The Return of Rachel Stone Page 5

  “Like... If I scratch your back, you'll scratch mine?”

  “There'll be no scratching of any backs,” she said firmly. “Just tell me how you heard about the supposed return of Rachel Stone.”

  Chapter Six

  15 years ago

  “You know,” Bradley said as he poured more water into the kettle, “that spare room is completely cleared out now. I tossed all the junk and moved the printer into my office, so really the room is just sitting there empty, with nobody using it at all. I almost feel as if I should take in a lodger, just so that there's a little more life in the house.”

  He took a moment to set the kettle on to boil, before turning and seeing that Margaret hadn't reacted at all. Instead she was sitting at the kitchen table in his little cottage, on the outskirts of Landsley, and she seemed far more interested in watching the garden. Her eyes were a little glazed, as if she was miles away, thinking about something far removed from the spare room upstairs.

  “How's life up at the manor house, anyway?” Bradley continued with a faint, nervous smile. “I must say, it strikes me as rather an inconvenient place to be staying, especially since you don't drive. You're not still thinking of asking Herbert if you can move in permanently, are you?”

  He paused again, still hoping that she'd acknowledge what he'd said.

  “In fact,” he added finally, “that gives me an idea. Seeing as I've got that spare room, would you be interested in coming and living here for a while? You'd be doing me a tremendous favor, Margaret, and I don't think I'd be too much of a bother to live with. I keep the place clean, and I have a woman from Thailand who comes in every Wednesday and gives the whole house a good going-over. I wouldn't want any rent, either.”

  Again he waited for a reply, and again none was forthcoming.

  “I could even spare a little cash each month,” he told her, “just to help out, if you're worried about being short. And food. Food would be on me.”

  Silence.

  “Margaret?”

  “What?” Finally turning to him, she seemed utterly confused, as if she hadn't even been aware that he was talking.

  “I was just -”

  “I'm so sorry,” she continued, interrupting him, “but I've got all this nonsense with Herbert on my mind. I don't know exactly what's going on, but I swear my brother is up to something.”

  “Isn't that his usual state?” Bradley asked, as the kettle began to whistle. “I don't think I've ever known Herbert not being up to something.”

  “He's always shifty,” she explained, “but this is different, something in a whole new league. I can see it in his eyes. He's hiding something from me, and he never hides things from me. Even the things he keeps from Diana, he usually tells me all about them. I like to think of myself as his sounding board, but this time he's playing his cards very close to his chest. I'm worried he's going to do something very stupid. Again.”

  “Have you asked him?”

  “Herbert doesn't respond well to direct questions.” She paused for a moment. “Did I tell you that Diana had a fright in the garden yesterday? She swears someone tried to steal the pram with poor little Rachel inside. Herbert insists that she's just losing her mind, and I suppose that has to be a possibility, but I can't help wondering whether there's more to it. She wants to take the baby away, and Herbert's having to put his foot down.”

  “Who would want to snatch a baby?” Bradley asked.

  “Oh, don't be naive. My brother's a very rich man. Blackmailing him would be a rather lucrative endeavor.”

  “Still, it's hard to believe someone would actually go through with such an awful scheme. Have they been to the police about it?”

  “Herbert? Go to the police?” She smiled. “He's the most private man in the whole world, Bradley. You could cut his bloody head off, and he'd just say he wanted to deal with the matter himself. Besides, he thinks the police would just leak things to the press. He might have a point.”

  “Have you asked Jack what he thinks?”

  She sighed. “My other brother is even harder to pin down. You know how little he cares for the family, Bradley. He's off gallivanting around the world, spending his inheritance and entertaining ladies. Last I heard, he was shacked up in Malta with some ex-showgirl, and they were having the time of their lives.” She signed. “No, Jack won't show his face around here until he runs out of money and needs a top-up from Herbert. Sometimes I think he's got the right idea, though. Maybe I should have just asked Herbert for an advance and swanned off to somewhere hot and sunny.”

  “Steady on,” Bradley said with a nervous smile. “Isn't it time to think about putting down roots?”

  “Roots?” She arched an eyebrow, as if the idea was utterly alarming. “Where? In this wretched place? No thanks.”

  Bradley was about to ask what was wrong with Landsley, when the kettle finally began to boil and he turned gratefully to fill the two tea mugs. This allowed him a moment to get his thoughts together, which was useful since he was still trying to find a way to bring up the spare room. He'd spent the past few weeks clearing the place out and painting it a nice gentle shade of beige, hoping that he might make the room more appealing to Margaret, but so far he wasn't having much luck when it came to broaching the matter. In fact, he wasn't sure he'd really had her attention all morning, ever since she'd popped into his cottage for a chat.

  “Diana's cracking up, you know,” Margaret continued after a moment.

  “You've mentioned that before.”

  “But this time she's really losing her mind, and it's no longer amusing to watch. I wouldn't surprised if -”

  She stopped suddenly, as if a new idea had entered her thoughts.

  “You wouldn't be surprised if what?” Bradley asked, carrying the mugs of tea over to the table and sitting next to her. He winched a little as he eased himself into the chair, and then it was the chair's turn to creak as he settled.

  “He wouldn't,” she whispered. “Would he?”

  “I'm sorry?”

  “It's one thing to be shifty, it's quite another to be so manipulative.”

  Bradley opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but the words caught in his throat.

  And then, slowly, a curious smile crossed Margaret's lips.

  “Perhaps,” she said finally, “dear Herbert is more interesting than I ever anticipated. He's always been very good at business dealings, but I think maybe he's turning that fine mind to more personal matters.”

  Bradley waited for her to explain.

  “Right,” he said after a moment, “I'm not sure I follow. What exactly do you think he's up to?”

  Getting to her feet, she hurried to the door. “I have to go and ask him,” she stammered. “I always knew he was sneaky, but I have to find out what he's doing. Thank you for today, Bradley. I'm sorry I can't stay longer.”

  “Oh, but the tea's ready,” Bradley pointed out as she opened the front door. “A good cup of tea often helps to clear the -”

  Before he could finish, she was gone and the door swung shut.

  “Oh well,” he said with a sigh, sitting all alone. “I suppose I shall just have to drink them both.”

  Chapter Seven

  Today

  “A journalist never reveals his sources,” Nick said as they sat in a booth at the pub. “That's, like, the first rule they teach you at school.”

  “And you haven't been out of school for very long, have you?” Jo replied. “How old are you? Twenty-five? Twenty-six?”

  He hesitated, with a hint of fear in his eyes.

  “Thirty,” he said finally.

  “No way.”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Twenty-six, I swear.” He swallowed hard. “I'm telling the truth, okay? I work for the Landsley District Herald.”

  “A local paper?”

  “It's as good a place as any to start. Problem is, I started four years ago and I'm still there. But if I can break a big s
tory about Rachel Stone, maybe I can get my stuff picked up by the nationals, and then I'll have my foot in the door.” He seemed eager now, excited by the prospect. “Rachel Stone is still a big deal, she's the only famous thing that ever happened in these parts. People lap it up if you've got anything new about her, and right now I've got an exclusive. Well, I thought I did, until you showed up.”

  “Relax,” she replied, as tested her coffee and found it was still too hot. “I wasn't lying when I said I'm a private detective. I'm not going to steal your exclusive.”

  “Yeah, well... You'd better not.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or...” His voice trailed off. “This could make or break my career. That's all I'm saying. Please don't tell anyone else about it.”

  “So who tipped you off?”

  He glanced around, as if he was worried about being overheard, and then he turned back to her. After a moment he leaned back against the seat, as if he was trying to seem confident and assured. The attempt was not particularly successful.

  “I got a phone call,” he said finally.

  “From who?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Hugely.”

  “Well, to be honest, I don't know who it was from. I traced the number after it was over, but it turned out to be a phone box in London. I looked it up on Google Maps, it's just near Vauxhall Bridge. Funny place to be calling from, eh?”

  “What did the person say?”

  “It was a girl. She sounded kinda young and she asked if I worked at the Landsley District Herald. When I told her I did, she said I needed to grab a pen and paper 'cause she was gonna tell me something important. I thought she was just some nutter at first, but then she started talking about the Rachel Stone case. Like, in real detail, in more detail than anyone could if they'd just read about it. She knew things that the police told us to keep out of our reports. It didn't take long before I realized she was the real deal.”

  “And you didn't tell anyone else?”

  “She told me to keep it to myself,” he replied. “I would've done that anyway, though. There's no honor in the newspaper business.” He jabbed a finger against the table, as if he was trying to emphasize his point. “This is my story! It's my exclusive and -”

  “I know,” Jo said with a sigh, “I'm really not interested in taking the credit from you. Tell me exactly what this person told you over the phone.”

  “Well, she said it was about the Rachel Stone case,” he said cautiously. “She said someone should come down and check the place out again. She said said something had happened and the family was covering it up. I asked what, and she said someone had shown up in the middle of the night. She didn't specifically say that it was Rachel, but I managed to put two and two together. Then the voice told me I should keep this to myself, that it could turn out to be the scoop of the century, and that was it. Call over.”

  “And you came straight down here?”

  “I did some research first. Then I got a note in the mail, telling me I was wasting time.” He paused. “So did you get a call like that too?”

  “Have you seen Rachel? Or the girl who's claiming to be Rachel, at least?”

  He paused, as if he was still considering the possibility that he should keep his information to himself, but finally he shook his head.

  “But you've been watching the house?”

  He nodded. “I've been out there every night for two weeks now. I haven't broken any laws, before you start wondering. I've just been observing. But if Rachel Stone's really back and if she's at that house, she hasn't set foot outside in all the time I've been keeping an eye on the place. To be honest, I was starting to think that maybe I'd been set up. You know, like, someone from the paper was just winding me up. I was actually thinking of packing the whole thing in at the end of the week.”

  “Tell me about the voice,” Jo replied. “How old did she sound?”

  “Youngish. Teens, twenties maybe.”

  “What kind of accent?”

  “She didn't have an accent.”

  “So Kentish, maybe.”

  “Eh?”

  “What did you hear in the background of the call?”

  “Nothing.”

  “No traffic or anything like that?”

  He furrowed his brow. “You ask a lot of questions. But if you're here, does that mean I'm really onto something? Is Rachel Stone really back?”

  “I don't know,” Jo muttered, “but it seems like the Stone family are pretty convinced. Maybe they're desperate to believe, or maybe there's some other reason they don't want to dig too deep into the girl's story.”

  “This'll be huge,” he pointed out. “This'll be on every front page in the country. It'll even sell stateside. But first I need a photo. Even if it's grainy, even if it's taken from a distance and it's bloody potato quality, I need a photo of this girl.”

  “It sounds like the family decided to keep her under wraps.”

  “But they can't do that forever, can they? She has to come out into the sun at some point. Unless she's a bloody ghost or a vampire.”

  “Time, ladies and gentlemen!” the barman called out, before ringing a bell that stood next to the bar. “Come on, drink up. I'm sure you've all got home to be going to, and wives waiting with rolling pins!”

  “The Stones don't have any other children,” Jo pointed out, “and they're keeping this news very close to their chests. As far as I'm aware, only a handful of people have been told, and they certainly haven't been spreading the news. All of which means there's really only one person who could have made that phone call to you.”

  “Who?” he asked.

  “Isn't it obvious? Rachel Stone herself must have been behind the leak. For some reason, Rachel called and told you she was coming back. And if your trace was accurate, apparently she made that call before she ever set foot back in the house. If I didn't know better, I'd be starting to think she's playing some kind of game.”

  ***

  “Looks like we're neighbors, then,” Nick said as he stopped at his door above the pub and turned to Jo, who'd stopped to unlock the next door along. “Don't go having a party in there, okay? I need to hit the hay and get up early.”

  He waited for a response, but Jo was lost in thought as she fished a key from her pocket. After a moment, however, she turned to him.

  “Did you hear a baby crying?” she asked.

  “Don't remind me.”

  “Out at the house,” she continued. “I think I heard it, just before I saw you trying to climb that wall. There was a baby crying.”

  “I've heard it a few nights now,” he replied. “Have you heard the stories they tell around here?”

  She nodded.

  “So do you think that's what it is?” he asked. “Do you think it's a ghost?”

  “Ghosts don't exist.”

  “People don't leave random babies crying in their gardens, either,” he pointed out. “The nights I've heard it, it's always been coming from roughly the same spot, on the other side of the wall just along from the corner. That's a good couple of hundred meters from the house, and I never hear anyone else out there. I mean, I know these toffs can be pretty strange, and people get weird ideas sometimes about how to deal with kids, but you wouldn't leave a kid all alone out in the cold. One night it was even raining a bit, and I still heard the poor little thing.”

  “None of that means it's a ghost.”

  “If it was, that'd be pretty conclusive proof that the girl in the house isn't Rachel. I mean, she couldn't be alive and dead at the same time, could she?”

  He turned and unlocked his door, pushing it open before glancing back at her.

  “I'm starting to think I won't just get a front page out of this,” he said. “I'm starting to think I'll get a book. I could strike it rich.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Do you think it's really her? I mean, there's a story here either way, but do you think Rachel Stone's really back and in t
hat house? Or do you think she died and that's her ghost crying in the garden?”

  “Are you going back out there tomorrow?”

  He opened his mouth to reply, but something seemed to hold him back.

  “I'm not quite desperate enough to want a partner on this job just yet,” he said finally. “Maybe I'll see you down in the pub tomorrow evening, though. We can compare notes.”

  With that, he headed into his room and bumped the door shut, leaving Jo standing alone in the corridor. And although the pub had fallen silent now, she could somehow still hear the sound of the crying baby, as if it was reaching out to her from the grounds of the house several miles away.

  Chapter Eight

  15 years ago

  “I'm not crazy!” Diana hissed, as she clung tighter than ever to Rachel, who was sleeping in her arms. “I don't care what Herbert or anyone else says! Somebody tried to snatch her!”

  “I didn't say that I don't believe you,” Margaret replied, already sounding a little exhausted, “I just said that it seems a little improbable. I mean, I understand that blackmailing Herbert might be appealing to a certain type of person, but surely there'd be a better way to go about the whole thing. From what you've said, the endeavor sounds as if it was horribly amateurish.”

  “They'll try again,” Diana continued. “They won't give up just because I caught them the first time! They'll keep trying and trying and trying until they've got her!” She looked down at her daughter. “I can't let her out of my sight. She has to be with me every second of every day. I shan't even be able to sleep. They do things at the pharmacy, don't they? Things that can keep you awake? Could you pop down and get some for me?”

  “I'm not sure you need to go to such extremes,” Margaret said. “It's not going to be good for little Rachel if you're not able to function properly. Herbert and I can take it in turns to help watch her.”