Aideen seemed to be heading for a building but he didn’t have the comfort of time for detailed observation; she was convincingly outpacing him and he soon lost sight of her. All he could do was to rely on following the general direction of her horse’s tracks.
At the end of the field, he found her mount tied to a tree. Aideen had removed the saddle and the thoroughbred was happily cropping the grass. Josiah followed suit, taking the saddle off his own mount.
There was low wall and a cracked stone pathway half buried in the grass. Beyond the wall, through the trees, there seemed to be a fine, but dilapidated house. Carrying his bag, he followed the path to a gate, hanging askew in the wall, which led to the house’s garden.
There was no glass left in the windows of the house and the roof of one of the outbuildings had fallen in. The garden was overgrown. Self-seeded sycamore and elder choked the frontage; ivy and nightshade were crawling through the broken windows. The only bright challenge to their tyranny was from vigorous wild-roses, which had pushed up high enough to bloom. Their pink and white flowers rambled over the eaves of the house and onto the main roof.
Josiah pushed through the plants. There had once been a wooden portico over the main door but it had collapsed, blocking the entrance. Aideen had clearly not gone that way. There was a stone-wall which extended from the side of the house; this had a pointed gothic-arched door which looked intact. When he pushed, it opened onto a path where there were signs that the undergrowth had been pulled down to make passing easier. A few feet and he was under a lighter canopy of beech trees. In front of him was a generous walled garden. He opened a wrought iron gate and entered.
He could see that the garden had once been magnificent. There had been espaliers of apples on the walls. These had not been pruned for years and had grown into lopsided half-trees, but they had still managed to set some fruit in the spring and this was now swelling. Roses were in bloom and, to his left, a glorious wisteria hung down over a trellis above an alcove in the wall. In front of the alcove Aideen had spread a blanket and was putting out food she had brought. She looked up and smiled.
‘I see you have not lost your sense of direction, Josiah. Do you like my forgotten garden?’
‘It is beautiful,’ he said, ‘though perhaps a little sad.’
‘Perhaps,’ she said looking round. ‘Someone once loved this garden. It brought great joy to them and, I sense, to others. Now it is only the cold speculative possession of a cold-hearted man who loves money.’
‘It sounds as if you know who that is?’
‘I do, but I fell in love with it before I knew to whom it belonged. So I do not covet it out of spite for him; it’s Arlon. The people of the village further down the valley believe it is intended as a wedding present for his daughter. They also say that he has refused to do anything about its condition until that wedding is announced. No presents until the contract involving Sarah and Abram is signed and sealed. A very prudent but careless man is Mr Arlon. Because of his neglect we may trespass and enjoy.’
Josiah sat cross-legged on the blanket while Aideen leant against one of the posts that supported the trellis. They passed round slices of game pie and cold chicken. They tore pieces of fresh bread from a loaf baked that morning at Hailsworth Hall and still warm. Last there were some fresh strawberries from the Hall’s fruit garden which they washed down with more of Barbara Hailsworth’s cordial.
When they had finished their picnic Josiah went over and lay next to Aideen, with his head on his jacket. He watched the clouds run overhead. She looked at him then bent down and kissed him slowly and deeply. Her lips were soft and tasted of rose flowers from the cordial, her skin smelt of lavender water and country air. He embraced her and she settled down close to him with her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest.
‘Have your spirits recovered?’ he asked.
‘Somewhat,’ she said. ‘Telling you helped. I have always kept too many things locked up inside myself. This time I was lucky to have you on hand to call me into the light from the dark that was haunting me.’
He sighed. ‘I think you and I are similar in that way,’ he said.
‘Yes. When we first met, I sensed you might have pain in your life by the way you told the stories of your travels. Sorrow makes people self-contained and observant in a specific sort of way. When you told me of the death of your parents, it explained it to me. Thank you.’
Though the death of his parents was a scar in his life, it did not haunt him; Thomas and Martha Cooksley, as well as Michael had seen him safely through that grief. Neither was he thinking of Maria. It was something much more recent, a grief not a guilt. I was the thing that until just a few minutes ago he though had gone, until the sound of hooves had brought it back to his mind. Something in the day had brought it back to him as the day had brought Aideen’s memory to life.
‘It’s not the death of my parents that troubles me. It is something else with which I have not shared with anyone.’
‘Can you share it?’
‘If you will listen I will try.’ She propped herself up on an elbow and affirmed consent with another kiss.
‘It was on a day very like today. I was walking in the foothills of the Dolomites. There are several small principalities up there of various degrees of prosperity and I was headed to the main town of one. I hoped for some food, maybe some work to pay for it, but most of all, though I was tired, I was content in the peace and quiet of the mountains.
‘I washed my face in the fountain in the main square and only then did I really take in my surroundings. Everywhere was empty and the shops shuttered. I was wondering why it was so quiet when from one side of the square there came an orderly group of about thirty people. There was the local priest in his black robes, a brace of shopkeepers, and a group of poor agricultural worker families, who the French would call the sans-culottes. The group made its way to the imposing bureaux, outside which hung the principality’s flag. They knocked and an official answered the door. The priest offered him a document. The official took it, looked at it, then he threw it in the priest’s face and slammed the door shut.
‘Immediately from behind me there was a jingling of harnesses and half a dozen troopers on horseback came into the square from a side road, sabres in their hands. They charged the crowd. I was caught in the middle and dived for cover behind the fountain. The crowd scattered but as I watched, the soldiers hacked down several people, including the priest.
‘Then one spotted me. He spurred his horse towards me and I ran for it. The sound of the hooves of that horse still haunts me. The soldier aimed one stroke at my head but he missed and he didn’t have a chance for another as I crammed myself into a passage between two buildings too narrow for his horse. He gave up.
‘When it was over, I helped the townspeople carry the dead and the injured from the square. I remember a little boy, his head gashed by a sabre. All he could say was “Maman, Maman, Maman”. He repeated it until he died in my arms. We found his mother’s body in the square. I helped to dig the grave where we buried them.
‘All they were doing was petitioning the local prince for a rebate in taxes to tide them over because it had been a hard winter. The attack was the prince’s way of showing that the people were his possessions, not neighbours who he should serve.’
‘Is that why you joined the police?’
‘It played a part. It made me realise that rights under law are nothing if the people cannot get unbiased access to justice or have their complaints investigated by people like themselves. But because of that day in that town, I know that police responsible to local citizens are essential to our communities.’
‘You have a strong sense of duty do you not, Josiah?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you not feel that such a sense of duty is a great burden, even a curse?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘Then why
not put it down. Why not just live to be happy?’ Suddenly she stood up. ‘Josiah, marry me and we will live in this place.’ Her voice was commanding and urgent. ‘We will make this garden our own. In play, our children will run free here and the past will not touch them.’
Josiah also stood up. It was true, here he could find peace in the form of a simple life with this woman who he could easily love. He imagined the garden as it must once have been. How many children had been brought up here? Many people said the past had ghosts. Some claimed to see them. If the future had equivalent spirits then those of his and Aideen’s children were at that moment invisibly playing round them in the sunshine.
But he would not be at peace unless he found Elijah’s killers. If he gave up that commitment his conscience would not rest easy.
‘It is a wonderful thought. But I have sworn to uphold the law and I must find Elijah Bradshawe’s murderers before I can put that oath aside. After that, perhaps I can court you here or in Ireland in a proper manner. Then the dream may come true.’
Suddenly she seemed desperate. ‘If you will marry me I will give myself to you here and now. We will consummate our covenant in a space that will, by that act, become sacred to us.’
She undid the top of her grey riding habit. Underneath was a dress held with a line of buttons. Her hands moved to release these. Lace was visible at the low neckline.
How would he react? The idea of welcome rest after all he had been though at Long Clough contended with duty. She had got to the last button. Once loosed then she would be able to slip the dress off and he knew desire would overcome him as it had with Maria. He pulled her towards him and contrived an embrace that allowed him to hold her hand. This time he would resist his instincts.
‘No Aideen, it would make our relationship precarious. I promise you, when the investigation is over, when we will have time to grow together, I will court you, but now duty is duty.’
She relaxed in his arms and put her finger on his lips.
‘Shhh. At least there is no duty at this moment.’
Heavy drops of water started to fall from a darkening sky. A peel of thunder heralded the bank of dark cloud that had built steadily during the day and had now caught them. As the rain fell, they laughed and held each other, hidden from the future by the garden and the valley.
27
A Boxing Match
After careful preparation the trap was set. All Josiah had to do was provide himself as bait. Nonetheless, before he stepped out of the cover of the edge of the wood, he took pleasure in watching a puzzled and confused Peter wait at the sawmill. When he was ready, Josiah shouted to Peter’s irresolute figure.
‘I had wondered if you would bother to come. I was counting that you would still like to punch me good and hard. Well this is your chance, if you’re man enough to take it.’
Peter turned slowly and smiled. ‘What do you think Rachael would say if she saw us fighting?’ he shouted back.
‘Well I rather thought that your dislike of me revolved around her. Maybe if you beat me she will go back to preferring you to me.’
Peter’s expression hardened. Josiah saw he was getting through to him and was pleased in a bleak sort of way. After all, in this strategy of confrontation, he was counting on an enraged Peter being indiscrete, capable of saying too much.
‘One problem, Constable.’
‘What is that? Aren’t you confident you can take me when you don’t have surprise on your side, like you did at Pulpit Rock?’
Peter grinned. ‘No not at all. It’s that uniform of yours; it’s an obstacle. This is between you and me. I will not be seen as attacking the law.’
In response Josiah took off his hat and placed it on the boundary wall. Then he removed his belt and his coat.
‘I would not want my duties and position to intimidate you. Now do I look sufficiently less like the law to remove your scruples?’
Peter took off his own jacket and hung it on a fence post near the sawmill. Then he rolled up his sleeves, turned and charged at Josiah. At the last second Josiah stepped aside and tripped Peter as he went past. Peter stumbled and fell flat on his face in the dust. To his own shame, Josiah felt pleased at the effect.
He let Peter get up. ‘Not quite so brisk this time brother. But then I suppose knowing Rachael thinks I am the better man of the two of us does take the edge off one’s judgment.’ He put up his guard as he had been taught in the few boxing lessons he’d had at grammar school and concentrated on not getting caught in close by Peter’s strong arms.
This time Peter was enraged. He came at Josiah, swinging with both hands. Josiah ducked the blows and skipped backwards, hitting Peter on the nose with two crisp jabs. Again Josiah felt the warm glow of success, especially when Peter felt his nose and looked surprised to find a trickle of blood running down from a nostril.
In his mind Josiah allowed himself some preening, imaging mock footwork, shadow jabs and upper cuts, but this daydream was almost his undoing. Peter collected himself and circled in a much more organised way with his own fists in a proper defensive position. Josiah decided more goading was in order.
‘Of course I can understand your reluctance to give up hope of her. Her kisses are most sweet, and she is most generous with them.’
Peter moved in, Josiah danced back and avoided being engulfed in Peter’s arms but not before Peter had delivered two heavy blows to his ribs, winding him.
‘You liar!’ Peter screamed. ‘She would never kiss you!’
‘How sure are you of that?’ retorted Josiah. ‘Women are women, the source of all human temptation and original disobedience. They know how to stir the blood in a man with their wiles. How can you be so certain that she would not kiss me and perhaps offer even more?’
‘Because she would never kiss me!’ Peter shouted in tones of heartbreak and fury. ‘She will not kiss any man!’
‘Come now, she is a red-blooded woman in the prime of life, in need of a mate to give her children. Do not deceive yourself; I have more than enough evidence of those facts.’
There was no avoiding Peter this time. Even though Josiah backed off, ducked and weaved and got in a few good jabs to the head, Peter came after him. He parried Josiah’s one attempt at a right cross, ducked inside and hugged Josiah under the armpits lifting him clear off the floor. Josiah hammered his fists down on Peter’s shoulders but Peter was intent in squeezing the life out of him. Josiah forced Peter’s head back by pushing his fingers into his nostrils and eyes but Peter was immune to all pain. Josiah was starting to feel giddy when Peter’s grip slackened.
Michael O’Carroll’s soft Irish voice spoke. ‘That’s right me, boyo. You let go slowly and I won’t break your neck. Got it?’ Peter nodded as best he could, considering his head was now pulled to the right, in a very painful and awkward position.
‘Let the constable down gently onto his feet.’ Peter did so. ‘Now let go with those braw arms of yours.’ Again Peter obeyed. Josiah squatted down, struggling to get his breath back. When he got up Michael had changed his grip. His left arm was across Peter’s throat with Peter’s right arm twisted up his back.
‘Where do you want him put, lad?’
‘In the sawmill. There are a few questions I need to ask him.’
‘Right you are. Come on, boyo, were going for a little walk. Now you might think I’m old and you could take me easy but you’ve probably never heard the old proverb that where young men use skill and strength, and lose, old men win by cheating and cunning. At present when I let go your arm it will be limp for only a couple of hours but if I move my grip just a bit it will be lifeless for several days. So come quietly, I don’t like hurting people. It’s not really in my nature.’
Josiah collected up his own uniform and Peter’s coat, while Michael walked Peter over to the building and into what had been the sawmill office. There was a chair in the middle
of the floor, into which Michael pushed Peter. Then he sat in a second chair against the entrance door to the office, got out his pipe and started to smoke. Josiah put on his uniform except for the hat. He leant against a dusty old desk, trying to look confident despite the pain in his ribs.
‘I have a few more questions I must ask you and explanations I must insist on having about what you said just now. I warn you at this moment I suspect you of being responsible for the murder of Elijah.’
Peter looked incredulous. ‘What reason would I have for that?’
‘We will come to that.’
‘That accusation is ridiculous!’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
‘Why should I answer any of your questions?’
‘Because as you remarked a few minutes ago I represent the law. It’s the law who asks not me.’
Peter was cornered and he knew it. ‘Oh very well ask your damned questions.’
‘Thank you. I think it is clear to all of us that you love Rachael and would do anything for her.’
‘Do you really need me to say that?’ said Peter mocking. ‘Haven’t you humiliated me enough?’
‘Please, Brother Peter, I want to hear it from your own lips.’
‘Yes, I love her. I love her more than my own life. Satisfied?’
‘While we were fighting you said Rachael has never kissed you. Well that I can understand.’ Michael coughed in a disapproving way. Perhaps Michael was right and there was no more goading required. ‘You also said that she would never kiss any man. Why would you say that?’
‘Mind you own business,’ Peter snapped.
‘I understand that this is a difficult question. As a measure of how seriously I suspect your guilt is I would be prepared, if you cannot give me satisfactory answers to my questions, to turn you over to Mr Hailsworth. Do you understand?’ Josiah stood up and paced slowly around Peter trying to look as threatening as he could manage.
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