The Murder Dance, page 15
‘Would it matter after so long … Yes, of course it would,’ she said, before he could speak. ‘Apart from everything else, there’s the damage it would do to Zillah. I’ve got to protect her above everything else.’
This sounded very good indeed. Zillah had known that nothing would happen to her, but it was nice to hear it said.
‘Also,’ said Osbert, ‘there are the people who lied and covered up the truth and helped with the deception on that night. Some of them are still here in Reivers, and they need to be considered, as well.’
‘You and I were among those people, Osbert. You were only a child, but—’
‘I was old enough to understand,’ said Osbert. ‘I was Zillah’s age.’ There was suddenly a bad moment when he looked very directly at Zillah, but then he came back to his chair and reached for Gran’s hand. ‘Don’t look like that,’ he said, very gently. ‘This family’s covered up more than one strange event over the years. We’ll think of a way to do so again.’ He frowned. ‘If I had been ten years younger I could have dealt with this myself, and no one would have needed to know. But I couldn’t do it now, and you certainly couldn’t.’
‘If only Trigg—’
‘Yes, Trigg would have thought of a way,’ said Osbert.
‘I always wished I had known him better,’ said Gran. ‘It’s curious, but during that week I was here – I had a strong sense of connection between us. Only a feeling, but—’
‘One of those might-have-been things?’
‘Yes. Osbert, he’s been dead for two years now, hasn’t he? How have you coped with Evelyn?’
‘As a matter of fact, I’ve had help from a surprising source,’ said Osbert. ‘Do you remember the ladies in the antique shop in the village?’
‘I think so. An odd name they had.’
‘Savory,’ said Osbert. ‘Two of them were here that night. They’re both dead now, of course, but over the years I got to know them well. And then some nieces inherited the shop, and I got to know them, as well.’
‘Ah. And the nieces inherited the truth about Evelyn?’
‘Yes. And I think they could be trusted now,’ he said. ‘And there’s one other person who could be trusted – someone who could help in a practical way.’
‘Who—?’
‘D’you remember that local builder who was there that night?’
‘Grindall,’ said Zillah’s grandmother, after a moment.
‘Yes, Giff Grindall. He died years ago, of course, but the firm’s still going. In fact it’s flourishing – I shouldn’t think there’s a building contract within fifty miles that isn’t handled by Grindall’s. Old Giff’s son’s been running things for years, although he’s getting on as well, of course. He must be almost seventy. But he’s a spry old boy, and he’s training up his own son to take over in a few years.’
‘It was Giff Grindall who created those courtyard rooms, wasn’t it?’ said Zillah’s grandmother, thoughtfully. ‘You were too young to take much notice of the practicalities, but I remember how Trigg designed the mechanism for the doors, and how Mr Grindall made it. He fitted all the doors in those rooms. Is it his son you’ve got in mind now?’
‘Yes. He helped that night. He couldn’t have been more than about sixteen, but he knew what had happened all right.’
‘Can we risk it?’
‘I don’t think we’ve got a choice,’ said Osbert.
As he reached for the phone, Gran said in a sudden, urgent voice, ‘Osbert—’
‘Yes?’
‘Before Grindall gets here, there’s something one of us must do.’
Osbert said, in a voice so quiet Zillah knew she had not been meant to hear it. But she did hear it. Osbert said, in that quiet, secret voice, ‘The hands. We must cover up the hands.’
It seemed that Mr Grindall was at his builder’s yard, and could come out to The Tabor within the next half-hour. Before he arrived, though, Zillah was taken to lie down in a bedroom, which Gran said would be the best thing for her after such a terrible experience. Zillah knew quite well that she was being got out of the way so that she would not hear what was said to Mr Grindall, which was annoying, because she wanted to know what was happening.
The bedroom was at the top of a creaky staircase leading off the big hall. The stairs were quite steep, but there was a banister to hold on to; it was glossy and smooth, and it felt like silk.
‘That’s because it’s extremely old,’ said Gran. ‘It’s because so many people have gone up and down these stairs, sliding their hands along this banister as they went. I’m glad to see Osbert’s kept a bit of polish going around the place, though. I suppose a cleaner comes in – I must ask him about that. I can’t see him flicking dusters or trundling a vacuum cleaner around.’
Zillah could not see it, either, but she was more interested in the bedroom Gran had taken her to, which was the biggest bedroom she had ever seen. The windows looked down over the gardens, towards a wall at the very end, and a garden gate.
The bed in the room was the hugest bed Zillah had ever seen; Gran said it had belonged to an ancestor called Rosalind Rivers.
‘Your ancestor and mine – and Osbert’s, as well. They say Rosalind was the most beautiful Rivers lady ever, and all the men used to fall in love with her the minute they saw her. And now you’re going to lie down in her bed.’
This was quite a good story. Zillah liked knowing she was in Rosalind Rivers’ bed, and she pretended for a while that she was Rosalind, and that men were all falling in love with her.
There was a faint hum of voices downstairs – Gran and Mr Rivers, and a rumbly voice which must be Mr Grindall. Was there anyone else with them? Osbert Rivers had talked about some people in an antique shop somewhere.
Zillah was suddenly very curious about these people who could be trusted, so much so that she stopped thinking about Rosalind Rivers, and started wondering who else might be downstairs and what they were saying. Moving cautiously so that no one would hear her, she got out of bed and went to the door. She did not put her shoes on, because it would be quieter to tiptoe along in her socks. The landing was a big one, with lots of doors opening off it, but Zillah was not going to look in any of the rooms; she was just going to creep a little way down the stairs. Listening to other people talking like this was not something you were supposed to do, but they would be talking about Evelyn and she might find out a bit more. Also, they would probably be talking about Zillah herself.
But as she reached the twisty bit of the stairs, the rumbly-voiced man was leaving. Zillah could still hear him, but he was standing just outside the door, so she could not see him.
But he was saying that no one would find out. ‘You can trust me for that, Mr Rivers,’ he said. ‘I’ll fetch a few things from the yard, and I’ll be straight back. Everything’ll be done by teatime.’ A pause, and then, ‘After that, it’s my advice that you seal up those rooms and all the bad memories with them, and you let Evelyn Rivers and all those grisly tales about the Murder Dance be forgotten once and for all.’
Forgotten once and for all. That was what should have happened, thought Zillah, sitting in the inglenook at The Daunsen, only half-listening to Phineas Fox and Arabella talking to Quentin.
Toby had gone to the bar to collect more drinks, and Zillah forced her mind back to what was being said. It seemed that Phineas and Arabella were driving into Norwich the following day to look at local archives and back issues of old local newspapers.
‘There’s a big library with what sounds like a really good section for Norfolk’s history,’ said Arabella. ‘Maps and documents and hopefully old photographs and newspapers. Phin will probably want to camp out there for the next fortnight.’
Phin smiled at her, and quite suddenly it was as if a light had come on. For a really startling moment, Zillah wondered if this was how he might look when he was in bed with someone. Alight and alive and filled with energy.
But he had turned back to Quentin. ‘I know you don’t want the Dance to be part of the PR,’ he said, ‘but you wouldn’t mind if I looked into it a bit more deeply, would you?’
‘Oh, no. My family doesn’t own it,’ said Quentin, with what Zillah recognized as his Rivers of Reivers manner. ‘And I’d be interested in anything you can find out,’ he said, and almost as an afterthought, added, ‘It’s Zillah’s family too, of course.’
‘What’s really attracting me,’ said Phin, ‘is that it seems to be such a strong memory. It doesn’t sound as if the Dance has been performed for a very long time – maybe several centuries – but it’s still remembered. So you’d expect it to have been revived for centenary things and the millennium and whatnot. Villages often do that – there are plenty of them in this country – probably in a lot of other countries, too. Old dances and processions and things preserved and trotted out every so often. Why hasn’t that happened with the Reivers Dance?’
Arabella said, ‘The memory might have survived because of the rumour that one of Shakespeare’s men performed in it. Will Kempe,’ she said, looking at Quentin and Zillah, and Zillah saw Quentin nod solemnly, as if he knew all about Will Kempe.
He said, ‘I didn’t realize it was as old as that. But will you find anything from so far back?’
‘You might,’ said Toby, coming back with the drinks. ‘Phin, d’you remember when we were writing Bawdy Ballads? We found pamphlets and leaflets about what MPs were up to or the latest murder, and who had been carted off to Newgate for debt.’
Zillah put on her interested face, and said it was all really fascinating, and she thought it was great that they were taking so much trouble over Quentin’s restaurant idea.
‘Particularly since you must have masses of commitments in London.’
‘Not too many at the moment,’ said Phineas. ‘This is actually a welcome diversion.’
‘And if Arabella does take on the publicity for the restaurant, I shall expect to pay a proper fee, of course,’ said Quentin.
‘Oh, yes, I know that,’ said Zillah, and thought Quentin had said that in the tone of one correcting an ignorant child who has forgotten its manners.
It was annoying that on the way to bed Toby tried to separate her from the others. But Zillah adroitly fell into step with Quentin, and, as it turned out, it was a very good thing she did, because it seemed that he had been out to Codling’s office that very afternoon.
‘Come into my room for a moment and I’ll tell you,’ he said, opening the door.
Zillah perched on the dressing-table stool, and Quentin said, in his serious voice, ‘Zill, I want to tell you something very important. I’ve made a will and it’s all drafted out, and it’ll be ready for me to sign tomorrow or the day after. It’s got to be … I think the word Codling used was endorsed.’
Zillah’s heart had begun to race, but she said in an ordinary voice, ‘I didn’t know you were going to make a will.’
‘Of course I’d make a will, after inheriting The Tabor,’ he said, and his hand came out as if to touch her hair, and then fell back, as if he had thought better of it. He said, ‘I wanted you to know that if anything bad should happen to me, you’ll be well provided for.’
‘I don’t understand … Oh,’ said Zillah, clasping her hands together. ‘You don’t mean that you’re going to leave The Tabor to me?’
‘Who else would I leave it to?’
He was smiling in that stupid slushy way, but for once it did not matter because he had done what she had hoped – he was leaving her The Tabor; the house that should have been hers anyway, that had been promised to her … Evelyn had stood in the way once, but she had dealt with Evelyn. Now Quentin stood in the way. The shadow-plan nudged at her again.
She murmured something about being grateful, adding that of course Quentin would live until he was a hundred anyway, then went along to her own room. Lying in bed, she was aware of a scudding excitement. It was the feeling she had had that day when Evelyn fell over the ramshackle balcony. How could she have forgotten how it had felt? But she had not forgotten, of course, not really.
And in two days, three at the most, Quentin would have signed a will, bequeathing everything to Zillah. Including The Tabor.
With the thought came the memory of how she had stood at the side of the door into the courtyard rooms, and how, when Evelyn came timidly out into the light, Zillah had bounded forward and pushed. The railings had given way so easily.
As she finally drifted into sleep, she was smiling.
Quentin, undressing for bed, thought the evening had gone well. He thought he was handling things exactly in the right way, and he was pleased at how enthusiastic Arabella was about tracing the Rivers family – arranging with Phineas Fox to go out to the big Norwich library. As for Phineas, Quentin would admit to a slight unease, because Fox was not like anyone he had ever met. It was something to do with the way he listened to what people said, with such complete absorption. Still, he seemed interested in The Tabor’s history, and Quentin was not going to turn down any help.
As he got into bed, he dwelled with pleasure on Zillah’s reaction when he had told her about intending to leave her The Tabor. Her little face had lit up, and she had been delighted and utterly taken by surprise.
He lay awake for a while, thinking about that separate building at The Tabor. He would get Grindall to draw up some plans for turning it into private living quarters for himself and Zillah. How big were the rooms? They would want a sitting room, and it would be nice if there was space for a dining area, as well. Separate bedrooms, of course, that went without saying, and Zillah should have the nicest room for herself. There would be a deep soft double bed in her room … The familiar surge of longing seized him, but with it was the familiar panic, because he had never actually managed to completely … It would be all right with Zillah, though. Those girls in the past had been wrong for him – too eager, grabbing and writhing. Zillah would not grab or writhe. She would be loving and natural. Quentin smiled at the prospect, and images of Zillah in a wide soft bed, her hair dishevelled against silken cushions, accompanied him into sleep.
‘What did you think of her?’ said Arabella to Phin. ‘Is she just a standard adventuress sinking her claws into Toby, or is she something else?’
Phin was sorting through the contents of his case. ‘I think there’s a bit more to her than the average gold-digger,’ he said. ‘I think she might be capable of being very ruthless.’
‘Aren’t gold-diggers usually ruthless anyway?’
‘I expect so, but Zillah struck me as being a level up from that. Maybe that should be a level down. Did you hear Toby tapping at her door a little while ago?’
‘Yes, but I don’t think she opened the door.’
‘I don’t think she did, either,’ said Phin.
‘I wonder what she’d have done if she thought it was you knocking on the door,’ said Arabella, thoughtfully, and Phin looked at her, in surprise.
‘That’s one of the wildest things you’ve said for a long time,’ he said. ‘Of course she wouldn’t have opened the door to me. I don’t think she even liked me very much.’
‘Don’t you?’ Arabella smiled. ‘I think she liked you very much indeed. I think she’d have opened her door like a shot if you’d knocked on it.’
‘Rubbish. In any case, I certainly wouldn’t tangle with her,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to tangle with anyone except you. In fact, if all the women in all the world paraded themselves in front of me, and performed every dance from the Seven Veils to collections from the Kama Sutra … D’you know, I’m sure I packed my pyjamas, but I can’t seem to find them.’
Arabella, who was already in bed, said, ‘I can’t see the least need for you to wear pyjamas.’
‘You’re wearing a nightdress,’ pointed out Phin.
‘Yes, but that’s so you can have the fun of taking it off.’
FOURTEEN
‘I think,’ said Arabella, as they drove out of Reivers towards Norwich and the library the following morning, ‘that we should divide the task, don’t you? So that we don’t find we’ve both been working on the same things and duplicating the search.’
‘Divide and multiply,’ said Phin. ‘Good idea.’ He frowned at the road unwinding ahead of them, then said, ‘How about if you take the 1600s onwards? It’s possible that some of the really early stuff might be in Latin, and you’re the linguist of the party.’
‘You have such touching faith,’ said Arabella, grinning.
‘Also, you’ve already made a bit of a start – that book you unearthed in the antique shop sounded useful.’
‘It’s got some quite good stuff,’ said Arabella. ‘It was written in the mid-eighteen hundreds so it’s not contemporary, but the author gives some primary sources that we might follow up.’
‘Who’s the author?’
‘Somebody called H.J. Marplot, which sounds like a character from a Restoration comedy or a Sheridan play, doesn’t it? There’s a string of letters after H.J.’s name, and he – I should think it’s a he – sounds alarmingly scholarly. There was quite a bit about The Tabor, and there’s an author’s note to say his own family came from Reivers somewhere in the distant past, so I should think he’d have a few inherited stories.’
‘It sounds like a good source,’ said Phin. ‘In fact … Hell’s teeth, I think that was the turning for Norwich and I’ve gone past it. We’ll have to go on to the next one.’
‘I’ve been distracting you, haven’t I?’ said Arabella. ‘Shall I shut up?’
‘No, don’t do that. I like listening to you.’
‘Even when I make you lose the way and stray on to the wrong path?’
‘Especially when you make me lose the way and stray on to the wrong path,’ said Phin, not taking his eyes off the road, but smiling.
‘You had a very wicked glint in your eye when you said that.’
‘You generate a wicked glint. And it looks as if we’re back on the straight and narrow now – we should be able to take that slip-road and get into Norwich that way. See if you can call up directions to a car park, will you? As near to the library as possible.
