River of Destiny

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘It’s all about levelling,’ Mel commented. She brushed another bit of soil gently from the woman’s skull. ‘The perceived rights of the people versus the hated rich landowners.’

  ‘Well, if you think I’m a rich landowner!’ Bill folded his arms.

  ‘No, we can see you’re not.’ Colin laughed gently. ‘Not with those holes in your wellies, mate!’

  The others stared down at Bill’s feet. He grinned. ‘I’m sorry Mrs Formby was hurt, very sorry, but that woman was the most dreadful pain. She’s not local – they’ve only lived here about ten minutes – but she was prepared to argue the toss with everyone else, people from the village who have been here generations, local historians, the nice woman from the council who came up to have a look, people who have known all these paths like the back of their hands all their lives. They all told her there had never been a path here, everyone said the same!’

  ‘Well, some good has come out of all this,’ Mel reminded them quietly. ‘We have found these two poor souls and maybe they would never have been discovered but for Mrs Formby.’

  Leo looked out of the window. ‘I can see Ken going into your house.’ He turned to her. ‘Do you want to go and speak to him?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Did you leave him a message last night?’

  Again, the shake of the head.

  ‘Isn’t the poor guy going to wonder where you are? He will be worried.’

  She hesitated for a moment.

  ‘You could find out what is going on, Zoë.’ He sounded stern. ‘See how Rosemary is. See if there is any news about Jackson.’

  ‘And tell Ken I might be going away for a couple of weeks?’

  He held her gaze. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure I want to leave Ken for a while. To think. I’m not sure about crossing the North Sea.’

  ‘Fair enough. Little by little.’ Leo gave an encouraging nod.

  Ken was standing in the middle of the great room when she walked in. He turned at the sound of her step and she saw an odd mixture of expressions in his eyes. Relief, and was it disappointment?

  ‘Hi.’ She stopped in the doorway.

  ‘Where have you been? With him, I suppose.’

  She tried to read his expression and failed. ‘I’ve come to collect some stuff, Ken, then I’m going away for a bit.’

  ‘You’re leaving me?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re going with him?’ He gave a curt nod towards the window.

  ‘For now. Not necessarily for ever. I need some space. Time to work out what I really want from life.’ She sighed. ‘We haven’t been happy for a long time, Ken, have we? Not really happy. I know you feel the same. After all, I’m not the only one who’s been out all night.’

  He looked away abruptly.

  ‘There is someone else, isn’t there?’ she went on. ‘There is always someone else.’

  He didn’t bother to deny it. He nodded reluctantly.

  ‘So, why don’t we settle this in a civilised way? There’s been enough unhappiness in this building.’ She glanced towards the corner. The whole room was dull and quiet. She felt nothing out of the ordinary. ‘Let’s take some time to think things through, Ken. Then we can discuss it when we’ve had some time apart.’

  He nodded. ‘Where are you going?’ he said after a pause.

  ‘I don’t know yet. I wanted to make sure everything here was all right. With you and with Rosemary. And Jackson. What has happened about him?’

  Ken threw himself down on the sofa. ‘He’s been given bail. He’s been charged with aggravated something or other and causing grievous bodily harm.’ He reached for the newspaper and passed it to her. ‘I gather Rosemary is still in a coma so it depends what happens to her. The Watts have all gone back to their house in Basildon. Sharon came down and rounded up the whole family including Jade. She was a sight to behold. The matriarch in full sail; and Steve is spending most of his time at the hospital. So where are you going? You’re not going to move into The Old Forge!’

  ‘No, we’re going away. Just for a couple of weeks. It doesn’t matter where. I haven’t decided for sure what I am going to do in the end.’ She was silent for a moment. Was that true? ‘What about you,’ she went on at last ‘will you stay here? You are the only person left.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ll go too. It’s lonely and a bit bleak, if I’m honest.’

  She glanced at him, sadly. ‘So, you’ll go to her. What is her name?’

  ‘Sylvia. We met her at the sailing club the first week or so we moved here. Then I met her again when I was shopping for the bolts for the door.’ He gave a small ironic laugh.’ She’s a journalist.’

  ‘And she lives locally?’

  ‘Woodbridge. I didn’t plan it, Zoë.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you did,’ she said bleakly. ‘Any more than I did.’

  ‘I’ll go and stay with her for a bit, until we know what is happening.’

  ‘We’ll have to think about the house.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not yet. It’s too soon.’ Hauling himself to his feet he walked across to the corner and stood looking down at the floor where the inset of plate glass showed the old brickwork underneath. ‘All the unhappiness, the ghosts, the atmosphere, comes up through here. It’s a porthole into the past. It ought to be filled in; sealed down for ever.’

  Zoë nodded. ‘You’re right, it should.’

  ‘Did you hear about the other body at the grave?’ he said after a pause. ‘I can’t help wondering … It couldn’t be our murder victim, could it? Dan? The man who you think was hanged in this house. Who was it Amanda said had killed him? Emily, that was it. Someone called Emily. I almost blurted it out to the policeman, but common sense kicked in. The so-called message of a so-called ghost, interpreted by an eccentric woman with an Ouija board would not be considered useful police evidence. He would have had me certified.’ He walked over to the window and stared out. ‘Manda rang,’ he said suddenly. ‘I told her you had probably taken her advice and gone with him.’ He gave a wry laugh at her puzzled expression. ‘You left her note behind. “Once aboard the lugger”, remember? It took her ten seconds to work out what was going on. It took me a bit longer, but I got there. I hope he makes you happy, Zo, I really do. I’m sure he’s a nice guy.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Restlessly he headed for the kitchen. ‘I’ll make some coffee while you pack your stuff,’ he called over his shoulder, then he stopped in the doorway. ‘Zoë, why did you put that god-awful doll thing under our bed?’

  She stared at him. ‘Doll?’

  He nodded. ‘Horrible, primitive thing. Not your scene, I would have thought.’

  She shook her head, puzzled. ‘It’s nothing to do with me, I assure you.’ She felt a sudden whisper of cold cross her shoulder blades. ‘Where is it? Show me.’

  Ken produced the small bundle, wrapped in a dishcloth and unwrapping it, put it down on the table in front of her. She stared at it for a long time, not touching it. He was careful not to touch it either, she noticed. ‘I’ve never seen it before,’ she said at last. She shuddered. ‘It looks like some grotesque fertility doll from the museum. Look at that stomach and breasts. Ugh!’

  ‘Do you think Jade left it there?’ he asked suddenly. ‘She’s been in and out of the house. She was very jealous, wasn’t she, of you and Leo? In which case it might not be for fertility which would in any case be pointless. It is probably cursed.’ They looked at each other.

  Pointless. The words echoed bleakly in Zoë’s head for several seconds before she dismissed them angrily.

  ‘I’ll chuck it away,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. I doubt if that little minx is much of a witch.’

  Something awful is going to happen to you too. I’ve put a spell on you and there is nothing you can do about it. You are going to die, just like Rosemary!

  Jade’s tearful words echoed suddenly in Zoë’s head and she shiver
ed. ‘Throw it in the river. I think it’s the best place for some of the old junk floating round these barns. End the cycle.’ She sighed unhappily. ‘It’s all tied up, isn’t it? The memories, the ghosts, the Viking ship, Dan. Emily. It all needs to be exorcised and forgotten.’ She shivered again.

  ‘It’s all centred on that mound down in the field,’ Ken said thoughtfully. ‘I have a feeling it’s Rosemary who stirred it all up, and it’s Rosemary who is paying the price.’

  Rosemary who moved the sword.

  Zoë stared down at the table bleakly. ‘Is she going to die?’

  ‘No one knows, unless they’ve told Steve. Bill rang. He told me the poor guy is completely beside himself. She irritated the daylights out of him, but at base I think he actually adores her.’ He leaned forward and picked up the figure from the coffee table, using the dishcloth again to save himself from touching it. ‘OK, this is for the river, then.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She looked up at him. ‘You’re a nice man, Ken. I wish it had worked out for us.’

  ‘We can still be friends?’

  She nodded. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Me too.’

  The earl, it appeared, had heard nothing from his daughter for many months. On his arrival, his displeasure at her disappearance was felt by the whole household. The staff at the Hall, cross-questioned about any letters Lady Emily might have written, knew nothing of who might have posted them or where they might have gone. The countryside was searched again, more thoroughly this time.

  The earl demanded they send for the police. A detective inspector was brought from London and he spent two weeks in the area and interviewed everyone at the Hall, on the home farm, in the village and in the outlying farms. No one had seen Lady Emily on the day she had disappeared. It appeared that no one had driven her to the station and the station master was prepared to swear she had not bought a ticket there. Fred and Jessie Turtill were questioned twice, because they admitted that she had come down to the farmhouse before the funeral of Susan Smith. The inspector was no fool. He knew someone, perhaps everyone, was lying, and he was sure the lady was dead, but there was no proof, no body and no way of breaking the silence which surrounded the subject. Eventually he admitted to Squire Crosby and to the earl that he had failed to find any answers to the mystery.

  ‘Bloody bumpkins!’ he muttered to himself as he was driven to the station in the pony trap. He’d come across these small country communities before with their blank stares and their dumb silence. That was the problem with these people. Close as a rat’s arse. Clammed up shut with their secrets.

  The night the inspector left for London on the train from Ipswich Henry walked down to the river alone. He stood on one of the narrow shingle beaches looking out across the water and drew on his cigar, watching the fragrant blue smoke rise up into the evening sky. His father-in-law had left that morning in his landau. The subject of Emily’s disappearance was closed.

  ‘So, it’s all worked out for the best,’ Zoë said as she finished telling Leo what had happened. She reached up and kissed him.

  He put his arm round her and drew her close. ‘I’m almost disappointed. Fleeing from the irate husband with my pirate moll would have made it an even more exciting adventure. Now it seems he is donating you to the cause!’

  She made as if to slap him. ‘I haven’t said I’m going yet. Not to sea.’

  He smiled. ‘So we’re not going to voyage to distant parts?’

  She shrugged. ‘I am so tempted. I want an adventure. I want to buy those bright clothes you mentioned in some far-

  away bazaar!’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘But I am not sure about crossing the sea in a small boat, however expert her skipper.’

  ‘Supposing we go down-river, wait for a calm day, nip out into the sea and toss a coin as to whether we turn left or right or go straight ahead, and see where we get to. There are exotic shops this side of the gannets’ bath as well. How would that do you?’

  ‘What’s the gannets’ bath?’ She was delighted with the term.

  ‘It’s what the Anglo-Saxons called the North Sea. In The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.’

  ‘It’s wonderful.’

  ‘OK. So, you agree?’

  She nodded.

  ‘It’s a done deal,’ he said. ‘But first we have to make a final decision about this.’ He indicated the sword on the kitchen table. He had unwrapped it again. ‘While I was waiting for you I tried to copy down some of the runes and I’ve taken some photos though they don’t show up too well on screen; they are easier to see in daylight. Look.’ He had a couple of books open on the table. They showed pictures of the runes. This one is thorn, which represents the forces of chaos and evil. It is perhaps a warning. And this is eoh, which seems to signify a weapon, and is something to do with deflection of magic, but best of all,’ he grinned, ‘I especially like this one. See? It’s called Ken. It means enlightenment.’

  She laughed. ‘Poor Ken. Well, he’s enlightened now.’ She ran her hand lightly over the blade. ‘Do you think the runes tell you whose it was? Who made it?’

  ‘Possibly.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘Smiths were magicians in a way. Alchemists. They had a very powerful reputation for their skills in creating iron from fire. I used to think I had some special link into the past when I first became a smith.’ He shook his head and in his turn reached out to touch the blade. ‘Maybe this sword was made here, on this site. It’s possible there has been a forge here for more than a thousand years.’ He glanced up at her, almost embarrassed. ‘A few weeks ago, I dreamed about a sword. I can’t remember what it was about, but –’ he stopped abruptly. ‘Perhaps it was this one.’

  Zoë looked up at him. ‘That is incredible. Wonderful.’

  ‘It makes it all the more important we do the right thing.’ Yes, it would be romantic to throw it in the river, but wouldn’t that be sacrilege? There is so much history here.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘You want to keep it, don’t you?’

  ‘Only for a while, to do more research.’

  ‘And what about the curses you told me about? Which protected the graves.’

  ‘Ah, the curses.’ He stood up. ‘I’ve found my old books on the Anglo-Saxons. Here’s my copy of Beowulf. I’ve looked it up. Listen to this.’ He picked up a slim paperback from the litter of books and papers on the kitchen table; on the cover there was a picture of the iconic helmet from Sutton Hoo. The book was old, the pages discoloured and loose. ‘Here we are, listen to this:

  ‘Goblets, flagons, dishes, and rich swords lay beside it, eaten with rust, as they had lain buried in the bosom of the earth for a thousand years. For the vast golden heritage of the ancients had been secured by a spell. No one might lay a finger on the treasure-house unless God Himself, true lord of victories and protector of men, allowed the hoard to be unsealed by a man of His own choice – whoever He thought fit.’

  He laid down the book and smiled at her. ‘Obviously God did not consider Jackson or Rosemary or whoever found the sword to be the man of his choice. Wonderful stuff. This book was my mother’s first. She loved poetry; she was a clever lady.’

  ‘And she encouraged you to read it?’

  He nodded. ‘I enjoyed it all so much I went on to study English at uni. Fat lot of use it was in my career, but it gave me a wonderful background against which to live my life.’ He shook his head. ‘Fine mess I made of that, though, come to think of it.’

  ‘So you read it in the original at university?’ She brought him back to the subject firmly.

  ‘In Anglo-Saxon? I did, actually.’

  ‘And can you still speak it?’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s a difficult language. And not one I practise regularly.’

  ‘It could have been useful.’ She smiled. ‘I had a vision of you standing on the prow of the Curlew declaiming to the ancient gods.’

  ‘And warning off the ghost ship?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I haven’t read the best bit yet,’ he went on
. ‘Or perhaps the worst, depending on one’s point of view. Here: “… the princes who placed their treasure there had pronounced a solemn curse on it which was to last until doomsday that whoever rifled the place should be guilty of sin, shut up in dwelling places of devils, bound in bonds of hell, and tormented with evil.”’ He put down the book. ‘Strong stuff.’

  ‘Poor Rosemary. I hope the devils realise it wasn’t me who took it,’ Zoë said dryly.

  He stood up and began rewrapping the sword carefully. ‘They will. I have made an executive decision. We will hang on to this for the time being. There will be plenty of time to decide what to do with it later.’

  ‘So, you don’t think it’s cursed?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it is.’

  ‘And you’re not afraid?’ She could feel her own fear suddenly as she looked down at the parcel laying between them.

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘Superstitious nonsense! Besides, as you say, we’re not the ones defiling the grave.’

  Her skeleton lay on the slab in the mortuary with a certain degree of elegance. Her bones were small and fragile, her teeth in excellent condition. Beside her the remains of her riding boots and her jewellery had been placed neatly in two boxes. Next to them was a swathe of her light chestnut hair which had remained strangely untouched by its time underground. On the slab next to her lay the skeleton of the unknown man. He was tall, and had been strongly built. His boots too had survived in part. He had no jewellery but they had found some working tools buried with him, a hammer, tongs, two horseshoes and a handful of nails, and surmised that he might have been a blacksmith.

  Sylvia Sands, in her capacity as a freelance reporter on the local paper, came down to look at the bodies and interview the archaeologists and the archaeo-pathologist who had joined them. After speaking to Ken she had been to the library and surfed the Internet and was piecing together the story. ‘She disappeared in the winter of 1865. Three months before, the blacksmith on the estate, Daniel Smith, had also vanished, although there was a rumour that he had died in an accident on the farm. His wife, Susan, was buried with her still-born baby in the church in the village but there was no sign of his grave anywhere.’