The Green Remains (26 page)

  “I don’t really know Declan Barnes. I thought I knew Paul, and that wasn’t the relationship I’d hoped for. What if I gave all of this up, including a man I know loves me—a good, decent man—and it didn’t work out between Declan and me? How do I even know he wants a woman with someone else’s child? That’s who I am now—a package deal.”

  Val stroked Nora’s arm. “First off, Declan knew you were pregnant when he met you. Second, Simon is aware you have misgivings about getting involved right now.”

  “And third?” Nora asked. “Help me decide what to do.”

  “Third? You don’t need to make any of these decisions now. That’s a decision in itself. If it’s meant to be Declan, he’ll find his way to you. In the meantime, you accept Kate and Simon’s love and support and stick to Plan A for the next year.”

  Nora bit her lip. “And after that?”

  Val laughed. “After that comes Plan B, and you’ll know what it is when you need to make it.”

*

8:30
PM

Simon was right, Kate thought. The crib had come together quickly. Simon was tightening the Peter Rabbit mobile Nora had bought onto the railing when they heard Nora and Val coming down the hall.

  Darby ran in, followed by the two women and then Ian. Kate felt her face grow warm. She watched the man she loved come into Nora’s room, look around him and then notice her in the alcove.

  His face lit up at the sight of her, and her heart skipped a beat. Then she watched as the warmth she’d seen fell away, replaced with a professional expression.

  Nora chattered to cover the uneasy atmosphere in the room. “Ian, look what Simon and Kate have been doing. Isn’t it a great crib?” It was English walnut in a sleigh bed design.

  “It turns into a junior bed down the road—” Kate’s voice trailed off as she looked at her brother. Simon’s eyes were locked on Ian’s face. Neither man said anything, but it was obvious to Kate that Ian had not come to see her.

  Simon broke the silence. “I have the feeling Ian is here for me.”

  Ian cleared his throat. “Dr. Foreman has completed the posts on Rowley and Halsey. He feels both men died from the same poison as Keith did.”

  Kate stepped forward. “That’s horrible, Ian,” she said stiffly, “but how does that affect us?”

  “Simon needs to come down to the station. I must have him add to his statement about his whereabouts at different times.” He met Kate’s scrutiny. “I’m sorry, Kate, it’s procedure, and I must—”

  “Don’t say it, Ian,” Kate broke in tersely. “You must treat Simon with professional regard, the same as any bloody suspect.” She turned to her brother. “This time we’ll call your counsel. And
I’ll
drive you to the station.”

  Simon reached out to touch his sister’s arm. “That’s not necessary, Kate.”

  She stood up to her full height. “I’m afraid it is.”

*

8:45
PM

Ian, Kate and Simon left without speaking. A minute later, Nora heard the sound of car doors slamming. All was quiet except for Darby scratching at the front door. Nora whistled, and the dog bounded back into her room. She explained to Val about Kate and Ian’s broken engagement.

  “I could feel the ice the moment he walked in,” Val admitted. “Poor Kate.”

  “Poor Ian, too,” Nora added. “He really is doing his job. It’s not his fault Simon had clear access to the poison that was used in three deaths.” She caught the odd look Val gave her. “What?”

  “You really would make a good detective’s wife,” Val stated. “So damned accommodating to the needs of a policeman. Personally, I can see why Kate would be upset with him.”

  “I do, too,” Nora said. “But he has no choice. If anything, he needs to stay on the case to find the real murderer, and he can’t do that if he seems partial to Simon and gets thrown off the investigation.”

  “I thought
you
were going to find the murderer and clear Simon,” Val said mischievously.

  “I’ve snooped, I’ve asked impertinent questions and I’m almost finished going through Keith’s work. I did get Cook rattled once, but I’m not convinced she knows anything except the Clarendon secrets, and she’s not sharing.”

  “Every family has secrets,” Val pointed out.

  “Yes, and I need to get to the heart of the ones at Clarendon Hall.”

Chapter Fifty-Seven

“It was the Bad Godesberg incident that gave the proof, though the German authorities had no earthly means of knowing this.”

— John Le Carré,
The Little Drummer Girl

Friday, 29th October

9:15
AM

Nora waved goodbye as Val drove off on her way to Manchester, tooting her horn. The two friends had shared tea and toast this morning at Nora’s desk. Val always had a calming influence on her. Nora walked back into the quiet lodge. She loved that she could always count on Val to make her feel better in an honest way.

  Neither Kate nor Simon had surfaced yet, but with only one lodger, they were probably having a well-deserved lie-in. Last night, she worried Simon had been arrested at the Kendal station when he and Kate hadn’t arrived home before she and Val had turned in. She had pictured Kate calling their solicitor and Simon locked up in a cell.

  But after 2
AM
, she had thought she heard Simon’s kitchen door open and close, corroborated when Darby had raised his head, ears twitching, from the rug next to her bed. She’d quieted him down, and had heard whispers from Simon and Kate. Finally, Simon’s door had slid closed, and Kate had returned to her own room. The fact that Simon hadn’t been detained made Nora hopeful that Ian was able to take the spotlight off him. She’d left a note on Simon’s table, explaining that she’d fed Darby and had walked him with Val before turning in. No doubt she’d get the full report later today.

  Determination to finish Keith’s manuscript drove Nora. She felt a tug of fear that if the clues she searched for weren’t present, she had no place left to look. Once she finished, at least, she could throw out the drive and erase the document from her laptop. She preferred to think of it as borrowed but knew Ian might see it differently.

  Facing the glow of her laptop, she reviewed the last few pages of the main document and read through the two pages at the end, Keith’s notes to himself. A question mark caught her eye. She scrolled back up to it and read:

TO DO: Crest origin? birth record.

It was the first question mark Nora had come across. She leaned back in her chair and pondered its meaning. Did Keith have a question about the family crest or about a birth record. If it was a birth record, then whose? And why?

  Nora stood and stretched her back, swinging her arms to loosen them up. She paced her room, mulling over options in her mind. What was the link between someone needing Keith, Jack and Daniel to die? Who had hurt Agnes? Had the attack been meant for her instead?

  If Rowley had seen something suspicious, and Nora had no doubt the man had often turned up without notice, perhaps the murderer hadn’t been able to leave him be. Or maybe he had assisted the murderer and then had become a liability. If so, had Jack been a cohort, an accomplice or an innocent bystander?

  Nora spied her bag and took out her camera. She removed the memory card and downloaded the pictures she’d taken at Clarendon Hall. Concentrating on the gallery portraits, she felt she was looking at an answer to a question not yet formed.

  She thought of her father and knew he would have told her to follow her instincts. Grabbing her bag, she left the room before she could change her mind.

*

9:45
AM

Nora made her way to the Clarendon chapel, slowing as she managed the incline of the steep driveway, stopping twice to catch her breath. Doves cooed in a nearby bush. No Daniel to worry about today. She rounded the house. Three glossy-black crows were eating the remains of a small animal near the doorway. Nora shivered and turned from the sight.

  The vicar would be at Saint Martin’s, but the chapel door was unlocked, and Nora tugged it open. The chapel felt smaller empty, its stone walls reeking of dampness. She noticed a moldy odor that the funeral attendees’ mixed perfumes had masked.

  Nora walked up the aisle and opened the door to one side of the undressed altar that led to a small sacristy. Once inside, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was being watched. Probably her conscience kicking into high gear. Leaving the door ajar a few inches, she ignored two tall closets and the drawers between them. She turned her attention to a cupboard of weathered walnut that hung over a small table and chair.

  It was locked. Of course, she thought in exasperation—the Clarendons might leave the chapel unlocked for the tour but wouldn’t leave their family records open for an intruder such as herself to examine. She pulled out the ancient chair, sat down and forced herself to think calmly. The key must be in here somewhere.

  She took a visual inventory, starting at the sacristy door. Next was the wall with the cupboard before which she sat, then came the wall that held the vestments and drawers. The last, narrow wall was bare, a high, leaded-glass window letting in gilded blades of golden sunlight that hit the vestment wall. Pointing to a starting place, Nora decided, rising and opening the left closet.

  Black cassocks in different sizes hung from a single rod. She pushed them aside, looking for keys hanging on a nail at the back. Nothing. She closed that door and tried the other side, where she found crisp, white surplices and heavily embroidered albs. All were clean and pressed for the vicar, thanks to the dedicated Altar Guild ladies from Saint Martin’s who were happy to fuss over the bachelor vicar no matter which church he visited.

  She tried the drawers next. The first two slid open easily to reveal altar linens, starched and ironed, waiting for the next time they would be called into service. She had to crouch down to try the third, her large belly getting in the way. The drawer offered resistance but slid open a few inches. Elated, Nora tried to jiggle it open only to have it jam on an angle.

  A portion of the drawer was open, but the damp wood was swollen, and when Nora tried to close the drawer and reopen it, it wouldn’t budge. She hammered it with her fists on either side until she managed to close it a little, then tried to ease it open straighter.

  This time, she succeeded in getting the drawer halfway open, enough to see it contained worn and patched linens, probably no longer used but kept for historical value, she reasoned. She thrust her hand inside and rifled the pile—nothing. She worked her left hand to the back of the drawer, sweeping it along the back panel of wood. Her hand brushed the hard edge of something, and she knelt down and tried to look inside.

  Where was a flashlight when you needed it? Nora thought. Suddenly, her fingers hit the hardness she’d felt before and closed on a bent nail holding a key.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

“Bright reason will mock thee,

Like the sun from a wintry sky.”

— Percy Bysshe Shelley,
When the Lamp is Shattered

10:05
AM

Once Nora had opened it with the found key, the cupboard on the wall revealed a few outdated prayer books and a small stack of even older registers, all with leather covers in varied stages of deterioration, most with page ends foxed or darkened from age—except the one at the end of the row.

  She drew out the slim, royal blue volume. Stamped in gold on the front cover were the four interlocking C’s of the Clarendon family crest. A loud creak issued from the front of the chapel and startled Nora, who dropped the register onto the table with a disturbingly loud thunk.

  She crept to the sacristy door and peered out. The hair on the back of her neck rose as she squinted into the dim interior. She couldn’t see anyone and didn’t sense any movement.

  Turning back to the register, she sat down and opened it. The frontispiece held a second rendition of the crest; this time the motto was indicated underneath the entwined initials:

  Clarendon     Courage     Civility     Character

Pretty standard stuff, Nora thought; no mystery there that she could see. She skipped to the last page that had writing on it and immediately saw what had caught Keith’s eye.

  The last two entries were from twenty-eight years ago, documenting the birth of a female, Rose Julia, and a male, Keith Edmunde. Beside the entry for baby Rose, an additional date recorded her death under a column headed by a black cross. A different handwriting, which Nora supposed belonged to the current vicar, documented Keith’s death date.

  What drew Nora’s attention was that the two birth entries had been written over previous entries. The correction fluid, although carefully applied, could easily be noted, especially in the death column next to Keith’s name. Yet he had just died—why should that have needed a correction?

  Nora shifted in the rickety chair, contemplating what this meant. If an error had been made in a date, or in spelling, it would not have involved both birth entries nor the new death date, years apart. Only one possible explanation occurred to Nora.

  She reshelved the register, locked the cupboard, returned the key to its nail and used her foot to slam the drawer closed. Retracing her steps to the front of the chapel, she looked around, then hurried along the path behind the house that would bring her to the kitchen door.

*

10:30
AM

Cook was sweeping the back steps when Nora appeared on the walkway, holding one hand under her huge midsection. Slightly out of breath, her bag slung across her shoulder, she slowed her pace and tried to appear relaxed while her mind worked out her best approach. She waved cheerfully as she drew closer.

  Cook stopped her broom and, after a slight hesitation, gave a brief wave back.

  “Hi, Cook. Time for a quick tea break?” Nora saw Cook’s frown as she reached the steps. She looked up at the older woman with what she thought was her most pleasant smile. “I was hoping you had some of those iced cookies stashed away.”

  The comment must have softened Cook’s resistance. She smiled back at Nora and invited her in.

  Cook set the tea things out. Nora grabbed a cookie and inquired about Antonia’s health. She discussed the reading Sommer had given at the funeral service. All the while, she struggled mentally, conflicted over the deceits she had recently committed. She decided to be honest with the woman, hoping she wasn’t contributing to a killer’s scheme.

  “Cook, I know you are very loyal to the Clarendons, but I also know you’d like nothing better than to help unearth Keith’s killer.” Nora paused to gauge the woman’s reaction as Cook poured their tea. “I want to see Simon totally cleared with his reputation intact.”

  Cook nodded and chimed in. “I don’t care a whit who did Daniel or Jack in, God forgive me, but the boy … ” Her eyes swam with tears, and she took a deep gulp of hot tea.

  Nora got to the heart of the matter, choosing a succinct compression of the facts. “Because of a question Keith had, I went to the chapel and saw the changes in the family register.” This was merely good editing.

  Cook remained silent, paying rapt attention to the rose design on her china cup.

  Nora took a deep breath. “I believe Keith was really Julia and Edmunde’s child, and Rose was born to Antonia and Sommer. It’s right there if you’re looking for it.”

  Across the table, Cook visibly stiffened. Silence. Nora sipped her tea and watched dust motes dance in the light over the kitchen sink. When she looked back at Cook, the woman’s tears splashed on the table in front of her.

  Cook noisily used a hankie she withdrew from her apron pocket. She met Nora’s eyes and gave her a brief nod. “Twenty-eight years I’ve kept the secret. She was the sweetest little angel, a beautiful tiny babe, not a mark on her.” Cook’s resistance collapsed, and she poured out the story between sniffing and dabbing at her nose and eyes.

  “Miss Antonia went into labor after news came of Sommer’s accident. Her sweet little girl was perfect but had underdeveloped lungs, they said, and only lived a few hours. The whole thing threw Miss Julia into labor that night, and she delivered a healthy boy by Caesarean, but something went terribly wrong, a bleeding complication, and she died hours later.”

  Nora drew in a breath and touched Cook’s hand, encouraging her to continue.

  “Mr. Edmunde was out of his mind with grief. He wouldn’t go to the nursery; he refused to hold the baby and said he wouldn’t take him home. Miss Antonia, she was filled with her own heartbreak over losing Rose and hadn’t left the hospital yet when Sommer was stabilized enough to transfer him down here. She divided her time those first few days between nursing the boy and staying at Mr. Sommer’s bedside until he was out of danger. Mr. Edmunde finally went to see his brother, and Mr. Sommer begged him to let them raise the boy as their own. He worried for Antonia’s sanity and could see Edmunde didn’t want anything to do with the babe.”

  Cook shifted in her chair and paused to sip her cooled tea. She swallowed. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” she said, more in control now. “Mr. Edmunde agreed and used money and favors to ‘correct’ the birth certificates. I’m the only one who knew, besides the last vicar, who’s dead now.”

  “What about the hospital staff, the nurses and such?” Nora asked.

  “They knew Miss Antonia was the baby’s aunt, but he was only there for three days, and Saint Margaret’s isn’t around the corner. Then Gillian was hired for Mr. Sommer, and between us we managed pretty well. ‘Cepting at the beginning when Miss Antonia hovered over him and the baby day and night. At one point, we had to get in a night nurse because she wasn’t sleeping; she was afraid Keith would die from that no-reason thing—”

  “Crib death, or Sudden Infant Death Syndrome,” Nora supplied.

  “That’s it.” Cook’s tears had dried, and she stuffed the damp hankie back into her apron pocket. “We’d bring her the baby to nurse between resting or sitting with Mr. Sommer, and she gradually got her strength back. I think after a while, we all forgot he wasn’t theirs. That lad, he was such a blessing to them both … ” Cook ran out of steam.

  “That explains the register change,” Nora said. “But how would the real facts have altered anything? Edmunde never remarried, so Sommer and then Keith would eventually inherit the estate after Edmunde’s death, instead of it going directly to Keith, right?”

  Cook agreed as a bell rang in the kitchen. “That’ll be Miss Antonia, wanting her elevenses. She and Mr. Sommer always have their tea together. I’ll get theirs up to them.”

  She rose to take the kettle from the warming plate of the Aga and prepared the teapot, resting it on a prepared tray on the counter.

  Nora sprang up from her seat as quickly as her bulk would allow. “Let me take that up, Cook.”

  “Don’t upset Miss Antonia with your snooping. Promise?” Cook pointed a finger at Nora.

  “I don’t see how there’s a motive there for Keith’s murder, no matter who his parents are. It was more a matter of emotion at the time,” Nora said.

  Cook handed her the tray. “You give me your word you won’t say anything? “ Cook admonished. “She’s too fragile.”

  “I promise.” Nora raised her hand in a solemn Girl Scout salute.

  Cook appeared satisfied and showed Nora how to use the elevator. “They’re upstairs today.”

  Nora took the lift upstairs, and as she turned the corner, she wondered how she could get around her promise.

  The door to Antonia and Sommer’s suite stood open, and Nora could see the parents sitting together on the small balcony off their bedroom, holding hands. The balcony overlooked the back lawn and gardens, and the view revealed the autumnal reds and golds of the birch, rowan and horse chestnut trees that lined the way to the purple fells in the distance. Blackbird calls competed with periodic fits of a singing thrush; thin trees in the garden bent to the breeze that was bringing in a low mist.

  Nora thought it was a scene evocative of what Dorothy Wordsworth, William’s devoted sister, had called “a glorious wild solitude.” This harmonious connection to nature hit her squarely as she entered the room with the tray; it was a feeling she remembered from hiking in the hills of Connecticut. She collected herself and spoke quickly to ward off questions as she broke into the couple’s reverie.

  “Hello, sorry to interrupt. I dropped in to see how you were doing and volunteered to bring this up for Cook. I hope you don’t mind.” This was reasonably close to the truth, Nora decided, hoping her color wouldn’t rise. Her son chose that moment to give her a hearty kick.

  “Please, bring a chair and join us, Nora.” Sommer recovered first, ever the gentleman. He looked down at his legs.

  Nora understood he would have carried her chair out if that were possible. She set the tray on the small table between them and took a chair from in front of Antonia’s dressing table onto the balcony.

  “I’ve just had tea with Cook, so have yours while it’s hot. Would you like me to pour?” She turned to include Antonia in the conversation.

  Antonia’s subdued manner, as though she were seeing the world through a layer of dulling gauze that had descended over her, was instantly recognizable to Nora. Grief was a series of stages, and Nora had been surprised to discover she had traversed those stages in the wake of Paul’s death; perhaps insisting she would have been unhappy with him was actually a coping mechanism. She would never really know.

  Intense empathy spilled over Nora, and with it came melancholy shame at ever having suspected these dignified people of murder. Quelling her guilt, she told herself they would be the first ones to want to identify Keith’s murderer.

  Sommer asked about her book. She explained about sending the proof off as a step toward its impending publication. This was safe ground. “I’m always on the lookout for a story idea for coming books,” she noted. “Keith was so supportive of my books being set here on Lake Windermere.”

  Antonia stirred at Keith’s name and made eye contact. The two women smiled at each other. “He loved books, our Keith. We read to him every night when he was little, both of us,” she explained.

  Sommer added his own thoughts. “I couldn’t do a lot of things other fathers did with their sons, but I could read to him. He read on his own very early, you know,” he said, clear pride in his voice.

  “I do know,” Nora said with warmth. “Keith was very proud of that. We talked about it one night in Oxford. He felt it gave him an edge over other boys when he went to school.”

  Antonia brightened. “Thank you very much for telling us that. It’s something to hold onto.”

  A comfortable silence descended over the balcony. Nora knew she couldn’t introduce the baby switching without compromising her promise to Cook.

  Antonia broke the stillness. Her comment made Nora aware she had become a silent partner to their secret. “Do you know my most happy memory of Keith?” Antonia didn’t appear to expect either of her companions to guess. “It was the first time he called me Mummy.”