Murder on the Old Road (6 page)

‘Let sleeping dogs lie, that's what I say.' Lisa looked unfazed.

‘As with Hugh Wayncroft's murder?' Georgia put her foot firmly into the playing ground. It was a safe bet, she reasoned, as Simon had not been in the village then, and it would hardly upset Lisa after forty years.

Mistake. Georgia realized that immediately as the atmosphere instantly cooled. ‘I'll be seeing to those potatoes, Simon,' Lisa said, turning to go.

‘But the vicar said I should tell you she sent me.' The words sounded ridiculously childish, even to her.

‘Well, did she now? Fancy that. And now you've told me.' Lisa didn't even bother to turn round, but disappeared through the kitchen door.

‘I seem to have upset her.' Georgia could have kicked herself.

‘Old history,' Simon muttered uneasily. ‘But I don't mind talking about the murder, if that's what interests you. I'm a newcomer after all, and I've always thought it strange that Hugh Wayncroft's death seems a no-go area. Whenever I raised the subject, I would get a polite answer and the conversation would be diverted, so I stopped asking. All I could pick up was that he was probably killed by an itinerant strawberry picker. There used to be a farm not far away.'

‘Is that credible?'

‘From what I can gather, no. But, as I said, no one opens up about it. It's just water under the bridge now.'

‘Even to Lisa?'

‘Especially to Lisa.'

‘Deliberately buried?'

‘The jury's out, but my advice is not to go digging.'

‘On the murder itself, perhaps. But the vicar told me the village was split both then and now on the question of promoting itself, and as Hugh Wayncroft was opposed to it, it seems possible it could connect to his death.'

‘Did she say that?'

‘No. But nor did she explain why the issue seems to have polarized the village as strongly as she implied, both then and now.'

‘It's simple enough,' Simon replied savagely. ‘Chillingham is crying out to be put on the map, and if it doesn't succeed not only this pub, but also village life will die on its feet. The post office is under threat unless trade picks up, and if it goes the village shop will too, and so will the B and B business. What's left of the Chillingham estate would have to be sold, and the Three Peacocks can't survive much longer. Only the church would be left. The church usually survives.'

‘So the vicar is a traditionalist.'

‘Not the only one, alas,' Simon admitted.

‘Do
you
think the split could be relevant to Hugh Wayncroft's murder? Anne Fanshawe implied it was just as fierce then as now.'

‘I wouldn't know, but it seems possible. A lot of livelihoods were at stake, just as they are now, and Hugh Wayncroft was blocking their attempts to progress.'

‘But now his son is in favour of it.'

Simon nodded. ‘Julian, Aletta, Val and Jessica all are. You'd think the village would follow their lead, but no. And yet Chillingham is doomed to decay if it doesn't.' He paused. ‘You know why this pub is called the Three Peacocks?'

‘No.' It was an unusual name.

‘There's a legend that Chillingham Place always had peacocks roaming round the estate, and that if their number fell below three, the village and Chillingham Place would be finished. Tim told me peacocks were once a symbol of resurrection, and later of the soul, hence the importance of keeping them happy. Well, there are no peacocks here now, not in Chillingham Place or in Peacock Wood. Not one. Every so often Julian has a go at breeding them, but they always die or disappear. It's mere folklore, of course, but it doesn't help at a time like this. Chillingham Place eats money, and Julian's income doesn't bring in enough to ensure its future or even his. The only way forward is through the tourist trade, so let's drink to jolly old St Thomas Becket.'

‘Did he have specific connections with Chillingham? I noticed the church is dedicated to him. Would that old chapel also have been?'

Simon regarded her with some amusement. ‘Didn't Anne tell you?'

‘No. I asked her if the well had any legends attached to it, but she wasn't forthcoming.'

‘What a surprise. Anyone would think she wanted to keep the saint all to herself.'

‘Explain please?' Georgia asked hopefully.

‘With all the pleasure in the world. The village's future
depends
on St Thomas. The ruined chapel and well are both attributed to him. The medieval tourist trade ordered chapels to be built after the saint's martyrdom, and the well in particular is a miracle site. St Thomas had a starring role in hundreds of miracles. The first was reported only three days after his death, and five years later the then Prior of Canterbury produced his huge Book of Miracles, all ascribed to Thomas Becket and taking place not only in Canterbury and the rest of Britain, but also in France, Scotland, Ireland . . . Everyone joined in. The Canterbury monks were all too eager to boost the cathedral's tourist takings, and masses of miracles occurred both locally and all along the Old Road. Chapels and wells dedicated to him sprang up like mushrooms, including ours; as wells and water are a vital part of any religion, so they're often attached to chapels. So here we are in Chillingham with a Holy Well of our own, undoubtedly attributable to St Thomas.'

‘With what evidence?'

‘The Book of Miracles itself. There was a blind girl called Seivia who was on her way to Canterbury and had a vision of St Thomas at Chillingham. He told her that her sight would be restored and that the first person she would meet would be a young man called Robert. She should tell him that St Thomas commanded him to build a cross on the spot. Robert duly did so, St Thomas appeared again and struck the ground with his staff, and that's how our chapel and healing well came into being. From then on, the well was reputed to cure any ailment under the sun. As, indeed, for all I know it might have done. Faith can achieve miracles.'

Georgia was impressed. ‘Anne kept quiet about Miss Seivia. I can see why you're eager to develop the village now. Even so, the ruins wouldn't attract too many coachloads on their own.'

‘Ah, but a school of thought has it that St Thomas's bones are buried here.'

Now that really could draw the crowds. ‘Does that have any validity?'

‘That's the question. There's some circumstantial evidence that makes it a sporting chance they might be here. There are plenty of theses about where his bones are, or aren't, so I don't see why Chillingham shouldn't be represented too. At Chillingham Place if you're very privileged you can see the St Thomas figure, which was a sort of medieval wooden puppet worked from behind the scenes by monks in the chapel you saw. The punters thought the saint was speaking directly to them, so if he turned his head or the corners of his mouth down, it meant he disapproved of their offering and another groat or two had to go in the cash box. It gave the monks a lot of pocket money when St Thomas blessed the sick. So yes, Chillingham had something special.'

Georgia remembered Luke telling her about something similar. ‘Wasn't there one at Boxley Church?'

‘Yeah. But the Boxley Rood of Grace has vanished long since. Chillingham is luckier. Bits of the St Thomas figure are safely under lock and key.'

‘I can see why Julian and Val Harper want to exploit it. But what would the masses today actually get out of it, apart from seeing the ruins and bits of wood? Even with the legend of the bones, it still doesn't seem enough to do the trick.'

‘Believe me, Georgia, the minute the button's pushed for the go-ahead, we're off. Val has it all in hand. There are plans for visitor centres, books, websites, tours, walks, a theatre called Beckets to put on full-scale productions, including a short drama on the murder and miracles. Nothing overlooked – that will also be available on DVD. He's designed badges and tokens copied from the ones bought by the pilgrims at St Thomas's shrine. He's stopped short of providing phials of the saint's blood, thankfully, but all the other plans are in place. There's just one little snag.'

‘The opposition party, just as in 1967?'

‘Then led by Hugh Wayncroft, with the support of the vicar and half the village.'

‘And on the 1967 pro side?'

‘Jessica Wayncroft, which can't have made for domestic bliss. Val Harper, of course. Fred Miller, Clive Moon, and the other half of the village.'

‘But with Hugh's death the way should have been clear to go ahead, so why didn't it?' Then Georgia realized the probable answer. ‘Robert Wayncroft?'

‘Precisely. The estate reverted to Robert, and he, too, was against it.'

‘But he is no longer alive, so it's a different matter. However much people may object, the Wayncrofts can go ahead.'

Simon grimaced. ‘Afraid not. Robert bequeathed the manor and estate to Julian, with one little exception. St Thomas's chapel and well, together with the field they are in.'

This grew weirder by the moment. ‘So who owns them?'

‘Anne Fanshawe does.'

So that was it. The last piece of the jigsaw, and it made sense of it all.
That
was the reason for the clear-cut split in the village. Anne was leading the opposition, and Val Harper and Julian the progress group.
That
was why Anne felt under an obligation to Robert Wayncroft. And
that
was why Anne had suggested she speak to Lisa Moon.

Who wouldn't speak to her. There was still one last strand to be tackled, though, and Georgia clutched at it.

‘Could I talk to Jessica? If she's still in reasonable health?'

Simon glanced towards the doorway, where Lisa was standing, listening to them.

‘Oh yes,' Lisa said neutrally. ‘The old bat's going strong.'

FOUR

‘
T
he pilgrim returns.' Peter took his eyes briefly from the book he was reading.

‘With honours.'

‘Chillingham seems to be a mass of anthills,' he commented, when Georgia had finished relating both the fruits and aggravating dead ends of her visit. ‘Fine on the surface, but stir them a little and the armies begin to march.'

‘The queens might be living a whole lot deeper than I've dug,' she warned him. ‘I've only scratched the surface.'

‘You seem to have got the lie of the land, though,' Peter said approvingly. ‘So far Thomas Becket seems the main link back to 1967, but it's not a bad start.'

Peter seemed remarkably enthusiastic, she thought with some surprise as she went to the kitchen to make some coffee. His carer Margaret had already left for the day, but Georgia noted that Peter had actually eaten his lunch. All too often he forgot all about it. Margaret had left a dinner ready for him to cook that evening, which was significant as that was usually Janie's province.

‘Dining alone tonight?' she asked, when she returned to the office.

‘Yes. I told Janie I was busy.'

Georgia knew better than to probe further. Peter was a past master at this game when it suited him, so it was best to ignore it. She wouldn't even ask him what he would be ‘busy' doing.

‘The hullabaloo over St Thomas must have died down after Hugh's death,' she commented, ‘because Robert Wayncroft put his foot down. As he was living abroad most of the time, he was conveniently unobtainable for any lobbying to be effective.'

‘Quite. And as soon as Robert dies, Val Harper gallops back and it springs up again. Moreover, some of the same personalities are around. An interesting situation, wouldn't you say?' He cocked an eye at her. ‘Even dangerous? How about joining the merry band for a while?'

‘Thanks a bunch. You mean that pilgrimage?' Her first instinct was sheer horror. The last thing she wanted was to be away from home at the moment when her chances of conception were reducing all the time. She had underestimated her father, however, as Peter continued briskly: ‘Of course you can't go. Stupid of me.'

That made her struggle with the idea. ‘Perhaps for a day or two.'

‘Excellent.' Peter beamed. ‘So that's settled.'

‘Not quite.' Damn. As so often, she'd played into her father's hands. ‘Are we
sure
we're taking this case on?'

‘We are.' Peter looked at her in amazement. ‘It's a challenge. We've never picked up the gauntlet with so little to go on.'

He must have seen her expression, because he flushed and turned quickly back to his book. Wasn't he doing the very opposite over Rick? All the evidence in the world wasn't going to convince Peter that Rick was no longer alive.

‘Let him go, Peter,' she said quietly.

‘How?' He didn't even look up.

It was a plea for help, but she had no answer. It had to come from within him.

‘Not this week at least. No way. There's the new gazetteer to edit, plus I have to get ready for John Waites on Friday.' Luke looked contrite. ‘Why don't you go though? Usually, you'd jump at the chance to get away from me.'

The joke didn't amuse her. The gazetteer was a big job, and John Waites was Frost & Co's distributor so Luke had justification on his side. Even so, he should think of
her
. ‘Not now,' she said mutinously.

‘Ah.'

Too late, Georgia fumed at her own stupidity. Bad enough to worry herself over the passing time, but the one thing she had vowed was not to involve Luke in her anxiety. That would seem as if it wasn't his company she wanted, only his part in the conception process.

‘A few days away might help you relax,' Luke continued. ‘Get involved in something new.'

A typically male response. ‘Such as the Chillingham feuds?' she asked. She knew Luke was right, and yet . . . and yet . . .

He shrugged, which she read as a message that he couldn't care less provided she left him alone with his precious work. ‘Village feuds
and
sibling rivalry. If you and Peter are thinking of making this a Marsh & Daughter case, the pilgrimage might be just the place to immerse yourself in it. Take care though.'