by Leo McNeir
“Oh, that’s really not –”
“Of course. I insist.” They walked at his pace out through the front door onto the drive. “I knew you weren’t one of the archaeologists.”
“No. I’m an interior designer.”
“If you’ll permit me to say so, you’re much too smart to be an archaeologist. Scruffy bunch.” He was smiling. “I suppose it’s because they spend their time scratching about in the dirt.”
Marnie laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. But then, I don’t really know any archaeologists, only Dr Cardew.”
Devere opened the door of the Discovery and stood aside.
“Thank you, Mr Devere. It’s been nice meeting you.”
“My pleasure.” He looked pensive. “Are you involved in these excavations?”
“Peripherally. It all sounds very interesting.” Marnie climbed in, shut the door and pressed a button.
The old man was frowning as the window slid down. “Do you think so? Digging up the past. I hope we don’t come to regret it.”
*
Ralph arrived in the office barn shortly before five for coffee. It had become a favourite part of his routine when he had spent most of the day shut away in his study on Thyrsis working on a book, an article, a lecture or a paper. Anne would take the day’s correspondence up to the post box at around four-thirty and call in at the village shop for any supplies they needed. On her return she would make coffee, and the three of them would have a break before settling down for a final work stint leading up to their evening meal on Sally Ann at seven.
On that Tuesday afternoon Ralph walked in to find only Anne sorting out mugs in the kitchen area.
“Marnie gone out again?”
Anne looked round. “She’s been down at the boat for the past hour or so. I think she’s making something for supper.”
“Oh …”
They both knew what that meant.
“Something bothering her?”
Anne poured coffee. “She’s been mulling something over ever since she got back from her meeting at the Court.”
“Then we’ll soon find out how serious it is.”
Anne agreed. The yardstick would be the novelty of the meal. If something was really worrying Marnie, the food would be experimental, a dish she had not previously made. She tended to cook as relaxation for a troubled mind.
*
Marnie removed a tureen from the fridge and put it on the galley workbench. The table was too small for her to place it in the middle to dish up, and she ladled the soup into bowls which Anne set out on their placemats.
Ralph leaned forward to sniff. “This looks interesting. I don’t remember having this before.”
“A recipe I saw in a magazine. I thought I’d try it out.”
“An experiment?”
“Sort of.”
“Asparagus?” Anne suggested, setting out bowls of croutons, chopped spring onions and diced cucumber.
“That’s right, with onions, celery, crème fraîche and chives. I was going to add chervil, but I thought that might be overdoing it. What do you think?”
Ralph tried a first spoonful. “Mm, yes. More to the point, what were you thinking?”
A wry smile from Marnie. “It’s amazing to be so transparent … myself, I mean, not the soup.”
“Delicious,” Ralph commented. “Both, of course.”
Marnie laughed. “If there’s a compliment in there, I think it’s the most obscure I’ve ever received.”
“So what’s been bothering you?” Ralph persisted.
Marnie’s smile faded. “The more I get involved with Celia …”
“Warning bells?”
“I’ve met that type before. I bet she started off as a pretty little girl who worked out early on how to get what she wanted.”
“Is that so unusual, Marnie?”
“Maybe not, but it’s odd if in adult life you still think the world revolves around you.”
“The Lady of the Manor,” Anne said quietly.
“Very much so, except … How can I put it?”
Ralph scooped cucumber into his bowl. “Her attitudes are not just self-centred but appear somehow childish?”
“Exactly. You know what? She virtually told Rob Cardew he had no right to run his dig the way he wanted without asking her permission.”
“On her land, you mean?”
“No, just in general.”
“Must’ve been a misunderstanding, surely.”
“I don’t think so. She was miffed that he wanted to set up his HQ down here in one of the barns, but really upset when he said one group would be looking for witch graves.”
“That’s a new development.”
“Angela knew she was like that. I could tell. She went very quiet and kept right out of the conversation, even though the dig is as much to do with the church as anything else.”
“You mean the witch aspect?”
“Yes. That’s the part that Celia doesn’t like. I even wonder if she really wants Sarah to be reburied in the churchyard at all. The whole thing spooks her out. She’s too jumpy to cope with it all.”
“Look how she fainted when we told her about Sarah’s hanging herself in the barn,” Anne said.
“Quite. And I’m sure they know this up at the Court. She’s got them all worried about her. I met her father-in-law today, nice old boy, very courteous, charming old-fashioned manners. Even he seemed bothered by the dig. That phrase again, digging up the past.”
Chapter 10
Holbeach Man
Ralph was wondering if Marnie had a point. It was eight-thirty on Wednesday morning and he was driving his twelve year-old Volvo up the field track. The going was firm, and the big car wallowed doggedly over the tussocks of grass and the ruts worn in the ground by the passage of vehicles. On a fine, dry summer’s morning it was an easy climb, but in less clement seasons the field resembled an auto-cross circuit. On days like that he slithered and slewed about, going up or down.
Marnie’s solution had been to buy a four-wheel drive, and she had suggested that he might do the same. She had opted for the infamous “Chelsea tractor’. The Discovery met all her needs and, most importantly, could negotiate the field track in any weather without complaint or hesitation. But Ralph could not really imagine himself driving such a machine. It seemed somehow too hearty for his character. It would feel like wearing a rough tweed jacket and plus-fours. On the other hand, there was nothing hearty about Marnie to whom he had just said good-bye for the day before setting off for Oxford. By now she would probably be in the shower and, smiling to himself, he tried to put that vision out of his mind as he reached the top gate.
His smile vanished abruptly as, to his great surprise, he almost collided head-on with a Land Rover that was turning into the field as he was passing through the gateway to leave it. Both vehicles braked sharply to a halt. A head looked out from the Land Rover’s window.
“Sorry about that. Are you all right?”
Ralph wound his window down. “Fine, fine. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be coming through here at this time.”
“Nor I.”
“Are you wanting Glebe Farm?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll get out of your way.”
With a friendly nod, Ralph drove past the Land Rover and turned into the road, noticing in passing that there was some sort of inscription on the side of the driver’s door. He caught the words ‘University’, ‘Archaeology’ and ‘Cambridge’ and spotted a small flag attached to the top of the radio aerial. He also noticed that there was a queue of two other cars behind the leader.
Rounding the corner before the village pub, Ralph pulled over and pressed buttons on his mobile phone. Marnie answered after several rings. Ralph came straight to the point.
“Are you presentable, darling?”
“Well, I’m naked and dripping water. I leave it to you to decide.”
“Then you might like to think of becoming clothed and dry – in the re
verse order, obviously. You’ve got visitors.”
“Anne’s in the office. She can meet them. Who are they?”
“Archaeologists from Cambridge.”
“Oh?”
“You weren’t expecting them?”
“Not today, as far as I recall. I’d better go. See you later.”
Resuming his journey, Ralph realised that something about the Land Rover was bothering him, but he could not think what it was. He was on the dual carriageway heading west when he remembered. The flag on the aerial did not quite go together with the prestigious name of Cambridge University. As far as he had been able to see, it looked suspiciously like a skull and cross-bones.
*
Anne was busy sorting the post when she thought she heard traffic noises. Glebe Farm was one of the quietest places in the world. Every extraneous sound seemed magnified. She listened carefully: a car. Who could it be? No-one was expected at this hour of the day.
Muttering that there was one way to find out, Anne got up and walked outside. She found the convoy parking at the back of the garage barn and reached into her pocket for the mobile. Marnie’s number was engaged. The visitors were four men, clustered in muted conversation at the entrance to one of the barns.
“Hallo. You’re the archaeologists. You must be Dr Cardew.” From Marnie’s description, he was unmistakeable. “I’m Anne Price, Marnie’s assistant.”
Rob made the introductions. His colleagues looked like students, not much older than she was. Amid the jumble of names, one of the men was described as the site director. In his early twenties, he had a crew cut and piercing brown eyes. When she shook hands with all four of them, Anne was surprised at how hard their skin felt, like manual labourers.
“Did you know we were going to be using this barn as a base during the dig?” Rob asked.
Anne pointed inside. “There’s an extension cable over there. You can plug it in to the garage barn. That’s this building behind us. It’ll give you four socket outlets. Will that be enough?”
“Ideal.”
“Good. Marnie said you wanted a water supply. I’ve rigged up a hose from the pipe on the near corner of the garage barn, just there. But if you need it for tea and coffee, I can provide that when I do drinks for our builders.”
Rob grinned. “There’ll be upwards of twenty or so of us working down here at any one time.”
“Oh.” Anne reflected on this. “I think they have an urn in the church hall. I’ll ask Angela if we can borrow it for your stay. Do you need anything else?”
“No, thanks. We’ve got all our own stuff.”
Rob indicated the cars. They were packed to the roofs with all manner of equipment. Anne could see plastic buckets of yellow and black stacked together, shovels, crates, boxes and bags.
“What about tables and chairs, that sort of thing?”
“We have our own and we’ll be ferrying more stuff down in the minibus. We’ve just come to set up base before the team arrives.”
“When will that be?”
“Tuesday.”
“I’ll put it in the diary. If there’s anything you need, let me know.”
The young men began unloading the cars and laying out the equipment in the barn. Anne was impressed at how orderly they were. Everything was lined up in neat rows. Although they were casually dressed in T-shirts, jeans and working boots and joked as they went about their tasks, they worked like a team and looked like professionals. Rob took a business card from his back pocket and gave it to Anne. As she tucked it into her shirt pocket, she noticed the flag on the Land Rover’s radio aerial.
“Is that a joke?”
“Why do you say that?”
“It looks a bit like a Jolly Roger, only in different colours.”
The small flag was divided diagonally into two triangles. The top was light blue, the bottom half brown. In the middle was a skull. On closer inspection it was not the figurative type as shown on the traditional pirate flag, but a more accurate image in three-quarters view.
Rob explained. “The light blue section represents the university’s colour. The brown is usually reckoned to signify the ground, where we dig.”
Anne pointed at the skull. “And who’s your friend?”
“He …” Rob paused, as if for dramatic effect. “… is none other than Holbeach Man.”
“Really?”
“You’ve never heard of him?”
“Sorry.”
“When he was dug up in a field in East Anglia in 1837, his were the earliest known human remains in Britain. That was roughly the time when archaeology started.”
“So he was important and famous.”
“Certainly was.”
The sound of approaching footsteps made them both turn as Marnie arrived quickly on the scene.
“I didn’t realise you were coming today, Rob.” She was slightly breathless, her hair still damp from the shower.
“We’re the advance guard, Marnie, setting up camp. Anne seems to have everything organised for us already.”
“Just the four of you then, is it?”
“Yes, for today.”
“And Holbeach Man,” Anne added.
“He’s coming on later, is he?”
Anne laughed and turned to go back to the office.
Marnie looked at Rob, puzzled. “What did I say?”
*
Nine o’clock came and went, with Marnie and Anne staring at their phones like characters in a Hitchcock film, waiting for them to ring with Celia’s daily call.
“Must be something we said.” Marnie grinned at Anne.
“She must’ve taken the hint.”
“Not that one.”
“Marnie, are you ready to go over those plans for the hotel yet?”
“Sure. Coffee time?”
“Okay. Talking of which, d’you think the archaeologists will still be –” Anne stopped and turned her head towards the door.
“What is it?”
Anne’s expression was inscrutable. “Marnie, when we’re talking about our projects, don’t forget the multi-storey car park.”
Marnie registered total bewilderment. “Multi-storey …? What are you talking about?”
“I mean the one we’re obviously going to need here for all the visitors we’re getting.”
As Anne spoke, Marnie caught the first sound of a car. “You must have radar instead of ears. I wonder who it could be. Rob Cardew coming round?”
Anne shook her head. “It’s not a diesel.”
“Who then, Cleverclogs?”
“The hot money must be on Celia.”
“Of course. Silly me for not expecting her.”
But they were wrong. The unmarked grey police Cavalier rolled into its customary parking slot and WDC Cathy Lamb trod the familiar path to the office barn door.
*
Anne left Marnie in conversation with Cathy Lamb and went back to the archaeologists. They had transformed their HQ barn into a fully functioning base camp. At the rear, under a pair of spotlights, a trestle table had been set up with crates, buckets and boxes stacked beside it and a tray filled with marker pens and find-bags at one end.
A similar table stood at right-angles to it along the side wall. On this one there were plans and notebooks, laptops, cameras and large sheets of squared paper. The furnishing was completed by a number of safari chairs. Someone had tacked an Ordnance Survey map of the area to the wall over the table. It was covered in a sheet of cellophane and dotted with coloured discs, circles and inscriptions.
Against the wall on the opposite side they had lined up several wheelbarrows, from one of which protruded a dozen or more shovels like a quiver of arrows. Anne was impressed with the purposefulness of it all and found it hard to believe they had packed so much equipment into their vehicles.
The barn had taken on an almost military air, like the field headquarters of a regiment at the front line. The only difference was that the men who were gathered in a group talking quietly to
gether looked like anything but members of the armed forces. Noticing Anne’s arrival, they turned and nodded in her direction and accepted her offer of refreshments.
On the way back to the office barn she pulled out her mobile and rang Angela to ask about the loan of the hot water urn. Returning ten minutes later with a tray of drinks, Anne was able to announce that the urn would be in place later that day. Leaving the tray for a few moments, she took the visitors round to the farmhouse and showed them the loo in the garden. It was Victorian with the original workings, but it was airy and functional and Anne made a mental note to get the builders to give it two coats of white emulsion before the weekend. She would let the archaeologists know they were not the only people to be well organised.
*
Marnie realised that Anne was keeping out of the way while she went over her statement with Cathy Lamb. The conversation was amicable – the two women had after all known each other for a couple of years and had experienced hard times together – but Marnie was on her guard, wary of saying anything that could be misconstrued. She knew that behind the relaxed atmosphere of their meeting, the detective was keen to find out anything she could that would reveal the identity of the person who had smashed Sarah Anne Day’s headstone two years earlier. Marnie stuck to her guns. She refused to speculate on something for which she had no evidence, and Cathy Lamb eventually gave up prodding her.
“I know I don’t have to remind you, Marnie, that withholding evidence – especially if it turns out to be important – could be regarded as a serious matter.”
“I know that. But you’re not asking me for evidence. There isn’t any. You’re asking me to try to guess what might have happened and for what reason. How could I know what someone else might have been thinking? I’m not a mind-reader. To say any more than I’ve already told you would be nothing but conjecture. It’s not on, Cathy.”
“Fair enough. But I’ve also got a job to –”
Cathy stopped as Anne looked in.
“Sorry to interrupt. Look, there are things we need from the supermarket. Now might be a good time to go, so I’ll leave you to it, unless you want me for anything?”
Marnie got in first. “No. You go along, Anne. I expect you’ve got your list.”