Chidlow House was one of two grand houses in Harmston; the other was Harmston Hall. Both houses had been constructed along the cliff line, overlooking the countryside for miles and boasting a view of the Derbyshire Hills on a good day. Though she doubted anyone could have seen more than a few metres in this rain and visibility.
Finally locating the turnoff at the gatehouse for Chidlow House, Karen indicated and then stopped at the police barrier. Tape had been set up and a policeman in a waterproof coat and hat stood miserably beside the stone gatepost.
He shuffled over to the car as she lowered the window.
‘DS Karen Hart.’
The officer held up his notepad to make a note and then re-covered it with a waterproof top sheet. ‘Doesn’t look like there’s much chance of it clearing up.’ He nodded up at the heavy grey clouds.
‘No, forecast says it will be like this all day.’
He nodded again, looking even more despondent.
Karen thought of the evidence. If this was a crime scene, vital information could be washed away, making it much harder for them to do their job.
The police officer hunched his shoulders and returned to his sentry position after lowering the police tape.
Karen drove along the winding lane leading up to the property. A flurry of leaves swirled around the car as she turned the final corner and got a proper view of the house.
It was an impressive sight. Perhaps even more impressive than Harmston Hall. She didn’t know too much about Chidlow House, and identifying the owners would be a top priority. Many of these old ancestral homes weren’t in private use anymore, but rather used for hotels or conference centres. The upkeep of such huge buildings took its toll on even the richest members of society. Karen imagined the heating bill alone would make her eyes water. The front was imposing. The building was constructed from local stone, and a parapet, decorated with gargoyles, gave the impression of a mostly flat roof, though some green slate was just visible.
Karen understood that Harmston Hall, which was less than a mile away, had once been used as a home for the ‘mentally defective’. A chilling term, and a reminder of how a lack of understanding had led to people being incarcerated for years with no hope of ever getting out. As far as she knew, however, Chidlow House had always been privately owned. Times must have been hard if the owners had taken to letting it out for a study week.
She pulled up at the front of the building, parking between a marked police vehicle and DI Morgan’s car. Then she took a moment to take in her surroundings. There was a grand portico entrance, with stone steps leading up to it. On the left she could make out a terraced area looking out on to fading flowerbeds and lush green lawns leading to a wooded area. The heavy rain made it difficult to see any further.
Glancing up at the house, she judged it to be three storeys, unless there were more rooms in the attic. In one of the upper-storey windows she saw a flash of movement. Someone was watching.
CHAPTER THREE
Karen lifted the hood of her raincoat and got out of the car. Within seconds, the bottoms of her trousers were soaked.
She made her way to the top of the stone steps and the uniformed officer standing there.
She tugged her ID out of her pocket, holding it up for him. ‘DS Karen Hart. Is DI Morgan about?’
This officer had definitely got the better end of the deal. Though he had to stand guard, he was under cover.
‘He is, ma’am. I saw him just a moment ago. I think he’s still in the entrance hall.’ He pointed through the large oak doors.
Karen walked inside, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She lowered her hood, thankful to be out of the rain.
The entrance hall was large with a small, modern reception desk located on the left side. Above the desk was a huge portrait of a haughty, hawkish man with fair hair, probably one of the Chidlows. Stone flooring and wood-panelled walls made the area dark and, in Karen’s opinion, a bit gloomy. A huge chandelier dominated the ceiling but hadn’t been switched on. In the centre of the hall was a large curved staircase with an ornate banister decorated with carved swirls and flourishes in the wood.
Directly ahead she saw DI Morgan talking to a short, balding man. Dark hair fringed his collar, and he moved in a jerky way – stress, probably.
Karen walked up to join them. Morgan caught her eye and smiled.
‘This is DS Hart,’ he said, introducing her to the man beside him. ‘Graham Doyle is the programme director for the intensive study week that’s being held here at Chidlow House. He’s the one who reported the two young women missing. Natasha Layton and Cressida Blake.’
Neither name sounded familiar to Karen. They certainly didn’t sound like foreign royalty. She gave Graham Doyle a brief smile. ‘Please continue. I’ll catch up.’
Doyle nodded. ‘Yes, as I was saying, I didn’t realise they were missing until this morning. Their parents pay handsomely for this study week and I like to make sure they get value for money. Lessons start at eight every morning and breakfast is served at seven. When neither girl showed up for breakfast and they weren’t in their rooms, I called the police.’
‘And what can you tell us about the two girls?’ Morgan asked. ‘Do you have any reason to believe they were planning to leave the course early?’
‘It’s highly likely if you ask me,’ Doyle said, looking around shiftily to make sure no one could overhear. ‘They were rather excitable young women, and if they sneaked off to get out of extra classes, it wouldn’t surprise me. I’m afraid their parents probably didn’t know what they were up to.’
‘Who was responsible for their welfare while they were staying here?’ Karen asked.
‘Well . . .’ Doyle rubbed his nose nervously. ‘That would be me. I’m staying on site. We did have another teacher here too, but an unfortunate incident occurred. She fell from the roof. Died instantly. It was a bit too late to get another guardian at this stage, and I thought I’d be sufficient. Of course I wasn’t expecting anyone to run off. It’s most upsetting. This is the first time we’ve run the programme here and, well, it’s not exactly good for the course’s reputation.’
‘No, I can see it wouldn’t be very good for your reputation,’ Karen said dryly, thinking that he didn’t seem particularly worried about the students’ safety. ‘When did the teacher fall?’
‘Tuesday night.’
‘What was she doing up there?’
‘I really don’t know. She shouldn’t have been up there.’
‘Did she fall or jump?’
Doyle sighed heavily. ‘Maybe things got too much for her. I didn’t know her well. I think the police spoke to her family.’
They’d need to speak to whoever had been in charge of the investigation. Karen made a mental note to ask Rick to follow up on that.
‘When where the students last seen?’ Morgan asked.
‘Natasha and Cressida were spotted leaving by Ethan, a fellow student.’ Doyle treated them to a knowing smile that only served to confuse Karen. ‘Obviously I’ve informed the parents of the missing young ladies, but I’m hoping the other parents won’t have to know.’
‘Well, our priority, of course, is locating the young women and making sure they’re safe.’