rings. We introduced ourselves and I explained about my ankle. Swallowing hard, I remarked, ‘That’s a very pretty necklace.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she smiled. ‘Jewellery is my passion.’

  Melissa clutched the back of a chair for support, her knuckles white. Ms Lovelace stood by my window seat, looking out. ‘My goodness, you must see everyone coming and going from here.’

  I choked. ‘No, really, I haven’t seen a soul.’ And showed her my book. ‘I’ve been too busy reading.’

  She glanced at the title. Murder in The Avenue. ‘How apt.’ Her lips twisted. ‘That�
��s what I’ve come about actually.’

  ‘The book?’ I squeaked.

  ‘No. A murder.’ And she laughed.

  I thought Melissa was going to faint, but she pulled herself together enough to mumble, ‘Beware of men with briefcases.’

  Ms. Lovelace frowned. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Pointing out the window, Melissa said, ‘Er, I mean, there’s a man getting out of a car outside your bungalow. And he’s carrying a briefcase.’

  ‘Ah, so there is.’ She was quite unperturbed. ‘I mustn’t stay then.’ She turned to me. ‘I only came to ask if your husband would bury the corpses for me.’

  ‘C-c-corpses?’ Melissa echoed.

  ‘From my doorstep. There’s two of them. Pigeons, I mean.’

  ‘Pigeons?’ we chorused.

  ‘Yes. I think your cat must have caught them in my garden and left them there.’ Weak and shaken, I somehow promised her that Rick would deal with it. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Only, with my garden being paved over at the back, and gravelled at the front, there’s nowhere to bury the poor things. Or I would have asked one of my salesmen to do it.’

  We were far too gob-smacked to speak.

  ‘Incidentally,’ she continued, ‘we move into our new offices tomorrow.’ Smiling, she handed me her business card. ‘So you won’t be disturbed by my salesmen coming and going any more.’

  Melissa saw her to the door and we both watched in silence as Ms Lovelace crossed the road. ‘What does it say on the card?’ Melissa eventually asked in a failing voice.

  ‘Lovelace and co,’ I said, reading the card. ‘Specialists in quality briefcases for the business executive.’

  NORMAN CONQUEST

  On my wedding night, I awaited the Norman baron I had been forced to marry, with the coverlet drawn up high to hide the knife clasped in my hand. For when my father and brothers were slain in battle on Senlac Hill, near to the town of Hastings, I swore to avenge their deaths. To make one Norman forfeit his life by my hand. It was little enough retribution for the loss of those I loved most dearly.

  Before King Harold’s defeat at the hands of William, Duke of Normandy, my life was happy. Like every good Saxon I prayed for a bountiful harvest, carried out my duties cheerfully, and gathered news from the travelling minstrels and pedlars. Indeed, it was from them we learned how William, that illegitimate son of a tanner’s daughter, had quickly had himself crowned King in Westminster Abbey.

  After the battle we were left with few men capable of protecting our village, and we greatly feared the fate William would impose on us. He did not keep us long in suspense. I was outside giving orders to my people when a group of Normans thundered up on horseback.

  ‘Ho there, wench,’ a knight shouted at me. ‘Where shall we find the Saxon Lord of this manor?’

  ‘Saxon dog, more like,’ jeered another. Had I not been the daughter of a thane, I would have spat at their feet. ‘Sir,’ I blazed in unbridled anger. ‘You speak of my father....’

  He swept me an exaggerated bow of mock apology. ‘Indeed, no man with such a beautiful daughter could be all bad!’

  The invaders were clean-shaven men with dark hair cropped ridiculously short. Quite unlike our own handsome warriors, with their long golden hair and beards, who strode bravely into battle swinging their mighty axes. The leader addressed me. ‘What is your name?’

  ‘I am called Faine.’ And tilting my chin upwards in defiance, I proclaimed. ‘And I own this land.’

  ‘You?’ He was clearly astonished.

  I held my head high. ‘It became mine when my father and two brave brothers were killed at Hastings.’

  Their horses pawed the ground restively, but my words silenced everyone except their leader. ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ he said, his voice showing an unexpected note of sympathy. ‘But you should be proud, not sad. Harold’s men fought with great courage.’

  ‘You were there?’ Though I spoke with undisguised contempt, he merely nodded, dismounted and walked towards me. And I, seized with hate for those who had deprived me of menfolk, burst out with great bitterness, ‘Then yours could have been the hand that killed them.’ My loathing for these enemies so overwhelmed me that I raised my fists to strike him. My temper has always been my downfall.

  He swiftly caught my wrists in a firm grip. ‘Unlikely, I think, among the thousands there that day. I hope not,’ he ended quietly. ‘I would not wish to be responsible for bringing sorrow to such beautiful blue eyes.’

  One of his henchmen issued me a haughty warning. ‘You would do well to mind your tongue when addressing Robert, Baron of Ca..........’

  ‘Enough,’ snapped the noble Norman. Turning to me, he stated, ‘If these lands are yours, we have business to conduct. Let us go inside.’

  Fresh rushes had been strewn on the floor that very morning, and the fire roared merrily. The lord called Robert handed me a scroll. ‘This document, which is signed by the King, gives me sole charge of all your lands.’

  A cold shiver ran through my body. This was what I had feared most. ‘Have you no mercy?’ I exploded, trembling with rage. ‘First you kill my father and brothers, and now you take away my home. Am I to be left with nothing?’

  ‘All Saxon land now belongs to the King,’ he informed me. ‘But I do not wish you to leave your home.’ I looked up warily, yet his eyes betrayed no evil intent. ‘Teach me the ways of the village and your people. And, in return,’ he smiled, ‘I shall find you a husband.’

  I clenched my fists and retorted, ‘I shall marry Wulfric, the Saxon. The man whom my father chose for me.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh? And where is this Wulfric now?’

  ‘I do not know,’ I lied.

  One of his men growled. ‘In the forest with the rest of those accursed Saxon rebels, I’ll be bound.’

  ‘Would that I were with them,’ I stormed. I wanted vengeance, to take the life of at least one of our conquerors. And who better than a Norman baron. Yet, how was I – a mere woman --- to gain that revenge? I saw only one way. And success would rest on my ability to deceive.

  Therefore I showed this man how my lands were farmed. Our fields were well kept, our animals healthy, and the forest afforded excellent hunting. The Normans soon killed a wild boar, which meant much feasting and revelry. When I picked up my lyre and sang a Saxon love song, Robert’s eyes never left my face. I took care to wear gowns that showed my figure and long flaxen hair to advantage. And to mask the loathing that consumed me, with shy smiles of encouragement. And when he offered marriage, I crowed with delight. The house and lands would soon be mine again.

  Occasionally I sneaked out to meet Wulfric in the forest bordering our village. Wulfric came from a neighbouring village and I had barely known him before the Normans arrived. Now, I found his manner pleased me less with each meeting. However, he willingly gave me the good sharp knife I asked for, and showed me how best to use it.

  Thus, on my wedding night, when Robert snuffed out the candles and climbed into bed beside me, I prepared to take my vengeance. As I raised the knife to strike him, a sudden shaft of moonlight caused the wretched blade to glitter, and my wrist was instantly caught in a ferocious grip. He was by far the stronger and soon the knife was in his own hand. I expected no mercy, and waited for him to plunge the weapon into my heart.

  Instead, it clattered to the floor. ‘So,’ he panted, the sweat glistening on his brow, ‘you married me for vengeance, not for love.’

  ‘Yes,’ I hissed at him. ‘When all that I loved was taken from me, every Norman became my enemy.’

  He held me so tightly that I was scarcely able to breathe. ‘Did you honestly believe that by killing me the land would revert to you?’ I scowled at him and he chuckled softly. ‘Oh my foolish Faine. William would simply send another Norman baron in my place.’

  The fact that he was right only made me more furious. I struggled and kicked to free myself from his arms, seething, ‘Let me go you....you......’

  ‘Fien
d?’ he suggested with a grin. ‘Monster, perhaps? Or varlet?’ Adding in a seductive whisper. ‘Or you could try husband?’

  ‘Never,’ I cried. Imprisoned in his iron grip, I nevertheless managed to lunge forward and bite his nose. With a yell of pain, he leapt back. Jumping out of bed I raced for the door, but it wouldn’t budge. Deep, pleasurable laughter from the bed inflamed my temper to boiling point, for the key swung tantalisingly from his hand.

  ‘I hate you,’ I shouted, tears of frustration stinging my eyes.

  He picked up the knife and proffered it to me. ‘Then perhaps you should use this after all.’ When I made no attempt to take the weapon, his voice softened. ‘Better still, my wife, come back to bed and let us forget this nonsense.’ And with a deep chuckle, he leapt out of bed and picked me up in his arms as if I were no heavier than a new-born lamb. ‘Methinks that our married life will never be dull, but neither sharp knives nor harsh words will deflect me from my purpose this night.’

  ‘You savage!’ I spat the words, breathing fast.

  ‘Did we not make a bargain today, before God?’ I glared at him without answering. ‘If you refuse to keep your side of it,’ he goaded, his eyes alight with amusement. ‘the marriage must be annulled.’

  He was not a man who threatened lightly, and I forced myself to face the truth. I was beaten. For what would happen to me if I was not married to Robert? Another Norman might not be so tolerant. And Wulfric was an outlaw – besides, the prospect of being his wife made me shudder. I was shocked to find I much preferred Robert. But I was determined to be no demure wife. More a thorn in his side.

  When I found I was with child, the thought of bearing a Norman baby filled me with revulsion. And soon I began to suffer badly with sickness. So miserable was I that when King William summoned Robert to help quell a Saxon rebellion, I even railed at him for leaving me to bear my woes alone.

  ‘When William commands, I must obey, Faine. The King demands loyalty.’ He squeezed my thickening waist. ‘Yet, I am loathe to leave you, my fiery little termagant.’ He took out his knife and ran a finger gently along the edge, his eyes laughing. ‘It is not so long since you tried to rid yourself of me for good.’ I glowered at him as he swung himself onto his horse. ‘Who knows,’ he ventured with a grin, ‘perhaps a Saxon axe will find its mark this time. Will you care, I wonder?’ I sniffed contemptuously, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer. ‘No?’ he sighed. ‘At least admit you will miss the hands that hold the vessel into which you vomit each morning....’