Chapter 13
In Pam and Wesley’s student days, Friday night used to be fun night.
But nowadays Friday merely marked the end of an exhausting week for both of them.
Going over the case that afternoon hadn’t been much help, and any information they were waiting for was taking a frustratingly long time to arrive.
Wesley found himself wishing he could leave the whole investigation to someone else.
But that wasn’t an option. He knew he’d be working on it over the weekend.
The children were upstairs, meant to be doing their homework, and he was reluctant to disturb them. After he and Pam had eaten, they flopped down together on the sofa. Something on the coffee table in front of them caught Wesley’s eye.
‘What are those?’
Wesley was suddenly reminded of the book Aleric Donnal had borrowed from the archives, Beasts of the Middle Ages. Even at home he couldn’t escape the case. ‘You seem to know a lot about it.’
‘You can’t be a teacher and not notice these things,’ she said. ‘It’s just a fad. They’ll be into something else next term.’
He was about to go upstairs to say hello to the children, but before he had a chance, the doorbell rang.
His heart sank. He feared it heralded the arrival of Pam’s mother.
Della had just set up a healing retreat near Neston with a like-minded friend, using goats as an aid to massage and meditation.
Rachel, who had lived on farms all her life, had snorted with laughter when he’d told her about it, saying she’d never met a goat that had been a calming influence on anyone. Quite the opposite.
However, when he answered the door, he was relieved to see Neil standing there with Annabel by his side. He ushered them in, and when Pam saw who’d come calling, she rose from her seat to greet the visitors.
‘Just thought we’d call in on our way back to Exeter. I assume you’d like to hear the latest news about what we’ve found out about Sycamore House,’ Neil said once the pleasantries were over.
‘Did you know it used to be called something else? Casa Mirabilis.’
Neil shook his head and gave a little laugh. ‘House of Miracles. Hardly. Ugly place in my humble opinion.’ He turned to Annabel. ‘You haven’t seen the place yet, have you, darling.’
Wesley saw a look of surprise pass across Pam’s face. Neither of them had ever heard Neil address anyone as ‘darling’ before.
‘No, I’ve been stuck in the archives trying to see what I can find out about the site,’ said Annabel.
She had the sort of accent associated with BBC TV presenters back in the 1950s.
A healthy-looking young woman, she had let her blonde hair grow back into its natural shiny brown, still tamed with her habitual Alice band.
Her brief and disastrous marriage to a member of the landed gentry had ended when she’d found her new husband was having an affair with his cousin’s wife – and Annabel was hardly the type to turn a blind eye to that sort of betrayal.
At first glance, she and Neil made an incongruous couple.
And yet they’d collaborated together professionally for years, and they seemed completely relaxed in each other’s company.
Neil turned back to Wesley. ‘After you called in earlier, we did a geophys survey and it looks as though there’s a rectangular building there – probably around seven metres by four if the printout’s anything to go by.
It’s aligned east–west, so I suspect it is a chapel.
And the geophys has shown up some strange buried shapes a similar size to those grotesques we found. ’
‘More of them?’ Wesley asked, his interest piqued.
‘I think we’ve found a chapel decorated with grotesques. They’re meant to ward off evil.’ Neil grinned. ‘Pity they didn’t work for the poor sod who ended up behind that wall. When do you think he was put in there?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’ Wesley turned to Annabel.
He’d left a message for her earlier that day in the hope she’d recognise Donnal’s name as a user of her archives.
‘Have you had any luck with that name I mentioned? Aleric Donnal? It looks as though he was an academic carrying out research at Fontescue Hall.’
At the mention of the hall, he was sure he saw Annabel’s cheeks redden a little. ‘The name isn’t familiar, I’m afraid. Sorry.’ She thought for a moment. ‘You said you found a letter from my retired colleague, Ron Hands.’
‘That’s right. It said Donnal hadn’t returned something he’d borrowed.’
Annabel rolled her eyes. ‘We get that problem from time to time with facsimiles academics are allowed to take off the premises. I’m still in touch with Ron, so I can ask him. He’s a nice man and he’ll probably be glad of the challenge.’
‘Thanks. Might be useful. So far Aleric Donnal’s a bit of a mystery.
According to Mr Fontescue, he was connected with a university, but he wasn’t sure which one.
And when we tried to contact local universities, either the person who’d know wasn’t there or all their office staff had gone home.
We’ll probably have to wait until after the weekend to find out more. ’
‘Want me to make enquiries among my contacts?’
‘Thanks. That would be a terrific help.’ Wesley was surprised at how keen Annabel was to join in the investigation.
The doorbell rang again. This time his worst fears were realised. It was Della. As soon as she marched in, Neil and Annabel said they needed to rush back and said their goodbyes.
Once they’d gone, Della sat down on the sofa and demanded wine, claiming that she’d had a hell of a day. Pam looked at Wesley and pulled a face.
‘Sorry, Mum, we’ve got a lot to do.’
She was trying to be firm, but as usual, her mother’s personality won out.
There had been times when Wesley had wondered whether Pam’s father had been rather relieved to leave this life and his overbearing wife with her strange New Age ideas.
But he’d dismissed these uncharitable thoughts.
His devout churchgoing parents, he knew, would have told him to be more understanding. But it wasn’t always easy.
‘Goats,’ Della announced loudly. ‘One of mine’s a bit off colour. Your frightful boss, Gerry, has a son who’s a vet. Can you ask him to call round and have a look at Blossom?’
‘Why don’t you ask him yourself? You can find the number of the veterinary surgery online. Carnvale, just off the Neston Road.’
‘I thought you’d be able to get mate’s rates.’
‘No, Della. I can’t get mate’s rates. If the animal’s sick, you should call the surgery.’
His mother-in-law didn’t look pleased. But that wasn’t Wesley’s problem.
‘If that’s all, Mum . . .’ Pam stood up.
The time for subtle hints was over. If they weren’t firm, they both knew she’d be there for the duration, drinking their wine and demanding that Wesley walk her home because, according to Della, the police didn’t do their job properly, which meant the streets of Tradmouth weren’t safe.
Della assumed a hurt expression, as though her only child had thrust an arrow through her heart. Wesley hoped Pam wouldn’t fall for it and abandon her resolve.
The situation was helped by the ringing of Wesley’s phone, and he rushed out into the hall to answer it.
‘Is that Inspector Peterson?’
‘Speaking.’
‘It’s Pete Wolsey here. We met at the Duke’s Arms earlier today.’
‘I remember. What can I do for you, Mr Wolsey?’
‘That briefcase you were asking about. I’ve found it. Like I thought, it was tucked away in my loft.’
‘That’s great news. Hold onto it and I’ll send someone round to pick it up tomorrow.’
‘No need. I’ll get our Darren to drop it off.’
Wesley thanked him, gratified to find such a co-operative potential witness. And as he watched Pam see Della off the premises, he experienced a sudden burst of optimism.
Sue Potter made her way upstairs to what she thought of as her ‘wardrobe department’.
There was something she needed to do before the next morning, something that wouldn’t take long.
She’d heard the telltale sound of a ripped seam when she’d taken her costume off the previous week, so she needed to try it on to make sure no mending needed to be done.
She undressed and slipped on the wide skirt and bodice, and was immediately transformed into Mistress Potter, the ale wife.
She twirled round in front of the full-length mirror, looking forward to the next day, when she could escape the worries of the present for a few hours and become somebody else from a completely different, and perhaps simpler, age.
Even so, after receiving the note, she felt a little uneasy about leaving the house.
But she told herself she was being overdramatic.
This was Belsham, the pleasant Devon village that had become her refuge.
It was probably someone from the re-enactment society’s idea of a joke and she should just forget all about it.
She heard a sound from downstairs, a knock on the front door. For a few moments she froze. Then she hoisted up her long skirts and crept down the carpeted staircase, her heart beating fast.