‘The lovely Marla appeared to be following up on the history of the Strider family.’
‘Strider as in Lieutenant Hugo Strider who was mentioned in those documents?’
‘I imagine so. She had some letters. And from the other stuff she had out – parish records, Land Registry documents, I’d say she was trying to trace any living descendants of Lieutenant Hugo Strider.’
‘But you don’t know whether she’d found any?’
He shook his head, sardonically regretful. ‘Rather thoughtlessly, she hadn’t left a notebook open on the desk with the name and addresses of the people she was next going to talk to.’
‘And even if she had,’ said Jude, ‘there’d be one very significant name and address missing from the list.’
‘Oh?’
‘An old woman who has in her possession some letters written by Lieutenant Hugo Strider. Her name’s Miss Hidebourne.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘I’ve spoken to Gina,’ said Carole. ‘She’s quite happy for me to have a look around Bracketts tomorrow.’
‘To inspect the Priest’s Hole?’
‘Yes. I’m going over about twelve.’
‘The police haven’t been there yet?’
‘Apparently not. Maybe they’ve got more important questions to ask Mervyn Hunter than where he spent the nights he was on the loose. Will they actually be questioning him in Austen Prison?’
‘No way.’ Jude shook her head. ‘I asked Sandy. Anyone who’s captured after an escape from an open prison goes straight into a Cat B or C one, at least initially. Mervyn’ll probably be in Lewes . . . if he’s not still with the police.’
‘Maybe he did kill Sheila Cartwright . . .’ said Carole, with an air almost of despondency.
‘Don’t even think it. I’m sure he didn’t.’
‘Where’s Laurence?’
The question was posed casually enough, but Carole really wanted to know the answer. Although her attitude to Laurence Hawker had thawed a little, she’d still be glad to receive the news that he’d left Woodside Cottage for good.
‘He’s having an early night. Wasn’t feeling so hot.’ That was an understatement. The day out in Chichester, following on his weekend away, had taken a lot out of Laurence. He’d coughed up more blood after the cab brought them back. Jude was beginning to wonder how much longer he could continue without being hospitalized. But it was not a subject to raise over a glass of wine in the neatness of Carole’s kitchen.
‘Incidentally,’ said Carole. ‘One detail I got from Gina . . . about the first body in the kitchen garden . . .’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Still been no official identification, but Gina had found some old letters about one of the Bracketts stable-boys who’d disappeared about the right time. Called Pat Heggarty. Son of the Chadleighs’ housekeeper. The thinking at the time was that he’d done a runner to escape conscription. I don’t know. It’s a thought.’
‘Yes, that body seems rather to have paled into insignificance since the death of Sheila Cartwright.’
‘True. I wonder if there is a connection between the two deaths,’ said Carole thoughtfully. ‘When Sheila died, I was convinced there was. Now I’m not so sure.’
‘I think there is a connection . . . at least through Bracketts. Something that’s happened in this house was important enough to make someone commit a murder . . . By the way,’ Jude went on, ‘am I included in this invitation?’
‘Invitation?’
‘For Priest’s Hole exploration.’
‘Well . . .’ Carole began awkwardly.
Jude picked up the hint very quickly. ‘Say no more. You’re wangling your way in as a Trustee. Justifying bringing a friend along might prove more difficult.’
‘That, I’m afraid, is the situation exactly, Jude.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve got things to do tomorrow.’ Trying to persuade Laurence to see a doctor being one of them, she thought grimly. But she said, ‘There’s an Esmond Chadleigh lead Marla Teischbaum’s been following up. Some letters from Hugo Strider.’
‘Did you get to see them?’
‘Laurence had a quick look after the Professor had left. They’d been written to a distant cousin while he was living at Bracketts.’
‘Useful stuff?’ asked Carole eagerly.
‘Not really. All very correct and British and giving nothing away. I’m afraid upper-class English gentlemen between the Wars didn’t go in for baring their souls much. Laurence says he’ll go back and have another look at them, but he wasn’t very hopeful of finding anything.’
‘Another blind alley then?’
‘That one may be, but there’s something else,’ Jude announced proudly. ‘Another Strider connection about which Marla Teischbaum knows nothing at all.’
‘Really?’
So Jude told Carole about what George Ferris had told her. ‘And, because Laurence is such a whiz at research and positively zipped around the County Records Office, I now have an address and telephone number for Miss Hidebourne.’
Even as she spoke, Jude was keying numbers into her mobile phone.
When Carole arrived at the Bracketts Administrative Office at noon the next day, Gina Locke was still in her post-Sheila Cartwright pomp. Her brown eyes sparkled, and her confidence was almost overweening.
‘Had a really brilliant day yesterday, Carole. Went to see a major potential sponsor. Better not mention the name, because everything’s still a bit under wraps, but they are seriously big. Multinational food company, I can tell you that much. Anyway, they’ve had a bit of a battering in the media recently, because one of their American subsidiaries used a lot of GM produce, and basically they need a mega-public relations make-over. To show how caring they really are as a company, how involved in the local community and the arts. And I think I’ve persuaded them that sponsoring the Museum here at Bracketts would give them just the kind of image-transplant they need.’
‘Well done.’
‘Yes. As I say, it was a good day. You know, some days you feel really competent and fluent and like you could take on the world . . .’
Carole didn’t have many days like that, but she still nodded, not wishing to interrupt Gina’s flow.
‘I saw the guy who Sheila had been cultivating, but I think I was probably more effective than she would have been. He clearly had an eye for the ladies and the younger woman . . .’ She grinned. ‘Have to be prepared to use any wiles to get sponsorship these days, you know.’
‘And did you use the “what a tragedy about Sheila” wile?’
‘You bet I did. Damn nearly got his condolences in the form of a cheque. No, I said all the right things . . . how much she’d enjoyed her meetings with him . . . how optimistic she’d been about a happy outcome to their discussions . . . how the Museum would become like a memorial to Sheila Cartwright . . . and how good it would be for the compassionate image of any company involved in such a project.’
Had Jude been there, Carole would have exchanged a raised eyebrow with her, but as she was on her own, she just nodded.
‘So . . .’ Gina Locke rubbed her hands gleefully ‘ . . . with a bit of luck I might get the whole Museum paid for by this one company. An exclusive sponsorship, just what I need. And, if it goes through quickly, we could open the Museum in 2004 on the centenary of Esmond Chadleigh’s birth.’
‘Will there be time for that?’
‘You bet. The architects’ plans were drawn up over a year ago. The Planning Permission’s sorted. Only waiting for the money to make it happen.’
‘Well, congratulations on a day well spent yesterday.’
‘Thank you.’ There was no humility in the Director’s response. She was just taking the praise that was her due.