The Dead of Winter (7 page)

‘
I will look into this, Mrs Creedy,' Elizabeth had promised. If nothing else it would add a little excitement, she thought, to a life which had proved dull since their return from Europe.

‘
And what do you think?' she had asked both the estate manager and the head gardener who had been first on the scene and watched the gamekeeper die.

The gardener shuffled his feet, twisting his cap between his hands. He shook his head. ‘I saw nothing, Mrs Southam, nor heard nothing either.
'

‘
You can go, Michael,' George Weston, the manager of her husband's estate, told the man.

‘
Mr Weston?
'

‘
Please understand, Mrs Southam, that you cannot expect those who are vulnerable to the wrath of their superiors to speak freely. I will confirm Creedy's words, but I do ask that you leave the servants out of the matter. For their sake.
'

Elizabeth frowned. ‘Very well, Mr Weston, and what will you tell me?
'

Weston hesitated for a moment, and then he said, ‘Creedy's weapon was un-loaded when I took it from his hand. It had not been fired.
'

‘
You lied to the police?
'

‘
I lied to the police. I perjured myself at the inquest. Creedy asked me to do so. I did not see fit to deny the wishes of a dying man, especially as I fully understood his reasoning.
'

‘
Sit down, Mr Weston,' Elizabeth commanded. ‘And you will explain your reasoning to me.
'

It was after nine by the time Rina headed back to her room. She had decided she would call Mac and ask him to look some things up for her on his computer. She had become used to having Internet access this past year and really missed it now. She supposed she could have asked Melissa if there was a terminal she could use, but really didn't want to draw attention to the fact that she was checking up on her fellow guests and doing a bit of her own research to supplement Viv's very able appraisal. It didn't seem very polite, apart from anything else. She'd been relieved to have been seated at dinner with Joy and Tim, and their other table companions, Rav and Terry, had proved to be amiable and easy. Much to her surprise, Terry Beal, internationally acclaimed action hero, more famous for his muscles than his brain, was a bright, intelligent soul who had been far more interested in finding out about his fellow diners than talking about his acting career. Best of all, he knew of Rina. Her lead role in the TV series
Lydia Marchant Investigates
was familiar to him and affectionately recalled.

‘I used to watch it with my mother, and now I catch it on reruns when I'm travelling. You'd be amazed at how many languages it's been dubbed into or subtitled for.'

Actually, Rina thought, she knew precisely how many – and picked up a nice little royalty cheque on a regular basis. Lydia Marchant had paid for Peverill Lodge in the first place; now she did her bit to help with the running of it, and Rina was profoundly grateful to her alter ego.

‘It must have been hard to give it up. What did it run for? Ten years, twelve?'

‘Eleven series,' Rina told him. ‘And three films, but it had run its course by the time it was finally axed. You know, there was a twelfth series commissioned?'

‘No, I didn't realize that. What happened?'

‘Oh, change of mind at the top. Some new executives drafted in wanted to modernize, and apparently Lydia Marchant was too old-fashioned for them. Every so often someone will talk about a revival – I've even had a couple of meetings about it – but I doubt anything will ever happen.'

Terry Beal had looked keenly at her. ‘Would you want to?'

‘I wouldn't say no. It could be fun.'

‘It could indeed.' He flashed a smile and leaned across the table. ‘Leave it with me,' he said, and Rina had smiled back, trying to ignore the frisson of excitement at the thought that he might in fact be able to do something. It
would
be fun, she thought, after all this time.

Rina arrived at the final landing and, on impulse, turned off the light so that she could see out of the large window. The rain had ceased, the sky cleared and she could now see the two wings leading back from the main body of the house and the outbuildings Melissa had told her had been the stables and accommodation for live-in outdoor staff. There was a yard beyond, but Rina's view of this was blocked by the tall, pitched roof of the carriage house. All of this, Melissa had told her, was to be converted into guest accommodation for the conferences she hoped to host. The space between the wings was grassed, skirted by paths, and beyond that was a larger expanse of lawn, which stopped at a line of trees. Aikensthorpe wood was out of sight on the other side of the house, but Rina assumed that this line of tall trees must be an outcropping from it; they looked too densely packed to be merely a field boundary. She released the catches on the sash window and eased it up, glad to find that it had not been painted closed as so often happened with these old windows. Cold, damp air flooded on to the landing, taking her breath. There's snow on that wind, she thought. It might not be there in the morning, but it wouldn't be long after. Checking the latch was secured and she was not about to be decapitated by a falling sash, she leaned out and looked towards the unlit windows of the seance room. Melissa had shown her the pictures she had taken when it had been unsealed. When she had entered the room that afternoon, Rina had assumed it was windowless, but now she knew that close fitting shutters, matching the wall panelling, had been fastened tight over them.

‘They drew the shutters that night and they were never opened again,' Melissa had said. ‘The room was closed and locked and that was that.'

Robin had been accurate in his description of the room's contents, but in addition to the remains of roses still in a silver bowl, Rina had noticed a single glove left on a chair, a lady's paisley shawl draped across the back. It was these small items that spoke so eloquently to Rina. Something had frightened the participants so much that they had departed in haste and sealed the memory inside, not even venturing back to retrieve their possessions.

She started to close the window, glancing first at the still lighted windows of the dining room and the little anteroom where they had gathered before dinner. The curtains had not been fully drawn, and a shaft of light that fell on to the paving stones and the sodden grass was momentarily broken as someone passed between light and window. She had left Tim and Jay Statham deep in conversation with Rav, and Joy playing poker with Edwin and Gail. Rina, having seen Joy play before, felt sorry for the other two.

A slight movement attracted her attention, and she looked towards the rear of the stable block. Now her eyes had become accustomed to the light, she could see a small door fitted into the grey stone wall. A figure moved beside the door and then opened it. Rina could see a light come on, and then the door closed again. She frowned, annoyed with herself that she had seen no one leave the house and could only guess who the figure might have been. Tall and slim built, she would surmise Melissa. Not that it mattered, she told herself. It was just that she liked to know these things.

She was about to move away from the window and go to her room when a second figure detached itself from the shadows by the library wall and walked swiftly across towards the stable door. Intrigued, Rina noted that whoever it was walked the length of the lawn rather than down the path, as though to avoid the sound of gravel crunching beneath their feet. Rina leaned out a little further. This second person was male, and something in the way he pushed back his hair caused her to believe it might be Toby. He paused, glanced around, then opened the small door and went inside.

‘Well,' Rina breathed. ‘Now, isn't that interesting?'

Or was it, really? So Melissa and Toby were meeting in the stable; there could be so many and varied reasons for that. Romantic, perhaps, or something merely practical to do with the events of the weekend.

Telling herself not to be such a busybody, but knowing that the habit was far too ingrained for her head to take the blindest bit of notice, Rina withdrew and began to close the window, only to pause as a third person stepped into view. He – she was pretty sure it was a he – moved out into the patch of light slanting through the dining room curtains and stood looking towards the door in the stable wall. For perhaps a couple of minutes, he didn't move, and neither did Rina. She couldn't place him. Carefully, she compared her mental images of the males in their party to the figure standing there, dressed, unlike Melissa and Toby, in a heavy coat and what she assumed was a thick scarf or hat muffling the shape of his head.

Too heavily built for Rav, and not Robin either – far too tall, and definitely without Robin's slightly apologetic little stoop. Tim she would know anywhere, and Jay Stratham had a distinctive way of moving that was quite unlike this man. Jay thrust his head forwards when he walked, as though listening for something, or stalking some mysterious prey. The old man, Edwin Holmes? No, definitely not him. Terry, maybe, or possibly the professor?

The figure moved, and Rina retreated, suddenly uneasy about being seen. She watched as the figure marched confidently across the lawn, heading towards the line of trees. He didn't seem worried about being seen, but then, she thought, why should he be? Melissa and Toby, the seeming objects of his interest, were in the stables, and no windows looked back out on to the lawn. The rest were in the dining room or anteroom, and both of these had their curtains closed. He, whoever he was, had no reason to give any thought to a potential spy in an upstairs window.

‘There's trouble in this,' Rina said to herself as she eased the window closed. ‘Just mark my words.'

Reaching her room, she put the kettle on, the routine of tea making and drinking always guaranteed to help get her thoughts in order. Then, mug in hand, and notebook with a list of questions on her lap, she phoned Mac, knowing he wouldn't mind being called so late. Mac, like most police officers, and his partner, Miriam, a CSI, often kept peculiar hours.

‘No, there's nothing wrong,' she reassured him. ‘I just felt the need to chat with someone back in the civilized world.'

‘Frantham? The civilized world? I'm not sure it's made it into the twentieth century yet.'

‘Quite,' Rina said. ‘How is everything back at home?' she asked rather wistfully.

‘Missing you and planning celebrations. Anyone would think you'd been on a year long expedition to unknown climes, not ten days in Manchester. So, what can I do for you?'

‘You can Google a question for me, if you would. Mac, this is a strange place, and my fellow guests are no less odd. Nice enough, I suppose, but . . .'

‘But?

‘Oh, just but. Do you have a pen and paper? Right. Can you just do me a quick background check on the following? Who they are and what they do and that sort of thing. I've been told the basics, but I do like to be properly briefed.'

‘Are you investigating, Rina?' Mac was laughing at her.

‘No, not exactly. Mac, you know that feeling you get when everything looks all right, but there's something that doesn't add up. Something that's just off?'

‘All too well. Rina, is everything all right up there?'

‘So far as I can tell, I suppose it is.'

‘But?'

‘So far it is just a “but”. Humour me, Mac?'

‘Always, you know that. I'll give you a call if I come up with anything I think you need to know, otherwise I'll drop the notes in on Sunday morning.'

‘Thank you,' Rina said. ‘You're definitely coming up early then?'

‘We may as well. Neither of us can settle, so Miriam's looked out some places of interest up that way. We've decided to drive north tomorrow, take in some sights, and we've booked a bed and breakfast in a village about five miles from where you are. You know snow is forecast?'

‘I guessed as much.' Rina smiled as she said her goodbyes, suddenly feeling much better at the thought of Mac and Miriam being close by. She got up and wandered over to her window. The light from the room blocked the scene outside and merely showed Rina's reflection.

‘You're looking old,' she told herself. ‘Old and tired and bored. You need a challenge, Rina Martin. Something more than retirement by the seaside.'

She dropped the curtain back into place and sat down on the side of the bed, a sudden unexpected wave of loneliness sweeping over her. True, she had some wonderful friends and a busy life, but it had been dawning on her for the past few months, ever since it became obvious that Joy and Tim were really serious about one another, that something was missing. True, that particular something had been missing for many years, since her beloved Fred had been taken from her after only five years of happiness. She slowly took the watch from its place on her wrist and studied it, stroking the little gilt face and the rather worn leather strap. Fred had given this to her, and though she had another, everyday, watch, this was still her treasured possession, worn on those occasions when a little extra nerve was required. She wasn't sure why she'd felt that need tonight, but she had, and the talisman had worked its usual magic, calming and reassuring her.