Dead Man Riding

by Gillian Linscott

  ‘Good morning. I wonder if you happen to have seen a friend of mine.’

  Until then the landlord had been intent on the barrels and hadn’t seen me. He whirled round, looking alarmed at an alien voice and probably wondering where I’d sprung from. He relaxed a little when he saw my hiking boots and pack.

  ‘You lost, miss?’

  ‘No, but I was hoping to meet my friend here. Big tall man with a beard.’

  His face cleared, he even laughed. ‘Would that be the artist, miss?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I’m sure it would.’

  ‘He usually comes in about now for a pipe and a pint. Look, there he is.’

  He pointed up the slope. A battered panama hat, moving fast downhill, was just visible above the bracken. As it came lower I saw the red face beneath it and the familiar tangle of beard and sideburns. He was concentrating on where he was stepping, not looking at us. When he got clear of the bracken on to the open grass just above the inn I saw that his clothes were more than usually unkempt, one boot sole gaping so that a naked big toe was visible poking through a hole in his sock. But in spite of that there was as always something so amiable, so reassuring about the sight of Nathan that even now I had to fight a mad impulse to rush up the slope towards him and hug him like a brother.

  ‘That your friend, miss?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He didn’t see me until he came right down to the yard. When he did it looked for a moment as if he was going to flee straight back up the hill.

  ‘Hello Nathan,’ I said. ‘Please don’t run away again. I’ve got to talk to you.’

  The landlord looked from Nathan to me and back again. I could see he was registering possible trouble, of the emotional kind.

  ‘Bring your beer and tobacco out here if you like, sir. And a lemonade for the lady?’

  There was a bench in the angle between the house and porch. Nathan sat down heavily on it, his legs stuck out in front of him, and sighed.

  ‘How’s Midge?’

  ‘She’s all right, or as all right as anybody can be in the circumstances. You know the inquest is tomorrow?’

  He nodded. The landlord came out with a pint of beer, a glass of cloudy home-made lemonade and a stone tobacco jar. Nathan took his pipe out of his pocket and filled it, making the process last until the landlord had gone in.

  ‘Of course, you knew that the day you went away,’ I said. ‘You decided you’d stay out here until the inquest was over and there was a suicide verdict. Was that your own idea or did somebody else suggest it?’

  He took matches out of his pocket and went through the usual long pantomime of getting the tobacco to light. I was fuming long before the pipe was.

  ‘Nathan, I’m not going to the police with this. I’ve already worked out most of what happened but I need to know for sure. It’s nothing to do with the inquest. It’s for us – all of us.’

  Clouds of blue smoke wafted round us. It didn’t smell as sweet as Nathan’s usual tobacco, but at least it kept the flies away.

  ‘I’ve been hoping against hope that all this had nothing to do with us,’ I said. ‘I was so sure that it was young Mawbray, or his father, or Dulcie even. We were the innocent ones, the unlucky ones who just happened to be here. Only that’s not true and you’ve known it for a lot longer than I have.’

  He moved his big paw of a hand, wafting some of the smoke away from us, trying to waft a lot of other things as well.

  ‘All of you’ve known, you four men. There I was, thinking you were all together in the barn the night the Old Man died but that just wasn’t true. Alan was out with Imogen and Kit was out quarrelling with Alan. You knew that.’

  He looked at me through the two veils of beard and smoke, eyes big and pleading.

  ‘Nell, this isn’t going to do anybody any good. Just leave it while you can.’

  ‘I can’t leave it. Imogen’s in love with Alan. She wants to spend the rest of her life with him. She’s my friend. Can I just stand back and let it happen while there’s any doubt at all?’

  His eyes turned pained and troubled. He looked away from me.

  ‘Nell, I can promise you it wasn’t Alan. Can we leave it at that now?’

  ‘No. I wish we could, but we can’t.’

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘At the moment I don’t believe anybody. That night, Alan went out to meet Imogen.’

  ‘A lady’s reputation—’

  ‘Bother a lady’s reputation. Midge and I were in the same room with her. We know she went out and I know she and Alan met. She was back with us around one o’clock and by then Alan and Kit had met and quarrelled very badly. What time did the two of them get back?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I was asleep.’

  ‘I don’t think you were. I don’t think any of you slept much. You must have had an idea what was happening between Kit and Alan. So when did Alan get back?’

  ‘Around one o’clock.’

  ‘Did he say anything?’

  He looked at me pleadingly. I’d have given almost anything to do what he wanted – to say ‘Don’t worry, it isn’t important. Drink your beer and smoke your pipe and be the Nathan we all know and love.’ Instead I just kept looking at him and he shook his head, like a tired horse trying to get rid of a fly that’s sucking its blood.

  ‘Not to me. He and Meredith were talking. My bed was a bit away from the others because of—’

  ‘Your snoring. Yes I know. Alan thought you were snoring when he came in.’

  ‘I was pretending. I didn’t want to hear what they were saying. I knew … I knew this thing with Alan and Kit was coming to a head. I just didn’t want to know about it. And none of us wanted you or Midge or Imogen to know.’

  ‘Very protective of you. So Alan got back to the barn about one o’clock?’

  ‘Yes, and he stayed there for the rest of the night. Nell, I promise you you don’t have to worry about Imogen. She’s not marrying a…’

  ‘A murderer?’

  He nodded.

  ‘And Kit? What time did Kit get back?’

  ‘Nell, how could Kit have done it? He can only use one arm remember, and he’s scared of horses. He wasn’t pretending. He can hardly go near the beasts.’

  ‘I know. We all know. So what time did Kit get back?’

  ‘Later. A lot later. He didn’t come in. He just called from outside the barn.’

  ‘Called what? What did he call?’

  Nathan clapped his head between his big paws like a hurt animal at bay.

  ‘It was a name, wasn’t it? He was calling somebody.’

  He looked at me, hands still over his ears. I mouthed the name at him. Then he closed his eyes, but not before I’d seen my answer in them.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  THE CORONER HAD A BALD HEAD and a little snub nose that gave him an oddly cheerful air, in spite of the dark suit and serious expression. When a police officer had shown me into the witnesses’ waiting room he’d reassured me, ‘Don’t you worry, miss. Our coroner’s a kindly man.’ He was right, because when it was my turn to give evidence he’d made it as easy for me as a conscientous man could do, putting his questions in an unaggressive way, assuring me several times that he knew how difficult this must be for me. Now he was summing up in a calm, almost monotonous voice for the benefit of the jury – ten respectable tradesman types almost melting from the heat in their best suits.

  ‘You have heard from Dr Morris that the immediate cause of Mr Beston’s death was a blow to the back of the head, fracturing the skull. It is his opinion that the injury could have been caused by sharp contact with a branch or post. He considers it possible, though less likely, that it might have been caused if the deceased had struck his head on hard earth. There is evidence of broken ribs and damage to the deceased’s internal organs, strongly suggesting that a horse might have rolled on him. You have also heard from the doctor that Mr Beston had been suffering for some time from a heart weakness which might have proved fatal
at any time, although that was not the cause of his death.’

  After I’d given my evidence I’d been shown to a seat at the end of the front row. Alan had given evidence before me and was sitting at the other end of the row. Glancing over my shoulder among a mostly male audience I saw Midge, Imogen and Meredith sitting together eyes fixed on the coroner.

  ‘You have heard from his great nephew, Alan Beston, that Mr Beston had seemed anxious and nervous in the days preceding his death, because of real or imagined hostility from some of his neighbours owing to certain of his political opinions. I must emphasise very strongly to you that it is not your duty to determine whether the hostility was real or imagined or to pass judgment on events which might have led to it. The only question we are concerned with is whether the belief that it existed affected Mr Beston’s mental state.’

  From the far end of the row Alan caught my eye and gave a little grimace that might have been apologetic. He’d been furious with me when we met on the pavement outside the coroner’s court about ten minutes before the inquest was due to start.

  ‘Nell, where in the world have you been? We’ve been desperate about you.’

  ‘Desperate about me, or desperate in case I wasn’t here to give evidence?’

  He’d looked at me as if I’d slapped him, but I was in no mood to reassure him. All the time I’d been giving evidence I’d been aware of his eyes on me, willing me to say what he wanted. I said it, but not for his sake.

  ‘You also heard from Miss Bray, a house-guest of Mr Beston in the days before his death. She is of the firm opinion that she witnessed an attempt made by Mr Beston to take his own life by throwing himself off a galloping horse the day before he died. She also told us of his devotion to what you may regard as a somewhat barbarous piece of literature about a man who was sentenced to death by being tied to the back of a wild horse.’

  A grunt of agreement from one of the jurors to that. There’d been a palpable wave of shock in the room when I told the jury about Mazeppa. Some of them, I could tell, felt that it wasn’t the kind of thing a well-brought-up young woman should be talking about.

  ‘Miss Bray, as it happens, also had the misfortune to be the person who discovered Mr Beston dead. I know you will want me to offer her your sympathy for what must have been a most distressing experience for a young woman, and the courage and self-possession she has shown in giving her evidence.’

  Both the jury and audience gave a murmur of agreement. I’d gone down well, I knew that. Lots of training from childhood in amateur theatricals. I hated myself.

  ‘She has told you that Mr Beston’s hands and feet were bound to a strap round the horse’s neck and to the stirrups. Whether Mr Beston could have done that himself, whether it could have been done by some other person or whether it could have been the result of some grotesque accident are questions which the police have found it impossible to resolve. Miss Bray was naturally too distressed to be expected to make observations of that kind…’

  (He’d assumed that, luckily, and not asked me direct questions.)

  ‘… and the rest of his household, also quite naturally, would be concerned to get him off the horse, to the exclusion of other considerations.’

  I looked at Alan. He was nodding his head, a few nods too many, at a danger point almost passed.

  ‘You have heard Mr Alan Beston’s opinion that his great uncle was a man of considerable determination and force of character in spite of his age. You may ask yourselves, if he were determined to take his own life, whether he might have chosen to do it in such an unusual and one may say…’

  (You could tell he wanted to use the word ‘grotesque’ again, but was hesitating out of consideration for our feelings.)

  ‘… such a flamboyant way. I will sum up. If you consider that the medical evidence, combined with the evidence you have heard on Mr Beston’s state of mind, point to the conclusion that the deceased took his own life, then your verdict must be suicide. If you form that opinion and also think that he was not capable at the time of taking a considered judgment of what he was about to do, you may add “while the balance of his mind was disturbed”.’

  A couple of jurors nodded at that. Most of the neighbourhood thought the Old Man was mad in any case.

  ‘The other verdicts available to you are that he died as a result of an accident, that he was unlawfully killed or that there is not enough evidence to show how he died. Given there is evidence that Mr Beston was actually tied on to the horse, it would be difficult if not impossible to envisage circumstances in which this might have happened accidentally. As for unlawful killing, no evidence has been brought before this court which would lead to that conclusion. You may be aware of reports that Mr Beston had made enemies in recent months but you must put those out of your minds. Even if the reports are true, they are not in themselves enough to lead to such a verdict. If in spite of all you have heard you feel you cannot come to any conclusion then you must bring in an open verdict, but I would suggest that you don’t resort to that without a very thorough discussion of the alternatives. Now gentlemen, have you any questions before you retire to consider your verdict?’

  They hadn’t. As they walked out a buzz of talking started and Imogen swooped down beside me. She looked terrified.

  ‘Nell, where were you last night?’

  ‘The temperance hotel by the cattle market.’

  It was a grim place, with beds as thin and hard as ship’s biscuits. They’d been reluctant to take me in – a woman travelling on her own – but they couldn’t pretend not to have rooms free and I’d scraped together the few shillings needed.

  ‘Something else has happened. This morning. It’s—’

  Midge came pushing past people and caught her by the arm. ‘Not now. Not in here. Afterwards.’

  Midge was nearly in as bad a state as Imogen. Her eyes were puffy, the hand on Imogen’s arm was trembling.

  ‘What’s happened now?’

  Midge gave me a look, begging me not to ask. I saw Alan was walking towards us. Whatever else had happened, it looked as if he hadn’t been told about it because the two of them went quiet.

  I said to Midge, to try and calm her, ‘Nathan’s all right. He sends you his very best wishes and hopes he’ll be seeing you soon.’

  He’d sent more than best wishes. He’d been practically incoherent with concern for her when we parted in the yard of the inn, I making for the town, he for what he hoped would be his last night out on the fells. ‘Look after her, Nell. Tell her I hated leaving her. Tell her … oh, you know what I want to tell her.’

  A few days ago this would have delighted Midge but now she just nodded, biting her lip. Alan had drawn Imogen aside and was talking to her. Meredith hadn’t left his seat and was sitting several rows back, head down, an island of silence in a roomful of chattering people.

  ‘I’m going to get Imogen outside, Nell. She needs air.’

  Midge grabbed her by the elbow and practically dragged her outside, leaving Alan open-mouthed.

  ‘What’s happening, Nell?’

  I didn’t know, but there’d been so much kept from me that I hardly cared about this latest example of it. He saw from my expression that he wasn’t going to get an answer and went back to his seat. Midge and Imogen came back to their seats just before the jury filed in. They were clinging together and crying. A murmur of sympathy went round the room, dying away as the coroner took his place. He asked the foreman if the jury had reached their verdict.

  ‘Suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed.’

  * * *

  Outside the sun was shining, a cart of vegetables was grinding past, and people were coming and going with shopping baskets. I was one of the first out because of sitting at the end of a row and started walking away, not caring where I was going.

  ‘Nell.’

  Running footsteps behind me, people turning to look.

  ‘Nell, Miss Bray, please wait.’

  Meredith. He must have pu
shed past everybody to get out so quickly. He looked desperate enough for anything, hatless with tie and hair flying. I waited, in the middle of a square by some statue or fountain, I don’t remember what. He caught up with me and stood, trying to get his breath.

  ‘You knew all the time,’ I said. ‘He came to you for help.’

  ‘Yes. There’s something you should—’

  ‘And you did help him. You remembered what I’d told you about Mazeppa and helped tie his body on the horse.’

  ‘Yes. But you’ve got to know—’

  ‘And it’s all right now. You’ve got a suicide verdict so the police will lose interest and he can just go away and get on with—’

  ‘No!’

  Then somebody behind us shouted, ‘Meredith’ and Alan came rushing across the cobbles, weaving around strollers and shoppers. He practically barged into us.

  ‘Meredith, what’s happened? Imogen can’t tell me. She’s practically collapsed. What is it?’

  Meredith looked at Alan then at me, his eyes more miserable than anything I’ve ever seen.

  ‘Kit’s shot himself.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  IMOGEN, MIDGE AND I FOUND OURSELVES STOWED in the small parlour of a commercial travellers’ hotel while Meredith and Alan went to report another death to the police. I don’t remember how we got there. I had no more to do with it than a portmanteau or carpet bag has to do with where it’s put. All I remember are armchairs in red plush, an aspidistra in a bronze bowl with dragons writhing round it and a marble-framed clock on the mantelpiece ticking out the minutes with a noise like a hammer hitting tin tacks. A tray of tea was brought in.

  Imogen said, ‘Did Kit kill him, Nell?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did Alan know?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask him.’

  Maybe he’d be able to explain, and she understand, how you can both know and not know something at the same time if you try hard enough. The tea got cold. Alan and Meredith came back, faces still blank with shock. We got ourselves to the public house yard where the wagonette was waiting. Meredith stood at Bobbin’s head and held the reins while Midge, Imogen and Alan got in. Imogen and Alan were holding hands so tightly that I wondered whether they’d ever get their fingers unlocked. Meredith looked at me, waiting for me to climb in too. I shook my head.