Empty Nest (25 page)

Thorne pushed open the kitchen door beside me, bracing himself against the frame. Behind him, three more PCs opened cupboards, peered under the sink, lifted the lid on pots, and emptied drawers of tea towels and utensils.

“Ms. Lanchester,” the butler said, “they've taken Sheila.”

“Why?” I asked him. I pushed past and got in the face of the nearest PC, the same young woman from the day of the dead sparrow hawks. “Why?”

“I'm sorry, miss,” she said, not looking at me. “You'll have to ask—”

“Yes, I know who to ask.” I looked back at Cecil in the doorway.

“I'll ring Father,” he said.

“Thorne,” I said, “come with me. Cecil, we'll meet you there.”

The journey to the Sudbury police station took fifteen minutes, during which Thorne told me the police had arrived with a warrant to search the Hall—although they seemed concerned only with the kitchen and Sheila's quarters—and a request from the detective inspector to talk with Mrs. Bugg at the station.

“We asked why, but they wouldn't answer,” Thorne said. “Sheila put on a brave face—she's a strong woman.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him push his glasses up. As we pulled into the car park, he asked, “Ms. Lanchester, why would they suspect her of these doings?”

I was too miserable to speak, but I knew that I was the reason. Or rather, my father's wild idea that someone at the Hall had been poisoning my food.

Linus and Cecil pulled into the car park as we reached the door to the station, and Adam and Louisa arrived in the Bugg's Best van.

Five of us clustered in the empty station lobby while Linus talked with the desk sergeant. The officer picked up his phone, had a brief conversation, and told us we were welcome to take seats and wait. We stood. Twenty minutes later, Detective Inspector Tess Callow, back in her dark suit, walked out a door behind the desk.

“Lord Fotheringill?” she asked.

“Inspector, what's all this about?” Linus asked. “Is Sheila Bugg under arrest?”

“Mrs. Bugg came in to answer a few questions under her own free will,” Callow said. “And the search—”

“Yes,” he replied, cutting her off. “Search the Hall top to bottom, that's no matter to me.”

“Why are you questioning her?” Adam asked.

Callow scanned the group and her frosty gaze settled on me.

“Your sandwich, Ms. Lanchester, the one you took with you to Cornwall on Wednesday, is suspected of containing a significant amount of an organophosphate pesticide.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath. “Well, you're mistaken if you think Sheila did that. I made up that sandwich myself.”

“And left it unattended,” Callow said.

“Half the countryside walks through that kitchen,” I said.

“There is the matter of the sandwiches made for Mr. Peacock.”

I'd forgotten about Freddy's demand for a nighttime sandwich.

“And although during the day many people had access to your food, Ms. Lanchester,” Callow said, “when Mr. Peacock's sandwich was prepared at night that number dropped significantly.”

“Nonsense,” I said. “If the door was locked, someone could've poked round and discovered the key under the stone pot and got in through that back door.”

“Key?” Callow asked. “You have a key to the Hall—hidden outdoors? Were we told?”

“I'm sure I mentioned it that night,” I said, not at all sure now that I thought about it. Everything normal from that night had faded from my mind, leaving behind only images of Freddy's still face, the weight of his body as we dragged him into the corridor. There's no telling what I said.

“The key under the urn? It's been there forever,” Cecil said.

“Everyone has a spare key hidden outdoors,” Louisa chimed in.

“No one knows about it,” Linus said.

“How can you be sure of that?” Callow asked.

“Yes, you see—anyone could get in that way,” I said. “One of Freddy's friends could've given you a false alibi.”

“That evening, you came in the same door, Ms. Lanchester,” Callow said. “Did you see anything unusual? Did any of you?”

I frowned in concentration, trying to recall my arrival in the middle of the night. I saw Thorne frown, too, as if trying to help me remember. I shook my head.

No memories jogged, Callow nodded to the desk sergeant, who picked up his phone. “Mrs. Bugg will be out in a moment,” she said.

While we waited, the group broke up into smaller conversations. I sidled over to Callow. “Inspector, why did Sheila need to come in to the station? Were you trying to make an example of her?”

“I'm trying to find out who killed Mr. Peacock,” Callow said, rubbing her forefinger on the spot between her brows. “And often it's better for those closest to the event to step away from their usual surroundings.”

“Why do this now? You aren't even supposed to be here,” I said. “You're meant to be at Villiers having a lovely weekend.”

“Rupert Lanchester had a word with my superintendent, who encouraged me to speak with Mrs. Bugg as soon as possible.”

My dad—wait till I get hold of him.

“Poisoning is a serious matter. Are you all right?” Callow asked quietly.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, a bit rattled at her concern. “We don't actually know if my food was poisoned.”

“We'll know soon enough,” she said. “Your father's name has done what the police couldn't—hurry up the toxicology lab. They've promised results on Mr. Peacock's food and your sandwich on Monday.” Dad would consider that good use of his celebrity status.

DS Glossop escorted Sheila from the depths of the station. Her face lit up when she saw the welcoming committee, and she clung to both Louisa and Adam when they hugged her. “All right?” we asked all at once, and she said it was nothing and that the police had acted with great respect and of course she never minded telling them everything she knew and could we all now go back to the Hall, because she needed to start the dinner.

Callow scanned the group during the happy commotion. “I see the household has turned out. Except for Mr. Addleton?”

“And no Isabel,” I murmured under my breath, out of Linus's earshot.

“Have we missed someone?” Callow asked me.

I shook my head. “No, it's only Lady Fotheringill,” I said. “She didn't arrive until later.”

Cecil had heard that last bit and walked over. “My mother doesn't live at the Hall and came back from the Continent only a week ago.”

“Oh yes, Lady Fotheringill,” Callow said. “She came in to the station on Wednesday, demanding that we find Freddy Peacock's murderer and stop harassing her son.”

Wouldn't I love to have witnessed that exchange.

“And she's phoned twice since,” the DI continued. “So, not to worry, we're in touch. Mrs. Bugg, thank you for your cooperation.”

Thorne offered Sheila his arm, and everyone migrated out the door. Here was my chance to tell what we knew of Addleton.

I walked over to Callow and took a deep breath, but her phone went off and I could see the screen as well as she could—it was Chloe. She went to answer, but first looked at me.

“Sorry, I just…um, Inspector—may I talk with you on Monday?”

“Would you rather speak with me now, Ms. Lanchester? You rang earlier.”

“No, it'll wait.”

As I reached the door, Linus, Cecil, Adam, and Louisa came back in.

“Do you have a moment, Inspector?” Linus asked. “There's something we'd like to explain.”

Callow let not a shadow of disappointment cross her face. She slipped her phone into her pocket and said, “Of course. Come with me.”

I stepped out the door of the police station as a text arrived from Michael. “Where r u?”

Dinner—I had invited Michael, Vesta, and Akash and they'd arrived to an empty Hall. I sent a reply: “On our way. Will explain.”

Sheila and Thorne squashed themselves into the tiny backseat of my Fiat, and out the corner of my eye, I saw Thorne take her hand.

“Where are the others?” she asked.

“It's all right,” I said. “Cecil is at last telling the police what's been going on.” Surely this meant it would be common knowledge, and so I explained.

Sheila let out a little cry of relief. “I was so worried—Adam wouldn't tell me a thing. Those boys.” She laughed, as if Cecil and Adam were eight years old and had been caught stealing apples. “Julia,” she said, “I would never try to hurt you, I hope you know that.”

I did know. At a distance, I might be able to conjure up the possibility of a darker Sheila, but face-to-face, she was the housekeeper who had become a friend and had been worried sick about her son and with no one to confide in except Thorne.

A panda car followed us as we left Sudbury and made our way through the village and to the Hall—DS Glossop driven by a uniform, come to collect the spare key under the stone urn. Adam and Louisa in the van brought up the rear. When we arrived, I was first out of the car and to the front step, pushing the great oak door and almost falling over the threshold when it opened easier than I expected.

And that was because Isabel was on the other side, pulling.

“Where have you been?” she asked. “Where are Linus and Cecil? They haven't answered my texts.” She looked not only angry but disheveled—no longer wearing her leather trousers, she'd dressed down in denims and a dark sweater.

“They'll be along soon,” I said as I rushed past her to our three guests, who stood in the entry still wearing their coats.

“I'm so sorry I didn't ring,” I said. “Sheila was talking with the police, and we all ended up going to meet her. It's nothing,” I added, shaking my head at Michael's raised eyebrows.

The police had vacated the Hall, and I, for one, was greatly relieved we wouldn't have to serve dinner around them.

“Isabel, you've met Michael?” I asked.

“Yes, Julia,” Isabel said, “we've managed introductions without you.”

I heard a small throat-clearing behind me, and I started.

“Oh,” I said. “And this is Detective Sergeant Glossop. Sergeant, Lady Fotheringill.”

“Your Ladyship,” Natty said with a nod.

Isabel advanced on him. “Sergeant, I will not allow the police to continue to dog my son for no good reason. This is an invasion of privacy, and I won't have it—Lord Fotheringill will have something to say about this.”

Although his face flamed, Glossop, to his credit, stood his ground until he was almost nose-to-nose with her. “A murder enquiry cannot be conducted without hurting a few feelings, your Ladyship. I'm sure nothing personal was meant by any questions sent your son's way. And this visit has nothing to do with him.”

“Oh, well, in that case,” Isabel said, apparently losing interest, “if you'll all excuse me, I'm not feeling well, and believe I'll retire early. Good night.”

No one spoke as we watched her walk up the stairs. I don't mind confessing the prospect of dinner brightened considerably.

“Sergeant Glossop,” I said. “Let me show you where the key is kept.” I turned to Michael. “Drinks in the library?”

“Thank you, Ms. Lanchester,” Glossop said as we followed Thorne and Sheila down the corridor.

Instead of leading the DS on the trail down to the laundry and up again, I took him out the kitchen door and round the corner to where the urn sat near the service entrance.

I held my tiny torch for him as he tilted the urn, located the key with his gloved hand, and dropped it in a plastic bag.

“Sergeant, my fingerprints will be on there,” I reminded him as he walked out to his car.

“Yes, Ms. Lanchester, they will indeed. But who else's?”

Dinner consisted of an emergency fish pie Sheila had uncovered in the freezer and a salad of rocket and pickled red onion, with Suffolk blue cheese and oatcakes for afters. Linus and the others arrived in plenty of time and appeared in good spirits, as if a strong wind had blown away a stubborn dark cloud. At the table, Linus threatened Thorne with dismissal unless he and Sheila sat down and ate with us. This seemed to be some sort of joke between them—the butler only smiled and left, returning with the housekeeper and two more place settings.

The meal took on a festive air. “This is like a house party,” I said, and others smiled. I was sorry we couldn't all go off to our rooms in the Hall and begin the merriment all over again at breakfast. “A house party with all the right people,” I said to Michael, and added, “except there's no shooting.”

He gave me a puzzled look. I shrugged. “The Drakes,” I whispered, remembering where the words came from. “They said that. You know, about…” I didn't want to say Addleton's name aloud, but Michael seemed to cotton on, and nodded.

But my comment had puzzled me, too. Someone else had said that same thing only recently, and I couldn't remember who it was. Had Freddy mentioned a house party? Or the Earl of Tarvin during dinner the evening Cecil and Freddy arrived? I tried to put the words in various people's mouths, but couldn't sync them up.

We finished coffee in the library amid a cloud of yawns. “You'll not be birding with Gavin any time soon?” Vesta asked me as we helped carry coffee things to the kitchen. I saw the twinkle in her eye.

“It isn't likely.”

“How did you discover he could see?” Vesta asked.

“It slipped out of his mouth accidentally—caused by a woman, of course. He recognized Isabel way at the other end of the high street. ‘There she is again,' he said.” I laughed. “Gavin and Isabel—I don't think Gavin would come out of that well.” I glanced over my shoulder in case Isabel lurked behind a tasseled drape.

It came to me then how odd that sounded. Gavin had said, “There she is
again.
” But when had he seen her before?

Michael caught up with us in the kitchen. “Akash has offered to run me over to Haverhill first thing in the morning so that I can collect my car. Do you want to go along?”

“No,” I said, “you go on. I wouldn't want to chance opening late tomorrow—must be twelve on the dot. I've missed a fair bit of work.” I walked him to the entry, taking hold of his hand and pulling him aside. “I told Callow I'd be in to see her on Monday.”

He nodded and squeezed my hand. We all said our good nights, the door closed, and those of us on the inside dispersed.

There she is again.
I needed to ring Gavin—would do as soon as I went upstairs.

“Julia,” Linus said as I put my hand on the round knob of the newel post.

“Oh, Linus,” I said, “I'm knackered tonight—I'm not sure I'll make it down for cocoa.”

“Of course, don't give it another thought. It's only I wanted to thank you. Cecil told me what he's been up to—apparently at your urging.” He glanced round the entry, but we were alone. “He explained everything—the courses he's taken and Louisa's help. He's done all that so I would think him able to run the estate when the time came.” Linus's eyes shone as he shook his head. “I wonder if Isabel knows.”

There she is again.

“I'm so pleased for you—and Cecil.”

“I've told DI Callow we'll be back in to see her on Monday. And that'll put an end to that. Well, it was a lovely evening. I wonder whatever became of Addleton?”

I shrugged. I was sure we'd catch up with Mr. Addleton sooner rather than later.

I texted Gavin—“Need to talk”—but he did not answer. And could I blame him after I sent him off with his tail between his legs? I'd try again in the morning. Had he seen Isabel arrive on the Saturday? If so, it had to have been after we'd returned from our foray to find the pied wheatear. That was an afternoon I'd rather forget—my disagreement with Michael.

Now, as I washed my face and cleaned my teeth, I looked back on the evening we'd just shared with friends. I crawled into bed and felt sleep overtake me, the last few thoughts of the day drifting about, unmoored. I heard it again—“A house party with all the right people. Even if there is no shooting.”—and could almost reach out and touch the speaker in the moment before it all dissolved.