The Knapthorne Conspiracy

by Malcolm Ballard

  The rain had started by the time she got there but it didn’t dampen her enthusiasm in the least. As soon as she had forsaken the motorways for the Dorset roads, a calmness had settled over her and even the nagging insistence of her headache had finally disappeared. It felt so good to be out of the hustle and bustle and into the tranquillity of the countryside that she began to hum to herself as she drove along, eventually coming to the turn-off at Spinney Lane. Even a distant peal of thunder couldn’t dent the exhilaration she was experiencing through the sheer anticipation of seeing the cottage again. Identifying the tall oak at the end of the drive, she turned in. Inexplicably she felt a mixture of nervousness and excitement, like a bride arriving at the church, now that she was here on her own and it struck her for the first time, how isolated the property was. Coming to the final bend in the drive, she put the thought out of her mind, as she took the corner and the cottage was there in front of her. Bella still couldn’t take in the fact that the place was hers. It had been hard enough coming to terms with Rupert’s death, knowing that she would never see him again. Now, his altruism had reached out from beyond the grave in an unexpected gesture that, in its own way, was proving just as difficult to adjust to. The weekend was going to be an opportunity to familiarise herself with the cottage and see what work needed to be done to it, if any. Immediately she realised there was no garage and wondered why she hadn’t noticed that on her previous visit. Perhaps it had been a combination of her excitement and the fact that Ben was driving but she had never given it a thought.

  “I wonder what else I’ll discover?” she murmured, pulling up as close to the front door as possible and switching the engine off. Rain was falling quite heavily now as she sorted through the keys to find the one for the front door before she got out the car. Beside her, on the passenger seat, Bella had placed a roomy tote bag. It contained essentials such as lunch, the necessary requisites for making tea or coffee and other items such as a small transistor radio, candles, matches, a torch and, most importantly, a corkscrew. Having located the key, she picked up the tote bag and secured it under her arm.

  “Well, here goes nothing,” she told herself, opening the door and getting out. “Welcome to Willow Cottage!”

  On the way down, Bella had suddenly remembered about the power, and cursed herself for not asking Ben about it when he had phoned. If she hadn’t have been in such a rush to get away, no doubt she would have thought to ask him. Once inside, the first thing she did was try one of the light switches in the lobby and, much to her relief, the outside light came on. There was a set of three switches adjacent to the single one for the exterior light and she switched them all on, illuminating the lounge and dining area. Last week, the power had not been connected and Ben had said that he would arrange for someone to look after it. Full marks to him, she noted, thinking that the man was showing some potential. It seemed eerie, at first, having the whole place to herself and she wandered from room to room, much as she had done on her first visit. Unlike before, when the day outside was warm and sunny, there was a chill in the atmosphere throughout the cottage and the musty smell much more obvious. Surfaces were covered in dust, mice had left their calling cards, windows would have to be cleaned and the whole place needed a good airing. Bella made a mental note to check out the heating too, something else she had overlooked previously. Once she had completed the tour, she returned to the lobby, where she had left her bag, having decided to have some lunch before doing anything else.

  Particularly since she had started writing, and even more so as she grew older, Bella found that she enjoyed her own company. It wasn’t that she was becoming anti-social or reclusive in any way, far from it. Even she, who was so good with words, found it difficult to explain but it made the prospect of being at the cottage by herself seem like a gift from the gods and she was determined not to waste the opportunity. Outside, the wind gusted in the trees and the rain continued to fall but Bella was immune to the elements as she contemplated what to do next. Uppermost in her mind was the knowledge that she needed to create a proper working environment in the space on the top floor to enable her to start on the book as soon as possible.

  She decided to go through each room very carefully, when she had finished her lunch, wanting to check every cupboard and shelf, each nook and cranny, to familiarise herself with the cottage completely. To her delight, one of the first discoveries she made was that the kitchen boasted both a dishwasher and a waste disposal unit, as well as the fridge freezer and microwave. It was simply too good to be true.

  “Yes!” she cried, punching the air, in delight, with a closed fist. “The turnip folk strike back! This almost makes up for not having a garage.” She was like a child with a new toy and went gleefully into the laundry where she found, among other things, the switch for the hot water, and the airing cupboard complete with ironing board. Picking up a brochure lying on one of the empty shelves, she was delighted to find it was from the manufacturers of the central heating system.

  “Hot water, light and an ironing board. What more could any woman want?” But there was more, for not only was there a washing machine but also a wall-mounted dryer. It seemed that the cottage was equipped with most modern appliances and Bella found herself seriously thinking about the possibility of living there permanently. It took her the best part of an hour to complete the full inspection and her biggest surprise was discovering that the bath had a spa feature built into it. After that, nothing would have surprised her but everything else was much as she had expected. The cottage was fully furnished and, according to Ben, had been used as a rented holiday home for some time but nobody had stayed there for some months. Apparently, a woman from the village had acted as housekeeper and kept an eye on the cottage since it had become vacant and that was as much as Bella knew. Perhaps that was why the kitchen, bathroom and toilet were relatively clean but Bella wouldn’t be satisfied until she had cleaned everywhere herself. She’d come prepared and realised that the sooner she got on with it the better, as it was now after 2pm already. If she could find out who this woman was who’d acted as housekeeper she might be able to offer her a job. It certainly wasn’t her intention to come down and waste her precious time cleaning.

  She was not afraid of hard work and took to the task willingly, with the result that after nearly four hours she was finally satisfied with what she had achieved but more than a little tired from her exertions. The kitchen sparkled, and a not unpleasant smell of furniture polish paid testament to her endeavours in the lounge and dining area. Upstairs, all the bedroom furniture had been dusted and polished and all the bathroom amenities gleamed as a result of Bella’s efforts. All that remained to be done was to take the vacuum cleaner to the carpets to finish the job but that could wait until the following day. She flopped into an armchair, feeling quite exhausted, unable to remember when she had last done such physical work. Although there was a shower in the bathroom what she really fancied now was a bath but not before she had had a glass of wine, so she struggled up from the chair and made her way out to the kitchen. As she poured the wine, Bella reflected on how suddenly her life had changed in the past two weeks. How could she ever have believed, such a short time ago, that she would be standing here, in the kitchen of her own country retreat? It was like something out of a fairy tale. Even the cleaning had given her a sense of satisfaction, yet anyone who knew her well would hardly have recognised her. Anything less feminine, less de rigeur than yellow Marigold gloves and an improvised turban, she couldn’t imagine, but seldom had she felt as happy as she did right at this moment. The wine helped, of course, and it had gone straight to her head, and she knew she ought to eat something. Also, she longed to take a look in the garden but knew that if she didn’t run a bath, right now, she’d probably be too tired as the evening progressed.

  Two hours later, it was beginning to get dark outside. The wind had died away to a gentle breeze and the skies had cleared to the extent that a hint of salmon pink amongst the milky grey of th
e clouds foreshadowed the setting of the sun. As she sat curled on the sofa, reading a book, with her feet tucked beneath her, Bella shivered, involuntarily. The residual warmth from the bath had slowly dissipated and although she'd turned the water heating on earlier she'd forgotten about the central heating. She made a mental note, there and then, to leave the thermostat on low, when she left to go back to London. It was time to draw the curtains and shut out the approaching night but Bella was feeling restless. Being alone in the cottage didn’t concern her but she was filled with a sense of freedom and wanted to celebrate the fact. Also, she was still hungry and knew she would have to go out and find something to eat. Earlier she had made a couple of toasted sandwiches which she’d eaten along with some fruit and a muesli bar but it wasn’t enough. Not after all the work she’d done. The nearest option as far as food was concerned was The Lamb and the thought of going back there didn’t really worry her. She had arrived now. She had become a local, even if it was by proxy. If not exactly one of them she was certainly going to become a member of their community and they would have to get used to her, like it or not. And, of course, she would have to get used to them. Perhaps it was a good time to start.

  Chapter Six

  The effect of the silence was overpowering as Bella stood on the doorstep and listened. After the daily diet of traffic noise, stereos and overhead aircraft, in London, the confrontation with peace and quiet was sublimely blissful. It was food for her soul, like a painting by an Old Master, except that nature was the artist behind this creation. Taking great care, she closed the front door behind her, turning the key in the deadlock. She found herself moving on tiptoe, unwilling to disturb the serenity of the evening, as she walked to her car and, once inside, hesitant about starting the engine and shattering the stillness. Gently, she wound the window down, and a damp, woody aroma filled the car. But this was not one of life’s fleeting, magical moments, to be savoured and forgotten, she reminded herself. This was the key to her legacy, the very reason for her being here. A place of calm and quiet, with the minimum of distractions to take her mind away from her work.

  “Thank you, Rupert.” She breathed the words softly into the still night air, as she reached for the ignition key. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  The atmosphere inside the saloon bar of The Lamb contrasted starkly with the scene that Bella had left behind just minutes ago. Strangely though, she felt an odd sort of oneness with the regulars now that she was a little more familiar with the cottage. Dressed down, as she was, she didn’t stand out quite as glaringly as had been the case on her first visit and, although heads turned as she entered, the feeling of resentment, whether it had been real or perceived, was not apparent. Samuel Handysides was pulling a pint for a customer as she came to the bar.

  “Miss Foxton,” he said, acknowledging her with a friendly nod. She loved the burr to his speech, which accentuated and elongated the first syllable, making it sound more like Faarxton. “By yourself tonight?” She raised her eyebrows and nodded, in response to his question, as he passed the filled pint glass to a tall solid-looking man she estimated to be in his late-fifties. Wearing a rumpled grey suit which had seen better days, his face bore the signs of a rugged life working outside at the mercy of the elements. It didn’t appear to have affected his sense of humour though, as he enjoyed a joke with the publican, while holding his glass in a big, roughened hand. The two men burst into laughter, simultaneously, revealing a missing tooth in the man’s top set, seemingly at odds with the gleaming gold replacement for one of his bottom teeth.

  “Nice one, Alec. Just don’t tell your missus, eh?” the publican warned, and the sound of their laughter rose again, briefly. The man turned from the bar, looked straight at Bella but didn’t acknowledge her, as Samuel Handysides moved along to where she stood.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, miss. Now what would you be wanting?”

  “I’d love a gin and tonic, Sam, thanks!” she replied. Although feeling tired, she gave him the brightest smile she could muster. “Ice and lemon, too, please.” She had noticed a little cloud of disappointment scud across his features, at her request, and wondered why.

  “I likes to be called Samuel, Miss Foxton, if you please.” It was said politely, with no malice, in a way that she couldn’t take offence. “Too many folk want to shorten everything these days. Samuel I was christened and Samuel I’ll die!” he told her firmly, with a smile.

  “Fair enough. It’s your name. I’ll do my best to remember!”

  “I’d be obliged,” he answered, sounding rather like the village policeman giving a reprimand to a juvenile offender. She took her glass along the bar, to a vacant stool, not seeking conversation, just happy to be part of the scene. Tiredness had dulled her senses and she wasn’t aware of eyes on her or any other reaction to her presence. In fact, it seemed as though she were being ignored which suited her perfectly.

  The drink tasted like nectar and it seemed to revitalise her, much like giving water to a wilting tomato plant. The activity in the bar went on around her almost as though she were one step removed from what was going on. She felt smug. Deliciously, selfishly smug. There was no other word for it. The more she said the word to herself, the stranger it sounded. Smug. Where did a word like that come from? She made a mental note to look it up when she got back. It was a habit of hers, from way back, to research the derivation of words or make a note of interesting words she came across. Within no time, it seemed, she had finished her drink and pushed the empty glass forward to attract Samuel’s attention. He came right over and she ordered the same again.

  “Where are your toilets, please Samuel?” she asked, as he placed her drink in front of her.

  “Through the door, over there,” he answered, pointing to his right. She waited for her change before picking up her purse and slipping off the stool. The toilets were better than she had expected, seemingly having been modernised more recently than the pub. Interestingly, there were no signs of graffiti or vandalism anywhere, either. When she came out of the cubicle, a woman whom she recognised as having seen in the pub last week entered the toilets. On seeing Bella, she made eye contact but, instead of saying anything, her back stiffened and Bella noticed a small grimace tighten the corners of the woman’s mouth. Bella had been about to speak but the woman’s actions had put her off and she adopted a look of studied insousiance instead, as if to say, ‘That’s fine, have it your own way!’ as the woman disappeared into a cubicle. She was suddenly hungry, remembering how little she’d eaten, and returned to her stool with the object of ordering something quickly. Looking at her watch she saw that it was nearly eight-o-clock and she was beginning to feel the effects of her busy day. The bar seemed to be busier now but no-one had taken her seat or appeared to be paying her any special attention. It must have been, she speculated, that we stood out so obviously, last week. Too tired to think about it any further, she caught Samuel’s attention and he came over. A severe-looking, large woman, close to the landlord’s age was helping him out now that it had got busier.

  “Could I have a sandwich, Samuel, do you think, please?” He could see the tiredness in her eyes.

  “And what would you like, Miss Foxton? We can do you ham and tomato, cheese and onion…” he stopped, in mid-flow. “Tell you what. How about toasted egg and bacon, how does that sound?”

  “Delightful,” Bella replied, glad somebody could do the thinking for her.

  “’Bout ten minutes, I should reckon,” he added. Bella paid him and he went away to put her order in. Although tired, she was pleased to have made the effort to come down to the pub and happy that the previous experience hadn’t been repeated. Content to be a part of the atmosphere, she sipped at her drink while waiting for the sandwich.

  “You’m from Willow Cottage, eh?” Her nose detected that it was Alfie, before she turned to look at him, his personal hygiene, or lack of it announcing his presence. Certain it wasn’t her imagination, he appeared to be wearing exactly what he h
ad been dressed in the first time they’d met.

  “That’s right. Hallo, Alfie,” Bella said, quietly. "Nice to see you again.” At least someone in the place was prepared to talk to her.

  “I knows about Willow Cottage an’ all,” he said, with a self-satisfied grin. He looked smug, too, Bella thought, her thinking influenced by the gin.

  “What do you know, Alfie?” It seemed like a good opportunity to find out.

  “Here’s your sandwich, Miss Foxton. Now don’t bother the lady, Alfie. Get yourself back out in the kitchen.” The sound of the landlord’s voice was enough for Alfie, who walked off with a despairing look over his shoulder.

  “What happened to him?” Bella asked. “Or was he born like that?”

  “Accident,” the landlord replied, curtly. “On the farm, ‘bout ten years ago. Tractor fell on 'im, now his brain’s addled, poor bugger. Take no notice of him miss. Not been bothering you, has he?”