The Scarlet Wench (7 page)

Chapter Eleven

“ … It’s all part of some horrible plan … ”

Ruth: Act
II
, Scene 1

11 PM

Simon stretched his back, pleased with the watercolour showing backpackers and tourists on the ferry. Nora’s characters were hidden among expected items: Dove peeked out of the flap of a backpack; Tess lay along the wiper blade of a Range Rover; Skye sat atop luggage strapped to the roof of an ancient Ford wagon. The others were harder to spot, but children would have fun looking for them.

  Maybe it was a good thing Maeve hadn’t stayed tonight. He’d worked out the kinks in this illustration, and that gave him a sense of accomplishment. As he cleaned his brushes, he wondered what Maeve really thought of him. She had seemed so proactive in trying to gain his attention last year, but now that she had it, she seemed happy to be with him but didn’t fall all over him. She was passionate in bed but cooler out of it, which was a good thing, he supposed. Maybe she felt she was maintaining her professionalism, but the romantic in him yearned for more. Time would tell.

  He turned out the light in his studio just as his mobile rang. Nora had to shout over the sound of yelling and raised voices.

  “Simon—there’s been an accident at The Scarlet Wench.” She succinctly described the Jaguar crashing into the brick wall. “There’s an ambulance on the way for Gemma and Grayson. I’ll be stuck here giving a statement to the police. Can you—”

  “Relax. I just checked Sean half an hour ago, and he and Callie are both sound asleep. Are they badly hurt? Do you need me to come down there?”

  She hesitated. “It’s a madhouse with everyone giving their opinions. Gemma was knocked out at first, but she’s awake and making a scene. Declan thinks Grayson’s wrist is broken. Could you give Poppy and Fiona a lift to the lodge? They’re arguing with Gemma about who should ride to the hospital with him.”

  “I’ll be right there.” He hung up and crossed the hall to Nora’s room. Callie roused from atop Nora’s bed when he opened the door, and Simon explained the situation.

  “I’ll stay right here,” she promised.

  As he ran to his car, Simon reflected that at least the accident hadn’t happened at Ramsey Lodge.

*

11:15 PM

Nora was grateful when she saw Simon’s car park down the road and Simon headed in her direction. The paramedics were checking Gemma, and Grayson was in the ambulance being treated after a Breathalyzer test. The crowd from the pub had dispersed once the local constable ascertained only Nora and Declan had actually witnessed the accident. Nora had described the incident, and Declan was finishing his statement while Fiona and Poppy crowded around the ambulance, arguing.

  “I should ride with Grayson,” Poppy insisted. “Gemma’s wearing that stupid collar and won’t be any help.”

  “You? Gray’s a big boy, and Gemma hardly needs a babysitter.”

  Gemma wiped her face with the back of her hand and shouted, “You’re just being mean because he’s still not sleeping with you.”

  Nora bit her lip. Into the shocked silence, Simon spoke up.
“I’m here to give you all a ride back to the lodge, and then I’ll go to the hospital and bring them both home.”

  Declan joined the group. “Thanks, Simon. Grayson and Gemma are both coherent, and once they’re treated, they’ll need that ride back to the lodge.”

  Fiona pushed Poppy aside. “I’ll go with you, Simon. I have Gray’s details, which they’ll need.” She shot a pointed look at Poppy and flounced away toward Simon’s car, getting into the front passenger seat as he started the engine.

    Nora followed with Declan, who put his arm over her shoulder. Poppy strode ahead of them, and the three piled into the back of Simon’s Rover, cramped together.

  “How hurt are they?” Simon asked Declan on the short ride to Ramsey Lodge.

  “Gemma claims she lost consciousness briefly but seems fine. I’m pretty certain Grayson’s wrist is broken.”

  “He had no business getting behind the wheel of that car,” Fiona said. ‘I tried to stop him.”

  “Miss Wonderful,” Poppy whispered.

  Fiona twisted around to glare at Poppy. “At least one of us tried to be responsible.”

  “Hey! I didn’t get in the car with him, remember? I started to walk back with you, so don’t get all high and mighty with me.” Poppy crossed her arms.

  Nora was thankful when they pulled up in front of Ramsey Lodge. Poppy ran upstairs as Simon and Fiona pulled away.

  “I want to check on Sean and Callie,” Nora said.

  Declan nodded and went into Simon’s kitchen. Nora cracked her bedroom door to find Callie leaving the bathroom.

  “Sleeping like an angel.” Callie rubbed sleep from her eyes. “How is everyone?”

  Nora brought her up to speed. “It’s close to midnight. Why don’t you crash in Kate’s bed for the rest of the night?”

  “Sounds good. See you in the morning.”

  Nora crept over to the cot, where Sean slept peacefully. She took the monitor with her into Simon’s kitchen, where Declan was on the phone, giving his credentials to the duty inspector at the Communications Center in Penrith. Once his Oxford rank was established, he passed on the details of the accident.

  “We gave statements to the local constable, but here’s the issue: The driver, who had clearly been drinking, insists that when he reached the road to turn, he tried to brake and his foot went straight to the floor. That’s when the car shot across the road and into the wall.”

  Making them a cup of tea, Nora whirled around at this information. Declan held a finger up. “Yes, I agree the brake cables need to be checked. There have been a series of small incidents here revolving around this group of actors, and I’m concerned someone’s carried things too far.”

  Nora brought their tea over to the table. A tiny part of her felt badly Declan had been pressed into service on his vacation as a chill passed through her. Most of her felt thankful he was on site.

  Declan ended his call and sipped his tea. “They’ll tow away the car tonight and get someone to look at it tomorrow.”

  Nora took Declan’s hand. “What’s going on here, Declan? Things are getting out of control. Grayson or Gemma could have been killed.”

  Declan’s tone was grim. “I’m worried that’s what someone’s working up to.”

Chapter Twelve

“Nothing in the world was further from my thoughts.”

Charles: Act
III
, Scene 1

Wednesday, 11th April

1:10 AM

In the Beatrix Potter Suite, Poppy Braeburn stood at the window, tracing images in the mist her breath left on the cool glass. Unable to sleep after seeing Grayson taken away in the ambulance, she pulled on thick socks and a pair of jogging bottoms under her flannel nightgown.

  The fluttering in her stomach only worsened as time passed. The hiker staying at the lodge had seemed to take control of the situation quickly, a person used to being in command from the way he spoke to the police on site. It was all so bloody stupid: Grayson drinking too much, Gemma draped over him possessively, Fiona trying to insinuate herself as though she still had influence on Grayson’s life. And calling him “Gray” in front of everyone, indicating she had a special relationship with him.

  Had it really been only two days since she’d arrived, happy and upbeat to be part of this troupe? It seemed ages since Nora’s baby had thrown up on her. Nora’s look at the time, startled and embarrassed, had helped quell Poppy’s spurt of annoyance. Poor thing couldn’t help if he had had a bubble, happened to babies all the time. She remembered the infants at the New Age commune she’d lived in growing up. Everyone had pitched in raising each other’s children. She’d been especially adept with the infants, and they’d all lived in each other’s pockets like they were one big extended family.

  Only they hadn’t been. They had been drawn together by the adults’ belief in pagan rituals, with Stonehenge and other outcroppings their cathedrals. Her head ached with the memory of years of following ley lines, like Christians searching for the Holy Grail. More like Monty Python, she thought ruefully, recalling people shouting names at them as their caravans would pass: New Agers, Druids, even witches; she’d been called it all.

  Her parents called themselves pantheists and wore the name with a mantle of pride she had shed the minute she could. She’d grown up feeling her every emotion open to inspection from people who weren’t her relatives, her every action interpreted as a sign from the moon or the stars, from God or the devil. They had been more like gypsies, with their line of beaten up vans and trailers, the sweet, burning-sage odor of weed permeating their clothes and linens.

  But the communal spirit of the camps meant books and learning had also been shared, and she’d eagerly consumed them, exploring more on a topic when they’d stop near a library. She’d hold back begged coins for used books of her own. It had still come as an utter surprise to her parents that she had cast off their way of life for what she regarded as a sense of normalcy once she turned sixteen: school, a career, a set of boundaries.

  Her parents reconciled themselves by telling the group she participated in experimental theatre and by choosing to believe she performed only in edgy projects. Their last meeting, two years ago when they’d come to see her perform as Eliza Doolittle in
Pygmalion,
had ended with awkward glances on their part. Her triumph that night had been a complete embarrassment to them. She hadn’t bothered to track their movements after that and had no idea where they were encamped now.

  Were those headlights coming down Glebe Road? She stood to attention, her body tense, but the vehicle continued past Ramsey Lodge. The fluttering in her stomach returned and along with it, fear for Grayson’s well-being. But even more than that fear was the panic that someone would find out she’d been in his room.

*

8:50 AM

Simon finished his breakfast and watched the assemblage surround Grayson Lange to sign his cast, displayed out of its sling for the activity. Maeve laughed and drew a smiley face after her name, her shiny hair swinging toward her face as she leaned over him. Even Burt signed his name with a flourish.

  Simon should be sleepy but felt wired. Gemma had been released early on, the neck brace deemed unnecessary, with caution to watch for headaches and to rest as needed. He’d had to maintain a semblance of polite conversation with her and Fiona as they’d waited for Grayson’s wrist to be set, worrying all the time how this would affect the play. He needed this play to come off as planned.

  To his relief, Grayson had told them on the drive back that he planned to continue. “No reason not to. I’ll add a line easily enough about Charles having had an accident prior to the action of the play and how his cast is a nuisance to his writing. I’m more worried about the other thing … ” he caught Simon’s eye. Declan had already told Simon of Grayson’s insistence that his brakes had failed.

  The women had sat in stony silence during the ride home. When Simon had looked in his rearview mirror upon the director’s pronouncement, he had seen Gemma had fallen asleep but had met Fiona’s dark eyes. She’d raised an eyebrow in question.

  “I believe Declan has that all in hand,” Simon had assured Grayson and had waited for a question from the back seat that had never come.

  Now, as he finished breakfast at a round table in the dining room with Nora and Declan, he explained the director had suffered what the emergency doctor had called “a classic Colles fracture,” which meant the cast would stop short of his elbow.

  “He’ll need follow-up next week with an orthopedist, but the fracture wasn’t displaced, which they explained means he shouldn’t lose any movement.” Simon picked up Sean’s plastic keys and jiggled them, to the baby’s delight. He put them on the high-chair tray, and the baby immediately put them in his mouth. “He was damned fortunate he blew just this side of the limit or he’d have been arrested, too, for DUI.”

  “He seems in remarkable spirits, despite the pain and lack of sleep.” Nora slathered orange marmalade on whole-wheat toast.

  “He enjoys being the center of attention,” Declan pointed out.

  Simon leaned in and spoke quietly. “Fiona was a piece of work. She had all of his pertinent information and knew his insurance details. The nurse thought she was his wife.”

  “I wonder if they were ever married,” Nora mused.

  “Don’t start.” Declan pointed a finger to at Nora, and everyone laughed when Sean grabbed it and stuck it in his mouth.

  “I’ll bet he’s taken a few painkillers; I know I would.” Simon looked at his own left hand and grimaced at the devastating thought of what breaking a wrist might mean to his ability to draw and paint.

  Declan’s mobile rang, and he excused himself to take the call in the hallway. Simon looked over at the table. He thought the Dentons were curiously silent this morning.

  “Look what I’ve run you up, Grayson,” Poppy said. She’d fashioned a cover for his sling, complete with a pocket for his
mobile phone. She helped him place his cast back in the sling and slid on the cover.

  “Darling, it’s absolutely lovely, whenever did you have time to do that?”

  “When she was pining away for you last night, didn’t you, sweet Poppy?” Gemma’s face was pale this morning, but there was no mistaking the cut of her words.

  Poppy blushed and looked at her lap.

  “We shouldn’t continue with the play,” Helen pronounced. “It’s bad karma.”

  Simon felt his insides clench at her remark.

  “Nonsense!” Grayson declared. “I’ve already had a few ideas about how to work it into the script.”

  “We wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t let him drive off in that state.” Fiona glared at Gemma.

  “So now it’s all my fault, and I wasn’t even behind the wheel?” Gemma’s voice rose. “You forget I have concussion. I’m going upstairs to get some aspirin.”

  “Poor you. Do us all a favor and make it cyanide,” Fiona declared.

  Grayson slapped the table with his good hand, making Sean startle, eyes wide. “You two, stop this incessant bickering. I won’t have it, do you understand?”

  Gemma ran for her room upstairs. Fiona shrugged her shoulders.

  Declan returned and told Grayson he had to speak with him. The director took his time draining his teacup and let Poppy help him rise from the table. Declan caught Simon’s eye and gave the slightest nod.

  Simon heard Grayson’s raised voice in the hallway reacting to the news. “Malicious intent!” After a minute, the director reappeared, face ashen. “I’ll meet you all as planned at
9:30
for rehearsal. I think I’ll have a bit of a lie down before then.”

  Poppy rushed to help him up the stairs, and the others followed. Declan sat down and answered Simon and Nora’s look.

  “Brake cables cut through. They’re going over the car for prints but not hopeful. A puddle of brake fluid was found where his Jag was parked outside the pub.”

  Nora voiced Simon’s first thought. “Someone tried to murder Grayson Lange.”

*

9:28 AM

Nora drained the dregs of her tea after everyone else had vacated the dining room. The cast filed into the drawing room for rehearsal. Maeve chatted with Simon, helping him clear breakfast. She could hear Burt hammering in the drawing room, but Declan seemed to have disappeared.

  She begrudgingly admired the director’s tenacity to continue rehearsals in the face of obvious malice. Yet only a few days in the presence of his troupe had quickly removed any hero worship she might have had for the actors, between their petty squabbles and bickering and Grayson’s manipulation of them all.

  But this was serious stuff. How could she help Declan investigate this attempt on Grayson’s life? She trusted Declan, of course, and she respected his tough police work. But he didn’t know all she’d done. She’d spent years as a student in the theatre, had interviewed actors when she’d worked for
People and Places
magazine in the United States and then later in the United Kingdom. She knew what went on in their minds, what made them tick. And the danger was real.

  As long as someone malicious was out there, she needed to do whatever she could to keep Sean safe. The thought occurred to her to send him away until the mystery was solved. Surely Val would help.

  She bit her lip. No, she wouldn’t overreact. She didn’t want to frighten her baby or disrupt his routine. There was no reason to think he was the target of anything. For now, he would be safe with her.

  Nora wiped Sean’s face and took him out of the high chair, cuddling him. He still smelled like baby shampoo from last night’s bath. She brought him into the kitchen for a quick visit with Agnes, whose face lit up. The child held out his arms to her, and Nora relinquished her hold. “If you’ve got him a minute, I could give Callie a hand.”

  “Go on, then. Me and the laddie are having a conversation, aren’t we?” The cook tickled Sean under his chin, and he giggled in response. “She’s upstairs already, quick worker that girl.” Agnes leaned into Nora. “Told you things would go barmy with that group here. Too much to drink, broken wrists … ”

  Nora wondered how Agnes would react if she knew Grayson’s brakes had been cut.

  “Oh, Declan said to tell you he went for a little stroll about, needed to think.”

  Maeve came into the kitchen with a heavy tray she set down. “All set in there, just need to load the dishwasher.”

  “I’ll do that,” Nora offered and opened the washer door.

  “I’ll sweep, then, while Simon sets for lunch. Hello, Munchkin.” Maeve pushed Sean’s belly as she went back out, eliciting a chuckle.

  Nora bit her lip at Maeve’s appropriation of Simon’s nickname for Sean. “She’s being very helpful these days.”

  “Aye, she’s sweeter. Must be getting honey somewhere.” Agnes hummed. “I notice them disappearing into his studio when it’s quiet. Inspecting his paintings, I imagine.”

  Nora looked up, but Agnes had walked over to the kitchen door and was showing Sean the budding magnolia.

  Scraping dishes, Nora wondered where Declan had wandered off to, as she still needed to talk with him about the Pembrokes. Monday’s meeting niggled at the back of her conscience, and she knew she had to address the situation before then.

  Callie came down the back stairs with a load of damp towels and started the washer. Nora slammed the dishwasher shut; it wouldn’t need to be run until after lunch. She’d promised Declan and Simon she wouldn’t involve Callie in searching the cast’s rooms, but she’d never said anything about herself.

  Nora gathered a basket and shears from the shelf over the machines. “I’ll just run up and see if there are any dead flowers to be removed from their arrangements,” she told Agnes.

  “I’m taking Sean to see the garden before he goes down for his nap.” Agnes took her heavy sweater off a peg and draped it around both of them. “A spot of fresh air, laddie.”

  Nora helped her button it to keep it in place around them both. “He loves being outdoors. Thanks, Agnes.” She kissed the baby’s head and went up the back stairs to Poppy Braeburn’s room. Callie left as Nora approached the door. “Leave it open, Callie. I’ll freshen the flowers.”

  Nora entered the Potter Suite and made a beeline for the vase on the nightstand. She exchanged the water, cut the stems and threw a few wilted daisies into her basket. Then she gently shut the door and put her basket down, making a quick tour of the suite.

  Poppy was neat, her clothing hung in the closet with care and with equal space between each hanger. Her few cosmetics stood arranged in a row along the bathroom counter. Felt slippers were aligned next to the bed; even her dresser drawers showed carefully folded items. It spoke to Nora of someone who had grown up with little and who valued what she owned, everything of good quality. Several pieces with labels stitched inside read: “
A Poppy Braeburn Original
.”