Ann Granger (21 page)

‘This is the place,’ I said now to Ben. We had reached the rhododendrons where I had come upon Lucy and Brennan.

Ross took a scrap of paper from his pocket and studied it, looking up from time to time, as if to check something.

‘What’s that?’ I asked curiously. One is not meant to quiz officers about their duty, but I wanted to know.

‘Dr Lefebre drew me a map, a diagram, showing where the body lay, Mrs Craven sat and the relationship of it all to the house. I’m obliged to him and to you because you’ve confirmed it. Not to have seen the body
in situ
myself is a nuisance. But I’m fortunate that I have such excellent witnesses in you and the doctor.’ He tucked the paper away in his pocket. ‘Miss Roche told me that someone called Beresford was at the scene when she arrived and she sent him packing. What do you know of that?’

‘He’s a local landowner. He was walking on the beach shortly before all this. I saw him there and spoke to him. He must have heard Lucy screaming and he came running, as the others did. I fancy—’ I hesitated. ‘I fancy there’s some difference of opinion between him and the Roche women. Well, between him and Miss Christina, at least, and her word is law at Shore House. She ordered him off the premises.’

‘Mm. Well, I’m afraid I must interview Mrs Craven.’

‘Must it be today?’ I begged. ‘She really is so frightened. She’ll become hysterical and make no sense.’

‘So, what do you suggest?’

I thought quickly. ‘Perhaps I could persuade her out for a little walk tomorrow morning? I can’t guarantee it, but she must be thoroughly tired of being cooped up in her room most of the time. If we walked to the churchyard, you could be there, just by chance, and meet us.’

We settled that was how we should do it. Then Ben asked, ‘When you and Mrs Craven walked to the church on the morning of the murder, or were coming back from there, did you chance to see a gypsy woman? She would have had a basket on her arm. She was selling pegs. Lefebre saw her. She called at the kitchen here.’

‘There was one,’ I remembered. ‘She passed us going in the direction of the village. I think she meant to offer to read our fortunes or some such, but she seemed to take fright at the sight of Lucy and scurried away.’

I seized the nettle. He would be told the gossip soon enough. ‘People around here are – are quite wrongly wary of Lucy. She’s a harmless child, Ben. Why can’t they see it’s only pining for her husband and her grief over her baby that make her act oddly from time to time? Who would not?’

‘No one else, then?’ asked Ben, without comment on my defence of Lucy.

‘No, but wait! That morning, before the discovery of Brennan’s body, someone was in the churchyard when Lucy and I were there by the grave. There’s a big yew tree nearby and someone was hiding in its shadow watching us. That’s why, when I found the posy on the grave, I looked that way again. Only that second time there was no one there.’

‘Hiding? Was it a man or a woman?’ His dark eyes lit with enthusiasm. This wasn’t description of the scenery: this was a fact. Ben Ross! I thought crossly. You do so like
facts
!

‘I can’t tell you. I only noticed a dark shape. There was almost no light beneath the tree. It’s a vast thing, hundreds of years old, I don’t doubt. But someone was there,’ I insisted. ‘I saw a movement, it may mean nothing. It was probably only a villager nervous of interrupting us.’

‘But,’ Ben said, ‘the second time you visited the churchyard, after your meeting with Phoebe Roche outside Mrs Craven’s room, you found that someone had left a little bouquet of wild flowers on the baby’s grave. Who could that be, do you think? According to your account, Mrs Craven had no opportunity to pay another visit to the grave without you.’

‘No, she didn’t. But in any case, Lucy denies it’s her baby lying there so why should she place flowers? I don’t see either of the Roche sisters placing such a poor little bunch, or indeed any kind of tribute. There seems to be an agreement that Lucy’s child isn’t spoken of under the roof of Shore House.’

To myself I thought, it’s as if the poor little soul has just been not so much forgotten as erased like a mistake in a drawing. Phoebe only dared to whisper her regret in that dark corridor where no one could see or overhear. Even Lucy waited until we were out of the house, in the churchyard where she could show me the grave, before she could talk of her loss. It was her way of introducing the subject, as if she couldn’t refer to her baby without some excuse.

Aloud I said, ‘Please try not to use the word “loss” when you speak to her, Ben. She won’t accept the baby’s dead and if you talk as if it is, she gets very agitated. But with the Roche sisters behaving as if the child never existed and offering her no sympathy or support in her bereavement at all, is it surprising? Lucy’s dealing with the appalling situation by just denying it’s happened. This is a very – very unhealthy house, Ben. That’s my feeling about it all.’

‘Mrs Craven’s state of mind…’ Ben began. But he got no further. He suddenly flung up his arm into the air and pointed into the distance towards the heath.

‘What’s that? Is it a fire?’

I had my back towards the heath and had to turn to look in that direction. A plume of dark smoke spiralled up some way off and was slowly spreading like a dark stain into the blue sky. It could only come from the expanse of bone-dry heather and gorse.

At that moment we heard the rumble of cartwheels approaching at a great pace. We hurried up the side of the house and round to the gate just in time to see a farm wagon rattle and sway past, the horses at a canter. The wagon was gaily painted and carried a group of rustics all armed with birch brooms. The sight was extraordinary. They looked like a coven of male witches setting out for some unearthly ride.

Greenaway came puffing towards us at that moment. ‘Fire up on the hearth, sir – and Miss Martin. Those chaps have gone off to beat it out. Mr Beresford, he has it all organised and ready that if anyone sees smoke, he gets together his farm workers and off they go straight away. Better than any fire service, they are. Not that we have a fire engine here. The nearest is at Hythe.’

He squinted into the distance and turned to Ben, looking worried. ‘Fact is, sir, where you see that smoke, that’s about the spot where Brennan and his wife had their tent set up. The poor woman is still camped there. Gosling told her she wasn’t to leave. I can’t say I like it, sir.’

‘What?’ cried Ben. ‘I must get up there immediately! Can you guide me?’

‘Ah, I’ll saddle up, then,’ offered Greenaway. ‘We’ll have to ride up there, sir. It’s off the road and I can’t take the trap. We could walk but it would take us a while.’

I saw an almost comical dismay enter Ben’s face. ‘I am no horseman, Greenaway.’

Greenaway peered into his face. ‘Well, tell you what, I’ll saddle the pony for you, if you don’t mind. Thing is, she’s quieter than the horses and there’s the advantage that if you do come off, there isn’t so far to fall.’

Ben looked far from encouraged. He bid me a hasty goodbye and followed Greenaway in the direction of the stables. The lawn by the gate was dry, so I sat down with my skirts about me, and watched the spreading haze of the smoke as I waited for Ben and Greenaway to return mounted. I prayed the blaze didn’t mean some harm had befallen Mrs Brennan. I couldn’t forget that poor defeated-looking woman. I fancied now I could smell the burning gorse and heather as the wind veered round and sent the sinister mass billowing in my direction. My eyes stung with small particles borne on the breeze from the fire. I rubbed them and wondered if I ought to go indoors. I also wondered how far and how fast the blaze could spread. Were we safe here?

Soon I heard the clatter of hoofs and the two men reappeared. Greenaway rode what I suspected was one of the carriage horses, currently without work in view of the cracked axle. Ben, looking ill at ease, trotted along beside him on the ewe-necked mare that had pulled the trap.

‘I would take off my hat and wave it to you, Miss Martin,’ he called as they passed by me. ‘But I need both hands to hold on to the mane!’

I smiled and waved at them, though in truth the occasion was no matter for amusement. They had gone. I scrambled to my feet, dusted my skirts down and made hurriedly for the house, glad to be out of the smoke-tinged air. I did hope Ben would be all right. Horses feared fire. Perhaps his pony would bolt. My mind occupied with all these thoughts, I entered the house through the main door.

As I came into the hall I heard voices through the panels of the closed door to my right. It led, I knew, into the small parlour where Lucy had hidden from the breakfasting Lefebre. I’d peeped into the room earlier and seen it was gloomy and cluttered. It didn’t surprise me it wasn’t much used. Yet a man and a woman were talking in there now. All at once my senses were alive with expectation. I’d heard a man and a woman in the garden, the night I had arrived. Could this be the same pair? There was only one way to find out. Discretion and good manners meant I shouldn’t interrupt. My curiosity would not be satisfied unless I did. I threw open the door.

The speakers stood close together and appeared to have been in some very earnest discussion. They broke off their conversation at once and turned towards me: Dr Lefebre and Mrs Williams.

My arrival had clearly disconcerted them. They moved sharply apart. Lefebre recovered first.

‘Miss Martin! Mrs Williams and I were looking at the smoke from the window here. Mrs Williams is of the opinion it’s a gorse fire.’

‘Andrew Beresford’s sent his farm workers to beat it out,’ I told him. ‘And Inspector Ross has gone up there, too, with Greenaway.’

They could have seen as much from the window. I told them nothing new. Williams murmured an excuse and hurried from the room, her gaze averted.

‘Is the inspector interested in fires?’ asked Lefebre, raising his eyebrows and watching me closely.

‘No, only in this one. Greenaway thinks it must be at about the spot where the Brennans made their camp. Mrs Brennan should still be there. I think Greenaway is afraid she could be in some danger.’

‘Indeed? Perhaps I should inform Miss Roche. Will you excuse me?’

I watched him go and went to the window. From here one could see the smoke spiralling into the sky but little else. The laurel hedges surrounding the property were in the way. If they had gone upstairs they would have had a far better view from an upper window. That mattered little, however, as whatever they’d been discussing, I didn’t think it was the fire.

And what was it about their attitudes, standing so close and talking almost as equals, which made me fancy their acquaintance was older than they might wish me to believe?

Chapter Fourteen

Inspector Benjamin Ross

I LIKE horses but that’s not to say I like being aboard one. I watched with envy Greenaway atop the larger horse, trotting ahead of me. His sturdy form appeared to be at one with the movement of the beast beneath him. As for me, it seemed as though when the saddle went down, I went up, and vice versa, so that at every other moment the saddle and I made painful collision. I fancy the pony could feel it too because she shook her head, throwing it up, ears laid back, and turning it so that one large white eye fixed me with a reproachful stare. After a while, however, I realised the mare was docile enough and wouldn’t try to set me on the ground out of sheer mischief or spite. If I had come off, more out of my own incompetence than any fault on the part of my steed, the landing would have been soft enough on the peaty soil. I felt myself relax, got more the hang of the thing, finding I could, if I didn’t try so hard, move in unison with the animal. If our errand hadn’t been so serious, I would quite have enjoyed the experience.

We covered the ground fairly quickly. As we neared the seat of the fire the pungent smell of the burning gorse and heather filled my nostrils. Particles of blackened vegetation swirled in the air and stung my eyes.

Greenaway turned and shouted out, ‘Tie your handkerchief over your mouth and nose, sir!’

He took his own advice and I hastened to follow suit. Masked like a pair of Sardinian bandits, we approached the very edge of the area where we saw the farm cart.

Now we could hear the fire as well as see it. It roared and crackled. The horse and my pony grew nervous and tossed their heads.

‘Hold fast!’ called Greenaway. He jumped down from the saddle and fastened the reins of his mount to the tail of the cart. Coughing as smoke found its way into his mouth, the groom came over to me and aided me to dismount by hauling me from the saddle like a sack of potatoes.

‘Thank you, Greenaway,’ I said with as much dignity as I could muster. I staggered slightly, finding it odd for a few seconds to be on my own feet.

Greenaway tied my pony alongside the horse and I saw that a man was approaching us. Like us, he wore a handkerchief tied over his face. When he reached us, he pulled it down and his face was comically divided into halves, the top quite blackened with smoke and the lower half pale.

‘How goes it, Mr Beresford?’ shouted Greenaway.

So this was Beresford, the neighbour so unwelcome on the property of Shore House.

‘We’ll manage it but we could do with some more help,’ was his reply to Greenaway’s question. He glanced at me and asked, ‘Are you the inspector from London? I can’t shake your hand, mine is too dirty.’

Both the groom and I hastened to offer our services.

‘Good, good!’ exclaimed Beresford. ‘You’ll find a couple of brooms in there.’

We stripped off our jackets and threw them with our hats into the cart, then armed ourselves with a birch broom each and followed Beresford. He shouted hoarse explanations and instructions as we went, waving his arms to indicate direction.

‘We’re in luck. The wind is driving the fire towards boggy ground and when it reaches there, it will dampen down and fizzle out of its own accord. But we must prevent it spreading to either side. My men are positioned in a semicircle round it and beating the ground ahead of them as they move inwards. Find a place in the circle!’