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Authors: Robert Goddard
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"What about the Esguards today?"
"Same story. We have Joslyn Esguard's grave as you saw it. Plus memorial tablets inside the church to his father and grandfather, who I think are buried in the crypt. But with Joslyn's death the family seems to have come to an abrupt end. If there were any of them left, they must have moved out of the area. Understandable, perhaps, in view of the loss of the house and estate."
"The vicar said Miss Sanger was particularly interested in finding out whether Joslyn Esguard was married."
"Yes. Well, I suppose it would increase the chances of the line having continued if he was. But I couldn't help her. I know the name in connection with the house. The family's of no intrinsic significance. Not to me, anyway. But to you and Miss Sanger' he shrugged 'matters are obviously not so straightforward. But, then, what else should one expect of a lady in her line of work?" He held up her calling card. "Psychotherapist and hypnotherapist, it says here. With a practice in Harley Street, no less." Smiling, he handed me the card. "What do you think, Mr. Jarrett? Was she here as an amateur genealogist? Or in a professional capacity?"
I drove as close to the site Appleyard showed me on the map as I could, then clambered over a gate into a field and struck out across it, with the wind in my hair and a distant vision in my mind of a seventeenth-century mansion dominating the empty bench of land where it sloped gently south-west, away from the escarpment of the downs, before descending in enfolded valleys towards Blackmoor Vale. I could see the clustered roofs of Tollard Rising and its church tower to the south, farm buildings and woodland below me straight ahead, and a vacant horizon above and to the north. Gaunt's Chase had stood there once. I had Appleyard's word for it. Maybe the track snaking up from the farm to some barns beyond the next field followed part of the route of the carriage drive. Maybe the trees in the dip where the barn nestled were a survivor of some prettified Georgian landscaping. But nothing beyond maybes survived of the house. It hadn't merely been destroyed by fire. It had been erased.
Which rendered Marian's reference to her husband's ancestral home all the more tantalizing. There couldn't be another. This was the right place. The postcard proved that. But it was all gone, long ago. The Esguards had moved on, if they'd survived at all, leaving only their dead behind.
Yet there was more to it than that. There had to be. If only because I wasn't the only one looking for them. Daphne Sanger's interest, professional or otherwise, was clearly more than historical curiosity. She'd been sufficiently eager for news to add her home telephone number to the card she'd left with Appleyard. Which meant I didn't have to wait till Monday to find out what was driving her in the same direction as me.
"Hello."
"Is that Daphne Sanger?"
"Yes. Who's calling?"
"My name's Jarrett, Miss Sanger. Ian Jarrett. We haven't met. But it seems we both know Marian Esguard."
"How did you get this number?"
"From Derek Appleyard. You visited him last month."
"Yes, but '
"Do you know Marian, Miss Sanger?"
"Know her? What do you mean?"
"It's simple enough. I'm looking for Marian, and it seems you may be looking for her, too. Is that correct?"
"No. Of course not. If you know anything about Marian Esguard, Mr. Jarrett, you'll know how ridiculous that suggestion is."
"I met her in January. I think she may be in some sort of trouble. If there's anything you meed?
"Where?"
"Yes. In Vienna, two months ago. How did you come to meet her, Miss Sanger? Is she a patient of yours? Or a friend?"
"This is ridiculous. I don't know what you're talking about."
"You must. Why else were you in Tollard Rising last month?"
"I'm not sure that's any of your business."
"You asked Appleyard to alert you if anyone came enquiring after the Esguards. Well, I came. And I'm prepared to tell you what brought me. In return for as
"What about the Esguards today?"
"Same story. We have Joslyn Esguard's grave as you saw it. Plus memorial tablets inside the church to his father and grandfather, who I think are buried in the crypt. But with Joslyn's death the family seems to have come to an abrupt end. If there were any of them left, they must have moved out of the area. Understandable, perhaps, in view of the loss of the house and estate."
"The vicar said Miss Sanger was particularly interested in finding out whether Joslyn Esguard was married."
"Yes. Well, I suppose it would increase the chances of the line having continued if he was. But I couldn't help her. I know the name in connection with the house. The family's of no intrinsic significance. Not to me, anyway. But to you and Miss Sanger' he shrugged 'matters are obviously not so straightforward. But, then, what else should one expect of a lady in her line of work?" He held up her calling card. "Psychotherapist and hypnotherapist, it says here. With a practice in Harley Street, no less." Smiling, he handed me the card. "What do you think, Mr. Jarrett? Was she here as an amateur genealogist? Or in a professional capacity?"
I drove as close to the site Appleyard showed me on the map as I could, then clambered over a gate into a field and struck out across it, with the wind in my hair and a distant vision in my mind of a seventeenth-century mansion dominating the empty bench of land where it sloped gently south-west, away from the escarpment of the downs, before descending in enfolded valleys towards Blackmoor Vale. I could see the clustered roofs of Tollard Rising and its church tower to the south, farm buildings and woodland below me straight ahead, and a vacant horizon above and to the north. Gaunt's Chase had stood there once. I had Appleyard's word for it. Maybe the track snaking up from the farm to some barns beyond the next field followed part of the route of the carriage drive. Maybe the trees in the dip where the barn nestled were a survivor of some prettified Georgian landscaping. But nothing beyond maybes survived of the house. It hadn't merely been destroyed by fire. It had been erased.
Which rendered Marian's reference to her husband's ancestral home all the more tantalizing. There couldn't be another. This was the right place. The postcard proved that. But it was all gone, long ago. The Esguards had moved on, if they'd survived at all, leaving only their dead behind.
Yet there was more to it than that. There had to be. If only because I wasn't the only one looking for them. Daphne Sanger's interest, professional or otherwise, was clearly more than historical curiosity. She'd been sufficiently eager for news to add her home telephone number to the card she'd left with Appleyard. Which meant I didn't have to wait till Monday to find out what was driving her in the same direction as me.
"Hello."
"Is that Daphne Sanger?"
"Yes. Who's calling?"
"My name's Jarrett, Miss Sanger. Ian Jarrett. We haven't met. But it seems we both know Marian Esguard."
"How did you get this number?"
"From Derek Appleyard. You visited him last month."
"Yes, but '
"Do you know Marian, Miss Sanger?"
"Know her? What do you mean?"
"It's simple enough. I'm looking for Marian, and it seems you may be looking for her, too. Is that correct?"
"No. Of course not. If you know anything about Marian Esguard, Mr. Jarrett, you'll know how ridiculous that suggestion is."
"I met her in January. I think she may be in some sort of trouble. If there's anything you meed?
"Where?"
"Yes. In Vienna, two months ago. How did you come to meet her, Miss Sanger? Is she a patient of yours? Or a friend?"
"This is ridiculous. I don't know what you're talking about."
"You must. Why else were you in Tollard Rising last month?"
"I'm not sure that's any of your business."
"You asked Appleyard to alert you if anyone came enquiring after the Esguards. Well, I came. And I'm prepared to tell you what brought me. In return for as
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