Beatrice (17 page)

“I don’t
know. I cannot see it happening because Browning is usually abroad.
He travels extensively, and brings back rare and unusual plants for
a living. The university used to buy some of his finds off him but,
unfortunately, he started to get greedy.”

“Is this
orchid valuable?”

“It is
to the right people,” Archie replied bluntly. He placed his
spectacles a little too carefully on the desk before him. “There is
a really good trade for adventurers who travel to far-off
destinations in search of rare species. They usually send their
finds home, and sell them to places like universities, or keep them
for scientific experiments, or personal gain. However, there are
also a few private collectors who will pay whatever it takes to get
the best, and the rarest, plants available. Unfortunately,
something as rare as this Caelestia Perfectionis would be extremely
valuable.” He speared Beatrice with a pointed look. “Can you tell
me how you happened to come across it?”

Beatrice
explained how it had come to be left on her doorstep, without
telling him about the finding the body at the end of the garden.
“What does Jules Sanders look like?”

Archie
studied her and appeared to be a little nonplussed for a minute,
but gave her the information she needed. However, he described a
completely different man to the corpse found at the end of
Beatrice’s garden. Richard Browning was described as tall, lithe,
and a little arrogant; with piercing blue eyes and a perpetual
frown. Bernard Murray was a squat little man with an ample girth;
testament to the many hours he spent seated behind his desk,
working on his papers.

“Is
Brian Mottram about five feet six inches, or so, with steely grey
hair and say, in his mid-fifties?” Ben asked and felt his stomach
sink when Archie nodded.

Beatrice
stared at Archie’s white beard as his head bobbed up and down, and
studied the slightly darker hair on the top of his head for a
moment while silence settled over them. When it became evident that
Archie was waiting for an explanation, she glanced cautiously at
Ben.

“I am
afraid to tell you that Brian Mottram has died,” Beatrice told
Archie quietly. “He delivered the plant to me before he passed
away.”

For some
reason she couldn’t understand right away, she couldn’t bring
herself to tell him that Brian Mottram had been murdered. It was
odd really, because the way the man died was of vital importance.
However, the knowledge that Archie had mistaken Ben’s handwriting
as Matthew’s warned her not to trust him too much.

Archie
looked sad for a moment; then picked up the packaging paper and his
spectacles again. “Well, I think that if Brian brought you the
plant before he passed away, he wanted you to have it. I would
recommend that you look after it carefully because orchids are very
delicate plants. They don’t like drafts at all, and you mustn’t
over-water them. You must keep it safe, my dear. I hope that one
day you will permit me to see it?”

The hope
in his eyes was more than Beatrice could bear, and she nodded. “Of
course you are welcome to come by and see it whenever you
wish.”

“Tell
me, have you ever heard of someone called Sigmund
Hargraves?”

Archie
shook his head. “I am afraid not.” He sighed and leaned back in his
chair. “It’s a shame about Brian. He was a good man, and a very
straight talking kind of man who thoroughly enjoyed what he
did.”

“Did he
work at the university too?”

“Oh, no;
nothing like that. He was independently wealthy and, although he
gave the occasional lecture here, he was more of a collector and
amateur enthusiast.”

“I am
sorry to deliver bad news about Mr Mottram,” Beatrice said softly
when a slightly awkward silence fell over them.

“It is
alright my dear. When you get as old as I am, you expect people to
start to drop around you.”

This made Ben smile. He had to admit that he quite liked the
elderly gent, even though he had made the
faux pas
about the handwriting.
There was something about the man’s calm, affable demeanour that
bespoke of someone who was logical, and apt to stick to the facts
rather than run off on mere flights of fancy.

“Can you
transcribe the Latin for us?” Beatrice prompted when she realised
that he had yet to do so.

Archie
nodded, picked up a pencil and, within minutes, slid the paper
across the desk toward Beatrice. He opened his mouth to speak only
to jump in alarm when the clock on the wall began to chime. “Oh,
dear. I must be off. I have to give a lecture right about now on
the other side of the campus.”

“Oh,
please don’t let us keep you. You have been most helpful. Please
let me know when you wish to come and see the plant. Maybe you
could stay and take tea with us?”

“That
would be delightful,” Archie beamed as he yanked open the door and
waved them through.

“Is
Jules Sanders likely to be at home, do you know?” Ben asked when
they finally reached the top of the stairs.

Archie
nodded. “Jules works from home. He has a huge conservatory at the
back of his house that is very similar to yours, Beatrice. He
should be there, and will be more than happy to see you both, I am
sure of it.”

“Thank
you,” Beatrice murmured, but didn’t really think that Archie had
heard her because he had already vanished in the opposite
direction. They watched him disappear into the gloom before they
quietly made their way out of the building.

“For an
elderly gent, he certainly does walk quickly,” Beatrice mused
wryly.

“Let’s
go around to Jules Sanders’ house while we are here. Church Road is
not too far away. We can drop by before we pick up Maud,” Ben
suggested as he handed Beatrice into his carriage and climbed
aboard behind her.

She
watched Ben pat his pocket too check that he still had the paper
before he picked up the reins and turned the carriage
around.

“He
seems like an affable chap,” she sighed as she studied the rows of
houses they passed.

“Yes. He
certainly seemed to take Brian Mottram’s death in his stride,” Ben
replied. It took him a couple of minutes to realise that she was
staring at him. “What?”

He
turned the carriage into Church Road, the first address on the
list, and looked back at her. “What?” he repeated when she didn’t
appear inclined to confide in him.

“One
thing that does strike me as odd,” she shivered. “I have never seen
Archibald Harrington in my life, and he has certainly never been to
Brantley Manor while I have been there.”

“Yes,
you said that your uncle didn’t have visitors,” Ben sighed as he
studied the empty street around them.

“So how
did Archibald Harrington know that my uncle had a conservatory that
is just like the one in Jules Sanders’ yard?”

He
opened his mouth to reply only to close it again with a snap. He
stared at her and thought about that for a moment.

“Where
is everyone?” Beatrice sighed as she studied the empty street,
seemingly oblivious to his stunned disbelief.

“I don’t
know. I don’t like it, Beatrice, I have to admit,” Ben replied
quietly, and wasn’t sure if he meant the road, or Archibald
Harrington’s knowledge of Brantley Manor.

He
shared a look with Beatrice and temporarily pushed their suspicions
to one side while they began to study house names.

“What’s
the address?”

“Rydal
Hove,” Ben replied as he drew the carriage to a halt. “It’s this
one.” He nodded to the large semi-detached house beside them and
climbed down.

She
quickly blanked out the unease that had settled around her, and
accepted the hand Ben held out as she stepped down.

“I don’t
like this,” she whispered when Ben stood back to wait for someone
to answer his knock.

“It is
very quiet around here, isn’t it?” He frowned at the door and
listened carefully, but could hear no sound of movement
inside.

“Let’s
try around the back,” Beatrice suggested, and followed a clearly
reluctant Ben around to the back yard.

The gate
was unlocked and opened to reveal a reasonable sized yard, most of
which was taken up by a huge conservatory that had been added to
the back of the house. Beatrice studied the veritable jungle inside
as she made her way to the back door, and shuddered as she thought
about what awaited her at home. Even through the glass she could
see some of the same kind of plants her uncle used, and wondered if
she should ask Mr Sanders if he wanted her uncle’s old specimens to
add to his own collection.

She
lifted her hand to knock only to jump in alarm when Ben suddenly
grabbed her hand. The dark look on his face warned her that
something was wrong, and she watched him look pointedly at the
door. The small hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she
swallowed nervously as she watched him lift one finger and push
gently against the glass panel.

She
couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak as she watched the door swing
silently open. The splintered wood around the lock suddenly
crumbled free and fell to the floor at their feet.

“Let me
go first,” Ben whispered.

“You are
not going in there, surely to goodness?” She stared in horror at
him when he sidled around her, and peered into the
kitchen.

“There
may be someone inside who needs help,” he replied
carefully.

If he
was honest, he would have preferred it if Beatrice remained outside
but knew that it was safest if she stayed with him. At least if she
was right behind him then he knew she was alright.

He took
one step into the kitchen and stopped to listen. Silence greeted
him.

“Hello?”
His voice echoed around the empty room and, in spite of the fact
that the warm summer sunshine had made the temperature outside
reasonably warm, inside the house was cold and damp, and more than
a little unwelcoming.

“We need
to fetch a constable,” Beatrice whispered nervously. “I don’t like
this.”

“We need
to find out if someone needs the doctor first, Beatrice. We don’t
want to just report a break-in only for the constable to find
someone on death’s door.”

“Hello?
Is anyone home?” She called and prayed that nobody was.

When
there was still no answer, they quietly made their way into the
hallway. The door to the right of them opened to reveal a small,
yet tidy sitting room which, from the look of the thick layer of
dust over every surface, hadn’t been used in a long time. The room
beside it overlooked the road out front, and was also unoccupied,
yet neat and tidy. Opposite that was another door.

Ben
quietly pushed it open and stared at the mess that greeted him. He
wasn’t sure if it was because the chaos within the room was in
stark contrast to the almost pristine neatness of the rest of the
house, but something warned him that they were not going to like
what they were going to find inside this particular
room.

Aware
that Beatrice was clutching his jacket, he quite purposefully
blocked her from entering the room behind him as he stepped forward
to peer around the door. The room was very similar to Matthew’s
study back at Brantley Manor in that every surface was literally
covered with papers, pamphlets, diagrams and books. However, in
addition to the paperwork, there was a large bench across the far
wall that was laden with a huge variety of plants in all stages of
cultivation.

At
first, having seen Matthew’s study, he didn’t think that there was
anything amiss. He just assumed that all botanists preferred to
work in such chaos. However, once he had moved deeper into the
room, he spotted several large boot marks printed on the papers
that were scattered across the floor and knew that something was
not right. In addition to that, some of the papers on the desk had
clearly been dislodged and had cascaded down the open drawers to
rest in a haphazard jumble on the floor.

“Someone
has been through here,” Ben sighed and glanced sideways at Beatrice
when she moved to stand beside him.

“They
have broken into the house, but have only ransacked the office.”
She glanced at him. “They were looking for something.”

“Looks
like it. Just don’t touch anything.” His eyes met and held hers. “I
wonder where Jules Sanders is.”

For one
brief moment, Beatrice didn’t want to know where he was. She was
almost too afraid to find him.

“I don’t
like this, Ben. Let’s get out of here.” She stepped back into the
hallway and turned to look at Ben, when something caught her
eye.

There,
in the small space between the door and the jamb, something big and
dark blocked the light.

She
tugged on the back of Ben’s jacket but refused to let go. When he
turned to look at her, she pointed toward the door and mouthed,
‘Jules Sanders’. Their eyes met and held for a moment before Ben
turned around and sauntered casually into the room.

“Don’t
look,” he growled once he had taken a quick look behind the door.
He closed his eyes against the sight of the corpse of who he
presumed was Jules Sanders, hanging from the back of the door from
his own tie. The purple colour of the dead man’s face warned Ben
that he had been killed some time ago, and he couldn’t help but
wonder if the murder had taken place on the same day as Brian
Mottram’s death.