A Killer Ball at Honeychurch Hall (11 page)

“So Pandora must have disappeared during the game of squashed sardines,” I said slowly. And then it hit me. “When she went off to hide or look for someone, perhaps?”

Mum nodded. “She could have triggered the catch, just like you did?”

“The location of the body just doesn't make sense,” I said. “She'd broken her neck—”

“Oh! Don't!” Mum flapped her arms in horror. “Don't say that!”

“You must tell Shawn what you have told me,” I said.

“Oh, Kat,” Mum wailed. “What if, what if it was … her
ladyship
who did it? Her brother could have told her where to find the double-hide.”

“Is
that
who you're protecting?”

Mum shuddered. “I don't think I want to talk about this anymore.”

“Mum?
Tell
me.”

“I always felt there was something more going on. I think Pandora knew about her ladyship's love affair with the gamekeeper but wanted him for herself.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because we camped in the park and once I was walking in the woods and came across Pandora talking to him,” said Mum. “He wasn't interested, of course, he adored her ladyship.”

“But she could have threatened to tell Edith's brother out of spite,” I suggested.

“We'll never know, will we? They're all dead now.” Mum looked sad. “Some things are best left alone.”

We fell quiet for a moment. “But why leave a copy of
Lady Chatterley's Lover
in the priest hole? Is that supposed to be a clue or just a way to frame you? It doesn't make sense.”

Mum shrugged. “None of it does.”

The doorbell rang—a continuous buzz, urgent and insistent, and then a second long, loud burst.

Mum turned ashen. “Is that the door? Oh God. They've come to arrest me.”

“Don't be silly.” Or had they? It was nearly ten-thirty. “I'll go.”

The doorbell rang again followed by persistent knocking. “Wait!” I shouted. “I'm coming!”

I threw open the front door and to my surprise Ginny Riley was standing on the doorstep.

“I'm sorry—Oh!” Ginny's eyes widened when she saw what I was wearing. “You're in your pajamas! Did I get you out of bed?”

“No,” I said. “Whatever's the matter?”

Dressed in sweats and devoid of makeup, Ginny's face was pale. She looked terrible. “Are you alright?”

Ginny looked over my shoulder. “Are you alone?”

“My mother is here but come in.”

She shook her head. “Is there somewhere else? Somewhere private where we can talk?”

Grabbing a coat from the coat stand, I ushered her outside. “This way. We'll go into the old feed shed.”

We crossed the cobbled courtyard and headed for one of the outbuildings. I led the way inside and turned on the electric light. It was full of disused metal grain bins, rolls of chicken wire and bits of an old henhouse.

“What's going on?” I said.

Ginny looked as if she was about to cry. “I'm really sorry, Kat. And you've always been so nice to me.”

I put my arm around her shoulder and gave her a hug. “Tell me.”

“You're going to hate me,” she whispered.

“Of course I won't!”

“I didn't mean it to happen. I swear I didn't.” She took a deep breath, and then, “You're going to be on the front page of the
Daily Post
tomorrow.”

For a moment, I wasn't sure I had heard her properly. “I don't understand. You don't work for the
Daily Post.
”

“They heard my story about the priest hole on the local radio station and called me,” Ginny went on. “They asked for more information so I filed a story and…” Ginny's lip began to wobble. “I just saw it. They said they rewrote it a bit and…”

“Don't worry,” I said. “I'm sure it's not as bad as you say.”

“But it is. They got the missing heiress in there and everything.”

“But how?” I was confused. “We only found out ourselves this afternoon.”

“I didn't know anything about that, I swear,” said Ginny.

“Well, we all knew that sooner or later it would all come out,” I said. “Who called you from the
Daily Post
?”

Ginny hesitated and then said, “I should never have spoken to her. I know how much she hates you.”

And then I knew. “Trudy called you,” I said quietly. Would I ever get away from my nemesis? She even had David all to herself now, too.

“I had to warn you,” Ginny went on. “I'm sorry.”

I felt disappointed but I knew only too well how these things could happen. It was the dowager countess that concerned me.

Ginny pulled out a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. “I'm sorry you're mixed up in it but I suppose your name still sells newspapers.”

“In a day or so it will be someone else in the news,” I said.

“I wish that were true.”

“What do you mean?”

“The newspaper wants to serialize the story—you know, make a feature of Honeychurch Hall and all the things that have gone on up there.”

“But … what kind of things?”

Ginny shrugged. “I don't know. Something about a romance writer, other stuff that's been kept quiet over the years.”

“That's ridiculous.” But it wasn't, and I knew it. It was just as I feared. Everything was going to come out, after all.

“Trudy's assistant called me,” Ginny went on. “She asked me about my job at the
Dipperton Deal.
She said that they wanted access to all the archives.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I said I could get them—oh, Kat, I'm sorry.” Ginny wailed again. “I was excited. I didn't know it was all going to come out.”

I studied Ginny's face and felt a flash of anger. Ginny had known how I felt about Trudy Wynne and yet she'd still gone ahead with her story. “Really? You really didn't know what would happen?”

“What? You think I did this deliberately?”

I wasn't sure. I desperately wanted to believe her. “I wasn't born under a rock, Ginny.”

“I know, but you sound like you're accusing me of something! I mean, what's it all to you? You weren't even alive in 1958.”

“Who told you about 1958?” I said sharply.

Ginny reddened. “Whatever. Whenever. Be it 1950, 1960, 1970. Who cares?”

“I think you should leave now.”

“Seriously?” Ginny gave a snort of disgust. “Just because David went back to his wife in the end there's no need to take it out on me!”

“Good night Ginny.” I pushed past her and strode back to the Carriage House.

I found it hard to get to sleep. Thoughts of what would be revealed in the
Daily Post
filled me with dread. I wondered if I should warn Edith but decided against it. Ginny had very little to go on but when it came to the
Daily Post,
what they didn't have, they implied, which was often far worse.

I kept wondering if Edith had been involved in Pandora's death. I thought of Edith and the costume Mum had labored over. These things really mattered when you were young but was it enough to commit a murder?

And then there was Bryan Laney. It seemed odd that he'd suddenly reappeared and yet he seemed genuinely shocked upon learning of Pandora's death. I suppose he'd be calling on my mother soon as well. Oh dear, Alfred would really love that.

As I lay there I thought of Mum at age fifteen with all the boys falling in love with her.
Electra!
The 27,000 Volts Girl!
I was beginning to see her in a different light—I chuckled to myself at the unintentional pun.

I'd always taken my mother to be frail and a little bit feeble judging by the hours she used to spend up in her bedroom. I had never dreamed that she had been faking a migraine just so she could write her books. I was actually incredibly proud of her.

Tomorrow was going to be a busy day—a meeting with Bryan, a ride with Harry, valuing the Hollar drawings—and all overshadowed by the exposé from the
Daily Post.

I pulled the duvet up under my chin and turned over to get some sleep.

 

Chapter Ten

Jane's Cottage had been built as a summer house in the 1800s on the foundation of Warren Lodge. It was constructed of red brick with stone dressings under a pyramidal slate roof. Two bay windows flanked a Venetian entrance with ionic pilasters under a pediment door with a fanlight over. Inside there were two bedrooms downstairs, a spiral staircase leading to an upstairs loft area in the eaves and on the ground floor, a living room with what would soon have a wood burner stove to heat the whole house. The kitchen was a galley affair and beyond that was a small bathroom that had been tacked on under a cat slide roof. The outside loo or “privy” was still there, just visible in the undergrowth.

Jane's Cottage was quirky and unusual and I really loved it.

Now that I had seen the Hollar drawings showing the original building, I was struck by how much the place had altered over the centuries. The solitary oak tree was now joined by dozens of other trees and dense undergrowth, blotting out the spectacular view.

As I walked up the rise to the entrance I was surprised to find Bryan's green-and-white camper van was already parked out front. He was early.

In fact, he was actually inside the house. It really bothered me that he hadn't waited. I found him in the kitchen, brandishing a retractable tape measure and a screwdriver. He turned and greeted a hello, looking rather dapper in cavalry twill trousers and sport coat with a paisley cravat underneath. Coupled with the odd green-and-white camper van, my doubts about him being up for the job increased.

“Did I leave the house unlocked?” I said.

“I know a way to get in.” He grinned. “The window in one of the back bedrooms has a quirky catch. You should get that looked at.” Upon seeing my surprise he added, “I used to come up here as a kid. It looks like the place has been empty for decades.”

“You know that's trespassing,” I said lightly but Bryan didn't seem to have heard.

“What was this place like when you first saw it? Find anything of interest?”

“Why?”

“No reason. Just curious.”

“Just a lot of rat droppings,” I said. “Pieces of old furniture riddled with woodworm. I did quite a lot of clearing out.”

Bryan made a meal of strolling around the kitchen, staring up at the ceiling and muttering to himself.

“Are you going to Sunny Hill Lodge to visit Joan?” I said to make conversation.

“I'm thinking about it. My aunt suffered from Alzheimer's and didn't recognize my dad but remembered every single detail of what she got for Christmas in 1914.”

“I've heard that can happen,” I said.

Given that Joan had been at Sunny Hill Lodge for years, I thought that was pretty optimistic but it made me wonder. “What about Pandora?” I said. “Can you remember anything about her?”

Bryan shook his head. “Got nothing to add. I've already called the police but had to leave a message. What kind of police station is closed on the weekends?”

“Little Dipperton.” I smiled. “Open nine to five—although I have Shawn's mobile phone number if you'd like it.”

Bryan duly wrote it down in a small notebook and then I told him what I wanted him to do.

“Tiling?” he said with a frown. “I'll be honest—tiling is not my strong point.”

“What about the kitchen floor?” Currently it was covered in quarry tiles but most were cracked.

Bryan hummed and hawed but then shook his head. “You need a professional.”

“Maybe you can help with replacing the shelves in here?”

I opened the door to a walk-in pantry and stopped in astonishment. Several of the shelves were covered in the same red shelf-liner paper that adorned
Lady Chatterley's Lover.
It was too much of a coincidence.

“Did Joan's mother work at the Hall?” I said suddenly.

“Eh?”

“Joan's mother,” I said again.

“She was Lady Edith's maid,” said Bryan. “Why?”

“Did Joan have any siblings?”

“A brother. He died though. Accident with a tractor. Why?”

“Just wondered.” I gestured to the pantry. “I'd love to replace the missing shelves in here.”

“You want a carpenter for that, luv,” said Bryan.

“Okay. A carpenter. Fine. How about a few mirrors? Can you help me put them up?”

“Are they heavy? Only I've got a bad back.”

“Okay. Too heavy. Fine. Follow me.” I led Bryan into the bathroom and gestured to a mahogany medicine cabinet that was propped against the wall. “How about that? I'd like to put it above the washbasin. It's not very heavy.”

Bryan hummed and hawed
again
. “Look, I'll be honest, I'm good with a hammer and a few nails but for this”—he shrugged—“you need raw plugs and a drill.”

“I know I need raw plugs.” I was starting to lose my patience. “You don't have a drill?”

“Never seen the need. Hammer is just as good.”

“So you can't really do anything at all.”

Bryan gave a sheepish smile. “I'll be honest,” he said. “It's just a bit too advanced for me. I can do a spot of painting and pop up a few pictures, but”—he shrugged again—“you need a professional builder.”

“I thought you were a professional builder.”

“Not me, luv.” Bryan shook his head. “You advertised for someone who can do a bit of D-I-Y.”

I was about to argue but realized it was a waste of time. “You're right. I do. Thanks for coming up here this morning.”

“Anything I can do to help.”

I bit back the obvious retort.

As I waved Bryan out of the house I realized he hadn't once mentioned my mother. So much for Iris being the “one who got away.”