The Seven Stars (2 page)

There was a newspaper lying on the chair and
, picking it up, Helen seated herself by the fire and began to leaf through it. It was local — the
Broadshire
Evening
News
— and, like most local papers, carried pages of advertisements. One, prominently displayed in a box, caught her eye.

Melbray
Court
,
Steeple
Bayliss
.

Registrations
are
now
being
accepted
for
the
following
courses
:

Art
Appreciation
—
w
/
e
21st
-
23rd
January

Introducing
Antiques
— (
2
weeks
) —
24th
January
-
6th
February

Medieval
English
—
w
/
e
11th
-
13th
February
.

The list continued
, but Helen’s eyes returned to the two-week course. Until recently, she’d worked part time in an antique shop, becoming increasingly aware of the gaps in her knowledge. It would be fascinating to attempt to fill in some of them.

On impulse
, she fished her diary out of her handbag and jotted down the phone number. Then, since nobody had yet appeared, she continued flicking through the paper, pausing again at a horoscope column. A blurred photograph of the forecaster, aptly named Stargazer, graced the top corner.

Mocking herself
, Helen read her own sign, noting with wry amusement a warning against rash decisions. When had she ever been rash? Over-caution was her failing.

A separate
, boxed entry gave the forecast for ‘Tomorrow’s Birthday’ and since the twelfth of January had been her father’s anniversary, she glanced at that, too.
Someone
is
waiting
to
hear
from
you
, it ended. They’d have a long wait, she thought, and in a wave of sadness felt tears come to her eyes. If only he’d been here, she could have talked things over with him as she had so many times.

‘
Ah, Mrs Campbell!’

Helen started and looked up
, blinking back her tears. A man in his late forties, casually smart in blazer and cords, was coming towards her with his hand outstretched.

‘
Gordon Cain. My wife told me you’d arrived. Can I get you a drink?’

Helen smiled and took his hand
, declining the drink. He was of medium height, slightly overweight, and had dark hair and rather high colouring.

‘
I hear you were caught in the fog. Have you come far?’

‘
No, only from Steeple Bayliss. I brought my daughter back to university and was late starting home again. But we live in Hampshire, and it seemed too far to go in these conditions.’

He looked surprised.
‘You don’t use the motorway?’

She smiled ruefully.
‘Normally, yes, but I took a wrong turning and decided to join it at Shillingham. But it was farther away than I thought and the fog was getting worse, and then I saw your sign. It just about saved my sanity.’

‘
I’m glad; you made a wise decision. Much safer to relax here, have a meal and a good night’s sleep, and start off again in the morning.’

‘
Your wife said this used to be a coaching inn?’

‘
That’s right; then it was a pub for donkey’s years. Now we’ve reverted to the original concept — bed and board for the wayfarer, even if we no longer supply a change of horses! The old sign’s behind the bar — come and look.’

Helen followed him over and
, leaning on the polished surface, studied the ancient, faded board hanging in pride of place on the wall behind. Above spidery letters spelling out its name was a stylised drawing of the constellation of Ursa Major.

Cain said
, ‘I must confess that although we fell for the place, it was the name that clinched it for me. I’ve always been interested in astrology. In fact, my wife’s been known to say the only reason I married her is because her name’s Stella!’

Helen smiled.
‘It’s a wonder it wasn’t called the Plough, like so many pubs.’

‘
There was certainly plenty of choice — the Plough, as you say, the Great Bear, King Charles’s Wain, the Waggon — they’re all names for the same constellation. We had some American visitors last summer, and they referred to it as the Big Dipper, which sounds more like a fairground to me.’

Helen had started to speak when a loud banging sounded on the front door
, together with the simultaneous and continuous ringing of the bell.

‘
What the devil —?’

Gordon Cain went hurrying to answer it as his wife and another woman came quickly into the hall
, exclaiming at the commotion. From where she stood, Helen couldn’t see the door but she caught the urgent exchange of voices and a moment later Cain came quickly back, followed by a pale and breathless young man.

Mrs Cain started forward.
‘Gordon, whatever —?’

‘
There’s been an accident along the road,’ he answered tersely, striding into the office. ‘I’m ringing for an ambulance.’

The young man hovered between the office door and the powerful magnet of the fire. He had started to shiver
, doubtless from shock as much as the cold outside.

‘
She was lying at the side of the road,’ he said jerkily. ‘My girlfriend spotted her; she was peering out of the window to see how near the edge we were — it’s really thick out there. She thought it was a heap of clothes at first, but we decided to stop and make sure. Thank God we did.’

‘
Which way were you going?’ Stella Cain asked.

‘
Towards Marlton, but since we’d only just passed you, it seemed quickest to come back here to phone.’

Stella glanced towards the door.
‘Wouldn’t your friend like to come in?’

‘
She stayed with the girl. We didn’t dare move her so we rigged up a torch as a warning light.’

‘
Is she badly hurt?’ Helen asked.

He shrugged.
‘She’s unconscious; it’s hard to tell.’

Gordon Cain emerged from the office.
‘They’re on their way.’

‘
Cheers. I’d better get back to Lesley. I didn’t like leaving her.’

‘
Shall I come with you?’ Cain offered.

‘
Thanks, but it’s OK. There’s really nothing you can do, and the ambulance shouldn’t be long.’ With a nod that included them all, he turned and hurried back outside.

*

Detective Chief Inspector Webb swore under his breath. It was getting thicker than ever, dammit. At this rate he’d be late for his meeting with the Ledbetters.

It had seemed a good idea at the time; the Gallery of Modern Art at SB was showing some Russian paintings
, and, knowing his interest, Chris had suggested Webb met him and his wife there and went back with them for supper afterwards. Since he’d nothing urgent at the moment, he’d accepted and left the station at six, which in all conscience should have allowed comfortable time for the journey. But the mist which had been barely noticeable in Shillingham had progressively thickened, and after Marlton became almost impenetrable. What’s more, he thought gloomily, there was the return journey to bear in mind.

It was as he cautiously rounded a bend that he noticed a faint light on the far side of the road. He slowed down still further
, peering through the opaque darkness in an attempt to identify it. Then a figure took shape behind the light, which he recognised as a torch. He pulled up and wound down the window.

‘
Are you in trouble?’ he called.

‘
Yes, someone’s been knocked down.’ It was a young female voice, trembling with tension. ‘My boyfriend’s gone to phone for an ambulance.’

Webb inched his car up on to the verge and got out.
‘Did you see what happened?’

‘
No. We were creeping along in the fog and I was watching the nearside verge and — and saw her lying there.’

Webb peered down at the prostrate form on the ground
, and his heart sank. He’d seen enough dead bodies to recognise at once that this was another. Nevertheless, he bent to feel the carotid artery. No sign of a pulse. He looked up at the slim figure above him.

‘
I’m afraid an ambulance will be no use to her,’ he said gently.

‘
You mean she’s dead? But I’ve been talking to her! I thought it might somehow get through. Oh, God!’ She sounded on the brink of tears.

Webb straightened.
‘I’ll get on to the police,’ he said. ‘I’m Chief Inspector Webb. And you’re — ?’

‘
Lesley Brown, and my boyfriend’s Martin Skinner.’ She looked up at him, her mouth trembling. ‘Is there anything we should have done? The kiss of life —?’

‘
I’m sure there wasn’t,’ he assured her. ‘She probably died instantly. It was madness, walking along here in these conditions — she must have known no one could see her.’

He got his mobile phone from the car and called Control at Force HQ.
‘And I’d like to request a diversion,’ he ended. ‘The less traffic we have along here, the better.’

He had just finished speaking when the sound of a slowly approaching car reached them and a moment later twin headlights bloomed through the fog. Lesley Brown flashed her torch
, the car drew to a halt and the driver climbed out. She ran towards him, flinging herself into his arms.

‘
Martin, there’s a policeman here, and he says she’s dead!’ Webb moved forward. ‘You got through to the ambulance service, sir?’

Skinner nodded
, swallowing nervously. ‘You are sure? That she’s dead?’

‘
I’m afraid so.’

‘
But — surely whoever it was must have known they’d hit her?’

‘
Almost definitely.’

‘
And they just left her lying there? It’s unbelievable! If they’d acted straight away, they might have saved her.’ He started to move towards the body, but Webb gently stopped him.

‘
We need to preserve the scene, sir; there might be traces of the vehicle that hit her.’

‘
Yes, yes, of course.’

‘
I suggest you and the young lady wait in your car.’

They nodded and
, with barely concealed relief, complied while Webb, pulling up his coat collar against the freezing night air, settled down to await reinforcements.

*

As their visitor hurried away, Cain closed and bolted the door behind him.

‘
Well!’ Stella said with a nervous little laugh, ‘after all that, dinner’s ready. Mrs Campbell, this is my sister, Kate Warren.’

Helen had gathered so
, though there was no overt similarity between the women other than their height. Unlike her sister’s red hair, Mrs Warren’s was dark, as were her eyes, and she struck Helen as the more reserved of the two.

However
, she smiled and nodded pleasantly as they moved across the hall to the dining-room. It was furnished in period, with gleaming dark wood, ladder-back chairs and a grandfather clock whose dial showed the phases of the moon. On the opposite wall, full-length curtains in heavy green velvet hid the windows, and a spotlight had been positioned to lighten their otherwise sombre richness. In the centre of the room, to Helen’s surprise, stood one long table laid for seven.

‘
I hope you don’t mind,’ Stella Cain said quickly. ‘When there are so few of us, we eat together in the evenings.’

As Helen pulled out a chair
, the two men she’d seen earlier came in and Stella introduced them. Michael Saxton, who had seated himself opposite Helen, had an interesting if rather severe face, with character lines between his eyebrows and at the corners of his mouth. She imagined he could drive a hard bargain. He looked about fifty, and his plentiful, lightish brown hair was liberally sprinkled with grey.

Terry Pike
, who had taken the chair on her right, was taller and thinner, in his early forties at a guess. His hair, dull and dark, was cut jaggedly in a style which struck Helen as just a little too youthful. He had a broad nose set in a long face and a slight north-country accent.

‘
We were watching Channel 4 News,’ Michael Saxton said. ‘There’s been another of those Stately Home burglaries, though they’re not sure when it took place. The owners have just discovered something missing.’