‘Marsha, really!’ Lord Elzevir had reappeared from the small entrance at the side of the gate.
‘Why is the gate still down?’ Marsha asked. There was a slight shift in her voice, almost imperceptible.
Nobody spoke when they anticipated this man was about to. It was as if he owned that moment, that space to speak, and everyone knew it.
‘I couldn’t find the override.’ He swayed and staggered with the weight of the drink sloshing around inside of him. His ballast was unstable, but he refused to sink, even though it was already very clear that a lot of people would be happy to stand by and watch him drown. ‘Don’t question me again. And you can leave Lucy alone. It’s not her fault.’
‘I’m sorry, are we missing something here?’ Harriet leaned forward towards the bars.
‘No, Harriet—’
‘Oh Zavvy, they should know about your altruism, surely?’ Marsha bent towards the four caged faces. A defiant little spark flashed across her eyes. ‘Young Lucy here has a brother in Dartmoor prison, don’t you, dear? Just over the moors. Very handy working here, you see. She can pop by and see her felon family any time she likes.’ Every word was rich with spite.
‘For God’s sake, Marsha.’ Lord Elzevir glared at her.
‘What? Did I say something wrong?’ Marsha adopted a sudden expression of innocence. ‘And no luck with the gate either, Zavvy?’ She seemed to switch between so many different versions of herself that it was bewildering. It was like looking at a patchwork quilt of a woman.
The torchlight burned in Lucy’s eyes. It wasn’t just anger in her face when she looked at Marsha. It was disdain. There was a brazen assurance to her. She barely moved, but little tremors of anger jittered the ends of her wet hair. She held out the tray towards the bars and each of the four people carefully took a glass and slotted it through.
‘Thank you,’ Gerald said quietly. ‘Wait.’ He peered at me and then Mother. ‘Did you say the Smarts? The murder women?’
‘We are not the murder women!’ Mother was appalled, again.
‘We just happen to have been around a lot of murders,’ I added for clarification. It didn’t seem to help. Their gaze travelled across each of us in turn. I’m very used to this supermarket shelf treatment, as if we’re an array of magazines each appealing to a slightly different readership. The word ‘murder’ does tend to spark immediate intrigue.
‘We prefer the “Smart Women”. Let me give you a card.’ Mother started searching through her handbag.
Marsha laid her hand on Mother’s arm. ‘I’m sorry, dear, but we don’t allow advertising. We have strict rules about promos. Now, Zavvy, what’s happening with this gate?’
‘Don’t you worry about that, Your Ladyship.’ A new voice came from the other side of the gatehouse.
The sound of this arrival somehow seemed to ignite Marsha. Her face suddenly became very animated. ‘Oh, thank goodness! Joseph, you came! We seem to have imprisoned our guests. Can you rescue us?’ She looked genuinely thrilled for the first time since we’d arrived.
But in stark contrast, Lord Elzevir was suddenly very sober. His face was stony. There was a new stillness to him, a cold fury. The expression on his face was very far from excitement. In fact, it looked almost murderous.
CHAPTER 11: HOW TO ESCAPE FROM JAIL
I couldn’t make out the man’s features, but his silhouette was sturdy in a farmyard sort of way — or how I imagined that might look.
‘Righto. Your Ladyship needs to use the manual override button.’
‘Already tried it,’ Lord Elzevir slurred. The cold, sober face had faded quickly. He’d reverted to being unsteady and drunk again.
‘Ah, right. It can be tricky. If you let me in through the side door, I’ll come and do it.’
Lord Elzevir spluttered. ‘I’m not letting that bast—’
‘I’ll let you in, don’t worry.’ Marsha was already disappearing into the small side entrance. The door on the outside wall soon opened and the man she’d called Joseph disappeared inside. Within moments the first portcullis began to rise. A juddering and clanking began again, and the gate on our side then began to lift. It moved at an unnaturally modern pace for such an ancient large gate.
‘Thank goodness for Joseph,’ Marsha smiled.
‘Bloody plum, knows more about my house than I do,’ Lord Elzevir murmured and started to walk under the lifting portcullis. ‘Sniffing round here all the time.’
‘I’d wait until it’s completely lifted,’ Gerald suggested. ‘These old gates can be temperamental. Wouldn’t want any accidents to happen now, would you?’
‘Might be a blessing for some.’ Lord Elzevir staggered past the assembled guests, who looked cold and bedraggled, clutching their glasses.
‘Joseph! Joseph, come and meet my guests. You saved the day, as usual.’ Marsha’s effusiveness was embarrassing, not least of all to the young man who entered the small area between the two gates.
‘It’s really not that difficult when you have the trick of it.’ Joseph spoke with a soft Devon accent. He pulled his hand nervously over his thatch of brown hair. ‘It’s just an override. I think some water might have got in the electrics though. I can come and take a look at that.’
‘I bet he can.’ Aunt Charlotte eyed him suggestively.
Joseph looked at us with concern. ‘You’re still doing the wandering around teatime thing then? The rain’s coming down and Lee reckons the roads are out across the moor, from here to the main road. Everything’s flooded. Can’t even get his tractor out. Came up here to warn you all.’
‘What?’ Mirabelle’s face was suddenly very animated.
‘There are flood warnings in place. Happens regular up here,’ he explained to us.
Marsha sighed. ‘We’ll see how we go. Let’s get to Verity’s and we can work from there. It was her idea and I know she’s very keen to do it. It would be a huge shame not to.’
No one seemed keen to move from our small spot in the gatehouse. It was cold and cramped but at least we weren’t being rained on. The wind teased round us again.
Lord Elzevir was shaking his glass as if he couldn’t understand why it was empty. Lucy moved quickly to his side and swapped the glass for a full one. A look passed between them and I noticed Marsha watching them closely. Marsha immediately slipped her arm through Joseph’s, who looked suitably embarrassed. For a moment, Marsha’s eyes softened and seemed to shine amber in the torchlight as she looked up at him.
‘At least you set us free.’ Her voice had mellowed to almost a hum. ‘This place can be an impenetrable fortress sometimes.’
There was a rough edge to him, a troubled air to him. He seemed tired. His chin had a blue tinge where the stubble was growing through and there was a small nick from a blunt razor on the curve of his jaw. Wisps of silver flecked his hair. His eyebrows were thick and hung over the brow bone as if he was trying to hide his dark eyes. This man wasn’t as young as his silhouette had first suggested.
‘Should be pretty easy to fix.’
‘Shame you can’t say the same about my wife, eh?’ Lord Elzevir’s voice had that harsh rasp of a drinker after hours, rough with liquor and smoke. I know that sound very well. I glanced over at the spectre of my father lingering aimlessly in the shadows. Yes, I know that sound.
Jocasta laughed viciously and Marsha swung round to stare at her.
‘Oh, that’s funny, is it, Jocasta?’ Something in Marsha had flared. The two women locked eyes. ‘Well, don’t go thinking your secrets are safe around here, Hermione bloody Grainger.’
‘Who?’ Aunt Charlotte leaned in eagerly.
‘I don’t know what you mean, I’m sure. I have no secrets.’ Jocasta swirled her long cape and began to walk towards the gate onto the drive.
‘Oh, I think you do,’ Marsha called. ‘Ah! Speak of the Devil and he’s sure to arrive. Reverend Vert, how lovely of you to join us.’
Framed by the large spikes of the lifted gate stood a tall, slender man. Hi
s silhouette was slightly bent as if he was already apologising for his arrival. ‘Good evening, Lady Marsha, Lord Elzevir. I hope I’m not too late.’ He was wearing all black, the only visible parts of him his pale face and the white strip of dog collar below. He could almost have been a spirit drifting there so serenely in the darkness.
‘Not at all, Vicar.’ Marsha gestured for Lucy to serve him a drink, which the maid sullenly offered. ‘We’ve had a few technical faults, but Joseph came to the rescue.’
‘Thank you,’ the vicar nodded to Lucy. ‘Ah, Joseph to the rescue again, eh? You really are making yourself indispensable, aren’t you?’ As he stepped forward into the glow there seemed to be almost the flicker of something darker in the vicar’s face. His features were thin, in a hungry way, wrapped in concern. His eyes were birdlike and keen.
He had the plain, blank appearance of a man who was regularly called upon to arrange his face into an array of appropriate expressions — compassion, forgiveness, understanding, judgement.
Marsha let her attention drift back to Joseph, who stood awkwardly in the centre of the gatehouse, his hands looking clumsy on the delicate Champagne glass.
‘Only this morning, Verity was telling me all about the new improvements.’ The vicar spoke in staccato words, crisp and nervous.
‘Was she?’ Lord Elzevir seemed to come alive for a moment.
Marsha checked her watch. ‘I consult her on everything. She’s wonderful. She has a real eye for design. The new façade Joseph’s painting was all her work. Listen, shouldn’t we be getting to her? She’ll start to worry.’
‘You, Greengage.’ Lord Elzevir’s words blurred into one. ‘When you going to be finished? When you moving that scaffold?’
Joseph Greengage flushed. ‘Sorry, sir. I’ll have it gone by tomorrow. It’s on wheels.’
‘I don’t care if it can bloody fly. Just shift it.’
‘Who are we waiting for?’ Marsha asked.
‘Scarlett?’ Joseph spoke quickly, before looking away.
Marsha’s eyes narrowed.
‘Oh, she doesn’t want to come to something like this.’ Harriet turned to me. ‘Scarlett’s our daughter. You know youngsters. She’s at home on that YouTube.’
Joseph resolutely stared at the ground.
Marsha squeezed his arm. ‘We were just talking about all the work Joseph’s done here, Vicar. And all the work there’s left to be done. It’s costing a fortune, but then it’s always worth paying for good work, isn’t it Joseph?’
Joseph shifted uncomfortably.
‘Now, Vicar.’ Marsha smiled. ‘Let me introduce you to these ladies from my old book club.’ She introduced us efficiently.
As we stepped out into the driving rain, I saw Marsha stumble unnecessarily into Joseph, who was forced to hold her up. He glanced at me quickly, and I gave him a sympathetic smile before looking away.
‘It’s not far to the vicarage,’ Marsha called back through the rain. ‘Lucy, run on ahead and make sure Verity is ready for us.’
Lucy gave Marsha a barbed little look, then turned to Lord Elzevir, who simply nodded. The girl put the tray down on a small ledge and pulled up her hood. She ran stealthily over the slippery pebbles, disappearing into the rain.
Away from the torchlight, the darkness was blinding. I placed my feet carefully, without any feeling of security. The road was uneven and the edges rough, blurring out into ditches that I couldn’t properly see. Beyond the immediate vicinity of the castle, the village seemed to be completely unlit. I could make out some distant lights down the road that we’d driven up earlier, but beyond that, out into the moors was a black sea that my imagination quickly drew into a darker world.
The rain took my breath away. We walked on, heads bent, eyes tightened against the battering wind. The air itself seemed alive and wild.
Marsha was calling some instructions but I could hear very little. The occasional phrase swept back about some other guests who would meet us at their houses and that ‘Lee wasn’t coming. In another one of his moods.’ I remembered her talking earlier about Lee Colman, the farmer. As we’d driven in, we’d seen a farm at the outer edge of the village and I wondered now if that was his. In this weather, it didn’t surprise me that he wasn’t going to trudge all the way up to the higher part of the village. But Marsha had inferred it might not just be the weather that was holding him back.
Lord Elzevir staggered along up ahead, oblivious, still clutching the empty Champagne glass. He seemed more drunk than ever.
I could see the vague outline of the church spire silhouetted against the pale moon. The rain was blown in waves through the air.
‘Not far now.’ Marsha moved lithely across the lane. Dodging the deeper puddles adeptly, completely unaffected by the driving rain, it was as if she was merely dancing with her own shadow that flitted along on the wet road. We, however, looked much clumsier, slipping and staggering in the dark waters and running mud.
Mother swore as she slipped heavily through piles of damp leaves. ‘This is ridiculous.’
Finally, we stood in the circle of light at the front door of the vicarage, bedraggled and windswept. We were as unprepared to enter a drinks party as it was possible to be and that was never going to sit well with Mother. She stared, her wet hair wrapped in strange patterns around her head by the wind. Small trickles of black mascara traced in rivulets down her face. She was not going to let anyone forget this. But then, no one was going to forget this weekend in a hurry.
CHAPTER 12: THE VICARAGE
‘So, this is your home?’ Aunt Charlotte was wiping the rain back from her face as quickly as it fell. She blinked against the droplets falling into her eyes.
Reverend Vert didn’t answer Aunt Charlotte immediately, and when he did, he looked away. ‘I’m afraid not. Lord Elzevir purchased the property for his sister to convalesce after her . . . accident.’
‘She fell from a horse,’ Marsha said solemnly. ‘One of Elzevir’s, unfortunately. And we’ve told you before, Reverend, she needs to be close by and in comfort. A vicar doesn’t need to live in a vicarage.’
Jocasta laughed bitterly. ‘No, that’s why it’s called the Vicarage.’
‘It is no concern of yours.’ Lord Elzevir staggered into a large stone pot at the side of the door. ‘Verity is very happy here and I’m sure—’
‘Patrick . . . Reverend Vert, that is—’ a faint blush spread through Jocasta’s bone white face — ‘is living in a caravan at the back of the church! This house has had vicars and, before that, priests living in it for hundreds of years. That’s not a good look for Greystone’s vicar, is it, when there’s a massive vicarage right here?’
‘Hello, Jocasta.’ The door had opened to reveal a tender-faced woman with a warm, lively smile.
‘Verity,’ Jocasta winced. ‘Lovely to see you. I was just—’
‘Don’t worry, Jocasta. You’re quite right. Every day I see Reverend Vert struggling.’ She turned and looked at the vicar with soft eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Vicar. I do hope it’s not too awful. I really will fix things soon.’ She was leaning noticeably to the side and I followed her arm down to a thick walking cane.
‘Oh Verity, I’m so sorry!’ Jocasta stepped forward. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘What?’ Lord Elzevir swayed beneath the porch light. ‘I won’t hear any more of it. You need to be here Verity, with me and Marsha taking care of you. We’re right here, to eat with you, look after you, take you where you need to go. Who else would take you for your check-ups? Are you going to do that, Vicar? Why don’t you sleep in your massive church?’
‘He can’t,’ Jocasta sneered. ‘There’s a hole in the roof and you won’t help the fund to pay for it.’
‘Too bloody right.’ Lord Elzevir rocked again. ‘Church has enough money. I don’t send a collection plate around the village every Sunday. Anyway, I’m sure he can find a comfortable bed somewhere. Right, Jocasta?’
Her nostrils flared.
‘The vicarage
is Verity’s and that’s that.’
‘Please, just come, come in.’ Verity waved her thin hand. ‘Elzevir, my dear, you and Marsha are too kind to me, but let’s talk it through some other time. Please don’t worry, and everyone—’ Verity smiled round us all — ‘let’s get you all in out of the rain. Come on, now. Let’s get you warm, dry and with a drink in your hands! We’ve got Greystone punch!’
‘Sounds like it hurts,’ Aunt Charlotte laughed.
‘Only in the morning.’ Verity stood aside and we filed into the welcoming hallway.
I returned her smile as I passed. She had an eloquent face, graceful and calm.
‘Where the hell is Mrs Abaddon? Why are you answering the door?’ Lord Elzevir blustered.
‘Elzevir, I wanted to greet my guests. I’m quite capable of opening a door!’
Neat little tables, with vases of fresh flowers perched on them, nestled against the soft cream walls. Unlike the portraits we’d seen up at the castle, the paintings here had faces as kind and welcoming as their host.
‘Verity, my darling, how are you?’ Marsha embraced the frail woman with such exuberance that for a moment I thought they might both end up on the floor. ‘We’ve brought friends! Everyone’s here.’
Verity smiled round all the faces, but then her face fell a little. ‘Lee?’
Marsha shook her head quickly and glanced at Lord Elzevir. He hadn’t noticed and was busily trying to shove flowers back into a vase he’d knocked over.
‘You know how it is,’ Marsha said.
Verity’s shoulders fell and she nodded. She forced a smile. ‘This is going to be a lot of fun, isn’t it?’
We nodded silently, rain dripping from us down onto the dark stone floor. I looked at Mother trying hard to maintain her composure. In fact, all of us looked like a dejected, solemn mess, rather than guests at a party.
Verity pulled the sides of her mouth down apologetically. ‘It probably doesn’t feel like much fun at the moment though, does it?’ She limped forward along the hallway, her stick tapping rhythmically on the hard floor with every step. ‘You must excuse our weather, but if we didn’t do anything when it rained, we’d be prisoners in our own homes most of the year. It can get a bit wild up here on the moor! But let’s see if we can turn it around a bit, eh?’ She paused and smiled. ‘Lucy will take your coats. Thank you so much, Lucy dear.’
THE SUPPER CLUB MURDERS a gripping murder mystery packed with twists (Smart Woman's Mystery Book 3) Page 8