Silver Guilt (15 page)

And now I knew something was dodgy, was I any happier? Surely Piers would notice I'd spruced it up a bit, and would ask why. What would I say? Just that I'd spring-cleaned it? Or that I'd spring-cleaned it because I'd thought one of the stones was loose? That way I gave him a chance to say something. And if he didn't, where was I then? Apart from having a nice clean ruby ring with three dodgy stones on the outside?

This time I didn't put it back on. I tucked it into its little heart shaped velvet-covered box – again, just right for the period – and put it into our business safe. There was a little furrow on my finger, as if the flesh was missing it already. And, oddly, my hand wasn't as steady as I liked when I started work on my pile of restoration work.

I was just wondering what I should graze on for lunch – it was a habit Griff, loving china and linen, utterly loathed, so I only did it when he was out. Cheese or that nice ripe avocado?

The phone rang. Morris.

‘Do you fancy a drink?' He named a pub midway between Bossingham and Bredeham – by coincidence called the Halfway House. ‘See you there in half an hour?' He cut the call.

What had he been up to? Or what was he planning? He sounded so innocent I was suspicious.

It struck me as I drove over in the larger of our two vans, Griff having taken the other, that I knew nothing at all about Morris. About the same as I knew about Piers, in other words. I was slipping, wasn't I? I used to want to know chapter and verse about anyone before I exchanged much more than the time of day. Here I was wearing one stranger's ring (yes, I'd put it back on, largely because I knew Morris would remark on it if it was missing) and meeting another probably to discuss my father's future. I knew I was exaggerating about both but even so a bit of digging about was well overdue.

‘How well are you known at Bossingham Hall?' he greeted me, the moment I'd parked.

‘Hey, let me get out of the van,' I protested. ‘And a drink might help lubricate my brain.'

For all that, I settled for a J2O, on the grounds that if he annoyed me and I went home I'd be working on precious china, and even if he didn't I was driving anyway. Call me a goody-two-shoes, but our business depended heavily on my having a clean licence. It seemed his did too. He joined me in a fruit juice, and ordered pasta from the specials board for us both.

‘Most of the women working at the Hall know me by sight,' I said, ‘since I'm Lord Elham's daughter, and they think I'm due a bit of respect on that account. Huh! It's a good job not many of them know him by sight, isn't it?'

‘Do you get on with them?'

‘Pretty well. Where's this leading, Morris?'

‘I was wondering about your doing a spot of undercover work. But it sounds as if that won't work.'

I shook my head. ‘Absolutely not.'

‘Have you ever thought of becoming their resident restorer?'

‘Why should I? I'm too busy with our own business.' I frowned. ‘Why do you want me in there?'

‘I'd just value a second opinion.'

‘Of?'

‘A number of things.'

‘You've got more experts at the Met than you can shake a stick at, surely.'

‘We're quite a small squad, as it happens. Anyway, I shall have to think of something else.'

‘Like the strange economies the administrators have been making in the matter of heat and security? I told you, I saw an army of vans out there one day. Surely they were upgrading the system, not switching it off.'

‘Apparently,' Morris said deadpan, ‘the system's not worked properly since. It kept getting hysterical at the sight of all the cleaners touching things. That was why it was disabled the day you were there. But it's always operational when the house is empty.'

‘And the heat? And humidity control?'

‘Being spring-cleaned at the same time as the house.'

‘Hmm. All very pl . . . paws . . . plausible,' I finished, hoping he didn't notice the relief in my voice when the correct word popped up. ‘The trouble is, they're assuming that the thefts take place after hours. What if they don't?'

He waited until the waiter bringing our pasta had gone. And then a bit longer, while we tucked in. It was very good. ‘What times does Darren Harris visit your father?'

‘At times I'm not there. Have you found something on him, Morris? Because if you have, there's the problem of my father.'

‘No one of that name has shown up on our radar,' he said as if he was choosing his words carefully.

So my sigh wasn't one of relief. More frustration. ‘One thing you could do,' I said, playing with my pasta, which didn't seem as tasty all of a sudden, ‘is to make sure no one can move between the two parts of the hall without anyone knowing. Not just the official door, with the keypad. But the other ways in and out, too.'

‘Other ways?'

My voice sounded very thin and hollow. ‘Ways I don't think even Lord Elham knows. I found them myself. It could be that someone else has. Hell, Morris, does this mean I'm a suspect?'

‘I hope not. How am I going to get to see these here secret doors?'

‘That makes them sound very exciting, as if you need a magic potion to shrink you.' A copy of both
Alices
had been one of my father's few gifts to me. Admittedly I'd turned one present down – the one worth a million – but perhaps sometimes I wished he'd hand me a pretty item and tell me to keep it just for myself.

Morris laughed. ‘What did it say on the bottle in
Alice
? Drink me!'

‘Quite. But seriously, taking you through the public side might make that administrator think my father's to blame. He's had enough tussles with the trustees not to want another one.'

‘But I bet he's won them all by simple attrition,' he said.

‘What's that? How do you spell it?' It was a very good word and I jotted it in my vocab book. Which reminded me, I still needed to see if Darren Harris was in my father's book, which didn't contain words, of course, but details of women like my mother, and their children, if any. There were records of other details too.

Frowning slightly he explained.

‘Don't start banging on about the education system,' I said hurriedly. ‘It's just that I didn't go to school much. Being fostered,' I explained. ‘But that doesn't mean I don't like learning now.'

‘No need to sound so defensive. It's a crying shame the fostering system lets down kids so badly. As for you – well, you radiate intelligence. That's why I'm genuinely asking your advice.'

‘Maybe when I've finished eating I shall think of some to give. They do a wonderful treacle tart here,' I added.

‘So you've no idea how we can sort out these doors?' he asked, looking wistfully at my dessert.

The tart had come with both a fork and a spoon. I pushed the spoon over: ‘Help yourself. Go on, you can't be worrying about your waist line.' For his age he had a remarkably trim figure. He'd kept his hair, too, even if it was a slightly regrettable ginger.

‘I can. How many policemen have you seen who wear their bellies over their waistbands? I don't want to end up like them. And I loathe the gym, so prevention is better than cure.' All the same, he picked up the spoon and dug in.

‘I didn't say that I couldn't sort out the doors,' I said. ‘I said I didn't want to go via the main house. So it'll have to be via my father's wing. And that means spinning a good story. He may not be bright, but he's cunning. And I don't want to put ideas into his head, either.'

‘God, no!'

‘And I don't want him getting the idea he's still under suspicion.' I pushed the rest of the tart in his direction. I'd have thought a sugar rush might have helped, but my brain felt horribly furry. ‘Not without a lawyer handy.'

‘Who'd end up in as much of a mess as we did. OK, Lina – softly, softly catchee monkey. But swiftly, swiftly catchee him too.'

He'd left one corner of the tart for me. I couldn't resist it. And suddenly the idea came. ‘I could always tell him that people had been nicking stuff from the Hall and you wanted to make sure they didn't get into his half and start stealing from him too.'

‘Good idea. Do you want me to return that silver-gilt dish to him, by the way? It's in the car.'

I pulled a face. ‘On the whole, no. It's safer with me, and I can ration the cash when I manage to sell it.'

‘Fair enough. I'll hand it over when we've finished. Do you want a coffee? No? I'll settle up, then. My treat. Or rather, my expenses' treat. After all, I needed your help and I'm taking your time. And maybe more, when we go to Bossingham.'

‘Thanks,' I said. I checked my watch and followed him to the bar. ‘Do you want to go now? With luck he'll be watching some TV programme he can't miss and he'll let us get on with it.'

For some reason, however, Lord Elham was as alert as I'd seen him, and worried with it. He actually grabbed my hands when he opened the doors to me, the nearest he'd ever come to physical contact. There was no looking to Lord E for a fatherly hug.

‘But what are you doing with that policeman chappie?' he asked, eyes widening. ‘He's not going to arrest me, is he?'

‘It depends what you've done, Lord Elham,' Morris said jokingly.

‘He doesn't do jokes, you fool,' I hissed.

And he could see that for himself. The poor old guy was clearly ready to bolt.

‘No, my lord, I'm here to advise you on your security.' He was almost bowing. ‘There have been some thefts from the main part of the hall, and Lina's afraid some of your treasures might be at risk. You know how she worries about you, sir.'

‘You do, don't you? All that food and the washing and stuff? Yes, you're a good girl. I'm proud of you.' He squeezed my hands. Releasing the left one, he lifted the right nearer his face. ‘I don't know about that ring, though – not the sort of thing a lady should wear during the daytime.' He screwed up his eyes and looked into my face. ‘Not on that hand.' In anyone else that look would have been shrewd. Perhaps it was shrewd.

‘I'll tell you if it ever moves to the other one,' I said. And meant it, funnily enough.

‘Ask me, you mean, and before it moves!' He peered behind me to the van. ‘Any chance of any fizz?'

‘Sorry, not this time. Are you running short?'

He ushered us into his living room. ‘Darren's taken to bringing me some. But it's strange stuff. A glass knocks you clean out. Wake up the next day feeling as if your brain's turned to cotton wool.' He leant closer. ‘Gives you trouble with your water works too. Good job you made me buy that washing machine thing, Lina. Not like me at all. And I have these weird dreams. And now you tell me I might be getting robbed.' He sat down heavily.

Morris squatted beside him. ‘Lina and I will go and check your security, like I said. Make sure no one's getting in here to rob you.'

To judge by the furrows on his forehead, a thought was oozing round Lord Elham's head. I waited, but it didn't find its way out. So I said, ‘Don't worry about us. We'll sort things out. And – cheer up – I might find something else to sell for you.'

‘He's really worried, isn't he?' Morris observed, as we set off together.

I nodded. ‘I've never seen him like this before. Tell you what, let's pop in here – it's not on our route, but it's got something important in it.' The room itself was even more important to me, as it had once been the only memory I had of my early childhood. It was seeing it for real that had convinced me that Lord Elham was my father. It had been something he'd taken into it that had convinced him that I was his daughter. Now it lurked in a bureau he kept locked, but which I could always open with a key from a bunch I kept in my bag.

‘Bloody hell!' Morris exclaimed. ‘A burglary kit! Lina, I don't want to know.'

‘For goodness' sake! We buy furniture from time to time – wardrobes and bureaux like this. And we need to look inside them. Back in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, there weren't many different types of lock, not for everyday furniture. So we have a range of the standard keys. Anyway, this one fits this bureau.' I demonstrated. ‘And this key opens that little pair of doors here inside.'

He opened them very gingerly, and reached inside. ‘There's only some old school exercise book here. French Vocab.'

‘Thank God it's still there!'

‘What's up, Lina?'

‘I was afraid Darrenarris might have got his paws on it. And it's more important to me than anything.' I opened the book and showed him the columns inside. ‘Surname; Christian name; when, where and how; offspring, if any, M/F . . . That's my mother there – Helen Townend. Now, let's see if there's a Harris.'

He took the book. ‘Is this what I think it is? A list of all his mistresses? What's that? Diseases? Payments? Bloody hell – Lina, you poor kid.'

Before I knew it I was in the middle of a giant hug. I don't know if it was to comfort me or to comfort himself. Hugging wasn't my top priority at the moment, not even with the accompaniment of head kissing and hair stroking, so I eased myself away. ‘Can you see a Harris here?'

‘The writing's awful, isn't it?'

‘I think today they'd call him dyslexic. Ah, yes. That looks like a Harris.'

He nodded. ‘Just one problem, Lina. In the M/F column – Ms Harris has an F, not an M, against her name.'

‘L
ord Elham isn't a man to confuse an M with an F,' I said. ‘Is he? Not with his pro . . . propi—'

‘Especially not with his proclivities.' He said the last word very slowly.

I fished out my vocab book. ‘Could you spell that?'

He did so, a curious smile round his eyes. ‘You seem very laid-back about your father's proclivities.' This time he said it at normal speed.