by Holly Bell
‘Thank you.’
She waved him off, and then headed for the library, taking off her cardigan as she went. The humidity in the atmosphere was rising.
Chapter 36
Thomas is Disturbed, and Into The Past
Trelawney sat on his bed as he pressed Hogarth’s number on his phone.
‘Hi, Mike?’
‘What news, Sherlock?’
‘It was a bit awkward. More than a bit.’
‘Oh?’
‘She wanted me to use whatever clout she thought I have, to get her back into the crime scene, the actual lab, by herself!’
‘Really?’ said Hogarth with interest.
‘Wanted me to pull rank. It was all rather uncomfortable.’
‘Why did she want that, Thomas?’
‘Oh, some nonsense about sensing things, and if she could get back in there something would come to her. So much esoteric mumbo jumbo,’ he said dismissively.
‘I see,’ commented Hogarth.
‘I did what I could to help. Talking it all through. I think I redeemed myself to some extent, but I could see that she thought I was pretty useless.’
‘You will indeed have to redeem yourself, Thomas,’ Hogarth said firmly.
‘How?’
‘Next time she asks for your help you say, “Yes, Miss Cadabra.”’
‘What if it’s unethical?’ asked Trelawney, alarmed.
‘Find a way to make it ethical.’
‘Good grief …. All right,’ Thomas agreed reluctantly.
‘How’s your mother after your little chat about your father and co?’
‘Fine. Behaving as though the conversation never took place. That’s all right with me. Probably for the best. Oh there was one odd thing about that lunch in the Big Tease.’
‘Oh?’
‘Well, … she knew how I like my tea. Why on earth would she know that? What woman in this day and age notices how a man likes his tea?’
Hogarth was suppressing his laughter valiantly at the other end of the phone. He got control of his mirth long enough to say, ‘Yes, rather old-fashioned. More the sort of thing her grandmother would do.’
‘Well, quite,’ Thomas agreed, then, unaccountably, found himself not all at home with the thought. His mind deftly switched to a new anomaly. ‘Oh, there was one other thing. Miss Cadabra dropped a pencil.’
‘In the spirit of dropping a handkerchief?’ asked Hogarth, with amusement. ‘Is she after your hand, Thomas?’
‘No, of course not. Nothing like that,’ returned Trelawney, a trifle testily.
‘Was there something remarkable about this writing implement?’ Hogarth enquired.
‘No, it was just an ordinary IKEA pencil. It wasn’t that; it was her reaction. She turned white and gave a little gasp. That monstercat of hers sat on it, and then a baby she knows picked it up for her. And there she was, completely back to normal in the blink of an eye. It was all over in seconds. Why would a woman in a skirt and cardigan be carrying a pencil, anyway? No woman I’ve ever known carried pencils when she was dressed up.’
‘It’s not unheard of,’ equivocated Hogarth.
‘No, but why get so flustered when she dropped it?’
‘Thomas,’ Hogarth said carefully, ‘have you seen a pencil like that before, that someone took special care of?’
Trelawney replied at once, ‘No.’ Then, ‘Yes … no ... I — I don’t know.’
‘Never mind. It’s an interesting footnote. OK, well, thanks for keeping me in the loop. Enjoy your weekend now,’ said Hogarth calmingly.
‘You too, Mike.’
So … said Hogarth to himself, you have a pocket wand, do you, Amanda? And our young Thomas has seen one too, and that’s what disturbs him. Now, where would he have seen one? Bertil Bergstrom doesn’t hand them out like sweets, and I’ll swear he’d never give one to any of the Flamgoynes. Still, there are underground retailers of such things.
He mused. Not like Senara and Perran’s granddaughter to let something like that happen. Things are hotting up, Miss Cadabra, you’re going to have to be a lot more careful than that …. On the other hand, it was only with Thomas …. Interesting, that it should accidentally fall into his view … Hmmm, magic wands can, every now and then, have a will of their own ….
So now young Thomas, you have two things that are deeply disturbing you. Disturbing you so much that you can barely think about them, I would guess, let alone talk to me about them. The smell of Amanda Cadabra’s workshop and the pencil. What disturbs you is that you recognise them but don’t want to contemplate how or why. Ah well. You’ll come to it. In your own time.
I just wish I knew how much time we have.
***
‘Tempest. I haven’t been able to see the wood for the trees,’ Amanda announced to her cat, ‘I’ve been thinking too locally.’
She pushed open the glass doors of Sunken Madley library, and Mrs Pagely looked up from the computer screen on the counter.
‘Hello, Amanda,’ she said with pleasure.
‘Hello, Mrs Pagely. I need to know,’ responded Amanda, coming straight to the point, ‘about the aircraft industry around here during the war.’
‘Let’s see. This would have been south Hertfordshire then …. De Havilland —’
‘As in Miss de Havillande?’ asked Amanda eagerly.
‘Different family,’ responded the librarian. ‘I did ask when I first arrived. De Havilland would have been the closest manufacturer to here. You could visit the museum at Salisbury Hall.’
‘Salisbury Hall?’
Hall … the ghost had said ‘The Hall’ not ‘the hall’!
‘Were they doing something special there during the war?’ asked Amanda intently.
‘It’s where the design team worked on the Mosquito prototype.’
Amanda had made a model of a Mosquito when she was a teenager. It was the fastest, lightest fighter-bomber of its time.
‘It was top secret even from the British government,’ continued Mrs Pagely.
‘Why?’ asked Amanda.
‘The government wanted a lot of bureaucrats interfering in the design. In the end, de Havilland was proved right and Whitehall rubber-stamped it, but while it was in the making it was kept highly confidential.’
The ghost had said … the plans, recalled Amanda. He had seen ‘the same person who stole the plans’. … Could they have been the Mosquito design schematics? Why would a carpenter like the ghost have known about that? Was he on the design team?
Aloud, Amanda asked, ‘Do you know anything about the design team? Would they have had any cabinet makers, carpenters on it?’
‘Oh, yes, it was made of wood. The Wooden Wonder they called it.’
The wonder …. He’d said, ‘Have you been working on the wonder too?’ The Wonder!
So that’s what the ghost was telling her. But what did it have to do with Toby’s death? The ghost had said ‘it was the same person.’ But Granny always said the dead cannot harm the living.
Mrs Pagely was speaking. ‘Once it went into production, and they made about 7000 of them, it was made all over the place, here and in Canada, in big and small workshops, even groups of ladies made parts for it. They were glad to do it.’ She smiled. ‘It helped us to win the war.’
‘Strange, I’ve never visited Salisbury Hall; only the RAF Museum at Hendon,’ Amanda said thoughtfully.
‘That’s the famous one, of course,’ conceded Mrs Pagely. ‘But for the Mosquito, it’s the Hall, you want, my dear, the de Havilland Aircraft Museum. They have the actual prototype there, the DH98, in its glorious Trainer Yellow. They’ve even got one of the practice bouncing bombs. You would love it.’
Some plans for the Wooden Wonder were stolen. The same person, said the ghost, … did what? The ghost hadn’t said. Amanda had half the puzzle now. But what was the other half and how did the two fit together? She needed to talk to the ghost again. Bu
t how?
Mrs Pagely was presenting her with three books. ‘Here dear, this is everything we have on it. They don’t say who was on the design team except for the chief designer Eric Bishop, I’m afraid, but here’s a photograph of them, if that’s any help. Do you want these?’
‘Yes, please, Mrs Pagely.’
After withdrawing the books, Amanda came out of the library with Tempest around her feet. She looked up at the clouds stacking on the horizon. As quickly as possible, they went home and found her grandparents watching television and drinking their dimensional version of tea.
‘Granny, Grandpa,’ said Amanda urgently, ‘the man I saw, what do you know about him?’
‘Now, dear, what fun would it be, if we told you all of the answers?’ said Senara over her shoulder.
‘Fun! Fun?’ said Amanda outraged, coming into the middle of the room. ‘How is this fun? I found a body!’
‘Your second one,’ said Grandpa, with a congratulatory air. ‘Well done. And this one’s —’
‘Grandpa! Granny! This isn’t a game. Come on, please. I’ve used my resources. I tried using magic. I could only use a spell on poor Bill then found a policeman guarding the lab, and he was standing so I couldn’t use it on him, and then I had to go and undo the first one, and it means I made ripples twice! For nothing! I tried Trelawney, and I’m not saying he was worse than useless or anything, but he wouldn’t get me in. Now ….’
Grandpa looked at his wife, then said:
‘Roses are red, Violet’s blue.
Go for a visit then you’ll know why too.’
‘Violets?’ queried Amanda. ‘Violet! Miss Armstrong-Witworth’s friend who lived in Lost Madley … whose boyfriend was George. Thank you, Grandpa!’
Chapter 37
Violet, and The Resource
Amanda phoned the Grange, and asked Miss Armstrong-Witworth if she was free.
‘Could you, please, come with me to the residential home and introduce me to Violet?’
‘Yes, dear, give me half an hour.’
Amanda arrived promptly, having got over her guilt at including Gwendolen in the list of suspects, and was admitted by Moffat, the ladies’ general factotum.
‘Off on a spree, are you, with Miss Armstrong-Witworth?’ he asked Amanda.
‘Er, yes,’ she answered doubtfully.
‘Don’t you worry. Miss Armstrong-Witworth will take good care of you,’ he reassured her.
The lady in question appeared from the drawing room.
‘Ah, Amanda, I’m ready, Perhaps you could tell me on the way what this is all about. Though, it’s only a very short journey.’
Amanda opened the Astra door for Miss Armstrong-Witworth then got in and started it up. Her friend looked over at the rear seat.
‘I see young Tempest is with us. I don’t think they’ll be very happy about having you inside the house,’ she said to him. ‘Could you content yourself with exploring the grounds, do you think?’
Tempest raised his shoulders in the semblance of a shrug.
Miss Armstrong-Witworth turned back to Amanda. ‘So do tell.’
‘I think the death of the doctor at the lab is somehow connected to something that happened during the war. Mrs Pagely showed me this.’
Without taking her eyes off the road, Amanda pulled a folded photocopy from her jacket, and handed it to Miss Armstrong-Witworth.
‘That man looking out of his door was a carpenter, judging by what‘s in his hand. I think he was connected somehow to the Mosquito design team at Salisbury Hall. I think he might have been Violet’s George, and Violet might be able to tell us more.’
‘She’s not always terribly lucid, you know,’ Miss Armstrong-Witworth warned Amanda.
‘No harm in trying. Do you recognise him?’
‘Hmm, yes, it is like him, as far as I remember. It was a long time ago. How is this connected to Dr Sidiqi’s death?’
‘I think someone stole some design schematics. Someone who was in the building that’s underneath where the lab is. Toby, the doctor, told me that he was going to explore the ruins that night, the night he was killed. Someone knew that, knows what’s under there, and killed him before he could find out, or before he could tell anyone.’
‘The design and the building of the prototype was top secret,’ agreed Miss Armstrong-Witworth, ‘but it must have leaked somehow. There was a spy, you know?’
‘A spy?’
‘A German spy. He was caught in the area. And it would also explain the bombs being dropped around here.’
‘You think they knew about the building of the prototype?’ asked Amanda.
‘They wouldn’t have seen where it was being constructed from the air. The hangar looked just like an ordinary barn. That was the idea, to keep it hidden. This was a pretty rural area, so why bomb it? But if someone had given them some idea of where it might be, not exact coordinates, perhaps, but enough to stand a chance of hitting it, then that would explain why bombs fell on Little Madley. We’re a few miles away from the hangar where the prototype was designed and built, but that distance is soon covered in an aeroplane, you know.’
‘I see. Yes, of course,’ agreed Amanda.
‘The left fork here, then it’s on the left … Yes. You can drive straight in. I telephoned and checked that it would be convenient.’
They called in at reception, and were standing at the desk when they heard a familiar voice behind them.
‘How nice to see you, Gwendolen,’ said Miss Hempling, former proprietress of what was now The Big Tease.
‘Winifred! My dear,’ responded Miss Armstrong-Witworth with pleasure, holding out her arms. The two old friends greeted one another warmly.
‘And Amanda. How lovely!’
‘Hello, Miss Hempling.’
‘Who are you here to see?’
‘Violet,’ said Miss Armstrong-Witworth.
‘Oh, Violet,’ said Miss Hempling sadly. ‘I think she’ll soon be going ahead of us, if you know what I mean. But she’ll be pleased to see you, Gwendolen. We get a lot of visitors here, you know. I’m sure I get more than when I lived in the village! Come this way. I’m sure they won’t mind if I show you in.’
They were walking along a thickly carpeted hallway, when a tall, fair, comely young woman, with a kindly, good-natured air of efficiency, met up with them.
‘Oh, Megan, that’s good. I was just taking my friends, Gwendolen and Amanda here, to see Violet. Perhaps you want to take them there now. I was just on my way to beat young Harold at backgammon again,’ Miss Hempling said mischievously.
‘You do that,’ encouraged Megan cheerfully.
‘I’ll leave you with Megan, She’s from Australia, you know. Isn’t that nice? And she’s a darling.’ Miss Hempling hurried off to her tournament with the hapless 78-year-old Harold.
‘Hello, ladies,’ Megan greeted them. ‘I’ve seen you before, heven’t I, Gwindolen?’
‘Oh yes, I’ve popped in to see Violet from time to time.’
‘She appreciates it, I know thet. I’m afraid our Violet’s not long for this world. We can just make her comfortable. I think she’ll be pleased to hev a bit of company, but try not to tire her out.’
‘Of course,’ responded Gwendolen, warmly.
Megan showed them into a well-lit, comfortable room and left them to it. A lady, white wispy-haired and looking small as a child, lay in the bed. Gwendolen gestured to a seat by the wall for Amanda, and drew up a chair at the bedside for herself. She sat down and took the lady’s hand.
‘Hello, Violet, it’s Gwendolen.’
Violet’s clouded blue eyes gradually focused on the face near her, and recognition dawned.
‘Gwennie, … you’ve come to see me.’
‘That’s right, Violet. You know who I am, don’t you,’ said Gwendolen.
‘Oh yes, Gwennie. How are things at the house?’
‘Very good.’
‘I re
member the old parties,’ said Violet happily.
‘We had such good times, didn’t we?’ agreed Gwendolen.
‘The masks and the dancing, … it was lovely.’
‘And Georgie,’ Gwendolen added gently.
‘Oh, my Georgie ….’ Violet’s eyes filled with tears. ‘He was such a sweet boy ….’
‘He was lovely.’
‘He was half Canadian, did you know that, Gwennie?’
‘Yes, Violet, you told me.’
‘They’d been working with wood for generations. He was so proud of that, you know?’
‘You used to meet him …,’ gently prompted Gwendolen.
‘We used to meet in the pub ….’
‘The Apple Cart,’ Gwendolen reminded her friend.
Violet laughed softly. ‘The Apple Cart, … funny name …. Yes … meet … in that nice room with the fire ….’
‘You remember the last time you met?’ asked Gwendolen.
‘Oh yes. I’ll never forget it, not as long I live,’ Violet said sadly. ‘I met him in the bar …. He was already there, … he had something on his mind …. I could always tell when he had something on his mind, you know, Gwennie? Yes, you know what it’s like when you’re that close to someone …. He was telling me … and then the siren went ….’
Gwendolen nodded. Violet continued.
‘I thought he was right behind me. It was dark and raining …. I didn’t see that he wasn’t right behind me .… He never came. We were all down the shelter and the bombs falling, ... he never came ….’
‘What was he telling you, ... in the pub, Violet?’
‘He didn’t want me mixed up in it, … said it was a bad business ….’
‘Miss Armstrong-Witworth,' whispered Amanda. Gwendolen looked round at her young friend.
‘Did she see everyone else from Little Madley apart from George in the shelter that night? Was anyone else missing?’ Gwendolen nodded and turned back to the bed.
‘Violet, … remember the siren went off and you ran through the rain and the dark to the shelter …’