Cotswold Mystery, A

by Rebecca Tope

Thea gazed at her daughter, slowly remembering that she too was in the police. ‘Doesn’t it ever worry you?’ she asked. ‘That your job is incompatible with having a proper relationship?’

  Jessica’s eyes widened further. ‘Hang on a minute,’ she protested. ‘Don’t bring me into it. I’m not a Detective Superintendent, and not likely to be. I get time off, like anybody else. Have you any idea how many hours the average plumber works in a week? Or systems analysts, or farmers, or AA men, or…’ she ran out of jobs that removed people from their families, but the point was made.

  ‘OK,’ Thea put up a hand. ‘Sorry. But that doesn’t answer the point. It’s all wrong. People should have time for each other.’

  ‘Maybe they should just make better use of the time they have. It’s probably good for a relationship to see each other only for short spells of time. Concentrates the mind. Maintains the mystery. All that sort of stuff.’

  They both realised that it was new for the daughter to be counselling the mother. Jessica gave an embarrassed little laugh. ‘But what do I know? If I don’t get myself a proper boyfriend soon, there’ll be rumours about me being a lesbian.’

  Thea closed her eyes briefly. Not now, she prayed. Let’s not get onto that now. ‘So let’s go to Paxford,’ she said. ‘It’s obviously no good waiting for Phil to escort us.’

  ‘And who needs men, anyway?’ said Jessica, squaring her shoulders and raising a feminist fist.

  The Churchill Arms was friendly, unassuming and in possession of a remarkably adventurous menu. The atmosphere was emphatically that of a pub, rather than a restaurant, which suited the Osborne women very well. They were uninterrupted by the arrival of anybody they knew, and by mutual consent they devoted most of their attention to the gourmet delights of grey mullet, creamed parsnips, braised pork and thoroughly luxurious sauces.

  ‘This is the life,’ sighed Jessica, scraping the last of the vegetables out of the dish and onto her plate. ‘I do love food.’

  Thea laughed. ‘Maybe you should post a review of this place on that website? The one that had the rude piece about The Crown. Redress the balance, or something.’

  ‘I just might do that,’ the girl nodded, with her mouth full.

  It was dark when they got back, and again the two women had to resist the encroaching nervousness. There was a reassuring light in Granny’s front window, and no yapping from Hepzie as they let themselves in. ‘You forgot to set the burglar alarm again,’ Jessica said.

  ‘And you never reminded me. It seems daft to me, especially with a ferocious spaniel guarding the place.’

  The guard dog was squirming around their ankles, treating them both to her most lavish greetings, which included throwing herself onto her back and displaying a clean pink belly.

  ‘We’d better watch the news,’ said Jessica. ‘There might be something about Phil’s bomb by now.’

  There was. A triumphalist report, second from the top, about the stalwart West Midlands police foiling a desperate terrorist plot to cause maximum carnage in the centre of Birmingham. The top story concerned the resignation of a Government minister over a piece of rank incompetence in the management of the Health Service. ‘Clever psychology,’ Thea remarked. ‘First the bad news, then the good. The hospitals might be collapsing, but we’re safe in the hands of the vigilant boys in blue.’

  Jessica seemed more than half inclined to take issue with her mother’s tone, but she was distracted by the television. The third item featured a lavish premiere of a new film in Leicester Square. All the starring actors had turned out for it, their faces filling the screen as the cameras zoomed in on them.

  ‘Oh!’ squealed Jessica. ‘That’s Cleodie Mason. Look!’ She leant forward eagerly, but the shot was barely two seconds long. Thea had missed it. ‘I didn’t know she was in a film. I thought she was a model.’

  ‘Aren’t they interchangeable? What about Liz Hurley? She’s both, isn’t she?’

  To Thea’s disappointment Jessica didn’t reply with astonished approval at her mother’s sudden celebrity awareness. The girl was still quivering with excitement. ‘And we saw her, here, only two days ago. Isn’t that amazing!’

  Thea wanted to say something world-weary about it not being far from Blockley to Leicester Square, and why the excitement, but she hadn’t the heart. She had to accept that the celebrity culture was too strong for her. Few things were more thrilling, these days, than seeing someone you’d met in the flesh appearing on television. Some magical enhancement took place and the individual concerned acquired a new dimension in the process. Even more enchanting and marvellous, of course, when they appeared on the cinema screen. Cleodie Mason had instantly acquired major mythical status in the eyes of Jessica and probably most of the world’s population.

  The local news, when it followed with its patchy five-minute slot, was the familiar transition from super-stardom and world events to features about old ladies celebrating their centenary and quarrels about planning consent. Despite the foiled bomb plot being in the same region, the editors had clearly deemed it superfluous to do more than repeat the headlines already aired on the main news. Instead they showed a child with a rare bone disorder and its parents who were raising funds for a new treatment in America, and then a shot of a road accident on the A44.

  ‘A serious accident took place late this afternoon, on the A44 near Blockley,’ said the voiceover. ‘A van was hit as it emerged from a field, and overturned. The driver of the Ford Focus, which collided with the van, was killed instantly. The contents of the van were strewn across the road, causing it to be closed for over an hour.’ The film showed the mess spilt from the overturned van.

  ‘It just looks like a lot of rubble,’ said Jessica. ‘Earth and stones and stuff.’

  Thea tried to make sense of the scene. ‘What a lot of it! The van must have been full to bursting. Why didn’t they use a truck instead?’

  ‘It’s very weird. Why would anybody fill a van with soil?’

  ‘Stealing it for their garden? Maybe those stones are from somebody’s wall, and they didn’t want to be noticed. It doesn’t seem especially strange to me. They probably didn’t have a truck handy.’ Thea was slow to notice just how fascinated her daughter was with the story, already shrugging it off herself as something unworthy of her interest.

  ‘Play it again,’ Jessica instructed, nodding at the remote control next to Thea’s elbow.

  ‘What? It’s not a video, Jess. It’s ordinary news.’

  ‘Yes, but you can run it again, on digital telly.’

  Thea just stared at her. ‘Are you sure?’

  Jessica grabbed the gadget and with complete confidence pressed some of the keys. Sure enough, the same news item appeared again. The young police probationer gave it her full attention, freezing the picture every few seconds. ‘That really is odd,’ she repeated. ‘And it must only be half a mile from here.’

  ‘About that,’ Thea nodded. ‘You can hear the traffic from the woods at the end of the street.’

  ‘Well, first thing tomorrow, we’re going to have a look,’ Jessica asserted. ‘Apart from anything else, there shouldn’t be a field gate opening onto a main A-road.’

  ‘Is there a law against it?’

  ‘Probably,’ said Jessica. ‘If there isn’t, there ought to be.’

  Thea was still unclear as to what was so interesting about the overturned van. As far as she could see, it looked slightly odd, but no more than that. ‘I’d have thought the bit about Cleodie Whatnot would be much more exciting,’ she said.

  Jessica shrugged. ‘It was, for about two minutes. Now I’ve got something else to think about.’

  They went to bed just after eleven, Thea locking doors front and back, and leaving the kitchen immaculately clean, before treating herself to a long hot bath. It hadn’t been a very productive day, she judged, looking back. Two meals out, a somewhat disturbing encounter with the Gussie woman and a lurking sense of imminent disappointment concerning Phil Hollis. Thoughts
of him came packaged in a lumpy set of feelings that she knew she needed to disentangle as a matter of urgency. All along she had been prepared to construct a relationship that suited the real individuals they were, and not some pre-ordained pattern laid down by social expectations, such as they were. But awkward ideas like ‘commitment’ and ‘ground rules’ kept obtruding, much to her confusion. It was not going to be enough that they liked each other, had plenty of compatible interests and attitudes, and were irresistibly attracted physically. Listed like that, she wondered why these factors seemed to fall short of what was needed. What else was there, for heaven’s sake?

  It was impossible to answer, and she gave up. Phil Hollis floated away on the scented water, to be replaced by images of Granny Gardner next door, and the suggestion that she might have committed a murder.

  Was there no rest, Thea’s troubled spirit demanded? Even when Granny gave way to Jessica, there was just as much to worry about. At every turn, people were being troublesome. They all came bedecked with suspicion or anxiety or disappointment, as Thea revisited them one by one. Even her mother would be reproachful at the missed Mother’s Day card.

  She crept into bed, careful not to waken the peacefully sleeping Jessica. Hepzie had made a warm place in the middle of the bed, and obligingly shifted over to let her mistress have the prepared spot. Here, Thea thought with a smile, was at last something – she almost said somebody to herself – that came unencumbered with worry. The dog had had her share of mishaps, but she was still as sweet and soft and devoted as ever. All she demanded was company, food and a few kind words. Thank God for a dog, Thea sighed, as she slipped into sleep.

  This time when Granny’s door buzzer went off, Thea knew right away what it was. But when she opened her eyes, sitting up quickly and dislodging the spaniel, everything was in darkness.

  ‘What the hell’s that?’ came a muffled voice in the next bed.

  ‘Granny’s door. What time is it?’ Thea’s head felt heavy and thick. Hepzie was whining.

  ‘Um…let’s see…Jesus, it’s one-fifteen in the morning. Surely she hasn’t gone out at this time? What are we meant to do?’

  ‘Go down and see, I suppose. She does get very confused about time – they told me that.’

  ‘She must know it’s night. It’s pitch dark.’

  ‘Well, the door’s been opened for some reason. I’ll have to check it out. That’s what they’re paying me for.’

  ‘Come on, then. Leave the dog.’ Jessica was abruptly businesslike. ‘Let’s get it over with.’ She was out of bed and had switched on the main light.

  Thea felt bleary and disoriented, blinking in the violence of the light. She had been deeply asleep, dreaming about a man that she recognised now, with some chagrin, as having been Ick, the rap singer. ‘I was dreaming about Icarus Binns,’ she said, fumbling for her dressing gown. ‘Do we have to get dressed?’

  ‘You’re not allowed to dream about him. He’s mine,’ Jessica panted. ‘Better put some trousers on. We might be out there for a while. She’s getting quite a start on us at this rate.’

  Less than two minutes later they were on the pavement, having deactivated the buzzer, and were scanning the dark street. There was a slight breeze, chilly on their skin. ‘I can’t see anything,’ whispered Thea. ‘Can you?’

  The presence of sleeping strangers in all the surrounding houses was impossible to ignore. The consequences of waking them were too awful to contemplate. Thea quickly went to the cottage and pulled the door closed. Jessica was slowly scanning the street and beyond. ‘Up there!’ she pointed. ‘There’s some sort of light. It might be a torch.’

  Thea took some seconds to locate it – a narrow beam of flickering light in what she supposed was a field behind the house across the street. ‘That’s where the sheep were,’ she remembered. ‘I expect it’s a farmer, seeing if they’re all right. I can hear one of them bleating.’ The sound wafted across on the breeze, a plaintive cry, suggestive of distress.

  ‘Unlikely to be a farmer at this time of night,’ Jessica argued. ‘If he wanted to inspect them at night he’d keep them indoors.’

  Thea wondered fleetingly what Jessica knew about shepherding. She felt helpless, irritated and cold. ‘What are we going to do, then?’

  ‘I think that torch must be her. It’s the only sign of life. How do we get there?’

  The field was on a rising slope, to the south. Thea could not remember any sort of gate or path giving access to it. As far as she could recall, the only direct route led through somebody’s garden. ‘I have no idea,’ she said. ‘You’re not suggesting we try to follow that light, are you?’

  They were still whispering, standing on the pavement together. Blockley did not have street lights, but the breeze was shifting the clouds, and the moon was almost full. Every now and then, it found a gap and the pale light revealed more. ‘We can try down there,’ Jessica pointed at an open space beside a low stone wall, tipping invisibly downwards. ‘There might be a way through.’

  It was entirely surreal. Thea seriously asked herself whether she might still be dreaming, as they blundered down the narrow footway that meandered between small back gardens, bordered by stone walls. Jessica led, with Thea gripping her hand, held awkwardly behind her. They went in single file, stumbling frequently, and still terrified of awakening the slumbering neighbours.

  It seemed a crazy quest. The bobbing light that they had been following disappeared from view. ‘We’ll never find her,’ Thea breathed. ‘Can’t we go back?’

  ‘There’s a gate here,’ Jessica announced. ‘It goes into the field, look.’ And again the moon obligingly cast pale rays onto the scene. There was indeed a gate. And beyond it, there appeared to be a sloping field containing dark shapes which could well be sheep. The sporadic bleating had stopped, but there did seem to be a certain restlessness in the flock.

  Jessica didn’t wait for a reply, but forged through the gate, stumbling on invisible stones and muttering crossly to herself. Thea followed, one hand held out in front of her. Although no longer pitch dark, it was still impossible to see very much.

  ‘There she is,’ the girl panted. ‘Look!’

  A dim beam of light shone on a complicated scene at the lower edge of the field. The torch had been placed on the ground, propped against a stone, to illuminate the rear end of a prostrate sheep. Kneeling beside it was a human figure. Instinctively aware of a need for delicacy, the two crept closer.

  Granny Gardner was deeply intent on her task, showing no awareness of the intruders. Not until they were only three feet away did she glance up at them. ‘Nearly there now,’ she panted. ‘Would you point the torch here?’

  Jessica picked up the light and shone it on a bulging grey patch that glistened wetly. The old woman was using her fingertips to nudge away the tightly stretched skin around the top of the bulge. There was no sign of undue effort or panic. The sheep groaned forlornly, its head outstretched on the cold ground. The bony fingers seemed to be working with an independent skill that was close to magic. ‘Just a bit more,’ Granny said evenly. ‘What a big lambie it is. A terrible big lambie for a girl, isn’t that so?’

  The light wavered in Jessica’s hands, and Thea simply stared helplessly at the minor miracle unfolding before her.

  With a thin scream from the ewe, the wide head suddenly slid free, the elastic maternal tissue closing around its neck so it sagged grotesquely for a few seconds. ‘Help me pull,’ Granny ordered. ‘The poor thing’s too tired to do it on her own.’

  Help was not quite the word. As Thea tried to grasp the slippery inert thing, the old woman slumped away, giving Thea complete responsibility. ‘Just pull it,’ Mrs Gardner instructed weakly.

  So Thea pulled, and before she knew it, an entire lamb lay half on her feet, half on the short grass. Fluid gushed forth and the sheep gave a vigorous cry of relief.

  ‘You did it!’ Jessica cried, in disbelief. ‘Is it alive?’

  Granny crawled forward, and inserte
d a finger into the lamb’s mouth, plucking away pieces of membrane. The ewe began to struggle to get up, ropes of grey tissue hanging out of her.

  The lamb drunkenly shook its head and made a rattling sound, before sneezing. ‘He’s alive,’ said Granny. ‘Now we back off.’

  The ewe turned to look at the thing that had caused her such trouble, and with a succession of throaty purring sounds, she greeted it. Then she nuzzled it comprehensively, cleaning up the yellow coating with which it had been born.

  ‘Mission accomplished,’ said Granny. ‘We can go now. They’ll be fine.’

  ‘As simple as that?’ Jessica was still unable to believe what had just happened. ‘How do you know she’ll feed him? Shouldn’t we tell someone?’

  ‘Sarah will find them in the morning. She’ll think it all happened on its own – so long as nobody tells her different,’ she added with a fierce look.

  Thea began to understand. ‘You often do this, don’t you?’ she said.

  ‘Now and then, when I hear one of them having difficulty. This poor girl was making quite a fuss. She’s been put to a ram that was too big. She’d never have done it on her own. They’d both be dead by morning.’

  ‘You saved them!’ Jessica’s tone was still lost in wonderment. ‘That’s so amazing. You’re a real heroine.’

  ‘It’s just life,’ Granny said, somewhat obscurely. ‘I suppose that damned buzzer alerted you. I forgot to shut it off.’ She stole a sideways glance at Thea, who took several seconds to grasp the import of the words.

  ‘You mean you know how to stop it? But, it’s so high up. How—?’

  ‘I use a stick,’ said the old woman calmly.

  ‘And the door – isn’t it always locked?’

  ‘I unlock it. They never notice.’ She chuckled. ‘What they don’t know won’t worry them.’

  Thea’s emotions jostled painfully. Admiration, apprehension, confusion. And a sense of things reaching a climax, here in the chill of a dark March night.

  Granny led the way back through the gate, followed by Jessica and then Thea, who was utterly lost in her bewildering thoughts. Nobody spoke as they passed houses on both sides. Only when they got back into the High Street did Jessica whisper, ‘The lamb’s a boy, is it?’