‘I’ll tell you later. You need to eat something.’
‘Tell me now. I’m your assistant aren’t I?’
I glanced across at Beth who had taken off her shoes and socks.
Harriet followed my glance. ‘I won’t tell her. She’s not curious, except about her brother.’
I could not pretend nothing had happened, or lie to her. ‘The farmer died during the night. His wife didn’t realise, and no one has gone for a doctor. After our picnic, we’ll go to Settle and report the death. All the men are out on the hills, with the sheep.’
‘You want to go now don’t you?’
‘No! I want to see you eat something, enjoy the fresh air, and have a rest.’
‘You go. We’ll save some food.’
‘I don’t want to leave you.’
‘Honestly, Auntie! We’re not kids. She’s fifteen and you know you can trust me.’
‘If I do, you must promise to be careful. Don’t go too close to the edge of the falls.’
My thoughts of this holiday being ‘educational’ returned to mock me as I half-recalled titbits about strong white limestone, weak grey limestone, Stainforth Beck and the River Ribble that runs west into Lancashire. The girls would not be interested in a geology lecture but just in enjoying the afternoon.
I opened my satchel and took out the camera I had bought for Harriet. ‘This is for you. You’ve seen how I use mine, and there are instructions. You can take a picture of each other, and of the waterfall, as long you don’t go too close to the edge.’
‘Oh thanks, Auntie Kate! And you’ll go to Settle.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll tell Beth you’re enquiring there, about Martin. And if you do enquire, then I won’t be a liar.’
‘All right, just be careful. Now let me see you eat and drink something before I go, and aren’t you glad you put on your coat?’
‘I’m not cold.’
The two of them sat down. When I had watched Harriet make a sandwich with a slice of chicken and take a few sips of cold tea, I went back to the path. I turned and waved, and then the girls were out of sight.
It was as I drove along the road from Stainforth to Settle that my confidence suddenly fled. What if I had a crash on the way back and the girls became lost trying to find their way to the village? What if some marauding lunatic who had done away with young Martin lay in wait to murder his sister and her new friend? The murderer of Langcliffe Parish who had lain low for a decade now prepared to strike again. How would I explain to Mary Jane if Harriet went tumbling to her death in this supposedly idyllic spot? I should have known better than to leave them.
Too late. The die was cast.
Nine
Harriet loved the sound of the rushing water. Here at Catrigg Force she felt cut off from the world. They had left behind what didn’t matter so much. Here was a magic grotto, a secret place where if you listened carefully you might hear a message murmured by the waterfall, blown through clouds and leaves. Who might whistle to her on the wind from another place, another time?
As well as cheese sandwiches, Harriet had packed bread cakes, already buttered, and passed one to Beth. ‘There’s sliced chicken in the wax paper.’
She told Beth that Auntie Kate had gone to Settle and would enquire about Martin while she was there.
Beth opened her bread cake and made a sandwich with a slice of chicken. This was a treat. A big treat. She wanted Martin here, and her mam who never would be, and her dad who sometime might be.
‘Is your auntie really a detective?’ Beth bit into her sandwich.
Harriet wished she hadn’t told her. She must remember to be more careful.
‘Yes. She finds people.’ Just in time, Harriet stopped herself from adding ‘alive or dead’.
‘How do you become a detective?’
Perhaps Beth was more curious than Harriet gave her credit for.
‘Oh it’s a bit complicated. You have to learn to do it. You have to ask questions, stand up to bullies.’ She decided not to mention the assistant who carried handcuffs.
‘What kind of questions?’
‘It’s to do with being logical.’ Harriet studied her sandwich. ‘There are right ways of going about everything. For instance, if you butter a piece of bread in the middle that leaves the crust dry. If you butter the bread near the crust, the middle takes care of itself.’
‘Who buttered this bread cake?’
‘I did.’
‘You missed the edge.’
‘That just proves what I say is true.’
The light changed as moving clouds shifted shadows. Stripes of sunshine and shade made a dappled pattern on Beth’s arm. ‘So these questions, if we ask them, you and me, who are we supposed to question? What if they say shut up, mind your own business?’
Harriet knew that people were quite likely to say just that, and worse. ‘Whatever anyone says, a detective has to persist. “Little pigs should be seen and not heard,” they might say that.’
‘They better not say that to me because I’m grown up and go to work.’
Harriet unwrapped the currant cake. ‘About the questions, you go by Rudyard Kipling.’ She put the cake between them.
‘What does Rudyard Kipling have to do with it?’
Slice of cake in hand, Harriet stood. She took a deep breath and began to recite. ‘I have six honest serving men. They taught me all I knew. Their names are What and Why and When and How and Where and Who. Those are the questions. The rest of the rhyme isn’t important.’
‘Where what, who what, why what?’ Beth asked.
‘Good afternoon, young ladies!’
The deep voice startled Harriet into dropping her slice of currant cake. They had been so absorbed as not to hear the man who now stood so close that his shadow fell across Beth.
Both girls stared. He was weather-beaten, the colour of an acorn. He wore corduroy trousers, a striped shirt and a belted plaid like a Highlander.
‘Did I startle thee?’
‘Aye, you did.’ Beth looked up at him. ‘How did you know we were here?’
He took a child’s telescope from his pocket. ‘Best tanner I ever spent. I see when a sheep’s in trouble. I see when there’s strangers roundabout.’ He offered the telescope to Beth. ‘Take a look-see.’
His hands were swollen and full of little marks, not like real hands. Beth had seen these hands before.
Beth took the telescope. ‘It was you. You were the one took my brother away on a cart when we came to Langcliffe.’
‘I did. And now you’re seeking him. I know you’re Beth because he talked about you. I’m Gabriel, Gabriel Cherry.’
Beth put the telescope to her eye and looked across the stretch of rock and the torrent that raged between here and the other side of the waterfall. She looked all along the opposite bank. ‘Have you seen Martin? Do you know where he is?’ She handed the telescope to Harriet.
The man scratched his ear. ‘Not since yesterday when he cracked old Gouthwaite’s leg.’
Harriet did not look through the spy glass Beth had handed her. She wanted to be alert, and watch this fellow. There was no knowing who you could trust. She could outrun him if it came to that. She glared at Beth, trying to tell her to stand up and be ready to flee, but Beth seemed not to cotton on that this man might pose a threat. Harriet could see Beth’s brain working as she thought what questions to ask.
Beth did not ask a question but said, ‘Martin didn’t come into the village last weekend, all last week or yesterday which was May Day, when everybody came.’
The man bobbed down on his haunches, close to Beth. ‘A week’s a long time when you’re young. But he’s a canny lad. He can stick up for himself.’
‘It’s been a fortnight, and he’s little.’
‘He’s wiry, quick enough to trip up a big ’un, and that’s what he did.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘I spied what went on. Your lad was walking along the lane. Up comes Farme
r Gouthwaite waving his arms, shouting the odds like he’s auctioning off a herd of Ayrshires. Farmer Gouthwaite speaks. Lad speaks. Farmer Gouthwaite has a stick and lays into him summat cruel.’
Beth let out a small yell.
‘Nay lass, fret not. Lad tries to fight back but Farmer Gouthwaite has a bit of weight in his arm. Knocks him down. Lad goes for Gouthwaite’s ankle, heaves it, sends him flying. Gouthwaite doesn’t move. Lad stands and looks, comes a bit closer, bobs down, and I’m saying to meself, Don’t be tricked lad, take to your heels. But Gouthwaite still doesn’t move. Then the lad runs.’
‘Towards the village?’
‘No. Across country. He could’ve ended up here, that’s my guess. See yon, where a fire was lit?’ He pointed across to the other bank.
Perhaps he was not an enemy, but you never could tell. Harriet relented. She looked through the telescope at where the man pointed. She saw a ring of stones on the opposite bank where someone had lit a fire.
When the man knew both girls had seen the remains of the fire, he said, ‘See this is how I reckon. Lad thought he’d killed the old beggar, that’s why he ran off. Where would you camp out if needs be?’ He did not wait for an answer. ‘Where there’s water and shelter.’
‘That fire could have been lit ages ago.’ Harriet was still not entirely sure about this Gabriel Cherry. What kind of name was that any road? He could be spinning a yarn. Some folk reckon to know everything under the sun, to make themselves important.
‘That ring of ash wasn’t there last time I looked, which was Friday. I come by this way because the trees hide my view. See down there?’ He pointed to where water was still, a great calm pool beyond the waterfall. ‘We wash the sheep there, so they remember this spot. They sometimes come here. In lambing time, you have to know all the places to look for ’em.’
‘But he didn’t kill the farmer.’ Harriet picked up the currant cake she had dropped and took a good bite.
‘He wasn’t to know that. He wasn’t to know that Gouthwaite had to drag hisself along the ground. I went to help the old so-and-so. I set his leg for him’ The man looked into the picnic basket.
Harriet cautiously offered him a cheese sandwich.
He thanked her.
The girls watched him, as if this strange man might have a different way of eating to other people.
He savoured his mouthful. ‘This cheese comes from Murgatroyds’ farm. You made a good choice.’ He sat down. For several minutes they all watched the water and listened, as if under the spell of some powerful hypnotist.
As he ate, he turned to Beth. ‘He’s a good little worker, thy brother, even though he’s an incomer. He limed the old pasture off his own bat. I saw him do it.’
Beth pushed back a strand of hair. ‘Then why didn’t that man, Farmer Gouthwaite, let him have May Day afternoon off?’
Gabriel shrugged. ‘Gouthwaite’s a disagreeable old beggar. You wouldn’t mind but him and her are incomers themselves. Allus hardest on whoever comes after.’
Trying to retrieve her exalted position as niece of the detective, Harriet asked where else Martin might have gone into hiding. What would be the best places to look?
There were too many places, Gabriel told her, and this time of year a handy lad turning up on a farm and offering his services would be bound to find himself engaged to help with the lambing.
He narrowed his eyes and looked from one to the other. ‘When I saw thee from a distance I thought at first one of you was someone else. I wanted to see thee safe.’
Beth frowned. ‘I need to find Martin. If you spied us, you can spy him can’t you?’
‘I’ll keep a lookout.’
‘If you see him, tell him to come to Mrs Holroyd’s opposite the washing green. Or he could come and find me at the mill on my dinner break at twelve. I’m a doffer there, half past seven in’t morning till half five. When we have us dinner break, I sit outside.’
He nodded. ‘Aye.’
Not to be outdone, Harriet joined in. ‘If you see him during the day, tell him to come to Lilac Cottage and let himself in by the back gate. I’ll leave some grub in the shed in case we’re not in.’
‘Will you look for him?’ Beth asked.
‘I can’t go searching when there’s work to be done but if I see him, I’ll catch him up.’ He adjusted the faded plaid cloak on his shoulder. ‘Pity the plaid’s gone out of fashion. He could have done with an item like this to cover himself at night.’
Harriet looked at Beth and saw that it hurt her to think of Martin out in the open. Cold. Hungry. She wished the man had not reminded them that Martin might be in a poor way. To stop Beth dwelling on the thought, Harriet said, ‘Is that why you wear it? To cover yourself at night?’
He smiled, showing white, even teeth. ‘Many a Dalesman wore the plaid once upon a time. Not now.’ He fingered his cloak. ‘The colour’s all gone. Dull as dishwater now.’
He sighed and walked away, as quietly as he had come.
When he had gone, Harriet closed the picnic basket. ‘Martin thought he’d killed the farmer, so he ran away.’
‘Why didn’t he come to me?’
‘He didn’t want to bring you trouble.’
‘That might explain it. But it leaves me worried. If he thinks he’s a murderer, a fugitive, fleeing from justice, he could turn desperate. We had a story like that read to us at school.’
‘He might not have gone far. We could leave messages on trees or something.’
Beth pulled up a stalk of grass, peeled off the outer layer and put the stalk in her mouth. ‘He could’ve gone far. He could’ve gone a long way off. And what’s he eating?’
‘He’ll find eggs and things. But why do you think he might’ve gone far?’
‘What if he jumped on a train? He could be anywhere.’
‘He wouldn’t go without telling you, would he?’
‘I’m not sure. You see, my dad is one for taking off. It’s what he’s always done. We had a farm, a small farm. For months at a time, Dad would do everything right, and then he’d take it into his head to go off. We didn’t know when he’d come home. He left Mam and us to get on with things.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘He went wherever the yen took him. His other work is as a travelling slaughterman. He kills pigs and castrates beasts. He likes to travel about, oh all over the place, a little pack on his back and his knives on a belt at his waist. Then he’ll come back and just act as if he’s never been away.’ She pulled at another blade of grass. ‘That letter to Mam that was in the bag your auntie found, did you read it?’
‘No!’ Harriet was indignant. ‘One mustn’t read other people’s letters.’
‘Well I had to read it, because by the time it came, Mam had died. I showed the letter to Mr Herbert who owned our farm. I said Dad would soon be back, and not to turn us off. He was very nice about it, but said he had to terminate the lease and put in new tenants. He was sorry, but claimed it was the best thing, because of me and Martin being old enough for work. We should start again in a new place. When Dad did decide to come home, Mr Herbert would tell him where we were, and make sure he came to see us. Mam was buried in a guinea grave because Mr Herbert was very fond of her, so at least her name will be on the stone. We were brought over here on a cart by the blacksmith. He has a grand horse called Pluto. Everyone was kind. He said it wasn’t so far from Pendleton to Langcliffe Parish, only they had a different colour rose over this way, the white rose of Yorkshire, and not the red. I didn’t mind coming here because Dad came here once to do some work for the farmers.’
‘Did your dad always tell you where he’d been?’
‘No, but I remember Langcliffe only because he was upset about it. He lost a good knife here. I heard him telling Mam.’
‘Well then he’ll know his way.’
‘He will, but I’m wondering if Dad and Martin are peas in a pod. Martin enjoyed the journey over here on the cart. Is he going to turn out like Dad, a bolting h
orse, always making off? I’ll feel so lonely if it’s just to be me.’
‘If Martin was going to be a bolter, he wouldn’t have been so determined to defy Farmer Gouthwaite and set off for the village to see you yesterday — only yesterday.’
Harriet’s words did the trick. Beth looked a little happier.
But Harriet thought of the landscape roundabout them: quarries, old mine shafts, disused kilns, deep caves and places where a boy might hide, and might lose himself in darkness, in death.
She stood a little too close to the edge of the jagged limestone rocks and looked into the raging torrent below. Something bad could happen so very easily.
Beth began to pack up the picnic hamper. She fastened the straps and then came to stand beside Harriet, too close to the edge.
‘If that was his fire, how did he come to be on the other side of this ravine, and how could we find our way across?’ Beth asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘If Gabriel Cherry is right and Martin was over there, he might come back to this spot. I want to leave him a message.’ She glanced right and left, at the torrent of water, at the still pool. ‘Do you think I could jump it?’
‘No. And where the sheep were dipped, it’s too steep to climb down from here. There’ll be another way round.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘Martin will turn up. And so will your dad, once he knows where you are.’ Harriet did not sound convincing even to herself, but Beth did not notice.
‘I hope so.’
‘Why wouldn’t he?’
Beth sighed. ‘I wish they’d sent us to Settle instead. Anywhere but Langcliffe.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t think I’m supposed to say. But it was a long time ago. I’d only just started school. I heard Mam and Dad talking, like I told you, about the knife. He said he’d never come back this way.’ She picked up a pebble and threw it into the water below.
‘Didn’t he like it here?’
‘He said something bad happened and he had to come home without his knife, but worse than that.’
A Death in the Dales Page 9
