Murder on the Old Road by Amy Myers

– or did.’
    â€˜Did?’ Georgia queried.
    â€˜Before this Becket division arose. Val always rushes in where angels fly away screaming.’
    â€˜There’s gossip that he made a play for Aletta before she married Julian. The two brothers and the lady in-between make the kind of story that, given several centuries of folk history, would turn into a legend.’
    â€˜Legends are dangerous things, Georgia –’ Anne turned to her impulsively – ‘but some, at least, are based in truth. The problem is that faced with the truth of a legend, what does one do? One holds it in one’s hands and looks at it, too scared to take the next move and say this is not fiction, this is real. That step has to be taken, and Robert Wayncroft knew that.’
    â€˜Which legend, Anne?’ Georgia asked quietly. Anne wasn’t speaking of Aletta now.
    Anne seemed to regret having spoken, because she laughed. ‘Only speaking generally, of course. Just generally.’
    There was a silence, which Anne was evidently not going to break. ‘Are you staying overnight?’ Georgia asked eventually.
    â€˜Yes. I managed to get a bed in a local farmhouse. So I’ll eat with you all in the pub first of course.’
    The Dog and Duck, on a minor lane on the slopes of the downs between Wrotham and the hamlet of Delmont, proved to be large and comfortable, with a garden, outside tables, dogs roaming around, and an extensive interesting menu. For a moment Georgia regretted her decision to leave that night, especially as the youngsters in the group were larking around and it seemed the whole atmosphere of the day was about to change. They had arrived mid-afternoon and had plenty of time to enjoy it. She watched Seb and Tess playing a game of croquet in the garden. Romeo and Juliet she thought. ‘A plague on both your houses’: the Wayncrofts, who thought it their right to brush away all obstacles to their goal; the Moons, firmly established in tradition. The Wayncrofts would win – were it not for Anne Fanshawe standing shoulder to shoulder with the Moons. And yet, in the late afternoon sunshine that had grudgingly appeared, it seemed possible that the tension of the morning would vanish.
    â€˜Hi.’ Luke appeared from nowhere and bent over her shoulder to kiss her. ‘Survived all storms and tribulations?’
    â€˜The rain or the dramas?’
    â€˜Either.’
    â€˜Both – I hope.’Even now she could not be sure she was right. The afternoon had been a mere lull in hostilities, not an ending. People came and went as they checked into their varying accommodation facilities, but by seven o’clock they were all gathered in the pub’s dining area. Seated at a table by the window overlooking the forecourt and lane, with Luke, Tim and Simon, Georgia was relieved to be away from contentious issues, and it was easy to hope that the rest of the group was similarly contented.
    It was not. Voices raised above the otherwise cheerful buzz of conversation quickly told her that. Three tables away, nearer the arc of the bar, Anne Fanshawe by bad management – or perhaps someone’s design – was sitting with Aletta, Julian and Val, and at the next table were Seb, Tess and Matthew. As the general buzz halted for a moment, Anne’s voice rang out loud and clear:
    â€˜No chance. No chance now or ever that I would agree to open the ruins to the public. Any public. I’m sorry, but there the matter rests.’
    Georgia could see her sitting there on the far side of the table. Everyone was very still. There was a red flush on Anne’s cheeks, and she looked very angry. The Wayncrofts were watching her in silence. Then Georgia’s attention was diverted, and when she next looked Seb had gone to join his parents, leaving Tess with her father. The Wayncrofts and Anne seemed to be talking very earnestly but quietly now, and she could hear