She went outside and walked down the path and over the grass towards The Old Forge. Pushing open the gate, she went up to the front door and knocked. There was no reply; she walked round to the back of the building and rattled the handle of the back door. To her surprise it opened easily. She stepped in.
‘Hello? Anyone there?’
The kitchen was a mess. The supper dishes were stacked in the sink – a meal for one, she noted, but a messy cook. She stood looking round. Attractively untidy, she decided. Artistic, but not contrived to be so. The real thing. Painting materials, cooking stuff – he was a real cook, there were herbs and olive oil and other tell-tale signs of someone who did the genuine thing, and a pleasant smell of spices and coffee and something sharp – presumably turpentine. Intrigued she went over to the bookshelf. She liked kitchens with bookshelves, particularly when the books weren’t only cookery books. Here there were local guides, a tide table, catalogues of seeds and computer software, a telephone directory, all sorts. She moved along to the table on which lay a pile of sketches.
‘What are you doing in here?’
Amanda jumped out of her skin at the child’s voice so close beside her. She stared at the small skinny girl in the T-shirt and jeans. She had huge grey eyes, red hair and freckles, and her face had a sprinkling of pockmarks which looked angry and painful. This was obviously the notorious Jade about whom they had heard at the dinner party. ‘I’m looking for Leo,’ she answered as she recovered her composure.
‘He’s not here.’
‘Where is he, do you know?’
The child shook her head.
‘I’m staying with Zoë and Ken across the grass there.’ Amanda waved towards the window.
‘I know who you are. I watched you through the window,’ the child said.
Amanda hid a smile. ‘Well, Leo went out last night to look for Ken and my husband, John, after they went sailing together. We were worried when they didn’t come back last night. It appears they got stuck on the mud and they have just got back safely. I was worried that there was no sign of Leo or Zoë and I came over to see if they were back too.’
‘Zoë?’ The girl’s eyes narrowed. ‘Zoë went with him on the Curlew?’
‘You know her?’ Better make sure …
‘Of course I do.’
‘You live next door, right?’
‘We live at The Summer Barn.’
Amanda smiled. ‘What a lovely name.’
Jade gave her a look of deep scorn. ‘When did they go?’
‘Last night some time. Zoë’s not answering her mobile.’
‘Mobiles don’t work in some places.’
‘I’m sure they are fine, we were just a bit worried.’
Jade reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out her own mobile. She had Leo on speed dial, Amanda noted. After a few seconds she threw down the phone with a scowl. ‘It’s switched off.’
‘I’m sure they’re OK. I haven’t met Leo yet. Is he nice?’ Amanda was making conversation but the suspicion in the girl’s face was suddenly razor-sharp.
‘What’s Zoë told you?’
‘Nothing much.’
‘She should leave him alone. She’s got a husband.’
Amanda hesitated. The girl was radiating hatred. ‘I got the impression Leo was helping her get over her worries about sailing. I don’t think it’s any more than that,’ she said gently.
‘Then you don’t know nothing,’ Jade shot back. ‘They sleep together.’
Amanda’s expression remained carefully impassive. ‘Are you sure?’ She kept her voice level. They had obviously been extremely careless.
‘I’ve seen them.’
‘And have you told anyone?’
‘Not yet.’ Jade pursed her lips. ‘But if he’s taken her out on Curlew all night that’s what they’re doing. And it was me he was going to take sailing again.’ Suddenly the hurt child was showing through. But not for long. ‘I’m going to stop them,’ she said. ‘I’m going to make it so he never looks at her again. You tell her if she’s your friend. You tell her if she goes near Leo any more I am going to screw up her life for ever.’
Amanda hoped the horror didn’t show on her face. ‘That sounds a bit extreme,’ she responded as casually as she could.
‘I’m an extreme person.’ There wasn’t a trace of humour in the child’s face. ‘Leo’s mine.’
Amanda looked at her in concern. ‘Does he know this is how you feel?’
For the first time Jade looked uncertain, then she nodded.
‘And have you told Zoë?’
Jade shrugged. ‘She knows.’
‘And your family? What do they think?’
‘None of their business.’
‘But your mother and father know Leo, don’t they?’
‘They’re not here.’
‘You’re not living here alone?’
‘My brother is here.’ The girl was looking sulky now. ‘He’s supposed to be looking after me but he’s busy. He’s always out with Mike Turtill.’
‘And Leo is the only one who cares?’ Amanda felt a sudden wave of compassion for this lonely wayward girl.
She looked defensive. ‘I don’t need anyone else.’
‘Why aren’t you at school, Jade?’
She smirked. ‘I’ve got chicken pox. Have you had it? If you haven’t you’ll catch it.’ There was something undeniably malicious in her tone.
Amanda smiled. ‘I got it when I was at school. It’s horrid, isn’t it. Very itchy.’ She glanced towards the door. ‘Well. I had better get back. Are you going to wait for them here?’
Jade nodded.
‘OK, well, tell them we were worried, will you?’
She could feel the girl’s eyes watching her from the window, all the way back across the grass, and it gave her the creeps. She wondered if Zoë realised what a potentially vicious little enemy she had.
On impulse she turned left and took the path back down to the river. There was still no sign of the Curlew so she sat on a fallen log on the edge of the wood and settled down to wait.
Mike Turtill slithered to a halt on his motorbike, climbed off and felt with his foot for the stand. He was sweating inside his leathers and with a glance up at the sun he unzipped the jacket and pulled it off. Leaving it draped over the bike he headed for The Summer Barn. ‘Jackson?’ He pushed open the kitchen door and walked in, the buckles on his boots rattling as he moved.
‘Jackson, mate?’
The other boy appeared. He was tousled from bed, dressed only in some tatty jeans. His feet were bare. ‘What?’
‘It’s today. That woman is bringing her group of walkers down to the field today.’
‘I know. Jade told me. Bitch.’ Jackson scratched his head. It wasn’t clear whether the insult was aimed at his sister or at Rosemary. Probably the latter, Mike concluded.
‘Well, get your gear on, man. We’re going down there. Dad ploughed it yesterday but he didn’t finish the whole field. I said I’d do it.’
‘Plough it?’ Jackson was incredulous. ‘Do you know how?’
‘Course I do. Even you know how to drive a tractor. Surely you haven’t forgotten.’
‘That was when we were kids.’
‘Well, we’re not kids now. This is war. Dad doesn’t want a confrontation but he said he would call the police if they push it.’ Mike opened the fridge and rummaged through the contents. ‘Go on. Get some shoes on at least, then we’ll go down there. I’ll have some breakfast while you shower. Man, you smell minging!’ He had pulled out a carton of milk and looked round vaguely for something that might resemble cornflakes. ‘Where is your little sister, anyway?’
‘Gawd knows.’
‘She’s not out with that paedo again, is she? If I was your mum I’d be seriously worried about the amount of time she spends round there.’
Jackson frowned. ‘He gives me the creeps.’ He paused. He had spent a long time wondering what to do with the photos he had taken of
Leo and Zoë and had in the end put them in an envelope and stuck them through the door of the local paper. Only one edition had appeared since he had done it and there had been no sign of the headline he had hoped for, but weeklies obviously worked more slowly than dailies. Leo’s prowess with Zoë would seem to contradict the suspicion that he might fancy a skinny little girl like his sister. But you never knew. ‘You don’t really think that’s what he’s after, do you?’
Mike sniggered. ‘If she was my sister I’d make sure he never went near her or any other woman ever again.’
His response was eminently satisfying. Jackson preened himself quietly. As he headed for the stairs he gave his friend a jaunty thumbs up.
It was twenty minutes before the two young men set off for the field on foot. They had disappeared behind the hedge on the track long before the first car drew up outside Rosemary’s and the passengers began to unload their daysacks and walking poles. Rosemary opened the door and ushered them in. ‘We’re starting at eleven,’ she announced, ‘so come in and have some refreshment. As soon as everyone is here we will begin our walk.’ She had a clipboard with a list of names. Ticking off the newcomers she waved them towards the kitchen table where there was a selection of Thermoses with various hot drinks, and plates of biscuits. Within the next forty minutes or so the kitchen had begun to fill up.
Down on the field Jackson had hauled himself up onto the gate to watch as Mike set off up the field with the tractor dragging the five-furrow plough behind him. Already the seagulls had appeared and were screaming and diving over the newly turned earth. Jackson grinned. At the first sign of the walkers in the lane behind him he would signal Mike. The plan was for Mike to drive towards them and scatter them if they set foot on the field. He grinned. He was going to enjoy this. He tipped the last dregs of lager down his throat and reached into Mike’s bag for another can. It made a very acceptable breakfast.
Emily pulled on her cloak against the brisk cold wind and made her way out towards the stables. Whatever else happened Sam would not leave the horses unfed. Sure enough she could hear the sound of buckets clanking and the splash of water from the pump as she walked into the stableyard and stood looking round. Pip the stableboy was hefting a large pail towards the end box, the water splashing over his boots. ‘Boy!’ Her sharp call made him drop the bucket with a cry of alarm. Water sluiced over his feet and across the cobbles. ‘Where is Sam?’
‘I am here, my lady.’ Sam appeared from the door of the harness room. ‘Fill it again, lad,’ he said gently. ‘And you can give Prince his oats if you would.’ He walked towards her as the boy carried the empty bucket back towards the pump.
‘What can I do for you, my lady?’ He met her gaze steadily. She noted how exhausted he looked and realised she had never actually bothered to look at him before with such care. ‘I understand Susan Smith has died,’ she said. ‘I am sorry to hear that. How is,’ she hesitated, ‘how is Daniel taking it?’
Sam tightened his lips. ‘I haven’t seen him,’ he said. He turned away and began to walk towards the hayloft.
‘Sam, wait!’ she called. ‘I haven’t told you that you could go. I shall require the cob to be brought round later this morning. That is if,’ again she hesitated, ‘if my husband hasn’t taken him out.’ She was very conscious that the boy had stopped by the pump. He was making no attempt to fill the bucket. He had put it down and was staring at her over his shoulder.
‘I drove your husband to the railway station this morning, my lady,’ Sam said curtly. ‘The horse is tired, but if it is really urgent I suppose I can saddle him for you.’
‘The railway station?’ She tried to hide her panic. ‘Why? Where was he going?’
‘He did not tell me, my lady.’ Sam bent and picked up one of Pip’s buckets. ‘Would you like me to saddle the cob for you later?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No, don’t bother.’ She turned and walked away though the archway which led to the drive and the front of the house.
When she went back in she knew at once the servants had returned. She still didn’t know where they had been, but someone had lit the fire in the morning room and there were fresh flowers in a vase on the windowsill. As she pulled off her cloak Mrs Field appeared behind her.
‘My lady.’ Mrs Field dropped a small curtsey. ‘Mr Henry asked that you be informed that he has gone away for a few days.’ The woman’s eyes were carefully expressionless.
Emily bit her lip. She wondered suddenly how many of the servants knew of her meetings with Daniel. Before, she hadn’t cared if they knew or not as long as Henry didn’t find out, but now she had told him about the rape, it occurred to her to wonder if the backstairs gossip had seized on what had been happening, and how near they had been to the truth. As Mrs Field made no attempt to take it from her she threw her cloak over the back of the sofa. ‘I was so sorry to hear about Susan,’ she said with an effort. ‘I understand that Molly will not be returning for a few days.’
‘Molly has left your service for good, my lady,’ Mrs Field said evenly. ‘Mr Henry has been informed.’ Emily was searching for some response when Mrs Field went on, ‘Do you require a notice to be put in the local paper that you need a new maid?’
‘In the paper?’ Emily cried. ‘Surely there are staff here who could be trained up? One of the parlour maids, or someone from the village.’
‘I will ask, my lady, but I think it is unlikely any of the housemaids will want to change their duties.’ She was a large woman with greying hair piled untidily under her cap. Her apron was creased, Emily realised suddenly, and she had missed a button on the front of her dress. She had never seen her looking less than immaculate before, and she was suddenly intimidated by the expression on the woman’s face.
‘Whatever you feel would be best, Mrs Field,’ she said meekly.
‘I will have your lunch brought to the morning room later,’ Mrs Field went on. ‘I am sure you agree there is no need to use the dining room if you are alone.’
Alone. The word sound bleak and angry. As the door closed behind her Emily sat down on the edge of a chair, her hands clasped in her lap, and stared at the fire. It was already dying back. Whoever had lit it had put only a couple of logs on. Alone – with an empty womb and a husband who hated and despised her.
She wondered briefly where Daniel was. In his cottage presumably. She frowned. She missed him. Not just his body, but his edgy challenging obedience. If Henry was away and she was very, very careful perhaps she could engineer a meeting between them after a suitable time had passed to enable him to grieve for his wife. She wasn’t inhuman. She would allow him his grieving. She sat up straighter and felt her spirits lift. It was a plan she could work on.
In the kitchen Mrs Field sat down at the table and glared at Mrs Davy, the cook, who took a step back as she met her gaze. ‘I’ve just spoken to that woman,’ Mrs Field said. ‘It was all I could do to keep my hands from her throat!’ She wiped her hands on her apron as though trying to clean off the very mention of her employer’s wife. ‘She doesn’t know he’s dead, so she’s expecting to see him, I could see it in her eyes.’
Mrs Davy shook her head. ‘Someone is bound to say something. How does Mr Henry think we are all going to keep silent?’
Beaton had told them all the night before in the servants’ hall, after the men had buried Daniel, and that officially at least Dan had killed himself. It was clear he did not believe it, and he did not expect them to either, and he had repeated Mr Henry’s instructions that his wife was not to be told anything.
‘She’s missing Molly already,’ Mrs Field went on. ‘I told her we would have to post an advertisement. She didn’t like that, I can tell you.’
‘No one round here would work for her ever again,’ Mrs Davy said, nodding. ‘Poor Susan. And poor, poor Daniel.’
They were silent for a full minute, then Mrs Davy turned back towards the range. ‘I’ll give her soup and a bit of bread for her luncheon. See how she likes that,’ she sa
id viciously. ‘And I’ll spit in the soup!’
Mrs Field looked shocked but she said nothing. It was no more than the woman deserved.
16
Leo woke suddenly and stared round the cabin. He could see the reflections of the sunlit water dancing on the ceiling and hear the contented murmur of feeding birds on the mudflats outside. He stretched contentedly. He loved this moment in the day when he was down on the boat; it was utterly peaceful.
He glanced sideways and stretched out his hand. On the narrow bunk there had barely been room for the two of them, but that hardly mattered. By the time they had fallen asleep they were so closely entwined they had taken up no more space than one body on the mattress.
She was not there beside him. He sat up, looking round. The cabin door was shut and when he peered through the portholes he couldn’t see her. In a moment of sheer terror he was out of bed and pulling open the door. He stared round the cockpit. It was empty. He turned and peered forward over the cabin roof and at last he saw her, perched on the foredeck, sitting with her legs hanging over the side. Her hair was tousled in the wind and she was looking completely relaxed and happy, one arm linked loosely round the starboard shrouds. He relaxed. He watched her for several minutes, the sunlight playing over the planes of her face as she stared off into the distance, her hair a tangle of spun-gold threads, then he ducked into the cabin and rummaged for one of his sketchbooks. He wanted to capture her like that as she was, unself-conscious and free.
He was jolted out of his reverie by the ringing of a phone. She heard it too and glanced back. ‘Is that mine?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ He cursed silently. ‘Shall I turn it off?’
But she had already scrambled to her feet and was coming back. She jumped down into the cockpit. Her feet were bare and her jeans rolled up almost to the knees. The early morning sunlight had reawakened her summer tan; he could see the tiny gold hairs on her legs. He found the sight unbearably erotic. ‘They’ll be worried. I ought to answer.’
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