Suddenly she broke the surface, sleek and sinuous as an eel. She came at me, a rock clenched in her hand. I punched her hard, my fist making crushing contact with the delicate bone of her nose. She reeled back, floundering, splashing into the water. But the force of the blow I delivered unbalanced me. I staggered, unable to keep my footing, and was once again lost beneath the swirling brown water. As I broke the surface, gasping, Meredith was waiting and smashed the rock into my head.
In that moment I knew she had done for me. My strength slid from my body like a shadow melting in the sun. It floated away. My legs buckled, my body sinking back, my feet came up in the water and I was floating. Warm blood was trickling through my hair, mingling with the cold water. Only my hold on the tree root remained. Meredith was staring, still clutching the rock. She took a step back away from me towards the middle of the river and raised her arm to come in for the final blow.
A sudden surge beneath my back seemed to lift my body. I couldn’t raise my head; it was heavy as stone. There was a roaring in my ears that was not just the rush of my blood. Something groaned, crashed as it came tearing through the water. I saw Meredith turn, the oval of her face drained white, her lips parted in shock. Something huge rolled like a leviathan in the water, brushed past me, its stiff fingers whipping against my face, scraping against the stony river bed as it passed. The tree trunk under the bridge, dislodged by the sudden surge, crashed down over the boulders midstream and swept Meredith away. I heard her scream. Then nothing.
I was drifting. The rush of water had dragged me from my hold on the bank. I was looking at the sky. Bare branches of trees slid by above me and everything was going away, fading. I couldn’t think. Cold water was creeping towards the corners of my mouth and strange words filled my heavy head. There is a willow grows aslant a brook that shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream … There is a willow grows … there is a willow … the water was singing to me, over and over, purling quieter and ever quieter in my ear … dragged her from her melodious lay … to muddy death … There is a willow …
Sudden pain in my chest and agonising drawing in of breath, choking, water running out of my nose, burning, and sour vomit scorching my throat and my mouth. Terrible pain in my head. I coughed, retched, drew in shuddering breath, desperate to heave air into my lungs. Hard ground was beneath me, someone yelling in my ear, someone repeatedly hitting me on my back. It hurt. I wanted them to stop. I coughed, spluttered, breathed. ‘Good girl!’ a voice close by my ear shouted. ‘And again. Once more! Come on!’ Someone had hauled me out onto the bank and I lay gasping like a fish. I threw up, water and vomit. ‘That’s it!’ The voice belonged to someone rubbing me on my back, more gently now. I breathed. I breathed. I breathed. ‘You’re going to be all right,’ the voice behind me told me, ‘Miss Browne with an “e”.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
I very nearly wasn’t all right. I was very nearly all wrong. I died on that riverbank. Like Sleeping Beauty I was awakened with a kiss; the kiss of life from Daniel Thorncroft, information I still find hard to process. Giving the kiss of life is not romantic. You have to be prepared to brave snot and vomit. Also, dragging my inanimate body, my wet weight out of the river and up onto the bank was no mean feat. I’m glad I didn’t know anything about it at the time. I had a depressed fracture of the skull, they told me later. They’d had to operate to relieve the pressure on my brain. I also had a broken ankle and several cracked ribs.
There’s a lot about the next few days I don’t remember. I would drift in and out of deep, dark sleep into a softly lit room. It was very quiet. Screens with coloured lights beeped gently, tubes connecting me to drips, and there was a nurse who’d come and look at me and smile. There was always someone in the room with me, sat on a chair by the door. Sometimes it was Dean Collins. I wanted to tell him something, but my head was so heavy, thick with bandages, and around the bandages I could feel no hair, just prickles. My chest hurt and one leg felt much heavier than the other and I couldn’t work out why.
Sometimes it wasn’t Dean. Once it was Elizabeth, and one time it was Morris, chair drawn up to the bed, staring at me anxiously, holding my hand. And sometimes someone else but I didn’t know who. And then it was Dean again. And I was properly awake for the first time.
‘The detective’s been waiting to ask you some questions,’ the nurse told me softly, and I nodded.
My head felt heavy, my mouth was dry, but I got my question in first. ‘Meredith?’ My voice came out in a rasp, barely more than a whisper.
He shook his head. ‘Gone.’
He wanted to know what had happened at the riverbank. I told him, painfully, slowly, what Meredith had told me, that she had killed Jessie and why, and that she had killed Verbena and how. And that was all I could say because the nurse came up with a drink in a big cup with a straw and told him to go away.
I came out of intensive care after a few days and it was only then, as they wheeled my bed through endless, brightly lit corridors, that I realised I wasn’t in Ashburton’s little hospital, but in the vast sprawling complex of Derriford in Plymouth. I’d been flown there, apparently. Didn’t I remember being winched up in the helicopter? the laughing orderly asked me. No, I didn’t, I told him, and I’m glad because I don’t think I’d have liked it. Then I started to cry and said I wanted to go home. And he told me not to worry, I’d only be in the ward there overnight, that there was a bed waiting for me in Ashburton. I might be in hospital there a few weeks. Weeks? I couldn’t stay in hospital weeks, I’d told him. I had a business to run, I had clients to look after, I had dogs to walk – and I started to cry all over again.
They found Meredith half a mile downstream, her drowned body tangled in the tree’s gnarled embrace. Despite everything, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.
It was Inspector Ford who told me, back in Ashburton, the first person to come and see me there. I had to repeat what I had told Dean. He told me other things I didn’t know: that they had found a rucksack in Meredith’s car with a knife and a note saying Cutty Dyer Dun This. So I was to have been Cutty’s next victim. ‘Meredith Swann chose her own road,’ the inspector reminded me when I expressed my sadness. ‘No one forced her to come here, to kill Jessie Mole.’
‘No,’ I admitted, sighing.
He got up to leave. ‘You know, Mr Thorncroft had a terrible choice to make down by the river. He could try to rescue Meredith or he could save you.’ He smiled and patted my hand. ‘I’m glad he made the right decision.’
I had a succession of visitors after that, though they were carefully vetted by the ward sister after the Dartmoor Gazette had been caught creeping into the ward to try and get my story. Elizabeth came first, complete with clipboard. ‘I don’t want you to worry about anything,’ she told me as she sat by my bed. ‘We’ve been through your diary and we’ve got it all in hand.’ She popped her specs on the end of her nose and consulted her clipboard. ‘Sophie is running the shop, with help from Pat and me … oh, Pat came back as soon as she heard about you,’ she added, before I could ask. ‘She’s fine. She and Olly are walking the dogs between them, that’s before Olly goes to school. Pat is calling in on Maisie, I’m looking after Tom Carter − I know him slightly from church choir,’ she added, ‘and your lady in Woodland … and we decided everyone else could wait until you’re back on your feet. Although Morris will take on the ironing if your accountant turns nasty.’ She smiled at me over the clipboard. Then her expression changed to one of horror. ‘Oh, Juno! Don’t cry!’
‘I can’t help it,’ I sobbed helplessly. ‘I keep doing it. You’re all so good to me.’
‘Nonsense!’ Elizabeth responded crisply. ‘Dry your eyes.’
‘Elizabeth,’ I gulped, when I’d mopped myself up, ‘you know those useful moves you taught Olly when he was being bullied at school? Do you think, when I’m better, you could teach me some?’
‘I think it’s high time I did,’ she agreed, ‘especially if you’re going to keep on getting
yourself into trouble.’
‘I probably am,’ I admitted dolefully. ‘I don’t seem able to avoid it.’
Over the next few days everyone came: Kate, Adam and Sophie, Pat, Olly, Morris and Ricky, Dean and Gemma with baby Alice, Digby and Amanda – even Maisie came tottering in on Pat’s arm, all dressed up in her black coat and dusty velvet beret, bringing me a bag of Maltesers and an orange. But there was no sign of Daniel Thorncroft, the man who had saved my life. Where was he?
‘Well, the bruising on your face has gone down anyway, Princess,’ Ricky informed me brightly, ‘you’re only yellow and green now, not black and blue.’
‘Take no notice of him, Juno.’ Morris patted my hand. ‘You’re looking better every day.’
‘I look grotesque.’ I put my hand up to the bristly scalp that surrounded my surgical dressing. ‘They’ve shaved off half my hair.’
‘Nonsense! It’s only a little patch.’ Ricky dismissed it with a wave of his hand. ‘We can arrange the rest to hide it. I’ll give you a comb-over. It won’t show. Just leave it to me!’
‘Thank you,’ I said meekly.
‘Now then, darlin’, we’ve had a council of war,’ he began. ‘Haven’t we, Maurice?’
Morris nodded enthusiastically.
I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. ‘Council of war?’
‘All of us – well, Sophie and her mum, Kate and Adam,’ he ticked them off on his fingers, ‘Pat, Elizabeth and Olly− we got together to decide who’s going to look after you when you come out of hospital. Only now that you can pee all right – I had a word with the nurse,’ he explained as I gaped at him dumbfounded, ‘they’ll let you out of here in a day or two …’
‘But with you being on crutches,’ Morris put in, looking very serious, ‘they won’t let you out unless there’s someone to look after you. You’re not ready to look after yourself.’
‘No. Quite,’ Ricky went on. ‘So, we had an argument—’
‘—because everyone wanted to do it,’ Morris added.
‘But Elizabeth and Olly’s place is no good because they haven’t got a downstairs bedroom and you couldn’t make it up the stairs to their loo on crutches, same with Sophie’s place and anyway, her mum’s at work all day and she’s running the shop. Kate and Adam have got a bedroom downstairs but—’
‘I’m not expecting anyone to look after me,’ I protested, trying to headbutt my way through Ricky’s unstoppable flow, ‘and anyway, Kate and Adam are much too busy.’
‘Exactly. Likewise Pat, Ken and Sue looking after all those animals … which leaves us!’ he finished triumphantly.
‘Do I get any say in the matter?’ I asked.
‘Course not! You’re only the invalid.’
‘You’re coming home with us!’ Morris beamed, blinking through his spectacles, as if this were a grand treat. ‘We’re going to look after you!’
‘We’re putting you in the guest bedroom downstairs,’ Ricky informed me. ‘It’s en suite,’ he added, just in case I’d forgotten.
‘That’s very sweet of you,’ I began, ‘but I really don’t want to be a—’
‘No buts about it!’ he said flatly.
‘You can’t manage on your own, my love, not yet,’ Morris said solemnly, ‘not after a head injury. You might get dizzy spells. And you’ll be on crutches for a while. If you’ve no one to look after you, the doctors will make you stay here.’
I suppose I had no choice. I thanked them for their kindness and prepared myself to be cossetted into insanity. It’s a pity, when they were growing up, that neither Ricky nor Morris had been given a dolly to play with. That sounds ungrateful, and I don’t mean to. I was grateful, really.
‘You’ve lost so much weight,’ Morris added, shaking his head. ‘We’ll soon feed you up.’
‘That’s one of the things I’m afraid of,’ I said.
But there was only one thing that was really bugging me: it was over six feet tall, had dark hair, sometimes wore glasses and was often accompanied by a whippet. Mr Daniel Thorncroft, who had dragged me from the river and saved my life, and for whom I had carefully rehearsed a very pretty thank you speech, had so far not put in an appearance.
‘He really is the most exasperating man,’ I complained to Elizabeth when she came to see me next. ‘I mean, really! He saves my life and then completely ignores me. Not even a “how are you?”… Not that I care,’ I added, just to make that clear. ‘I wanted to thank him, that’s all.’
Elizabeth shot me one of her shrewd looks. ‘Actually, he’s in Scotland.’
‘Scotland?’ I repeated dumbly. ‘You mean the damn man’s buggered off? What’s he doing in Scotland?’
‘He’s gone back to work. He stayed until he knew you were out of danger and then he went back to his job.’
‘Oh.’ I felt crushed, suddenly. ‘I see.’
She opened her handbag and took out an envelope. ‘He asked me to give you this.’
I took it from her. It had Miss Browne with an ‘e’ written in bold, black handwriting.
Elizabeth smiled. ‘I’ll leave you to read it in peace.’ She kissed me on the forehead and left.
I opened the letter with a sinking feeling inside me. There were several pages of it:
My dear Miss B, it began.
I am so sorry I had to leave Ashburton without saying goodbye. The firm I work for have been very generous in allowing me a long period of compassionate leave following the death of my wife, and then more leave to sort out the affairs of my aunt, but a crisis arose and I felt I must answer the call and make an overdue return to work. I am currently managing a re-wilding project up in the Highlands, mostly reforestation, but I’m also involved in a more sensitive experiment in returning wolves to an island where the size of the deer population has become unmanageable. It’s not an idea that’s popular with everyone, as I am sure you can imagine, and many of the local landowners take a lot of persuading. They have to be convinced of the economic as well as the environmental benefits. I’m likely to be involved with this for several more months. Then I am planning to relocate to Devon to manage new projects there. I hope to make some flying visits to the West Country in the meantime. I think I may have a buyer for my aunt’s Torquay property, which would allow me to get repairs started on the farmhouse.
My good friend Elizabeth tells me that you are doing well. She says your recovery may take some weeks, but I hope that by the time you read this you are feeling better.
I was so afraid that I had arrived at that riverbank too late. Meredith had sent me on a wild goose chase that morning, texting me to meet her at Staverton, an attempt, I now realise, to keep me out of the way. By then, of course, I knew about Meredith. I had been out searching for her all the previous night, looking in all her usual haunts. I should explain that shortly before you fled from Moorview Farm in your van, I had discovered a scarf that Verbena had worn on the night of the ball. In fact, Lottie found it. It had been stuffed down the back of her armchair and she pulled it out. Verbena had never been to my house. I knew there was only one person who could have put it there, and I could guess why. I had already discovered the sledge earlier in the day, returned after it had strangely disappeared some time before.
I blame myself entirely for what happened to you, that I had not sufficiently gained your trust. If you had felt you could talk to me about what you had discovered, it might have saved you so much suffering.
Perhaps I should explain more about Meredith. I was dazzled by her at first. She looked so much like my wife, Claire, I suppose I couldn’t help but be drawn to her. But the two of them could not have been more different. Claire was a light, loving soul and I began to sense the darkness in Meredith almost at once and realised we had no future together. She would lie all the time, needlessly, about trivial things: where she was, and when. I began to wonder if she was secretly seeing someone else.
That dreadful morning by the river I went looking for her in all her favourite haunts. I was determine
d to confront her about Verbena, persuade her to come with me to the police. Then I found her car parked by the road and I knew where she would be. Lottie usually stays close by me, but she went racing ahead off down the bridle path. It was she who found you both. Afterwards, when you had started breathing again, I had to leave you. There was no phone signal by the river. I had to run back to the road to get help. I left Lottie on guard. When I got back to you, you were still breathing but unconscious. Lottie had snuggled up next to you. I think she was trying to keep you warm. The rescue services seemed to take so long. I didn’t know if I should wait for them or if I should try to carry you to my car, try to get you to hospital sooner. You had a head injury and probably shouldn’t be moved, and I didn’t know if I’d already done you terrible damage in dragging you onto the bank. And all the time I could see Meredith out in the river. I could see she was dead – at least, to my shame, I hoped she was.
I still talk to my wife, to Claire, tell her things, a fact that enraged Meredith. I cannot pretend that it is easy to forget her, or that I would wish to do so. I told her all about you, told her I had met an extraordinary young woman with red hair, that I wasn’t sure that she liked me, but she seemed to like Lottie, and that Lottie adored her. And Claire agreed with me that anyone whom Lottie adored must be worth getting to know. So that’s really the reason why I am writing to you, Miss B, to ask if, when I come down to Ashburton again, you think you could put up with my getting to know you better. I hope you feel you can. I very much look forward to seeing you again. Please take care in the meantime.
From Devon With Death Page 25