A Cotswold Ordeal Read online

  The immediate dilemma, once she got back to the house, was whether to tell Julia and Desmond what had happened. Her strong inclination was to leave them in cheerful ignorance, since there was nothing they could do. On the other hand, if it had been her in their shoes, she would want to be kept informed. If (fingers crossed, God forbid) anything happened to Hepzie, she would want to be told instantly. There was something dreadful in allowing a person to continue to assume all was well when it wasn’t.

  But Julia had given unambiguous instructions on this topic, albeit more by implication than direct speech. Only if a grim decision was required concerning Pallo should they be troubled. Otherwise it was down to Thea to use her best judgement. And the burial of a cat could wait. There was plenty of space in the large chest freezer housed in the barn that doubled as garage, general store and all-round useful space.

  ‘Well, at least I’m meeting the neighbours,’ she said, congratulating herself on finding a bright side to the sorry start to the day. And when she went to check on the pony, he stretched his neck towards her, wrinkling the soft floppy lips that for Thea were the best feature of the equine species, and snatching the carrot she proffered. The energy he displayed seemed to Thea a good omen for his survival.

  Cecilia Clifton returned on schedule, just as Thea was making coffee in a machine identical to the one she had at home. She heard the car, but was too slow to prevent Hepzie rushing out and leaping at the woman as soon as she was accessible.

  ‘Get down!’ she shouted, pushing the spaniel away.

  ‘Gosh, sorry,’ said Thea, wishing for the millionth time that everybody else loved dogs as much as she did. ‘She thinks you’re an old friend, you see.’

  ‘Her nails are dreadful.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me. I’m trying to cut them, one or two at a time. She absolutely hates it, so it’s rather a battle.’

  ‘Would you like me to hold her while you do it?’

  Thea knew she ought to agree to this offer. ‘That’s ever so kind, but somehow I’m not in the mood. You wouldn’t believe how it upsets her. And after Milo… Well, I can’t face it, to be honest.’

  Cecilia nodded accommodatingly and Thea warmed to her. ‘What did you do with the body?’ Cecilia asked.

  ‘Put it in the freezer. According to Frannie Whatnot, that’s a very insensitive thing to do.’

  ‘Oh, Frannie. Take no notice of her. She’s bonkers.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Not certifiable, but inclined to excessive emotion.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Thea with a laugh. ‘But what about that Robert? Are they married?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Biggest wedding around here for years. He’s from an old Chalford family. His granddad was a manager in one of the mills. Frannie’s not the partner anybody envisaged for him, but after a disastrous first marriage in his twenties, I think the family was grateful that he finally seems to have settled down again, even though she is so young.’

  ‘No kids?’

  ‘Not yet, but I gather they’re working on it. Robert’s mum is the matriarchal type and so far there’s just one granddaughter, born to Robert’s little sister. And she lives in York.’ Thea had the impression there was more family information itching to be disclosed, but Cecilia evidently decided she’d imparted quite enough.

  ‘Do you know the family histories of everybody here?’ Thea prompted.

  ‘Not the incomers, and that’s most of them. But I get around, you see, and people talk to me. Now I’m retired, I’ve really thrown myself into community matters.’

  ‘Like the WI, you mean?’

  Cecilia’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Certainly not! Listen, the Cotswolds is virtually the only area of southern England where there’s still a chance – a slim one, admittedly, but not completely gone – to stem the tide of urbanisation.’

  Thea gulped at this. ‘Oh,’ she managed. ‘Good for you.’

  ‘It’s a full time job, let me tell you. Everybody thinks their little bit of desecration will go unnoticed, won’t make a difference, they can dodge the regulations and guidelines. But we’re winning.’ Cecilia paused with a smirk of satisfaction. ‘We are definitely winning.’

  ‘Well,’ Thea asserted, feeling like some sort of Girl Guide, ‘you can include me on your side. I’m all for conservation. My husband—’

  Cecilia gave her no chance to finish. ‘Let me show you around, while you’re here. We’ve got a lot to be proud of.’

  Thea nodded, struck dumb by such enthusiasm.

  The woman went on. ‘Not that this is a wholly rural area, of course. It actually has quite a strong industrial history, just across the river from here. It’s hideous new homes and misguided attempts to attract tourists that we mainly object to.’

  Thea found her voice, explaining that she was quite well apprised of the past glories of the region.

  Cecilia laughed delightedly. ‘Well, you are a find, to be sure. Such genuine interest is hard to come by.’ She paused, before adding, ‘Would you like me to show you around? What are your interests? I can do you wild flowers, William Morris, clothmaking, canals, architecture, railways, local personalities…’ She ticked each topic off on her fingers.

  Thea’s eyes widened. ‘Are you proposing to give me a tour, or just a lecture?’

  ‘Either. Both. Chalford’s just over there, as I expect you know. It’s almost a ghost town now, compared to how it was less than a century ago. I never get tired of roaming its streets, imagining how it must have been. A veritable hive of industry it was.’

  ‘Clothmaking?’

  ‘And the rest. Dyeing, weaving, wood-turning, bone-turning…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s true. One of the mills was converted into a bone-turning works for a while. They made bone knitting needles and crochet hooks.’

  Thea gulped half her mug of cooling coffee. Her lifelong knack of slipping into a different historical period had taken over. From the kitchen window at the back of Juniper Court, the slopes of Chalford were faintly visible. It did not look like a busy mill town, but with some imaginative exertion, she could visualise the streets full of workers thronging to enter the mill gates before the appointed time. Hooters would summon them from their gossip and hurried shopping forays. It was a scene more associated with Yorkshire than south Gloucestershire.

  ‘And what’s that place up there?’ she asked, pointing at the settlement across the valley.

  ‘Oakridge. Nice little village, though I hardly ever go there. Looks its best from over here, quite honestly.’

  ‘And what about the canal? According to my map, it goes right through the woods between here and Daneway.’

  Cecilia’s pause was long enough to be meaningful. ‘There’s a terrible lot I could tell you about the canal,’ she said, eventually. ‘It might be best not to get me started on the canal.’

  Thea seldom thought of herself as contrary or unduly argumentative, but this remark was entirely too provoking to ignore.

  ‘But it’s the canal that interests me most,’ she said. ‘Believe it or not, my dissertation for my degree was on English canals and railways. The period from 1870 to 1890, when the railways were in full swing, and stealing all the business from the canals. You might say I have a special interest.’

  Cecilia sighed. ‘I might have known it. But there isn’t a lot to see. They haven’t even started on any restoration along this section, although they’re talking it up and trying to raise money. It’s going to be a massive job, if they ever do knuckle down to it.’ Her face darkened. ‘And that’s rather a big if, the way things are going. Besides, there’s obviously nothing I could tell you. Why don’t we pop along to Daneway instead? Did you know that William Morris had a house there? Quite a few houses in the area go back to the Arts and Crafts movement. We could walk from here, through the woods.’

  ‘How far is it?’

  ‘Barely two miles.’

  ‘Each way?’

  Cecilia nodded
. ‘Why? What else do you have to do?’

  Thea wriggled her shoulders. ‘Not a lot, really. It’s just – the weather, for a start. It’s going to rain, by the look of it.’ She couldn’t have stated precisely why she felt a reluctance to embark on a woodland walk with this woman, other than a sense of being bulldozed into too sudden an intimacy. The walk would lead to tea and cakes, in all probability, and beyond. It was Sunday, she remembered. Why did Cecilia not have a family to spend the day with? Was she so lonely she had to descend on a temporary stranger for company?

  ‘You’re probably right,’ Cecilia agreed comfortably. ‘I’m doing my usual trick of rushing people into things. But you must go and see Daneway House. And the tunnel. And the pub’s not bad.’ She gave Thea a straight look. ‘And it isn’t a lot of fun going to a pub by yourself, now is it?’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Thea, who had a profound resistance to entering a pub alone. ‘This is all very kind of you.’ And it probably was, she concluded. The woman was just being kind and she was being churlish to entertain suspicions as to her motives.

  Cecilia got up to go five minutes after finishing her coffee. ‘Here’s my phone number,’ she said. ‘I’m not doing very much in the coming week. I mean it about filling you in on local history. You seem interested – it’s only good sense to avail yourself of somebody like me.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Thea smiled, taking the slip of paper with the phone number. ‘As soon as the weather improves, I’ll take you up on it.’

  * * *

  Even when it began to drizzle, her mood remained buoyant. Retreating to the big kitchen, she turned on the radio.

  As very often happened, the programme fitted well with her situation. Tuned to a local station, there was a woman talking about Minchinhampton Common and its mysterious history. Stories of gypsy encampments, amateur golfing and perennial kite-flying made the place sound unremarkable at first. But then the voice altered to a lower key, and the talk changed to sudden thick mists and dangerous trenches dating back to World War Two, all of it worthy of a much larger wilderness. Although people used it as if it were a country park, there were still echoes of a wilder darker history. And then, as if to lighten the mood again, the speaker went on to talk about courting couples from Thrupp and Brimscombe and Chalford spending their Sundays on the Common, walking miles for the pleasure of open grassland and bracing air.

  The programme ended, to be replaced with the bland popular music that local radio tended to favour. Thea was left with a desire to visit the Common for herself. If nothing else, it sounded a perfect place for exercising a lively young spaniel. ‘We’ll go as soon as the rain stops,’ she told Hepzibah.

  But the rain got worse and the sky even darker. The house seemed to wrap itself around her, seducing her into remaining indoors, where there was a big new television with incredible sound and countless channels to choose from, slightly raising Thea’s hopes of classic movies or fascinating nature programmes – if she could work out how to operate the thing. There were also books, CDs, DVDs, magazines and games.

  ‘There aren’t any no-go areas,’ Julia Phillips had said. ‘Help yourself to anything you might need to pass the time. I hope it won’t get too tedious for you.’

  At random Thea chose a recent copy of Cotswold Life and found a page of listings advertising local garden fetes, barbecues, country shows and antique sales. Every village apparently had some ambitious scheme to celebrate the summer and raise some funds. Thea entertained pleasing visions of community jollity, until she remembered similar events she had attended in previous times. When Jessica was small, and Carl just embarking on his new vocation as an environmentalist in rural Oxfordshire, he had insisted they engage in as much ‘grassroots activity’ as they could. It had never quite been Thea’s cup of tea, waiting around for the results of the raffle to be announced, and the number of currants in the kilner jar. She’d never once won anything, and only reluctantly purchased a few leggy home-grown plants and dog-eared paperbacks from the stalls.

  Time was passing slowly and she was beginning to miss human company. If she’d been at home, she could have dropped in on any one of half a dozen friends. Women her age were often still encumbered by young children and therefore not generally working full time, despite the perception to the contrary. Some had given it a try for a year or two and then returned thankfully to the freedom and fulfilment of life without a job.

  ‘Doesn’t look as if this one’s going to be as exciting as the last,’ she muttered, with a wistfulness she almost instantly came to regret.

  Neither Thea nor Hepzie heard anybody drive into the yard or come to the front door, so the first thing they knew was a loud knocking.

  She trotted across the hallway with an eagerness she felt to be almost pathetic. Was she so desperate for human contact, despite the two encounters she’d already had that day? Was she going to have to admit to herself that there were aspects to this job that seriously disagreed with her?

  A middle-aged man was on the doorstep, shoulders hunched against water that ran down his neck from soaking hair. His sodden trousers stuck to his legs. He shook himself and grinned at her. ‘Sorry to be a bother,’ he said, with no appearance of regret. ‘But I’m totally lost. Where exactly does this road go?’

  Thea grinned back. ‘That’s a very good question,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t actually go anywhere, really. I mean, it just links to the A419. Where are you trying to get to?’

  ‘Some Godforsaken village called Daneway. I must have missed a turning.’

  Thea was not a nervous or suspicious person. She had never had cause to fear an apparently innocent stranger. But some instinct warned her not to reveal her true situation. The man was nice-looking, well-spoken. Hepzie was wagging at him from the dry of the hallway. On the surface, at least, there was no imaginable reason for doubting him. Perhaps it was his extreme wetness that she found mildly repellent. What in the world could he have been doing to get in such a state?

  Glancing over his shoulder, she saw a long, low, maroon-coloured car with a soft black top. A flicker of disapproval ran through her – something so sporty and speedy should not be venturing down quiet rural lanes where Siamese cats couldn’t cross to the neighbour’s without being slaughtered.

  ‘Daneway’s just a couple of miles that way,’ she said, pointing to the left. ‘You can’t really miss it.’ She injected a deal more confidence into her voice than she truly felt. All she was going by was her recollection of the map, and the blithe way Cecilia Clifton had suggested they walk to the village.

  ‘Okay,’ he nodded, with a half-smile that seemed much too knowing. As if he had been testing her and found her wanting. Maybe he’d hoped for a cup of tea and a chance to dry his trousers. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find it,’ she said, retreating slightly and gripping the edge of the door. The gesture was firmly unambiguous. He understood that he was being rejected, and a flicker of something like sadness crossed his eyes. Thea felt ashamed and then impatient. This was how it was between men and women, she reminded herself. It was not wise to trust or believe the words of a stranger. If, as half her instincts were urging her, she had asked him in, she would deserve whatever happened next. Her female friends would be aghast if she were to make such a terrible mistake. Her male ones would sigh and shake their heads and talk dispassionately about vulnerability and sensible precautions. And she would never know what the right thing would have been.

  ‘Oh, I expect I shall,’ he agreed. ‘Thanks very much.’

  She soon forgot about him, especially as the late-afternoon routines for the livestock were due to commence. The geese had to be braved, in order to get to the henhouse, where eggs must be collected. The nesting boxes were attached to a wire run, where the birds were confined at night. The pond lay only a few feet beyond and at the sight of her, the geese abandoned their paddling and mudlarking to waddle hurriedly towards her. Hepzie saw them coming and veered away, changing course in favour of an urgent
foray into the pony’s quarters. Thea tried to make herself tall and assertive, holding the egg basket before her like a shield, thankful that she was wearing her raincoat for protection against pecks as well as precipitation. Three large white birds lined up in front of her, their black eyes unblinking. Without looking at them directly, Thea marched to the henhouse and lifted the flap to reveal five perfect brown eggs divided between two nesting boxes. The geese did not follow and she exhaled in relief.

  Collecting eggs had to be one of life’s most simple satisfactions, akin to finding mushrooms or digging new potatoes. The natural bounty appearing like a small miracle couldn’t fail to inflate the spirits. She would make herself an omelette for supper and think herself blessed.

  The rain did not abate throughout the evening. Having fed and watered the pony, shut the birds in and mourned briefly for the poor Siamese cat, she logged onto the internet to retrieve any emails she might have.

  There was one from James, her brother-in-law, who persisted in monitoring her movements and nagging her about keeping safe. In the light of events during her earlier house-sitting adventure, she could hardly criticise him for his solicitude.

  I hope all’s well in Minchinhampton? No strange farmers or such? You’re certainly a glutton for punishment.

  As it happens, Rosie and I are off to Deauville tomorrow for a week, and that means I won’t be able to rush to your side if there’s a crisis. So stay on the sunny side, there’s a good girl. Maybe Jessica can be on standby if you need anything.

  Seriously, love, do try not to get involved. Settle down with a good book, or go shopping in Cirencester. Anything that’ll keep you out of trouble.

  With our love, James.

  Hurriedly, she keyed in a reply.

  It’s all perfectly fine here, thank you for asking. Apart from the weather, of course. Nice warm family house, lovely people, easy animals. There has been one disaster, though. The cat got run over this morning – or during the night, I imagine. It was a lovely Siamese, so that’s quite a bummer. I’ve put it in the freezer for now.