by Chris Simms
‘Derek?’
‘He’s the manager there.’
Right, Laura thought. First-name terms. Because everyone knows everyone here. ‘It’s only the odd letter. The other day something arrived from the Primary Care Trust. Probably about their son, William?’ She watched carefully for a reaction but Becky didn’t even blink. ‘It didn’t seem right returning it to sender; it could have been urgent. After all, he has… health issues, doesn’t he?’
She reached for a notepad. ‘I’ll check with Derek that the instruction is still in place. It may well have expired – they do after a certain number of weeks. And Lantern Cottage had been empty for a while before you moved in.’
‘Do you have a forwarding address I could have?’
‘Let me check the general files.’ She went over to a cabinet and ran a finger along the middle shelf. ‘Here we go, Lantern Cottage.’
Laura crossed to the girl’s desk as the manila folder was laid down and opened. The first sheets were copies of the estate agent’s profile for the property, complete with interior photos and asking price. Three hundred and ninety five thousand. Laura could still hardly believe they’d got it for fifty thousand less than that.
Photocopies of land registry deeds followed, along with the surveyor’s report Owen had commissioned. ‘Nothing on the Halls,’ Becky said under her breath.
She came to the final sheet. Another photocopy. The graininess of the image made Laura suspect the original photo had been quite old. It was of a couple standing on the lane in front of the cottage. There was no extension at the end of the property. Was it the Halls? Laura leaned closer. The couple’s clothing was from another century. The slightly-built man was wearing a collarless white shirt and what appeared to be tweed breeches. He stood with his arms crossed and feet apart, a serious expression on his face. What hair he had was swept back. Round, wire-framed glasses made Laura think of an SS officer. Someone who arranged executions with a cold, functional efficiency.
The woman was a bit further back, eyes downcast. She was a large woman: at least six inches taller than him. Her dress – a dark material that stretched from throat to ankle – puffed out at the hip, adding to her bulky appearance. Her hair was up in a bun so large, Laura guessed it would have stretched right down her back when untied. ‘Who are those two?’
‘No idea, from way back, I imagine. Funny how they never smiled for photographs in those days.’ Becky closed the file and pointed in the direction of Mark’s work station. ‘The Hall’s details will be in Mark’s corner cabinet. He has the key, I’m afraid.’
‘OK. Perhaps you could ask him to give me a call?’
‘Will do. How are you finding it up there? Aren’t the views lovely?’
‘There are amazing, thanks. We’re settling in very well.’ She wondered whether to try again to get any information about William Hall. But the phone next to Becky began to ring.
Out on the high street, Laura crossed over to the convenience store next to the post office; she needed some milk. The rack of local postcards caught her eye. Bucolic views of farmland rising up to the purples of Etherow moor. The Peak Forest Canal with a narrow boat nosing its way along. The flight of locks leading up to the old limekilns. A snow-shrouded Kinder Scout, black-faced sheep in the foreground. It really is a lovely place to live, she thought. And Lantern Cottage would be perfect if only it wasn’t quite so set out on its own. The place just needed something to…
The answer came to her. Of course. It was so obvious. She stepped back outside and checked the notices in the post-office window. There was the photo of the kittens. Would she be too late?
Two hours later, she eased to a gentle halt outside the cottage. The passenger seat had been slid back as far as it would go, and in the enlarged footwell was a beige, plastic travel case. The kitten looked out nervously from the bars at the front. Laura was giddy with excitement.
There were two of them left, but this one – with dabs of white on its black and brown coat – appealed to Laura most. Fourteen weeks old, fully weaned and vaccinated. The thought of practical things like a litter tray, food, toys and a basket for her to sleep in only occurred to Laura after she said she’d take it.
After a quick trip to the nearest pet shop over in New Mills, she raced back to the place that was giving the kittens away and, after saying thank you far too many times, set off with her new companion.
‘You sit tight,’ she said. ‘I’ll take your things in first, then show you round your new home.’ There was a milky quality to its eyes, almost as if the irises were still deciding on which colour to be. Laura realised the eyes of newborn babies were the same. The kitten’s little face caused her chest to ache. ‘I won’t be long, OK?’
She removed the things from the boot and hurried to the front porch. The house had its usual aura of stillness. It was nowhere near to becoming a home, Laura realised. A cat would change that.
She unlocked the inner door and the burglar alarm immediately began to beep. After punching in the code, she carried the armful of items through to the kitchen and set them down in the corner. Once everything was sorted she went back outside and lifted the kitten from the car.
‘Here we are,’ she announced, raising the carry-case to face level and swivelling the front round. ‘There is Manchester. The big, wide world. On that hill over there is Oldknow church.’ She narrowed her eyes. They were huddled at the edge of the excavation – seven or eight of them.
‘And this,’ she said turning through one hundred and eighty degrees, ‘is Lantern Cottage. Shall we go inside?’
She walked carefully, pointing her toes so her weight was smoothly transferred with each step. In the kitchen, she kept her spine straight, flexing at the knees so the carry-case descended smoothly to the floor. She knelt down next to it and opened the door. The kitten was cowering at the back, eyes wide and frightened. Deciding to leave it for a moment, Laura filled the kitten’s bowl with milk from the fridge. Placing it on a tray, she crouched before the travel case once more.
‘Come on,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s all right. You can come out.’
The kitten didn’t seem very keen to move. Laura scratched at the edge of the door and its frightened eyes moved to the noise. ‘Don’t you want to explore?’
A minute later and it still hadn’t budged. Laura fetched the scrap of fur attached to a length of string and dangled it before the door. The kitten’s eyes now tracked the lure, torso going into a crouch.
‘What is it?’ Laura whispered encouragingly as its tail began to twitch. ‘What is it?’
Gradually it started edging forward, body low, bum in the air. Laura laid the piece of fur on the floor and jerked her hand so its tip moved about. The kitten readied itself then pounced, limbs awkward, mouth open. But she whipped the fur away and it looked about in bewilderment.
Using that technique, Laura lured it further away from the carry-case, across the kitchen, and into the front hall. The door to Owen’s study was shut. It sniffed at the crack at the door’s base, clearly aware there was something on the other side. By the time Laura had tempted it into the lounge, the kitten had tired of chasing the fur and began to happily nose around. Laura kept close, pointing out the plant, the coffee table, the TV.
It skirted round the hearth, eyes fixed warily on the dark opening until it was well clear. Laura noted its reaction with interest. The snug didn’t seem to hold much attraction and soon it had completed a circuit of the two rooms and was back in the hallway at the foot of the stairs. It tilted its head to eye the steps rising steeply before it and then went very still.
‘What is it?’ Laura asked, looking up to the first floor.
It didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. In fact, its head was slightly cocked, as if it was listening. Then it turned away from the stairs and made its way quickly back to the kitchen.
Quietly, Laura followed. It padded across the flagstones and stepped back into the travel case. Odd, Laura thought. Normally,
cats couldn’t stand being cooped up.
‘You can’t stay in there,’ she whispered, crouching down to look inside. It was sitting at the back, calmly staring in Laura’s direction. ‘You’ve got a nice bed out here. Come on, Scaredy-mouse.’ It didn’t move so she extended a hand and gently clicked her fingers. It backed further into the corner.
Laura took a deep breath and stood. She looked round the kitchen. This wasn’t right. Why wouldn’t it come out? Over in the field by Oldknow church, the group were still gathered at the same spot. But now, among the tops and jackets worn by the archaeologists, was a yellow tabard. A policeman. They’d called in the police. The officer seemed to be addressing the group. Laura spotted a second one, standing near the graveyard wall. He was talking on his handset.
She glanced back at the travel case. The kitten seemed happy enough in there. Her food tray was empty – but Laura knew she wouldn’t be long. ‘Little mouse? I’m just popping out. There’s milk in your bowl if you get thirsty. OK? I’ll be back soon.’
As she stood, her eyes were dragged to the window. The two officers were now pacing about, heads lowered. As if searching for a lost item in the grass.
Chapter 16
God Save the Queen was belting out as the police car appeared further up the lane coming down from the church. Laura turned the volume down and squashed her little Clio into a passing spot, watching intently as they continued towards her. Neither of the two officers were the ones who’d attended her house the evening before.
Deep in conversation, they hardly bothered to break off and nod to her as they passed. They looked concerned, Laura thought, somewhat guilty that the knowledge gave her a slight thrill.
She parked next to the other vehicles by the church and, to her relief, found Martin Flowers in the church hall. He was sorting through a box of hymn books. ‘Hi.’
He looked round and gave a broad smile. ‘Hello there.’
She stepped inside, unsure what to say.
‘Recovered from yesterday’s drama?’
Briefly, she closed her eyes. ‘I still feel foolish. Thanks so much for coming over.’
‘Nonsense. Who wouldn’t be unnerved by droplets of blood and a disturbance in their house?’
‘I suppose so. I passed a police car as I drove up the lane.’ That was disingenuous. She started again. ‘Actually, I saw the officers in the field from my kitchen window. Were they… Is it something to do with…?’
He nodded, but in a casual way. ‘Adrian was concerned about the lack of grave goods by the child’s skeleton.’
‘So they’ve uncovered more than just the skull?’
‘A lot more. They were back here at the crack of dawn. It’s all there, poor little lad. Or lass; they are unsure which.’
Like my dream, Laura thought. I can’t tell if the figure in that is a boy or girl. ‘What’s the concern over grave goods?’
‘According to Adrian, the child of an important person would be buried with some possessions. Things to help it in the afterlife: beads, coins. Offerings, basically. This just seems to be a skeleton, and a bit jumbled up, too. Not carefully laid to rest.’
Laura felt a sudden chill. ‘Jumbled up?’
‘Its position is odd – the legs are all bent. And it’s twisted to the side.’
Laura could now see the figure in her dream; it also lay awkwardly. She felt a surge of dizziness and leaned back against the wall, both palms pressed against it. ‘So they called the police because there were no grave goods?’
‘No –’ He paused, looking at her more closely. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘You look cold. Why don’t you come away from the door?’
She entered the hall properly and sat down in a chair near to him. She could see that his expression had subtly changed. Now, she thought, he’s scrutinising me. ‘What were we saying?’
‘Grave goods… or lack of them.’
‘Yes.’ He looked out the window. ‘Here’s Adrian now. You can ask him.’
She looked round and groaned. ‘They’ll be thinking I’m such a busybody, turning up here all that time.’
‘No they won’t. Actually, my guess is they quite like the attention. You’re their very own groupie.’ He winked at her as the outer door opened.
‘Getting a bit nippy out there!’ Adrian announced, giving his feet a vigorous brush on the doormat. ‘That northerly wind. I’ll not be surprised if it carries down snow soon –’ He caught sight of her and his sentence dried up.
Behind him was the elderly lady who’d scolded him for being secretive about discovering the grave. She sent Laura a smile.
‘Laura passed the patrol car on her way up here to discuss something with me,’ Martin said, filling the silence.
She shot him a thankful glance.
‘I was trying to explain about the absence of grave goods. How it caused a bit of confusion,’ Martin added, picking up a box of hymn books. ‘Maybe you could explain, I must pop over to the church.’
‘That’s right,’ Adrian replied, rubbing his hands together and unzipping his fleece. ‘It makes it harder to say with any certainty how old the skeleton is.’ The door banged shut behind Martin. ‘Grave goods would allow us to immediately place when it was from,’ Adrian continued. ‘Now we can’t say for sure. The police need to be informed if there’s any doubt.’
‘Why might it have been buried without grave goods?’ Laura asked.
‘Perhaps,’ the old lady chipped in, ‘it wasn’t a peacetime burial, after all. The fort may have been overrun by enemies. We might be finding many more bodies soon.’ She seemed to be enjoying the airing of her macabre theory. ‘Or – far less likely – the burial is recent.’
Her final comment made Laura turn towards the window. The dream I’ve been having…
‘Don’t look so worried,’ Adrian smiled. ‘I’d be astonished if the skeleton isn’t from the Iron Age. We called the police just to be on the safe side.’
Laura crossed her legs. Part of her wanted to see the child’s remains. She knew why. To work out if it matched the figure she’d been seeing in her dream.
‘…area’s heritage.’
She looked back. The elderly lady had just said something else. ‘Sorry?’
‘It’s something else to add to the area’s heritage. So much of the surroundings were shaped by the industrial revolution – the mills and canals. It’s nice to have something pre-dating all that. Where you live – do you know there’s a story to how it got its name?’ There was a gleam in her eyes. Adrian looked uncomfortable.
‘Lantern Cottage?’ Laura asked. ‘A light was hung on a hook on the side building. Above the hatch in the wall.’
‘But,’ she gave a mysterious smile and sat down. She was, Laura guessed, a teacher once. ‘Why would a light be hung in there?’
‘I sort of assumed it was a blacksmith’s. That side building was his foundry.’
‘No. Adrian, you know the details. Come on.’ She was looking at him but nodding in Laura’s direction.
Adrian crossed his arms. ‘It’s to do with the mines. Up past your property there used to be quite a few. There was a rich seam of coal there, once.’
That part of her address suddenly clicked: Coal Lane. Of course.
He looked ready to leave it at that but the lady prompted him with a rolling motion of her fingers. ‘And?’
Adrian looked like he was in mild pain. Laura wondered if he was bursting to use the toilet. ‘Miners would make their way up your lane. Before the sun even cleared the hills. Cartloads of coal were then transported back down to fuel the kilns – with the lime being shipped in along the Peak Forest Canal.’
‘So why the lantern?’ Laura asked, now thoroughly intrigued.
‘It acted like a light in a shop window, I suppose. For the owners.’
Laura saw the photo from the estate agent’s: the couple standing stiffly before the property. ‘So if it wasn’t a blacksmith’s...’
&nbs
p; ‘Birds. They used to rent out canaries for the miners.’
‘Ca –’ Her voice came out as a croak. She cleared her throat. ‘Canaries?’
‘That’s right. This was all before gas-detecting equipment. Canaries were the early-warning system in those days. They’d be served out in their cages through that hatch. Because it was dark, the lantern let the owners note down which miner had which bird, is my guess.’
‘Canaries,’ Laura whispered. The birdsong; it didn’t sound like anything she’d ever heard in Britain. The unbroken stream of notes rising and falling for endless seconds. Was it canary song? ‘When was this? How long ago?’
‘Oh,’ Adrian was now striding towards the toilets at the far end of the hall. ‘Early eighteen-hundreds.’
Chapter 17
The light was blinking on the answerphone in the kitchen. It was the only sign of life in Lantern Cottage: the kitten certainly wasn’t emerging from its travel case to greet Laura. She pressed the button and began to remove her coat.
‘Hello, message for Laura Wilkinson. It’s Mark Scott here. You called in earlier asking about a forwarding address for the Halls. Perhaps you could call me; it’ll probably be best to tell you over the phone.’
She hung up her coat and pressed the callback button.
‘Gasgrove Hepman, Becky speaking.’
‘Hi Becky, it’s Laura Wilkinson. I popped –’
‘Mark’s right here. Let me transfer you.’
She crouched down before the travel case.
‘Laura? Hello, it’s Mark.’
‘Hello, Mark. Thanks for getting back to me.’
‘No problem. You’ve been receiving post for the Halls?’
‘Well…only one or two things.’ Bending forward, she could see the kitten at the back of the case. Just sitting there, still as a rock. ‘I thought if I could forward them on it would avoid delays.’
‘Sadly, Mrs Hall passed away a few months ago.’