Beneath the Soil (20 page)

‘Why?' she asked more softly.

His voice was sober. ‘The conclusion the police seem to have jumped to is that she was having an affair with him. She wanted to give him something, but she couldn't leave him the whole farm, of course. Philip was the obvious suspect from the beginning, and I'm afraid this strengthens the case against him. He could have found out about the affair.'

‘Is that why your cousin Frances told me to drop the case? If she found out Eileen was being unfaithful, it would give her client a much stronger motive for shooting his wife.'

‘It looks like it.'

‘Did Philip know Eileen had drawn up this codicil?'

John stared down at his hands. ‘Eileen didn't tell me. I doubt it. She swore me to secrecy. Not that I'd have disclosed her legal affairs anyway, even to her husband. What puzzles me is why Puck's Acre? What good would that be to a man like Clive Stroud? She wouldn't tell me.'

‘I know why.' It was Suzie's turn to lean closer. ‘My son and I went back to Saddlers Wood two days after the murder. We found evidence that someone had been surveying there. And then, the day of the tractor pull, my husband went off with this eccentric geologist …'

‘Bernard Summers?' John was sitting up, instantly alert. ‘He's dead.'

‘That's what scares me. That afternoon he told Nick what he'd discovered at this place you called Puck's Acre. There's gold in a stream running off it.'

John leaned back. His narrow face looked pale, even in the heat of the afternoon. ‘A potential gold mine? And she's left it to Clive Stroud?'

‘So, if what you say is true, Philip wasn't the only one with a motive to kill her.' The idea was still clarifying itself in Suzie's mind. ‘But why would he? Clive Stroud, I mean. If she really loved him that much, all she had to do was divorce Philip and marry him. He'd have had the whole farm.'

‘I'm not sure that Eileen would have done that. It's a very conservative community. Both she and Philip have their roots deep in the soil. Maybe she couldn't bring herself to throw him off the land. And then there was Matthew to consider. Not that he needs the property. He's done very well for himself in Australia, by all accounts. Still, she might not have wanted the scandal. Not until after she was dead.'

‘I can't believe that. In this day and age? She wouldn't stay with Philip just because of that.'

‘Or perhaps Clive Stroud had reasons for not wanting to marry her. Just a bit on the side.'

Suzie thought back to the harassed woman she had met in the farmyard. Those surprisingly smart clothes under the flowered overall. Could she really have appealed to the suave Clive Stroud?

‘Divorcing your wife and marrying your mistress is hardly a career-wrecking scandal for MPs. These days, it seems to be par for the course. And to suggest that he'd take a short cut by killing her …'

John shrugged despondently. ‘He might have tired of her, and wanted a quick way out before she changed her mind about the will.'

‘Somehow, I don't buy that. It's a bit extreme.'

‘That's what I thought, until you mentioned gold. It does strange things to men's minds.' He leaned towards her. ‘I didn't tell you, but when Eileen came to my office that Monday I told her I'd have the codicil properly typed up and she could come in and sign it later in the week. But she insisted on doing it that same afternoon. I thought she seemed … frightened. And then, of course, she was shot that same day. It's occurred to me since that perhaps whoever did it knew she was going to change her will, and wanted her dead before she signed it. And Eileen must have been afraid of that. I fear that somebody has to be Philip and not Clive Stroud.'

‘Why are you telling me all this?' A new thought struck Suzie. ‘You didn't have to. It's not public knowledge yet, is it? It would have been all over the national newspapers, on TV. “MP inherits gold mine after lover's murder.”'

John Nosworthy drained the last of his whisky and let out a long sigh. ‘To be honest, there's something about this that scares me too. I can't discuss it with Frances. Things are a bit fraught between us at the moment. I don't know where you fit into all this, apart from stumbling across that find in Puck's Acre.'

‘And the fact that Bernard Summers chose to tell Nick why it was so important.'

‘Yes, there's that too now. I had no idea. No, it was something Clive Stroud's agent said to me the day of the tractor pull.'

‘Gina Alford?' Suzie recalled the woman shepherding her MP like a protective dragon. Horned-rimmed spectacles, unruly hair dragged back into a ponytail.

‘Yes. At one point she looked across at you and said, really vindictively, “That woman! She should learn not to poke her nose in where it's not wanted.”'

Suzie was shocked. ‘Clive Stroud's agent said that? Why? We've corresponded, but we'd never met before that day. What could I possibly have done to upset her?'

‘I rather hoped you'd know. It gave me the feeling that we might have a common interest in this case. She was pretty edgy towards me too. I assumed it had something to do with Clive Stroud and Eileen Caseley, but why would she involve you in that?'

Suzie sat back, letting the thoughts mill around in her head. She hadn't liked Gina Alford. The agent had been too possessive of the MP, too scornful of Suzie's abilities to organize things properly without her checking up on everything. But she could think of nothing she had done to provoke the venom with which John Nosworthy had relayed her words.

It must be some protective instinct. She had clearly doted on Clive Stroud.

She shook her head. ‘Right from the beginning, I've had this feeling that we've blundered into something over our heads. I don't understand what's going on.'

John made to rise. ‘I'm sorry if I've alarmed you. You'll keep this to yourself, won't you? The police know, but it's not for public consumption yet. As you say, once it gets out, it's likely to cause a scandal. It won't look well, either for Clive Stroud or, I'm afraid, for Philip.'

They made their way out of the pub. John headed for the car park. He had his keys out and flashed on the lights of a blue BMW. At the same moment he hissed, ‘What the blazes …?'

A second later, Suzie saw that all four tyres of the BMW had been slashed.

J
ohn looked, if anything, even paler. He managed in a choked voice, ‘At least it was my tyres and not my throat.'

Suzie turned to him in alarm. ‘You think this has something to do with the Eileen Caseley business? You don't suppose it was a gang of local teenagers? There's a secondary school just down the road.'

It was the school holidays, but she told herself that some of the pupils must live nearby. Adolescent boys, bored, looking for a chance to wreak mischief and mayhem on an expensive car.

‘There's something going on that I don't understand,' he said. The words still came out strained. ‘I'm only Eileen's solicitor. I can't change the terms of her will. But I've been feeling threatened.'

‘By whom?'

‘I wish I knew. Look, Suzie, this doesn't concern you. I should never have asked you to meet me here. Stay out of this. I just hope nobody saw you with me. Go home now and forget all about it.'

‘You'll tell the police, won't you?'

‘I said, leave it with me. Go.'

She felt unhappy leaving him in the car park, with whoever had slashed his tyres possibly still around, watching. But it was evident that her presence was adding to his strain.

‘Keep me posted,' she said, ‘if there's anything new.'

‘Forget about it. Please.'

She left him alone, staring at his vandalized car.

Suzie sat on the bus as it made its way into town. John's words were still sounding in her ears. ‘
At least it was my tyres and not my throat.
' Was it really possible that the mild-mannered solicitor could be in real danger?

Was
she
in danger?

She recalled again that sharp crack of a dead branch in Saddlers Wood, her conviction that she was being watched. And all the Fewings had been doing then was innocently pursuing family history at the ruined cottage in the clearing.

She had a sudden vivid image of her great-great-grandparents, Richard and Charlotte Day, living in that cottage with their children. What pressure of poverty had driven them to make the momentous step and leave the limited rural area around Moortown, where their forebears had worked for so many centuries, and cross the county to find new work on the edge of the dockyard city? For generations, she had been able to trace Richard's line back, moving from parish to parish, or even from house to house, with annual hirings, but only ever within a few miles. And suddenly there was this one adventurous leap from country to city. The 1861 census had found Richard still as an agricultural labourer, but by 1871 he was labouring in the dockyard. It could only be the lure of better pay that drew him there.

And all that time, the stream from Puck's Acre must have been running with the sparkle of gold. The Days had never found it.

Would it have been better if they had? John was right. Gold did strange things to men's minds. For all Suzie knew, the find of a metal like tungsten might be more valuable. Who knew what things were worth in the modern industrial market? But gold had always been something special, something men – and women? – were prepared to kill for.

They were nearing the centre of town, where she would have to change to another bus. But she felt an urgent need to tell Nick what had happened. She got out her mobile. Still no response.

In town, she crossed the High Street and waited at the opposite bus stop. It had been a green choice to have only one family car. Nick was usually happy for her to take it on the few occasions when she needed one. On the rare occasions when that wasn't possible, she might hire a car from their friendly local garage. The bus service was adequate for most of her needs. But today she fretted at the wait. She wanted to get home and share this with somebody.

The bus drew up. She stepped aboard automatically and showed her ticket. She was wondering if she should tell Millie and Tom, or if there was some way to keep them out of this.

John Nosworthy had told her to forget about it. Before that, Frances had warned her off. The police had consistently said the same. She had an insistent vision of Clive Stroud subtly giving her the same warning as his hand pressed hers. At the time, it had seemed inexplicable, but she did not know then just how deeply he was involved. If the will and its codicil had cleared probate, the MP for Moortown would be the legal owner of Puck's Acre, and of the gold Bernard Summers had been so sure lay beneath its surface.

Bernard Summers was dead. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it?

The geologist had threatened Nick not to tell anyone. Now it seemed he must surely have been threatened himself.

She got off at her own stop and walked the short distance down the avenue. The shadows of the plane trees were lengthening. Ordinarily, by this time Nick would have been home before her, but he had said that he was working late. She felt a sharp disappointment. Now, more than ever, she needed the comfort of his presence, his sceptical common sense. Instead, she must either say nothing to the children, and leave the events of this afternoon churning in her mind, or face their wilder flights of speculation. She decided to play it down, in case it sent Tom haring off on some other ill-advised investigation.

The house was quiet. The gentlest beat of rhythm from Millie's room meant that she was probably listening to music on her headphones. There was no sign of Tom.

She wandered through the empty ground floor and stood at the edge of the garden. Nick's roses were in full glorious bloom. The flower beds glowed with carefully calculated gradations of colour: strong reds and yellows nearest the house, fading to misty blues, mauves and pinks in the middle distance.

She slumped down in a garden chair, realizing suddenly how exhausted she was. She felt as though she had run all the way from the Fenwick Barton.

Millie was suddenly at the conservatory door. ‘Well? What's happening?'

‘Nothing,' Suzie lied. ‘At least … Well, I know now where Clive Stroud fits into all this. Eileen Caseley left him something in her will.'

‘Money? Or a keepsake? You mean there really was something going on between them? He was her mystery lover? How romantic!'

Suzie refrained from saying that this keepsake was a gold mine.

‘It could cause something of a scandal when it gets out that he was having an affair with a woman who was shot.'

‘Over what? A locket, or something?'

Millie came eagerly across the patio and pulled out a chair beside Suzie's. Then she stopped and looked down in concern.

‘Are you OK? You look white.'

‘It's just the heat.'

‘Can I get you something? A glass of lemonade with ice?'

‘Make that a whisky and lemon.'

‘That bad?'

Millie stood looking down at her, then went indoors. She came back with Suzie's drink and cranberry juice for herself. She sat down and looked at her mother reprovingly.

‘You're not being straight with me. Something's happened, hasn't it?'

Suzie sighed. She took a sip from her glass. The whisky shocked her senses back into play, loosening her tongue.

‘She left him Puck's Acre.'

Millie stared at her, baffled.

‘It's that bit of rough ground just beyond Saddlers Wood. Where we found that survey nail.'

‘But why would she …?' The realization dawned. She leaned forward, spluttering. Fruit juice sloshed from her glass. ‘You mean that bit of land where the mad geologist said he'd found gold?'

‘Shush!' Suzie looked around, fearful that neighbours might hear her. ‘Look, I probably shouldn't have told you this. And don't pass it on to Tom. He'll only get some mad idea. But I needed to tell
someone.
'