Marsh Blood (The Endel Mysteries Book 2)

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘BCC.’ David stood up. ‘I’m not medically qualified.’

  I said, ‘He’s a PhD, but modest. He doesn’t like to advertise the computer between his ears.’

  David scowled, she trilled joyously and ushered him out. I was rather relieved to have a breather. Seeing him again had disturbed me more than I cared. I looked around for some anodyne and found it framed on one wall.

  It was a sixteenth-century map of the marsh drawn when the fishing harbour still existed at the bottom right corner. The inn was marked and so was the church. The names of the various areas of marsh that echoed the original Celtic inhabitants and Roman and Norse invaders were depicted in elegant Elizabethan lettering, and forty miles due north of the fishing harbour a tiny squashed box on a miniature hillock was labelled ENDELLE and encircled with HERE MIFTRETE MERSHE. Midstreet village was missing as already the sea had swept it away, and so was the Marsh Ditch that divided marsh from mainland, as it had not yet been dug. The low hills of the mainland were speckled with outsize sheep, with AFTEDE tersely topping their northern tip and HERE BE CLYFEHILLE surmounting the castellated boxes floating over the southern end. The sea ran from top to bottom and occupied one-third of the east side of the map. The sea was alive with wooden galleons with bulging sails, fishing boats with single sails; empty rowing boats that looked modern crowded every cove and dyke mouth; and giant fish jostled for space in the fishing grounds. The prevailing winds were blown through the pursed lips of fat flying cherubs; other cherubs perched on offshore rocks with down-pointed sea-spears to warn of the dangers to shipping; and all down the coastline trios of sea-serpents marked the shifting sands.

  ‘Remarkably evil-looking serpents.’ David was beside me. ‘I don’t remember hearing there were quicksands off Harbour.’

  ‘I don’t think there are now. I think the storm filled them. Was it BCC?’

  ‘Yep. They got this number from Walt Ames. They only wanted to tell me I needn’t show up for three weeks.’ He peered more closely at the map. ‘Only one thing missing. No HERE BE DRAGONS.’

  My mind was elsewhere. I said vaguely, ‘The Endels must’ve finished them off.’

  He glanced at me. ‘Uh-huh. Any more tea in that pot?’

  We went back to the sofa. I refilled his cup and he told me he had just been asking Mrs Evans-Williams if she could recommend some place nearby where he could get a bed for tonight. ‘I said you’d told me this place is full. She had a better idea. No, love ‒ not your spare bed. She’s not as daft as she looks. This is a respectable joint and that’s the way she’s keeping it. But she says hubby has a single room he uses and might let me have it for the night and she’ll have a word soon as he gets in. He went out a while back to help bring in the day’s bag. She says they’ll all be in soon now the light’s gone. I said fine, if she can swing it. That all right with you?’

  ‘Sure. Fine.’

  He gave me a long, thoughtful look. ‘Stop sweating, Rose. You don’t owe me anything.’

  ‘Oh, no. Just my life and all I possess.’

  ‘Balls. If you’d not lugged my unconscious body out of Endel just before the roof gave, it would’ve been a quadruple, not triple funeral. It was your father who sired you, not me. So knock that bloody chip off and tell me something I don’t know. Mrs Wassname-Wassname’ll swing this. She doesn’t fancy me but she fancies my custom. Why? If this joint’s doing as well as it looks and you say, they don’t need it.’

  I had to wait until my adrenalin rate returned to normal. ‘Maybe she thinks having you around will lessen the chances of my having my head blown off.’

  ‘Christ,’ he groaned, ‘no! If someone else is out to murder you for your lolly, I’m off! I’m not going through that one again!’

  I suddenly felt much happier. I laughed. ‘Now you can stop sweating, chum.’ I told him about the poachers, and then of my few minutes as persona non grata. ‘And after, all was sweetness and light. Yeuk!’

  He frowned. ‘Can’t have it all ways ‒ but ‒ seeing they know their business I’d have thought they checked up on you before you showed up.’

  ‘How? They wouldn’t get anything out of Mr Smith or his office. None of my friends has stayed here and the only one I know to have dropped in here occasionally is Francis and that’s just for a drink. He’s not the chatty type. If you were a woman you’d know there’s nothing odd about their reception. Ask any woman who’s ever walked alone into the dining room of any good British hotel.’

  ‘I have heard that.’ He paused. ‘These poachers. Serious problem now?’

  ‘No more than always. I think they’re just fussing.’

  ‘Wouldn’t do their business any good locally if anything happened to you here. Not,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘that there’s anyone left to want to rub you out. If you don’t get yourself another husband and some kids, presumably either the crown or some charity collects. And you must’ve made a will. If old Smith knows his job he’ll have had you tie the lot up tight.’

  I studied my hands. ‘He knows his job.’

  ‘And has told you to keep your mouth shut?’ I nodded. ‘That’s sense. Even if the cats’ home gets the jackpot it’s daft to advertise to whom you might be worth more dead than alive.’

  ‘Much what he said and ‒’ I broke off as again the door opened.

  Two young women, one a blonde, the other a brunette, and a large middle-aged man had piled in breathlessly congratulating themselves and each other on being handy with guns. As they were all talking simultaneously it was a few minutes before we realized what they were actually trying to tell us. Someone else, it seemed, was not quite so handy. Someone had just shot Johnnie Evans-Williams.

  David and I exchanged the same glances as we got to our feet. He turned to the newcomers. ‘Oh, aye? Manslaughter or murder?’ he inquired politely.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Sweetie, please don’t chill our blood any more. He’s only been winged,’ wailed the brunette, in a South London twang. She was tallish and slender, even in bulky clothes, and had dramatic dark eyes, a wide sexual mouth and the kind of face that was vividly attractive or hard, depending on the owner’s mood. She looked about twenty years younger than the large man whom she introduced as her husband. ‘Renny le Vere. I’m Angie and this is Linda McCabe. Linda’s husband Nick is a fabulous Canadian medic which is such a godsend as he’s coping with poor Johnnie and otherwise we’d have to make a mercy dash to that old soak’s surgery at Harbour.’

  Renny le Vere looked badly in need of a drink and a seat but remained politely on his feet while I introduced David and myself. Linda McCabe was too shocked for civilities and flopped into an armchair. She was quite pretty and would have been more so had she not obviously cut her hair herself and neglected her pink and white complexion. Her face was reddened by the wind and her nose was peeling. Had we met elsewhere I would instantly have taped her as lower-income, higher-education. I was right about the last. She was an economics graduate who wrote intelligent pamphlets on the cost of living and the erudite captions for the Baby Bozo Books For Infants beloved by childless reviewers. They didn’t sell well.

  I said, ‘So he’s not badly hurt?’

  ‘Thank God, sweetie, no. He caught the lot in the fleshy part of the back of his arm but it missed his shoulder. Nick says he can cope. Isn’t it just too fabulous to have our own friendly neighbourhood physician in the party?’

  Linda put in sulkily, ‘Nick’s a surgical registrar, Angie. You should know that by now.’

  Angie le Vere flapped blackened eyelashes. ‘Sweetie, you know me! I forget everything.’

  Renny le Vere smiled wearily at his wife. Beneath the bags under his eyes, the heavy jowls and the bulging stomach were the visible remains of a good-looking man with clever, amused eyes. His Oxbridge voice was tired. ‘Strange species, medics. Take our worthy Nick. He spends his entire working life chopping up humans and his free time killing God’s harmless creatures.’

  Linda rounded on him. ‘You s
hould talk! You’ve been shooting since before Nick and I were born.’

  Renny raised a defensive hand. ‘Don’t kick a chap when he’s down, dear girl. Don’t I know it and feel every year of my great age at this moment. Old Johnnie and I’ve been pals for more years than either of us cares to remember.’ He smiled at us, but more at David than myself. ‘When you’ve no less than ten hours to spare I’ll tell you how Johnnie Evans-Williams and I won the Second World War together.’

  David nodded non-committally. ‘Who shot him?’

  There was a very faint, very loud, silence. Linda scowled at her muddy legs, Angie flicked back her shoulder-length hair, and Renny shrugged. ‘That, dear boy, is the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. All we can say with any certainty is that it wasn’t one of our party.’

  ‘How many’s that?’ David asked.

  ‘Ten in all. We three, Nick, and the four East Anglian farmers who come together every year, leave their wives behind and keep themselves to themselves. The most we’ve got out of them is “You all right? That’s all right.” Decent enough chaps and rattling good shots. Doubt you’ll see much of them. They only leave the bar to eat, sleep and shoot and never come in here. Too far from the beer ‒ which reminds me, how about a drink? Trevor’ll bring ’em in here but I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t join you. I save my one of the day for after dinner. A diabetic for my sins. Rose? I may call you Rose? Delightful name ‒ too close to tea? Oh, how about you, David? No? Linda?’

  Linda said she must wait for Nick. Angie pouted and stood up. ‘No one’s asked me but I want a gin and I’m not drinking alone. I shall brave the heavy mob in the bar.’ She gave her lashes another flutter. They were good lashes but her mascara was better as it was intact after a day’s shooting. ‘You don’t mind, do you, Renny, sweetie?’

  ‘My dear,’ he said heavily, ‘you know I don’t.’

  ‘Bless you.’ She blew him a kiss and glided off. She moved beautifully.

  David glanced after her, then back to Renny. ‘Who are the other two?’

  ‘Two?’ Renny was lost in thought and had to rouse himself. ‘Oh, yes. Old Harry and his boy Mike. Harry’s Johnnie’s head beater, major-domo and ‒ entre nous ‒ our gauleiter. Harbour chap.’

  ‘What exactly happened?’ I prompted.

  ‘Well’ ‒ he paused to settle himself more comfortably ‒ ‘we were all together and had just finished for the day and had our guns down and Johnnie had just joined us and climbed out of our ditch to take a bird from one of the dogs when some lunatic from the dunes behind blasted off and there was old Johnnie’s face down in the mud. Very ugly moment.’

  ‘Could’ve been a bloody sight uglier,’ said Linda. ‘If Johnnie hadn’t just stooped for that bird he could’ve lost the back of his head.’

  David and I exchanged another glance. I asked, ‘Was it a poacher?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as ours, dear lovely little lady. Nick and I rushed for Johnnie, the others charged off to catch the trigger-happy bastard. Not a hope. You could hide a battalion in those dunes and rushes once the light goes.’

  David said, ‘I take it someone’s contacted the cop in Harbour?’

  Renny and Linda exchanged glances. She shook her head. ‘No. Nick’s not happy about that though he can see Johnnie’s angle. Johnnie insists he’ll not press charges.’

  ‘Understandably,’ put in Renny before we could comment. ‘This isn’t the kind of advertisement Johnnie wants broadcast. And there’s another aspect,’ he added gravely. ‘Once you start pressing charges you can’t be sure what you’ll turn up. If, as, ‒ entre nous ‒ we’re all convinced, it was a local chap, old Harry’ll find out and sort it out in his own way. But as all these locals are so inbred and interrelated, if he was from Harbour he’s bound to be some relative of Harry’s. Johnnie needs him too much to upset him by bringing one of his family to court. And ‒ face it ‒ this is the first accident they’ve had here, though this year, particularly, Johnnie’s been afraid one might happen.’

  I said, ‘Yes, he said that to me this afternoon.’

  ‘That’s Johnnie for you. Good chap. Shoots straight, plays straight. However, as he’s just said, he’s only thankful it was he who copped it and we’re thankful it wasn’t worse. Johnnie and Helen have sunk their all into this place and worked like beavers to get it going. We’ve watched them at it from the ground up. Been coming every year since they opened. Before that Angie and I used to stay at the pub in Cornwall they sold to some big brewers to buy this. In point of fact’ ‒ he smiled reminiscently ‒ ‘that’s where Angie and I met five years ago. She was doing a season in the local rep and used to drop in for a drink. She chucked the stage after we married. The following summer young Linda and Nick were there on honeymoon. Start of a beautiful friendship. They came here on our say-so, now we always come together and, what’s more, remain on speaking terms. I must say I look forward to our sojourns on the marsh. Makes a very nice break from the export business. Plastics.’ He had a fat man’s chuckle. ‘What could be more tedious? But that’s enough of our life and hard times. May I ask what brings you two charming people here?’

  As he had been addressing David, I left it to David.

  ‘Rose is here on doctor’s orders and I’m just passing through.’

  ‘From where to where, dear boy?’

  ‘Brisbane to Coventry.’

  Even Linda smiled. ‘Staying the week?’

  ‘Overnight, far as I know, but I’m not sure that’s still on.’

  Mrs Evans-Williams chose that moment to come in and announce it was. She was much paler and twisted her beads nervously. ‘Nick is such a comfort. He’s tucked Johnnie up in bed in the flat, given him a sedative and anti-this and -that jabs and says only flesh wounds and he’s got all out, and quite enough in the medical bag he always brings on holiday to stop him going septic, but if he’s at all worried in the morning he’ll drive Johnnie to Astead General and talk to the casualty officer himself. And Harry has rallied splendidly! He’s going to have a camp bed in our office to be on hand for the night. He’s just gone back to Harbour to get some night things and tell his wife. Your room is ready for you, Mr Lofthouse, and Johnnie says I’m to tell you if you want it for a few more days you’re more than welcome. Just come and sign in whenever it suits you ‒ how about your luggage? ‒ in your car? Oh dear ‒ I’ve just remembered ‒ all the garages are full ‒ you don’t mind leaving it out? It’ll be quite safe. Oh, good! You will excuse me ‒ dinner at eight and only one serving as it’s Albert’s night off and only for residents ‒ do excuse me ‒’ She scurried away, muttering to herself.

  ‘Fuss, fuss, fuss!’ exclaimed Linda. ‘Can’t think how Johnnie stands it.’

  Renny was indulgent. ‘Used to it after twenty-odd years. They get along better than most. She’s never had kids to use up her energies.’ He smiled wryly. ‘Not that kids are invariably an unadulterated blessing.’

  Linda looked puzzled. ‘Thought you got on with your girls, Renny?’

  ‘Now they’ve married themselves to worthy young men. I’ll draw a veil over their teenage years. Twins,’ he explained to us, ‘and not all that much younger than my dear Angie. I’m afraid their mother and I never hit it off, which didn’t precisely enhance the domestic calm. These things happen.’ He glanced at me. ‘I presume that, like young Linda, you’ve not yet decided to start a family.’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m a widow but we didn’t have kids.’

  David prevented the uncomfortable silence that, as every widow learns, invariably follows that announcement, by saying he hadn’t any kids either. ‘Far as I know.’ He stood up and held out a physical hand. ‘Come and help me lug in my stuff, Rose.’

  ‘Sure. If you two’ll excuse us?’ And, in the corridor, I added, ‘You don’t have to be so bloody tactful.’

  ‘And you don’t have to be so bloody touchy.’

  I smiled reluctantly. ‘You haven’t changed.’

  He took my arm and
looked towards the hall. ‘Nor has life on the peaceful marsh. Want to get a coat before we brave the outer Arctic?’

  ‘After three years on home territory when there’s no blizzard?’

  ‘Like I always said, tough cookies, you Endels. You can carry the heavy one.’

  In the hall Mrs Evans-Williams drifted distractedly between counter and propped-open bar door. Trevor was behind the bar drawing pints off the wood for four solid youngish men in rough tweeds with brick-red faces who glanced at us incuriously without interrupting their conversations. Angie had apparently had her gin and vanished.

  ‘Are you sure you can manage those suitcases? I could call Trevor ‒ you can ‒ oh, thank you! I should take you straight up’ ‒ Mrs Evans-Williams half-strangled herself with her beads ‒ ‘but I’m waiting for a phone call ‒ perhaps a drink first?’

  David caught my eye. I didn’t know why but read the message. ‘If you can give us the key, I can show him up to six, Mrs Evans-Williams.’

  ‘Would you mind? So kind ‒ so kind ‒ many thanks!’

  ‘I’ve got some rather good duty-free booze in that airline bag you’re carrying. Preferable, I thought, to the heavy mob’s beery company.’ David put down his two large suitcases and cast a cursory glance round the small single room. ‘Just the job. And my own bathroom. Someone’s told Britain the twentieth century’s started.’ He went into the bathroom and returned with the tooth glass. ‘Just the one. You got another over the way?’

  ‘Two and two armchairs. You haven’t got one.’

  ‘Makes a change to be mixing with the well-heeled upper classes.’

  I looked pointedly at his discreetly expensive luggage and the matching quality of his well-cut travelling clothes. ‘I observe from your threadbare appearance BCC pays its top nuclear physicists peanuts. Come across when you’re ready, peasant.’

  He tugged his forelock. ‘Much obliged, ma’am.’

  I laughed and went back to my room.

  It was dark outside but as my bedroom curtains were open the reflections from the electrified coachlamps in the yard provided enough light for me to draw my curtains before turning on mine. I was about to deal first with the two windows overlooking the yard, when I saw a man coming out of the small side door at the far end of the five garage doors. He was shortish and thickset, carrying a small dark briefcase, and walked towards the main entrance with the stooping shoulders and downcast head of a doctor thinking over the case he had just left. The rays of the coachlight by the reception entrance were on him when he shook his head at his thoughts, and from the expression on his pleasantly plain face he was more puzzled than anxious. Not wishing to advertise the fact that I was watching, I waited until he was inside before drawing the curtains, then paused again. Another figure had glided from the shadows at the other end of the garage. I recognized the graceful walk before I saw Angie le Vere’s face in the coachlights. She looked extraordinarily happy. Well, well, I thought, standing back a little, until she disappeared not into reception but by a side door further on which, as I recalled, was just beyond the telephone alcove. Purely from amused curiosity, I went to my marsh window for a look at the road and just glimpsed the outline of a man walking swiftly towards the sea.