Blood on the Wood (17 page)

‘You're an expert on rigor mortis, are you?'

‘My father was a doctor.'

I was tempted to tell him a story from the Liverpool slums, about a very fat man and the undertakers having to remove a door and doorframe to get him out, but decided against it.

‘Pretty cool of you, wasn't it, noticing something like that?'

It certainly wasn't admiration in his voice.

‘You can't help noticing things,' I said.

‘Was there anything else you noticed, anybody hanging about the house?'

‘There was a tramp,' I said, suddenly remembering. Then regretted it because he was Bobbie's tramp, not mine.

‘Where and when?'

‘I … I was waiting with the picture in a barn just down the field. A tramp tried to get in and I told him to go away.'

‘Did he say anything?'

‘I couldn't make it out.'

‘What did he look like?'

‘It was dark. I couldn't see.'

‘So how did you know he was a tramp?'

‘I suppose I assumed it.'

He sighed and gave the constable a God-help-us look that was probably intended to annoy me and did. I'd been wondering whether to tell him about the tramp whistling the
Long Lankin
song but that wouldn't help. He paused while the constable turned a page and sharpened his pencil.

‘When did you last see Daisy Smith alive?'

‘At the Scipian camp on Monday morning. She was going into a tent for a lecture with all the others.'

‘Did she have any particular friends?'

‘I didn't know her well.'

He must have noticed it was an evasion but didn't say anything. A pointless evasion too. He'd have to talk to the people left at the camp and the story of her and Daniel must come out, but I didn't want to be the one to tell it. I don't know if he'd have pressed it further or what I'd have said if he had, because at that point the sound that had been there in the background for the last few minutes got so loud that we couldn't ignore it.

*   *   *

When I first heard the music I thought it might be in my own head, because I'd been thinking about the whistling tramp. But it wasn't
Long Lankin
or any other song that I could remember hearing. A strange and antique kind of tune for a wild dance. It was being played on a concertina and not very well either – some wrong notes that added to the strangeness of the thing, the rhythm broken.

‘What in the world is that row?' the inspector said. He stood up, opened the window and leaned out. ‘Stop that. Stop it at once.'

A moment's check then the music went on defiantly. A voice started singing, loud and hoarse.

‘Bring away the beggar and the king

And every man in his degree'

Inspector Bull snapped at the constable, ‘Come on,' and the two of them hustled out of the door. I went to the open window, expecting to see Daniel down below on the gravel. It didn't sound like him but if grief had driven him off his head it might have got into his voice as well. Looking down I saw a bare and shaggy head, booted feet scuffing the gravel in a kind of stationary dance, strong arms pumping away at the concertina. Only it wasn't Daniel. I was so surprised that at first I didn't guess who it was. It wasn't until the inspector and constable came hurrying down the steps on to the gravel and the singer turned up his big bearded face to look at them that I recognised Harry Hawthorne. Inspector Bull strode up to him, commanded him to stop, but Harry went on playing and pawing the gravel.

‘Bring away the old and youngest thing,

Come all to death and follow me'

‘Harry!' A shout from the top of the steps. Daniel Venn came running down them, hair as disordered as Harry's, voice high and sharp. ‘Harry. Stop it. Stop playing that.'

He pushed past the inspector and made a grab for Hawthorne's arm. Harry took a few clumsy dancing steps away, still playing and singing.

‘Make ready, then, your winding sheet,

And see how ye can bestir your feet,

For Death is the man that all must meet,

For Death is the man that all must meet.'

Daniel was yelling at him all the time to stop. It turned into a wild howling, a descant over the death music. The combination seemed to stop even Inspector Bull in his tracks. He just stood there staring until Daniel managed to get a grip on Hawthorne's right arm with both his hands and drag it away from the concertina. The music stopped, Hawthorne stood there panting with Daniel still shaking his arm yelling ‘No, no!' The two policemen moved in and parted them. I craned out of the window, desperate to hear what was said.

‘What do you think you're doing?' Inspector Bull to Harry Hawthorne.

‘Lamenting.' Just the one word flung back at him. Hawthorne didn't retreat an inch, unkempt beard jutting at the police officer's clean-shaven face.

‘The Shaking of the Sheets.
He was playing
The Shaking of the Sheets.'
From Daniel, who could have mimed the title from the way he was looking, white-faced and trembling with anger.

‘And who are you, sir?'

In spite of Daniel's state, the inspector had registered that he merited a ‘sir', even if it was a sarcastic one. Adam clearly hadn't got round to introducing his brother to the police yet. At least the sharpness of the question seemed to make Daniel more sensible.

‘Daniel Venn. I live here. And this man's got no right to be here.'

A roar of harsh laughter from Hawthorne.

‘Defending your family property, are you? Young squire seeing the riff-raff off the premises? Arrest him, constable and have him clapped in the stocks!'

‘I might just do that if you don't keep quiet.' The inspector, annoyed at being referred to as a constable. And to Daniel, ‘Who is this man?' But Daniel had turned away, head down.

‘My name's Hawthorne,' Harry told the inspector. ‘Mr Hawthorne to you. And it's no good threatening me because I've been arrested more times than you've pissed in a pot. I've come here to mourn a member of the working classes slaughtered by the middle class in defence of its stolen property and you've got no right to stop me.'

The inspector said, ‘What are you talking about?'

Adam called, ‘Daniel, come in. Come in at once.' I couldn't see him, but from his voice he must have been standing at the top of the steps. Daniel gave no sign of hearing him.

‘Miss Daisy Smith is what I'm talking about,' Hawthorne said.

‘So what do you know about Miss Smith?'

‘I know she was alive and now she's dead and I know what killed her.'

‘If you have any information about Daisy Smith's death…'

‘I'm telling you, they killed her. Arrest the lot of them. Arrest the whole bloody family and all the other families who think holding on to what they've got is more important than the flesh and blood of the people who made it for them.'

Adam had joined the group now. Standing beside the inspector, he was apparently listening quite calmly to what Harry Hawthorne was saying. ‘I think this has probably gone far enough, Inspector. Mr Hawthorne is clearly under the influence of alcohol—'

‘I am not.'

(Debatable point, I thought. Like a lot of good speakers, Harry Hawthorne could get drunk on his own anger and eloquence.)

‘Drunk or sober, you're committing a breach of the peace. If you're not off these premises in one minute you're under arrest.'

They stared at each other. Hawthorne hitched his concertina on to his shoulder and whether he intended it or not it made a derisive wheezing noise.

‘I've said what I came to say. If anybody wants any more, you'll find me down at the schoolhouse.' He looked round the half-circle of them, the two brothers and the two police officers, turned and went down the drive in no hurry.

‘What did he mean about the schoolhouse?' the inspector asked Adam.

‘He's the leader of a group staying down there – with my uncle's permission.'

‘Funny way he's got of returning a favour,' the inspector said.

*   *   *

They all went inside. Soon after that two sets of footsteps came back along the upstairs corridor and the door opened. I was still standing by the window, to let Inspector Bull know I'd heard what was going on. I didn't think he'd come off well and he seemed to think so too, because he was flustered. He asked a few more questions, but I sensed his heart wasn't in it. Part of his mind was still on that scene with Hawthorne and the Venn brothers and I guessed it might be moving in a direction the Venns wouldn't like. He wasn't a stupid man, unfortunately. He marked the end of the interview by asking what my immediate plans were. I hadn't made any but supposed I'd be going back to London. I couldn't do anything useful by staying on here.

‘You'll be hearing from us,' he said.

Inquest? Charges? I didn't ask, feeling bone-weary. The inspector opened the door for me and followed me downstairs, a little too closely, as if making sure I didn't pocket anything in passing. Adam Venn was waiting down in the hall, looking as if he were holding the whole family together by sheer force of will. Carol stood just behind him in an open doorway, unobtrusive but supporting. ‘We need to speak to your brother,' the inspector told Adam. ‘And Mrs Venn, your uncle and the servants. Is there anyone else in the household?'

Silence for a second then Adam said, ‘There's Miss Foster, but I'm not sure that she's well enough to…'

‘Who's Miss Foster?'

‘A … a friend of the family.' Then Adam decided to take the hurdle after all, cleared it. ‘In fact, Miss Foster is my brother's fiancée.'

A decision made for all the family, and not an easy one. He'd have had to take a gamble on whether I'd told the inspector about Daniel's other engagement. I could sense him relaxing just a little when Inspector Bull made no comment.

‘Was she in the house when Miss Smith's body was found?'

‘Yes, and she's in a bad state of shock. We had to give her a sleeping draught and—'

‘Was Daisy Smith a particular friend of hers, then?'

‘No, she'd never met her. But Miss Foster is a highly strung young woman and it was naturally very distressing for her.'

Carol Venn said, from the doorway, ‘Poor Felicia really is in no condition to be questioned. You can take me next if you like, then Adam can have Uncle Oily and Daniel ready and waiting for you.'

Adam gave her a grateful look. I wondered if Inspector Bull had guessed her reason for volunteering so promptly – that it would give her husband more time to talk sense to Daniel. By the look of the scene outside, he'd need all the time he could get. But if he did guess, there wasn't much he could do about it without rudeness and the Venns were not of the class that police could be rude to without reprisals. He thanked her and they went back upstairs together, Carol walking as confidently as any hostess with any guest.

‘Daniel wants to see you,' Adam said. He'd waited until the inspector was out of earshot.

‘Why?'

‘He won't tell me. Try not to unsettle him if you can.'

Unsettle him from what? Adam was taking it for granted that I'd do it when all I wanted to do was get away from the place to fresh air, clean clothes and sleep.

‘Where is he?'

‘In the summerhouse last time I saw him.'

I went out of the front door and round the house into the garden. The sun was high now, bees overloaded with pollen blundering around at waist height, smell of bruised geranium leaves heavy in the air. The weeds on the way to the summerhouse were thoroughly trampled, but that could have been any of us. It seemed to me an ill-omened place to have chosen, after Felicia and the gun. Daniel was slumped on a bench in the shade, head bent. The blanket and oil lamp were still there beside him. He jumped up when he heard my steps.

‘You wanted to talk to me?'

‘What did Harry mean? Is he saying I killed her?'

He looked desperate and scared. I guessed that Daniel had never been unhappy before in his short adult life. Singer and dancer, protected younger brother and indulged nephew, his existence had been as sunny and open as downland with blue butterflies. But then, I might be wrong.

‘He didn't say you, in particular. He said “they killed her”.'

‘It's nonsense.'

He said it not angrily, but in a confused and defeated way, shaking his head. ‘What did he mean?'

‘Let's sit down.'

He sat down heavily on the bench and I went into the summerhouse and joined him, not too close. There was a smell of old sweat and sour breath coming from him.

‘I'm not sure if he knew himself. He seemed very grieved and angry about Daisy Smith. Do you think he might have met her before somewhere?'

Daniel's head came up and he stared at me. ‘No. Why should he?'

‘I just wondered. You're sure about that?'

‘Yes. I just went up to him as soon as we arrived at the camp and told him about Daisy and … oh God…' His head went down again and he talked at the cobbles of the summerhouse floor. ‘Why can't we go back to where we were? You know … you get a piece of music or a dance wrong and you can go back to the beginning, do it over again until you get it right. But this, you can't go back. I've been thinking all the things I might have done differently…'

‘Like leaving Daisy where she was?'

‘No. I couldn't have done that.'

I didn't say the obvious – she'd still be alive at least.

‘So what else might you have done differently?'

‘Last night, everything. I should have told her first, or Felicia first, or…'

I said, as gently as possible in the circumstances, ‘If you want me to listen to you, could you please tell me what you're talking about?'