Murder on the Old Road by Amy Myers Page A

nothing.
    â€˜Phew.’ Tim let out a long breath. ‘Now reassure me that that will blow over, Si, and that harmony and light will prevail for the good of the play. Still believe that?’
    Simon did his best. ‘It might.’
    Luke tried too. ‘These outbursts could just be the effect of the pilgrimage. Actors are selfish by nature. Once they get on stage, all else but them, their part and the play is wiped out.’
    â€˜Any other time, any other play,’ Tim muttered, ‘perhaps. But not this time. Stay on, Si, will you? Until we get back to Chillingham?’ He was looking desperate.
    Should she stay over too? Georgia wondered as Simon reassured Tim. No, she decided. Her task was to concentrate on the last pilgrimage, and everyone here was far too intent on the disputes of the present one.
    As she and Luke left, there was a general movement towards departure, and as they reached their car Anne passed her, obviously on her way back to the farmhouse where she was staying.
    â€˜Want a lift?’ Georgia called as Anne said goodnight.
    â€˜No thanks. I need some air. See you in Canterbury, if not sooner. I imagine your bulldog approach means you won’t be abandoning Chillingham yet awhile?’
    Georgia laughed. ‘No way. Too many interesting sticks for Peter and me to chase.’
    She watched Anne set off along the road before climbing gratefully into Luke’s car. Anne looked a lonely figure as she walked away from the light of the pub and forecourt and into the dark lane with only the flickering light of a torch to guide her. See you in Canterbury, Anne had said. And what would that bring forth? Georgia wondered. It seemed that, just like the pilgrims of old, they were all making this pilgrimage for differing reasons. What was Anne’s?

SIX
    G eorgia struggled to open her eyes, as somewhere a phone was ringing. Whose? Luke’s mobile? Hers? The landline? It was only seven thirty in the morning, for goodness sake, and the previous evening they had arrived home late from the Dog and Duck. Thankfully, Luke must already be on his way to answer it, as the ringing stopped, and she sank back into sleep again. Not for long. It was only an instant before something in his voice as it drifted upstairs made her register that something was wrong. Peter? Immediately, she was fully awake, just as her own mobile began to ring. She sank back in relief because it was Peter’s voice at the other end.
    â€˜Georgia? Thank heaven. Where are you?’
    â€˜In bed.’ It took a moment or two for it to dawn on her that something was indeed wrong.
    â€˜Then get up. I’ve just had a call from Val Harper.’
    That didn’t make sense. ‘What on earth did he want?’ But almost as soon as she’d said that, she knew it must be bad news. ‘What’s happened?’
    â€˜Anne Fanshawe – she’s been found dead, and not from natural causes.’
    Dead? ‘But I was talking to her yesterday,’ was her inane reply. Shock makes idiots of us all, she thought as she struggled with the enormity of what Peter was telling her. Her forebodings over this pilgrimage had been proved right. ‘How?’ she asked.
    â€˜He didn’t say. They need you and Luke over there as you were at the Dog and Duck last evening, and I’m coming too.’
    Of course they must all go. All Georgia could think of was that last image of Anne walking off into the dark night. No point in questioning Peter any more. It would wait. She thought fast. ‘I’ll pick you up in half an hour.’ Her car was adapted to take Peter, and there was room for Luke too.
    Even as she switched off, Luke came back into the bedroom. One look at his face told her he’d had the same news. ‘So you know,’ she said.
    â€˜Yes. Call from Tim. Yours?’
    â€˜Peter – he’s had Val Harper on the phone. Peter wants to come with us, so we’re picking him