Cherringham--The Secret of Brimley Manor Page 9

  And Sarah hurried down the stairs where, by now — assuming the MGA had kept running — Jack was waiting.

  14. More Fun with Mr Brimley

  Sarah beside him, Jack drove down the High Street, heading to the main road that would — with a few tricky twists and turns — take them to Brimley Manor.

  He listened as Sarah went through what she’d found online about Ben Davis, things suddenly feeling like they were slotting into place.

  “Makes sense now that he was so defensive when he and I talked,” said Jack. “Pretty much everything he said was a sham.”

  “Is he our arsonist?”

  “Certainly suspicious. Think there’s enough in what you found that he will be questioned — and not just by the insurance people.”

  “What about his relationship with Sophie Scott?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe — somehow — useful for him? If he meant the estate harm.”

  And then Jack felt Sarah grow quiet. He noticed that — lately — she had taken a page or two from his playbook of processing things.

  Taking time to think. See what ideas, theories, contradictions pop up.

  Move too fast, and you lose that.

  Then she turned to him.

  “But Jack, here’s the thing about Ben Davis. We know that he’s not what he pretends to be. But he lives on the estate, he works with Charlie, knows when he does his rounds.”

  Jack nodded as well, now on the open road, the engine purring.

  He finished the thought …

  “If you’re going to burn the place down, would you really put somebody at risk like that? Charlie’s not a young man — and Ben knows that. If the fire had taken hold, Charlie wouldn’t have got out of there.”

  He glanced quickly at Sarah — and saw she had understood what he was suggesting.

  “If Ben is capable of doing something like that—” she said.

  “Then we need to take care here, detective,” said Jack.

  “You think we talk to him first?”

  “Definitely,” said Jack. “He’s got some questions to answer. Maybe Sophie too, if the two of them were tight.”

  “When I talked to her yesterday she said she’d be in Oxford today with Gibbons, the evaluator.”

  “Shame,” said Jack. “She and Ben were arguing — she might be helpful.”

  “What about Brimley?”

  “Oh — definitely need another chat with him too — lying about not seeing the fire, the trucks … any of it. Turns out it’s not the only thing the old boy kept to himself.”

  “At least we know the plans exist, and he has them.”

  Jack nodded. While he and Sarah talked, he also kept an ear cocked for any tell-tale burble from the apparently smoothly running engine.

  “All right. So, quick chat with him after we’ve tracked down Ben. Check those plans. Something damned odd about that house.”

  “Besides all the ‘treasures’?”

  Jack laughed at that. “You know — got to say — I’m kinda fond of all that stuff. The Brimley grand-père certainly had a lot of interests. But something tells me getting into that locked room is key to all this.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  He heard Sarah take a breath.

  “You think we are close?”

  “Close? Yeah. But, so far, no cigar …”

  And at that Sarah laughed.

  “You know something — I think that’s a genuine Brooklyn idiom?” said Jack. “I think it dates from carny days. Those games. Get close — great — but you still don’t win the cigar.”

  “That reminds me of when you went to one of our fêtes, and saw a coconut shy for the first time!”

  “Oh right! That was just weird.”

  Then Jack saw the first turn onto the narrow road that would have them meandering up to Brimley Manor.

  And he thought.

  Close? Are we?

  And if so — close to what?

  *

  Sarah followed Jack into the hothouse, the air thick and humid — reminding her instantly of a family trip she and the kids had taken to Australia a few years ago.

  The rainforest was so exciting for Chloe and Daniel — the shared experience, a first step in getting their lives together after her messy divorce.

  A magical holiday.

  Now though — the towering vegetation and sweet smells had a darker atmosphere. Somewhere in here was a young man apparently prepared to risk lives to get his way.

  Sarah heard the sound of digging coming from the far end of the building — the scrape of a spade against stone. She saw Jack had heard it too — he nodded to her and they walked quietly down the pathways through shrubs and bright blossoms, until she saw …

  Clifford, the gardener, digging into concrete at the edge of a raised bed.

  “Clifford,” said Jack.

  “Morning,” said Clifford, turning and resting on his spade. “Or is it afternoon? Hot enough!”

  “Certainly is, in here,” said Sarah, stepping forward and offering her hand. “I’m Sarah Edwards — work with Jack.”

  “Pleasure,” said Clifford, shaking her hand. “Two detectives now, is it? That make me a prime suspect?”

  Jack laughed. “Looks like you’re still in the clear, Clifford. But we were wondering if you could point us to where Ben’s working today?”

  Sarah saw Clifford’s face cloud.

  “Ben?” he said, as if he’d known all along something was wrong. “Well, there’s a thing. He’s not turned up.”

  Sarah looked at Jack who nodded.

  “You’ve not seen him at all?” said Jack.

  “Should have been helping me with this three hours ago.”

  “You checked out his shed?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Maybe we should do that,” said Sarah.

  “By all means,” said Clifford. “If he’s buggered off I need to get a new lad, sharpish.”

  “Come on,” said Jack, his face now looking darker too.

  And Sarah followed him back down the hothouse path.

  *

  Jack stopped outside Ben’s little shed. The door was shut. He turned to Sarah.

  “If he makes a break for it—”

  “He won’t get far,” said Sarah. “All that time in the gym.”

  “Good,” said Jack. “Because with my knees these days I’m lousy in a chase.”

  Then he turned the handle, gently pushed the door open wide and stepped in.

  Apart from the furniture, the place was empty: no papers, clothes, laptop.

  “He’s gone,” said Sarah, joining him. “Done a runner.”

  “Doesn’t look good, does it?” said Jack, and he could see that Sarah shared his feelings.

  “Guess we’d better go see what Brimley has to say,” said Sarah shrugging.

  And he followed her out of the shed and into the fresh air.

  *

  Sarah looked around the small piece of farmland that was Brimley’s domain.

  No sign of him in the field — and the small hen house, also home to a pair of disinterested pigs, also empty.

  “Lunch break?” she said to Jack.

  “Give it a knock, and we’ll find out.”

  She took a breath and rapped on the cottage door hard. From her first encounter with the loopy heir, she expected a similar wide-eyed greeting at their unplanned visit.

  And, true to form, the door was yanked open as if the Cossacks might be storming the cottage.

  “What? You? The two of you? Again?”

  He said the last as if he’d had the misfortune of contracting the flu two times running.

  Sarah did her best to force a reassuring smile.

  “Mr Brimley, Jack and I have just a few more questions.”

  At his name, Sarah sensed Jack edge closer; he too wearing a smile, but his physical presence was a little more, well, intimidating.

  “Questions? Suppose you want answers then too, hmm? Then more questions? Tha
t the drill?”

  “Just a few,” Sarah said, hoping to appease him. “Promise.”

  Somehow she felt — with a man wired like Peregrine Brimley — the word “promise” would, in some miraculous way, carry weight.

  Brimley nodded, and then opened the door, not knowing he was about to be caught in a lie. And, hopefully, that trap set, useful in getting them to see the plans.

  The plans for Brimley Manor.

  *

  No offer of tea from Brimley this time — who stood in the centre of the small living room, arms folded, fortifying himself for the assault.

  Sarah looked to Jack.

  “Perry, we’ve discovered that what you told us the other day — what you told Sarah here — isn’t exactly true?”

  On cue, his bug eyes grew wider.

  Brimley opened his mouth as if words were about to erupt.

  But this time nothing.

  Like a little kid caught in a fib, he stood stock still against the revelation to come.

  “You saw the fire … the trucks. You were there.”

  Brimley shook his head, sputtering. “Did not.”

  Still like debating with a three-year old.

  “Did too, Perry,” Jack said. “Got a witness. One of the workers. Saw you, standing right down there, by the house. Now, you want to tell us why you lied about that to my good friend here?”

  Sarah watched the man’s bug eyes dart.

  “Ben saw you,” Sarah added. “Standing there, watching.”

  Again, Brimley seemed stumped for words.

  Sarah pressed the issue.

  “I said — I promised — just a few questions, right?”

  A nod.

  “So,” Sarah said as gently as she could, “we were wondering. Your family home — a fire — that must have been upsetting for you?”

  That is, she thought, unless, for some wacky reason, you set the fire.

  “Did you see anything else? Anything that might be important?”

  Then she and Jack waited.

  And she noted … really waited.

  Brimley had transformed himself into a statue, like one of those spray-painted tourist attractions that recreate the Greek gods or, from Jack’s hometown, the Statue of Liberty.

  Was there an answer?

  Would he answer?

  It was a long wait.

  15. Hide and Seek

  And then, as if the stolid performance was over, Brimley’s arms unfolded, he tilted his head and looked up to the ceiling of his cottage as if he might be able to see to some distant and forgiving spot in space.

  “I love that house. I grew up there, you know?”

  Sarah nodded. That they did.

  “But I knew … I knew.” A finger came jutting out.

  J’accuse, Sarah thought.

  “… that those Trust people … that Gibbons … they’d all think I did it. Sour grapes or something. They’d think I set that fire—”

  Jack interrupted.

  “So — you kept quiet?”

  Perry nodded. Jack quickly added. “Makes sense, Perry. Perfect sense.”

  And that brought a hint of a relieved smile to Brimley’s beleaguered face.

  “Yes. Thank you. You understand.”

  Fellow like Brimley probably doesn’t get much of that, she thought.

  Understanding.

  “What Sarah and I were curious about is this: did you see anything else? Anyone else? Anything that made you, well” — Jack fired a look at Sarah — “suspicious?”

  Another wait, though this time, having won the heir’s trust, not at all as long.

  “Why, yes I did.”

  They didn’t even have to ask the follow-up question — a rarity for any dialogue involving Brimley. Brimley barrelled on.

  “A car, by the side of the house. Just as the fire engines were arriving. It pulled away — fast! And get this …”

  Sarah waited.

  “The car had its lights off! Lights off!”

  “Did you see who was driving or—?”

  Quick headshakes answered these vital questions. “No, no, no. Nothing. Just a car, driving off. In the dark. To the old service road. Farm road. All rutted. No one uses it.”

  A thought occurred to Sarah.

  “But someone who knew the property … they’d know that road?”

  “Of course,” Brimley said as if it was a dumb question.

  She turned to look at Jack. She doubted either of them now suspected Brimley of any involvement in setting the fire.

  Not with the way the cards in this particular deck were stacking up.

  But now, to have him witness something key, and to know that perhaps somebody who worked on the estate was in that car …

  “Thanks for that,” Jack said. “One last thing, and then we are out of your hair.”

  Brimley actually looked up at his bushy and unkempt mane as if Jack’s comment should be taken literally.

  “You have the plans. The Village Records secretary told us,” Sarah said.

  “Yes. My great-grandfather’s house. My plans. So, I got them.”

  “And I assume,” she continued, “that Gibbons and the Trust know you have them?”

  Sarah was thinking that whoever had been sent to look for them and then found the catacombs of the records empty, must have reported back to the Trust.

  “Oh, no. They don’t know. You see” — now an actual gleeful smile bloomed on his face — “they’re my ace-in-the-hole? That how you say it?”

  Sarah nodded. Someone like Brimley … his hold on colloquial phrases was probably a tad wobbly.

  “My plans. And when I make my claim, the lawyers — which I have still yet to hire, but I will — and then they’ll—”

  Jack took a step forward.

  “You think, Perry, we might have a look? Wondering about something.”

  Brimley’s suspicious switch got turned on again, something that changed from on to off with amazingly rapid speed.

  But then. “Hmm. Well. No harm, I suppose. Yes — why not? You can have a look. Be my guest!”

  And at that he went to what Sarah thought was a coffee table covered by a piece of material.

  But when Brimley whipped off the stained madras-looking cloth, it revealed …

  A sea chest. Weathered, ancient, with massive leather buckles.

  And surrounded by the stuffed monkey, the scimitarlike swords, and what remained of a large Kodiak bear, she thought …

  This cottage is one constant source of surprises.

  *

  Jack watched as Brimley carefully undid the trio of leather buckles on the sea chest.

  “There we are!” Brimley said, last buckle undone.

  He looked back impishly at Jack and Sarah, as pleased as if he had cracked a safe.

  Then he slowly lifted the heavy lid of the chest which, true to form, creaked and groaned — the aged wood so fragile.

  And then …

  And this was a moment.

  Brimley reached in with two arms, and pulled out a massive ledger-style book, itself nearly the size of the chest.

  He picked it up as if cradling a newborn.

  Jack stood close to Sarah. Both of them caught up in this dramatic moment.

  As Brimley gently lay the book down on the carpeted floor (which Jack noticed featured camels and what looked like a rendition of the Sphinx and the great pyramids.)

  “There you are,” Brimley said, stepping back. “Take care. Very fragile, nearly two centuries old, you know. So please … very gently.”

  Jack nodded.

  Then, his knees creaking in protest, Jack knelt down. He watched Sarah, beside him, reach out almost tentatively, and gently open the book, lifting the cover slowly.

  And they started to see the original plans for the manor.

  *

  With each page-flip, Sarah worried that a tear would bloom on the sere drafting paper.

  She — without asking — took a picture of each page.


  Brimley seemed so caught up with sharing this “grail” that either the photo taking didn’t bother him, or he was too distracted to protest.

  Each page-turn was a goosebump moment. To see the lines and angles on the careful mechanical drawings that led to the building of the mad manor house …

  It was, quite simply, extraordinary.

  But then, something else.

  She shot a side glance to Jack.

  Did he see it as well?

  The rooms, hallways, stairs … all there.

  But then …

  But then …

  Girding those rooms, running parallel to, and following the trajectory of the house’s rooms and hallways, were …

  … what looked like passageways.

  Small hallways, small rooms, narrow staircases.

  She said nothing. Jack’s look showed that he too had seen it.

  And when they flipped to the last schematic, the attic rooms, a last picture, and more hidden passageways.

  She thought, this book is a genuine treasure.

  She looked up at Brimley. Jack had stood up as well.

  Tough on the knees …

  “Perry,” she said, “these spaces, running all through the house.” A pause. “What are they?”

  Brimley had the look of a professor, happy at seeing his student have a breakthrough moment.

  “Passageways,” he said, eyes bright. “Secret passageways — to every room! Every room in the house!”

  He clasped his hands together, the sound startling.

  “Brilliant, no?”

  Not quite the word Sarah would have reached for.

  *

  “You see, you need to understand — my great-grandfather wanted to be able to access each room, unseen. One could go into any one of them, in and out, and not disturb anything. Never be seen by anyone!”

  Jack nodded. Peregrine Brimley — a fount of secrets being revealed.

  “But Perry … why?” Jack said.

  Brimley looked away. “Not sure why.”

  From the look on Brimley’s face, it had been an unexpected question. Then he turned back to them. “But I do know my grandfather wanted the rooms to remain precisely the same, each item, cleaned if only it could be left totally in place. All those passages? Meant he had a secret way to go to each of them.”

  Jack wasn’t sure that exactly answered the question.

  The Brimleys marched to the beat of their own drummer, he thought. That is, if they could find one.