The man was in his early forties and handsome in a rakish kind of way with shoulder-length dirty-blond hair. He gave me a mischievous smile.
“I could be Dr. Crane, I suppose.” The man winked at the boys, who started to giggle.
“Detective Inspector Cropper should still be at the Hall. If you go now you just might catch him.”
Max continued to snigger. Harry was practically in convulsions.
Something felt off to me. Dr. Crane wasn’t wearing any foot coverings, disposable gloves—or even the white coveralls that I would have expected him to wear. There was no telltale bag of tools, either. Although my knowledge of forensic anthropology was limited, I did know that the area was supposed to be tagged and labeled in a specific way.
“Harry, perhaps you could run to the Hall and tell your father that Dr. Crane is here?”
“Perhaps you should.” Dr. Crane grinned again.
“Yeah,” said Max. “Go on, Harry.”
Harry and Max exploded with laughter.
“Okay, boys, enough,” said Dr. Crane. “The joke is over.”
“What’s going on?” I said. “What’s so funny?”
“It’s not Dr. Crane!” Harry squealed. “It’s Uncle Piers!”
“Oh. Hello.” I didn’t know what else to say. I felt a bit of an idiot.
“Biggles has told me everything about you, Flying Officer Stanford.”
Piers deftly stepped up and out of the hole. He offered me his hand to shake. I took it, stealing a glance into the grave behind him. It was just as I feared. Piers’s footprints were everywhere.
He followed my gaze and shrugged. “I suppose I’ll be court-martialed for contaminating a site of historical importance,” he said, not sounding remotely concerned.
“We thought we might find some more treasure,” Harry enthused. It hadn’t been that long ago when Rupert, Eric and I had finally uncovered the missing Honeychurch silver in the old privy next to Jane’s Cottage.
“And did you find any treasure?” I was quite sure that Piers had put something into his pocket.
“Unfortunately, not,” said Piers. “But of course if you don’t believe me, I’m always up for a quick frisk.”
A frisk? I didn’t know how to respond to that, at all. Despite my discomfort, there was something endearing about his boyish charm and wicked sense of humor. What had Edith called Lavinia’s brother? A twit?
“But we did find something, Uncle Piers!” Harry exclaimed. “The helmet, silly! Look, Kat. You see the soldier? He’s still wearing it.”
Piers caught my eye. A look passed between us and I knew he knew that the helmet was a scold’s bridle and, like me, thought it better if Harry did not know its true purpose.
“But don’t you think he should have a sword?” Harry went on. “All soldiers have swords.”
“Your father found a small dagger,” I said.
“A dagger?” said Piers sharply. “Where?”
“In the grave. Aubrey has taken it, I believe.”
“Were there any markings on it? A crest?” Piers’s entire attitude had changed. There was no playfulness now. He was deadly serious. “It’s important.”
“I’m sure Aubrey and Rupert know more than I do,” I said carefully. “You should talk to them.”
“Here’s Father now!” Harry clapped his hands with delight. “Oh look! He’s a musketeer!”
We all turned to find Rupert striding toward us looking slightly ridiculous in his seventeenth-century dress. His face was like thunder.
“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.
“Rupert,” said Piers smoothly. “Good afternoon.”
“You’re trespassing.”
Harry looked anxiously to his father and then to his uncle, whom it was obvious he adored.
“Father! Uncle Piers has shown us the dead soldier,” said Harry desperately. “Kat says you found a dagger?”
“The lovely Katherine here mentioned you discovered a dagger, Rupert,” said Piers smoothly. “I’d like a look at that.”
Rupert gave me a filthy look. “I think we should move away from here, don’t you? We don’t want to interfere with Dr. Crane’s excavation on Monday.”
“Uh-oh. Looks like I’m in trouble,” I heard Piers whisper to the boys. They giggled again.
Rupert shepherded us away from the white tent. “There is a reason why this area has been cordoned off.”
“Why does the tape say Crime Scene?” Harry asked. “Shouldn’t it say Battle Scene?”
“The tape doesn’t mean anything,” I said quickly. “Shawn had it handy in his pocket. He just wanted to keep people out until Dr. Crane came.”
“And he was right. We should,” said Rupert. “Kat, will you take Harry and Max and walk on ahead? I need to talk to Piers.”
“No need for that, Rupert,” said Piers. “We’re all walking in the same direction.”
Harry skipped alongside his uncle and took his hand. Max took the other.
“The appeal for dead bodies has been pretty successful,” said Piers.
“Perhaps it’s the Scrumpy,” Rupert said. “Which I did not agree to, incidentally.”
“I’m providing the Scrumpy,” said Piers. “So yes, perhaps it is. I seem to have tapped into the eternal life of the zombie and it’s attracted a lot of the younger members.”
“How does this zombie-soldier thing work?” I said. “In practice.”
“We hold a lottery in advance. Every man knows how he is going to die ahead of time and how long he has to wait until he can rise again,” said Piers.
“My mum lets me watch The Walking Dead,” said Max.
“The Walking what?” Rupert demanded.
“It’s a zombie show on TV,” said Max. “It’s awesome, isn’t it, Harry?”
Harry didn’t answer.
“I can’t say I’ve ever seen it,” said Rupert. “What’s it about?”
“Zombies!” the boys cried.
“That show is far too old for you,” said Piers. Personally I didn’t think the boys were old enough to watch such a violent show, either.
Max thrust out his jaw. “My mum says I can watch it. I watch loads of horror stuff.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t scare me.”
Piers ruffled Harry’s hair affectionately. “And I know it wouldn’t scare Biggles, but it certainly scares me!”
Harry looked up at his uncle, clearly relieved.
“And who is your mum, Max?” Piers asked.
“Her name is Pippa,” said Max. “We’ve just moved into the village.”
“Ah. So you’re Pippa Carmichael’s son. And you’ve moved into the village.” Piers fixed Rupert with a look filled with contempt. “Fancy that.”
“Run along to the car, boys,” said Rupert suddenly. “I need to talk to Uncle Piers.”
The boys dashed off. I felt as if I should have gone with them so walked on ahead. Even so, I couldn’t help overhear snatches of their conversation.
“And before you give me a hard time,” I heard Piers say, “Harry and Max were already at the grave when I arrived.”
“How did you hear about it?”
“Everyone’s talking about it,” said Piers. “You can’t protect Harry forever, and besides, kids don’t regard death the same way as we do.”
“Regardless, I’d rather Harry continued to believe it’s a soldier in a helmet.”
“If you say so,” said Piers.
We walked around the side of the Carriage House and into the courtyard where Rupert’s Range Rover was parked next to Piers’s Mercedes. Harry and Max were jumping on and off the stone mounting block. Mum stood watching them from the carriageway entrance not looking particularly thrilled. She shared my father’s old-fashioned view that children should be “seen and not heard.” When Max accidentally kicked over a terra-cotta pot of geraniums and it smashed on the cobblestones, she clapped her hands, yelling, “That’s enough now, children. Time to go home. Chop, chop, chop.”
Rupert piled the children into his Range Rover and drove away.
“Is that your mother?” Piers asked.
“Yes.”
He took his arm into mine. “Then please, will you introduce us?”
Mum’s eyes widened as we approached. Her curiosity was now replaced by a silly smile, the one I’d seen her adopt when she was once introduced to Bradley Walsh—quizmaster of The Chase and someone she has a huge crush on.
Piers reached out a hand for my mother to shake whilst firmly keeping hold of mine. “Piers Carew. A pleasure.”
“So you’re Lady Lavinia’s brother!” Mum was agog. “But you look nothing like her. Did you have a different mother?”
“Mum!” I exclaimed.
“I was joking. I can see the resemblance with Lord Aubrey—he has that same twinkle. I’m Iris. Pleased to meet you.”
“You certainly don’t look old enough to have a daughter,” said Piers. “You both could be mistaken for sisters!”
“Oh God.” I groaned.
“Corny but true!” Piers grinned, but Mum fell for that tired old line and turned pink with pleasure.
“Would you like to come inside and have a cup of tea—or something stronger?” she said. “It’s never too early for a gin and tonic.”
“On any other day, I would happily accept,” said Piers. “But unfortunately not today. I am anxious to see that dagger.”
“We’re certain it bore the Honeychurch crest,” said Mum.
“The crest,” said Piers slowly. “You’re sure of it?”
“Positive. Why? Have you an inkling as to who she might be?” said Mum. “Only, I’m fascinated by the Honeychurch history. You could say that I am the family historian.”
Piers brightened. “I’m the Carew family historian,” he said. “I’m doing research for a book I’m writing.”
“What a good idea. I think the Honeychurches should write one, too,” said Mum. “I’d invite you inside to see my family trees if I wasn’t finishing up Lady Lavinia’s costume for the Skirmish.”
“Perhaps I could come tomorrow?”
“Lovely,” said Mum, beaming with pleasure.
A match made in heaven, I thought.
“Good-bye.” I attempted to withdraw my hand, but Piers wouldn’t let go.
“Not so fast. I want to ask you something.”
I could practically hear the cogs in my mother’s brain working overtime. “I think I left something on the stove top, but that doesn’t mean you have to leave, Mr. Carew. Piers. Sir Piers? Do you have a title?”
“Piers will do.”
“Alright, Piers-will-do, take all the time you need to chat. Chat here. Do.” Mum gave a gay wave and retreated into the depths of the carriageway.
“Your mother is very funny,” said Piers.
“Hilarious,” I said. “But let’s wait for one minute.” I motioned for him to keep quiet until I was sure that my mother had really left. “Okay. I think we’re safe.”
Piers stared intensely into my eyes. “Dinner. Tomorrow night. I won’t take no for an answer. I will come to your door at seven.”
“Oh.” I was so startled that for a moment I didn’t know what to say. “I’m not—”
“Cancel your plans!” he said wildly.
“I’m—”
“Then just a drink.” He gave another mischievous smile. “Just an hour. What’s an hour out of your life? I might even tell you who I think is in that grave—or should I invite your mother instead? Do you think she’d come?”
I laughed. “I’m sure she’d be thrilled to have a drink with you.”
“In that case I will take you both out,” he said gallantly.
“But seriously,” I said. “Do you know who it could be?”
“Let’s just say that I have an inkling,” said Piers. “It’s a very sad story—”
“Who is it? I must know!” Mum suddenly materialized. Of course she had been eavesdropping.
“Ah, Iris,” said Piers. “I’m trying to persuade your lovely daughter to have dinner with me tomorrow night, but she refuses.”
“Nonsense!” Mum exclaimed. “Kat would love to, wouldn’t you?”
I was about to protest again when I thought, Why not? “On one condition,” I said. “Admit that you took something out of the grave this afternoon.”
For a moment, Piers seemed startled. “Me? What an accusation!”
“I saw you,” I teased. “You put something in your pocket.”
“And if I admit I did,” said Piers, “you’ll agree to dinner?”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Katherine!” Mum said crossly. “Yes. Yes. I’ll make sure she’ll go.”
“In that case, yes I did,” said Piers. “So … seven o’clock tomorrow?”
“She’ll be ready!” Mum cried.
We waved him out of the courtyard.
“Goodness. What a handsome man. What a charmer! I can’t believe he is Lady Lavinia’s brother.”
“And he definitely loathes Rupert,” I said.
Mum thought for a moment. “Hasn’t he just inherited Carew Court? Now, they’re very wealthy. Not like the Honeychurches, who are land rich but cash poor.”
“You sound like Mrs. Bennet from Pride and Prejudice.”
“Well, since you and Shawn never got off the ground, you must keep your options open.”
“Mum,” I said. “Piers is completely insane; you do know, that, don’t you?”
“I hardly think charm can be considered an insanity. It’s all that inbreeding within the upper classes that makes them seem insane.” She thought for a moment. “What did you mean when you said you saw him take something from the grave?”
I filled my mother in on what had transpired under the white tent, adding, “The whole family is nuts,” and went on to tell her about Aubrey pretending to be Mr. Brown. “Of course he claims the doll belonged to his first wife.”
My mother didn’t seem so enthusiastic now. “Well … at least meet Piers for a drink,” said Mum. “Just do it for me. I want to know about this sad story.”
I stayed for supper and afterwards helped her finish up the costumes. It was quite late by the time I got home to Jane’s Cottage.
Perched on a hill that looked over the Honeychurch Hall estate on one side and distant Dartmoor on the other, the little house had been built in the 1800s on the foundations of the former hunting lodge. Warren Lodge—as it was once known—had been razed to the ground when Cromwell’s army came through in pursuit of the Royalists.
The new building was a pretty house constructed of redbrick under a pyramidal slate roof. Two bay windows flanked a Venetian entrance with ionic pilasters that were covered in pink and white climbing roses.
As with the gatehouses, the dowager countess had given me Jane’s Cottage for a very low rent. I’d done a few repairs, installed a wood burner stove, decorated and fixed the leaking roof and guttering. I’d had window boxes and planters put around the front that were now filled with flowering geraniums. I liked it, but it still felt temporary and not really like home.
Much to my mother’s disappointment, I had kept my place in London. I suppose I still wanted a bolt-hole in case everything went pear-shaped. Mum insisted that I wouldn’t really begin to settle into my new life until I had given that up. Maybe she was right.
Having my flat also meant that money was a little tight for me. I didn’t want to rent it out, either. I’d left hosting Fakes & Treasures with a substantial amount of savings, but those were beginning to dwindle much more quickly than I expected, especially as I was building up my stock for Kat’s Collectibles.
I still couldn’t get used to the sense of complete isolation at Jane’s Cottage. On foot, the Honeychurch tenant cottages where the Croppers and Eric Pugsley lived were half a mile away or a brisk ten-minute walk. Mum’s Carriage House was ten minutes farther on from there, with the gatehouses another ten—and that was taking the shortcut through the woods.
At first, I’d been excited about being surrounded by nature and being lulled to sleep by the odd owl—even being awoken by the terrifying shriek of a fox’s mating call. But there was something spooky about the place that I couldn’t put my finger on. I missed my garden flat by Putney Bridge tube station and the sound of the underground rumbling by, the planes en route to Heathrow and the foreign students in the language school around the corner having late-night parties.
A full moon illuminated my front door. As I let myself in, I was immediately struck by an extraordinary fragrance. It was like something I had never smelled before—a hint of the ocean yet sweet like honey with an underlying musky scent that made my senses tingle. I inhaled deeply, wondering what on earth it could be.
But, without warning, the room turned icy cold.
Gooseflesh crawled up my spine.
The hairs on my arms began to prickle.
I had an intense urge to run, and yet I could not move.
This had happened to me before.
A few months ago, I’d had the distinct impression that Rupert was following me up the stairs to the galleried landing at Honeychurch Hall. In fact, I was getting worried about just how close he was when I felt his breath on my neck. I had turned to confront him. But there had been no one there.
Later, I was told it was probably Harry’s great-uncle Rupert, who had been a fighter pilot, and that the Hall was practically overrun with ghosts. Naturally I put that down to Harry’s overactive imagination.
Alfred called them uninvited guests but I still wasn’t convinced that the spirit world existed. I’d believe it when I saw it with my own eyes.
How I felt then was how I felt now. Scared. Yet Dad always said that it’s the living who should be feared, not the dead.
“Come on, Kat!” I said in a cheerful voice. “Let’s have a cup of tea.”
I marched around the house, singing a silly nursery rhyme for courage, turned on all the lights, switched on the television and then on into the kitchen, where I made a cup of tea.
By the time I returned to the sitting room, the smell had vanished. Whoever it was obviously didn’t like my singing, but I still felt unsettled.
I kicked off my shoes and sank onto the sofa. I tried to watch the News at Ten, but I couldn’t concentrate. What a weird day it had been, and now this.
I couldn’t help noticing my fortieth-birthday cards that were ranged along the top of my bookcase. I should take them down.
They were from people from my new life—apart from David, who had the nerve to write inside: I hope you find happiness. Don’t hate me. I didn’t hate him; I just felt incredibly sad. My mother had said that sometimes a relationship is only truly over when you have been hurt enough. When David had renewed his wedding vows with his estranged wife and my nemesis, tabloid journalist Trudy Wynne, he had done just that.
Finally I decided to go to bed, but I found it difficult to sleep. I kept thinking of the woman in the grave and my uninvited guest. Were they linked? Was that her perfume or was I really imagining everything? What could she possibly want with me? I had no connection with her or the past, and yet, seeing the barbaric scold’s bridle encasing her skull and knowing that a dagger was found in her breast, I thought perhaps she had a story to tell.
I resolved to swallow my pride and talk to Alfred in the morning.