A Jane Austen Encounter (16 page)

Richard glanced up in concern, uncertain that this was a topic Elizabeth would want to dwell on just at the moment, but she smiled. “Go on, I’m listening. Just resting my eyes, not sleeping.”

And the next words were more comforting. “‘Sweet violets, both purple and white, grow in abundance beneath its south wall. One may imagine for how many centuries the ancestors of those little flowers have occupied that undisturbed sunny nook, and may think how few living families can boast of as ancient a tenure of their land. Large elms protrude their rough branches; old hawthorns shed their annual blossoms over the graves; and the hollow yew-tree must be at least coeval with the church.

“‘But whatever may be the beauties or defects of the surrounding scenery, this was the residence of Jane Austen for twenty-four years. This was the cradle of her genius. These were the first objects which inspired her young heart with a sense of the beauties of nature. In strolls along these wood-walks, thick-coming fancies rose to her mind, and gradually assumed the forms in which they came forth to the world. In that simple church she brought them all into subjection to the piety which ruled her in life and supported her in death.’”

Elizabeth opened her eyes and smiled. “That was lovely. Jane’s great-nephew and his son inherited the family way with words. Very evocative.”

“Yes, and the last line is something to pass on to Gerri for her thesis as well.”

Just then, they heard a car approaching fast on the gravel road. Arthur’s little blue Vauxhall flashed into view and gravel flew as he applied the brake. He flung his door open and jumped out. “I’m so sorry. Didn’t mean to make you wait. I—”

Richard waved his concern away. “Don’t worry. It was no problem at all. We were just relaxing.” Arthur was flushed and his blond hair uncharacteristically disheveled. Richard wondered whether that meant his time with Claire had gone very wrong—or very right.

Then he saw that Claire wasn’t in the car. “She got a headache just after we left,” Arthur explained before Richard could ask. “I took her back to Chawton so she could have a lie-down. That’s what took me so long.” He started the car and headed back down the long, narrow lane, thankfully at a slower pace than he had come up.

“Please don’t worry,” Elizabeth said. “We had a lovely visit. I’m just sorry Claire isn’t feeling well. I’ll make her some tea when we get back.”

Arthur nodded, but was grimly silent for all of the forty-minute drive.

Richard thought again about Mary Lloyd Austen’s memorial, trying to picture where her effects might have gone, tracing the Austen family tree in his mind’s eye as succeeding generations continued to write about “Aunt Jane,” each generation working to gather dispersed letters, memoirs, and mementoes, adding to what the previous generation had given to the world. On and on for two hundred years.

And leaving behind them a trail of perfectly preserved, carefully restored buildings where nothing of interest could possibly have escaped notice. Or some that had been demolished. And yet Edith’s letter had just come to light. But did that mean there could be more? And if not—if nothing more existed or if he simply failed to find it—then what would he do?

He reached no conclusion because as they pulled up the long drive to Chawton House Library, they were met with the startling sight of the tall, dignified librarian Rosemary Seaton hurtling out the door toward them, her neat brown hair uncharacteristically askew, one hand clutching her throat.

Arthur slowed to a stop and Richard jumped out. “Miss Seaton! What is it?” He grabbed her by her shoulders, afraid she might collapse.

She just shook her head, turned, and darted back into the house. Richard followed her, dimly aware that Elizabeth and Arthur were behind him. In spite of Rosemary’s frail appearance, she lost no time in racing up several flights of stairs to the very top of the house and down the dark, narrow hallway. At the end of the passage, she flung open a door.

Richard started forward, but Rosemary held out an arm. “I don’t think you should go in.” Her voice held surprising command.

Richard leaned over her barricading arm and looked round the corner. At first all he saw was the wreckage of the tall oak bookcase that had stood against the far wall filled with heavy, leather-bound volumes. Somehow it had toppled over and its valuable antique books were flung across the floor.

Then he looked closer. There could be no mistaking the blocky-cut grey hair or the sleeve of the shocking purple blouse that was all that showed from beneath the chaos.

That and the blood soaking into the drugget carpeting.

Chapter 14

“MURIEL!” NOW HE GAVE no heed to any effort to hold him back, although he was grateful Rosemary stopped the others at the doorway. Being as careful as he could not to disturb anything else, he knelt and removed two books so he could reach her temple. The skin was warm and soft, but he could find no pulse.

He stood up, shaking his head. “I think it’s too late, but we need to call an ambulance.”

In the hall, Arthur already had his mobile out. They were moving down the stairs when the clipped sound of high heels on the polished floor announced the manager’s arrival. “Rosemary, what was all the running about I heard? Surely the school group doesn’t come until tomorrow.”

“Sylvia, I . . .”

Richard took over. “There’s been an accident, Mrs. Martin. Miss Seaton has had a severe shock. Perhaps you could order some tea?”

The ever-efficient manager ushered everyone into the Great Hall and rang the housekeeper on her mobile. Elizabeth took the afghan from the back of one of the sofas and put it around Rosemary’s shoulders.

“We’ll wait downstairs for the ambulance,” Richard told Sylvia and signaled Arthur to follow him. “I think you should ring for the police, too,” he said as soon as they were out of the hearing of the others.

“Police? Why?”

“I don’t really know. It just all looked rather odd to me. And after what happened yesterday . . . What was Muriel doing in a room on the top floor with a sprained ankle? I thought she was supposed to be spending the day in bed.” He stopped, grasping for what he was trying to say. “I’m not sure. I just think they should see it before she’s moved.”

Arthur shrugged and made the call.

The ambulance arrived first, but when Sylvia Martin told them the police were on their way, they waited. The manager didn’t at all like the idea of bringing the police into the matter, but once they had been called, she had no option but to wait, her shoulders stiffly squared and her mouth set in a firm line. “We’ve never had a hint of any untoward behavior in this house, I can assure you,” were her first words to the young uniformed officer who introduced himself as Sergeant Townsend and his companion as WPC Sandra Jones.

Kevin Townsend was some time observing the scene before he returned to the Great Hall. He accepted a cup of tea from Sylvia and drank deeply before making his announcement. “Terrible accident. I’m sorry about your friend. It looks pretty straightforward—well, as straightforward as these things ever are. But I’ve asked my gov’nor to take a look before we move her. Just in case, you know. WPC Jones will stay up there until he arrives to see that nothing is disturbed.”

Townsend’s hesitancy showed his youth and inexperience, but Richard couldn’t fault his desire to do everything by the book, even if it did mean that they could be tied up here for hours yet. He looked at Elizabeth sitting by Rosemary and urging her to drink a second cup of sweet tea. At least a little color was returning to the librarian’s cheeks.

Sergeant Townsend took a notebook from his pocket. “Uh, if you don’t mind, it could save time later if you’d all like to tell me what you were doing this afternoon.”

“What are you suggesting?” Only the high pitch of Sylvia’s voice betrayed her outrage.

The sergeant ran his hand through his light brown hair. “I’m not suggesting anything, ma’am. I just thought it would be useful knowledge in assessing the, er— incident.”

“Well, I can tell you I spent the entire afternoon in my office. I have a full log of phone calls and emails to prove it.” Sylvia turned to a wooden chair, but only perched on the edge.

“And you didn’t hear anything?”

“Not until these people began thundering up and down the stairs.”

“But you didn’t hear the bookcase fall?” Kevin Townsend raised an eyebrow.

“My office is behind this staircase. That storage room is at the far end of the hall. I heard nothing.”

Richard could imagine she might not have heard anything, but he would have thought she might have felt it. The weight of that bookcase falling must have shaken the house. But then, these Tudor houses were of very solid construction.

“And you, ma’am?” The sergeant turned to Rosemary. “If I could start with your name and position?”

She explained that she had spent the day arranging a display for a group of young people who were coming in tomorrow. “That’s why I went upstairs. I needed a book . . .” She drowned the thought with a gulp of tea.

He moved on to Richard and Elizabeth, who introduced themselves and gave a brief account of their day in Steventon. “And I drove them,” Arthur added, failing to mention that he had returned briefly to Chawton.

“What’s going on? Why is there an ambulance outside?” Everyone turned as Gerri burst into the room, her flyaway red hair accented by her favorite orange scarf looped around her neck. She stopped short at the sight of a uniformed officer. “Police?”

“There’s been an accident, ma’am,” Kevin Townsend said.

Richard strode to the doorway to guide Gerri to a chair. “Sit down, Gerri.”

“Why? What is it? What accident?”

“Sit down.” Richard’s voice was as firm as his pressure on her shoulders. When she was seated, he continued, “It’s Muriel.”

“Muriel? Did her ankle get worse? She hasn’t fallen again, has she?”

“I’m afraid it’s a matter of something falling
on
her.” He explained as gently as he could.

To his surprise, the hysterical outburst he expected didn’t come. Instead, all color drained from Gerri’s face and her eyes fluttered. “She’s going to faint. Get her head down,” Sylvia barked.

Richard did. Sylvia directed the housekeeper to bring a blanket and more tea. “And some whiskey,” she added.

Gerri was just coming around when Claire wandered in, still looking a bit dazed from her long nap. Arthur sprang to her side. “Did you rest well? How’s your headache? Can I get you something?” He led her to the furthest sofa. Sergeant Townsend followed to get her details since Gerri was in no fit state to talk, although the tears that now coursed down her flushed cheeks were quiet, not the howl that Richard would have expected of her.

After a short conversation with Claire, the sergeant showed his mettle in approaching Sylvia Martin again. “I’ll need a list of your staff, ma’am. Those on duty today.”

Predictably, Sylvia rounded on him. “I can assure you, Sergeant, my staff is irreproachable.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Just their names and duties.” He held his pencil poised.

“Rosemary, our head librarian, and Lilly, the housekeeper, you see here,” she answered stiffly. “Valeri oversees the catering. I imagine she’s in the kitchen now. Helen, our director of Public Relations, would be in her office in the stable block. What she’ll have to say about this, I can’t imagine. Edgar— he heads our operations staff— he could be anywhere.”

“And the outdoor staff?”

“Tristan is our head gardener. He has three under him. I’m sure he can account for their movements, but they would be most unlikely to come into the house, as would Julia and Lizzie, our horsemen.”

“Horsemen?”

“We raise Shire horses. They are excellent workhorses— part of our goal to recreate period farming. We rescue chickens as well. Edna is in charge of the poultry. She’s Edgar’s wife.”

While that interview was taking place, Beth, Paul, and Robert returned, each entrance just separate enough that the same explanation had to be gone through for each one, allowing time for the shock to register and tea to be served. Then the course of questions began again as Kevin Townsend stayed doggedly on duty, inquiring about each one’s movements.

“We walked into Alton. I did the Jane Austen Trail there.” Beth explained briefly about the series of features she was writing for
The
Bath Chronicle
.

“And you were there all day?”

“There’s actually quite a lot to see there.” She sounded defensive. “The site of Henry’s bank, the home of Jane’s doctor, the home of a friend where Jane dined, the Swan Hotel . . .” She held out her camera. “I have photos if you doubt me.”

Sergeant Townsend held up his hand. “No, no. Honestly, I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I just want to get an idea of who was where.”

Richard smiled. Sergeant Townsend’s Chief Superintendent was obviously a careful man who would brook no slipshod work in his department.

“And you, sir? You were together in Alton all day?” He looked at Robert.

“I went to Alton, yes. I’ll do an article for the Centre’s newsletter, but I didn’t need as much detail as Beth. We’re e-only, so I’ll just do an introduction then link to Beth’s when it goes online. It’s efficient and makes for a lot of variety in our newsletter.”

“So what did you do, then?”

“I had a pub lunch— at the George, if you want to know— then came back here. I’ve been reading in my room.”

Paul had come in last. “I walked to Alton with them, yes,” he confirmed after they explained the situation to him. “But I spent most of the afternoon in Chawton.” He turned to Richard. “I wanted to nose around a bit, see if I could get a lead on where Edith might have been staying when she wrote that letter. That is . . .” He ground to a halt. “I don’t know . . .” He waved a hand in the general direction of the upstairs where the body of his author lay. “I’ll need more information if we’re going to publish it.”

That brought Gerri out of her stupor. “What do you mean ‘if’? You have to! It’s more important now than ever—a sacred trust to her memory.”

“It isn’t finished . . .” he began.