The Glade Manor Murder (Pollard & Toye Investigations Book 17) Read online

  ‘You simply mustn’t do too much, darling,’ she said. ‘At Monday’s party, especially. Just fade out unobtrusively if you feel yourself getting tired.’

  Adrian announced himself intrigued at the thought of becoming an uncle.

  ‘Why is it,’ he asked, ‘that the adjective that springs to the lips is “wicked”? Think of the little Princes in the Tower and any number of situations like that. I shall of course be the shining exception.’

  Nanky installed herself in the Dower House kitchen and prepared a lunch and supper that she considered suitable for an expectant mother. After the mild sedative left by Dr Greaves Gail slept well, waking rested and restored, and able to view the uncertainties of the near future calmly. She recognised in herself a curious feeling that something would happen which would of itself decide her own course of action.

  On getting out of bed on Easter Monday morning John Morley pulled back the curtains and surveyed the heavens.

  ‘Definite improvement on last night,’ he remarked to Rose. ‘Cumulus clouds bowling along and quite a bit of blue sky. With any luck it should be OK by the time people start turning up.’

  An Easter Monday informal lunch party had been a tradition during Fenella Morley’s time and Rose had carried it on. After a hasty breakfast the inmates of both the Manor and the Dower House took up the familiar routine without delay. The weather was improving steadily, and John and Richard set out garden seats and deck chairs in sheltered spots before beginning on the installation of a bar in the spacious front hall. Appetising odours crept through from the kitchen premises. Here, under Nanky’s supervision, daily women from Buckford tempted by treble pay for bank holiday work were producing a variety of fresh appetising snacks. As these arrived in relays on trays Rose and Gail arranged them to advantage on long tables in the hall and library. Supplies of hot soup and coffee were organised.

  At midday sounds of the first arrivals’ cars were audible and Adrian hurried off to arrange parking in both the Manor and the Dower House drives.

  At a quarter past twelve he was acclaimed by Jeremy and Amanda Crabbe as they drew up in their car.

  ‘Park prettily, please,’ Adrian adjured Jeremy. ‘Where do you think you are? Back at Athanasius?’

  He went round to open the passenger doors, noting that Henrietta Legge had not panicked at the last moment. Amanda, sitting in front with her husband, turned round in her seat to introduce Adrian. He got an impression of well-cut features, pallor and overall control, and embarked on a reference to their meeting some years earlier. This was cut short by the arrival of another car.

  ‘Sorry you’ve got to walk a bit,’ he said. ‘First arrivals have appropriated the drive in front of the house.’

  ‘We can just about make it, I think,’ Amanda replied. ‘Come on, both of you.’

  The trio set off with Henrietta Legge between them.

  In the spacious hall of Glade House drinks were in full swing and immediately pressed on the Crabbes and Henrietta. The catastrophe of Basil Railsdon’s suicide and the subsequent scandal had aroused much sympathy for her, and to the Crabbes’ relief she had no lack of people to chat to. Gradually they allowed themselves to become involved with their own friends.

  As always the Easter Monday party was being highly successful. Guests formed and reformed small groups, wandering from the hall to the drawing room and library. The hardier of them went out into the garden and appropriated the seats in sheltered sunny spots. The Morleys moved from group to group, renewing contacts and exchanging news. Adrian came upon a hilarious party of younger guests which included the Crabbes. He asked how Henrietta was getting on.

  ‘Fine, I think,’ Amanda said. ‘I saw her just now going down to have a look at the rock garden. She’s made a tiny one of her own and is rather sold on rock plants.’

  The Manor rock garden was reached by a flight of stone steps leading down from the gently sloping flower garden in front of the house. Adrian found several groups of rock plant enthusiasts engaged in detailed scrutinies and earnest conversation. After a few words with these he had a sudden impulse to take the rough narrow path down to the stepping stones across the Weaving. It was as the little river glinted through the trees that he saw Henrietta. She was sitting alone on a fallen tree trunk, apparently gazing at the water.

  ‘You’ve beaten me to it,’ he said, sitting down on the tree trunk himself. ‘I often nip down here for a breather when we’ve got something on. Rather a good spot, isn’t it?’

  ‘Delightful,’ Henrietta replied while barely turning her head. ‘Such lovely reflections in the water. Does the cottage over there belong to you, too?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. The river’s the boundary of the Glade property on this side. A chap called Ash has just bought it and is doing quite a bit in the way of improvements, apparently. It’s old. Some sixteenth-century bits, actually. Would you like to go over and have a look? I happen to know that the new owner’s gone off to the Westingham races.’

  ‘Yes, I’d like to, if you think he wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t. The stream’s so low at the moment that the stepping stones are no problem.’

  They crossed the Weaving and went up a couple of grassy steps on the far side. Ladders, sacks of cement and a variety of building equipment were in evidence. Adrian pointed out early features of interest: the big external chimney, the obvious addition at a later period of an upper storey showing a slight overhang, and some rough stone carving over the front door of black oak.

  ‘Stephen Ash, the chap who’s bought the place, went out to Australia when he was demobbed after the war,’ he said, in an attempt to keep a normal flow of conversation going. ‘He’s been there ever since but began to get a yen to spend his declining years in the Old Country. He’s been looking around and finally decided that this was just what he wanted and could afford.’ Henrietta showed polite interest, but Adrian sensed a deep unhappiness. No stimulus or satisfying purpose in her life after that awful mess-up. Just going on existing.

  They negotiated the stepping stones and returned to the Manor grounds.

  ‘I’ll lead the way up,’ he said. ‘Just watch your feet a bit. Some of the stones on the path are getting loose. I must remember to tell Dad. It’s important to keep the place in a decent shape. I must tell you our good news. Gail, my brother Richard’s wife, has started a baby at long last, so we must look ahead where the estate’s concerned. Let’s hope it’s a boy.’

  A moment or so later he was suddenly conscious that Henrietta was no longer just behind him and the sound of her steps had suddenly stopped. He swung round to see her leaning against a tree trunk, her body shaken with sobs.

  ‘There’s a seat a few yards ahead,’ he said quietly. With his arm firmly round her shoulders he propelled her towards it.

  In a few moments she had herself in hand and was drying her eyes.

  ‘I do apologise,’ she said shakily. ‘What an appalling way to behave. It ... it just came over me that there’s absolutely nothing in life for me to look ahead to, and looking back is just plain hell.’

  Adrian was silent for a brief space, recognising that anything in the nature of facile reassurances would be worse than useless.

  ‘Did you feel wholly satisfied with the prospect of life ahead as Basil Railsdon’s wife?’ he asked at last.

  Henrietta raised her head and their eyes met.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘He offered me a lot, of course: money, status and recognised identity. The alternative was an increasingly restricted life. And an increasingly isolated one. You must have seen it happen. A rather badly-off unmarried woman without an interesting career becomes a dropout. I wasn’t in love with him.’

  There was a distant sound of a car starting up.

  ‘Hell!’ Adrian exclaimed, astonishing himself with his vehemence. ‘People are beginning to go. I’ll have to go and be a car park attendant, I suppose.’

  They both got to their feet and began to walk up the path.


  ‘Thank you, Henrietta,’ he said, ‘for talking to me as you just have.’

  ‘And thank you for listening in the way you did,’ she answered in a low voice. She paused for a split second and he saw her right hand go up to her right ear.

  ‘You’ve lost an earring,’ he said, conscious that an opportunity had presented itself. ‘I’ll go over the ground and have a look when everybody’s cleared off.’

  Disregarding her protests he escorted her to the gravel sweep in front of the house where departing guests were beginning to gather. It was nearly 4 o’clock when the last car-load disappeared down the drive.

  The Morleys stopped waving, turned and went into the house with unconcealed signs of exhaustion. As they sank into chairs in the hall Nanky appeared propelling a tea trolley.

  ‘Thought they’d never go, that last lot,’ she remarked concisely, parking the trolley in front of Rose. ‘Nice hot cuppas are what you all want.’

  The Morleys assured her in their different idioms that she was bang on, as Richard put it.

  ‘Really strong for me, please Mum,’ he said. ‘And three lumps.’

  As they revived they reviewed the day, agreeing that it had been a particularly successful Easter Monday lunch picnic.

  ‘Enormous luck over the weather,’ John remarked. ‘Let’s hope it holds for the drive tomorrow. What time had we better start?’

  After some discussion, 10.30 was agreed upon. John, Rose, Richard and Gail were due at a wedding in Cornwall on Wednesday, preceded by a party on the Tuesday evening.

  ‘I’ll have to push off early, too,’ Adrian said. ‘There were a few things I didn’t get round to before I came down.’

  ‘What time’s your plane on Thursday?’ Gail asked.

  ‘The ungodly hour of 8.30 a.m. at Heathrow.’

  ‘I strongly recommend an early night for everybody, then,’ Rose said. ‘Nanky included. I thought she was looking decidedly tired when she brought this tea in. I feel restored, and I’m going to put a few things together for tomorrow.’

  The family dispersed. Adrian went up to his room and sat deep in thought for some minutes. He then slipped unobtrusively downstairs and out into the garden by a side door. Cutting through the rock garden, his eyes searching the ground as he went, he took the path through the trees down to the river. He had a memory retentive of detail. As he had steered Henrietta towards the wooden seat on realising that she was weeping, there had been a projecting low branch on the right of the path. He remembered trying to draw her away from it. He located the exact spot, dropped on to his knees and began to search among the twigs and dead leaves. Unbelievably something glinted. The next moment he was looking down at the small crystal and sapphire earring in the palm of his hand. He stared at it, incredulous at his luck. If I ever go to Padua, he thought, I’ll do something really handsome in the way of lighting candles or whatever one does in honour of St Anthony.

  No one was about when he returned to the house, and he decided to put through a call to Henrietta at once. Her voice when it came over the line was instantly recognisable.

  ‘Adrian Morley here,’ he said, hoping that his own voice sounded normal. ‘Just to let you know that I’ve found your earring. It was on the path, near the seat. I’ll drop it in on my way back to Oxford tomorrow morning. Would about half-past ten be all right?’

  ‘Of course. Any time. But won’t it be bringing you out of your way. It’s bound to. I mean, there’s absolutely no hurry...’

  Her voice was a little breathless as if she were both astonished and diffident.

  ‘No problem in the world,’ he said. ‘I’ll be along then, plus earring. Good night.’

  He put down the receiver and returned to his room, trying to analyse what had happened to him in the space of about six hours.

  Chapter 4

  After a hasty breakfast on the following morning Adrian went out to the kitchen to say goodbye to Nanky. He found her upstairs in the sitting room of her flatlet.

  ‘Hallo!’ he said. ‘I’ve just looked in to say goodbye. I hope you aren’t too whacked after yesterday?’

  ‘Stuff and nonsense,’ she retorted. ‘A busy day I’ll grant you, but everything ran smooth as silk. Now when you’re all out from under my feet I’m going on sorting my sister’s things in peace and quiet.’ As she spoke she indicated a battered suitcase on a chair. ‘Don’t you forget now that you promised to send me a postcard.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘I might even make it two. And I’m due back in England on Saturday week, and might manage to pop down for a night before term starts.’

  He gave her a hug and a smacking kiss and hurried off with a final wave from the door. Rose was right. Nanky did look a bit fagged.

  John and Rose had come down and were just starting their breakfast in the dining-room.

  ‘I’m off,’ he said. ‘I hope you have a good run and decent champagne at the wedding breakfast.’

  ‘And you a good flight, darling,’ Rose said. ‘Is there any chance of your getting down again before term starts?’

  ‘With a spot of luck. I’ll ring from College as soon as I get back. You could always contact me c/o International Excavations, Ephesus.’

  ‘Fine,’ John Morley said. ‘By that time we ought to have got the Decameron into something like shape. Have a good trip, old man.’

  Within a few minutes Adrian was coasting down the drive, giving a series of toots as he passed the turning to the Dower House.

  Once clear of Buckford, and out on the familiar road to Oxford which he would follow for the next forty miles before diverging to Loxford, his thoughts reverted to Henrietta Legge and his astonishing reaction to her. There had been a few short-lived affairs in his life but this was in a totally different category. Did love at first sight accompanied by a sense of overwhelming certainty actually happen outside romantic novels, he asked himself? He went over the events of the previous afternoon with a scholar’s accuracy. Was there anything, however slight, to suggest for one single moment that Henrietta had, in the midst of her distress, fallen for him? An honest thinker, he admitted to himself that there had not. One thing was absolutely vital: he must not attempt to rush matters. A woman of her type needed time to get over a really appalling shock.

  In spite of this reasoned conclusion he found himself picturing married life with Henrietta ... an Oxford house, not too far from Athanasius ... talking over the day’s events ... attending public functions with her at his side drawing admiring glances ... holidays... He made a determined effort to pull himself together and think more analytically. The academic distinction that he had already acquired had been his defence against an underlying sense of inferiority at being an adopted child in however loving and caring a home. With Henrietta he could found a home in his own right for his own children.

  Presently he was jolted into the present by a road sign announcing ‘LOXFORD 4 1/2 miles’. On reaching the outskirts of the village he slowed down to ask a woman with a shopping basket the way to Miss Legge’s house.

  ‘Straight on and take the second turning on your left,’ he was told. ‘Two cottages up to the top and hers is on the left. You can’t miss it.’

  Adrian thanked her while aware of being eyed with keen interest. He drove on and negotiated the sharp turn into a rather narrow side road with caution, aware that his mind had become a complete blank. As he drew up at the gate of the cottage on the left his vision of a conversation à deux with Henrietta abruptly disintegrated into thin air. Jeremy Crabbe in slacks and an open-necked shirt materialised at the gate of the cottage opposite, and greeted him with a shout.

  ‘Oyez! Enter knight-errant bearing missing jewel!’

  ‘Fool!’ Adrian replied, cursing under his breath, his mind instantly forming a decision ... he’d pack overnight... As he got out of his car the front doors of both cottages opened and Henrietta and Amanda emerged.

  ‘Madam,’ he said, and handed Henrietta a matchbox with a smile. ‘My apologies for
the container. Quite beneath the dignity of the contents but the best I could rustle up.’

  As she thanked him their eyes met and he fancied that he saw something more than pleasure at the recovery of a lost possession in hers. Or was it just wishful thinking on his part? Meanwhile the Crabbes were loudly demanding an account of the finding of the earring, and Henrietta made the inevitable gesture of inviting everyone into her cottage for coffee.

  ‘We’re off today, too,’ Jeremy said at a later stage in the conversation. ‘Not until after tea, though. What time’s your flight?’

  ‘8.30 a.m. on Thursday,’ Adrian told him.

  ‘God! Must they?’

  ‘I suppose the skies get congested at reasonable hours. Back on Saturday week. Meanwhile I’d better be moving on.’

  Henrietta escorted him to the gate.

  ‘I simply can’t thank you enough,’ she said as Adrian got in the driving seat.

  ‘Nor I you,’ he replied without looking at her, turning the key to start the engine and beginning to back down the lane. In the driving mirror he caught a glimpse of her standing at the gate before turning back into her cottage.

  Adrian rang Nanky from Athanasius in the early evening.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he assured her, ‘except that I’ve been fool enough to leave behind some papers that I simply must take with me to Ephesus. I’ll turn up about 10 tomorrow morning and pick them up.’

  Nanky tut-tutted, said that it wasn’t like him not to pack properly, and offered to put the papers into the post.

  ‘No go,’ Adrian explained. ‘My plane takes off at 8.30 on Thursday morning which means that I’ve got to be at Heathrow by 7.30 at the latest. And if you posted them to me at Ephesus I’d be home again before they turned up there.’

  ‘Not that I won’t be glad to have another sight of you,’ she conceded. ‘And there’ll be a good hot cup of coffee waiting.’