by Ann Granger
Visibility was improving. The light was coming from up ahead. Without warning, Meredith emerged into the open air and a grassy drive. This was clearly a firebreak maintained between two blocks of pines. On the far side of it the pine mass began again. But in this open space and beneath the bright sunlight the coarse grass carpeting the ground formed a pleasing contrast to the dark sterile environment of the plantation.
And there, quite alone, right in the middle of the open drive, browsed a donkey.
It was of the large working donkey type Meredith remembered from the Balkans, pale in colour and unlike the small dark grey Neddies of British seaside holiday snaps. It was extremely ugly and obviously very old. It snatched at the coarse grass, tearing it from the roots in a way which suggested it was hungry. If it had been abandoned amongst the inhospitable conifers, it must have had a long search to find this food supply.
"Maud ..." called Meredith.
The donkey swung up its large ungainly head and pricked long furry ears. Meredith began to walk towards
it and the donkey moved awkwardly away from her on deformed front legs. She continued to speak softly and encouragingly and at last managed to reach the animal and pat its neck.
"Where's Emma, Maud? I wish you could speak ..." Meredith's hand, caressing the donkey, encountered something dry, coagulated. She took away her fingers. A small area of the donkey's hide was matted with something dark. Meredith scraped at it. It seemed to be blood. She parted the sparse hair and searched for a wound but there was none, not even a scratch. Meredith's heart descended to her toes.
She looked up, searching the terrain, and spotted a narrow path running away from the open drive into the pines on the far side. A small neat pile of fresh manure indicated Maud had come that way earlier. Meredith dived into the trees once more, stumbling in her anxiety and shouting, "Emma! Emma, it's Meredith, your Uncle Alan's friend! Emma, are you there?"
There was no answer from among the dark, inhospitable pines.
Panic now began to take hold of Meredith as she hastened along the deer track. It twisted through the ranks of the pine army, here almost petering out, here clearly marked by the two-pronged indentations.
She became more and more convinced that the path must lead her to Emma. Meredith called the child's name several times but without getting any response, the sound of her own voice disappearing eerily among the dark trunks. Once she heard a distant rustling, perhaps one of the deer trotting away. It was a heart-stopping moment leading her to call out again more urgently, but doomed like her other attempts to disappointment. After she had progressed some way like this, she stopped to take stock.
She could blunder about for ever in here. The uniformity of the trees was disorientating. She could easily have missed some small clue. After several moments spent just standing and straining her ears Meredith, not
without hesitation, began to retrace her steps, eyes fixed on the needle-strewn ground.
The way in which it was possible to walk over this dry carpet without leaving a sign of passage was disheartening. But Meredith continued to search the surrounding woodland floor with feverish intent. Somewhere, surely, there must be something which showed the way to the lost child. So absorbed in her task was she that she was aware of nothing else and with a cry of alarm suddenly bumped up against a solid form blocking her path. Hot breath blew gustily into her ear. Meredith looked up and found herself face to face with Maud who fixed her with a reproachful expression in her long-lashed lustrous eyes. She wheezed again.
The donkey must have followed her back into the trees. Meredith patted the mealy muzzle and ran her hand over the coarse uneven mane. "All right, old girl. Where next? Because blowed if I know. You do, don't you? Can't you take me to Emma?"
Maud groaned, jerked her head free of Meredith's hand and turning, began to plod away with her stiff gait between the trees. She had quit the path and was striking out at right angles to it. After a brief tussle in her own mind as to what was best, Meredith followed.
The bony rump ahead of her moved steadily, unhurriedly on. From time to time Maud's moth-eaten bell-pull of a tail twitched away clouds of midges but the only time the donkey stopped was once when Meredith herself paused, uncertain whether to continue. After all. the animal might simply be looking for something to eat. Maud, however, paused too and looked back, long ears pricked, and rolling her eyes with a distinctly irritated expression. She stamped a hind hoof.
Meredith accepted that she had been told off, donkey-fashion. Donkeys were reputed highly intelligent and perhaps she ought to trust this one. She called, "Walk on, Maud!" and they set off again in their curious Indian-file progress.
They were nearing the stream again. Meredith could-
hear its rippling progress ahead. The ground was becoming softer and the smell of damp rotten wood was in the air. Without any warning, Maud stopped. Meredith saw with some dismay that the donkey stood, head hanging, showing every sign of being about to doze off.
"Oy!" exclaimed Meredith angrily, slapping Maud's threadbare hindquarters. "Don't pack it in now! Dratted beast, I've followed you this far! Have you been leading me on a wildgoose chase?''
Maud's eyelashes drooped and she gave a long-drawn-out hissing noise like an airbed which had sprung a leak. Apart from that she might have been turned to stone, and deaf into the bargain.
Meredith thrust her hands into her pockets and glared at the donkey in exasperation, but at that very moment she heard a faint cry. It came from somewhere quite close at hand.
"Emma!" Meredith shouted, her heart leaping.
The cry was repeated. It came from up ahead. Meredith began to run forward. She stumbled between the trees and suddenly found herself on the banks of the brook. There was a clear area here. To her right was a kind of wigwam made of tarpaulin-covered branches and straight ahead by the edge of the water crouched a small grimy figure in a muddy anorak and gumboots who raised a tear-stained countenance.
"Oh Emma!" cried Meredith, experiencing the greatest lightening of her heart she could remember in a long time. She flew across the short space between them, fell on her knees and clasped Emma in her arms. "Oh, thank God! Are you all right?"
The child was shivering, tense as a coiled spring. As she huddled in Meredith's grip her voice could be heard indistinctly, thin and shaky. "I didn't think anyone would find me!" A sob cut short the words.
"Everyone's searching. I followed Maud. She brought me here."
At the mention of the donkey, Emma gave a convulsive jerk. She lifted her head and whispered, "Meredith,
164 Ann Granger
something awful's happened! It wasn't my fault."
Meredith's elation evaporated. She remembered the congealed blood on the donkey's coat. "Are you hurt, Emma?" she asked anxiously.
Emma shook her head, her tangled fair hair falling round her white little face. She said nothing but her gaze travelled to the bothy a short distance away.
Meredith released the child, stood up and took a step towards the primitive shelter. Emma caught at the edge of her jacket, holding her back, and cried out. "No. no, don't look in there!'*
Meredith turned back and dropped on to her heels beside the child. "Why not. Emma? What's in there?"
"He is . . ." Emma whispered.
The wind rustled in the pine trees above. Very faintly, borne on the breeze, the voices of the search party 7 could be heard calling to one another in the distance. They must have reached the edge of the wood.
Meredith said steadily. "It's all right, Emma. I'm just going to take a look—no! Don't be afraid. It'll be all right."
She walked slowly towards the bothy, and with considerable trepidation put out her hand to throw back the tarpaulin over the entrance.
A swirl oi warm fetid air rushed out and brought instant nausea surging into her throat. She gagged, forced it back and with her hand clamped over nose and mouth, peered inside. It was dark and the air thick with insects. Gradually her eyes became accustom
ed to the gloom and Meredith saw the huddled form sprawled on the floor. Tentatively she edged closer. A man, clad in dirty clothing, his arms in an old torn anorak with stripes on the sleeves thrown forward as if he'd tned to protect his head, his face—
But there was no face. It had been quite destroyed, battered to a pulped mass m a crushed skull beneath a cloud of hovering midges.
The nausea came back. Meredith gave a choked cry. whirled and stumbled out into the fresh resin-scented air.
For a moment the world turned topsy-turvy. Then the mist and confusion cleared. She saw Emma's white frightened face fixed on hers.
"He's dead, isn't he?" Emma asked in a cold little voice.
Meredith sank, or rather collapsed, on to the pine-needle carpet beside the child and asked as normally as she could, "Where did he come from?"
"He was in there. I thought—I thought it was empty, a den, you know. I thought it would be all right for Maud. It was dark and I didn't see him until I got inside with her. I think Maud knew he was there because she didn't want to go in."
Meredith picked her words carefully. "Did he touch you, Emma?"
"He grabbed my arm. I tried to get away. I fell over and he bent over me and then Maud—Maud did it."
"Did what, Emma?"
"Kicked him. Maud doesn't like strangers and she was always a bit snappy and difficult but this time she went sort of mad. She kept kicking and stamping and making funny noises in her throat ... I got up and ran outside." Emma's eyes filled with tears. "Maud killed him, Meredith! I didn't think she could ever do a thing like that!"
"She was defending her foal," Meredith said gently. "You were her baby, Emma, and he threatened you. What she did was instinct. She knew he meant harm and she saved you. She did it out of a sort of donkey-love." She took Emma's hand. "Come on, sweetheart, let's go and find the people looking for you. Your mother and father are waiting and they'll be so relieved to know you're fine."
Fourteen
Holding Emma by the hand, Meredith set off back the way she had come. Emma snuffled a little but insisted in a quiet, tight little voice that she was all right, something Meredith doubted. After a few minutes they heard a dull regular thud behind them and knew that Maud plodded along bringing up the rear, probably hoping that after all the excitement they were at long last going home.
As soon as they hove into view, Laura let out an ear-splitting shriek and flew to meet them. Emma let go Meredith's hand and shouted, ''Mummy!" racing across the grass.
On the other hand Sergeant Harris's expression when he saw them would have been hard to depict. Surprise and relief mingled with frustration and outright fury. Meredith was sure she would have been on the receiving end of a number of blunt accusations, but fortunately Markby had arrived at the scene meantime to check progress. She was very glad to see him and his face, when he saw Emma, relegated the sergeant's anger to a triviality.
Emma was borne away home by her overjoyed parents. The search party was stood down. The members of it stood around in groups drinking coffee from polystyrene cups and chatting. Markby left the group by the radio-control van and came to where Meredith sat on the grass resting her arms on her knees. He dropped on his heels in front of her and pulled a wry face.
"Trust you. Why didn't you wait for Harris's instructions?"
"He didn't want me. Thought I'd be in the way. The Fultons came along as well. , '
She nodded her head towards Denis and Leah, sitting on the ground and drinking their tea from the polystyrene cups but still managing a dash of elegance as if they assisted at some upmarket point-to-point or other cross-country horsy event.
"Yes, so I saw when I got here. I don't think poor Harris knew what to make of them, but as it turned out they stayed back here comforting Laura and Paul. Harris would have found Emma in the course of things, you know, but I can't grumble at you for charging on ahead on your own because it led to her being found the sooner. There's not much I can say, except that another time I hope you'll report your intention to someone before wandering off into the woods. Not that I'm looking to another occasion like this one!"
He hesitated as their eyes met and he went on quickly, "I am grateful that you came down here so quickly after we spoke on the phone. I was very worried about the kid. I do worry about her sometimes. She's at a vulnerable age, the age when things do happen to little girls. Boys too. Thank you."
Meredith leaned out sideways to add her empty cup to the pile of such rubbish in a black plastic bag nearby.' 'Actually, Alan, there's something else you should know. I told Emma to let me tell you about it and I wanted all the fuss to die down a bit before I did. She's had about as much as she can take. She's a brave child but I think when she gets home she'll break down and have a really good howl." Meredith swallowed. "There's a body in those pine woods."
He stared at her, his coffee cup half raised and steam from it rising into the air. "What?"
She explained, watching the gratitude in his eyes fade and his features harden. He rose to his feet without comment, dropped his coffee cup into the bag and walked back to Harris and the uniformed men. She saw him
speak a few words and Harris's head jerk round to face her, his eyes bulging.
Markby came back and she got to her feet. "Lead on. then, MacDuff!" he said. She wished his grim face had matched the casual tone of the invitation.
They set out again, passing Maud who was now grazing peacefully on the outskirts of the group as if nothing had happened.
"Has someone gone to tell the girl at the Horses' Home to come over and fetch that animal?" Markby asked.
"'Yes. sir." Harris answered grimly.
After that no one spoke another word until they reached the spot where she'd found Emma.
The bothy was as she'd left it. Markby and Harris went inside and remained there several minutes which Meredith, recalling the smell and the gruesome sight, thought worthy of some kind of medal. When they came out Markby spoke into a walkie-talkie for several minutes before coming to where she sat on the ground with her back against a tree.
He looked down at her. "He's certainly a mess. We be able to put a name to him from the fingerprints if they're on record but certainly no one's going to identify him from his looks! He may be a chap we've been looking out for, in fact. If so, he probably built that shelter after he'd been disturbed in a previous one on farmland. That one was reported to us. but by the time we got a man out to look at it. the bird had flown. Poor kid, a hell of an experience, but it could have been ■se."
Meredith burst out. "That's the understatement of the decade!"
Looking down at her, Markby said quietly. "Do you think I don't know that?" She flushed and he went on more briskly. "I'll have to stay here till the forensic team arrives. Do vou mind finding your own wav back 1 "
Meredith got to her feet, dusting herself free of pine
needles. She accepted she was no longer needed but felt vaguely resentful at the manner of being dismissed. After all, she had been the one to find Emma. "I'm staying at Springwood Hall," she said stiffly. "I suppose this means another statement. I'm piling them up." Her voice rang starchily and she realised she must have acquired a matching expression because he said mildly, "All right, madame consul!"
He was then evidently struck by a suspicion. "By the way, staying at Springwood Hall won't give you any ideas about investigating Ellen Bryant's death, will it? You know how I feel about amateur detective work! That wouldn't be just barging off to look for Emma on your own. That would be outright interfering in a police matter!"
Meredith glared at him and snapped, "I've been very helpful to you in the past! And incidentally I'm an ex-consul! I'm just an FO dogsbody in London!"
'T told you I'm grateful you came down to lend moral support and naturally I'm pleased you found Emma!" Then he added impatiently, "And yes, you've been of help once or twice in the past. But don't push your luck, madame 'ex'!"
Markby's attempt to take the edge off his criticism with th
is faint joke fell flat. Embarrassed by its failure he attempted to explain it as if in some way she hadn't got the point.
"Years ago that term, Madame X, always indicated a lady of vulnerable reputation who appeared in the witness box wearing black with a veiled hat!" He caught the tail end of a chilling glare. "All right, but you're going to come unstuck eventually. You'll get yourself into a situation you can't handle. Just suppose that chap lying back there with his head kicked in had been alive and holding Emma prisoner? What then, eh?" He saw the mutinous look in her eyes. "I know you're a very capable lady. But as I've had cause to tell you before, this isn't foreign climes and you don't have consular authority here—as you yourself have just pointed out.
Nor do you have diplomatic immunity. Watch it, my girl!"
"I am not your girl!" Meredith snarled and marched off through the pines, head high.
"More's the pity ..." sighed Markby to himself watching her go.
Meredith caught up with the Fultons on her way back to the hotel. They must have dallied at the operations point, perhaps just curious at seeing Meredith set off again with the two police officers.
Denis stomped along in the gumboots which could now be seen to be two sizes too big, his hands in his pockets. "Thank God that's over!" he said.
Leah, walking beside Meredith, murmured, "Yes, thank God indeed!"
Meredith glanced at her and was struck by the expression on her face. If Emma had been personally known to her, a relation even, Leah's features could not have shown a more heartfelt relief.
As if sensing Meredith's thought, Leah looked up and said, "She's a lovely little girl, a beautiful child, and nothing so horrid ought ever to have happened to her, to any child. She ran to her mother and father so pleased to see them. I wonder if Lizzie, my daughter, at that age, even in such circumstances, would have done that. She was always such a contained sort of child, almost unnaturally so. The more I tried to fuss over her, the more she always seemed to push me away."
