Cherringham--The Secret of Brimley Manor Page 11

  Heading to the stairs down, the door out.

  Only seconds away.

  But the smell of smoke growing thicker with each step.

  18. Firestarter

  Sarah knew, running ahead of Jack, that they could actually be running towards the fire. But there was — at this point — no choice.

  She heard Jack cough behind her. This running down the stairs, two steps at a time, couldn’t be easy for him.

  And her throat started to burn from the now-visible smoke, swirling about.

  Was it enough to knock them out?

  She put a hand up to her mouth, hoping it would offer some filter.

  And when she hit the hallway — off to the left, in the tiny room dotted with a jumble of curiosities and weird paintings worthy of Lewis Carroll’s house — she saw flames.

  Blazing away in the centre of the room, lashing up to the ceiling.

  But the way to the front door, was — save for the dense smoke — clear, as she kept racing forward.

  A look back. Jack just steps behind her, his hand also on his mouth.

  To the door — and she quickly remembered how it operated. Hit the green button on the side to open, turn the knob, and out.

  And this time, the way forward easily opened, the air hitting her like a gift.

  Stumbling down the stone stairs, the gravel path.

  More steps to get away from the house.

  Feeling Jack’s hand land on her shoulder.

  “Okay?”

  “Yup. You?”

  “Been in,” he coughed, “worse …”

  She saw he had his phone out, probably already calling the fire service, who would start to wonder what the hell was going on in this unlucky, fire-prone mansion.

  But as Jack gave out the information fast, Sarah turned … to see a figure racing across the lawn. A man, running full-out towards the east end of the property, where only thick woods and a dirt road awaited.

  No. Not true.

  Also waiting: a car, a Ford Escort.

  She touched Jack, who was just ending his call.

  “Look. Someone running.”

  “Let’s go.”

  She had to wonder if Jack was up for more running. Pretty fit, but still no teenager for a sprint across the grassy lawns of the manor house.

  But as they started after the figure, it was clear he was too far ahead for them to catch.

  And too far away for them to make out. Was it someone they knew?

  One thing Sarah could tell: it wasn’t Ben.

  No. Because then, from the side, near the hothouse, she saw someone else.

  Someone she could identify, bolting towards the escaping figure, running twice as fast as they were, right at the escaping firestarter.

  Ben. Moving like the wind.

  As Sarah raced full-out, she saw Ben tackle the man escaping the house, both of them crashing to the grass, spinning, rolling. While from behind, the welcome sound of sirens.

  And Sarah knew: if they hadn’t been in there, if they hadn’t seen the flames, then there would have been no one to raise the alarm until it was too late.

  And she had one other thought, as she raced towards the two men.

  She and Jack could have been trapped in there.

  And maybe that was the idea.

  *

  The man running, had been blindsided by Ben’s tackle. He lay curled up on the grass, coughing and groaning, but his hands were pushing up. He was trying to stand.

  Ben Davis, next to him, now scurried to his feet, turned, saw Jack and Sarah.

  Then, from the angry young man — the man they thought had come here on a mission to make this house pay for what ancient Brimleys did centuries ago — came something unexpected.

  A smile.

  Sarah stopped — hands on her knees, gasping. And she saw the man on the ground flop over onto his back.

  She knew who he was.

  Sophie Scott’s boyfriend. Karl. Bad news.

  She was about to say something, when she saw his car — the Ford Escort — waiting by the farm track.

  Close enough now to see there was someone sitting in the driver’s seat.

  Sophie Scott.

  She looked back at Jack, arriving just steps behind her, also gasping.

  “Better … better tell … Sophie over there … that it’d be best … if she didn’t leave.”

  And Sarah walked over even as she saw Sophie look across through the open driver’s window at her boyfriend — lying on the ground.

  And then, within earshot, Sarah said:

  “I would stay right there, Sophie. Nothing good is going to happen if you leave.”

  Sarah paused to take another deep breath.

  “Just make a bad situation worse.”

  And at that she saw the girl lower her head.

  Now she was the one who was trapped.

  And what had really happened here began clicking into place for Sarah.

  She turned to see Jack standing next to Ben, and walked back to them with the boyfriend still on the ground, still gasping, winded from the hit.

  *

  “You — you two — don’t move,” Jack said to Sophie Scott’s boyfriend. “Police are here. Yup. Right there, parking. You got nowhere to go.”

  Then Jack turned as Sarah walked back, having successfully stopped the supposed getaway car from pulling away.

  “Ben, um — nice work,” he said. “Looks like you played American football?”

  “I wish. Rugby. Lot of similarities.”

  Jack looked at the guy still curled up on the ground.

  “Guess so. And just wondering …”

  Sarah came and stood next to him.

  Not too many minutes ago, they had nailed Ben as the culprit who set the first fire, a man on a mission.

  Now he had stopped the person who had tried to bring the whole place down. With his girlfriend, the valuer, waiting in a getaway car.

  Sophie, who had undoubtedly spotted the lute while working in the house; seen its true worth … and well …

  Just couldn’t resist.

  “You, just happened to be out here? Saw them? Suspected something?”

  But Ben, surprisingly, shook his head.

  “No. That time, you heard me and Sophie arguing? Well, it had dawned on me by then I was being played. She seemed way too interested in why I came to the manor.”

  Jack grinned at that. “Not an accident, hmm? How you came to work here?” He looked to Sarah. “Um, we kinda figured that out.”

  Ben’s smile faded. “Right. Sure. The reason I came. You know, restitution. To somehow, make things right.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “Guessed that too.”

  Ben fixed Jack with his dark eyes. “So, bet you thought it was me huh?”

  Jack turned to Sarah. A small grin. “The fire?”

  “The thought did occur to us.”

  Ben nodded. “Makes sense. And—” Sophie Scott’s boyfriend started to get up. “Do stay down, mate,” Ben said. “Or else.”

  The words — sharp, direct — had the effect of getting the guy to remain squatting on the ground.

  Jack could see Alan Rivers, Cherringham’s lone policeman, walking over, even as a fire team were threading a hose into the manor house. It was a bad fire, but if they managed to keep it to the first floor, the damage would be limited.

  Should be over soon, Jack thought, then he turned back to Ben.

  “But something changed for me — for this place, you know?” said the young man. “Started to care about Clifford. The gardens. I could still do that — and hate the house’s origins. Yeah — so guess I changed.”

  Sarah: “And you and Sophie?”

  “Well, I thought, at first, there was something between us …”

  “But you were being played, hmm?” said Jack. “All that time she spent with you up in the attic room, looking at those terrible papers. Figuring out the secret rooms, passages. She wasn’t really interested in restit
ution, the cause — was she?”

  “No,” said Ben, shaking his head. “She just wanted a fall-guy around should their plan, whatever it was, go wrong. Guess I fell in their laps.”

  His smile returned.

  “But not out here just by accident?” Jack said

  Ben nodded.

  “No. Right. I was watching, waiting. Felt something might be up yesterday. You two turning up had really spooked her. Then, just now — when I saw you chasing after them — made my move.”

  “That you did,” said Jack.

  And at that, with most of the pieces of the puzzle of Brimley Manor in place, Alan Rivers reached them, just at the edge by the farm track and the woods.

  And with a story like this to tell him — as complicated as the secret passages of the house …

  That would take a while.

  19. Payment for Services Rendered

  Sarah poured a cup of tea and waited for Janey to bring over an assortment of cakes and biscuits.

  Wouldn’t be just tea and coffee today, not with Anton Jessop coming over to hand them their cheque for — as he said — “services rendered”.

  But Jessop didn’t know they had a little surprise for him.

  Jack also poured his cup, and tipped a spoonful of sugar into it.

  The Huffington waitress arrived with a delicious-looking pile of the bakery’s best.

  “Here you go. Rather a lot for just the two of you?”

  “We’ll be having guests, Janey.”

  And the waitress nodded, beaming at Jack.

  But then — she always beamed at Jack.

  Guests. More than just Jessop coming here.

  “You think he’ll turn up? Sarah said.

  “Hope so. Feels right, our little plan, no?”

  “It does. But I wonder how Mr Jessop will react.”

  And, at that, the door opened, and — over-dressed in a crisp blue pin-striped suit and even a bowler hat — the man from the Conservation Trust walked in, looked around, spotted them and sailed over to their table.

  *

  Jack listened as Sarah fielded Jessop’s questions. The man: so very appreciative. The lute: apparently worth well over 150,000 pounds, recovered. A case of arson: solved.

  The two of them had decided to omit any of their discoveries about Ben’s past.

  About the mission Ben was on when he first came to Brimley Manor.

  “I have to say, that without you two no one would have spotted the missing lute, let alone its great value. They” — the man from the Trust leaned in close, as if sharing a secret best kept from the locals and the staff — “nearly got away with it, didn’t they?”

  “That they did,” said Jack.

  How much so, Jack didn’t reveal.

  He and Sarah had suspected Ben until the very last minute — but the photo of the music room had suddenly put Sophie Scott in the frame. Her boyfriend (with a string of other offences to his name) had panicked and decided to get rid of any evidence of what had happened.

  Namely, by destroying the place.

  The fact that it nearly destroyed Sarah, and himself, was not lost on Jack.

  And probably not lost on Jessop.

  “Well, the Trust is over the moon — beyond appreciative — so—” With a slick move, Jessop slid a hand into the pocket of his jacket, withdrew a cheque, and dramatically laid it on the table.

  His lively eyes scanned theirs for a look of … joy, perhaps at the princely sum?

  Five thousand pounds.

  Not too shabby, Jack thought. Especially considering how the Trust is strapped these days, funds tight.

  He saw Sarah turn and look towards the door — for their surprise.

  One last detail in this case to attend to.

  And then, Jack turned to see the café door fly open.

  “Everything all right? Is there some—?” said Jessop, twisting to look at Huffington’s entrance.

  Jack gave Jessop a reassuring smile.

  “We asked someone to join us. And, well — he’s here now.”

  And Jack turned back to the doorway. To Peregrine Brimley — eyeing the interior of the bakery as if it was enemy territory.

  Jack gave him a nod, a smile.

  Old Perry probably doesn’t get out much.

  And then — like a soldier crossing a minefield — the Brimley heir made his way to their table.

  *

  Sarah watched Jessop’s face. The man knew Brimley and clearly had had negative dealings with him in the past. Right now he looked about as confused as a man in a sharp suit with a perfectly folded pocket square could look.

  Sarah wondered if their little scheme would work.

  She hoped so.

  “Perry — you okay?” she said.

  Peregrine Brimley nodded.

  “Tea, coffee?”

  Too quick a shake of the head. “Biscuit then?”

  And at that, Brimley’s eyes fell on the plate of treats … and this he did not refuse, taking a seat, grabbing a biscuit, and munching it quickly.

  “I’m afraid,” Jessop said, “that I don’t quite understand. I’m not sure why—”

  Sarah turned away from Perry, crumbs on his lips, to the agent of the Trust.

  “Mr Jessop, the cheque. It’s extremely generous but—”

  Jack jumped in.

  Americans … never blinking when it comes to money!

  “Afraid we’d like to ask for double the amount.”

  “Double?” Jessop said, as if the idea was scandalous. “We thought this amount was a perfectly suitable recompense for—”

  Sarah nodded. “It is, Anton. But you see, it’s not for us. Double — because we want the funds to go directly to the manor house itself.”

  Rabbits pinned by headlights had nothing on Jessop’s look.

  And though they had briefed Perry on this chat, he too seemed to be hanging on every word.

  “Yes,” Jack said, “thought that would be best. But with one condition.”

  “A ‘condition’?” Jessop’s lips formed an oval shape. “Which is?”

  Sarah continued: “That when the manor house reopens you hire a local expert as the guide.”

  “B—but we recruit from within the Trust, we don’t need a local—”

  And at that Sarah let her eyes do the talking.

  As Peregrine Brimley finally spoke.

  “I—I can be the guide. I know the collection. Each room. Y—you’d have to pay me, of course. That would only be fair. But I will show everyone what my grandfather brought back from around the world. And also — at what cost. You see — I’ve always known about the family history. Where the money came from. Never was happy about it. That room — well — all of those papers. Maps. Diaries. The slavery. Should be made public. Exhibited — with the rest. Don’t you think?”

  And then, in the great, warm café, there was silence.

  Jessop — gobsmacked.

  “The money to the estate? And Brimley here hired to, well, curate?”

  Sarah and Jack nodded in unison.

  “Ben Davis from the London Centre for Restitution has offered to assist,” said Sarah, not revealing this was the same Ben whom Jessop had no doubt seen toiling in the hothouse.

  And she thought: Sometimes surprises work. Sometimes they didn’t.

  Jessop looked over at Brimley, whose eyes could not look more expectant.

  “I, umm …” He stopped. Hesitated. “Such a thing … well … the full Board would need to approve …”

  But then the representative of the Trust finally broke into a smile himself. “I think it’s, well, a splendid idea. Wonderful. I mean, once you,” he addressed Brimley directly, “get some training. In fact, I think, well, with my recommendation … they’ll go for it!”

  And at that, Peregrine Brimley looked away. Sarah could see moist dots in the corner of his eyes. A small sniff.

  Mouthing the words. To Jack. To Sarah.

  “Thank you.”

 
; And then, probably just a spontaneous reaction Sarah guessed, Jack reached over, and — as if in celebration — gave her hand a squeeze.

  And she thought, Could this end any better?

  Cherringham — A Cosy Crime Series

  Do you like what you’ve read so far? Please let us know by leaving a comment or a rating where you purchased this eBook. Your feedback improves the story. Happy reading!

  Preview

  MYDWORTH MYSTERIES

  Matthew Costello

  Neil Richards

  A Shot in the Dark

  Sussex, England, 1929

  Prologue

  Lady Lavinia Fitzhenry turned the page of the novel she was reading — the latest from the American, Hemingway.

  Always fun to read a book written by someone you’ve met — and even shared more than a few drinks with.

  Sitting up in bed — Mydworth Manor so peaceful, the staff below all quiet — to read like this was such a pleasure.

  She had brought a glass of port with her to bed — now sadly gone — and certainly it was late enough to think about turning the light off. Plenty to do in the busy days ahead, the house soon to be filled with weekend guests down from London.

  Gossip. Music. Cocktails every evening before dinner. What fun!

  She placed the book on her bedside table and put the light out. The bedroom now in darkness. She started to drift off, plans running through her mind.

  But then …

  A noise.

  She opened her eyes. Another sound: a rattle. Not close, clearly somewhere down the wide upstairs hallway.

  A sound that, well, perhaps a door or a window might make in response to a stiff breeze. Except this was a perfectly still night. Barely a breeze.

  There it was again. The rattle louder.

  Lavinia had never been one to sit and wait. Her response to fear throughout her entire life had remained exactly the same.

  If you are afraid of something, you face it.

  She put the light on, and, in one quick move, slid out from under the covers, slipped on her dressing gown, and headed out onto the landing.

  *

  Lavinia stood motionless outside her bedroom, listening.