A Death in the Dales

by Frances Brody

  ‘Mr Cherry, I’m a stranger here. Apart from Dr Simonson and Mrs Trevelyan, I know no one. Anything you or she say to me will be in confidence. If you’re so sure the letters are safe, please make certain while I’m here.’

  If I could see the letters, and have a little longer with the man, I may be able to persuade him to hand them over.

  He hesitated and then nodded his head, indicating for me to follow him. He began to walk towards the gate.

  I rode back across the field. He opened the gate, let me through and then tied it once more with the old rope.

  He did not speak again until we reached the farmyard when he held the bridle and reached a hand to help me down. I took his hand which was calloused and roughened by splinters. He must soak his poor hands each night for relief. What would he apply? Sheep fat, I guessed. Lanolin.

  He hooked the horse’s reins over a post. ‘I wish young Martin had stayed. He was a useful little fellow and there’s a lot to be done.’ Was there an apology for the state of the farm, I wondered, when he said, ‘Gouthwaite isn’t good at keeping men and now is out of action himself.’

  We walked side by side towards an outbuilding. Close up, he smelled of hay and dried sweat. He led the horse towards a stable.

  This stable, unlike the rest of the farm, was neatly arranged, with symmetrical bales of hay, and a series of hooks around the wall on which hung bridles, reins and items of equipment. From a stall, a horse whinnied. He went up and spoke to the creature, promising to take him to the meadow as soon as he was done.

  A ladder led up to the roof space. I glanced at it. He followed my look, saying, ‘That’s where I bed down, if you want to know.’

  ‘Oh? It’s such a decent-sized farmhouse.’

  ‘I prefer it out here.’ He hesitated, and then added, ‘I don’t like to disturb anyone.’

  There was something about his voice and his look as he spoke, that made me think he must sleep badly, haunted by nightmares, like so many men who had come back from war.

  He gave a mocking wave of the hand in the direction of a bale of hay. ‘I’m sorry this is all the seating I can offer.’

  I sat down.

  The old dog came and licked my hand and then sat beside me. I put a hand on its bony head.

  Gabriel climbed the ladder to the top of the barn.

  Within a few moments, he reappeared, his face hard with anger. ‘Tell Victoria she has nothing to fear. I pitied Selina Gouthwaite. Now I loathe her.’

  I did not need to ask, but it is better not to take anything for granted where love and loss are concerned. ‘The letters are gone?’

  ‘Yes, but if Selina could find my hiding place, I’ll find hers. Failing that, I know far worse about the pair of them than they ever knew about me.’

  ‘What? What do you know?’

  He gave a small bow. ‘Give my respects to Mrs Trevelyan, Nurse Shackleton. Leave it to me to retrieve the letters.’

  There was nothing more to be said, but I said it anyway. ‘Thank you, Corporal Cherry. I wait to hear from you.’

  Seventeen

  After parting company with Gabriel Cherry I rode back along Silverdale Road towards Goat Lane in the direction of the Murgatroyds’ Farm. If Mrs Trevelyan was still there, we could ride back together and I would be able to tell her about my talk with Gabriel. As I drew nearer, I saw that her horse was not in the farmyard. Nor was there any sign of her on the lane ahead. Of course the horse could be in the stable. If she had already set off for home, a call by me at the farm might be a little awkward, so soon after Mr Murgatroyd’s death. To heartlessly pass by, or to obtrusively call? I sometimes make decisions, not by choosing heads or tails but by pretending to choose heads or tails and then judging my own reaction when the coin lands. Am I glad, or sorry?

  There being no coins in the borrowed riding habit, I made an instant decision, reined in the horse by the farmhouse gate, dismounted and tethered her to the gatepost.

  Lucian had said neighbours would come to help, and here they were. A man tending pigs concentrated very deliberately on his task. A young chap lifted cheeses onto a cart.

  All the curtains in the house were drawn tight shut. Jennifer answered my knock. She looked pale, drawn and somewhat dazed. I began to introduce myself again. She interrupted. ‘Yes, I remember you. You’re the lady with the car. Sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.’

  ‘Shackleton.’

  ‘Come in, Mrs Shackleton.’ She was wearing the same dress as yesterday. It was crumpled and had a greasy stain on the bodice that might have been butter.

  I stepped inside. On the kitchen table there were two pies, a stew pot and several cake tins. I had come empty-handed when others had brought food.

  ‘I don’t want to intrude, Miss Murgatroyd. I see you have had callers and have help in the yard. But if there is anything I can do…’

  ‘My mother wanted to see you. She’s fed up of everyone but she wanted to see you, to say thank you.’

  ‘I should like to see her, but there’s no need for thanks.’

  ‘Let me see how she is. I tried to get her to rest in the parlour. Sit down, do.’

  The kitchen was quiet and warm. The walls of the farmhouse were thick, and the windows closed, keeping out the noises from the yard. The only sound was the tick of a clock on the mantelpiece. The peat fire burned steadily.

  The black lead kitchen range had been polished and the steel oven knob and hinges shone brightly. On the ceiling was a wooden clothes airer on a pulley. It held neatly straightened pillowcases and towels. On the wall to the right of the kitchen range was the cabinet I had noticed on Sunday, comprising three drawers at the base and open shelving above. This was where the tea caddy was kept, and above it the remedies Mrs Murgatroyd had used to treat her husband. The sheer numbers of brown, clear and blue bottles intrigued me. I took a closer look at these neatly labelled concoctions. Dr McKinley had been only partly right when he told Lucian that the older Murgatroyds never ailed. When they did, they knew how to treat themselves. There was arnica, belladonna, nux.vom and morphia. Between the bottles and jars were spaces I had not noticed before. Some items had been removed. That was not so unusual, perhaps Mrs Murgatroyd or Jennifer had needed to take something for shock, or nerves.

  When I heard Jennifer returning, I moved to the hearth rug and looked into the fire, not wishing to be thought nosy.

  ‘You can go in. Mam is awake.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Will you have a cup of tea?’

  ‘Yes, if it will encourage your mother to join me.’

  ‘Well it might.’ She glanced at the table. ‘I’ll fetch something. Mrs Pickersgill, Derek’s mother, has been very good but my mother sent her away. It made me feel so awkward and embarrassed.’

  ‘It’s a difficult time for you all.’

  ‘Mam thinks she’s losing me, and she’s not. I’ll only be in Settle for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘The wedding will go ahead as planned?’

  She sighed. ‘It’s what Mam wants. We shouldn’t, I know. People will talk.’

  ‘Never mind anyone else. You must do what you think is right.’ I wondered if she was pregnant. Everyone would wonder that now. ‘I’ll go in and see your mother.’

  ‘Right. Tea coming up.’

  I braced myself as I entered the parlour. This was always such a difficult time, between a death and a funeral. There would be little or nothing I could say that would not sound crass or trite.

  The dim room was lit by a single shaft of light that came through a gap in the curtains, setting the heavy furniture in sharp relief and creating an unreal feeling, as of a stage set. A log fire burned in the hearth. The atmosphere in the room felt oppressive.

  Mrs Murgatroyd lay propped on the sofa, staring ahead. On hearing me come in, she swung her legs round so that she was seated, looking up at me. Never sure of the right thing to do, I approached and took her hand.

  When we had shaken hands, hers gave a small flutter. �
�I shouldn’t be this useless. But if I shift myself all I do is walk in circles and get in everyone’s way.’

  ‘How else could it be, after what’s happened?’ I sat down, without being asked. ‘I see from the men in your yard and from the food on the kitchen table that people are rallying round. I’m sorry I haven’t brought anything.’

  ‘There’s too much been brought, women fetching food, sending their sons to lend a hand, men finishing their own work and knowing what to do here without being asked. But what good is any of it? A farm is no use without a farmer. And he was going to take more land into care.’

  Anything I said would sound ridiculous, yet she was waiting for me to speak. ‘There is that.’

  ‘Aye, that there is. We’ve two sons but they’ve married into bigger farms. Bill had talked to Gabriel Cherry and he was willing to come and work for us. There’s nothing he doesn’t know. Bill was right pleased about that.’

  ‘Might that be a solution, a farm manager?’

  She groaned. ‘It’s too soon.’

  ‘Of course it is.’

  ‘They’ve taken him to the hospital to find out what was the matter. I want him home. I don’t know how long they want to keep him there. Do you know?’

  ‘No I don’t. Perhaps the doctor will call again.’

  I wondered whether the autopsy had been completed.

  ‘He should be here, with me. His shirt is ironed and waiting, and his black tie, and his best suit. Jennifer’s Derek made himself useful for once. He polished the shoes.’

  She would probably want to dress him herself. The autopsy would leave her husband scarred, and may be an unexpected blow for her. I wondered if he could be dressed for burial at the hospital. But I also wondered about the potions on her dresser.

  She put her hand on her heart. ‘He must have been dying when I put him to bed. He said to turn off the light. Well there was no light, only the shine from the base of the brass lamp, but he saw a circle of light around it, like a halo. Don’t they say that the dying see a light and should follow the light, a white light, through a tunnel? I could have brought him back. Made him keep his eyes open, turned on the lamp, done something.’

  ‘You weren’t to know. He knew you were there and would always do what you could.’

  ‘I blame myself for going to sleep, but he’d dropped off. I thought he’d been overdoing it and he’d be reet in the morning.’

  She began to weep. ‘I wanted him to give it all up an age ago. It was too much, running a farm without sons. My cousin’s a feed merchant in Settle and he would have taken my mister into partnership, but no, there was nothing but the farm for him, morning, noon and night.’

  ‘He must have had a lot on his mind, with the thoughts of taking over Raistrick Farm.’

  ‘He was pleased to be expanding. He hated to see land go to the bad, and livestock not properly cared for.’ She sighed. ‘But it upset him, the thought of turning a man off the land.’

  ‘Mr Gouthwaite?’

  ‘Aye. Not that the Gouthwaites deserve sympathy. Farmers have to pull together, keeping up walls and gates and not turning the common areas into a squelch of mud when there’s no need. Gouthwaite never pulled his weight and he couldn’t keep his men. He left it all to Gabriel Cherry and there’s only so much one man can do.’

  ‘All the same, I expect your husband wanted to part on good terms.’

  She gave a small bitter laugh. ‘You have my man to rights and you never met him. That’s just what he wanted. I told him not to make a fool of himself by trying to make peace with Gouthwaite.’ She took out her hanky and wiped her nose. ‘They’re the only ones from ten miles around who haven’t called or sent word.’

  Jennifer came in bringing a tray of tea and slices of pie. She spoke with forced cheerfulness. ‘Here you are Mam, Mrs Shackleton. I’ll pour, eh?’

  ‘Thank you, love.’ When Jennifer had gone, Mrs Murgatroyd sipped her tea. ‘I’ll be lost without Jenny. I don’t think I’ll be carrying on here.’

  ‘You’ll have a lot to think about.’

  ‘When he came home like that, I thought it was something he’d eaten.’

  ‘Did anyone else take poorly?’

  ‘No. We’d all had the same Sunday dinner at one o’clock. We had Yorkshire pudding and gravy, roast mutton with mint sauce, potatoes, swede, and then Yorkshire pudding with Golden Syrup and a pot of tea. What was it, Mrs Shackleton? What ailed him? Something isn’t right.’

  Something was not right, and she had put her finger on it. Nausea, dizziness, halos of light, and the fluttering of his heart that she mentioned yesterday. All signified poison. But that was up to the doctors and the coroner to find out.

  I handed Mrs Murgatroyd a slice of currant pie. She took the pie from me with a mechanical gesture, and then stirred more sugar into her tea.

  ‘If only we’d gone to Settle, to take up our Robbie’s offer, we’d be off the farm and this might never have happened.’

  When I had stayed just long enough and not too long, I took my leave of Mrs Murgatroyd and went back into the kitchen.

  Jennifer was feeding the tiny lamb that I had seen on my previous visit. She looked up. ‘It’s a puzzle, Mrs Shackleton. I don’t know what to make of it and I daren’t tell Mam.’

  ‘Tell her what?’

  ‘Mrs Pickersgill, Derek’s mother, she said the strangest thing, and I wasn’t going to repeat it but it keeps going round and round in my head.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She said that if Dad took his own life, the insurance won’t pay out.’

  ‘What a ridiculous thing to say.’

  ‘I know. I’m beginning to think I don’t know her at all. There’s a mean side to her. And we’re supposed to live with them, me and Derek, until we find a place of our own. How can I if she thinks Dad poisoned himself?’

  ‘What reason did she have for saying such a thing?’

  ‘I can’t remember properly. It made no sense. About Dad thinking he’d taken on too much and not able to face it without Mam behind him.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t she be behind him?’

  ‘Because she once talked about moving into Settle, giving up farming. Her cousin, my Uncle Robbie, is a seed merchant and he’s getting old, but it would never have happened. Just one of those things people talk about when they weary of going on about lambs and milking and harvests.’

  ‘Mrs Pickersgill shouldn’t have said that. Don’t let it worry you.’

  ‘No she shouldn’t. Mr Pickersgill told her off about it.’

  We chatted a while longer, and then I left.

  As I rode away, a most unworthy thought struck me in relation to this good and grieving woman. Had she so wanted to be shot of the farm that she had poisoned her husband?

  When I trotted Miss Shady back along the drive at Threlfall Hall, the elderly groom appeared, tweed cap in hand. He fixed me with his beady nutmeg eyes as he took the reins. His glance was curious. ‘Mrs Trevelyan isn’t over-fond of anyone but Susannah riding Shady.’

  ‘Then I’m honoured.’ I patted the horse’s flank. ‘She’s a grand creature.’

  ‘Mistress is waiting for you on the terrace.’

  He led the horse away.

  As I crossed the lawn, Mrs Trevelyan waved. She was seated at a wooden table under a covered way that had been added to the southwest facing wall. It spoke of an abiding optimism that the weather would be clement and the Trevelyans and their guests able to dine alfresco. This day lived up to expectations.

  She had changed from her riding outfit and wore a rose pink dress in linen with a squared neck. A finely knitted cardigan of cashmere and silk draped her shoulders. Her smooth plump cheeks were pink from riding. She looked far too young to have grown-up sons.

  ‘The girls are off adventuring.’ She tapped the ash from her cigarette in its long ebony holder, showing no sign of the concern she must be feeling about her love letters and my interview with Gabriel Cherry. ‘It will do Susannah good t
o enjoy a little freedom.’ The neatly attired maid stepped onto the terrace, ready to escort me upstairs to change. Mrs Trevelyan smiled. ‘Tea will be here shortly.’

  In the allotted dressing room, I changed quickly and with only one wrong turn found my way back to the terrace. The butler must have had spies dotted about the house because shortly after I sat down, the tea trays appeared with a very fine white china tea service, dainty tongue sandwiches and apple cake.

  Mrs Trevelyan poured tea. There was the slightest movement at the corners of her mouth. ‘It’s not good news or you would have told me straight away.’

  ‘I was with Gabriel when he went to the place in the barn where he kept your letters. They weren’t there.’

  She gulped. ‘That woman is trying to blackmail me. I was right.’

  ‘Gabriel feels certain he will find where she has put them. He said that if she was able to ferret out his hiding place, he will do the same.’

  ‘I’m glad someone feels certain. Damn her! And how could he be so careless?’

  ‘From what little I saw of Mrs Gouthwaite yesterday, she strikes me as being in a poor way mentally. I doubt she would have the nerve to carry out her threat.’

  ‘It would do her no good. And I won’t intercede with Bertie for the Gouthwaites to stay on their farm. That would be madness.’

  ‘Try not to worry. Gabriel is an honourable man. It shook him to be told what Mrs Gouthwaite had done. He is confident of retrieving your letters.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  Wary of continuing one of those conversations that went round in circles, I changed the subject and we talked about the girls. I did a little fishing regarding the absent governess.

  Mrs Trevelyan pushed away her teacup. ‘I have a feeling we may lose the governess soon, which would be a shame. Bertie insists I keep Susannah on a short leash. That is why she is being educated at home rather than attending the village school, which he much preferred for the boys. It’s a good thing that he is off on business or he would be asking where she is now.’

  ‘Why is he opposed to the village school for her? Lucian said it has a very good reputation.’