The Monks Hood Murders: A 1920s Murder Mystery with Heathcliff Lennox Page 2

  ‘How did Sir Clarence Calderstone fit into this?’ Swift had pulled out his notebook.

  ‘Oh these explanations are rather difficult. The Brethren had done what they could before my arrival, but they were without resources.’ He paused, his lips moving silently as though searching for words. ‘Then Sir Clarence Calderstone came to me, saying he was willing to offer support. His family had been patrons of the Abbey in the past and he explained he wanted to continue the old tradition. I admit, I was most surprised,’ he leaned forward and lowered his voice, ‘he had been considered quite the Casanova. The Calderstones were always regarded as an intemperate family, but Clarence swore to me that he had given up his adventures and wanted to reaffirm his faith, and I believed him.’

  ‘He was your financial saviour,’ I stated.

  ‘He was, his donations made our repairs possible and our small community grew. Our elder brethren once again taught their skills to the novices.’ He paused and attempted another smile. ‘You see, we uphold the Benedictine traditions; we illustrate manuscripts and tend our physic gardens, just as our Brothers have done for centuries before us.’

  Swift tried again to bring him to the point. ‘But what did Clarence do to cause you anguish, sir?’

  ‘He…he…’ He puttered out of words again.

  I frowned at Swift for his hastiness. ‘Father Ambrose, perhaps you could tell us what happened to Clarence?’

  ‘Yes, I do believe I could.’ His voice gathered strength. ‘He was injured on the hunting field. He had only just returned from, now let me see, I think it was Switzerland, but it may have been Italy.’ Wrinkles formed on his forehead. ‘This past winter has been hard, even harder than usual, but, we had a break from the frost and snow and the Hunt decided to make a day of it. Clarence had barely arrived, but he declared he would borrow a horse and join them.’

  ‘Oh, it was such a sight…’ His tone wistful. ‘Well, off they went under a bright sky; it was the perfect day for a gallop. Some time later, a commotion was heard at our gates. The hunt-master had arrived with a group of riders calling my name. Clarence had been thrown from his horse and was asking for me, they said it was serious. Of course I went immediately to Calderstone Hall. Doctor Wexford was ministering to him and Clarence was still conscious, but I could see he was near to death. He pleaded to make his confession and that was when he admitted his terrible sin…’

  We waited for him to compose himself. Foggy had fallen asleep by the warmth of the fire and snored in the silence.

  ‘Are you able to tell us what Clarence confessed?’ I prompted.

  ‘I cannot, no, no, it is not permitted. You see, Clarence was a Catholic and he feared what was to come. After he made his confession, he expected the grant of absolution. I tried to explain that atonement is a state of mind, not the washing away of sins, and that he had caused us such distress. His confession was a shock, a terrible…’ He paused to pull himself together. ‘Clarence clutched my hand and said there was a book, it was of great value and the worth would come to the Abbey, it was his act of reparation.’ He shook his head, the light catching his halo of white hair. ‘I refused him again but he pleaded with me, saying the book would save lives, it was a Codex – an ancient book of herbal medicines. He said he’d brought it for us and he pressed a key into my hands, it was the key to his strongbox. He begged me to save his soul and grant him absolution.’ He lowered his head and let out a long sigh. ‘And so I gave him his wish.’

  ‘He wasn’t the first who thought he could buy his way into Heaven,’ Swift commented.

  ‘No,’ the Abbot raised his eyes from Tubbs on his lap. ‘I almost withheld absolution because his sin was so grave but that was wrong of me…’ His voice trailed away again.

  I wondered what Clarence had done, my mind skipped across a few ideas.

  Swift asked, ‘Did he say anything else before he died?’

  ‘He was agitated, he mumbled “he will come” and “she must not have it”. He was gasping for breath and barely coherent.’

  ‘Who must not have it?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m afraid I do not know.’ Weariness creased the old man’s face.

  ‘What of the book, was it in the strongbox?’ Swift was chasing facts.

  ‘It was.’ He nodded. ‘We found it, just as he had said. A medieval Codex of medicinal herbs. Brother Paul was with me, he said some of the recipes may be quite unknown to us today.’

  ‘You took it to the monastery?’ Swift was jotting a series of short notes.

  ‘I’m afraid I did not.’ His eyes closed momentarily. ‘I realise now that it was quite silly of me, but after Clarence’s appalling revelations I was utterly unnerved. I did not wish to bring the book into the Abbey and we thought it would be perfectly safe in the strong box. But then…’

  Swift looked up and eyed him as closely as I did.

  ‘Then…?’ I asked.

  ‘The complications began. You see, the Calderstones were the local landowners and Clarence was the last of them.’

  ‘Is the Codex part of the Calderstone inheritance?’ I asked, realising there was likely to be a battle brewing over the estate.

  ‘I’m unsure…it’s possible.’ He stroked Tubbs again. ‘I received a note from Mr Stephen Fenshaw. He works for Clarence’s old solicitor, Humphrey Lawson, Fenshaw’s actually his nephew. Well, Fenshaw informed me a letter had arrived from a gentleman in Switzerland. This Swiss stated that he had a legal interest in Clarence’s estate.’

  ‘What was it?’ I asked, slightly confused over the plethora of solicitors.

  ‘It wasn’t explained,’ Father Ambrose replied. ‘He merely stated he had a claim.’

  ‘And has this Swiss arrived?’ Swift asked.

  ‘No, but his was not the only foreign intervention. An Italian appeared for Clarence’s funeral, she was… well, she was quite striking. There is a village next to the Abbey, the village of Calderstone, and all the villagers attended the service – it was at the Calderstone’s own Chapel,’ he added in explanation. ‘This lady marched through the congregation to the very front of the church without a word. She looked as a bird-of-paradise would among sparrows.’ He shook his head at the memory. ‘Well, she remained until the coffin was carried out and then followed with head held high on teetering shoes. As you can imagine, there was much speculation as to who she was. After the interment she declared to Fenshaw and Lawson that she was Clarence’s lawful wife. Everybody heard her, it caused such talk.’

  ‘Good Lord,’ I uttered. ‘And nobody knew she existed?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Clarence had never mentioned a word. It was extraordinary, although when I think of the…’ He stuttered again to a halt.

  ‘He didn’t live in Calderstone then?’ I tried to jolly him along.

  ‘He spent almost all of his time on the Continent, he only returned once or twice a year. I had never given it a thought before now.’

  ‘What’s the lady’s name?’ Swift returned to the topic.

  ‘The Contessa Mirabella Ferranti.’ Father Ambrose pronounced it carefully. ‘She insisted that she was entitled to her husband’s estate and had come to claim it.’

  ‘The entire estate?’ I asked.

  ‘Indeed.’ Father Ambrose sighed. ‘Lawson’s wits are wandering and young Fenshaw now stands in his stead. Fenshaw told her she must follow the correct legal process. Then old Lawson interrupted and ordered her to prove it, which I thought very brave of him. She became quite impassioned and declared that she would return with her own lawyer.’ His shoulders sagged. ‘We watched with relief as she drove away, but then it occurred to me that she might try to take control of Calderstone Hall and I had left the Codex there. So Brother Paul and I went to retrieve it,’ he looked up with consternation in his eyes. ‘When we unlocked the strong box, the book was gone.’

  ‘What! You mean stolen?’ I e
xclaimed.

  He sounded near to tears. ‘Yes, it was so foolish of me, and now I realise it is the key to everything.’ He tried to pull himself together. ‘My wife thinks you are the men who can find it and I do hope you will, because… because… all may be lost.’ He ended on a breathless note.

  ‘Ah,’ I uttered, thankful that he’d finally got to the point. ‘Well, we’ll do our best.’

  Swift looked up from his writing, a frown to his forehead.

  ‘Thank you.’ The Abbot wobbled to his feet. ‘Oh dear, I am quite fatigued. May I beg of you a quiet room in which to rest for a short while?’

  ‘Of course,’ I crossed to my desk and shook the bell.

  Greggs arrived instantly, he can’t have been much further away than the key hole.

  ‘I have the guest room ready, sir.’

  ‘How did you know that was why I rang?’

  ‘I…um… Intuition, sir.’ He didn’t bat an eyelid, just turned to usher Father Ambrose towards the door.

  ‘Greggs,’ I called.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Packing required, old chap.’

  He sighed. ‘Very well, sir.’

  Chapter 3

  I tossed more logs onto the fire, then picked up the plate of remaining Simnel cake and offered a helping of the goodies to Swift. Fogg woke up and watched us with bright spaniel eyes.

  ‘So, mysterious sins which must not be spoken,’ I mused.

  Swift pushed his notebook into his pocket. ‘None of it makes sense. Why should the Codex be the key to everything?’

  ‘The Abbot said all could be lost; ‘utter ruination’ or some such words.’ I tried to decipher Father Ambrose’s rambling account.

  ‘He wants us to find the Codex to prevent disaster falling on the Abbey,’ Swift stated. ‘But he doesn’t explain what the disaster is.’

  ‘He can’t. It’s part of a confession.’

  ‘Is it?’ He sounded sceptical.

  ‘Yes, he said so.’

  Swift wasn’t convinced. ‘He’s barely given us half the story.’

  ‘What did Lady Maitland tell you?’ I changed tack.

  ‘Nothing,’ he replied through bites of cake. ‘I saw her at the crack of dawn this morning before I’d even had breakfast. All she did was order me to come and get you, then go to Monks Hood Abbey and report to the Abbot. I had to take the overnight train from Braeburn to London and now I’ve come here and you could have gone yourself. The Cotswolds is almost on the doorstep to London and I’ve been dragged from the Highlands to…’

  ‘Nobody asked me to go to London,’ I objected. ‘I didn’t know a thing about it until Father Ambrose arrived a bare hour ago. And you could just have easily said no.’

  ‘What, to Lady Maitland?’ He suddenly gave a wry smile.

  I laughed and stretched my legs in front of the fire. Swift was ever a ‘man on a mission’, even when the mission made no sense. I thought he looked drawn, the angles of his face lean and sharp.

  ‘How’s Florence?’ I asked. ‘I thought she was due any minute.’

  Lady Florence was Swift’s wife and the cause of his new life at Braeburn Castle in the Scottish highlands.

  ‘It’s a month off yet.’ A worried frown creased his brows. ‘I didn’t want to go anywhere before the birth, but she insisted.’

  ‘Ah.’ I polished off the cake.

  ‘She’s got it into her head that I miss being a detective. I keep telling her it’s nonsense, but she can be very single-minded.’ He looked askance at me. ‘And that woman’s come back. You remember her, the medium, Miss Fairchild.’

  ‘Yes,’ I muttered, recalling the lady from our adventures at Braeburn Castle last Halloween. ‘She was rather…’

  ‘Peculiar.’ Swift was blunt. ‘Anyway, she and Florence are great friends and now they’re knitting together. So, I’m here, and we’d better get moving Lennox, because I don’t want to be away from Braeburn for long.’

  ‘We can’t go until Father Ambrose is ready,’ I reminded him.

  ‘I didn’t mean…’ He was cut off.

  ‘Sir! I’ve got it, I’ve got the letter!’ Tommy Jenkins bounced in, waving a grubby looking envelope. Actually he was looking particularly grubby himself, with mud on his knees, a graze to his forehead and dark hair even more dishevelled than usual.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Swift asked as I took the proffered letter.

  It was indeed ‘covered all over with foreign stamps’, some of them had camels on, which gave my heart a lurch. I rubbed my thumb over the imprinted seal then shoved it in my pocket for a spot of solitary reading later.

  ‘Fell off me bike and had to walk home.’ Tommy grinned. Despite being orphaned, he was a cheerful boy, given to scruffiness and escapades. He lived here at The Manor, with his aunt – my cook. I’d designated him boot boy to keep him occupied and put some pennies in his pocket. ‘It’s dead foggy out there, but it’s liftin’ in the village now. It was spooky goin’ by the woods.’

  ‘How did you fall off your bike,’ I questioned, as the boy rattled on.

  His face fell. ‘Hit the kerb with a bang, sir.’

  ‘Damage?’ I asked taking a closer look at him.

  ‘The chain come off, an’ the tyre went flat. Mudguard’s got bent as well, but it’s nothin’ as can’t be fixed, sir.’ He pushed his fringe back from his face with a grubby hand.

  ‘Never mind the bike, are you all right?’ Swift cut in.

  ‘Aye, right as rain.’ His grin reappeared. ‘Aunty told me there’s a monk here. She thought ‘e was a ghost, but that’s tommy-rot, there ain’t no ghosts around or I’d have seen ‘em.’

  ‘Yes, but why did you hit the kerb, Tommy?’ I asked again because I could see he was avoiding the question.

  A blush spread across his freckles. ‘Sally Hastings put her tongue out at me, sir. Right by the post office.’

  ‘Ah,’ I nodded. So young Tommy had noticed girls.

  He perked up. ‘Aunty says you’re going off to Yorkshire to do some detecting. Can I come, sir? Can I? Please?’ He was almost hopping. ‘There’s bound to be dead bodies, you’re always finding them!’

  ‘No,’ I told him firmly. ‘You have to go to school. And anyway, there aren’t any bodies.’

  ‘You mean there aren’t any bodies – yet.’ Swift added, then cracked a smile. ‘Come on, young man. Let’s go and mend this bike of yours.’ He ruffled Tommy’s hair and the lad skipped out of the room on the heels of the ex-Inspector.

  I headed for the calm of my bedroom to pore over the letter in my pocket.

  ‘Dear Heathcliff, or must I call you Lennox? I had hoped for a reply, but, so be it. If you would rather not continue as friends, or more, I do understand – well, I don’t really, but I’m trying to.

  We’re leaving the Levant to travel to Egypt. The whole team has been invited to a dig in the Valley of Kings, it’s all rather speculative, but quite fascinating. We will journey by boat to Alexandria before continuing by caravan to Cairo. From there, it is a trip down the Nile to Luxor.

  This means I’ll be incommunicado for a couple of weeks, but should you wish to contact me, and I hope you do, please write to me via the British Embassy in Cairo.

  I remain your friend, with love, Persi. xxx’

  What the devil…? I read her letter again. It was written with a neat hand in dark ink on blue paper, but I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. Then it occurred to me that she must have already written, and the first letter hadn’t made it. I read it once again, word by word, trying to decipher the message. ‘…continue as friends, or more…’ she seemed to think I’d changed my mind.

  Greggs entered as I knitted my brows.

  ‘Sir, I’ll complete your packing now.’

  ‘Um, yes, but not the trunk, old chap. Too many people in the car. Carpet ba
g.’

  He harrumphed and began unpacking the trunk, removing folded shirts and whatnots and placing them into the empty carpet bag. He seemed piqued.

  ‘We’d better get a move on,’ I reminded him. ‘The Abbot’s keen to leave.’

  ‘I will not be coming, sir.’

  ‘Greggs it’s only Yorkshire, I’m hardly proposing a trip to the tropics.’ He was always objecting to our excursions.

  ‘I have prior commitments, sir.’

  ‘What sort of commitments?’ I eyed him narrowly.

  ‘Private commitments, sir.’

  ‘Oh.’ I ran my fingers through my hair, assuming him to mean romantic entanglements. ‘Well, can’t it wait, old chap? We won’t be away long.’

  He pulled in his paunch and turned stuffy. ‘I do not believe it can, sir.’

  I have previously observed that the onset of spring can bring unlikely romances in its wake and Greggs was no exception. I hazarded a guess.

  ‘It’s not the new maid, is it?’ The maids were from the village and usually consisted of two sturdy spinsters, but one had developed arthritis recently and sent a comely widow in her stead. I’d noticed Greggs had thrown a glad eye in her direction more than once.

  He turned pink – I’d hit a nerve!

  ‘She’s already affianced, old chap,’ I told him bluntly. ‘It was mentioned in her letter of introduction.’

  He deflated. ‘Oh, really, sir?’

  ‘Afraid so.’ I tried to smooth the blow. ‘A spot of fresh country air will do you the world of good, Greggs.’

  ‘But, sir. I…’

  ‘And I noticed you’ve let your role in the local theatre production slip recently.’

  ‘Ah, that was a misunderstanding. The husband was really quite unreasonable and…’ His vim suddenly wilted. ‘But a monastery, sir?’

  ‘It’s in Yorkshire, Greggs, renowned for hearty food and excellent ale. Treat it as a sabbatical, a chance to let the heart heal, or whatever it does.’

  He looked set to argue, but gave it up on a sigh and continued packing.