Murder on the Old Road (28 page)

‘No,' she agreed.

‘Do people still believe in miracles, Georgia?'

‘Yes, but they come in different forms.'

‘Such as?' Peter asked.

‘I suppose we begin to see things differently. Isn't that a form of miracle?'

‘Coming to terms with illness and disability, like this?' Peter indicated the wheelchair.

‘Yes. But maybe Rick too.'

A pause. ‘You touch a tender spot, rightly, Georgia. That watch – if only I knew the truth behind that.'

‘Then something else would make you unsure again. It has to come from you, not the watch.'

‘That's what Janie said. She's right. You're right. But how does that help? How do I replace doubt? Does old Thomas have a cure for that?'

‘You don't replace it. You look at your grief for Rick from time to time, dust it down, give him a loving kiss and put it aside again. And you take on something new—'

‘Janie?' he interrupted. ‘No, that was the mistake I made. She knew it. I knew it too. We both jumped too quickly. This David—'

‘The museum trust manager?'

‘He sounds a good chap. She agrees. That's all. I bow gently out.'

‘So what's your “new” going to be?' Georgia asked.

His eyes turned to the Old Road. ‘Even if I buy the thingummy to take me up mountains, it won't bring Rick back, but I can travel along this path to Canterbury whenever I like. What about you? What's St Thomas got in mind?'

‘I have to discuss it with Luke, but I think St Thomas has already given me the answer. It's Luke. If we have children that's fine; if we don't, that's fine too.'

He laughed. ‘Hand me that bit of wood down there, please.'

Puzzled, she picked up the branch and gave it to him. He promptly banged it on the ground at his side. ‘See any gushing water yet?' he asked.

‘Afraid not. Only a muddy puddle.'

‘That's it. Thomas's miracle, performed on the Old Road, eh? An answer for both of us.'

When they returned to the Three Peacocks, Luke was nowhere to be found, but eventually he returned, after ten minutes or so.

‘There's a house down the road for sale,' he said.

‘You don't want to leave Medlars, do you?' she asked in alarm.

‘Good grief, no. Um –' he glanced at her doubtfully – ‘I forgot to tell you, Georgia. Mark rang me from the States. He's got a job down this way and said he fancied living in a village called Chillingham. He asked me to keep a lookout for a house.'

‘That's really good news,' Georgia said warmly. ‘How come you forgot to tell me though?' That wasn't like Luke.

‘He told me Jill's pregnant,' Luke said awkwardly. ‘The baby's due at Christmas.'

A variety of emotions swept through her: agony, jealousy, regret and then a sort of peace. It was done, the decision made; Luke would have a grandchild, and in a way so would she. ‘Great,' she said, laughing and weeping at the same time. ‘We can take him or her for walks along the Old Road. We can leave a heritage of our own after all, Peter.'

‘That makes me a step great-grandfather. I wonder if he'd like the Himalayas? By the way, talking of heritage . . .' He looked at her meaningfully.

‘The Regale,' she said in dismay. ‘We'd forgotten it. If it existed, where is it?'

‘I can make a guess.'

A ramp over the steps was already in place when Georgia and Peter arrived at Lisa's cottage the following afternoon. As they got out of the car, however, Seb and Tess had just emerged from her home and were walking towards them.

Seb stiffened. ‘You walk on, Tess. I'll catch you up.'

What to say to him? Georgia wondered. His family life had disintegrated around him, his parents and, if he knew the truth, his grandmother all wearing faces he could not have dreamed existed.

Seb swallowed. ‘I just want you to know . . .' He stopped and then tried again. ‘I just want you to know that it's going on.'

‘It?' Peter asked gently. ‘The Becket development or . . .?'

‘The “or”. The Becket development is easier – I'm planning to call a village meeting about it. We'll discuss the issues and plans democratically before anything's decided. In any case, there may be inheritance problems now that my father . . .' Seb made a visible effort for control. ‘So Stella and lawyers will have to be in on it throughout.'

‘That's good.' Georgia approved of that, even though the task might be rather more Herculean than Seb was assuming. But he was young enough to weather it.

‘As for this Wayncroft thing,' he muttered. ‘I just want you to know . . . I'm a
real
Wayncroft. My job to put things right, yes? Tess has just told me she's off for the rest of the summer and then it's university in the autumn. She's going to make her own life, and so shall I. I'll need a mission, so Becket will do me very well. OK by you?'

Peter nodded. ‘OK.'

Visibly pleased, Seb raced after Tess, just as Lisa opened the door to them.

‘You come in, both of you,' she said. ‘I'll get tea. And a nice slice of cake.' The traditional welcome, as though nothing out of the ordinary had or would happen. They had expected to be alone with Lisa, but awaiting them in her parlour Georgia saw Molly, Vic and Matthew, crowded together on upright chairs as if assembled for a business meeting. As perhaps this was.

Lisa opened the proceedings after tea and cakes were distributed. ‘Now, you said on the phone, Mr Marsh, that you wanted to talk about the big raid in the war.'

‘Yes. In its various ways it's affected the Wayncrofts, the Moons and the Painters deeply. It was the night John Painter met Robert Wayncroft.'

‘Let's get down to it,' Lisa said practically. ‘This is about the Regale ruby, isn't it? Well, we're all in the picture now. Vic's come clean about it. Even Molly didn't know. We knew there was something John was keeping to himself, and it seems he told Vic and swore him to silence. It stops with us though. That agreed? Not to go into none of your books, Mr Marsh.'

‘Agreed,' Peter said.

‘And,' Lisa said earnestly, ‘that goes for my Hugh's killer too. I always knew who it was. No reason, just knew. We were both so close to him, see.'

‘I think so,' Peter said gently.

Molly cleared her throat and looked at her brother. ‘You tell the whole story now, Vic. They're all dead, so no one will be hurt by it.'

He nodded. ‘I told you all true enough, but there's more. Dad saw Mr Robert struggling with that soldier who was yelling his head off. Panic, Dad thought, and who could blame him? But then he saw the soldier chuck something, a stone it looked like, into the burning library, which was in ruins by that time, and then the wall came down on both the soldier and Mr Robert. Mr Robert was staggering around moaning afterwards, so Dad took him to the ARP centre. Well, he was still raving, but not much physically hurt, so after he came off duty Dad took him to where he and Mum were living in Canterbury, till he came to his senses. That's how Dad came to work at Chillingham Place after the war. And that's how he came to know the story of the Regale, because Mr Robert was out of his mind for a day or two while he recovered. Kept thinking Dad was St Thomas himself, so bit by bit Dad got the story. Not that he cared. They were rough times, and Dad had seen and heard worse than Mr Robert's tale.

‘It seems that Mr Robert had been at Dunkirk, and life seemed short on those beaches while they were waiting to see if the Germans or the rescue boats got them first. He started boasting about a legacy he was going to get when his grandfather died, the Regale of France. It was going to be his duty to look after it for the Pope, he said. He wouldn't know where it was hidden until his grandfather died, and he had a letter given him by the solicitors. Well, Mr Robert was chattering on about this to two chaps with flapping ears. One pair belonged to Private Johnnie Wilson, and the other to the Frenchman whose name you saw on that memorial.

‘Mr Robert thought no more about it after he got back to England, but Johnnie and the Frenchie remembered and kept tabs on him. When they knew his grandfather was dead, they managed to get themselves to Canterbury. Chillingham Place had been requisitioned by the army, so it turned out the grandfather had hidden the Regale in St George's church in Canterbury for safety, the vicar being a chum of his. Robert came to pick it up, not knowing the Frenchie and Johnnie Wilson were dogging his footsteps. Then, just as he found the ruby, the big raid started, and the church was in darkness as the bombs began to fall. The two other soldiers were after the ruby, grabbed it from Mr Robert and began to fight over it. In the darkness, Mr Robert realized that one of the two chaps was dead, he could feel his blood on him, and knew that the other one had murdered him and stolen the ruby. That was Johnnie Wilson. So he chased him through the city, caught him up at the cathedral, but Johnnie refused to give him the Regale back. Seemed he had a conversion, like, and thought Mr Robert was only out for himself and didn't deserve the jewel, so he chucked it into the burning rubble of the library, crying out that St Thomas could have the Regale back. Then when Johnnie was killed by the wall, Mr Robert blamed himself for pushing him. Whether that's so or not, I couldn't say, but Mr Robert devoted the rest of his life to doing good. Then in 2002 back he comes to say sorry to St Thomas in Canterbury Cathedral and to live out his last years.'

‘But the Regale was lost to him,' Peter prompted him.

Silence.

‘Your father found the Regale, didn't he?'

Vic nodded. ‘He guessed what it was all right. Kept it in the Shrine, he did, not knowing what else to do with it. Ashamed of that, he was, not to have told Mr Robert or the Cathedral. But he loved it. When he knew he was dying his conscience really got to him, and he want to see Mr Robert, to make his peace and ask him what he should do. Mr Robert thought awhile, and then said he'd come down to Becket House for it in a few days to fetch it.'

‘That must have been the day he got rid of us. They dug it up between them,' Molly said, ‘and he only told Vic the whole story when he was dying.'

‘Mr Robert said he'd bequeath the ruby as the heritage demanded,' Vic went on, ‘which we took to be the heir, so you could have knocked me down with a feather to hear Mr Julian hadn't got it. We knew Mr Robert was going to leave the ruins to Mrs Fanshawe, but she never had the ruby, I'm sure of that.'

‘So where is it?'Georgia asked, catching a glance exchanged between Molly and Lisa.

Lisa got slowly to her feet. ‘It's time, son,' she said to Matthew, who obediently rose.

‘Happen you'd like to see my workshop,' he said. It wasn't a question.

Georgia was completely at sea now, but clearly she and Peter had been summoned. She doubted whether the wheelchair would go in through the workshop door, but perhaps the doorway had expanded, or St Thomas had given it a shake, because it slid in quite easily. There was little natural light inside, for the blinds were down, but she watched Matthew go over to the cupboard, from which he brought out the same wooden box as Lisa had shown her.

‘The living wood,' he said softly, running his hands lovingly over it.

Georgia caught her breath. ‘And inside?'

He unlocked it and briefly opened the lid, with just enough time for her to see a jewel lying on a black velvet cushion; its red glow illuminated the whole box and spread outside into the dimly lit room.

‘There was a description,' Matthew said, ‘by someone who saw it in its proper place honouring St Thomas. What he said was: “When we went to see it, the sun was near setting. Nevertheless, I saw that ruby as if I had it in my hand.” And here it is, glowing still.' Matthew gently closed the box and went to put it safely away.

‘But you,' Georgia asked him, when she had got her breath back. ‘Why?'

Matthew did not reply, just smiled.

Peter cleared his throat. ‘Forgive me if I'm wrong, but the Wayncroft heritage had to be left to the eldest son. Robert had no sons, so it had to be left to Hugh's eldest son.'

‘You mean . . .?' Georgia looked at Lisa in amazement, and Lisa blushed, not with shame, but with pride.

‘Matthew, my dear Matt. He's Hugh's eldest son, aren't you, my love?'

‘But even so – I'm sorry – why you, Matt?' Georgia asked.

‘Because he's a good man and a carpenter. What better safeguard,' Peter said.

‘Mr Robert told me,' Matthew said, ‘that it was to go to St Thomas when the true faith is restored. I thought he meant the Catholic faith coming back to the Cathedral, or Rome perhaps. But maybe he didn't.'

‘So what do you think he would want you to do with it now?' Georgia asked. ‘Hand the responsibility to Seb in due course?'

‘I'll have to wait for St Thomas to tell me, won't I?' Matthew said seriously. ‘One of these days I reckon he'll call me up to the Old Road for Canterbury, and then I'll find out.'