by Bill Kitson
Eve grimaced. ‘That’s where it gets worse. Soon after she threw her husband out, Babs noticed discrepancies on the feed bills. Items she hadn’t ordered. She challenged the merchant, and found out the head lad and her husband had been taking backhanders and the merchant invoiced non-existent items to pay for the bribes. Babs sacked the head lad and changed her supplier, so they’re both bitter and vindictive enough to do all they can to harm her.’
‘I can understand that. So how much has the solicitor claimed on behalf of her husband?’
‘Half the value of the business and the property. That’s the house, the yard, and the land beyond where she grazes the horses.’
‘I didn’t realize she owns the property. He’s not going to do badly out of it, for someone who is being accused of infidelity. What does he do for a living?’
‘He works for the County Council. Something to do with the Highways Department, or Planning, I’m not sure which.’
‘I can’t see either of those places as hotbeds of illicit passion, somehow. You surprised me when you said Barbara owns Linden House, though. I thought it was part of the Rowandale Hall estate, like all the other land round here.’
‘That’s another story, quite an intriguing one, in fact. Barbara’s father and grandfather worked for the estate. Linden House was a tied cottage and became the family home, but when mechanization did away with the need for heavy horses her grandfather rented the stables from the hall and took out a racing trainer’s licence. About eighteen months ago the last member of the Latimer family, who own Rowandale Hall, died, and Babs found out that shortly before his death, old Mr Latimer had added a codicil to his will bequeathing Linden House and the stables to her. So once probate is granted, she will become the owner. Hence her ex-husband’s sudden interest.’
‘That bequest is unusual. Any particular reason for it, or was it pure generosity?’
‘I’m not sure about this, but I believe if things had turned out different, Babs might have married into the Latimer family.’
‘But I thought you said the man who died was the last of them?’
‘There was a son. And from what Babs told me, I think she was in love with him, but he fell out with his father and went abroad. He died a few years ago, in Mexico.’
‘That can’t have any bearing on why Barbara is having all this trouble, though.’
‘No, but the racing authorities are a bit sticky when it comes to scandal and Barbara is terrified all this animosity might lead to someone trying to object to her licence renewal. Added to that, Rowandale Hall and the rest of the estate is up for sale and the head of the syndicate that rents the shooting rights has put a bid in for it. His gamekeeper has been actively hostile. He stopped Babs from taking her horses across the estate to the gallops. They’re on the other side of the village, and it was always understood that they could walk the horses along the edge of Rowandale Forest. However, he’s put a stop to that, and even threatened to shoot any of the horses he found there.’
‘I’m not sure how the law stands on it, but I have a feeling that if a path has been used for some years, it might be classed as a public bridleway, in which case the gamekeeper couldn’t stop her. He certainly couldn’t shoot any of her horses. Apart from the legal aspect, knowing the locals, they’d string him up from the nearest tree if he did anything like that.’
‘I suppose you’re right, but Babs isn’t exactly thinking straight at the moment, and most of that stems from the divorce.’
Eventually, Eve said, ‘I must get some sleep. I’m tired out. But I don’t much like the thought of going to sleep with that man still in the house.’
‘How about if I was to stay in your room in case he wakes up and starts wandering around?’
Eve eyed me suspiciously. ‘Is that a case of frying pan or fire?’
‘I wasn’t suggesting going to bed with you. I thought I could sit on a chair until morning. Like you did for me when I was ill last Christmas.’
‘Oh, all right.’
There was a note in Eve’s voice that I didn’t understand. It might have been disappointment, but I dismissed the idea as wishful thinking. Before we went upstairs I looked in Barbara’s sitting room and inspected her collection of books. I would need something to keep me awake–and to distract me from being so close to Eve. I chose a thriller that had been published the previous year, entitled Whip Hand by the racing legend turned author, Dick Francis. I’d admired his work for a long time, and the subject seemed appropriate for our surroundings.
I tried to immerse myself in the opening chapter to avoid watching Eve undress. It didn’t work, nor did it go unnoticed. ‘Pervert,’ she muttered, but didn’t seem overly concerned at my voyeurism. She certainly didn’t hurry to get beneath the concealment of the sheets. Having been caught in the act, I had no compunction in staring in admiration at her superb figure as she carefully folded the clothes she had been wearing. Once she was in bed, Eve turned and smiled at me. ‘Thank you for coming to my rescue, Adam, and for being here with me. Are you sure you’ll be OK in the chair?’
‘I’ll be fine. Sleep well.’ I watched her for a few moments until her breathing suggested she had dozed off, and then turned my attention to the book. The story was exciting enough to keep me awake, and I was pleased to see that when I glanced towards the bed from time to time, Eve was having no trouble sleeping.
Although it was still dark, a pale half-light was beginning to show around the edges of the bedroom curtains when I heard noises from outside. I peered out in time to see two diminutive figures ambling towards the stable block.
‘That’ll be Barbara’s stable lads,’ a sleepy voice from the bed informed me. ‘Barbara left them instructions about the morning routine as she won’t be back for a few hours.’
I turned and smiled at Eve. Despite having just woken up, she looked radiantly beautiful, her flame-red hair fanning out on the white pillow, framing the perfect oval of her face. ‘You look lovely,’ I said.
‘You need your eyes testing.’
‘Shall I go and put the kettle on?’
‘Adam, you are an angel.’
‘I’ll look in on the lodger as I go downstairs; see if he’s back in the land of the living.’
I returned moments later with news that was startling enough to make Eve sit bolt upright in bed–which did my blood pressure no good. ‘He’s gone.’
‘Gone? Gone where?’
‘No idea. The bed hasn’t been slept in. By the look of it, he slept on the floor. The pillow and one of the blankets are on the rug alongside the bed, but other than that, there’s no trace of him. I checked the other bedrooms, plus the bathroom, and took a quick look round downstairs, but there’s no sign he was ever in the house. He’s quite simply vanished.’
‘When did he do that, I wonder?’ She eyed me suspiciously. ‘Did you fall asleep?’
‘No, definitely not. I’ve almost finished that book. What surprises me is how he managed it. I’ve been up and down those stairs a few times in the last few hours, and they creak and groan every time. I would have heard any sound such as that, but there was nothing.’
I could see Eve was unconvinced, and felt sure that in spite of my denial, she believed I had fallen asleep at my post. After she had dressed, she insisted on checking the house once again, to be sure nothing else apart from the tramp was missing. After we’d drunk our coffee, Eve said she would go and talk to the stable lads to make sure that everything was OK. ‘At the same time I’m going to ask them about the tramp. They both live in the village, so it’s possible they might have seen him, or know who he is.’
Whilst she was doing that, I decided to check the loose box where Eve had discovered the man. I was prompted more by curiosity than anything else. Of course, the man might have been looking for nothing more than somewhere warm and dry to pass the night. Alternatively, he may have thought there was something inside that might be worth stealing, but somehow I wasn’t convinced by that idea. Despite his wei
rd utterances and strange appearance, he seemed to have retained a sense of pride. It showed in his manner, and suggested to me that he wouldn’t stoop to theft.
I had no real expectation of finding a clue as to his motive, and sure enough when I opened the door, even in the stronger light of day, the only indication that he’d been in there was the small patch of dried blood that discoloured the loose straw on the floor, where I guessed that bales had been stacked before being used. Or so I thought, until I turned to leave, and my foot caught on something that rolled across the floor, to strike one of the tines of a pitchfork that was leaning against the wall. The chink of metal on metal attracted my attention, and I stooped to pick the object up. I inspected it with growing astonishment. ‘How the hell did that get here?’ I muttered.
There is nothing wrong with my imagination, but even by stretching it to the limit, I couldn’t work out how the small disc in my hand had come to be on the floor of a loose box in a racing stable in North Yorkshire.
I was still trying to make sense of my discovery as I locked the door. I was about to walk down the yard to show Eve what I had found, when I heard the sound of a vehicle coming down the drive. Without thinking, I slipped the object into my pocket as a horse box pulled to a halt opposite the end of the stable block.
The young woman who emerged from the driver’s seat of the cab was small, slender, and extremely attractive. She had close-cropped blonde hair and lovely features, the beauty of which was marred at that moment by a ferocious scowl. If the frown didn’t provide a strong enough clue as to her mood, the greeting she gave me certainly left me in no doubt. ‘Who the bloody hell are you? And what are you doing on my property?’
I hoped my smile would placate her. It didn’t. ‘And good morning to you, Barbara,’ I replied. That didn’t work either. She looked to be in danger of exploding, so I hastily added, ‘I’m Adam Bailey. Eve asked me to come over.’
Barbara’s features relaxed slightly, and she came close to smiling. Not too close, but it was a vast improvement. She held her hand out, and as I shook it, she apologized. ‘Sorry, Adam, but I’ve had a lousy weekend. Damned owner insisted I took both his horses to Fontwell, which is the other side of the moon from here, even though I told him they hadn’t a cat in hell’s chance of winning. Turns out he was using the race meeting as an excuse for a dirty weekend with his secretary. Added to that, the bloody horse box wouldn’t start. I had to enlist the help of someone with a pair of jump leads. On reflection I should have used them on the horses, they might have run better. The result was I dare not stop on the way back in case I couldn’t get the bloody thing going again. I’m knackered, and dying for a pee and a cup of coffee.’
The significance of my presence dawned on her, and she looked at me keenly. ‘You said Eve asked you over. Was that social, or has there been some sort of emergency?’
‘There was a spot of bother last night, but nothing to be concerned about.’ I was about to explain when Eve came out of the yard.
‘Hi, Babs, I thought I heard the van. The lads have finished the morning work and mucked out. They’re grooming now, so I’ve left them to it. They said to tell you everything’s OK. I take it you and Adam have introduced yourselves?’
Barbara gave me a wry smile. ‘That’s one way of putting it. What was the problem last night?’
‘Why don’t I ask the lads to unload the horses and we can explain over a coffee?’
‘Good idea. I need something to keep me awake. I’ve been driving all night.’
Eve began by giving her account of her encounter with the intruder. I remember thinking, as she was speaking, had this really only happened a few hours ago?
As she listened; Barbara’s eyes widened with amazement. When Eve explained that she’d armed herself with the baseball bat she’d seen in the cloaks cupboard to confront the intruder, and that she’d used it to fell him, Barbara responded, ‘Blimey, Eve, you were useless at rounders when we were at school.’
Eve ignored the jibe. ‘That was when I phoned Adam for help.’ Eve looked at me and the warmth of her smile got my heart racing again. ‘He came galloping over like a knight in shining armour to rescue his damsel in distress.’
I didn’t allow myself to dwell on the phrase ‘his damsel’. Instead, I took Eve’s remark as a signal for me to tell the rest of the story. Eve is no fool, and she knew my previous career as a reporter and foreign correspondent had trained me to pick up on snippets and minute details others might have missed or forgotten.
If Eve’s part of the story surprised Barbara, my account of the tramp and his strange behaviour left her both baffled and astounded. However, when I mentioned what the man had said about the children who were ‘covered with blood’ and recited the rhyme as he’d spoken it, there was no doubt that Barbara knew exactly to what the odd rhyme referred. Her face drained of all colour and I saw her hands tremble. Was that fear, I wondered, and if so, fear of what?
It was equally clear that Eve had also noticed her friend’s reaction and challenged Barbara about it. ‘What is it? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’ She was obviously disturbed by the mention of the rhyme.
‘You know something about it, don’t you, Babs?’ Eve encouraged her.
Barbara hesitated then cleared her throat nervously. ‘It’s known as the Rowandale Skipping Rhyme. Kids have chanted it ever since I can remember. We all used to sing it when I was young.’ Her voice was like that of a child as she began to chant.
‘Babes in the wood, babes in the wood,
Why did you go in that cold, dark wood?
Babes in the wood, babes in the wood,
What did you see in that cold, dark wood?
Babes in the wood, babes in the wood,
How did you get to be covered in blood?
Babes in the wood, babes in the wood,
Who will be next to be covered in blood?’
Eve shivered. ‘That’s spooky. But what does it mean? Things like that, nursery rhymes and fairy tales, usually have some foundation in fact, don’t they?’ She looked at me for confirmation.
I nodded.
‘Nobody is really sure,’ Barbara told us. ‘Some people believe the story behind it goes back as long ago as Viking times, and that it’s a relic from some unspeakable atrocity they committed. There is a legend that once over, the marauders entered the village, slaughtered all the old folk, the men, and the children, and carried off all the women apart from those who were too long in the tooth to be used for sex. Others are of the opinion that it might be to do with the War of the Roses, because there were lots of skirmishes around here at the time. Then there are a few who think it has to do with some dark deeds perpetrated by the people at Rowandale Hall. They were a fairly dissolute lot. The Hall’s empty now. The last surviving member of the family died a while ago.’ She looked at Eve. ‘I told you about him, didn’t I?’
Eve nodded, and before Barbara continued, I asked, ‘There’s more to this than just an old nursery rhyme, though, isn’t there?’
It seemed for a moment or two as if Barbara wasn’t going to answer my question, and when she did speak, it was with obvious reluctance. ‘If that man wasn’t making it up and he really did see the children; then that’s bad news for someone.’
‘Why?’ Eve and I asked in unison.
‘Because the other story concerning the babes is an even grimmer one, if that’s possible. They have only appeared a few times that I know of, but local legend is that the children are a premonition of death. If the legend is to be believed, every time they are seen, someone dies suddenly and violently shortly afterwards. And I know that part to be true.’
‘How can you be sure of it?’ Eve beat me to it that time.
‘In the parish records there is the account of one sighting in the middle of the last century. A man from Knaresborough was out riding in the grounds when he came across one of the villagers. The local man saw the children standing alongside the path, pointing a
t the rider. He warned the man to turn round and go home because if he continued, he’d be killed. The rider ignored him, and fifteen minutes later, his horse put a foot down a rabbit hole, unseated the rider, fell on him, and broke the man’s neck. That’s one example. The other is from within my own family. My great-grandfather was killed in the First World War. His commanding officer wrote to my great-grandmother, telling her that he had been delirious for several days after being wounded by shrapnel. An hour before he died, he sat up in the bed and stared straight across the ward. He told everyone about the children who were standing there covered in blood, but of course no one else could see them.’
Barbara looked at us in turn. ‘I think I’ll have to go for a few hours’ kip, I’m absolutely bushed.’
‘Before you do, there’s one more thing I must tell you. Just before you came back this morning I went into that loose box where Eve saw the tramp and I found this.’ I took the find from my pocket and handed it to Barbara. Eve peered over her shoulder. The both looked bewildered, staring at the small gold-coloured coin.
Barbara looked at me. ‘What is it, do you know, Adam?’
‘I do, but I was hoping you would recognize it. The fact that you don’t, that you haven’t seen it before leads me to think the tramp may have dropped it, but where he got it from is anybody’s guess.’
‘Adam, don’t be so provoking, tell us what it is,’ Eve demanded.
I couldn’t resist her, even had I wanted to. ‘The metal is gold, and the coin is a German twenty-mark piece. It dates from 1912. Fortunately, when I was at school we were taught nineteenth- and early twentieth-century European history, so I recognized the figure represented on it. The face is that of Kaiser Wilhelm II. Now you can understand why I’m puzzled as to how it got here.’
Although Barbara was clearly shocked and bewildered by what we had told her, she took the disturbing news better than I had expected. I had already reached the conclusion that there was a core of steel running through her slender frame. Judging by what Eve had said about Barbara’s current situation, she was going to need all that mental strength.