by Lorna Gray
“I must be losing my touch.” I gave a slightly unsteady laugh. “My fault for keeping treats secreted about my person. Anyway, you were saying – he’s going somewhere?”
“To America of all places. I’ve found some crazy fool out there who wants to use him as a stud horse. He’s a half-brother to National Spirit you see, so this fellow wants to use the bloodline even though he never raced. Anyway, I’m not going to sneeze at the money he’s offering.”
The horse gently nosed between us again and I stroked his forehead to show he was forgiven.
“Tea,” John said firmly and led me across the gravel into the house.
The house always inspired awe in me. It was a huge old manor house which, so I was told, had foundations dating back to Saxon times. For the most part however, the house was a mixture of Tudor and Jacobean with lovely stone windows filled with tiny diamond panes of glass to match. At the front of the house, facing south and furthest from the church, this crumbling and antiquated elegance had given way to a thoroughly Georgian addition but in spite of its inconsistency, I had always loved this easternmost wing with its light and airy views over the fields as they sloped steeply down to Washbrook.
It was into the last of these rooms that we now settled and, ushering me into a comfortable armchair while the housekeeper discreetly set cup and saucer by my side, John drifted over to the spirits counter.
“Brandy?” he offered, pouring himself a measure. “Ah, you may well look disapproving, my young friend, but if you’d had the morning I’ve just had you’d be beating me to it, I assure you.”
He walked into the deep bay window and as he stood moodily contemplating the bright valley that stretched away below with its hard pockets of glittering shade, I found myself covertly watching him over my cup of tea. This unprecedented inspection was inspired, I suppose, by the recent recurring mentions of his name but regardless of its cause I was suddenly aware that I had never really acknowledged the transformation of the boy that had featured in the best of my childhood adventures into this person who was now very much a man.
From as far back as I could remember, our summer holidays from school – him from a boarding school, me from the one in the next village – had been spent in grubby companionship on the hunt for frogs and other delightful things in the stream that ran along the bottommost boundary of the Manor estate. Now he was taller, perhaps an inch or so above my houseguest’s height and lighter in his build, though not nearly as underfed, and these days, with all the advantages of adult sophistication, his mother’s dark hair and the piercing Langton blue eyes, he was undeniably very handsome.
And yet, odd as it might seem, even after all our years of closeness and in spite of that constancy of friendship which should probably have marked him out from the start to become my unrequited childhood sweetheart, I had never doubted myself. Quite contrary to the goaded accusations I had recently received from another.
I gave a sudden start at the unexpectedly vivid turn my mind was taking and, dragging myself hastily out of thoughts that could only confuse me, I said; “John? Do you know the Turford brothers who are staying over at Warren Barn currently?”
He thought for a moment, watching a cock pheasant as it beat its way clumsily past the window. “I don’t think so. Should I?”
“Not really, I was just wondering, that is all. I think they’re working for Sir William, and I wondered if he’d said anything about them.”
“Not to me he hasn’t. You can always ask my father.”
I grinned to myself, knowing that it was the last thing I would want to do. “No, it’s fine. Just idle curiosity, that’s all.”
There was a pause while we both stared out at the fields below, each lost to our own thoughts. But then John took a great gulp of brandy and said, “Do you know, I really hate that man.”
I stayed silent, trying not to stumble into saying something blunderingly stupid. But then he continued, venting the frustration of a very bad day in one short revealing burst; “Are you actually aware of just how much trouble he has caused me? I’m days behind on my work and it’s all because I’m having to spend every waking moment poking about in grubby corners on the hunt for that hateful man! When I find him, I’m not sure I’ll be answerable for the consequences.”
I must have made a noise because he cast me a glance over his shoulder, “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just fed up. I don’t mind helping the search, of course I don’t, but after nearly two months of digging out the lane and now my father nagging me to lend Sir William my best men, it’s all starting to get a bit much. Life doesn’t just stop, you know, the horses still need exercising, the lorry still needs its refurbishment and it has to be ready for Tuesday. I don’t mind telling you that this search has cost me a damned fortune and Sir William doesn’t give a fig of course, the likes of him never think about us lesser folk. ‘No expense spared!’ and all that rubbish.” He turned to face me and sighed, adding in a more sedate tone, “Although in this instance I’m not sure I should blame him.”
He gave me a rueful smile. “I was in a tediously long finance meeting but when I got Sir William’s frantic telephone call to say that the police were swarming all over his land, of course I had to just drop everything and dash over there. He was in quite a state I can tell you – I thought he was going to have a seizure!” He turned back to the window. “And then we would have had another death to add to Croft’s account.”
I tutted sympathetically, “And the Colonel? Was he very upset too?”
John gave a dry laugh, “When is my father ever anything else? We were at least spared the full force of his furious observations, but rest assured that he made extensive use of the telephone to transmit what he couldn’t say in person.”
“Oh dear,” I said, with genuine feeling. “It must have been a very shocking experience for you all.”
John’s profile was obscured by the turn of his head but I thought I saw him smile. “You call it a shock? I call it a tragedy. My uncle was practically having a fit, I was running around like an errand boy and the police were locking down the Estate like it was a prison with no one allowed to go anywhere, let alone near that wretched farmhouse, and all because Jamie Donald took it into his head to get himself killed … Sorry, that’s not a very respectful thing to say about the newly deceased is it?”
Shaking his head, he turned to move towards a chair and I gave a sudden exclamation which made him look up at me in surprise; “John, you’re limping!”
He settled himself into the window seat and gave me a wounded puppy kind of look. “Another cost of this manhunt – my leg is playing up again. It always does in winter but it is worse today … must have been all that pointless walking about the countryside yesterday. Next time I shall lurk at the end of a telephone like my uncle, not giving a damn whether it is twenty yards or twenty miles.”
“You didn’t find anything then?”
“Not a trace. He can’t have vanished into thin air, and the police don’t think he’s left the area so he must be hiding somewhere. There are reports that he was shot so he’ll be suffering a bit by now. Although of course we may be lucky and he’s lying dead in a ditch somewhere … It’d be a shame because I would really like to be the one to catch him, but it saves hanging him.”
I found myself repeating Matthew’s words. “You’re taking this a little personally, aren’t you?”
“Shouldn’t I be?” He flicked a glance at me; he seemed faintly surprised by my question. “The truth is I never liked him – he’s…well, I don’t need to tell you, you know better than anyone what dependence can be placed upon his character. The Law wants to catch him and hang him, and if my efforts make that happen I will be a very happy man. He’s a jumped-up little farm boy who should know his place and honestly it pleases me to think he’s finally slipped up. Very unchristian of me, I know, and I’d like to pretend I’m doing it for King and Country, but I’m not.” He could have easily added “so there” and thereby completed the s
choolboy rant but he didn’t and instead fiddled with the cord that drew the curtains.
There was a pause while I sipped my tea and tried not to think of Matthew or what dependence I was placing on him. Instead, I fixed my gaze firmly on the wonderful view framed by elegant windows and sophisticated furnishings which were, I realised, the enduring legacy of John’s mother. The Colonel was far too precise and masculine to pick a floral fringe for a dado rail and before the room had taken on its present incarnation as the son’s office, this must have been her domain to have retained the pretty trimmings of her feminine tastes. I wondered whether the perfect room and its idyllic view had gone some way towards compensating for the deficiencies of her spouse.
“I was going to ask you to marry me, you know,” John said suddenly.
I jumped guiltily, wondering if he had been reading my thoughts. “Oh John,” I said sadly.
“Don’t worry, I’ve thought better of it. You would have said no anyway, wouldn’t you? You’re too damned independent, that’s your trouble. Nobody can get behind that tough façade.” He gave me a cheery grin to show that he didn’t mean to offend. “Anyway, onwards and upwards, that’s my motto. I’ve got plans, you know.”
“Plans? How exciting!” I said brightly, and realised that I sounded far too keen to change the subject.
“Yes. This horse going to America is the start of new things for me. You’ll be surprised by what the future holds, Ellie, you really will.” He finished the remains of his drink and climbed rather gingerly to his feet. I felt a rush of sympathy at his poor damaged leg but as he set his glass down onto the table with a firm click, I saw him glance thoughtfully at the decanter on the cabinet and a different kind of concern took hold.
“Look at that,” he said, oblivious to my thoughts and gesturing at the newspaper which lay on the table by my side. “Some people are so idiotic.”
I picked it up and scanned the opened page. “What am I looking at?” I could only see the usual reports on food shortages, the escalating row about electricity outages and the sorry state of the economy. The paper was last week’s edition of the Telegraph, from the morning that had brought the storm.
“There at the bottom – pathetic, isn’t it … What kind of person would do something like that? I mean you’d have to be pretty damned idiotic, wouldn’t you?”
I hastily rescanned the page and then finally found what he must be talking about:
“Police were swiftly called on Wednesday when Messrs Wyatts and Clarke of Cirencester Auction House unexpectedly identified Lot 216 as a miniature known colloquially as ‘The Idle Hands’. The painting by an unknown Dutch artist along with a private collection of etchings and watercolours vanished from the home of Lord and Lady _____ of Lansdown Place, Cheltenham in December 1940 during that brief period of despicable looting which still shocks the residents to this day. The identity of the would-be vendor is still unknown.”
“You see what I mean?” he asked, pacing to the window again. “If you’re going to do something like that, at least have the sense to sell it in a different county to the one you stole it from.” He laughed.
“I remember when that happened,” I said, recalling the shock of the residents after the criminal events which had followed in the wake of Cheltenham’s single night of German bombing. “People can be so cruel, can’t they? Imagine having your home destroyed and your lives blown apart, only to then find that some disgusting lowlife thinks he has a right to your few surviving possessions. I find it hard to believe that anybody could do that to their fellow Englishman.”
“We Englishmen are not such a saintly breed as we would have you believe, I’m afraid, Ellie.” John smiled gently and then moved to give me a friendly embrace as I rose to go. “Anyway, enough of these depressing subjects. This pathetic example of an Englishman was wondering if you’d decided about the dance on Saturday, now that it looks hopeful that I’ll be able to get the car out? Strictly as friends of course, but I think it might be nice. What d’you say?”
He looked so adorably eager that I hadn’t the heart to say no and so, laughingly, I agreed. But later, as I walked steadily up the sodden lane with my ponies, I had to wonder how on earth I had let him charm me into going. I hadn’t worn a dress in a very long time.
Chapter 13
Freddy had been a good boy and had brought in all the ponies bar Beechnut who whickered her greeting softly as I approached. Her stable was ready and all I had to do was sling a blanket over her and slip her meal of chaff and waste vegetables – because access to animal feed was heavily regulated – through the door and then I was done. The sun had dipped below the horizon and it was sending a last incredible burst of light up into the sky to reflect crimson off the streaked pattern of the fields. There was no breeze and already a few stars were blinking on. There would be another heavy frost overnight and, putting paid to anyone’s hopes of taking a car anywhere, today’s thaw would be an ice rink by the morning.
There was no one in the kitchen, no lamps were lit bar the usual glow from the hearth and I wondered for a moment where they might have gone. It could not have been long because there was a pan steaming gently on the hot plate by the fire. Next I thought that someone must have come and breathlessly scanned the room for signs of a struggle, but finally, more calmly, I realised that the chaos was just Freddy’s usual detritus. Then I registered the distant tinkling of the piano in the back room.
Notes were forming haltingly in the air, untrained fingers stumbling along something I ought to have recognised only to be brought to an abrupt stop by youthful eagerness.
“I bet it was fun joining the army.”
Silence, and then the same keys but struck this time with the fluidity of experience. “Yes, there was a certain fun in it. You get a strong sense of camaraderie – sorry? Oh, I mean brotherhood or friendship. I met some good people and there is a lot of tomfoolery and humour amongst soldiers.” There was a fresh whisper of notes from the piano; they must have been his as Freddy’s fingers never moved so smoothly. “But, in truth, it wasn’t that great. Going to war is not fun; you have to leave your home and … people. And when you start to lose your friends to enemy bullets, the joke suddenly wears very thin. Go on, try it again from the beginning.”
A memory tugged at my mind and then receded again. The back room, which would have been the front room had we used the main door as we ought, was really my store for saddles but there was still a little space for the old instrument and the few other items of furniture that had become too tatty for use elsewhere in the house. Behind the closed door it was almost possible to feel Freddy’s effort as he mimicked the notes he had heard and I was both impressed and unreasonably irked that Matthew had managed to inspire this level of interest in the instrument in a matter of hours when I had spent four years of trying with very little success at all.
Then a finer hand joined the other and suddenly my ears made sense of the clumsy music. The melody curled about me, enfolding me in its embrace and its memories. I knew it now of course; they played to a more cheerful rhythm than I had previously known so that the Northern folk tune took on a sweet romantic lilt that was wonderfully warming. Oh, the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing …
My father had tended to retreat to his piano when my mother had taken some silly misdemeanour in its worst possible light and scolded him mercilessly, and I tried to recall how long it had been since I had last heard him play. Was it fair, I wondered, that having already shown myself a bitter fool once today, I should now be confronted by the happier past as well?
I had an awful flashback to our last meeting. I wasn’t thinking of my father now. He had not yet received his call-up papers but he had known they were coming. I had been eighteen and about as unreasonable as an eighteen-year-old in love can be, whereas he had been hatefully calm and sensible, and I had raged and stormed at him until he had finally lost his temper. He always was more eloquent than I could be – his eight years’ more experience
of the world had given him the ability to turn any argument of mine into the silly ramblings of a child; and his brutal angry words as he forced his point home had cut me to the core. He could not love me too.
“It was Eleanor, wasn’t it, the 'people' you talked about.” An uninvited mirror to my memories, Freddy’s voice drifted through the wall. I had barely noticed that the tune had ended.
“What makes you say that?”
“I just guessed. It’s the way she looks at you, only then you say something and she gets cross.”
Matthew laughed. “You think you’re very smart, don’t you? Well, unless you want her to be cross with you too, I’d keep your guesses to yourself.” There was a creak of a chair as he stood up and a murmur about dinner getting burnt, and then I was frantically retreating down the passage by the dairy, cuffing imaginary tears from my icy cheeks and praying that the forgotten saddle over my arm wouldn’t jangle. I think I must have just wrenched open the door and slammed it noisily shut when he appeared in the kitchen.
We both froze. We stood there in the half light, barely yards apart, and for a horrible moment I feared he knew that I had been listening, but then he smiled and when he spoke his voice betrayed no sign of suspicion.
“Hello, you’re just in time for tea.”
I mustered what I hoped was a convincing smile in return and stepped into the room once more. “Mmmm, smells good. You managed to corner him then?” My voice sounded brittle and I tried to keep my head turned away so that I would not have to meet his eyes.
“What? Oh, you mean the renegade cockerel?” He laughed. “I didn’t even try, you’ll be pleased to know. It’s rabbit.”
“Oh,” I said lamely, feeling horribly like I might crack after all.
“Eleanor, are you all right? Only you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
