Blood, Sweat and Tiers

by Nancy Warren

  My heart sank into my sneakers.

  “That’s very true,” Elspeth said. “The passion-fruit curd goes some way to remedying the balance. It’s fruity and sweet in equal measures. But it should be an accompaniment to the cake, not a necessity.”

  Ooof. I felt as if the earl had shot a few rounds right into my belly. What an idiot, Pops. How could you have made such a silly mistake?

  Before I could properly gather my thoughts, Jonathon announced that they’d come to a decision.

  “There was a clear winner in the technical challenge today. She’s having an absolute blinder of a weekend. Congratulations Florence!”

  I congratulated Florence, who swelled with pride, glowing and murmuring her thanks to everyone. She seemed genuinely taken aback to have won two challenges in one day. As I’d suspected, Maggie, Daniel and Amara took bottom places, Hamish was second, Gaurav third, and then there was me: in the middle of the pack.

  This is not good enough, Poppy Wilkinson. I silently vowed to myself that tonight I’d rest up and get ready to give tomorrow’s showstopper everything I had. No more distractions over the hawk. If I was voted out this week, then every clue I’d managed to piece together about my birth family would be for nothing. And I wasn’t about to let that happen. No way.

  Chapter 10

  The pub was packed with groups starting their Saturday night early. I envied their carefree attitudes. They were mid-weekend—had spent the day doing whatever pleased them and still had the whole of Sunday to nurse any sore heads, take long walks across the beautiful Somerset Hills, or indulge in a roast lunch with all the trimmings. What I’d give to forget my responsibilities for a day and drive into town with Gina for a girls’ night out.

  Florence jabbed me in the ribs, breaking my feeling-sorry-for-myself moment.

  “Do you think we’ll even get a table?” she asked. “It’s packed.”

  “You would have thought they’d reserve one for the contestants,” Maggie added. “I so desperately need to sit down after so long on my feet.”

  “You’re right,” Gaurav said. “I’m going to find us a spot.”

  I linked arms with Maggie, and we walked to the bar, where there was a spare stool. Eve mouthed that she’d be with us in a minute.

  I looked around the pub to see who’d taken our usual table and was surprised to see Marlene and her fellow bird-watchers having tea and coffee, wearing padded vests, and with binoculars hanging from the backs of chairs. They looked more relaxed than when they’d been marching past the tent but were deep in conversation. I was struck again by the thought that the magic circle had brought them back to Broomewode Village today. Had I also managed to spirit them to where I was staying?

  “Darius is off tonight. If he was here, we’d have a table by now,” Florence said in a smug tone.

  “You know his work schedule?” I was surprised. Darius was gorgeous, but Florence didn’t strike me as a woman who’d settle for a server, however hot he was.

  As though she’d read my mind, Florence said in a low voice, “He’s a fun distraction, darling. You run off to do whatever you do, and I have Darius.”

  I turned to Maggie, who’d settled on a stool. She checked her phone and then had to share the photos of her youngest grandchild starting to walk. I listened politely, with half my attention on the bird-watchers until curiosity began to eat away at me. I wanted to know if they’d managed to convince the earl to stop his shooting.

  I hesitated, knowing that really I should keep out of any Broomewode politics until I’d baked a killer showstopper tomorrow, but what if I didn’t get another chance to speak to the bird-watchers?

  I told Maggie and Florence I’d be right back and then went to speak to Marlene.

  She was mid-sentence but seemed to sense I was behind her and turned, her precise gray bob following suit. “Oh, hello,” she said. “I met you yesterday. You’re one of the bakers.”

  I nodded. “Yes. I’m Poppy.” I glanced around and said softly, “I read a little about your society afterwards at Susan Bentley’s farm.”

  Marlene nodded in what I could only guess was some kind of approval. “Susan is a good woman. She understands the natural order of the land.”

  I smiled. That was a nice way to put it.

  “And we’re very sorry for interrupting the show today,” she continued. “It was nothing personal. But if people don’t keep using the rights of way, the landowners will find excuses to close them to the public. The earl is determined to keep us off his property.”

  “I understand, I think. I’m afraid I don’t know very much about rights of way. We don’t have anything like it in the States.”

  At this admission, Marlene’s eyes lit up. I’d obviously touched on one of her favorite subjects. She explained that ancient rights of way were old footpaths or bridleways across mountains, moors, heaths, downs, common land and some land around the England Coast Path. “People have walked these same paths for centuries. No matter that the land is privately owned. If we don’t exercise our rights to cross the earl’s lands, he’ll try to take them back. He’s a bad man.”

  “We follow the countryside code at all times,” an older gentleman sitting beside her said. “The Society takes our responsibility towards the countryside very seriously. But time is ticking for our historic rights of way. Any pre-1949 footpaths, bridleways or byways that are not recorded on the legal definitive map in the next six years may be lost forever.” He shook his head sadly, and the rest of the table stopped their conversation to listen.

  “We have a right to roam the land by law,” the man continued, getting into his stride now while Marlene listened, nodding. “But greedy landowners are eager to make all parts of their land private. Our aim is to restore and register any historic public rights of way which are not yet shown on the definitive map. With Broomewode, the key is actually using the pathways, otherwise Lord Frome could apply for the pathway to close and we’d lose it forever. Plus, it would make it easier for him to shoot his way through the wild birdlife willy-nilly.”

  I’d had no idea that the pathway I’d taken so many times without thinking was such a hotbed of discussion. I was about to ask Marlene if her group had spotted the hawk when someone tapped me on the back.

  It was Edward, the gardener. He was still wearing his work uniform and was holding a fizzing pint of cider. From the look on his face, he’d had a long day like me. He apologized for interrupting but said he couldn’t help overhearing our conversation.

  I looked behind where Edward was standing and saw that he’d been at a small table nearby alone. The other gardeners still hadn’t welcomed him into the fold. I felt bad for him and told him to join us. Marlene gestured to a couple of spare stools, and we took a seat.

  Edward took a sip of his cider and then introduced himself to Marlene and the others. “I get your point about rights of way,” he said to the group. “But you also have to understand that we’ve been raising pheasant and grouse in these parts for centuries—with the sole aim of shooting them. It provides many people in rural areas with employment. Not to mention how it helps to control the natural order of wildlife.”

  Uh-oh. I could see Marlene turning pink and knew she was about to give him a mouthful. “Natural order of wildlife?” she sputtered.

  “I hadn’t thought about local jobs,” I said quickly.

  Edward sighed. “Working as a beater saved me from getting involved in any mischief as a young lad. I’ve been living in Devon since I was sixteen, but I grew up about an hour from Broomewode Village.”

  I coughed. How had I not known this? I’d thought Edward was a complete outsider, but he had early childhood ties here—just like me. Was his family still in Broomewode? I was burning with questions. Unfortunately for me, Edward seemed set on going down memory lane.

  “When I was a young lad, one of my da’s friends invited me along to a hunt as a beater to reload guns and help with the game. We’d be given a little money, a couple of grouse at th
e end of the day, and the earl would buy everyone a drink in the pub.”

  At this, Marlene snorted and I giggled. It was hard to imagine the earl being generous.

  “That’s only because Mitty was such a nice chap,” Marlene said. “He would have put the earl up to that.”

  I asked who Mitty was, and Edward told me that he was the former gamekeeper.

  “His family has lived in Broomewode for generations, and he was raised to respect the land,” Marlene continued.

  My heart began to race. Was this Mitty guy still in Broomewode? If so, maybe I could talk to him about Valerie. Maybe he’d even known my dad?

  “The gamekeeper position at Broomewode comes with a cottage tied to the job,” Marlene continued. “Mitty’s father did the job before him, and his father did it before him. They were good people.”

  “And the present earl treated him well,” Edward added. “Mitty retired with a very generous pension after he had a stroke. He needs a lot of care, so now his lovely retirement home is all paid for by the earl.”

  I felt my face fall. Poor Mitty. Would his memories be hazy after the stroke? If so, he wouldn’t be able to help me after all.

  To my surprise, Marlene’s eyes misted over. “I miss him,” she said quietly. “He was a good friend. It’s been far too long since I saw him. What home is he in? I’ll visit next week. He may not remember me, but I know just how to get him talking about the old days and that will cheer him up.” She stopped and took a sip of her tea. “Arthur isn’t half the man his father was…and his own son is another terrible disappointment. Rumor is he’s studying to be a dentist, so when Arthur moves on, the position will probably have to go to an outsider.”

  Edward chuckled. “A dentist? I bet that’s wound up Arthur no end. It’s the perfect comeuppance for that suck-up. Did you see how he dotes on the earl? All yes sir, no sir—doesn’t question him for a second.”

  “So true!” I blurted out. Edward and Marlene looked at me in surprise. I paused for a moment, wondering how much I should say. But I could feel in my bones that these two ought to be allies. They’d have the same reaction as my coven sisters. “I saw the earl aim at a hawk yesterday.”

  “I told you he was a bad man,” Marlene said, her eyes widening. “He has no right. Hawks are protected by the law. But I’m surprised you saw a hawk. We get a lot of white-tailed eagles around here, kestrels, and plenty of red kites. Are you sure it wasn’t one of those?”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “It was a hawk, a big one. Very majestic. Is that unusual?”

  Marlene nodded. I felt relieved. I’d definitely been seeing the same hawk then—and he was special.

  Edward shook his head. “I wouldn’t put it past the earl to shoot a hawk.”

  “Speak of the devil,” Marlene said, pointing at the entrance to the pub. “There’s his sidekick.”

  I turned and saw the earl’s gamekeeper Arthur with a couple of young men who were obviously part of his hunting group. He was still wearing his hunting fatigues: wool cap, brown tweed jacket with matching vest, checked shirt, brown jodhpurs tucked into leather boots. He’d taken off his tie, and it was hanging from his jacket pocket. And, to my horror, his shotgun was tucked under his arm. He strode straight to the bar as if he owned the place.

  Marlene’s group sat up straight, outraged, and began whispering among themselves. To Edward and me, Marlene said, “He’s not allowed in here with those weapons. The cheek of it.”

  “Like a fox storming the henhouse,” Edward said.

  “Well, I’m not going to sit here quietly. Today has been about making a point, and clearly we weren’t loud enough.”

  Marlene stood, her chair scraping back loudly on the stone floor. The rest of her group obediently followed, and Edward and me were left on our own.

  Poor Edward. He was caught between a rock and a hard place. Clearly he thought Arthur was a buffoon, but he still had to work for the earl.

  I laid a hand on his arm. “I think Marlene’s got enough fight in her for all of us,” I whispered.

  Arthur and his men tried to order pints of ale from Eve, but she crossed her arms and shook her head. “You know full well you’re not allowed in here with those wretched things.” She pointed at Arthur’s shotgun, which he’d leaned against the bar.

  “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he bellowed, laughing and looking to his friends with an exaggerated expression of confusion.

  “What a child,” I said to Edward. “Arthur has to be fifty at least. What’s he playing the naughty schoolboy for?”

  Edward rolled his eyes. “He’s always like that. He’s never gotten over his boarding-school antics.”

  I decided to show some solidarity to Eve and Marlene.

  But it looked like I wasn’t the only one determined to mess with Arthur and his crew.

  Gerry had suddenly appeared by the bar, and I could see by his squashed-up concentrating face he was focused on trying to move the shotgun. I suppressed a giggle and went to stand by Marlene, who was in the middle of giving Arthur an earful.

  “What on earth do you think you’re doing, walking in here with a weapon?” she said. Even though Marlene was much shorter than Arthur and several decades older, she spoke as if she were looming over him, like he was a tiny spider she wanted to scare from the room.

  Arthur laughed again, that awful facetious laugh of his. I could feel my blood boiling.

  I looked out of the corner of my eye at Gerry. If his face could have turned red, it’d look like a British mailbox right now. He was making progress. The rifle began to lift ever so slightly from the floor. But Arthur was too focused on trying to make fun of Marlene to notice.

  “It’s not a weapon. It’s a work tool,” he said, emphasizing the syllables of “tool” as if Marlene might have trouble understanding him.

  “I’m not hard of hearing,” she snapped. “And all my wits are about me. Enough to know that bringing that thing in here is illegal. And wouldn’t you know, I have a mobile phone in my back pocket. Present from the grandkids. Makes calling the police so easy, don’t you think?” She slipped a brick of a phone from her pocket.

  Again, Arthur laughed. “Honestly, after today’s performance, I would have thought you’d be tired of embarrassing yourself.” He made a show of checking his watch. I did the same. It was six p.m. Argh. Arthur was a meanie. I was about to step in, but one of Marlene’s group got there before me. He was taller than Marlene and looked to be around the same age but with a full head of black hair.

  “We might have ten or so years on you, Arthur, but we’ve got more common decency in our little fingers than you have in your whole body. Have you no shame? You know the earl stretches the limits of what he’s legally allowed to hunt and tries to keep the public from their right to ramble, but you’re too busy sucking up to his lordship to tell right from wrong.”

  At that, Arthur’s phony smile dropped from his face. “Do you really have nothing better to do than go around slandering people you barely even know?”

  “Oh, cut the crap, Arthur,” Marlene retorted. “We’ve known you since you were in nappies.”

  Arthur was about to respond, but Gerry had come good.

  “WHAT?” Arthur barked, looking frantically about the room. “Who’s got my rifle?”

  Gerry was grinning. He’d managed to lift the rifle and then laid it to rest on the other end of the bar. I was flabbergasted. How had I not noticed the thing moving? How had no one noticed? I had to hand it to Gerry—his skills were refined. Even if they were a bit risky.

  “Where is it?” Arthur repeated.

  Well, I certainly wasn’t going to help him out.

  Arthur and his friends began to hunt about until one of them noticed the rifle. He collected it from the other end of the bar and handed it back to Arthur.

  He looked down at it in surprise. A vein was popping on his forehead, and beads of perspiration were stuck to the tufts of graying hair at his temples. “Cancel those pints,
Eve,” he said. “I’ve suddenly lost my thirst.” He tucked his rifle underneath his arm again and turned to Marlene. “I don’t know how you managed to do that, but you stay away from me. I’ve got my eye on you.”

  Marlene shook her head and poked her bony finger at his chest. “No, Arthur. I’ve got my eye on you.”

  Chapter 11

  “What do you think, Poppy? Good idea?”

  I came to and realized that Florence was waiting for an answer. To what? I’d been miles away, my thoughts caught up in Marlene’s story about the old gamekeeper. I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if he’d recognize me like the old woman had in the pub the very first evening I came to Broomewode.

  “You’ve no idea what I just asked, do you?” Florence laughed and shook out her curls. “Do you want to split the garlic baked camembert with me, or are you going to force me to be a greedy guts and gobble up the whole thing myself?”

  The bird-watchers had left the pub shortly after Arthur and his crew, and Hamish had secured our usual table for dinner. Everyone was poring over the evening’s menu, ravenous after a long day. Florence was the only one in good spirits, as well she might be after her double win. The rest of us were more subdued. We’d each faced our own difficulties during filming, and there was a palpable feeling of tension in the air, rather than the usual relief at the end of the first day.

  I looked at each of the contestants’ faces and wondered what it really meant to them deep down to win. Was it a matter of pride, or did they have their own set of personal reasons for being here like I did? It struck me that I knew very little about their motivations. A flash of shame came over me. I’d been so busy pursuing my own path. It was time to be more present. And then I realized Gaurav was missing. I was about to ask where he was when Florence waved her hand in front of my face.

  “I’ll split it, I’ll split it,” I said, laughing. “Sounds delicious.”

  “Honestly, Poppy, if only I had a pound for each time you got this dreamy look on your face and tuned out,” Hamish said. “I could pay off my farm.”