Lessons in Solving the Wrong Problem - Charlie Cochrane Page 0,25
haven’t.”
“I’d be highly suspicious if we did. It would smack of somebody having meant us to find the treasure, in which case I’d be inclined to get straight in the motorcar and head home. The fact I’d suggest using the metal monster illustrates my depth of feeling.” Orlando cuffed Jonty’s arm. “Let’s repair to a convenient style or somewhere else we can sit yet still be out of earshot. I’d like to discuss the business with Edward.”
“What do you make of the story of these strange apparitions?” Jonty asked, once they’d perched on a convenient gate, where they would have notice of anyone approaching. “The Old Manor cat notwithstanding, I can’t be doing with thse notion of a real ghost. So, assuming Henry’s mother didn’t invent the whole story to get attention or somehow help her through her grief, then she must have been hallucinating.”
“Unless she saw an actual child, as we suggested about the gardener’s boy.” Orlando pointed out. “In her grief she superimposed her own son’s face onto his, as it were. That would explain why the supposed Edward was playing happily in a place he’d hated in life.”
“That’s a very good point,” Jonty said. “I can’t help feeling that chapel is important. The fact the supposed Edward—I like that description—wasn’t seen inside the main house or even near it could indeed suggest a child from one of the estate cottages or the like, who wouldn’t naturally go too close. Although, it does beg the question of why other people wouldn’t have seen him. Or didn’t automatically say, ‘That child you saw was most likely little Tommy Smith.’”
“Perhaps they didn’t want to upset her ladyship by suggesting she could be mistaken. Do you know, there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on about Henry’s mother. Another one of Beatrice’s hints.”
Jonty sniggered. “Well, we must hope that all these hints will blossom into full blown facts when you and she have your tete-a-tete. Ah, hold on, we’re forgetting something. Last night, in amongst all the other stuff, we were told that there were no other children of the right age or appearance on the estate. If the Byrds are anything like the Stewarts, they’d know all their staff and tenants.”
“Perhaps the child wasn’t from the estate itself,” Orlando suggested, “but from the local village. Egged on by an older brother to go trespassing, perhaps. Or he might have been an illegitimate child of one of the tenants, whose existence was being kept a secret so as not to bring the family shame. He managed to escape from his family’s guard on those occasions he was seen.”
“Hmm. That’s possible, but it does sound rather bizarre. In the circumstances it would be more likely that if some young girl found herself with child—assuming she wasn’t slung out on her ear—then she would suddenly acquire a younger sibling, one who would grow up never knowing his or her grandmother wasn’t her mother. If you follow.”
Orlando shook his head. “I do, although it’s taken me years of practice. How your students follow your thought processes is a constant source of wonder to me. Still, I favour the theory of a real child rather than a spectral one. Imagine that this younger sibling was so familiar to those on the estate that if they’d seen him, they’d have simply thought, ‘Oh, there’s little Robert, from the gamekeeper’s family.’ If her ladyship only saw him for the first time after her son’s death, she might have assumed he was a ghost, especially if her eyesight wasn’t perfect. I can even imagine a situation where young Robert would be deliberately out of her presence given the circumstances, in case it upset her seeing a boy of a similar age.”
Jonty tipped his head to one side, his standard thinking position. “Perhaps. Such bizarre things do happen, people believing they’re acting for the best and making the situation worse. Edward sits at the heart of two of the three mysteries. Can’t quite see how he could be involved in the third, but he strikes me as a remarkable child. Reminds me of the little boy who used to live next door—I’m talking about our London house—in the years prior to me coming up to Cambridge as an undergraduate. This little chap showed a mixture of being rather behind and rather forward.”
“As so often, I have no idea what you mean and I still can’t work out if it’s me being obtuse or you being unclear. I favour