The Art of Murder (Harriet Quigley Mystery) Read online

  One or two people asked questions and Harriet, driven by some atavistic impulse, counted heads, beginning with herself and Sam. When Fiona finished addressing the group she masked a frown as Clare beckoned to a seat beside her and George. Linzi had Madeleine imprisoned at her side, Jess and Nina were sitting beside the quiet younger woman and Bonnie while Tim and Donald huddled together for safety.

  Their hosts, Hughie and Eve, had retreated to their own quarters so there were 13 of them sitting there.

  A memory surfaced from childhood, something she connected with a long-ago trip to the west of Ireland. Harriet’s great-grandfather, Patrick Quigley, had brought shame on his family when he eloped with the protestant minister’s daughter. Their grandson, the third Patrick, decided they should make peace so he carted his wife and small daughter along to sweeten the pill.

  Harriet vaguely remembered the fuss. There had been 13 of them, all called Uncle or Aunt regardless of the relationship, all cautiously friendly as they sat down to lunch. That was when unmarried second-cousin-twice-removed, ‘Aunt’ Mary, had made a tremendous to-do about the seating arrangements. Her elderly cat was given its own chair and cushion to make up the numbers at table, regardless of a plea from one of the hapless relatives who hated cats and who promptly broke out in a volley of violent sneezes.

  Not for the world would Harriet reveal to Sam the unease triggered by the memory that was giving her butterflies. Sneaking a look round the room at these strangers she scolded herself for being superstitious, but Harriet couldn’t dislodge the idea. What was it old Mary Quigley had said? She shivered as she heard again the old lady’s voice, soft but insistent:

  ‘Sit down 13 together, and only 12 of you will get up.’

  Chapter 4

  Saturday evening

  As Harriet passed Linzi’s door on the way upstairs, Fiona came out looking ruffled. She grabbed Harriet’s arm and pulled her unceremoniously into the room.

  ‘Tell Harriet what you just told me, Linzi,’ she said, clearly upset. ‘No, I mean it,’ she added as Linzi, wrapped in a silk dressing gown, stared up at her from the armchair by the fireplace. ‘Harriet is the most sensible woman I know; she can keep a secret.’

  Harriet waited but Fiona said nothing about Harriet’s insider knowledge, so she asked: ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Linzi says she was pushed into the river three nights ago, which is when she hurt her leg.’ Fiona stated the case bluntly and she and Harriet looked in concern at the other woman.

  ‘Oh, well.’ Linzi looked relieved. ‘I suppose I don’t mind Harriet knowing as long as you keep it to yourself,’ she nodded to Harriet.

  ‘Right.’ Fiona was tense. ‘Now, tell Harriet what you just told me.’

  Linzi looked down at her hands, loosely laced in her lap but Harriet noticed that the fingers twitched now and then, apparently of their own volition as she told her story, adding: ‘I’d swear there wasn’t another soul anywhere near, I’d checked. I can only suppose someone was following me, sneaking along out of sight in the shadows, because when I got to the bit where you can see the remains of the old Roman city wall behind an iron railing …’ The other two nodded, they knew where she meant. ‘… well, I must have been near there, but closer to the river than the wall when someone came at me with a rush and pushed me into the water.’

  ‘There’s a safety fence all along there,’ protested Harriet, ‘one of those post-and-rail jobs. It’s quite substantial.’

  ‘Not at the moment there isn’t,’ Linzi snapped, giving her a chilly look. ‘Some vandal hacked through the railings so there’s one of those temporary red and white plastic barricades along there. Someone else had the bright idea of unhitching it and that’s where I went through.’ She shivered. ‘I thought I was going to drown but it’s not actually very deep. My leg hit the barricade with an awful wallop – knocked it out of the way – and I landed in the water.’

  She looked irritable. ‘I’m not going over it again. Some people helped me and I couldn’t see anyone suspicious, but I’ve thought since that whoever did it might have joined in, pretending to help me.’

  Fiona squinted at what she could see of the severe bruising now visible up above the bandage and extending down to the swollen foot. ‘That was three days ago? It still looks awful.’

  ‘It looks worse than it is.’ Linzi bit her lip but shrugged. ‘I … I bruise easily.’

  ‘Didn’t you get checked out at the hospital?’ Harriet was worried about the extent of the discolouration and looked up in surprise as Linzi shook her head. ‘How could you drive?’

  ‘My car’s an automatic. I managed,’ she said shortly. ‘Hospital wasn’t necessary. Once I realised I hadn’t broken anything I tied my leg up with my scarf to stop the bleeding and got someone to help me over the road to the car park. I just wanted to get home. After a shower I bandaged myself up properly and had a stiff drink and I was fine.’

  ‘That’s not the only thing you just told me.’ Fiona was insistent and Linzi sat in trembling silence for a moment.

  ‘Look, Linzi,’ Harriet said firmly, ‘Fiona’s only trying to help. Tell us what else has happened.’

  Linzi quivered at Harriet’s headmistressy tone and bent her head. ‘I … I think somebody’s been in my house,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sure things have been moved about but nothing’s been taken. It’s scary.’

  *

  ‘Phew, I’m glad we’re tucked away up here in the attic, Harriet. Come and sit down, there’s three-quarters of an hour before we go out for dinner.’ Sam was sprawled in one of the comfortable tub chairs in Harriet’s slightly larger room. When she arrived upstairs, he’d followed her in and filled the kettle. He went on: ‘Nice to get away. It’s not shaping up to be the cheeriest house party.’ He gave the room an appraising look. ‘Still, it’s a comfortable house and I like the way they’ve squeezed a bathroom in to serve these two rooms for people who don’t mind sharing. It’s also a relief to be able to stand up in an attic and not hit the ceiling.’

  Harriet smiled. Tall Sam was forever complaining about bumps and bruises which was why he was happy that his new home, semi-detached from her own house in Locksley village, had decent head-room.

  ‘Yes, it’s private up here,’ she agreed, approving the simple but attractive colour-scheme. ‘That’s why Fiona elected to hide in the other attic room – to make sure nobody can get at her.’

  Harriet sat silent while Sam made tea. ‘My place next time if you like, though yours has an armchair each,’ he joked, handing her a biscuit. The he frowned: ‘You’re very quiet, are you all right?’

  ‘Me? Of course.’ She pulled herself together. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever noticed this house before, it’s off my beaten track. It’s rather swish, isn’t it, bigger than it looks from the road.’

  She dunked her biscuit. ‘Anyway, about this house – I can just imagine some star-struck Edwardian groupie swooning over her favourite artist. It’s done it up really attractively; understated elegance and comfort, and a nice touch to have Alma-Tadema pictures in the rooms. I’ve always loved the ones with the blue sea and white marble and they’ve echoed the colours in the cushions and covers. What picture have you got?’

  ‘No idea,’ Sam shrugged. ‘Purple flowers, I think; might be blue. You know I’m not good on colours.’ He grinned at her and said: ‘I have to admit that half our fellow guests are chewing their finger nails and shooting nervy glances all around the room while the other half are dull as ditch water. I can’t see why. I know Fiona told you Linzi’s disruptive but I haven’t seen that. You’re right though, there’s definitely an atmosphere.’ He twinkled at her. ‘You promised me a relaxing weekend, remember?’

  ‘Phooey, it’ll do you good to get out after spending weeks huddled over grant applications up at the farm. Besides, you’ve changed your tune. You were lecturing me earlier for seeing mysteries behind every door.’

  ‘That was before I accidentally bumped into Tim, the younger bloke, just n
ow. He jumped like a scalded cat,’ Sam shrugged. ‘When I apologised, I spotted the gloomy Nina with a face like thunder and made a quick getaway.’

  ‘Oh well, if it’s only a couple who are twitchy, we’ll cope, and Fiona says Nina’s a misery at the best of times.’ She waved a teabag in his direction. ‘More tea, Vicar?’

  He made a face but laughed anyway as she handed him a flowered china mug. ‘Tell me about the rest of this unprepossessing lot.’

  Fiona had produced a comprehensive programme for the weekend and Harriet was inclined to think they’d muddle through, though she was dismayed at Sam’s sudden change of heart about the uneasy mix of personalities. It was one thing to entertain the occasional unlikely fancy but quite another to have Sam enter into them.

  Harriet thought it unlikely she and Linzi Bray would ever be kindred spirits. Even so, that was no reason to suspect other people of being afraid of the woman when, if anything, it was Linzi who should be afraid. She shivered again, wondering about that business by the river. Was Linzi telling the truth? There was no question that she’d been injured; her leg was swollen and extensively bruised, but anyone could jump into a river. Linzi insisted she’d called the police the next morning, and that they’d promised to look into it. That too, sounded plausible, but was it true?

  It was unsettling, Harriet thought. Not knowing Linzi she could quite understand Fiona’s wavering. ‘I’ve known plenty of drama queens in my time’, she mused, ‘and yes, some of them would have been quite capable of concocting a string of lies to assume an air of mystery. They were dull people, though, with boring lives, not wealthy, with a flourishing and rewarding hobby.

  ‘Nothing I can do about,’ she resolved, banishing that constant niggle of anxiety as she gave Sam a brief sketch of his fellow attendees.

  ‘Madeleine owns the tiny cottage by the churchyard. She volunteers in the village shop but her real job is designing and hand-knitting sweaters for a pricey upmarket company. I barely know her, but Fiona says her work is amazing. Nobody seems to know much about her. She’s friendly but not communicative, 50-ish, wouldn’t you say? She’s well-spoken but there’s clearly not a lot of money around and I’ve noticed that she tends to look very blue when she thinks nobody’s looking. She was about to sign up for the Winchester art class last term but it went belly-up so she’s thrilled to get into the new group. Fiona invited her on the grounds that she must be artistic, based on the quality of her designs.’

  ‘What about the younger, pretty one?’ Sam asked idly. ‘New to the area, somebody said. I didn’t catch her name when we spoke, just the usual polite blah. I noticed her sneaking nervous looks at Linzi when she thought nobody was looking.’

  ‘Everyone was doing that.’ Harriet made a face at him. ‘Whatever they say about her she’s a personality with a capital P, even when she’s under the weather. Probably that girl was just a tad staggered at the prospect of spending a whole weekend in such … er … vibrant company.’ She thought for a minute. ‘She’s a Mrs Lawrence but I didn’t get her first name. Early 40s, I’d say, and yes, very pretty, with that pale, porcelain complexion and lovely, unusual hair, the colour of polished oak.

  ‘She’s not the only decorative newcomer either; she and Tim, the solicitor, stand out from the crowd because of their looks as well as their relative youth. I only had time for a brief word but I noticed you talking to him earlier, before you frightened him into a fit.’

  Sam agreed. ‘Did he tell you he’s house-hunting? He says he’ll keep Friday afternoons free when the art sessions in Locksley start. Nice chap, very shy and definitely relieved to find he’s not the only male in the group. No mention of a wife or significant other but we only had a brief chat.’ He paused, a frown creasing his brow. ‘You know, Harriet, I’m still convinced I’ve come across Donald, the teacher. For the life of me I can’t place him but it’ll come.’ He peered at her. ‘Are you listening? You’ve got a weird expression on your face.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, Sam!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s just … I think I ought to tell you something. I promised not to repeat it but events have overtaken me.’

  She told him about Linzi’s supposed stalker and updated him on the latest. ‘I know,’ she nodded in sympathy as Sam growled at the news that Linzi had initially refused to contact the police, ‘Fiona says she tried everything: shouting, nagging, pleading, even ignoring it and suddenly Linzi caved in. She says she’s told them and they’re dealing with it. It’s worrying, isn’t it?’

  She lapsed into a thoughtful silence, remembering the whispered conclave with Fiona.

  *

  There had seemed no more to say, down in Linzi’s room. The police were aware of the problem, she said, so she was leaving it in their hands, and would Fiona and Harriet please go as she wanted to get ready for the evening.

  On the first floor landing Fiona had cast an anxious look round and paused by the window recess. ‘I don’t like it,’ she wore a look of strain. ‘I’m worried about her, Harriet.’

  *

  Spilling it out to Sam, Harriet shivered. ‘I don’t blame her for being scared, I’ve been having the horrors ever since Fiona confided in me,’ she said soberly. ‘The idea of someone following you, turning up at unexpected moments, it makes me shudder. Imagine if he – or she …’ Harriet paused, looking thoughtful. ‘… I was just going to say it sounds more like a man’s behaviour but then I remembered a couple of high-profile cases where it’s been the other way round: a man stalked by a deranged woman. Scary anyway. Imagine someone in your house, moving things around, poking in your most intimate belongings. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

  She swallowed. ‘There’s something else. According to Fiona, Linzi’s popping pills which she says are a herbal remedy for stress. Fiona thinks it’s harmless but those things can have side-effects.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘She’s a grown woman. You can hardly police her pill-taking and I doubt if there’s anything we can do. When you boil it down, what actually happened before the river incident? Does Fiona still think it might all be a fairytale? I suppose the bruises are genuine?’

  ‘Oh God, yes!’ Harriet winced. ‘But she’s planning to walk to the pub tonight even though she’s black and blue.’

  ‘Odd,’ he frowned, pondering the question. ‘From what you’ve told me, there’s nothing definite to prove someone’s stalking her apart from what happened last night but if she’s already nervy that could have been an accident that she misinterpreted as an attack. Someone, gender unknown, wearing a hoodie, lurks in her road? Could be a lovelorn teenager hanging round a neighbour’s house hoping for a sight of the object of desire. Besides, there’s no proof it’s the same person. Plenty of people wear a hoodie; it’s a practical piece of kit.’

  He developed his idea. ‘We all get those overseas telesales calls, where there’s a delay. It’s possible she picks up the phone, doesn’t hear a voice immediately and slams it down in a panic before the message or caller has time to kick in. The blank letters are admittedly unnerving if true, but you say nobody really knows her apart from Fiona?’

  He stared out of the window, looking for inspiration. ‘What you’re telling me doesn’t seem to fit with the woman I just met downstairs, but you say even Fiona can’t tell if it’s all some weird Munchausen thing? Well then, if it’s not a pack of lies and Linzi has finally seen sense and reported it, particularly this business by the river, there’s nothing anyone can do. Not Fiona and certainly not you so for heaven’s sake, Harriet, don’t start having nightmares, and don’t get involved.’

  He heaved himself out of his chair. ‘I’m off to watch the news,’ he said but his face was concerned and affectionate.

  As Sam left the room Harriet thought, in spite of his strictures, that surely nobody would deliberately hurt herself so badly?

  *

  Everyone turned up promptly at 6.45pm in the wide, cream-panelled hall of Tadema Lodge and Harriet managed to catch up with the attractive younger woman.
/>   ‘I’m awfully sorry,’ she began. ‘I didn’t catch your name when we were being introduced. I’m Harriet Quigley, from Locksley village, and I’m not artistic in the least. My cousin Sam and I – that’s him in the blue shirt – are just making up the numbers.’

  ‘I’m Seren Lawrence,’ the younger woman’s smile was shy. ‘I’m an osteopath and I’m planning to set up in practice locally, so I’m looking for a suitable property and Locksley’s so pretty.’ She took a breath and explained. ‘My husband died last year and my daughter’s just gone away to college.’

  ‘Seren?’ Harriet was intrigued. ‘What a lovely name. It sounds Welsh. Is it a family name?’ She spoke into a sudden lull in the conversation but somewhere behind her she heard a gasp, hastily hushed.

  ‘I was born in Wales but I’ve never lived there. I was brought up in Surrey but yes, it’s a Welsh name.’ Seren’s smile widened. ‘I was named after my grandmother. People usually assume I’m saying Sarah but in fact ‘seren’ is the Welsh word for ‘star’ and in that sense of the word it’s in everyday use though as a name it’s unusual.’

  There it was again. Harriet had definitely heard an indrawn breath, but not one of the faces around her showed anything but polite interest. ‘Like actually being called Star?’ she asked.

  ‘Just like that.’ Seren relaxed in the face of Harriet’s friendly interest. ‘My daughter also has an unusual name,’ she volunteered. ‘She’s called Hafren after my mother.’ Seren spelled it out. ‘You pronounce the ‘f’ as a ‘v’ in Welsh. It’s from the River Severn so it roughly equates to Sabrina, the Roman name for the river. She’s very proud of her name but …’ she made a wry face ‘… she does find it a trial having to spell it out all the time. She used to get embarrassed at school but she’s happy with it now.’

  ‘So she should be,’ Harriet nodded, ‘it’s beautiful, very distinguished, and your own name is delightful. My name, Harriet, is also a family one, after an umpteen-times great-grandmother. According to family legend she was extremely outspoken and lived to be nearly a hundred, despite having a gargantuan appetite.’