Wycliffe And The Guild Of Nine

by W.J. Burley

Genres: Mystery; Cozy Mystery; Hard-Boiled; Police Procedurals; Traditional Mysteries; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

A murder at an artists' colony - but not everyone wants Chief Superintendent Wycliffe to investigate . . . The artists' colony is at the site of a disused mine working on the moor west of St Ives, and it's run by Archer and his wife Lina, according to astrological principles. The newest member of the colony is Francine, a beautiful if fey young woman with a legacy to invest. Archer isn't keen - not least because she is a Scorpio - but Lina takes a more pragmatic view. Then Francine is found dead, killed by a deliberately blocked gas-heater flue. Wycliffe investigates - and soon discovers that several members of the colony have very good reasons for not wanting the police poking into their affairs . . . Why readers love W.J. Burley: 'First-class, old-time, hyper-ingenious whodunit.' Observer 'You can always count on Wycliffe ... he inevitably guarantees a good story, convincing characters and appealing landscape ' Financial Times 'Wycliffe teases out the truth with delicate skill that leaves the reader intrigued and convinced.' Mail on Sunday 'Gripping.' The Times Fans of Ruth Rendell, Val McDermid and Peter Robinson will love W.J. Burley: 1. Wycliffe and the Three-Toed Pussy 2. Wycliffe and How to Kill a Cat 3. Wycliffe and the Guilt Edged Alibi 4. Wycliffe and Death in a Salubrious Place 5. Wycliffe and Death in Stanley Street 6. Wycliffe and the Pea-Green Boat 7. Wycliffe and the School Bullies 8. Wycliffe and the Scapegoat 9. Wycliffe in Paul's Court 10. Wycliffe's Wild Goose Chase 11. Wycliffe and the Beales 12. Wycliffe and the Four Jacks 13. Wycliffe and the Quiet Virgin 14. Wycliffe and the Winsor Blue 15. Wycliffe and the Tangled Web 16. Wycliffe and the Cycle of Death 17. Wycliffe and the Dead Flautist 18. Wycliffe and the Last Rites 19. Wycliffe and the Dunes Mystery 20. Wycliffe and the House of Fear 21. Wycliffe and the Redhead 22. Wycliffe and the Guild of Nine * Each Inspector Wycliffe novel can be read as part of a series or as a standalone*

Release date: December 16, 2010

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 212

Sample

A day in April

Archer’s Guild of Nine was a craft colony on the site of a disused mine on the seaward slope of the moor, west of St Ives. The old buildings, adapted for workshops and living accommodation, were scattered on either side of a disciplined watercourse which, in living memory, had been streamed for tin. The site overlooked the village of Mulfra, and beyond that, under a vast canopy of sky, the sea.

On this particular morning that sky was a pale watery blue with dusky, ragged clouds driven before a stiff onshore breeze. The sun shone fitfully, according to whimsical changes in the pattern of those scurrying clouds.

‘Nothing doing in wood-carving this morning?’

‘Paul is ready to varnish his frieze and he’s having a clean-up. You can hardly breathe for dust.’ Francine was perched on one of the benches, legs dangling.

Alice Field assembled the exquisite little elements of a miniature four-poster bed, and as she attended to jointing and alignment her conversation was sporadic.

In addition to a couple of already assembled four-posters, her bench was littered with little groups of chairs, tables, presses and chests; all to a scale of one-twelfth. No metrication nonsense in this workshop.

‘So, how does it feel, living over the job?’

Francine considered. ‘All right, I suppose. It saves me the trip in and out every day. Don’t you find that a bit of a bind?’

Alice put down her bed, examining it with a critical eye. ‘Not really. I like to get away from this place. In any case, Tom wouldn’t stand for living on the site even though it would save us money.’

With total objectivity, Francine wondered what it might be like to be ‘us’.

Two women talking while one of them worked.

Francine, in her middle twenties, slim, pale of skin, with red-gold hair, had a face which, at that other time, might have launched those thousand ships. Her expression was pensive, withdrawn, giving nothing away.

Alice, perhaps a year or two older, was plump, fair and outgoing.

‘Who’s buying this lot?’ Francine had slipped off her perch and was examining two Lilliputian houses under construction on another bench.

‘“This lot”, as you call it, is part of an order from the States for five fully furnished houses.’ A touch of pride.

Alice picked up the prepared elements of another four-poster and set to work on the assembly. ‘Our Lina knows how to drum up business; I’ll say that for her. Must be her Dutch blood.’

The window of the workshop looked out on a stretch of moorland, a shallow depression with scattered buildings which had once been part of the mine complex. Close at hand was a large sign at the entrance to the site. There was a logo, depicting Sagittarius firing his arrow, and an inscription:

Francine was still examining the little houses. ‘I can imagine kids making short work of these.’

‘They’re not for kids; they’re for adults.’

Francine was incredulous. ‘You mean grown-up people spend good money on dolls’ houses? … They must be kinky!’

Alice was piqued. ‘It’s nostalgia for childhood, Fran. But I doubt if you ever had one.’ She paused to make a tiny adjustment to the jointing. ‘I can imagine your first thought when you entered this world and opened your little eyes. “Is all this on the National Health or are we paying for it?”’

Alice laughed at her own joke. Francine smiled. ‘Very funny!’

Alice said, ‘Getting back to basics and being nosey, was it Paul’s idea that you should move into the flat over the workshop?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh, come off it, Fran! You can’t pretend that the two of you living with his mother and the rest didn’t cramp your style.’

‘The move wasn’t Paul’s idea; it had nothing to do with him.’

‘How old is Paul?’

‘He’s twenty-seven, a year older than I am. Why?’

‘Isn’t it about time the two of you made up your minds? It’s no business of mine but playing the field doesn’t endear you to the women. I suppose you know there’s talk about you and Emile?’

‘Emile!’ Francine was roused. ‘But that’s nonsense! He’s painting my portrait and he’s nearly old enough to be my father.’

‘And what difference has that ever made? I only hope he’s painting you with your clothes on. Anyway, you need to remember that he’s Lina’s private perk and it doesn’t do to upset Lina.’

‘I had no idea. I thought he was supposed to be gay.’

‘That’s more than likely, but it doesn’t stop him being Lina’s property. There’s a lot you don’t know, or pretend you don’t, about this place, Fran.’

Francine was silent for a while and when she spoke again she sounded unusually diffident. ‘Do you have sex with Tom?’

Alice turned to her in astonishment. ‘I’ve been married to the man for six years – what do you think we do?’

‘And before you were married?’

‘When we had the chance.’

‘Your choice or his?’

Alice grinned. ‘Let’s say mutual attraction. But what’s this leading up to?’

‘I’ll have to have it out with Paul. Now I’ve got the flat he’ll be getting ideas, and I’ve no intention of going down that road.’

‘You mean marriage?’

‘Good God, no! I mean sex.’

Alice put down her little bed, still incomplete, and gave Francine her undivided attention. ‘Are you saying that you’ve never had it off with Paul?’

‘Nor with anybody else. It repels me.’

Alice was shaken. ‘My God! Virgo intacta at twenty-six! What is this? Are you after some sort of record? … Paul isn’t exactly my idea of a ball of fire but I can’t help feeling sorry for the poor man.’ She went on, ‘It puzzles me what you see in men if you feel like that.’

‘I don’t know. It’s a game I suppose. They’re so damned smug … You feel you want to … I don’t know—’

‘To take them down a peg? Is that it? So you lead ’em up the garden and then it’s “Back in your box, Bonzo” … If it’s a game it’s a dangerous one, Fran.’

‘It’s not like that.’

‘Anyway, while we’re on the subject of your sex life, or lack of it, are you still seeing much of Bob Lander?’

‘He comes to the carving shop now and then for a gossip and I look in at the pottery.’

Alice resumed work on her bed. ‘If you ask me, there’s a thing between him and Emile. By the way, how do you get on with his keeper?’

‘Oh, Derek’s all right; I quite like him. Of course, he’s extremely intelligent and Bob treats him like he was some sort of guru. It’s a funny set-up but I like going there now and then, when I get bored.’

Alice said, ‘Lina doesn’t like to see anybody too friendly with Bob or Derek.’

‘Any idea why?’

‘Maybe she doesn’t trust them. I don’t know. It could be a policy of divide and rule. Anyway, Derek is a top-class potter and in a position to make his own arrangements, whatever Lina thinks.’ Alice looked across at Francine. ‘But where does all this leave Paul?’

Francine said, ‘Paul is different. He’s been around a long time and I’m used to him.’ A frown. ‘In a funny sort of way, I need him.’

‘And that’s all that matters. No wonder he goes about looking like a wet week. Is this sex thing something that happened to you while you were away?’

‘When they locked me up, you mean. No, I don’t think so, though the kind of sex that was on offer there didn’t appeal to me either.’

Francine added after a break, ‘You don’t understand what it’s like to be me, Alice.’

‘Does that mean you’d rather be somebody else?’

Francine looked puzzled. ‘Somebody else? I’ve never even thought about it. I’m quite content as I am.’

Alice was having trouble with the alignment of one of the joints and there was silence for a while, broken at last by a sudden sharp shower which drenched the windows and blotted out the moor.

When it was over Alice said, ‘You spend a lot of time with Paul apart from working together – what do you do?’

‘In the evenings we mostly play chess. He’s good, and he’s teaching me. I like it, and last week I beat him twice.’ She broke off. ‘Funny! You’d think he’d have been upset, but he seemed pleased.’

Alice sighed. ‘Chess! … I don’t know what to make of you, Fran. I only hope you know what you’re doing.’

Another longish pause then Alice, hesitant, asked, ‘Is it true what they’re saying, that you’ve come into money?’

‘Yes. From an aunt I scarcely knew. I suppose it’s all around the site?’

‘There’s talk. What will you do?’

Francine smiled. ‘I’m thinking of buying in here if I can get the right sort of deal from Lina.’

A few days later

In Emile Collis’s studio Francine, wearing a floral dress, posed in an armchair. Sitting askew, an open book in her lap, she was apparently absorbed in what she read.

Half-length portrait of a young woman reading.

The painting carried its catalogue entry (if it ever got that far) like a label. As a portrait painter Collis was almost a century too late.

In a grubby paint-stained overall he worked at his easel. He was fortyish, lean and bony, with a mass of tiny black curls which contrasted oddly with his pale features.

‘You’ve moved your head, Fran … Turn just a little more to the light and keep your eyes on the book.’

‘I’m getting stiff, Emile.’

Collis dropped his brush into the pot. ‘Yes, all right. We’ll take a break.’ He stood back from his easel. ‘I can’t get your profile. Damn it! I’ve drawn you often enough, I ought to be able to do this with my eyes shut, but just because this is bloody paint …’

Collis lived and worked in a long low building on the rising ground behind the Archers’ house and his studio was sandwiched between his flat and the frame workshop. It was square and bare with three or four easels, a painter’s trolley on castors, a stool or two and cupboards around the walls. The light was controlled by blinds.

On two of the easels there were blocked-in canvases of beach scenes and propped on the edge of each was a photograph from which the picture could be developed. ‘Beach and coastal scenes with figures’ were Collis’s staple contribution to the Guild.

Francine massaged her thighs.

‘Feel like a coffee?’

‘If you like.’

While Collis went to make the coffee Francine wandered into the framing shop. Collis framed all the Guild’s pictures, arguing that a frame can make or break a picture.

The shop was equipped with a state-of-the-art mitring machine and a bench with a variety of clamps for gluing, while mouldings of all sorts and sizes were stacked in racks against a wall.

‘Oh, you’re in here. Coffee’s ready.’

‘Do you frame the pictures Lina buys in Amsterdam?’

Emile looked mildly put out. ‘So you know about them.’

‘Doesn’t everybody?’

A small shrug. ‘Possibly. I suppose they must do if you say so, but Lina likes to think not.’

‘Why?’

‘Perhaps she feels the Guild members wouldn’t like her having a side-line.’

‘Archer has his St Ives gallery.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you frame the pictures she buys?’

Collis hesitated, then, ‘No. She takes them to a little shop near the Oude Kerk in Amsterdam.’

‘So they arrive framed?’

‘Yes, but why the interest, Fran?’

‘I just like to know.’

‘Well, now you do, so come and have your coffee.’

She followed him back through the studio into his flat and the little kitchen–living room which was not unlike her own.

‘Biscuit?’

Francine had not finished. ‘You lived in Amsterdam for a time, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but that wasn’t where I met Lina and Archer.’ Collis sat back in his chair. ‘Look, Fran, let’s get this straight. I think I know what it’s all about. You’ve come into money and you’re thinking of investing in the Guild.’

‘Did Lina tell you that?’

‘Yes.’

‘You must be in her confidence.’

‘I wouldn’t say that, but I do want to say something to you. Think very carefully about what you’re doing.’

‘I always do.’

‘Good! Now let’s get back to painting.’

‘Just one more question. You are gay, aren’t you, Emile?’

He turned on her. ‘What the hell is that to do with you?’

‘I’d just like to know.’

‘Yes, and one of these days you’ll know too much. Have you been talking to Blond Bob?’

‘Not about you.’

‘Good! I’d like you to keep it that way. Now, are you going back to the pose or not?’

An hour later Collis put down his brush. ‘It’s no good! That’s it for today, Fran.’

Francine got up from the chair and threw down the book. ‘Do I put you off?’

‘You’re no help.’

‘Marsden never complained when he painted me.’

‘Perhaps you didn’t talk so much.’

‘Can I look?’

‘No.’

‘Do you want me tomorrow afternoon?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Suit yourself.’

After Francine had gone Collis covered his palette and was attending to his brushes when he had another visitor.

‘Lina!’

Lina Archer was a well-built, muscular, vigorous woman in her late forties. She wore her assisted-blonde hair in a page-boy cut, her eyes were blue and cold. Lina Archer: a firm figure appropriate to her Dutch ancestry.

‘You look flustered, Emile.’

Collis said nothing and Lina went on, ‘I saw Francine leaving. Has she been getting at you?’ Her English was perfect and colloquial; only her slightly gutteral delivery gave any clue to her origins.

‘Just questions.’

‘What sort of questions?’ Lina was peremptory.

‘Oh, about the pictures. Do they arrive framed, or do I frame them.’

‘What did you tell her?’

Collis was silent and Lina demanded, ‘I’m asking you what you told Francine.’

Collis’s manner was that of a schoolboy caught out. ‘I told her that you take them to a shop in the Oude Kerk.’

Lina’s expression hardened. ‘That was foolish.’

Collis said nothing and Lina went on, ‘I want that girl with us, Emile. She could be very useful and not only through her money. She’s the right sort, but she needs careful handling.’

Collis was sullen. ‘I think she could be dangerous.’

‘And so you hand her information which she would be better without at this stage.’ A brief pause, then, ‘Anyway, there’s probably no harm done. I can manage that young woman.’

The Friday before Whitsun

The wood-carvers’ workshop occupied the ground floor of a little two-storied building on the far side of the stream. Francine’s flat, above the workshop, was reached by an outside stair at the back.

At half-past eight in the evening Francine was in her living room, awaiting the arrival of a visitor. She was restless, though she refused to admit that the prospect of the visit troubled her. She told herself more than once that she was fully briefed, that she held the cards and could make her own terms.

All the same, she had put on the floral dress which she wore for the painting, the only dress she had. And she was looking around her little room with a critical eye. Absurdly perhaps, she had even bought a bottle of sherry.

At shortly after half-past eight she saw Lina making her way over the bridge. Lina in trousers and woolly jumper, looking masculine. Francine thought, I’ve got it wrong. She waited while the woman walked round to the back of the house, climbed the stairs and knocked. Only then did she get up to let her in.

‘Francine!’ The tone, the manner – Lina always got it right. Now it said, I’ve come to talk to you and that is a concession in itself.

Despite the differences in age and experience, they were well matched.

In the living room Lina looked about her. ‘You haven’t changed anything much. Archer and I lived in this little flat for a few months while they were getting the house ready.’ Then, with a disarming smile, ‘I can see that you are not house proud.’

‘Does that count for or against me?’

Lina was taken aback. ‘I’m sorry! I assure you—’

‘No need to apologise. You’ve come here, presumably, to make your assessment, as I shall make mine. I simply want to keep an eye on the score.’

Lina recovered sufficiently to smile. ‘I can see that I shall have to watch my step.’

They sat on either side of a small table by the window and Lina got down to business. ‘I understand that your legacy amounts to around fifty thousand pounds.’

‘That is the amount I’m considering as an investment in the Guild.’

‘Certainly that would allow us to expand. I have in mind metal-working of some kind – not the small-scale stuff – jewellery and such like. That wasn’t a success when we tried it earlier. But there is a growing demand for high-quality ornamental ironwork. Of course, whatever we do we shall have to recruit one, or possibly two really good craftsmen.’

‘Would that be difficult?’

‘I’m not sure. What will be difficult is persuading Archer to accept the changes. I mean, the Guild will need to be reconstructed on different lines; lines that will conflict with the astrological model he had in mind from the start.’ She smiled. ‘But don’t worry about that; I think I can handle it.’

Francine remembered her sherry. ‘Would you care for a glass of sherry?’

‘What? Oh, yes, that might be pleasant.’

The bottle and glasses were produced. ‘Ah, fino!’ Lina approved.

Francine poured the sherry. ‘I’m sorry I’ve no jenever. Isn’t that what you call it?’ Francine being mischievous.

‘I do not drink gin!’ Lina said, with emphasis. She raised her glass. ‘To the Guild and its future!’

The toast drunk, Lina got back to business. ‘I assume that you fully understand the present Guild set-up.’

‘I’m not sure that I do.’

Raised eyebrows. ‘But surely! You’ve been a Guild member for a long time and recently, from what I hear, you have made it your business to sound out other members – filling in matters of detail, I suppose.’ Lina added with her thin-lipped smile, ‘To the annoyance of some of them, I believe. But let me run over the facts, if only to remind you. Members of the Guild rent their premises and equipment from us—’

Francine interrupted. ‘“Us” being the management – you and Archer.’

A moment of hesitation. ‘If you wish to put it like that.’

‘But that is how it is, and if I invest in the Guild I shall want to join the management on terms according to my investment.’

Lina sipped her sherry and replaced her glass on the table. ‘I see that you have it all worked out. But going back to our present organisation, as I was about to say, we obtain the orders on terms agreed by the members—’

Again Francine interrupted. ‘I understand that, but there is a condition which says that members are not allowed to do business ex. . .