“Right.”
“And what did you see?”
“I didn’t see anything actually,” Beaky said, “but it was past sundown when I got back. Sabrina came running into the house at the same time, scared out of her wits.”
Drew lifted an eyebrow. “What frightened you?”
“I—I can’t quite say.” Sabrina pulled her cardigan a little more snugly around her shoulders. “It was rather a foggy night and I wanted to get back in before Beaky came home and scolded me for being out so late.”
Beaky shook his head indulgently.
“Anyway, Raffie and I had gone farther than usual that day, out towards Westings, and I . . .” Sabrina looked at Madeline. “Haven’t you ever felt as if someone were following you?”
“Yes,” Madeline said. “I get that prickly feeling down the back of my neck.”
“Exactly. There aren’t many places to hide on the moor. You can see for miles in every direction, but I swear every time I’d stop there would be a little rustle just after.”
“But you never saw anyone?” Drew asked.
“No.”
“What about the dog?”
She started, but just the slightest bit. “The dog?”
“What was he doing?”
“Oh, barking, of course.” She laughed softly. “Raffie nearly always does. Not that he could protect me from anything.”
“What kind of barking?” Drew pressed.
Beaky pushed his thick spectacles up higher on his nose and frowned. “His usual yipping, I expect. Why?”
“But what was the rest of him doing? Was he excited? Afraid? What?”
Sabrina considered for a moment. “Excited, I suppose. He wasn’t growling.”
“Then it was likely someone he knew,” Drew said.
“I thought the same, but I got no answer when I asked if anyone was there. I tell you it was unnerving there in the fog and the darkness. Who would do that?”
Drew studied her face again. Big brown eyes, intelligent and sardonic, wispy golden hair, a spoilt mouth quick to smile or pout or turn hard. He could see her again on Bunny’s arm, wearing the diamond earbobs and mink wrap he had given her, drinking in his adoration like fine champagne. What was she doing buried here in the Yorkshire moors? And how long would she put up with the quiet monotony of the country before stirring up her own excitement?
“Nothing else happened that time?” Drew asked, eyes narrowed. “You hadn’t . . . met anyone while you were out? Hadn’t seen anyone?”
“Not a soul. That’s what was so unsettling about it.” Sabrina shuddered. “Someone had to have been watching me. Creeping along behind me. Ugh.”
“You said that was the first time. How many others have there been?”
She bit her lip. “There was only one other time I thought I was being followed. That was a morning about two weeks later. I still never saw anyone. But there have been other things, too.”
“Johnson, our head gardener, has seen fires out on the moor three or four different nights,” Beaky said. “He thought it was likely poachers or perhaps some fool who’d left a campfire, but he and his boy went out looking and never found anything. Not even the place where a fire had been.”
“So the fire was carried and not laid. Torches or lanterns or such. Hmm . . .” Drew paused, then added, “Mrs. Bloodworth mentioned before that she’d been out towards Westings?”
“That’s the manor house just over the rise from us. Northwest of here.” There was a touch of wryness in Sabrina’s expression. “Our neighbors, if you’d like to call them that.”
“We’ll get it straightened out,” Beaky said. “It’s nothing that can’t be mended, I’m sure.”
Drew chuckled. “Come along, old man, give us the sordid truth.”
“I’m not sure I know all of it,” Beaky said. “It’s something from when my uncle came into the place. He never married, which is why he was always so generous with me, but I’ve heard tell he was once engaged to the lady who eventually became Mrs. Carter Gray.”
“I see. And who is Mr. Carter Gray?”
“Don’t be silly,” Madeline said, eyes shining. “He’s the owner of Westings. He must be.”
Beaky nodded. “You’ve got a clever wife, Drew. She’s got it in one.”
Drew merely looked smug. “And you thought I married her for her looks.”
“Behave,” Madeline said, poking him in the shoulder. She turned again to Beaky. “That would explain why there was a feud twenty or thirty years ago, but why should the man dislike you now? He got the girl he wanted, didn’t he?”
“True,” Beaky said. “But I’m afraid the mischief began with Uncle all those years ago. You know the sort of thing, damming up streams, pulling down fences, general nuisance. Gray reciprocated and it went back and forth like that until Uncle was too ill to carry on. When he died and then my father died soon after, well, as soon as the estate was settled I went to talk to Gray. I told him I wanted to end the dispute, that I was willing to pay whatever it took to put right anything my uncle had ordered done.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Drew said.
“It was more than reasonable,” Sabrina huffed, her dark eyes snapping, “considering the damage Gray’s people have done to Lodge property, and the old devil ordered Beaky off.”
Beaky patted her hand. “You make it sound worse than it was.”
“He was going to set his dogs on you!”
“He’s never actually done it, you know, and I can’t tell you how many times over the years he’s made the threat. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’s tired of the whole thing by now.”
“Surely he wouldn’t have been out on the moor following your wife about,” Drew said.
Beaky laughed. “He’s nearly seventy and laid up with gout. I don’t think he could manage it even if he wanted to.”
Sabrina’s mouth tightened. “And the sheep were just a prank, I suppose.”
Drew glanced at Madeline. “Sheep?”
“Two of them.” Beaky’s expression was grave now. “Left out on the moor with their throats torn out. Left, mind you. Not eaten as if wild animals had gotten at them. Poor things. They were just lambs really.”
Madeline breathed out a little “oh” of pity.
Drew clenched his jaw hard. “Do you think it was just made to look like an animal did it? Perhaps this Gray was responsible. Maybe not personally, but he could have had it done.”
“I just don’t know,” Beaky said. “He’s done some rotten things, I can tell you that, and Uncle had, too. But neither of them had ever gone that far. I don’t know why he would want to escalate things now. It’s really been rather quiet since Uncle died. I thought he’d given up on mischief making.”
“But who else would want to kill those lambs?” Drew took a sip of his tea and grimaced to find it cold. “An animal would have eaten them. A thief would have taken them off and at least sold the wool and the mutton. Why kill them and leave them if not for spite?”
He opened his mouth and then closed it again, seeing the fear in Sabrina’s eyes. No need to frighten her more than she already was, but he couldn’t help wondering if those sheep weren’t left there as a warning. Or perhaps a threat.
“I don’t know,” Beaky said, looking out into the night. At least the rain had stopped.
“And you’re sure? They weren’t killed by predators? Foxes perhaps?” Drew smirked. “Not a great iridescent hound out on the moor?”
Sabrina’s eyes widened, and Beaky frowned.
“We have a wild dog about. At least I think we do. I haven’t seen it in months, but it’s been heard. Nothing like that silly Baskerville nonsense, so you needn’t make any wise remarks.”
“No, of course not.” Drew half wanted to laugh and half wondered if there was truly something odd going on. “But you said the lambs couldn’t have been killed by animals.”
“Perhaps not couldn’t have been.” Beaky looked at his wife, clearly not wanting to upset
her more. “But it does seem unlikely.”
“What does any of that have to do with the vicar?” Madeline asked, breaking the momentary silence. “What were relations like between him and Mr. Gray?”
“They weren’t enemies, if that’s what you mean,” Beaky said, “but there was nothing between them. As far as I know, they knew each other to speak to, but that was all. Mr. Gray is rather . . . outspoken about his views of the church, and has no use for, as he calls it, the perpetrators of religion.”
Drew couldn’t hold back a quiet laugh. “That must have gone over well with the vicar.”
Beaky shook his head. “Poor Mr. Miles, he was never one to take offense. He even went over to Westings when old Gray came down with the grippe last winter.”
“Let me guess. The old boy set the dogs on him.”
Beaky sighed. “Threatened to, I heard. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what Mrs. Gray saw in the old crosspatch. Except where Gray was concerned, my uncle was a jolly fellow. I think she’d have been happy with him.”
“No accounting for ladies’ affections, I suppose. Is she a churchgoer?”
“Was, I believe,” Beaky said. “But she passed on some years ago. Her husband said it was all a load of claptrap and wouldn’t even go to her memorial service since she had wanted it to be in the church, but funnily enough, my uncle did.”
Madeline sighed, a wistful look in her eyes. “That’s terribly romantic and terribly sad.”
Beaky shrugged. “Anyway, I never heard of any other incidents between Gray and the vicar. And I never felt there was anything personal in it on Gray’s part, nothing about Miles himself. He’d have felt the same about any vicar we had, I have no doubt of that. And another vicar might have been offended by Gray’s views, but old Miles never was. He said it was his job to tend to his flock and preach the gospel. What people decided to do with the information was their own lookout.”
“He sounds a fine fellow,” Drew said. “Pity someone else didn’t think so. What do the people in the village say about the murder and the other goings-on?”
“The whole gamut,” Beaky said, “as might be expected. Bolsheviks and poachers and any kind of superstition you could name. I’m afraid nobody knows anything.”
“I’d love to listen in at the local pub,” Drew said thoughtfully. “There’s always something worth hearing.”
There was a moment of silence, and then Beaky cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, take you round there if you like. To see the . . . place.”
“That would help,” Drew said once he’d taken note of Madeline’s subtle nod of agreement. “If the police don’t object, perhaps we could take a look tomorrow. Weather permitting.”
Three
St. Peter’s was a long medieval structure with a square tower and stone steps that led from the front walkway up to the carved wooden door. Drew stopped just in front of the door to examine a dark stain, one that ran down the top step and onto the two steps below it. There was a smaller stain just to the right of the first. The steps showed signs of vigorous scrubbing, but it was unlikely the marks would ever be completely washed away.
Drew knelt down to study the place. “And this is where they found him?”
Beaky nodded. “I didn’t see him myself, of course, but they said he fell facedown and so hard that his glasses cut into his cheek. I reckon that’s what made the little splotch next to the big ones.”
“I expect.” Drew looked down at the walkway, quick to find the gap in the stones that bordered it. They were light-colored stones, rather round, a good size to fit into a man’s hand and from the look of them heavy enough to do the job. “And the police took away the murder weapon, did they?”
“Never found from what I’ve heard.”
“He was killed this past Wednesday night?” Madeline asked, examining the gap where the stone had been and then the discoloration on the steps. Then she pulled her coat more closely around herself.
Again Beaky nodded. “The way the church sits back from the road, the light falls right on the steps here during the day, but towards evening those trees shadow everything. People might have passed right by that night and never noticed a thing.”
“He was found the next morning?”
“By Mr. Blackstock. He’s delivered the milk in the village since old Robs passed on in January.” Beaky glanced toward the road. “He was out not much past sunrise, as usual, and thought something looked amiss and so went to see what it was. Unfortunately it was the Reverend Mr. Parker Miles. Blackstock went straight for the police, and that, as yet, is all anyone knows. The whole village is shaken.”
“No doubt,” Drew said, looking up at the bare trees. “Tell me, had the vicar gone inside the church? Before he was killed, I mean.”
“I don’t know. The lights weren’t on in the morning, so if he had been inside, he’d finished his business and come out again.”
“Or someone went in and turned them off after he’d been killed.” Madeline looked over the sodden churchyard. “Might we go in?”
St. Peter’s was as unremarkable inside as it was outside. There was a quiet solemnity in the place, and Drew thought of the many words of truth and comfort and blessing that must have come from that aged pulpit, from the heart of the aged vicar. Who would have wanted to kill such a man? A man who, as Beaky said, had nothing but his parish and his memories?
Hat in hand, and Madeline on his arm, Drew walked the aisle and laid one palm against the pulpit, breathing a quick prayer for the dead man and those who grieved his loss. Then he and Madeline went back to where Beaky waited, clutching his own hat by the brim.
“Any help?”
Drew shook his head. “Unless the police have tidied something up, the killer either wasn’t in here or made sure to tidy after himself.”
Beaky tried to look hopeful. “I’m sure you’ll find something. You always were clever.”
“Not all that much.”
“What about Tinker and Pomeroy?”
“Ah, the memorable Christmas of ’22.” Drew gave a wistful sigh.
“I bet old Stinker Tinker never forgot it, eh?” Beaky said.
There was a sudden glint in Madeline’s eye as she waited for Drew’s response.
He clapped Beaky on the shoulder. “Everybody at school knew they were smuggling in cigarettes. I just figured out how.”
Beaky smirked. “And started switching them out for party crackers.”
“You didn’t,” Madeline said with a giggle.
“That bit was Nick’s idea,” Drew said, grinning in spite of himself.
“Brilliant, if you ask me,” Beaky said. “If you’d seen Stinker’s face when he opened that first box . . .”
“That,” Drew admitted, “was one thing I always regretted missing. But at least Nick and I led him a merry chase that term. I don’t know if I had such good sport until I got to Oxford.”
“I’m not sure he and Pomeroy ever knew who was deviling them, but at least it gave them less time to bully the other boys.” Beaky sobered. “But I expect that was your aim all along.”
Drew turned him toward the exit before he could get maudlin and Madeline could demand more details. “That was twelve years ago, Beaky, old man. Long past. We have a rather more serious problem to solve just now.” By then they’d reached the door. Drew opened it, letting Madeline go first and then stepping from the dimly lit church and back into the bleak churchyard. “I’ve just remembered I need to telephone down to Farthering Place, if you’ll both excuse me. Estate business. Won’t take but a minute.”
Beaky pointed out a telephone box round the corner, and leaving him with Madeline for company, Drew loped over to it. He was back a moment later.
“Sorry about that. I need my estate manager to see to something for me and it couldn’t wait. Now back to the problem at hand. Do you think we ought to meet the constable on the case? Or would he be the type to resent our interference?”
“Well, there’s an Inspector Rawlings
who’s technically in charge of the investigation, but we haven’t seen much of him round the village. It’s our Constable Trenton who’d be your best chance of finding anything out.”
“And what’s he like?”
“Not by any means a clever man,” Beaky said, pulling his coat collar a bit more snugly round his neck against the sudden bite of the wind. “But a practical one. Born and bred on the moor. Knows everyone. Knows his job. I daresay you’ll like him.”
As it happened, Drew did like him. Trenton was perhaps fonder of the pub and the dinner table than he ought to have been; his generous belly was an unimpeachable witness to that. But he welcomed Drew into his cluttered office with a hearty and rather bone-crushing handshake.
“No need to tell me who you are, sir. I’ve heard how Mr. Bloodworth gone down to fetch you up to Yorkshire to see if you could make what’s what out of the mess we’ve got. And your missus as well.” He pumped Madeline’s arm up and down. “Lord love you, ma’am. It’s good to have you here in Bunting’s Nest.”
“We wouldn’t want to interfere in your investigation,” Drew assured him, trying not to snicker at Madeline’s startled expression.
“Nonsense. It’s only me and Teddy here, sir, and sometimes young Pennyworth. And my wife is going to give us another little Trenton any day now, so we know when to be thankful for a fresh pair of eyes and some willing hands.” Trenton tapped the side of his nose. “And if extra help comes free, well, sir, you won’t find me kicking over it.”
Drew laughed. “That’s certainly a refreshing change from being warned off of cases at every turn. And congratulations on your blessed event.”
“Thank you, sir,” Trenton said and then rolled his eyes. “I’ve told Jimmy time and again he ought to be grateful for whatever help you give him, but he’s mule stubborn, that’s what he is, and I’ve said so more than once.”
Drew glanced at Beaky, who had taken a seat on the corner of Trenton’s desk. “Jimmy?”
“Sure,” Trenton said, giving him a shove on the shoulder. “Jimmy. Jimmy Birdsong. We had a bit of a talk about you when the families were together last Christmas. He won’t admit it, but I can tell he’s that fond of you and your missus, no matter what grief you give him.”
Murder on the Moor Page 3