The buxton chronicles, p.16
The Buxton Chronicles, page 16
Randolph reached over and patted her knee. “I am far from unfeeling on the matter, I assure you. But getting in a tizzy over it does not help. Now tell me, did you enjoy your flight with Hilly?”
Momentarily diverted, Serena began to recount the details of her afternoon, but it wasn’t until they reached the security of their room in the American Hotel that she told him about Stiles and Miranda Stillwater.
“That’s not something I expected to hear,” Randolph said, frowning.
“No, nor I but it’s something Stuart needs to know.” Serena paced the room as she considered how quickly she could pass on the information. “Oh, if we could only fly into San Francisco and scoop Stuart up right now and get this business sorted out.”
Randolph threw himself down into a chair which comfortably encompassed his large frame. He rubbed a hand across his face, his senses as raw as Serena’s but held admirably in check. Montgomery had said he would be close by at all times. But how close and how much of the time? How could they contact a man who appeared to be so much in the shadows?
For the first time since they met, Randolph considered just how well he knew Montgomery. Liked him, yes. Trusted him, mostly. But there was a secretive, almost dangerous element to Montgomery’s character which reminded him of Stiles. If that man had more polish, what would be the difference between the two of them? He decided the answer to that question might simply be on which side of the judicial fence they chose to fall.
“I don’t know about you, darling,” Serena broke his reverie by dropping a kiss on the top of his head, “but I’m starving. I’m going downstairs to see what’s on the menu.”
“And I think I’ll call the Agency office and see if I can leave a message for Montgomery as I’m sure he won’t be there. I’ll meet you in the dining room.”
~*~*~*~
They dined on steak with salads and baked potatoes, eating in silence, each aware that their next steps depended on maintaining contact with both Stillwater and Sir Hilary despite the disquieting presence of George Stiles.
Serena dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin, folded it and laid it on the table.
“Well, that feels very much better. How about you?”
“Mmm,” Randolph mumbled through his last forkful of potato.
Their waiter approached the table to clear away their empty plates and asked if he should serve coffee. When he came to pour it, he slipped a note beneath Randolph’s cup without a word. Randolph unfolded the note, read it and passed it to Serena.
“Your room, 8 o’clock,” she read. “Very succinct. I wonder if our waiter is another of Stuart’s agents?”
Randolph chuckled at Serena’s suspicion. “More likely someone earning an extra dollar or two.”
They lingered over their coffee until just before the appointed time and then returned to their room. It was not many minutes later that Montgomery joined them but, while they seated themselves, a strangely uncomfortable silence spread between them like a creeping tide.
“So, who has discovered what?” Randolph eased his question into the tension between them, suspecting the root of it to be that Montgomery now thoroughly regretted bringing them into his case.
“I think,” Serena began, “from what I learned today, Stuart, that you are looking at the wrong culprit behind these murders.”
“What makes you say that?”
“When you came to see us at home, you said you thought you were missing something. That was why you asked for our assistance. Am I correct?”
Montgomery nodded.
“What if,” Serena jumped to her feet, too excited by what she had to tell them to remain seated, “Hiram is not responsible for disposing of his partners? What if,” she paused and looked first at Randolph and then Stuart, “it’s not Hiram at all, but Miranda?”
“What on earth would lead you to that conclusion?” Randolph looked surprised.
“There’s a little house well beyond the north west corner of the airfield,” Serena explained. “We flew over it yesterday. It’s almost hidden by trees, but Hilly said George Stiles goes there to meet Miranda. He also said they think he’s stupid, but he’s not. He’s just an awkward person and always has been.”
Montgomery thought for a moment. “But what makes you think Miranda might be behind everything?”
“Well, she was decidedly uncomfortable at dinner the other evening and obviously resents Hiram. Randolph and I wondered about that. What if it’s not Hilly who’s in danger, but Hiram?”
“That’s a bit of a switch, darling.” Randolph frowned as he tried to follow Serena’s reasoning but failed and asked, “How did you come to that dramatic conclusion?”
“Think about it.” Enthusiasm for her theory brightened Serena’s face. “We’ve seen Miranda and Hiram together. He is very dismissive of her and pays her little attention. She knows she can’t control him, but what if she thinks she can control Hilly? Remember, he told me she and George think he’s stupid. There’s another thing, too. Hilly didn’t have the funds to invest in Hiram’s scheme, so bought in with his aeroplane designs. Hiram owns them, every one of them. Hilly gets nothing from them. What if Hilly is the golden goose? They wouldn’t get rid of him, would they?”
“That’s a lot of ‘what ifs’,” Randolph said. “It all sounds logical, but why get rid of the other partners?”
“Control.” Montgomery butted in. He shot a glance at Serena and saw her nodding and smiling when she realized he understood her theory. “That’s it. That’s what this is all about. Whoever controls the company controls the money.”
“Exactly.” Serena leaned forward in her chair. “Hilly didn’t know that the men who died were all partners in Stillwater Aviation. He thought he was Hiram’s only partner. What I think is that Hiram kept him ignorant of the scheme to give him a sense of security. Hilly’s been in a pretty vulnerable position for reasons I won’t go into now.”
Montgomery cast her an unusually sharp glance. “Do those reasons have any bearing on the case?”
Serena shook her head. “No, it was something that happened in England and is why Hilly is here. He met Hiram quite by chance because he was looking for work.”
“Hmm.” Montgomery did not seem mollified.
“Stuart, if I thought it mattered I would tell you,” Serena insisted. “Maybe later to satisfy your curiosity, but not now. What I think is that Hiram started his scheme as a genuine investment plan. Then, when Hilly came along with the potential to make a lot of money for the company, Miranda saw a way to get her hands on it. It’s been a long term plot to slowly get rid of the partners with the minimum of suspicion and now there’s only two left. It’s Hiram they’ll target next, I’m sure of it. Even though he knows nothing of the investment scheme, Hilly will be left with everything and Miranda will try to control him. When he’s no longer useful well, I don’t think I need say more.”
“No, I get the idea quite clearly,” Montgomery said. “And there’s another fact concerning the day Thompson died that has only recently come to light. Apparently on that afternoon Mrs. Thompson met a friend for tea.”
“And I’ll wager that friend was Mrs. Stillwater.” Randolph got up to pour drinks for them all.
“And you’d be right.” Montgomery took his drink and sipped it. “But it still isn’t proof. It is all supposition.”
“So where does that leave us?” Serena asked, suddenly deflated now she had aired all her theories.
“Watching Stillwater as well as Sir Hilary,” Montgomery grumbled. He put his drink down on the table and stood up, shoved his hands into his pockets and faced Randolph and Serena. “If we are correct in our suppositions it would appear they are both on borrowed time but that leaves us no further forward with the investigation.” He paused, the corners of his mouth downturned and tightness in his jaw as he came to a decision. “Because of that, I cannot expect you to remain here any longer. I’m sorry I involved you and suggest you return to England as soon as you wish.”
“No, Stuart,” Serena began but stopped when she saw Randolph’s warning expression. She sank back in her chair.
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Montgomery.” Randolph stood up. “We’ll stay for one more week. I’ll cover Stillwater, Serena stays with Hilly. Meet us here at the same time every evening for updates and if we are no further forward by next Friday well, then we’ll leave you to it and go home.”
Montgomery considered the proposal and then reluctantly agreed.
“Oh, and one more thing.” Randolph swung round to look at Serena. “No more flying, please, my darling. I want the children to have their mother home in one piece.”
“You can’t . . .” Serena began, but one piercing look from Randolph silenced her.
“Humor me,” he said.
Montgomery saw the mutiny begin in Serena’s eyes and quietly wished them goodnight.
Chapter Eleven
They drove out to the airfield in silence, Serena still smarting from the previous night’s argument. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Randolph had ever forbidden her to do anything and the thought she might never experience again that wonderful sensation of being airborne disappointed her. But Randolph was right in one thing. The children did need her.
For now such a fledgling science held too many risks, too many unknowns. In answer to her sally that Mrs. Hilda Hewlett was the first woman in England to be awarded a pilot’s license, Randolph countered that Harriet Quimby, the first woman to fly across the English Channel, died a couple of months later after that feat at a Boston aviation meeting.
This tidbit surprised Serena. She could only suppose Hiram to be the source of his knowledge just as Hilly was of hers. She watched the countryside roll by through tear-misted eyes as she recalled the tender conclusion of their evening. How could she continue to argue with Randolph when he reminded her of his own near-death experience and what she might have lost? Life, he said, is a fragile commodity and should not be squandered, but cherished. Her body still sang from being cherished.
“I have capitulated,” she announced as Randolph drew up at the airfield gates.
“Thank you, my darling.” The bright smile he gave her would have lit up London town and then they were through the gates and driving towards Stillwater Aviation’s administration building.
When he turned the motor off, he kissed her cheek.
“You know what you have to do?” he asked as he helped her exit the vehicle.
Serena nodded. “Sit in Hilly’s lap all day, figuratively speaking.”
Randolph laughed. “That’s about it. Think of me a time or two suffering Hiram’s machinations to part me from my money.”
Serena laughed and walked away from him. Hers was the easier task for the day. At least she knew Hilly well and liked him. He had no agenda with her, his only thoughts were for his beloved aircraft. She found him just where she knew she would, poring over a set of plans spread across the flat surface of a workbench.
He looked up when she entered the hangar, a happy smile on his grimy face. It hurt her to think how soon she was likely to wipe it away with the news she had for him. She watched him grab a cloth from the workbench and wipe off a stool for her. She sat down, trying to make sense of his talk of wingspans and centers of gravity, of power-to-weight ratios and vortices. She listened for as long as she could, then gently interrupted him and suggested they sit outside for awhile.
“Oh, well, if you must, I suppose,” he said with a frown, but followed her out into the sunshine and sat beside her on the grass.
Serena looked around to make quite sure they were not likely to be overheard.
“Hilly, I’ve got something important to tell you,” she began. “You’re not going to like it, but I swear it’s all true.”
She laid out Hiram’s tontine scheme like a road map for him and explained that Arthur Hannet, Chester Watson, Edward Emery and Elliott Thompson were likely murdered on Miranda Stillwater’s orders for their shares in the company. She walked him down the corridor of probability, closing doors behind his disbelieving questions until he was in no doubt of the danger which he and Hiram Stillwater now faced. She watched as he nervously shredded blades of grass with his long, thin fingers which were once as white as the piano keys he used to play. Now they were smeared with oil and a thick black layer of grease rimed each crescent of his fingernails.
“I’m sorry, Hilly, but for the time being and your own safety, we think you should come back to the hotel in Petaluma with me and Randolph or better yet get you right away, even back to England for a time.”
“What reason could I give for doing that?”
When he looked at her, his eyes resembled those of a frightened child. Serena suffered a momentary pang of guilt for having dragged him away from his drawings and into the calculated circumstances surrounding him.
“Oh, I don’t know.” She cast around in her mind for a suitable excuse. “Tell them your father is sick.”
“The Pater?” Hilly looked startled. “What’s wrong with him? Nothing serious I hope?”
Had she been standing up Serena would have stamped her foot with frustration. Where was the Hilly who was so adept at bringing his drawings to life, who could talk so crisply of the wonders of flight? At those times his mind remained clear and uncluttered. She took a deep breath and counted to ten.
“Do pay attention, Hilly,” she said as patiently as she could. “There’s nothing wrong with him. It’s just a story to get you away from here.”
“But what about Hiram? Dash it all, Serena, I can’t just walk out on him. I owe him so much. The man took me in and gave me a tremendous opportunity.”
“Don’t forget that was all for his benefit, not yours. And don’t forget that with Hiram out of the way, Mrs. Stillwater would then be your partner. She might not be as understanding as he is and when she’s mined all she needs from your skill, the chances are you would be the next to meet with an accident. Would you want that?”
Sir Hilary gnawed at his lower lip, distress clear on his face. Serena could not determine if it was distress for the situation he now found himself in, or distress for the end of his dreams.
“Come on,” she said, getting to her feet. “Let’s go back inside. Tell me if there’s anything I can help you with, as long as it’s not working out any of those equations you were jotting down. I didn’t know you were such a whizz at mathematics, I can only cope with addition and subtraction.”
“Oh, I’m sure you can manage more than that,” Hilly said, “but if you really want to help you can sharpen my drawing pencils.”
Serena punched him lightly on the arm, glad that they were on even terms again, and walked with him back to the hangar.
~*~*~*~
George Stiles lowered his field glasses. The lines of sourness that his face habitually wore deepened as he watched the distant figures of Serena and Blenkinsop-Brown.
What had the two of them been talking about? He’d charged Toby to get as close to them as possible and pass on whatever they talked about, but the kid only once managed to bring him anything useful.
Blenkinsop-Brown just wasn’t smart enough to know if he was being watched, but Serena Buxton was a different prospect. She had more brains than was good for her but beneath those tailored clothes of hers he’d bet, titled or not, she was no different to any other woman.
Yeah, he could make out with her alright and enjoy doing it. She’d probably scream and yell as he pulled her skirts up and pretend she didn’t like a bit of rough, but that would make it all the more satisfying. She had more class than Miranda Stillwater, who clung to him like a fly on sticky paper, or Sarah who knew all the tricks in the book and then some.
Above him a chair leg scraped across the floor accompanied by a guffaw of laughter followed by the sound of booted feet descending the stairs.
Stiles drew back from the window to avoid being seen as the two men headed towards the hangars. Stillwater was easy enough to fool. He thought of little more than his aviation business and couldn’t see further than his own nose. And then there was Buxton. He still couldn’t figure out how the man had walked away in Cold Creek from a blow that would have dropped an ox. Still, it wouldn’t happen again.
He turned his thoughts to what accident he might arrange for them. Miranda wanted to wait a few more months to let the Thompson affair die down, but what better opportunity to snuff Buxton than for something to happen to him and Stillwater together? Killing them caused him no qualms. They simply had to go. Just like the first man he’d killed. The man who fathered him, but then was never a father to him. The man who professed to love his mother but never saw fit to make her his wife. Stiles scowled at the memory.
His mother never deserved the beatings she received. He doesn’t mean it, George, she’d told him. But the bastard did mean it, each and every time he wound one end of his belt around his hand leaving the buckle end free, or bunched his fists and let fly. That was until one beating too many left his mother crumpled on the kitchen floor with her head caved in. He didn’t remember picking up the knife, but he did remember the satisfaction that came from that first thrust when he slid the blade easily between his father’s ribs, the look of disbelief then horror in the booze-blurred eyes. He’d been ten years old and walked away without a backward glance.
He rubbed a hand over his face, as if to erase the memory then looked at the clock on the wall. Nearly time to meet with Miranda Stillwater. The woman had become more of a nuisance than he’d ever expected. Fancied herself in love with him, poor deluded woman. For now it paid him to keep her sweet but he’d get rid of her too, when the time was right.
The sound of an aircraft powering up made him look out of the window. The Stillbee Mark 1 sat at the end of the runway with Stillwater and Buxton looking on as Blenkinsop-Brown prepared for takeoff.
Stiles grinned as he reached for his hat.
