The Viv Fraser Mysteries Box Set 2

by V Clifford

  ‘Even now that you’re an adult?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve told her it’s unnecessary but she won’t have it.’

  ‘She must like it here otherwise she’d find excuses not to.’

  The notion of someone finding excuses not to be at work seemed alien to him and his eyebrows knitted. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I know many people who, with the slightest excuse or even without one at all would avoid being at work. So you’re lucky that she’s loyal. Look, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to have a little more time in the archive.’

  ‘Sure. Do what you like.’

  ‘DCI Coulson will no doubt be in to speak to you once they’ve . . . well I’ll head back to the archive.’

  Back amongst the records she hauled boxes onto the floor. Peeled off her jacket and rolled up her sleeves. Time to get down to business without the threat of anyone bothering her. In one of the boxes there was another metal box. Not very deep, but locked. There’s nothing like a lock to get a researcher’s curiosity fired. She searched for a key but couldn’t find one in the larger box. She searched in other boxes but still no sign of a key, only other smaller boxes, which were also locked. There had to be a bunch of keys somewhere.

  She sat with her back against the shelves and let her eyes roam the room. If she were hiding a set of keys where would she put them? She climbed up the ladder and swept her hands round the backs of the shelves. Nothing. She went out of the door into the library and did the same sweep of the shelves where Sholto had first unlatched the secret panel. Nothing. She was thinking about searching through the desk drawers when she spotted a thick book that, although it was part of a set, was shinier and didn’t look like leather. Her instincts were right. She retrieved the book which turned out not to be a book at all but a container. Inside, a row of keys hung on small individual hooks. She took the book and returned to the inner room. Time to try each of the locked boxes with the keys. She was like a child in a sweetie shop. Nobody locked boxes unless they contained something precious, and she didn’t mean jewels, she meant things that might one day be useful. None of the keys fitted. Time for drastic measures. Her own picks were intended for most modern locks but there was one heavy enough to try on this. The clunk an old lock makes when it is released is such a sweet sound. In one of the boxes all of the documents had Vatican seals. This was more like it. She folded her jacket and placed it beneath her butt preparing for a long session of reading Latin text.

  It took a while. She was fascinated by everything that she read. Lots of old Sasines deeds, charters and documents setting out who had rights to what. All very odd. Had they never heard of Chief Seattle’s Manifesto? Finally she found a letter from the Vatican, written in a Latinate Scots. It felt like fabric and the ink had turned a bloody brownish colour, but it was legible and probably all she needed for now. She photographed it and stacked the boxes back on the shelves. Once she’d closed up she made her way back to Sholto’s study.

  Hovering at the door she heard voices from inside and decided to keep going toward the kitchen. Mrs Smith was standing at the deep sink wearing a pinny and peeling carrots, the radio on low in the background. The scene could have been from almost any time in the post-war period.

  Mrs Smith didn’t turn round but said, ‘Well what do you make of it all?’

  Viv said, ‘I don’t know. He’s distraught, though, that much is clear.’

  ‘He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Even spiders get a second chance, released outside. That’s what irritates his mother about him. She says he’s “too soft”.’ She shook her head. ‘What kind of mother wants a son who is hard? “Toughen up”, has been her war cry since he was three years old. Imagine what that can do to a boy.’

  Viv wondered what exactly it could do. It could certainly make a man bitter, maybe even twisted. Could it make him into a killer? What could he possibly gain, apart from heartache, at David’s death? Maybe he believed he deserved heartache. Maybe it was the other way round and he believed he didn’t deserve happiness. The look of shock on his face when he saw the body couldn’t have been an act. He was utterly horrified, devastated. No she didn’t believe Sholto was the killer, but she wasn’t the person who had to rule him out, that was Coulson’s job.

  ‘Is DCI Coulson with Sholto?’

  Mrs Smith nodded. ‘Not that she’ll get much out of him. The last time I saw him like this was when one of the gamekeepers reversed over his dog. Poor lad was inconsolable for weeks.’

  Was Mrs Smith’s picture of Sholto a realistic one? Or were her spectacles a little too rose-tinted?

  That said, the way she’d felt when she saw the black mark on the floor of that car park in the US, the idea that Sal’s killer had been present in that space, had made her blood run cold. The fact that she felt impotent to take action hadn’t helped. Getting her teeth back into the email accounts of Sholto and Pamela was her next move. There had to be something in them that could give her a lead. Ancient fishing charters aside she had an instinctive itch that the green-eyed monster was lurking around somewhere.

  ‘If Sholto asks, I’ll be at my friend’s cottage. I can be back here in a matter of minutes if he’s up to talking.’

  ‘I suspect he’ll have had enough of talking if that detective manages to get him going. But I’ll tell him if he asks.’

  Viv left and made her way back to the sanity of the cottage. Within minutes the doorbell rang. Brian stood with Mollie at his heel.

  The dog circled Viv’s legs and bounded into the kitchen. ‘I expect she’ll be hungry.’

  Brian smiled. ‘Not starving. But she will eat something if you put it down for her.’

  ‘Thanks for rescuing her. Well me really.’

  ‘No bother. As you can tell she’s used to me, and the other dog. They rub along just fine.’

  There was an awkward moment then Viv said, ‘How did Sal . . .’

  He set off down the drive, waving a hand as he went. ‘We’ll work something out. But don’t worry. Dr Chapman, Sal, was fair. We’ve been well looked after.’

  She made a mental note-to-self that she must ask Sal’s solicitor how that sort of thing worked. It hadn’t occurred to her that Sal would have had all that kind of thing in order as well. She slipped a lead onto Mollie’s collar and they headed out over the River park. It was late and although her belly alerted her to the fact that she’d had nothing all day, fresh air and a walk would order her thoughts. She reached the chapel and was about to walk up through the woods when she heard Mac’s voice calling her. She turned and saw him trotting towards her.

  ‘Hi. Thought I’d find you out here.’

  She wasn’t ecstatic to see him but said, ‘Hi, finished at the Hall? And no Coach and Horses then?’

  ‘No, Coulson’s up to her eyes. Lucky if she gets a bag of crisps. But I wondered if you’d had any luck in the archive?’

  ‘Nothing much. One letter that might be helpful about the fishing. I need to follow up a couple of things to see if it’s really as significant as you think.’

  ‘Want to show it to me?’

  She shrugged. ‘If you like. But it really is only relevant if it ties in the name of . . .’

  He interrupted her. ‘Where was it?’

  ‘Not where it ought to have been. Hidden in a file of miscellaneous stuff. But I don’t think it’s miscellaneous. I think it was put there so that it wouldn’t be found. The other things in the file were much more modern. Let’s head back. I’ll show it to you.’

  ‘You didn’t take it out of the archive.’

  She stopped and spun round. ‘No. I did not take it from the archive, but I did take a photograph of it. As I’ve said before if you don’t like my . . .’

  ‘Okay, okay. I get it. What’s rattled your cage anyway?’

  ‘Hunger! You should have guessed.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare. Almost as bad as suggesting PMT.’

  She spun round again.

  ‘See, that’s exactly what I mean.’


  They walked the rest of the way to the cottage in silence with Mollie ahead of them. She kept stopping and looking back as if sensing that something was wrong. Viv made for the cupboard where Mollie’s food was kept and poured it into her bowl then set it on the floor. The dog waited until Viv said to take it before tucking in. Mac opened a large bag of crisps and handed them to her. She knew she shouldn’t but that didn’t stop her. She needed salt and these just hit the spot. He handed her a bottle of cider and a glass. ‘Here. With any luck that’ll make you human again.’

  She swigged the cool drink from the glass. ‘You think? It’ll take more than one bottle.’

  ‘Pretty horrific sight.’

  She couldn’t make eye contact with him. But nodded. The walk had been a way of reframing the day and that included dealing with the brutal image of the battered-in skull of David Fitzroy. A seemingly innocent man caught up in what might turn out to be a family feud. Then there was the image of Sholto’s reaction. His cry was like nothing she’d heard before.

  ‘Who stands to gain from David’s death?’

  Mac was surprised by the question. ‘Oh, I’ve no idea. It hadn’t occurred to me that he’d have that much worth having.’

  ‘Well, that’s a leap. But no, I mean who benefits from his death, not necessarily in financial terms but who’d like him out of their way?’

  ‘The list is growing. Sholto’s mother won’t lose any sleep over his death. Pamela - I’m not so sure about her. Pamela’s family might have seen him as an obstacle to the union. Sholto can’t be ruled out.’

  ‘Oh God, if you’d heard his reaction.’

  Mac’s face showed all the doubt she needed reminding of.

  ‘I know, I know. Even though he reacted badly it could have been reality striking home and not . . .’

  ‘What do you think of Mrs Smith?’

  ‘I think she’s Sholto’s closest ally. Seems as if she’s been looking out for him all of his life.’

  ‘How come aristos always have someone like that who feels sorry for them?’

  ‘I think she genuinely cares about him. Unlike his mother, who sounds like a nightmare. Think of your worst parenting skills and triple that.’

  Her phone rang. She grinned and showed the screen to Mac. ‘It’s been a while since she’s wanted something from me. ‘Hi Jules, long time no hear.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, Viv, enough with the niceties. You heard anything about an earl who’s jilted his fiancée?’

  Viv raised her eyebrows at Mac. ‘Now why would you think that?’

  ‘I remembered you saying once that you were heading up to that neck of the woods to cosy up to Sal Chapman. You there now?’

  Viv walked to the hallway. ‘No. I’m in Edinburgh.’ An easy lie.

  ‘Pity. Be good to get a scoop on what he’s up to. There are rumours.’

  ‘There are always rumours. If I hear anything I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Sure you will.’

  Sarcasm was Jules’ speciality but Viv was used to it. She shook her head as she wandered back to the kitchen listening to the dailling tone.

  ‘So that means that every paper has it. She’s bound to know about his lover. It won’t stay under wraps if Jules has her claws into it.’

  Mac scratched his head. ‘Someone’s leaking info. Money is so seductive.’ He ran his hands over his face. ‘Sometimes it would be nice if people were kinder.’

  ‘By kinder d’you mean keeping their mouths shut?’

  ‘Well, that’s never a good option in our world.’

  She raised her eyebrows again. ‘Our world now, is it?’

  ‘Has been for a while now and you know it.’

  She shrugged. ‘I was thinking earlier about Sholto’s reaction and how . . .’

  ‘How what?’

  ‘How I can’t imagine anyone ever reacting to my death like that.’

  ‘Wow. How poor is your self-image? Lots of people would be devastated if anything happened to you. As for their reactions, most of us are unique when it comes to displaying our emotions.’

  She nodded. ‘Yeah, I get that. But the rawness of his reaction was visceral. My body suppresses those reactions. Or maybe I’m just not capable of them. I mean . . .’

  ‘If you’re talking about Sal, that could take both of us a while to process. I just feel angry at the moment. I guess that’ll change and I bet privately you’ve done a bit of weeping.’

  She stared at him. He wouldn’t make eye contact. He was probably a private weeper as well. Two of a kind. ‘Here.’ She showed him the screen of her phone. It was time for him to see the letter that she’d thought most important in the Hall’s archive. ‘Well?’

  He expanded the image with his elegant fingers, reminding her that he played the piano. ‘Do you still play?’

  His brow furrowed. ‘Sorry? I didn’t catch that.’

  ‘Do you still play the piano?’

  He continued to stare at the screen. ‘God, Yes. I’d be insane without it. But this is amazing. It implies that somewhere in the Hall there’s a document with the family’s ancient title deeds and Sasines or whatever they were called once they were written down.’ He continued reading. She pulled out a seat beside him and tried to read but it was the same old Latinate Scots script.

  He undid his shirt sleeves and rolled up the cuffs. ‘It says that the documents were believed to be lost at sea. I mean we’re talking about documents from before the sixteen sixties. Have you any idea how amazing that would be?’

  ‘No, none, but I’d like you to tell me rather than keep it to yourself.’

  ‘If you’d paid attention in your history lessons.’

  ‘I didn’t take history lessons. Anyway all we were taught was about the Romans. So are you going to fill me in or what?’

  ‘Remember Oliver Cromwell? Well, he was no fool. He came to Scotland and immobilised her by taking all the legal documents to the Tower of London. I mean everything, so that nothing of any consequence could be changed in Scotland without his knowing about it. When King Charles II was restored he allowed the documents to return to Scotland but they were sent by ship.’

  ‘Oh, don’t tell me they were lost at sea.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘No way. I was kidding. Everything?’

  ‘Well, here’s the rub. There were so many documents it took two ships. One of the ships, if my memory serves me, I think it was called the Elizabeth of Burntisland. It went down off the coast of Northumberland.’ He poked at the screen. ‘This letter implies that at least one of the hogsheads . . .’

  ‘Wait a minute. What has a hogshead got to do with anything?’

  ‘Not an actual hog’s head. A hogshead was the name given to a wooden barrel. They transported the rolled-up parchments in them. This says that one of the eighty-five hogsheads was rescued. How the hell anyone did that is a mystery.’ He looked round at her. ‘You do realise what this could mean?’

  ‘You keep asking me questions that I don’t know the answer to. Just tell me.’

  He pushed his chair back. ‘This needs coffee.’

  ‘You sit and carry on deciphering what that letter says. I’ll make the coffee.’

  As she pottered behind him he read out snippets of the letter. ‘Shit! If this is true Sholto is a lucky man.’

  ‘I wouldn’t suggest that to him at the moment.’

  ‘It says a bosun on the ship had formerly been a priest, but no one would have wanted to own up to being Catholic at that time, let alone a priest. Anyway he stole or if we’re being generous, procured one of the hogsheads. Oh here’s an interesting bit. He just happened to be related to the Percys, so no coincidence there.’

  She laid a mug of coffee in front of him along with a packet of chocolate digestives. ‘Right. So we’ve got an ex-priest on board the ship that’s going down. He has his eye on a single hogshead with his family papers in it. How does he survive along with a barrel of wet parchment?’

  ‘No idea. But the ship went d
own relatively close to the shore so he could have swum or been rescued by locals. Whatever happened the documents were taken to the Vatican but this says there’s proof that copies exist somewhere in the house for safekeeping.’

  ‘But the house that stands at the moment is Victorian, Edwardian even. So anything from that time would have been lost in the demolition of the original house.’

  ‘Ah, but that’s the thing. The old house is still there in the centre of the new one. You’ve already discovered one passage.’

  ‘Yes, and the archive is in a secret room. There’s bound to be more. We’ll have to find out from Sholto.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s going to be interested in anything historical for a while. Might be worth doing a bit more digging in the archive.’

  ‘I’ve been through the boxes. That . . .’ she pointed to the screen, ‘was the only thing that stood out. There are tons of old documents but that one has an ancient Vatican seal on it, which is why I took the photograph. But now that you mention a priest rescuing the papers from a sinking ship I’m even more intrigued.’ She blew over the top of her mug. ‘Imagine being from a family that could trace its lineage back so far. I bet I couldn’t get beyond great-great grand parents. How many greats do you think Sholto can go back?’

  He laughed, ‘Thirteen, I believe.’

  ‘How would you know that?’

  ‘There’s a little booklet on the estate and its family history. I bought it ages ago from the information centre in the village. I remember it being thirteen because I thought it was unlucky.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s a helluva long time ago. How can it be . . .’

  ‘You’ve already asked that. It’s the law, and the law is what keeps the fabric of society, communities together and it doesn’t matter how far back it goes; if it’s in writing it’s legal.’

  She screwed up her face. ‘Doesn’t seem right. Things that were written when society was feudal, unbelievably hierarchical not to mention totally patriarchal, just seems wrong.’

  ‘That might well be what it feels like, but that’s of no consequence if it was written down.’