The Wounded Snake Page 3

  ‘I think Miss Halsgrove has given us a feast to savour. Just watch out for poison in your supper.’ He laughed again, and his audience followed him. Yet he lacked the underlying menace behind Dinah Halsgrove’s words, which meant that what she talked about was not just clever entertainment, but deadly reality.

  ‘She’ll be signing her novels in the book room, to your right as you leave the barn. And may I remind the members of my writing course that we meet down on the quay at six thirty. Now, would you please remain in your seats while I escort Miss Halsgrove out.’

  They were gone, disappearing below the gallery where Hilary waited.

  She continued to watch the scene beneath her as she spoke to the woman beside her. ‘Well, she’s lost none of her marbles. Not a single note in front of her, yet she could roll off the toxic properties of just about any substance you cared to mention.’

  ‘I know. Fascinating, wasn’t it? What must it be like to spend your whole life plotting murders, and how to get away with them?’

  There was something familiar in the voice.

  Hilary turned her head further. She had been so bothered by her late arrival that it had not occurred to her to look closely at the woman on the bench beside her. Now she recognized the youthful, bespectacled face with its innocently rounded features.

  ‘Of course, you’re Jo!’ Then, refreshing her memory of their introduction, ‘Jo Walters. What are you doing up in the gods like this, when the rest of our group are down there at the front? Did you forget your badge too?’

  ‘What?’ Hilary could see the thoughts chasing behind those dark brown eyes. ‘Oh, yes! Yes. I had to dash back for it. Came out again to find myself near the end of the queue.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Hilary studied her. Years of questioning the behaviour of teenagers had taught her when a girl was rapidly seizing any excuse that offered itself, to cover what she had been up to. But Jo Walters must be in her thirties, or older. A fellow participant on Gavin’s course. Hilary had no authority to question her on what she might really have been doing to arrive late.

  FOUR

  Hilary followed the crowd towards the book room on the ground floor of the West Cloister. Looking over people’s shoulders as well as her limited height allowed, she saw that the room was stacked with copies of Dinah Halsgrove’s books. The author herself was seated at a table, pen in hand. Gavin stood proprietorially over her, a trim figure in his silvery jacket, beaming with reflected fame. A queue of would-be purchasers was rapidly forming.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  Hilary turned to find a woman working her way through the crowd. She felt a sudden constriction in her throat. It was the same minder in the flowing skirt who had escorted Dinah Halsgrove into the garden. Melissa, she remembered. The woman, Hilary realized with an unexplained shiver, she had bumped into in the bedroom corridor. The one who had seemed so unaccountably upset to meet her.

  The woman reached the signing table and set down a glass half full of golden-brown liquid in front of the novelist.

  Whisky, Hilary decided. The author had certainly earned it.

  In Hilary’s efforts to step out of the way, she had bumped into the table behind her. She heard a slither of falling books. She looked round in dismay to find that a smaller display of Gavin Standforth’s novels lay in disarray across the table. Some had tumbled to the floor.

  ‘Here! Let me help you.’

  Lin Bell had followed Hilary into the book room. That neat elderly woman, who had stood listening, but not pushing herself forward, as Dinah Halsgrove took tea in the private garden. Hilary smiled her gratitude. Together they reconstructed the stand of books as best they could.

  Lin picked up the most prominent title. The number of copies outweighed all the rest. ‘The Long Crippler. A brilliant plot. Have you read it?’

  Hilary stared at the cover. A blind, snakelike head quested its snout through mysterious swirls of grey. There was something intentionally sinister about it.

  ‘Afraid not.’

  ‘Then I won’t spoil it for you. I only wish I’d thought of it myself.’

  ‘Odd title. I suppose it makes sense if you’ve read it.’

  ‘Apparently the long crippler is the local name for a slowworm. There’s a superstition that it lames horses. You’ll understand if you do read it.’

  ‘I’ve always had a soft spot for slowworms. You sometimes find the slinky little things asleep when you turn over a stone in the garden. I thought they were harmless, though. Not a poisonous snake.’

  The two young men who had been talking to Veronica in the garden had squeezed into the book room behind them. One was shorter, darker, in denim jeans and jacket. Lank hair fell across the forehead of his taller companion, startlingly red against his black leather jacket and shirt. Hilary judged them to be in their thirties, at most.

  The shorter of the pair reached for another title at Hilary’s elbow. ‘The Long Crippler’s genius. But the rest … Well, this sequel was pretty much run of the mill.’

  ‘Still,’ grinned his red-haired friend, ‘I bet it sold well on the back of The Crippler.’

  ‘Lucky sod. That’s all I need. One good break.’

  It was an echo of what Veronica had said.

  Lin Bell smiled at them, rather thinly. ‘Let’s hope Gavin can teach the rest of us how to do it, then.’

  The queue for Dinah Halsgrove’s books had lengthened considerably. Hilary could not find the end of it. She sighed. Did she really need the author’s signature on her latest offering? A good book was a good book, without the trappings of celebrity culture.

  She turned away. Time to go back to her room and choose some warmer clothes for the evening boat cruise.

  The questing head of The Long Crippler seemed to follow her out of the room.

  The wooded banks of the Dart glided past. Hilary let most of Gavin’s commentary wash over her, though she did perk up interest as they passed the vineyards of the Buddhist community at Sharpham Manor. There, she thought with relish, might be an intriguing setting for a more modern crime novel.

  Away from his distinguished guest, Gavin had lost that unctuous smile. He had almost snapped at his long-haired assistant Melissa as he ushered her on board. It was odd. He should have been basking in the success of their first talk.

  Dinah Halsgrove, not surprisingly, had not come with them. Nor had the smaller Theresa.

  Whatever Gavin had reproved her for, Melissa had replied only with a wide smile and a toss of her long hair. There was something about her defiance that deepened the frown on Gavin’s brow.

  Still, he had now recovered something of his professional charm, to judge from his voice over the loudspeaker.

  ‘Now, folks, we’re approaching the high spot of the cruise for every fan of detective fiction. You see that boathouse, down by the water’s edge, and the white house high above it? That’s Greenway, the Devon hideaway of the original queen of the genre: Agatha Christie.’

  There was a rush to the port side of the boat. Cameras flashed in the gathering dusk.

  ‘I don’t want to disappoint you, but she didn’t actually write any of her books here. It really was a hideaway – the place she came to refresh herself on holiday. Not easy to get to, even nowadays. The National Trust owns it, but they prefer that you don’t drive up to the door. So it’s the vintage bus, or the ferry, or a pleasant woodland walk.’

  Hilary looked up at the white house overlooking the river, then let her attention slide back to the brown water slipping away along the side of the cruise boat with an engaging gurgle. She was beginning to feel hungry. She had seen the buffet supper laid out in the cabin below, but the beauty of the evening had encouraged most people to stay on deck for the outward leg of the voyage down the estuary to Dartmouth.

  ‘Oh, Hilary, look!’ Veronica touched her arm.

  Hilary lifted her eyes from her contemplation of the river running past. Ahead a forest of masts from a marina, safely tucked away inside the entran
ce to the estuary. Beyond, the evening sky was piled with purple clouds, edged with gold. A rose-pink flush caught the smaller wisps of cloud trailing away to the west.

  ‘Looks like rain,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, Hilary!’

  Hilary grinned. ‘Yes, I’ll give you that. It’s a very fine sunset. Do you think they’ll let us eat when we turn for home? I’m famished.’

  As if in answer, the boat began to swing across the hurrying current. Gavin’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

  ‘This is as far as we go, folks. We shan’t quite venture out into open water. But you can glimpse Dartmouth Castle at the harbour entrance.’ Then came the words Hilary had been waiting for. ‘Supper is laid on the lower deck. The rain clouds may catch us up before we get back to Totnes, but you’ll be snug and dry down there, and you can still admire the scenery through the windows while you eat. Evening’s a good time to see waterfowl on the river.’

  They descended the steps and Hilary piled her plate with finger food.

  ‘I wouldn’t have minded a hot meal back in the restaurant,’ she remarked to Veronica. ‘I hear Morland’s chef is a wizard. I had a peek at the menu. We’re into the game season. Venison, pheasant.’

  ‘I think I saw a mention of wild boar.’

  ‘Instead of which, we’ve got sausage rolls and quiche.’

  ‘But look at the scenery.’

  ‘Trees. And more trees.’

  ‘Oh, Hilary!’

  They had reached the end of the buffet table. Melissa stood serving drinks from a smaller table. Pale brown hair fell from her shoulders as she leaned her head towards them.

  It was the woman Hilary had bumped into on the landing of the East Cloister. The one who had backed away with a startled look in those brown eyes. The one who had brought Dinah Halsgrove a whisky at the book signing. She gave no sign that she recognized Hilary. She smiled.

  ‘Hot punch? Or there’s a non-alcoholic version.’

  ‘Well, that perks things up. I was missing my hot dinner.’

  They accepted the steaming glasses.

  ‘Got one for me, Melissa?’ Gavin was right behind them. ‘I’m parched with all that talking.’

  ‘No Dinah Halsgrove, I see,’ Hilary said to him.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. Not surprisingly, the dear lady felt she’d had enough for one day. The train from Sussex, then addressing a crowd of several hundred and signing goodness knows how many books. She’s opted for a quiet supper in her room. Theresa’s looking after her.’

  There was an edginess in his voice that she could not quite place. He shot a look at Melissa that Hilary failed to understand.

  ‘That would be in the East Cloister, I assume. I know they often put speakers there.’

  ‘Yes, enchanting, isn’t it? The oldest part of the accommodation.’

  ‘We’re up in the rooms under the East Cloister roof.’

  ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Yes, fine, thank you. Mine is verging on the palatial.’

  He turned away from her without replying. The professional smile of this afternoon seemed to be in short supply. Hilary looked back at Melissa. She was still busy pouring drinks for the slowly moving queue. A perfectly ordinary woman. There was no need to imagine a mystery surrounding her, just because Hilary had startled her, emerging suddenly from the shadowed stairs, when everyone else was in the hall or waiting to enter it.

  Her smile grew rather fixed as she poured Hilary a glass. Was she too remembering that encounter? Come to think of it, was she wondering what this stocky woman in the tweed skirt and silk blouse had been doing in the East Cloister at that particular time? Might Hilary have been the one acting suspiciously? It was an intriguing thought. Hilary swigged the hot punch with relish, as she considered this twist in the scenario.

  Yet why had Gavin spoken so sharply to Melissa as they boarded?

  They were passing Agatha Christie’s Greenway again on their way upstream. It was strange how a weekend on crime writing could add a sinister colour to your perceptions.

  Veronica interrupted her train of thought. ‘What’s up with Gavin? He just got out his phone and sloshed half his glass of punch over the table.’

  Hilary looked round swiftly. Gavin did indeed look white with shock. She edged determinedly closer, nudging other people aside, until she was in earshot.

  ‘No!’ Gavin was protesting. ‘That’s terrible! I’m stuck on this blasted boat, but I’ll be back there just as soon as I can. Pray God the news isn’t worse by the time I get there.’

  He put his phone away and stood there, looking stunned.

  ‘Bad news?’ Hilary asked.

  He seemed to come back to her from a long way away.

  ‘What? No … No, nothing for you to worry about.’

  This was clearly untrue. He made his way through the press of people eating chicken drumsticks and slices of quiche, to where Melissa stood behind the drinks table, now clear of customers.

  There was a low-voiced consultation. From his body language, Hilary was sure he was speaking angrily to Melissa as he bent towards her. Melissa looked oddly unperturbed. She did not change colour, as Gavin had. She was still smiling. But she bent her long neck solicitously towards Gavin, apparently trying to comfort him. Gavin himself kept glancing forward through the cabin windows to where the cruise boat was slowly forging its way back upriver against the current. Dusk was deepening.

  Veronica was at her elbow again. ‘I wonder what all that was about. One thing’s certain. Something’s happened. Gavin can’t wait to get back to Totnes.’

  The boat had hardly nudged against the quay before Gavin leaped ashore. Ignoring the shouts of the crew and the men warping the craft more securely, he sped towards the car park.

  Hilary, too, shouldered her way towards the gangplank, with Veronica more apologetically in her wake. It was a short brisk walk to where they had left the car on the quayside. Hilary zoomed out on to the road ahead of everyone else.

  Back at Morland Abbey, she shot out of the car and made for the cobbled path to the entrance arch. Veronica’s longer legs overtook her. They both stopped short as they came out on to the wide lawns of the cloister garth.

  It was not normal for vehicles to drive into this enclosed square of lawn and paths. But parked in front of the East Cloister was a yellow ambulance with green and yellow chequered bands along its sides. The blue lights across the roof were still flashing, evidence of the urgent haste with which it had driven from wherever the nearest accident and emergency hospital was.

  They were just in time to see a stretcher being carried out of the door where, only a few hours before, Hilary had gone hurrying in to fetch her badge. She could not see the face, but with a sinking heart she knew for certain who it must be.

  With a sense of inevitability Hilary stood back to let the ambulance drive past her, siren now blaring.

  Gavin and Theresa were left standing forlornly in front of the lavender bushes. Hilary strode up to them.

  ‘It’s Dinah Halsgrove, isn’t it? What happened?’

  Gavin turned a tragic face to her. ‘We don’t know yet. Of course, she was ninety-two. It could be anything, at her age. Heart attack, stroke. She’d asked for supper in her room, but when Theresa went to see if there was anything else she needed, Dinah was …’ His voice faltered.

  Theresa beside him finished his sentence, somewhat grimly: ‘She was lying, slumped over the edge of the bed. She was out cold. Her skin looked … grey. I thought at first … well, you can imagine. The ambulance crew seem to think it’s touch and go. We’ll have to wait till she gets to hospital to know for certain. But it must be natural causes.’

  Why should it not be? It seemed an odd thing to say.

  ‘Oh, I do so hope she pulls round,’ Gavin exclaimed. ‘It would be terrible if the great Dinah Halsgrove were to die at a conference I’d arranged. I could never forgive myself!’

  The silly man was verging on the histrionic.

  ‘It’s s
urely not your fault,’ Hilary snapped. ‘You were halfway down the River Dart. I’d be more worried if I were the chef. Anybody else taken ill?’

  Gavin looked at Theresa blankly. The other woman shrugged. ‘I was too shocked to think of asking. But the rest of you had a buffet supper on the boat.’

  ‘The restaurant here is open to the public, isn’t it? You need to find out if anyone else who ate there this evening has been taken ill.’

  ‘Well, I told the Morland Abbey staff straight away,’ Theresa said. ‘Fiona, the manager, took care of everything. I presume, if there has to be an investigation, it’s in their court now. But it didn’t look like food poisoning to me. She wasn’t sick or shitting herself. She was just out cold.’

  Gavin put out a hand, as if to stop her.

  ‘Oh, Gavin! Snap out of it. Going round looking like a tragedy queen’s not going to help.’

  ‘Where’s Melissa?’ he queried. ‘I have to talk to her.’

  Hilary looked at Veronica. ‘I don’t know about you, but I think a strong black coffee is called for, if not something stronger. That punch was more orange juice than anything else.’

  They headed for the lofty Chapter House next to the Great Barn, which housed the restaurant and bar.

  ‘Do you really think she’ll be all right?’ Veronica asked as they followed the path around the lawn. ‘Silly question. How could you know?’

  ‘At ninety-two, it has to be a close call.’

  Other course participants were coming along the paths now, having made a less hasty departure from the quay. Yet there was an air of alarm and anxious conversation. They must have seen the ambulance speeding away, even if news of Dinah Halsgrove’s sudden illness had not yet spread beyond Veronica and Hilary.

  At the bar, Hilary opted for both a coffee and a shot of whisky, while Veronica ordered a gin and tonic. They settled themselves at an empty table. This octagonal building with its stone vaulted roof had once housed the business meetings of the monks, before Sir George had commandeered it for his kitchen. Huge embrasures showed where once two fireplaces had fed the Woodleigh household and their guests. High above, a tracery of Gothic windows let in the fading light. They watched the room slowly filling up.