Murder at Standing Stone Manor

by Eric Brown

  ‘It’s the principle of the thing,’ Vickers said.

  ‘That’s it,’ Wellbourne said. ‘The principle. Also, what if Robertshaw does unearth something of value in those trenches? Legally, it’d belong to him. And don’t think I’m being greedy, Langham; I’m not bothered about losing out in that respect. It’s the thought of the gloating Robertshaw would indulge in that rankles.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Langham said. ‘I should think, knowing the professor, he’d certainly remind you about it at every opportunity. Still, what are the chances of him uncovering buried treasure? And anyway, you haven’t seen these deeds yet. You never know, he might be bluffing.’

  ‘I’ll drive up to Bury right away and see what old Cockshott has to say about it all.’ He turned to Vickers. ‘See to the herd at four, would you, Roy? I’ll give you all the gen when I know a bit more, Langham.’

  He slipped from the caravan and banged the door shut after him.

  ‘Ruddy Robertshaw,’ Vickers said. ‘For two pins, I’d tell the chap what I thought of him.’

  Langham grunted. ‘You’d only have his son on your back then, Roy, and I don’t know who’s the pricklier customer. Anyway,’ he went on, ‘I take it you’re free till four. Fancy a game of darts?’

  ‘Bit strapped at the moment.’

  ‘We’ll only have a pint, and this one’s on me.’

  ‘Well, only if you’re sure.’

  Vickers pulled on his RAF greatcoat and led the way out into the blizzard. Langham noticed that he didn’t bother to lock the caravan door. Not, he supposed, that there would be much of value to steal in there, anyway.

  They took the back lane to the village green and crossed to the Green Man.

  A couple of regulars were propping up the bar, and old Wicketts Blacker was enjoying a pint of stout beside the fire in the snug. He raised his glass when he caught sight of the pair and mumbled an incomprehensible greeting.

  Langham ordered two pints of Fuller’s and they moved to the taproom. ‘Best of three,’ he said. ‘Three hundred and one up, start and finish on a double.’

  ‘Beats an afternoon in the van with Dickens.’

  The young man proved to be a proficient player, with a good eye and a steady hand. The first game was close, with Vickers needing a double ten to win, Langham a double twenty. Vickers fluffed the shot and Langham won with a successful last throw.

  ‘I had a grand time on Saturday night, Don,’ Vickers said as they began the second game.

  ‘I think Nancy enjoyed it, too. I know we did.’

  Vickers paused before taking his second throw. ‘I think I put my foot in it on the way home, though.’

  Langham winced. ‘You didn’t invite her back to the caravan?’

  The young man went bright red, launched a dart at the double twenty and missed. ‘Nancy mentioned she was upset about her uncle, said he was acting oddly – making secretive phone calls, shooting off unannounced.’

  ‘I wonder if it has anything to do with the deeds?’ Langham surmised, aiming for a double ten and hitting the wire.

  Vickers shook his head, licked his lips as he concentrated on getting a double eighteen and threw a perfect shot. ‘That’s when I put my foot in it,’ he said. ‘I mentioned that it was probably all about the woman Robertshaw was seeing in Bury.’ Vickers grimaced at Langham. ‘I know, I know. I should have kept my trap shut. But I was a little tight by then and I wasn’t thinking straight.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Just looked upset, clammed up and hardly said anything until we reached the manor.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine.’

  ‘It’s just that I care for the girl,’ Vickers said, ‘and I don’t like to think that something I said might have hurt her.’

  Langham smiled. ‘She probably suspected her uncle was up to something, anyway. She’s a smart kid, for all her apparent naivety. I’m sure she doesn’t think her uncle’s a paragon of virtue.’

  They finished the second game, which Vickers won comfortably.

  ‘The third decides it,’ Langham said.

  They were halfway through the final game, with Vickers well ahead, when a familiar voice sounded from the main bar. ‘Scotch and soda, and whatever you’re having, Newton,’ Randall Robertshaw said.

  ‘Christ,’ Vickers swore. ‘I really don’t want to …’ He trailed off as Randall’s louche frame appeared in the doorway.

  His drink in his right hand, Randall reached up with his left and gripped the lintel, affecting a pose that was somehow at once casual and yet confrontational. Langham was reminded of Nancy’s likening him to Flashman, the school bully.

  ‘Enjoying a quiet afternoon game, gentlemen?’ Randall slurred, and Langham judged that the Scotch was not his first drink of the day.

  ‘We were,’ Vickers murmured, thankfully too softly to be heard.

  Langham concentrated on his next shot, hoping Randall would get the message and go away.

  ‘Two things, gentlemen,’ Randall went on.

  Langham lowered his dart. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The first, a message for your boss, Vickers. Tell Wellbourne that we’ve just been on the blower to my father’s solicitor-johnny in town. Good news. Well, good news for Pater, that is. Not so good for Old Farmer Wellbourne.’

  ‘What about it?’ Vickers said, taking a mouthful of ale.

  Randall swung from the lintel, a little unsteadily. ‘Enright said he has a copy of the deed concerning the West Field, and apparently it was signed over to the owner of the manor in … let me get this right … in 1895, for the princely sum of five guineas. So it would appear that the field belongs to my pater. If you would be so good as to inform Wellbourne of this, Vickers.’

  Vickers lodged his pint on a table and faced Randall. ‘Does the professor always get his lapdog to do his dirty work, Randall? You can tell your ruddy “pater” to tell Wellbourne himself.’

  Randall grinned. ‘I’m sure he’ll be delighted to convey the information.’

  Langham gestured to the board and murmured, ‘Ignore him.’

  They resumed their game, uneasy under Randall’s supercilious gaze.

  Vickers lowered his dart and looked at Randall. ‘Right, you’ve delivered your message, so you can sling your hook.’

  ‘I said I had a couple of things to say.’

  ‘Then get on with it.’

  Randall released his grip on the lintel and stepped into the taproom. He stared at Vickers with a venomous expression. ‘I saw you last night, Vickers. With Nancy.’

  The young man affected nonchalance and launched a dart. He missed his intended target. ‘So what?’

  ‘So I advise you to keep your filthy little paws off my cousin, is what.’

  To his credit, Vickers refused to be drawn. He watched Langham hit a treble eight, congratulated him, then stepped up to the line and aimed for a double ten to win the game. He missed.

  ‘Oh, bad luck, Vickers,’ Randall said.

  Vickers turned to the young man. He was shaking visibly. ‘Why don’t you just sod off?’

  ‘As I was saying, keep away from Nancy. She’s too good for a lying little criminal like you. And if you don’t heed my advice—’

  ‘What?’ Vickers snapped, staring at Randall. ‘What’ll you do?’

  Randall took a mouthful of Scotch, savoured it, then said, ‘Then I’ll tell Wellbourne all about your lies.’

  With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the taproom.

  Vickers watched him go, fuming impotently.

  ‘Come on,’ Langham said, ‘let’s finish the game. As I said back at the caravan, Richard might have later deeds. And as for Randall’s warning you off Nancy …’ He shrugged. ‘So much hot air.’

  Even as he said this, he was aware that Randall’s threat to inform Wellbourne of Vickers’s ‘lies’ had hit home, and he wasn’t going to add to the young man’s distress by asking what Randall might have meant.

  They completed the third gam
e, which Vickers won narrowly. Langham suggested a second pint, but Vickers shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t mind, but I really must be getting back. One or two things to sort out. Another time, OK?’

  There was no sign of Randall Robertshaw as they left the pub and made their way along Crooked Lane. Vickers nodded a terse goodbye when they reached Wellspring Farm, then hurried across the snow-covered cobbles to the cow byre.

  Back at the cottage, Langham stoked up the Rayburn, lit the fire in the living room and for the rest of the afternoon unpacked boxes of clothing in the spare bedroom.

  He heard the Rover roll into the drive just after four and descended to meet Maria. She came in carrying a string bag containing a brown-paper parcel of cheese and six bottles of beer.

  ‘For you,’ she said, handing them over and pulling off her snow-spangled hat. ‘Oh, you lovely man: you’ve lit the fire. I’m frozen. How was your day?’

  As she sat before the blazing fire and warmed her stockinged feet, Langham recounted Richard Wellbourne’s news concerning the deeds and his and Roy’s encounter with Randall Robertshaw in the Green Man.

  ‘What a nasty piece of work he is,’ she said. ‘What do you think he meant about Roy’s “lies”?’

  ‘I have a theory,’ he said.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Not that this lessens Roy Vickers in my eyes one iota – I think he’s a decent chap. But I also think that the closest he ever came to a Wellington bomber was when he worked all the war in the quartermaster’s store.’

  She considered this. ‘Of course, there’s always the possibility that Roy’s alleged shady past has nothing to do with the war. He might simply be hiding the fact that he got into trouble at some point. He might have a criminal record, for all we know.’

  ‘That’s possible,’ he allowed.

  ‘Whatever it is,’ Maria said, ‘I just hope that Nancy doesn’t think ill of Roy, if or when she finds out.’ She patted his thigh. ‘And speaking of Nancy …’

  He looked at her. ‘What? Is something wrong?’

  ‘Well, the scheming little monkey had ulterior motives for going into town today. This morning, she overheard the professor on the phone arranging to meet someone in the Midland for lunch.’

  ‘Ah, so he is having an affair?’

  Maria quirked her lips. ‘That’s right – but you’ll never guess with whom.’

  ‘Some pretty young film star, perchance?’

  She leaned forward and said, ‘No, he’s seeing his ex-wife, a woman called Deirdre.’

  Langham sat back and absorbed the information. ‘The sly old dog,’ he said. ‘Poor Xandra. How did Nancy take it?’

  ‘I think she was in shock.’

  ‘Poor kid. We should arrange to take Nancy and Roy out for a meal at some point.’

  Maria smiled. ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘Right, I’ll put the kettle on. Earl Grey?’

  ‘You’re a darling. And tonight, after all the adventures of the day, I want a quiet evening listening to the wireless and drinking wine.’

  He hugged her. ‘You’re a creature of simple pleasures, my sweet.’

  TEN

  Langham was dozing the following morning when the telephone rang downstairs.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Maria said, rolling out of bed.

  ‘You wonderful woman,’ he murmured, watching her pull on her red silk dressing gown and hurry from the room.

  He was sinking back into slumber when she returned. ‘For you, Donald. The professor. He said it was urgent.’

  ‘Damn!’ He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just after seven.’

  ‘Is nothing sacred?’

  He dug his feet into his slippers, pulled on his dressing gown and made his way downstairs. The air was freezing. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Langham. Another missive … and something else.’

  Langham tried to gather his thoughts. ‘Something else?’

  ‘Get yourself over here quick sharp,’ the professor said, and cut the connection.

  He stared at the receiver, dropped it back on to its cradle and returned to the bedroom.

  ‘What did he want?’ Maria had climbed back into bed and pulled the sheets up to cover the lower half of her face; only her eyes peeped out.

  Langham relayed the professor’s communique verbatim.

  ‘“Something else”? Whatever can he mean?’

  ‘Search me.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  He smiled. ‘Climb back into bed and snuggle down with you.’ He sighed. ‘No, I’d better get myself across to the manor.’

  ‘And I’ll have breakfast waiting for when you get back. Porridge?’

  ‘Wonderful.’ He kissed her. ‘See you soon.’

  He dressed and went downstairs, pulled on his overcoat and found his hat.

  After Monday’s blizzard, the morning was calm: the sky was clear and blue, and the land beneath it lay sealed in an undulating mantle of snow. He took the back lane to the bridge and slithered over the ice on the far side. A set of footprints marred the perfection of the snow: evidently those of the postman. He followed them to the front door of the manor and knocked.

  The professor opened it himself, his face like thunder. ‘You’d better come in,’ he muttered without a word of apology for getting Langham out of bed so early or the slightest suggestion of gratitude.

  Langham followed him to the living room where a welcome fire blazed. The professor pointed to the coffee table: a light-blue envelope sat next to a big brown-paper parcel tied with twine.

  ‘I didn’t burn anything this time, as per instructions.’

  Langham picked up the envelope. It was addressed to Professor E.A. Robertshaw and bore a London postmark. He pulled out the single sheet of notepaper and read the typed missive.

  Place one hundred pounds in used five-pound notes in the accompanying valise. Drive to Pleasance Park in Market Hemshall. At three o’clock today, the 28th, place the valise on the ground against the leg of the first park bench on the left of the path from the eastern entrance. Then walk away from the bench and do not look back. If you inform the police, or anyone else, you will pay the price.

  The note was typed on the same machine as the first one, as the downstroke of the letter y was broken.

  Langham opened the brown-paper parcel. Inside was an ancient, battered leather valise with a leather strap handle on brass rings. The material of the handle was curiously scuffed and ripped.

  ‘What I don’t understand, Langham, is why the blazes they want the money placed in the valise?’

  Langham shook his head. ‘I can’t begin to guess.’

  He read the note again.

  The professor said, ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘If I were you, I’d go to the police.’

  ‘No!’ Robertshaw growled. ‘The last people I want involved – bunch of incompetents, in my opinion. I’ll handle this in my own way.’

  Langham sat back in the armchair and regarded the professor.

  ‘The other day, you said you had no idea what the blackmailer wanted – if, indeed, the letter was meant for you. Now that we know it is, are you any the wiser?’

  He watched the old man as he wrestled with whether or not to come clean. At last, he shook his head, his jowls wobbling. ‘Dashed mystery, old boy.’

  ‘Then perhaps I can help you on that score, Professor.’

  ‘What?’ Robertshaw sounded shocked.

  ‘Let me hazard a guess at what the blackmailer knows.’

  The professor muttered, ‘I think this calls for a drink.’ He poured himself a slug of Scotch. ‘You?’

  ‘Far too early for me, Professor. I haven’t had my porridge yet.’

  Robertshaw took a swig, swilled it around his gums as if it were mouthwash, then said, ‘Go on, then, dammit!’

  ‘Whoever sent you the missives, whoever is attempting to extort a hundred pounds from you – for starters, is m
y guess – knows that you’re having an affair with Deirdre, your ex-wife.’

  The professor’s lined face crumpled. He stared at the rug, blinking, then looked up at Langham like a kicked dog. ‘How the blazes do you know?’ he muttered.

  ‘I’m a private detective. You asked for my help. I investigated the case.’

  They sat in silence for a time, the fire crackling away.

  ‘What do I do?’ the professor asked.

  ‘As I said, if I were you, I’d go to the police. But you don’t want to do that, for your own reasons.’ Langham shrugged. ‘I take it you don’t want your secret to be made public?’

  ‘Too damned right I don’t.’

  ‘Can you afford to part with a hundred pounds?’

  ‘Just about.’

  ‘Then follow the instructions to the letter. Do you have the cash to hand?’

  ‘No, and certainly not in used fivers. I’ll have to make a detour to the bank in town.’

  ‘Do that, and then leave the money in the valise by the park bench.’

  ‘Then sit twiddling my thumbs, waiting for the greedy blighter to ask for more?’

  Langham shook his head. ‘I’ll be in the park, concealed. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best to apprehend whoever’s behind this. They’re committing a criminal act, and the police will come down on them like a ton of bricks.’

  ‘But wouldn’t that mean my secret—?’

  ‘Adultery isn’t a criminal offence. There’s a fair chance we could keep it from getting out.’

  The old man had the good grace to look contrite. ‘Look at it from my point of view, Langham. Xandra is dying, and then, out of the blue, I bump into Deirdre. I … I never really stopped loving her, you know? I hated her, of course, for a while after she walked out on me. But a part of me always loved the damned woman.’

  The professor hesitated, then went on, ‘She left me for someone else, twenty years ago, but the chap died a while back. They were living abroad at the time, and she returned to England. We met quite by chance last year and … well, one thing led to another.’ He stopped and looked directly at Langham. ‘I wrestled with what I desired, Langham. I tried to talk myself out of it.’ He smiled sadly. ‘But the flesh is weak. I no longer loved Xandra – and I couldn’t resist what Deirdre was offering. And, God help me, for the past few months I’ve been a very happy man.’ He finished his whisky. ‘Until now, that is. Now I’m being made to pay, aren’t I?’