While Delilah was welcomed into the Hardacre home joyfully, Samson stood to one side, taking in the room and overcome with nostalgia for Twistleton Farm. Farming calendars on the wall, copies of Farmers Weekly stacked on an armchair under a pile of magazines – most notably the Dalesman and Yorkshire Life – a sideboard groaning under sporting trophies and souvenirs from snatched holidays away, the smell of fresh baking coming from the stove and an overall air of homeliness. It was a room well lived in.
‘Sit, if tha’s staying.’ Tom was pulling out a chair at the table, gruffly gesturing Samson towards it.
‘Yes, do sit in, Samson,’ Mrs Hardacre added with more warmth than her husband. ‘You too, Delilah.’
They all settled around the pine table, Tolpuddle making himself at home on a rug in front of the fire, and Samson waited patiently while the Hardacres caught up with the news from the farm up on the fells above Bruncliffe, where Delilah had been raised and Will now farmed. Cattle auctions. The price of sheep. The weather. The increase in rural crime. All this had to be discussed over a cup of tea and thick slices of fruitcake before the true purpose of their visit could be embarked upon. Samson knew there was no point in fretting about the passing time; it was how things were done in the Dales.
‘So,’ said Tom after a good twenty minutes of catch-up. ‘Tha didn’t come out here for farming chat.’ He looked pointedly at Samson.
‘No,’ said Delilah. ‘We’re working on a case for Matty Thistlethwaite. We’ve got a few questions we’d like to ask you.’
‘Matty? Is it about Marian’s will?’ Mrs Hardacre looked out of the window and up at the fellside at the back of the farmhouse, in the direction of the quarry. ‘We heard there was a problem with Livvy’s death certificate.’
‘Aye, poor Jimmy was down here last week, fair unsettled by it all,’ added Tom, a stern gaze in Samson’s direction insinuating that he was the cause.
‘I’m sure it’s just a formality, Mr Hardacre,’ said Samson. ‘We’re doing all we can to sort it.’
‘So what does tha want to know?’
‘We’re trying to piece together a picture of Livvy’s life here in Bruncliffe before she left—’
‘What’s that to do with a piece of paper?’ the farmer demanded brusquely.
‘Thing is, Tom,’ Delilah intervened, ‘we’ve hit a bit of a dead end with the official route. You know how it is with these bureaucrats.’
‘They’d drown a body in paperwork,’ he grumbled in agreement. ‘Nowt but making work for decent folk.’
‘Exactly. So we thought we’d find out a bit more about Livvy, try and trace her movements and see if we can’t sort all this out for Jimmy that way.’
‘I still don’t see how we can help,’ said Mrs Hardacre.
Delilah turned to her. ‘You were the Thornton’s nearest neighbours. We were wondering if you could tell us anything about why Livvy left Bruncliffe in the first place.’
The glance between husband and wife was that of a couple who’d spent their married lives living and working alongside each other. There was no need for words for them to communicate.
‘Not sure we can help,’ Tom Hardacre said firmly. Lips closing shut once he’d said his piece. His wife was toying with the teaspoon on her saucer.
‘We’re not after gossip.’ Samson looked at them both. ‘What you tell us will go no further than this room. But it could help Jimmy move on. He can’t even clear the house out until the will is settled. And it won’t get settled if we can’t find that paperwork.’
Another glance between man and wife.
‘We don’t know for sure why Livvy left,’ said Mrs Hardacre.
‘But if you had to guess?’ asked Samson.
‘Carl Thornton.’
‘She didn’t get on with her father?’
‘Wasn’t much of a father, by my reckoning,’ grunted Tom.
‘Tom!’ his wife rebuked him gently, before expanding on her answer. ‘Carl and Livvy clashed a lot. Over lots of things.’
‘And the day she left? Do you know if they argued then?’
This time Tom Hardacre and his wife turned to each other and Samson sensed a hesitation. He’d seen it before. Usually in witnesses who were sure they’d seen something incriminating but were afraid to say it out loud in case they were mistaken; in case they wrongly accused someone.
‘It’s okay. Whatever you know, it won’t get anyone into trouble,’ promised Samson.
‘Go on, Tom,’ his wife urged softly. ‘Tell them.’
Tom Hardacre gave a deep sigh. ‘Lambing had started,’ he said, staring at his hands as he recalled the past. ‘A bit early that year as we normally hold back until March, but we had a few arrive in mid-February. A couple of them were needing care so we were busy, as tha’d expect, and glad to have young Jimmy helping us out, it being half-term.’
‘He was always down here,’ said Mrs Hardacre with a smile, gesturing towards the copse of trees beyond the yard. ‘That track back there was well used. And he was already a hard worker, for such a nipper.’
‘So at the end of this particular day,’ continued Tom, ‘I walked him home, up through the woods. It would have been about six, dark out, and I know I hadn’t had my tea as my stomach was fair rumbling. Jimmy’s, too. We were halfway up the fell when we heard a shotgun.’
‘From the Thorntons’ place?’ asked Samson.
Tom shrugged. ‘Hard to say at that point. Shotguns aren’t exactly uncommon in these parts. I didn’t think much of it until we got to the house, as Jimmy was prattling on about Leeds United and some Frenchman they’d just signed.’ He sighed again at the memory. ‘Poor lad. He was high as a kite. Leeds were in with a chance of winning the league and for Jimmy, life was perfect. By the end of the season he’d have lost his sister and his father – and his interest in football.’
‘So what happened when you got to the house?’ prompted Delilah gently.
‘It was odd, straight off. Lights on upstairs and down like it was Christmas. And when I knocked on the kitchen door it took an age before it was opened, and then only a crack, big enough to let Jimmy in.’
‘Was it Carl at the door?’
‘No. Marian. A red welt under one eye, though she was twisting her head so I couldn’t see it properly. She didn’t invite me in like she would do normally. Just pulled Jimmy inside, thanked me and shut the door.’ Tom Hardacre was shaking his head, the memory upsetting him even now. ‘I should have kicked the door down and gone and throttled him,’ he growled.
‘Tom, love,’ his wife said, laying a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t get worked up. There was nothing you could have done.’
‘Carl was beating her?’ asked Delilah.
Mrs Hardacre nodded. ‘We suspected it. But that was the first time there was any evidence.’
‘You didn’t see him at the house that night?’ Samson asked.
‘No sign of him,’ muttered Tom. ‘Apart from a strong smell of gunpowder.’
‘In the house?’
‘Definitely. When Marian opened the door, I caught it straight away. Like bad eggs.’
‘So you’re saying Carl Thornton fired the shotgun in the house?’ Samson asked again in disbelief.
‘Someone fired it. I’ve no knowledge as to who. Or why.’
16
In the wake of Tom Hardacre’s story, silence fell across the table, finally broken by Mrs Hardacre rising to place the kettle back on the stove.
‘Tea,’ she said briskly. ‘We need more tea.’
‘And you’re sure this happened around the time Livvy left for Leeds?’ Delilah asked Tom as Mrs Hardacre bustled around the kitchen.
‘Certain. It was the night before. I know, because the next day Jimmy came down in floods of tears. His mother had put him straight up to bed after I left, and in the morning when he got up, Livvy was gone.’
‘She didn’t even wait to say goodbye?’
‘Nope. He never saw her again.’
‘So whatever happened the night y
ou walked Jimmy home, that was the catalyst for Livvy leaving,’ Samson mused.
‘It seems that way.’
‘And it involved a shotgun,’ added Delilah.
‘Did you ever ask Mrs Thornton about it?’ asked Samson.
‘I tried,’ said Tom, wearily. ‘She wouldn’t have any of it. Walked away when I broached the subject of Carl hitting her. In hindsight, it probably would have been best to let Annie talk to her.’ He nodded towards his wife. ‘Probably would have been better coming from a woman.’
‘To be fair to Tom, he did his best,’ Annie Hardacre said from over by the stove. ‘But Marian wasn’t the kind of woman you’d talk to about stuff like that. She wasn’t one for opening up.’
‘Aye. She could be a bit odd, could Marian,’ agreed Tom.
‘In what way?’ Samson caught the look between husband and wife, and the slight nod Annie gave. But this time Tom stayed silent.
Annie sighed. ‘I’ll tell them, then.’ She turned to Delilah and Samson. ‘The following May, when Livvy had been in Leeds a good three months or so, Tom was up to the house. Jimmy had asked us to fetch him some chicks from the feather auction at Skipton, so Tom went up to the quarry to make sure Marian knew about it. We didn’t want her landed with hens out of the blue. Anyroad, when he got to the door, he knocked and then just went in, like we do round here. Next thing there’s a clattering on the stairs and down comes Marian, all flustered.’ Annie looked at her husband fondly. ‘Tom thought she was having an affair.’
‘That’s how it seemed,’ Tom admitted, breaking his silence and running a hand over his thick brush of white hair. ‘I asked about the chicks and Marian agreed, and then she near as much kicked me out. Couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.’
‘Was she? Having an affair?’ asked Delilah, incredulous, having trouble picturing the demure Mrs Thornton in the throes of passion.
Tom shook his head. ‘No lass. As I walked away, a bit disgruntled like, I heard someone singing. Beautiful singing coming from the house.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘Turned my mood right round. I came home and said to Annie it was worth the trek up there just for that.’
‘Livvy?’ asked Samson.
‘Aye. A week later, she was dead.’ The farmer picked up his mug, clearly not planning on elaborating any further.
‘But that wasn’t all,’ said Annie, taking up the tale. ‘At the memorial service down at the church, Tom and I went up to talk to the Thorntons. Carl Thornton was all red-eyed and teary. Marian was like a piece of marble, white with shock. And Tom put his foot in it.’
‘How was I to know?’ retorted her husband.
‘What did you do?’ asked Delilah.
‘I made the mistake of saying how fortunate it was that Livvy had come home the week before she died. How that must have been a consolation for them.’ Tom looked at Samson, the puzzlement of two decades ago still on his face. ‘Marian said she didn’t know what I was talking about. Livvy hadn’t been home since February.’
‘And you’re certain it was Livvy you heard?’ Samson asked.
‘I’d bet my bloody life on it.’
‘So Marian lied,’ mused Delilah. ‘Why would she lie about her daughter being home?’
‘To protect her,’ said Samson, ‘from her father.’
Tom Hardacre shifted uncomfortably on his chair. ‘Time I was getting out and giving Oscar a hand.’
‘We’ll come with you,’ said Delilah. ‘We can ask Oscar about Livvy while we’re out there.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that!’ said Annie Hardacre, getting to her feet. ‘Oscar’s not too keen on that topic.’
‘Why not?’ Delilah asked, the picture of innocence.
Annie shot a glance at Tom and then looked out towards the barn. ‘She broke his heart,’ she said softly.
Tom snorted. ‘Perhaps he should have aimed a little lower,’ he grunted.
‘He couldn’t help it,’ said Annie, quick to defend her son. ‘Livvy was like that, you know, she entranced everyone around here. Oscar just fell harder than most, that’s all.’
‘Were they seeing each other?’ asked Delilah, keeping up the pretence of being in the dark when it came to Oscar and Livvy.
‘No, nothing like that—’
‘He mooned over her,’ interrupted Tom. ‘Made a fool of himself, traipsing up and down that wretched path to the quarry. Waiting for her outside the salon. Livvy was never anything but kind to him. But he took it to mean more.’
‘He must have been distraught when she told him she was leaving,’ said Delilah.
Annie Hardacre sighed. ‘That was the problem. She didn’t tell him. He found out from Mrs Walker that Livvy had gone to Leeds. He wasn’t best pleased.’
‘And we lost the best worker we had because of it,’ muttered Tom, rising from his chair and heading for the porch.
‘That’s why Jimmy Thornton stopped working for you?’ Samson asked.
‘Aye, lad.’ Tom was pulling on his coat. ‘There was bad blood ’twixt the two of them ever since the day Livvy left. And if I don’t get out in that barn and give Oscar a hand with them two yows about to lamb, there’ll be bad blood ’twixt father and son, too. Give my regards to tha folks, Delilah.’
The back door slammed, waking a snoozing Tolpuddle on the hearth, and Tom Hardacre could be seen walking across the yard towards the barn.
‘Sorry,’ said Annie. ‘The past is a bit of a tender subject around here.’
Delilah reached out and laid a hand on the older woman’s arm, a warm smile on her face. ‘Thanks for your time,’ she said. ‘We appreciate your help. And I’m sure Jimmy will, too.’
‘Speaking of help,’ Annie began, twisting the edges of the apron she was wearing between nervous fingers and shooting an uncomfortable glance at Samson. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Delilah.’
Sensing Mrs Hardacre didn’t want him privy to whatever it was she was about to ask, Samson roused Tolpuddle from his cosy spot and led him to the door. ‘We’ll head outside,’ he said.
Annie waited until the door closed before continuing. ‘It’s about that dating agency of yours,’ she said, cheeks going pink.
‘You’re not thinking of leaving Tom?’ asked Delilah with a laugh.
‘Lord, no!’ Annie laughed in return. ‘No. It’s not for me. It’s for Oscar. He’s forty in a couple of months and still single.’ She shrugged. ‘There’s never really been anyone in his life. Not properly. And working on a farm isn’t exactly going to help his chances of meeting the right woman. I just thought . . .’
‘Do you want me to have a word with him? See if I can persuade him to join up?’
‘Would you?’ The words came out in a rush of relief. ‘I think it would do him the world of good. But if I suggest it . . .’
‘I understand. Men can be delicate about dating,’ Delilah said with a grin. ‘They like to think they have everything under control. That they don’t need any help.’
Annie laughed. ‘Exactly. And certainly not a mother’s help. But if you could persuade him . . . It would be lovely to think he wouldn’t have to go through the rest of his life alone.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Delilah, looking out across the yard to see Samson approaching a sullen Oscar Hardacre. She wondered if she’d just accepted another mission that would prove to be impossible.
‘I’ve nowt to say on the subject. Now bugger off! We’ve work for doing.’
A simple enquiry about Livvy Thornton had provoked the sharp response Oscar’s mother had predicted, and Samson wasn’t about to argue. Not with the solid block of muscle that was the younger Hardacre.
‘Sorry to have bothered you,’ he said, turning to lead a sleepy Tolpuddle across the farmyard where a bitter wind was blowing, the sky dark with the threat of snow. The plaintive bleating of tiny lambs echoed between the buildings.
‘Can’t say Annie didn’t warn thee,’ muttered Tom Hardacre, accompanying them to the car under the baleful stare of his son
standing in the doorway of the barn.
‘It was worth a try,’ said Samson.
It was always worth a try. Years of police work had taught him that. It had also taught him not to push too hard when faced with the brooding anger of a man like Oscar Hardacre.
‘Hopefully us older folk were of some help at any rate?’
‘Definitely,’ said Samson, holding out a hand. ‘Thanks for being so honest.’
The farmer shook the proffered hand, reassessing the detective. ‘Aye. Maybe I was wrong about thee, O’Brien. Seems like tha’s trying to do right by Jimmy, and that’s right by me. Let me know if I can help with anything else.’
Samson nodded, feeling ridiculously touched by the farmer’s change of heart.
‘And take care of this one,’ Tom added, gesturing towards Delilah as she joined them. ‘She’s a keeper.’
‘Oh, we’re not – I mean, she’s not . . .’ Samson stuttered while Delilah busied herself with getting Tolpuddle into the rear of the Micra, her cheeks pink.
Tom laughed. ‘Aye, lad. Of course not.’ He turned to go back into the barn, still chuckling.
‘Oh, one more thing,’ said Samson, the farmer pausing in the doorway next to his son. ‘Red, Livvy’s collie. I forgot to ask – do either of you remember what happened to him?’
Oscar Hardacre scowled and walked off out of sight, leaving Tom rubbing his head, hair sticking up like wayward thatch. ‘Red?’ the farmer muttered. ‘Haven’t thought of him in years. Gorgeous dog.’
‘Do you know if he went to Leeds with Livvy?’
‘Can’t say I ever asked. But he must have.’
‘What makes you say that?’
Tom grinned. ‘Ask the postie. Red was a good dog but if anyone came to the door, he went berserk. Very protective of Livvy, he was. Once she left, there was never any barking at the Thorntons’ place.’
‘Thanks again,’ said Samson.
Tom just nodded and continued on into the barn.
‘Did you get anything out of Oscar?’ asked Delilah as they got into the car.
‘Nothing. Apart from a suggestion that we vacate the premises, expressed in Bruncliffe dialect.’
Delilah laughed. ‘So where next? A talk with Jimmy Thornton?’
Date with Mystery Page 19