Silent as the Grave (26 page)

‘This is dreadful.' Tony cast a look around. ‘That means I'm not really entitled to all this.'

‘I shouldn't worry about it,' I told him cheerfully. ‘If you were able to go back through most aristocratic family histories you'll probably find the same thing has happened; in some cases probably more than once. The ironic part is that if Russell had found that letter when he was examining the journal, he could have simply produced it and demanded blood tests or this new-fangled-DNA which everyone is talking about, and none of this whole mess would have been necessary.'

‘But I can't simply ignore it. What about the letter?' Tony objected. ‘That proves it surely. What if someone gets hold of it and makes it public? The whole sordid business will come out.'

‘They couldn't do that,' I told him calmly. ‘I've just lit my cigar with it.'

‘So you're telling me that I'm actually descended from Ralph Aston?'

‘No, that's not true either. Do you remember that day in the chapel? I referred to Aston as being extremely unlucky. He wasn't Lady Amelia's lover. The signature on the letter wasn't Aston's. Sir Frederick murdered an innocent man.'

‘Who was her lover?'

‘A man by the name of Bradley. He was the estate manager. I got DC Pratt to do a bit of digging whilst I was in hospital, but he couldn't find out much about him.

‘What happened to Bradley?' Charlie asked.

‘He quit his job, or was fired by Sir Frederick. After that, there seems to be no record of him. One other thing that I was pondering whilst I was laid up was the irony that if Tony had got his way over the library and had converted it to a rumpus room, you'd have discovered the entrance to the priest's hole and connecting passage to the crypt behind the panelling.'

‘It's all been bricked up now, Adam,' Lady Charlotte informed me. ‘Tony got a firm to bring one of those big mobile mixers on the back of a wagon and they filled the whole of that dungeon with concrete. After that we removed the effigies of William and Roland Rowe and had them smashed to pieces. Finally, we got a priest in to re-consecrate the chapel and hold a mass for the souls of the departed. It seemed the right thing to do.'

‘Have they held the inquests yet?'

‘No,' – Tony leaned forward in his chair – ‘I got a phone call from DC Pratt the other day. Apparently, they have to wait for an expert to establish how old the remains are before they can hazard a guess at their identities. Some, of course, we will never know, but hopefully we can put a name to five of them. They will all be buried in the consecrated ground alongside the chapel where the rest of the family are. It seems the least we can do.'

It was almost 9 p.m. when I rang the doorbell of Eve's flat. I was carrying a bottle of wine and a bunch of flowers. She stared at me in astonishment.

‘Hi, Evie,' I said with a smile that reflected a confidence I didn't feel.

‘Adam, what are you doing here?'

‘During the time I was in hospital, all I could think of was you, how much I missed you, and how desperate I was to see you again.'

‘In that case, you'd better come inside and we'll talk. I don't want my neighbours seeing you there.'

Typical of Eve, I thought. Her less-than-rapturous greeting seemed at odds with what Harriet had told me. It left me wondering what her reaction would be to the question I'd come to London to ask her …

End

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Published by Accent Press Ltd 2014

ISBN 9781783755578

Copyright © Bill Kitson 2014

The right of Bill Kitson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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