Cursed Inheritance (9 page)

Leigh shivered. ‘No. We were in Morbay. I’m bloody freezing. Can we go?’

‘No stamina, the youth today.’ Heffernan turned to Steve, who was shifting from foot to foot, his hands thrust in his pockets. ‘Call the station, will you. I want this place sealed off as a crime scene and tell SOCO to get over here pronto. I want the river bed near here searched too. I want the dead man’s wallet and the murder weapon.’ The scene of crime officers wouldn’t relish the thought of getting wet. But, Heffernan thought, that was their problem.

As Steve made the call, the chief inspector leaned against a tree trunk for a while, watching as the twigs Leigh was idly chucking into the water were snatched by the current and disappeared downstream. If the body had gone in here then it would have been swept away by the Trad’s strong under-tow until it became caught up in the overhanging branches of a fallen tree half a mile downstream.

Colin Bowman had assessed the time of death as being late Saturday night and Heffernan found himself wondering what would bring a man to a place like this after enjoying a good meal on a Saturday night. It was an isolated place used by local youths up to no good; a strange place to meet someone. Perhaps there was a woman involved. It had been a dry, clear night on Saturday, a suitable night for a romantic stroll on the river bank with a lady friend: a lady friend who carried a knife. Perhaps when they had asked around the restaurants they might have a clue to his companion’s identity.

Exactly what had Evans been doing in the grounds of Potwoolstan Hall? It was private property, and too out of the

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way for somebody to wind up there merely by chance to admire the view. Gerry Heffernan knew that his next move would stir up unpleasant memories. He was going to have to call at Potwoolstan Hall to ask a few questions.

What does a thief look like? Serena lones supposed that a thief - a successful one - looks much the same as anyone else. Much the same as Charles Dodgson in fact.

Serena, with her degree in English Literature from one of the country’s newer universities, had sussed out the Alice in Wonderland connection almost at once. And now that Dodgson was in one of the endless meditation workshops, she decided to put her investigative talents to good use. What were the chances, she asked herself, that Mrs leffries’s stolen ring and cash would be somewhere in his room? Quite high, she reckoned. After all, his room was next door to the victim’s and he hadn’t been at breakfast that day. The police had made a token search but she didn’t have a high opinion of Steve Cairstairs’ s powers of observation.

Serena emerged from her room, trying her best to look casual. After ensuring there was no one about, she tried Dodgson’s door and it opened smoothly. She experienced a rare tingle of nervousness. But with the fear of discovery came the thrill of taking a risk. She shot inside the room and closed the door behind her.

She was looking for something, anything, that would link the man she suspected was a phoney, to the theft. She began to search the pockets of the clothes hanging in the wardrobe, her heart pounding as she listened for approaching footsteps.

Her hand crept into the inside pocket of a jacket and came into contact with a wallet. Stupid to leave it there with a thief about. Unless he himself was the thief. She pulled it out and opened it. There was a driving licence in the name of Anthony lameston. And charge cards - Diners Club and American Express - as well as two platinum cards, all in the name of Anthony lameston. No mention of Charles Dodgson. And nothing belonging to Mrs leffries as yet.

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Then Serena struck gold: at the back of the wallet was a House of Commons pass in the name of Anthony Jameston, MP. Either her man had stolen Anthony Jameston’s wallet. Or the Member of Parliament was at the Ball under a false name. She still wasn’t quite sure which.

She replaced everything carefully, trying to recall where she’d heard the name Anthony Jameston before. But the more she thought about it, the more the answer eluded her. After checking the room was exactly as she found it, she let herself out, thanking some unspecified power - Serena wasn’t a religious young woman - that she hadn’t been caught.

She walked nonchalantly down the staircase and out of the front door. Mobile phones were forbidden at Potwoolstan Hall but she’d smuggled hers in: there were some necessities a girl just couldn’t do without and there was no way she was going to be cut off from the outside world while she was working.

Once outside, she made for the shelter of some bushes where she punched Ol,lt the number of her office. ‘Can you run a check for me on an MP called Anthony Jameston?’

She waited half an hour, sitting on a damp bench in the garden, soaking up the weak spring sun that trickled out between the clouds. And when the answer to her enquiry finally came, she sat back with a satisfied smirk.

This had the smell of a good story.

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We came upon a plot of ground where we found a good store of mussels and oysters and we found pearls in many. I would I could retum to Devon with great riches from this new land but when I think on my father’s death and the curse laid upon our house it fills my heart with grief. I must put Potwoolstan Hall from my mind.

It is of the greatest importance that we establish good trade with the natives for soon our ships sail for England (and with them our hopes of safety and escape). This Virginia is a goodly andfertile place but we arrived too late in the season for the sowing of seed so we will have no harvest this year.

Captain Radford and Master Joshua Morton will meet with the Chief of the Natives to trade the goods we have brought with us for food for we cannot sustain ourselves. As yet we have no church but an old sail from the Nicholas gives us shelter for our worship.

Captain Radford, Master Morton and others have departed a day since to explore the river and meet with the Chief. We prayed for their safety beneath our sail. We begin work on a church as soon as the fortifications are complete.

In Master Morton’s absence Penelope came to me. She confided that she fears her husband and his

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choleric bouts of anger. 1 assured her that 1 would give

her my especial protection and comfort her in his

absence. Last night 1 dreamed about Penelope … and

my dream was shameful. 1 must put such thoughts from

my mind and not yield to lust as 1 once did. Her

brother-in-law, Isaac, watches her always. 1 must take

care.

Set down by Master Edmund Selbiwood, Gentleman,

at Annetown this twenty-first day of July 1605.

Neil Watson stood beside Professor Keller, watching a group of archaeology students from the local university scraping away atthe soil, their faces serious. This was a wonderful opportunity for them, Professor Keller explained. The sites they studied were mostly Native American and any archaeology involving the early European settlers was regarded as a rare treat. Perhaps, Neil thought, that accounted for the careful, almost reverent, way in which they worked.

A new trench had been marked out near the newly uncovered foundations of the settlement’s earliest church. Neil asked when the mechanical digger was arriving but his question was greeted with disbelief. They never used mechanical means to open up trenches, the astonished professor replied, looking at Neil as though he had suggested carrying out delicate restoration work on the Mona Lisa with a paint roller and can of emulsion. Every spade of soil from-the surface downwards had to be sieved carefully before the next shovelful was dug. It was becoming all too clear that this was another country and they did things differently here. Differently and more slowly.

They watched for a while, then Professor Keller spoke again. ‘You’ve not seen the reconstructed settlement yet, have you?’ Something in his manner told Neil he wasn’t exactly welcome with open arms. Perhaps he regarded the archaeologist from Devon, England - from the very place those early settlers had embarked on their voyage to the

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new world - as an intruder, as someone who was going to criticise his working methods. And Neil’s remarks about mechanical diggers hadn’t helped.

At that moment a young woman appeared. She was small, blond and a little on the plump side with the pretty face and wide blue eyes of a Barbie doll with a high IQ. She smiled at Neil and the professor. She looked friendly. And Neil felt he needed all the friends he could get.

The relief on Keller’s face was obvious. ‘Or Gotleib. This is Or Neil Watson from the Devon County Archaeological Unit in England. Would you be good enough to show him around the settlement?’

He didn’t wait for a reply. He hurried away, leaving Neil with the newcomer, feeling rather awkward.

But the young woman wasn’t fazed by the professor’s rudeness. She held out her hand. ‘Hannah Gotleib. You’re from Devon, right? Where the Nicholas sailed from?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘You’re staying with Chuck, that right?’

Neil nodded. He looked around. ‘You can see why they settled here, can’t youT The early settlers had certainly chosen a lovely spot. The site was fairly level and he could . see the glistening waters of Anne River through the tal( trees. The vegetation was lush and green and the sun was shining in a blue spring sky.

‘You sure can,’ said Hannah with a sudden smile. ‘Although some people reckon they’d have been better off on the higher ground a mile upstream.’ She turned. ‘Come on, I’ll show you the reconstructed Annetown settlement. It’ll give you a good idea what life was like back then. The costumed volunteers there pride themselves on their authenticity, right down to the last detail.’

Neil allowed himself to be led up a neat pathway through I

a line of tall cypress trees. This was good, fruitful land. The land of tobacco - that abundant crop that had probably seemed like a good idea at the time.

‘I guess you’ve been given a plan of Annetown,’ Hannah

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continued as they walked. ‘We’ve excavated the original fort, most of the early settlers’ village and part of the earliest church. We’re working on the land surrounding the church now.’

‘Many burials?’

‘Quite a few. We’ve also begun work on the later phase of the settlement to the west.’

‘Chuck told me about your murder victim.’

Hannah stopped and swung round to face him, her wide eyes fixed on his. ‘That’s right. A guy with a musket ball through his brain. He’d been buried in a wooden coffin, which means he must have been a gentleman. Our research indicates that the lower classes were buried in shrouds. Class distinction, 1 guess.’

Neil smiled. ‘I thought these guys left England to get away from that sort of thing. ‘

‘Oh, this lot weren’t your idealistic Pilgrim Fathers fleeing from religious persecution: they came later, in the 1620s. The Annetown settlers came here in search of land and wealth. Purely here to exploit the natural resources. King James 1 of England himself sent them a letter telling them to dig for gold, silver and copper. ‘

Neil sensed disapproval in Hannah’s voice so he made no comment. ‘Chuck said something about the skeleton’s teeth. ‘

‘That’s right. The bones have been sent to the Smithsonian Institute for examination. And one of the teeth was sent to England: a place in … ‘ She hesitated. ‘Yorkshire?’

‘Yorkshire. Bradford University. We sometimes send stuff there for analysis. The technique they use there can pinpoint exactly where a person spent his early childhood by measuring the elements in the environment where he grew up.’

Neil was gratified to see that Hannah looked impressed.

As they left the shelter of the trees, the scene before them made Neil stop in his tracks. There was a group of

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small, wooden houses, topped with thatched roofs and people in the costume of the early seventeenth century seemed to be going about their daily business. Women sat outside the doors, spinning yarn on wooden spinning wheels or kneading dough. Men carried water, chopped firewood or wove cloth on rough wooden looms. They were all dressed in homespun cloth and they really looked the part. It was as though he’d stepped back in time.

Hannah was watching him. She probably expected him to talk to these people, to ask them about the tasks they were performing so dutifully. There seemed to be none of the good-humoured banter he’d observed in historical re-enactment groups in England. It was as if once they had donned the costumes, these people had become the early settlers of Annetown. They were living it.

‘Where to next?’

Hannah led him on down a track past the houses and soon they reached a quayside. There before them was a sailing ship - late sixteenth or early seventeenth century by Neil’s reckoning - bobbing at anchor at the end of a wooden jetty.

‘A replica of the Nicholas,’ Hannah said proudly. ‘You can go aboard someday if you like.’

Neil, unsure what to say, made a few complimentary comments about the historical accuracy of the operation and turned to go. He had sensed that Keller had been trying to get him out of the way and that made him determined to get back to the site and see what was going on. Besides, he wanted to get his hands on a trowel and do some digging. He began to walk back the way he came and Hannah fell in by his side.

‘Don’t you want to have a look around?’

‘Another time maybe. I think I should get back to the excavation. I’m sure they could do with another pair of hands.’

Hannah looked doubtful. She’d had her unspoken instructions to keep him away. But there was nothing she

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could do against Neil’s steamroller determination. She trotted by his side, lost for words.

As they walked, he turned to her. ‘Have you ever heard the name Selbiwood? Max Selbiwood?’

There was a spark of recognition in Hannah’s eyes. ‘Edmund Selbiwood was one of the original Annetown settlers. His name’s on the list of the passengers who came over on the Nicholas.’