Marsh Blood (The Endel Mysteries Book 2)

by Lucilla Andrews

  ‘Nonsense! Everyone wears boots in here. Please.’

  ‘Then I’d not mind a cup. No more. If I can’t eat my tea when I get home my wife’ll have something to say.’ David went for another cup. He returned before Walt produced the post he had brought for me. ‘Young Tom Gillon’s on our run again this week so I said to him you’d best leave all hers with me and I’ll see she gets it.’ He looked at David. ‘We don’t want no more postcards getting lost do we, sir? You heard about that one, madam?”

  ‘Yes.’ I explained it briefly to Renny. ‘I expect it may still turn up,’ I added.

  ‘I’ll be surprised if it does,’ said Walt placidly. ‘Not if it come when Tom done our run and he’s done the last two weeks. Courting he is and I’d not like to say where his mind is, but it’s not on his mail. I shouldn’t wonder if he handed it in the wrong house. Handed me the two for Mr Denver with mine this morning.’ His imperturbable blue gaze rested on my face. ‘I heard as he been over here this morning. And taken it hard.’

  I nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. Understandably.’

  ‘I heard. Nasty do. Mind you, the way that poor young lady drove it’ll be small wonder if it were just an accident. You’d not have caught me driving my sheep down any road when I knew she was due by.’

  We had all turned to him, but the men stayed silent. I had to ask, ‘Is ‒ is there some question that it wasn’t an accident?’

  ‘Not from what I read in my evening paper or saw on the news last night, madam. But seeing there’s been more uniforms up Astead Woods today than you could shake a stick at, I’d not like to say.’

  Renny leant forward. ‘Police searching the woods? Why?’

  ‘They’ve not said, sir. Least, not as I’ve heard. All I’ve heard is the tale this young lad told Sam Parker.’ Again, Walt looked straight at me. ‘You know Sam Parker, madam. Give him half a chance and he’s off.’

  ‘PC Parker, Renny, is our local cop in St Martin’s and an eager beaver.’

  Walt allowed himself one of his rare smiles. ‘PC Barlow, we call him, sir, if not to his face. Knows his job, mind. After he’d a word with this young lad, he’d a word with his duty-sergeant and who he had a word with I’d not like to say but it was after they fetched out the lads with their dogs.’

  I glanced at David. He was concentrating on a smoke ring.

  ‘Who’s the boy, Walt?’

  ‘Young Billy Adams, madam. You’d not know him. George Adams’s lad. Just the one George and his missus got. Astead folk they are and moved to one of the new council bungalows a mile back from Astead crossroads mainland side last year. George works as under-stockman up Astead Hall. Bit slow he is ‒ ninepence in the shilling ‒ but he knows his beasts. Young Billy’s ten and a sharp lad they say. Seems he was off school yesterday being just up from flu and the doctor said not back till next week and seeing it was fine he went up to play in the woods. Seems that about a mile up one of the Forestry Commission’s tracks in one of their clearings he sees this dark-blue Allegro parked empty.’ He nodded to me. ‘That’s right. Same as Mrs Denver’s. And being keen on cars, same as many a lad, he recognizes the make and fetches out his little book to jot the number as he collects car numbers. Then he don’t reckon no more to it till he sees the picture of Mrs Denver’s car in the evening paper one of the neighbours passes on to his dad, and says he seen it up the woods earlier. Old George being a bit slow didn’t reckon nothing to it, but when he gets to work this morning the lads are all talking about the accident so he ups and say what his Billy says. And the head stockman hears.’ Walt paused. ‘You’ll know him, madam. Steve Wattle. Younger brother of Ted, landlord of the Crown in St Martin’s. Sharp as they come is young Steve Wattle. He rings up Sam Parker seeing Mrs Denver come from his patch, Sam Parker gets on his motor-bike and runs over for a word with young Billy and the next thing the lads and their dogs are up Astead woods, but for why, I wouldn’t like to say.’

  I knew Walt. He meant wouldn’t, not couldn’t.

  Renny turned to me. ‘You said something the other night about Wattles in St Martin’s. I presume they must be related to our friend Harry?’

  ‘I expect so but I’m not sure. Walt, do you know the Harry Wattle from Harbour who works here?’

  Walt’s smile reappeared. ‘I should, madam, seeing his wife’s my wife’s second cousin. Mind you, their mums not been speaking for years, but we meets weddings, funerals, the like, and old Harry don’t let his womenfolk bother him and ‒ no offence, madam ‒ but no more do I. Harry’s all right for all he’s got a sharp tongue times, and there’s not much he don’t know about wildfowling as you’ll maybe have noticed, sir?’

  ‘Indeed, Mr Ames, indeed. Most interesting,’ reflected Renny.

  David had decided he was a fly on the wall. A chainsmoking fly with watchful eyes.

  Walt drained his cup. ‘That went down nicely. Ta. Best be off. If you can spare the minute, madam, you’ll like a word about the farm.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  I left with him and in the corridor asked quietly, ‘Anything wrong at the farm?’

  ‘Nah. Nicely. Same as up the house.’

  I waited as I knew I must. I had to wait until we were alone in the yard by his estate car. The coachlights were on and the dark air was much colder than last night.

  ‘You didn’t mind my fetching Mr Lofthouse over to you, madam?’

  I smiled with relief. ‘Not at all. I’m glad you did. It’s nice seeing him again.’

  He didn’t smile. ‘I heard as he had a bit of bad luck since he come over. Pity about his car.’

  I stiffened inwardly. ‘Yes. Hear from Harry?’ He nodded. ‘He tell you about Mr Lofthouse’s bathroom?’ Another nod. ‘And Mr Evans-Williams getting shot?’

  ‘That’s right. Real put out over that one is Harry.’

  ‘Poacher, Walt?’

  ‘Seemly, madam. But Harry don’t reckon he’ll have no more trouble that way and knowing old Harry I don’t reckon as he will. Anyone tries it on again and Harry’ll shoot first and ask his questions second and he don’t miss when he takes aim and there’s more than the one as knows it. But that Mr Lofthouse best watch hisself, hadn’t he?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Just thinking of my wife,’ he replied calmly. ‘Got to be a third, she’d say. Always goes in threes. Mind you, I’d say Mr Lofthouse knows how to watch for hisself. Thirteen pence in the shilling he is, I reckon, and all right for all he’s a foreigner. But, if you’ll pardon the liberty, madam, same as I said about Tom Gillon ‒ when a young man’s courting he don’t always keep his mind where he should. You’ll not mind my saying that, madam?’

  He had used an unnecessary word in that last query. I wished to God I didn’t know what it was, or him so well. ‘You know how I’ll take it, Walt.’

  He nodded, but he hadn’t finished. He took his tweed cap out of a pocket and smoothed it between his strong, rough hands. ‘I was real sorry for you over Mrs Denver. I know as you and she were friendly and you’d be real upset, but you’d best know, madam, there’s talk.’

  I couldn’t and didn’t pretend to be surprised. ‘About her death?’

  ‘And her carryings on. Don’t do to speak unkind of the dead, but you don’t need me to tell you what’s being said. That young lady been asking for trouble for a long time. Too long many’d say. No offence, madam, seeing she was your friend, but done more than a bit of harm she did, though I’ll say this for her ‒ I never reckoned she’d the sense to know harm when she saw it. But when you start up harm, it don’t always stop easy, and to my way of thinking,’ he added very deliberately, ‘some of the harm she started won’t stop yet awhile.’

  I leant against his car for support. ‘Do the police now think she was murdered, Walt?’

  ‘Like I said, they’ve not said what they think. But police time costs money. They’re not having a day up the woods for an accident three miles off on the Ditch road just to give the dogs a run.’

&
nbsp; ‘No. Have ‒ have they heard the talk?’

  ‘If not, they’ve got cloth ears ‒ and I’ve never heard as Sam Parker’s hard of hearing. Some say it’s a pity Cliffhill’s not his patch.’

  ‘Someone from Cliffhill’s involved?’ I queried carefully.

  ‘No names no pack drill, madam, like we used to say when I was in the army, but I reckon I could put a name to the lad in Sam’s mind. Ah well. Best be off.’ He slapped on his cap and sniffed the air. ‘Don’t much like the smell of that sea neither.’ He got into his car. ‘’Evening, madam.’

  ‘’Evening, Walt. Thank you for coming over. Please give my regards to Mrs Walt.’

  ‘I’ll tell her.’ He touched his cap and drove off looking as solid and unemotional as the sea wall and leaving me as taut as an overstrung violin.

  I needed to be alone and to do some hard thinking. I wasn’t going to get the chance for either in the yard. One car had already drawn up to wait for Walt’s to move off the bridge and the lights of two others were slowing behind it. I went in quickly, intending to collect my post from the lounge and use it as an excuse for retreating upstairs to deal with it. Renny’s interest in Walt delayed me. ‘David’s been telling me he’s your farm manager and worked his way up from being the lad who brought out the jugs of cider to the reapers at harvest. Incredible to think only forty years ago the most mechanized agricultural system in the world still reaped by hand. Looks a good, sound man.’

  ‘He is. I’m lucky to have him.’

  ‘Hallo people!’ Angie sailed in shedding gloves, a scarlet and black cape and parcels as the leaves in autumn. ‘I did some super shopping while Johnnie saw his builder chum and Renny, sweetie, I’ve brought you the most fabulous cashmere sweater and ‒’ She was interrupted by an ecstatic, deep-throated East Anglian bellow from the hall.

  ‘Stone me! I won twenty-five quid on old Ernie!’

  Two minutes later we were all corralled into the celebration party that started in the bar, paused briefly for dinner, and returned to the bar once the coffee we all had in the dining room was finished. It was a good party, even though I had too much on my mind to enjoy it. David seemed to enjoy every moment. He kept insisting on standing rounds, which allowed me to hold back without offending our official hosts, and, as possibly I alone noticed, allowed him to control his own drinks. His control was not apparent.

  I had the impression Renny was no more enjoying himself than I was, but was glad of the party for Angie’s sake. Renny sat around sipping soda water, smiling and answering pleasantly when addressed, and otherwise relapsing into a preoccupied silence. He was as amused as the rest of us when David, swaying slightly, assumed an Oxbridge accent to suggest, ‘I say, chaps, shouldn’t we charge our glasses again? Down the hatch, chaps!’

  Linda McCabe giggled, ‘David, you can mimic nearly as well as Angie!’

  Angie leapt off a bar stool to take the floor. ‘Oh aye, lad? Happen tha’s in t’wrong trade!’ she quipped in broad Yorkshire.

  David clapped his hands ‘Bloody good lass! Do some more!’

  Angie was an extrovert in tremendous form and she had had a lot of gin. She mimicked Linda, myself, Mrs Evans-Williams who was behind the bar with Trevor, and then a row of television female personalities and she did it brilliantly. The only problem was that, once started, she was unstoppable. I noticed Nick glancing rather anxiously at Renny and his watch. Linda moved closer to me. ‘Can I have some of your chips, Rose?’ As I passed them, murmured, ‘Nick thinks it’s time we broke this up. Renny’s awfully tired. Back us?’ I nodded. ‘Thanks.’ She moved back to her husband.

  It was after the next outburst of applause that Nick slapped a hand on two of the farmers’ shoulders. ‘This has been a real great party, guys, but as we all have to be up early I guess this is where we should call it off.’

  ‘Sweetie, no! Don’t be such a wet blanket!’ Angie flung both arms round Nick’s neck and pulled him from the farmers. ‘Let your hair down for once, sweetie! Have fun! You can’t leave us yet!’

  I had caught David’s eye and very slight nod. I stood up. ‘Angie, I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I’m another wet blanket ‒’

  ‘You and me both, love.’ David staggered over and steadied himself with an arm round my shoulders. ‘You be my blanket’ ‒ his speech was slurring and smile idiotic ‒ ‘and I’ll be yours.’

  I smiled sweetly. ‘Don’t kid yourself, chum. Sloshed you may be. In my bed you won’t be. I’ll get you up to yours but I’m not sleeping with a bottle of whisky.’

  ‘My pal ‒ my pal ‒’ He kissed my cheek. ‘She’ll put me to bed ‒ always putting me to bed in another room.’

  ‘That’s what friends are for,’ I observed to the others.

  Even Mrs Evans-Williams joined in the laughter. ‘Those two are such old friends,’ she remarked to no one in particular, ‘grew up together I believe.’

  I had still not sorted out which of the farmers had won the twenty-five pounds or their first names as either they were all called Bob or they answered to it. They had drunk the winnings and probably their weight in beer, and at each pint had grown more amiable and amorous. I was glad to have David draped round me for several reasons that included the fact that his breath wasn’t inflammable. It took a little longer before we could get away, and it was Renny who finally made it possible.

  He rose apologetically. ‘It’s been grand, chaps, but do forgive me for backing out now as I’m due for my next jab. If I don’t have it you’ll be picking me off the floor first.’

  ‘Renny, sweetie, I’d forgotten!’ Angie was all concern. ‘No, you mustn’t be late for your jab. I’ll come up with you.’

  ‘No need for that, my dear.’

  ‘Surely not,’ put in Nick. ‘You stay right here and have yourself a great time, honey. Linda and I will go on up and be right there should Renny require us.’

  ‘You stay along of us!’ chorused the farmers. ‘You’re a great girl, Angie! You stay along of us! Do us another turn ‒ go on ‒ more ‒ more ‒’

  The McCabes and Renny disappeared as they were near the hall door. Angie twirled round on David and me. She hitched back her hair, and smiled at me with her huge eyes glittering with gin, laughter and something akin to triumph. ‘Isn’t it just too bad that you don’t like whisky bottles and have to sleep alone, chum?’ she teased in my voice.

  David grinned drunkenly and I yelped with laughter. ‘How right you are, Angie! I must put this one to bed. Thanks for the party, guys. It’s been terrific.’

  Johnnie had vanished for most of the evening. He was back in the hall when at last we got out. ‘Hope it hasn’t been too rowdy for you, Mrs D. They’re good chaps. I’ll pack ’em off shortly. I won’t let them disturb your sleep.’ He smiled at David who was now steadying himself on the counter. ‘You’ll sleep well, old chap.’

  David touched his forehead with one forefinger. ‘Safe bet, gaffer! Where’s me prop?’

  ‘Here, duckie.’ I hauled his arm back over my shoulders. ‘Just put one foot in front of the other. That’s the boy! Now the stairs. Up we go.’

  Johnnie called quietly. ‘Can you manage him?’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ I called back before David’s hand gripped my shoulder. ‘I’m used to this of old.’

  We were almost at the landing before David murmured, ‘I’ll sue you for bloody libel.’

  ‘Slander.’

  The McCabes and Renny had vanished but as we passed the latter’s door he opened it. ‘Rose ‒ oh ‒ yes ‒ I’ll wait till you get him into his room. Want some help?’

  ‘No, thanks. He’s harmless.’

  Renny smiled rather curiously and retreated into his room, and closed the door. David gave me a remarkably sober look. ‘Your room,’ he breathed.

  Directly we were in my room he disentangled himself. ‘If he asks say I needed your bathroom. If he doesn’t, say nowt.’

  I stared at him momentarily, then nodded.

  Renny came out of hi
s room immediately I opened the fire doors. He looked back at the empty passage before he spoke. ‘Rose, I’m sorry to bother you at this late hour, but I rather want a little private chat with you. This seems as good a moment as any. Would you object to my coming along to your room in a couple of minutes after I’ve had my jab?’

  I was very curious. ‘Of course not. I’ll be up.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I went back to my room. David, looking dead sober, was thoughtfully combing his wet hair at my dressing-table. ‘What does he want?’

  I told him. ‘You must get out. He said private.’

  ‘I’ll stay in your bathroom with the light off.’

  I sat on the edge of the spare bed. ‘Why the big drunk scene?’

  ‘When in Rome.’ He came and sat by me. ‘Walt tell you anything you didn’t know when you got him outside?’

  I hesitated, then shook my head. ‘Not really. Tell you later. He’ll be here any moment.’

  ‘May as well start it now. I’ll hear him open his door and shift fast.’

  I had time to tell him everything Walt said about Sue and Harry. I hesitated again, then added, ‘He thinks you should watch out you don’t collect a third.’

  ‘Does he?’ He looked at his watch. ‘Renny’s taking his time.’ He suddenly tilted his head to listen. ‘You may have to wait longer. Sounds like Angie tripping along.’

  ‘I can hardly hear anything above the voices downstairs.’

  ‘Why worry with Big Ears Lofthouse on hand?’

  It wasn’t my hearing that worried me. I was thinking about Walt and David’s drunk scene. ‘Why when in Rome?’ I began as the first anguished hysterical scream ripped through the walls. It was followed immediately by running footsteps and doors opening and slamming. I would have leapt for my door had David not grabbed me with both hands. ‘I’m stoned out of my mind. I’ve flaked out on this bed and you refuse to add to anyone’s problems by shifting me over the road tonight. Understand?’ he insisted curtly. ‘No arguments!’

  ‘Why the hell ‒?’ I tried to free myself. ‘Something’s happened ‒’