If Anything Happens to Hester

by John Creasey

  “Very good, sir,” said Simms.

  Hester stood by the window of the Tower Room, seeing the drive and watching the spot where Rodney and his father had met that morning. It was hours ago, and she seemed to think that if she stared at that spot long enough, she would be able to will Rodney to come and tell her what had happened.

  Suddenly, she saw a familiar car: Hennessy’s. It seemed to be coming away from the Hall, but there was a circular drive and two approaches, and it was possible that he was coming here to look for her. She saw Lord Horton appear, on foot, and Hennessy’s car stopped. Hennessy got out, and she watched the two men as they spoke. They were remarkably alike in size and build. Hennessy glanced round towards the Hall, and for a moment she thought that he was looking straight at her; but he showed no sign, and Horton did not look up at the tower.

  Then Hennessy got back into his car and drove off, and Lord Horton walked towards the Hall and disappeared from sight. The beautiful grounds were empty in the afternoon sunlight. She kept watching the drive in the hope that Rodney was on his way, but no one came.

  She was getting hungry.

  Rodney had brought a snack for her lunch, and she had eaten that nearly two hours ago. Because of the excitement and the comings and goings at the Hall, she had forgotten that she had eaten so little. Now it was after five o’clock.

  Why hadn’t Rodney come?

  Hester left the window, and went to the door. She knew that it could be opened and he had promised to show her how and where; when he had come up that morning he had been in too much of a hurry, and now she began to wonder what he had had on his mind.

  There was one good thing: if Rodney didn’t come, Mannering would.

  She switched on the radio, but it was Children’s Hour on the Home Service and a talk on the Light. She went to a record-player and put on some records, but was in no mood for light music.

  She hated the loneliness and was more and more worried about Guy.

  In a way it would have been better to have faced the police than be stranded here. She would feel better as soon as one of the men came, but now she could not think about anything but the fact that she was getting more and more hungry and was scared.

  It was dusk.

  No one had come.

  She was frightened, now.

  Then she saw a taxi coming up the drive, and prayed that it meant help.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lorna Mannering

  Lorna Mannering saw the great mass of the Hall as her taxi left the trees and came into the open parkland. In the dusk, the building seemed enormous. She could see light at some of the windows, but no one was about. Then the taxi stopped, and immediately two men came from the great front door.

  One was Simms, whom she knew slightly.

  “Good evening, Simms. How is my husband?”

  “He’s sleeping as sound as you could wish, ma’am,” Simms assured her, and helped her out. The other man was already paying the taxi. “We are extremely sorry that we could not have a car at the station, it’s been a very difficult day.”

  “That’s all right,” Lorna said.

  As she stepped into the great hall, and the vastness lit only by electric replicas of old oil torches fastened in the walls, she felt the overpowering immensity of it. She knew what had happened, and saw the gallery wall from which John had nearly fallen. In this light, it looked deadly. She walked briskly a little ahead of Simms, a woman of more than average height, wearing a dark green suit, a small green hat on dark, wavy hair; the light was especially kind to her, and there was no doubt of her beauty. But just now, as often when in repose, she seemed to be frowning and almost sullen. In fact, she was anxious and worried.

  A heavily built man who was probably a plain-clothes detective was working in the gallery; she saw him when she walked up the great staircase. Then Simms led her along familiar passages towards the suite where Mannering lay; they had visited the Hall several times, and were always housed in the same rooms. She caught her breath as she went into the bedroom, and saw John lying on his side, very pale, and so still that he might almost be dead. She fought down a moment of panic, and watched, making sure that he was breathing; there was only the slightest of movement at his lips.

  She turned away.

  “Dr. Richards said that he would look in again tonight,” Simms told her, “and he said that it would probably be a week before Mr. Mannering could get about freely again – and even then he would have to be very careful.”

  “Yes,” Lorna said. She did not want to talk to the valet too much; Horton would tell her what had happened, and she did not want to hear the same story twice. “Did Mr. Mannering leave any message for me?”

  “No ma’am, but—” Simms hesitated. “There was a message from Mr. Rodney, just before he left. He said that he had to go to London for several days, and asked Mr. Mannering to look after everything.”

  “Do you know what he meant?” asked Lorna.

  “I’m afraid not, ma’am,” Simms said. “He did start to say something else, but didn’t finish.”

  “What was it?” Lorna asked.

  “He said that he was sure Mr. Mannering would look after ‘her’ but he didn’t say whom he meant,” Simms answered. “There is just a possibility that he was referring to the young lady who is wanted by the police for questioning about the murder of Clive Morgan.”

  “You mean, Hester Vane?”

  “That’s right, ma’am,” Simms said. “Mr. Hennessy – one of the Gilston detective force – seemed to think that Mr. Mannering might know where she was.”

  “Do you know?”

  “I’ve no idea at all,” Simms assured her. “I do know that Mr. Mannering was hoping to go and see Mr. and Mrs. Vane this evening. And he tried to give the doctor a message of some kind, which worried him, before he became unconscious. That’s all I can tell you, I’m afraid.”

  “Thank you. How about the boy, Guy?”

  “I believe he’s still very ill,” Simms answered.

  “I see,” said Lorna. She took off her hat and poked her fingers through her hair. “Where is Lord Horton?”

  “He regretted that he had been called away, and said that he would be here by eight o’clock at the latest,” Simms told her. “He asked that you should not wait dinner, ma’am.”

  “I’ll wait, until half-past eight,” Lorna said. “Thank you, Simms.”

  Simms bowed and went out.

  Lorna looked even more sombre when the door closed, and she went back to look at John. Was it imagination or was he frowning? The story of his anxiety to give the doctor a message might make her think that; in fact, there were lines at his forehead and the corners of his mouth which suggested that even subconsciously, he was worried. She turned away and went into the dressing-room. Her case had been brought up; she had packed only enough for the night or two, but it was the custom to change at the Hall, and she had brought a cocktail dress. She went into the bathroom and had a shower, trying to think of anything she could do.

  Why had he been so worried?

  Was there any connection between that and this missing girl?

  She had talked to John on the telephone, and he had told her some, but not all of the details; he was habitually inclined to keep things from her, in case she worried.

  This was a peculiar affair in every way. All the key people seemed to be missing. If she knew why young Rodney had gone to London, it might help; and if she could judge why Horton himself had left the Hall and would be back late, that would ease things. As it was, she felt as if she had been pitched into the middle of a puzzle without having a single clue.

  Dr. Richards arrived just before eight o’clock, very apologetic because he was late. He felt John’s pulse, examined his eyes, hummed and hahed, said that it looked as if John would be one to take the drug severely; he would probably not come round until the morning.

  In the Tower Room, Hester was standing by the tiny window. She had not pulled the shutters, and the
light was shining out; but she did not know whether anyone would notice it, and there was no way in which she could attract attention.

  She was desperately hungry; and solitude was turning fear to terror.

  It was nearly nine o’clock when Lorna called Simms, and said that she would have dinner in her room if Lord Horton wasn’t back. Simms assured her that his lordship was not. The meal was beautifully cooked and served, but she had little appetite. She felt oppressed by the frown still on John’s face, by the possibility that there were deep causes for fear. A little after half-past nine, she left the room and went towards the great gallery, because that was where John had been attacked. She approached it from one side, and saw the great drop to the stone floor and realised how lucky he was to be alive.

  She knew that he loved not only this place but the beauty of the Horton Collection.

  She looked across, and saw two men, standing by one of the recesses. She saw the fighting inside it, a glow which was there to set off the precious pieces inside. One man was handling an object, as if with great caution. There was something almost furtive about the way they were standing close together and talking in low-pitched voices. No one else was near. She glanced downstairs, and saw no sign of the big man she had taken for a plain-clothes man.

  She looked round, and saw that there were the hanging cords of bells at several places, she would always be within reach of an alarm. On tip-toe, so as not to make a noise with her heels, she went along the gallery, keeping in the shadows cast by the great chandeliers. She knew that she was passing a fortune, but she thought of nothing but the two men.

  The man who had handled the piece was putting it back. She saw his profile, sharp against the light, and was surprised into a whispered exclamation.

  “That’s Largent.”

  Anthony Largent was one of the most reputable dealers in London. He was in the same field as John, and the two men often did business together, although they had never been close friends. Largent had a hooked nose and a small pointed beard; he always gave the impression that he was posing.

  He moved to another recess, and the light at this was switched on; all the lights in the great hall and the gallery were seldom on at one time; only on great occasions. She saw the glass panel in front of the objet d’art pushed to one side. With every step Lorna was drawing nearer, and now she could hear the sounds they were making. Suddenly, the bigger of the two men moved into her line of vision, and she recognised Horton.

  Had he deliberately avoided her?

  In any case, why should he deal first with John and then with Largent? He knew perfectly well that they were competitors. To have one here while the other was lying helpless because he was trying to help was unbelievably cynical.

  Lorna saw the objet d’art that they were handling, saw the jewels glitter, and knew that it was the figurine of a girl wearing a jewelled cloak.

  She heard Horton say: “What about this one?”

  Largent was examining it closely, and it was a long time before he answered: “It is genuine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “My dear sir, I am positive.” There was a haughty tone in the dealer’s voice.

  Horton said: “Mannering told me that it was a replica.”

  “I don’t care who told you differently, Horton. This is one of the two figurines made for the court of Louis XIV as a birthday present for Queen Maria Theresa. The other is in the Louvre. This one is in Horton Hall.”

  Horton didn’t speak.

  “What else do you wish me to examine?” asked Largent.

  “I want you to go through everything here just as soon as you can,” Horton said. “How long will it take you?”

  “Three days,” Largent told him, without hesitating.

  “That will be soon enough,” said Horton, “Mannering won’t be about in less than three days.” He took the figurine from Largent’s hands, replaced it, pushed the sliding glass window into position, and then locked it at one side. “Now we had better go to my study, Mrs. Mannering may come out of the dining-room. I don’t want her to see us here.”

  “Will she expect to see me here tomorrow?” asked the other man.

  “Tomorrow will be all right, I shall tell her that I had to have expert opinion quickly. I wanted to make sure about these pieces. I find it hard to believe that Mannering would mislead me, but—”

  “This figurine and all the other pieces I have seen are genuine,” Largent repeated haughtily. “Mannering may have been mistaken. He would hardly give you a wrong opinion deliberately.”

  There was a long pause, before Horton said: “Wouldn’t he?”

  Lorna stayed in the shadows of a tall chest, and waited for the two men to go. They made little sound on the gallery itself, but once they were on the staircase, they walked quite normally. She stayed until they appeared in the hall. From here she could see that Horton’s arm was still in a sling. He looked twice as broad and big as Largent, who was tall and willowy. They disappeared into one of the passages which led to the West Wing – the dining-room and the living quarters.

  She felt fiercely angry; and quite helpless.

  John would never have made a mistake about that figurine; nothing would ever make him commit himself to an opinion unless he was positive. Either Largent had lied to Horton – or the genuine objet had been put there in place of the replica.

  She did not know how to make sure which.

  It was like a conspiracy, against John.

  Mannering lay in his room, drugged.

  Hester was sitting in one of the large easy chairs, staring at a silent radio. She was past ordinary hunger, now, and was getting into a great state of terror. The water had been turned off, and there was very little left in the one jug which Rodney had filled for her; and there was no food of any kind.

  It was nearly midnight.

  She could just see the stars through the small window, but toughened glass had been fitted in the days when this had been the strong-room. She could not break it, in order to throw out a note, or to throw out anything to attract attention. Now and again she would jump up in desperation and go to the window and pound against it; and she would pound on the door. But neither the window nor the door budged. She hated the silence.

  Strangely, it was a little less terrifying now, because she felt more drowsy than hungry and thirsty. Her head ached. She wanted to sleep, prayed that she would drop off, and that Rodney or Mannering would come to her while she slept.

  It was a long time since she had jumped up from that chair.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Olive Branch

  Alicia Vane saw the car draw up outside the front of the bungalow, and knew at once that it was Hennessy’s. In the past few days she had almost forgotten that he had been a family friend, had almost forgotten the fact that he and Michael had known each other for many years. She had just come from the hospital, and there was no change in Guy’s condition, so this could have nothing to do with that.

  She saw Hennessy get out of the car, approach hesitatingly, and then move quickly, obviously because he saw Michael near the office shed. Hennessy disappeared. Alicia did not want to talk to him, but was anxious to know what he had to say.

  She went out into the kitchen.

  She saw Hennessy and Michael shake hands, and could have slapped Michael. Yet she could not mistake the look of relief on Hennessy’s face.

  The window was open. She stood to one side, so that neither of the others could see her if they glanced round.

  “Well, Ted,” Michael said. “What news have you got for us?”

  “Nothing good, I’m afraid,” answered Hennessy. “I haven’t come officially, Mike.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know it’s going to be difficult to make you realise it, let alone Alicia, but I’ve had to do what I’ve done.”

  “I know,” Michael said, but at least he didn’t thaw too much and too quickly. “Mind if I’m frank?”

  “I want you to be.”
>
  They were like two boys, Alicia thought. “You’ve been bloody ham-handed about the whole thing,” Michael said, and Alicia was surprised into a quick approving smile.

  “It’s been damned difficult,” Hennessy argued. “The trouble is, Mike, that the evidence against Hester is so strong. The fact that Guy was attacked and these fellows attacked Mannering as well doesn’t really alter that, you know. Hester could be involved. You and Alicia know she’s been behaving oddly lately. We’ve assumed that it was blackmail, but supposing it’s something else? And for God’s sake don’t tell me that you know your daughter too well to think that she would lie to you. She’d lie, like we all would, if we were in a tight corner.”

  And Hester had lied about some things, Alicia reminded herself.

  “Well, where do we go from here?” Michael asked. “If you really think Hester’s guilty—”

  “I didn’t say that, I said the evidence is all against her,” Hennessy put in hurriedly. “And the longer she’s in hiding the worse it will look. I’ve just come from the Chief Constable. He’s told me that unless we see the end of it by tomorrow, he’ll call in the Yard. I’ve spent hours today with him and with the Chief Superintendent, and we’ve been through all the evidence with a fine-toothed comb. We don’t know for sure whether Hester killed Morgan, but we do know she was near the car when he was killed. At the least she may have something which would help us find the murderers. You and Alicia may not agree, but the best way Hester can help herself is to give herself up.”

  Alicia went to the door, opened it, and stepped outside. Michael swung round; Hennessy was already facing the door, and Alicia saw the way his lips tightened and realised how much he expected her to oppose him.

  But at least she now knew that it was useless to blame Hennessy for anything.

  “It’s all very well to say that, Ted,” she said, and saw his face light up at her tone. “But how do we know that you’re right? You haven’t been very clever yet, have you? I don’t mean that nastily, but Mr. Mannering told you about the two men who attacked Guy, and they’re still free.”