A Crowded Coffin (3 page)

‘Call me Edith, everyone does. Look, I’m really sorry if I was a bit short,’ she told him again. ‘I shouldn’t have, it’s just that you look so….’ She frowned. ‘There’s a portrait, you see … well, I’ll show you later, then you’ll understand. But as I was saying, there’s no point me making a fuss. If Gran thinks you should be here, then here’s where you have to be.’

‘She’s been very helpful. We fixed things up earlier in the week and I moved in this morning. Your grandmother’s friend in the village told her about me and that I was looking for
somewhere
to live. She vouched for me because her sister used to live next door to us.’ Rory filled her in on some details. ‘I’m starting a new job at the university next term and this gives me a good base for getting to know my way about and doing some leisurely house-hunting.’

Edith shivered, suddenly cold. ‘Earlier in the week? You were here? When was that? Was it before or after Grandpa’s
accident
?’

He stared at her abrupt question. ‘I heard about that. It was the same day, I think, Wednesday. At least, I think it was that night he was injured, wasn’t it? Why? Does it make a difference? I promise not to get underfoot.’

‘It’s not that … oh, never mind.’ She still felt chilled and suddenly very tired as well as paranoid. Somebody walking over her grave, perhaps? ‘I was just wondering, that’s all.’ She led him through the original stone-flagged entrance into Locksley Farm Place. ‘Let’s go and have a cup of tea,’ she suggested. ‘I’m parched.’

Rory lagged behind, staring up at the entrance. ‘You’d never know this was here, would you,’ he said, nodding towards the mediaeval building. ‘Tucked round here you don’t see it at all when you come up the drive, it’s amazing.’

He caught up with Edith and as they crossed the great hall Rory paused to look around. The room was dominated by an
enormous refectory table that stood across one end, gleaming with centuries of elbow grease. Silver pots filled with roses stood at either end and there was a larger flower arrangement in the middle.

‘I see the village Flower Club ladies have been here.’ Edith looked puzzled as she nodded towards the artfully elegant display. ‘I wonder why. Maybe it’s just a compliment to Gran as she used to be their chairman.’

Rory was clearly only half listening. ‘This table is incredible,’ he murmured, stroking it with an appreciative hand.

‘It is, isn’t it,’ she agreed, giving him an approving look as her suspicions faded into the background. ‘It’s the genuine article too. My umpteenth great-grandmother is supposed to have pinched it from her convent during the Dissolution of the Monasteries. Though, to be more accurate, she sent for it when the convent was closed down as she had already run away with my umpteenth great-grandfather. I doubt she paid anything for it; the legend says she was a tough cookie.’

‘A runaway nun?’ He looked intrigued.

She was gratified to note his interest so she continued. ‘It’s said that they were distant cousins and forbidden to marry because her family were poor. His father actually bought off her parents with the price of her dowry to the convent so he must have taken the affair seriously. There’s no way of knowing why she went along with it and took her final vows. Maybe they forced her, or perhaps she was just biding her time.’

She took out a tissue and wiped up a scatter of drops of water from the flowers. ‘Anyway, two years later, at the time Henry VIII started getting heavy with the monasteries, she and her cousin, Richard Attlin, turned up at the Angel House bearing a marriage certificate that might very well have been legal. Apparently, everyone turned a blind eye and it was never queried. The forbidding father had died, which was why
Richard took off to fetch her and as the convent was broken up soon afterwards, I don’t suppose anyone thought it was worth checking.’

‘The Angel House?’ Rory enquired. ‘I thought it was called Locksley Farm Place?’

‘Quite correct, so it is. The Angel House is just the local name for it. The old name of the village was Locksley Angelorum and now it’s officially just Locksley, which, by the way, is nothing to do with Robin of Locksley; we’re a long way south of Nottingham.’ She perched on the edge of the great table and watched Rory make a leisurely circuit round the room.

‘This place is incredible. When I was fixing things up I didn’t actually come in here,’ he told her as he gazed in awe at ancient beams that spanned the soaring height of the hall, then paused, as everyone always did, to peer up the chimney of the huge stone hearth. ‘Hey, I can see the sky a long way up.’ He cast a sardonic glance at the smoke-blackened stonework and grinned at her. ‘I see it smokes; it must be fun here in the winter.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘We don’t even try to heat it these days, of course – it’s too expensive – but it only smokes if the wind is in the east.’ She grinned and waved a hand to the far end of the room. ‘Though I must admit the fireplace at the other end tends to smoke if the wind is in the north, south, east and west.’

As she spoke there was a clanging at the front door. Neither of them had noticed the sound of wheels approaching on the gravel drive but when Edith ran through the house to open up, she was confronted by an ambulance with its open rear end facing her. The driver and his mate were helping an elderly white-haired man into a wheelchair.

‘Grandpa?’ Edith rushed to give him a brief hug and to help settle him. ‘What on earth are you doing out of the hospital? Harriet and Karen said you weren’t due home till tomorrow. You really ought to do as you’re told.’

‘I’m sorry, love,’ put in the patient transport ambulance driver, looking sympathetic. ‘He insisted on discharging himself and apparently there was no way they could prevent him. He wouldn’t let anyone ring up for you to fetch him and he wangled a lift with us. The best they could manage was to insist on the wheelchair in and out of the ambulance, and they nearly had to tie him in before we could set off towards the lifts.’

‘Oh, I know.’ Edith shot him a smile of fellow feeling. ‘He’s an awful, pig-headed old devil and it’s much easier to give in when he’s got a bee in his bonnet.’

‘Well, of all the unfilial things to say….’ Edith ignored her grandfather’s remonstrance and cajoled the driver and his colleague into carrying him, plus the wheelchair, up the stairs to his bedroom on the first floor. Rory had stayed in the
background
during this exchange and took no part in getting the old man upstairs, which surprised her slightly.

While Rory saw the ambulance crew off the premises Edith helped Walter Attlin into an armchair in his room. She gave him a brief run-down on her sudden arrival back in England and her fortuitous meeting with Harriet at the airport, while she carried on scolding.

‘Why have you done this, Grandpa? You’re not usually so headstrong and you know a broken collarbone and shock aren’t something to be ignored.’ She looked up as Rory hovered in the open doorway, carrying the old man’s overnight bag. He gave her a slight, diffident smile as he dropped the bag on a side table and turned to leave the room. Then the old man answered her.

‘Didn’t Harriet tell you about my “accident”?’

Edith could almost hear the inverted commas round the word and as she stared at him he pulled himself upright in his chair. ‘I’m not leaving Penny in danger. If someone could do this to me, God knows what they might try with her, she’s so frail.’

‘Harriet said you believed someone drove at you
deliberately
,’
Edith said flatly and Rory halted in the doorway and turned a surprised glance at them. ‘Are you sure, Grandpa?’ Edith shook her head slightly, to clear her thoughts. ‘But that would mean it was attempted … murder, wouldn’t it?’

As the word dropped ominously into the silence Rory drew a startled breath. Edith looked up at him with fear in her grey eyes while Walter Attlin gave him a measuring glance, appeared satisfied with what he saw and nodded briefly to himself.

‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘However, that’s not the only reason I came home. You haven’t been told yet, I gather, that your
grandmother
hasn’t cancelled the Rotary dinner?’

‘What?’ It was a shriek of protest, hastily subdued as Edith recalled that her grandmother was asleep on her sofa in the converted bedroom next door. As Rory turned to her, looking puzzled, she explained. ‘It’s a charity do,’ she said. ‘We don’t have to do more, in theory, than provide the venue. The Rotary Club does the rest; they bring most of the food, drink, music, decorations and so forth. The wives move in on the day and take over the arrangements and all we have to do is put in an
appearance
and look gracious. That’s the theory. In practice, of course, it’s a whole lot of hassle.’ She frowned and looked suspiciously at her grandfather, who was looking studiously innocent.

‘Tell me I’m wrong,’ she demanded. ‘Tell me it isn’t tomorrow night.’ He looked mulish and said nothing. ‘So that’s what Harriet meant when she said she and Sam Hathaway would definitely see me tomorrow night, if not before. And that’s why Karen’s been cooking up a storm downstairs. That would be Gran’s doing; she always insists that we contribute towards the dinner.’

She whirled round and confronted the unsuspecting Rory, sudden angry tears of frustration welling up. ‘You don’t see, do you? You think I’m just being selfish because I’ll have to work my butt off, and so will you, by the way. But it’s not that. It’s
them, Gran and Grandpa. They’ll kill themselves and all for a …’ she caught herself up as her grandfather looked at her, ‘all for a wretched party.’ She turned away, struggling to drag a tissue out of her pocket and the old man’s disapproving look turned to affection as she mopped up her tears.

‘It’s in the Bible, darling,’ he said. ‘Remember?
And the greatest of these is charity
. I know it’s hard for you, Edith,’ he stroked her head as she knelt beside him. ‘But you have to let old people kill themselves in their own way. Your grandmother is determined to have this party because it’s one of our long-standing
traditions
. Besides, it will take her mind off this “accident” of mine.’

He looked over the bent blonde head and smiled at Rory. ‘My dear boy, I’m forgetting my manners. It’s delightful to see you again. Are you settling in comfortably? I’m afraid Edith is certainly correct on one score: you will have to work to help get this dinner under way and I’ll be relying on you to stop Edith and my wife from wearing themselves into the ground. I shan’t be good for much.’ He smiled ruefully as Rory shook hands. ‘I’m afraid this will give you a very odd idea of us, but as it’s all in the family, perhaps you should consider yourself thoroughly adopted.’

Rory looked touched and flattered as he smiled. ‘I’d like to be adopted, thank you, sir. But as for keeping Edith and Mrs Attlin in check, I’m not sure I’m strong enough to argue with them.’

Edith began to smile but paused at the old man’s response. ‘I’d almost forgotten. Don’t overdo things, will you. If only from a purely selfish point of view we don’t want anyone else crocking up.’

Ignoring Rory’s protest, ‘But that’s not what I meant at all—’ Mr Attlin looked over his shoulder at Edith.

‘Any chance of a cup of tea? It’s like being in prison round here so I know better than to ask for a slug of whisky, even for medicinal purposes.’

Edith had been looking at Rory through narrowed eyes,
wondering about her grandfather’s remark and Rory’s sudden flush of embarrassment, but the old man’s cunning ploy distracted her and she headed downstairs. A backward glance showed Rory sitting down, talking earnestly to her grandfather, who was nodding agreement. To her astonishment she saw him clap a hand to the younger man’s shoulder.

The kitchen was empty and just as Edith was waiting for the kettle to boil the phone rang. It was Karen.

‘Edith? Oh good, I’m glad it’s you. I had to nip over to Sainsbury’s but I’ve got a flat tyre so I’ll be a while yet. There’s a list of jobs on the dresser; any chance you could make a start on them? My husband will probably be back before me, but there’s still a lot you could do to help, if you wouldn’t mind.’

Back upstairs, Edith found her grandfather settled in bed looking weary, with Rory finishing his unpacking and plumping pillows. They both looked up at her entrance.

‘Your grandmother not awake yet?’ The old man relaxed and sipped his tea. ‘That’s good, I’d rather she had a real rest; she’s not been sleeping too well at night.’

Rory picked up his own mug of tea and followed Edith from the room. ‘I think he’ll drop off now,’ he murmured. ‘He’s a lot more tired than he’s letting on.’ He closed the door gently behind him.

Touched by his perception she nodded, leading the way downstairs. ‘I know, he has to be strong for Gran, and she has to keep going for him.’ She shivered at the thought that her
grandfather
might have been killed the other night, instead of escaping with only shock and a broken collarbone.
If
he’d been attacked …
if
he hadn’t imagined the whole thing…. And Rory, however charming and pleasant he might seem, had been in the area at the time. She shivered. Did Rory, whose face was so achingly familiar, did he have a hidden motive in moving to Locksley Farm Place?

At the foot of the oak staircase Edith stopped so suddenly that Rory, just behind her, cannoned into her, only just managing to right them both.

Elvis Presley was fiddling with the switch on an electric floor polisher. When he heard them scuffling he looked up, pushed his quiff out of his eyes and gave them a shy smile.

Harriet Quigley looked thoughtful as she shoved her porridge into the microwave and laid the kitchen table for her breakfast. Yesterday evening had been interesting, to say the least, she mused.

Sam had been delighted with his final visit before the
neighbouring
cottage became his and, as he wanted to do some decorating, the plan was that he would stay with Harriet for a few days before finally moving in at the end of the following week. Living cheek by jowl would be fine by both of them. Admittedly they had spent their sixty-odd years squabbling but they weren’t just first cousins; Sam was also her best friend. It would be good to have him close by. She had plenty of friends in the village and beyond, but Sam was different, Sam was special. Besides, he was beginning to emerge from the bleak wilderness that he had inhabited since the death, nearly five years ago now, of his wife Avril, who had been one of Harriet’s closest friends. Village life would be good for him, always
something
going on….

‘Living in this village will take his mind off his miseries,’ Harriet told the slim tabby cat as she left her mug, bowl and spoon to drain by the sink and went out to inspect the garden. Having moved to the cottage less than a year ago, she was constantly coming across new and interesting plants in the garden. Now, she bent to smell her latest discovery, an old-
fashioned
Crimson Glory rioting along the fence.

‘You are absolutely the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,’ she told the rose, then checked herself with a guilty laugh as she realized she was whispering so that the other roses shouldn’t feel jealous. Turning to the Old English roses she had put in last autumn, she was glad to see they were still doing well, with
Gertrude Jekyll
galloping up the trellis. However,
Brother Cadfael
and her favourite, the
Ingenious Mr Fairchild
– who in the world thought up these names? – were showing signs of greenfly, along with the odd black spot. Spraying them, she grinned as she recalled Edith’s greeting the night before when Harriet strolled in through the front door.

‘Harriet? Did you know we had Elvis Presley living here?’

‘Don’t you mean El
veece
?’ Harriet tossed her keys onto a side table in the oak-panelled hall and surveyed the scene. ‘I love the way he pronounces it and he doesn’t mind in the least that we all copy him. Karen’s the only person who ever calls him Markus. Yes, of course I knew, I told you about Karen’s lovely husband, didn’t I?’

‘I wish you’d been a bit more specific,’ Edith laughed ruefully. ‘I nearly had a heart attack when he turned round and smiled at me, and Rory looked as though he’d seen a ghost. It wasn’t just the physical resemblance; he was dressed all in white. It was a white boiler suit; he’d just come in from a job where he’d been decorating but for a minute I thought it was a full-on Elvis suit. You could have told me he was an Elvis impersonator in his spare time, the likeness is unnerving. We saw him in the sparkly Elvis rig-out later on, when he was going out again.’

Harriet shook her head, laughing. ‘And spoil the surprise? Where is he now, anyway?’

Karen bustled in from the back hall. ‘He’s got a gig at a club in Southampton,’ she explained as she beckoned to Edith. ‘I sometimes sing with him, hence the fifties gear, but not tonight. Listen, Edith, Mrs Attlin said not to bother with supper for them
tonight, she’d come down and get something, but I’m not having that. I’ve done them some soup and sandwiches, if you could take a tray up to them, and there’s more for you and Rory in the kitchen when you want it.’ She looked at the visitor. ‘There’s plenty for you too, Harriet, if you like.’

‘I’ve eaten already, thanks,’ Harriet explained. ‘I dropped Sam off at his flat in Winchester and had a bite to eat with him. I’ve come to see if there’s anything I can do to help before tomorrow’s shindig.’

With a nod of approval Karen waved towards Edith. ‘Edith’s got the list of things to do. I’ve got a load of ironing to get out of the way so I’ll see you later.’

‘Did you get anything more out of your grandfather?’ Harriet asked as she and Edith set up hanging rails in a partitioned-off corner of the marquee that was set up at the entrance to the Great Hall. ‘There, that should do well for a cloakroom – nice and handy for the outside loos in the yard. And the indoor loo isn’t too far away either.’ She nodded towards the lavatory that had been tucked under the staircase in the early days of Queen Victoria’s reign by a rare Attlin who had money to spare. The blue-flowered porcelain ought to impress tomorrow night’s diners, Harriet decided.

Edith sighed. ‘Nope, he had his say – pretty much what you told me – and now he refuses to utter another word. I think you’re right, he’s clamming up so Gran doesn’t get upset. You know what he’s like; it happened, he survived, why make a fuss?’ She shivered. ‘But it’s worrying me sick. He doesn’t imagine things, and he’s certainly not going senile. So what happened?’

With Sam in mind Harriet peered nosily over the fence at next door’s garden. I wonder if he’ll keep up her vegetable plot, she thought. He’s not a great gardener; Avril was the one who loved
doing the designing and planting, but he likes his food so perhaps he’ll make an effort if it means home-grown, organic vegetables.

She sighed happily. It would be like their childhood, she thought, living next-door to each other, semi-detached in this case. However, daydreaming about the past and future brought her back to the present time. The previous evening was still on her mind.

Edith, in spite of her anxiety over her grandfather’s accident, was already beginning to look more relaxed. Harriet had been quite shocked at how strung-up and brittle the girl seemed when they met at the airport the previous afternoon. A few weeks at home should put her right. Her grandparents were as hale and hearty as it was reasonable to expect at their age, in spite of Cousin Walter’s accident. And money, it seemed, was not an issue for Edith at the moment.

‘You know, Grandpa wanted me to have a year or two away before I have to buckle down and start working here, and I was earning fantastic money,’ Edith had confided. ‘I’ve got enough saved to tide me over for a while and besides,’ she hunched her shoulders as Harriet looked sympathetic, ‘you know the score, Harriet. I’m no farmer so the idea is that I take on the job of trying to make the place pay, while the new manager Grandpa’s got starting at Michaelmas – Alan Nichols – runs the actual farm business.’

Yes, Harriet was more relieved about that than she let on. The death of his only son had been a shattering blow for Walter Attlin and he had buried his head in the sand for years. Only his wife’s entreaties, along with Harriet’s persuasions, had eventually made him agree to set up a trust that would give Edith a major share in the place at the age of twenty-five. With her birthday in January, Edith had reached that landmark, so it had only been a matter of time before she came home to take on the task. Harriet
sighed, it was a daunting prospect for anyone so young, she thought, but Edith was tougher than she looked and at least the elder Attlins would have company, and if it came to it –
protection
, with their granddaughter and now Rory both living at Locksley Farm. She frowned for a moment. Rory…. He seemed a nice enough lad and she had noted with some amusement the way he and Edith seemed to have fallen into much the same kind of relationship that Harriet herself had with Sam, working together but with a lot of friendly bickering. There had been that rather odd moment, though, just before Harriet took her leave.

‘I’m knackered,’ Rory had told her and Edith abruptly at about half past nine. ‘I’m sorry, but I really need to get myself to bed if I’m to survive tomorrow.’

Harriet and Edith were about to drop in to say goodnight to Mr and Mrs Attlin and both women turned to look at him
curiously
as they paused outside the door of the old people’s
first-floor
sitting room, formerly the best spare bedroom.

‘Of course.’ Edith sounded contrite. ‘I’m sorry, Rory, I tend to get carried away. I did warn you about the bossy Attlin women, didn’t I? Go and grab a decent night’s sleep, you’re beginning to look a bit green round the gills. Shoo.’ She gave him a friendly push. ‘You look as if you’d keel over in a breath of wind. Go to bed.’

He brushed aside her apology and her concern. ‘I’m perfectly all right,’ he snapped. ‘Stop fussing. I had a fever, that’s all, and it still sabotages me sometimes. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Harriet nodded while Edith stared after him as Rory turned on his heel and set off towards his room next to the narrow
staircase
at the end of the corridor. The two women were just about to open the door in front of them when they heard him exclaim aloud. Turning, they saw him stare, open-mouthed, at a spot on the panelled wall then, after a frozen moment, he shook his head and headed into his bedroom.

Now, Harriet pondered this episode. It hadn’t looked like a spasm of pain, or sudden faintness, so did he see something? she wondered. It was a pretty ancient house, after all. She laughed and shrugged, picking up the slender, half-grown tabby cat who was weaving sinuously between her legs. ‘All right, Dylan, I’ll get you some breakfast instead of imagining ghosts, and you can help me sort out something to wear to the dinner tonight.’

Rory was exploring the garden at the rear of Locksley Farm Place. Somewhere around a quarter to six that morning he had struggled, sweating and terrified, out of a nightmare that was all the more terrifying for being formless. Bodies, definitely; he knew that somewhere behind the mist lay the bodies. Unable to get back to sleep he had tried reading for a while, and then checked his emails, remembering his surprise that Locksley, which seemed to him at the back of beyond, had broadband. It was a relief. It meant he could do most of his remaining
paperwork
from the house and not have to struggle up and down to London more than he needed. Even the thought of it made him tired, but then, everything made him tired at the moment. And not just tired; he had never felt so close to breaking down as these last few months, with tears threatening to well up at the most unexpected and inconvenient moments. He brushed a hand across his eyes as, right on cue, his eyelids began to prick with unshed tears. Oh, for God’s sake. He shook his head and straightened up. Not here, not now or soon, please God. Not anywhere or any when.

He avoided the marquee set up at the entrance to the great hall, and brushed moss and twigs off an old stone seat to rest for a bit. Locksley Farm Place would do very well, he thought. It was a good place to recuperate and to stay while he looked for a place of his own; and where better to keep the promise he had
made, the promise he intended to keep, no matter what? For a moment a memory ran up against the brick wall of his will; no point in dwelling on the past, not just now at any rate.

His eyes narrowed as he frowned, thinking about the old man and his assertion that someone had deliberately tried to run him down. Rory agreed with Edith that Mr Attlin was neither senile nor hysterical. The body might be ageing but the intellect was as sharp as any Rory had encountered.

Just as Edith had done, the old man had drawn a sharp breath when he first encountered his proposed lodger, while Mrs Attlin had lost colour and looked badly shaken. There had been no time yet for anyone to explain what it was about him that affected them so badly, even at a second meeting, but from Rory’s point of view it was all to the good. The old chap clearly trusted him, and the old lady was warming to him, though she kept shooting glances at him when she thought she was
unobserved
, and now Edith too seemed disposed to take him on trust.

‘Morning,’ came a greeting. ‘You’re out and about early today.’

‘Hi, Edith.’ He nodded to her and brushed more moss off the seat. She sat down and gazed with satisfaction at the house. Above the ancient studded door to the mediaeval hall the angel design, inlaid in dressed flint, glittered as it was lanced by sunlight. ‘Tell me about the house, will you?’

‘Do you like it? It’s just an old farmhouse with a couple of quirks, really.’ She waved a hand towards the old building. From the front it looked like a solid farmhouse, possibly Georgian in style, faced in cream render.

The view from the rear had surprised him during his earlier perambulations. It was clear that the major part of the house was actually Tudor, but that nobody had bothered to render the old red brick, and the stone mullions were left intact; only the
front, the part that showed, had been modernized. At a right angle stood the ancient hall, built in mellow, greying stone with the original porch close to the far end, with what appeared to be some battlements added randomly on the top.

It wasn’t as big as he’d thought on his preliminary visit; it was the extensions added, seemingly with no design in mind, that made the house seem to sprawl.

‘Here, I spotted you from my bedroom window wandering about so I brought you this little old book. I thought you might find it interesting; it tells you a bit about the house.’