Drew turned to Madeline. “The families?”
“Oh, didn’t I say?” Trenton looked a trifle smug. “My wife and his are cousins. So when Grandfather and Grandmother Hawkins have everyone for Christmas dinner, naturally Jimmy and I have a nice talk about our work. I told him I wouldn’t mind having a bright young gentleman to help me untangle the worst of my cases, and so I don’t. You are welcome, sir.”
He shook Drew’s hand again, and Drew didn’t know if he was more astonished by the enthusiastic welcome or by the idea of the dour chief inspector of the Hampshire police sitting about with a bevy of cousins and aunts and uncles and all their offspring caroling round the family hearth in a paper crown and eating plum pudding.
“I’ll try to be what help I can,” Drew said once his hand was free. “Beaky here’s told me some of the basic facts of the case, but I’m sure you can tell me a great deal more. We were just in the church—”
“I expect you’ve seen the steps, then. It’s an outrage, that’s what it is.” Trenton stood again and pulled up a couple of chairs that very likely hadn’t seen paint since King George was in short pants. “Do sit, ma’am. Sir.”
They sat.
“About those steps,” Drew said after a moment, “I’d very much like to know how the vicar was . . . situated. When you found him, I mean.”
Constable Trenton blinked at him. “Lying there with his head bashed in, sir. I can’t tell you much plainer.”
“Yes, but how was he lying? Faceup? Facedown?”
“Facedown. Can’t very well cosh a man on the back of the head and have him land facing up, eh?”
“Very true. Now was his head towards the church or away from it?”
“Towards it. We reckon he’d met someone there and was going to go inside with him.”
“Or perhaps he never saw the fellow at all,” Madeline suggested.
“Might not have, missus,” Trenton said. “We didn’t find any sign of anything out of place inside the church. Nothing missing. Nothing disturbed. Might be they never were inside at all.”
Drew nodded, thinking. “Beaky tells me he was found by the chap who delivers the milk.”
“He was. Not long after dawn on the Thursday morning.”
“And your suspects?”
The constable shook his head. “None as yet. Seems rather senseless if you ask me. Who’s to profit from it? Could be simple mischief, someone with a grudge against the church. Who can say? There were gypsies on the moor not two days earlier, but they went away before I could find out what they were up to. Can’t see what they would have done it for. Weren’t nothing stolen. Not even the money in his pockets, nor his pocket watch.”
Drew considered for a moment. “Tell me about this milkman who found the body. Local fellow?”
“Came up from Kent,” Trenton said. “Not a bad little fellow. Lost his wife not long ago and decided a change of scene would do him good. Likes the quiet, he says, but friendly enough if you meet him. Likes a single malt whisky now and again, but not one to overindulge.”
“What about the vicar? Were they friends?”
Trenton shrugged. “Generally acquainted, I believe. Never heard of any trouble between them.”
Drew glanced at Beaky. “And where might I find him this time of day?”
“I’ll drive you,” Beaky said. “He ought to be finished with his rounds by now. I need to pop over to the post office and then we can be off. Or would you rather come?”
Drew squeezed Madeline’s hand and gave her a look anyone else would have missed. The corner of her mouth twitched just slightly before she turned big blue eyes up to Beaky.
“May I come with you? I need some stamps and things.”
“Of course.” As usual, Beaky blushed. “Do you want to come, Drew?”
“That’s all right,” Drew said. “I’ll just chat with the constable for a bit longer, if he doesn’t mind. I think I’d like to know a bit more about our Chief Inspector Birdsong at Christmastime.”
Madeline gave him a pert kiss on the cheek and then took Beaky’s arm. “Let’s hurry or they’ll start talking about pistols and fingerprints and that sort of thing and we’ll never get away.”
Beaky chuckled. “Won’t be but half a moment.”
“Actually,” Drew said once the two of them had gone, “I’d rather ask you about Mr. and Mrs. Bloodworth.”
Trenton blinked. “You had, sir? You don’t think one of them—”
“No, no, of course not. I just want to know, strictly between you and me, what your professional opinion of them is.”
Trenton rubbed the back of his neck, his mouth in a reluctant frown. “I don’t know, Mr. Farthering, sir. It might be a bit awkward, you know, if what I said were to get back to the Lodge. I’ve got to live here.”
“It won’t come from me,” Drew assured him.
The constable relaxed slightly. “Not that there’s anything bad to be said, sir. Mr. Bloodworth used to come up to the Lodge to stay when he was a boy, during the school holidays and such. Always minded his manners.” He shook his head, suddenly wistful. “I was a bit of a boy myself, those days, just starting out in the force after the war, but here I am, and young Bloodworth’s a man grown, lord of the manor and with a wife to boot.”
“He did return to the old home place in fine style, didn’t he?” Drew said with a chuckle.
“He did that.” Trenton whistled low. “I can see how he’d be taken with a woman like Mrs. Bloodworth, though. Not meaning any offense, of course, but we didn’t expect a London-bred lady like that would come up to the Lodge to stay. Not permanent anyway. But still, young Bloodworth is proud as a peacock with his hen, though she’s easily the more decorative of the two birds.”
“And everyone else at the Lodge? How did they take to her?”
Trenton shifted a little on his feet. “Bit different for Miss Windham, now, isn’t it? With another woman in the house, running things and all? Not like when old Mr. Bloodworth was alive.” He leaned closer. “Mrs. Bloodworth has modern ways, you know.”
Drew fought a smile. “I see.”
“But I’m sure we don’t fault her for that. She’ll learn our ways before long, I daresay.”
“Oh, to be sure,” Drew said. “After all, she hasn’t been here a year yet. I understand the moor can be a tricky place.”
“It is that, sir. I was born here and I can tell you it’s no place to trifle with. I understand Mrs. Bloodworth got herself turned around in the storm, and Rhys Delwyn had to bring her in.”
Drew nodded. Everyone knew everything about everyone in these little villages, he was well enough aware, but it still surprised him how quickly even the most innocuous bit of gossip spread.
“He seems an interesting fellow.”
“Not too bad for a Welshman,” the constable allowed. “Lives like the devil, of course, but he knows his job. If you were to ask me, though, and I see as how you haven’t, he’d do well to stay out of trouble. There’s things on the moor and things a bit closer to home a wise man keeps clear of.”
Before he could say anything more, Beaky and Madeline came back into the police station, ears and noses red with cold, but smiling.
“It’s looking a bit threatening out there, Drew,” Beaky said. “We might better get along to Blackstock’s if you still want to speak to him.” He looked at Trenton. “Sorry, have I interrupted?”
“We were just chatting,” Drew said. “I thank you for your time, Constable. Perhaps we could talk later?”
“Any time you like, Mr. Farthering.” Trenton beamed at him once again. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us in the investigation. Teddy means well, you know, but sometimes I think I’d be better off with a bull pup.”
“Teddy?”
“My sister’s boy, God love him. He’s a fine chap. Works hard and follows orders to a T. Well, we’ll make a policeman out of him yet, eh?”
They made their farewells and settled into Beaky’s car.
Be
aky looked at his watch. “Blackstock ought to be at Morton’s still. We’ll have a look.”
They drove a little way out of the village and finally turned down a narrow road that ended abruptly at a large barn and fenced pasture. Out front, a middle-aged man, bearded and stoop-shouldered, was currying a disgruntled-looking brown horse. A freshly painted cart, white with delft-blue letters touting the virtues of Morton’s Hygienic Dairy Farms, stood in the nearby shed.
“Mr. Blackstock,” Beaky called as they got out of the car and walked toward the man. “Good morning.”
The man squinted for a moment behind his thick spectacles and then smiled faintly. “Why, it’s Mr. Bloodworth, is it? Good morning.” He looked Drew over. “Is this your London detective and his lady, then?”
Drew gave him a nod. “Drew Farthering. And it’s Hampshire, actually.”
“Dear me, and I’m sure Mr. Clifton said it was London. Can’t trust gossip these days, eh, Maisie?” He gave the horse a swat on the rump, and she looked at him with a baleful eye as he took the hand Drew offered. “I suppose you’re here about poor Mr. Miles. A bad business.” He tugged his cap. “Mrs. Farthering.”
“Good morning, Mr. Blackstock,” she said politely. “Thank you for talking to us.”
“Yes, it’s very bad business,” Drew said. “I understand you were the one who found the body. Would you mind telling us exactly what you saw?”
Blackstock stroked his graying beard. “I had a funny feeling all that morning as I was about my rounds. Maisie here must have been feeling it, too. She was shying at every little thing.” He stroked the mare’s neck, and she jingled the bridle when she tossed her head. “Anyway, I saw something heaped up on the steps when I drove by that morning. At first, I thought it was a bundle of clothes left for the parish charity. Well, my eyes are a bit weak, but I saw it was all sort of strewn about, and I thought maybe animals had got into it. I started to go on, but it just didn’t strike me right, if you know what I mean, so I went up to take a look.” He shook his head, looking a bit queasy. “Blimey, it was as ugly a sight as ever I’ve seen. The parson was lying there stone dead with his blood half run out and frozen solid. And that stone he was clipped with, it was lying at the bottom of the steps, just left there bold as brass.”
“Did you pick it up?” Madeline asked.
“Me?” Blackstock’s eyes went wide, and he jerked his head back. “No, ma’am. I went for the police straight off.”
“In your cart?”
“I didn’t stop for that. The station’s just the next street over. I went through the churchyard and out the other side. Quickest way there. We came back the same way.” Blackstock glanced around as if someone might overhear what he said next. “Funny thing is, when we got back, that stone was gone.”
“That’s what I’d heard,” Drew said. “And how long did it take you to get to the police and come back?”
“Not much over five minutes, I don’t think. Less than ten, I’m certain of that. And, no, sir, I did not see anyone out on the street that morning. Don’t think the police didn’t ask me that fifty different ways. But I hardly ever see anyone that early, unless it’s old Jem Nealy staggering home from whatever alley he’d passed out into, not that I’m to judge.”
“Any other footprints when you came back?”
“None. That’s what made it so very odd. You could see mine there in the mud and then on the path, and you could see where that wicked-looking stone had been sitting, but it wasn’t there no more. I couldn’t imagine how it were done, but P.C. Pennyworth had a thought on that, and I expect that’s why he’s with the police and I’m not.” The man grinned, lightly elbowing Drew’s ribs and then quickly sobering and tugging the brim of his cap. “Beg pardon, sir. No offense meant.”
Drew did not smile. “And what did the constable think?”
“He was of a mind that whoever it was took that stone had stepped right into my footprints, neat as you please, right up to where the vicar lay, and took away what he done the murder with. And when we looked at the footmarks, bless me if he didn’t get it spot-on. Whoever it was was a shifty rascal, no denying it, but you could see just now and again where he’d stepped on top of my footprint.”
“And that was just up to where the vicar was, was it?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“Not past that and across the churchyard or anything?”
Again the man’s eyes widened. “You mean as like he was following me? No, sir. Not at all. Bad enough that he must’ve been lurking somewhere, watching.” He shuddered and then collected himself again. “No, the constable looked at the steps and the path and where I went round the church to get across to the police station. Those prints were just my own. Pity we’ve had such weather since then or you might’ve had a look for yourself.”
“Yes, a pity.”
“Did they happen to take photographs?” Madeline asked.
“I couldn’t say as to that, ma’am. You might better ask the constables.”
“We’ll certainly do that,” Drew said. “Anything else you noticed at the time or recalled since you last spoke to the police?”
“Not anything, sir, and I truly wish there was.”
“Yes, well, if you think of anything, no matter how small, you let someone know. I’ll be at the Lodge. You can always leave a message when you bring the milk. Or tell Constable Trenton.”
“Right you are, sir. The very minute.”
“Good man.
It was only a short drive back to the Lodge, and after a couple of attempts at conversation, Beaky had grown silent. Madeline, perceptive as always about her husband’s moods, also said nothing. Drew sat thinking all the while of what he’d seen, wondering what the connection, if any, might be between the murder and the other things that had been going on out on the moor and at Beaky’s home. He tried to keep from drawing conclusions until he had more evidence, but he couldn’t help but wonder about Sabrina Bloodworth. She was as beautiful as he remembered, and as hard.
He’d seen it when she had gone round with Bunny nearly two years ago. It wasn’t anything very obvious, but it was there all the same. He’d seen her pull away from Beaky when he touched her, a subtle but visceral reaction, and she had seemed more annoyed by his solicitousness than appreciative of it. And that Delwyn was a handsome brute, earthy and untamed, the kind society women sometimes fell for when they grew bored with their privileged lives and went looking for trouble. Drew had noticed Sabrina had not looked at him. Was she afraid to lest she give herself away?
Drew glanced at Beaky, steady, good-hearted Beaky, and then looked up the road. Bloodworth Park Lodge was just ahead, and he could see it clearly now. “I say, old man, could we pull up here a minute? I’d like to get a good look at the ancestral home.”
Madeline raised one questioning brow and then smiled. “Oh, yes, let’s.”
Beaky grinned and let the car slow to a stop. The sky was blue and bright, the sun glinting off the rain-washed windows of the old house. It was done in the Jacobean style with a large central section flanked by two long wings. Drew could tell from here that the north wing was indeed abandoned. Even in daylight, there was something sadly forlorn about it, and yet there didn’t seem to be anything particularly sinister about the place. Just empty and neglected.
“I suppose it looks a bit dowdy to you,” Beaky said.
“No,” Madeline insisted.
“Not at all, old man.” Drew shaded his eyes to see it better. “Barring the north wing, which I’ll admit needs a bit of work, it’s admirable. I’d wager it’s a stunner in the springtime.”
“Sabrina says it’s dowdy, but I think it’s got nice lines. Needs some work here and there, a bit of updating, and of course that wing will need a massive dose of wherewithal, but I think it could be quite grand again.”
“Bathrooms,” Madeline said decidedly, and Beaky chuckled.
“Good heavens, yes. I’ve already been told more than once that the place hasn’t
enough of them. It seems you ladies are most particular on that subject. But the mistress of the manor is going to have to wait until spring before we can start work. Remind me and I’ll show you what we have planned. And if you think of anything we’ve forgotten, please chime in.”
“I’d love to see,” Drew said, looking over the house once more. “But it’s really Nick you should talk to about plans. He’s quite keen on electrical systems and furnaces and drains and that.”
“Pity he couldn’t have come up with you two.” Beaky put the car into gear and pulled back onto the road. “I’d like to have seen him.”
“Oh, I expect he’ll be up here sometime or another. When he is, the three of us will have a good long chat about school and how glad we are that we’re not there anymore.”
Beaky didn’t say anything else until they pulled up in front of the house. Madeline hurried inside, but Beaky was walking very slowly. Not wanting to get to the house quite yet, no doubt.
“Have you ever been too happy?” he said finally, still looking straight ahead. “Like you’ve been given something that’s outrageously more than you deserve, something you never dreamed you could ever have?”
“You mean Sabrina,” Drew said, and inside himself he prayed desperately that God would help him keep his mouth firmly shut on this particular subject.
“Sabrina.” The name was somehow glorious when Beaky said it, and for an instant his plain face was transformed into something vividly alive. Then he coughed and turned faintly red. “I just . . . I never thought I’d find anyone at all, much less someone like her.”
“I know what that’s like,” Drew told him, glad that, at least on this subject, he didn’t have to guard his words. “One meets so many girls, and then you meet one and all at once something just drops into place and you know that she’s the one for you. And it’s rather a miracle that she’ll have you at all.”
Beaky half smiled. “No. You think you know, but you really don’t. I’ve seen them, all the girls, simply throwing themselves at you. And why shouldn’t they?”
Murder on the Moor Page 4