by Alan Cook
©2021 Alan L. Cook
This novella features Liz and Charlie, who are the stars of two action/adventure novels,
East of the Wall and Trust Me if You Dare, available as e-books on Amazon and
other places. East of the Wall is also available as an audio book.
THE LEGEND OF MONKSREST
Five monks set forth upon a pilgrimage,
To make their way to Canterbury town.
Five monks in all, each one a sage,
Well dressed in monkish hood and monkish gown.
They stopped to rest beside a flowing spring,
And drank their fill of bubbling water pure,
And as they sat they fell to arguing
On point of scripture that each one was sure
He owned the truth, and heated was their talk.
From neath his cloak one pulled an evil knife,
And flashed the blade, nor did he even balk
Until he’d ended every monkish life
Of four companions. Seeing what he’d done
He felt remorse and dug in rain-soft earth
A grave, and placed the bodies, one by one
Beneath the ground, despite their generous girth.
He covered them with dirt and sticks and stones,
And scratched these warning words upon a rock:
“A curse on you who move these holy bones,
As sure as just at sunrise crows the cock.”
Elizabeth Reid read the poem a second time and wondered why Charlie Ebersole had faxed
it all the way from somewhere in England to Los Angeles, which must have cost a fortune.
She was sitting in her office at International Investments in LA. They had just acquired
a fax machine, which was a new technology in the 1960s.
She had worked with Charlie for several years. He was smart and level-headed, and Liz had
never known him to have an interest in poetry. However, what he was doing at the moment,
taking a leave of absence from his job to walk something called the End-to-end in Great
Britain, didn’t exactly fit in with the character of the Charlie she knew, either—someone
who threw quarters around as if they were manhole covers. Maybe all the walking was
affecting his brain.
Liz’s telephone rang. She picked up the receiver and said, “Good morning; this is Liz Reid.”
“Hi Liz, it’s Charlie.”
This was a bigger surprise. Liz hadn’t spoken to Charlie since he had left on his trip. The
time difference was what? Eight hours? So it must be afternoon wherever he was.
“Charlie, where are you?”
“I’m at the ancestral home of my friend, Reggie.”
Liz knew the story. Charlie and Reggie had been classmates at UCLA when they were studying
for their MBA degrees. Before Liz could say anything, Charlie spoke again.
“Did you get my fax?”
“The poem? Yes, I just read it.”
“Monksrest is the name of Reggie’s family’s estate. The legend is about something that
supposedly happened in Chaucer’s time. Some people think the curse is real.”
Liz wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t believe in curses.
“Liz, Reggie’s sister, Emma, has just been murdered.”
That sucked the air out of the room. Liz still didn’t know what to say. She managed,
“That’s terrible.”
Charlie said, “The police are baffled. Reggie and his father are heart broken. That’s
why I’m here at their house. I thought of you because I know you studied Chaucer and
poets like him in college. You might be able to shed some light on the legend. You
said you were looking for a place to go for a vacation. I talked to Reggie’s father
and he said you could stay here at Monksrest as long as you want.
“Whoa. Slow down. You’re going too fast. You want me to go to England?”
“You told me you’d like to go to England and you have ancestors who came from here.
You could visit places where they lived.”
Yes, she had a vacation coming, and yes, she wanted to go to England, and she would
love to see big old English houses and castles, but she didn’t see how she could
help with a murder investigation.
“I would be intruding.”
“No, you wouldn’t. I told them all about you. They need someone to cheer them up,
and I know you could do it.”
***
This was all Charlie’s fault. Liz was sitting at the window seat on the left side
of the plane as it followed the glide path into London Airport, and feeling
grouchy from lack of sleep. It was early morning and she was on an overnight
flight from New York. She had jettisoned her vague plans to see some national
parks with a girlfriend on her vacation, just because Charlie had sent her the
poem about the legend of Monksrest. She was a sucker for studying the past, and
the further back in history the better. Charlie knew her too well.
Something caught her eye on the ground below, and it only took her a few seconds
to figure out that it must be Windsor Castle, which was west of London. Liz
quickly pulled out the camera from the handbag at her feet and took a photo of
it before it disappeared. Then she saw a flight attendant coming down the aisle
to collect trash before landing. Reality set in. She would soon be in London for
the first time. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad trip after all.
***
Liz exited customs carrying two heavy suitcases, one in each hand, with the
handbag hanging from her shoulder by a strap. She was beginning to wonder if she
had overpacked, but she didn’t really know what clothes were suitable for
staying at an ancestral home, and she had brought a variety.
Someone was supposed to meet her here, according to Charlie’s last communication
with her, and she hoped that person was strong, as her arms were about to fall
off.
“You must be Liz.”
Liz turned her head and saw a tall man with wheat-colored shaggy hair and a
mustache, dressed in casual but expensive clothes. She dropped her bags and was
about to say, “You must be Reggie,” when he grabbed her in a bearhug. As she
tried to catch her breath, the next thing she noticed about him was that he
smelled of cigarette smoke. As a non-smoker herself, she didn’t like the odor.
He let her go of her and Charlie appeared right behind him. He also hugged her,
which was unusual, since they sometimes worked on the same job and had long ago
agreed to keep their relationship on a business basis.
Charlie asked, “How was your flight?”
“Long, but I’m glad to be here. Thank you for meeting me.”
They each picked up one of her suitcases, and Liz was happy to walk between two
big strong men the considerable distance to the parking area.
***
It was a bit crowded with three people in the front seat of the Rolls Royce
Silver Cloud, but Liz, who was in the middle, wanted to be able talk to both
Reggie, who was driving, and Charlie. She had never been close enough to a
Rolls to touch one before, so she already felt like a queen. In answer to her
question, Reggie told her that Monksrest was on the east coast of England,
northeast of London. He added that since this was Saturday he had the day off
from his job, which was in London, and that he lived in a flat there during
the week.
Liz said, “You didn’t have to come all this way for me. I could have taken
the train.”
Charlie said, “With all your luggage?”
When they had traveled together, he had often twitted her about overpacking.
Liz gasped as they entered a roundabout, and had to keep telling herself that
it was okay for them to be on the left side of the road, and that they weren’t
really about to have a head-on collision. Reggie negotiated the roundabout
with ease before he spoke.
“Trains would have taken you hours and you would have acquired a closer
acquaintance with our rural rail stations than you cared to have, in any case.
Monksrest is in the middle of nowhere. Since you have been kind enough to grace
us with your presence, the least we could do was to come and get you.”
Liz remembered her manners. “I was very sorry to hear about your sister.”
Reggie became sober. “She was younger than me, and the best thing to happen to
this family in several generations. It’s hard for me to believe she’s really
gone.”
***
Liz and Oliver sat at a round table in a room with floor to ceiling bookcases,
crammed with old, beautifully bound books. There was also a desk, and Liz
realized that Oliver used this room as his office. When Reggie had introduced
Liz to his father, she had called him Lord Wheatley, having determined that
this was the proper way to address him.
He had smiled and said, “Please call me Oliver. Lord Wheatley was my father, and
it’s time to end this foolishness.”
Oliver was tall, like Reggie, but that’s where their resemblance ended. Oliver
had no hair at all upon his head or face, and Liz suspected he probably shaved
both. He was tanned by the sun, with a lean body that looked much younger than
Liz would have expected, and a twinkle in his eye when he could momentarily
forget the tragedy that had struck the household.
The four had eaten what Liz called lunch together in a dining room with a table
large enough to seat many more. There had been a fifth diner, a striking young
redhead named Susan MacTavish, with a Scottish lilt in her voice, who was
introduced as Oliver’s secretary. She sat next to Charlie, and because Liz was
an expert at his body language, she suspected they were playing kneesy under
the table. She wasn’t surprised since he was the kind of guy that women
couldn’t resist. He attracted women the way horses attracted flies. They were
served by a middle-aged woman and man who were right out of a Victorian
romance novel with uniforms to match.
The mood at lunch was sort of desperately upbeat, with Reggie describing the
beauties of Monksrest to Liz. She found out two things about the dead girl:
Emma hadn’t had a funeral yet because the medical examiner hadn’t released her
body, and she had loved to swim in the cove on their estate.
Apparently, the job of filling Liz in on everything else had fallen to Oliver.
He had offered her a chance to rest for a while in the room assigned to her
first. She had fallen asleep for a while in the car, much to her surprise,
but she wanted to be active, so she declined the offer as graciously as she
could.
Liz remembered that in Europe the first floor was the second floor (above the
ground floor) and so she didn’t question it when the female employee, whose
name was Matilda, led her up a long and winding staircase after telling her
the room reserved for her was on the first floor. Matilda also carried both
of the heavy suitcases, which she called holdalls, as if they were as light
as air. Liz was impressed with the room and its view of the English Channel,
but she would have enough time to enjoy it later.
Right now, Oliver pointed to a newspaper that was sitting on the table. “You
can read the press account of what happened at your leisure, keeping in mind
that the papers are always looking for scandals and dark secrets, even if they
have to make them up. Since you’re staying here you deserve to know as much as
we do about what happened.”
Oliver took a sip of tea and stopped talking for a few seconds. Liz decided that
silence on her part was the best policy at this point. Oliver gathered himself
together and started speaking again.
“Emma was the free spirit of the family. She lived life as though she could do
whatever she wanted, follow every whim that enticed her, and she got away with
it because she was so beautiful and ethereal. She never had a cross word for
anyone, and if I tried to discipline her she would just smile and continue to do
her own thing. She had been attending university, but she was home for the
summer. I think you already heard that she was in the habit of rising early and
going to a sheltered cove on the property to swim.”
He paused and sighed, then found his voice and said, “That’s where it happened. I
didn’t have a problem with her going alone because she was a strong swimmer.
When she was young she acquired the nickname, Mermaid.”
Oliver took another sip of tea and blotted his eyes with a handkerchief. Liz
thought she saw a tear or two. A picture of Emma was sitting on the nearby desk.
She was—or had been—a blonde beauty. Oliver cleared his throat before he spoke
again.
“One morning, a week ago, she didn’t return for breakfast, which is at eight.
Breakfast is buffet style, and we went ahead and ate without her, but when she
didn’t appear by nine, I grew worried. Reggie had gone to play golf, so I set
out alone and walked to the cove. It is necessary to walk down a fairly steep
path to get to the water. As I did that I looked below and tried to spot Emma
in the water, but I didn’t see her. As I rounded the last turn before reaching
the small beach I saw a flash of skin. I knew immediately it was her.”
Oliver completely choked up, and apologized when he was able to speak again. Liz
nodded and tried to look supportive.
Oliver got himself together and continued. “Reggie, who is the prissy member of
the family, although he tries to hide it from outsiders, had informed me that
Emma sometimes swam in the nude. I should tell you that when I was young we
had skinny-dipping parties at the cove, so that wasn’t a surprise to me. When I
saw her lying on her back, that wasn’t what bothered me. It was the knife
sticking into her heart. Her swimsuit, towel, and sandals had disappeared.”
Oliver paused again, but not to sip tea. He said, “There was a piece of paper
close to her, with a stone on it to keep it from blowing away. The police made
a copy for me.”
Oliver pulled the paper out of a folder and set it in front of Liz. She
recognized it immediately. It was the poem of the legend of Monksrest with some
dirt smudges that had been copied along with the poem, probably using a Xerox
copier.
“Charlie faxed that poem to me. Do you know who wrote it?”
She didn’t add that it had been important in her decision to come to England.
Oliver said, “The lore is that it was written hundreds of years ago, soon after
the event it describes, which supposedly took place about the year 1400. My
father had a copy, which he passed on to me.”
Liz said, “I studied old English at college—uh, university—and read the
original version of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales from the same time period. Much
of it is written in iambic pentameter, just as this poem is, but it is very
difficult for a modern person to understand the words. I had a lot of trouble
with it. My guess is that this poem was written in the past 100 years—perhaps
longer ago than that, but no more than 200 years ago.”
Oliver almost looked as if he was in a state of shock. He didn’t immediately
answer. Liz wondered whether she had come across as being a know-it-all.
Oliver cleared his throat before he spoke, and when he did it was in an almost
jocular fashion.
“Well, there goes our proof that it really happened. A few generations back
there was a poet in the family. Maybe she wrote it.”
“Could be. Did anyone ever find bones or anything?”
“The spring actually exists, although it has been capped and now furnishes
part of our water supply. Another piece of lore is that some bones were dug
up near the spring a few generations ago, but that is not documented well
enough to hold up in a court of law. And any words scratched on a rock, such
as the killer is alleged to have done, would have been worn away centuries
ago. However, whenever something bad happens to a resident of Monksrest,
people attribute it to the curse.”
“I see.”
If the poem didn’t describe an event that really happened, did that negate
Liz’s purpose in coming here? Well, she was here, and maybe she could help.
“Can you bring me up to date on the investigation?”
“I’ll tell you what the police have done. Or what they haven’t done. They
haven’t found any fingerprints on the knife or the paper with the poem.
The knife is a standard kitchen knife. There is nothing special about it.
It is possible to get to the cove without coming close to the house or any
other buildings on Monksrest property, by walking through our woods from
the main road, so whoever did it was probably not seen by anybody. And as
far as we know, Emma didn’t have any enemies. Everybody loved her.”
“When Reggie was driving into Monksrest, we passed a number of small farms
that he said were on the property.”
“All of our tenants have been questioned. The families have lived there for
many generations, and they are completely loyal to Monksrest—and Emma.
Everybody loved her.”
He had said “everybody loved her” at least twice. Well, apparently not
everybody.
“Would you like a tour of the estate? If you’re not too tired?”
“I’d like that.”
“You said you grew up on a farm. Do you ride horses?”
“On our farm we had tractors, but no horses. I learned to drive a tractor
when I was ten, but I’ve only been on a horse a few times.”
“We have plenty of tractors here too. John Deere is a friend of the
family.”
***
Liz patted her chestnut horse named Lucy on the neck, and was glad she
was gentle and obedient. Liz was attempting to keep Oliver’s horse
between her and the cliff edge. He was obviously an expert rider. She
didn’t think a horse would voluntarily jump off a cliff, but she did
remember one incident that frightened her whenever she thought of it.
She had been on vacation with her family in Jackson Hole, Wyoming,
below the snow-covered Teton Mountains. They had rented horses and a
guide, and her horse had attempted to climb up a vertical cliff. She
pictured it falling over on top of her, and ever since then she hadn’t
completely trusted horses.
Beyond the cliff was the English Channel. The water was calm on this
summer day, and Liz could see an occasional boat, but nothing close to
shore. Oliver led them inland for a short distance and stopped in the
shade of a grove of trees. They got off their horses and walked a few
feet.
“There.” Oliver pointed. “That’s where the spring is.”
What Liz saw were a couple of pipes coming out of a hollow in the
ground and then going along the surface for a while before heading
underground again.
“I admit that it looks a bit different than it did 600 years ago. I
try to picture the monks stopping here to rest and drink the water. I
even painted a picture of how I envision the scene.”
“You’re an artist,” Liz gushed. “I like going to art museums.”
“We have an art room at the house. I’ll show it to you when we get
back.”
No great insights came to Liz at the spring. Oliver didn’t know
exactly where the bones were alleged to have been dug up, and the
area was fairly level and covered with wild grass. It was peaceful
and didn’t look like a place where murders would be committed.
When they were back on their horses, Oliver said, “I’ll take you to
the cove.”
Liz was somewhat surprised that he would want to go there, and she
considered telling him it wasn’t necessary, but he seemed to want to
go. They continued along the cliff until there was a trail leading
down toward the water. Lucy followed Oliver’s horse. It wasn’t as
steep as Liz had pictured it, and she wasn’t concerned because Lucy
obviously knew where she was going. Liz suspected that Lucy had been
Emma’s horse.
At the bottom of the trail was a small sandy beach. Tiny stones were
mixed in with the sand, but it was walkable, even for somebody who
was barefoot. They dismounted and went to the water’s edge where
wavelets were nibbling at the sand. Liz stuck her hand in the water.
“It’s warmer than I thought it would be.”
“Emma swam here much of the year, even when ordinary mortals would
have frozen.”
“She’s a girl after my own heart. I’m a swimmer too.”
Liz’s first thought was that she shouldn’t have said that, but it
didn’t seem to bother Oliver. In fact, he smiled.
“Did you bring a swimsuit with you?
“I did. Reggie probably told you that I overpacked.”
“That’s good. We can come back here tomorrow when you’ve had more
of a chance to acclimate to the time change.”
Liz thought about protesting that she didn’t want to take up Oliver’s
time, but his manner was so genuine that she decided not to. She
was glad she had packed the jeans she was wearing now and her
swimsuit, as well as more formal clothes.
Oliver pointed out the spot where he had found Emma, and the rock on
which the poem had been placed, and didn’t show any emotion. Liz saw
a dark stain that might have been blood, but she didn’t say anything.
Anyway, she wasn’t the medical examiner. If there was any other
evidence, it had been removed.
***
The art room was like being in a museum. Liz was impressed with the paintings,
some of which were several hundred years old. Oliver named the artists for
her, and she didn’t recognize them, but then, not everybody could afford a
Rembrandt.
She pointed to one painting of water lilies with dappled sunlight and said,
“That looks like a Monet.”
Oliver smiled. “I see you’ve studied art. Not quite, but you may be close. The
lore is that it was painted by somebody who took lessons from Monet.”
Liz saw Oliver’s painting of the of the monks at the spring and studied it.
The setting was very much like what she had seen at the place where the spring
was, although in the painting the spring bubbled out of the ground. The five
monks were dressed in brown, hooded cloaks, although not all of them had their
hoods up. One of them was surreptitiously pulling a knife from inside his cloak.
Liz said, “You’ve got a wild imagination.”
Oliver chuckled. “That’s what comes of having too much time on my hands. Come
and look at the other things I’ve done.”
A whole wall was devoted to Oliver’s other things, some of which were oil and
pastel paintings, and others were pencil and charcoal sketches. There were
drawings of Reggie and Emma, and a couple of Susan at her typewriter. Some of
the drawings were of female nudes. Liz wondered where he found his models for
those drawings, but decided it wasn’t appropriate to ask him.
***
“Did you have a good nap?”
Charlie’s question caught Liz coming down the stairs from her room where she
had just been dead to the world for two hours. She was now ready to face the
family dinner scheduled for this evening. She hadn’t had a chance to speak to
Charlie alone since she’d been here.
Liz motioned with her hand. “Come outside with me.”
They opened the big front door and went out into the large expanse in front of
the house with a view of fields of growing crops beyond. The late afternoon
summer sun was still warm on their bodies.
Liz said, “What did you and Reggie and Susan do all afternoon?”
“We played golf. Susan, being from Scotland where the sport was invented, is
a good golfer.”
“I didn’t know you were a golfer.”
“I’m the worst golfer I know. But Reggie likes golf and he needed to talk. He
is still heartbroken about Emma. Susan is giving me lessons.”
How nice of Susan. Liz was glad to hear that Charlie was helping his friend,
but she wanted to focus on the crime. In financial fraud investigation,
which she and Charlie did, it was important to eliminate all the ways a
crime couldn’t have been committed. As the English detective Sherlock
Holmes, who Liz had once thought was real, said, “Once you eliminate the
impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”
Liz didn’t buy one of the things she had read in the paper—that Emma had died
at the hands of an unknown male assailant who had wandered into the cove by
chance and had caught Emma swimming in the nude. However, the report of the
medical examiner said that she had not engaged in sexual intercourse, so she
hadn’t been raped. The isolation of the cove and the poem left there told
Liz that the murder had been carefully planned and must have been committed by
someone who knew Emma and the legend of Monksrest. She thought members of the
family were in denial about that possibility.
Charlie said, “What do you think about Reggie?”
“You know him better than I do, and I’m sure your take on his suffering is correct.”
“From what he said about you, he is very impressed with your…everything about you.
Do you think he’s dating material?”
“So now you’re trying to fix me up. I’ll give it to you straight. He smokes and has
hair on his face. That’s two strikes against him. And remember, you’ve told me
stories about his drinking and chasing girls while you two were at UCLA.”
Liz was tempted to say that she was more impressed by Reggie’s father, but she
decided that wouldn’t come out right. She changed the subject.
“When are you going to get back to your End-to-end walk and where are you now?”
“Soon, I hope. The walk is from Land’s End in southwest England to John O’Groats in
northern Scotland. A sign at Land’s End says it’s 874 miles, which I think is
approximately correct for the route I’m taking. I’m heading north and have reached
the English lake district, so I’m about halfway done.”
“How many days does the whole thing take?”
“I’m estimating 35 days with an average of 25 miles a day.”
Since Charlie was on a leave of absence from International Industries, he wasn’t
getting paid. The fact that he would take time out to be with Reggie meant that
there was a strong bond between them.
Liz asked, “Have you met Oliver’s brother’s family?”
They were the ones coming to dinner.
“No, but Reggie has talked about them. Oliver’s younger brother, Horatio, is
actually his half-brother. Their father was married twice. Horatio’s wife, Grace,
is his second wife. Horatio has two teenage daughters by his first wife, who live
with them.”
Liz laughed. “All right, I guess I can sort that, as they say here. One more
question and I’ll stop giving you the third degree. What happened to Oliver’s
wife?”
“She died about five years ago. Reggie told me she was in an auto accident.”
***
Liz’s first impression after Horatio Wheatley had arrived with his family was that
there were a lot of blondes. Emma, the dead girl, had been blonde. Barbara and Tracy,
Horatio’s daughters, were blonde. Reggie was blondish. And Liz realized that because
she, herself, was also a blonde, she fit right in. She hoped the murderer wasn’t a
serial killer of blondes.
Grace, Horatio’s wife, was a petite brunette, and it was obvious she wasn’t the mother
of the girls. As for Oliver and Horatio, they were both bald. Liz suspected that
Oliver was bald by choice, but that Horatio wasn’t. He was shorter than Oliver and
wore glasses.
Oliver was serving before-dinner drinks in the huge room that Liz’s parents would have
called a living room and her grandparents would have called a parlor. She had told
Oliver that she didn’t drink. He asked her if she would like to talk to Horatio’s
girls, who were drinking lemonade.
“That is, unless you’d rather be with the adults.”
She probably wouldn’t learn anything from talking to the adults as a group.
“Yes, I’d like to talk to the girls.”
“Tracy, the younger girl, is a wonderful pianist. If you ask her nicely, I’m sure she
would play something.”
Liz and the girls went to the other end of the room where a grand piano was located. At
Liz’s suggestion, Tracy sat down at the piano and began playing “The Skater’s Waltz.”
Liz noticed that the girls’ skirts were considerably shorter than her own. She could
use this as a conversation starter. She spoke to Barbara, the older girl.
“I understand that a clothing designer named Mary Quant has introduced something called
the miniskirt here.”
Barbara compared their skirt lengths and half-smiled. “I guess they haven’t reached
America yet. They drive the boys crazy. But I’m off to Uni where I hope the boys are
more human.”
Liz interpreted ‘Uni’ to mean university.
“You’re probably in for a letdown on that score. So, you’re how old—eighteen?”
Barbara nodded. “I’m two years younger than Emma.”
She had trouble getting the world “Emma” out, and Liz realized that she’d probably
spoken before she thought about it. She was studying Liz.
“Are you Charlie’s girlfriend?”
“No. Charlie and I just work together.”
“Charlie’s here to walk the End-to-end, not to work. That’s what my dad told me.
What are you doing here?”
She obviously said what she was thinking.
“I’m here on vacation. Lord Wheatley kindly offered to let me stay in his house.”
“Uncle Oliver? Or was it Reggie? You look a lot like Emma.”
That appeared to be a non sequitur, but Liz didn’t like to be interrogated. She
decided to change the subject.
“Where did you and Tracy get your beautiful blonde hair?”
“From our mum. She’s living in Cornwall, on the west coast. We get to see her
every couple of months. We can swim there just like we swim here.”
“So you live with your dad and Grace most of the time?”
“Yes. It’s okay, but Grace is strange. I’d rather live with Mum, but that’s not
practical. She lives away from everything and doesn’t have much money. Have you
heard about the legend of Monksrest?”
“Yes, I have. What do you think about it?”
“I think it’s rubbish. A curse on Monksrest? Give me a break. That’s something
out of a fairy tale. But Grace believes in it. Speaking of Monksrest, Grace
says she’s descended from the bastard son of one of Uncle Oliver’s ancestors
who was the lord here a couple of hundred years ago.”
***
Seating at dinner was interesting. Each seat had a name card. Liz assumed Oliver
had arranged the cards, since he was the host. He was sitting at the head of
the table with one of Horatio’s daughters on either side of him. Barbara was on
his left, followed by Charlie, Reggie and Liz. Tracy was on his right, followed
by Susan and Horatio. Grace sat at the other end of the table, the spot where
the hostess would ordinarily sit.
Dinner was served by Matilda, and George, who doubled as the chef. Oliver had told
Liz that he and George had served in the Royal Navy during World War II on the
same ship. Oliver had been an officer and George had worked in food service.
After the war Oliver had hired George to be the chef at Monksrest, and he had been
there ever since.
Liz hadn’t had a chance to speak to Reggie since the automobile ride from the
airport and lunch.
She said, “You have a really beautiful home.”
Reggie gave her a wan smile. “It’s large enough for a great many more people than
the four who live here most of the time. I think Dad gets very lonely here, and
from now on it will be worse.”
Because Emma wouldn’t be here—even during the summer. Liz wanted to ask whether it
was possible to sell an estate like Monksrest that had originally been a land grant
from a king, but this wasn’t the time or place to do that. Liz attempted to talk to
Reggie about happy things such as the beauty of Monksrest, but it felt awkward, and
after a while they lapsed into silence.
She tried to think of something more to say, but then Charlie asked Reggie a question
and Liz felt relieved. Whoever had the hope of her and Reggie becoming an item had
probably counted on there being sparks between them, but the sparks were more like
cold raindrops.
“Elizabeth.”
It was Grace, speaking to her from her other side. Liz felt a little guilty, since
she hadn’t talked much to Horatio’s wife. She turned her head toward the woman.
Grace said, “Are you enjoying your dinner?”
“Yes, I am. I especially like the way George prepared the lamb. He is a really good
cook.”
“Yes. I would like to have him cooking for me.”
An interesting remark since she and Horatio lived in a flat in London. Did they even
have room for live-in help? She remembered something that Barbara had told her.
“I understand that you study genealogy. It sounds like a fascinating thing to do.”
Grace smiled. “I have learned a lot of things. For example, Horatio and I are distant
cousins.”
Liz cast a glance at Horatio, who was deep in conversation with the red-headed Susan.
He was an estate agent, and would be called a real estate broker in the U.S. From
watching him, Liz suspected he had the gift of gab, and that was probably a good job
for him. She turned back to Grace who was also watching Horatio, with a slight frown
on her face. Was she the jealous type?
Liz wanted to verify what Barbara had told her. “Are you a cousin on the Wheatley side
of Horatio’s family?”
“Yes. There was what is called in genealogy a non-parental event some time back, and
that is where I come in.”
That’s what Barbara had been talking about, although her language had been blunter.
Grace bent her head toward Liz and lowered her voice, so it wouldn’t carry over the
babble of other voices. “If Oliver ever decides to unburden himself of Monksrest,
Horatio and I would have first claim on it, he for obvious reasons, and I for the
reason I just told you, which I can now prove.”
“Wouldn’t you have to pay for it?”
“There would be some exchange of money, by the stipulations of the original land grant,
but that would happen over a number of years, and Monksrest has a good income from the
tenant farmers.”
Liz said, “I have read the poem that says Monksrest has a curse on it.”
“Oliver has suffered from that curse. Not only with the loss of Emma, but with the loss
of his wife five years ago. She was beheaded in a terrible automobile accident.”
Liz was aghast. She hadn’t heard the details about the accident that killed Oliver’s
wife. Oliver hadn’t told Liz one way or another how he felt about the curse, but
losing his wife and daughter in circumstances like those that had happened would be
enough to shake most men.
Liz said, “Aren’t you afraid that if you owned Monksrest the curse would affect you?”
“I believe that the curse was put on the original line of succession, which is that the
oldest son gets the title and the property. I’ve researched it. There have been
incidents caused by the curse in every generation. If Oliver sold Monksrest, the curse
will end. And not a moment too soon. I’ve told him that.”
Wishful thinking indeed. But what if somebody was assisting the curse?
***
The next morning Liz hadn’t yet caught up on her sleep. She had spent part of the night
awake and thinking about what Grace had told her about Monksrest. Grace had obviously
done a lot of research on the property. She knew how she and Horatio could get their
hands on Monksrest. It sounded as if she really wanted to live at Monksrest—perhaps felt
entitled to live at Monksrest, as opposed to a flat in London, even if an actual title
didn’t go with it.
Liz wanted to tell what she had found out to Oliver, but she wanted to do it in private.
She didn’t have an opportunity during breakfast, which was buffet style, as usual, with
all kinds of tempting goodies displayed on a long sideboard, from bacon (which looked like
ham to her) to eggs, toast, tomatoes, beans, as well as juices, coffee, and tea.
When Liz mentioned how much food there was to Oliver, he told her that Matilda and George
would eat the same breakfast after they were through serving it, and whatever was left
would be distributed to several families on the estate that were going through hard times.
Susan was there for breakfast. Liz suspected she lived in the house. She must be one of the
four who Reggie had referred to as being permanent residents. Room and board, probably free,
had to be a good deal, especially since Sunday wasn’t a work day for her. Oliver must have a
kind heart to give her such a benefit. She sat next to Charlie, just as she had at yesterday’s
lunch.
Charlie, Susan, and Reggie were planning to play golf again today, which was therapeutic for
Reggie. Reggie invited Liz to go with them, which would even the ratio of the sexes, but Liz
didn’t want to encourage him, and she also needed to talk to Oliver.
Liz said, “Thank you for the invitation, but I think I’ll pass. Charlie claims he’s the world’s
worst golfer, but he hasn’t seen me play. I’d really like to see more of Monksrest.”
Besides needing to speak to Oliver, she didn’t want to leave him alone, since he was also
grieving for Emma. Oliver gave her a look that could be interpreted as a thank you, and Liz was
glad she’d made the decision she did.
***
Liz felt more secure in the saddle today than she had yesterday, and she didn’t worry about Lucy
going over the cliff. Lucy was a gentle horse who seemed to understand Liz’s feelings about
riding, because she didn’t do anything to scare her. Liz was wearing shorts and a T-shirt over
her swimsuit, plus a sweater to protect her from the cool breeze off the English Channel, even
though it was summer.
Oliver rode alongside her, and once they were away from the house Liz started filling him in on
what Grace had told her last night. He listened without commenting until she had finished her
story. Then he was silent for a while before he spoke, and when he did speak he started slowly,
as if he was still thinking about it.
“I don’t know Grace as well as I should. She and Horatio have been married for about three years.
He and Esther, his first wife, had been divorced for several years before he married Grace. She
seems to make him happy, and I think she’s a good mother to the girls. She worked in sales at
Horatio’s estate business for several years before they got married, and she still works there.
I’m glad you were able to get her to talk.”
“I just mentioned genealogy to her and she started talking.”
“The police don’t seem to be getting anywhere with their investigation. I think we should look
into Grace, but I don’t want anyone else to know about it, including the police. It’s too touchy
since it involves family. Would you be willing to work with me?”
“Of course.”
“When I spoke to Horatio alone last night, he didn’t seem to have any ideas at all about who might
have...done it. He may not know Grace as well as he should.”
Liz had been trained for this sort of thing, and it was apparent that Oliver needed help. They came
to the path that meandered down to the cove, and Lucy obediently followed Oliver’s horse. They
tied the horses to a railing that had been installed long ago for that purpose. Liz took off her
outer layers, exposing her one-piece swimsuit, and Oliver took his art equipment out of his saddle
bags.
He had asked Liz if he could make sketches of her while she was swimming. She had no objection to
that. He didn’t say anything about doing a nude drawing of her.
Liz chanted a poem as she removed her clothing.
“Mother, may I go out to swim?
Yes, my darling daughter.
Hang your clothes on a hickory limb,
But don’t go near the water.”
She was glad to hear Oliver laugh.
He said, “That’s a new one on me. I’m not sure we have anything called a hickory tree here.”
“My grandmother recited that to me. She was from New England.”
Liz waded into the water. The bottom was sandy with a few small stones, like the beach, so she
didn’t have to be very careful where she stepped. She had swum in colder water, and this was
refreshing. When the water was deep enough she started swimming, long powerful strokes. It
felt good and it was tension relieving. When she was a hundred feet out from the beach she
floated on her back and looked at Oliver on the beach. He was doing something with his art
equipment, perhaps sketching her. He was facing in her direction.
After a while she swam back to shore and walked a few feet up the beach to where Oliver was
working, sitting on a rock and using a small easel stuck in the sand.
He said, “How’s the water?”
“Not bad. I’ve swum in colder water. Believe it or not, the ocean water in the Los Angeles area
is usually cool.”
“I’ll make myself scarce while you get out of your wet suit and put your clothes on. Then, if you
don’t mind, I’ll do another sketch of you.”
Liz looked at what he had done so far as she wrapped the towel she had brought around her body to
help alleviate the cold. It was a sketch of her face, which she recognized as being her. He was
a good artist. But Oliver’s suggestion that she get dressed didn’t seem quite right, somehow. He
would be drawing her with her clothes on, and that wasn’t completely satisfactory. Something was
missing.
Many of his drawings of women in the art room were nudes. She didn’t know whether they had posed
for him or if they were concocted out of his imagination, but that was suddenly irrelevant. He had
proven to Liz’s satisfaction that he wasn’t a womanizer like Reggie. If this was part of a healing
process it should be done right. Oliver was the odd man out in a way. Reggie had Charlie to console
him, but who did Oliver have? Liz wanted to help him.
“I’ll take the swimsuit off, and then you can draw me before I put on my clothes.”
Oliver’s eyebrows went up, and Liz realized that this was his favorite look of surprise.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I’ve never been a model before. I like to have new experiences.”
“Are you sure…?”
Oliver stopped talking in the middle of his sentence with his mouth open as Liz took the straps off
her shoulders and pulled the top of her suit down. She had his attention, but that was the easy part.
Getting the rest of the wet garment off would be harder.
“Can you hold that pose?”
“My body is wet.”
“Dry off with the towel.”
Liz did that, and it warmed her enough so that she wouldn’t shiver. She was most concerned about her
wet hair, which was a mess, and she tried to fix it. Oliver said not to worry about it and gave her
some direction. He wanted to draw her with her suit half on and half off. Well, he was the artist.
He pulled a fresh piece of paper off a pad and clamped it to the easel.
“Put a determined look on your face.”
Determined to get her suit off? So this was what it was like being a model. At least, he was very
professional. He would glance at her and then work with his pencil for a few seconds. He didn’t ogle
her. Liz relaxed and enjoyed the experience.
***
Oliver had suggested that Liz speak to Susan to learn more about Grace.
“Susan’s my secretary, and everything I know she knows, and perhaps a few more things. I’m a silent
partner in Horatio’s estate business, and, as I said, Grace does sales work for it. I use Susan as
a go-between since I try to stay at arm’s length from my brother. I don’t want to be accused of
telling him what to do.”
It sounded as if Susan was more than just a secretary. Liz tried to get Susan’s attention when the
trio returned from playing golf, but she said she was sweaty and needed to get cleaned up first.
A few minutes later Liz saw her going upstairs with Charlie and carrying some clothes. Liz was
quite sure Susan’s room was in the basement, along with those of Matilda and George. Kind of an
upstairs-downstairs thing, like in British movies. Liz concluded that Susan was going to clean up
in the room assigned to Charlie. She wondered what cleanup actually entailed.
While she waited, Oliver showed her his finished drawing of her. It was an amazing likeness. Nobody
would doubt the identity of the model.
“You made me look better than I am.”
Oliver smiled. “I don’t think anybody can make you look better than you do naturally.”
“Thank you. That’s so sweet.”
“I probably shouldn’t put this in the art room.”
Why not? Liz was proud of the picture. Why should it be kept hidden?
“Go ahead and put it in the art room.”
***
After a prolonged absence Susan appeared, looking fresh and having even changed her clothes from a
golf skirt to a wispy dress with a red color that went well with her red hair. She came into
Oliver’s office where Liz was sitting at the round table and thinking about what to do next.
Liz took one look at Susan and said, “You look very summery.”
“Thank you.” Susan gave her a little curtsey. “How can I help?”
“Have a seat. Oliver…Lord Wheatley… What do you call him?”
“When we’re alone he wants me to call him Oliver. In a business situation with other people it’s
Lord W or Lord Wheatley.”
“Your last name is MacTavish, right?”
“Aye, my bonny lassie, and I come from the highlands of Glasgow.”
Liz laughed, partly because she knew that Glasgow wasn’t actually in the Scottish Highlands.
“Your name reminds me of something the poet, Ogden Nash, said. ‘No MacTavish was ever lavish.’
Although I’m sure it doesn’t apply to you.”
“Me father screws his socks on.”
Liz chuckled and decided it was time to get down to business. “Oliver said that you’ve had
interactions with Grace Wheatley.”
“Some.” Susan looked a little confused.
“He also said not to hold anything back from you. But whatever is said in this room stays
in this room. Don’t talk about it to anybody—not even Reggie. Or Charlie.
Susan nodded, still looking confused.
“We’re trying to determine whether Grace could have killed Emma.”
Now Susan looked shocked. “Are you a detective or something?”
“In the States I do financial fraud investigation, which is similar. Sometimes I work with
Charlie.”
“Charlie said something about that. He said you were business associates. He also said not
to underestimate you.”
Liz smiled the smile of a woman in a man’s world. “I’ll have to give him a gold star for
sticking up for me.”
Susan had an understanding look on her face. “The few times I’ve seen Grace and Emma in the
same room, they’ve been very cordial with each other.”
Cordial didn’t mean they liked each other. “Do you know Grace’s schedule for, say, a typical
Sunday?”
Emma had been killed on Sunday, one week ago.
“Sunday is a workday in the estate sales business. Many house sales are made on Sundays. In
addition, a sales person has to be willing to work afternoons and evenings. I know that
Grace usually works on Sundays.”
“But not in the early morning.”
“No. You have to work when the customers are looking to buy.”
Emma had been killed in the early morning. The fact that Grace had probably worked Sunday
afternoon could give her some sort of an alibi.
Liz said, “Oliver told me that Grace has gone swimming in the cove when she’s visited here.
He also said that if somebody wanted to go directly to the cove, they could park off the
road out of sight and walk through the woods to the cove without coming to the house.”
Susan snapped her fingers. “Grace told me that she was on a swim team when she was in school,
and that she still likes to swim.” She was studying Liz. “You know, you look something like
Emma.”
Liz was surprised. Barbara had said that too. “Well, we both have blonde hair.”
“It’s more than that. You have a smile like hers. I’m glad you’re here. And I know that Oliver
likes you.”
***
“I came on two buses and a train. Can you imagine that?” That song from the musical, Carnival,
echoed in Liz’s head as she navigated her way to London, She had seen the show in Los Angeles
with the wonderful Anna Maria Alberghetti playing the lead, but this was actually more like two
buses and multiple underground trains, because there was no direct route from Monksrest to the
part of London where Horatio and Grace had their flat.
In Los Angeles she would have driven her car, but while Los Angeles didn’t have great public
transportation it did have freeways. Since Liz had never driven on what she considered to be
the wrong side of the road, she was paralyzed at the idea of doing it, and especially the idea
of driving in London.
She hadn’t told Oliver where she was going because she didn’t want him implicated in the crime she
was about to commit. She had told him she was off to do some sightseeing. Susan had helped Liz
work out the details of the transportation, and provided her with the spare keys Oliver kept to
Horatio’s flat, in exchange for Liz promising not to admit that Susan had helped her plan this.
According to Susan, there would be nobody at Horatio’s flat in the middle of the day. He and Grace
would be working at their estate business. The girls would be participating in various summer
activities, involving taking classes or doing other warm-weather pursuits. Liz didn’t want to
take any chances, however, and she stopped at a red telephone box and called the number provided
to her by Susan before approaching the flat.
The phone rang several times and then the call was answered. Liz’s heart almost stopped beating
until she realized that the call had been answered by an answering service that took messages
for people who weren’t at home. Because they were in the home sales business, Horatio and Grace
didn’t want to miss any calls. Liz quickly hung up the phone without speaking.
The flat was located in a nice neighborhood with a few trees and flowers decorating the fronts of
the multi-story buildings containing flats, most of which had been built within the last twenty
years. Liz wondered whether the area had been bombed by the Germans during the war. The street
was parked full with cars. When Liz found the building with the correct address she went along
the concrete walk to the front door and saw that there was an intercom system connecting to the
flats inside the building. Liz was nervous and decided she wanted to completely satisfy herself
that nobody was home. She buzzed the Wheatley flat.
No answer. Surely, it was safe to enter. She used her key to the front door and went inside.
Susan had told her to take the lift to the second floor. She found the lift and entered it,
pressing the appropriate button. As the door was closing a young man entered quickly, smiled at
Liz, and pressed the button for the first floor. Liz smiled back and then averted her eyes,
hoping that the man wouldn’t speak to her during the short ride.
He didn’t, and exited at his floor as quickly as he had entered, causing Liz to breathe a sigh
of relief. She got out of the elevator at the second floor and found herself in an entryway
with two options. There were two flats on this floor. She used the second key Susan had given
her to open the correct door, and entered the Wheatley’s flat.
She was in a small room with a closet full of coats and boots. She continued on, searching for
the kitchen. As she walked through the rooms she saw that the flat was quite large, with a
living room, dining room, and multiple bedrooms, as well as some other rooms, but of course it
would fit easily inside the Monksrest home. She found the kitchen without any problem.
A quick scan showed her a gas stove, refrigerator, sink, and abundant cupboards and drawers. Liz
wondered whether she would have to search through all the drawers, until she spotted a wooden
block on the counter that acted as a holder for knives. She went directly to it and just barely
remembered to take a handkerchief out of her purse, using it to grasp the handle of one of the
knives.
She pulled the knife out of its sheath and studied it. She had a picture of the murder weapon in
her purse, and she compared the two. They had the same type of handle, and appeared to be part
of the same set. The clincher was that one of the knife slots was empty. The murder weapon had
to have come from here.
Elated, Liz took her small camera out of her purse and snapped several pictures of the knife. She
placed the knife back in its slot and took pictures of the knife holder with the knife handles
sticking out. Then she placed the camera back in her purse and turned to leave the flat. This
was easier than she had thought it would be.
The next step was to provide the police with probable cause to search the flat, and she intended
to enlist Oliver’s help to do that. Of course, he had been here many times, and would “remember”
what the knives looked like, so there shouldn’t be a way to disallow the evidence because of
Liz’s trespass. Nobody would ever find out about that. Since American law was based on English
common law, the justification for a search warrant should be the same in both countries. And
Liz’s evidence would justify to Oliver what she had done, she felt certain.
As Liz approached the front door of the flat, she heard somebody turning the key in the lock from
the other side. She froze as the door swung open, and Barbara, the older daughter, walked into
the flat. Barbara was whistling a happy tune, but when she saw Liz she stopped dead in her tracks.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Liz knew she had to unfreeze herself and say something. She tried to put a smile on her face.
“Why hello, Barbara. How are you?”
Barbara’s malignant expression didn’t change. She repeated her question.
“What are you doing here?”
Liz had to come up with something fast. Since she had Oliver’s key she could say he’d sent her here
on an errand. No, that wouldn’t work. She couldn’t implicate Oliver in this.
“I was talking to Grace at the dinner about the legend of Monksrest, and she told me she had a
version of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales translated into modern English, and if I wanted to borrow it
and was in the area of your flat, I could let myself in using your Uncle Oliver’s key, even if—”
“That’s bloody bullshit. Where is this alleged book?”
“I-I couldn’t find it. I guess I misunderstood where it—”
“You’re snooping. That’s what you’re doing. I could have you arrested.”
Liz took a breath to steady her nerves. “Well, I’ll leave now. No harm done.”
Liz took a step toward the door, but Barbara moved her body in front of it. Liz wasn’t afraid of
her, physically, even though the girl was a bit taller and heavier than she was. Liz had taken
classes in self-defense, and could easily force her way out, but that would just make her own
situation worse than it already was. She wondered if Barbara suspected Grace was Emma’s killer.
If so, would she come to her step-mother’s defense?
“Look, I’ll level with you. There’s some reason to believe that Grace may be…implicated in Emma’s
murder. This is speculation, and I was just looking for any evidence one way or another. The
knife that was used is like the knife set in your kitchen, and one is missing…”
Liz trailed off her voice and paused to get Barbara’s reaction. The girl looked away with a frown
on her face and didn’t say anything for a few seconds, apparently thinking this over. Seconds
turned into more than a minute, but Liz didn’t want to break the silence. Finally, Barbara’s
expression changed to one that said she had an idea, and she looked Liz in the eye.
“I’d like to see the murder scene.”
“What?” Liz was caught by surprise.
“You and I are going to go to the cove and do some investigation together.”
“The police have already done that. I don’t think there’s any evidence left.”
“Maybe there’s something they missed.”
“It’ll take hours for you to get there and back by train and bus.”
Barbara smiled for the first time. “It won’t take that long. Daddy gave me a car for my eighteenth
birthday. Going there is much faster by car.”
***
Barbara obviously had quite a bit of driving experience. She drove her little car expertly through
London’s traffic, and once they got out in the open she accelerated and drove at a speed too fast
for Liz’s comfort, especially on the wrong side of the road, but at least she was alert and knew
what she was doing.
They had made a quick lunch of leftovers in the refrigerator before they left the flat. Liz was
wearing one of Barbara’s two-piece swimsuits under her dress, and Barbara had put a swimsuit on
under shorts and a T-shirt. Barbara didn’t lack for clothes. Liz had protested that she could wear
her own swimsuit that was at Monksrest, but Barbara said they didn’t have time to stop at the
“castle,” as she called it, and socialize because she had to be back at the flat for dinner. Grace
didn’t like it when they were late for meals. But while she and Liz were at the cove they might as
well go for a swim.
Liz didn’t want to talk about the murder investigation while they were driving, so she asked
Barbara what she wanted to study at university. Barbara said she wanted to be a doctor, and not
just a doctor, she wanted to be a surgeon. She was a surprising girl.
***
Barbara drove past the entrance to the Monksrest estate, and Liz questioned where she was going.
Barbara said, “It’s faster to park off the road and walk through the woods to the cove. Daddy and
Grace have sometimes taken us swimming there and not bothered to stop at the castle.” She giggled
as if she were telling a secret. “Grace taught Tracy and me how to swim at the cove. She used to
be a champion swimmer.”
Barbara found the turnoff from the road without any trouble and drove about 100 feet along a dirt
lane into the woods. When they got out of the car Liz noted that it would not be visible from the
road. She volunteered to carry the bag Barbara had brought containing towels, but the girl lifted
it out of the boot of the car and said it wasn’t heavy. She headed briskly off along what appeared
to be a trail and Liz followed her.
They came out of the woods into brilliant summer sunshine, not far from the cliff above the channel.
They walked down the trail to the beach, which would be a lovely hideaway if a tragic event hadn’t
occurred here. Barbara immediately stripped off her outer garments and Liz followed suit.
Barbara looked her over. “You’ve got a beautiful body. Have you ever been skinny dipping?”
Liz had been the equivalent of skinny dipping, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to do it now. The
look Barbara was giving her was a bit creepy, even though she was a girl. Barbara unhooked her bra
top and dropped it on the sand. Then she started wiggling out of the bottom.
“It’s easier to get out of a two-piece suit than a one-piece. I hate to have to take a wet swimsuit
home. And two wet swimsuits are just that much worse.”
Liz realized that it would be awkward if she kept her suit on, so she went through the same motions
as Barbara. She was surprised to find that she felt more uneasy around Barbara than she had being
naked with Oliver. That was strange.
Barbara ran down the small beach into the water, splashed through it until it became deep enough to
swim in, and then dove in, disappearing under the baby waves. She was indeed a good swimmer. Liz
followed her using the same approach. Once she was in the water, she regained her composure.
Barbara swam out 100 yards from shore and Liz continued to follow her. Barbara stopped and eyed Liz
while treading water. Liz stopped swimming and Barbara said, “Where did you learn to swim like that?”
“Playing water polo. It’s a fun sport when an opponent isn’t trying to drown you.”
Barbara laughed. “I’ve never played, but it sounds like something I would love.”
Barbara set out for shore with a leisurely overhand stroke and Liz followed her again, wondering
whether Barbara really had wanted to come here to look for evidence. She hadn’t shown any interest
in doing that so far. What was her game? Liz needed to tell Oliver what she had found at the flat so
that they could take appropriate action. The best way to do it was to get her clothes on and walk the
half mile to the house since Barbara didn’t want to drive there. Once Oliver knew about the missing
knife, what could Barbara do to her for breaking into the flat?
Barbara reached shallow water and ran through it and up the beach. Liz followed at a more leisurely
pace. She saw Barbara open the bag and take out two towels. As Liz walked toward her on the sand,
Barbara tossed one of the towels to her. Liz reached her hands out to catch it and caught a glimpse
of Barbara charging her out of the corner of her eye. Sunlight reflected off a knife the girl held in
her hand.
Liz’s first thought was to wonder what Barbara was doing with a knife in her hand. However, even as the
thought entered her head her reflexes sprang her into action. She held the towel up between Barbara
and the knife and stepped sideways, something like a matador executing a pass with a bull.
Barbara attempted to plunge the knife into Liz. The towel partially blocked it and deflected Barbara’s
aim, so that the knife flashed by Liz’s shoulder. Barbara ran past her and lost her balance, tumbling
onto the sand. Liz briefly thought about jumping on top of her, but that was too dangerous because she
still held the knife. Liz next considered trying to run up the path to the cliff and then to the house,
but she suspected she couldn’t outrun the athletic girl, especially barefoot. The path along the top of
the cliff was stony.
Liz needed a weapon, to enable her to fight back. She remembered seeing loose rocks on the beach that had
fallen down the cliff. She ran toward the cliff and spotted a small alcove with rocks sitting on the
sand. She went into the alcove and picked up a rock large enough to do serious damage. She turned around
and saw Barbara as she got up from the sand and warily approached Liz. Barbara came close to the entrance
of the alcove, blocking Liz’s escape route.
They stood, eyeing each other for a few seconds. Liz noticed that Barbara was looking at her shoulder.
Liz glanced to her left and saw that her shoulder was bleeding, but then quickly looked at Barbara again
so that the girl wouldn’t catch her off guard. The knife had nicked her. A small stream of blood trickled
out of the wound and down her arm.
Barbara said with a horrid grin, “You’re going to bleed to death.”
Liz knew that wasn’t true. If she remained still the blood would clot. However, the wound put her at a
disadvantage, and she had to keep an eye on it. The knife Barbara held wasn’t one of the kitchen knives.
She was getting smarter. It was a smaller knife, but it was just as deadly as the kitchen knife. It could
undoubtedly be disposed of without anybody missing it.
Liz needed to get the upper hand, and fast.
She said, “Why did you kill Emma?”
Barbara’s pretty face contorted into an expression that must be hate.
“Because she had it all. The house, the money, the position. People called her Miss Wheatley. Nobody ever
called me that. Daddy told me I would have to work to help pay for university. I’ve been working as a
clerk. Emma never had to do that.”
Liz stared at her. “That’s not a reason to kill her.”
Now Barbara looked cunning. “Grace said that if Uncle Oliver ever decided to sell Monksrest, we would be
able to take it. I figured leaving the poem about the curse would put him over the edge. I’ve got a copy
to leave with your body.”
Liz shuddered. Envy. That’s what it was. One of the seven deadly sins. Liz took another tack.
“You wouldn’t get away with killing me.”
Barbara smiled. “You’re another Emma. You look like her and I can tell that Uncle Oliver likes you. You
deserve to die. Nobody knows I’m here. I’ll just drive home and tell them I was shopping after work this
morning. I won’t leave any traces of myself.”
Including her swimsuits, which she could easily hide. And they weren’t even wet. No wonder she wanted Liz
naked. She was a smart girl, and Liz would have to take that into consideration. She would undoubtedly
take Liz’s camera from the bag and dump it somewhere, perhaps in the Channel. Liz had to outsmart her.
“If you want to get home in time for dinner, you have to leave soon.”
Barbara didn’t say anything, but she took a step closer to Liz. Liz lifted her rock higher, using both
hands, prepared to hit Barbara with it. Even if Barbara was able to stab Liz, she couldn’t escape
serious injury from the rock. She apparently decided that the game wasn’t worth the candle, because she
stepped back again.
Liz had been in other dicey situations in the past few years. She had found a reserve of grit in herself
that she hadn’t known about while growing up. She was in a situation now where she would have to rely on
her own ingenuity and fortitude. Oliver was not going to come riding to her rescue. Neither was Charlie,
with whom she had survived several adventures. She had to get out of this mess by herself.
One thing that might be in Liz’s favor was time. Barbara had reacted to the suggestion that she might be
late for dinner. Grace demanded that everyone arrive promptly for meals. If Barbara was late, questions
would be asked about where she had been, and she might be connected to anything that happened to Liz.
The later Barbara started home, the greater the chance of her running into bad rush-hour traffic as she
approached London. Liz wondered how long she could stall Barbara.
From what Liz knew about Emma’s murder by reading the newspapers, Emma hadn’t had a chance to defend
herself. She had been taken by surprise and didn’t have any defensive wounds. The knife had been inserted
underneath her rib cage in a spot that did maximum damage and showed a knowledge of anatomy. She probably
bled to death within a few seconds.
Liz looked at how Barbara held the knife in her right hand. Liz was left-handed, and because she was in a
minority she noticed handedness in other people. Barbara had cut Liz’s left shoulder, but the wound didn’t
incapacitate her left arm, although a trickle of blood was still oozing down her arm. That made the cut
look worse than it was. Liz decided to try stalling, but she also wanted to be able to catch Barbara off
guard, if possible.
“You said you would like to be a surgeon. Have you been studying anatomy on your own?”
Barbara watched her but didn’t say anything.
“How easy is it for women to become surgeons here? In the States it’s difficult. My pediatrician was a woman,
and I suspect most woman doctors are pediatricians. Is that true here also?”
“Women were performing surgical procedures in Egypt over 5,000 years ago. There are wall paintings of them in
tombs and temples.”
Barbara sounded committed, but she would never become a surgeon now. Murderers didn’t become surgeons.
Surgeons were supposed to save people, not kill them. Liz ached inside for Barbara, but there was nothing
she could do about the facts. She certainly wasn’t going to let the girl kill her and then get away with it.
Liz changed her tactics.
“Did you realize when you killed Emma that Grace might be blamed for it? She can make a case for a hereditary
claim to Monksrest, which would give her a motive, since she believes in the curse.”
Barbara stared at her without speaking. The truth was that Barbara hadn’t really been thinking at all beyond
taking the knife and a copy of the poem with her when she met Emma at the cove. That was obvious.
Liz glanced at her left shoulder. It hadn’t stopped bleeding. It needed medical attention. Time was running out
for her as well as Barbara. Although it would be difficult for her to find the resolve to hurt the girl, she
had to be willing to do so in order to save her own skin.
She was standing with the rock in both hands. The towel was draped around her neck. She couldn’t use the towel
as a shield because she needed both hands to handle the rock. A smaller rock wouldn’t make a dangerous enough
weapon.
Liz took a big step forward. She caught Barbara by surprise; the girl stepped back. Then she stopped abruptly
and raised the knife. She threatened to regain her territory, but Liz raised the rock with both hands to a
position where she could either throw it or jab with it, and Barbara stayed where she was.
Liz lowered the rock to where she could comfortably hold it with both hands. She passed it from one hand to
another several times, to test whether she would be able to hold it and throw it using just one hand. She
thought she could do that, if necessary. It would be something like throwing the shotput at a track meet.
Barbara watched her, but didn’t make another move.
Liz realized that in order to get away she had to be able to move more than one step at a time. She was clear
of the shallow alcove, and she wasn’t going to let Barbara force her back into it. She took a sidestep to the
left. Barbara immediately stepped to the right, keeping her body between Liz and the path up to the cliff.
Liz repeated this maneuver several more times and Barbara moved with her, as if executing a dance step. Liz
suspected Barbara thought that she was trying to get to her clothes, but attempting to put on pants or a top
would leave her body exposed and give Barbara a chance to rush her. Actually, what Liz wanted were her
slip-in shoes, so that she would be able to take the path up to the cliff and then go along the cliff path,
something she couldn’t do easily in bare feet.
By the time Barbara realized what she was doing, Liz had reached the shoes and was able to quickly slip her
feet into them while keeping her grip on the rock. Barbara looked as if she was going to charge her, but Liz
lifted the rock and never took her eyes off the girl, who changed her mind, however reluctantly.
Barbara’s shoes were on the ground beneath Liz’s feet. Liz shifted the rock to her right hand and reached down
with her left hand. She grabbed one of the shoes and in the same motion threw it as far as she could toward
the water.
With an enraged roar Barbara charged her. Liz launched the rock at the girl, using a two-handed chest pass,
the kind thrown by basketball players. It struck Barbara in her right shoulder and she dropped the knife and
grabbed her shoulder. Liz momentarily thought about attempting to pick up the knife, but that would give
Barbara a chance to attack her. She didn’t know how badly her antagonist was hurt.
Instead, Liz ran past the girl and up the path to the cliff. Barbara wouldn’t be able to follow her at a
competitive speed until she recovered her other shoe. That gave Liz a head start. As she got to the top of
the cliff, panting, she momentarily considered taking the path directly to the road rather than going the
longer route along the cliff to the house.
Not many cars drove on the country road, and she might end up having to go all the way to the house, anyway,
by what would be a much longer route. In addition, a driver might not stop because she was naked. Or one
might stop because she was. When someone discovered she was bleeding, however, he (or she) probably wouldn’t
take advantage of her. But she had a better chance of finding somebody at the house. Matilda or George would
be there, even if nobody else was, and they would know what to do.
Liz jogged along the path beside the cliff, avoiding the occasional pile of horse manure and casting a glance
behind her periodically. So far, no sign of Barbara. Her wound was a problem, however. The bleeding had
intensified, probably due to her increased heart rate. She couldn’t afford to stop and put pressure on it
with the towel, which still hung loosely around her neck. She had to hope she could make it to the house.
The next time she looked back she saw Barbara. The girl was chasing her, although she was some distance away.
Liz checked a few seconds later and confirmed that Barbara was gaining on her. The pain Liz now felt from her
wound was slowing her down, and she was beginning to feel groggy. She soon realized that she couldn’t outrun
the girl.
There were scattered stones along the path, but carrying one would slow her down. She had to figure out another
way to escape. Maybe there wasn’t one. Maybe her story ended here. Would Barbara get away with killing her?
Liz thought about stopping and scratching Barbara’s name in the dirt, but that would ensure that the girl
would catch her.
There was a grove of trees ahead close to the path. Liz might be able to hide among the trees, but she couldn’t
stay there long because of her bleeding. She decided she’d better keep going. She was passing the grove when
she suddenly swerved and ran into the trees. She had spotted the perfect place to hide. She went in a few feet
and then knelt in the center of some bushes. She could peek out from here and see the clifftop path through
the leaves.
Liz hoped that Barbara had lost sight of her because of a curve in the cliff top and didn’t know where she had
gone. She watched the path for what seemed like an eternity and didn’t see Barbara. Liz was tempted to go out
onto the path again Maybe Barbara had given up. She shifted her weight to get to her feet, but then she heard
footsteps, and Barbara came into view, jogging slowly.
Liz only saw her for a few seconds, but in that time she realized that something was wrong with Barbara. Her
right arm was hanging limp by her side. She had been injured by the rock Liz had thrown at her and this was
slowing her down. But now Barbara was ahead of her.
Liz couldn’t stay here any longer. She stood and went out of the trees and onto the path. Barbara was moving
slowly, and obviously in pain. Liz picked up a piece of a fallen branch of a tree, about two feet long, and
followed the girl. Liz tried to move with minimum noise, and she found she was gaining on Barbara who was
barely jogging in a jerky fashion. Liz saw the knife in Barbara’s left hand, not her right, which was
apparently useless.
Barbara stopped moving and turned around. She stared at Liz with glassy eyes. Liz took advantage of her
hesitation by running up to her and knocking the knife out of her hand with the branch.
They were only about 100 yards from the house.
Liz said, “Somebody will be at the house who can help us.”
***
“How are you feeling?”
Charlie’s question stumped Liz. How was she feeling? She was sitting up on the hospital bed, wearing a
hospital gown, with a gigantic bandage on her left shoulder. She had been kept overnight for
observation, but a doctor had told her a few minutes ago that she would be released this morning. She
was ready to get out of here.
“I feel relieved. The doctor said I’ll be fine, except for a small scar. Thank you for coming to get me.”
Although, until this moment, Charlie, Susan, and Oliver couldn’t have known she had permission to leave
the hospital.
Susan said, “I brought some of your clothes for you to wear.”
Liz hadn’t thought about clothes. “Thank you. I should start wearing clothes again.”
Liz realized this statement was probably induced by the pain medicine she had been taking, and decided to
be more careful about what she said. Charlie and Susan smiled, but Oliver still looked concerned.
“You could have been killed. When I opened the door you had blood all over you.”
Liz remembered using the brass knocker with the image of a monk’s head in a hood that was on the big front
door at the Monksrest house. When Oliver had opened the door, she had been so relieved to see him that she
had collapsed on the steps. She didn’t have to struggle anymore. Barbara hadn’t been in much better shape.
“How is Barbara?”
Oliver said, “She has a broken bone in her shoulder. She’s under guard here in the hospital, and when she’s
released she’ll be going to jail. The police need to speak to you again.”
Liz remembered talking to the police yesterday at the hospital after she had arrived by ambulance and been
attended to. She had given them a summary of what had happened at the cove and told them to look for the
camera with which she’d taken pictures of the kitchen knives. Presumably, by now they had also found the
knife Barbara dropped and the clothes that both of them had worn.
***
Liz hadn’t expected to get to Scotland on this trip, but here she was. Specifically in Gretna Green, where,
she had learned, young English couples in a former age had run away to in order to get married, because of
differences in the marriage laws between England and Scotland.
Oliver, who had suggested they drive Charlie to his starting point, had brought them here in the Rolls
Royce, having “borrowed” it from Reggie. Liz suspected that Oliver actually owned the vehicle, but in any
case, Reggie would have to use a lesser car until Oliver took the Rolls back to London. Liz knew that
Oliver wanted to get away from Monksrest for a while.
Charlie was now on his second full day of walking since his restart, and he had just entered Scotland this
morning. Susan was the fourth member of the party, and being Scottish and originally from Glasgow, she had
been eager to come along. At first, Liz had thought Oliver had brought Susan along to perform secretarial
duties, such as finding them bed and breakfasts to stay at, something she was very good at.
When Susan booked three rooms at the first place they stayed, Liz wondered why. Being thrifty, she thought
they only needed two rooms—one for boys and one for girls. However, that’s not the way it turned out.
Charlie and Susan stayed in one room, and Oliver and Liz had rooms all to themselves. So much for Susan
being just a secretary.
Liz had recovered quickly from her wound, and now was left with just a scar and a light bandage to protect it.
After a couple of days she had felt well enough to take a tour of London. Oliver had conducted the tour and
Charlie and Susan had come along. Among other places, they had toured the Tower of London with the famous
Beefeaters (actually, Yeomen Warders), walked across the top of the bi-level Tower Bridge, taken a boat ride
on the Thames, and seen a production of My Fair Lady.
Liz had also talked to the police, telling her story in greater detail, and had met with one of the attorneys
who would be prosecuting the case against Barbara for murder. Liz had to promise to return to England for the
trial so that she could give testimony.
***
It was after dinner on the third day of the impromptu trip to “watch Charlie walk.” The non-walkers had also
done some sight-seeing. Charlie and Susan had retired to their room to let Charlie rest, as Susan said, but
Liz wondered how much rest he was going to get. Liz and Oliver were left together. Liz had to fly back to the
U.S. in a week. She didn’t want to go to her room and be by herself. She was trying to think of something to
say to Oliver about this without sounding too forward.
Oliver looked at her and said, “It’s a bit lonely watching the telly by myself. Would you like to watch silly
old quiz shows with me for a bit?”
“I’d love to!”
The enthusiasm Liz said this with caused them both to burst out laughing. They went into the room together and
Liz suggested they sit on the bed.
“It’s a lot more comfortable than these chairs, as I’ve found out.”
The quiz shows were as silly as advertised. Liz had a question for Oliver that she had wanted to ask but didn’t
know how to, so she just asked it.
“What will you do about Monksrest?”
“I’ve been thinking about that.”
Oliver’s mood grew suddenly dark, and Liz was sorry she’d asked the question.
“I spoke to Horatio. Of course, he’s very upset about Barbara. He doesn’t have an explanation for what she did.
He doesn’t want anything to do with Monksrest. I can sell it to someone who has no previous connection with the
place. I officially don’t believe in legends and curses, but this is too much to take. Whether there is a world
we don’t know about, I’m not sure, but I have to separate myself from the family estate with apologies to my
ancestors. Reggie will understand—I hope.”
Liz put her arm around Oliver and felt how hard his body was. She rested her head on his shoulder. After a while,
Oliver said, “I’m sorry to be in tatters. It’s okay if you want to return to your room.”
“What if I don’t?”
“You…don’t have night clothes.”
Liz put her hands under Oliver’s shirt and felt the hardness of his body.
“Well, as you know, I don’t always wear clothes during the day, so why should I wear them at night?"