A Death in the Dales

by Frances Brody

  A third man with a lamp walked quickly in the direction of Threlfall Hall.

  Distance and direction are difficult to judge in a strange place, especially at night, but I guessed the fire must be north of Catrigg Force.

  Why hadn’t I questioned Gabriel more carefully when he told me his fears of reprisal for having taken something from Selina Gouthwaite? I thought of him and his dog Nipper sleeping in their barn, being overcome by smoke, and then by fire. What an idiot I was. A man gives me an envelope and says, ‘just in case there is some threat to Victoria, or revenge against me, or my dog.’ What do I do? Take it and ask him pointless questions about a murder that took place a decade ago and can’t be undone. If he burned to death, it would be my fault for pushing him to retrieve the letters, for not understanding the implications.

  In spite of my haziness about the lie of the land, fear gripped my bowels. With a terrible certainty, I knew that the blaze came from the barn where Gabriel slept with his horse and dog.

  Nineteen

  When I woke suddenly from a smoke-filled dream, it took me a few moments to recall the events of the early hours, being in the garden, looking at the red sky and knowing that there must be a fire somewhere.

  Feeling sick with apprehension, I glanced at the clock as I slid from the bed. News of the fire would be all around the village soon enough.

  Wanting to let Harriet and our guest Martin sleep for as long as they needed, I went to the bathroom and washed at the basin. The pipes creaked so loudly I thought the house must be in pain. I dressed, putting on Freda’s divided skirt, and tiptoed down the stairs.

  I need not have tried to be quiet. Martin was already up and dressed. He had cleaned the range, lit a fire, filled the kettle and was toasting a teacake. He looked slightly embarrassed to be interrupted.

  ‘You make yourself at home, Martin. You’ve saved me a job I hate, making fires.’

  This appreciation cheered him.

  ‘I looked in the garden to see where you spread ashes and soot.’

  He was as practical as Mrs Sugden, who spread ashes around the rose bushes and had tried soot for whitening her teeth. ‘Have you been up long?’

  ‘Yes. I saw our Beth before she left for work, walked to the mill with her. I told her I’m definitely going back to Pendleton.’

  ‘Was she all right about it?’

  ‘No, but I’m going anyway.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ll have somewhere to stay and work in Pendleton?’

  ‘Yes, with the blacksmith. He said he’d set me on if things didn’t work out for me here. And I’ll be well away from them Gouthwaites.’

  He looked rested. I was glad of that because the thought did cross my mind that he might be the arsonist, taking revenge against Abner Gouthwaite. But Martin was too clean and still smelled of carbolic soap. I declared him not guilty.

  ‘When you went to see Beth, did anyone talk about a fire during the night, somewhere on the tops?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nobody mentioned it. Whereabouts?’

  ‘That’s what I can’t work out. I saw sparks in the sky.’

  He finished toasting the first teacake. I buttered it and took it to Harriet, with a cup of tea. She was awake, bleary-eyed, and propped herself on her elbow. ‘Is Martin up?’

  ‘Yes, and dressed, but don’t you rush. Stay in bed as long as you want.’

  She sat up. ‘Nah. I won’t be long. I don’t want to miss anything.’

  I didn’t tell her about the fire, but left her to eat her teacake in peace.

  Downstairs, Martin toasted two more, and we each had one.

  That was it. There was no bread in the crock, no cheese in the dish, not a drop of milk in the jug and a single egg in the basket. Sunday’s half leg of ham was a clean bone. I could imagine my sister questioning Harriet when she went home. ‘How did your Auntie Kate look after you? What did she feed you?’ Mary Jane was of the opinion that I was sadly lacking in the skills and arts of domesticity. Well there would be no question of not taking care of Harriet. I would go out very soon and shop. For what, I had not quite decided.

  It was quite likely that Mrs Holroyd had given Lucian the impression someone would come into Lilac Cottage and ‘do’ for us. She would be laughing up her sleeve, having met and disliked me, at the thought that I would have to shift for myself.

  Martin went into the garden.

  I opened the door. ‘Martin, I know you are anxious to go home but don’t run off will you? Someone will take you, to make sure you’re all right.’

  ‘Might it be you and Harriet?’

  ‘Yes, or Dr Simonson. I don’t have a lot of petrol but there’s a friend coming today in another car and he may drive you back, depending on the petrol situation.’

  Martin eyes widened. ‘I’ve never been in a car.’

  ‘There’s always a first time.’

  ‘Or Dr Simonson might lend me one of the bicycles you have in the shed.’

  ‘Well just wait. You’re safe here, and there’s no great rush. It won’t hurt you to have a bit of a holiday, unless you feel fed up being here.’

  ‘Oh no.’ He took a knife and a piece of wood from his pocket. ‘I’m doing this. It’s a surprise for Harriet and Susannah. I’m making each of them a little animal.’ He began to whittle the wood.

  ‘What kind of animal?’

  ‘I’ll see as I go along. I have a feeling Susannah’s will be a tortoise and Harriet’s a hare.’

  ‘Who taught you?’

  ‘My dad. I wanted him to carve my initial on the handle, but he did this.’ He showed me a circular squiggle.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It represents the only part of a pig you can’t eat.’

  ‘Its tail?’

  ‘Guess again.’

  ‘You have me stumped.’

  ‘Its squeal!’

  When he laughed, he looked like a little boy without a care in the world. I left him to his carving, determined that he would go back to Pendleton if that was what he wanted.

  I tore the blank stop press column from the newspaper and took a pencil from the jar to write a shopping list. My mind was not on groceries, but on the letter Gabriel Cherry had given me to be opened only if ‘something happened’. I liked and felt an affinity with the man. When I thought of him, it was to see him in action as a stretcher bearer, that worst of tasks, picking up the wounded, often under fire, making agonising decisions that could determine whether a man lived or died. If anything had happened to him… I felt weak at the thought. I had to know.

  Harriet came downstairs. She had washed, dressed and done her hair in a single neat plait. I wondered what had come over her to present herself so tidily first thing in the morning, and then I remembered Martin.

  She looked at him through the window. ‘I hope he’ll stay a bit longer.’

  ‘I think he will.’ I picked up the basket. ‘I’m going to do some shopping.’

  ‘Do you want me to come?’

  ‘No. Stay and keep Martin company.’

  I opened the front door at the right moment. The milkman’s horse and cart was next door. I went for the jug and took it to the gate. He poured a gill for me. ‘Did you hear any news of the fire on the tops?’ I asked.

  ‘I did, missis. It was a barn on the Gouthwaite farm, burned to the ground.’

  My worst fear. With great effort, I managed to sound calm. ‘Was anyone hurt?’

  ‘There’d be no one in there, would there? Unless some tramp bedded down and had a smoke.’

  Was he speaking from knowledge, or guesswork? ‘Do you get your milk from up that way?’

  ‘Oh no. This milk’s from Hope Hill Farm here in the village.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  My hands were shaking as I took the jug through to the kitchen. A barn on the Gouthwaite farm, the barn occupied by Gabriel Cherry, his dog, his horse and his nightmares.

  The one place I would learn about the fire was Threlfall Hall, but I had to buy food,
make sure that Harriet kept up her strength and that our guest didn’t go hungry.

  At the butcher’s I bought liver, sausages and black pudding; I shopped at the baker’s, the grocer’s and the greengrocer’s. Everyone had heard about the fire. No one yet knew whether there were casualties, but that did not mean there were none.

  When I went back to the cottage, Harriet and Martin were playing cricket in the garden.

  ‘Is it all right if I call for Susannah?’ she asked. ‘It’s best if the bowler doesn’t have to field.’

  ‘Yes of course, and will you three be all right if I stay and chat for an hour or two to Mrs Trevelyan?’

  She would. In fact, she seemed pleased to be left in charge.

  I had carried Victoria Trevelyan’s love letters to her in a tapestry needlework bag.

  We sat on either side of the fire in her private sitting room. She nursed the letters in her lap, the envelopes having kept their curved shape from being so long in the biscuit barrel. Mrs Trevelyan was not yet dressed. She wore a tangerine-coloured silk dressing gown trimmed with exquisite lace.

  She sniffed an envelope. ‘I used to dab my letters with scent, ashes of roses.’ She breathed in deeply. ‘Even paper has a memory for romance.’ She glanced again at the letters, and hesitated before committing them to the flames. ‘Should I?’

  I did not answer. It was a choice only she could make.

  ‘How did he seem when he brought the letters to you?’

  ‘He was quite calm.’

  ‘Was he loath to part with them?’

  I hadn’t really thought about that, but now that I did it struck me that his emotion had been relief. Was it relief at having rescued the incriminating letters from Mrs Gouthwaite, or of being shot of the whole business of that long-ago affair? If I had to guess, I would say the latter.

  ‘Once he knew they had fallen into the wrong hands I believe he saw that it was best to do as you asked. He said he wouldn’t trouble you further.’ Out of kindness, I slightly rephrased his words. ‘He realises it is all over between you.’

  ‘Long over.’ She lowered her head. ‘I should do it. I should burn them.’

  She waited a moment longer, perhaps to see whether I would contradict her, or she might contradict herself.

  ‘He said to mention that he is courting a widow from Stainforth.’

  A stillness came over her. She held her breath and stared into the fire. When she took her next breath, something in her had changed.

  ‘The barmaid from the Craven Heifer?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘My young maid keeps me informed of village gossip. I didn’t know it was as serious as courting, but I don’t begrudge him. I know I’ll be the love of his life.’

  Slowly she dropped the first letter into the fire, and the next, and the next. The flames shot up. Specks of soot in the fireback sparked blue and orange.

  ‘You need to poke the paper into the coals or you’ll set the chimney ablaze.’

  She picked up the poker awkwardly, possibly for the first time in her life.

  When the job was done, I asked the question that had been gnawing away. ‘The fire last night, did you hear anything about it?’

  ‘My maid mentioned it, but she was a little vague.’

  ‘It was a barn on Raistrick Farm. She didn’t say which barn, or whether anyone was hurt?’

  I did not tell her that Gabriel made it his habit to sleep in a barn. Perhaps she did not know, because she showed no particular interest, except to say, ‘It’s one thing after another round here.’

  ‘Might you enquire from Bertie whether there were casualties?’

  She suddenly remembered her position as the landowner’s wife. ‘Of course! You’re absolutely right. Here’s me thinking only about the past. I’ll find out immediately. I do know he was called out because of it, during the night.’

  She moved to ring the bell and thought better of it. Anyone who came in would see the letters burning. She dropped the remaining letters into the fire and handed me the poker. ‘I’ll ask him.’

  Harriet and Susannah bumped into her as she was leaving the room. They had been hatching some plan. It was left to Susannah to speak. ‘Mother, is it all right if Harriet and I go to her house and play draughts?’

  ‘Well you could play draughts here.’

  ‘I know but it makes a change for me. I never have a friend to be with and I’m always here.’

  I smiled at them, glad of an opportunity to make an exit. ‘Give me a few minutes and I’ll come with you.’

  It is a good thing that I am not sensitive. The failure of the girls to hide their disappointment would have cut me to the quick.

  ‘It’s all right, Auntie. We don’t mind being on our own.’

  Mrs Trevelyan and I exchanged a look. They were almost grown up. They wanted some independence. Mrs Trevelyan said, ‘Off you go, but come back for lunch.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Harriet said. ‘We have lunch planned.’ That was a very suitable answer to give and Harriet kept a straight face.

  ‘Then be back for tea, Susannah.’

  Off they went.

  I waited, while Mrs Trevelyan went to enquire about last night’s blaze, looking at the ashes of love letters in the grate, wondering whether somewhere in this house was a bundle of notes from Gabriel Cherry to Victoria Trevelyan, and if so how well-hidden they might be.

  When Mrs Trevelyan returned, she said, ‘Bertie’s up on the tops now, assessing the damage. They’re raking through the ashes to see what was lost.’

  Had a life been lost, I wondered.

  Her mouth opened. She turned a little pale. ‘What, what are you thinking, what?’

  ‘I was just wondering…’

  ‘Gabriel. You think Gabriel…’

  ‘No, of course not. But…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He sleeps in one of the barns. But you must know that.’

  ‘No. I didn’t know he slept in a barn, why would he?’

  ‘By choice. It was that or share a house with the Gouthwaites.’

  ‘So, are you saying he caused the fire with a cigarette?’

  ‘Let me take Miss Shady. I’m wearing the right sort of skirt so don’t need a riding habit.’

  ‘I should come with you.’

  ‘Think about it, Victoria.’ It was the first time I had used her Christian name. ‘Your husband is there. Isn’t it better if I go?’

  ‘What reason would you have for riding there, except as my emissary?’

  ‘I am not an emissary. I saw the fire in the early hours and went out to raise the alarm. Naturally I am concerned.’

  ‘You’re right, of course. You are staying in Dr Simonson’s house and may be a neighbour, soon.’

  She went to her bureau and opened the drawer. I saw that she was taking out a cheque book. ‘I want to compensate you for your assistance. Please don’t write out an account. I have had enough of pieces of paper.’

  For once I broke my rule and refused payment. ‘No, Victoria. Your daughter and my niece are friends.’

  ‘And we are too, I hope, and may become much better acquainted if you and Lucian… Well, I hope we will stay friends, and neighbours.’

  Part of me would love to think of sharing a house, a life, with Lucian. From our first meeting he had never been anything other than kind, thoughtful and amusing. He was keen to marry and settle down, and sometimes I dreamed of that myself, and of having a child, children. I pushed those thoughts aside as I went to the stable to seek out the grey mare.

  Miss Shady knew her way to the two hill farms. She slowed as we neared Catrigg Farm. I urged her on to Raistrick Farm. As we drew closer, the mare tossed her head, nostrils flaring, disliking the acrid smell of smoke and ashes as much as I did. Miss Shady was on edge, perhaps picking up on my nervousness as well as sniffing the unwelcome stench of dying embers.

  Two men stood near what was left of the barn. It was the barn where Gabriel had slept and kep
t his secrets.

  As I grew closer, a wave of relief spread over me. One man, old and bent, the other tall with black hair turning grey and a plaid cloak draped over his shoulder. They had herded half a dozen sad-looking cows. They animals stood nearby, hooves deep in mud, watched by Gabriel’s little dog with rapt attention. Nipper knew that he alone prevented a mad stampede.

  The old man tipped his cap to me as he urged the cows towards the farmyard gate. Nipper trotted beside them.

  I dismounted.

  Miss Shady, disliking the reek of smoke, refused to go further, but she did not need to.

  Gabriel Cherry walked across, running his fingers through his hair. ‘It’s all but out.’

  ‘What happened?’

  He shrugged. ‘Well, it didn’t light itself.’

  ‘Were you inside?’

  ‘No. I’ve you to thank for that, Mrs Shackleton.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I told you last night that Mrs Murgatroyd offered me the shepherd’s old cottage. It wasn’t her first time of offering. When I spent that half hour in your parlour, well, in Miss Simonson’s parlour, I thought why shouldn’t I have a bit of comfort? Why be tied to the place you know best when there’s another that invites you? When I came back after visiting you, I picked up my bits and pieces and Nipper, and moved us up to the cottage then and there.’

  ‘What about your horse?’

  ‘Him too. He’s stabled at Catrigg Farm.’

  ‘How did the fire start?’

  He jerked a thumb towards the farmhouse. ‘How do you think? I got the better of Selina Gouthwaite. That wouldn’t do, would it?’

  ‘Arson?’

  ‘When I hammered on their door early hours, Gouthwaite was already blaming the lad, Martin. Gouthwaite wants to believe that. Some people are quick to swallow their own lies.’

  ‘I’m very glad you’re safe.’ I looked across at the farmhouse. It was tight shut, windows and doors. ‘Did you tell Mr Trevelyan of your suspicions?’

  ‘I told him I knew Martin was several miles away, with you. Mr Trevelyan’s in with the pair of them now. Gouthwaite can’t come out. She won’t come out.’ He shrugged. ‘They’re past help. They always were. We’re moving their livestock along to Catrigg Farm. No reason for the beasts to suffer.’