The Grace Dieu Project: Chateau Sarony, #2

By RCS Hutching

The remains of a WW1 soldier and four WW2 soldiers are discovered beneath a deserted farmhouse in France. Not so unusual except for the fact that they all appear to have died at the same time. How this is possible is a question Anna and Martin Price must resolve when asked to help out an old friend. This, the second Chateau Sarony mystery leads the couple on a trail of deception and murder spanning several decades. How does Martin's old US Marine friend fit into the picture? Is he as helpful as it first appears or is he following an agenda set by other unknown parties... 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Timewarp Ltd
• Release date: Jun 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781533477378

RCS Hutching

I am English and live in East Sussex, England. For additional information please visit my website.

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Prologue

1937

Three o'clock in the morning and it was pitch dark as the figure gently eased the door shut. It took at least thirty seconds before eyes adjusted sufficiently and enabled the fuzzy shades of black to resolve themselves into the outlines of the potential obstructions that daytime familiarity had imprinted on the brain. A deep breath followed by a few seconds of calm slow breathing before slowly moving in deliberate heel-first-toes-second paces along the upstairs corridor. The figure moved cautiously, trying to keep to the middle of the floor so that no accidental contact was made with the various small tables and their valuable ornaments standing at intervals against the wall areas between the other doors that lined the corridor. At the top of the stairs, there was a further hesitation as on looking downwards into the chasm of the stairwell the darkness seemed somehow denser as it obscured all sight of the ground floor. Carefully the twenty-one stairs were slowly negotiated with the aid of a steadying hand placed on the wide, polished wood of the balustrade, more a comfort than any real aid to silence. Small creaks were mentally magnified to the intensity of thunderclaps as the wood of the staircase flexed imperceptibly under the weight of the human body, but over the course of a century the well-seasoned wood had been well cared for in a temperate indoor environment and now repaid its debt by ensuring that the other inhabitants of the house slept on unawares.

The coolness of the ground floor flagstones seemed to radiate upwards, but the unyielding nature of stone meant that less caution was required and half a dozen swift paces brought the study door within reach. A further pause and several deep breaths were necessary before the handle was pushed gently downwards. With a soft click the door was opened, just wide enough for the figure to slip through into the room, transfer the pressure from the outer handle to the inner handle, and silently closed again. A sigh of relief was followed by a moment of familiarisation in the dim light seeping into the room from one of the outside security lights. It was not difficult to avoid the furniture that waited to trap the unwary before dropping to the floor in front of the metal Gliebstein safe that squatted behind the desk. A few seconds work was all it took to apply the combination, press down on the projecting brass handle and reach inside. The safe door when being closed gave that strange resistance due to air pressure before it settled snugly back in place. It took no more than a couple of minutes to extract the small box from the black bag slung over one shoulder and slip inside the items recently removed from the safe. The box was then expertly sealed using the materials contained in the bag. The study door was again opened and then closed with no more than a whisper from the hinges as the figure moved swiftly to the table standing by the front door. The small box was quietly inserted into the pile of other similar boxes stacked on its surface and the carefully planned excursion was almost completed. The return journey was nerve-rackingly tense but accomplished with as much competence as the outward trip and well before the hall clock softly chimed 3.30 the figure was resting securely beneath the bedclothes once more.

All went as usual when morning came and it was six days before the theft was discovered by which time the contraband was long gone. As expected, there was a tremendous furore, but despite everything pointing to an inside operation, nothing was uncovered. There was no clue to how the theft had been perpetrated or even whether the stolen goods were still on the premises. Recriminations, accusations, claims, counter-claims and an extraordinary amount of bile spilt forth but to no avail, nothing was ever brought to light and the stolen goods were never seen again by their owner.

1938

The imposing bulk of the steamship began to faintly vibrate in response to the increasing power of its engines. Those passengers grouped on the upper afterdeck behind the first class saloon watched as the outer harbour receded and the multitude of buildings that comprised the town appeared to shrink against the backdrop of the land mass that not only reared up behind but also sprawled for miles on either side. As the distance from land increased, a mist could be observed that gradually hid the town from view. By this time, most of the upper deck passengers had grown bored and taken refuge in the comforts of the saloon from which the murmur of conversation interspersed with the clink of glasses and an occasional peal of laughter floated out to be heard by the lone figure still standing by the handrail. Down in the cabin on the top of the bedside table lay the ticket confirming the right of tenure aboard the floating worldwide voyager. There was no counterpart relating to an intended return journey.

Despite the amiable company aboard and the promises to meet in the future, it was a relief when the journey was completed and comforting to feel dry land once more underfoot. The absence of the very faint but omnipresent vibration was mercifully consigned to memory. The seemingly interminable period spent like an insect trapped in a bottle and destined to wander forever in luxurious captivity was at last over. More welcome than ever was the sudden first glimpse of the eagerly looked-for face, for so long nervously anticipated. Despite the incomprehensible jabber of the foreign language that filled the surrounding air the smile and the words It is safe, truly meant that the first part of the adventure was over.

The letter was not difficult to write, but it took a great effort of will to leave out the venomous comments that pleaded to take the escape route, via the nib, onto the paper. The paper itself was plain, but when posted the envelope would deliberately carry an unmistakeable clue to its point of origin. The entire plan had so far been meticulously carried out to this point and, for the next twelve months, an ability to act in a role that required an equal amount of fortitude and patience was the key to ultimate success. The world itself was in a heightening state of tension but that was nothing compared to the slow burning volatile mixture of dread and anticipation that, for more than twelve months, had eaten its way into every bodily nerve and fibre. Now the most exacting part of the game commenced and it would remain to be seen whether the planning proved adequate.

The town was a ‘nothing' sort of place in all senses of the word. It had nothing to mark it out as anything other than a collection of buildings that people often refer to as an indication that they have progressed through life ‘the hard way' and so know what it is like to struggle. For this reason, it was never difficult to find a cheap apartment and bargain the rent down to a figure that reflected the lack of aspiring tenants. The apartment comprised one living room, one bedroom and a grubby bathroom at the top of a decaying house. The ‘kitchen' was no more than a gas oven and stove sitting on the upstairs landing, and t would have taken a large hammer and strong chisel to hack off the baked-on food residue that had built up like rock strata to mark the evolutionary path of previous tenants. In short it was precisely what was required. The house was one of several clustered either side of a short narrow street that rarely saw full sunlight, and held within its restrictive confines an odour best described as that given off by stale overcooked cabbage.

It was the final week of watching. The watchers were bored and uncomfortable, their quarters as equally lacking in comfort as the apartment opposite. Their employer had read thoroughly the reports they had compiled with diligent accuracy and which, for the most part, were no more than a litany of the turgid day to day comings and goings by the individual under surveillance. A boring, repetitive cycle of trips made to fulfil a minor clerical role for five and a half days each week at a small clothing factory on the edge of the town. At first, there were two of them living in the apartment, but then in the one memorable event of this depressing assignment, the number was reduced to one. Fortunately, it was the one whom they were tasked with observing, although removal to a more salubrious venue would have been welcome. Having finally tracked their quarry to this particular site, the first three weeks had indicated a perpetual state of bickering and minor demonstrations of irritation such as doors being banged, the occasional sound of breaking crockery and raised voices. Nothing too out of the ordinary in fact, until on the evening of the third Saturday there erupted a spectacular explosion of domestic rage. It ignited on the rickety balcony, the conflagration then swept inside with ever increasing volume, rumbled down inside the building, and finally burst forth onto the street below. There it continued to an appreciative audience of other residents and neighbours until the street door was banged shut. Bolts could be heard sliding into place and the solitary figure left on the doorstep eventually ceased hammering on the unyielding wood and stepped backwards into the street. From there a torrent of invective was hurled up at the open living room beyond the top floor balcony and finally drew forth an emphatic response when a large suitcase was hurled from the balcony. It narrowly missed its intended target but surprisingly remaining intact as it bounced on the cobbled street surface before residing on its side in the gutter. A cheer went up from the watching denizens of the area and the object of their derision snatched up the bulging case, stomped off along the street, and finally disappeared from view. Never to return it seemed, because from that day, nine weeks earlier, the watchers' life sank into the same humdrum boring pattern as was enjoyed by the subject of their interest.

They knew that the assignment was finished before being formally dismissed. Their own cases had been packed in hopeful anticipation and this was proved justified when they were handed their cheques and brusquely commended on a thorough job satisfactorily completed. Their employer had gone to the house across the street and visited the occupant of the apartment. What was said they neither knew nor cared, although on his return his face wore a look of grim satisfaction. The only response from the upstairs apartment was the sound of the balcony doors being thrown open as the occupant emerged to watch the large black limousine whisk their erstwhile employer out of their sight forever.

The final phase of the plan was now ready to be triumphantly executed.

1939

It was noticeable to the occupants of the small grey Citroen that the quantity of military road traffic was increasing. In addition, it was clear that air traffic and what sounded like distant thunder was growing more intense. Progress became steadily more difficult until, when still more than fifty kilometres from their destination, they were forced to halt and gruffly informed that only military vehicles were permitted from thereon. No amount of pleading or cajoling made any difference, other than to cause one of the already irritated soldiers to level his rifle and bring the barrel down with an emphatic thump onto the bonnet of the car. There was nothing for it but to admit defeat and retrace their steps with the intention of looking for an alternative route. They never did find another passable road and as the tide of war swept relentlessly across the region a small grey Citroen went unnoticed among the abandoned artefacts that had once been thought so essential to life.

1944

The four men moved silently through the rain-slicked deserted streets. Rubber soles made only a faint 'shlick' as they touched the ground. They moved according to the book. One a few yards in front of the next two, then the fourth several yards behind the middle pair occasionally turning around and walking backwards to check the street along which they had just come. The middle pair glanced upwards from time to time at the windows above street level but there was no tell-tale movement from a hidden watcher, no prying eyes followed the four figures as they progressed in the shadows of the buildings on the western side of the street. Number one had the responsibility of ensuring that they found their objective without delay and avoided blundering into a situation that would cause the night to erupt in the flickering, crackling, sound of gunfire.

It took little time for the smallest of the four to neutralise the primitive alarm and compromise the impressive but elderly door locks. Within seconds, they had slipped into the still gloom of the interior and made their way to the lower floor where a small explosive charge, expertly placed, made short work of the lock on the sliding metal grill door. Security box 249 was not difficult to find, and with the aid of the dim wavering light from a cigarette lighter, a bayonet was more than equal to the task of breaking into it. A unified gasp of relief mixed with awe accompanied the first sight of the contents and, as the tension seeped away, they even took the opportunity to enjoy a five-minute smoke safely out of sight in the darkness of the underground vault. Their information had proved to be one hundred percent correct and if their return journey through the town was as straightforward as their incoming one, then locating the Jeep with its spare petrol tanks would be child's play.

They were a relatively short drive from their meeting point and the assurance of a handsome reward for their efforts. It was only as they edged the Jeep out of it's hiding place onto the road that one of them realised he had left his lighter and cigarette pack on the floor of the vault. The second thing to go wrong was when the Jeep hit an unexpectedly deep pothole in the rutted country road and broke an axle. Suddenly, safety looked a lot farther away than at first thought.

The robbery was discovered some hours later and the bank staff immediately contacted the police. It so happened that a member of the occupying forces had been one of the first to enter the bank as he needed to retrieve the small amount held in his deposit account in advance of the exodus scheduled for later in the week. He instantly took charge of the situation and made an examination of the premises and the lower vault. Friendly but firm questioning of the cowed bank staff followed, and as he was handed the cash to close his account the civilian police arrived and he dutifully handed the matter over to the appropriate local authorities. As he made his way back along the street to where his driver was still waiting patiently, he thoughtfully studied the lighter and cigarette pack that he had picked up from the floor of the lower vault and failed to mention to either the staff or the police.

Chapter 1 – Champagne for Three

The first six months following their marriage were very much a period of adjustment for Martin and Anna. Not only were they getting used to a new life together but, the successful conclusion of the hunt for what proved to be the Argenta Treasury had resulted in a Channel 4 programme followed by a number of television appearances. Anna was a gift to the TV companies and associated promoters due to her undeniable good looks and, apart from genuine historical productions, she received numerous other offers ranging from spending time in the jungle eating unidentifiable insect life, to taking her clothes off and displaying her physical assets in a particular magazine. The insect eating offer was initially dismissed as foolishness until Martin sabotaged a pleasant lunch at Auberge Fleurie by commenting that the green bugs were actually quite tasty and the long silvery ones were as good as caviar. All subsequent attempts by Anna to examine more closely the origin of this intriguing piece of knowledge met with the usual vague answers signalling to her that Martin's army service was the source and so she would get precisely nowhere.

The various attempts to capitalise on Anna's appearance were ruthlessly consigned to the 'rejected' area of Timewarp's business affairs by the company's no-nonsense business agent in the shapely form of Nikki ('that's with two kays') Prendergast. In a previous existence, Nikki had worked as a receptionist with Grantfield University but her friendly association with Anna and Martin had led to her setting up a new life for herself in France as the front line of Timewarp Ltd. Her ongoing romance with Jean-Paul Ricard the local gendarme captain provided an additional reason for her change of location. Nikki portrayed the public exterior of a slightly daffy young girl, but Martin and Anna had soon discovered that not only was she very good at the work she undertook for Timewarp, but the dippy persona stood her in excellent stead when dealing with the sharks that had gathered following the TV programme. Smooth talking operators suddenly found that the fluffy exterior concealed a titanium core that simply would not be overawed, or talked into anything, that was not in the best interests of her employers. In later years, Martin was asked how it was that he was not only married to a stunning statuesque blonde but also had the elegant Nikki Prendergast as Communications Director and counted among his closest friends the beautiful French woman Monique Lascelles.

Just luck I guess, was the laconic response.

Although willing to be interviewed on archaeological and historical matters Martin would have no truck with the personality cult promoters and as a result even proposed appearances on some of the more popular talk shows were turned down out of hand.

The meeting that took place at the beginning of April was the usual monthly appraisal of the company's position and the picture was not very encouraging. There was a steady income stream in the form of carefully selected TV appearances and magazine articles but this barely covered the cost of Nikki's salary. Due to Martin's fortunate financial position and the fact that the company occupied part of one wing of Chateau Sarony which was also Martin and Anna's home, neither he nor Anna needed to rely on an income from Timewarp Ltd and many sundry company costs were covered by loans provided by Martin from his own resources. What mattered more was that neither Anna nor Martin wished to see their careers in archaeology wither and die, but it did seem that the business they hoped would result from the discovery of the Argenta Treasury gold was simply not going to materialise.

The meeting examined various proposals and submissions made to the company in recent weeks and although one or two would provide a small income, a far greater number were discarded, particularly those wishing to trade on Anna's looks. There were quite a number of suggested photo shoots that envisaged Anna wielding a small trowel as she bent down to examine a supposedly interesting item out on site, but suspiciously also included suggestions that she should either be wearing a loose fitting low-necked T-shirt or a brief pair of shorts and a bikini top. It was all rather depressing given the euphoria following the excitement of the previous summer. As he moved his eyes down the agenda to the next item Martin frowned and asked Nikki, what do the initials JP refer to? Not your respected gendarme surely?

Nikki broke off from her comments concerning the attempt by a UK tabloid to purchase background information on her two employers and said "Just one moment Martin – if I tell this lot to get lost you won’t have a problem if they dig up stuff concerning your army days will you? You know the sort of thing – ‘Gorgeous Blonde Archaeologist and her Rugged Soldier enjoy time in the field’. Anna burst out laughing,

You've missed your vocation, Nikki, are you sure you want to work with us?

I’m serious Anna; those nutters will write anything to sell newspapers.

Martin interrupted the flow by interjecting Aside of the fact that I am not rugged, they are welcome to do as much digging into my service background as they like. They will only get what is on record and that won’t sell a used tissue.

Nikki grinned and slid a look at Anna whose pretence of ignoring Martin's comments belied the fact that anything having the slightest bearing on his military career was, in truth, of all-consuming interest to her.

"To answer your question, Martin, yes, the JP on the agenda is my gendarme. I’ve stuck it down there under AOB as I’m not sure whether it’s of any interest, but thought I’d bring it up today if there was time."

OK young Nik, let's hear it replied Martin as he leant back in his chair and looked down the rear garden from the terrace.

The weather was unusually warm for early April and they had taken the opportunity to sit outside in what he always considered his favourite place in the whole of Chateau Sarony. Less than a year ago he had first brought Anna to Sarony and more often than not this was where they had relaxed and slowly got to know each other. As a result, their initial antipathy had gradually ebbed away. In his mind's eye, he could always picture Anna in her halter neck top and little white shorts pretending that she wasn't three sheets to the wind on the very special day they returned from the Italy trip.

Martin are you with us? Anna’s voice steered him back to reality.

Sorry, just thinking. Alright, Nik, why is JP on our agenda – the floor is yours.

The slim former university receptionist tapped her pencil against the gleaming little white teeth that lit up her face whenever she smiled and launched into her explanation. "I was talking with JP the other night about how the company was struggling to find suitable business. Don't worry, I never give any really private details, even to JP, but he happened to ask how things were going.

Anyway, he commented that to an outsider such as himself we seemed to be concentrating no, wait – focusing was his word, yes, focusing on the wrong area because, although the two of you are archaeologists, what you achieved with the Sarony Treasure or Argenta Treasury wasn't really archaeology!" At this point she stopped, took a sip from her glass of water and stared apologetically at her two employers. Neither of them spoke and so she nervously resumed her story.

"When I asked him what he thought it was, bearing in mind he was merely a Capitaine de