The Art of Murder (Harriet Quigley Mystery) Read online

  Linzi let out the breath she had been holding, then shrugged. ‘Oh no, it’s not for me, it’s not … not that important. Thanks.’ She turned towards the garden room. ‘This is just between the two of us?’ She looked relieved at Harriet’s decided nod.

  *

  Comforted by Harriet’s action Tim still cursed himself both for his carelessness and the involuntary exclamation that had drawn attention to him. He lowered his eyes, feeling hot and embarrassed, but a gentle touch on his arm comforted him.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Tim,’ Seren murmured. ‘I can use some of that red too. I’ve just had a brainwave!’

  Her warm smile was balm to his fretted nerves. At lunchtime they had walked up the steep High Street in near silence until they found a courtyard near the Great Hall, where they could sit and eat.

  They’d basked in the autumn sunshine until Tim managed to break the ice by asking about Seren’s house-hunting. ‘I’m renting a flat,’ he explained, ‘but I’m really after a proper house with a garden. I haven’t been to Locksley for years but I must say it sounds very nice and some of the art group seem pleasant.’

  ‘Some of them, yes,’ she grinned in fellow-feeling but left it there. ‘Did I tell you I first saw the village on the television news? I was lucky to find a house to rent but it’s only a stop-gap. I really want to find a place where I can set up in practice as an osteopath, and make a settled home for Hafren when she’s not at college.’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘You know what? I think you should talk to Sam Hathaway. I hear he’s in charge of administration at that historic house in Locksley, so he’ll have his ear to the ground. I’m sure he’d know about any properties coming on the market.’ Seren looked struck by his suggestion and he plucked up courage to add: ‘I might have a word with him myself. Locksley would be a good place to live.’

  As he bent now to the task before him, Tim glanced at the woman by his side. Seren, he thought; a pretty name and one that suited her. He wondered if she liked him as much as he liked her, and he wondered what Jamie would think about it when he found out.

  *

  Harriet was pleased that the walk round Winchester with Tim seemed to have restored Seren’s confidence after her early-morning mishap. In any case, when the class began she’d taken herself off to sit beside him after a smiling nod to Harriet who was then surprised to find Fiona Christie, by herself for once, hovering at her elbow.

  ‘Mind if I sit beside you, Harriet?’ Fiona plonked herself down by her old friend. ‘I see you aren’t needed to play sheepdog any more so I’m claiming sanctuary with you. It was bad enough this morning but if I have to sit over there with the three midnight hags for much longer I’ll turn into a toad.’

  Harriet had no difficulty in recognising Linzi, Nina and Jess by this description though she demurred at the latter name. ‘Jess is all right, Fiona, you said so yourself.’

  ‘I know, I know, she’s fun usually but I can’t make her out at the moment; she bites your head off for nothing. Still, I’ve had enough of pandering to other people’s whims so I thought I’d better escape before I explode.’

  ‘No more dramas?’ Harriet kept quiet about her insider knowledge on the topic of Jess’s foul mood and squinted through her eyelashes at Linzi who looked irritable but otherwise reasonably calm, with no sign of her earlier quivering fear.

  ‘No,’ Fiona sighed, then muttered in a conspiratorial tone: ‘To be honest, until this morning’s little performance, I’d convinced myself it was all some elaborate act, even the thing about the river, though that’s not easy to ignore. I mean, from what I’ve observed over the past few months she’s always in control and I think everything she does is calculated. The niceness that catches you on the hop, then the bitchiness and finally the displays of hurt feelings and tears, all carefully judged so people jump through hoops and do what she wants.

  ‘I don’t think she’s ever less than in control of the whole situation which is why I was surprised to see her drinking last night. She normally has one glass, rarely a second, and she’s one of those infuriating creatures who could wolf a whole box of chocolates without putting on an ounce – but doesn’t, because she’s so disciplined.’

  Fiona leaned closer to Harriet. ‘Then today, there was all that palaver with the wasps and unless she’s an Oscar-winning actress, I’d swear she was scared out of her wits.’ She sighed, picked up her pencil and turned to her drawing. ‘I don’t know what to make of her, I really don’t.’

  *

  Midway through the afternoon session Eve Paget appeared with a tray of milk, sugar, coffee and a large teapot. She set it down on the side table beside the crockery that was already laid out, and disappeared only to whisk back into the garden room bearing an old-fashioned glass cake stand in either hand, the local paper under her arm.

  ‘Lemon drizzle,’ she indicated one of the cakes, ‘and a sponge with coconut frosting. Do tuck in, and if you want more of anything, just shout. I’ll put today’s local paper on the garden table if anyone wants to look at it.’

  Fiona took a slice of lemon drizzle. ‘Oh well, my figure’s a lost cause anyway and this looks delicious.’

  Eve was at the door but looked back with a laugh. ‘You’re on holiday, Fiona,’ she urged. ‘Everyone knows there are no calories in cakes you eat on holiday!’

  People came and went, enjoying the sunshine. Donald had a large slice from each cake and looked cheerfully defiant when he caught Madeleine’s eye. He went to sit beside her in the garden, stopping on the way to speak to Bonnie who was heading back into the house. She had just done a circuit of the garden and looked lonely, so Harriet determined not to let her mild antipathy get the better of her.

  ‘Are you a gardener, Bonnie? I’m not keen on the grunt labour myself, but I’m certainly picking up some ideas for autumn colour. Apparently Hughie designed the planting and keeps it all so trim.’

  ‘Not a gardener as such, though I’m interested in herbs,’ Bonnie confided, looking pleased that Harriet had hailed her. ‘I’m making a study of the plants used historically by the Wise Woman of a tribe or village.’ Encouraged by Harriet’s interest, she went on: ‘I’ve always been very spiritual but I can’t claim to be a psychic, though for some unexplained reason I do see auras.’

  She glanced at Harriet who had herself in hand, the forbidding frown of the previous day given way to mild curiosity. ‘I … I know you don’t believe in it,’ Bonnie faltered,’but your aura was quite dark yesterday. Today, I can see that it’s edged with light, so you’ve nearly worked through whatever troubled you in recent months.’

  Bonnie went on her way, apparently bent on another wander round the garden, leaving Harriet silenced until she and Sam retired to the broad window ledge where they tucked into their own tea and cake, carefully avoiding discussion of their fellow guests. Fiona too, was on the lawn discussing knitting patterns with Madeleine and Seren, while the ever-attentive Donald and Tim pulled up deck chairs and sat with them in companionable silence which was shattered by an exclamation from Clare Yarrow.

  ‘It’s awful about that poor French girl, isn’t it?’ She held up the front page of the paper and for once, Harriet thought, Clare looked sincere, with no trace of self-pity. ‘It says here her parents have arrived. What a sad journey.’

  Fiona glanced across and nodded, then a thought struck her.’Linzi, you were at that reception in the Great Hall the night before last. Did you see anything?’

  ‘No.’ The denial was curt. ‘I didn’t go in the end. My leg was sore and you know what those evenings are like, a lot of standing around talking.’

  Nina Allison strolled across the terrace to look over Clare’s shoulder. ‘Goodness,’ she said, staring at the photograph, ‘she looks an awful lot like you, Linzi: similar build and hair colour. Any relation? Did you have a fling with a handsome Frenchman about 20 years ago?’

  ‘That’s completely out of order, Nina,’ Fiona was moved to remonstrate ‘The poor girl is dead.
It’s not a time for tasteless jokes.’

  Linzi, who had flushed and started up when Nina spoke, walked over and glanced nervously at the photograph of a pretty teenager laughing in the sunshine. She dropped the paper on to the table and hovered by the open glass door in brooding silence.

  Harriet watched under her lashes, wondering what was upsetting her now. Linzi had finished her tea and was lingering there looking unusually irresolute. Harriet sighed, wondering whether she should make an effort, but suddenly she didn’t care.

  Frowning at the way the weekend had turned out, she picked up the paper and looked idly at the photograph. The French girl bore no real resemblance to Linzi. It was a likeness of type, rather than individual features – a pretty face, slight build, russet hair – nothing more. She felt a rush of anger at a wasted life and wished she could go home. Not much longer, she told herself valiantly. Dinner should be divine if Hughie’s as good a chef as his wife claims, then it’ll be early bed. We’re on the home straight after breakfast tomorrow, thank goodness.

  *

  ‘I don’t know what to do.’ Linzi was at a loss.

  Harriet had been right when she thought the Chairman was looking uncertain. ‘I was sure it was Martin,’ she fretted. She turned away seeing Clare Yarrow lurking nearby. ‘Ghastly woman,’ Linzi thought automatically as she stared unseeing at a bay tree in a handsome pot. ‘Why couldn’t I have some decent neighbours for a change? Someone who would sympathise and be kind. Fiona’s friendliness had developed a slight chill and her voice had an edge to it. Surely she’s not still fussing about that silly boy?’ Linzi shrugged and wondered whether Jess would be receptive if she unburdened herself but she dismissed that idea at once. ‘That’s another one who’s turned against me,’ she pouted. ‘Why do all my friends let me down?’

  Inspiration struck at that moment. Her initial idea had been to talk to Sam Hathaway, to outline her anxieties, ask for advice, but Sam was keeping his distance. However, the brief conversation with Sam’s cousin had given her another idea. Harriet was the person to talk to, she thought, her shoulders sagging with relief at the genius of it. Harriet, kind, scrupulous and clearly with a wide experience of human nature; Harriet was the one to advise, to help, perhaps to become a new friend. Maybe Harriet could be persuaded to offer a frightened woman a bed for a few days until things blew over?

  At that moment she felt a vibration from her mobile phone. A text message: ‘Scared yet? You should be. Meet me at—’

  Before she could finish reading she had a feeling that someone was watching her. Looking up she saw Harriet Quigley whose own phone was in her hand, but rather than reading or texting, she was looking straight at Linzi.

  Linzi started to shake. Not Harriet, oh no, no! It couldn’t be Harriet.

  *

  Harriet was scrolling through her messages when she remembered the anonymous text at the pub. She looked round and spotted Linzi still standing by the door and staring in horror across the room at the mobile in Harriet’s hand. Shock and something that looked, to Harriet, weirdly like hurt and betrayal as their eyes met, rendered her face oddly young and defenceless as she glanced down at her own phone and then back again. She dashed a hand across her eyes and left the room abruptly, leaving Harriet disturbed and puzzled.

  *

  As the second half of the Saturday afternoon session progressed most of the students reappeared looking bright and eager for the rest of the experiment. Jess wandered in to the garden room behind Harriet.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Harriet thought the other woman looked preoccupied.

  ‘What? Oh yes, I’m fine.’ Jess still looked anxious despite her disclaimer. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of Bill but he’s not answering his mobile. I’ll catch him later.’

  They took their places, Harriet thoughtful and Jess making a clear effort to put aside her concerns.

  *

  Donald was enjoying himself far more than he had dared hope. He was pleased with the general reaction so far and glad that, Linzi apart, they were all getting to grips with the concept of the limited colour palette. Linzi, of course, had started off the afternoon in non-stop whinge mode but he had to admit that this second part of the workshop was much pleasanter. Linzi had clearly benefited from the break and there hadn’t been a single complaint out of her in the ensuing half hour. That was odd though, most unlike her.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ he scratched his head as he glanced round the room. ‘We’re missing someone. Anybody know where Linzi’s got to?’

  ‘She didn’t come back in here after the break so maybe she’s gone off in a huff.’ It was Nina’s voice. ‘And wouldn’t that be a pity?’

  ‘Shall I—’ Fiona’s voice was carefully neutral as she rose with a sigh but she was interrupted by a cry from Clare who had stopped by the sink near the window in the act of refilling her water jar.

  ‘What … what’s that? Over there near the pond, by the yew hedge? It looks … it looks like somebody’s legs sticking out.’

  Harriet, who had just refilled her own jar, turned back to look out of the window.

  ‘Christ Almighty,’ she gasped as she leaped towards the glass door and wrestled with the stiff handle. ‘Out of the way, please, Bonnie. Damn, it’s stuck … oh no, it’s shifting …’

  With Sam in pursuit and Bonnie, who had been sitting next to the door, not far behind, Harriet ran as fast as her long legs would carry her down the flagged path with its clipped yew hedge, to the top of the short flight of brick steps. They led down to a small, rectangular Japanese pool surrounded by a foot-high brick wall, capped with narrow stone slabs.

  Harriet halted on the top step, staring aghast as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. Her first thought was that it was nonsense, it had to be. A sick joke?

  It was déja vu. Just as she had done early that morning, so she now looked down and saw the crumpled body of a woman with a tangle of tawny curls.

  This time though, she could tell at once even from this distance, that it wasn’t going to be a false alarm. The foxy hair was dark and soaking wet and it seemed unlikely that the woman lying with her head in the lily pond was going to scramble to her feet and insist that she was fine.

  Chapter 8

  There was so much blood.

  Gallons of it. Harriet gulped as she stood there, shocked and staring. A pond full of blood.

  How could that be?

  A fly settled on one of the blood-stained paving slabs that edged the pond and she clapped her hand to her mouth. Her shameful, involuntary thought was:’Oh, God, all the fish in there will die.’

  Only then did her mind allow her to take in what lay before her. Shuddering as she went down the steps, she stared uncertainly at the figure at her feet: so pitiful, so ungainly and – surely – so very, very dead?

  Sam was almost on top of her and Harriet yelled a warning. ‘Mind those loose bits of stone,’ she pointed to the steps. ‘I nearly turned my ankle. We don’t want any more casualties.’

  Sam modified his pace and trod cautiously down the short flight, kicking the scatter of stones out of his way as he pulled out his phone. As Harriet tried to collect her scattered wits, Bonnie Mercer scrambled down beside her. She let out a wail of distress and vomited into the pool, splashing the blood upwards and narrowly missing the poor, damaged head.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Harriet yanked at Bonnie and pushed her out of the way. ‘Here, sit down, put your head between your knees or something, if you’re going to pass out. We’ve got to get her out.’

  She knelt beside Linzi’s body and saw that although the woman had somehow slipped on the small flight of steps and hit the paved edging to the pool, her head wasn’t actually under water so she hadn’t drowned. But why was there so much blood? ‘I need help to lift her,’ she thought, and raised her head to shout for Sam who snapped out the address and replaced his phone in his shirt pocket.

  ‘Right, I’ve called an ambulance.’ He was at her side, helping to r
aise Linzi. ‘We’ve got to get her away from the water, that’s the most important thing. We’ll just have to pray she’s not damaged her back or neck, careful now. Is she—? Hang on, Harriet,’ he reached for the limp hand, ‘I think … yes, I can feel a pulse.’ He turned his head and shouted for reinforcements. Tim’s face appeared above them, startled and anxious, and Sam told him tersely: ‘Dial 999 again and tell them she’s still alive, but only just. And find out if there are any nurses or doctors here.’

  ‘Get Jess,’ Harriet was helping him get Linzi into a more comfortable position as she pillowed the pitifully darkened curls on her own lap. ‘Jess is a nurse. Ask Eve for some towels, a blanket too.’ Her voice shook as she added: ‘Better make it an old one – it’ll be ruined.’

  Jess arrived, competent and calm, and Bonnie rallied enough to help them, though she was more of a hindrance as she fiddled about with something. There was a splash.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ Harriet tried hard to quell the inner headmistress as she spoke, no point upsetting or alienating anyone. They were all in shock.

  Bonnie hesitated. ‘It was her shoe,’ she whispered.

  Sam snapped as there was another splash. ‘What the hell was that?’ He reined in his irritation as he looked over at Bonnie. ‘For goodness sake be careful.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Bonnie, her skin still greyish, with a greasy shimmer to it. ‘That was a stone, but before that her shoe had fallen off and I’m afraid I dropped it – it’s in the pond.’

  To her shuddering disgust Harriet realised that Bonnie was rolling up her sleeve.

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ she barked. ‘Leave it there! The pond will have to be cleaned out completely but now is not the time.’ It was almost a welcome diversion when Fiona Christie nearly tumbled down the steps to join them.

  ‘What’s the matter? Somebody said Linzi’s had an acc— Oh, God,’ Fiona clapped a hand to her mouth but Harriet was relieved to see her friend gulp and pull herself together. Good job too, she thought, there’s enough vomit in there already. Those poor fish don’t stand a chance.