Murder on the Old Road (15 page)

Lisa reappeared first with a tray, then a teapot, then a cake – of course Lisa would be a cake-maker, Georgia thought enviously. And it would be delicious.

‘Now you'll be wondering whether Mrs Wayncroft was right about Hugh and me,' Lisa said comfortably as she cut a slice of cake for Georgia.

‘Yes, I was. Jessica's quite what one might call an attention-seeking lady,' she added.

‘Always was.'

‘Was her marriage to Hugh unhappy then?'

‘Never asked,' Lisa said. ‘You'd think it was, seeing that Hugh fell for me, but you can never tell. He was a simple sort of fellow, and Jessica, well, you can see, she stirred him up, got things going. To my mind, looking back, he loved us both.'

A remarkably objective summary, Georgia thought. ‘She didn't get her way over the Thomas Becket remains.'

‘No.' Lisa grinned. ‘Hugh could be real obstinate, and over that he was. Surprised me. I was all for a bit of excitement in Chillingham at first, and so was Clive. He thought the Becket well a hoot and was all for milking it dry – if you can say that of a well. Being young, we thought the village needed to wake up a bit. But then Hugh talked to me as no one had before. He told me all about St Thomas and the Old Road, and even risked taking me to the pictures to see that film
A Canterbury Tale
. It was made near the end of the war to get folks worked up about D-Day, but it was sometimes put on in Canterbury for years after that. I didn't think much of it at first, wasn't like the Hollywood stuff I was keen on. This was the time of the Beatles and brave new worlds opening up, so a film about an old country road and war didn't hit the right buttons. Then Hugh explained to me about the pilgrimages along the Road in the old days and how we were all here not just for ourselves but as guardians of what was to come. Just look at us now, eh? Acting as though there were no tomorrow for the poor old world.'

‘Did you love Hugh, or were you just bowled over by him?' Perhaps this was a step too far, but she felt sure that Lisa was well able to field anything she didn't feel like answering. But this question she did.

‘No doubt about it. I loved him. Clive had been courting me for a year or two, but I wasn't too sure about him. Then I met Hugh, and it all began. I didn't have no stars in my eyes. He won't leave Mrs Wayncroft for you, my girl, my mum said, and I knew that. So after a while I married Clive, had Matthew and later Derek. I didn't see so much of Hugh for a while, but the play brought it all back. On stage as Becket with his arm round me, saving me from that she-wolf, murmuring, “Come with me,” I could feel him trembling. Everyone knew about him and me, but no one much cared, not even Mrs Wayncroft.'

‘Are you sure about that?' Unusual, to say the least, and with anyone but Lisa Georgia would have dismissed this out of hand.

‘I should be. She came to tell me herself. I was married by that time and had Matthew, and she could see I wasn't much of a threat. She came steaming round to size me up, told me she was pregnant at long last and having a hard time carrying the kid. She said if I didn't cause any trouble, and didn't flaunt around, she'd live with it. She didn't want no upset, probably thought I was just a passing fancy because she was pregnant and out of action.'

‘And was she right about that?'

‘No. But I didn't tell her that. Hugh wouldn't go mistreating her though. He loved her in his way.'

‘So the affair went on for some years.'

‘Off and on. That's the way it can go in a village. If you make a fuss about it, it's high drama, but if you don't shout it from the housetops, everyone knows, but no one talks about it. That way no one's hurt.'

‘Mrs Wayncroft was shouting from the housetops today.'

‘Yes. Odd that.' Lisa frowned. ‘Not Her Ladyship's style. But then –' she looked hard at Georgia – ‘you're writing about what happened in the 1960s, aren't you?'

‘We hope to. It's Hugh's death that interests us from the professional point of view; the vicar's would only come into it if it links back to Hugh's. Could it?'

Lisa sighed. ‘I don't know, m'dear, and that's the truth. I don't know who killed my Hugh, and I don't know who killed the poor vicar. I get along by steering my way through the shallows; deep water needs more than I can manage.'

‘And yet you're talking to me.'

The sharp eyes fixed on her. ‘Think I like it, do you? Well, I don't, but it's time someone found out who took Hugh away from me. You're clever, you and your father. Before long you'd have found out about Hugh and me and be off on the wrong track. Clive, Mrs Wayncroft, Hugh and me – we're the wrong track for you. We'd sorted out where we all stood long before. If there was any high drama to be made of it, it would have happened much earlier than 1967. There weren't no question of me leaving Clive for Hugh or for Hugh leaving his wife for me. It was all sorted.'

‘I'm sorry, but I have to ask this. Did Clive mind about Hugh?'

‘'Course he minded,' Lisa said. ‘We had a few rough patches, but it sorted itself out.'

Before or after Hugh's death, Georgia wondered, but Lisa had clearly decided she had said enough on that point because she continued, ‘There were plenty of walkers on the path, even in those days, and some odd characters all right. The police questioned one or two of them and ruled them out. The village went quiet after that, numb you might say, and the case was closed. But someone knows more than they said. Must do.'

‘Were there fireworks on the pilgrimage, or at the play?'

‘I wondered when you'd ask me that,' Lisa said with satisfaction. ‘Answer's yes. We had everything from damp squibs to rockets in the way of temper tantrums, together with a few fancy Catherine wheels in-between. It started off all hunky dory. We took our summer holidays so we could do the pilgrimage, and those who could walked it, just as they're doing now. I had Matthew though, and Mrs Wayncroft had Julian, so neither of us did the whole lot. I joined in for the last twenty miles or so while my mum looked after Matthew, and Mrs Wayncroft got Hugh's mum to do the same. By that time things were getting edgy on the Old Road. I could tell that. I remember waiting for them at the Hollingbourne stop. The old vicar was with me. Funny old chap, but we felt the same about St Thomas. Mr Riding did the whole stretch, but not little Anne. His wife brought her along on the last stretch from here to Canterbury. So excited she was at the thought of the play and walking with the grown-ups. Fred Miller did the same – never liked him much. He and his wife owned the Three Peacocks and were always arguing. She ran off with a soldier in the 1980s, and after that he didn't make such a song and dance of what a great chap he was. Nasty piece of work was Fred. He was always at loggerheads with Hugh over the St Thomas chapel. He and Mr Valentine were the worst for that. Never saw anyone's point of view but their own.'

‘What was your husband like? In the photos he looks quite dashing.'

‘Clive was a funny old cuss. Loved wood, like Matt and Derek. He was the temperamental sort, emotional. Sometimes he'd retreat into himself, and I couldn't get a word out of him for days. He'd stomp off into his workroom and carve away endlessly. Liked his football, though. He'd come out for that. Look I'll show you something.' Lisa fetched a photo album from a bookshelf and rummaged through it until she found the one she wanted. ‘The happy band of pilgrims, look at them.'

Georgia studied the snapshot. The party had been photographed in a field presumably on the Pilgrims' Way; they were in a group yet somehow didn't look united. She managed to pick out a much younger Val Harper and Lisa herself.

‘There's my Hugh,' Lisa said, pointing to a tall slender man with light coloured hair who stood to one side of the group as if to declare he was indeed merely one of the gang. Julian, Georgia thought, would automatically have taken centre stage.

‘Which side were the Painters on in the St Thomas argument?' Georgia asked her.

‘Funny you should ask that. You'd expect them to be all for development, given what their livelihood is, but they're not. They want St Thomas to lie in peace. John now, Molly and Vic's dad, sided with Mrs Wayncroft way back, but when he bought Becket House blow me if he didn't change his mind, even though he needed the trade. He was an odd chap. Only died in 2004, spent the war in Canterbury because of a bit of a limp, no good for the forces. He was a cathedral fireguard on the night of the big air raid in 1942 and said he felt he'd done his bit overall. But it rankled. Vic and Molly have always stayed on our side, against tourism for the sake of it. He don't mind chatting to outsiders who are generally interested though. Bit of a historian is Vic.'

‘One could argue that pilgrimages were merely the medieval form of tourism.'

‘They were God-fearing folk,' Lisa said firmly. ‘Not like today's gawpers.'

Time to change direction, Georgia thought. ‘So what happened on the 1967 pilgrimage?'

Lisa was willing enough to talk about it. ‘There was a funny atmosphere, and I began to get worried the nearer we got to Canterbury. The group was beginning to divide up, and that didn't seem right to me. It was the same in the evenings. Different groups, different rounds of drinks.'

‘And what happened when you reached Canterbury?'

‘The play? We gave a rattling good performance, but the cast divided into two sides, just like the pro-Beckets and the anti-Beckets in the play. Hugh was the perfect Becket – he was a wonderful actor. He'd blossom on stage. You'd not look twice at him if you passed him in the street but on the stage he'd come out like a king. Mr Val was good – he was Fitzurse, the chief murderer, and Clive Moon was the king. He was all bluster, no finesse, not like Hugh. I hated it when Clive kissed me. Had to pretend it was Hugh. Bill Riding was directing the play, and Fred Miller was one of the other murderers.' She paused. ‘You'll want to know about the last night. Well, I'll never forget the look Hugh gave me in the last scene when they murdered him. I was doing my Rosamund act sobbing in the background, and Hugh seemed to be looking at me as though it really were the last time.'

‘Were there any fireworks after that?' Georgia remembered Jessica's story of the glass of wine and was intrigued to know what Lisa's version would be.

‘Oh yes. At the after-show party. That's the usual place to let off steam. We had a party on stage in the theatre, when we were still on a high. Clive was full of his own importance and booze, and I suppose we were all pretty tanked up. It was a little thing that began it. Bill Riding said something about it being a pity the play couldn't have a longer run, and Mr Val said quick as a flash, “Let's put it on in Chillingham, outside St Thomas's own chapel.” In a minute it all seemed settled. Hugh went very white and stayed out of the discussion though, until someone – can't remember who – thought to ask him if it was OK by him. Hugh just said no, it wasn't. Even I was a bit surprised, as it would only have been a one-off event, but it triggered off a row. His wife was laying into him, until she saw he was really upset and changed sides. Hugh said he might think about it, which was a mistake, because everyone took that as a yes and immediately there were big plans for opening up the ruins for cash – at which Mrs Wayncroft changed sides again. It was Hugh, me, the vicar and Bill Riding against everyone else. The result was that Hugh refused point blank to let the ruins be used, and the atmosphere got very nasty. Mrs Wayncroft threw a glass of wine over me and accused me of being his whore. Poor old Hugh. Doubt if he knew what the word meant. It quietened down, but that was almost worse. The clearing up next day was done in silence, and we were all pretty miserable on the walk back. We couldn't get back home quickly enough.'

‘But you celebrated in the pub when you arrived.'

‘Only because it had been prearranged. No one had the heart for it, and that's the reason we didn't hunt earlier for Hugh. We all thought he'd gone straight home to avoid more conflicts.'

‘When did you last see him on the walk back?'

‘Hugh and I tried to keep apart, so I don't remember talking to him there. We had a quick kiss at the clearing up. He looked so apologetic, as though it was his fault; he explained he had to take that position because it was the Wayncroft heritage. That was the last time I saw him properly – only glimpses after that, if I turned round. I know he was at the back of the column during the walk home, but I tried not to look at him. Clive was behind me, and he'd have had his eye on me, you can count on that. I saw Hugh with his wife at one point before she stalked off. She must have been nagging him about the ruins, because as she passed Clive and me she had a face like a thundercloud. She said, “He still won't budge. Says Robert wouldn't like it.” Then she went up to join Val. I looked back and saw poor Hugh all alone and wanted to go back but thought I'd better not. Clive was still watching me. Then we paused a bit and might have got into a different order. I don't know what happened then. As we went round the corner of Peacock Wood, we were too busy picking our way along the path – not so well kept as it is now, and so we spread out a bit. The word went back that we were going to have a ceremonial entrance on to the road, with the band at the front and the main characters at the front and rear. And that was about it. I didn't see him again, just thought he was so fed up that he'd gone home.'

‘What did Jessica mean by Robert not liking it? What was
it
?'

‘The whole idea of opening up the ruins for cash. I don't know why. Hugh never talked about Robert much, but sometimes it felt like he thought Robert was still owner of the house, so whatever he said went.'

‘The discovery of the body must have been terrible for you.'

Lisa looked back over the years and grief filled her face. ‘One of those nightmares you don't revisit,' she said steadily. ‘It was beginning to rain and so we were all hurrying to get home through the wood and weren't so much in the column. I couldn't see Hugh, but the path or paths at that point kept twisting.'