Children of Fire

by Paul CW Beatty

  ‘Why in blue-blazes did Steven Hailsworth give a policeman permission to attend a private party for my Sarah?’

  ‘Because, at Mr Hailsworth’s request, I am investigating the murder of Elijah Bradshawe, at least until the Derbyshire constabulary can get here. I felt it important to meet you and Mr Hailworth concurred. It seemed to be the best and most discreet way.’

  ‘Why?’ then the reason occurred to Arlon. ‘God’s blood, you thought I had something to do with it!’

  ‘Yes, especially when I heard about the disputes you were having with the Children of Fire over the useless piece of land near the wood. What did you suggest at the dinner? Wasn’t it that you expected to get the land cheap when the community fell apart after Elijah’s death because they would have no leader?’

  ‘So what difference does that make?’ reposted Arlon standing full-square with his hands on his hips. ‘Police aren’t concerned with civil disputes.’

  ‘True but thanks to your loud voice and the rather thin walls in this public house, I know why you want the new road.’

  Arlon was white with rage by but controlled himself. ‘It’s still none of your blasted business, Constable.’

  ‘No it’s not but if I witnessed a trespass in the course of my investigations it would be my duty to discuss with the local magistrate whether it warranted further investigation by him.’ There was a pause as the implied threat to tell Steven Hailsworth about the meeting and the plans sank in. Jimmy panicked.

  ‘He must have seen us, Mr Arlon.’

  ‘Keep silent!’ said the Engineer.

  ‘You are right, Jimmy. I was up by the sawmill when I saw you surveying. Perhaps I should have mentioned it earlier to the Children of Fire but I was busy investigating the murder. However, they still might wish to ask their lawyers about the matter even at this late date. Who knows they might even be prepared to sell you the land you need for the road at a fair price. Good day, gentlemen,’ and he turned on his heels.

  Josiah paid for his meal and left the Inn and started his walk back to Long Clough. Arlon was a dyed-in-the-wool hypocrite. The only way he could hope to make better profits from silk compared to cotton was to cut his workforce severely. That would bring ruin to Marple. Also, he would have to use the newest form of Jaquard looms available, to ensure he could weave the variety of patterns into the silk, the trade expected. Those new looms would be French – so much for never taking up any idea from France.

  But though Arlon was a very unpleasant man, Josiah was now sure that he could rule him out as a suspect for the murder. He neither had the imagination to come up with the details of the methods used to kill Elijah nor the personal viciousness required. In any case a connection of Arlon with McBrinnie seemed rather unlikely.

  Perhaps Arlon might order a murder, to eliminate someone who was getting in his way of his plans but his motive would be profit. He wouldn’t do it himself or be anywhere nearby when it happened. He would hire a couple of ruffians with pickaxe handles to do the deed in a dark corner.

  Arlon’s was a mind of money and profit, nothing more. Josiah despised him, pitied his workers and even more his daughter and wife.

  25

  A Ride in the Country

  The following morning, Aideen Hayes was not only punctual but looked magnificent on a pie-balled thoroughbred. With her, on his own horse, a groom led a docile looking mare for Josiah. Today, Josiah was not in uniform; this was his own private time. Aideen was not a suspect, just an acquaintance; he was not investigating and he was going to be himself. So he was dressed in his comfortable, familiar travelling clothes.

  His jacket and waterproof were packed into the saddlebag on the mare. Then with girths tightened and stirrups adjusted, came the testing act of mounting up. Much to the amusement of Aideen it took Josiah two attempts but he managed well enough the second time.

  ‘I suppose you will say you are out of practice,’ she laughed.

  ‘That may sound a convenient excuse but it’s true. I did learn to ride reasonably well when I was a footman in France.’

  ‘I sense another story coming on but let us save that up until we are on our way.’ She spoke to the groom. ‘Thank you, Paul, I’ll bring Meggs back to the Hall myself. You can go now.’

  ‘Yes, Miss.’ Paul turned his own horse and started to trot back towards the main road.

  Josiah frowned. ‘Aideen, is that wise? Wouldn’t it be more proper if he stayed as your chaperone?’

  ‘Oh, I can look after myself.’

  ‘But what will your brother say?’

  ‘Well if Phelan wants to defend my honour then he’ll have to be here to do it. I’ve spent most of my life riding alone on the beaches and cliffs of Donegal and I am not going to change now simply because I am in a more straight-laced country. Now to business, Let’s see if you can still remember how to go fast.’

  She urged the horse forward into the canter, giving Josiah no choice but to do the same, unless he was to be left hopelessly behind. They cantered on briskly for about half a mile until Aideen slowed her horse to trot, then walk and allowed Josiah to catch up.

  ‘Where shall we go?’ she asked.

  ‘Well I’ve never ridden around here. Where is your favourite place?’

  She looked thoughtful. ‘Let us combine a good ride with peace in the countryside. Follow me.’

  They went down the track from Long Clough to the road and turned uphill towards Hailsworth Hall. But before they got to the estate road, Aideen turned onto a green lane which traversed the hill below the mines, eventually coming out above the village of Hayfield which they circled to the north. Turning northeast, they crossed a plank bridge and started to climb a narrow valley next to a stream.

  The sky was blue but there was a steady breeze from the southwest. Josiah watched and marvelled at Aideen’s skill as a rider. Side-saddle was, in his view, a ridiculous way to attempt to control a horse. Sitting astride, as he was, legs, and therefore knees and ankles, were stable on each flank of the mount giving a symmetry of weight and force. But on a side-saddle with both legs hooked on pommels on only one side, the rider’s weight was perpetually off-centre. It looked, if not against nature, then at least against common sense, as well as being, he assumed, terribly uncomfortable.

  Again, Aideen reined in her horse and let him catch up. She was breathing easily whereas he was definitely puffed.

  ‘I do not know how you manage to ride in that position in the saddle,’ he said, wiping his hand across his brow.

  ‘It’s nothing. Watch this.’

  There was a flat open space by the stream. Aideen walked her horse out on the left as far as a stonewall. She turned the horse on the spot and faced towards the stream. Throwing her weight forward and giving the horse a quick flick with her crop induced an instant gallop. She only had room for about five strides but it was enough; the horse jumped the stream with room to spare but Aideen did not slow her down. The wall on the other side of the stream was in front of a flat, if tussocky field. She took all of the momentum from leaping the stream towards that wall and though it was a good four feet high jumped it with grace and control.

  She walked back through a gap in the wall up stream and allowed the thoroughbred to drink as a reward for the effort. Josiah applauded.

  ‘If I had a hat I would take it off to you,’ he said as his horse joined hers ‘I could never be that good a rider no matter how much practice I had.’

  ‘I doubt that, Josiah. I doubt if there is very much you could not do well if you set it as your aim.’ It sounded to Josiah a flippant comment but when he looked at Aideen’s face there was no sign of amusement. In fact, she looked rather serious, so serious that he changed the subject.

  ‘How far do we have to climb?’

  She pointed up the valley. ‘See where the stream turns right. There is a small cascade round that bend then there is a st
eady climb up to what I believe is called Ashop Head. Then it is only a few hundred yards onto the Kinder plateau.

  They pushed on. Grass overhung the edges of the cascade, where the stream tumbled happily through tufts of coarse grass, round boulders made of a fine-grained, dark rock and between peat banks.

  They dismounted before the steep climb onto the ridge and led the horses up the path. They emerged onto a plateau near a jumble of larger brown stones scored by weather and wind so that deep notches ran in straight lines along their sides. Their flat tops had been sanded smooth by wind and frost.

  Before he remounted, Josiah looked back along their path. The stream snaked away. The colours of the vegetation changed as it went westwards down into the valley: short orange grass among the rocks at the top, green bracken dominating lower down and heather purpling raised areas away from any water course.

  The day was still very clear, though white tousled clouds were beginning to form as the temperature rose. These were moving in on the breeze.

  ‘A clear day on which to see far but is it a day whose clarity may end in rain,’ said Aideen. Josiah looked at her. She was looking out to the horizon with another serious and preoccupied expression.

  Quietly they rode on towards the downfall where the River Kinder cascaded to the floor of the valley. Here they stopped and gave the horses a proper rest.

  A slot had been cut by the river just before it hurled itself over the edge. This slot seemed to collect all the wind available, in a futile effort to blow what little water there was back and prevent it jumping to destruction. But despite the wind’s efforts the brown peaty river flowed implacably towards its doom. They sat down.

  Josiah had brought a bottle of Long Clough water with him to drink. Aideen came back from checking that the horses were securely tied to a small tree away from the downfall. She held two bottles of her own, one of which she offered one to him.

  ‘I thought you might appreciate this. It is an improvement on plain water.’

  He took it and uncorked it. It was Barbara Hailsworth’s cordial. He was hot and tired by the unfamiliar exercise, so it was even more refreshing than it had been at the dinner.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said after he had taken a good swig. ‘Most welcome and thoughtful. Please thank Mrs Hailsworth for me.’

  ‘Mrs Hailsworth! Mrs Hailsworth fiddlesticks!’ exploded Aideen. ‘I’ll have you know I filled these bottles with my own fair hands. I took the trouble to go down to the kitchens and fill those bottles with you specifically in mind and while I did it thought of this moment and how pleased you’d be. Barbara Hailsworth had nothing to do with it!’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Josiah in the tone of a reprimanded schoolboy. ‘I didn’t…’

  ‘… Think! No you’re a man and your race never do think. What would you do without women to rule and guide you either as wives or mothers.’ Her tone of voice had started light and playful but as she got to the end and said the word “mother” Josiah heard her voice catch. He saw she was crying.

  He went over and sat down next to her, confused as what to do. He had the reflex to put his arm round her shoulders in much the same way he would have held Rachael a few days earlier but Rachael’s rejection of him had undermined whatever confidence he had in such impulses. In the end he compromised by taking her hand.

  ‘Something has been upsetting you as we rode up here. It would be a privilege to listen to what troubles you if that would help?’

  ‘Yes, perhaps,’ she wiped away her tears with her hand. ‘The day has reminded me of another when I was much younger. That day the sun was bright with clouds, like these, moving in from a western sea.’ She paused.

  ‘In Donegal we lived high on the cliffs, my father, my mother, Phelan and me. It was a beautiful place to live but there was always a shadow over it.’

  He waited, trying to say nothing and so allow her to speak in her own time.

  ‘When a young woman, my mother had been a beauty, or so people said. She was about to be married, when there was a fire at her family house. It started early in the morning while everyone was still in bed. By the time the alarm was raised it had already taken firm hold in the part of the house where she, her young sister and brother slept. He was about three.

  ‘She got out of bed, and would have got out safely, but she heard her brother’s screams. When she got to his bedroom, smoke and flames were coming up through the floorboards. She pulled him out of bed and started to carry him out but the flames caught up with her on the landing and the floor collapsed.

  ‘After the fire was out, the bodies of her mother and father were found in the ruins. Everyone thought she had been killed and that only her sister had survived. When they searched they found the charred remains of her brother but they could not find her body until someone discovered that she had fallen through the ground floor into the cellars.

  ‘She was badly injured: one arm and both legs broken, as well as being very badly burned, particularly where her hair had caught fire. But she lived. She recovered after many months of pain. Most of her hair grew back but she was left with a terrible scar down her right cheek and neck,’ Aideen traced on her own cheek the line of the scar.

  ‘When she was well enough to look in a glass she saw the ruin of her own face. She could not come to terms with it. She broke off her engagement and swore she would never marry.’ She sighed and paused.

  ‘But you and Phelan are here so something must have happened to change her mind?’ said Josiah. His voice was soft and controlled. ‘Did she come to terms with her disfigurement?’

  ‘Never, but she met someone who both loved her and for whom the look of her face was irrelevant. The man who became my father was blind. Even then it took all his persuasive skills to get her to marry him.

  ‘They were happy for a time. Phelan was born and then me. But she never came to terms with what she had lost. She despaired but she hung on for as long as she could to bring me up. When I was nearly five, while my father was away on business, and Phelan and I were out walking with friends, she went up to the headland and threw herself into the sea.’

  As she had told the story, she had stared resolutely out towards the west. Only at the end did she look at him ‘Oh Josiah, it was a day just like today. I can remember the silence in the house when we came back. I remember running everywhere, calling and looking for her. I had a little posy of flowers I had picked on the walk and I wanted to give them to her.’ Tears were running down her cheeks. ‘They soon found the note she had left and her body came back to us the next day, on the evening high tide.’

  Josiah was aware of the wind in the heather, far away he heard the song of a skylark and nearby the trickling of the water. What words if any was one supposed to put into stillness at times like this? He squeezed Aideen’s hand gently in comfort.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It is difficult for me to talk about it, even to Phelan.’

  ‘You are not alone. Other people can understand if you let them.’ He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the words had left his mouth.

  Her temper flared. ‘How can anyone know? How can anyone understand?’

  ‘Those that have been through similar experiences might. My mother and father died of a fever when I was a young child. I cannot feel what you felt but there must be some common ground in our experiences. I was the same age as you when it happened.’

  She looked at him steadily. Then she put up her hand to his cheek, stroked it as she had before, but this time, she put her fingers gently at the back of his neck and drew his face towards hers to kiss him fully. Without conscious thought, he pulled her towards him and returned her kiss.

  As he did so one part of his mind tried to maintain that his intention was to offer comfort but a more honest part admitted a thrill of desire made possible by that thread of recklessness he seemed to have acquired due to the hopelessness of his feelin
gs for Rachael. It was the same thread of desire, which had so disastrously entangled him with Maria.

  26

  A Secret Garden

  They collected up the bottles and walked back to the horses. Then they rode on, following the edge of the valley. They forded a smaller brook, which fed a lesser downfall and then climbed to a summit passing a line of ten tombstone-shaped rocks. It was as if the hands of some giant troll or ancient earth god had thrust up through the thin soil.

  The edge over the valley was now less sharp but the view across the plain was still clear. Far out, haze was beginning to form as well as more cloud. Some were building impressively high and developing heavy triangular tops with a pinkish tinge. Josiah remembered Aideen’s remark about a day so clear it could end in rain. If this day ended in rain, it would be a thunderstorm.

  After the rocks, Aideen turned down a gulley following the first brook to be flowing east rather than west. A well-defined track went steadily downwards until suddenly they were at the top of a path that zig-zagged down to a deep valley.

  Aideen broke their mutual silence. ‘It is steep but the horses will be confident if we are. Leading them down is not as safe as riding. Just follow my lead.’

  Backwards and forwards they followed the track down the slope. The horses remained surefooted and after the initial mild panic at the illusion of all the time being about to fall forward over his horse’s head, Josiah started to feel confident in his mount’s ability and even his own horsemanship.

  At the bottom there was a stone bridge across the stream, now a reasonable sized river. There was flat pasture in front of them with a few sheep. Without warning Aideen urged her mare into a gallop.

  ‘Oh enough of this solemnity!’ she cried. ‘Catch me if you can, Josiah.’

  The hooves pounded the turf, bringing to Josiah’s mind a horror he hoped he had buried long ago. He concentrated on following Aideen, forcing the memory back inside himself.