Murder in Abbot's Folly (9 page)

‘Not like Bath, of course, or Tunbridge Wells,' Gerald admitted, ‘but, after all, Harblehurst was only a village then, even though the Edgar Arms was well known locally.'

‘Remember Emma Watson, Georgia?' Dora trilled. ‘Can't you just see her dancing with Master Charles Blake? Remember Emma being told by her sister that the party would arrive early as Mrs Edwards might then get a good place by the fire? And there it is!'

It was an impressive – and atmospheric – Georgian fireplace with two rather battered chimney-board figures flanking it. Somehow the hearth succeeded where the rooms themselves alone failed. Georgia could imagine the music of the violins, the dancing master calling the moves of the sociable country dances and the excitement of the cotillion.

‘Oh, what fun it must have been,' Dora said wistfully.

Perhaps, Georgia thought, but now it was cold and smelled of disuse. It was a room in waiting – but waiting for what?

Peter echoed her thoughts. ‘What are you planning to do with the rooms?' he asked politely.

Dora glanced at Gerald, who gave a warning cough, and she evaded the question. ‘The potential is enormous,' she replied dutifully. ‘You'll remember, Georgia, that
The Watsons
is set in Surrey, but clearly Jane is describing Kent and the Edgar Arms. The Edwards party enters the courtyard of the inn and takes a wide staircase up to the first floor where there is a short gallery, in which they pass a bedchamber out of which Tom Musgrave appears. We'll go down that way, for at the foot of the stairs is a very special room. While they are in these rooms they hear the sound of horses and a carriage entering the courtyard. The Osbornes are coming, the
Osbornes
are coming, everyone cries. Can't you see it happening, Georgia? Of course the novel was set here. Come, you shall see the staircase.'

She hurried them both out of the assembly room and into the gallery somewhat faster than necessary, it seemed to Georgia. Whatever lay in Tom Musgrave's bedchamber or the other rooms on this floor they were not to know, for Dora was intent on returning to the ground floor by the wooden staircase, while Gerald escorted Peter back to the lift. This staircase was much wider and more ornate than the kitchen stairs, and at its foot a door led back into the entrance hall of the house. To its left, however, was a room looking on to the street, which was the Clackingtons' dining room.

‘A private room in Austen's time,' Dora explained while they waited for Gerald and Peter to arrive. ‘We believe this is where lady passengers waited for their carriage or post-chaise so that they didn't have to mix with the hoi polloi.

‘And where,' she added grandly as Gerald arrived with Peter, ‘Jane and Cassandra were waiting for the Godmersham carriage when Captain William Harker walked into their lives.'

‘Dora!' Gerald said warningly.

She hesitated. ‘We should really leave it to dear Jennifer to tell you the full story, but I can't resist—'

‘
Dora
!'

‘Oh, listen,' Dora said hurriedly. ‘I think Elena's ready for us.'

Georgia was both annoyed and irked. She wasn't deeply into Jane Austen, but if it was going to be relevant to Bob Luckhurst's death then the sooner she and Peter heard the story the better. Peter was already signalling that he couldn't see any future in pursuing the subject, and so she followed meekly when Gerald firmly led the way back to the living room.

Wasn't it suspicious, Georgia thought, that this great love affair had only just come to light? It was true that such treasure troves were still found nowadays, leading to new interpretations. Lost poems, music and plays were found, and unknown paintings by the masters discovered. Meanwhile she realized there was Elena to face. She was waiting for them in the living room and jumped up eagerly when she saw them, coming over to kiss them both.

‘Are you feeling better now?' Georgia asked, tongue-tied over what to call her. Elena no longer seemed right, and yet any form of Mother wasn't right either. She'd stick with Elena, she decided.

‘Darling, thank you. A little. And isn't it impressive?' she asked. ‘Here I am serving coffee in a room where Jane Austen might have taken tea.'

She and Dora fussed with cups and plates of biscuits while keeping up a determined conversation about the rival merits of
Persuasion
and
Pride and Prejudice
. To Georgia's relief, it was clear that no personal topics need be broached. When she and Peter left, however, Elena followed them out to the car, Georgia presumed to talk about her future life in Kent. Once again she was wrong.

‘I've been plucking up the courage to talk to you both,' Elena began hesitantly, ‘but I can't wait any longer. I just
can't
.'

‘About your moving back to Kent?' Georgia asked.

‘No, about Rick.'

Georgia felt as if she'd been punched in the face. She could have stood Canterbury coming up for discussion, but this had come out of the blue. So this was what had really been worrying Elena. Of all things to happen, just as she and Peter had come to terms with the fact that there would never be any more information about Rick's death than they had already unearthed.

‘What about him, Elena?' Peter asked.

His voice sounded quite normal, although he must have been as jolted by this as Georgia had been.

‘I went to Austria,' Elena started nervously.

‘As I did. So we both know,' Peter said, ‘all that's ever going to be known about his death.'

‘But I heard about one of the survivors from the boat.'

A terrible silence as old wounds began to seep their own kind of poison again. Rick's story had been finished, laid gently to rest, and now Elena threw this bombshell in their midst, which would stir up once more that insidious feeling that there might be more to know.

‘Is this survivor alive?' Peter asked evenly.

‘I think so.'

‘Where does he or she live?'

‘He, but I don't know,' Elena said helplessly. ‘I can find out. I wasn't going to speak about it until I found him, but I couldn't bear it alone.' She burst into tears. ‘I did right to tell you, didn't I?'

‘Straight clean bowled,' Peter said ruefully when they had returned to the office. He hadn't referred to Elena or to Rick on the journey home, and Georgia wasn't going to raise the subject. She wondered whether she should do so in case he brooded once he was alone, but she had to struggle to sort out her own feelings first. Elena had put the cat amongst the pigeons, and so all Georgia could do was try to shoo them off. Don't attack the cat. Shooing away in this case would probably amount to giving Elena her head in trying to track this survivor down, but Georgia vowed to try not to get too emotionally involved. If Elena found this survivor, that would be the time for her and Peter to decide whether they wanted to meet him. If her mother failed, then she did not want to be disappointed.

‘My tactics are to retire from the pitch until summoned to bat again,' Peter continued, to her relief.

‘Agreed.'

‘And meanwhile a good antidote might be Barbara Hastings, so that we can continue filling in the background to the Luckhurst murder while we're waiting to talk to the Fettises. So far as we know, Jane Austen's love life is unlikely to have anything to do with Luckhurst's death.'

‘I like knowing all the background though, not just parts of it, and Austen is certainly part.'

‘Patience, daughter, patience. Be like me.'

She laughed, as he had meant her to.

Georgia drove to Dunham on Thursday morning, without great expectations of its producing anything other than background colour. Barbara Hastings had been more curious than welcoming on the telephone, which was hardly surprising, Georgia supposed. She must have been shocked by Laura Fettis's death, as she had worked for her, and it must seem odd to her that Marsh & Daughter were enquiring about events twenty-five years earlier at a time when Laura's death was on everybody's mind and lips. She lived on the outskirts of Dunham, in a farmhouse set well back from the road. The house was old and detached, with a former garage-cum-barn which Barbara explained had been converted recently into a dedicated kitchen for professional cooking. Her own kitchen had been large enough for the days she cooked for open days at Stourdens, but now she wanted to
expand
, and the look she gave Georgia suggested that expansion could well have to do with Stourdens. The kitchen was state of the art, but didn't look to be greatly used as yet. Barbara did not comment but led her into the garden where coffee and biscuits were duly produced – both excellent, as was the garden itself. When she complimented Barbara on its blaze of colour and thriving looking vegetables Barbara grunted.

‘Got time to do it now the farm's gone.'

‘Farm?' Georgia asked.

‘Farmed by my late husband, but when Bill passed on I sold it to Tom Miller, since it was next to his place.' A pause. ‘You were at the Gala on Saturday,' she said almost accusingly. ‘I remember you. You had the pork frigasy.'

‘And it was delicious. I came back for tea later.'

Georgia was glad at least that Barbara remembered her for the pork and not for being the woman who had found the body. It had been a mistake to mention ‘later' though, with its reminder of Laura's death, but if it struck a wrong note Barbara Hastings showed no signs of resenting it. ‘The frigasy was one of Mrs Raffald's recipes,' she told her. ‘Book handed down by my granny. Mrs Fettis was very fond of it.'

‘I'm sorry about her death,' Georgia replied. ‘You must have known her very well.'

‘Worked for her for ten years or more. Nicer lady you couldn't hope to find.'

‘And Roy Fettis?' Georgia hadn't seen enough of him to get any clear impression.

‘Didn't deserve her is all I'll say. But,' she immediately added, ‘he's a lazy lout. Her money, of course. Stourdens belongs to her, not him. He just wants to cash in. I've a lot of time for young Jennifer, though.'

‘And Tim Wilson?'

‘I wouldn't know about him.'

Georgia understood. Barbara did know about him, but end of subject. Did that mean there could be tensions in the Fettis family? If so, the police would presumably be hot on the trail. ‘I haven't come to talk about Mrs Fettis,' Georgia said, ‘if only because it must be very painful for you. It's Robert Luckhurst who interests my father and me.'

‘So you said on the phone. Why's that?'

‘We write a series of books about forgotten cases of the past. My father used to be in the police force before he was disabled, and the Robert Luckhurst case is one that interests him.'

Barbara said nothing, just waited and watched her.

‘I understand you were working for the Tanners as barmaid at the Edgar Arms at the time of the murder, so I wondered if I could ask you what you remember.'

‘About what?' was the stony reply. There was distinct hostility now.

Good, Georgia thought. Hostility is a defence, and the need for defence has a cause. ‘Such as whether you think Max Tanner could have been innocent. He accused Tom Miller of being the killer.'

Barbara's answer was surprisingly sharp. ‘He would. Blame anyone but himself, he would, and poor old Tom was the natural one to pick on. Mind you, Max was not the sort to go and blow a man's brains out over something that happened twelve month earlier like losing that licence. The trial said that was the reason he killed him. But he was a hothead. Is, rather. He's still going somewhere, I'm sure of that. A hothead,' she repeated. ‘If he got an idea into his stupid head, it wouldn't go.'

‘There was a rumour he was having an affair with Mrs Luckhurst.'

Barbara was eager to answer, and Georgia thought she seemed almost relieved at the question. ‘Maybe that's right, maybe it's wrong. I'd no time for the woman myself. She was always nipping in and out. Poor Esther Tanner had a daughter and a baby son to look after, just like me, so I knew what it was like. Max was a womanizer, easy come, easy go, but that Mrs Luckhurst wouldn't let him go that easily. Had him by the short and curlies.'

‘Did you like Robert Luckhurst?'

‘Nothing to dislike. Mind you, I was only twenty-two so to me he was just the old chap to whom one had to be polite because he owned Stourdens. I preferred him to his wife, but I wouldn't go out of my way for him.'

‘Did he often come into the pub?'

‘Only when there was one of those car meetings on. He had this old car; Craig – that's my son – said it was a Lagonda. Mr Luckhurst liked showing it off.'

‘Was he popular with the village?'

‘Not when he got this bee in his bonnet about closing off the farm track. Then the sparks flew, obstinate old devil. Still, he didn't deserve what happened to him.'

‘Did you believe Tanner was guilty at the time?'

‘He had a fair trial. Seemed he'd done it. Who else could have? That gun was his. He got back while I was still working there. I didn't see the gun, but it was found afterwards down in the cellars. I was in the pub between twelve and two for opening hours plus an hour or so either side. I'd have seen if anyone had nipped in to pinch it
and
replace it.'

‘It could have been stolen from the pub the previous day and hidden there before the police came.'

A frosty look and a frosty reply. ‘It could have been, Miss Marsh, but don't you go saying it was, because I wouldn't know one way or the other. Max said he didn't know how it got there.'

‘Did you like him?'