‘Was this brilliant and imaginative idea yours?’ she asked him.
‘Well, yes, it was. But don’t credit me with running Baker to earth too. That was a master stroke by one of my colleagues. I only contributed a fingerprint from the bolt I told you about.’
‘I shall watch your future career with the greatest interest,’ she told him, smiling. Then suddenly her anxiety about Barbara’s future returned.
‘Is something still worrying you?’ he asked, puzzled by the change in her expression.
‘There is, actually, although perhaps I oughtn’t to ask you about it. It’s so bound up with my son’s engagement, though. Will Mrs Winship be prosecuted for registering Julian as her own child? It would be so terribly painful.’
‘As you know,’ he said sympathetically, ‘I can’t say anything officially. In any case it doesn’t rest with me. But my personal opinion is that the Registrar-General may very well decide to let the matter rest.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That’s most comforting. I — why, there they are! They’ve been up Sinneldon as it’s such a lovely afternoon. David had a couple of days’ holiday due to him.’
David and Julian came into the room, glowing from a moor walk in the crisp December air and each other’s company. Julian assured Pollard that the top of Sinneldon was the finest viewpoint in the entire West Country.
‘You can see the whole coast right down to Thirl Point,’ she said, ‘and all Crownmoor and the rest of the county spread out like a map.’
‘Everything’s lined up for tonight,’ David told his mother. ‘Tar barrel, brushwood, paraffiny rags — the lot. St Lucca’s Revel,’ he explained to Pollard. ‘We have a comic beano here every fifteenth of December, after dark. It dates from the Lord knows when.’
‘Certainly from Saxon times,’ said Olivia. ‘David’s disgracefully flippant about my interest in the past. It’s a fascinating survival of an old pagan ritual. Would you care to stay and watch, Inspector?’
‘Would that I could,’ Pollard replied, ‘but unfortunately I’ve got to be back in London tonight.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘In fact, I must dash off at once, I’m afraid.’
They went outside to see him off, and stood watching his car reach the turning, halt and vanish.
‘Decent chap,’ remarked David dismissively as they turned back into the cottage. ‘Is there any tea going, Mamma?’
The sunset was dusty pink and gold, the frosty air motionless and sharp with wood smoke. In accordance with ancient custom St Lucca’s Lights sprang up in every window overlooking the street. Families from the outlying farms began to arrive in the village, which echoed with the shouts of Sergeant Murch and his constable as they struggled to control the traffic and organize parking. A packed coach came in from Leeford and was greeted with cheers and catcalls. Its passengers flooded out and melted into the crowded street.
From her bedroom window Olivia Strode watched the people streaming down to the field by the Sinnel where the festivities began. Everyone carried a light: a torch, or a hurricane lamp with a candle inside, or a nightlight in a glass jam jar. Timeless, she thought. Women with scarves over their heads in the immemorial way. Excited children and barking dogs running along. Old men gamely hobbling on their sticks. Pairs of lovers borne by the tide, oblivious to everything but themselves.
Voices below announced that the Winships and Julian had arrived. She roused herself, and went downstairs to welcome them.
As they all came out of Poldens a few minutes later it struck her that the Revel atmosphere was even more hilarious than usual. The perfect evening, perhaps? Or was there an unspoken feeling that a shadow had lifted from the village? David hooked her firmly on to one of his arms and Julian on to the other. A head taller than most of their neighbours in the crowd, he started a ridiculous running commentary which was received with roars of laughter. Glancing back Olivia caught a glimpse of Hugh Winship stalwart in a duffel coat, protectively shepherding Barbara through the throng.
Once they reached the field it became easier to move, and they manoeuvred for a good riverside stance. She realized that they had become separated from the Winships.
‘Hopeless to find anyone in this crush,’ David said unconcernedly. ‘We’ll join up all right at the Parish Hall.’
She saw he had not noticed that she had tactfully detached herself, and moved a short distance away along the river bank. Alone, she gave herself up to enjoyment of the scene. Overhead there was an unbelievable splendour of stars. Across the water reared the huge dark mass of Sinneldon, a tiny cluster of moving lights indicating the barrel party, about to go into action under the restored leadership of Fred Earwaker.
An expectant hush descended, in which the running of the Sinnel became loud and dominant. Olivia stared down into the water, its blackness flecked by dancing golden pinpoints, reflections of the traditional lanterns. Timeless too, and unrelentingly purposeful, she thought, listening to the unseen movement at her feet. She felt a stab of compassion for Sister Roach falling like a plummet into that cold impersonal embrace. The dark into the dark. Could you help being dark in spirit if you had never lived in the light?
Her attention was suddenly riveted by a triumphant yell as tongues of flame leapt into the sky from the crest of Sinneldon, and a ball of fire streaked down the slope with gathering momentum and plunged into the river with a great hissing splash.
The watchers held their breath, gripped by a superstitious anxiety to which few of them would have admitted. Then a column of flame shot up from the Sinnel amid a roar of cheers.
‘Oh my!’ rang out a hearty feminine voice. ‘Did ’ee iver see ’un flare up better’n that? Us’ll ’ave pop’lation ’splosion yur in Affacombe, sure ’nuff. Why, Miss Wrey, luv, ’twill be orange blossom for ’ee Jan’ry, an’ orange juice for a liddle ’un come October!’
The crowd shouted with laughter, and applauded as David Strode hoisted Julian high.
*****
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ALSO IN THE POLLARD & TOYE INVESTIGATIONS SERIES
DEATH OF AN OLD GIRL
ALIBI FOR A CORPSE
DEATH ON DOOMSDAY
CYANIDE WITH COMPLIMENTS
NO VACATION FROM MURDER
BURIED IN THE PAST
STEP IN THE DARK
UNHAPPY RETURNS
SUDDENLY WHILE GARDENING
CHANGE FOR THE WORSE
NOTHING TO DO WITH THE CASE
TROUBLED WATERS
THE WHEEL TURNS
LIGHT THROUGH GLASS
WHO GOES HOME?
THE GLADE MANOR MURDERS
Published by Sapere Books.
11 Bank Chambers, Hornsey, London, N8 7NN,
United Kingdom
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Copyright © Elizabeth Lemarchand, 1968
The Estate of Elizabeth Lemarchand has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.
eBook ISBN: 9781912786282
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