Murder at Honeychurch Hall: A Mystery (27 page)

“Do you remember the cedar tree?” she said wistfully. “It was struck by lightning, you know.”

“Come along, Edith,” said William briskly. “Let’s go and see Jupiter. Remember that we need to give her medication the same time every morning.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Lady Edith gave one last look at the photograph before putting it back into the charger plate. I followed them out into the hallway and bid good-bye.

Lady Edith turned to me. “Did you enjoy your ride on Tinkerbell this morning?” she asked. “She’s quite a handful, isn’t she?”

Taken aback I said, “I didn’t ride—”

“Something came up at the last minute,” said William quickly. “Kat changed her mind, didn’t you, Kat?”

“Yes, that’s right,” I said. “But I’d love to ride out another time.”

William shot me a grateful look.

I returned to the kitchen. “I think Lady Edith really
is
losing her mind—” I stopped in my tracks. “What’s wrong? You look as if you have seen a ghost.”

Mum was sitting at the kitchen table staring at the mail Lady Edith had brought in. Her face was ashen.

“Look,” she whispered and pushed a white envelope toward me. “It was stuck underneath that brown one.”

The envelope was addressed to William Bushman, The Stable Yard, Honeychurch Hall, Little Dipperton. The return address was from a Mrs. Joan Stark, Sunny Hill Lodge Residential Home.

“Isn’t Joan Stark, Vera’s mother?” I said. “William must have broken the news. I must say he seems very—”

“Don’t you see?” said Mum sharply. “Bushman. Billy Bushman? No, not possible—not possible at all.”

“You mean—Bushman as in Bushman’s Traveling Boxing Emporium?” My jaw dropped. “William is your
stepbrother
Billy?”

“No, of course he’s not!” Mum cried.

“Mum—it could be Billy,” I said slowly. “You told me that Lady Edith gave you and Billy each a toy mouse. Billy’s has badges on the cardigan—badges of piers. One is Blackpool Pier. How else could the Ella Fitzgerald mouse end back here?”

“Billy was smaller. Whippier,” said Mum. “He was a boxer, not a tug-of-war kind of man—I need a gin and tonic.”

“So do I,” I said and quickly made two.

“He’s trying to pass himself off as my Billy,” Mum exclaimed. “And it’s not him. I’d know!” Mum shook her head vigorously. “It’s
not
him. It can’t be. When Billy turned professional, his nose was squashed flat in the boxing ring and he had a cauliflower ear—the left one.”

“Well, there’s always plastic surgery,” I said doubtfully.

“Why can’t you be serious,” Mum snapped.

“I am. I’m trying to make sense of it all,” I said. “When was the last time you saw Billy?”

Mum shrugged. “I don’t know … 1962.”

“And how old would he have been?”

Mum shrugged again. “Fifteen.”

“So you haven’t seen Lady Edith or Billy for over fifty years.”

Mum shook her head vigorously again. “I would know Billy anywhere and besides, his brother Alfred said he died of an aneurism on Blackpool Pier. Remember? Hardly something you’d make up.”

I had to admit she had a point—and then I recalled the conversation I’d had with Lady Edith in the equine cemetery the night before. “Lady Edith mentioned she might even leave the estate to William and frankly, I wouldn’t blame her.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say!” said Mum.

“Does it really matter if William is—or isn’t her son?” I said. “It was all so long ago.”

“Of course it matters!” Mum cried. “He’s an imposter!”

“Why don’t you talk to Alfred again?” I said. “Wouldn’t there be a grave or something?”

“Alfred told me that Billy’s ashes were scattered off the end of Blackpool Pier.”

“Then ask William,” I said. “It’s too much of a coincidence, Mum. Surely you see that.”

“I refuse to discuss this anymore. The subject is closed.” She jabbed a finger at the large brown envelope that still lay unopened on the table. “Now you can make yourself useful and open that.”

“I don’t understand you,” I said. “Don’t you want to know?”

With a heavy sigh, I ripped open the large brown envelope and withdrew several large sheets of paper folded into quarters. “What on earth—?”

A handwritten note fell out and Mum bent over to pick it up. Her eyes widened in shock. “Well, I’ll be blowed!” she cried. “Look, it’s from Gayla!”

I grabbed it.
FOR LADY EDITH. URGENT. CONFIDENTIAL.
“When was this posted?”

Mum studied the postmark on the brown envelope. “Dartmouth. Stamped Saturday morning,” she exclaimed. “I thought you said she was going to Plymouth railway station?”

“That’s what she told me,” I said.

“What a naughty girl. Crying wolf and causing all that fuss! Why would she do that? What are these papers?”

My stomach sank. “They’re drawings.”

Mum looked at them blankly. “Who are H & P Developments? What is PlayScapes?”

“They’re plans to develop Honeychurch Hall,” I said and squeezed Mum’s shoulder. “And the Carriage House is slap bang in the middle. See?” I pointed to the blueprints. “Right there.”

It was exactly as Lady Edith had described. The Hall itself would be divided into twelve luxury flats. Cromwell Meadows would house a go-kart track. The parkland would become an adventure playground called Wizard Wonderland and Lady Edith’s beloved equine cemetery was earmarked as a caravan park “
with spectacular views over the River Dart
.” The Carriage House was labeled
RESTAURANT: OFFICES: PUBLIC CONVENIENCES.

Mum’s eyes welled up with tears. “Did you know about this?”

“Lady Edith told me last night,” I said. “I was going to tell you.”

“How nice of you,” Mum said bitterly.

“Gayla must have found out,” I said. “My guess is that when Rupert dumped her she decided to get her revenge by stealing the plans and telling Lady Edith so she’d disinherit him for good.” Quickly, I filled Mum in on the conversation I’d had with her ladyship in the equine cemetery.

It all made sense—Gayla’s panicked reaction upon seeing Rupert’s car at the top of the driveway on Friday night and Eric’s role in trying to retrieve the plans that hadn’t been destroyed after all. But what still puzzled me was how Vera fit in and how she ended up dead in the grotto.

“If Lady Edith knew all this,” said Mum, “why doesn’t she disinherit Rupert anyway?”

“I asked her the same question. Lady Edith told me that Harry would get everything when he turns twenty-one but of course, Rupert would manage the estate until then—unless she decided to leave it to someone else—”

“You mean, William,” said Mum flatly. “No wonder Rupert wanted me to move to Sawmill Cottage—”

“And Eric’s role was just to make your life difficult so that you’d do just that,” I went on. “We should inform the police. These are vital clues in Gayla’s disappearance. She may well have posted these plans from Dartmouth but we still don’t know if she is safe.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“Let’s take these plans straightaway. Perhaps we can even get the sale of the Carriage House voided because you bought it under false circumstances.”

“I’m not moving,
now,
” Mum said stubbornly. She gestured to the blueprints. “It’s obvious that without the Carriage House they can’t really develop Wizard—whatever it’s called.”

“Mum, you know as well as I do that eventually, the developers will get their own way,” I said. “They always do.”

“I can’t—I
won’t
betray Lady Edith again,” said Mum hysterically. “I let her down all those years ago. I was tricked. He tricked me.”

“Who tricked you?” I said gently. “Who?”

“I didn’t tell him about Billy,” she said. “He already guessed he was her son.”

“You’re Irene, the gypsy girl in the story, aren’t you?” I said. “The go-between Lady Evelyn and Shelby.”

Mum nodded. “You guessed.”

“And
was
there a love child?” I asked.

Mum nodded again. “Yes. It was Billy but of course I didn’t know until … until…” She bit her lip. “I was five when Billy suddenly joined our family. Aunt June said that the stork had brought a baby to us.”

Mum was visibly upset. I reached over and took her hand. “I carried Lady Edith’s love letters for years. I thought it terribly romantic—very Lady Chatterley and Mellors the gamekeeper.” Mum went on, “It was a different time back then. They could never marry.”

“And then Lady Edith’s brother found out?” I prompted.

“Yes, it was my fault,” said Mum. “He was very protective of her—especially after their parents died in the Blitz. At least that’s what Aunt June told me.”

“How did it end?”

Mum fell silent at the memory. Tears filled her eyes. “I was taking a letter and the earl—that would be her brother, Rupert—stopped me.”

“How can it be your fault? How old were you?”

“Fifteen,” said Mum. “Oh Kat, Honeychurch Hall was the only place I ever felt happy. I feel as if I have come home.”

“At least now I understand why you chose here and want to stay.”

“They were wonderful summers,” said Mum. “It was only later I realized we were allowed to camp here so that Lady Edith could see her son.” Mum wiped away a tear. “And then I ruined it. His lordship challenged Stark to a duel.”

“Good God,” I said. “In this day and age?”

“Both of them died,” said Mum. “Lady Edith blamed me. I was devastated. We were told never to come back to Honeychurch Hall. Frankly, I was surprised no one questioned me at the time. It was reported as a tragic shooting accident and hushed up.”

“Did Billy know Lady Edith was his mother?” I asked.

“Those things were kept quiet. Illegitimate children were shameful secrets in those days.”

“And she never saw Billy again, either?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” Mum shrugged. “When I married your father, I lost touch with everyone.”

“Did Dad know about all this?”

“Of course he did,” Mum said. “It was your father who found the newspaper clipping of Lady Edith in the first place just before he died. I suppose Frank wanted me make my peace with her. It’s haunted me for years and now I find I just can’t do it. It’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.” Mum looked up. Her eyes filled with tears again. “He said that the only thing that mattered in this life was love and forgiveness.”

“Tell her,” I said. “Tell her everything. No more secrets, Mum. Promise.”

“You don’t understand,” said Mum. “Lady Edith does not forgive.” She abruptly switched gears. “I think I’d better file that complaint against Eric Pugsley—especially if he is really trying to get me out,” she said suddenly. “Do you think the police station closes for lunch?”

With a sigh I said, “Fine. I’ll get my things together and we’ll go.”

Chapter Twenty-two

“Is this
it
?
” said Mum, taking in the tiny police station on the outskirts of Dartmouth. “How can anyone solve a crime from this cupboard?”

The police station was just one room with a sparsely furnished waiting area comprised of an uncomfortable-looking bench seat and two hard chairs. A round table held a handful of leaflets—Devon Recycling, Neighborhood Watch, and a few flyers for an upcoming Morris Dancing extravaganza.

A narrow counter kept the general public at bay. A large notice board covered the wall behind it with various pertinent police matters—and a black-and-white poster of Gayla. The photograph showed her standing in front of Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square pulling a goofy face for the camera.

“We’ll soon wipe the smile off her face,” said Mum. “What a little minx.”

An old-fashioned bell was on the counter alongside a plaque saying
YOUR DESK SERGEANT TODAY IS: MALCOLM.

“Malcolm? Shawn? Clive? Everything is so informal these days,” muttered Mum as she gave the bell a rap.

A uniformed police officer in his fifties—presumably Malcolm—with a hooked nose and wire-rimmed spectacles, emerged from a door that I’d assumed was a cupboard. I caught a glimpse of a kettle and an easy chair.

Malcolm was holding a cheese and pickle sandwich. “Sorry,” he said through a mouthful of bread. “Just making a bit of lunch. We don’t often get walk-ins. Lost a cat, have you?”

Gesturing to Gayla’s poster, I said, “We’ve got important information regarding the missing nanny.”

Malcolm shoved the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and turned to the notice board. I could just about make out, “Should have taken this down,” and “bloody foreigners.”

“You’ve found her!” Mum and I chorused.

We waited for Malcolm to finish his mouthful. “Yep. Got arrested for shoplifting on Saturday afternoon and spent the night in Dartmouth. They’re a full-service police station. We don’t have the facilities here.”

“Oh really? I thought this was a cell,” said Mum.

I was stunned. “But Gayla was declared missing. There were teams of police out looking for her and no one thought to inform the Honeychurch family?”

“We only have a skeleton staff at the weekend—oh—my—God!” Malcolm gasped. His eyes raked in my appearance. “Are you on the telly?”

“
Fakes & Treasures
,” said Mum. “Yes, you have a celebrity in your midst.”

“Kat Stanford!” Malcolm beamed, exposing the urgent need for a toothbrush. “My wife loves your show.”

“I’m so glad.” I beckoned Malcolm closer and said in a low voice, “So what happened to the bloodstained turquoise bandana?”

“Can’t tell you, sorry.”

“Come on, Malcolm,” I said, flashing him my best smile. “Not even for me?”

“Red paint,” said Malcolm flatly. “Something about building a model airplane. Shawn’s pretty pissed off, I can tell you.”

“Is he here?” I said.

“And if so, where?” said Mum, scanning the room. “Under the table?”

“Morning!”

Malcolm’s demeanor immediately changed as WPC Roxy Cairns strolled through the front door accompanied by identical twin boys of around five years old dressed in matching shorts and dinosaur-emblazoned T-shirts. They each had a coloring book and packet of crayons.

“We’ve just heard that you found Gayla,” I said.

“Yes. She took us all for a ride,” said Roxy. “There was no wealthy father or agency called Nannies-Abroad. Why Vera hired her is a mystery to me. Fancy not doing proper background checks on a nanny!”