Skylark (22 page)

Jay was supposed to be at his conference by nine-thirty so we hopped in the Escort. I
drove and he navigated, and Ann sat in the back seat and exclaimed over the scenery. The
conference site was a vast manor house that had been converted to a teacher training school some
time in the forties. Jay said it was painted institutional green inside, but the grounds were
impressive. He gave me a nice kiss and opened the car door.

"Break a leg," I called after him. He gave a half-salute, grinning, and marched up to the
main entrance. He was wearing the tie again. Men are slaves to fashion.

York was grand, especially the minster. We shopped in the Shambles and walked on the
wall. We saw everything but the Jorvik Viking Center, an archaeological exhibit. The lines to
that coiled around the modern plaza as if the exhibit were a ride at Disneyland, so we took our
box lunch down to the castle grounds, sat on the grass, and watched the holiday crowds. I made
Ann climb the walls of the tower. They lean out slightly, so scaling the spiral staircases was an
odd unsettling business, but the view from the battlements was almost as splendid as I
remembered. We strolled back by the river and took in the county museum on the site of the
ruins of St. Mary's Abbey. It was six before we retrieved the car from the city car park--a
thoroughly satisfying day. Ann's feet hurt.

Dinner--she had lamb chops, I had the mixed grill--was fine, and the public was working
up a good head of noise by the time we wandered back to the Hollies. I had lobbied steadily for
Rievaulx Abbey and environs for Sunday.

Ann finally gave in. "I'll come back next week-end anyway, God willing. I can see
Haworth and the dales then." She yawned.

"That's the spirit."

We made an early night of it, and I took the guidebook to bed again. This time I was
looking for stately homes and quaint villages. The site of a deserted village near the abbey
sounded interesting. Wiganthorpe.

I drowsed off again, this time without a nightmare, and Jay was stroking my back and
murmuring nonsense in my ear before I realized he'd returned.

"Mmm. That's nice. How was the paper received?"

"They liked it, I think. I had a talk with an assize judge who made a speech about the
problem of conveying technical information to juries. He wanted a copy."

"Bravo!" I gave him a squeeze. "How were the panels?"

He groaned a satisfied groan. "Terrifying. Thank God my mother taught me to keep my
mouth shut when I don't know anything. There's a lot I don't know, lady."

I gave him another, more obvious squeeze. "And there's a lot you do know. Show me
your expertise."

"Who's an expert tease?"

We had a nice, quiet romp and fell asleep still tangled together. Jay was up, showered,
and dressed before I stirred Sunday morning.

He was sitting at the little table scribbling notes. "Good morning, merry sunshine."

"Umm. What time is it?"

"Half past seven."

"Wow, I'd better get cracking." I gathered my wits and sponge bag and went off to the
shower.

As I was dressing Jay said, "How are you fixed for cash?"

"Hurting."

"I'll give you what I have. I won't need much today, though I'll have to cash a travelers'
check sometime soon. Where are you headed?"

"Rievaulx Abbey." I explained the itinerary and took the money. The trouble with bank
holidays is that they
are
bank holidays. I was out of travelers' checks anyway, unlike
Jay.

We deposited him at his conference and took off. We found Rievaulx melancholy and
fascinating, though it was aswarm with families out enjoying the weather. Nearby Helmsley
Castle had an impressive earthwork. By then it was noon and picnic time, so we found a grassy
spot down the road to Wiganthorpe and pulled over. We munched our sandwiches and eyed the
sheep in the next field. It was the third straight day of sunshine. Amazing.

I knew Ann was disappointed not to be exploring the Bronte country to the west, so I
whipped out the guidebook and began reading her the chatty little piece on the deserted village.
The site lay on the grounds of a manor belonging to Lord Tennant, although his lordship's
principal seat lay in County Durham.

"That's nice," Ann murmured. "Who's Lord Tennant?"

"Hmm. It says that he still styles himself Lord Tennant of Wiganthorpe even though the
village has been deserted since the late middle ages, and the house is a museum. 'Lord Tennant,
like Lord Henning of Hambly...'" I broke off.

Ann sat bolt upright, scattering crumbs. "It's a house! Hambly is a house, not a
village."

"No wonder we couldn't find it in the atlas. Lord Henning..."

We stared at each other.

"Milos is at Hambly." Ann struggled to her feet. "Come on. We have to find him."

"And phone Thorne."

"Yes." She was gathering up the lunch debris. "And those hypocrites at the Henning
Institute. That smarmy woman in the office knew where Milos was all along. She was laughing
up her sleeve at me, the unprincipled bitch."

I stood and shook out the rug Mrs. Chisholm had lent us. "But we still don't know where
Hambly is."

"
The Blue Guide
," Ann said tersely. "Failing that, the book on stately homes
sitting in plain sight in Mrs. Chisholm's parlor." She stomped over to the car. I followed.

Hambly, it turned out, was in Shropshire, near Ludlow and the Welsh border. Rather
near Hay-on-Wye. We found the information in Mrs. Chisholm's stately homes book.

Our landlady was spending the day with her daughter in Leeds. Jay was due to sit on a
panel at the conference at three. It was Sunday. I sat in the shadowy parlor and brooded while
Ann went to the pay phone outside the pub and telephoned.

If Milos were indeed at Hambly, then the Henning people must have believed he was in
danger. They had to be protecting him from the British government as well as from his shadowy
assailants. Ann's decision to report Milos's case had probably created considerable
embarrassment. I felt rather sorry for the woman Ann was going to chew out.

Ann's calls didn't take long. She came in, her face a pale blur in the dark room. "I called
Thorne, but he's still off duty. Sgt. Baylor answered."

"And?"

She plumped down on an armchair. "I opened my mouth to tell her where Milos is, and I
just couldn't. What if the Henning people think he's in danger from the British?"

"That did occur to me. Did you call the Institute?"

"Nobody answered."

"It's Sunday."

"And a bank holiday," she said impatiently. "I know. We'll have to handle this ourselves,
Lark."

"We?"

"You and I."

"What about Jay?" When she didn't answer I added, "He
is
my husband." And
an ex-cop on first name terms with a chief inspector of British police.

She took a deep breath. "All right. You stay here, and I'll take the car. What time is Jay
coming back?"

"Ten or so. It's the last full session." And if the bar were open afterwards he might be
even later. The conference members seemed to be a sociable lot, and Jay was enjoying
them.

Ann met my eyes. "Will you give me until he gets here? I can drive to Shropshire in a
couple of hours and check the place out."

"Ann, darling, you can't drive at all--remember?"

"I'll manage. I once drove Uncle Billy's tractor."

That was so absurd I hooted.

She blushed, but I could see from the set of her jaw that she wasn't going to give in.

"All right," I said, "let's think this through. If the Henning people have Milos, then he's
probably getting proper care. They did remove him in an ambulance. He's in no immediate
danger."

Ann began pleating the skirt of her dress.

I went on, "We don't need to rescue him, Ann. They aren't sticking slivers under his
fingernails and igniting them."

Her mouth trembled. "We don't know their agenda for sure, or his. We don't know what
was in those papers. Until we do..."

I stood up. "It's two. My father should be up. My turn to telephone."

I jogged across the green and charged yet another international call. I got my parents'
answering tape. Nobody home. When I returned Ann was upstairs packing.

She took the absence of news from Dad with calm. "If you'll drive me to York, I'll go to
Ludlow by train and worry about a car when I get there."

I sighed. "I'll drive you to Shropshire. I have to let Jay know what's happening, though. I
can't just take off."

She opened her mouth as if to protest, hands full of underwear. Then she focused on me
and apparently read my determination. "All right. I'm sorry to be such a hard nose, honey. I'm
sure Jay won't do anything to put Milos in jeopardy, and I am grateful. It's just that I'm so
worried about Milos. And so confused."

I could relate to that. I went into the Laura Ashley bedroom, stuffed my clothes in the
garment bag, and sat down to compose an explanation for Jay. I meant to take it to the
conference site, in case he wasn't immediately available. To be safe, I repeated the gist of the
information and placed the first note on our bed.

When we reached the former teachers' college, I left Ann in the car and went in search
of my husband. I was stopped in the hallway, which was indeed painted an institutional green, by
a sixtyish man in a dark suit and tie who demanded to know who I was.

I explained that an emergency had come up and that I wanted to speak to my
husband.

Cerberus pursed his tight little mouth and asked me the nature of the emergency.

I never lie well under pressure. I said I had to make an unexpected trip to Shropshire and
that I wanted to tell Jay the circumstances before I left.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, madam. I cannot interrupt a session of the conference
for a merely personal matter."

I started to blurt out that it was a
police
matter and bit my tongue. I had to tell
Jay about Hambly, but there was no reason I had to tell the entire constabulary. "I want to speak
to whoever's in charge."

His eyebrows rose. "I am, madam." He was getting smugger by the second, and I was
getting angrier.

I decided to cut my losses before I said something unforgivable. I took out the note I had
written and scrawled Jay's name on the outside, adding in parenthesis "
per
Detective
Chief Inspector H. Belknap." I held it out. "Very well. Will you see to it that James Dodge
receives this message?"

He took the note with a bland smile. "Certainly, madam."

I startled Ann when I opened the car door.

"Back so soon? What did Jay say?"

"I left a note for him."

She refastened her seatbelt as I slid into the driver's seat. "I hope he won't worry about
you."

"So do I."

"We're off?"

I nodded and turned the ignition. "We're off."

"I trust you brought the
AA Atlas
." I shifted to accommodate a steep hill. The
Escort groaned.

By way of response, Ann lifted the huge book of maps from beneath a pile of guides and
magazines in the back seat.

"Get me onto the A1. We need to find a gas station."

"All right," she said in a small voice. She refastened her seat belt.

I shifted into fourth and let the car roll downhill, accelerating slightly as we approached
a curve. "I'm not mad at you, Ann. Just worried."

"We may be on a wild goose chase."

"I don't think so." I forced a lighter tone. "And anyway you wanted to tour the Welsh
marches."

"That's right, honey." She added, incorrigibly the English teacher, "It's A.E. Housman
country." She gave me a swift glance and returned her attention to the atlas.

"'Oh, I have been to Ludlow fair,
And left my necktie God knows where,
And
carried halfway home or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer.'"

The sound of Housman's neat quatrain in Ann's plummy Georgia accent cracked me up.
Then I thought of Jay's necktie, God knows why, and cracked up again. I was still chuckling
when I saw the sign for the first roundabout. There was an exit posted for the A1. I extricated the
car from the vicious circle, headed off in the right direction, and, as we topped a gentle rise, saw
the BP logo floating in the near distance. The station was open. I filled the tank, and we were on
our way. The signs were auspicious. I felt a surge of optimistic energy. At least we were finally
doing something.

We reached the vicinity of Ludlow by six. Traffic had been heavy but not impossible,
and I had used the motorways, a hairy experience. Thanks to well-posted exits and Ann's heroic
navigation, I by-passed Leeds and Birmingham and turned off on a highway that promised to
lead to Ludlow, or, possibly, Kidderminster. By that time my eyes hurt from squinting, my teeth
hurt from clenching, and I was sure my spine had adopted the curve of the driver's seat.

Ann cleared her throat. "I need to find a loo."

"Okay. Look for a likely pub."

We chugged in silence along the secondary highway I had entered. After another half
mile Ann gave a subdued shriek and pointed. Spraying gravel, I pulled the Escort into the car
park of a half-timbered building, rather large, that announced itself as The Royal Oak. That
sounded nautical to me, odd so far inland. However, there were lights and the car park was
almost full of station wagons and Landrovers.

Our luck held. The Royal Oak was a country inn rather than a pub. We used the loo and
looked the place over. In addition to a large and very noisy bar, all dark paneling and beveled
glass, there was a dining room posted to open at seven. When Ann's attention strayed to a display
of tourist brochures on a long refectory table, I cat-footed it to the registration desk.

The blond man behind the counter gave me a harried smile. "May I help you?"

"Two for dinner."

"Ah. Yes, of course. You'll have a half hour wait."