Nemesis (25 page)

40

Natalie regarded Will’s book with a frown. How could she have forgotten she still had it in her hand? She certainly couldn’t take it back upstairs to him. What if he woke up? She could be reading Enid Blyton all evening. Not that there was much of the evening left, she realised, glancing at her watch. Surely Alicia couldn’t
still
be at the police station?

She sank onto the couch, flicking aimlessly through the pages of Will’s book, wondering if she should seek out some sticky tape and repair the torn cover. Something had been written on the flyleaf, in dark spidery handwriting, and she tilted it towards the light to read it more clearly. It said:

To my darling Alicia

Happy Christmas

with
love

Father

X

Sir Henry Vyne. It made her nauseous seeing his handwriting after all these years, as though his ghost had reached out a cold hand from the grave. It stirred up her memory of him, sat behind that huge desk in the castle library, puffing on his disgusting pipe, which had always turned the surrounding air bitter and foul. The way those cold blue eyes would constantly watch her, as she sorted through the estate paperwork and filed it away. Sometimes she’d pick something up with a sense of déjà vu. It made her wonder if the papers had been deliberately taken out of the filing cabinet and scattered about before she’d got there, particularly as Sir Henry never seemed to do any work. Or was there another girl, just like her, who spent the earlier part of the day creating the mess she had to tidy up?

Perverted bastard
.

At least he had never touched her. Or would that have come later, when she’d been lulled into a false sense of security, thinking he was only a harmless old duffer? At the time she had grit her teeth and thought of the money - money that would allow her to leave Calahurst and her cold-hearted mother for ever.

She’d been stupid, stupid,
stupid
!

Had Clare Vyne known what happened in the library? How about the staff? Natalie had always been terrified someone would come in and catch her with no clothes on. It would have been humiliating to say the least. Strangely, no one ever did - which, with hindsight, was suspicious in itself.

Natalie closed the book and dropped it onto the coffee table, feeling an overwhelming desire to wash her hands. It was then she noticed the outside security light had come on.

The curtains of the sitting room were still drawn back and she had a clear view of the driveway. Someone was outside. Was it Alicia?

Natalie entered the hall the same time as the door swung open. Due to the combination of poor lighting and the fact that she had been expecting Alicia, it took a moment to realise the figure standing with his back to her, quietly closing the door behind himself, was James Fitzpatrick.

There was nowhere to hide; it would have looked decidedly odd should she have tried to. Instead she stood completely still, watching as James moved from the shadows into the centre of the hall before he saw her. Even though she was several feet away, standing at the foot of the staircase, she heard his sudden intake of breath.

“What the hell?”

Thankfully she’d had the advantage of an extra few seconds to compose herself.

“Hello, Jamie,” she said languidly, knowing he hated to be called by his old nickname.
“Lovely to see you too!”

His thick dark brows settled into a frown. “Where’s my wife?”

“Out.”
Natalie wondered whether to explain about the well and the skeleton - but to hell with it! He’d been a complete pig the last time they had met, so why should she be anything less than obtuse?

“She asked
you
to look after the children?”

It was an effort to keep a hold on her temper. “Yes.”

He took his time unbuttoning his coat. Beneath it he wore one of his usual dark-blue suits. She’d forgotten how tall he was; how he could fill a room with his presence. Some of her confidence ebbed away.

“I’m here now,” he said, glancing up, as though surprised to see her still standing there. “You can go.”

As though she
were
staff?

“Thank you,” she said coldly. “I think I’ll wait for Alicia to return, if it’s all the same to you?”

He continued to stare at
her,
with eyes so dark she couldn’t read their expression. “Your presence is no longer required,” he said, now speaking slowly, as though she was an idiot.

“I promised Alicia I would stay with the children until she got back.”

“Why do you persist in being difficult? Do you get some kind of kick out of making a scene? Do you want me to physically throw you out of the house? Is that it?”

“It’s not your house.” The words were out before she could stop them. He’d always had that power to bring out the worst in her.

“One mistake,” he said slowly. “You’re never going to let me forget it, are you?”

“It’s hardly likely to be something I would forget either.”

“If you won’t leave, then I shall - because I’m not staying in the same house as you.”

“Now you’re being stupid.”

“I’ve had a long day, and a long drive, and I’m not in the mood for your crap. You can tell Alicia what you like.”

Incredibly he had called her bluff. “It’s late. Where are you going to go?”

“To my sister-in-law’s.
I was heading there anyway. It’s why I came back from London.”

She regarded him blankly. Which sister-in-law? She knew James had four brothers - hell, everyone in Calahurst did. The Fitzpatricks were one of
the
local families.

“Has something happened?” she asked curiously. Perhaps Charles’s wife had finally got wind of his proclivities and left him. It was a bit late for James to be providing a shoulder to cry on though.

Instead of answering her question, he was heading towards the door.

Infuriated, Natalie hurried after him, catching hold of his arm. “What are you talking about?”

He shook her off.
“The fire at Rose Court?
I would have thought that was obvious.”

“The fire was yesterday, what does it have to do with
- ”
She broke off as a series of images flashed into her head.
Rose Court in flames.
DCI Bloom telling her they’d found the body of her father.
John Grove, alive and well, holding a gun to her head - a gun which had been registered to Charles Fitzpatrick.

And all those unanswered telephone calls she had made to Charles’s phone.

“
Charles
? He’s
dead
?”

James inclined his head.

For the first time, she realised how uncharacteristically dishevelled he was - his smart suit creased and rumpled, with more than a discernible dark stubble marring his handsome face.

“It has taken the police this long to identify the body,” he said and she realised his odd, stilted way of speaking was his way of keeping his emotions in check, not because he was furious at her. “It would have taken longer but, as he was the only one missing, it has to be him. They’ve retrieved his wedding ring and watch. Next step will be dental records.”

It had been
Charles’s
body in the wheelchair. Did that mean her father had been the one who had killed him and set Rose Court ablaze - to hide the fact he’d absconded?

Suddenly she felt quick sick and leant back against the wall for support.
“Oh God
… ”

“Quite. My brother has died, in the most horrific way imaginable. My sister-in-law, as you can imagine, is beside herself with grief. If you are willing to remain here with my children, at least I can drive over there and be with her.”

“Of course I will
… ”
Oh
why
had she been such a bitch? “James, I’m so sorry
- ”
she began, but he had already pulled open the front door. There was a distinct blast of cold air, in direct contrast to the snug warmth of the hall.

“Shouldn’t you have something to eat?” she called after him. “There’s pizza in the fridge.”

“I didn’t drive over a hundred miles to eat pizza,” he said, and then he was gone.

Natalie stood alone in the centre of the hall, hardly able to believe what had happened. Charles Fitzpatrick was dead. It had been his body strapped into the wheelchair and left to burn.

Meanwhile, her father had miraculously survived.

41

As DCI Bloom had promised, a patrol car took Alicia home. It was now the early hours of the following morning and Alicia was thoroughly tired and fed up. Wary that the sound of the car on the gravel might wake the children, she asked the police car to drop her at the end of the drive and told him she’d walk the rest of the way. There were still clouds above, which meant there was little in the way of moonlight to illuminate her way, but as she drew nearer to the house she could see the light in the sitting room was still switched on.

There was a dark-coloured BMW parked outside the study window. She assumed the car belonged to Natalie, until she drew closer and recognised James’s number plate. Why was he home? And why hadn’t he called her? Presumably Natalie had explained everything, but he could have given her a call to check she was all right. Had he even noticed she wasn’t home? Would any of her family miss her if their meals were still produced on time?

The security light flashed on, almost blinding her. The heavy velvet drapes of the sitting room were tied back, giving anyone who passed an excellent view inside. Alicia remembered the previous night, when the prowler had turned up. Perhaps they needed to rethink their security.

Speaking of which -

There was a little statue of a frog set in the corner of the portico, half-hidden behind a leafy fern in a terracotta pot. She moved the fern aside, lifted up the frog and groped around for the key - just as the security light flickered off, leaving her in the dark.
Typical.
She took a step back out of the portico to wave her hand in the direction of the light, but a movement on the other side of the window caught her eye and she hesitated.

James had walked into the sitting room. He was wearing the dark-blue suit she’d seen him in that morning, when he’d left for London. He’d undone the first few buttons of his shirt and removed his tie and he appeared to be carrying one of their old picnic blankets under his arm. What on earth was he up to?

She moved closer and caught a glimpse of a long slim leg dangling off the end of the sofa. Had Lexi fallen asleep watching TV? Why didn’t James pick her up and carry her upstairs to bed?

It was only as James began to tenderly drape the blanket over the sleeping figure, that Alicia realised the leg was encased in blue jeans and ballet flats - an outfit Lexi would not have been seen dead in.

Natalie? Why was she still here?

Alicia shifted position and was able to watch James lean across Natalie’s sleeping body, gently smoothing away a hank of white-blonde hair before kissing her forehead.

Which was when the security light flickered back on.

Instinctively Alicia stepped into the flower bed and flattened herself against the wall, her heart racing, as James appeared in the window and peered through the glass. If the sitting room light had not been on, causing the room to be reflected back at him, he might have seen her. Instead, he gave a cursory glance towards the portico before dragging the heavy curtains closed.

Alicia’s legs were trembling so much they would no longer hold her upright. She slid down the wall, the palms of her hands scraping against the rough brick, until she was sat in the damp earth of the flowerbed, with the dead stalks of the summer bedding plants digging into her thighs.

The security light popped out, followed by the light from the sitting room, leaving her in the dark.

42

When Natalie woke it was daylight.

It took a moment to remember she was at Alicia’s house, and when she sat up, feeling cold and stiff, she realised she’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Someone had covered her up with a tartan beach rug. It still had a light sprinkling of sand. Natalie pushed it aside, letting it fall onto the floor.

The house was silent. The thick velvet drapes had been pulled across the window and only the tiniest chink of light gleamed through. Her bag was on the floor beside her and she took out her phone to check for any messages. There were none. So nice to feel wanted. She slung the bag over her shoulder and went in search of Alicia.

Alicia was in the study. Although she was working at her desk, the computer monitor and keyboard had been relegated to the floor and she was hunched over an old laptop, typing up her notes. Classical music emanated from an old-fashioned gramophone, tucked away in the corner. It was a beautiful room, with a high Georgian ceiling and a huge window which overlooked the garden.

There was an audible ‘click’, as the heavy oak door swung shut behind her, but Alicia didn’t glance up.

“Hi,” said Natalie, feeling awkward but with no idea why. “How did it go at the police station?”

“Fine,” said Alicia.
A definite pause.
“Thank you.”

Natalie lowered herself into a small squashy sofa. It almost swallowed her whole. “You were gone for ages. I must have fallen asleep.”

“You did.” Alicia’s fingers rattled across the keyboard.

“When did you get home?”

“Around midnight.”

“Blimey.” The police must have been very interested in what Alicia had to say.

“Mmm,” said Alicia, but did not elaborate.

It occurred to Natalie that she was not the only one wearing the same clothes from the day before. “Are you OK? What are you doing?”

Alicia swung around in her chair. Her wide hazel eyes had smudges of purple circles beneath them and her face was even paler than usual - her freckles were barely visible. And there was something else, too. Alicia had lost her bounce.

“I’m fine,” she said. And this time her voice had a distinct edge. “I’m transcribing some of the castle’s accounts for the History Society.”

“Can’t you scan them?”

“We’ve already done that but, as the records are almost illegible, it helps to have a transcription.”

“Couldn’t you pay someone to do it for you?”

“This way I know it’s accurate.”

She was definitely riled about something. Natalie searched for a less inflammatory topic.

“What happened to your computer?”

“I tipped a mug of coffee over it. I’m lucky I have the use of this laptop but it’s not set up to use the Internet - we have no firewalls or security, that kind of thing. I thought I’d go into town later and use the Internet at the library.”

“Don’t be daft, come back to my place and use my computer. I don’t mind. Bring the kids. We can have lunch at one of the cafés.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Alicia! Of course you wouldn’t be
- ”

“It’s no problem,” Alicia said, speaking over her. “I’ll be able do some research at the County Archives at the same time.”

Was Alicia mad at her? She was always so polite it was sometimes hard to tell. Why didn’t she come straight out with whatever was on her mind? Surely she knew by now that Natalie didn’t do subtle.

“I guess I’d better leave you to get on with it.” Natalie hauled herself off the sofa. It was so deliciously comfortable it would be hard not to fall sleep again. She had intended to tell Alicia about what had happened to her father, but perhaps now was not the time.

“Would you like breakfast?” Alicia said, as Natalie reached the door. “You’ll have to cook it yourself though.”

Her stomach heaved at the thought of an elaborate cooked breakfast.
“God, no!
I only have coffee first thing. Maybe a Danish later, if I’m hungry.”

She half expected a lecture on the merits of healthy eating but Alicia didn’t reply. It was as almost as though she’d gone already.

Natalie walked out of the house, feeling distinctly unappreciated. James’s car was parked outside the study window, so he must have arrived back sometime after she’d fallen asleep. Had he told Alicia about his brother’s death? Was that why she was behaving so oddly?

That was one weird family.

It was tempting to call out a taxi to pick her up - but there was something she wanted to check out first. So she headed into St Daniel’s churchyard, safe in the knowledge she was not likely to meet anyone else at this time of the morning. The woods beyond were also deserted and, as she climbed the hill towards the castle, the sun finally limped above the horizon.

Hurst Castle was engulfed in a haze of mist and deathly quiet. Even the birds weren’t singing. It was such a difference to the hive of activity of the night before. The tent had been taken away; the previously immaculate lawn churned to mud around where it had been pitched, with a distinct path worn to the well. The police barrier tape still remained, flapping lethargically, and stretched from the castle wall, right into the shrubbery, across to the ruined chapel and back to the castle. Although no police appeared to be on duty, Natalie could see a solitary patrol car parked on the drive.

She walked slowly between the yew trees, hardly taking her eyes from the castle. She had a good view of the library window, where Clare Vyne sometimes worked on the estate accounts, but right now there was no sign of her, or of her assistant, Kenzie.

Natalie took her phone out of her bag and stuck it firmly into the pocket of her jeans. She then slung her bag over her head and across her body, taking care to tuck it behind her out of the way.

It was now or never.

With one final glance towards the patrol car, she sprinted across the grass to the well, ducking beneath the barrier tape without breaking her stride. A metal frame had been constructed over the top, and there was a length of thick white rope still clipped to it and hanging into the hole.

Natalie dropped to her knees at the well’s edge, feeling the damp mud seep through her jeans, and peered into the darkness. Sure enough, there were the metal rungs which Will had described - and that Alicia had climbed down the previous evening. Rungs which had to lead somewhere, or else what was the point?

She sat down, swinging her legs over the edge, and tentatively used her foot to feel for the first rung. This was the worst bit. She would be unable to see what she was doing, while anyone looking out of a window, or walking around from the front of the castle would see her.

Finding a foothold, she twisted onto her side and lowered herself over the edge, forcing her fingers into the mud to stop
herself
sliding too quickly. Once she’d ducked below ground level, she felt less exposed and took the time to stop and take stock. She switched her phone onto the light setting and used it to check the surrounding wall.

The interior of the well had been constructed from the same pale slabs of stone as the ruined medieval chapel. Here, near the surface, they were completely dry - from what she could see beneath the thick, glossy foliage that grew between the tiniest gaps.

She climbed down another metre or so, and checked around again. The plants were fewer and the circle of daylight above her head significantly smaller. In the confined space every sound, including
her own
breathing, echoed back threefold. It was growing colder too; she could see the condensation from her breath forming into little clouds in the air.

The further she went, the more the wall deteriorated. Many stones were split or missing completely; entire tree roots had broken through, like skeletal fingers to grab at her clothes as she passed. And more than one of the rungs felt distinctly loose.

Had this been such a good idea?

The further she went, the more her confidence diminished. She had been so convinced of her theory, of what she would find down here, that it was disheartening to discover it wasn’t true. But how else could Geraint’s body have got here?

Now she’d almost reached the bottom. She paused again, half-heartedly swinging her light around, careful to shine it both above and below her head, and then directly beneath her, where the skeleton had been found. The ground was smooth, with no fallen rocks, loose soil, or rubbish, almost as though it had been neatly swept clean; presumably the work of the police, in search of evidence.

Feeling increasingly desperate, Natalie leant into the centre of the well, shining the dim light of the phone once more around the brickwork. It had to be here - it had to be. Geraint’s body hadn’t ended up here by magic.

Then she saw it.
A small hole in the wall, about three feet high and two feet wide, and not created by accident.
The surrounding stones had been constructed in a deliberate arch to support the weight of the ground above. A passage! Where it led she had no idea, but this must have been how Geraint’s body ended up here. He had not fallen from the garden above, he had been crawling inside the tunnel, missed his way in the dark and fallen to his death. Or worse, he had lain undiscovered for hours, in agony from his injury, until he had died.

She tried not to think about that.

How could she get to the other side? The tunnel was directly opposite the rungs she stood on, but with a gap of about five feet. The answer lay in the rope that dangled directly down the centre of the well, but as she reached towards it she heard a voice.

She switched off the light of her mobile, pressing herself as close to the wall as she could. Shadows flickered across the brickwork. Something was moving on the surface. Had the police returned? She kept her head down, hardly daring to breathe in case it echoed up the shaft. After a few moments, everything went quiet. She risked a glance up, but could only see a neat circle of grey sky.

This time she didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the rope and pushed herself away from the wall.

Everything happened very quickly. She had been slightly higher than the tunnel, which meant that while her feet shot neatly through the entrance, her upper torso hit brick. While it didn’t hurt, the vibration against the wall showered her in grit and dirt. Then gravity took over and she began to slip back, her feet scrabbling to get a foothold, the ancient brickwork crumbling every time she made contact.

When all seemed lost, she saw another rusted iron rung directly above the arch and snatched at it. The rope slithered from her hands, dropping back into place, and she was left hanging, half in and half out of the tunnel.

Which was when she heard someone call from above, like the voice of God, “Hey!
Who’s down there?”

There was a flicker of light as a torch was shone down the well.

She had to get out - and there was only one place to go.

As the powerful beam scooped the interior of the well, she swung herself into the hole, landing painfully. Had they seen her? Did they know about the tunnel? A team of forensic officers had been down here, as well as volunteers from the local potholing club. A large hole in the wall wasn’t going to be hard to miss.

The light went out, leaving her in the dark. She waited to be certain, and then peered back into the well. Whether they knew she was there or not, they weren’t taking any chances. The rope had gone. The choice had been made for her.

Natalie switched her own light back on and began to crawl along the tunnel. It was filthy. Soil, crumbled brick, dead insects and some other hard, crumbly stuff which was possibly rodent droppings. But - thinking positively - if the rats could get in here, she could get out the same way.

After about five minutes of crawling the tunnel grew bigger. It was still incredibly narrow - only wide enough for her shoulders - but she could now stand, although she had to keep her back bent so as not to hit her head. It was in remarkable condition considering; only the occasional tree root had pushed through the gaps in the brick.

Instead of moving steadily upwards, as she had expected, the tunnel remained on the same level, eventually opening out. Was it an underground room?

She held up her feeble light, revealing a chamber of some kind, far bigger than she had expected - almost a cavern, but certainly man-made. It had the same vaulted ceiling as the castle library but the walls were more roughly-hewn. An attempt had been made to plaster over and then decorate it, but most of the paint appeared to have flaked away. There were alcoves set at regular intervals, three for each wall, ornamented with a statue. The ground, from what she could see of it, appeared solid enough but was crowded with junk - broken furniture, warped paintings (the canvases black with age) and piles and piles of books. Was it a store room?
In a cellar?
Was she actually beneath the castle?

The air was damp and cold. The walls were dark with condensation but also appeared to have a tide mark about three feet from the ground. The chamber must have flooded at some time in the past, before the well had been blocked off. Perhaps more than once,
which would explain why the junk was strewn around rather than stacked neatly.