The Overlooker

by Fay Sampson

  Table of Contents

  A Selection of Recent Titles by Fay Sampson

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Author’s Note

  A Selection of Recent Titles by Fay Sampson

  DAUGHTER OF TINTAGEL

  THE FLIGHT OF THE SPARROW

  THE ISLAND PILGRIMAGE

  THE LAND OF ANGELS

  IN THE BLOOD *

  A MALIGNANT HOUSE *

  THOSE IN PERIL *

  FATHER UNKNOWN *

  THE OVERLOOKER *

  * available from Severn House

  THE OVERLOOKER

  Fay Sampson

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain 2012 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  9-15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

  First published in the USA 2013 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS of

  110 East 59th Street, New York, N.Y. 10022

  eBook edition first published in 2013 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2012 by Fay Sampson.

  The right of Fay Sampson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Sampson, Fay.

  The overlooker.

  1. Fewings, Suzie (Fictitious character)–Fiction.

  2. Women genealogists–England–Fiction. 3. Detective and

  mystery stories.

  I. Title

  823.9'14-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-371-6 (epub)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8241-7 (cased)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This eBook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  ONE

  Nick drove them up the winding road between stone walls. The fields on either side were dappled with sheep. At the top of the hill, the view he had been anticipating sprang up to meet him in all its grandeur. The massive block of Skygill Hill, which he remembered climbing with his parents as a boy. The hollow plain at its foot, with the former cotton-weaving town clustered around the river and climbing the lower slopes.

  He stopped the car and lowered the windows. He took a deep breath of the chill autumn air.

  ‘Ah! You never get it this fresh down south.’

  ‘Dad!’ Millie protested from the back seat. ‘You don’t have to put on that northern accent every time you cross the Mersey. You’ve never actually lived here, have you?’

  ‘Touché.’ Nick grinned at his daughter’s elfin face in the rear-view mirror. ‘It’s in the blood, though. I may not have been born in the north, but my grandparents were. I was brought up to think of myself as a northerner.’

  ‘What a view!’ said Suzie beside him. ‘Only, sixty years ago, you wouldn’t have been able to see it for smoke. And there would have been over a hundred mill chimneys, instead of . . . what? Half a dozen?’

  Nick sighed. ‘No. It’s dying on its feet. The only working mill left is a museum.’

  He closed the windows and started the engine. ‘Come on. Let’s see if we can find High Bank. If I know Cousin Thelma, she’ll have a proper Lancashire tea waiting. There was always at least one fresh-baked cake.’

  Suzie looked at him oddly. ‘Nick. You don’t eat cake.’

  ‘I do here.’

  He took the steep downward gradient slowly. There was little traffic on this back road. His eyes were going from side to side. Could he really find High Bank again? He had tried to program the satnav, but it hadn’t recognized the name. Just a row of three terraced houses perched above the valley, where a branch of his family had lived for more than a century. Great-uncle Martin and his daughter, Thelma, were the last of their line to cling on.

  His breath caught at the sudden glimpse of the little terrace of smoke-blackened stone.

  ‘Is that it?’ Suzie asked at the same moment.

  The same precipitous slope of the garden he remembered. Gooseberry and currant bushes. The broad leaves of rhubarb. A late row of beans. And a bright crop of dahlias outside the front door.

  He swung off the road on to the gravelled approach and stopped the car.

  Millie was swiftly out of the door. Her hands were thrust into the pockets of her green wool jacket. Her slight shoulders hunched against the wind.

  ‘You did say tea, didn’t you?’

  Nick strode to the front door of the third house and rang the bell. For good measure, he thumped the brass knocker as well.

  He had expected the door to spring open immediately and his father’s cousin to greet him with open arms.

  It was a little while before anyone answered. Had he told her the right day?

  The door opened more slowly than he had anticipated. Thelma Fewings stood there, like and yet unlike the woman he remembered. She was only ten years older than him, but she looked more. Her grey hair was curled against her head in an old-fashioned perm. Suzie’s brown hair had a soft natural curl, but most of her friends wore their hair straight these days. Behind the pink-framed glasses, Thelma’s face looked flushed. She might have been crying.

  ‘Hi, Thelma! How are you doing?’ He leaned forward to clasp her shoulders and kiss her powdery face. ‘How’s Uncle Martin?’

  ‘Oh, Nick,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘I’ve only just got back from the hospital. Dad’s had a stroke. He’s in a coma.’

  Nick felt the bottom fall out of the cheery family reunion he had been looking forward to. Great-uncle Martin was the last of his grandparents’ generation still alive.

  Nick had only recently come to share Suzie’s interest in family history. He had been amazed to realize that, now in his nineties, Martin Fewings’ lifespan reached back so far that he must have known people who had been born in the nineteenth century. The same people Suzie turned up in the old censuses. The Fewings, the Bootles, and their related families. Nick’s mind reeled at the thought. Uncle Martin might even have talked to the children of the ancestor who interested Nick most. James Bootle, the handloom weaver turned herbalist in the Industrial R
evolution.

  And now that last frail link with the past was teetering on the edge of extinction. With the sorrow of one who has come late to family history, Nick felt bitter regret at all the questions he could have asked Uncle Martin while he was still alive and well, and now might never get the chance to.

  This purely selfish reaction passed through his mind in a second, before conscience smote him. He felt Thelma trembling under his hands.

  ‘Here, come and sit down. Suzie, can you make us a cup of tea?’ He led Thelma to an armchair in the front room. A bow window looked out across the grey-roofed town, with its few isolated chimneys, to the solid bulk of Skygill Hill. ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘This afternoon. After dinner. I was just getting ready to go back to work. He was sitting in his chair, and I thought he was having a nap. Then I noticed he was breathing sort of noisily, and one side of his face seemed to have slipped. I tried to wake him, but I couldn’t. So I called the ambulance. They rushed him into hospital. I went too, of course, but then I was worried about you coming and finding nobody in. And the doctor told me I shouldn’t wait, because he might not come round for a long time . . . if he ever does.’ She dabbed the corner of her eye with a tissue.

  Nick clasped her cold hands in his. ‘You shouldn’t have worried about us. I’m sure the neighbours would have seen the ambulance arriving and told us.’

  ‘Oh, Geoffrey Banks next door was out like a flash when the ambulance came. He’s a cousin on my mother’s side. We’re all related up here in High Bank. Geoffrey’s been a big help to me now that Dad’s getting on. He’s got a key. But I didn’t like to think of you coming all this way to an empty house.’

  ‘Nonsense. We’d have quite understood,’ Suzie said. ‘And we could have found somewhere else to stay. We still can. You’ll need to spend time with your father. You won’t want to be bothered with visitors at a time like this.’

  ‘No! I never heard the like! I invited you to come and stay with us. I’ve got the beds all made up and I’ve baked a cake.’

  Just for a moment, Nick caught the ghost of a smile Millie shot at him.

  Thelma got to her feet with difficulty. ‘I’ll come and show you where things are, Suzie.’

  ‘I can help,’ Millie said, starting forward.

  Nick stayed her with a hand. As Thelma went out into the kitchen, he whispered, ‘Let her do it. It’s better if she has something to take her mind off Uncle Martin.’

  When the two women came back, Suzie was carrying a tray of teacups with an embroidered cloth. Thelma had an uncut fruit cake on a glass stand and a plate of iced buns. They set them down on a table under the window and Suzie poured the strong tea.

  ‘I’ll run you down to the hospital this evening,’ Nick said. ‘We can see if he’s any better.’

  ‘That’s kind,’ said Thelma. ‘I was thinking of going on the bus. I don’t really feel safe to drive. My nerves are all over the place.’

  ‘That’s only to be expected. You’ve had a shock.’

  ‘And here you are, coming all the way from down south to talk to him. It’s such a shame. He was really looking forward to seeing you. Well, he talks to me about the old days sometimes. But I’ve no children to pass it on to. You’re the future.’ She glanced across at Millie and managed a smile. ‘He had me rummage about in the loft. You should have seen me afterwards, covered with dust and cobwebs. There was a suitcase he was after. It’s full of old papers, letters and certificates and such. He’s been looking forward to showing you. He wanted to tell you about them. I think he was going to pass them over to you to keep.’

  Nick felt a start of surprise, a sudden surge of hope. Maybe it wasn’t a total loss, after all. Then he thought of Great-uncle Martin lying white and still in a hospital bed, his ancient face disfigured by a stroke. The old man was more than just a source of information, a link with history. He was a human being who had shared Thelma’s life for all her fifty-eight years. Hovering now on the brink of departure.

  Thelma looked around with a mild surprise. ‘Tom isn’t with you? No, I remember. You said it was just you and Millie till the weekend.’

  ‘Tom’s at university,’ Suzie said. ‘His first term. But it’s only thirty miles away. He’s coming over on the train on Friday. It’s good of you to put us up for so long. But really, we can find a B and B. Leave you in peace.’

  ‘I wouldn’t hear of it! You’re family. I can just imagine what Dad would say if he came round and found I’d turned you out of the house, just because he was taken poorly. Millie, another slice of cake? You look as if you could do with fattening up.’

  Millie’s pointed face under its cap of blonde hair broke into a smile. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me this week. And here was me, thinking I was putting on weight. Yes, please. I can’t think when was the last time Mum baked a fruit cake. It’s really good.’

  Suzie raised her eyebrows, but Nick saw the flush of pleasure on Thelma’s face.

  There was a knock at the front door, but it opened immediately. A man about Thelma’s age put his head round the sitting room door. A scraggy neck protruded from a checked flannel shirt. A bony chin and prominent cheekbones seemed to thrust his face forward ahead of his shoulders. Yellowish hair, streaked with grey, fell over his forehead.

  ‘I saw you were back. How is he?’

  ‘He hasn’t come round yet. They sent me home. They say they’ll ring me if there’s any news.’

  ‘It’s a bad do. But he’s getting on a bit, isn’t he? Ninety-three? I’ll be glad if I’m as sprightly as that when I’m his age, or as he was till today, anyroad . . . And these’ll be your cousins from down south.’

  His quick and curious eyes raked over the Fewings.

  Thelma seemed to come to herself with a start. ‘I’m sorry! Look at me! I’ll be forgetting my own name next. This is Geoffrey, the cousin from next door I was telling you about. Not on the Fewings side. Banks was my mother’s family. And this is Nick, and Suzie. And this bonny little girl is Millie.’

  ‘Not so little nowadays,’ said Nick hastily, before fourteen-year-old Millie could protest.

  ‘So you’ve come all this way up to Lancashire, have you? Thelma tells me you’re into this family history business.’

  ‘That’s right. I’m a late convert, I’m afraid. So I’m trying to make up for lost time. Suzie here’s the expert. She’s looked up loads of stuff on the internet. I didn’t know how much you could find out about people who lived more than a hundred years ago.’

  ‘Actually, more than a century is easier,’ Suzie said. ‘The censuses are embargoed for a hundred years. And they’re full of information about people. Where they lived, what jobs they did, where they were born.’

  Geoffrey Banks shook his head slowly. ‘You want to be careful. Once you start poking your nose into all that, you never know what you’re going to find. Things aren’t always what they seem. Do you watch Who Do You Think You Are?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Suzie.

  ‘Sometimes,’ Nick said.

  ‘Well, some of them have had a shock, I can tell you. There was a fellow discovered his ancestor had three wives, all at the same time. And then he ran off with one of his slaves. And another one was responsible for massacring Indians in North America. If I was you, I’d leave well alone.’

  Nick felt an inward shiver that was part apprehension, part stimulated curiosity. Did Geoffrey Banks know something about the Fewings family he wasn’t telling them?

  ‘Actually,’ Suzie said bravely, ‘it’s the more disreputable bits of family history most people enjoy. I know I shouldn’t, but when I found one of my forebears had three illegitimate children in a row, and was probably a prostitute, I felt a sort of one-upmanship. Something to liven up all those everyday births, marriages and deaths.’

  Geoffrey Banks’s bony face looked shocked. He glanced across at Thelma. ‘Well, maybe they have different morals down south, but if that was me, I’d be ashamed to tell people. We’re g
ood Methodists in this family, aren’t we, Thelma?’

  ‘It’s in the family, yes. Stoneyham Methodist Church. Our folk have been stewards and trustees for generations, so I’ve heard. And before that, I think it was Baptists, out at Briershaw in the Dales.’

  ‘Every tree that bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire. Matthew seven, verse nineteen,’ Geoffrey said.

  There was an awkward silence.

  ‘Well, I only came in to see how Martin was.’

  ‘We’ll know more in the morning.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to your visitors, then.’ Geoffrey cast a lingering look over Nick, Suzie and Millie. ‘I hope you find what you came for, since you’re set on it. And no nasty surprises . . . I’ll let myself out.’

  When the door had closed behind him, Thelma said, ‘Don’t mind him. Geoffrey’s a good sort, really. He keeps an eye out for me and Dad.’

  ‘He’s right, of course,’ Suzie said. ‘Once you get involved with family history, you don’t know what you’re going to turn up. And that’s even supposing you can believe everything you’re told. People didn’t always tell the truth to census enumerators. Even the inscriptions on gravestones may not be true. There probably isn’t a family that hasn’t got something to hide.’

  ‘Well,’ said Thelma, rallying. ‘I’d better show you where you’re sleeping.’

  There were two smallish bedrooms at the back of the house, facing up the hill. A double bed for Suzie and Nick took up most of one. Thelma had made up a folding bed in her own room for Millie. Nick saw the anxious glance Suzie cast at their daughter when she found Millie would be sharing a room. But Millie smiled gamely.

  There was a narrow bathroom. The largest room, at the front of the house, must be Uncle Martin’s. Nick wondered if he would ever come back to it.

  TWO

  It was dark when Nick drove Thelma down the steep hill towards the town centre. An autumn mist was thickening over the river, blurring the street lamps. At the foot of the hill, the road passed in quick succession over the canal bridge and then the river. A solitary mill chimney rose into the darkness, like a memorial to the industrial past.