by Ann Granger
"Sorry," he said contritely. "Now I'm here, what can I do?"
"You couldn't face mucking out the barn, could you?"
"Sure. Give me a moment to get ready, find me a muckfork and I'll start."
He returned a little later in his rolled shirt-sleeves, the fork balanced over his shoulder to find her pushing the bicycle out of the barn into the sunlight. She propped it
150 Ann Granger
up and sighed. "Poor Emma. Just to think of her cycling alone that dark road last night. She could have been killed!"
'This is all Schuhmacher s fault!" Robin said with barely controlled anger. He went into the first stall and thrust the fork into the soiled straw as if he had the hotelier pinned helpless beneath the tines.
"It's not his fault Maud's rheumatics have got so bad."
"I don't care." Robin paused to look up and wipe sweat from his forehead. His brown eyes glowed. ■'Everything was fine around here until Schuhmacher came and bought up Springwood Hall!''
There was a sound of a car engine outside. It fell silent and the gate to the yard squeaked. Zoe and Robm looked at each other.
"It might be Mr. Markby." said Zoe, adding hope-fullv. "Oh, Rob! Perhaps thev've found Emma and Maud!"
He shouldered his fork again and they went outside. A solid, well-dressed man was picking a cautious path across the muddy yard.
"Would you believe it?" said Robin incredulously, his jaw droppmg. "Of all the nerve!" He pulled himself together and stiffened.
"Good morning," said Eric Schuhmacher. "You will be Miss Foster"? My name is— M
"We know what your name is!" interrupted Robin furiously.
The Swiss turned his attention from Zoe to Robin. He eyed the young man slowly from top to toe then turned back to Zoe without a word. "I heard about the child taking the donkey. I see they're still searching so I assume there's no news of the little girl."
"No." Zoe cleared her throat and tried to sound businesslike. "But I'm sure they'll find her soon. It rather depends what time of the night she took Maud. I mean, Maud can travel a fair distance but only slowly because of her rheumatics."
Eric looked puzzled. "Who's Maud? Is someone else missing?"
"Maud's the donkey, sorry, assumed you knew. Of course you don't."
"What do you want, Schuhmacher?" demanded Robin, standing aggressively feet astride and with the upturned fork resting on the ground. "Because you're not wanted here! You've caused enough trouble! This is all your fault, you know!"
Eric cast him a look of contempt. "Surely it's for Miss Foster to say whether or not I may stay? You are what? Her stableman?"
"Oh no!" Zoe said hastily. "Robin's a friend who kindly helps out."
"Then he is not the spokesman. As you say, only a friend helping out. Perhaps you should return to your work?"
This last was addressed to Robin. Already angered by the Swiss hotelier's arrival, this high-handed suggestion delivered in the tone of an order, could only fan the flames of Harding's wrath. Over Robin's frank, open features came a startling change. Mouth and jaw hardened. The veins in his neck became pronounced and cord-like. He looked older, decidedly tougher and more dangerous. The look in his brown eyes not only held loathing, it was quite vicious.
"Did you want to speak to me about something in particular, Mr. Schuhmacher?" Zoe interpolated, putting a soothing hand on Robin's arm and casting him a worried glance. "Is it about the lease?"
"No—no, I came only to say I am very sorry about the little girl—and the animal which is lost, of course."
"Okay, you've said it, now scram!" snarled Harding in a thick, distorted voice. He half lifted the fork.
"You are an ill-mannered young man," said Eric mildly. "And also, it seems, slow to understand. I have not come to talk to you."
"Well, you needn't think I'm going to stand by and let you harass Zoe!" Robin suddenly lunged forward,
152 Ann Granger
the fork held bayonet-fashion at the attack. i4 Go on, clear off or it'll be the worse for you!" He jabbed the tines of the fork at Schuhmachefs chest.
Zoe let out a cry of alarm, but she needn't have worried. Eric, moving with the speed and dexterity acquired in his ice-hockey days, seized the tines and twisted them expertly. The implement leapt from Robin's grasp. At the same time the Swiss jumped nimbly to one side.
Robin, summarily relieved of his weapon and unable to control his own forward momentum, stumbled and fell flat on his face in the filth of the yard. He scrabbled immediately to his hands and knees. Swearing vociferously he raised his face, eyes blazing furiously in the mask of mud and muck, to the Swiss who stood staring down at him with impassive countenance.
"Young man," said Eric to him. "You wish to run before you can walk. Now. Miss Foster, let us go and see these animals over there in that paddock and you can tell me about your charity.* 1 He glanced at Robin and tossed the fork down on the ground beside him. "You can finish your work!"
The animals grazing in the paddock raised their heads, ears pricked inquiringly, as Zoe approached with the visitor in tow. The piebald whinnied and the two Shetland ponies began to amble in unison towards the fence.
"These two." explained Zoe, "are inveterate scroungers. As soon as they see anyone coming, they dash straight over."
"Indeed?" Schuhmacher said. The Shetlands had reached the fence and pushed their noses over it, snickering impatiently. "Rather endearing little animals." He stretched out an unwise hand to pat the nearest neck.
"Don't!" cried Zoe. "Not if you haven't got—"
She was almost too late. The nearer Shetland had snuffled suspiciously at Eric's fingers and found them empty of any titbit. It flattened back its ears and snapped.
The Swiss snatched his hand back in the nick of time.
Surprise showed on his face, followed by bewilderment, then marked displeasure.
"I was about to explain," said Zoe apologetically. "They are greedy and if you don't give them anything, they can get a bit aggressive."
"So I see! I take back the word 'endearing.' They are obviously treacherous little brutes!" said Schuhmacher with some emotion.
"Not really. They've been teased, you see, in the past. If animals are badly behaved it's generally because humans have treated them badly or carelessly."
"So where did these two come from?" The explanation did not appear to have mellowed the opinion Schuhmacher had formed of the ponies. He might not know whence they'd come, but he clearly had a place in mind whither they might be sent.
"They were kept in a children's zoo at a pleasure park. The child visitors were fine but the park was on the outskirts of a big city and yobs used to come out and climb the walls out of hours, chase the animals, try and ride the ponies and tease them generally. Both quickly became very snappy which meant they were no longer any use to the zoo. Just imagine what a fuss there would have been if one of them had bitten a child! The people who ran it got in touch with us and asked if we'd take them. They felt they couldn't sell them on because of their uncertain tempers. Slaughter would have been the only alternative."
"And the others?" Eric pointed at the cob, the thoroughbred and a mealy-nosed Exmoor pony.
"The Exmoor was also saved from slaughter. He had been a child's riding pony but when the child outgrew him, the owners couldn't find a buyer and wanted rid of him. Luckily Miss Batt heard about it and stepped in. Some people are very callous. The piebald on the other hand was the victim of ignorance. People inherited him who knew nothing about horses and thought all you had to do was leave them in a field. It was poor pasture and he got no extra feed and nearly starved. He was in a
terrible state when he came. All his ribs showed and because his hooves hadn't been trimmed they'd grown and grown, so they were like big boots and he could hardly walk."
Zoe paused absentmindedly to rub the end of her nose smearing it with mud. "The chaser broke down and so wasn't any more use. He wasn't going to win any races. Actually he didn't win any before he bro
ke down. He was never any good. But he was a great favourite of Miss Batt's. She used to ride him before her arthritis got bad. He's a sweetie but a bit nervy and can kick. Maud, the missing donkey, was found wandering by the roadside. Someone had just abandoned her and we never found out who. She had awful sores but we managed to clear them up. Now she's got rheumatism. Oh, and look over there, the grey mare under the trees, do you see? She had been kept by an unscrupulous breeder and had foal after foal until she was exhausted. Miss Batt stepped in and rescued her, too."
Eric grunted. He eyed Zoe thoughtfully and then said, "You have mud on your face. You do not mind my saying?"
"What? Have I?" Zoe hunted in her pockets. "I haven't got a hanky."
"Please." Schuhmacher offered his own immaculately laundered cambric square.
"Oh, I couldn't use that, it's much too good!" Zoe scrubbed at her face with her sleeve. "Has it gone?"
"Yes." Eric returned his spurned handkerchief to his pocket.
Zoe waited but he didn't offer any further observations. She began again tentatively, "I realise that all the animals are quite valueless in terms of money. They aren't even attractive. Some are ugly. Most bite or kick. Although," she added hastily, "they don't bite me because they know me. And they never behave badly with poor little Emma. I do so hope she's all right!" Zoe's face clouded. "Where can she be? If only I'd heard her last night. The barn door creaks and she must have made
a certain amount of noise. I feel so guilty. Poor little soul, she must have been so worried about Maud."
Schuhmacher glanced at the rusting trailer in the distance. "That is your home?" His voice was cold with disapproval.
"Yes. It does look rather old and not very smart."
"It is old," said Eric. "And unsightly. You see, Miss Foster, I don't wish to insult your establishment." He waved a hand to encompass the entire site. ' 'But imagine you are a guest in my hotel. You set out for a little stroll. Suddenly, what is this awful smell? What are these flea-bitten animals?"
"They haven't got fleas!" interrupted Zoe indignantly.
He ignored the interruption. "This ramshackle barn and that wreck of a trailer? This is not the countryside my guests have come to see."
"It's the real countryside!" Zoe was growing increasingly mutinous before the litany of complaints. "Or don't they want that? This is what the countryside is like. If people don't like it, they ought to stay in towns."
He shook his head. "They don't want reality. They want pleasant relaxation. They pay for it and it is my business to provide them with what they want."
"But what's to happen to our animals?" Zoe burst out. "Just because they haven't expensive price tags hung round their necks and aren't beautiful, they don't count, I suppose?"
He met her agitated look with one of stony calm. "And it is necessary, is it, to prolong their useless lives?"
"They've had rotten lives!" Zoe almost shouted. "And they deserve to see out their last days in a bit of comfort, or as much as I can give them, with people who care! Your rich people with their picture-book ideas about country life can take their money and go somewhere else!"
"But I wish them to spend their money here," said Eric with the same irritating calm. "And they wish to
come here. And why shouldn't they? That is their choice. Why should I not provide an idealised country scene? It is what they want."
"We were here first!"
"But on my land. I own it. It is not yours. Your lease is almost up. So the decision is mine, isn't it? Besides, we are talking of my business, my livelihood and that of all my staff. I have given work to local people. To the chambermaids and garden staff. All these people depend on my hotel and its success. It is not only I."
Baffled, Zoe glared at him. Then she made an effort to regain some poise and say reasonably, "But we can't afford to go anywhere else or pay more rent, Mr. Schuh-macher."
"Yes, I understand that, Miss Foster. I am not stupid. But you must also understand that I have invested a great deal of money in Springwood Hall."
Zoe sighed and thrust her hands in her jacket pockets.
Eric studied her disconsolate figure for a moment. "Look here, Miss Foster. I have nothing against animals. I admire what you have done here, truly. But it's a business decision, do you see?"
His tone had become unexpectedly gentle. Zoe looked up in surprise and flushed. "Yes, I see. We just have different goals in life, Mr. Schuhmacher. Nothing wrong with either of them separately, but they clash. Incompatible, that's all."
"Perhaps." They turned and began to walk back towards the barn. "You are also a member of the historical society, are you not?" he asked suddenly.
"Yes, I suppose you don't like that either!" Zoe hunched her shoulders. "To be honest I joined it because I thought there was just a chance they might be able to stop your plans for the Hall."
"Oh no." Schuhmacher gave a little chuckle. "There was never any chance of that!"
Hearing him laugh, Zoe stopped and spun to face him. "Do you think us comical? I suppose we do seem funny and behind the times and impractical. But this is our
world, our home, our corner of the country and we care about it!" Her vehemence became dampened. "But we should have left you alone. It seems as if all our efforts have brought nothing but trouble. Ellen's dead. Emma's missing and may have had some awful accident. Maud's missing. I'm sorry if I don't join you in your laughter, Mr. Schuhmacher, but I don't find anything to laugh at, that's all."
For the first time in their conversation about the animals Eric looked angry. 4 T am not laughing at you!"
There was an interruption. Robin Harding had heard them returning and emerged from the barn. He stood by the door, glowering.
"Your friend is unhappy," Schuhmacher said stiffly. "I had better go. Thank you for showing me the animals, Miss Foster!"
He walked quickly away, got into his car and drove off without a backward glance.
"Good riddance!" muttered Robin.
Zoe said nothing.
Thirteen
Meredith had reached the outer edge of the woodland spied from the distance. She found it ringed with a narrow strip of mixed undergrowth and native woodland represented by weedy saplings. Brambles caught at her clothing, tall nettles leaned out to sting her hands, weirdly shaped fungi broke with a musty odour beneath her feet. There was a dead bird lying on the leafmould beneath a tree, headless. She turned the carcass with her foot and thought it might have been a spotted woodpecker and she wondered what had killed it. It was perhaps a gruesome omen.
However it was unlikely a child and a donkey could be hidden for long in this tangled brush and Emma would have sought safer refuge. If they were anywhere, they were in the pine plantation beyond, now looming ever more sinister.
The tall straight trunks seemed to be formed up like an enemy army to repel any advance on them. Dark and impenetrable, these conifers, aliens in this landscape, had been planted for their commercial value.
Glancing back to ensure she was well clear of the advancing line of searchers and would not be covering the same ground—and also to check that she was not being pursued by the Fultons—she found herself nonetheless comforted by the knowledge that others were not so very far off. She felt as vulnerable as a one-woman scouting party. It might have been better to have pleaded with Sergeant Harris to be allowed to join the organised search. But she had ever been one for striking out on her own. Meredith stepped resolutely forward.
The first lines of conifers were still accessible to daylight and to enter them not so alarming. But very soon Meredith found herself in a different world.
Here the ground underfoot was soft, sprinkled with pine needles and twigs which cracked as she stood on them. Daylight now penetrated with difficulty from above and the air was scented with resin. Nothing grew on the woodland floor. Everything was smothered in fallen pine needles which formed a dry, brown carpet. Meredith advanced slowly through the glopm as if making her way through some nightmare-created ca
stle, full of pillars and corridors running off in all directions. When she glanced back she saw that she could no longer see anything but a receding mass of dark trunks, all the same. She hoped fervently that she wouldn't lose her bearings,
To move a donkey freely among these trees would be difficult and somewhere there must be a path, probably a series of paths. But she could blunder about in here for ever without finding one and Alan wouldn't be pleased if a second search party had to be sent out: she could well imagine Sergeant Harris's reaction. But if she moved forward in a straight line, or as straight as she could make it, she'd eventually come out the other side of the plantation. That made sense even if it wouldn't find Emma.
On the off-chance, Meredith put her hands to her mouth and shouted the child's name. The sound echoed amongst the trees and was swallowed up somewhere in the distant reaches. A bird flapped up from a branch above her head, startling her, but there was no reply.
Meredith went on. After a while the ground grew soggy. Her boots squelched in a dark-brown moisture oozing out of an odoriferous mire. There were hoofprints here but not a donkey's. These were cloven, the marks of deer. They had probably made them on their way to water. Donkeys too need water. Meredith squelched on through the soft ground with the horrid feeling her boots were starting to leak.
At last, however, she was rewarded. She came upon a murky stream, running swiftly in a straight course between the trees. Meredith set out to follow it. At first it was difficult because the poor terrain became even worse and each step took her deep into mud from which she could only extricate herself with a great effort and a hideous sucking noise as her foot came free. Mud was soon plastered up to her knees but eventually the ground began to become firmer.
The stream now ran between banks. It had broadened out and although choked here and there with accumulated debris it was deep enough and the current strong enough to overcome the obstacles. Despite keeping a sharp eye open, Meredith had not so far seen any sign of human presence here before her. There were no dropped sweet papers. No one had brought their domestic rubbish to jettison it here, as often happened in woodland. Its absence added to the sense of unreality.
