Chapter Thirteen

I walked through the grounds to the walled garden, making my way towards the bee boles. Philip had indeed left his treatise on rhubarb in the third bole. The sheet was rolled, tied with a narrow strip of ribbon and with a small square of paper tucked into the ribbon. Good old Philip. If Gertrude asked me about my plans, I would at least have all sorts of information about rhubarb for my imaginary article.

The voice startled me. “Are you interested in bee boles, Mrs. Shackleton?”

I turned to see Raynor. He must have seen me from the library window, and followed. He could not miss that I held something in my hand, but had he seen me pick it up?

“There were bee boles where I stayed last year.” I pushed Philip’s roll of paper up my sleeve. “Such a pity these aren’t in use any more.”

“The hives are far more practical, but I do agree. There is something poetic about ancient beekeeping.”

Time to divert him from what might appear odd behaviour, and a feigned interest in the living quarters of bygone bees.

“I’ve been explaining to Mr. and Mrs. Brockman that I’m creating a photographic essay about people and places, including this house and its occupants. I should love to take your photograph.”

He gave a small embarrassed laugh. “I am not considered an oil painting, Mrs. Shackleton.”

“But you have character, Raynor, and to my mind that is far more impressive.”

“I don’t know what to say. I am overcome at the thought of a portrait.”

Perhaps it was my imagination, but there seemed a mocking edge to his tone. Gertrude may not have known that Benjie was asked about the man on the train, Raynor most certainly would know. I had always had the impression that there were no secrets between Benjie and his butler.

“Raynor, wait here while I fetch my camera.”

“The bag in the music room?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me, Mrs. Shackleton.” Raynor smiled agreement at his own sudden decision, all at once eager to have his picture taken.

When he had gone, I read the message that Philip had tucked in with his treatise on rhubarb:

Leave a note if you need help.

What on earth did he imagine might happen?

But he was making a good point. I should have set up some code, some way of keeping Sykes and Mrs. Sugden up to date on my progress, or lack of it. Of course there was a telephone here.

I had a long time to consider this as Raynor did not come back as quickly as he went. His lengthy absence could be accounted for by the amount of pomade on his hair, a fresh starched collar and a pair of patent shoes that he admitted to wearing infrequently on the grounds that they nipped.

We chose his favoured spot, by the sundial in the walled garden, another by the gate.

“Shouldn’t I have one with the house in the background, as an indication of my position?”