Martin Edwards - The Frozen Shroud

‘That’s the beauty of Ravenbank. Only one way in, only one way out. If you exclude a marine landing, that is, and the currents can be tricky enough to test Admiral Nelson. But Jeffrey’s cautious. It’s the accountancy in his genes. Never takes anything for granted, that’s why he spent a fortune on the alarm system, let alone insurance. Fair enough, I suppose. Ravenbank is hardly a capital of crime, but since we do have the occasional savage homicide, I guess we can’t take anything for granted.’

‘Melody and I were talking yesterday about Shenagh Moss,’ Daniel said.

Quin raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, really?’

‘I gather she wasn’t a paid-up member of Shenagh’s fan club?’

‘Understatement of the century, my friend. Don’t get me wrong, Melody’s a sweetheart. But Ravenbank isn’t big enough to accommodate two beautiful women. Robin Park’s mum is an old battleaxe, so no worries there, and his latest lady friend is too loud and in-your-face to be serious competition for Melody.’

‘But Shenagh was more of a threat?’

Quin nodded. ‘Seriously glamorous, and Melody didn’t care for her. She aspired to be the lady of the manor, even when Francis Palladino still owned the Hall. Shenagh’s arrival put her nose out of joint. Even before …’

He paused, seemingly irresolute. As if encouraging Daniel to quiz him, to drag out gossip he didn’t want to seem eager to share.

The mulled wine burnt Daniel’s tongue. ‘Even before Shenagh had a fling with Oz Knight?’

Quin sniggered, but Daniel sensed irritation that his thunder had been stolen. ‘Oh, you heard?’

‘Melody’s very frank.’

‘When it suits her. Everybody this side of the M6 knew about the affair. Oz hasn’t a discreet bone in his body, and Shenagh was too thrilled by her conquest to keep it quiet. The whole thing fizzled out once she realised Palladino was smitten. So Melody has nothing to lose by being upfront about what happened. And she gains marks for honesty.’

‘You’re a cynic.’

‘And you’re not?’ Quin pursed his lips. ‘Come on, Daniel, you’re fascinated by murder, curious to the point of obsession. That was clear from your lecture. Am I right, Louise?’

She nodded. ‘Our dad was in the CID, nosiness runs in the blood.’

‘Well, then. Isn’t that why you’ve come to Ravenbank for Hallowe’en? Neither of you strikes me as a party animal. But who wouldn’t be fascinated by the legend of the Frozen Shroud, and Ravenbank’s history of murder most foul?’

Daniel said, ‘Melody wants to persuade me that Gertrude Smith wasn’t killed by Letty Hodgkinson. She thinks there might be a book in it.’

‘Hodgkinson’s wife confessed to the crime, didn’t she?’

‘I don’t know what her suicide note said.’

‘Well,’ Quin said. ‘We do know she took an overdose by way of reparation, which seems pretty conclusive to me. So what does Melody base her theory on?’

Daniel outlined what Melody had told him. ‘Of course, it’s guesswork. There may be nothing in it. And one thing did strike me. Keen as Melody was to talk about Gertrude, she clammed up when I asked about Shenagh’s murder. Any idea why that might be?’

Quin rubbed his chin. ‘Melody’s an unusual woman, not easy to read. Perhaps she felt guilty about Shenagh.’

‘Guilty?’

‘She’s a gentle soul, but I suppose she wished Shenagh ill when she was alive. But the horrific way Shenagh died …’

His voice trailed away, as if he were reliving the past.

‘Did you ever meet Craig Meek?’

‘Never. By all accounts, he was a loser who couldn’t control his temper or handle rejection. She should never have got involved with him. Big mistake, and in the end, she paid for it with her life. Desperately sad, but … it happens.’ He looked Daniel in the eye. ‘For the rest of us, life went on.’

‘So you accept that Craig Meek killed Shenagh?’

‘Of course. Everyone does.’

‘I’ve heard that at least one of the police officers on the investigating team had doubts.’

‘Based on what, for goodness sake?’

‘There you have me.’

Quin breathed out and laid a hand on his shoulder. His fingers were thin and bony, his grip tight.

‘Idle speculation, if you ask me. Pointless, and potentially hurtful.’ His tone was clipped, as if he were choking back anger. ‘Craig Meek battered poor Shenagh to death. Anyone who suggests otherwise is making mischief.’

‘Getting into the mood for the horrors of this evening?’ Jeffrey asked, peering over Daniel’s shoulder at the book he was reading.

He’d returned in high spirits, proclaiming that advance bookings for the tour exceeded all expectations. Quin had disappeared upstairs, to try on his party outfit, while Daniel was leafing through an anthology of Gothic stories he’d picked off the bookshelf.

‘I see you’ve made margin notes on this story. “The Voices in the Night”.’

‘An old favourite. Still gives me the heebie-jeebies whenever I reread it. And joy of joys, there’s even a Ravenbank connection. So I simply couldn’t resist adapting it for the middle section of our show, in between the tales by M.R. James and Walpole. Amazing the atmosphere you can conjure up with two actors and a few eerie sound effects.’

‘What’s it about?’ Louise asked.

‘A sailor’s encounter with a lone oarsman in the middle of the ocean,’ Daniel murmured, ‘one dark and starless night.’

Jeffrey said softly, ‘In a strangely inhuman and throaty voice, the oarsman describes the catastrophe that has befallen him and his fiancee. As he rows away …’ He indulged in a theatrical pause. ‘As he rows away through the mist for a final reunion with the woman he loves, the sailor sees the horror of what has happened to the oarsman, and understands why death will be a welcome release.’

Louise pretended to shiver. ‘And the link with Ravenbank?’

‘The author, William Hope Hodgson. In the early years of the last century he ran a forerunner of a health club, and challenged Harry Houdini, of all people, to an escapology contest. Not only that, he won.’

‘He sounds like a real character.’

‘Very much so. All this happened in Blackburn, Clifford Hodgkinson’s home town, and when Hodgkinson built the Hall, he invited Hope Hodgson to stay.’ Jeffrey gave a casual wave towards a Chippendale sideboard. ‘In there is the copy of The Blue Book Magazine , where the story first appeared, which Hope Hodgson inscribed to Clifford and Letty. Oz sold it to me for a song after he bought the Hall.’

Daniel whistled. ‘A good buy.’

Pleased with himself, Jeffrey poured more mulled wine. ‘Needless to say, I haven’t scribbled on that copy. Oz never realised the magazine’s value, but my conscience is clear. Oz spends money like there’s no tomorrow, and for all the literary events he organises, he understands as much about culture as the average Premier League footballer.’

‘You’re just like Daniel,’ Louise said, with a touch of malice. ‘A mine of information.’

Jeffrey chortled. ‘You must excuse my braggadocio . It’s not every day we entertain an expert in murder and the macabre. Now, is everything all right with your rooms?’

‘Perfect, thanks,’ Louise said. ‘This is such a delightful home.’

‘Our very own bijou residence!’ Jeffrey’s token effort to make fun of himself was hampered by his supreme self-satisfaction. ‘We’re very lucky to have it. Houses in Ravenbank rarely change hands.’

‘How long have you lived here?’

‘Ten years. Before then, I lived with my dear old mater in Cockermouth, when I wasn’t traipsing up and down the country, playing chief inspectors or lascivious uncles in stagey old thrillers and comedies. I did odd bits of telly, nothing you’d remember — a slithery alien in Doctor Who , a chap killed by a hedge-trimmer in Midsomer Murders before the first commercial break. When Mother died, I was ready for a change, and fortunate that I could pay over the odds to snap this place up the instant it came on the market.’