For a split second, Stella supposed it should be in Felicity’s morgue, then she realized. The body was Felicity.
‘Felicity.’ Stella flung herself down beside the motionless figure. She put a finger to her neck but she couldn’t feel a pulse.
‘What’s happened?’
The voice came from behind Stella. Whipping around she saw Joy framed in the doorway. ‘Call an ambulance, now.’
‘Is that necessary?’ Clutching some papers, Joy remained motionless. ‘Of course, I will, but even paramedics can’t wake the dead, as Felicity would be the first to tell you.’
‘Not another murder,’ Stella gasped.
‘No wild theories please. Felicity is an old woman. It’ll be a stroke or she missed her step and hit her head.’ Joy put her papers on the washing machine. ‘Let me.’
She squatted beside Stella and leant down, putting her ear to Felicity’s chest. Then she sat up. ‘Oh dear.’
There was a noise. Gurgling. A groan. Felicity opened her eyes.
‘She’s alive,’ Stella shouted.
‘I told you it wasn’t murder.’ Joy hauled herself to her feet and took up her papers. She reached into a small fabric bag strapped across her chest, with, Stella noticed without noticing, Tewkesbury Abbey on the side, and fiddled with it. Seeing Stella’s glance, Joy said, ‘I’ve got brandy in here somewhere.’
‘I hate the stuff.’ Felicity began to turn over.
‘Stay still. You might have broken something. Joy, could you get a cushion from the lounge?’ Stella wished Bev was there, Stella’s first-aid training wasn’t current.
‘I am a doctor, my knowledge of anatomy is second to none. Physician heal thyself.’ Felicity pushed herself to sitting and rubbed her temple. ‘I have merely suffered a blow to the head.’
‘Merely?’ Stella spotted something on the floor. An iron, the plastic casing cracked. She picked it up, gathering shards of the casing from the floor. Looking at a shelf above the washing machine she asked, ‘Did this fall on you?’
‘I wish.’ Felicity got to her feet. ‘Someone sneaked in when my back was turned and,’ she looked at Joy, ‘I assume the iron was the only weapon to hand.’
‘I hope you’re not accusing me.’ Joy was hugging the cushion she had brought.
‘What are you doing here?’ Felicity began to get up.
‘I came to give you the revised service sheets, to save you a trip to the abbey. Goodness knows I wish I hadn’t if I’m to be held responsible—’
‘Calm yourself, Joy,’ Felicity rapped. ‘Who’s doing the solo for “Once in Royal David’s City”?’
‘You know we choose on the night, like at King’s.’ Joy tssked. ‘Perhaps now you won’t be up to coming, though?’
‘The swine only gave me a tap, my skull is as strong as an ox. I shall be there.’ Moving carefully, Felicity pottered up the passage. ‘Although, with this rain and so many yellow flood warnings, it will doubtless be cancelled.’
‘I for one shall play to an empty abbey,’ Joy said as she and Stella followed Felicity to the front room. ‘We’re doing the King’s 1940 service – I think we could show some wartime spirit, don’t you?’
‘We might be better doing Noah’s Flood.’ Felicity was examining her forehead in the mirror above the fireplace. ‘See? I’ve not lost my sense of humour.’
‘Did you see who hit you?’ Stella asked.
‘They would have been dead next to me if I had,’ Felicity snapped.
‘Coo-ee?’ The call echoed in the tiled hall. ‘Anyone home?’
‘In here.’ Stella was relieved to hear Lucie then sick with worry. Had something happened to Jack and Beverly?
‘Fancy.’ Lucie saw Joy. ‘Three’s a crowd, four is a party.’
‘This is not a party. Joy says she was dropping something off and Stella is here to clean.’ Felicity was frosty. ‘Have we met?’
‘I’m Stella’s minder.’ Lucie did her trademark cackle. ‘After she was attacked on the weir the other night, I’m keeping a weather eye. She hates me fussing, but fussing saves lives.’
‘What attack?’ Felicity looked shocked. ‘Stella, you never said.’
‘I’m fine, they only took my bag.’ Stella was annoyed. ‘Is it Jack? Or Bev?’
‘Who? Never heard of them. No.’ Lucie flapped a hand.
‘Felicity was just attacked too.’ Wilting with real relief, Stella sat on the sofa beside Felicity then promptly got up. She was there to clean.
‘Failed robbery, not like poor Stella’s beating. Did they find anything valuable?’
‘No.’
‘If Stella and, of course, Joy hadn’t come when they did, the thugs would have— The little shits.’ Felicity was staring at the mantelpiece. ‘They’ve taken my cartilage knife.’
‘What did it look like?’ Joy asked.
‘A knife is what it looked like – with a sharp blade.’ Felicity eyed Joy.
‘The police will insist you provide a detailed description and estimate of value.’ Joy seemed unfazed by Felicity’s impatience with her.
‘It belonged to Sir Aleck Northcote, it was in that case.’ To Stella’s surprise, Felicity was fighting tears as she pointed at a leather case open on the mantelpiece.
‘That’s quite dreadful,’ Lucie said. ‘We must call the police.’
‘I’m not wasting their time over a knife.’ Felicity blew her nose on a tissue. ‘I’d rather put this whole thing behind me. I need a lie down.’
‘What concerns me is, taking two murders out of the equation, this is the second attack in Tewkesbury within a week.’ Lucie settled on the sofa beside Felicity. ‘There are many expensive objects in this lovely room which the robbers passed over. That Alexa is surely a gold watch to a magpie, yet they stole a knife.’
‘I said, they were interrupted when Stella arrived.’
‘The door was open,’ Stella said.
‘They could still be here.’ Lucie shot out into the hall and, sighing, Felicity got to her feet. They trailed after Lucie.
Darting into corners, slamming doors flat against walls, peering under beds, after checking each room Lucie yelled, ‘Clear.’ Finally, returning to the hall, ‘OK, Prof, you may rest easy in your bed.’
‘I always do.’ Felicity wandered back to her sofa. For all she sounded annoyed, Stella guessed that Felicity was grateful for Lucie’s trouble.
‘However, and she’s going to kick off, I’m taking Stella home.’ Lucie put out an arm. ‘It’s too soon after Stella’s own bang on the head to be wearing Marigolds.’
For the first time in as long as Stella could recall, she felt relieved not to clean. Confirming Felicity was all right to be left, they all trooped out.
‘Why are you doing the King’s 1940 service?’ Stella had read up on the year which was Maple Greenhill’s last. She felt a connection to the dead woman and the time she had lived in.
‘Christmas in the Blitz, barbed wire mingled with mistletoe, guns with tinsel, when Christians demonstrated fortitude amidst suffering. Great Britain refused to deprive the nation’s children of the one day in the year which brought them joy. Nothing could cancel Christmas. It’s a message to those who bring evil to this town that we shall overcome. ’
‘I thought Christmas was in God’s hands.’ Lucie did a pious face. ‘Are you OK, Joy? Rather a shock for you, too, finding Felicity apparently dead like that,’ she said.
‘Perfectly, thank you. It wasn’t me she attacked.’ Joy flapped the service sheets, ‘Botheration, I forgot to leave these. I should go back.’
‘Who didn’t attack you?’ Lucie loomed in front of Joy.
‘Whoever hit the doctor with her iron. Obviously.’ Joy scowled as droplets of rain began to fall. ‘I’m not going back now. Felicity will have to fumble her way through like she always does.’
‘What makes you think Felicity was hit by a woman?’ Lucie was a dog with a bone.
‘He then.’ Joy was properly cross. ‘I’ve said before, girls
are worse than boys.’
‘Do you think it could have been Mrs Wren? What with her history of violence?’ Lucie said.
‘I don’t think anything.’ Joy looked annoyed.
‘I was thinking, if it was Mrs Wren, she is now armed with a knife,’ Lucie continued in a merry voice.
‘I can’t stand here gossiping, I’ll be soaked.’ Seemingly heedless of the water forming a shallow lake, Joy plashed up the yew path to the north door of the abbey.
‘There’s a liar if ever I heard one,’ Lucie said when, the rain now heavy, they had fled to the tearoom and ordered coffee and doughnuts.
‘Joy?’ Stella bit into her doughnut then baulked at the red jam. Everything was blood.
‘Felicitations the knife,’ Lucie said. ‘She was lying her head off saying that, after nearly being dashed away with a smoothing iron, muggers purloined her cartilage knife.’
‘It does sound far-fetched.’ Picturing Felicity crumpled on the floor, Stella believed she had been attacked. ‘When I found her, she was barely conscious.’
‘She was bashed, she has a bruise smack bang on her temple to prove it. Something doesn’t fit, what is it?’ Not a question, Lucie knew the answer and suddenly so did Stella.
‘She was facing her attacker.’ Stella scalded her mouth on hot coffee. ‘She knew who hit her.’
‘Because her attacker was there, listening to her every word.’ Lucie was triumphant.
‘That’s why Joy said the attacker was “she”. It was her. Could Joy be blackmailing Felicity too?’
‘What about you and I trotting along to their rehearsal tonight?’ Lucie had jam on her cheek.
‘There will be floods, no one will go and really, nor should we.’ Stella leaned over and wiped the jam off with a corner of her napkin.
‘A little water won’t put off us, we’re Angels of the Thames.’ Lucie hugged herself.
‘You can’t swim.’
‘Wartime spirit, Stella. It’s all arranged.’ Lucie beamed. ‘Beverly will finish in the gift shop and save us seats. We must support your Death Café chums.’
‘How come you knew Joy attacked Felicity?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Why did you go to Felicity’s?’ Stella knew Lucie’s concern for her had been a ploy to get into Cloisters House; any concern was ever for the story.
‘Like I said, to check on you, Ducky-Doo. If you won’t take care of yourself, I have to do it for you.’
Chapter Fifty-One
2019
Jack
‘By the way, when we get there, you’re my partner, we met on Tinder.’
‘Andrea, I get you’re angry that March wanted Stella, but it wasn’t Stella’s doing.’ Jack slapped the steering wheel. ‘Stella doesn’t do petty so she doesn’t get it when people try it on her. And, she’s too certain of me to be jealous. You and I could go to the moon, she’d just wish us a good journey.’ Jack felt brilliant. I love you.
‘You think that’s what this is about?’ Andrea was slumped against the van door. ‘Typical bloke, it’s not all about you. You and your merry band have missed the point. If you want to get past first base, you need to do what I say. If my dad thinks you are anything like Roddy you will be out on your ear. If Dad thinks you’re there for me and not to solve a murder, he’ll be halfway polite.’
‘I am not pretending to be your partner.’ Even pretending was betraying Stella.
‘Your choice to be an idiot. You and Roddy are peas in a pod.’ Although already stifling, Andrea turned up the heater. ‘You want to abort this mission, then tell Dad you and your cleaner girlfriend are poking into his mum’s murder. If you’ve got any sense at all, you will trust me.’
‘It’s wrong to lie.’
‘Says the liar,’ Andrea said. ‘Roderick March was one dipshit, but my fate is to fancy dipshits. Nice blokes like you don’t do it. Dad’ll probably see through it, but at least give it a try?’
‘No.’
After that they drove in silence.
*
‘Dad, this is Jack.’
‘You’re my daughter’s latest man off the internet.’ Greenhill was so bowed by osteoporosis that to scrutinize Jack he had to twist his head to the side.
‘I met Andrea in the abbey grounds.’ Jack tried to placate Andrea. ‘She’s jolly nice, Dr Greenhill.’ He wasn’t supposed to know this was William Greenhill.
‘Westminster Abbey?’ Greenhill loomed into Jack’s chest. It felt sobering; he’d once have been as tall as Jack.
‘Tewkesbury.’ Jack felt Andrea’s eyes lasering into his back. Turning he mouthed Sorry, but Andrea was as grim as the reaper.
‘What the hell were you doing there?’ Greenhill looked past Jack to his daughter. Jack had just aborted the mission.
To the man whom Divisional Detective Cotton had divulged that his mother had been murdered by Sir Aleck Northcote, Tewkesbury would clang a loud bell. ‘That was in confidence. This man isn’t in love with you. Even I, a dull-witted doctor, can see that. He’s a reporter.’
‘He’s not, Dad. However, he does care about Maple. He’s working for your family, the Greenhills.’ Andrea was talking fast to keep her father there.
Seeing Greenhill’s face Jack knew it wouldn’t work so, risking his lovely leather lace-ups, he inserted his foot in the doorway.
‘Your cousin Cliff, he’s Vernon’s son, and Cliff’s daughter Cleo want to know who murdered Maple. They need closure.’ Jack wasn’t sure that, through a fug of alcohol, Cliff Greenhill cared, but to Cleo who, Bev had told him had given her a silly deal on the Mini, it mattered very much.
‘Closure? That’s crap.’ Greenhill tried to shut the door.
‘Ouch,’ Jack said.
‘Cliff wasn’t alive when my mother was strangled. It was me wearing a jumper that she’d taken so long to knit for me, it was tight.’
‘Dad. Please. Let us in.’ Gone was the Heathcliff demeanour, Andrea was pleading.
‘Just you. He can sling his hook.’
‘Know what, Dad? This is also about me.’ Andrea’s moment of pleading switched off like a light bulb. ‘I traipsed after Roddy to Tewkesbury because I want the truth. You lied to me the way they lied to you. Although not for a good reason. You throwing him out sent Roddy March after a woman he thought would win you round. A poxy Mrs Mop. He dumped me.’
‘He would have dumped Ste—’
‘Enough. Roddy fancied Stella, she wouldn’t have refused him.’ Andrea was fizzing. ‘Dad, Maple might have been your mum, but she was my grandmother. I never met her, she never got to know me, but she’s family and I will avenge her.’
‘Don’t do anything rash…’ Jack mimed sorry again.
‘We all owe it to Maple to know about her last moments. To live those last moments with her. Then Maple can be at peace.’
‘Jolly good.’ Jack was impressed.
‘Please be quiet,’ Andrea fumed. ‘And before you say it, the victim thing was my idea, not Roddy’s.’
‘Northcote was never charged with murder. Cotton was a bitter man spreading false rumours.’ Greenhill shambled into the house.
Andrea followed him in. When Jack hesitated, she hissed, ‘Are you coming or not?’
‘George Cotton told you it was Northcote, but the man couldn’t be charged, he was needed for the war effort,’ Andrea said to her father.
‘Ex-coppers get obsessed with failed cases. I saw that. The war stopped Cotton retiring, then it killed his wife. He was a broken man. All he had left was that case. He actually told me that. Northcote’s career soared while Cotton’s had gone south.’ Stiffly putting out a steadying hand on a stack of Lancet journals, Greenhill lowered himself into a more recent vintage of Lucie’s cockpit. At his feet lay scattered pages of the Telegraph as if, after reading, Greenhill dropped each one.
‘You told me Cotton said Julia Northcote had promised him she would tell the world. Northcote murdered her before she could put anything down.’
‘If there was anything to tell, she took her secret to her grave,’ Greenhill said.
‘Why are you doing this, Dad? Don’t you want to help your mother?’ Andrea paced the room. Jack felt for her: for whatever reason, Greenhill had changed his original account.
‘I bought Northcote’s house.’ Andrea was speaking quietly, Greenhill’s state-of-the-art hearing aids must have ensured he heard every word because he was as white as a sheet. ‘I was scanning the house when Roddy found the box under a floorboard. Julia Northcote had kept her promise to George Cotton after all.’
‘So that’s how it happened,’ Jack said.
‘I was a fool,’ Andrea flashed at him. ‘On his first date, Roddy turned up. I had to pay for the meal in the expensive restaurant he’d said was dreamy. Take note of how a relationship starts, Jack, it’s a good hint for how it will go on.’
‘Men are liars and toads,’ Greenhill spluttered. Jack caught the west London accent beneath his finely tuned doctor’s voice.
‘We know Northcote murdered his wife,’ Jack said.
‘She killed herself, I’ve seen the path report.’ Greenhill shook his head vigorously. ‘His wife was ill.’
‘Old boys’ network – the pathologist had his own career to think about. He flipped forced hanging to suicide. Julia Northcote left a letter and newspaper cuttings in a Lyons’ Swiss Roll box in the dressing room. It states categorically that Northcote confessed to strangling Maple and that, if anything happened to her, whoever read the letter was to tell Clement Attlee who Julia Northcote seems to have admired. Roddy said the letter would make our fortune.’ Andrea gulped for air. ‘Julia probably planned her letter as insurance against her husband hurting her. But Northcote was a risk-taker and he killed her anyway. His risk paid off, he got away with it. Until the night of Friday the twenty-second of November 1963.’
‘I’ve seen the letter, sir.’ Jack was scrupulously polite. ‘I’m sure it’s genuine.’
‘You stole it.’ Andrea couldn’t possibly get any angrier with him. Yes, she could.
‘That’s not quite right,’ Jack said. ‘Julia wanted it to be read.’
The Distant Dead Page 30