by Shaun Baines
“So, what? He’s a good guy.”
“Do you think Arnold Salting would know a detail like that?”
“He’s from Crockfoot. He doesn’t know his partridge from his pear tree.”
“Exactly, which makes me think it was someone else. Someone who knows Reverend Applecroft, possibly the same person who knows Little Belton has a terrible internet connection and went to Crockfoot to email Mr Winnow.”
Callum’s face twisted into a sneer. “They’re from the village? No way. That’s awful.”
“I don’t want to believe it, but with the Masterlys involved, who knows? People are hurting and money talks.”
Opening the jeep door, Callum looked over his shoulder at Holly. “Even if you’re right, what did they actually achieve?”
He slipped off his jacket, preparing to throw it on top of the hessian sack. The jacket never left his hand and his mouth dropped open.
“Ah, that’s what Arnold was doing,” he said, staring at the space where the sack used to be. “He followed us here. He’s taken the bloody bulbs.”
Chapter Thirty-One
They drove through the centre of Little Belton. A silence hung over them like a cobweb. Holly and Callum were fearful of disturbing it. To do so would start an argument and anxiety levels were already high.
Callum rarely locked the Defender. Little Belton wasn’t that kind of place, but Holly clearly remembered her words to him when they discovered the corms. That they were dangerous. That they were valuable. Two important reasons to lock the damn jeep.
They passed the Masterlys’ media hub. Residents dropped in and out, going in empty-handed and leaving with a plastic glass of booze. On the other side of the green, Big Gregg hovered by his open door, his damp bar cloth over a broad shoulder.
“The Masterlys are winning,” Holly said. “Big Gregg will be bankrupt soon and then they’ll target someone else. Maybe the Winnows. Maybe you.”
“I’ve got nothing for them to take,” Callum said.
Holly breathed on the passenger window, misting it up. She drew a cross, watching droplets of water roll down the glass like tears.
“The Masterlys enjoy playing with us,” she said.
“What do you mean?” Callum asked.
Holly recounted her meeting with Mrs Masterly in the Herald’s offices, though she omitted the fact she’d been caught snooping around Old Jack’s office. Or the embarrassing comparisons made between Mrs Masterly’s expensive handbag and her own.
“Why else would she be there?” Holly asked. “Other than to watch my face fall when I hear about the appeal process?”
Callum pursed his lips and placed a heavy foot on the accelerator.
Clearing the houses of Little Belton and approaching the estate, Callum lunged down a side track cutting through a green verge of ferns. Their fronds brushed the side of the Defender, wiping dirt from its flanks as they went.
“Where are we going?” Holly asked.
Callum stopped by a beck where clear water bubbled over glassy stones. The water sounded like ringing bells as it headed toward the sea. Climbing from the Defender, Callum cupped his hand under the surface, allowing the water to pour from his fingers.
“The deer come here to drink,” he said, pointing to a trail. “Their track marks look like arrows.”
Stumbling on the cobbled shore, Holly stared at the ground. It had been whipped into a muddy meringue. If there were hoof marks there, Holly couldn’t see them.
“Come on,” Callum said, wading through the water and marching ahead. “We need to find them.”
Within moments, he was a figure in the distance, weaving in and out of the landscape.
Holly’s walking boots weren’t waterproof, something she’d learned the hard way. The beck was three feet wide. The only way over was to jump and Holly reared up, preparing to launch. After a whispered countdown, she made a run for it, leaping over the water, clearing it easily.
But the deer’s trail wasn’t a sturdy landing pad and her feet slipped out from under her. Holly squealed, pitching forward into the mud. It splashed up in a wave, coating her in a brown film smelling of deer droppings.
Dragging herself along, Holly used ferns as a hand-hold. She didn’t want Callum to see her prostrate again. It would be further confirmation she wasn’t as outdoorsy as the rest of Little Belton. The mud gave way to a patch of grass and she clawed herself upright.
Callum was a speck on the horizon, but she caught up, surprised to find his face and clothes caked in mud.
He gave her an admiring glance. “Well done.”
“I’m not as unfit as I look, you know?”
“No, I mean, you used earth to hide your scent from the animals. I didn’t think you’d know how to do that.”
Holly brushed muddy hair from her face and straightened her clothes. “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? I didn’t want to give my position away.”
“The deer are on the other side of these conifers,” Callum said, placing a finger over his lips.
“Wait,” Holly said. “What are we doing here?”
Callum crept under the branches of the forest with Holly holding her breath behind him. The floor was carpeted in brown pine needles. It was springy beneath her feet, but Holly had no intention of falling again. She had got away with it once, but twice would be pushing it. The light died and they trudged in silence until Holly saw flashes of a meadow through gaps in the trees.
“I planted that,” Callum whispered.
The grasses were a foot high, flecked with blue flowers, like Christmas baubles hanging on tiny trees. They danced in the breeze, swaying to the inaudible music of the wilderness. Through the blue came ribbons of pink, the petals of the flowers so fine the sun shone straight through them.
Standing in the middle of the meadow, their heads held to the sun, was a herd of deer.
Callum hunkered on his knees, gesturing for Holly to do the same.
“There’s too many of them,” he said. “They’re over-running the estate.”
“They’re beautiful,” Holly said, her fingers covering her mouth.
“They’re destructive. They’ll devour this meadow and then move to someplace else.”
“What will you do?” Holly asked, remembering Callum’s rifle and his readiness to use it.
“Nothing without Mr Masterly’s say-so. The shooting season is almost done. These deer are safe for now.”
“But how can you shoot them?” Holly asked. “They’re so majestic.”
Callum ran his finger through a pile of pine needles, disturbing a sleeping beetle. He picked it up, allowing it to run over his hand as he studied it. “It’s my job and it’s not always easy. I do it because I care for them. They’d eat everything in their path if I let them and then they’d starve or become diseased. It’s my job to protect them from that.”
He lowered his hand and the beetle scurried for cover.
“I never thought about it like that,” Holly said.
“It’s how this place works,” Callum said. “I told you, we all look after each other here, except I’m not holding up my side of the bargain. It’s my job to cull them, to control their numbers so they don’t damage the estate.”
“There’s hundreds of them,” Holly said.
Callum glanced at the ground. “I can go weeks without seeing another person. Sometimes, these deer are all the company I have.”
Holly understood Callum’s reluctance to cull them. Although her two jobs were exhausting, she was glad of the people it brought her into contact with.
The herd shifted as one, a few steps, a nervous pause, their tales flicking left to right.
“They must be able to smell us,” Callum said.
A large stag forced its way to the front. It was the same height as Holly, but its body was broad and littered with welts. Its muscles worked like pistons moving under its fur.
“That’s who we’ve come to see,” Callum said. “That’s Star.”
There was something about the stag’s august stature that felt familiar to Holly and she remembered her encounter on the journey home the night she knocked over the bird. It was the same deer. Holly was sure of it. She recalled the cross shaped mark on his chest.
Follow the Star, she thought.
Holly looked at Callum, but he was pointing at the stag. “You see that scar on his chest? That’s where he gets his name from. He was my first ever shoot. My Dad took me out and it was a perfect hit to the heart. It should have killed him, but he stood back up. I went to try again, but Dad stopped me. He said, an animal that strong should be left to pass on his genes to the rest of the herd. We made sure he was okay, that he wasn’t suffering and he’s been my friend ever since.”
“If that’s how you make friends, I’m not surprised you live alone.”
Star headed in their direction. He sniffed the air, his head raised like a king about to address his subjects.
“He’s never come this close before,” Callum said, grinning like an excited schoolboy.
“Maybe that’s because you shot him,” Holly said.
“He’s old and suffering,” Callum said. “I should have dealt with him this year.”
Holly swallowed. “Dealt with him?”
“It would be kinder, better for the herd if I did my job properly, but he’s been in my life longer than anyone else. I can’t finish him now. Truth is, I can’t kill any of them. I’ve not had the stomach for it since my Dad died.”
“Do you think the person who sent the note knew that?”
Callum scratched at his temple. “Maybe this is the Star we were meant to be follow. He wanders every inch of the estate. He could lead us somewhere.”
The stag skirted the outside of the trees, casting a shadow darker than the forest. Holly heard him breathing, saw the moisture misting from his nostrils.
Star looked at her. His eyes were dark, almost human, asking silent questions of her.
Was she a friend or foe? An ally or a threat?
Later, when she was home, listening to her husband snoring beside her, she would swear Callum had reacted before the gunshot. In her memory, he was already rising from the ground when the crack split the air. The herd scattered, kicking out their hind legs as they ran. She remembered thinking – who would be stupid enough to release a firework so close to these beautiful animals?
It was the pain in Callum’s face that had awoken her to reality. He stood there, his mouth misshapen with panic. He took a few steps forward and seemed to come to his senses, returning to bundle Holly to the ground. The wind was knocked from her lungs and she gasped, but Callum refused to move. Lying on her back, she felt his heart hammer against her own. Holly wriggled free enough to keep watch on the meadow, staring at Star stumbling through the grass. He fell. He got back up. He fell again.
Star’s previous wound was masked in fresh blood. Like Holly, he was struggling to breathe. His eyes searched her face. They were wide and frightened. His eyelids flickered closed and his chest rose for the last time.
And Holly swore she heard him cry.
Happy voices of congratulation filled the meadow. A knot tightened in her stomach when Holly recognised one of them. It had an American twang, a Californian drawl. Footsteps grew closer. Mr Masterly appeared with a group of men, his rifle cocked over his arm, the barrel still smoking.
They stood over Star’s body. A cigar was offered to a grinning Mr Masterly and Callum was no longer on top of her, no longer protecting her from gunshot.
He was racing toward Mr Masterly.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Holly chased after Callum, adrenaline driving her rubbery legs, but it wasn’t enough. He broke through the lining on the trees ahead of her, trampling through the flowers he’d planted.
The smile froze on Mr Masterly’s face, his smouldering cigar idling in his hand. The chorus of men behind him were dressed in tweed and wore green wellies to their knees. Each took a step back as Callum bolted toward them, but Mr Masterly stood firm.
“Cal, dude,” he said. “Just the man I was looking for.”
Holly emerged into the meadow, skidding to a halt at Star’s dead body.
There was no hesitation from Callum. He rounded on Mr Masterly, his right fist cutting through the air. Mr Masterly pivoted on his heel. His forearm shot upwards, protecting his head.
Callum’s fist connected, but landed no damage. He swung again, but Mr Masterly was ready. He crouched, his leg sweeping through Callum’s, his smile widening.
Crumpling, Callum fell onto his back, gasping.
“Stop it,” shouted Holly, but Callum jumped to his feet and leapt forward.
Mr Masterly slapped the attack away. He spun in a graceful arc and drove a fist into Callum’s stomach.
Once again, the gamekeeper crumpled to the ground. Holly rushed over, throwing defensive arms around him.
“Leave him alone,” Holly shouted.
“Jeet Kun Do, dude,” Mr Masterly said, tucking his fist into his other hand and bowing. “The way of Bruce Lee.”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Holly asked.
“Kicking ass,” one of the group said in an American accent, instigating a round of whoops from the others.
“I was showing my friends around the estate,” Mr Masterly said. “As no one has bothered with culling these deer, we thought we’d better start.”
“Shooting season is over,” Callum said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Almost over,” Mr Masterly said, “and it’s my right as the landowner to host a shoot.”
Callum stood, rubbing dirt off his clothes and went to Star’s side. His jaw was set. He blinked, once, twice and turned away.
Holly caught his eye and they looked at one another to the din of the American voices. For the first time since meeting him, Holly saw Callum’s true age. He was a young man alone in a life that had known isolation. His father was gone. Star had been taken. His shoulders weren’t strong enough to bear a grief so weighty.
“We’ll be okay,” Holly said, placing an arm around his waist.
“Will we?”
“How are your butchery skills, dude?” Mr Masterly said, shouting over from his friends. “I figure I’ve done your job by shooting that stag. The least you can do is make sure we have a venison dinner tonight.”
“Why are you doing this?” Holly asked Mr Masterly.
He mimed eating, using an invisible knife and fork to cut the air. “Tuck in. There’s enough for everyone.”
“People like you don’t share,” Callum said.
“I’ve been very generous with you,” Mr Masterly said, wagging his finger. “You run out of the forest like a mad dude and attack me. I didn’t make a thing of it. No one was hurt, after all, but you’re crossing a line here.”
A shadow passed over Callum’s face. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I’ve wanted to be part of something for so long that I turned a blind eye to what you were.”
“And what’s that?” Mr Masterly asked.
“Not fit to live in Black Rock Manor,” Callum said.
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Cal,” Mr Masterly said, turning to his friends. “No venison today, guys. Why don’t we fly to London for sushi? I own a great place there.”
Mr Masterly’s friends consented with a round of high-fives. None of them, including Mr Masterly, looked at Holly and Callum again. They marched to the Range Rover, chattering like monkeys.
“I’m not leaving Star to be picked apart by Black Eye Bobby,” Callum said. “I want to bury him.”
Holly didn’t say anything and followed him back through the trees to the Defender. They didn’t have any spades, but Callum’s cottage was only three miles away.
“I’ve got stuff at the house,” he said, mangling the steering wheel while he drove.
With the sun racing toward the horizon, Holly watched Callum from the corner of her eye. She steeled herself. There was no way she was going to allo
w the Masterlys to win. Not after witnessing how cold Mr Masterly really was. Holly wasn’t going to give up. They’d find Nancy and discover what she knew about the take-over of Little Belton. Together they’d stop the village from turning into a car park for the Masterlys’ Adventureland.
“I’m sorry about Star,” Holly said as they neared the cottage.
Callum’s knuckles whitened.
“I know this isn’t the right time, but can I ask you a question?”
Callum nodded stiffly.
“Do you think that’s what the note meant?” she asked. “The person who wrote it. Do you think they meant follow Star and see what the Masterlys do to him?”
Callum slowed the jeep before pulling into his driveway. He parked and stared at his front door.
“What the hell is that?” he asked.
Over the door, yellow and black tape formed the shape of a cross. The lock had been broken and replaced with a padlock. Nailed to the frame was an envelope protected by plastic.
Callum tore it open, his lips moving as he read. When he finished, he handed it to Holly, who scanned it quickly.
“It’s an eviction notice,” she said.
“It wasn’t there when I left this morning.”
“Citing none payment of rent.”
“I didn’t have anyone to pay it to,” Callum said, pacing along the walls of his locked home. “Where am I going to go?”
“You can stay with me until we get this sorted,” Holly said.
“Derek would love that, wouldn’t he?” Callum asked. “I’ll take a room at The Travelling Star. Big Gregg could do with the business.”
“You can’t do that. You haven’t been paid in years.”
“I’ll work something out,” Callum said, kicking at a tuft of grass. “I had a dust-up with Mr Masterly less than half an hour ago. How could he get me evicted so quickly?”
Holly read the notice again. “He didn’t,” she said. “Look at the date.”
She pointed at the corner of the paper and Callum frowned.
“It’s today,” he said quietly.
“You’d already been evicted by the time we met him in the meadow.”