The Knapthorne Conspiracy

by Malcolm Ballard

  “There you go!” Samuel placed a floral-patterned china cup and saucer in front of her and she recognised the unmistakable aroma of Earl Grey tea which surprised her. But it had been a day of surprises and she was still finding it difficult to come to terms with what had recently happened. Granted Alfie wasn’t your normal adult male but his behaviour was unbelievable. What on earth had provoked such a reaction? Samuel Handysides had returned with a drink for himself and sat down opposite her. The smile she gave him was cursory, a flicker of emotion that flared and died, an indication that her thoughts were elsewhere searching for an explanation. It was up to him to provide it.

  “You missin’ London?” he asked innocently. At first it seemed as though she hadn’t heard his question but then the blank look on her face disappeared as she forced herself to concentrate.

  “London?” she repeated, throwing her head back and laughing. “I’ve hardly given it a thought! What makes you ask?” She tried to read what was going on behind the enquiring look in his soft, brown eyes and the kindly smile .

  “Some folks’d find it difficult adjustin’ to village life, that’s all.” Bella wasn’t prepared to be sidetracked, however, and said what was on her mind.

  “What on earth was Alfie up to, Samuel?” she asked, incredulously. “And how did he get up to the cottage anyway?” The landlord of The Lamb sat back in his chair, seeming to diminish in size as he considered his reply and several seconds passed before he spoke.

  “We found Alfie’d gone a couple of hours back,” he began, talking in a small, tired voice as though he were speaking reluctantly. “How long ‘e ‘ad been gone, we weren’t sure…”

  “He lives here with you, then?”

  “Not all the time. We takes ‘im off Cora’s ‘ands when ‘e gets a bit much for ‘er, every now an’ then.” Bella nodded. “It’s just me an’ Norah, the missus, that runs this place with a bit of part-time help you see. Pub’s been in the family for generations.” She didn’t find that difficult to believe seeing how little it had changed.

  “Has he done anything like this before?” Curiosity made her impatient to get some answers.

  “Not often, Miss Foxton,” Samuel replied, with a sigh. “And generally we finds ‘im somewhere along the ‘igh street. We either gets a phone call or someone brings ‘im back ‘ere.” Neither of them had touched their tea which was slowly getting cold. The landlord was preoccupied with providing plausible answers to Bella’s questions while she was intent on finding out exactly what was going on.

  “So he must have walked across the fields to the cottage, then?” Samuel Handysides gave a small laugh. It was a nasal sound, more like a little snort.

  “Don’t be soundin’ so surprised! He might be a bit doolally in the ‘ead but there ain’t nothin’ wrong with ‘is legs.”

  “But why Willow Cottage?” Each word was pronounced slowly and emphasised to underline the fact that it was what she couldn’t understand. What she did know, though, was that Alfie’s appearance there was, in some way, related to her own experiences and conclusions. Samuel’s face altered, taking on a more earnest look, as he sat forward in the way of someone about to share a confidence.

  “You needs to understand about Alfie, Miss Foxton. To know exactly what happened to ‘im. Maybe then, it’ll all make some kind of sense to you.” There was an openness to his face, a sincerity in his words, that made her want to believe him. “Let me takes you back to the time of ‘is accident.” In anticipation, Bella made herself more comfortable on the chair but she couldn’t get the sight of Alfie’s face, as he stood in front of the cottage, out of her thoughts.

  “Willow Cottage were Alfie’s ‘ome, you see,” Samuel began, and Bella raised her eyebrows at the revelation. “Cora’s as well, for that matter. Old man Flint worked for Lord Easterbrook, your uncle. That land out back of the cottage was all part of the estate, at one time.” He looked thoughtful, for a moment “Owned by some American pension fund, I thinks it is, now. Strange old times we be a-livin’ in,” he said, wistfully. Briefly, his eyes took on a sad, distant look, at the memory of times past.

  “Anyways,” he went on, dragging his thoughts back to the present, “Old Sid, Sid Flint that is, was a big man and a bit of a tyrant. Between you and me,” he whispered, leaning towards Bella, “there’s a lot of ‘im in Cora. Sometimes I gets a shiver down me back just lookin’ at ‘er, she reminds me of ‘im so.”

  “He’s dead then, this Sid Flint?”

  “Oh my gosh, yes,” Samuel replied. “Some ten, twelve years back. Collapsed in church in the middle of matins one Sunday. It was just like ‘e’d been shot, Miss Foxton. I can see ‘im there now, a-hangin’ over the pew in front, arms spread wide.” Bella recoiled slightly at the thought of it and he puffed his lips out expelling air noisily. “I can laugh about it now, but I’m a-tellin’ you it wasn’t funny at the time.” Bella looked shocked.

  “It sounds awful!” she exclaimed.

  “Stopped the service, right there and then, that’s what it did. ‘eart attack, it was. Took ‘im out, clean as a whistle. Old Doc Thomas used to live in Knapthorne then and ‘e was at church. Pronounced ‘im dead, right away, as if’n we couldn’t have told ‘im!” The air in the kitchen was still, the atmosphere heavy. Every so often the sounds of conversation or laughter would drift in to them from one of the bars. Bella had the strangest feeling that the clock had been turned back and they were sitting there in the 1960’s instead of the present time. It was an eerie, inexplicable sensation and she shivered.

  “You like a cardigan or sommat to throw round your shoulders, Miss Foxton? Gets a bit chilly in ‘ere out of the sun.” Her smile warmed the room up for him but she shook her head.

  “No, I’ll be fine, thanks. Please, carry on with the story.”

  “Alfie was out ploughin’ one day, like ‘e’d done year in year out. Nobody knows exactly what ‘appened, cos ‘e was by ‘isself, you understand.” Bella fidgeted on her seat, sensing that she was on the verge of learning something important.

  “You knows yourself what the land’s like round ‘ere. Goes up ‘n down like one of them there fairground rides but that shouldn’t a’ been no trouble to Alfie. ‘e’d been ploughing them fields for years. It was Sid who come across ‘im, an’ just as well.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The accident ‘appened some ways from the cottage and Alfie was unconscious. Just laying there, like, the tractor on its side and blood all over ‘is ‘ead.” Bella had no difficulty in picturing the scene. “Poor ol’ Sid thought ‘is boy were dead at first. Fair shook ‘im up, I remembers ‘im sayin’. Anyways, Sid reckoned as nothin’ looked broke so ‘e puts Alfie over ‘is shoulder an’ brings ‘im ‘ome. A mile or more ‘e must ‘ave carried ‘im. There’s not many as could a’ done that!” She recalled the walk to the pub, with Jane. Tried to imagine what it would be like carrying the extra weight.

  “What happened then?”

  “The ambulance come for ‘im o’ course and they gets ‘im to the ‘ospital, in Dorchester. Fractured skull they said it was. Kept him in for, what’s the word…” Bella was about to supply it, when Samuel’s eyes brightened. “…hobservation,” he said, with a satisfied smile, his eyes seeming to sparkle momentarily behind the thick lenses.

  “But that doesn’t explain how he is today, Samuel,” she said softly, feeling quite cheated. “Lots of people gets,” she paused, to correct herself, “get, a fractured skull without ending up doolally as you call it.” He bestowed upon her a kindly look and, even before he opened his mouth to speak, she knew she should have waited. There was obviously more.

  “You’re puttin’ the cart afore the ‘orse, so to speak, Miss Foxton. I ain’t finished yet.” With a sigh, he continued, as though it was a painful memory. “Alfie adn’t been ‘ome from the ‘ospital a week when ‘is mother, god bless ‘er soul, finds the boy in bed unconscious so they gets ‘im back there, double-quick like, an’ gives ‘im all sorts o’ tests. Turns o
ut ‘e’s got a blood clot on the brain so they gets some specialist in, to hoperate…”

  “Oh, how awful,” Bella put in, sympathetically.

  “It was a right drama, I can tell you, Miss. But it didn’t end there.” She looked at him, in surprise. “He goes into a coma for six weeks after. ‘ad everyone in the village, a-worryin’, I can tell you! An’ when he comes round the poor lad’s not got all his marbles.” Samuel Handysides sat back, shaking his head slowly, from side to side. “He stopped breathin’ apparently, twice during the hoperation and they reckons that’s when it ‘appened, the damage to ‘is brain.” The landlord lapsed into silence, not taking his eyes off Bella. Behind the calm, impassive look he was trying to read her mind wondering exactly what thoughts were going through her head.

  Samuel Handysides toyed with the cup on the table in front of him, the tea in it now stone cold, as he sat watching Bella. Studying her face it suddenly occurred to him that he had once sat in this very room with her father, many, many years ago. Strange how he had only just remembered it. Given the events that had happened afterwards he was surprised that he’d forgotten about their meeting. It was the only time that he’d ever had the chance to get to know the man, an infrequent visitor to The Lamb, and found him to be witty, irreverent and quite personable, full of Irish charm. The recollection sent a shiver down his back as other, far more unpleasant memories surfaced and he forced them from his thoughts. All the while the set of his features never changed, giving nothing away, as he realised how important it was she believed what he had told her.

  “But what I don’t understand, is why was Alfie throwing stones at the cottage, Samuel? And you should have seen the look on his face!” He nodded, knowingly, as if it were no surprise to him, at all.

  “Alfie talks about the cottage, quite a lot. Always has done but it’s got worse since you’ve arrived. No offence meant, Miss Foxton,” he added, hurriedly. “There’s something in ‘is brain seems to blame Willow Cottage for all ‘is troubles. The family ‘adn’t long been there when he ‘ad ‘is accident.” Her eyes widened and she leaned forward.

  “But you said he’d been ploughing those fields for years!”

  “And so ‘e ‘ad!” His reply was almost over-eager and, realising the fact, he got a grip on himself. “They used to ‘ave a smaller cottage closer to the village but Lord Easterbrook, your uncle, offered ‘em Willow Cottage on account of Sid Flint ‘ad worked for ‘im for so long.”

  “Oh, I see,” Bella said, softly, more for her own benefit than anything.

  “Alfie’s like a seven or eight-year-old lad now an’ ‘e always needs someone to keep an eye on ‘im but ‘e don’t remember anythin’ about comin’ off that tractor. All ‘e knows, I reckon, is that the cottage is connected with sommat bad. Leastways, that’s what Cora thinks.” The mention of her housekeeper’s name prompted Bella to think of something else.

  “You probably wouldn’t be aware of this, Samuel, as I can’t think of any reason why you should be, but Cora puts fresh flowers in the small bedroom at Willow Cottage every time she comes. Would you have any idea why that is?”

  “I puts ‘em there cos that’s where our Alfie died. Alfie as ‘e used to be, that is.” Bella started at the sound of Cora’s voice, unaware that she had been hovering near the door. She felt the colour come to her cheeks.

  “I wasn’t meaning to pry, Cora,” she said, apologetically. “I did ask you yesterday, if you remember.”

  “An’ I gave you an answer then, as I remember. It’s sommat that’s best left alone after all these years and I’d thank you not to mention it again, if you don’t mind, Miss Foxton. I ‘ave troubles enough with Alfie, without this sort o’ thing!” The woman’s presence filled the room like a physical barrier, put in place to prevent any further discussion of the subject and Bella considered the timing of her entry. It gave her the impression of having been rehearsed, as if Mrs. Flint and Samuel Handysides were actors in a play being staged for her benefit. She glanced at the landlord’s face and saw only sadness in his eyes, his lips pressed together as if preventing himself from speaking. It was obvious that Cora's presence was a threat to him continuing their conversation and the silence was becoming embarrassing. Bella got to her feet, preparing to leave, determined not to let her housekeeper have the last word. She flicked her head back, shaking out the long, auburn tresses almost as though it were an act of defiance.

  “I’m sorry to learn about Alfie and the effect his accident must have had on your life.” As she spoke Bella focused on the cold, uncompromising glare in the eyes of her housekeeper. “But if it’s also going to affect my life or my home in some way then I want to know why. It’s not too much to ask is it?” Moving her head slightly she turned her attention to Samuel Handysides who was still seated. “Whether you like it or not, I’m part of this village now and I’d like to be treated in the same way as any other member of your community, that goes for my friends too.” Having said her piece, she walked to the door and opened it but turned back to face Cora as she thought to mention something else.

  “I’m very happy with the work you do up at Willow Cottage Cora and I’d like us to be friends. Please tell Alfie not to worry about what happened, alright?” Her words seemed to have no outward effect on her housekeeper and it was Samuel who spoke up.

  “Don’t go a-worryin’ yourself about them windows, Miss Foxton. I’ll get someone up, in an hour or two, to take a look at ‘em.”

  “That’s very kind of you Samuel, thanks. Tell Alfie I asked after him will you?” As she closed the door behind her, thankful to be out of the chilly, depressing atmosphere in the parlour, she lingered on the step for a moment happy to let the sun’s warmth get to her body. It also gave her the chance to think over what she had been told about Alfie. There was no reason whatsoever for her to doubt the word of Samuel Handysides and the story sounded quite believable but Bella couldn’t shake off the feeling that something didn’t seem quite right. Not right at all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Turning the necklace in her hands she watched the twinkling of a thousand tiny stars as each minute surface caught the light. In its own way, the gleam in Laura’s eyes was similarly startling as she stared at the stunning piece of jewellery. To her mind it was almost a living thing, a part of the family, stirring memories both good and bad. She had felt the urge to retrieve it from the safety deposit box at the bank and bring it home for a night after returning from the abortive visit to her sister. Now, admiring it as it lay on the desk top in front of her, she found its presence strangely comforting almost as though it were her father or her brother in the room with her rather than a collection of precious stones. She had despised her inheritance at first knowing how much better Bella had fared but she had now come to think of it as a symbol, a brilliant reminder of how she had suffered at the hands of her sister. The glare from the nearby desk lamp gave Laura’s pale skin a ghostly, translucent quality accentuating her high cheekbones, her thin, sharp nose and narrow, tapering jawline. Although her eyes were fixed on the necklace her thoughts were not. It was a vacant, unfocused look on her face, Laura’s mind occupied with memories of long ago recalling the argument that had driven her father from the house when she was just eight years old. How could she have known that she would never see him alive again?

  Downstairs a door slammed violently, followed by a noise she didn’t recognise at first. Then she realised it was the sound of raised voices cushioned by distance and the familiar tide of fear and uncertainty washed over her. Her parents were arguing again. Laura crept to her bedroom door, all her senses on alert, and made her way along the landing to the top of the stairs. She was in her school uniform except for her socks which she had been about to put on in preparation for Patrick to run her to school. Her sister had already departed having been picked up by one of the mother’s who also had a child at Arabella’s primary school. For a moment she hesitated as the sanctuary of her bedroom beckoned and she thought about running back
and shutting herself in, barricading herself from yet another row but curiosity overwhelmed her. A compelling fascination with discord and disharmony drew her inexorably downward, her hands gripping the bannister to steady her progress. At the bottom of the stairs Laura stopped, listening intently, then she turned towards the kitchen. The voices were louder from here of course but she still couldn’t make out the actual words. There was nothing for it but to get closer. As she placed one foot carefully in front of the other she could feel the beat of her heart thumping in her chest. Damp patches showed at the armpits of her school blouse and a nagging pain began to throb at her temples. Any moment the door could fly open and she would be discovered eavesdropping on their argument. Laura got as close as she dare, her parents seemingly at the far end of the kitchen, then sucked in her breath as she heard her sister’s name mentioned not once but twice. Shouted, in fact. First by Patrick then her mother. She held her breath, concentrating as hard as she could to try and understand what they were saying. Patrick’s voice was bitter and accusing, laced with anger, sending a tremor of fear through Laura but she couldn’t tear herself away. Her mother’s tone was sometimes defensive, sometimes not, rising to a crescendo when she broke into her native tongue. Like the crack of a whip, the sound of a vicious slap was followed by a dreadful silence and Laura decided she had to get out of there fast. Patrick was far too obsessed in his anger to notice Laura’s bare feet disappearing up the stairs as fast as they would carry her as he stormed out of the kitchen towards the front door of the house. Back in the safety of her bedroom and trembling from head to foot after her narrow escape, it seemed to Laura as though the whole house shook as her father slammed the front door after him. Downstairs in the kitchen Maria covered her face with her hands, pressing the fingertips into her forehead to try and ease the pain. The force of Patrick’s blow had given her an instant, savage headache and the pain in the left side of her face was shocking in its intensity. It was a little time before a reaction set in then a virtually soundless sobbing wracked her body in gulping, staccato spasms of grief and sorrow as she fought to hold back the tears. When she finally slid her hands down, away from her face, the livid imprint of Patrick’s hand was still clearly visible.