29
Later, Tuesday 26th March, this year
Chorleigh House, Fairfield, New Forest
Chorleigh allowed Sage to take the journal as it was so damaged, but he wanted to hold onto the drawings. He agreed she could come back another time to properly photograph them. She was glad to leave the house; his presence was oppressive. A few drinks seemed to make him more confident but more resentful. But standing in the garden at dusk, looking over the raw earth of the excavation of the Bronze Age bones reminded her even more of the girl-shaped depression beyond the house. Those young people, Peter and Molly, had played on that tennis court, maybe had sunned themselves on the lawns or the terrace and swum in the river. The storm of the Great War was just over the horizon for them in 1913. Both Molly and Edwin were dead in their twenties.
She had tried to open the journal in the house but the pages were solidly stuck together, mostly along the cut edges but some more extensively. She could see loose papers tucked within the pages, revealed by an edge here or an outline there. Some looked like photographic card, which was particularly exciting. The pencil in the journal had fared badly, but the ink looked better. The book smelled mouldy, and was as solid as a brick. She put it on the passenger seat of the car and walked over to the deposition site of the man and the wolf. It had been recently filled in and trodden flattish but was bare.
It didn’t relate to either crime. She got a can of grass seed from the car, and sprinkled a layer on the soil, bending to mix it in a little. The light was fading. At her back was the edge of the forest which seemed to be leaning in to watch her. The sound of an animal scuffle in the brambles under the trees made her flinch, hurry to fold up the muddy tarp and gather her last tools. It took two trips back to the car and she needed a torch to see if she’d forgotten anything. The house was dark and silent beside her. She could almost believe Chorleigh and the dog weren’t there.
She checked her phone, getting one bar of signal on the lawn. Nick had tried to call but she probably hadn’t had enough signal to connect. She stood in the dark while she listened to the message.
‘Hi. Well, I’ve been offered the job. Not that surprising, really – they had four candidates for two jobs and one of us hated the place. Too dark, too cold, he said.’ There was a long silence. ‘It seems a bit stupid to try and negotiate our whole future by text and missed phone calls. I liked the people, the job is great, the landscape is fantastic. I think you’d love it here, too. Think about it. Call me back. Love you. I really do.’
For a moment she had forgotten where she was, but a sudden cracking sound behind her made her jump. It was almost completely dark, the shadows between the trees had run together and as she swung the pathetically narrow torch beam she was aware of something else being there. Whatever it was had frozen too. Sage picked up her bag and shouldered it, wishing the entrenching tool wasn’t in the car. She almost called out, but it probably was some animal, not a human.
She could feel her breath coming faster, her heart paddling in her chest. A hand from behind gripped her shoulder and she tried to gasp in a breath to scream, but was frozen. Panic made her sway with dizziness even as she registered who it was.
‘Shush.’ The sound came from above her head – it was Alistair. He didn’t do anything else, just let go of her shoulder. In the almost-darkness she could just make out the silhouette of his arm, pointing into the woods.
‘You scared me.’ It was a pathetic whisper, as she tried to edge away from him, gauging how likely it was that she would fall over on the rough ground to the car. She was trembling, her breath coming raggedly. All she could think about was the dead girl in the leaves.
‘Look.’ A far bigger beam lanced the shade of the trees and picked up a pair of eyes near the ground, glowing back. It took a few seconds to recognise the shapes, broken up with shading. Badgers, two, then three of them. ‘I put food down for them in the cold weather.’
‘You frightened me half to death.’ She was angry now, relieved, still cautious of the man. The panic was still making her shake. He reeked of something, whisky maybe.
‘I’m not going to hurt you. Neither will they.’
‘A week ago there was a murderer in this garden, Alistair, of course I’m nervous. People sometimes come back to the scene of their crime.’ She stumbled back a few feet, still uncomfortable being too close.
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ He scattered something on the grass in front of Sage, then turned to go back to the house.
Sage followed the torch beam and stopped on the edge of the gravel. She looked back, but it was too dark to see. A crunch suggested the badgers had found the food.
‘Do you always feed them?’
He turned at the door, the movement activating a security light which picked up the animals. They paused for a second, then carried on crunching. ‘Every night, when I get back from the pub. Once I’ve let the dog out for a pee last thing or he’ll eat them. They’re only early because I’ve been distracted; I’ve missed a couple of days.’
‘What about the night River was buried in the garden?’
‘Late, I think. I was out later than usual.’
The light went off and Sage moved. It didn’t turn on. She walked around but it still wouldn’t work. ‘How do you set it off?’
He waved over his head and it came on again, showing the grey shapes on the lawn. ‘I moved the sensor higher so it only comes on if I walk along the side of the house. Otherwise the animals set the thing off all the time.’
‘What about the night River was brought here?’
He seemed to be thinking back. The dark descended again and he raised an arm to bring the light back on. ‘I was drunk. I walked back; it’s only a mile and the bloody landlord threatened to call the police if I got in the car. I told the police this. I got home about midnight, settled Hamish, threw the biscuits out for the badgers and a few pony nuts for the deer. I fell asleep on the sofa in the kitchen, at the back of the house, must have been half past by then. I didn’t wake up until morning when I went out for food.’
‘Why didn’t the badgers disturb the body? I mean, it was out there in the garden, barely covered.’
‘They hang about in the garden until I feed them. Then they go off foraging. I’ve never seen them come back after they’ve eaten. The sett is in the forest, at The Butts. They have a great sense of smell.’
‘You know they don’t come back?’
‘I don’t usually sleep much. If they are around they scratch at the bin, dig along the wall for snails, they wake me up. The deer come in at the end of the night. I don’t think they like the badgers. They graze the lawn and nibble at the shrubbery until dawn at this time of year.’
‘Do you remember seeing any deer that morning, the day they found the girl?’
He shook his head. ‘I know they had been down, though.’
She looked around. The pool of light sharpened every blade of grass. ‘How?’
‘I put pony nuts down for them. They were all gone when I went out to Fairfield in the morning. They wouldn’t have come if someone was in the garden. When I got back home the police were there, it was chaos.’
She smiled up at him. ‘Thank you, Alistair. Did you tell the police all of this?’
He shook his head. ‘They didn’t ask. I didn’t want to say something that they could twist around to get me into trouble.’
‘This might actually help.’
He seemed surprised. ‘I don’t see how.’
‘Think about it. I can’t believe the badgers wouldn’t have disturbed the body in some way if it had been there, a hundred yards from where you feed them. So the body can’t have been there until after you fed them when you got home.’
‘Well, I didn’t see anyone at twelve-thirty, and the dog didn’t notice anything, and he barks at them.’ The light clicked as it went off.
Sage stretched up and waved her arm, and it came back on. ‘So they came later. Then deer came down for their pony nuts. I
f they are shy of people, anyone in the garden could have scared them off. But you said they ate the food.’
‘I wouldn’t expect them to come down much later than five, six at the latest. They disappear in the day, down to the woods along the river or over the back of the farm.’
She was excited. ‘So the murderer came and dug a shallow grave, laid the body out and covered it with leaves and left between, say, two and six. From your experience with the animals.’
‘How does that help me? I was also here the whole time.’
The light went off and they both waved. ‘The truth will always help you. They are looking at a range of burial times.’ She hesitated before she spoke. ‘I can’t tell you much about the investigation, but there are other people being questioned, people with alibis for different times, people whose cars might have been picked up by traffic cameras in that time frame. Say one to six. That could make a big difference to the inquiry.’
He started up the two shallow steps to the open front door. ‘I didn’t think they were looking for anyone else. They acted like they were only interested in me.’
‘One last question.’ She rummaged in her jacket for her car keys. ‘The leaves. They came from the side of the stable, down by the holly trees.’
‘I’ll have to take your word for it. I never go down there.’
‘Who else would know about the stables?’
He seemed to think about it. He switched on the light inside, and she could see his jaw working. ‘I don’t know. Anyone who worked here in the eighties or nineties, I suppose, after it was built. We had a gardener and a couple of stable lads while I was away at school.’
‘When did you leave your school?’ She didn’t like to say expelled.
‘When I was sixteen. My dad sacked the stable boy, Jimmy, and made me do his work.’ He looked away, his whole face set. ‘I don’t like talking about it.’
‘OK. Thank you for the information. It might help find the real murderer.’
He turned to look at her and for a moment she saw a glimpse of the emotion banked inside. ‘You believe me. You think I’m innocent.’
‘I’d like to think so,’ she said.
He half closed the door, his expression bleak. ‘No one is innocent.’
The door shut with a snap, leaving Sage standing in the glare from the security light. It lasted just long enough for her to get into her car and lock the doors.
30
‘The weather is sultry and hot, and everywhere is covered with small insects, called “thunderflies” by the maidservants. They gather in great numbers on drying linens, and are said to presage storms.’
Edwin Masters’ Journal, 10th July 1913, very late
The last few days of sunshine had to yield, eventually, to rain. It came in a great tempest, the sky lit by huge flashes, then the house shook with great claps of thunder. It must have been close: the interval between blinding light and deafening booms was only a few seconds. Peter came into my room and we kneeled on a padded chest under my window, gazing out at the jagged storm tearing the sky.
‘The dig will be wrecked,’ he said, his voice hushed by the grandeur of the weather.
‘We covered it up fairly well,’ I said, but in my heart I knew the rain would probably fill up our excavation. ‘Anyway, if it does flood it we can bail it out. Remember that dig on Salisbury? The water was a yard deep but it all disappeared in a couple of days.’
‘It has been so dry,’ he said. ‘Do you think it’s Bessie Warnock’s prophecy coming true?’ I could see the flash of his teeth as he grinned.
‘Probably,’ I answered. ‘The forest looks pretty dry already. Maybe we’ll miss the rain, and the winds will blow the trees away in a giant dust storm.’
Another flash, so great that it seemed to be nearby, made us exclaim. I leaned my chin on my forearm laid along the windowsill. I could feel Peter’s warmth beside me, his shoulder resting against mine, and felt strangely content. Here we were just two brothers, watching the storm together. I remembered the strange letter.
‘Peter,’ I started to say. ‘I don’t want to intrude, but you seem a bit upset about that note…’
‘Now,’ he whispered. ‘Look.’ Under the fruit trees that were scattered in the grass beyond the terrace, a few shapes moved. ‘You’d think the lightning would drive them off.’
Another flash lit them up, dark shapes with white stripes down their noses, snuffling in the grass. They were badgers, some small with their mothers. There must have been more than a dozen. ‘What are they doing?’
‘At this time, about half of the baby apples drop. It’s to make room for the big fruit later; the gardener explained it to me. But they love them, they eat loads. This happens every year.’
Each flash lit up the creatures then the dark seemed to press against my eyes again. They looked like they were playing musical chairs, frozen in each flash. ‘Peter. About Goodrich…’
‘It’s nothing important. I’ll sort it out,’ he said. A boom overhead coincided with a flash. ‘That’s hit one of the trees,’ Peter said. ‘Look, it’s scared the badgers off. They know it’s nearby.’
The strangest smell, like hot metal, came to me, then the stink of smoke.
‘Come on,’ he said, jumping off the ottoman. ‘Let’s go and see.’
So we rammed on shoes and went, Peter grabbing my hand and pulling me onto a path through the trees.
‘Is it safe?’ I asked, thinking of the trees above us.
Peter let go of me and turned; a flash bleached him for a second, making his hair look spiky and wild. ‘Nothing’s safe, you idiot. But what’s the chance that the very tree you happen to be standing under will be hit – among millions of trees?’
I followed as fast as I could, slipping sometimes on the track as it inclined towards the river. ‘Where are we going?’ I was panting with the effort.
‘The water meadows!’ he called back. I could see something up ahead, a dull orange glow, and I could smell the wood smoke.
The tree was standing by the river; it must have been the oldest in the area, its limbs hanging onto the main trunk by white-fleshed threads of wood. The heart of the tree was ablaze. Smoke poured from it, occasionally engulfing us, making me duck. The power of the strike had been enormous; the tree was flayed open, dying.
Another flash and the first rain hit me. When they came, the drops were huge, and before we had time to find shelter it was falling almost as hard as hail. Peter whooped and ran back, zigzagging as if under fire. I could see him in the dull orange light, and ran behind him, feeling my adult composure shed as I ran. We raced through the trees, and as he knew the way he pulled further ahead as the light died. I stopped just short of a large tree hearing the gasping of my breath amidst the rain, as I listened for his footfalls. I had never felt so alive, so euphoric. I started walking up the incline; I knew it must come out at the terrace somewhere. My heart was full of joy, of feeling alive.
When I crept in the back door, trying to be quiet despite the storm overhead, I saw movement, a pale shape flitting into the kitchen. For a moment a dozen ghost stories made my heart thud, then the shape turned to look at me. Molly, her face as pale as her nightdress.
‘Edwin. You made me jump.’ She flinched as another flare whitened her, standing in the doorway. When I walked towards her, blinded still, I felt her shoulder brush my arm. The crack of thunder made her gasp, and she turned towards me. It was easy to open my arms, to offer comfort. She slid against me despite my damp shirt, and I felt her shaking.
‘We’re quite safe,’ I murmured into her hair. Holding her, this creature breathing and shaking against me, made me feel as if the world was trembling around me. This was what my restless thoughts had led me to. I could see her face if I shut my eyes. She nestled against me, no longer jumping at every noise. When the next flash came I saw her looking up at me, and it seemed the most natural thing to bend down until her lips touched mine. We clung together and I kissed her warm lips. She rest
ed her head on my shoulder and it was the easiest thing to hold her close. But for a moment, a flash like lightning, I thought of Peter.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—’ I started to say.
‘I’m not,’ she said, and I could feel a shudder through her at a flash and a boom overhead.
I tried the switch on the wall. ‘The lights aren’t working.’
‘It’s going to hit the chimney,’ she said, pulling away a little, looking around her in panic.
‘No, it’s not.’ I pulled her back into my side. ‘Let’s find Peter. It’s very unlikely to hit the house, and it won’t hurt you if it does.’
We walked up the stairs, and I fancied the lightning flashes were a little further apart. Molly clung to my arm, and when we reached the landing Mrs Chorleigh was there in a long dressing gown, holding a lamp.
‘There you are, silly girl! Thank you for looking after her, Mr Masters. Peter said you went down to the water meadows.’
Molly let go of my arm and sheltered next to her mother. ‘Peter likes storms,’ she said, still wincing at another flash.
‘There’s a tree down by the river,’ I said, still distracted by Molly’s kiss. ‘It was struck. I don’t think the fire will spread.’
Rain spattered the skylight overhead.
‘No, I think the rain will put out any fire,’ Mrs Chorleigh said. ‘Thank you for looking after Molly. She has such a terror of storms.’
I must have blushed, I could feel the heat in my neck and face. ‘Not at all,’ I stammered. ‘I’ll go back to my room, now.’
Peter was there, sat in the window, watching the last of the storm. He didn’t say anything while the water streaked down the window, lit up occasionally by the last of the lightning.
‘Go to sleep,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a lot to do in the morning.’ There was the oddest note in his voice, a little distance. Had he seen me kiss Molly? Or was it the letters that made him seem withdrawn? He walked over to the door. When he turned to look at me I could see the gleam in his eyes. ‘Sleep well, Ed.’
My heart did that loop again, as it had when Molly had put her lips to mine.
A Shroud of Leaves Page 25
