The Claresby Collection: Twelve Mysteries (22 page)

“But I searched for her in here!” exclaimed Georgie. “It was the first place I looked and all the toilets were empty.”

Rupert, meanwhile, put his shoulder to the door and broke it down and Emerald emerged, sobbing. The key was later found neatly dropped into the second toilet.

Once Emerald had washed and composed herself, the sequence of events was unravelled and it was clear that she was locked in only after they had all gone to look for her, and after she had seen the doll.

“I felt sick, and had just pulled the door closed behind me. I didn’t see the key in the lock my side where it usually is, but I wasn’t bothered. Someone must have put it the other side and I suddenly heard it turn and realised I was trapped and just panicked.”

“And whilst we were running all over the place, someone was able to place the doll and take the opportunity to lock you in the toilet,” said Rupert bitterly. “And, of course, no one saw anything!”

“But the note says something will happen tonight,” mused Tom. “So why don’t we just take it in turns to watch? There are four of us to be on guard, even if we just sit in the room – so Emerald need never be alone.”

“But Emerald doesn’t have to stay here at all,” exclaimed Fred. “She can stay at the hotel tonight or, better still, I can take her back to Hampton.”

“But then we won’t catch whoever it is,” said Emerald in a low and now composed voice, her eyes flashing and her pale, beautiful face resolute.

Fred took her by the shoulders. “I just want you safe!” he said.

“She would be safe,” said Rupert, picking up on Tom’s suggestion, “if we watch over her – one man in the room with her, one on the lookout outside for whoever comes.”

“And what if they have a gun!” said Fred desperately.

“If they had a gun, they wouldn’t have used a crossbow. This is England! – guns are rare, and this has descended more into scare tactics than a genuine threat. If someone wanted to kill Emerald and had the wherewithal to do it, they would have done it by now. This is all about intimidation, and it’s time it stopped.”

Against Fred’s objections and with Emerald’s insistence to carry the decision, it was agreed that Fred and James would watch for the first half of the night, Rupert and Tom for the second.

Although the day had been warm, the mid-October night came on cold but dry, and the watchers all bundled up in thick jumpers and scarves. James had taken the first stint, quietly moving from the long corridor and through the outside door to the car park. Although the College was locked down at night and access was only through the main entrance where the Porters Lodge was manned, the door nearest to Emerald’s room had card access and James had her card so that he could let himself back in after taking a look outside her windows for any signs of a would-be intruder. It was both a possibility that her stalker was already concealed somewhere in the building or that they were prepared in such a way that locked doors posed only a slight challenge. Fred had stayed with Emerald in her room and when Rupert came to begin a second shift, he found his friend ashen-faced and anxious.

“I tried to get Tizz to sleep,” Fred confided to Rupert in a low voice. “I made her some cocoa and I think that she dozed for a bit. She seems calmer than I am.”

“Well, it’s not long until morning now,” said Rupert. “In a way I’m more worried about nothing happening than something. At least we are here and prepared tonight. It is going to be very difficult for Tizz to carry on with a vague threat hanging over her at all times.”

Fred nodded in reluctant agreement. They were standing just outside Emerald’s door and Tom joined them.

“You stay with Emerald in her room,” Rupert instructed him. “I’ll keep an eye on things out here – and you, Fred, get back to the hotel and try to sleep. I’ll text you and let you know if everything is all right.”

The three men parted and Tom gently closed Emerald’s door behind him and smiled at her. She was dressed in a soft, grey tracksuit which served reasonably well as night clothes. Her dark hair was loose and her blue eyes bright in her pale face.

“All peaceful?” asked Tom.

“Yes. Would you like me to make you some coffee?”

“Thanks.”

Emerald made a cup for them both and they chatted a little in low voices about the book she had been reading and then half-dozed in their chairs. There was no sound from Rupert outside and as dawn crept in through the windows a feeling of anticlimax stole over Emerald. She had wanted matters resolved so that she could get on with her life. Tom had gone to the widows a couple of times to look outside. Doing this for a third time he gave a sudden gasp and, with great speed, threw up the window and climbed out. Emerald, who had been all but asleep, jumped up too and went to stare out after him. There was the short space of the car park and then a gate to the pavement beyond, and it was there that Tom was grappling with a figure in a blue cagoule with the hood up. There was a light drizzle in the air and a feeling of early morning chill. The person in the coat seemed to be a stronger build than the slender Tom and soon managed to thrust him to the ground. Just then Rupert – who must have heard the kerfuffle – emerged from inside the building and called to Tom: “Stay with Emerald!” Tom had picked himself up and seemed to be examining himself for bruises before returning through the now open door and back into Emerald’s room. Rupert was seen running down the road in a long-limbed dash that was more effective than elegant. Emerald stood anxiously by her door ready to usher Tom back in and closed it behind him.

“Who was the person – anyone you recognised?”

Tom shrugged indifferently. “No idea: just the first innocent early morning passerby who caught my eye. I just hope they can run fast and fight well and keep the annoying Rupert out of the way for long enough.”

Emerald’s stomach performed a nasty twist inside her. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I say.” Tom was rubbing one wrist with his hand as if to test if it had been damaged. His narrow face was pale and set, his cold eyes flicking up to observe Emerald with only the smallest sign of interest. “I’m just amazed that you hadn’t realised that the person trying to make you leave was me – you ruined my life! But I guess you are so wrapped up in yourself you didn’t notice.”

“I ruined your life! How?” Emerald was too flabbergasted by this sudden and unexpected announcement to feel fear for the moment.

“My first year at Cambridge was the first time I had ever been happy – the first time I’d had a true friend. James and I meant everything to each other from the first day we met – and then you came along.”

Emerald looked confused. “But James and I are just friends – and I thought you and James were just friends.”

Tom shrugged. “Who knows what James and I might have been – you ruined all that. Of course you knew what you were doing to him with your film star looks and oh-so-glamorous life. I did hope that you might go back to America and then James and I could be like we used to be – but you just couldn’t take a hint. I don’t care anymore. I’ll make sure that you are out of James’s life for good!”

There was something about the cold voice and frozen expression of the young man that told Emerald more than his words. She knew that he had decided to kill her and she knew that he wasn’t rational. Extraordinarily she felt more annoyed by the nonsense of his attitude than frightened by the danger it put her in. Somehow it wasn’t personal – he had just focused on her and blamed her for his failures rather than taking responsibility for his own problems.

“Killing me won’t give you James. And even with Rupert out of the way, it will be pretty obvious that you are to blame for my death. Honestly, this isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“You are missing the point – I said that I don’t care anymore. My life’s over anyway – I just don’t see why you should get to enjoy yours.” Tom had stopped rubbing his wrist and looked at Emerald with cool calculation. He was only slightly taller than her and of a wiry rather than a strong build. However, when he put his hands about her throat he had an iron grip and an equally resolute determination to continue despite her kicks and blows as she struggled. Emerald’s anger still hadn’t given way to fear when her eyes flicked shut.

They were sitting in the lounge of the hotel. “When did you realise that it was Tom?” Fred asked Rupert as he poured a second cup of tea for himself and his niece.

“Well, I’d had niggling doubts about him ever since he suggested the night watch – and I was pretty sure someone quite close to Emerald was responsible; but I just couldn’t fix him with a motive. Then I caught up with the man that Tom had sent me after, tumbled him to the ground, and realised when I was sitting on top of him that it was Felix Hammond – a fellow archaeologist lately of Pembroke: just the sort of man to take an early morning walk and not at all the sort of man to obsessively target a beautiful young film star. And I suddenly thought of Emerald alone in her room with Tom.”

“Well I’m glad your mental processes were so quick or Tom might well have throttled me for good and all,” said Emerald, cautiously fingering a light silk scarf which concealed the bruises around her neck. The colour had come back to her face as they munched on a plate of teatime scones, lunch having been more or less missed in the chaos of the day. She wore a plain skirt and blouse and still managed to draw the eyes of all in the room by her classic but vibrant beauty.

“Funny; I never suspected Tom,” said Georgie. “I noticed that he was obsessed with James and I knew that James was besotted with you, but Tom was always such a cold fish I never thought that murderous resentments burned within. I always fancied Dr Tallford in the role of malefactor.”

“And apparently I don’t notice anything much about anyone,” said Emerald ruefully. “I just thought of James and Tom as friends that it was pleasant to pass the time with.”

“That’s me and Lucy,” said Georgie, cheerfully helping herself to strawberry jam. “I don’t love her, she doesn’t love me and neither of us fancies you one little bit! – you are quite safe with us.”

“That’s good to know,” replied Emerald uncertainly.

“What have they done with Tom, anyway?” asked Georgie.

“He has been arrested,” replied Rupert. “However, it seems that Tom has had some sort of breakdown and Emerald made his attack sound more like a pitiful cry for help that a real attempt at murder.”

“And some people say I’m not a good actress...”

“But you will stay at Cambridge, Tom or no Tom?” asked Georgie.

“Yes. But Uncle Fred says he is going to buy a house here, so I think I’ll move in with him and get a bit more privacy and security.”

“Laura and I are going to help him house hunt,” added Rupert. “She’s due here with Florence in about an hour and we can stay the whole week.”

“So all’s well,” added Emerald.

“Except,” continued Rupert, “that once the story of unrequited passion and attempted murder hits the press, your chances of remaining low profile will be even less than before...”

The Coach House Mystery

It was one of the hottest days of a dismal summer, coming a bit late as September ousted August. At midday it was too hot for the fair-skinned Rupert to enjoy the heat of the sun, and he had found refuge in one of the dilapidated outhouses of Claresby Manor. There were stables, a coach house and an old granary; none of which had been renovated since his wife, Laura – the Lady of the Manor – had discovered treasure on the land of her impoverished family and rescued Claresby Manor’s fortunes. When Laura came out to find her husband, she was holding the hand of a tottering Florence – now nearly two years old and a vision of prettiness in a flower-sprigged dress and a straw hat on elastic, which kept slipping from her head. Rupert had opened wide the rickety doors to the coach house and saw them coming. As befitted a young father, he immediately stopped what he was doing and exclaimed,

“What a pretty dress, Florence! And I love your hat.”

Florence beamed happily at her father and said, “My hat!” whilst attempting to rescue it again with her free hand as it slipped rakishly over one ear.

Laura, who was also wearing a light summer dress and neat straw hat, looked curiously into the dark interior of the coach house.

“Have you unearthed anything interesting in there?”

“I’ve disturbed a few mice and about a century’s worth of dust,” admitted Rupert. “I was looking at the Rolls Royce – but it doesn’t seem to have an engine; which is a pity.”

Laura let go of Florence’s hand – leaving her to assiduously pick the dandelion leaves which grew through the cracks in the flagstones – and went to join her husband by the remains of the car.

“It must have been a real beauty,” commented Rupert, brushing debris from it with a loving caress. “It’s a Silver Ghost – probably about 1924. I think the fittings are actually silver-plated underneath the tarnish. It’s all leather and mahogany inside; although the mice seem to have been eating the seats. It does seem to be an awful waste – I wonder if I could restore it to its old grandeur?”

Before she could reply, Laura was distracted by the sight of Florence, who had taken her hat off and turned it upside down to use it as a basket, with the elastic serving as a handle.

“What are you doing, Flo?” she reprimanded. “You’ll get your hat dirty!”

Florence’s lower lip jutted dangerously. “For Bluebell,” she explained.

Laura peered into the hat and saw the leaves and understood that Florence was collecting them for her pet rabbit. “Oh, all right,” she conceded. “We’ll take them over to him, and when he’s had his lunch, we’ll make yours.” Then, to Rupert – “With any luck, she’ll have a nap after lunch. When you’ve finished out here I’ll make yours – say about half-past-one.”

Rupert nodded his acknowledgement and turned his interest back to the Rolls Royce, whilst Laura and Florence went to where Bluebell’s hutch stood in the corner of a walled garden close to the house.

Rupert came in dusty, hot and dirty, and washed himself at a large porcelain sink. The lofty medieval kitchen of Claresby was always as cool as a cave, which made it a pleasant refuge on a hot day. Laura was preparing a salad, and some fresh rolls and a platter of cheese and ham were set out on the long oak table, as was a jug of homemade iced lemonade. Rupert sat down and poured himself a large glass of the lemonade and drank it down in one go.