The Coronation Quest

By Cecilia Peartree

'The Coronation Quest' is the third in the 'Adventurous Quest' series of historical mystery novels. It is set in 1953 in Britain, mostly in London at the time when everyone was preparing for the Coronation.
On a stormy night, Clemency Quest picks up a hitch-hiker on the Norfolk coast road. She doesn't realise at the time that this simple act of good-will is just the start of a sequence of events that will drag her brother, Oliver, and his fiancée, Flora, back into the complicated world of espionage and conspiracy that they have fought so hard to leave behind. As the Coronation and Oliver and Flora's wedding approach, they are never quite sure which side of the law they are on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cecilia Peartree
• Release date: Aug 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311530318

Cecilia Peartree

Cecilia Peartree is the pen name of a writer from Edinburgh. She has dabbled in various genres so far, including science fiction and humour, but she keeps returning to a series of 'cosy' mysteries set in a small town in Fife.The first full length novel in the series, 'Crime in the Community', and the fifth 'Frozen in Crime are 'perma-free' on all outlets.The Quest series is set in the different Britain of the 1950s. The sixth novel in this series, 'Quest for a Father' was published in March 2017..As befits a cosy mystery writer, Cecilia Peartree lives in the leafy suburbs with her cats.

Book preview

The Coronation Quest

Cecilia Peartree

Copyright Cecilia Peartree 2014

Smashwords edition

All rights reserved

CONTENTS

Chapter 1 Flora – A Wet Night in Cromer

Chapter 2 Oliver – In the morning

Chapter 3 Flora – Old haunts and old ways

Chapter 4 Oliver – Something wrong

Chapter 5 Flora – in the dark

Chapter 6 Oliver – Harbouring suspicions

Chapter 7 Flora – an invitation to tea

Chapter 8 Oliver – house-hunting

Chapter 9 Flora - On a Mission

Chapter 10 Oliver – The Anger of a Patient Man

Chapter 11 Flora – Oliver makes a Scene

Chapter 12 Oliver – The First Assignment

Chapter 13 Flora - Unconvinced

Chapter 14 Oliver – Stan Steps In

Chapter 15 Flora – Another side to Dorothy

Chapter 16 Oliver – An Unexpected Development

Chapter 17 Flora – The Lions’ Den

Chapter 18 Oliver – After the Rescue

Chapter 19 Flora – Turning everything on its head

Chapter 20 Oliver – Fluff on the brain

Chapter 21 Flora – lost in the files

Chapter 22 Oliver – More about Fluff

Chapter 23 Flora – Visiting the scene

Chapter 24 Oliver – On the spot

Chapter 25 Flora – Searching

Chapter 26 Oliver – Kew for Tea

Chapter 27 Flora – Paper Dolls

Chapter 28 Oliver - Getting Away

Chapter 29 – Flora – To the Rescue again

Chapter 30 Oliver – Like a Horse and Carriage

End note

The Coronation Quest

Chapter 1 Flora - A Wet Night in Cromer

‘This is the last time I do anything to help Clemency,’ said Oliver, pacing up and down as the wind whistled through the cracks in the window-frame and made the long curtains billow outwards like ghostly dancers. ‘She hasn’t even bothered to turn up, and now we’re stuck waiting for her.’

I turned to him from my chair by the fire. ‘Aren’t you even a bit worried about her? What if something’s happened on the way?’

‘She’s got nine lives,’ said Oliver. He came over and warmed his hands by the fire. ‘Do you want the wireless on?’

‘Is it time for the news yet?’ I glanced at my watch, and paused to admire it. Oliver had given me it for Christmas. It was daintier and more sparkly than any other watch I had ever had. I hoped he didn’t expect me to behave in a correspondingly dainty way. ‘It’s five to six. We might as well put it on.’

Sitting here cosily with the fire blazing away and our only problem being whether to switch on the wireless or not, made me feel like part of an old married couple. We weren’t quite married yet, but it wouldn’t be long. We planned to marry in the spring, when the weather, or so I fondly hoped, might be more auspicious than it was tonight.

It could be worse. There could be ghosts.

Just as the idea crossed my mind, there was a howling sound followed by ominous creaking and groaning from upstairs. I jumped.

‘It’s all right,’ said Oliver with a grin. ‘The hatch to the attic must have been dislodged again. It does that sometimes in the wind. I’ll go up and have a look.’

‘Is there anybody we could telephone? To see if they know where Clemency is?’

‘I don’t think so.’ He came over and stood behind my chair, hands on my shoulders. ‘You’re very jumpy tonight. Have you had a premonition of doom?’

‘I don’t get premonitions. Hadn’t you noticed? Do you really think I’d have got into half the trouble I’ve been in if I had any idea of the things that might go wrong?’

He laughed, and then went quiet.

‘Oliver?’ I turned to stare up at him. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine. Just a thought that crossed my mind. About the storm... It doesn’t matter though. Would you put on the wireless while I go and fix the hatch?’

He went out of the room and I did as he asked.

By the time he got back I wasn’t just jumpy, but starting to panic.

‘Oliver! The storm!’

‘It’s just a winter storm, darling. That’s what happens at this time of year. The coast gets a bit battered, that’s all. I’m sure Aunt Caroline saw storms like this every winter.’

I shivered, thinking of us finding Oliver’s Aunt Caroline upstairs almost a year before.

‘But what about Clemency? The weather forecast...’

‘I told you – she’s got nine lives. If it gets too bad, she’ll find somewhere to stay until it stops. Until morning, if necessary.’

The lights flickered, and the telephone rang.

‘That’ll be her now,’ he said over his shoulder as he went into the hall to answer it.

I knelt on the hearth-rug and tried to warm my hands. Oliver had closed the door behind him, probably to keep the heat in the room. I heard his voice faintly, and the voice of the newsreader on the wireless more clearly as he spoke about the development of the storm. The lights flickered again. I turned off the wireless again. It wouldn’t tell us what we wanted to know.

Oliver came back in suddenly. ‘The phone’s gone dead,’ he said. ‘I expect the winds have brought down the lines somewhere.’

‘Who was it?’

‘Just my mother, fretting about Clemency.’

‘I suppose you told her your sister has nine lives!’

‘Exactly.’ He paced a bit more. The curtains billowed and the lights flickered. ‘She was planning to drive along the coast road from her friends’ house at Sheringham,’ he said after a moment. ‘Madness, in this weather.’

‘Drive? I didn’t know she had a car.’

‘She’s bought a little A40 of her own,’ said Oliver with a dramatic shudder. ‘I told her she should employ someone to run along in front with a red flag, but I don’t think she’s followed up that idea.’

I knew Oliver was very fond of his sister and was just making light of the situation to defuse the tension. He would be distraught if anything happened to her.

‘Is it all right if I do some sketching?’ he said suddenly.

‘As long as you don’t sketch me again!’

I didn’t really mean it, although I still hadn’t really got over the success of his painting ‘Four Seasons of Flora’. Fortunately it wasn’t done in a completely realistic style so people didn’t recognise me in the street, but it was the only thing people wanted to talk about when I was introduced to them. In a way it was heart-warming, and for Oliver’s sake I was pleased, but I also found myself resenting the fact that I only seemed to matter as a sort of symbol of his talent. If only I too had been an artist – but I knew myself too well to think that was remotely possible.

He gave me a look. ‘Who else would I want to draw?’

I got up from the rug, sat down again on my chair and picked up the book I had been trying to read, intending to ignore him. But I was conscious of him fetching his sketchbook from the table by the window, and settling into the chair opposite, and then he started chatting as he drew, which was one of his habits. I found it alternately annoying and endearing. Tonight, as we sat cocooned in our warm firelit nest, it was rather comforting.

‘I don’t know how well it pays – what Clemmie wants to do with herself, I mean,’ he said, obviously still thinking about his sister. ‘Assuming she finally graduates.’

Clemency was on some sort of post-graduate course at Cambridge. Oliver’s father had been under the mistaken impression until the previous summer that she would take over from him at his bank, since she had been studying economics and showed signs of becoming a financial wizard. She seemed set on a different career now, but we weren’t sure what kind. Something to do with maths, I imagined.

‘Maybe better than painting,’ I said mischievously, and smiled to show that didn’t bother me at all.

He held up a pencil, using it to measure proportions. I saw it as a mild warning.

‘Is there any sign that you might get the chance to work with the computer after all?’ he enquired.

I had harboured ambitions to be one of the chosen few who were allowed to encounter Leo, the Lyons company office computer, but my hopes had been dashed on several occasions and I was starting to doubt that I was ever meant to do more than typing or at most preparing the paper tapes that fed the insatiable machine.

I shook my head and voiced some of my doubts. ‘I don’t think so – they’ve been very nice about it though. They keep saying I’m too good at what I already do.’

‘Hmm,’ said Oliver absently, staring down at the sketchbook. ‘Was Leo just a passing fad, then? A crush? Do you think the wind will sweep you on to something else?’

He turned the book round so that I could see the drawing he had done. I was in the middle of a swirl of wind and waves that rose up round me and then flew out to the edges of the paper in a flurry. I laughed in pleasure. He had captured the weather and my feelings all in one sketch.

‘The beginning of a new painting?’ I asked.

‘Perhaps,’ he started to say, just as the lights gave another flicker and went out. ‘Not tonight though,’ he added. He went over to replace the sketchbook on the table, and drew back the curtain to look outside. I joined him at the window, shivering as soon as I moved away from the fire. He put his arm round me and we gazed out together at the tree in the front garden, its branches lashing to and fro as if they were trying to escape and fly off, while the gate swung open on its hinges and the privet hedge swayed more sedately.

I hoped Clemency had given up the idea of driving here tonight. We had planned to meet to sort out the furniture and Aunt Caroline’s possessions before putting the house on the market. It was all Clemency’s, of course – Aunt Caroline had left everything to her – but Oliver had refused to let her do all the work on her own.

Selfishly, I wished we had left her to it.

‘Maybe I should go out and have a look,’ said Oliver. He seemed restless, I suppose because he was so worried.

‘You won’t see anything in this,’ I protested.

‘What if she’s broken down at the end of the street?’

‘That’s not very likely, is it?’ I sighed. ‘Let’s both go out.’

‘I wish I hadn’t even mentioned it!’ he said. ‘I might have known... Come on then, let’s get you wrapped up.’

I didn’t really want to go outside in the storm, but I let him help me into my winter coat, scarf, gloves and a ridiculous water-proof hat he found in the hall-stand. There was no point in taking an umbrella. It would just fly out of our hands.

Halfway down the garden path I wished we hadn’t come out. I was almost swept off my feet twice by gusts of wind, and we had to hang on to each other to keep ourselves on our feet. It would be worse once we got beyond the shelter of the hedge.

A car drew up as we reached the gate. Was it Clemency? Car doors banged, and there were exclamations. Then she appeared. Thank goodness.

‘Come and have a look at this!’ she cried.

‘This is no time for games, Clemmie!’ snapped Oliver. ‘Let’s get you indoors.’

‘No, really, Oliver. It’s wonderful – and terrible. Come and see.’

I broke away from Oliver’s restraining arm and ran towards her. ‘Thank goodness you’re all right.’

‘Come along, Flora, you must see this. I promise to come inside in a minute.’

Another figure emerged through the rain. It was a man, quite tall, swathed in waterproofs from head to toe. Where had he come from?

‘This is Albert. I picked him up on the way. Just outside Blakeney on the coast road. He was lost,’ said Clemency casually, as we crossed to the other side of the road, where the cliffs fell sharply away towards the seashore. There was a wooden fence which was now sagging in the face of the gale.

Oliver followed, as did Albert. They acknowledged each other’s presence by nodding, but I didn’t hear them say anything.

We stood a bit back from the fence as a gesture towards keeping safe, and looked at the sea. Great waves pounded on the beach, the promenade, the pier. I thought about the beach huts. They must be match-sticks by now. It was frightening and thrilling to see the enormous waves advance towards us, and break in a froth down below. We were in no danger at this height, but what about the lower-lying parts of the town? And any boats still out at sea? Or had all the skippers known they should head for harbour before the storm arrived?

‘Let’s go in,’ said Oliver with some determination.

I wasn’t going to put up a fight. Surprisingly, neither were the others. I wondered who on earth Albert was. We couldn’t possibly turn him out on a night like this.

The wind pushed at the front door of Aunt Caroline’s house as we tried to open it, but Albert lent his weight and he and Oliver wrenched it open at last. Clemency and I hurried indoors, giggling a little and trying to smooth our hair down.

‘We’re not going out again until morning,’ said Oliver. He locked the front door as if to emphasise this order.

‘Of course not,’ said Clemency. ‘Albert, this is my brother Oliver and his fiancée Flora Murray.’

Albert turned away from the hall-stand, where he had been hanging up his waterproofs, and faced us in the half-light that came from the fire in the drawing-room. I stepped back suddenly and stood on Oliver’s foot. He gasped, and I gasped as well, to cover up the alarm I was feeling.

Albert was the window-cleaner.

Or at least, somebody who looked very like the window-cleaner.

Or somebody I had mistaken for the window-cleaner in adverse lighting conditions.

My pulse gradually returned to normal as my thoughts cycled through those stages. Oliver put his hands on my shoulders, which calmed me down even more. Evidently he hadn’t noticed anything amiss.

‘Let’s go into the drawing-room,’ he said. ‘Would anyone like a drink?’

‘Yes, please!’ said Clemency with enthusiasm. ‘Is there any of Aunt Caroline’s brandy left?’

‘I thought we’d taken it all away,’ said Oliver. They started to bicker about what had become of the brandy, and then they both vanished into the dining-room to have a look at the drinks situation and I was left alone with Albert.

We stared at each other. His eyes were wide and dark, and had a baffled expression, as if he didn’t know what sort of mad-house he had ended up in. Although having been driven here by Clemency he must have had some advance warning.

‘Wouldn’t you like to sit down by the fire?’ I said nervously. ‘Was it very wild on the coast road?’

It was a silly question, I knew, and he looked at me as if I were an idiot, but my mind was suddenly so muddled I couldn’t think what else to talk about.

After a moment he nodded.

‘Where did Clemency pick you up? Did she say you were on the coast road somewhere?’

‘Yes.’

‘It was lucky she was passing,’ I said. ‘It wouldn’t have been very nice walking in this. It could have been quite dangerous.

‘I don’t mind danger,’ he said with a half-smile.

Surely he couldn’t be the window-cleaner, I told myself. He couldn’t sit here with me like this and speak normally, as if he hadn’t been the man who had left dead flowers all round my room at Marjorie’s, and tried to strangle Oliver in the street, and who knew what else?

I had to speak to Oliver.

‘Wine, darling?’ said Clemency to me as she came into the room at that moment bearing a bottle and a handful of glasses. ‘Oliver’s found some brandy. Maybe you’d like some, Albert. It’d warm you up.’

‘Thanks,’ said Albert.

‘We’re going to put you in Aunt Caroline’s room,’ said Clemency. ‘She died in there, but I don’t think it’s haunted.’

‘I’ll go,’ said Albert.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Clemency told him. ‘You can’t leave in this weather. Anything could happen – you could be swept away by the waves. Or a tree could fall on you. You know how wild it is out there.’

If he had killed Aunt Caroline, or helped Oliver’s Uncle Miles to kill her, as we thought, Albert might indeed have imagined her ghost coming back to haunt him that night. What on earth was he doing here in any case? What had he been up to in Blakeney, for that matter? It seemed like too much of a coincidence that he should turn up in this part of the world again. It wasn’t the kind of place where hired killers were generally in demand. This couldn’t be the window-cleaner. I must be sensible about it.

Oliver came in with the brandy bottle and two mismatched glasses. He gave Albert an incurious glance.

‘Cognac? This must be the last of Caroline’s. She used to be quite a connoisseur.’

He poured out the usual amount of brandy into the glasses and handed one to Albert, who had stood up when Clemency came in. He did have manners, at least. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t the window-cleaner.

I told myself firmly to stop it, and said as casually as I could, ‘Do you think the pier will still be standing by morning?’

We chatted aimlessly for a while. It was difficult to keep it up with a stranger in the room. We couldn’t exchange private family news as we might have done otherwise, and Albert wasn’t the greatest conversationalist in the world. I tried to view him dispassionately as a harmless stranger whose presence was a complete coincidence, but it was hard to keep that up when my mind kept straying back to the events of the previous year.

‘How’s your aunt these days?’ I asked suddenly. ‘The one in Cornwall?’

Oliver was slightly taken aback. ‘Edwina? What made you think of her?’

I shrugged. ‘I was just thinking about your family and hoping they were all right.’

‘Well, I’m sure the waves won’t reach Mum and Dad at home. They’re well inland. And I don’t think the Cornish coast’s in danger tonight... She’s fine, as far as I know. Considering everything. The last I heard, she was planning to move up to Torquay. A nice cosy place to retire to.... Is that all you wanted to know?’

He was looking at me with narrowed eyes.

‘Don’t be so horrid, Oliver,’ said Clemency, taking a long gulp of her wine. ‘Flora’s just making conversation to pass the time. Would you like a top-up, Flora?’

I shook my head, feeling a bit guilty.

‘Maybe we should play a game,’ said Clemency.

‘Oh, really?’ said Oliver. ‘What do you suggest? I-spy? Charades? Cards?’

‘We could play cards by firelight,’ said Clemency. ‘Or chess.’

Oliver made a derisive noise, and glanced over at me again, still with the suspicion lurking in his eyes. Or maybe that was a trick of the light.

‘Where were you heading for, Albert?’ he enquired, swirling the remains of his brandy round in the glass.

We all turned to look at Albert. He smiled uncertainly. Maybe uncertainty was his natural state, though. It had certainly seemed so since Clemency had brought him here. Maybe something about us unsettled him. That would hardly have been surprising.

‘Um – Beccles,’ he said.

Why did I have the idea that he had plucked the name of the town out of thin air?

‘Quite a distance from Blakeney,’ said Oliver, frowning. ‘You wouldn’t have got that far even if it hadn’t been for the storm.’

‘That’s where I’m headed,’ said Albert. He paused. ‘I’ll be on my way in the morning. It’s good of you to give me shelter for the night.’

‘It’s the least we can do,’ said Oliver. ‘We wouldn’t have wanted Clemency driving the coast road on her own in these conditions anyway... What on earth made you think it was a sensible idea?’ he said to Clemency herself.

‘I just wanted to get here,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t as bad when I set off. I couldn’t have stayed another minute with Fluff and her family. They’re impossible.’

Oliver paced again. He was like a caged