by Bill Kitson
Robert looked up. He saw the questioning look on our faces and grinned. ‘That was the Pengelly family solicitor,’ he explained, ‘from a firm called Alderson & Co. His name is Nigel Alderson, only a young bloke by the sound of it. He’s just read about Stephen’s death. Apparently his father used to deal with the account but he’s semi-retired and Nigel was asking if I minded him handling things. I told him that suited me. I’d rather have somebody I don’t associate with the past. He’s coming the day after tomorrow.’
‘One thing I should say,’ I said, looking at Robert. ‘Until Professor Riley arrives to translate them, I think you should return the notebook to the safe. If it was important enough for Stephen to put it there, that would be the best place for it.’
Robert agreed, but quite naturally he had other things on his mind right then. ‘I’m more concerned about what this chap Alderson has to say,’ he told us. ‘There’s no certainty that I actually have inherited the estate until he confirms it; I’m not counting on it.’ He looked at Alison. ‘Will you sit in with me when he comes? I’d rather you were there to hold my hand.’
‘Of course I will, Robbie. What time is he coming?’
‘He said he’d be here just after lunch.’ Robert looked at Alison and smiled. It was a tender expression, unlike any I’d seen from him before. ‘If he does confirm that I own Barton Manor, I have lots of decisions to make, and I want you alongside me when I make them.’
Eve got hold of me by one hand, gesturing to Tammy with the other. We exited the study and left them alone.
As we retreated to the kitchen, which was rapidly becoming my favourite haunt, I thought about Robert, and how he rarely displayed signs of emotion. Was that, I wondered, a by-product of his upbringing. I reckoned the only person who could answer that was Alison, and I certainly wasn’t about to ask her.
That evening, before dinner, Robert asked Frank and Mary to join us all in the drawing room, where he and Alison formally announced their engagement. After everyone had congratulated them, with plenty of hugging and handshaking, Robert explained to Frank and Mary about the solicitor’s impending visit. ‘If he confirms that I do own the manor, I hope you will feel comfortable with the new arrangement, and continue here. I may want to make some changes, but if and when I do, you will be consulted beforehand. One thing I can say, and Alison agrees, is that I will definitely not be selling the manor, nor any part of the estate. We want to live here, and hopefully raise our family here. What do you say, will you work with us?’
They didn’t even need to glance at one another, and their response was both immediate and enthusiastic. ‘We’d be more than happy to, Mr Robert,’ Mary said.
Later, after we had consumed another of Mary’s excellent dinners, Frank asked Robert if he would be needed the following day. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘There’s some dead trees and broken branches in Home Wood I want to move before we get severe gales or heavy snow.’
‘That’s fine by me.’
That night, Eve and I slept much better, no doubt because we no longer felt the threat of an intrusion at the manor. Next morning, as we prepared to go down for breakfast, Eve suggested that we should go for a walk. ‘Apart from driving to Barton-le-Dale and back we’ve hardly set foot outside the house since we arrived. It would be nice to explore the grounds, don’t you think?’
Last night’s news of Robert and Alison’s engagement reminded me that Eve also wore a ring, my mother’s ring. Maybe while we were out I could take the opportunity to remind her there was a wedding to plan, I mused. I glanced out of our bedroom window before agreeing to her idea. The sun was shining, and although the trees were bending in the wind, it looked like a nice morning for a walk. Besides which, as I told Eve, ‘If Mary continues feeding us the way she has been doing we’re going to need lots of exercise to burn off the calories.’
‘It might help if you decline the extra portion of apple pie once in a while.’
‘I don’t like good cooking to go to waste.’
Eve’s scornful laugh left me in no doubt as to her opinion of my remark.
After breakfast we made our preparations, with guidance from Mary Jolly. ‘If you turn right when you leave the kitchen, the corridor leading to the laundry room has lots of coats and boots for you to choose from. You’ll need to wrap up well. It might look nice from inside, but there’s a sneaky cold wind blowing.’
The corridor had a row of coat hooks mounted on one wall, from which a wide variety of garments hung. I saw tweed shooting jackets, waxed Barbour coats, long riding cloaks, and even sets of waterproof leggings and waders. There were also scarves and hats, and below, a row of wellingtons, plus walking and riding boots of all shapes and sizes. Nothing, it seemed, had been unaccounted for.
‘There seems to be an awful lot of clothing here for a man living alone,’ Eve said as she tried on a waxed coat.
‘I suspect by the look of them that most of the coats have been here since long before Stephen’s time. The styles are mostly pre-war, I’d say. That was the heyday of big shooting parties and country house gatherings. In addition to the family and their guests there would be the servants to cater for. They would need access to outdoor clothing too.’
‘Would they be allowed to use the family’s clothing?’
‘I think the domestic arrangements were far more democratic than portrayed in books and films. It stands to reason that if you have to send one of the servants to the outbuildings in a snowstorm, to say, fetch logs for all the fires in a house this size, you’d want to ensure they were adequately protected.’
‘I didn’t think estate owners were so considerate.’
‘They weren’t; this was down to self-interest. If your servant caught a chill they might take a long time to recover and be fit for work again. That meant you’d have to keep them without getting any work out of them.’
‘And there was me thinking you were becoming romantic, when you were merely being your cynical self.’
We were about to set off when Mary came bustling along the corridor, a plastic carrier bag in one hand. ‘Would you mind doing me a favour?’ she asked. ‘Frank went and forgot his flask and sandwiches. If you could give them to him it would save me a job.’
‘That’s no problem,’ Eve told her, ‘but where will we find him? Home Wood is pretty big, and we don’t know our way round. Did he tell you whereabouts he was going to be working?’
‘No, but you should be able to locate him easily enough. Just listen for the sound of his chainsaw.’
Having taken possession of the carrier bag, we opened the door and stepped outside. The walls of Barton Manor are almost a foot thick, and it was only when we exited the house that we realised the extent to which they protected the occupants from the weather. The wind must have been close to gale force, buffeting us, even where we were standing, in the lee of the building. Out in the open it would be even worse. As we made our way to the corner of the house and began to walk across the courtyard towards Home Wood, we discovered that even making headway against that wind was difficult, and when it was blowing at its fiercest, we had to make a conscious effort to avoid being blown over.
Another potential problem occurred to me. The sound made by the wind was bad enough where we were. Inside the wood the noise was probably going to be greatly magnified. Unless we happened to be downwind of Frank Jolly, hearing the sound of his chainsaw would be nigh on impossible. I was also concerned from a safety point of view. Being in dense woodland in high winds was hardly the most sensible thing to do. Nevertheless, we had promised to deliver Jolly’s lunch, so we made our way slowly towards the edge of the wood, walking hand in hand to brace each other against the worst of the blasts, our ears straining for the buzz of the chainsaw.
When we reached the trees we struck lucky, finding a well-beaten path almost at once. ‘Who walks through here often enough to create this path?’ Eve asked, her voice raised against the moaning of the wind.
‘Not who,
what,’ I replied in a muted bellow. I pointed to the ground, where the imprints of dozens of small cloven hooves were clearly visible. ‘Those are deer prints. Slots, they’re called. Remember Frank telling us the estate was overrun with them? Looks like he wasn’t exaggerating.’
We made our way along the deer path, our progress slow. Although the dense woodland protected us from the worst of the wind, new problems were provided by the brambles and briars that tugged at our feet and ankles with almost every stride, threatening to trip us. We also had to duck or move sideways from time to time to avoid overhanging branches or parts of shrubs. All along, we were accompanied by a wailing instrumental played by the wind in the topmost branches of the larger trees. It sounded a little like a totally inept player trying out an Aeolian harp, or pan pipes.
As I held up a trailing overhang of bramble to allow Eve to pass without scratching her face, I noticed movement in the periphery of my vision. I turned swiftly, startled by what I thought I’d seen, and remained standing, rooted to the spot, long after Eve was clear of the obstruction. Whatever I’d seen, or thought I’d seen was no longer there – even if it had been there in the first place. I followed Eve along the trail, trying to convince myself that if I had actually seen something, it had only been a deer, and that the animal had moved so quickly that I’d only caught a glimpse of its hind quarters, perhaps. I almost succeeded, but at the back of my mind doubt remained. The vision I retained was unlike a deer. It had been larger, and darker. Or had it been nothing more than a figment of my over-active imagination?
Chapter Seven
Five minutes later, we found Frank Jolly. Or at least, we found his chainsaw. It hadn’t only been the wind that had prevented us hearing the motor. The machine wasn’t switched on. In fact, one look told me the machine would never run again. It was lying beneath the trunk of a fallen ash tree, and from what we could see, the chainsaw appeared to be smashed beyond repair.
Seconds later, as we rounded the obstacle with considerable difficulty, scrambling over the trunk, we found Frank himself. At first sight, he appeared to be in no better shape than his chainsaw. Luckily, though, it seemed that he had avoided being struck by the main trunk. Had that been so, the outcome would have been fatal –instantaneous death caused by the crushing weight of countless tons of timber.
Frank was unconscious, but a quick check revealed his pulse was strong. Nevertheless, there was no cause for celebration. He was lying face down, pinned by a branch of the ash tree that had almost ended his life. We couldn’t be sure what injuries, either external or internal, he might have suffered, but one thing was certain. We had to risk potential damage by removing him from under that branch as quickly as possible. There was a real danger that with his mouth and nose pressed so close to the ground, he might suffocate or choke if we couldn’t move him.
I looked at the branch, and was relieved to see that it had snapped, either by contact with the limbs of another tree, or when it had hit the ground. The break was a few feet from where Frank was lying, and with luck, I thought, this would give us chance to extricate him. ‘If I manage to lift the branch for a few seconds, do you think you’ll be able to drag him clear?’ I asked.
Eve looked at me, her face a mask of concern. Then I saw the look of determination in her eyes. That’s my girl, I thought. Indomitable. ‘I’ll do my best,’ she promised. ‘Shout when you’re ready to lift.’
I wriggled and pushed until I was in position, bending and breaking a host of smaller branches and twigs until I succeeded in getting my shoulder under the one that was trapping Frank. I dug my heels into the soft earth, striving for every bit of purchase, then shouted, ‘I’m ready.’
I heaved, and as the branch lifted, I felt the strain on the muscles of my shoulders, back, and thighs, even my calves. I continued to push until I was upright. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to maintain this position. The ache was already close to intolerable. I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes and concentrated every scrap of my attention on holding steady.
Then, just as I was thinking I couldn’t bear it any longer, I heard Eve shout, ‘He’s clear.’ The relief was immense. I lowered the branch until I was bent almost double, then scrambled clear. Eve called out again. ‘He’s coming round, I think.’
I walked slowly over to where she was kneeling alongside Frank. I waited for the ache in my muscles to ease. It showed little sign of doing so. As I reached them, Eve said, ‘Frank, Frank, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?’
He did so, and immediately looked from right to left, before concentrating on us. I wasn’t sure what other injuries he might have sustained, but I was reasonably certain he was suffering from some form of concussion. In that brief moment, as he’d first looked round, it seemed as if he was expecting to see something else. And that something terrified him. The expression on his face had been one of pure, naked fear.
‘Where is it?’ he asked.
‘Frank,’ Eve’s voice was low and soft, soothing and speaking slowly, as if to an infant, ‘Frank, you were hit by a falling tree. We had to drag you from under it. Where does it hurt? Have you banged your head?’
‘I remember.’ His face cleared. ‘Aye, it was the tree. No, I think I’m OK.’ He made as if to move, but then winced. ‘My arm hurts.’
‘Don’t try and sit up. Lie still until I can fetch help. Adam will stay with you.’
‘I’ll be as fast as I can,’ she told me. ‘He seems all right, but there could be internal injuries, so don’t let him sit up. The ambulance people will know how to move him without risking further problems.’
‘Fetch blankets,’ I suggested, ‘and possibly a hot water bottle. The ambulance could be a while. In this weather there might be a lot of calls on them.’
Once Eve left I sat alongside the injured man and explained why he shouldn’t try to move. He agreed to lie still, and to help pass the time, I asked him what he could remember about the accident. I was keen to see how clear his mind was.
As soon as I asked, I saw that look of fear return, and his eyes went beyond me, as if searching for something he expected to see there. It was a long time before he spoke, and when he did, his words chilled me to the bone.
‘I was standing under that big ash tree,’ his voice was little louder than a whisper, almost as if he was scared he might be overheard. ‘I was trying to decide whether to make a start or wait until the weather cleared. The wind was making a hell of a racket, so much so that it almost sounded like a huge animal roaring.’
He stopped suddenly, licked his lips nervously and once again his eyes traversed what bit of the woodland he could see beyond me. I still had no idea what he expected to see. Then, when he told me, I couldn’t believe it. What’s more, I didn’t want to believe it.
‘I’m not sure how long I stood there before I saw it. Or at least I thought I’d seen it. But I couldn’t have, could I?’ He looked at me, his expression pleading for reassurance. But I had none to give. I was half expecting him to tell me he’d seen a ghost, of Stephen Pengelly perhaps, or even of Kathy King. But he hadn’t. What he’d seen was even stranger, even more incredible.
‘What was it, Frank? What did you think you’d seen?’ I kept my voice soft, emotionless, trying to coax the answer from him.
‘It was over there. Over to the right of the big holly bush. No more than twenty yards away. I could see it as plain as I can see you. It was just standing there; staring straight at me. I’ve never been so frightened in all my life. I dropped the chainsaw and ran. I’d only gone a few yards when I heard this crashing sound. At first I thought the thing was coming after me, then something hit me in the middle of my back and I felt this bang on the head and that’s the last I remember until Miss Samuels spoke to me.’
‘And what was it, Frank? What did you see?’ I thought I knew the answer, but I didn’t want to believe it.
‘I thought … it looked like … I thought it was … a bear. But there aren’t any, are there? Not in this country?’<
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‘No, Frank, there haven’t been any bears in Britain for hundreds and hundreds of years. I think what you saw was probably nothing more than a trick of the light, perhaps, or a deer.’
I paused for a moment, allowing him time to respond, and when he didn’t, added, ‘I think it would be wise not to mention this to anyone. They might think the bump on the head has sent you doolally tap.’
‘You don’t believe me, do you?’
‘Actually, you’re wrong, Frank. That’s the problem. I do believe you.’
I didn’t tell him that only moments before we found him, as I’d been helping Eve through the undergrowth; I thought I’d seen the very same thing. Nor did I tell him that Detective Inspector Hardy had thought he’d seen a bear in the split second before his car crash. It was bad enough me knowing, without anyone else being saddled with the knowledge.
Later, my decision to remain silent extended to Eve. I wasn’t in the habit of keeping things from her, but, as with the intruder’s mode of entry to Barton Manor, I judged it better for her peace of mind to remain in ignorance. It made for an uncomfortable time, as Eve naturally wanted to know what Frank had said. I told her that Frank had described the accident as best he could, and that I’d reassured him. Eve must have sensed that I wasn’t giving her the full story, but unusually she didn’t press me for further details.
As it happened, the truth soon emerged, in a further strange twist.
We weren’t alone for long. Having raised the alarm, Eve returned with Mary while Robert, who’d called for an ambulance, followed hard on their heels. ‘Alison and Tammy are waiting to guide them here,’ he told me. ‘How is he?’
‘I’m no expert, but I believe his arm is broken, and he could be suffering from mild concussion. All we can do is keep him comfortable until we can hand him over to the professionals.’
