The Knapthorne Conspiracy

by Malcolm Ballard

  “Mrs. Flint. Please! Don’t do this. We have to talk!” Bella put her foot into the gap making it impossible for Cora to close the door and, all of a sudden, it gave way and she almost fell into the cottage. Bella found herself in a neat, orderly lounge, the room of a woman who took pride in her home. In front of her and to the right was a fireplace and grate with a decorative mirror hanging over the tiled mantelpiece. A settee and two matching armchairs, in a flowery print, took up most of the floor space, each having lace antimacassars draped over them. A long, narrow table sat under the window but she noticed there was no sign of a television. Cora Flint stood in the doorway leading from the lounge, her back to Bella.

  “Mrs. Flint…Cora!” Bella pleaded.

  “Leave me alone. Go away!” There was no harshness in her small voice. She was obviously weeping. Unable to help herself, Bella moved towards her and put an arm around the broad shoulders. Cora was obviously in considerable distress. The two of them stood there, unspeaking, as though their separate worlds had collided and come to a complete standstill. Through the coarse material of Cora’s black dress she could feel the woman’s shoulders moving as she wept, alternately gulping and sniffing as she tried to stem the flow of tears.

  “Why don’t you come and sit down, Cora? It’s better than standing here. I’ll go and make us a cup of tea, hm?” Her housekeeper allowed herself to be turned and led to the settee, her head bowed, the reddened, anguished face hidden in a handkerchief. Swiftly, Bella left the room in search of the kitchen and the requisites to concoct one of the most reliable palliatives.

  “There you are!” Bella returned with a china cup and saucer in each hand. Cora looked to have recovered her composure as Bella held out her tea and the older woman looked up at her questioningly.

  “Like I said, Miss Foxton. What is it you’m a-wantin?” There was no antagonism in the voice this time, no aggression. Just a simple question. The ghost of an uneasy smile crossed her face as she took the tea then Bella seated herself opposite Cora, in one of the armchairs. There was no question Bella was going to blurt out what she wanted. This was going to be her only chance to see if she could get some answers from Cora and perhaps find out if she knew anything about her father’s death. It was not a time for haste.

  “I’m sorry if I upset you with the mention of Ruth’s name, last week,” she began. The thought that she wasn’t going to apologise ran through her mind. No matter. She had to start somewhere. Determined not to show any emotion, Cora bit into her lower lip, exercising steely self-control. Bella pressed on.

  “Ever since I’ve come to Knapthorne, I’ve felt like a bit of an outsider. Almost as if I’ve not been welcome here. I don’t know what it is that I’ve done. Can you tell me, Cora? Do you know of anything that might explain that?” It was obvious to Bella that Cora Flint looked extremely uncomfortable, even in the protective surroundings of her own home. Her unwillingness to speak seemed to indicate to Bella that she was either wrestling with her conscience or simply just did not want to volunteer any information, for some reason.

  “What is it, Cora? Why won’t you talk to me? I’m not an ogre, surely? I’d really like us to get on and I’d like you to continue…” Bella’s voice died away as Cora’s face crumpled, all semblance of self-control lost.

  “Stop it! Stop it, d’you hear?” She was on her feet now, surprising Bella with the speed of her movement. A deep, bitter emotion contorted her face as she confronted Bella. “I’m tellin’ you nothin’. If you’m want to know anythin’, you go see Samuel Handysides, alright?” That said, she began to sob. A despairing, heart-wrenching sound that accompanied her as she turned away and hurried from the room.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The interior of the Alfa Romeo was very warm when Bella got in so she opened all the windows, at the touch of a button, then let out a long, slow breath.

  “Wow!’ she said, quietly, in amazement. When Cora had left the room she’d slammed the door behind her and Bella had got the not-so-subtle message but it was a few seconds before she moved, stunned by the woman’s reaction. As the effect of her sudden departure wore off Bella had got up from her chair, after putting her cup and saucer down, and quietly let herself out. Seated in the car with a welcome breeze ruffling her hair she pondered her next move. There was no choice, it seemed, but to go and see Samuel and talk to him. Was she wasting her time, she wondered. What if he either wasn’t prepared to talk, like Cora, or dismissed her concerns as the product of a creative imagination? And would he be right? Bella considered the question. No! Maria’s visit, and her mother’s mention of following her instincts, drove her on. It was almost as though she felt her mother was with her, by her side, and it gave her inspiration. Bella was certain she was doing the right thing. That being the case she turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared into life. Bella took it as a positive sign, smiling broadly as she slipped her seat belt on.

  At least when she walked into the saloon bar of The Lamb now, Bella knew what to expect. The half dozen regulars in the room each in their own time turned to see who had come in then let their eyes linger upon her or chose to ignore her. A game of dominoes was in progress, she noticed, at a table by the front window while the other patrons drank at the bar. There was no sign of Samuel at first and Bella felt a little uncomfortable in the all-male company as she waited for him to appear.

  “Your turn to buy, I reckon,” the man at the bar nearest her said. Bella wasn’t sure whether the comment was directed at her and chose to think it wasn’t.

  “Looks as though she can afford it, right enough!” the man next to him replied. They all turned to face her and Bella felt her cheeks growing hot. At that moment Samuel appeared and she greeted him a little too loudly, grateful for his presence.

  “Samuel! How nice to see you.”

  “Miss Foxton. Ain’t seen you round these parts for a while.”

  “Oh, I’ve had my mother staying, friends down, that sort of thing. You know.”

  “Getting’ into your London ways, now, is it?” The men at the bar had turned away, their sport spoiled by the appearance of the landlord. “What can I get you, miss?”

  “A gin and tonic please, Samuel. Can I get you a drink?” His rounded cheeks, hidden among the grey whiskers, grew even chubbier as he smiled.

  “Well, that’s very good of you. I’ll have half a mild with you, if that’s alright.”

  “My pleasure. Actually, Samuel, can I have a word with you, in private, if that’s possible?” He didn’t seem at all perturbed by her request. Maybe, she thought, the episode with Alfie had done some good, after all.

  “Just let me get your drink and I’ll come round. We can sit at one of the tables over the back.” Bella looked in the direction that he’d indicated then crossed to the table and sat down. Right then, at that very moment, she felt as though there was an inevitability about what was taking place. Having started the momentum going with her visit to Cora, the dynamics of the situation meant that the sequence of events was beyond her control and the outcome lay in the hands of others. Cora had been just the beginning, the snowball at the top of the slope, immobile until Bella had given her a nudge. Rarely, if ever, in her life had Bella been so confident of what her instincts were telling her. But that didn’t mean to say she wasn’t nervous and, as Samuel brought their drinks over, she could only hope the relaxed smile she gave him masked the reality of her true feelings. He placed their drinks on the table, pulled up a chair and sat down.

  “Thanks, Samuel.” The landlord smiled, waiting for her to continue, and Bella wondered what was going through his mind.

  “You’re no doubt aware that Cora Flint works for me, one day a week,” she began. Samuel nodded, his face impassive. “Has done for most of the time I’ve been here. She’s an excellent worker but…” she paused and looked down at her glass.

  “Go on,” Samuel encouraged her and she raised her head, to look at him.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want
to seem ungrateful or anything but she’s not the easiest person in the world to get along with.” She could see Samuel was about to say something so she pressed on. “She’s got a heart of gold it would appear, Samuel, but it’s so difficult trying to communicate with her.” The slight grin on the landlord’s face appeared out of sympathy, which she recognised and felt heartened by.

  “Mrs. Flint’s ‘ad an ‘ard life, Miss Foxton. There’s things ‘ave ‘appened as don’t rest easy with ‘er, if you gets my meanin’.” Bella would have been surprised if he hadn’t have spoken in defence of the woman. “Cora’s done no more than built a wall around ‘erself. It’s ‘er defence against folks prying.” The message was clear in Samuel’s unwavering gaze as he raised his glass. “Cheers!”

  “Tell me about Cora’s sister Ruth, Samuel.” Bella was not going to be deterred. The whiff of a long cold scent was growing stronger. Nothing tangible, nothing she could prove yet, but her instincts told her it was so and no friendly advice was about to turn her from the trail. There was nothing she could read in Samuel’s face but the atmosphere had changed. Her antennae had picked up a slight feeling of tension in the air, suddenly.

  “That be a muddy pool, that one, Miss Foxton and I don’t know if you should be a-goin’ an’ stirrin’ it up.” He’s actually warning me off, she thought. Why? I’ve got to find out what’s going on. His remark only served to strengthen her determination.

  “I’ve just been to see Cora and asked her about Ruth. She broke down, Samuel, and told me to come and see you. To ask you about her sister.” In the most overt display of emotion she had witnessed from the man, Samuel puffed out his cheeks, gave a hefty sigh, and vigorously massaged his face with his hands. A ploy to give himself time to think. Bella waited impatiently, hardly daring to imagine what Samuel might be going to say. Finally, he clasped his hands together in front of him on the table, rubbing one thumb against the other, nervously.

  “I can’t tell you about Ruthy. Leastways, not now. It’s not up to me…”

  “I don’t understand,” Bella interjected. “What do you mean, it’s not up to you?” His eyes lingered on her face while he searched for the right words to say. “There’s a lot you’re not understandin’ Miss, because there’s a lot you don’t know and more besides.” An air of condescension permeated his voice, as though he were speaking to an eager child endeavouring to run before it could walk. “If I’m sayin’ to you it’s not up to me, then that’s what I means.” He sat back, glass in hand now and stared at her. “You’re certain you wants to know about Ruthy, no matter what? Even though I’d advise you to let things be?” What was he talking about, she wondered. And why all the drama? Bella’s curiosity was aroused to such an extent now that it would be impossible to let the matter drop.

  “Samuel, for goodness sake, what’s all the fuss? Yes, of course I want to know!” Somewhere, in the background, a door slammed shut but neither of them noticed, each of them too consumed by their thoughts.

  “Meet me back ‘ere tomorrow then, same time, an’ we’ll see.” Samuel Handysides finished his drink and stood up. “Sometimes folk are better left to their own business, you know. You lights this fire and lord knows who’ll get burnt.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Samuel had called the meeting for six-o-clock that evening but he had gone up to the room just after five, needing time to himself. None of them had thought it would ever come to this but now it appeared their fate lay in the hands of an outsider, something they had always feared. And, to make things worse, Samuel reflected grimly, Bella Foxton was no ordinary outsider, someone who could be turned away with a sharp remark or a carefully crafted prefabrication. Now she had the bit between her teeth it would seem that she was not going to give up. It was a sorry state of affairs for everyone, he concluded, but especially poor old Cora who had been through so much and deserved to be left alone, for the sake of her peace of mind. He shook his whiskered head slowly from side to side defeated by Bella’s reasoning and incapable of understanding why she was so interested in Ruth Flint. All he knew, in his wisdom, was that she was most likely to bitterly regret her inquisitive nature.

  The others drifted in around the appointed time with either a few terse words or a brief nod until they were all, once again, seated around the table. All of them that is except Cora. Samuel wasn’t prepared to make things any worse for her than they already were. The mood in the room was one of resignation, an acceptance of the fact that the issue couldn’t be avoided and perhaps it was all for the best. It seemed as though the dreary, depressing environment of their meeting place had somehow infected them with its dilapidation. For all of them, though, it brought back memories which had all but faded. In fact, since Bella Foxton had arrived in Knapthorne, there were others whose nights had been disturbed in much the same way as hers had been. The weight of their burden over the years had taken its toll and each of them, in their own way, was experiencing some degree of relief that an end to it all might be in sight. Samuel Handysides got to his feet slowly and the room fell silent.

  “I be thankin' you all for comin’.” He looked at each of them, in turn. “We’ve met ‘ere a few times, like this, over the years but this could be the last time we gets together.” His remark was met with neither surprise nor concern, all of them aware of why they were there. Samuel had informed every one of them of the circumstances when he had contacted them earlier in the day about the meeting. They had been invited along to listen to the facts as he was about to tell them then put his motion to the vote.

  “I’ve spared Cora the worry of bein’ ‘ere an’, if it’s alright by you all, she’s given me ‘er vote to cast as I thinks fit.” A nodding of heads and mumbled approval greeted his comment.

  “Right, then. Lets me fill you in with the details of what’s brought matters to an ‘ead, then you can all makes your minds up.” It was the cue for everyone to make themselves comfortable while Samuel cleared his throat before going on. “First thing was, in the bar, on Tuesday. This young lass comes in, says she’s on her way to Salisbury. Solicitor’s clerk or some such she said she were. Quite a cocky madam for a young’un. I thought there was somethin’ odd about ‘er straight away. Don’t know what, mind you. Nothin’ I could identify right off.” Being a natural storyteller he paused to lets his words sink in so that the audience could create a picture of the girl for themselves. “We got chattin’, she introduced ‘erself, then right out of the blue asks after the Flint family and Ruthy in particular.” His eyes roamed around the room, scanning their faces, before he continued. “Course, Alfie were in the bar and he gets fair airborne at the mention of his sister’s name. I bundles him out the room and goes to tell Cora, then, when I gets back to the bar, the girl’s gone. Like mist on a summer’s mornin’, she was. There one minute and gone the next. It fair had me flummoxed, I can tell you!”

  Everyone present knew of the Tuesday incident as Samuel was well aware. It was his responsibility to give them the facts so that the embellishments of gossip could be eroded. At the end of the day, though, it came down to the same thing. The outside world was beginning to impinge on their closely-guarded safety and security. The how and the why of it was not important. Merely because it was happening was worry enough. Samuel turned his attention to Bella Foxton and let his mind return to the day when she had first appeared in the saloon bar. He could recall, too, a feeling of apprehension at her arrival. Such a vital, attractive woman yet she brought with her a sense of foreboding, impossible for him to put into words at the time. He hadn’t known it then but she was the embodiment of the past and the future but something had registered in his mind immediately and continued to disturb him ever since. It seemed like months ago rather than weeks and he felt weary at the memory of it, time suddenly beginning to weigh heavily upon him. Calling the meeting to order, he expressed the wish for the assembly to bear with him as he took them back in time. It was, he said, an important step in explaining the current situation and outlining what effe
cts it was likely to have on them in the future.

  His was a captive audience, each committed to the agreement they had made so many years ago yet every one of them in his or her own way recognised that a wind of change had wafted into the village. For as much as they might seem to be reconciled to the situation, individually trying to keep up appearances for the sake of everyone else, every man and woman in the room knew that things were never likely to be the same again. How they handled these recent developments, the decisions taken after tonight’s meeting, would influence their future. What they had no way of knowing was exactly in which way that influence would work. Years of circumspect behaviour, a wariness of anyone from outside the village and a strong affiliation to the bonds of the local community had protected them. In a few short weeks all that had changed and Samuel had brought them together to face up to the reality of the situation. Now he was about to link Bella’s arrival with the events of the past. When he had finished, Samuel would ask for those present to voice their opinions then he’d take a vote on whether he told Miss Foxton about Ruthy Flint. Before he’d even uttered a word he was absolutely convinced of the outcome.

  Horatio Leadbetter was one of those at the meeting. Sixty-odd years ago he had been the biggest baby ever born in the village and the record still stood. On first seeing the bonny youngster, his grandfather, on his mother’s side, had affectionately called him Tiny and the name had stuck. Horatio had made sure of that. As soon as he had been old enough to realise that people were going to be calling him Horatio for the rest of his life he had rebelled against his given name, threatening anyone who used it. Only his mother and father were allowed the privilege of using the name they had chosen for him. Not overly tall, it was his bulk that made him stand out being a bull of a man with a round, hairless head which seemingly just sat on his shoulders, the thick neck hardly visible. For such a big man he had remarkably small eyes set quite close together, like the finger holes in a bowling ball, and virtually no eyebrows. Tiny Leadbetter was a legend in the village for his feats of strength, a man who expressed himself through his physical actions, having little use for words. Unfortunately his intellect was no match for his size. His father had seen no benefit in continuing with Tiny’s education past the age of twelve, contending he’d be more use on the farm. Whilst at school, the big lad had been shunned and taunted by the other kids with the kind of heartless cruelty reserved for others of their age who were different from what they decreed to be normal. So he had grown up lonely and unhappy until he discovered there was a demand for his physical abilities. His sheer size, by the time he had reached sixteen years of age, meant that no-one poked fun at him any more and Tiny Leadbetter had a long memory. He would never forget the names of those who had.