Deadfall

by Lyndon Stacey

  Ruth nodded vigorously.

  'If you're sure . . .' Josie wavered, looking all of a sudden very tired.

  ''Course. No problem at all.'

  After a mile or so, Linc could see that it was going to be up to him to break the silence.

  'You've been working in London, then?'

  'I got back half an hour or so ago,' Josie confirmed. 'Mum phoned me from the hospital this morning.'

  Her tone signalled no significant unbending and Linc wondered what he'd done to upset her. It surely couldn't all be down to his blocking her in. The silence stretched on again, fairly buzzing with unspoken thoughts.

  'Ruth says Abby went down to the stables to meet you,' Josie said at last, voice unmistakably accusing.

  'Ah,' Linc said, realisation dawning.

  'What d'you mean, ah?'

  He ignored the question. 'Yes, she did. She was going to help me plait.'

  'But you were late.'

  'Unfortunately, yes.'

  A pause, then, 'If you'd been there on time, none of this would have happened.'

  'Probably not,' he agreed. 'I guess it's all my fault.'

  Another pause.

  'Haven't you got stables at Farthingscourt?'

  'Yes, but there aren't any teenage girls there to fetch and carry for me.'

  Linc felt rather than saw the contemptuous look directed at him but it seemed Josie had exhausted her bitterness for the moment and the remainder of the journey passed in hostile silence. He dropped her off at Odstock Hospital, where she thanked him with icy politeness, and turned wearily for home. The spark of neighbourly kindness that had prompted his offer had been effectively extinguished.

  THREE

  SUNDAY AT FARTHINGSCOURT WAS always a busy day and Linc spent most of it doing the rounds with Geoff Sykes, his second in command, whom he valued both as a colleague and a friend.

  Stocky and bespectacled, with a weathered face and not much gingerish hair under a flat cap, Geoff was a born under-manager, confident enough to make decisions when the need arose but unwilling to take on the ultimate buck-stops-here responsibility of the top job. His father had been the gamekeeper until he retired to live in one of the estate cottages and Geoff had lived and worked on the estate all his forty-eight years. His experience was worth a mint to the Tremayne family, and his unambitious dedication made him the best deputy Linc could have hoped for.

  'How'd the dinner go last night?' Geoff asked.

  They were on their way to the mill in the Land-Rover to cast an eye over the progress made by the contractors.

  'Very well,' Linc replied. 'The guys from Water Heritage seemed very pleased with the work so far and they've agreed to extend the loan to cover the new budget.'

  The meal had indeed gone well. Since coming to Farthingscourt, Crispin's wife Nikki had taken on the role of hostess there. It was one that she relished and, it had to be said, carried out with flair. Blonde and pretty, she dressed elegantly and used just the right degree of flirtatious charm to ensure that her male guests enjoyed their evening, without upsetting any wives who might be present.

  Linc took his hat off to her. The daughter of a wealthy London night-club owner, he had met her at a party and introduced her to his family after only half a dozen dates almost as an act of rebellion, knowing she wasn't the type of girl his father had in mind as the future Lady Tremayne. However, she had neatly turned the tables on him, enslaving both Sylvester and Linc's brother Crispin with her big blue eyes and pretty ways, and never once giving a hint of the hard edge Linc knew her to have.

  Now, nearly eighteen months after her marriage, he was prepared to admit he might have been mistaken in her. Their own brief relationship had been a stormy affair, initiated in an unguarded moment and governed by Nikki's clingy possessiveness. Unsurprisingly, she hadn't taken the break-up well. He supposed he couldn't altogether blame her, for although he'd never led her to believe he was in any way serious, taking her to visit Farthingscourt had perhaps raised her hopes unfairly high and it wasn't something he was proud of. In the end, through her marriage to Crispin, she had made Farthingscourt her home anyway, albeit in one of the cottages on the estate, rather than the main house.

  She had, over the months, immersed herself in the preparations for the many functions and events that the house played host to, showing a natural flair for creating exactly the right mood with music and decoration, and had recently taken over the twice-weekly flower arranging in the show rooms. Linc knew his father thought her a major asset, and Nikki showed by the looks she occasionally cast in Linc's direction that she was well aware of her triumph.

  Farthingscourt Mill stood higher up the river from the house and its lake, at the point where the valley narrowed and the water became much faster-flowing. When the mill was built, some two hundred years before, the river had been dammed and a millpond excavated to provide the fall of water necessary to turn the breastshot wheel.

  A private lane ran from the east of the house, about a mile and a half along the side of the valley, past the mill and on to join the public road that linked the two villages of Farthing St Anne and Farthing St Thomas. The mill car park, just off the lane, was currently a cleared area spread with hardcore and awaiting a topdressing of asphalt when the heavy machinery no longer visited the site.

  Linc and Geoff Sykes climbed out of the Land-Rover, accompanied by Geoff's two bouncing black Labradors who immediately made for the water and plunged in. The mill house was a beautiful stone building from which the accumulated ivy growth of the last fifty years had recently been cleared, allowing light to flood through its mullioned windows and spill on to the dusty wooden floors once more.

  In spite of the years of neglect, the three-storey building was found to be surprisingly sound, the biggest repair project being the roof where many of the timbers needed replacing but which had, thankfully, not leaked to any great extent.

  Linc and his deputy-manager walked along the front of the building to the narrow footbridge that spanned the tail race, just below the wheel. Crossing this and turning left, they passed the wheel itself, newly refurbished and re-hung on its massive hexagonal axle-tree made of seasoned oak which, alone, had cost the project some two thousand pounds of its budget.

  The channel, or head race, that fed the wheel was at present nearly empty, as was the pond itself, both in the course of being drained in order to remove the silt, shore up the banks and retaining walls, and repair the weir. The millstream was currently being diverted away from the pond by way of a temporary dam and a huge pipe, and only three or four feet of murky water remained, some of which would have to be pumped out before work could commence. About twenty feet away from the head race the curving steps of the weir were dry and already under restoration, as was the bridge which crossed above it. Thirty feet or so downstream, the diverted flow poured back into the river and away down the valley.

  The projected timescale for finishing the main stage of the project was just over a month, but Linc found it hard to believe that it would be achieved. He said as much to Geoff as they returned to the car park.

  'It's mostly only man-hours. You get behind, you just have to throw a few more men at it,' he said placidly, whistling up the soggy Labradors.

  'I guess so. But we're at the mercy of the weather, too, and I really want to get this right.'

  'His Lordship can't hold you responsible for the weather,' Sykes said, well aware of the peppery relationship between the Viscount and his eldest son.

  'Don't you believe it!' Linc responded.

  The afternoon brought two police officers to Farthingscourt to take a statement from Linc regarding the theft at the Vicarage. He took them through to the library and, having read and signed the resulting document, asked them if any other stables in the area had been targeted.

  'Unfortunately it's all too common,' he was told. 'There's been a number of similar thefts over the last few months. There was another one later on Friday night, as a matter of fact. A riding school
north of Shaftesbury lost most of their tack for the second time in a few weeks. We don't know for sure that it was the same gang, but it tends to go in waves and, as I told the Hathaways, the thieves will often hit the same area again in a couple of months' time. That's just long enough for people to use the insurance money to replace their old tack with new. In fact, it's not unknown for the old tack to be found dumped somewhere.'

  'Really? And when the thieves have got the new tack, where do they sell it on?' Linc wanted to know. 'Presumably not locally?'

  'We think some of it's sold at auction, and we suspect a fair amount finds its way to Ireland.' The police constable stood up and moved towards the door. 'Anyway, as I told Miss Hathaway this morning, it would be wise to install some security at the Vicarage. I've left some leaflets with them. Normally, our Horse Liaison Officer would visit to advise but she's on maternity leave at the moment.' His radio crackled with news of another call-out and he paused to listen before saying, 'Well, if that's all, sir, we must be on our way. Rest assured that everything possible is being done to track these thieves down. Robbery with violence is a particularly nasty business.'

  Linc showed them out, ignoring the curious gazes of the paying visitors and reflecting that in attacking Abby the thieves had made a big mistake. From being the subjects of a routine ongoing investigation, however thorough, their violent raid on the Vicarage had made their apprehension a matter of priority. Thinking about what the constable had told him, Linc experienced a sudden wave of anger. It would have been naïve to suppose that what had happened at the Vicarage would have given such organised criminals much pause for thought, but to find out that they'd quite possibly gone on to make another hit that very same night seemed to put them in a different league altogether.

  After a morning spent on estate business, Linc arrived at the Vicarage Monday lunchtime to find that Sandy, the saddler, had already been there an hour or so and had been invited into the kitchen for soup and sandwiches.

  Abby's mother Rebecca was also there, having come home from the hospital for an hour or two to have a bath and change her clothes. She looked up from the table as Linc came in, and he was shocked by the change the stress of her hospital vigil had wrought in her face. She wore her light brown hair short and normally carried her forty-six years so lightly that she had on more than one occasion been taken for Ruth and Josie's elder sister, but today she looked grey and exhausted, her eyes shadowed and red-rimmed. Hannah and Toby sat either side of her, six-year-old Toby snuggling against her with only the top of his golden-brown head showing by her elbow, and Ruth sat across the table, next to Sandy.

  'Hello. Hi, Sandy,' Linc said. Then to Rebecca, 'Any news?'

  She shook her head. 'Not really. She's still unconscious. There's no more bleeding and no sign of a fracture but nobody seems to be able to tell us when she might come out of it or even . . .' Her voice trailed off and she ruffled Toby's hair, summoning a bright smile. 'And I've been neglecting the rest of my family shamefully, haven't I, little Toby Tobias?'

  Toby looked up at her, his misleadingly angelic face adoring.

  'Never mind,' she continued. 'When this is over and Abby's on the mend, I'll make it up to you all.'

  'Ruth's been doing a great job,' Linc told her. 'And looking after the horses.'

  'I know she has,' her mother said warmly. 'I expected to find chaos when I got back but it seems my family can manage just fine without me. The place is spotless.'

  'That was mostly Josie,' Ruth admitted. 'She had a blitz yesterday whilst I was at the exhibition.'

  'I had to hoover all the bedrooms,' Hannah put in. 'And I've been looking after Abby's chickens without being asked.'

  'You've all been marvellous,' Rebecca acknowledged. 'I'm proud of the lot of you.'

  'Will I get the money for the next lot of eggs?' Hannah wasn't one to allow sentiment to get in the way of advancement.

  'Lord, child, you're mercenary!' Ruth exclaimed. 'What would your father say? No one would ever take you for a vicar's daughter.'

  'Well, Abby gets the money when she does them,' Hannah pointed out unabashed. 'It's only fair.'

  'Of course it is,' her mother said soothingly. 'And I'm sure Abby will be very grateful to you when she's better. Now I really think I ought to be getting back to the hospital. Daddy will come home this evening for a while, I expect.'

  Faced with the prospect of losing her again so soon, Toby clung even tighter and she had to prise his arms from around her waist as she stood up.

  'You're going to have to be a brave little man,' she told him gently.

  'I don't want to be a brave little man,' Toby sobbed. 'I want you back. And Daddy, and Abby. I want things to be right again.'

  'I know, darling. We all do.'

  Sandy cleared his throat and fidgeted, looking a little uncomfortable amidst this show of familial affection, then got to his feet.

  'I ought to be moving, too. We've got these horses to sort out yet. Thanks for the soup and everything.'

  'I'll go down with him, if you like?' Linc offered, looking at Ruth. 'We need to sort out some stuff for Noddy, too.'

  'Thanks. I'll be down in a minute, and if you've got time to ride, I'll be taking our two out later.'

  'That'd be good, yes. 'Bye, Rebecca. Say a few words to Abby for me, just in case she can hear.'

  'Thank you, Linc. I will.'

  Ruth's chestnut mare, Magic, had been fitted with a saddle and bridle before lunch but finding anything suitable for the remaining two took the best part of an hour. Sandy's lorry was parked in the yard and he went in and out of it countless times with bits and pieces of tack, followed by a chunky brindle-and-white dog of mixed parentage which went by the name of Tiger.

  Fitting a horse with a saddle is rather like fitting a person with new shoes. Horses' backs come in all shapes and sizes: short or long, wide or narrow, bony or round. Using a saddle that doesn't fit can produce much the same results as wearing the wrong pair of shoes: discomfort, lameness and bad temper. A surprising number of behavioural problems in horses can be traced back to ill-fitting tack.

  Both Noddy and Cromwell, the horse shared by Josie and Rebecca, had problem backs. Noddy had higher than average withers and needed a saddle with good clearance at the front, and the grey's back was unusually broad.

  Sandy was endlessly patient, and at the end of the session would accept no money, saying they could reckon up when the insurance payment came through and they had decided what they wanted to keep, and what to replace. He'd come up trumps with Noddy's half-cheeked snaffle, which earned Linc's immense gratitude, and departed with a cheery wave and a special wink for Ruth, who seemed rather pleased.

  'He fancies you.' Hannah had come down to watch the proceedings.

  'And what would you know?' Ruth demanded, colouring significantly.

  'He couldn't take his eyes off you at lunchtime,' her sister observed. 'I'm not stupid.'

  'I thought you were supposed to be looking after Toby,' Ruth remarked, trying a change of subject. 'Where is he?'

  'He's playing with his rabbits in the haybarn. I reckon you fancy Sandy, too,' she persisted.

  'Well, I reckon you should mind your own business,' Ruth told her, resorting to pulling rank. 'Go and help Toby catch the rabbits and then take him up to the house. Josie should be back in a minute. What are you laughing at?' she asked Linc severely as Hannah departed.

  'Nothing. Nothing at all,' he assured her, taking the coward's way out. 'Has Josie been at the hospital today?'

  'This afternoon she has. This morning she had to go back to London to sweet-talk her agent. Apparently she skipped out on a job to come home at the weekend and he wasn't happy.'

  'That's a bit hard,' Linc said. 'It is her sister, after all.'