Chapter Twenty-Six

After all the tension and drama of the day, Beatrice had expected sleep to elude her. When she opened her eyes and saw it was already half past nine, she was appalled. Why had no one sounded the alarm? Matthew’s side of the bed was empty, as was the dog’s basket. She pulled on her dressing gown and opened the bedroom door, only to hear the most glorious sound. From the bathroom, an off-key voice singing ‘Oh What a Beautiful Morning’ could be heard over the splashes of the shower. Will!

The smell of frying bacon floated up from the kitchen and she realised she’d eaten nothing since that chilli yesterday afternoon. Dragging on a jumper and jeans, she hurried downstairs to find Matthew at the Aga, creating a full English breakfast for three.

“Good morning. How are you? How is he?” she asked, crouching to greet Huggy Bear.

He looked up from the sausages. “I’m in fine form, if a little peckish. As for our guest, you can ask him yourself.”

Will stood in the doorway, fresh and fragrant in T-shirt and jeans, with a broad smile. “Morning! Something smells good.”

Beatrice burst into tears.

“Hey!” Will eased her up from her squatting position and folded her in his arms. “You’re not to cry on my wedding day. Everything’s fine. Ssh, now, ssh.” He patted and stroked her back just as she had done to the dog.

“I’m so sorry,” she snuffled into his T-shirt. “You could have died.”

“But I didn’t. You weren’t to know what she was capable of and anyway, it’s all over now. If you must cry, save it for the wedding. Because I’m getting married today!”

Matthew placed a piece of kitchen roll into her hand and she let go of Will to blow her nose and dab her eyes. “Thank you. I just feel so terrible about putting you in that situation. If I were you, I’d never forgive me. I should have listened to you and gone to the police.”

“Of course I forgive you. Neither of us could have predicted...”

“Sit please, breakfast is served,” said Matthew, placing three plates on the table.

“This looks fantastic,” said Will, choosing another chair after finding Dumpling asleep on the first. “I don’t remember ever being so hungry. Matthew, you should have a knighthood.”

“I think so too. Not everyone suits a ‘Sir’ before their name, but I think I’d sound quite magnificent. Toast?”

Will attacked his breakfast with gusto while he and Matthew discussed the Audi’s insurance. Beatrice was only half-listening, buffeted between swells of relief, affection, guilt and the demands of her own growling stomach.

“After the shock of hearing she’d totalled it, I wasn’t surprised. You’d have to be an exceptional driver or extremely lucky to handle my car under those conditions.”

“Judging by her own knocked-about vehicle, she was definitely not a good driver,” said Beatrice. “It all fitted with the ditzy earth mother persona. At least I’m not the only one to get it wrong. James told me she was highly recommended.”

“You didn’t get it wrong, though.” Will mopped up egg with a piece of toast. “She answered my questions. Even if I can’t find my notebook or phone or remember anything about what happened after that, I know what she said. You were right. Aged sixteen years old, Francesca Gwynne was referred to her for counselling. She was Dee’s client for over a year. What started off as an assumption of bullying turned out to be a case of sexual harassment. An older man hounded her, groped her, tried to lure her back to his house and on one occasion, he attempted rape.”

“Mason?”

“Francesca refused to identify him, but I’d say that’s more than likely.”

“So Dee should have reported him!” exclaimed Beatrice. “And if she already knew what kind of man he was but still accepted him as a client and embarked on an affair! Why on earth...”

“Perhaps she didn’t know it was the same guy,” Will said. “Mason sought her services for anger management issues, she told me. As for the affair, he was rich and influential, or at least pretended to be.”

“Maybe she found out and that’s what triggered her to...”

“STOP!” Matthew’s voice startled everyone, including the dog. He placed his knife and fork on his plate. “Today of all days, please stop being detectives. Forget the case and focus on what is important. For the next twenty-four hours, Adrian should be our only concern. Beatrice, you need to make your apologies. I’m not sure he will be quite as forgiving as his fiancé. Go and get into your wedding togs and I’ll drive you to The Angel. Will and I shall join you at Silverwood Manor at midday. Please. If only for today, just let it go.”

At eleven o’clock, a Volkswagen drew up outside The Angel. Out hopped Beatrice Stubbs in a calf-length silver dress with matching jacket and a pair of wellies.

Catinca, waiting in the hallway in a leopardskin onesie, dashed out to hand over a bag to Matthew. She paused to gaze at Beatrice and put a hand to her mouth.

“You look gorgeous! Wish I thought of wellies!” she said, her face creasing into laughter. “Here. His buttonhole. Good luck, mate.”

Beatrice hitched up her dress to cross the road, ducking behind a black SUV parked right outside the front door. The back window bore a logo: Dust Demons, with an image of a little devil holding a feather duster. She would have thought Glynis Knox would delegate Sundays to one of her staff. Cleaning the pub after a Saturday night was no one’s idea of fun.

The bar was empty and the door to the snug closed. A bucket held open the ladies’ toilets where waitress Amanda was mopping the floor. Beatrice kicked off her wellies and wrinkled her nose at the smell of disinfectant. She was just about to pad up the stairs in stockinged feet when she stopped. Amanda was The Angel’s long-suffering waitress, not a cleaner. Where were the Dust Demons?

A low murmur of voices came from the snug. Beatrice crept closer and eased open the door. Five women sat in an arc around the fire, holding mugs. Glynis Knox, Heather Shaw, Susie Hancock, Demelza Price and Frankie Gwynne looked over their shoulders, wide-eyed, as if she’d disturbed a nest of baby owls.

Susie broke the tension. “Good morning, Beatrice! Just having a coffee and a chinwag. Can I get you anything? That dress looks lovely on you! We’re all excited about Catinca’s outfit. She could teach us all a thing or two about fashion. How’s Will?”

“He’s fine,” Beatrice replied, her antennae twitching to the atmosphere in the room. “Everyone is incredibly relieved we found him before things got worse. I wanted to thank you personally, Susie, for pointing us in the right direction. We’re deeply grateful. The police asked me how you knew about the hide and I realised I had no idea. Why did you tell Gabriel to look there?”

Scant shafts of sunlight threw spotlights on dancing dust motes, the smell of stale beer and filter coffee overpowered the acrid stench of toilet cleaner and in the air, something else hovered. Tension. Everyone was holding their breath.

“It won’t make no sense to a Londoner, I’m sure,” Susie began. “To this village, St Nicholas Day is bigger than Christmas, bigger than Easter, Bonfire Night, Halloween and everything else. It’s ours. The day we all come together and celebrate our community. It’s also fierce competitive. Floats, music, stalls, decor and ambience are planned months in advance. Most groups prepare their floats in secret. Spies are everywhere!” she laughed.

The women joined in and Beatrice smiled, despite the lie-detector alarms in her ears.

Frankie took over, her face open and innocent. “When we prepare our float, we meet in secret. Up in the hide, no one can hear or see you. It’s never used in the winter so we could conceal our creations up there, have meetings, prepare our costumes and plan our strategy. Gaia was a part of our committee, so Mum and I had a feeling. If she was going to hide something, or someone, that’s where she’d do it.”

The fire spat and a shower of glowing sparks landed on the carpet. Susie jumped up to stamp on them and the women made a big fuss of assisting.

Heather tilted her head in an expression of concern. “Do you think it was a cry for help? The young man went to Gaia in desperation, looking for a way out. Out of compassion, she gave him what he needed and a place to hide. Maybe he didn’t want to be found. Why else would he drive all the way out to Appleford the day before his wedding?”

Anger roiled in Beatrice’s gut and the urge to spit out exactly what Will was doing burned in her throat. Instead, she shook her head, her eyes resting on each face as she looked around the room.

Susie Hancock, the object of Vaughan’s desire, succumbed or was forced into a one-night stand. Desperate to rid herself of this threat to her marriage, had she connected the dots to her own daughter’s distress?

Frankie Gwynne, profoundly affected by harassment by an unknown older male, had been educated by her grandmother as to the power of the forest.

Glynis Knox, whose Dust Demons vehicle was a large black SUV with a devil logo on the back, had a key to Vaughan’s house.

Heather, rejected, mistreated and bent on revenge, knew his habits of making a cassoulet on Friday lunchtime to last him the weekend and spending Friday evening in the pub.

Demelza Price, next door neighbour, could slip between the properties through her own garden, locking his doors and blocking her ears.

And Gaia Dee, the Black Widow, who ensured Vaughan was otherwise engaged on Friday afternoon.

Each had an alibi.

Not one of them had means, motive and opportunity

But together?

“No, I don’t think anything of the sort. That sort of speculation is not helpful and could hurt people’s feelings. Will is the opposite of suicidal. He is bursting with joy for life and cannot wait to get married. He loves Adrian and vice versa. They are a wonderful, perfectly matched couple who deserve to be happy. Now, I’m sorry for the interruption and I really must get on.”

“Thank you.”

She wheeled around to see Adrian standing in the doorway.

In his Dries Van Noten suit, ice-blue tie and matching pocket handkerchief, his eyes were full of tears. “I knew we should have made you best man.”