Excalibur Rising (18 page)

      “It’s your husband’s journal,” Mandretti said.
     Claudette Wilshire looked at the book with scant interest. “Always scribbling,” she said.
      “He wrote about a sword,” said Mandretti.
      “Always scribbling,” she repeated. “Scribble, scribble, scribble.”
      “Do you remember a sword?” Mandretti persisted.
      “Sword?” Mrs. Wilshire said.  “What about the sword?”  Her glance slid away from Mandretti and her face took on a wary look.
      “Do you remember it?” Mandretti asked.
     Todd realized that Mandretti was losing her.  He was misreading her mood.  Mrs. Wilshire wasn’t suffering from memory loss, she was suffering from guilt.
      “Tell her it’s okay,” he hissed to Mandretti. “Tell her you understand why she did it.”
     Mandretti turned his head and looked at Todd.
     “Did what?”
     “I don’t know,” said Todd, “but she did something with the sword.”
     Mandretti nodded his head and turned back to Mrs. Wilshire.
     “Claudette …”
      “I don’t want to talk any more.  Who are you?  I don’t know who you are.”
     “You can tell us all about it,” Todd said suddenly.
     Claudette Wilshire turned her head and saw him sitting on her bed.  Todd rose to his feet and came to stand next to her.  “We’re not blaming you,” he said. “We just want to find the sword.”
     “I don’t know where it is,” Mrs. Wilshire said.  “It could be anywhere now.”
     “But you did see it?” Todd persisted.
     Mrs. Wilshire shied away from him, pushing herself back in her wheelchair. “It was mine to sell,” she said.
     “Of course it was,” Todd said with a sinking heart.  She had sold it.  Now what?
     “He collected swords,” said Mrs. Wilshire. “He kept them in a big room.  He said he would hang it on the wall.  Old,” she said. “He said it was really old.”
      “Yes it was,” said Todd.
      “I don’t know where it came from,” said Mrs. Wilshire. “Clive never said.”
      “He wrote in his journal,” said Todd.
     “Scribble, scribble,” said Mrs. Wilshire.
     Mandretti looked at Todd. “No need to explain,” he said softly. “She doesn’t care. Ask her who she sold it to.”
     “Mrs. Wilshire,” said Todd.
     “You can call me Claudette,” she said.  “You look like a nice young man.”  Her eyes were suddenly bright again and Todd could see the    shadow of the flirtatious young woman she had been, flirtatious or desperate, a refugee selling herself to find a country.
     “Claudette,” said Todd, “who bought the sword.”
     “He put it on the wall.”
     “Yes, I know he did. What was his name?”
     “Oh,” she said, “it was Colonel Peacock.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
     Todd hunched over the tiny screen of his mobile phone with Mandretti breathing down his neck.  He longed to tell the big man to back off, but somehow lacked the courage so he contented himself with saying, “It’s loading but it’s very slow.”
     Mandretti looked around as though he could detect the errant signal and speed it on its way.  The limo, with Freddie at the wheel, pulled up at a red light.  Todd steadied the phone and finally saw information scrolling down the screen.
     “Okay, this is what we have,” he said. “Peacock, Hubert Reginald, Colonel, Shropshire Light Infantry. Born 1895 died 1984. No issue.”
      “What’s that mean?” Mandretti asked. “What’s no issue?”
     “No children,” said Todd.
     “No heirs?”
     “Oh, I’m sure he had heirs, they just weren’t his own children.  That family seems to have trouble reproducing. The professor also had no children, so I’m guessing that Hubert’s heir was from some distant, and more fertile, branch of the family.”
     “And what else does it say?” asked Mandretti.
     “We don’t need anything else,” Todd said. “Now we know his regiment,  we can find out if they have a museum.”
     “And how long is that gonna take?” Mandretti asked.
     The light turned green and the car pulled forward.  They were approaching the center of London in the fading evening light.  Traffic streamed past them; workers heading home for the evening. 
     “If we could just wait till I have my laptop …” Todd said.
     “You snooze, you lose,” Mandretti announced.
     Todd shrugged his shoulders and began another painfully slow web search.  Mandretti fidgeted restlessly. “So you think the Colonel lived at this Griffinwood Manor place?” he asked.
     “It doesn’t say,” said Todd. “I can look it up.”
     “Yeah, yeah,” said Mandretti.  “Look up the museum first.”  He patted Todd’s shoulder. “You’re good at this stuff, kid.  You should come and work for me.  You’d love Vegas.”
     Todd let the remark pass, unable to imagine leaving the Keys, leaving Violet and Maria, leaving his tight circle of theatrical friends. 
     The Regimental website opened slowly, very slowly.  Todd watched the information filter onto the screen.
     “Well?” said Mandretti, still breathing down Todd’s neck.
      Todd read aloud, “King’s Shropshire Light Infantry were based at Copthorne Barracks (built 1877-81) in Shrewsbury: this is now the HQ of the 5th Division and 143 West Midlands Brigade, along with Territorial Army, cadet and support units. Its regimental museum has been located in Shrewsbury Castle since 1985 and combines the collections of the 53rd, the 85th, the KSLI to 1968, the local Militia, Rifle Volunteers and Territorials, as well as those of other county regiments - the Shropshire Yeomanry and the Shropshire Artillery. The museum was attacked by the IRA in 1992 and extensive damage to the collection and to some of the Castle resulted. It re-opened in 1995.”
     “So where is this place?” Mandretti asked.
     “I don’t know,” said Todd, adding with strained patience, “I can look it up.”
     “Nah, don’t bother,” said Mandretti.  He leaned forward and spoke to the back of Freddie’s thick neck.
      “Where’s Shrewsbury Castle?”
      “Dunno, mate,” came the reply. “Shrewsbury I suppose.  It’s out of my bailiwick.”
      “What does that mean,” said Mandretti, “what’s a bailiwick?”
     Freddie turned his head slightly sideways, offering a view of his dented and battered profile. “I ain’t never been to Shrewsbury, Mr. Mandretti,” he said, “but I suppose I could take you there if that’s what you want. I’ll have to phone it in.  I wasn’t supposed to take the car out of London.  We’ll be at the Dorchester in five minutes.  I’ll give the boss a bell when we get there.”
     Mandretti was silent.
     Freddie turned his head again, looking just slightly nervous.  “Is that okay, Mr. Mandretti?”
     So, Todd thought, Freddie’s been told to keep Mandretti happy, which means that Freddie’s boss wants to keep Mandretti happy.  Given Freddie’s terrifying appearance, Todd didn’t care to speculate on what kind of person employed him, or what hold Mandretti might have over such a person.  The offer of employment with Mandretti in Vegas was becoming increasingly unattractive.
     Freddie brought the limo to a halt under the portico of the Dorchester where a doorman sprang forward to open the door.  Mandretti tapped Freddie on the shoulder.
     “Wait,” he said.
     Freddie nodded.  Mandretti and Todd proceeded into the Dorchester’s Art Deco lobby. 
     “Go get your computer,” Mandretti said to Todd.
      Todd headed for the elevators but was waylaid by a large grey-haired woman in a voluminous cape.  Todd, an Agatha Christie fanatic who had seen every filmed characterization of Miss Marple, was immediately reminded of Margaret Rutherford in Murder Most Foul. 
     “Are you Violet Chambray’s person?” asked the Miss Marple look alike.
     “Well, I suppose you could say that,” Todd replied.
      “Are you or aren’t you?” the woman asked imeriously.
     “I am.”
     “Where is she?”
     Todd hesitated.  The large woman looked at him impatiently and then thrust out her hand.
     “Professor Molly Walker,” she said, “Medievalist.  I met your employer at Carlton Lewis’ funeral.  We agreed to collaborate.  I’ve been waiting here all afternoon.  Where have you been?”
     “Was she expecting you?”
     “No, not exactly.  I wouldn’t have come except for the fact that Professor Ryan is not answering his phone and I have important information.  The person at the reception pointed you out to me; you and the other rather untrustworthy looking gentleman.”
     Todd followed her gaze back to Michael Mandretti who had dropped down into one of the gilded armchairs and was fixing Todd with an impatient glare.
     “That’s Mr. Mandretti,” said Todd.
     “I assumed as much,” said Molly Walker.  “And you are...?”
     “Todd.” 
     Todd realized that he would either have to invent a last name, or reveal the fact that he was a member of Violet’s family.
     “Todd Aspinall,” he said.
     “Well, Mr. Aspinall, we have a problem.”
     “I’m sorry Professor Ryan isn’t answering his phone,” Todd said, “but I don’t think I can help you.  Violet is with him, but she never uses a cell phone.  Perhaps they’re on their way back.  Maybe they can’t get a signal.”
     “I’ve been trying all afternoon,” Molly said. “Where did they go?”
     Todd hesitated.
     “Oh for goodness sake,” Molly said. “You can tell me.  I told you, we’re collaborating on this.”
     “We only arrived today,” Todd said, “and I haven’t had time to talk to Violet so____”
     Molly interrupted him in a loud voice; loud enough to disturb the expensive calm of the marbled lobby. “Where did she go?”
     “She went to Griffinwood Manor.”
     “Damn,” said Molly. “Damn, damn, and double damn. Look here, young man, that Mr. Mandretti, is he as dangerous as he looks?”
     “Possibly,” said Todd.
     “And is he the man who hired Violet to find the sword?”
     Todd nodded his head.
     “Good,” said Molly, “let’s go and talk to him.”
      “We’re in a bit of a hurry,” Todd said. “We think we have a lead and we need to go to____”
      “You think you have a lead?” said Molly.  “Well, I have something much more than a lead.”
     She marched across the lobby, her cape swirling around her.  Todd followed behind.  Mandretti rose to his feet.  For a moment Todd thought that Mandretti might try his charm on the professor, but apparently Mandretti was a quick judge of character.  He stood completely still allowing the force of Molly Walker’s personality to crash like waves around his feet.
     “This is Professor Walker,” Todd said, dodging around the professor to stand beside Mandretti.
     “Yeah,” said Mandretti.  It was neither a query nor an exclamation.  It was simply a word.
     “I’m holding you responsible for this,” Molly said.
     Mandretti spread his hands. “What have I done?”
     “Nothing, nothing at all,” Molly said.  She collapsed into a chair and Mandretti sat down again watching her under hooded eyelids.  Molly wiped a hand across her forehead scraping back her untidy grey hair.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s not your fault, it’s just that I’ve been waiting all afternoon.  Do you have any idea where Violet and Professor Ryan are?”
     “None at all,” said Mandretti. “I ain’t seen them since this morning when Todd sent them off to get the train.  They’ll be back.”
     “Oh, I hope so,” said Molly.
     “Todd,” said Mandretti, “go order a brandy for the lady.”
     Todd looked at Molly.  She nodded her head and again ran her fingers through her hair.  Todd raised a hand, and a waiter was immediately by his side.  He placed the order and dragged up another chair.
     “You’re from here, ain’t you?” said Mandretti.
     “Yes,” said Molly.
     “So you can tell me where this castle place is.  What’s it called, Todd?”
     “Shrewsbury Castle,” Todd said.
     “Yeah,” said Mandretti. “How far is it?”
      “Shrewsbury Castle,” said Molly.  “11
^th
Century, but not much of the original left.   Besieged by King Steven, that would have been 1138, and I think the Welsh held it for a while. It had a commanding position over the River Severn.  I did a couple of digs there; didn’t find much, too much modernization.  I don’t know why they can’t leave things alone.  I suppose you could drive it in four hours.” 
     She paused, and looked at Mandretti suspiciously. “Why do you want to go to Shrewsbury?” she asked. “Have you found something?”
     “Maybe.”
      “Now wait a minute,” said Molly, springing impulsively to her feet. “The Shropshire Regiment Museum.  That’s it, isn’t it?  That’s why you want to go there. Taras was cataloguing a regimental museum when he found the sword.  Oh, that makes perfect sense.  Griffinwood is practically next door.”
     “I didn’t know that,” said Todd.
     “Oh, it’s very close,” said Molly.  “Obviously there’s a family connection of some kind.” She hesitated. “I’ve been in that museum,” she said. “It’s all recent regimental equipment.  There’s no medieval sword.  Believe me, I would have noticed something like that.”
     “Professor Walker is a medievalist,” said Todd to Mandretti.
     The waiter appeared and set a glass of brandy on the small table beside Molly.  She looked at it in surprise.  Apparently she had forgotten her initial upset and was trying to get her mind around the idea of the missing sword being in Shrewsbury Castle.  Her face was flushed red with excitement.
     “It’ll be closed at this hour,” she said, “and the traffic out of London is ridiculous this time of night.  We should plan on leaving very early tomorrow morning.  If we leave at six, we’ll be there by ten.  Don’t worry about opening hours, my Academic Pass will get us in.  We’ll get a private tour.”
     She dragged her hand through her hair yet again, causing it to stand out like a grey crown around her head. “It’s all 18
^th
century stuff,” she said. “Regimental Honors, battle flags, light armament, and that kind of thing.  I don’t know what Peacock could have seen there.”
     She stopped abruptly, a shocked expression on her face.  She looked at the brandy as though she had suddenly remembered why it was there.
     “Peacock,” she said. “Oh, no wonder Ryan thought we were a pair of useless old biddies. “
     Mandretti looked at Todd and raised his eyebrows. Todd shrugged, indicating that he too had failed to follow Molly Walker’s train of thought.
Molly picked up the brandy and swallowed a hearty mouthful.
    “Peacock,” she said, “Crispin Peacock.”
     “He’s at Griffinwood,” said Todd.
     She shook her head. “No he’s not,” she said. “He’s dead on his living room floor in his Kensington flat.”