Westmorland Alone

by Ian Sansom

  Miriam had struck up a conversation with the young woman who had been at Jenkins’s side during the lunch. She was tall and thin and strikingly good-looking – almost another version of Miriam, indeed – and she was laughing at Miriam’s jokes as enthusiastically as she had earlier been laughing at Jenkins’s. Her name, I gathered, was Nancy. I stood by, listening to the conversation. She was explaining something about the dig to Miriam.

  ‘… but I don’t think he’ll be allowing you to get too close to his trench!’ she said.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t touch his trench if you paid me, Nancy,’ said Miriam.

  Nancy stifled a laugh as Jenkins approached.

  ‘Something funny?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, you know, just girl talk,’ said Miriam, flashing him a sarcastic smile.

  ‘Well, sorry to break up your party, ladies, but it is probably time to get back to work,’ said Jenkins, looking at Nancy with, I thought, a rather proprietorial air. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, Nancy?’

  ‘Do you not want me to show them round, Professor?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not sure there’s anything much to show,’ said Jenkins, ‘that would be of interest to the … amateur.’ He smiled unpleasantly at Miriam. ‘Did you say it’s some sort of guidebook your father is writing?’

  ‘That’s correct, Professor,’ said Miriam, taking a deliberately long time to light a cigarette. ‘But not an archaeological guidebook. That would be rather de trop, don’t you think?’ (Again, as mentioned, for an entirely de trop archaeological guidebook, see Jenkins’s own English Archaeological Records.) ‘No,’ continued Miriam. ‘Father’s guide is to the whole county of Westmorland. Part of a series of guides to all the counties of England, covering history and geography, and topography, and … well, all the -ologies and -ographies and -onomies.’ She took a long draw on her cigarette. ‘Including archaeology, of course. Of little or no interest to a specialist like you, naturally. But I know Father is interested in including some information about your little dig here. I’d certainly very much appreciate it, if you might allow us to have a peek at what you’re up to.’ She moved a little closer to him as she spoke. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t mind if I could spend a little time in your trench with you.’

  Nancy did her best to keep a straight face.

  ‘Well,’ said Jenkins, clearly not quite knowing what to say and doubtless both offended and flattered by Miriam’s extraordinary attentions – as men were often both offended and flattered by Miriam’s extraordinary attentions. She really had the most peculiar effect on people. He adjusted his cravat. ‘I’m sure you couldn’t do any harm. Nancy, you stay with them and make sure they don’t get up to any nonsense.’ He smiled – uncertainly this time – at Miriam and with that strode off, his students following him, trowels in hand, back to dig in the trenches.

  I allowed Miriam to finish her cigarette with Nancy and went to fetch Morley from the tent. He was still at the table, all alone, but had finally finished eating. He looked lost in thought. He looked pale. He sometimes had these moments – where he seemed to be thrown out of gear, and out of time. He wiped his mouth distractedly with a napkin as Dora came to clear his plate.

  ‘Now pay you no mind to the professor, Mr Morley,’ she said. ‘Billy the Bully I calls him.’ She leaned over him and Morley smiled up at her.

  ‘You know, Dora, if you don’t mind my saying so, you remind me of someone. Something about you …’

  His eyes, I thought, looked a little watery; indeed, he seemed overcome with emotion. He sighed deeply and then, to my great astonishment, he half closed his eyes and moved to lay his head against Dora’s not inconsiderable breast.

  ‘Mr Morley?’ said Dora, more in pity than in shock. She looked at me, concerned. ‘He’s come a bit all-owerish,’ she said quietly.

  Morley was suddenly very embarrassed.

  ‘Is everything all right, Mr Morley?’ I asked.

  ‘No, yes, I mean … please forgive me.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Dora patiently. ‘What is it, love? What’s the matter?’

  ‘My wife …’ Morley began. ‘She … Only recently … I’m so terribly sorry. It’s just I sometimes get these … It’s …’

  Dora touched his arm gently. ‘You’re all right,’ she said. ‘I understand. Grief has its own timetable, Mr Morley. Nothing you can do about it. You just have to find a way to carry on, don’t you?’

  Morley looked up, clearly consoled by this, while Dora, entirely unfussed and calm and practical, began to wipe down the table beside him.

  ‘There’s my husband today, up there in his signal box. I said, “George, there’s no trains running, stay at home, love.” But he feels like it’s his duty, you know.’

  ‘Your husband’s a signalman?’ asked Morley. ‘In Appleby? George Wilson? Was it him who …’

  Dora nodded and continued with her work.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said Morley. He reached out and touched her arm. ‘I had no idea, my dear. It must be a terrible time for you.’

  Dora nodded again. The two of them seemed to have understood one another: an understanding had passed between them. Morley suddenly seemed rejuvenated.

  ‘Right. Come on then, Sefton. We should leave this good woman to her work. Let’s have a little look around, shall we? Thank you so much, Dora.’

  ‘No, thank you, for all your help,’ she said. ‘I appreciate it. Man like you, sir. Thank you.’

  I was glad to get back outside the tent and Morley seemed to be restored to his usual self. We joined Miriam and Nancy by a vast stone, several hundred yards from the centre of the dig where Jenkins was busy working. He could be heard clearly in the distance, barking out orders to his students.

  ‘Some sort of Oedipus complex, I shouldn’t wonder,’ said Miriam. ‘Are you familiar with the work of Sigmund Freud?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Nancy. ‘I’m studying archaeology.’

  ‘Archaeologist of the mind, Freud,’ said Miriam. ‘You simply must read him.’ She was forever recommending Freud to people. ‘You’d very much enjoy it.’

  ‘I’m sure I would,’ said Nancy, gazing at Miriam in admiration.

  ‘Now, young lady, tell us about this stone,’ said Morley.

  ‘Well,’ said Nancy. ‘This is what is known as the Googleby Stone. Though the locals sometimes call it the Goggleby Stone. Something like that. Shap, as you probably know, Mr Morley, is an area famous for its standing stones and this one seems to have been part of what may once have been a whole series of avenues and circles stretching right across the landscape.’ She spread her arms to include the vast space around us.

  ‘Mmm,’ said Morley. ‘It must really have been quite spectacular.’

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ said Nancy. ‘Particularly when you think that when they were first quarried you’d have been able to really see the pink crystals in the granite here.’

  Morley peered closely at the stone and stroked it affectionately, as if it were one of his dogs at home and he were looking for ticks.

  ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘Quite quite remarkable. The achievements of our ancestors. Astonishing, really.’

  As Nancy continued to explain the history of the area to us, Morley walked all around the stone, once, twice, three times, stroking it and humming to himself as he did so. The thing towered above us. It looked rather like a huge fat triangle poking upside down out of the earth, or like an arrowhead piercing the ground. Having walked slowly all around it, having seemingly absorbed every aspect of it, Morley then paced back several steps, in the direction of a dry-stone wall, in order to get a distant look. He squinted his eyes and stretched out his arms and made little box shapes with his fingers, framing the stone against the backdrop of the landscape.

  ‘Might be worth a photograph or two, eh, Sefton?’ He took out his notebook. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Indeed, Mr Morley.’

  ‘Just trying to work out the geography of the place. Just trying to understand the
pathways and the shape of things. The elevations and depressions and the …’ He took another step back again and stamped on the ground to establish his place and then looked down, having clearly noticed something underfoot.

  ‘Has Jenkins been digging here?’ he asked Nancy.

  ‘No, not as far as I know,’ she said.

  ‘Well, someone has.’ He knelt down and examined the earth beneath him, and then peered through a hole in the base of the dry-stone wall. ‘Hmm. What do you think of this, Sefton?’

  ‘Erm.’

  ‘I think this is what the locals might call a hogg-hole,’ he said, ‘to allow sheep to pass from one pasture to another. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘I’m sure it is, Mr Morley.’

  ‘But no sign of sheep here, are there?’

  I looked around. There was indeed no sign of sheep.

  ‘And what about this?’ said Morley. Next to the hogg-hole was a patch of bracken and heather that looked to have been recently piled up. ‘A site of some interest, for someone.’

  ‘Well,’ said Nancy. ‘It’s all very interesting around here, I suppose.’

  ‘With the standing stone just there,’ said Morley. He turned his back to us. ‘And the river there.’ And then he turned again. ‘The wall following the lie of the land. The perfect spot, I would have thought.’

  ‘Perfect for what, Father?’ asked Miriam.

  ‘Some structure of some sort?’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Morley. ‘But someone’s clearly found something here. Or made something here …’

  ‘Locals, probably,’ said Nancy. ‘You occasionally see a few of them up here, looking around, hunting for treasure, I expect.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Morley’s moustache began twitching: I knew all the signs. ‘Well,’ he continued, ‘I wonder if we should just have a little explore ourselves.’

  ‘Oh but I really don’t think you should,’ said Nancy, becoming flustered. ‘No. I don’t think that would be a good idea at all. Jenkins’ll absolutely blow his wig if he sees you.’

  Morley peeked round the Googleby Stone towards Jenkins and his students in the distance. There was absolutely no way he could have seen us behind the stone.

  ‘I don’t think that’s very likely to happen,’ he said. ‘Do you?’

  Nonetheless, Nancy looked worried. ‘He did say for you not to get up to any nonsense,’ she said.

  ‘But we’re not getting up to nonsense, are we, Sefton?’ I thought it best not to answer. ‘On the contrary. It would be such a shame to have come all the way here to a dig and not actually to have dug, wouldn’t it? That would be the nonsense. Don’t you think?’

  ‘I’m really not sure it’s a good idea,’ said Nancy.

  ‘Just a little dig around here,’ said Morley, pointing to where the earth had been disturbed around the bracken and heather.

  ‘We’d need a spade, Mr Morley,’ I said, hoping that this might put him off.

  ‘Well, I just happen to have a little something with me,’ he said, proudly producing a small trenching tool from his jacket pocket. ‘Always carry one with me.’ (Among the many other things he claimed always to carry with him, depending on our predicament, was a hunting knife, a penknife, string, a compass, a flint for making fires, a complete first aid kit, a good book, a pack of cards, a whistle, a harmonica and a change of underclothes.) ‘It’s a beautiful day, we have a spade and history all around us and beneath us. It would be remiss of us not to explore just a little, would it not?’

  Miriam huffed and folded her arms. She’d seen it all before.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Morley. ‘You two ladies keep a look out for Professor Jenkins and Sefton and I will have just a quick poke around here. Give us some colour for the book, wouldn’t it, Sefton? We can hardly say that we were at Professor Jenkins’s famous dig at Shap but we didn’t actually get to dig.’

  Nancy looked at Miriam. Miriam rolled her eyes.

  ‘Quick dig,’ said Morley. ‘Couple of photographs. One of me. One of Sefton. Then we’re away, Nancy. I promise.’

  Which is how I ended up down on my knees with the little spade, digging deep into the ground, Morley standing above me, Miriam and Nancy watching nervously from a distance. I cleared the bracken and heather and dug for a few minutes. There was nothing of course but earth. And more earth. Morley took a couple of pinches and examined it carefully. I kept digging. Yet more earth.

  And then suddenly there wasn’t earth any more. There wasn’t anything any more. As I dug a shaft opened up below me and then the ground gave way and I found myself falling forward, swallowed up into some kind of pit.

  I fell face forward several feet into total darkness, thudding down with incredible force. Winded and terrified, I quickly wrestled myself around and scrambled to my feet, thinking I might be buried alive. Gazing up I could see light above my head. The first thing I heard was Miriam. She didn’t sound overly concerned.

  ‘Oh Father. What on earth have you done with him?’

  ‘I haven’t done anything with him,’ said Morley.

  ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Morley. ‘Sefton?’ he called rather sheepishly. ‘Sefton? Can you hear me?’

  ‘I told you we should have left it alone,’ said Nancy.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I called up. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘There we are!’ said Morley triumphantly. ‘Can you see me, Sefton?’ He was leaning out over the edge of the hole, his face just two or three feet above the top of my head.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ cried Miriam, who did not deign to lean over the edge.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ said Miriam, although in fact she sounded rather disappointed.

  ‘Now, Nancy, are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ said Morley.

  ‘I don’t know, Mr Morley,’ said Nancy.

  ‘What do you think it is?’

  ‘It could be a souterrain,’ said Nancy.

  ‘Exactly what I was thinking!’ said Morley.

  ‘A what?’ said Miriam.

  ‘An Iron Age structure,’ said Morley. ‘Sort of an underground pit. Used for storage.’

  ‘Well, if it is,’ said Nancy, ‘Jenkins is going to be absolutely furious!’

  ‘Or delighted?’ said Morley.

  ‘Furious,’ said Nancy. ‘He was convinced there was a souterrain around here, but it looks as though he’s been digging in the wrong place!’

  ‘But someone has been digging in the right place,’ said Morley. ‘They must have been down here recently for it to open up like that. Probably looted it already …’

  ‘Shouldn’t we get him out?’ said Nancy.

  ‘We probably should,’ said Miriam.

  ‘But you never know,’ continued Morley, ‘we might be lucky, might find an artefact, some coins, or some pottery or some such. No harm in looking, is there? Sefton, I don’t know if you want to have a little look around while you’re down there? Before we get you out?’

  ‘I’d quite like to get out, actually,’ I said.

  ‘What can you see?’

  ‘Nothing at the moment.’ I was staring into darkness and at earth walls, but as my eyesight became accustomed to the dark, and with the little light filtering through from up above I thought I could make out a sort of primitive shelf built into the passage – and I gingerly put my hand out towards it.

  Which is when I discovered the body of the woman.

  CHAPTER 9

  DEATH AND DECEIT AND DESPAIR

  MORLEY – OF COURSE – had jumped straight down into the souterrain, so now we were both staring at the woman’s body. It was not the body of a woman who had been here since the Iron Age. It was the body of a woman who had not been here for very long at all. The sight of her made me feel quite sick: a corpse in pretty summer clothes, dumped in a pit underground. It was appalling, mind-boggling. I thought for a moment I might h
ave been hallucinating. I strongly wished I hadn’t drunk so much damson wine and smoked so many cigarettes, nor snorted so much powder, and I wished more than ever that I had never set off with Morley on another foolish adventure. Sometimes it seemed like all we ever encountered was death. Death and deceit and despair. (Morley of course saw it otherwise. Or at least he wrote as though it were otherwise, desperate to convince himself and others. To quote his preface to The County Guides: Westmorland: ‘Reports of the death of England have been greatly exaggerated. England is not dead and is not dying. It remains an enchanted realm, a world beyond time and place. This is England, our England, now and for ever.’ It was hardly convincing in 1937. Now, frankly, it seems absurd.)

  ‘What do you think, Sefton?’ asked Morley. ‘Rigor mortis?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Mr Morley.’ It was dark down in the pit and the only light was from above.

  ‘She looks – what? – about the same age as Miriam, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mr Morley.’ I was very keen to get out.

  ‘In her early twenties, perhaps. Mid-twenties at most. And … light summer dress. High heels. The gay outfit makes it all the more poignant, does it not?’

  ‘I suppose.’