Destroying Angel (9 page)

Where was Wolf Rider in the mêlée?

Kate and the picnic carts were still visible and I noticed with considerable interest a young man heading in her direction, his bright auburn curls identifying him as the Duke’s travelling companion.

Suddenly my attention was diverted by a shout followed by a flutter of activity, not from the terrified birds this time but from the Staines shooting party.

I knew what the distant shouts were about, although I couldn’t distinguish voices.

Someone had been hit.

Men I recognised, among them Wolf Rider, and Grace Holt’s new husband Peter, were heading rapidly in the direction of the Staines party. I could not see Hubert clearly, but with a chill of horror, an ominous dread certainty, I knew that he had been the victim…  

I ran back down the hill.

The Duke’s party were also heading towards Hubert, including the youth whose conversation with Kate had been cut short.

‘Anyone hurt?’

‘An accident.’

‘No damage done,’ I heard someone shout.

I passed close to Kate, who was now standing up in the cart. Collins had returned to her side to see that she was safe.

‘What’s happened?’ Kate asked.

Out of breath, Collins gasped, ‘Someone took a pot shot at Hubert.’ She put a protective arm around Kate’s shoulders.

‘No!’ Kate wailed.

‘It’s all right. Just missed him. Stop it, Kate. Look, he’s fine.’

And so he was, striding towards us, unharmed though obviously shaken.

‘You’re not hurt, are you?’ cried Collins wringing her hands.

A man rushed over from the Duke’s party. ‘His Grace wishes to know if anyone was injured.’

Hubert bowed: ‘Thank His Grace for his concern. Please tell him that I am quite well.’

The man continued to regard Hubert dubiously and, gesturing towards the sportsmen staring in his direction, said apologetically, ‘One of the novices, I fear. Poor shots. Some of our party are first guns, young and reckless.’ And touching his cap politely, ‘Could have been a nasty accident, sir.’

Collins was still clinging to Hubert’s arm whispering: ‘Thank God you’re not hurt.’

I watched his grim expression as the man returned to the Duke’s party. ‘Nasty accident, indeed,’ said Hubert shortly. ‘Someone tried to kill me.’

‘Surely not!’ said Collins.

Hubert shook off her hand, straightened his shoulders, and looked towards the men who had resumed their stances with the guns.

‘This was no accident,’ he repeated. ‘It was deliberate – someone tried to kill me.’ As he spoke, he directed a look at me that was so significant it was impossible not to recognise the unspoken message: he believed this was an attempt on his life by the blackmailer.

Wolf Rider appeared, so swiftly that I did not see him approach, aware that he was at our side only by Thane’s greeting.

‘Where the devil have you been?’ Hubert demanded.

Wolf looked guilty at the question, gave the familiar shrug as Hubert shouted at him: ‘Don’t you know that someone has just tried to kill me?’

Wolf looked suddenly alert and I guessed, perhaps wrongly, that, hating shooting, he had followed my example and strolled away some distance from the main range.

‘You did not see your attacker?’ he asked Hubert.

‘I did not, but I heard the bullet whizz past me. I threw
myself to the ground, yelled out a warning. I thought he might try a second shot!’

Wolf shook his head as Hubert went on: ‘I looked round and saw him duck out of sight.’

‘Which direction would that be?’

‘I don’t know. I wasn’t concerned with directions,’ Hubert said angrily. ‘Just with keeping alive.’

Wolf considered this, frowning and thoughtfully regarding the landscape as if it might provide some clues. ‘Perhaps if we could find the bullet, it would identify this man.’

Hubert laughed harshly. ‘And how are we to do that, pray? There must be dozens using the same guns, hundreds of identical bullets thick on the ground all around us—’

‘What I mean,’ Wolf interrupted, ‘is that this was probably an accident, the very reason why the person didn’t want to be seen and identified. A very natural reaction.’

‘Hmph,’ growled Hubert, picking up his gun again.

‘Are you sure you want to continue?’ Collins piped up, that hand on his arm again.

‘Of course,’ was the short reply. And to Wolf. ‘You’d better stay at my back, just in case.’

‘You think he might attack again?’ asked Collins in a shocked voice. ‘I really think you—’

Hubert whipped round on her. ‘And I really think you should shut up, Collins. Look after Kate, that’s what you’re paid to do.’

It was cruel of him, and poor Collins visibly wilted at this harsh statement. As Hubert marched off with Wolf, she darted a murderous glance at me and said, ‘As you can see, Kate is very distressed.’

I hadn’t seen anything of the kind but realised this was a
ruse to get rid of me as she added, ‘As I am in charge of the picnic, I must remain here, but perhaps you would be so good as to take Kate back to the house in the spare cart. Take Roswal with you.’

Kate did not demur. I was curious about the Duke’s young companion but all my attempts at conversation were met by a sullen silence.

I gave up as I had a lot to think about.

Was it possible that Hubert’s blackmailer had made an attempt to kill him? As for his attacker’s identity, this clearly indicated a man. But who?

My possible suspects – Wolf and Cedric – were both present, the latter among the beaters. But there was always the possibility that I was wrong and that an unknown man from Staines or Alnwick had found a way into the shooting party.

I have to admit I was baffled. I was inclined to lean towards Wolf’s theory that this was an accident and that the culprit, from the Duke’s party with its acknowledged first time guns and bad shots, had sneakily ducked away, afraid of retribution.

And then there was Collins, of course. I must not forget Collins, who had a gun with her. This might have been an attempt to scare Hubert, but in her present emotional state she might well have been tempted to turn that gun on me. Perhaps I would be wise to watch my own back.

Matters were not helped in that direction when, after dinner that evening when Collins left to put Miss Kate to bed and we were alone together, Hubert produced another note from the blackmailer.

You had a lucky escape this morning. Pay up or you may not be lucky next time.

It was written in heavy black pencil on a piece of brown parcel paper, identical to that used by Mrs Robson in the kitchen to wrap the picnic sandwiches. The blackmailer had obviously seized the opportunity that Hubert had been badly frightened by the accident.

‘What do you think of that, Rose?’

‘When did you get this?’

‘It was in my jacket pocket when I went to hang it up in the gun room. I always check pockets for handkerchiefs and so forth.’

‘Which means it was put there before the shoot ended.’

He nodded and I did not add the thoughts that we were both sharing. That this was a clear indication that the blackmailer had been one of the sportsmen – or women, whether he or she had fired the gun or was merely taking advantage of the situation and Hubert’s terror.

I said, ‘This certainly narrows down the field.’

Hubert again nodded and sighed in weary agreement while I let my thoughts go unspoken.

The note had been hastily written on paper torn from a pack of Mrs Robson’s picnic sandwiches. Who had the opportunity to do that?

Opportunity? Collins had been in charge of the picnic cart and there would be plenty of samples of her writing in the house, but I wasn’t hopeful. It looked like a man’s hand to me.

‘Did many come to the picnic cart for sandwiches?’ I asked, sorry now that I had not stayed.

‘Everyone in our party, mostly tenants from Staines.’ And I remembered Grace’s husband, Peter Sloan was at the shoot. Could he have thrust the note into Hubert’s pocket? If so, what were his reasons for those earlier threatening notes?

‘Were the beaters there too?’

‘Of course.’

That would include Cedric and his friend Jock. Collusion perhaps? Had they organised the burglary and the theft of the incriminating photographs together? It was a thought not to be ignored. It fitted well. Two reckless lads on the make, both desperate for money.

‘And Wolf Rider, of course,’ Hubert added dryly. He let that sink in for a moment, and then asked, ‘Have you any suspicions, Rose? I should like to hear them. I fear my time is running out.’

And in the next breath, he leapt from his chair, seized my hands and was asking me to marry him. I wasn’t sure that I had heard correctly. He smiled at my bewildered expression and repeated the offer.

I was taken aback, quite unprepared for this proposal. I had not been a week in his house, yet Hubert had fallen in love with me and, what was more, on the strength of one kiss, now asked me to be his wife! I could not believe all this was happening, aware that we were certainly not moving on the same plane.

I wrenched my hands away. He was attractive enough for me to toy with a fantasy ‘what if?’, but in the real world, I did not believe that I would ever fall in love again or ever have the slightest desire to marry. And what did I know of this man? Handsome and strong, yes, but there were unknown depths of character still to be explored. What had we in common? Did we view things in the same way and, most importantly, did he make me laugh? Jack did, and there followed an unworthy thought – that accepting Hubert would be such a slap in the face for him.

I had remained silent so long that Hubert, watching my face
anxiously, sighed and said, ‘I thought I had reason to believe that you felt the same as I did.’

‘Really?’ I said shortly. ‘I have given you no cause for that assumption.’

‘Don’t you believe in love at first sight?’ he asked in wounded tones.

Frankly, one love, one life, could have been my motto. My first love.

‘I don’t want to rush you, but I hope that your silence stems from the modesty that I find so charming in your character.’

I fought back indignation. He really didn’t know me in the slightest. A feminist who abandoned man-trapping wiles long ago. I have neither time nor patience to indulge in the hypocrisies of hiding maidenly blushes – as well as my ankles – from prying male eyes.

‘You have had children, have you not – during your long marriage?’ He paused. ‘Vince told me there was a child, a boy.’

‘He died of a fever.’

He nodded. ‘How sad. I love you, but please don’t wait too long, Rose,’ he said earnestly. ‘I want this marriage soon, as soon as it can be arranged. I want to give you a child; I need you to bear me a son – our son who will one day inherit Staines.’ And with a gesture. ‘All of this will be his!’

I was surprised and a little embarrassed by his frankness. Although the begetting of an heir was the main reason for many marriages in his class, I had expected the fact to be disguised in a sentimental flourish. And Vince obviously hadn’t told him the whole truth regarding the several miscarriages that had haunted my marriage to Danny, or of the fact that the Faro women had been notoriously unlucky in
childbearing. My mother died giving birth to a third child, a son, who also died. My sister Emily had also suffered multiple miscarriages before producing a healthy little boy.

Hubert was living in a fantasy if he expected me to be a breeding machine of Staines children.

I said the usual things about being flattered and so forth, but that I couldn’t possibly marry him. He looked so let down and disappointed, shaking his head, determined not to take ‘no’ for an answer, his eager smile transforming this man of the world, many years my senior, into a lovesick, hopeful boy.

‘Please think it over.’

Evading a possible goodnight kiss, I left him pouring a drink and made my way upstairs.
There is so much
to gain by this
marriage
, a voice whispered in my head.
This lovely house and, more importantly, Thane’s future as well as your own.

What was I thinking? Most women would say I was idiotic to even hesitate. But then I wasn’t like most women. I had an inbuilt sense of caution and, in this case, more urgent matters faced a Lady Investigator, Discretion Guaranteed.

Matters that must be sorted out, the puzzle solved. I must discover why someone had tried to kill Hubert, my present client, and the identity of the blackmailer, before his life could be further endangered.

First things first. I must go to Alnwick immediately.

I had a disturbed night, as I was woken by a succession of banging doors and raised voices. Alarmed that this was another of Kate’s sleepwalking activities, I jumped out of bed and opened the door to see a dim figure emerging from Hubert’s room. It was Collins, shouting at him angrily and tearfully, for all the house to hear.

The door banged shut behind her and I heard her footsteps marching past my room. There had obviously been a bitter quarrel, there was no doubt about that. I hoped that I was not the cause, and that Hubert had not told her that he had asked me to marry him.

Eventually I got to sleep again but awoke feeling weary, and went downstairs to my usual solitary breakfast in the dining room. When Mrs Robson bustled in to greet me with porridge, toast and a pot of tea, I wondered if she would be offended by a suggestion that I ate in the kitchen on the occasions when I was alone.

Setting down the tray before me, she said, ‘A message from Sir. Miss Kate is not to have Thane today; Mr Rider has requested that he stays with him – something to do with this cattle business and the new calf they are all so excited about.’ She sounded faintly disgusted. ‘I thought you’d better be told.’

Thane would be pleased to spend a day with Wolf and I had
little wish or intention of taking him to Alnwick with me, aware as I am of his aversion to towns and remembering his extraordinary behaviour when he sat down at the outskirts of the town and refused to go any further.

Gathering my bicycle from the barn, I rode through the grounds past the fenced-off province of the wild cattle. There was no sign of any of the beasts. I would have been surprised to find it otherwise, as Wolf had said it was rare to see them during the daylight hours, but in case I ever felt like taking a short cut across the fields, he had warned me, they would be watching from over there among the trees.

I wondered if and when Wolf would get his calf. The only indication that he might also be somewhere in the vicinity was a mere dot hovering in the sky far above – Kokopele keeping vigil.

Today I was glad to be alone, especially as I expected to spend some time in the library and the local newspaper office, but my first port of call would be the railway station, trying to track down Lily’s husband and their present address.

It was good to be bicycling again, flying down the hills on an exhilarating sunny morning with the summer laden trees just tipped with gold as they began their dramatic change into the glorious shades of autumn. Soon I was toiling uphill, on the outskirts of the town dominated by the magnificence of the castle. There were interesting landmarks on the way, delightful ancient houses and inns as well as a busy market place, all of which I hoped to have an opportunity to explore.

My bicycle, oddly enough, excited fewer curious stares in Alnwick than in Edinburgh’s Princes Street. As I rode through the Hotspur Gate for the second time, I thought how greatly my fortunes had changed. When I had first come through this
way, I had little expected to find Harry Hotspur personified, alive and well, reincarnated in the person of Hubert Staines. A man with whom I had become involved in less than a week and, quite against my will, to the extraordinary extent that he has asked me to be his wife.

Entering the railway station, I remembered my arrival in Alnwick with Thane, full of misgivings and trepidation, wondering what Staines would be like. All that seemed to belong to another world, for I had soon discovered that my usually reliable stepbrother had been seriously misinformed concerning the state of affairs at Staines. The dying child, whom he had never met, pining for her lost deerhound was in fact a pretty young lady who, to outward appearances at least, looked far from her deathbed.

I had little guessed that I was riding into a complex case of blackmail and would soon once again be donning my role as Lady Investigator, Discretion Guaranteed, and returning to this town, certain that here the truth was to be found and the identity of Hubert’s blackmailer revealed.

And then there was my unexpected encounter with Wolf Rider, that enigmatic Sioux Indian whose sinister insinuations regarding Thane I still regarded with fear.

What did it all mean? I was sure sometimes that I had all the facts and was on the right road, only to find that each path I took led further into the labyrinth.

As I was riding through the Bondgate towards the station, the sun disappeared and a hovering black cloud erupted into a heavy shower of hailstones. I dived for cover and found that I was just steps away from the local library.

Parking the bicycle, I went inside, where my revised plan of action brought with it a much needed stroke of luck.

Enquiring at the counter for information concerning the level crossing and the Staines Pit, for an imaginary newspaper article I was writing, another mantle more or less skilfully assumed, I was conscious of being watched. Looking round, a hand was raised, and when the face came into view, I recognised, seated behind a mound of books, the old scholar who had told me about the Battle of Alnwick and the phantom hound of King Malcolm of Scotland.

As I acknowledged his greeting, the assistant emerged with a file of newspapers and indicated that I follow him to a vacant seat alongside the old gentleman.

‘Do you mind if this young lady shares your desk, Mr Tetley?’

‘Not at all. I will be delighted,’ he replied with a grin.

As the assistant left he held out his hand. ‘James Tetley, schoolmaster, retired.’ And indicating the pile of books, ‘Amateur genealogist.’

I told him my name and he nodded. ‘Ah yes, the owner of the deerhound that gave me such a scare. Are you enjoying your stay in Staines?’

I said yes and again he nodded, then putting on his spectacles, he resumed his reading, pausing only to switch volumes and make copious notes.

I tackled the newspaper cuttings, which turned out to be hardly a mine of new information regarding the history of the level crossing, for which a former Duke had graciously extended the necessary permission to give access to the Staines Pit.

I had almost given up hope when, at last, I found what I was looking for: an article about how the crossing had been the sad cause of two tragic deaths. The local doctor, Fergus
Holt, got a good spread; there was a full account of his funeral, mourners who included Members of Parliament and a representative of the Duke himself. He had obviously been a popular figure in the neighbourhood, with a moving tribute from Hubert Staines.

Curiously, I could almost hear Hubert’s voice as I read his eulogy to this man who had been his family’s doctor for two generations. He praised his work and said how sadly he would be missed, both at Staines and by his many friends in Alnwick.

Less space – a mere paragraph – was given to Lily’s father, who had been crossing the line in the dark. There was an obvious hint that his death was due to lack of vigilance and intoxication. No requiem from Hubert or anyone else this time.

I had little idea of the exact date of the deaths of Mary Staines and her daughter Amy, or of the gun-cleaning accident that killed Amy’s lover Dave, and I felt that asking the assistant for such information might be regarded as ghoulish.

However, the young assistant was keen to help since I was on friendly terms with his former schoolmaster (as I gathered). He came over and said, ‘If you are interested in material for your article, miss, there are some cuttings on Staines House. It is well worth a visit, if you have the time to spare.’

Disregarding Mr Tetley’s wry look, I thanked him and was soon in possession of a file relating to the Staines, which contained an account of Mrs Staines’ death fall ‘from a window carelessly left open during a storm by one of the young servants, who has since been discharged.’

All of which I already knew. As I sighed and laid it aside, Mr Tetley abandoned his notebook and said, ‘An interesting family;
rather too inbred. Some of them went insane and tragedy has certainly stalked them in recent years.’

Hoping for more, I gave him an eager look and he continued: ‘I notice you were reading about poor Mrs Staines. Her daughter, you know, committed suicide after an unhappy love affair – we got that information not first hand, of course, but through the village grapevine.’

He shook his head gravely. ‘I fear that first cousins marrying each other is not particularly healthy – in body and indeed, in mind also – for their offspring. Such unions are often motivated by money and dynastic aspirations rather than the demands of the human heart.’ And throwing down his pencil, he added grimly: ‘Property and money, money and property, the ruin of the human race.’

A bell rang somewhere and he took out his watch. ‘Ah, time for a little refreshment. Would you care to have a cup of tea with me and we can continue our discussion?’

I followed him out and a few moments later we were seated at a window table in the Swan Hotel, a coaching inn in the days before the railway opened up new prospects for travellers passing through Alnwick, north and south.

As we waited to be served, he told me of his passion for local history and how he had made a lifetime study of the Staines family, whose roots predated the Dukes of Northumberland.

‘There was a time when de Percys and de Steyns had equal status and, if truth were to be told and records went back far enough to be deciphered, the de Steyns should be the present incumbents of Alnwick Castle, since the de Percys died out and the present family are descended from the distaff side.

‘Genealogy has become my hobby since I retired and I have 
helped many people to discover their roots. My efforts and a few published papers have extended my work beyond local history and Alnwick – it now extends south as far as London and north into Scotland, particularly Glasgow and Edinburgh,’ he said proudly, pausing to smile at me, perhaps hoping that I had heard of him.

‘I had a most interesting encounter with Mr Rider – the gamekeeper at Staines, an American gentleman, perhaps you have met him?’ I said yes and he went on, ‘Ah, quite a fascinating and romantic story. He was searching for his grandmother who had been kidnapped by Sioux Indians when the rest of the safari party she was with were slaughtered. Mr Rider’s grandfather fell in love with her.

‘My background research revealed that the lady was not Scottish as he believed. Miranda was a member of the Staines family here, not only by marriage but by blood. There was a history of twins on her side of the family who had twice married first cousins.’

He shook his head. ‘A very complicated heredity, which I have been studying for some time now, but the indications are undoubtedly that Mr Wolf Rider could claim to be the legitimate heir of Staines.’

His frown turned into a smile as he looked across the table. ‘I trust that he never will do so, of course. If you have read Mr Dickens’
Bleak House
you will know that such claims can linger on unresolved for generations, costing not only fortunes but bitter grief and heartbreak to the claimants.’

‘Is Mr Rider aware of these facts regarding your research and his possible claim to Staines?’ I asked.

His eyes widened. ‘Of course. Yes indeed he is.’ A sigh as he added: ‘I doubt whether Mr Rider would have enough money
to initiate such a search in the courts of law. I sincerely hope not, anyway, for the bad feeling it would cause in these parts where Mr Staines and his family are held in high regard. I doubt whether the substitute of a—’ he searched for a suitable word and said ‘a gentleman from a savage part of America would be held in high esteem by the Duke either.’

He had certainly given me food for thought, and a damning reason for Wolf Rider to dispose of Hubert Staines without going through the intricacies of a legal claim. Whether this tied in with the blackmailer was another matter.

As I prepared to part company with Mr Tetley and thanked him for the tea, he handed me his card and extracted a promise that I would call upon him if I needed any further material for my level crossing article – the subject that, I confess, had been completely obliterated by the unexpected revelations regarding the Staines and Wolf Rider.

I remembered my mission and said that I was keen to interview some of the people whose lives had been upset in any way by the presence of the level crossing.

‘Such as one of the servants from Staines, a young maid called Lily. I am told her father was killed by a passing train. Does she still live here?’ I asked innocently.

Mr Tetley thought for a moment. ‘Indeed, yes. I meet her husband, Will Craid, quite regularly. One of my former pupils, we play chess together in the Diamond Inn. A most intelligent young man, very bright indeed. Works for the railway.’

He shook his head regretfully and added, ‘But had he been born above the labouring class, I believe he would have gone far academically. I tried to persuade him into clerical work, perhaps for a lawyer. Writes with a splendid hand, and he’s an
excellent shot, too. Wins many competitions. He had to miss our game of chess yesterday, as he was shooting with the Duke’s party.’

‘How interesting,’ I murmured faintly, as indeed it was.

‘If you would like to talk to his wife, I am sure I could arrange it for you.’

Thanking him, pleading urgency and shortness of time, I said, ‘If you could give me her address, I might take a chance on her being at home.’

He laughed. ‘At this time of day, you are most likely to find her up at the castle. She is a sewing maid to the Duchess.’

Following his directions, I made my way up to the castle, wondering if I had found another suspect to add to those persons unknown who might have stolen Hubert’s photographs and were now blackmailing him for their return.

Mr Tetley’s revelations about this highly intelligent chess-playing railwayman suggested that Lily’s husband might also fit perfectly the role of Hubert’s blackmailer.