The Green Remains (22 page)

Chapter Forty-Nine

“Major Malcolm Barcroft was sixty-seven when he died, the last male of his line.”

— Shelby Foote,
Love in a Dry Season

5:15
PM

Nora moved around the drawing room, noticing Maeve had attached herself to the circle of people, including several other inn owners, with whom Simon and Kate were engaged in a discussion. This was a woman determined to ram her point home. Nora didn’t think she’d like to be on Maeve’s bad side.

  She lingered at the edge of several groupings, ears alert to anything negative said about Keith, picking up stray comments.

  “I feel so awful for the poor Clarendons.”

  “Can’t complain about the rise in custom with all this press around.”

  “The plod really think murder, then?”

  Nora smiled at everyone; several gave her appraising glances of recognition. It wasn’t too difficult to figure out she was the pregnant gal who had found Keith’s body. She was treated to a discourse on the National Park Authority at one group and the Right to Roam Bill at another. Raised voices in one corner caught her attention, but when she made her way over to investigate, the argument turned out to be about the best hiking shoe for the rigorous fell paths.

  Nora was impatient. Despite her innate nosiness, Simon had saved her from certain death in Oxford, and she longed to repay the favor by clearing him of any suspicion in Keith’s death. To do that, she needed information.

  Passing her eyes over the buffet tables, Nora spotted an empty platter. She scooped it up and carried it into the kitchen, where Cook was refilling a silver server with iced cookies, held by Robbie.

  “This one’s broke, Cook.” Robbie grinned and popped the cookie into his mouth. “But it still tastes delicious.”

  “Go on now, and check the other platters for empties like Nora did,” Cook admonished him.

  Robbie saluted Cook and pushed through the swinging door.

  “Here you go, Cook.” Nora handed over the empty platter. “Everyone is enjoying your efforts.”

  Cook thanked her and inspected the tray. “This one doesn’t need to go out again. Things should start to wind down. I think this is the perfect time for that cuppa I promised you. I could use one, too, some of that nice blend I got for my birthday.” She moved to the pantry and left the door open as she rummaged around the shelves. “The police confiscated all of my opened tea, but I had this in my room, unopened, so they let me keep it. I’ve had to replace everything for the house.”

  Nora sat at one end of the long table and looked in at the full shelves. Canisters of sugar and flour stood alongside flavorings, baking soda and powder on one shelf. A second shelf held a row of pint bottles of a Scotch she’d never heard of, followed by Marsala wine and cooking sherry. Lower shelves held bins with root vegetables, potatoes and onions. She ruminated on the open tea. But if the poison had been in that open tea, everyone in the house would have taken ill. Nora still had no clear idea how the poison made its way into Keith’s tea.

  Nora took a deep breath and tried to relax. She felt tense, her shoulders tight. Her baby was quiet, but the Braxton Hicks contractions had continued all day. It was a not-so-subtle reminder that in a few weeks, she would be a parent. Part of her couldn’t wait to hold her baby in her arms; part of her was scared to death of life as a single parent. The responsibility for another life seemed overwhelming. She sucked in a breath. Too late to change her mind. Maybe her determination to clear Simon was serving as more than a little distraction.

  Cook emerged, tin triumphantly in hand, and moved the kettle from the simmering plate onto the boiling plate of the Aga cooker. Nora inspected the stove with its four ovens, a standard fixture in most English kitchens. Time to get on Cook’s good side. “How do you cook on that without any knobs or dials?” Her curiosity was genuine.

  While she busied herself getting out cups and the teapot, Cook explained the design of the stove, which was always on with the ovens set for different temperatures, and described how she moved food among the oven’s racks to adjust the heat. “These top plates work the same way,” she said, pouring boiling water into the teapot. She swished it around to heat the pot and tossed it out. Measuring loose tea into a strainer, she added it along with hot water to fill the pot. “You control the heat on top by the amount of contact the pots have with the plate. So, when you see an Aga on telly sitting with its lids open, you know it’s not really turned on.” She winked at Nora, setting the teapot between them to steep, adding a china plate filled with her cookies and a small assortment of little cakes.

  “Cook, were many villagers opposed to Keith’s plans for the area?” Nora asked.

  “I suppose. We seem to be crowded enough around here, but then, anything new had to pass the Development and Planning Committee, and it was early days. It would have been a great financial help to the Hall. No one was anxious yet, except maybe Daniel and his crowd, but they’re always complaining about something. I think they just look for a chance to rile things up. These were Keith’s favorites,” she said, as she picked up one of the almond-scented cookies and popped it in her mouth.

  Nora ate one and agreed they were delicious. Cook poured their tea, and Nora stirred in sugar and let it cool. A scent of heavy Assam tea reached her. She tried to think of a gambit to encourage Cook to open up on a more personal level.

  Cook added sugar and cream to her tea and polished off two more cookies. “My grandmother’s recipe, even the icing. There’s nothing like a good cuppa and a morsel of sweet to give comfort, don’t you agree?”

  “Unquestionably.” Nora plunged ahead. “Especially at a time like this. Keith’s death must have turned this house upside down.”

   “My, yes, and him such a young lad and so full of promise. It’s hard to take in.” Cook shook her head as her eyes misted over.

  Nora nodded sympathetically and sipped her tea. “The police feel he died that evening on the water because the poison was in the tea bottle he had with him.” She restated the facts to see Cook’s reaction.

  Cook refilled her cup. “It’s just horrible, that’s what it is.”

  Nora noted Cook avoided making eye contact. “I suppose a big house like this still has lots of activity going on at times.”

  “I couldn’t say, and that’s what I told the coroner and the police. After the dinner things are washed up and the kitchen tidied, I head to my room to put my feet up.” Another cookie disappeared.

  Nora helped herself to a cookie and nibbled. She was approaching delicate ground. “You must be glad to sit down after being on your feet, especially at the end of a long week. Do you visit friends?”

  “Only on Sundays. I’m too tired on a work night. I watch telly or call or write my daughter. She’s a schoolteacher in Australia,” she told Nora.

  “That’s wonderful.” Nora glanced down the hall to Cook’s sitting room at the far end of the kitchen as she drained her cup. “But you would know if someone came into the kitchen?”

  “Only if I’m listening, which I wasn’t, or maybe if I didn’t have the telly on.” Cook shifted in her chair.

  “So you didn’t hear Keith leave?” Nora persisted. “Or anyone else?”

  Cook took their cups and carried them over to the sink. She turned on the taps and sloshed water into them, her back to Nora.

  Nora realized Cook had no intention of answering her. “You heard what happened to Agnes, Cook. I don’t mean to frighten you, but your life could be in jeopardy if you know something you’ve not told the police.”

  There was the sound of china clinking hard against the soapstone sink as Cook dropped one of the teacups and it shattered.

*

5:40
PM

Kate entered the kitchen with a tray filled with empty teacups to find Nora helping Cook clean up broken cup shards in the sink. “Playing with your food again, Nora?” she asked impishly.

  Nora shook her head. “I’m afraid Cook and I were trying to figure out how Keith was poisoned, and it upset her.” She ran water in the sink and washed away the last slivers. “I didn’t mean to distress you, Cook. Come and sit down.”

  Kate helped her settle Cook in a chair. The kitchen door banged open, and Ian entered without knocking. Her heart thudded at his handsomeness. What a fool I am, she thought, then took a clear look at him; something was drastically wrong.

  “Doc Lattimore still here?” he asked. His face was taut and flushed.

  “In the drawing room a moment ago,” Kate answered. “What’s wrong?”

  Ian drew in a deep breath and let out a sigh. “You’ll hear soon enough. Daniel Rowley’s dead.”

Chapter Fifty

“If everyone hadn’t died at the same time, none of this would have happened.”

— Paul Monette,
Afterlife

5:42
PM

At Ian’s pronouncement, Cook gasped. Kate stared in disbelief, one hand clapped over her mouth, forming an unuttered “oh.” There was a soft thump, and Ian turned to see Nora lying in a heap on the kitchen floor.

  The women helped Nora sit up as she came to. “Why don’t you help Nora into Cook’s room? I’ll have Doc Lattimore come in and check her out,” Ian said. “Having any pain?” he asked her.

  When she shook her head, still wearing a dazed expression, he made his way into the drawing room, scanning the thinning crowd. The doctor was talking with Sommer and Simon. Ian hurried over.

  “Doc Lattimore, I’ve got a pregnant woman who’s fainted. Can you take a look at her?”

  “Nora?” Simon asked, instantly on alert. “Is she in labor?”

  “I’ll just get my bag from the car.” The doctor hurried off.

  “I don’t think so,” Ian answered. “I’m afraid I shocked her. Sommer, Daniel Rowley’s been found dead in his hut.”

  Sommer briefly closed his eyes. Simon told them he would check on Nora. “Bring the sherry with you,” Sommer instructed as Simon hurried off.

  “The pathologist’s been notified,” Ian continued.

  Both men knew the only path to Rowley’s hut ran past the Hall’s kitchen. “You do know Daniel was best mates with Jack Halsey?” Sommer said.

  Ian felt eyes on him and looked up to see Glenn Hackney and Tony Warner listening in on their conversation. He moved around, turning his back on the men, and lowered his voice. “I knew that. Since he’s been found on your grounds, I’m afraid I’ll need to take the names of everyone here, and then we’ll send them home.”

  “Of course, Ian.” He shook his head. “I didn’t think this day could be anymore beyond belief, but I was wrong.”

  Ian squeezed Sommer’s shoulder as Higgins came into the room and zeroed in on him.

  “Constable’s keeping guard, guv,” Higgins pronounced. “Dr. Foreman’s radioed in; he’s only ten minutes out, no need for Doc Lattimore to pronounce. Oh, and Milo said to say you’ve managed to ruin a spectacular booya base.”

*

Gillian checked on Edmunde. She hated men like those two downstairs who tried to pump her for information—a reporter and a co-worker of Keith’s. Did they really think she couldn’t see through their pretenses?

  She’d never trusted men, never had a father who stayed around more than a few months at a time. She’d watch the last piker charm his way into their meager household only to break her mother’s heart when wanderlust or a better offer came up. Her mum seemed to attract the same sodding kind. Not wanting to depend on anyone, she’d taken her nursing course at the first possible chance. She’d been home visiting her mum right after graduation when Sommer Clarendon had been terribly injured in the motor accident.

  Edmunde had hired her whilst Sommer was in rehabilitation; Edmunde, mourning the sudden death of his young wife and that poor little infant; Edmunde who frightened everyone with his erratic moods—everyone but Gillian.

  At her interview, she had trembled inside but had hid her fears beneath a façade of maturity she didn’t possess. She had been the only applicant who asked to be sent to the rehab institute a week before Sommer came home to develop a relationship with him and to learn his particular needs and care from the nurses there. Edmunde had roused himself from his depression long enough to be impressed by her initiative. And so she had started her long entanglement with the Clarendons, broken only by her year away in Scotland.

  Gillian smiled as she approached Edmunde’s room, remembering the way she’d ignored him in the those early days, refusing to let him see that any unkind remark hit home. Antonia had been overwhelmed, trying to care for the premature baby and get her own strength back while she dealt with the reality of Sommer’s disabilities. That was when the elevator had been added and an upstairs sewing room turned into a therapy area. The young mother had welcomed Gillian’s assistance and had told her to ignore Edmunde when he’d been drinking.

  What Antonia hadn’t known was that after Edmunde’s drunken rages had subsided, he’d noticed the quiet, competent girl with the thick, dark hair and solemn face.

*

5:44
PM

Sommer watched the remaining company line up in two neat rows to leave their information with either Ian or his sergeant.

  A cloud of misery engulfed him at the thought of another murder. He doubted Daniel Rowley would have given in to any
normal illness, but there was always the hope the dead man had succumbed to a heart attack. He could just see tomorrow’s head
lines:
Third Death in Sleepy Bowness-On-Windermere
.

  How would Antonia cope with the news? She hadn’t reacted
much to the death of Jack Halsey, but Daniel did chores in the Hall and lived on their property. He would never say it aloud, but three deaths in the town might affect the house tours, too—income they needed to survive.

  Sommer scrubbed a hand over his face. What the hell was he doing, thinking of finances when they’d just buried Keith?

  At least he’d thought to send Simon to the kitchen with the sherry on the heels of Doc Lattimore. If Edmunde were well and downstairs, the entire afternoon would have included wine, brandy, sherry and anything else his brother could lay his hands on.

  He wondered how Edmunde would take this latest news, if he would show even a flicker of emotion for the dead man who had lived near them and had helped around the Hall for years. The brother he had known and loved had been lost to him and grew further removed as time passed.

  Glenn Hackney appeared before him, breaking him out of his reverie.

  “Quite a commotion, Mr. Clarendon. And the police here again, such a shame.”

  Sommer looked up, taking in the man’s false smile. He’d reached the end of his patience and good manners today. “Did you have a point, Mr. Hackney?”

  “Please, call me Glenn. After all, your son and I were best mates at work.”

  “Really?” Sommer arched one eyebrow. “At home he never spoke of you at all.” It was the high point of Sommer’s grief-stricken day that for once, the smooth-talking Glenn Hackney had nothing to say.

*

5:45
PM

Edmunde was pleased to see Gillian. He knew he’d only lived this long because of her. Earlier, she’d sent Robbie up with a tray that he’d picked at with his good hand while his eyes continued to stray to the fresh grave.

  She smiled and helped him motor from the window to his bed.

  There was a tap at the door, and Robbie stuck his head inside. “Daniel Rowley’s been found dead at his hut. Doc Lattimore wants you to find Miss Antonia and break the news, maybe get her to lie down.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Gillian patted Edmunde’s arm and hurried out.

  Blast those silly women, both of them. If Daniel Rowley was already dead, it seemed to Edmunde there was no earthly need for anyone to hurry anywhere.

  He sighed. He was tired, and his back hurt. He wanted to nap. He looked longingly at the bed with its cool sheets and wondered what Gillian would think if he put himself to bed. Wouldn’t she be surprised?