Deadly Desires at Honeychurch Hall (13 page)

“We were disappointed you couldn't make the protest meeting last night, Iris,” said Benedict.

“Protest meeting?” Mum turned to me. “
Protest
meeting?”

“There was a huge hullabaloo,” said Lavinia. “And apparently, that frightful Prince-Avery stormed off in a huff.”

“I tried to call you several times, Mum,” I said desperately.

I felt my mother's fury coming off her in waves but I knew she wouldn't want to make a scene. I made all kinds of silent gestures implying that I'd explain everything later but she pointedly ignored me.

“It was supposed to be on Thursday!” Mum said.

“Eric changed it,” said Lavinia. “I have no idea why.”

“Oh really?” said Mum. “I think I do.”

“Of course, having Kat as the face of our campaign is fantastic.” Benedict beamed with pleasure. “The auction idea is excellent.”

“How fantastic to have Kat's face,” Mum said sweetly. “What a
treat
.”

A loud
rat-a-tat-tat
sounded at the front door. “I'll go.”

“It'll be for you anyway,” said Mum, adding, “It's her daily delivery of flowers.”

“That's an exaggeration,” I said as I left the kitchen.

I opened the front door to a young woman with a pierced nose holding a large white orchid. “It's another orchid,” she said. “Sorry. I try to ring out the changes but it's October and there's not much around.”

“Thanks, Bethany.” David had sent me so many flowers that I was on first-name terms with the delivery girl.

“How did the protest meeting go last night?” said Bethany. “I couldn't make it but Aunt Muriel told me they raised five hundred pounds at the pub.”

“Would you know if Muriel met with one of the compensation consultants by any chance?” I said.

“Yes. Yesterday morning.” Bethany's expression hardened. “Some twit with a fancy name.”

“Valentine Prince-Avery?”

“That's right. He really upset her. I heard he was practically booed out of the pub last night. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“He has a thankless job,” I said, feeling more than a little sorry for Valentine. Needless to say I hadn't heard a squeak from him this morning.

“Well, that's his choice,” said Bethany.

I agreed and, joking that I'd see her tomorrow, closed the door, popped the orchid into the sitting room, and returned to the kitchen. Benedict's map from the night before was spread over the table.

“What do all these different colors mean?” I heard Mum say. “What's a
SAFETY ZONE
?”

Once again I listened to Benedict's spiel and watched my poor mother's face grow longer and longer. It was only when Benedict discussed his idea of suggesting an alternate route that I noticed a glimmer of hope.

“You're hired, as far as I'm concerned,” said Mum grimly.

“Good,” said Benedict. “I'll contact my people and we'll get to work.”

“Wonderful!” Lavinia beamed. “And I do think that since Iris and I are in a better financial position than most of my people, we should carry the brunt of the cost—at least at the very beginning, don't you, Iris?”

I looked at Mum who was nodding her head in agreement. “Whatever it takes.”

“So how much are we talking here?” I demanded.

“I'd say, five thousand pounds each to begin with,” said Benedict.

“Five thousand pounds!” I exclaimed.

“Take no notice of her,” said Mum. “Will you take cash?”

“Cash, checks, jewelry.” Benedict laughed. “Whatever you've got.”

“How are you going to pull that off without telling his lordship?” Mum asked suddenly.

Lavinia looked startled. “I do have a trust fund, you know—but since you mention Rupert—” Her face turned pink. “We're all agreed that my part in this goes no further than these four walls.”

“Of course, m'lady,” said Mum.

“And do call me Lavinia,” said Lavinia. “Now we're in cahoots I think we can drop the formality, don't you?”

Lavinia rose from her chair so we all got up.

“Where are you staying in Devon, Benedict?” Mum asked. “Presumably, not at the Hall.”

“Nor at my old family home, unfortunately,” said Benedict with a trace of bitterness.

“Benedict's family used to own Thornton Park on the River Tamar,” said Lavinia. “Frightful shame. Place is a retirement village now.
Ab-so-lute-ly
ghastly.”

“Thornton Park was listed in the
Domesday Book,
” said Benedict. “So you see, I know how important it is to keep our heritage.”

“So you
do
understand,” Mum said gratefully.

“Iris, I'll be in touch tomorrow about the moolah so Benedict can get cracking,” said Lavinia.

“Shall I see you at the yard at eleven?” I asked.

Lavinia's pink flush returned. “Actually, not this morning. I'm going to show Benedict the estate whilst you and Edith ride out.”

“And those awful HS3 placards,” Mum reminded her. “Don't forget to show him those.”

“I've already told Eric to remove them,” said Lavinia.

“Didn't you want to photograph them?” I said, surprised.

“I completely agree with Lavinia that we should protect the dowager countess as much as possible,” said Benedict. “There is no need to alarm her at this point. We'll find some other backdrop to take your photograph for our campaign.”

Benedict slipped the map back into his portfolio whilst I returned their coats.

“Frightful business about Joyce Gully,” said Lavinia.

“What about Joyce Gully?” Mum asked.

“Didn't Katherine tell you?” Lavinia seemed astonished.

“Katherine doesn't tell her mother anything,” said Mum coldly.

“I was going to,” I said. “Unfortunately, Joyce was on her way to the meeting—”

“So Joyce knew about the meeting, despite the fact that she doesn't even have a phone—”

“Mum,” I said horrified. “Joyce had a tragic accident. She died.”

“Oh! Forgive me. I'm so sorry,” Mum mumbled. “I didn't know.”

“Mrs. Cropper told me that the police think it was either a heart attack or brake failure,” said Lavinia. “Those scooters are death traps.”

“It just goes to show we never know when our number is up,” said Benedict, fixing Lavinia with a look of such admiration that she blushed. “Life is just too short, Vinnie, isn't it?”

Vinnie?

I saw them out and returned to the kitchen, preparing myself for Mum's wrath. Instead, I found her busy scribbling on her yellow Post-it Notes.

“I suppose Lavinia and Benedict are your next victims for one of your torrid love stories.”

“Ah! You detected it, too,” said Mum gleefully. “Poor girl. She really is so unattractive when she blushes.”

“At least he calls her Vinnie,” I said. “Rupert calls her Lav.”

“But he is strange,” said Mum. “Perhaps it's those heavy glasses? I never trust a man with a small head and he's got such a peculiar complexion. It's almost orange.”

“Bad luck,” I said. “They're just friends. They've known each other for years. Lavinia is besotted with Rupert, you know that.”

“That may be so but when there is trouble in paradise, a woman like Lavinia is easy prey.”

“So says the expert who was married for forty-nine years to the same man.” I scoffed and then, “Mum, I'm sorry but I did try to phone you.”

“I know,” said Mum. “Tell me, was there really a riot?”

So I did but I left out Valentine's late-night phone call to me.

“I know it's none of my business but five thousand pounds is a lot of money,” I said. “Do you have that amount of cash laying around?”

“Don't we all have a trust fund?”

“I've seen this sort of thing happen before,” I said. “The surveyors draw up more plans, which need even more money, and before you know it, you've spent a fortune and you've gone too far to wriggle out.”

“I'm not daft,” said Mum.

“I just hope you know what you're doing.”

 

Chapter Eleven

At exactly eleven o'clock Edith and I, mounted on Tinkerbell and Duchess, clattered out of the yard with Mr. Chips bearing an unwieldy stick and bounding along beside us. Just watching him making forays into the undergrowth or tearing along ahead, then racing back at great speed, made me feel exhausted.

I had been riding sidesaddle for the last three weeks and was still adjusting to feeling lopsided on what had to be the most awkward riding position ever invented.

Edith had praised my “light hands” and “excellent balance” and insisted I give it a try since she believed riding sidesaddle was the “only way a lady should ride.” A part of me was vain enough to want to learn and I found I was hooked! There was something elegant and romantic about wearing a riding habit although I wore a sidesaddle apron over jodhpurs for regular hacking. Edith, however, always rode in a full habit complete with hat and veil.

I'd actually splashed out on some riding togs despite Mum's comments that it was a waste of money because “where will you ride sidesaddle in London?”

With Lavinia showing Benedict around, I found myself alone with Edith for a change. This morning she seemed very subdued and rode on ahead. I was glad. Edith wasn't stupid and I found it hard to believe that she wouldn't know what was going on literally in her own backyard.

It had rained heavily in the night with gale-force winds that had brought down dozens of boughs and the roads were scattered with broken branches. Water pooled in huge puddles along the country lanes and the bridleways were thick with mud. The wind blew in gusts and sent the falling leaves swirling around the horses' legs. Mr. Chips plunged into the hedges, snatching at sticks that he then bore away to bury.

Duchess hated the wind and I nearly came off when a squall threw open a five-bar gate with a deafening crash and she leapt sideways.

It was only when we reached Hopton's Crest that Edith finally reined Tinkerbell in and waited for me to catch up. She was gazing over the tops of the hedgerows. I braced myself for Edith's inevitable questions regarding the
HS
3 placards but when I joined her was relieved to see that they had all been removed. All that was left were a few telltale mounds of earth. Eric had followed Lavinia's orders.

“One of my favorite views.” Edith turned to me and looked directly into my eyes. “What did Harry say? Something about a runway being built—or perhaps, he meant a
railway
line?”

I really did not want to lie to Edith and was about to come clean when I felt a peculiar fluttering in my stomach. Across the valley, parked next to a five-bar gate was a metallic-blue SUV.

Edith spotted it, too. She gestured with her hunting crop. “Harry told me that a man in a metallic-blue car was digging holes and putting in posts with big red signs.”

“How is Harry?” I said, desperate to steer the conversation onto safer ground. “Did he get back to school safely?”

“But it does look like we have a mole problem in that field—” Edith fixed me with a hard stare. “And rather an odd one given the size of those molehills.”

“Yes. Very odd.” I could feel myself reddening.

“Well?” Edith demanded. “Are you going to tell me what's going on?”

“I just don't think it's for me to—”

“Tosh! I see. If you won't tell me then let's go and ask this so-called trespasser what he's up to, shall we?” Calling Mr. Chips to heel, Edith nudged Tinkerbell into a brisk trot.

I followed on Duchess with a heavy heart.

Moments later we came upon Valentine's car. Thankfully, it was empty. There was a banner running along the rear tinted window—O
GWELL
C
AR
H
IRE
Y
OUR
C
HOICE
F
OR
L
UXURY
.

Edith tapped her hunting crop on the roof of Valentine's car. “How frightfully inconsiderate. Completely blocked the entrance. This vehicle is rented, I see. Well, that explains it. Obviously not from around here.” Edith scanned the area. “We can get into the field down by Bridge Cottage. Come along.”

The Gullys' home seemed more depressing than ever in daylight. It was made of the usual cob but in dire need of a coat of paint, the thatched roof was patchy, and the front wicket gate hung off its hinges. Half-drawn curtains hung at grimy windows. Two were boarded up with planks of wood and the whitewashed rendering was cracked and gray. Wooden pallets leaned against the outside wall together with some old car tires and sheets of corrugated iron.

I thought of poor Patty living here alone and wondered what she would do now that her mother had gone. As she had so bitterly pointed out, thanks to Operation Bullet, selling the cottage would be impossible.

Behind the hedge, a tractor engine exploded into life sending Duchess into a frenzy of fear. I held on for grim death as she backed dangerously away from the sound, her rear hooves scrabbling to find their grip on the riverbank. She plunged forward then barged into Tinkerbell who squealed and kicked out, narrowly missing my ankle. Mr. Chips darted around in circles barking, thinking it must all be a great game.

“Turn it off!” yelled Edith as she, too, struggled to keep Tinkerbell under control but her voice was drowned out by the clatter of the diesel engine.

Eric and his red Massey Ferguson tractor appeared in the gateway. The moment he saw us he cut the engine and cried out, “Sorry, m'lady. Didn't know you were there. I didn't see you!”

But our horses continued to lunge and spin in circles as Edith and I struggled to calm them down.