Murder in Abbot's Folly (2 page)

‘Doesn't seem to have been,' Gerald grunted. ‘Anyway, he must be out of prison long since. His wife moved away after selling the whole caboodle to us. Being a big pub off the main road by that time, she couldn't find anyone to take over the licence. Rather fancied having a go myself, but Dora wasn't keen.'

Dora looked prim. ‘Not at all suitable, Gerald.'

For him or for her? Georgia wondered meanly. She couldn't see Dora Clackington taking easily to the role of publican's wife. Far too much hard work and far too many long hours. Gerald, on the other hand, might have made a good stab at playing Mine Host.

‘We simply jumped at the chance to acquire the property, however,' Dora continued.

‘Such a wonderful building,' Elena said instantly.

Georgia agreed, but nevertheless she was puzzled. The conversion from pub to private house must have cost the Clackingtons a packet, and although the building was interesting, there must have been many others on the market that would not have required so much work. Dora and Gerald, however, seemed to her a couple who had always expected their comforts.

‘Oh no.' Dora looked mysterious. ‘Because of
her
. There are connections, you see.'

‘To the murder of Robert Luckhurst?' Georgia was confused. Had she missed something?

‘No, to dear Jane.' Dora waved a hand around the room, settling the question. Georgia had picked up on her hosts' enthusiasm for Jane Austen as soon as she arrived. It wasn't difficult. The walls boasted Regency prints and reproductions of the famous Jane Austen silhouette and the two portraits, and the bookcases were full of what looked like early editions of her works and Austen biographies and commentaries. Dora's eagerness implied more than a normal commitment, however.

‘Jane Austen herself had links to the inn?' Georgia asked.

Dora looked smug. ‘Modest ones, not to be compared with Stourdens. However, we can claim the honour of
The Watsons
.'

‘Who were they?' Peter enquired.

Elena tittered. ‘The title of one of Jane Austen's unfinished novels, my love.'

How
could
she? Georgia fumed as she saw Peter's face at her mother's put-down, intentional or not, and she found it hard not to retaliate. Instead she asked steadily, ‘Was it set in this pub?' She instantly regretted the reference to a ‘pub'.
Not
the right word to use to Dora about Edgar House, even if Gerald had done so.

‘Certainly it was,' Dora replied stiffly. ‘Part of it at least. The Assembly Rooms where
The Watsons
' all-important ball takes place are clearly ours, on the first floor of our longer wing. The castle where Lord and Lady Osborne reside in the novel is based on Stourdens, where the Gala is to be held on Saturday. I'm sure you must have visited it.'

Georgia had. It was near a hamlet called Dunham several miles away from Medlars, the house she shared with her husband, Luke. Dunham was only a mile or so from Godmersham Park, which Jane Austen had frequently visited, as the elegant Palladian mansion was owned by her brother Edward. Stourdens was also an elegant Georgian mansion, but in dire need of restoration. Set in grounds that shielded it from the Ashford road, the house itself could not be visited, but the gardens were opened once or twice a year to the public under the National Gardens Scheme. This was more for their Humphrey Repton design than their modern maintenance, however. To Georgia, judging from the outside of the house, which was all she could see during her visit to the gardens, it was in sad need of tender loving care – and presumably, therefore, of cash. She had a vague memory of having briefly met the current owners, and she had pitied them their plight.

‘It was here at Edgar House, of course, that it all began,' Dora added firmly.

‘It?' Peter queried. He was not particularly interested in Jane Austen, and Georgia could see the struggle he was having in fixing his mind on anything but the fact of his former wife's presence.

‘Jane's great love affair, which ended tragically,' Dora informed them in a low sombre voice. ‘She had begun to pour her heart out about it in writing
The Watsons
, but the effort proved too much for her, poor darling, and she abandoned the novel.'

It was a long time since Georgia had read Jane Austen's unfinished works, and she had to fish around in her mind. ‘Isn't it at the ball in the Assembly Rooms where Emma Watson dances with a little boy to save his pride?'

‘Yes, indeed.' Dora said, seeming a little put out, as though none but she should be in command of Austen knowledge. ‘It was here that Jane met her true love, a story she intended to celebrate in
The Watsons
; at the point Jane laid the story aside, only the first meeting had taken place. Love had yet to come. It is known how she intended to end the novel, however, because her great-grandniece recorded that Jane's sister Cassandra had known how Jane had intended to continue the story. Emma Watson would be happily united with the gentleman who loved her, despite the fact that Lady Osborne had cast desirous eyes upon him with wedlock in mind. Alas, there had been no such happy ending in Jane's real life.
The Watsons
was intended to record a happiness that was denied to her in her own life.'

Peter seemed genuinely interested, to Georgia's surprise. Whereas the murder of Robert Luckhurst had failed to arouse his curiosity, Jane Austen had apparently struck a chord. ‘But why did she abandon the novel?'

Dora wagged a provocative finger at him. ‘Ah, you detectives. There's no holding you back. Shall we tell them the full story, Gerald?' she asked skittishly.

From his expression, Georgia interpreted Gerald's answer as a thundering ‘no', although he managed to restrain it to a mere, ‘Better not, Dollybird.'

‘Oh, please,' Elena begged.

‘Not until Saturday, darling,' Dora replied mysteriously. ‘After that it will become public knowledge, but we can't pre-empt Laura's great day.'

What on earth was all this about? Georgia wondered. This story of a great love affair was news to her, but then she was no expert on Jane Austen's life. She could see Peter's patience fast evaporating again, and he must have decided that enough was enough.

‘I'll make a guess, shall I?' he asked jovially. ‘Jane Austen murdered her lover and left his body in the folly.'

Elena gasped, but Gerald and Dora merely seemed bewildered. ‘Oh no, nothing like that,' Gerald replied.

Peter looked somewhat abashed. ‘I'm sorry, Elena. If you knew Amelia, you must have known Robert Luckhurst too, and so I should not be making jokes about him. He doesn't seem to have been a particular friend of yours, though,' he added awkwardly.

‘No, darling. He was very reclusive,' Elena replied. ‘I hardly knew him and I knew Amelia only a little better . . .' She hesitated. ‘Not a very happy marriage, I'm afraid.'

‘So the rumours that she sought fresh woods and pastures new in the way of gentlemen friends might be true?' Georgia said.

‘Oh,
no
.' Elena looked shocked. Then she must have caught Peter's eye because she giggled. ‘Well, perhaps. Just occasionally.'

Something tugged at Georgia's heart. Some distant memory of Elena laughing one magical day in Georgia's childhood when they had been picnicking on the downs. All of them: Elena, Peter, herself – and Rick. Peter had slipped over and landed with one hand right in the middle of the jelly. Judging by Peter's expression, he had some similar memory.

‘With Max Tanner?' he almost snapped at Elena.

‘I never knew. I really didn't know her well.' Elena retreated, perhaps alarmed at the shared moment of intimacy.

Nonsense, Georgia told herself, nonsense. She was imagining this emotional tension, perhaps because she wanted to – but what did that imply? Change the subject quickly. ‘What happens at this Gala?' she asked.

Dora needed no urging. ‘It's going to be such fun. Laura Fettis, who owns Stourdens, is my greatest friend – except for you, Elena,' she added diplomatically. ‘
Such
fun. I am sure she will show you the Stourdens Jane Austen collection which dwarfs our own modest memorabilia.' She put her finger to her lips. ‘But I must say no more about that until Laura has spoken. I
can
tell you about the Gala itself, though. There will be Georgian cookery demonstrations and a buffet of Georgian food – and shuttlecock. You must all play shuttlecock, you really must. There will be riding, fencing, and of course
dancing
. Naturally, you must all come in costume.'

Dora beamed, and Georgia saw Peter's face fall. She shared his feelings. To be clad in period costume was not something she warmed to. ‘And bring your dear husband, Georgia,' Dora added, oblivious to their reactions. ‘After all, as a local publisher he should be present. He might even discover another Jane Austen.'

‘I'll ask him,' Georgia said, trying to imagine Luke dancing the cotillion while checking out hopeful authors.

‘Costume,' Peter muttered. ‘I'm afraid breeches and swallowtails are somewhat beyond me.'

‘But you must come, Peter,' Elena said firmly. Georgia saw him hesitate, and her misgivings returned now that it seemed certain this was not going to be the last they saw of Elena on this trip to England. Nevertheless, Georgia was all too conscious that there was a gulf between them that had to be faced and somehow crossed, which could not be achieved by retreat. Was seeing Elena again on Saturday going to help that problem disappear? No, in Georgia's view. At best Saturday would produce the sort of situations that Jane Austen's novels depended on, in which private emotions were frustrated by social demands. At worst the day might bring forth far more than frustration. Stourdens was not only a place where Jane Austen had seemingly suffered great unhappiness, but also one where twenty-five years ago the owner had been murdered.

Neither of these factors should cast its shadow over the Stourdens of today, and yet not wanting to back away from meeting Elena again was the only reason that she had not pleaded an earlier engagement for Saturday. Stupid, Georgia told herself, because the murder of Robert Luckhurst was a case that had been solved, and the killer was probably free by now. Still proclaiming his innocence? She couldn't help wondering.

Going home to Medlars brought its usual comfort. Georgia felt a lift of the heart when she pushed open the heavy wooden door into the old house, a door that almost seemed to be welcoming her home with a ‘Cheer up, I've seen many problems far worse than this'. She could hear Luke in the kitchen, probably already cooking supper, so she dropped her shoulder bag and hurried to join him. A wave of pleasure swept over her as she hugged him – which seriously impeded his risotto and resulted in a cascade of rice grains landing on the floor. After dealing with this emergency, he listened patiently to her account of her evening before speaking.

‘I can't wait to see you in bonnet, bulging panniers and white muslin dress. Got any old pillow cases you can wear?'

‘I'll find something,' Georgia said hollowly. ‘Anyway, don't laugh. You're coming with me. They all want to meet the famous publisher.'

He groaned. ‘Famous publisher not want to meet them. Count me out. I hate costume events.'

‘I need support, Luke,' she pleaded. ‘Elena will be there.'

He pulled a face. ‘Point reluctantly ceded. What's her game?'

‘I don't know, but there's a hidden agenda somewhere. All my antennae are waving.'

‘She is your mother,' he said gently. ‘Suppose she wants to return to England?'

Trust Luke to put into words her secret fear. ‘That's a scary thought.' And that was putting it lightly.

‘Because she might interfere with Marsh & Daughter's work?'

She considered this. ‘Perhaps,' she admitted, ‘but it's more than that. I can't forget the way she walked out because she didn't want the responsibility of looking after Peter.'

‘Perhaps she can't either, but you should all be able to move on now that Rick's disappearance has been solved. That's no longer lying between you.'

Rick had disappeared on a walking holiday in France, and for fourteen years there had been no clues as to what had happened to him. Then two years ago, thanks partly to a tip from Elena on a possible witness, they had followed the trail to a boating tragedy on the Danube in which he drowned. Georgia had finally managed to get Peter to accept that that was fact and not theory. Elena's current visit seemed to have nothing to do with Rick, and yet Georgia was afraid that even her presence might trigger Peter's doubts again. And as for Luke's suggestion, surely Elena would not wish to return permanently to England? She had not needed her former family when her husband died last year, so why should she now? The question mark hung in the air like a sword of Damocles, until she firmly banished it.

When she reached Marsh & Daughter's office in Peter's home in nearby Haden Shaw on the Friday morning before the Gala, Peter began without ado: ‘Max Tanner. Press references. A few stray ends. DI Hamlyn took the case. Remember him?'

‘Dimly,' Georgia replied, relieved that Peter seemed to be throwing himself into the Luckhurst case. She had spent the day before reading the proofs of Marsh & Daughter's current book, but she had been worried that Peter might be brooding about Elena. ‘Solemn and sarcastic comes to mind,' she added.

‘Spot on. I'd like to get one up on him.'

‘Hasn't he retired by now?'

‘That won't spare him.' Peter paused. ‘Might be worth our giving that Jane Austen Gala a go on Saturday.'