by Ann Purser
“Norrington. Geoffrey Norrington. Don’t you remember? Horrid little prep school near Tresham? Heard your name mentioned this morning, and was hoping to catch you. Fancy a drink?”
Now, the truth was that Geoffrey Norrington had never been in a prep school of any kind. Brick Road Primary, Middleton, was the nearest he came to it. But he had been doing some research, and was well primed.
“I’m afraid you have the advantage of me,” replied Robert politely. “As far as I can remember, we have never met. Perhaps you have confused me with someone else?”
Geoff Norrington laughed. “I’d know you anywhere, Bob! And do call me Geoff,” he said. “Always looked up to you from afar at school. And of course, we all change a bit, don’t we. You probably don’t know that we do have something in common. I believe your mother lives in Long Farnden, and we’re in Fletching, not far away. Now, how about that drink?”
All Robert’s hackles had arisen, and he knew he should make a polite excuse and walk away. But he was intrigued. Norrington? Geoff Norrington? He had heard the name somewhere, and quite recently. Ah well, one drink couldn’t do any harm, and he had his hard-won case to celebrate.
When they were settled in a corner in the pub, Robert asked Norrington some questions about his house in Fletching. “I grew up in Farnden, of course,” Robert said, “and knew the geography of every village around. We went everywhere on bikes in those days, and there’s no doubt you see the countryside in more detail as you ride along.”
Geoff Norrington nodded. “And now we all whizz along in our Jags, eyes glued to the road and music blaring in our ears. You’re right, Bob, it’s all changed, and not for the better. Mind you,” he added, “me and the wife have got plans that should improve our lifestyle no end.”
Robert thought that if this man called him “Bob” one more time, he might hit him. They were on their second drinks now, and Robert’s reserve was beginning to fade.
“So what are your plans, Geoff?” he said.
“We’re on the move,” Norrington replied. “Looking for a nice big house, with plenty of land, to give ourselves privacy and space to expand our various ideas. I happen to have done a very good deal lately, and as they say, money’s no object. At least,” he added hastily, “no object within reason.”
Robert began to see a glimmer of light. It had not been an accidental meeting. This man had accosted him for a reason. And he was even surer that all that stuff about prep school was rubbish. He had never met Geoffrey Norrington until today, and the reason for him lying in wait was about to emerge. Perhaps it would save time if he hurried things along.
“How interesting,” he said. “Perhaps you are not aware that my mother’s estate is up for sale? A big decision, and in some ways a very upsetting one for her to make. But she is a person of very strong reserves, and has come to the conclusion that if the right buyer comes along, she will leave the hall and the family estate, with all its memories and associations, and not look back. Of course, you may not know that there are two farms on the estate, and the house itself is very lovely and historic. Oliver Cromwell slept here, and all that!” He chuckled as he watched Norrington’s face change. Robert doubted very much that this shiny person would be the kind of client Lord & Francis would be looking for.
“My goodness, what a coincidence that we should meet on the streets of London!” Norrington replied, shifting confidently in his seat. “Farnden Hall is on our list! I must tell the wife. I know she will want to see every inch of your boyhood home as soon as possible. You know these women, Bob! Impulsive creatures, aren’t they. Just as well we men take our time and consider all aspects, don’t you agree?”
Robert thought to himself that there was probably only one aspect the Norringtons would want to consider, and this was how little they could spend on purchasing the estate. Farnden Hall was an extremely desirable property for the right client, and he would take some convincing that Geoffrey Norrington was the one.
WHEN NORRINGTON REACHED HOME LATER THAT EVENING, MELANIE was deep in a pile of agents’ particulars. “I just took a ride around and collected up all these from property shops in the area,” she said. “Some very promising houses on the market. I think it is a good time to buy. Prices are at rock bottom, so the agents said. Very encouraging, they were. Perhaps we can have a look at some of them?”
“You’ve really got the bit between your teeth, Mel!” Geoff smiled. “Just wait ’til you hear who I met today.”
“Who? Have they found the burglars yet?”
“No, no. Nothing to do with that. No, I was walking along Fleet Street and who should I see but a barrister called—guess what—Tollervey-Jones, son of Mrs. Tollervey-Jones, JP, of Farnden Hall.”
Melanie stared at him. “How did you know it was him?”
“Ah ha! I know you’ve set your heart on Farnden Hall, so I’ve been doing some research. I have useful contacts, and from what I gather, the old duck who lives there on her own is flat broke. Now if we play our cards right, we might be able to make them an offer they can’t refuse.”
Melanie began to feel excited. She had told herself firmly that Farnden Hall would be well outside their means. But she knew from past experience that Geoff was by nature a cautious person, and if he had got this far, and was talking of ringing the agents for a viewing, then he must be taking their chances seriously.
“But,” he now continued, “don’t get your hopes up too high. There’ll be a lot of haggling to be done. Still, you know your Geoff; he don’t get beat too easily!” And he walked across the room and gave her a hug and kiss by way of encouragement.
IN SHEPHERD ROAD, ROBERT ARRIVED HOME SOMEWHAT LATER than he had intended, and feeling relatively expansive as a result of his session with Geoffrey Norrington in the pub.
“Hi, Dad,” his youngest greeted him. “Mum’s in the garden. Down the bottom by the muck heap. You okay, Dad?” she added as Robert attempted to throw his rolled umbrella across the hall and land it on its hook. He chuckled. “Fine, fine. Never better,” he said, and walked reasonably steadily towards the garden and the muck heap. It was almost dark, and the fire sent a flickering light across the garden.
“You’ve been drinking,” Felicity said with a smile as she saw him carefully picking his way down the narrow path. “I do hope we’ve got something to celebrate?”
“It is just possible we have a buyer for the hall. A character named Geoffrey Norrington intercepted me on my way to the station, and insisted on our having a conversation in the pub. Frankly, I wouldn’t trust him an inch, and he’ll doubtless drive a hard bargain. But he had that look in his eye. Quite confident that he could carry it through, and we can’t afford to be picky. Beggars can’t be choosers, as the saying goes. Claimed he knew me from prep school! I doubt very much that this was true, and merely a ruse to get me into conversation. Anyway, I gave him the benefit of the doubt, and listened to what he had to say. Seems he and his wife have the hall on a list of properties they intend to look at. They live over at Fletching, and already know the area.”
Felicity leaned on her fork, and asked if this character looked like he had enough money.
“Careful to let me know he had, and he’s the sort who doesn’t tell you he’s got money in his pocket unless he actually has,” Robert replied, and added, “I say, darling, I hesitate to mention it, but you have what looks like a blob of muck on your cheek.”
THIRTY-ONE
“WHAT A DIFFERENCE THIS MORNING!” SAID MRS. SILVERMAN as Dot came down for breakfast. “You wouldn’t think it could change so much overnight, would you?”
Dot agreed, but privately thought she would not have minded if today had been like yesterday. Then they would not have been able to prolong their stay, and the hearty walk promised by Mrs. M would not happen. But then, she told herself sternly, the money spent on her new walking boots would be completely wasted. She could think of no other possible occasion when she would need them again.
“Morning, Dot!” It was Lois, looking extre
mely cheerful and encouraging. “Look at that sun shining on the wet grass! Isn’t it beautiful? We’ll have breakfast and get going as soon as possible.”
Yesterday had been a boring one for Lois. She was not a keen shopper, but had dutifully followed Dot from butcher to baker and all the other retail outlets Pickering had to offer. “It’s not that I want to buy too much, Mrs. M,” Dot had explained. “I just like to see what they sell up here in the north.”
“Much the same as they do in the south,” Lois had muttered under her breath. She had suggested going to the museum, but Dot had said she was willing to follow Mrs. M to the ends of the earth, but not into a museum of musty old things nobody wanted. Lois gave up.
Now Dot agreed that it was a beautiful morning, and resigned herself to the long trek. They loaded the car with boots and waterproof jackets. Lois had filled a small backpack with energising food for their lunch, and also a map they had bought yesterday from the tourist office. Dot had remembered Gladys mentioning Harry’s house, and was almost positive it was called Hilltop Farm. When they looked at the large-scale map, there it was. Hilltop Farm, not all that far from Grosmont, where they had seen Clive pretending to be a railwayman.
HARRY, TOO, HAD WOKEN EARLY AND LOOKED OUT OF THE WINDOW with some relief. He had in the end decided to postpone his trek with Jess across the moor to his neighbour’s farmhouse. The extra time had been filled by perfecting his plan to appeal for help in getting rid of his unwelcome guests forever. The young sons on the farm were big strapping lads, and he intended to ask them to cooperate in a scenario which would frighten the Mowlems into immediate flight. This involved anonymous telephone calls, a released bull at an appropriate moment and a chat with a friendly community policeman.
Now Harry dressed and tidied up his room. He gave Jess her breakfast, and was hoping to get on his way before Gerald or Clive appeared. Unfortunately, Gerald had also woken early and heard Harry moving about. What was the old fool up to? It wasn’t as if he had cows to milk. No cows had been in the cowsheds for years. It was too much trouble, and each year Harry had made a loss on sales of the milk, so, like a lot of other dairy farmers, he had decided to give up milking. He kept the bull, which was past its prime, but a good old friend.
Gerald shook his brother’s shoulder, and refused to let him go back to sleep. “Get up!” he hissed. “The old man is up to something. I’m going down to find out exactly what. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw ’im. Get dressed and come down.”
Harry was just opening the door out to the farmyard when Gerald appeared. Jess growled, a low threatening sound, and Gerald aimed a kick at her. She was too quick for him and slid out of the door before he could have another try.
“Where d’ya think you’re going so early in the morning?” Gerald said, walking towards Harry, meaning to shut the door and force him back into the room. Then he saw the gun.
“I’m going out on farm business,” Harry replied coolly, hitching his gun onto his shoulder. Now that he was about to put his plan into action, he felt slightly light-headed with perhaps unwarranted confidence. “Shan’t be back ’til late, so don’t lock up, if you’re going out.”
Gerald stood staring at him, for the moment stuck for an answer. The gun altered things altogether. And there was something different about his reluctant host that made him hesitate.
In that pause, Harry stepped out of the door and shut it behind him. His newfound confidence was beginning to ebb, and he struck out at a fast pace, whistling for Jess to follow. He did not look back.
Meanwhile, back in the farmhouse, Clive had come down into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and pulling an old jersey over his pyjamas. “What’s up?” he said. “It’s too bleedin’ early to get up. Not doing anything special today, are we?”
Gerald didn’t answer, except to grunt that something special had come up, and he had to go out at once. Clive could stay back at the farm and keep a lookout for anything unusual, including strangers nosing about.
“Where’re you goin’, then?”
“For a long walk, I reckon. Our friend Harry is going somewhere, or seeing someone, an’ it won’t be good news for us. I got a feeling in me bones, Clivey boy, and I need to find out what he’s got in mind. And if I’m not back by nightfall, come and look for me,” he added, and disappeared out of the door after Harry and Jess.
LOIS DROVE SLOWLY OUT OF PICKERING AND TOOK A GOOD ROAD signed to Grosmont. “If we park somewhere near the farm, we can head for it on foot, as if we were long-distance hikers, and pretend to be lost. If that ex-lover of your friend Gladys is about, we can make conversation and soon find out the whereabouts of the Mowlem brothers. Then we can come back to the car, drive straight back to Pickering and make one or two phone calls.”
“Including to Hunter Cowgill?” said Dot. Now that they were about to do some real ferretin’, she began to feel nervous. She looked out of the car windows, and saw nothing for miles and miles. Few trees, and no life except for sheep dotted about the landscape like lumps of chalk. Runnels of water threaded their way through the moor, and everything looked boggy and dangerous.
“Yes, Cowgill, o’ course. And Derek, too, just to keep in touch. Anyone you want to ring, Dot?”
“You make it sound like any last requests, Mrs. M! No, I don’t need to ring anybody. Let’s get this job done, and back to safety with Mrs. Silverman. That’s all I want this minute.”
They drove on in silence, until Lois said she had seen a sign to the left to Goatsherd, and she remembered from the railway trip that Grosmont was soon after that.
“I’ll keep me eyes peeled, then,” said Dot. “We have to turn off up a track to the right, just before we get to Grosmont, according to the map. That should be signed Hilltop Farm.”
“And we need a likely place to park and leave the car. Just off the road would be best.”
In due course, they turned up the lane, and Dot said suddenly that there was a widening out ahead. It was obviously a parking place next to a footpath sign, and they pulled off the road and got out. Lois said that the farm was not far ahead, and she intended to approach from across the moor, so they would take the footpath and then branch off when the house was in sight.
They set off, and Dot looked all around fearfully. “No human being for miles and miles,” she said gloomily. “Let’s just hope we don’t sink in the bog.”
“Cheer up!” Lois said. “We’re close now. Hey, look, Dot!” she added suddenly. “Isn’t that a dog over there? Can you hear it whining? D’you think it’s in trouble?”
“What I think, Mrs. M, is that we should turn around and head straight back for the car, get in and return quick to civilisation! But as you won’t never do that, let’s go and look.”
They walked carefully towards the dog, conscious that the ground was getting soggier. Dot stopped and grabbed Lois’s arm. “Mrs. M,” she said, quite calm now, “it’s not just a dog. There’s a man lying on the ground, and he looks very still. Have you got y’mobile? I think you should dial the emergency service.”
Lois turned to look at her, and as she turned, she spotted a figure in the far distance, disappearing fast, and then it was gone. “Let’s just see if we can help, an’ if it looks serious, I’ll call 999. He might be stuck in the mud, or something, and we could pull him out.”
When they reached the spot where Jess stood, still whining and barking by turns, guarding Harry where he lay, Lois knelt in the wet turf and looked closely at Harry’s face. “Oh my God, Dot,” she said. “Look at that wound on the back of his head! I think he’s dead. Here, you dial for help, and I’ll give him the kiss of life.”
She pulled the limp body onto its back, and tried first aid, but without much hope. Then all at once, Harry gave a great shudder, and choked.
“He’s alive, Mrs. M!” yelled Dot. “Quick, let’s get him sitting up! Here, take my jacket and wrap it round him. He looks really groggy to me. But still, it’s worth a try.”
When
he was wrapped up and held half prone in Dot’s arms, she and Lois looked anxiously over the moor for signs or sounds of an approaching ambulance. As they calmed down and speculated that it would take a while, Lois remembered the vanishing figure.
“Dot!” she said urgently. “There was another man. I saw him running off, over there.”
“Could have been going for help,” said Dot, ever practical. “Maybe found this chap before we did.”
Lois was about to doubt this, when Harry choked again, and seemed to be trying to say something.
“Sit him up a bit, Dot,” Lois said, and leaned forward to put her ear close to Harry’s mouth. Nothing. “You try, Dot,” she said.
“It’s Dot here, Harry,” she whispered, “Gladys’s friend.”
He moved his head, and groaned at the pain. Then his eyelids fluttered and Dot caught just one word. “Mo—Mo—lem,” he stuttered. The effort was huge, and he sank back exhausted. Jess began whining again, and Dot sat like a stone, but still supporting Harry as best she could.
“Dot? What did he say?”
“Guess what,” Dot answered. “Mowlem, that’s what he said. Mowlem, as in Gerald and Clive, and my friend Gladys.”
Lois nodded. “Makes sense, doesn’t it. So we know who that bugger was, running back to the farm.” She shivered. “Dot, I should ring home, and tell them we might be delayed.”
“Now?” said Dot. “We might know a bit more later on.”
Lois sighed. “To tell the truth,” she said, “I could do with the sound of Derek’s voice right now. Daft, I know.”
Dot looked at her with compassion. “We got to wait for the ambulance,” she said, “so do it now.” She smiled. “Do it now, and I won’t listen.”
THIRTY-TWO
THE TELEPHONE RANG IN THE KITCHEN AT THE MEADES’ house, and Gran got there first, pushing past Derek, who was still sitting at the lunch table, reading the paper.