1 A Motive for Murder (6 page)

"This is important. Can we go inside?"

I gave in. I was in no danger from a womanizer. I expect he thought all the girls would fall over him with a car like that, but I for one was not among their number.

I led the way inside then waved him into the living room and didn't offer him a coffee. I saw Diva coming, but I before I could warn Jamie, she ran over to him. "Watch out," I said.

To my amazement, Diva purred around Jamie's legs. "Nice cat," he said, and bent down to stroke her.

Diva purred even more loudly for a minute or so, and then arched her back and stalked away, leaving me shaking my head.

Jamie and I sat opposite each other in awkward silence for a moment, before he spoke. "Misty, Aunt Beth donated an old, rare book to the Cambridge University Library."

"Yes," I interrupted. "I know all about that."

"Who told you?"

"Everyone." As soon as said that, I imagined Skinny saying to me,
Misty, you have to stop exaggerating
. "Well, Cassandra showed me the newspaper clipping, and then Douglas told me."

"Have you found the missing page?" Jamie suddenly became tense and leaned forward in the chair. The air almost crackled with electricity.

"What's it to you?" I was getting angry. Who did he think he was!

"Misty, whatever you do - if you find the page, do not tell anyone you have found it and do not give it to anyone. Your life is in danger."

This was all a bit melodramatic. "Are you crazy? What are you on about? Don't be ridiculous!"

I was about to order him out of the house when he said, "Trust no one."

Trust no one. Aunt Beth's note had said,
AMY DANGER DASHWOOD TRUST
.

I sat in silence for moment, and considered what to say next.

"Who is Dashwood?" I was ready to study his reaction.

"Dashwood?" he repeated, but sure enough, there was a reaction which he quickly masked. "Why do you ask?" Without waiting for me to answer, he spoke again and changed the subject. "I believe Beth died for that page."

The page! Why hadn't I thought of that! The motive for murder had been right there in front of me all the time. "Are you saying she was murdered? The doctor said she had a heart condition and had been sick for years. He said there were no suspicious circumstances." I wanted to draw Jamie out, to see how much he knew.

He was still speaking. "I'm also familiar with Douglas Brown. He is dangerous. I suggest you get back to Australia as fast as you can. Let me call and book you the next available flight. I'll drive you to Heathrow."

That did it. "You won't be driving me anywhere, you British control freak! Now get yourself out that door and don't show it here again or I'll call the police!" My voice had risen to a high pitch.

Jamie did head for the door, which was a relief. He paused on the doorstep. "Misty, you have no idea what you've got yourself into. Do not tell anyone if you find the page. You are in great danger. Do not mention I've been here to anyone. Do not..."

He was unable to finish the sentence as I slammed the door in his face, and locked it. I hurried around the house and checked all the doors and windows. I looked under the three beds, and in the closets too and turned on all the lights in the house, even though it was daylight outside.

Then I got out paper and pen and sat at the kitchen table. I made a
To Do
list. First on the list was to call the police. I doubted they'd listen to me but I had to try.

Ten frustrating minutes later, and I was sorry I had called. I was hold for about five of those minutes, and then had spoken to a police officer who said more than once that there would be a logical explanation for all my concerns. He also said that there was no possible way to have a post mortem for Aunt Beth. He had been polite, but completely dismissive of what I had to say.

After that great lack of success, I had trouble coming up with a Number Two for my list. I was going to the Dashwood family mansion, West Wycombe Park, the following day with Douglas, so would gather as much information I could on the Dashwoods. I needed to find the link between Aunt Beth and the Dashwoods. More importantly, I needed to find out the significance of the missing page, and why everyone wanted it.

"In ancient times cats were worshipped as gods; they have not forgotten this."

(Terry Pratchett)

Chapter 8
.

West Wycombe village, to my Aussie eyes, was like something out of a story book. I did the tourist thing and
ooed
and
aahed
as we drove slowly down the High Street. I was already impressed by the centuries-old brick wall which stretched all the way from High Wycombe to West Wycombe.

"We'll come back and walk down here another time," Douglas assured me. "These are mainly sixteenth century buildings. By the eighteenth century, the High Street had several coaching inns, due to the fact that it was the halfway rest point for the London to Oxford stagecoaches. See that building there? That's the Church Loft; it's the oldest building on the High Street. Part of it was used as a prison."

I wanted to stop and look in the most amazing Ye Olde English building with a small sign, "Paul's Sweet Shop," partly as I wanted to see inside such an incredible looking building, and partly because someone walked out with a coffee in hand. The gritty morning coffee was supplying me my necessary caffeine hit, but the taste was not the best on a daily basis.

To say West Wycombe Park was impressive is quite an understatement. We paid our entry then drove up the beautiful driveway through parklands to the front of the stately home.

We walked around the back and joined the tour group for the tour was about to start. The guide informed us that this was the best example of Palladian architecture in England. I had no idea what Palladian architecture was, so made a note to google it. I was hastily writing notes while the guide spoke.

I was surprised to learn that it had appeared as a country hotel in Brigit Jones' Diary and as the house in the Importance of Being Earnest. I had seen both those films several times but would be interested to see them again armed with this knowledge.

"What a shame you missed Colin Firth," the tour guide said.

"When was he here?" I asked.

"In 2002."

Okay, over a decade is somewhat of a miss. The tour guide then directed our attention to the well-preserved frescoes on the exterior walls in the colonnade. "Sir Francis Dashwood, whom you would know as the founder of the Hellfire Club, engaged in Bacchic revelries."

I elbowed Douglas. "Does that mean he was bombed out?"

"Excuse me?"

"That's Australian for a drunk."

"Oh no, she means Sir Francis Dashwood worshiped Bacchus, or at least followed him."

I scratched my head. "Bacchus, the Greek god of wine and partying, not to mention orgies?" I imagined Aunt Beth eating grapes and indulging in orgies. Not a pleasant thought. Perhaps this was not the link I'd been looking for.

"The very one."

The guide pointed overhead and nodded. "Yes, in 1771 Sir Frances Dashwood had the West portico dedicated as a Bacchanalian temple."

Nevertheless, I was surprised to see the paintings hanging in the dining room. They were nothing like the stuffy, starched portraits which I had seen in movies hanging on the walls of English country homes; these portraits were quite cheeky. The portrait of Sir Francis closest to the door could only be described as jolly. He was wearing a turban and an ermine trimmed cloak, smiling broadly and waving. His hand held a full glass of red wine.

The portrait clearly surprised everyone else in the tour group, as we all stood in front of it, looking up. "Typical of Sir Francis Dashwood," the tour guide addressed us. "He was involved in several aristocratic clubs that promoted paganism as well as the pleasures of sexual freedom and after visiting Italy a few times developed a severe dislike for the Catholic Church. In this painting here he is toasting a statue of Venus. This portrait was painted by Knapton in 1742. Now see that painting there." She pointed to the portrait of a woman. "That is the celebrated courtesan Fanny Murray."

Just then a cold feeling went though me, and the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. I turned around and saw a black mist behind me. As I stared, horrified, the mist crystallized into human form. Dizziness threatened to overcome me, and just as I felt I was losing grip on reality, the figure moved away. I could only watch with my mouth open as the figure disappeared through the door.

I shivered violently. No one else appeared to have noticed anything amiss, as the guide was still talking about the portraits.

"Lady Mary Wortley Montagu was a member of the Hellfire Club. She had married John Sales, the third Earl of Bute, who was the first British Prime Minister to have been born in Scotland. John Sales was yet another high profile member of the Hellfire Club. Lady Mary was a writer, poet and feminist but what is remarkable about her is that she came across the smallpox vaccine before Jenner, and had both her son and her daughter vaccinated. She was investigating the vaccine when she infiltrated the Sultan's harem in Constantinople. Vaccine for smallpox was unknown in Europe at the time, and when she returned home she caused public controversy by advocating it."

"Lady Mary was ahead of her times, an amazing woman; you would have liked her," Douglas said to me.

"Sounds like you knew her!" I turned to Douglas, but instead of laughing, his face had turned red and he looked stricken. I had no chance to ponder this as the guide was walking past me now and speaking.

"The Dining Room holds portraits of members of the Divan Club. The membership was open to those who had visited the Ottoman Empire and was founded by John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich, and Sir Francis Dashwood. You would all know John Montagu as the Earl of Sandwich - he is the one said to have invented the sandwich."

While the guide was speaking, she led us back though the entrance. I wondered again at the painted ceiling.

"That concludes our tour of the lower part of the house. The family lives here, and the upstairs section is private. All of you, please feel free to walk around the grounds and the Lake. You will see Classical architecture from Greece and Rome. You will see the beautiful Temple of Music on an island in the lake, based on the Temple of Vesta in Rome. Keep an eye out for the Temple of the Winds, an octagonal tower based on the Tower of the Winds in Athens. If you follow the path around the lake, you will come to the Temple of Flora, which is a hidden summerhouse, and the Temple of Daphne. Another hidden temple is the Round Temple, and then closer to the house, you will find the Temple of Apollo and the Temple of Diana. See that equestrian statue up there on the hill; it looks real, doesn't it!"

We all agreed.

"It's fiberglass. It was put here by a film crew and Sir Francis Dashwood - not the original Hellfire Club Sir Francis, the late Sir Francis who passed away recently - asked them to leave it here." With that, the guide thanked us and left.

Douglas steered me down to the lake by my elbow. "You know, that last part isn't correct. Sir Francis bought that fiberglass statue from Pinewood Studios - he only paid eleven bottles of champagne."

"Did you know him?"

"No, not that Sir Francis. I'm just interested in the Dashwoods."

Douglas's statement didn't make sense. "Which Sir Francis did you know; how many were there?" I asked.

The tense expression was back on Douglas's face. "What? Oh sorry, I was distracted. Let's go to the lake."

Douglas hurried me around the lake. We went so fast I'd felt like I'd been to the gym. I decided to come back by myself in a week or two to have good look around. We were already back at the car when the other tourists were still about a quarter of their way around the lake.

Douglas unlocked the car and opened the door for me. "I suggest we see the Hellfire Caves tomorrow; that'll give you an insight into Sir Francis Dashwood. If you like, I can detour to my home on the way back; I have a portrait of Sir Frances which shows much of his character."

"Is that like asking me up to see your etchings?" I wished I hadn't said it; I was sure my face was turning beet red.

Douglas laughed. "You never know your luck."

As we sped out in the direction of Oxford, judging by the roadside signs that is, I wondered what sort of house Douglas lived in. I had guessed it would be expensive; I just hadn't realized quite how grand. I had my first idea when the Bentley stopped outside huge, solid, metal security gates. At the touch of a control in the car by Douglas, the gates opened to a curved gravel driveway winding its way between lime trees through manicured lawns and immaculate gardens. There in front of me was what an Aussie could only describe as a mansion.

"Welcome to Rosebery Abbey," Douglas said as he escorted me to the front door. "It's a Georgian country house. It was built out of stone from the ruins of the original abbey. Rosebery Abbey is an example of English classical renaissance in fine Baroque architecture; it's Grade 2 listed."

To say I was impressed would be an understatement.

I followed Douglas past the entrance, up the stone steps and across the large south facing terrace. The French doors were shut but not locked so I wondered if other occupants were in the house. The doors opened onto a large room, still illuminated by the fading afternoon sun. The beautiful marble fireplace didn't look as if it had been alight for years, so my concerns about a gorgeous woman keeping the home fires burning for Douglas were slightly appeased.

I love timber, so I was admiring the oak floors and the wall paneling when Douglas took me by the arm again, and swung me around to face an imposing painting in a dark wooden frame with a single gold edge.

"Here you are," he said dramatically. "Sir Francis Dashwood by William Hogarth. This one is called Sir Francis Dashwood at his Devotions."

I started, my jaw dropped open. Could this be an original? It looked like an original. I recognized the typical Hogarth frame. I didn't know too much about art, but judging by Rosebery Abbey, I wouldn't be surprised if it were an original. I wanted to ask but thought it rude, so kept my mouth shut.

"This was painted in the late 1750s and was considered scandalous at the time," Douglas continued. "Later Hogarth did go on to paint satire and he was deeply concerned with political corruption of the times, but his painting of Sir Francis was considered unconventional to say the least."

At first glance, the painting appeared to be a Renaissance representation of someone in monk's clothing going about their religious devotions in a secluded setting. There was even a cross at the bottom right side of the painting. However in this painting, Dashwood is staring at a nude female figure lying spread out in front of him. Under the cross were bunches of grapes and leaves, again suggestive of Bacchus.

I was so lost in the painting that I didn't hear Douglas come up behind me. He stood oh so close, and whispered in my ear, so close I could feel his warm breath on my neck. I unsuccessfully tried to keep my knees from wobbling and only just did succeed in keeping my breathing even.

"See that halo above Dashwood’s head with the image of a satyr in it? That in fact is Lord Sandwich, and the suggestion is that he is whispering into Dashwood's ear. Hogarth has Lord Sandwich staring at the nude too."

"It looks like one of the Renaissance paintings." I tried to recall my schoolgirl Art History classes.

"Yes, it's a parody of Renaissance paintings of Saint Francis of Assisi. And see the book?"

"I take it it's not a Bible?"

Douglas laughed. "You got that right. No, it's the erotic novel Elegantiae Latini Sermonis. This painting was of course considered outrageous."