Murder in Abbot's Folly (6 page)

‘Difficult to know what to try,' Georgia remarked lightly to the woman behind her in the queue. In her sixties, a Regency high-waisted clinging dress should not have been first choice for her short and rather dumpy figure. Her face was a strong one, however, which suggested that clothes were of little importance to her life.

‘Have the potted shrimps,' she advised Georgia. ‘Jane Austen must have gobbled them up, because the Medway estuary area was famous for its pink and brown shrimps in her time. To coin a phrase, people came from far and wide.'

‘That was before they had to cope with the M25,' Georgia joked.

‘I managed it today.'

That seemed to end the conversation. Georgia decided on the pork frigasy, Luke chose the haricot mutton and then they attempted to get near the bar for a brave attempt to buy two drinks. Jane Austen's orange wine was being so strongly pushed by the barman that she didn't have the heart to choose anything else, while Luke went for Mr Knightley's spruce beer. The barman was a young chap in his twenties, who – she worked out from the shouts across from the food counter – was called Craig and he was Barbara's son. The family was doing a good job, Georgia decided, because once she and Luke had found themselves somewhere to sit outside on the grass, the food proved to be as delicious as it looked, and the wine too was worthy of Miss Austen's name.

Perhaps with the help of the wine, the afternoon seemed to pass quickly, even though the magic hour of four o'clock loomed large in her mind. Nevertheless, she found herself playing an elegant game of shuttlecock with Luke, Mark and Jill, while Elena and Peter looked after Rosa. The men had a distinct advantage, owing to their wearing trousers as opposed to long skirts, but Jill turned out to be a superb player (naturally) and she and Georgia won comfortably. For the first time, Georgia felt at ease with her stepdaughter-in-law, and her hopes grew of welding the four of them into a contented family group – five with Peter, and if the worst happened six with Elena. She pushed that thought away. She couldn't cope with it yet.

Luke then swept her off into the Sir Roger de Coverley, the only country dance that Georgia knew. She enjoyed stripping the willow – or threading the needle as the Dancing Master termed it – followed by a cotillion, and she realized the day was turning out much better than she could have hoped . . . save, she thought uneasily, for the fingerprints. She had a moment of fear that the nausea would return, but it didn't, and she fixed her mind on what was going on around her. She noticed the woman who had been behind her in the food queue dancing nimbly with someone whose face, or rather costume, she recognized as the peasant who had bowed to her when they had first arrived.

‘This is a very egalitarian cotillion,' she joked to Luke. ‘Fancy letting peasants in.'

Joke over, the uneasiness returned as Luke pointed out that it was getting near to four o'clock. She had caught glimpses of Roy, Tim and Jennifer at intervals, but not of Laura. What was she worrying about? she asked herself. The anxiety that she had noticed in the Fettis family or the fingerprints? The latter had no relevance to the future of Stourdens, if that was to be the subject of the speech. They belonged to the past not to the future. She could see microphones and cameras installed on the terrace, and people were beginning to gather there.

She and Luke went over to join Peter and Elena just as the magic hour struck, but if she was expecting a simultaneous dramatic entrance by Laura and her family, she was disappointed. Instead Tim appeared, but went back into the house without making any public statement. Then nothing. As the minutes passed, it became clear that this was not merely a late arrival, and a ripple of restlessness spread through the crowd. Finally, the tall figure of Roy Fettis appeared from the door of the house, but there was no Laura, no Jennifer and no Tim. Just what was going on?

Roy looked confused and ill at ease, and he had to clear his throat several times before he managed to speak. Something was wrong, and the crowd realized it as the level of murmuring rose. At last he said simply, to Georgia's astonishment, ‘My wife is not well enough to speak to you this afternoon. She begs that you will excuse her until a later date.' With that, before he could be questioned, he almost scuttled back into the house. The silence of surprise was followed by more murmurs and then by raised voices as people began drifting back towards the refreshment tents.

‘I don't believe it,' Luke said crossly. ‘What a way to do it. Why on earth couldn't he read her speech if she's ill?'

‘Something must have happened.' Peter frowned. ‘Interesting. How do we find out? The Clackingtons might know, but I can't see them. Or Philip and Jake. Jill might have heard something. I know it's nothing to do with Bob Luckhurst's death, but it's intriguing, since we know today is all about Jane Austen.'

‘Tea,' Luke said firmly. ‘The only solution.'

‘Splendid,' Elena said. ‘Peter?'

‘Why not? Let's go.'

Georgia demurred. Now that she had stopped dancing, a headache was beginning to rage, and a stuffy tea tent was not the answer. She clutched at the excuse that there was still Abbot's Retreat to see. She would go nowhere near the folly, but the garden would be safe. No fingerprints there. In the Retreat she could be on her own, away from the Clackingtons, away from Elena – and away from any immediate obligation to talk. Just rest for a while.

Her hopes were dashed. Elena had either overheard her quiet few words of explanation to Luke, or had simply followed her. ‘I'll come too, darling,' she said happily as she caught Georgia up.

Georgia's heart sank. She could hardly say no, although it was all too clear that Elena was aching for a mother-to-daughter chat. Was Georgia up to coping with one? No, especially if the question Elena wanted to ask was whether she was pregnant or not. Or maybe she was wrong. Perhaps Elena wouldn't be concentrating on Georgia's life but her own. She would be eager to discuss the matter of her returning to Kent to live.

Georgia braced herself. ‘That would be nice,' she said.

Elena was shorter than she was, and slenderer, and years of living in France had given her a poise and sophistication that Georgia felt today at least she could not begin to match. And yet for all that elegance and for all her self-centredness, Elena had an inner fragility that Georgia knew she could no longer ignore. It was Elena who was the child now.

‘Georgia, there's something I want—' Elena began as she walked beside her.

‘To talk about your return to Kent? That's splendid. Where are you thinking of settling?' Georgia asked, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.

Elena looked taken aback. ‘Probably in Canterbury. I have friends there.'

How to interpret that? Did Elena mean male friends? If so, that would lift the burden from Peter. Or would it make it worse? Georgia wondered. She had a terrible suspicion that the answer to that was yes, but she could not battle with the implications. Think of Abbot's Retreat instead, Georgia told herself. After all, the ‘abbot' must have gone there for its peace and quiet, to get away from his own problems.

‘Of course,' Elena was saying, ‘I'd have to have a garden.'

A garden. Georgia remembered Elena and her garden. Remembered herself as a child, sitting on the grass playing while Elena pruned roses, weeded, tended her sweet peas – they were her favourite flower. Could one recreate that peace? Did she want to help Elena do so? Did she seek it herself?

As they reached the gate into Abbot's Retreat, Georgia could hear the tinkling water of the fountain, even smell the roses blooming in their peaceful home.

‘Isn't it lovely?' Elena whispered behind her.

‘Lovely,' Georgia rejoined automatically as she drank in her first complete sight of the garden. The cloisters, the statues, the roses, the petals by the fountain – and what was that? Scattered rose petals? No, more. Someone was sprawled there, someone wearing a white dress with red spots, someone whose head was buried in the red petals that spilled out across the stone path.

Only, now she could see that they weren't rose petals. It was blood.

FOUR

T
his couldn't be happening. This must surely be some costume drama into which she had been unwillingly cast. Her role? Reluctant witness. The person who found the body. Georgia shuddered. Clad as she was, it felt wrong to be sitting silently on the terrace of Stourdens at a Regency event waiting for the all too real twenty-first century police to interview her for the second time. She tried to imagine what it must be like for the police with three or four hundred possible witnesses to record and interview, but gave up the attempt. She could only think of Abbot's Retreat, of Elena's screams and of herself, stricken to frozen horror.

Her automatic reaction had been to rush to the fountain to see if what she dreaded was true. It was. There had been no doubt that Laura Fettis was dead, probably shot in the head. Then the screaming had begun, as Elena had unwisely followed her. People would be gathering, and Georgia had braced herself for a supreme effort. Ensure Laura was no longer alive – no doubt there, but a ghastly task. Ring for the police. Keep everyone at bay to maintain the scene as free of contamination as possible. Fortunately, one of the early spectators to arrive had known what was needed and taken that task on. Elena had been shepherded away, and Georgia had waited for the police. The minutes had dragged by as she tried to concentrate on anything other than what she could see. Her mother – was someone looking after her? But it was hopeless, for she could not drag her thoughts away for more than a moment from Laura Fettis's terrible end.

Now it was gone six o'clock. Luke was with her, as were Peter and Elena. Every so often on the lawns, or passing to and fro from the house, Georgia glimpsed someone she recognized. Naturally, there was no sign of Roy Fettis or Jennifer, but every so often she saw a haggard-looking Tim trying to cope with the one PR job he could never have dreamed of being his responsibility. Dora seemed to be in perpetual motion, alternately coming to join Elena and trying to cope with Gerald, who was sitting at the former entrance table and looking as dazed as though he, not Roy, were the bereaved husband. Dora, remarkably, was far from being hysterical herself and was managing Elena's distress much better than Georgia could. She could see Philip and Jake were still around, and she recognized a few other faces as they flitted past her on the lawns or moved in and out of her sight like characters in a silent movie. Overall, however, the number of guests was quickly diminishing as the police checked them off.

By the time Georgia had left Abbot's Retreat, the cordon tape was already in place and incident vans had parked by the side of the house. The SIO from Kent Police Stour Area was a DI Diane Newton, whom she had not met before, but the good news was that Chief Superintendent Mike Gilroy had arrived. She had supposed that Peter had rung him, but it seemed not.

‘Too much of a coincidence,' Mike had explained, when he came over to speak to them. ‘First you ring about the Luckhurst murder, Peter, and twenty-four hours later there's another one in virtually the same place. Sure you haven't turned to murder in your old age?'

‘The deaths are twenty-five years apart,' Peter pointed out.

‘Linked, do you think?'

‘I can't see how – not yet.'

‘Which means you intend to look into it. Our job, Peter,' Mike said in warning.

‘Of course,' Peter promptly agreed. ‘However, the fact that this is a day devoted to Jane Austen and—'

‘Thus useful to gain access for those intent on killing,' Mike cut him off. ‘Just as Tanner took advantage of the protest march in 1985. But let me point out that Robert Luckhurst's murder was due to revenge plus possible personal reasons. Jane Austen never got a look-in.'

‘Nevertheless, today she's upgraded to star status as far as Stourdens is concerned,' Peter commented. ‘Laura Fettis was murdered before she could make her speech, which almost certainly would have involved Jane Austen's connections with Stourdens and the memorabilia held by the family. There seemed to be some family distress about the matter.'

Mike looked interested. ‘Do you smell a motive?'

‘I can't see how there could be, but it's easily settled. The husband and daughter are going to know what Laura intended to announce. I expect you've heard that she didn't appear as planned.' When Mike nodded, he added, ‘There was certainly something troubling them all in a big way this morning.'

‘I'll pass that on right away.' Mike frowned. ‘This must have been a big shock for you, Georgia, and for Mrs Congreve.'

Who? Georgia wondered – then realized. Elena, of course, who was sitting on a garden chair with Peter's arm round her. She was very white, and her pale blue dress emphasized it. All the pretensions and artistry that her face usually presented had vanished.

‘I'm told DI Newton has taken your statement, Georgia, but I'd like to know first-hand what made you walk over to the garden,' Mike continued. ‘And you too, Mrs Congreve,' he added, turning to Elena.

Georgia answered him. ‘It seemed a good idea – while everyone else was rushing off to tea after the let-down over Mrs Fettis's speech. Abbot's Retreat isn't the sort of place to appreciate with a lot of other people around. I had some crazy idea about walking in a garden where Jane Austen must have walked, and my mother –' she was surprised to realize that the word was coming more naturally to her now – ‘decided to come with me.'

‘Yes,' Elena faltered. ‘I'm only here for a short visit, and I thought it would be nice.' Tears welled up again, and Peter put his arm round her once more.