by Shaun Baines
“Then you know what’s at stake.”
“You didn’t go missing, did you?” Holly asked. “You went on the run.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Nancy said. She bit into the knuckle of her forefinger, her false teeth glinting under a ray of sun. “The bulbs we have are rotten. Turned bad with salt water. They’ll never grow, thanks to that crackerjack Mr Winnow. Without them, we’ll never stop Arcadia taking over the estate.”
“If you tell me what’s happening, maybe we can find more,” Holly said.
Nancy dismissed her with a snort.
“You sent the emails to Mr Winnow, didn’t you?” Holly asked. “You knew his greed would over-rule his common sense. When Callum left the bulbs by the side of the road, you spoke to the Reverend knowing he would do anything to help. It was someone from the village. You were behind it all.”
“I’m doing what I think is best.”
“And what about your sister?” Holly asked. “Are you behind that too?”
There was a shine to Nancy’s eyes that spoke of madness. It reminded Holly of Arnold and his drive for…His drive for what, Holly asked herself? Whatever it was, Nancy presented the same signs and Holly needed to proceed with caution.
“Regina is in the hospital,” she said. “Your sister was attacked.”
“Not by me.” Nancy tugged at seeds from a tuft of yellow grass and scattered them into the wind.
“I know. It was Arnold,” Holly said. “Are you sure he won’t do the same to you?”
“We all have our crosses to bear and I’ve grown strong over the years.” Nancy smiled, but it was like the flicker of a flame. Caught by an unseen wind, it was there for a moment and then gone. “After what happened when Regina and I were children, I thought living with her was a kindness, but Regina got possessive. She wouldn’t suffer fools gladly. I wanted a dog as an excuse to leave the house, but my sister wouldn’t allow one indoors. A dog couldn’t live outside through our winters so do you know what I did?”
“You got a goat.”
“I got several over the years. You see, I could keep that outside, but Regina knew if it stayed in the garden, it would eat the vegetables. I had to take it out for walks.”
“It was the perfect excuse to roam the estate,” Holly said, “but why take it to the manor?”
The lines on Nancy’s face were etched deep from the outdoors, but they appeared to lighten at the thought of her victory over Regina. They became less like battle scars and more like a map of her life.
Holly took another step closer. “Old Jack is looking after your goat. He misses you.”
“Does he?” Nancy asked.
“He told me how he felt about you,” Holly said.
“That seems so long ago, dear.”
“What happened at the manor? What changed?”
“Everything,” Nancy said, backing away.
Holly held out her hands. “Don’t go. Come with me. We’ll visit Old Jack. He’s falling apart with worry.”
Behind Holly came the crashing of feet. She turned to see Callum burst from the forest, twigs protruding from his hair, dirt smeared on his face. He grabbed her and pulled her in for a hug.
“Are you okay?” Callum asked. “Is he here?”
His laboured breath warmed her neck.
“You’re crushing me,” Holly said, wriggling from his hold.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Callum asked.
Holly searched for Nancy through the jagged rocks, but she had disappeared, like the young buck who had led Holly to the Faery Ring.
Nancy had provided answers and Holly now knew the bulbs were part of a bigger plan to save the village. She didn’t know what part or why. Typically, like cutting off the head of a hydra, a single answer spawned more questions and Holly didn’t know what to do next.
And then she did.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
Callum rubbed his stomach. “Always. Why?”
“Because we have to visit the Reverend again,” she said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Reverend Applecroft knelt in a patch of marigolds. Their yellow petals reflected the sun into his bare chest, painting him in gold. He wore faded dungarees and green wellies. An electrical lead looped out of an open window trailing to a CD player playing thrash metal at a low volume. The Reverend bobbed his head to something that was more of a series of grunts than a song.
Holly coughed politely and he looked up from his flowers.
“Bryan told me to dig out the dandelions,” he said, scratching his head, “but I can’t tell one flower from another.”
Holly pointed at the plant swinging from his muddy grip. “I’d suggest putting that one back.”
“Oh Lord,” the Reverend said, quickly digging a hole and shoving the marigold into place. “I don’t know why he makes me do this.”
Brushing himself free of soil, he got to his feet. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
“It’s Bryan we’ve come to see,” Callum said.
“He’s just nipped out to the shops, but he won’t be long,” the Reverend said. “Do you want to wait inside? We have more scones.”
Callum grinned. “We hoped you might.”
Holly opened a squeaking garden gate, alerting Cassandra the Myna bird to an intrusion. She barked repeatedly, alternating between a yap and the theme tune to The Archers.
“We can wait outside,” Holly said. “It’s fine.”
The Reverend gestured to a bench and they took a seat, watching over the garden.
“How’s the investigation going?” the Reverend asked. “Have you found Nancy yet?”
Holly filled him in on the details, omitting her recent discovery. Little Belton was awash with rumours regarding Nancy’s disappearance. Holly was sure the residents would be relieved to know she was safe, but there was still so much to learn. Was Nancy safe? What was she up to? Where had she been? They were questions shrouded in mystery and Holly didn’t want the rumour mill providing answers that would cloud the truth.
“We’re getting there,” Holly said, “and I called the hospital again. Regina is still in there, but apparently, she is spending more time awake than asleep.”
“That’s good news, but I feel for any doctor who comes into contact with her sharp tongue,” the Reverend said. “What about the Masterlys? Are you any closer to stopping their dastardly plans?”
Holly opened her palms to the heavens. “I don’t know, to be honest. There’s a lot going on. All I know is we have to look after each other. Mr MacFarlene is at my house keeping Derek company.”
“Really?” Callum asked. “I thought Derek didn’t like Mr MacFarlene.”
As Holly was about to answer, a string of men in heavy boots and hi-vis jackets marched down Little Belton’s high street. Some carried chainsaws, others balanced pickaxes on their broad shoulders. The white helmets they wore hid their faces. Behind them came mini-diggers and fork-lift trucks, their wheels churning up tarmac and spitting it out in their wake.
It was a parade, a show of force. As the machinery passed, the Masterlys’ Range Rover followed. A black window in the rear rolled down and Holly saw Mrs Masterly smiling at her.
“The appeal process is over,” Holly said, wringing her hands. “They’re getting ready to tear everything up.”
“They can’t be,” Callum said.
Holly patted his knee. “We knew it was coming.”
“But there’s time to stop them yet.”
“We will,” Holly said. “Don’t worry.”
The procession marched on. The drum of footsteps and the rumble of machines shook the flowers of the Reverend’s garden. Cassandra barked incessantly from her cage.
“Charles Wentworth would turn in his grave,” Callum said.
The Reverend ran a hand through his knotted beard and Holly noticed a twitch in his fingers.
“Did you ever meet Sir Charles?” Holly asked him. “You worked in his mine.”
“Only once,” he said. “He called for me when he found out why I was serving my notice.”
“What happened?” Holly asked.
The Reverend released the hair and watched it float away on a breeze. “I left to join the ministry. When Wentworth heard, he wanted to congratulate me on my choice of career.”
“He would have done,” Callum said. “He was a God-fearing man himself.”
The Reverend shifted on the garden bench and continued. “I was invited to the manor, but I was early, keen to meet him. I’d spent half the morning polishing my shoes, getting ready. I didn’t know there was any kind of etiquette involved when meeting a man like Wentworth.”
Callum nodded sagely. “Dad worked at the manor,” he said. “Told me all about them etiquettes.”
“So, I accidentally barged into his office without warning,” the Reverend said. “Sir Charles Wentworth knew his Bible front to back, but I doubt he ever read it. I caught him with one of the maids. She was undressing and he was getting close. There was a hullabaloo, as you could imagine. Wentworth claimed it was Bible study, but I’ve hosted a few of those in my time and we generally keep our trousers on.”
Callum left the garden bench. He stood next to a laurel bush, pushing his thumbnail through the leaves. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe you.”
“I never told a soul,” the Reverend said, his eyes on Callum’s back. “People around here hold Wentworth in such high esteem and rightfully so. He did a lot for this village. I didn’t want to undo that.”
“Did he ever confront you over what you saw?” Holly asked.
The Reverend shook his head, the beads in his beard rattling together. “I don’t think either one of us wanted to revisit it, but from what I heard later, it wasn’t an isolated event.”
Holly shuffled to the edge of the bench. “Why would you say that?”
“I’m pretty sure this part is untrue,” the Reverend said, “but they say, Black Rock Manor has a secret entrance.”
“What?” Callum asked, turning away from the laurel bush.
The Reverend flinched under his stare. “Nonsense, really. A way to ferry his women in and out without Mrs Wentworth knowing. I don’t buy it.”
Holly and Callum shared a look.
“Then again,” the Reverend said. “For all the rumours around here, I never heard another one about Wentworth and his women so maybe he did keep it all a secret.”
Holly felt Callum’s eyes upon her. They were both thinking the same thing. Nancy had known about the secret entrance to the manor. And if she’d known, then there was a possibility she was one of Wentworth’s women. She’d been young at the time, a teenager, the perfect age to be hypnotised by an important man like Wentworth. As her sister recovered, Nancy had seemingly fallen under his spell.
It explained her sudden indifference to Old Jack. It also explained her devotion to the estate. Hadn’t Regina said Nancy wanted the estate to remain in Wentworth hands? When Nancy had learned of the Masterlys’ plans, she had decided to put a stop to them. Not as a committed conservationist, but as a bereft lover.
The Reverend sat up in his seat, a smile splitting his face. “There’s Bryan coming back,” he said. “I’ll go put the kettle on.”
He peeled off his garden gloves and disappeared into the vicarage where Cassandra barked at him on his way to the kitchen.
“Hello again,” Bryan said, entering the garden. “I’ve been out for custard creams. Would you like one?”
Holly’s head was spinning from what the Reverend had told her. She screwed her eyes closed, opening them quickly to focus her mind.
“Are you okay?” Bryan asked, placing a light touch on her arm.
“Long day,” Holly said. “We were hoping you might have some information about our bulbs.”
Bryan’s face fell and Holly feared the worst.
“There’s nothing,” he said. “I went through every book I had. I even went to the library in Amble. They’re quite distinctive, but they don’t appear to exist.”
“You didn’t need to go to all that trouble,” Holly said.
“I needed a haircut anyway.”
“You and the Reverend are well suited,” Holly said with a smile. “Working for the community the way you do.”
“I’m only sorry I couldn’t help more.”
“Ever since I clapped eyes on those bulbs, I suspected they were different,” Holly said. “Why else would you hide them in a tin? What I wanted to know is – where would you get something like that?”
Bryan eyed the wilting marigold the Reverend had hastily returned to the soil. “Well, I suppose specialist species come from specialist growers.”
“And they’d be expensive, right?”
“Absolutely,” Bryan said. “Did you know some snowdrops sell for over seven hundred pounds per bulb?”
Callum whistled over his half-eaten Custard Cream. “That’s a lot of money for a plant.”
“Pass on our apologies to the Reverend,” Holly said, making for the garden gate, “but we better get going.”
“Where to?” Bryan asked.
“The hunt continues,” Callum said, through a mouthful of food.
Holly rubbed her eyes. There was a lot to mull over. The threads kept slipping from her grasp. As soon as she thought they were making progress, the landscape changed and Holly was lost again. Old Jack, lovelorn and lonely, had pressed Holly to find Nancy. She’d done that and discovered there was a whole lot more to the story.
Identifying the bulbs would unlock the whole mystery, Holly thought and she’d hoped Bryan might have taken that burden from her. What he’d done was raise another question.
As she watched Callum devour the last of his food, Holly’s appetite deserted her.
Judging by Nancy’s home and clothes, she didn’t appear to be rich. Ditto for the jobless Arnold Salting, but somehow they’d come into possession of dozens of expensive plants.
So the question became, how did they afford them or who had they stolen them from?
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Defender coughed exhaust fumes as it climbed the road to Holly’s cottage. She glanced at its driver. Callum took his time, seemingly content to trundle through the bends without any sense of urgency. However, his frown told another story.
Holly yawned, making a show of stretching her arms. “Can’t wait to get home,” she said. “I need some time to think.”
Callum chewed the tip of his thumb. “Do you believe what the Reverend said?”
“About Wentworth’s wandering hands?” Holly asked. “He wouldn’t be the first man to abuse his position of power.”
“Dad never mentioned anything,” Callum muttered.
“Would he have? It’s not the sort of thing a father talks about on a family evening. He was protecting you.”
Callum wiped a wet thumb on his shirt.
“It makes sense, though, doesn’t it?” Holly asked. “You were thinking the same thing as me. I saw it.”
“Nancy being seduced? The secret entrance?” Callum asked. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing, but what do we do about it?”
His tepid pace finally brought them to Holly’s home. A mist had descended down the valley walls, smothering Knock Lake in silver.
“I can’t trust that man to do anything,” Holly said, casting her seatbelt aside.
“What are you talking about?”
“Derek,” she said. “He’s left the door open. I told him to keep it shut.”
She struggled to get out of the Defender, her frustration with her husband transferring itself to the jeep’s stubborn handle. “Bloody, stupid thing.”
Callum reached over her, releasing the handle from its jam. “I’ll come with you this time.”
“There’s a strong chance I’m about to murder my husband,” Holly said. “I’d prefer
it if there weren’t any witnesses.”
But Callum wasn’t listening. He had slipped out of the driver’s seat and was already joining her on the other side of the Defender.
“What if Derek did close the door and Arnold opened it up again?” he asked.
Holly’s stomach dropped and they crept toward the cottage together, hovering by the door.
“The lock seems fine,” Holly said. “I don’t think anyone has broken in.”
“Me first,” Callum said.
Holly barred him with an arm. “Wait.”
“Okay, okay.” Callum yanked off his boots, leaving them on the doorstep. “Better?”
“No, I meant, I’ll go first. It’s my house,” Holly said, pointing at the ham-handed stitches in his sock “I see you’ve been busy with your sewing needle.”
They entered quietly to be greeted by the sound of snoring. Following the rumble to the sitting room, they found Derek slumped on the sofa, bellowing into the crook of his arm.
“Mr MacFarlene seems to have left,” Holly said.
“Shhh,” Callum hissed. “You’ll wake up Derek.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “You could play Mrs Winnow’s Lord of the Rings full volume and he wouldn’t wake until they got to Mordor.”
Derek’s shoes were side by side, Holly noticed. Not kicked off and abandoned in far flung corners of the room. There were pillows under his head and a glass of water on the table. Holly turned full circle through the room. Her paintings weren’t hung. They leaned against the wall where she’d left them. The box of books by her empty shelf was unopened and her vases remained stuffed with newspaper.
“False alarm,” Holly said. “Nothing has been touched.”
“Are you sure?”
“Remember your room at The Travelling Star?” Holly asked. “It was like a bulldozer went through it, but this place is tidier than when I left it.”
“What about the door?”
“Mr MacFarlene probably left it open by mistake.”
“We better check around to be sure,” Callum said.
Holly stretched her arms above her head, feeling the satisfying crack of her shoulders as they settled into position.