Cherringham--The Secret of Brimley Manor Read online

  From this angle, Sarah saw Brimley Manor as its well-heeled visitors must have done hundreds of years ago: a grand residence enclosed in a formal walled garden. Its expansive front lawns were criss-crossed with gravel paths and dominated by a beautifully carved cherub fountain — said cherub pointing a pint-sized bow and arrow up to the sky.

  To one side of the house, she saw more lawns, looking more in need of a mow, and a long glass hothouse, even from here, clearly filled with lush, green vegetation.

  Inside, she could just see the dark shape of someone probably tending to the plants.

  “Quite the place,” said Jack, turning the engine off.

  Silence, now. Just the lowing of distant cows. The house and gardens so sheltered in this fold of valleys.

  No wonder I’ve never been before, thought Sarah. With no sign on the main road, you’d never even know it was here.

  Sarah followed Jack as he climbed out of the car.

  “We’re closed,” came a voice from behind them.

  Sarah turned, to see a white-haired man in a shabby tweed jacket and overalls emerge through a side gate, and stand, wiping his hands on a cloth.

  Sarah looked at Jack, who raised his eyebrows.

  “Such a warm greeting,” he said, and together they walked towards the man. “Guess the case starts here.”

  *

  Jack smiled and held out his hand.

  “Jack Brennan,” he said. “And this is Sarah Edwards.”

  Still wiping with the cloth, the man ignored Jack’s hand and just nodded.

  “Charlie Barrow.”

  “Mr Barrow — the night watchman, yes?” said Sarah.

  A slight nod in response.

  “I hope Mr Jessop told you we were coming,” she continued.

  “He did,” said the man. “’Cause that’s why I’m here an hour before my shift is supposed to start, isn’t it? Otherwise, I wouldn’t even be here, right?”

  The friendliness continues, Jack thought.

  Then the watchman turned and walked ahead of them across the lawn towards the house.

  Jack looked at Sarah and shrugged, then followed.

  *

  When they reached the front door, the man put a card against a reader and the lock popped open.

  Jack took in the CCTV camera above the door, almost hidden in the thick ivy that swathed the house like a blanket.

  Could be useful, he thought. If they kept the tapes.

  “CCTV. Pretty good security then?” he said.

  “Nah — it’s all show,” said Charlie, pushing open the door. “Done on the cheap, if you ask me.”

  Even on the doorstep, Jack could smell the bitter smoky residue of the fire, so familiar from investigations back in NYC.

  This fire — no victims.

  But memories returned to him of other fires where he’d seen terrible sights. Some of his toughest days on the job.

  They followed Charlie into a dark and stifling hallway and waited while he turned on the light switches.

  Two ancient wall lamps flickered into dim life and Jack looked around: the room had low ceilings and wood-panelled walls, every inch covered with paintings, framed photos or maps.

  Jack saw that everything was covered with a film of smoke and dust: it also seemed the debris and disturbance from the event had yet to be cleared away. Books, carpets, paintings, curtains and water-stained furniture had been piled up like garbage — smelly, sodden messes.

  “Imagine … you’ll be wanting to see where it happened,” said Charlie, heading for a broad staircase that led upstairs.

  “Yes. Thank you,” said Sarah.

  “We’ll also need to talk to you,” said Jack.

  Charlie stopped at the foot of the stairs, turned around.

  Not pleased.

  “Mr Jessop didn’t say anything about that,” said Charlie.

  “Won’t take long,” said Sarah.

  “Better not,” said Charlie. “I still got my shift, you know? Fire or no fire.”

  “We will be fast. Mind if we call you Charlie?” asked Jack.

  “If you have to,” said Charlie climbing the stairs.

  Half way up, he paused and turned again:

  “Well do come on, if you’re coming. I ain’t got all day. As you know.”

  Jack darted a quick smile at Sarah — then together they climbed the stairs of Brimley Manor.

  *

  “Here’s where it started. Right here.”

  Charlie Barrow stood in the centre of the music room, the place still rank from the fire damage, doused with water.

  Sarah stepped into the room, Jack right behind her. She could see that the panelling had turned totally black in spots and, towards the back, one wall bore the signs of something being smashed into it, perhaps a fire axe, the exposed unburnt wood and shards sharply contrasting with the burnt surface.

  And the air?

  Barely breathable. Sarah had to force herself to take shallow breaths, or she’d gag.

  But the room itself … save for all that damage … empty.

  “So, all the musical instruments?” she said.

  Charlie nodded, then turned to her.

  Jack meanwhile seemed to be walking the perimeter of the room, bending down now and then, crouching in spots, rubbing his fingers along the wood.

  “Well, I wasn’t here, when they came. I mean the insurance people. Clifford — he’s the gardener but he takes a turn on duty during the day when the house is open — he just said they came up. The instruments all in pieces, some burnt into blackened twigs. Couldn’t even tell they were bloody instruments.”

  Jack got up from his crouch, wiping his blackened fingers on his jeans.

  “They took all that away?”

  The night guard nodded. “I suppose to look for any signs how the damn thing started.”

  “No word on that?” Sarah asked.

  “Not to my knowledge, but then,” Charlie laughed, “why would they tell me?”

  She looked at Jack. At the empty, burnt-out room.

  The room nearby — filled with what was now a jumble of bizarre armoured suits from Japan, had some spots of fire damage, but most of it looked all right, save for the fact everything had been thoroughly doused by a sprinkler.

  Though the tumbled-down suits or armour still looked like a confused army of fierce swordsmen who decided to stumble into each other.

  Eerie.

  But definitely not as eerie as the doll room. In fact, Sarah wasn’t relishing the idea of walking through that place again.

  I mean, she thought, who goes around the world collecting weird dolls? Then arranges them like they’re in the stands at Wembley watching the big match?

  Jack walked over. So far, he’d been quiet, letting Sarah ask questions of the night watchman: where he’d first smelled the wisps of smoke, exactly what he did then …

  Nothing suspicious at all.

  “So, the night of the fire,” said Jack, “you were on your own in the house?”

  “That’s right. Everyone who works here in the day, they pack up at five. Six latest.”

  “And you came up those stairs, just like we did?”

  Sarah watched Charlie nod, his eyes narrowing as if he felt under suspicion.

  “You saw flames, right?” said Jack.

  “Smoke first. Smelled it, too. But then, yeah. The fire. Scared the hell out of me.”

  You remember where, exactly?”

  “God. I told the insurance people already. Why you—?”

  Sarah saw Jack step forward, rest a gentle hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Appreciate your help with this, Charlie. We’re just, um, trying to get the full picture.”

  “Hmm. Right. Well,” said Charlie, walking over to the corner where the panelled wall had been smashed open, “the fire was over here in the corner. That’s where it started. Course, then I got the hell out of here.”

  Jack nodded and followed him.

  Then he leaned down and pulled at
some of the tattered wood.

  Sarah saw loops of old electric wiring spill free from behind the blackened panel, the cladding burnt away, just bare copper.

  “You think that maybe the wiring might have caused the fire, Charlie?” said Sarah.

  “Me? How would I know? I’m no bloody electrical expert.”

  “Just thinking, you must have some idea.”

  Charlie shrugged: “Electrics in this house are always on the blink. Fuses going. Whole circuits failing.”

  “So then — there’ve been incidents in the past?” said Jack.

  “Dunno. Might have been. Far as I know, nobody writes that stuff down. But you can see for yourself. Wiring’s rotten through and through. Bloody ancient!”

  “Risky place to work then, right?” said Jack.

  “Tell me about it.”

  Sarah watched Jack walk away from the corner, as if done thinking about the fire. But then he stopped, and again turned to Charlie: “There any other way into this room?”

  “Eh? What does it look like? You got eyes — there’s the door. That’s it.”

  “Just checking, Charlie. Hard to tell — what, with these panels burnt — if there might have been a door to another room.”

  “Nope. Only one way in — we came through it.”

  “Okay. So if — just for the sake of argument — if someone had set the fire, you would have seen them?”

  “And heard them,” said Charlie. “This place — take a deep breath and the floor creaks.”

  Sarah watched Jack walking the room slowly again, still taking in every detail. Charlie watching him.

  “Your shift — you stay in the house all night long?”

  “Ha! As if. Do my three rounds, then back to base.”

  “Base?”

  “Cellar, tucked away at the side of the house. Got my gear there, kettle and whatnot.”

  “Can we see that?”

  “What the hell—? Um, well. If you must.”

  “Charlie, ever get security problems?” said Sarah. “Break-ins? Burglaries?”

  “Not that I’ve seen. Kids from the village couple of times, mucking about. Trying to break windows. Nothing serious. Local cop gets out here quick enough if I call.”

  “No incidents recently?” said Jack.

  Sarah saw Charlie pause. Then: “No.”

  “No change to the staff? Nobody left in a huff?”

  “Nope. Well, we did get a new lad started with Clifford couple of months back.”

  “Clifford — he’s the gardener, right?” said Jack.

  “What I said.”

  “And the lad?”

  “Ben Davis, his name. From London. Black, he is.”

  Sarah caught Jack’s eye as they both took in Charlie’s words: the night watchman, she guessed, was from an age when the man’s colour would have been a talking point.

  “But no other changes recently?” she said.

  “Same old, same old,” said Charlie with a shrug. “We try and keep the place standing — that’s all. While the Trust does bugger all to help.”

  “The other side of the house, the rooms across the hallway … more of the same?” said Jack.

  “Ha,” Charlie said. “If by the ‘same’ you mean filled with a lot of old junk and who-knows-what, then yes. Can show you what’s over there if you like, though the fire didn’t come close—”

  Jack shot a look at Sarah.

  Always fun, she thought, wondering what’s going on inside Jack’s head.

  If there was one thing he always did, at least when they were questioning someone, it was keep all those cards nice and close.

  “Perhaps later. But now, Charlie, I wonder if there’s a place we could sit and chat a bit more? Only a few questions …”

  At this, Charlie seemed to stiffen a bit. Folded his arms as if that question presented some kind of danger.

  “Um, I s’pose so. I mean, all I know about is what they pay me to do here. All alone at night, so not sure what else—”

  Jack smiled. Again, another technique of his, she well knew, the way he could disarm someone.

  That smile projecting the idea … not to worry. Just have a few questions.

  That’s all …

  She doubted that Jack thought Charlie was in any way suspect.

  But then, he always said — and she had learned by now that the old phrase was true — no one is above suspicion.

  He waited for Charlie’s answer.

  “How about your cellar?” said Sarah.

  She saw a flicker of alarm on Charlie’s face.

  “Cellar? Hmm. Be a bit cold down there,” he said. “Tell you what — let’s try the kitchen. Can be a mess but it’s got a table and a few chairs. Some nights, I even make myself a quick cup a tea. We could do that.”

  “Perfect,” said Jack.

  And then — his smile still in place — he turned to Sarah.

  That was another thing …

  Jack could seem so attuned to what Sarah was feeling, maybe even thinking.

  “Sorry, Sarah — we’ll have to run the gauntlet of those dolls’ eyes.”

  Sarah grinned back. “I’m just glad we’re not doing this at night.”

  And then, as Charlie started to lead the way out, having heard that exchange, he said: “Got to tell you. That room there? Those dolls? It’s one place in this whole house that — night in, night out — I just never got used to. The willies, that’s what it gives me.”

  And with that bit of a confession, Charlie headed out of the burnt-out room, through the other rooms to the stairway down.

  Where a cup of tea and — with luck — some useful answers awaited.

  5. Meeting the Staff

  Jack followed Charlie down the dark corridors, Sarah just behind. There seemed to be no logic to the layout of the ground floor: some rooms were enormous, some tiny, some had no exterior windows, some were connected by narrow corridors, others just opened one after the other.

  Crazy place. Did someone actually design it like this?

  But all the rooms were stuffed with what — to Jack’s eyes — was a totally chaotic collection of objects and art. Model ships, bicycles, glass bottles, statues, children’s prams, models of early flying machines, cameras, clothes, one room completely filled with divers’ helmets …

  As they took one tight corner into another corridor, he caught Sarah’s eye — she shrugged and grinned.

  She’s finding it as weird as I am, he thought. So it’s not just me being a Connecticut Yankee.

  Heading down one corridor, they passed a line of portraits. Jack could see a likeness running through all of them: thick, wiry hair; eyes fierce and uncompromising.

  An aggressively weird stare …

  “These all Brimley’s, hmm?” he said.

  “Scary-looking bunch, aren’t they?” said Charlie, not stopping.

  “There a Brimley still alive?”

  “Oh yes. Peregrine Brimley,” said Charlie. “The grandson.”

  “He doesn’t live here anymore?” asked Sarah.

  “Used to — when he was a kid. So I’m told.”

  “And now?”

  “Got a farm real close, just across the valley. Think that used to be part of the property. Before they started slicing off pieces of land, selling it. Keeps himself to himself. Funny bugger apparently.”

  “You don’t know him?” said Jack.

  “I ain’t never seen ’im,” said Charlie. “Least not knowingly.”

  Jack was about to ask more — when they reached a closed door.

  “Kitchen’s just here,” said Charlie.

  From the other side, Jack could just hear low voices.

  Not raised, not loud, but there was clearly an argument going on — the voices barely a whisper, hissing fast.

  “The staff, I reckon,” said Charlie, pausing only for a second before opening the door wide.

  Jack saw straight into the kitchen. Across from a farmhouse table, a young woman in T-shirt
and jeans stood leaning against an old stove, arms flapping mid-gesture but now frozen as she looked up to the door.

  Right in front of her, close, just inches away, his back to Jack and the door, stood a tall young man who turned as the door opened, his face agitated, but now showing surprise.

  “Who the—?” said the man; the woman simultaneously adding “Can’t you bloody knock when you—?”

  “All right, Sophie? Ben?” said Charlie. “You making tea? Just us — looking for a place to chat. About the fire.”

  Jack stood with Sarah at the door as the two young people took in the fact they had witnesses to their argument.

  “Hope we didn’t interrupt anything?” said Jack, smiling. “Jack Brennan.”

  “Sarah Edwards,” said Sarah, giving a little wave.

  “What? A chat?” said the guy, frowning. Then he seemed to soften. “Oh right, yeah, you two — you’re the guys from the Trust, huh? Come poking your noses in?”

  So this is Ben, thought Jack. The accent — South London, he guessed.

  “Not exactly from the Trust,” said Sarah. “We’re local, but Mr Jessop asked us to check in, make sure the investigation into the fire was running ok.”

  Jack watched Ben walk around the table towards them.

  “Check up on us, you mean?” he said, his face serious.

  “No, no,” said Jack, still smiling. “Though, yes, we’d like to chat with you at some point, Ben.” He turned to the woman: “And you too, Sophie, if that’s okay?”

  “I suppose so,” said the woman, looking nervously at Ben, then back at Jack. “When?”

  Behind him, Jack sensed Sarah stepping forward.

  “We’re here so … how about right now?” she said.

  Before Sophie could answer, Jack saw Ben flick a quick look at her, then he turned full-on to Sarah, his stance almost aggressive.

  “Sorry. I can’t hang about here talking,” said Ben, “I got stuff to finish in the hothouse. Fact, that’s where I’m heading now.”

  “That’s okay, Ben,” said Jack. “I can come with you. Sarah?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “What about me then?” said Charlie. “All done? I thought you wanted to talk to me too? I can’t wait, you know. Gotta come back here tonight. Need my bloody rest!”