The Seven Stars (11 page)

‘
How much was the ring worth?’ Kate asked. ‘Does anyone know?’

Gordon shrugged.
‘Ten or twelve thousand, I think. Not megabucks, but enough to turn the insurance company pale.’

‘
And there’s already quite a lot of pallor among insurance companies,’ Helen observed.

‘
Oh?’ Stella looked at her inquiringly.

‘
This Stately Homes business, I mean. My husband’s firm is investigating some of the losses — they’re astronomical.’

‘
I suppose they must be,’ Michael agreed. ‘Funny, insurance companies are the last people one feels sorry for, aren’t they?’

‘
I couldn’t agree more,’ said Nicholas.

Gordon helped himself to vegetables.
‘Anyway, how was your day, Helen? Were you able to avoid Poisonous Perry?’

‘
Actually, he joined me at lunch.’

‘
Lucky you! What did he want — to rubbish my work?’

‘
No, he was more interested in Nicholas.’

‘
My God!’ Nicholas exclaimed in mock horror. ‘What have I ever done to him?’

‘
He was saying what an interesting life you’d had in South Africa, and wondering if you found things dull now you’re back here.’

‘
Kind of him to be concerned,’ Nicholas said shortly. ‘I hope you told him I haven’t yet succumbed to pipe and slippers?’

‘
I said you did consultancy work. That’s right, isn’t it?’

‘
It is, though what the hell it has to do with Perry escapes me.’

‘
He said you were a big name in these parts and your family was “landed gentry”!’

Nicholas held her eye for a moment
, then burst out laughing. ‘“Landed gentry”? Do people still talk like that? It’s what comes of working for
Broadshire
Life
, I suppose; everyone’s family tree is on file. You’d better watch it, Gordon, old chap, or it might rub off on you.’

The sound of the telephone cut across the conversation. Nicholas and Gordon glanced quickly at their watches
, then at each other and for a moment neither of them moved. Both the women had also tensed and Helen, curious, looked at her own watch. It was exactly eight o’clock. Then Nicholas said, ‘I’ll take it,’ and hurried from the room.

Kate
, catching Helen’s puzzled eye, said lightly, ‘Why do people always ring during dinner?’ She pushed her chair back. ‘I’ll put his plate in the oven.’

‘
Hardly worth it,’ Gordon said. ‘He’ll only be a minute.’

Fleetingly Helen wondered how he knew that
, but he was right: in a short space of time Nicholas returned and Kate duly retrieved his plate. What struck Helen as curious was that no one referred to the phone-call. Surely the natural thing would have been for Nicholas to announce who the caller had been, or, failing that, for one of the others to ask?

She shook herself impatiently. She was becoming neurotic about her hosts
, looking for mysteries where none existed.

After the meal
, Helen went to the television lounge. She wanted some time to herself to reflect over the day, and in particular the advice Sir Clifford had given her. But Terry Pike followed her in, settled himself in one of the deep armchairs and picked up the
Radio
Times
. Helen expected him to switch on the set, but instead he commented, ‘So your husband’s in the insurance business?’

‘
Loss adjusting,’ she corrected. ‘Looking into false claims and things like that.’

‘
But also, presumably, trying to retrieve lost property?’

‘
Of course.’

‘
And, as you said, there’s plenty of it about. Which firm is he with?’

‘
Hunter Stevenson. Have you heard of them?’

He nodded.
‘He must have his work cut out at the moment. Has he anything to go on?’

She was beginning to resent his probing.
‘Not that I know of,’ she replied dismissively, hoping he’d take the hint.

He did not.
‘Which of the Stately Homes cases is he working on?’

Helen flashed him a brilliant smile.
‘Andrew’s work is confidential,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t discuss it with me except in the most general terms.’

Not quite true
, but the nearest she could come to saying ‘Mind your own business.’ She was relieved when Michael joined them and, after asking their permission, switched on the television.

They watched the end of a programme on wildlife
, the nine o’clock news and then the regional bulletin. And on this, the main story was the theft at Randall Tovey’s — ‘one of the country’s most famous fashion stores.’

The owner
, an attractive woman with fair hair, was shown talking to a reporter and confirming, unwillingly it seemed to Helen, that the Duchess of Hampshire and her daughter Lady Henrietta Wolsley had been among the guests.

There were one or two shots of the window displays and the interior of the store. It looked interesting
, Helen thought. Perhaps on the way home she’d stop in Shillingham and pay it a visit.

‘
Things certainly happen while you’re in the area,’ Terry Pike commented. ‘First Molly’s accident, now this.’

‘
The police aren’t sure it
was
an accident,’ Michael remarked.

Helen swung her head to look at him.
‘Why?’

He smiled slightly.
‘They don’t confide in me, I’m just repeating what people are saying.’

‘
But — what’s the alternative?’

‘
Presumably either suicide or murder.’

Helen stared at him
, distressing scenes and voices jostling in her head: the girl’s headlong flight and the pursuer calling after her. Then, later, the overheard comment. Was that the voice of her killer, justifying his actions?
Had
someone followed her out into the fog and run her down?

That voice. She hadn
’t known any of them when she heard it, and even now she couldn’t pin it down. To do so, she’d need to hear each of the four men in turn repeat the words:
Well
,
dammit
,
I
thought
she’d
gone
.
God
knows
how
much
she
heard
.

With a wash of horror
, Helen realised it might have been one of the two here with her now. But would Terry have referred to the incident, or Michael reported the police’s doubts, if either of them had been involved? Which left Gordon and Nicholas.

In her mind
’s eye she saw them at the dining-table, laughing at a joke. Impossible to cast either as a murderer. But then Andrew liked to say not all thieves had striped jumpers and bags marked ‘Swag’ over their shoulders. By the same token, not all killers had twisted lips and a gun sticking out of their pockets. Indeed, it was apparent from newspaper photographs that the most ordinary-looking people could, and did, commit the most heinous of crimes.

‘
Helen!’ Michael repeated, more loudly. ‘Are you all right?’ Her eyes refocused. ‘Yes. Yes, thank you.’

He was looking at her curiously.
‘Talk of Molly’s death always seems to upset you. You
didn’t
know her, did you?’

‘
How could she?’ It was Terry who replied. ‘Molly was killed the night she arrived.’

Was
killed
. The sinister little phrase repeated itself in her head, but it applied as much to a traffic accident as to a deliberate act. She pushed herself to her feet.

‘
I’m rather tired, I think. It’s been quite an eventful day.’ Michael also stood, and after a moment Terry followed suit. She smiled vaguely at them both. ‘Good night.’

‘
Good night,’ they chorused, and were still on their feet when she closed the door behind her.

There was no one in the hall. The family must be in their private sitting-room. Helen went slowly up the stairs
, her hand on the smooth polished balustrade. And suddenly, halfway up, she felt a great need to speak to Andrew. She paused, then turned and ran back down the stairs and into the corridor where the phone was.

Please let him be there! she thought
, surprised by her urgency.

The phone rang for quite a while
, then Andrew’s voice said in her ear, ‘Hello?’

A wave of relief flooded her.
‘Andrew, it’s me.’

‘
Helen! Hello! How are things going?’

‘
All right. Very well, in fact; the course is fascinating. What about you?’

‘
I’m coping.’

‘
What did you have for supper?’

‘
Shepherd’s pie from the freezer. It was very good.’

So he wasn
’t existing on cornflakes, as she’d half-expected. ‘Are you coming back at the weekend?’ he was asking.

‘
No, I told you, I’m staying up here.’

‘
I thought you might be phoning to say you’d changed your mind.’

There was a short silence
, and she realised sadly that they didn’t know what to say to each other. She wanted to tell him she missed him, which was true, but she’d not had time to think over their problems, and daren’t ask if he had.

‘
I’d better go, my money’s running out.’

‘
Take care, love.’

‘
You too. See you soon.’

Helen rang off and stood for a moment in the silent
corridor. Now the urgency had passed, she was wondering why, when she’d resolved not to phone Andrew, she had just done so. And reluctantly admitted the reason. It was because she’d suddenly needed to speak to someone who had no connection with this place, where she was becoming less and less comfortable.

Lost in thought
, she walked out of the corridor and came face to face with Terry Pike. He looked startled. ‘I thought you’d gone to bed. What are you doing, creeping about down here?’

Helen felt her face flame with anger.
‘If it’s any of your business, I was phoning my husband,’ she said stiffly.

He made a small
, apologetic gesture and started to speak but she turned abruptly away and went up the stairs to her room.

8

Helen was relieved that Terry Pike had finished his breakfast and left by the time she reached the garden room. Michael Saxton
, at his usual table, had a small radio beside him, turned down low.

‘
I hope you don’t mind,’ he greeted her. ‘I’m waiting for the overnight cricket score.’

‘
Then turn it up so I can hear,’ she invited, and he smilingly complied. Though not interested in cricket, she’d no wish this morning for uninterrupted musing, and was glad of the distraction.

Stella came in with the coffeepot and filled Helen
’s cup. ‘I’m hearing this in stereo,’ she remarked, nodding at the radio. ‘Gordon has it on in the kitchen.’

From across the room came the announcer
’s voice introducing the sports report and they all paused to listen. The England team was not faring well, and Michael muttered darkly under his breath as it came to an end.

‘
And now here’s a summary of the news,’ the radio continued. ‘Reports are coming in that a break-in has taken place at Buckhurst Grange in Broadshire, the home of Lord and Lady Cleverley. It is believed that someone was seriously injured but no fuller details are yet available.

‘
The Prime Minister —’

Michael switched off the radio as Stella
, murmuring something about toast, left the room. ‘These break-ins are getting beyond a joke,’ he commented. ‘It’s the first time anyone’s been hurt.’

‘
Where exactly is Buckhurst Grange?’ Helen inquired, her mind going to Andrew.

‘
Between Shillingham and Broadminster. It was in the news a couple of years ago, during its tercentenary. The Post Office did a commemorative issue of stamps, if you remember?’

‘
Vaguely,’ Helen said.

‘
Well, Broadshire’s got off lightly so far in the Stately Homes stakes, but they seem to be stepping up now. Perhaps it’s to make up for the botched job at Beckworth the other night.’

‘
What happened then?’

‘
Oh, they broke in but somehow triggered the alarm and had to leave p.d.q. Escaped over the wall, apparently, as police cars came up the drive.’

‘
What with that and the Randall Tovey business,’ Helen commented, ‘the local police are being kept on their toes.’

*

With which sentiment Webb would have concurred. On this cold January morning he was standing on the terrace of Buckhurst Grange, his coat collar turned up and his hands deep in his pockets, watching the SOCOs at work. The point of entry had been taped and photographed and they were now searching the flowerbeds beneath the terrace in the hope of finding footprints. But for all the signs the gang usually left, Webb thought morosely, they might have dropped in out of the sky.

The crime hadn
’t been discovered till six-thirty that morning, when one of the maids had gone into the library to light the fire. And, in the best detective-fiction tradition, had found a body on the floor.

Except that it wasn
’t a body in the true sense, since His Lordship was still alive; though Webb didn’t fancy his chances after lying severely wounded in a cold room all night. They’d not been able to speak to Lady Cleverley, who’d gone with her husband in the ambulance, but he’d been told the only object that appeared to be missing was a small porcelain figurine. According to the housekeeper, it wasn’t particularly valuable, though it had been a favourite of Lady Cleverley’s. Another of the ‘cheeky’ thefts, then, designed simply to show they could take anything they chose. But one which in this instance had badly misfired.

Entry had been made through the gun-room window. Webb supposed grimly they were lucky none of the firearms had been taken; they were all in locked cabinets
, but that wouldn’t have deterred this lot had they wanted them.

Sergeant Jackson appeared at Webb
’s side, interrupting his reflections.

‘
The butler says the household went to bed shortly before midnight. He locked up as usual and set the alarm.’

‘
Any chance he didn’t?’ Webb asked.

‘
You mean, might he be in on it? Shouldn’t think so. He seems a nice old boy, genuinely shocked by what’s happened and very worried about His Lordship. Blames himself for not hearing anything, but the staff quarters are at the far end of the building.’

‘
Was anyone else in the house, apart from the Cleverleys and their staff ?’

‘
Not overnight, but they’d had two tables of bridge during the evening. The guests didn’t leave till gone eleven.’

‘
We’ll need their names and addresses.’

‘
I’ve got them here.’ Jackson glanced at his pocket book. ‘Revd and Mrs Arnold Stokes, General and Mrs Laxby and Mr and Mrs Anthony Silver. He’s a consultant surgeon.’

He grinned at Webb
’s frown. ‘Don’t sound like a dangerous band of cutthroats, do they?’

‘
I’m getting Regional Crime in, Ken; they’ve got reams on the gang’s MO and we need to confirm they’re behind this — especially since it could well turn into a murder hunt.’

‘
You don’t think the old boy will pull through?’

Webb shrugged.
‘A savage blow to the head, when he’s well in his eighties? It’s a wonder the shock alone didn’t kill him.’

‘
If it was them at Beckworth, it would explain this following on so soon. Like getting back on the horse after a fall.’ He paused. ‘How many do Regional Crime reckon are in the gang?’

‘
Not more than two or three. No matter where the break-ins take place, the MO’s identical.’

‘
They’re pretty mobile, then. The furthest north was in Lancashire, wasn’t it?’

‘
Yep, and the furthest east, Cambridge. They’ve taken their time getting to us — it must be two years or more since this started.’

‘
And in all that time nothing has been recovered,’ Jackson commented. ‘Quite a record, isn’t it?’

‘
Depends whose side you’re on,’ Webb said acidly.

‘
Nice if it could be our lot that cracks it.’

‘
Well, we won’t by standing around here.’ He turned and started walking back along the terrace. ‘I can’t see that much will be gained by interviewing the bridge party, but we’d better make the gesture. There’s a chance Lord Cleverley might have mentioned meeting someone interested in antiques.’

‘
What bugs me,’ Jackson said, adjusting his shorter stride to Webb’s, ‘is why they take only one object, when they could get away with a fortune. Granted, what they do take is sometimes worth a king’s ransom, but that ornament — it’s just not worth the risk.’

‘
I reckon they take the cheaper things for kicks. Probably get no end of fun plotting and planning — Lord knows they’ve got it to a fine art. Not to mention making the police look bloody idiots.’

‘
But that china figure,’ Jackson persisted. ‘Did they go for it especially, or just pick up something cheap and cheerful when they got there?’

‘
I wish I knew, Ken,’ Webb said heavily, ‘I wish I knew.’ And with a sigh he opened the car door and climbed inside.

*

In his office in Steeple Bayliss, Terry Pike sat staring thoughtfully into space. Then he pulled his phone towards him and requested an outside line.

‘
Pike,’ he said curtly, when a voice answered. ‘That woman I was telling you about: it seems her husband’s a loss adjuster... I know; the last thing we want is someone queering our pitch... Hunter Stevenson, and his name is Campbell. Could be just coincidence, but check it out, will you, and ring me back?’

*

As Webb had anticipated, the bridge players had nothing to contribute but shock and disbelief. The first couple they called on, the retired general and his wife, were in their seventies and old friends of the Cleverleys. They were clearly distressed and Webb was reluctant to press for information. In any event, it was soon clear that they could recall nothing significant being said the previous evening.

‘
Of course,’ the general added, ‘we’ve discussed these confounded burglaries before. Bertie was naturally anxious, but the feeling was that all possible precautions had been taken. It never entered our heads that even if the worst came to the worst, anyone would be hurt in the process. It’s the most damnable business.’

‘
Is there any more news?’ Mrs Laxby asked anxiously.

‘
I’m afraid not, ma’am. His Lordship’s in intensive care and everything possible is being done for him.’

‘
When you see Marcia — Lady Cleverley — do please tell her that if there’s anything we can do...’ Her voice tailed off.

‘
Of course.’

A similar interview took place with the vicar and his wife
, who were in the same age bracket, but when they arrived at the Silver house, they found to their surprise that the consultant’s wife was some twenty years younger.

‘
My husband isn’t in,’ she told them. ‘In fact, he’s at the hospital with Lord Cleverley now. He’s a patient of Anthony’s — that’s how we met.’

She showed them into her sitting-room and offered them a sherry
, which Webb declined.

‘
We wondered whether Lord Cleverley might have mentioned meeting someone interested in fine art, someone who could have had ulterior motives?’

‘
Not that I remember.’ She hesitated. ‘How much did they get away with?’

‘
One china shepherdess,’ Webb said flatly.

Her eyes widened.
‘That’s all? It was for that that Bertie’s now fighting for his life?’

‘
You know the ornament, ma’am?’

‘
Yes, quite well. It’s a Nymphenberg — a charming little figure but only of sentimental value. When I admired it, Marcia said they bought it in Vienna on their honeymoon. It could be mistaken for Meissen, I suppose, but not by anyone with specialist knowledge, which I thought these burglars had.’

‘
Occasionally, as you might have heard, they take things of little value — for pure devilment, as far as we can see.’

‘
Are you any nearer to tracking them down?’

‘
Up to now, they’ve left no clues whatever, but their luck might be running out. We believe it was the same gang that broke into Beckworth House and had to flee empty-handed. Now, there’s the assault on Lord Cleverley, which I’m sure was unpremeditated. With luck it’ll break their nerve, they’ll make more mistakes and then we’ll nab them.’

‘
The sooner the better,’ she said.

*

During the lunch-break at Melbray, Helen was told there was a phone-call for her and found Penelope on the line.

‘
Sorry for the short notice,’ she apologised, ‘but I’ve managed to get a couple of seats for the rep theatre this evening. Would you like to come?’

Helen
’s spirits soared. ‘Darling, I’d love to.’

‘
Fine. What time do you finish there?’

‘
The lecture ends at four-thirty, but what with chat and questions we don’t get away much before five.’

‘
Well, come along to the uni, and I’ll knock us up some pasta. The show starts at seven. It’s
An
Inspector
Calls
.’

‘
I’ll look forward to it. See you later.’

Helen dialled the Seven Stars and made her apologies for dinner
, which were received without protest by Kate. At least she wouldn’t have to face them all round the table this evening, Helen thought with relief as she went back to the dining-room.

*

On their return to Shillingham, Webb and Jackson stopped off at the General Hospital, which was next to the police station in Carrington Street. Lady Cleverley was at her husband’s bedside and in the corner, trying to be inconspicuous, a uniformed constable also kept vigil.

At Webb
’s request, the elderly lady was brought to a side room, where he and Jackson awaited her. Someone came in with a tray of coffee and they all took a cup.

‘
Lady Cleverley, I’m so sorry to trouble you at this time, but is there anything at all that you can tell us?’

She looked at him with wide
, haunted eyes. ‘I knew nothing about it, Chief Inspector. That’s what makes it so terrible. All the time Bertie was lying there, badly hurt, I just went on sleeping.’

‘
Has anyone been to the house recently whom perhaps you didn’t know very well? Someone who might have been planning to rob you?’

Her face was blank.
‘Was something taken? My mind’s been so full of my husband, I —’