No Stone Unturned (8 page)

‘I am sure you exaggerate, Sir Charles. But speaking of funds, how's the bottom line looking on this project?'

‘Disastrous. Do you really want to know?'

‘Well, I can help to keep the wolves from your door more easily if I know what I'm defending. You realise I can put in a good word for you in Parliament.'

Barry sat, as if the financial burden was physically weighing him down. ‘I won the bid based on an estimated project cost just short of £725,000.' He paused and looked Throckmorton in the eye. ‘At the latest review, we are already over £2 million.'

‘Hell's teeth, Sir Charles!' Throckmorton swallowed hard.

Barry reminded Throckmorton of the delays and huge additional expense caused by the problems with ventilation. After the fire that had destroyed the original building in 1834, Barry had been asked to ensure that the building could breathe properly. He had, on Parliament's advice, been required to bring in a ventilation expert, who had amended his drawings to include a 300-foot high tower above the Central Lobby. The tower would act as a chimney, the expert had assured him, drawing up stale air and allowing it to escape through vents in its spire. But his design didn't take into account the direction in which the stale air would flow. MPs constantly complained about the cooking smells and the dreadful reek of manure that wafted by from the kitchens and nearby stables. As a result, Barry was forced to find another solution—and another ventilation expert.

‘Then there was the problem with the bells for the Clock Tower,' Barry added. ‘Do you recollect? The casts kept cracking. The workshop had never had to make anything of that size before. Then of course I had to find a solution to stop the limestone on the outer walls from decaying in all the blessed London smog. All these things have all added up, you know. Not that any excuse seems to wash with the Treasury. You're aware that they are trying to cut my fees, I suppose?'

Sir Francis remained silent.

‘They are refusing to pay anything beyond the fees I originally quoted—but those were based on a six-year project time span. Next year it will be twenty years since we laid that first foundation stone, but no one can blame me for over-running this far. It's not fair that I should be so heavily penalised.'

‘Yes, yes, I know. I understand. And other people will too, Sir Charles, I will do my best to make sure of that. Besides, name me an architect who could have done this any quicker.'

‘Thank you, Sir Francis. I am for ever in your debt,' said Barry, raising his glass to the MP.

Throckmorton inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, then added, ‘But take my advice as a friend, Sir Charles. If there is even the slightest chance that something else could go wrong, particularly if it could place you in even deeper financial difficulties, then you have to start putting some insurance policies into place—and fast.'

‘What do you mean?' Barry asked.

‘Protect your investments where you can. Tell the chairman of the railway company that we will both withdraw our support if the branch line is not open within the next twelve months. And by that I mean financial support, of course. Look out the time clause in the contract and threaten to use it. And make sure you tell that quarry owner that he won't get a penny more until you have every last piece of stone that you need from his quarry.'

Barry's thoughts went back to that morning, all those years ago, when he had taken breakfast in Richard Greenslade's dining room. Greenslade was a good, honest man. Barry liked him, and he was aware that Greenslade had almost as much at stake in this whole railway line affair as he did. But Throckmorton was right. Barry had to protect himself, for Sarah and the children's sake, if nothing else. Yes. He would have to start making some ultimatums.

Chapter 11 – August 2012

D
uring the days that followed Kelly's Sunday morning encounter with Ben, she returned to the railway bridge several times on her walks with Tyson, hoping that she might bump into her new friend again. But so far there was no sign of him. She had walked along the canal in the other direction too, to see if she could work out the route he had taken back to his cottage. She remembered him saying that it was on Stone Pit Farm, on the other side of the village, but she wasn't sure where that particular farm's land started and finished, so she didn't really know where to begin looking.

By Friday, she had pretty much given up, and decided that it was about time she took Tyson somewhere he could have a good long run off the lead. She took the footpath that led south from the caravan site and crossed first over the railway, then over the canal, by way of a narrow old stone bridge, before winding its way through some woods and out onto open farmland.

There were no sheep or cattle out in the fields that day so she let Tyson off the lead and ambled along happily, while he ran in mad circles through the long grass. Every few seconds Tyson's head would pop up above the level of the grass as he jumped up like a kangaroo to check where Kelly was.

It was a lovely warm sunny day. Kelly took off the denim shirt that she had on over her strappy T-shirt and tied it round her waist, as she and Tyson followed the footpath up the hill and along the edge of a wheat field. It wouldn't be long before the farmer would be out there harvesting. The wheat had already turned an even, pale gold colour, and Kelly could hear it popping and crackling in the heat.

In the corner of the field the path ran along the side of an overgrown copse, roughly fenced off with two strings of barbed wire suspended between wooden posts. Then it turned sharply on a ninety degree angle to follow the trees up towards a small gate into a meadow. It looked as though the ground inside the copse fell sharply downwards, forming a deep bowl in the earth, like a crater. As Kelly walked, she peered between the gaps in the vegetation, trying to make out what was on the other side of the fence line.

Just after she had passed through the gate into the meadow, she spotted a bigger gap in the bushes. A fence post had come loose in the ground and was leaning at an awkward angle, while the wire fence was bent down, as if someone had climbed over it. She glanced behind to check on Tyson and saw him happily sniffing around in the meadow. He had picked up a badger trail and was following it, nose to the ground like a bloodhound.

Kelly ducked under a low branch and stepped right up to the wire. She peered through the trees and bushes, trying to get a better view down into the crater. Suddenly, she flinched. There was something there. A shape, blocking out the light which otherwise filtered through the leaves. A deer perhaps? Then a sudden movement, and Kelly let out a little cry as she saw, peering back at her through the greenery, two blue eyes.

‘Hello, Kelly.'

‘Oh my God! It's you! I nearly died. What the hell are you doing in there?'

Ben stepped out from the trees, looking more than a little dishevelled and covered in dirt.

‘I've been looking for rabbits. They love it down there. It's so sheltered and safe and the soil is much looser than up on the top, so it's a great place to dig a burrow. There's hundreds of the little devils. Hey, look who it is.'

Tyson had forgotten all about his badger trail. He'd raced over and was now happily licking Ben's hand.

‘Why is there such a big hole in the ground anyway?' asked Kelly. ‘I've been trying to work it out—why it's fenced off and everything.'

‘It's one of the stone pits. Part of the quarry. There are four pits altogether but this one's the biggest. It seems to have become rather overgrown but some of the sides are still really steep and the loose soil over the top makes them pretty slippery. I suppose it's been fenced off to keep people out but it's a paradise for animals. Not just rabbits but badgers, foxes, even deer.'

‘Ahh, a quarry. That's why the farm's called Stone Pit Farm.'

‘Yup. No flies on you, eh?' Ben winked.

‘Shut up!' giggled Kelly. ‘I've never been up this far before. I didn't even know Wilmcote had a quarry.

‘Oh yes,' said Ben. ‘The quarry was really important to the village when…well, in the nineteenth century. You know those rows of stone cottages on the main road down to the village green? The terraces?

Kelly nodded.

‘Well, they're quarry workers' cottages, and the main farm house is—I mean,
was
where the quarry owner lived.'

‘Cor,' exclaimed Kelly. ‘That's why it's quite grand for a farm house. It's great finding out about places, don't you think? You know, discovering why they're like they are now. What stone did they quarry here, then?'

‘Limestone. Look, you can see chunks of it along the path.' Ben took Kelly further up the footpath, where some kind-hearted walker had used flat pieces of limestone to make stepping stones through a muddy patch.

‘Cool,' said Kelly. ‘Do you know what they used the stone for?'

‘Well, those quarry workers' cottages in the village are built from stone from these pits. One of the pubs was too. That's why it's called the Mason's Arms, of course. But the stone's been used for churches, bridges, stately homes all over the place around here. Ragley Hall for one.'

‘Wow!' said Kelly. ‘You can see that place from up on the hill behind the Traveller site. It's huge. That's quite impressive.'

Ben nodded, smiling. ‘That's not the most impressive thing about the quarry, either. Did you know that…?'

Kelly was already walking on around the perimeter of the quarry. ‘But how did they get all the limestone out?' she shouted back to him. ‘There aren't any roads up here.'

‘By tram,' explained Ben, catching up with her. ‘They loaded the stone onto trucks at the pit side, then it was pulled by horses along the tramway to the canal where they put it onto barges.' He paused, before mumbling, ‘Oh, and then later they extended the tramlines to reach the railway.'

‘Yes, of course. I guess the railway was really important to the quarry,' Kelly mused, putting a tired but happy Tyson back on his lead.

‘Would you like me to walk back with you?' asked Ben. ‘I can tell you some more along the way, if you like.'

Kelly smiled. She noticed that Ben had a row of freckles over the top of his nose. Sun kisses, her nana used to call them. ‘Yes,' she said, rather breathlessly. ‘I'd like that.'

The two friends walked around the edge of the quarry and followed the tramline back across the fields. At the bottom of the hill, at the side of the track, was a mound of compacted earth, set within a clump of small trees.

‘I was thinking, on my way past here, that my brother could use that for a fantastic BMX jump,' observed Kelly. ‘I must tell him about it when he gets back.'

‘BMX?' enquired Ben.

‘Yeah,' said Kelly, unsure what Ben wanted to know. ‘The way the mud is so smooth, and the slope and the height of the mound and everything. It's a natural stunt ramp.'

‘No it's not,' said Ben stiffly. ‘I'll show you what it is. Look.'

He took Kelly's hand and led her off the path and round to the other side of the mound. There, out of sight from passing walkers, was what looked like a tiny cave, with loose soil and rubble piled up in its mouth.

‘It looks like a dragon's lair!' squealed Kelly. ‘What is it really?'

‘It's one of the old lime kilns.'

Now it was Kelly's turn to look confused, so Ben explained how Wilmcote limestone had layers of darker, blue-grey rock, with more clay in it, sandwiched between the harder, pale brown layers. Rock with a high clay content made good lime and that was what the kiln was for.

It was like an oven. The men would fill it with lumps of stone from the quarry, add coal, then start a fire at the bottom. Once the fire was lit, they would wait for a few days, allowing the fire to build up and then die down again. When the kiln was cool, the men could rake out the lime that was left behind.

‘But what was the lime used for?' asked Kelly, picking up one of the smaller rocks from the entrance to the kiln and rubbing it between her fingers.

‘For building. To make mortar.'

‘What, you mean, like cement?'

‘Yes. Good Lord, geology isn't your best subject, is it?'

‘No,' laughed Kelly, thinking how old-fashioned Ben could sound sometimes.

She sat herself down on a fallen log. ‘I'm better at English, and history. Anything involving a good story. I just like imagining how places were in the past, and finding out their stories. Do you know what I mean?'

‘I think so,' said Ben, sitting down next to her and stroking Tyson's head.

‘Shut your eyes,' said Kelly. ‘Go on. I'll do it too.'

Ben did as he was told, turning his face up to the sun.

‘Now imagine you've gone back in time. It's…I don't know…1850 or something.'

She opened her right eye and peeped at Ben to see if he was playing along. He was, so she shut her eye again and carried on.