Bloodie Bones

by Lucienne Boyce

  “Me breaking into the church?” Dan said. “Sounds like the liquor talking.”

  Girtin’s perplexity lifted. “A drop of rum on a damp night would be very welcome.”

  Dan laughed. “Go on, Buller. Get him a rum.” The drunker Girtin got, the less sense he would make.

  “Hang on,” Singleton said. “It was you found the skull, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Dan said, “and I didn’t take it up with me if that’s what you’re getting at. The church lock was broken before the bells started, remember?”

  “You could have sneaked out earlier and got it.”

  “And got up to the farm, started the fire, and back down again before the alarm sounded? And why would I? I’ve got no grudge against your Lord Oldfield. If it comes to it, why couldn’t you have broken into the church and got the skull yourself, Singleton?”

  “If you couldn’t do it, I couldn’t do it,” the blacksmith said.

  “Well then,” said Dan.

  “Hold on!” Warneford said. “I’ll have this out. What did you see, Girtin?”

  Girtin grinned. “It warn’t Bloodie Bones. But his letters was BB.”

  “Rot you, you bastard, I’ll get it out of you!” Warneford shouted, raising his hand above Girtin’s head.

  In one swift movement Dan was out of his seat, his fingers tight around Warneford’s wrist.

  “Leave him be. He’s drunk, that’s all.”

  Warneford swung around, his fist clenched.

  “Stop it!” Singleton leapt to his feet and stepped between the two men, holding them apart with his strong arms. “BB? Don’t you get it? It was Bob Budd you saw, wasn’t it, Girtin?”

  Girtin nodded. “That’s right. What about that drop of rum?”

  Singleton chuckled. “Bob Budd. Good on him. You happy now, Warneford? It had nothing to do with us.”

  Buller mopped up the spilled beer and glass. Warneford straightened his coat and offered Dan his hand.

  “No hard feelings.”

  “None here,” Dan answered, and they shook on it.

  “But you move fast!” Warneford said as they sat down again. “Took me right off guard. Buller, bring us a bowl of rum punch.”

  “Punch is all right,” Girtin said.

  The landlord went to the bar and busied himself with spirit, lemon and hot water. No one said anything while they waited for the drink. Dan weighed up what had just happened, and found it was more to his advantage than anything. If Girtin did talk about seeing him at the rectory the night the window was broken, it would just be put down to drunken rambling.

  The question now was: would a man capable of arson also be capable of murder? Dan had already wondered about Budd. He had a motive for murdering the gamekeeper who had played such a large part in getting him thrown out of his home. It was not beyond thought that Budd had managed to get the paper for the note on the scarecrow from somewhere. Filched it perhaps, from pocket or house. Dan would have to find a way to get over to Kingswood and meet this Bob Budd.

  The drink arrived, and in the business of mixing sugar and water, cordial relations were resumed. Warneford had come to the village with a purpose, which he now disclosed.

  “I have orders for rabbit,” he said. “Hare if you can get them.”

  Singleton looked doubtful. “When do you want them?”

  “Can you go out tomorrow?”

  The blacksmith shook his head. “We had a set-to with the keepers last time. We should give it a rest for a while.”

  Warneford smiled. “I understand. There’s a big difference between a lord who turns a blind eye, and an enclosing lord. It’s another game now. A professionals’ game. Well, no matter. If you don’t want to do it…”

  Singleton was quick to pick up the emphasis on you.

  “You’d bring in strangers?”

  “Well, it’s more than just the odd coney for the pot, isn’t it? You don’t relish your night sport quite so much now it means the hulks or seven years’ transportation if you’re caught. Hanging even. I don’t blame you.” Warneford looked regretful. “But I have my business to think of.”

  “Oh, no. We’re not having outsiders in our woods.”

  Warneford spread his fingers. “What else am I to do?”

  Dan knew that Singleton was going to give in and saw an opportunity to make himself look good. “Wait a bit, Singleton,” he said. “This could work to our advantage. If they won’t be expecting us to be out so soon, they’ll be off guard.”

  Warneford grinned. “A shrewd observation. You could go far, Fielding.”

  Dan swallowed this compliment to his criminal tendencies.

  “That’s true, I suppose,” Singleton said. “And they are a man down…it has to be tomorrow night?”

  Warneford nodded. “Got to keep my customers satisfied.”

  *

  Dan was washing in the yard early in the morning when he saw Warneford emerge on horseback from the Fox and Badger’s stables and set off at a slow amble towards Bath. It was wise of him to make himself scarce before the poaching raid. He did not know that, for tonight at least, he and his gang would be safe – provided Dan could get a message to Lord Oldfield in time.

  He went into the forge to light the fire. Under Singleton’s tuition, he had become skilled at the task. The main thing was to clear out the clinker from the previous day’s work. It was like black glass when it was cold, but turned to sludge when hot. Then he needed the right amount of coke over the kindling to get it going, just a breath of air through the blast pipe, and if he got all that right he would have a good blaze.

  When it was drawing, he made sure there was plenty of coal in the bin and the water trough was full. Things were going nicely when Mrs Singleton appeared at the cottage door and called him in to breakfast.

  In the forge afterwards, Singleton unhooked an old harness from the wall. “I want you to go to Dunnage’s and tell him about tonight. Take this with you, making out it’s his and we’ve just repaired it. Make sure no one’s listening, unless it’s Abe. I’ll go down to Travell’s by and by – he’ll get a message to Walter.”

  Dan, who had thought it would be late afternoon before he could get away from the forge, was glad to obey. He grabbed his coat and set off up the road alongside the Fox and Badger with the harness slung over his shoulder. The sky had cleared, but the fields were muddy from last night’s rain. He found Dunnage in one of his barns, looking at some bags of seed with one of his labourers: a short, bow-legged man with a wrinkled face.

  “I’ve brought your harness back.”

  The farmer nodded as if he had been expecting it. Dan waited while he finished giving the man his instructions and sent him away.

  “What is it?” Dunnage asked, tying up one of the sacks.

  “Warneford was in the Fox last night. He wants us to go out again tonight.”

  “And Singleton said yes?”

  Dan described the conversation with Warneford.

  Dunnage grunted. “A persuasive man, Warneford. What about Travell and Walter?”

  “Don’t know yet. Singleton is getting a message to them.”

  “Doesn’t look like we have much choice. I’ll see you later.”

  Dan turned to go.

  “Better leave me the harness, then.”

  Dan did not go back the way he had come. Instead he struck off across the sodden fields and down to a lane that came out on the Bath Road. Spaced at generous intervals along it stood three large houses built of the local stone. At the last of them, the house belonging to Louisa Ruscombe, the track dwindled and ended in a high hedge. He pushed his way through a gap, passed the Wests’ place, and hurried down to the doctor’s, which was nearest the road.

  Russell was driving out of his gate, but drew up when he saw Dan.

  “Ah, Foster!”


  “Fielding,” Dan corrected, with a warning glance into the garden. The gardener was crossing the grass on his way to the glass house built against the wall in a sunny spot at the top of the lawn. A few moments later he could be seen moving behind the panes of glass, picking nectarines.

  Dr Russell laughed. “Yes, of course. What can I do for you?”

  “I have to get a message to Lord Oldfield. I thought you could deliver it under pretext of visiting his mother.”

  “You are ready to make an arrest?”

  “No, not yet. The poachers are going out again tonight, and I need Lord Oldfield to keep his men out of the woods.”

  The doctor clucked his tongue. “His Lordship won’t like that.”

  “I don’t much like it myself, but I want to avoid a repeat of what happened to Ford.”

  “Yes, he is badly smashed up.”

  “I know. I was there.”

  “You were there? You already know who is in the gang?”

  “I found that out easily enough.”

  “Then what are you waiting for? They are dangerous men, and no one will be safe until they are behind bars.”

  “And they will be, but so far all I’ve got against them is the poaching and the attack on Ford. I don’t know who killed Castle.”

  “You mean which of them did it?”

  “I’m not sure any of them did. It turns out Castle had other enemies in the village.”

  “Poachers and thieves. Of course they were his enemies.”

  “True, but was it poachers and thieves who killed him? Can you take the message?”

  “His Lordship must wonder if he’ll have to let them burn all his property before you get a result. Still, I suppose you know your own business. Can I at least tell him who the poachers are? He will want to know.”

  Dan did know his business. If Lord Oldfield had their names, he might not resist the temptation of taking action against them, especially if he intended them as scapegoats for his own crime. Dan would be exposed as a Bow Street man before he had finished his investigation.

  “I’ll tell him when I’m ready to make a full report.”

  The doctor frowned. “I’ll go up to the Hall now. Good day, Fos – Fielding.”

  “There is one other thing. Have you heard what happened to the little girl at the barrow?”

  “The gypsy child? They’ve not brought her to me. Some of them look on a doctor as something akin to the hangman, I think.”

  “Mrs Halling is looking after her.”

  He tutted. “These village women do a great deal of harm with their eye of newt and tail of toad.”

  “There’s nothing of the hocus-pocus about her cures. And she’d like you to look at the girl. It’s the father who refuses.”

  “Would she? That’s rare. But there’s not a lot I can do if they won’t bring the child in.”

  “Couldn’t you call on them?”

  “I don’t make house calls to non-paying patients. The free clinic is on Mondays.”

  “Taylor won’t come. What if you happened to be going past the barrow one day? Would you drop by? I’ll see that your fees are paid.”

  “No, I won’t take your money…I do go that way sometimes. Lady Oldfield has recommended me to Squire Douglas in Stonyton. But if Taylor refuses to admit me, I shan’t stand arguing with him. Will that satisfy you?”

  “Yes,” Dan said, touching his hat for the benefit of the gardener as the doctor’s gig rattled away.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Walter’s not coming,” said Travell. He drew a bottle of brandy from a deep pocket in his coat and put it on Dunnage’s kitchen table. “Says he’s had enough.”

  “I always thought he was chicken,” Abe said.

  “Leave the boy be,” Travell retorted. “Gi’us some of that brandy, Dunnage.”

  Dunnage reached for some greasy glasses from the dresser and poured out the spirit.

  “We don’t want anyone whose heart isn’t in it,” the farmer said. “Funny though. He seemed eager enough last time. Well, it’s his choice.”

  “What if he starts blabbing?” Abe grumbled.

  “Wouldn’t that incriminate himself?” asked Dan. As soon as he’d said it, he knew it was a mistake. Incriminate was too technical; the sort of word he used around lawyers.

  “Hark at him!” cried Abe. “Incriminate!”

  “It means – ” Travell began, but Abe cut him off.

  “I know what it means. I just want to know if Walter can be trusted.”

  “We can trust him,” Singleton said. “He’s not got such a big mouth as you.”

  Everyone laughed except Abe, who glowered and lapsed into resentful silence. Travell held out his glass for a refill. Dan avoided the bottle by taking a sip of his brandy when it came his way. Travell helped himself to another while Dunnage fetched the Bible. When the oath had been taken, Dunnage and Abe handed out some sacks and sheets of heavy cloth.

  “What’s this for?” Dan asked.

  “For catching rabbits,” Singleton explained. “You put the cloth over the warren and let the dogs start digging.”

  “Then pick the coneys off as they come out,” Dan guessed. “Won’t they make a noise?”

  “No. Rabbits don’t squeal when caught. But trap a hare and you’ll hear him fields away.”

  Dunnage distributed the guns.

  “No,” said Dan. “Not after what happened last time.”

  Abe took his weapon with a derisive glance in Dan’s direction. The shopkeeper took one too. Dan, reckoning Travell was on his fourth glass, decided to keep out of his way if he started waving the gun about.

  The farmer whistled up the dogs and they set off to Barcombe Wood. They skirted the edge of it until they came to the west warren, a hummock just outside the trees. The meadow was a moonlit sea of dun-coloured bodies, until the rabbits got wind of them and dived into what they thought was safety. The dogs dug with bloodthirsty eagerness, and before long the rabbits were squirming under the men’s blows.

  As Dan did his share in doling out skull-shattering thumps, he kept an eye on the woods. Dr Russell had been right to say Lord Oldfield would not like his message. It would not surprise Dan if he ignored it. Dan was just beginning to hope his fears were ungrounded when he thought he saw a light between the trees. It was gone before he was sure, but a moment later it flickered again.

  “What is it?” whispered Singleton.

  “I thought I saw something.”

  “I can’t see anything.”

  “It isn’t there now, but I’m sure I saw someone moving about.”

  “If it was keepers they’d be on us by now,” Dunnage said.

  They could hear nothing but the occasional feeble twitch from beneath the blood-stained cloth. The light flashed out again, further away.

  Dan handed his cudgel to Dunnage. “I’m going to take a look.”

  “Abe, you go with him,” Dunnage ordered. “The rest of us will start bagging up what we’ve got.”

  Dan did not want to be stuck with Abe, but could not refuse. They crept towards the fence. Dan paused to signal to Abe, but he was already climbing over. Dan lost sight of him almost at once.

  Dan jumped down into the wood and set off towards the spot where he had last seen the light. He stumbled over roots, slipped on dead leaves, was snagged, slapped and torn at by branch and briar. Every now and again the light flashed in front of him. Sometimes the beam shot out to his left, sometimes the right. He veered about after it.

  When a good fifteen minutes had passed without any sign of his quarry, he gave up the chase. By then he had completely lost his bearings. He had no idea how to get back to the west warren, how far he was from the edge of the wood, or where he would come out when he eventually found it. He risked calling softly to Abe, but there was no
answer. One tree or copse looked much the same as another to Dan, especially in the dark. For want of a better idea, he continued in the direction he had been heading.

  After he had been walking for a while, the ground dipped down and became soggy underfoot. He heard gurgling water, and before long came upon a thin, shallow stream weaving its way over a stony bed. He decided to follow its course. It would at least mean he was not going around in circles.

  The trees thinned out, and ahead of him he saw a dark open space with a rectangle of yellow light lying upon it. He stopped at the edge of the wood. He was looking at a lawn around a mansion. There was a large, shallow hollow in the middle of it, its edges churned by footprints and the passage of the carts and barrows that stood about it. Nearby lay piles of bricks and heaps of scaffolding. The skeleton of a crane rose above a peculiarly-shaped building; Dan supposed it was the temple Singleton had spoken of. To his right, set close to the border of the wood, was a small castle with pointed arches and towers.

  He had been following the course of the spring that started in the top of the valley, and which Lord Oldfield planned to harness for his improvement works. The bowl was the half-built lake, and the mansion was Oldfield Hall. A dank, weedy miasma from the drained pool filled the air. This was where Sukie’s baby had been found. A nasty grave for an infant.

  The upper windows were dark; the light came from the little green room where Lord Oldfield had first received Dan. His Lordship must have been unable to sleep, knowing that the men he accused of Josh Castle’s murder were at large in his wood while he had to let them roam.

  Dan turned left, intending to dodge through the trees and so come out onto the lane into the village. He stopped. There was someone else standing under the boughs and looking in at Lord Oldfield’s window: a man muffled in a dark coat, with a scarf and hood over his face. As Dan caught sight of him he began to run across the lawn, using the building works as cover.

  He stopped behind a cart, swung a gun to his shoulder, and fired into the drawing room. The sound of the shot and breaking glass boomed and echoed from wall to wood. From the house came a shouted oath, and Lord Oldfield appeared at the shattered window. Dan plunged into the trees after the fleeing gunman, but lost him after a few yards. There was no point in losing himself in the woods again, so he abandoned the pursuit.