Getaway With Murder

by McNeir, Leo

  When they reached the village the downpour was fierce, lashing across the road and sending swirling torrents of water and mud down the field track. The car bumped and slithered through the quagmire.

  “I’ve never seen it like this,” said Marnie. “The wipers can hardly cope.” She steered round a deep rut that had become a small river.

  “It’s like the battlefield of Wipers,” said Ralph. “Or should I pronounce it ‘Ypres’?”

  “The head teacher from the school was right. She said it reminded her of the battle of the Somme down here in bad weather.”

  “This place has had battles of its own,” said Ralph.

  *

  Marnie sat at the table in the saloon on Sally Ann. It was covered in documents, papers and photocopies and she was concentrating hard. Ralph sat opposite, elbows on the table, one hand supporting his chin. The rain, that had begun to subside, was now a steady drumming on the steel roof. It filled the silence in the cabin. Eventually Marnie spoke.

  “You think it was here, don’t you?”

  It was some time before Ralph answered. “When I read these, I didn’t know what to do for the best. As a researcher, I just wanted to get at the truth. In this instance, there was another dimension. That dimension was of course you, Marnie.”

  “Were you going to keep this from me?”

  “I admit I thought about it. You’ve made your life here, this has been your new start. I know how valuable a new start can be. I learnt that from you.”

  “You didn’t want to spoil it for me.”

  “Of course not. But then I realised, Fellheimer found these papers in his research. Sooner or later you might find them, too. Apart from that, there could well be people in the village who knew what had happened. You could have found out from a variety of sources.”

  “Better to find out from you.”

  “Truth is always better than rumour,” Ralph said with a shrug. “Knowledge is better than speculation. Even so, it was a difficult choice. In the end I decided to tell you like this.”

  Marnie re-arranged the papers on the table, lining them up in chronological order. “You did the right thing, Ralph. Can I just make sure I’ve got it straight?” She pulled one group of documents towards her. “These reports show that the vicar supported the King, was very High Church. But many people in this area were for Parliament. Why was he so different?”

  “Fellheimer says this wasn’t uncommon. The clergy often came from outside the local community. Many were younger sons of landed gentry with High Church leanings.”

  “But the booklet says he wanted to unite the whole community and will be remembered for his good works in the parish.”

  “That’s not inconsistent. He wanted to unite them behind the King. That’s why he preached strongly against the Puritan Anabaptists in the area. Local opinion was divided, but nobody wanted to force confrontation. That could be very dangerous with army units wandering about the country.”

  “Yes. That was how the villages were attacked, of course. The Royalist cavalry came looking for supplies. Someone – perhaps the vicar – told them about Puritan support in Yore. Cavalry rode off, burnt thatch, as we know. After Naseby, victorious Ironsides passed through, saw what had happened, took revenge.”

  “That’s right. Now this is where Fellheimer’s research is interesting.” Ralph picked out one of the documents. “This is from the archives of the Northampton Grand Committee. Known sympathisers of the King’s cause were strictly controlled for long after the war ended. Here we see that the Knightly vicar was allowed to stay with the rector of the nearby village of Great Hanford for several weeks while repairs were carried out to the vicarage.”

  “So the vicarage was attacked by the Ironsides too,” said Marnie.

  “Presumably, which suggests a degree of animosity.”

  “But why murder the vicar when the war was virtually over?”

  “Did you know,” said Ralph, “that two million Germans were killed – victims of genocide – after the last war?”

  “Killed by the allies?” said Marnie incredulously.

  “Not directly. Revenge killings,” said Ralph. “Old enemies, scores to settle.”

  “But what harm could the vicar do?” said Marnie.

  Ralph shrugged and drew out another paper from the pile. “This is the record of troop movements after Naseby. Cromwell ran the New Model Army very efficiently. It was well documented. Now look at this. A squadron of light cavalry was deployed in this area to flush out remnants of the King’s army. Here’s the officer in charge, Captain Thomas Flaxman. You see, his unit was operating for months afterwards.”

  “Did they fear the Royalists might regroup and try to free the King?”

  “That’s exactly what they expected,” said Ralph. “Fellheimer said the King’s supporters were active for years and, of course, in the end they were restored to power. It was a real danger that Cromwell took very seriously.”

  “And you think the vicar might have been helping them?”

  “Someone must have been getting supplies for them,” said Ralph. “someone who knew where they were hiding. Remember, it was much more wooded here in those days.” Marnie read from the army papers.

  “… horse movement between Great Hanford and Watling Street. No contact was made but detachment sent to Knightly St John to secure route to south …”

  “They had their eye on this village,” said Ralph. “No doubt about it. But there was no record of any trouble from this community at any time. Everyone was war-weary and wanted to get on with their lives. It was fanatics like the vicar who were causing the trouble.”

  “And inspiring one or two individuals by their charisma and personality,” said Marnie. She thought of her conversation with Randall Hughes. “I’m not a soft touch.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Oh, that’s what the vicar said to me about his own problems with the parish. The school secretary said he was an inspiration to us all.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t lead to the problems they had in the 1640’s,” said Ralph.

  “Which brings us to what happened here,” said Marnie. “In Flaxman’s report for the third of August 1645 he states that on a patrol in the area he was summoned to the village and informed that the vicar had been killed three days earlier : ‘… it had been seen by the folk of the village that lights were showing from the church tower. There was reported sighting of unknown cavalry in woods to north. Vicar was suspected of giving succour to the enemy. A force of villagers stormed the church …’ We know the rest.”

  “Look at how the report ends, Marnie. Flaxman was sure no-one in the village knew who had committed the crime. They were obviously shocked at having a killer in their midst.”

  “So we come to this enquiry about the woman.” Marnie scanned the first page of a collection of papers.

  “That was later the same year,” said Ralph. “The Prosecutor General chaired an investigation into the death of a daughter of the village blacksmith.”

  “I haven’t read this properly,” said Marnie. “She went into some sort of decline a few weeks after the vicar was killed.”

  “Yes. The account is incomplete. The records were partly destroyed in the Great Fire of Northampton in 1675. She was dead before the end of September, but Fellheimer points out there was no record of her burial in the church register. He wondered if she came from another village. Then he decided to look at wills and property deeds and he came across this.” Ralph pushed a bundle of photocopies across the table.

  “Do researchers always have to go into this much detail?” said Marnie.

  “Oh yes. The historians love this sort of thing, Marnie. They thrive on it! A nice pile of dusty old papers, keeps them amused for hours.”

  “But what was he researching?”

  “Changes in property ownership, the impact of the Commonwealth on the economic structure of this area in the period up to the Restoration of the Monarchy, or something like that. It’s for a
book.”

  “Enthralling,” said Marnie. “Bound to be a best-seller. So he came across this by chance.”

  “Yes. He realised that something strange was going on and just followed it up out of curiosity. Research is like that sometimes. You’ll see he found a mention of ‘my poor beloved daughter’ in the will of Jonathan Day dated 1662. It mentions how she had died a ‘sorry death by her own hand out of sorrow at her family’s part in the death of the lamented vicar’. The will included money to provide a decent headstone for her grave. It says she hanged herself in the cow byre of Beech Farm but really died ‘out of shame for what had been done by her own kin’.”

  “And Fellheimer thinks this is Beech Farm?” In reply, Ralph turned over a copy of an old field plan, dated 1793. It showed the route of the proposed new canal, following a contour line as it looped round the village. Beech Farm nestled in the crook of the watercourse, where Glebe Farm now stood.

  “It looks like the only clue to who committed the murder,” said Ralph. “Jonathan Day’s ‘poor beloved daughter’ knew and took the secret to her grave.”

  “Was her name Sarah Anne?” said Marnie.

  Ralph sifted through the papers. “Yes, it was. How on earth did you know that?”

  “Elementary,” said Marnie.

  “Really? And I suppose you know where she’s buried, too?” said Ralph.

  “As a matter of fact, I can show you,” said Marnie. “She was buried outside the church wall and she hanged herself … in our office barn.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “It’s the only one that was here in those days.”

  *

  Lunch was a more subdued affair than usual. The village pub was half empty thanks to the storm. Marnie and Ralph sat at the table near the window, Ralph beginning to doubt the wisdom of telling Marnie what had happened. He had only done so because he could not think of concealing something so important. He also believed that if anyone had the resilience to cope with the situation, it was Marnie. He watched her from across the table, her clean, intelligent features, her smooth complexion, her shining, dark wavy hair. It pained him to think he might have spoiled her dream of a new life in the country, her own company, the pleasure of achievement. She looked up suddenly and found him staring. He thought she knew what he was thinking.

  “Right,” she said. “So, now we know. I’m glad you told me about the research, Ralph. It doesn’t help me find out who murdered the vicar, but it fills in part of the story.”

  “Is that what you want to do, identify the murderer?”

  “I had thought of doing that, yes. Of course, I also have to earn a living and I have plans for Glebe Farm. There’s a lot to do, and nothing is going to spoil it. The people who lived in the past have had their time. This is our time and we have to get on with it. As the vicar said – the new one I mean, Toni – life’s too short. Is there any wine left in that carafe?”

  Ralph poured a glass each. “I don’t think I tasted the first glass at all,” he said.

  “Often advisable with a carafe of house red,” said Marnie. She raised her glass. “To all our endeavours.”

  “To the new life, la vita nuova,” said Ralph. They clinked glasses and sipped. The wine had not greatly improved in flavour, but the atmosphere was better.

  “This quiche isn’t bad,” said Marnie. “Home made.”

  Ralph agreed. “Tell me, the new vicar. What’s she like?”

  “Youngish, thirty something, friendly, spontaneous, very excited at having her own parish, presentable, quite stylish, in fact.”

  “How well is she being accepted, or is it too early to tell?”

  “Some like the idea, some don’t, as you’d expect, really. I think everyone would like her as a person.” The sunlight was now shining in through the window. After being enclosed for most of the day so far, they decided to postpone coffee and take the air while they could. Outside, they paused on the threshold, not sure which direction to take.

  “Do you feel like meeting Sarah Anne Day?” said Marnie.

  Minutes later, they pushed through the gate on the far side of the churchyard, out into the executive housing estate, along the path and across the wet grass.

  “She’s tucked away out of sight in that clump of brambles over there,” said Marnie. “It was probably woodland in those days.”

  “Just outside the consecrated ground,” said Ralph. “Her family obviously cared for her a great deal, keeping her as close to the church as they dared.”

  “She got her headstone,” said Marnie. “Look. You can just see the top of it among the bushes.” They had to walk round to the other side of the clump before it came into view. “Oh!“ Marnie stopped suddenly and Ralph almost collided with her back.

  “What is it?” he said. Marnie stood aside for him to see. The undergrowth had been cut back and the face of the headstone had been cleaned. Little of the inscription was legible, but it no longer looked neglected and abandoned. At the foot of the stone someone had laid a bunch of bright, blue cornflowers, tied with a white ribbon.

  “How very strange,” said Marnie. “When I came by the other day, the stone was almost concealed by the bushes.”

  Ralph stooped to read the markings. “This certainly seems to be her grave.”

  “But how different it looks,” said Marnie. “It’s nice to think someone has taken the trouble to clean her up after all these years.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is,” said Ralph, but his mind was pondering a different question. If the grave was so well concealed, how did anyone know where to find it, unless they had been observing Marnie, or possibly following her? Marnie knelt down beside the flowers.

  “There’s no card, nothing to show who sent them.” She ran her fingers across the surface of the stone. “Someone has used a stiff brush on this. You can see the scour marks. I wonder if the idea was to make the stone cleaner, or to try to reveal the inscription.” She swivelled round, still crouching, and looked up at Ralph. “Whatever the motive, it hasn’t made …” Her voice stopped in mid-sentence. She stood up, staring over Ralph’s head. He turned and followed the direction of her gaze. It was some seconds before he realised that a small figure could be seen at the top of tower. Someone was up there watching them. Then, against the skyline, it seemed as if an arm was raised.

  “Shall we go and see who our guardian angel is?” said Ralph. But he was too late. Marnie was already on the move. He set off behind her and was still trailing when they crossed the churchyard and turned past the west front. He wondered if she had the same thought that had occurred to him. This was how it must have been that night when the vicar was killed, someone spotted on the tower, a signal being made, the rush into the church, the finding of the body. Ralph caught up with Marnie as she slowed to open the grille to the porch. They entered the building together. It was empty. Silent. The faint smell of old stone and wood polish. Light falling across the nave from the stained glass windows.

  They made for the door to the tower without a word said between them. It swung open at Marnie’s touch. They began to climb the steps quietly, at a steady pace. The afternoon sun dazzled them as they passed the first window and moved on and up into the shadows. The landing with the wooden partition came and went. Breathing more heavily, they came to the second window. Through the bell chamber they climbed and found themselves on a small landing. They had reached the highest point. Marnie pushed open the door and the sunlight poured in. At first the roof of the tower seemed deserted. Then they saw the vicar, standing in the corner, looking out over the crenellations. She turned to face them.

  “You got up here a lot quicker than I did!” She came over, smiling. “Isn’t this fantastic?”

  “Wonderful,” said Marnie, breathless. She made the introductions. Ralph and Toni shook hands, Ralph trying to look as if he had not just run up the equivalent of six floors.

  “Come and see,” said Toni. She pointed towards the south. “I think that’s Buckinghamshire over there.
And on the horizon that dark patch might be the start of the Cotswolds.” She led them to the other side. In the distance another church tower could be seen, poking up between the trees a few miles off. “Do you see the odd trace of silver over by Hanford? I think that must be the canal. And there’s your farm, Marnie. You can see the rooftops.”

  “If there were any rooftops,” said Marnie, still breathing heavily.

  “There will be soon. Have faith,” said the vicar with an encouraging smile.

  “It all looks so much more wooded from up here,” Ralph observed. “You wouldn’t think there were busy roads and houses down there. And once it was thick forest.”

  “Oh yes,” said Toni. “You could’ve hidden an army between the villages.”

  “Quite,” said Marnie. “Toni, did you recognise us when you looked down?”

  “I thought I recognised you, Marnie. It was rather an inspired guess. I wondered what you were doing down there, actually. Had you lost something?”

  “We were looking at an old gravestone. It was odd to find it outside the churchyard.”

  “Very odd,” said Toni. She frowned. “Of course, there always has been a place where certain types of burial were conducted.”

  “A place of sanctuary for lost souls,” said Ralph.

  “In times past,” said Toni, “there were special circumstances, witches, the excommunicated, heretics.”

  “Suicides?” suggested Marnie.

  “Yes.”

  “So they were excluded from society even in death,” said Ralph.

  “The church had strict rules about certain categories of … sin,” said Toni.

  “But isn’t it unusual for her – it was a woman from Knightly – to have had a headstone?” said Marnie. “And be buried almost on church land?”

  “She may have been an offender against the rules of the day,” said Toni, “but she was still part of somebody’s family. Someone cared about her.”

  “Is it unfair to ask what you would have done in those days as vicar?” Ralph said quietly.

  Toni shrugged. “I wouldn’t have had a say in it in those days, would I? Some might say that it was just as well.”