Dead Man Riding (19 page)

It annoyed me that he thought I needed reassuring, but I was glad to be spared any hard questions. He turned to Alan.

‘Do you know who the last person was to see your uncle alive, Mr Beston?'

We looked at each other. Alan said, ‘I suppose it would have been Mrs Berryman, in the house the night before.'

‘Ah yes, Mrs Berryman.' A heaviness in the Inspector's voice. You could tell he didn't approve of her. ‘We'll need a statement from her, and the Gypsy lad. Does that mean you weren't in the house with him last night?'

‘We all slept up at the barn,' Alan said.

Armstrong made no comment on that. ‘Are you Mr Beston's next of kin?'

‘I think my father is, only he's in Baden Baden with my mother. I'll have to telegraph him, but…' Alan let the words trail away. I think the complexities of the situation were only just catching up with him.

Armstrong nodded. ‘In any case, you'll understand that you can't make any arrangements to have your uncle buried until the doctor and the coroner have seen him. There'll have to be an inquest. They might open it and adjourn it and release your uncle's body for burial, but naturally we'll keep you informed.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Do I take it you've got quite a party up there?'

‘Some college friends on a reading party.'

‘Well, we'd take it as a favour if they'd stay until we sort out who we need statements from. We'll try not to inconvenience them any more than we have to. And if you don't mind waiting now, Miss Bray, we'll get your statement taken down.'

Meredith asked, ‘May we go back after that or should we wait for the doctor?'

‘He's been called to Ireby on another case. We'll send him up to you later.'

*   *   *

The sergeant who took me through my statement and the constable who wrote it painstakingly down were as careful of my feelings as Inspector Armstrong had been. As Meredith had suggested, I kept to the simple facts of what I'd seen that morning with no speculation. They didn't ask any questions about the Old Man's health or state of mind. I supposed that would come later and was more than ready to let it wait. When we'd finished Meredith was waiting for me on the far side of the reception desk, looking concerned.

‘All right, Miss Bray?'

‘All right, yes.'

Alan had gone to the post office to send a telegram to his father. We met back in the yard of the public house and although I felt quite well enough to take the reins going home, Meredith insisted on driving us. I sat in the back with Alan. He looked worn down with worry and kept biting at his knuckles, probably a habit from his childhood that came back at times of stress. I couldn't blame him. I had my straw hat in my lap and I knew my fingers were twisting the brim out of shape, the way I was told not to when I was about six years old.

‘Did you tell them about the ride on the beach, Nell?'

‘No. Did you want me to?'

‘It will all have to come out, won't it? Isn't that the kind of thing they want to know at inquests?'

‘I don't know. I've never been to one.'

We were all so terribly new to it and this wasn't at all the intellectual exploration we'd intended for our summer. We bowled along between banks of foxgloves and meadowsweet and I wondered how much practice it took to stop thinking things.

Chapter Twelve

T
HE POLICE DOCTOR, A SERGEANT AND A CONSTABLE
arrived in a gig around the middle of the afternoon. Nathan spotted them coming down the track and we waited for them in the yard outside the house, with chickens scratching round our feet. Alan introduced himself to the doctor, managing to sound pretty well in control of himself, and led him through to the stable yard. The sergeant, a sweating red-faced man, said they wanted to speak to Robin O'Kane. It was the first time I'd heard Robin's surname. The sergeant didn't put a ‘Mr' in front of it. I volunteered to look for Robin and found him sitting alone on an old trough on the shady side of the house with the Old Man's two Afghan hounds on either side of him, their eyes open and mournful, long ears flopping in the dust. He looked so terrified when I told him that the police wanted to speak to him that for a moment I thought he was going to run away.

‘It's all right, it's only because you saw him on the horse. Just tell them exactly what happened and don't let them scare you.'

While he was with them I kept the Afghans company and twice heard the sergeant's voice raised from inside the house. He sounded angry but I couldn't make out what was being said. It was half an hour before Robin came stumbling out into the sun. He was looking round in a dazed way and when I got nearer I saw that he was shaking.

‘What's wrong?'

He shook his head, bewildered. I asked if he wanted a cup of tea and he nodded his head but I couldn't get him to come into the kitchen for it. The sergeant and constable were still in the parlour and that was too close for him. When I went into the kitchen the door to the parlour was closed and the sound of the sergeant's voice came from the other side, too low to make out the words. I guessed it was Dulcie's turn now. At least she wasn't being shouted at, even scandalous housekeepers being a cut above Gypsy boys. The kettle was on the fire as usual so I made tea for Robin, strong with three spoonfuls of sugar and took it out to him in the yard. He drank it in three or four gulps and uttered some words at last.

‘What will I do?'

‘What's happened? What did they ask you?'

‘They were asking did I do that to him, did I tie him on the horse.'

‘What did you tell them?'

‘God's holy truth that I never did. Will you tell them, miss? Tell them it was you who found him and called me to him.'

‘I've already told them that.'

He shook his head again, so bewildered it was painful to see. ‘What will I do? What will I do without him.'

He was grieving for the Old Man. I should have realised before, but I think the rest of us were still too shocked for grief and, after all, we'd only known him for a few days. Robin had been with him for two years, up here in their own small world with the horses, his life governed by what the Old Man wanted.

‘You liked him?'

A nod. ‘I honoured him.' There was liking as well as respect in his voice.

‘Do you think he killed himself?'

Another shake of the head, but no way of telling if it was a no or simple bewilderment. It would have been brutal to press further and I'd given him no answer to his question.

‘Somebody's going to have to look after the horses,' I said. ‘He'd have wanted you to do that, wouldn't he?'

‘Should I put Sid back in his field or will the police be wanting him?'

I had to stop myself smiling at the idea of the stallion giving his statement.

‘Put him back in his field, I should.' Then, because he was calmer now we were talking about horses I risked some more questions. ‘Was Sid in his own paddock as usual last night?'

‘Sure he was. You couldn't go putting him down in the big field on account of the mares.'

‘When did you see Sid last – before it happened, I mean?'

‘After supper. Mr Beston and myself went up to see was he all right, like we do every night. An' then I left Mr Beston up there with him an' came down to my bed.'

‘Leaving him up there with Sid?'

‘I always did. He liked to be on his own up there and watch the sun setting.'

‘Were the dogs with him?'

‘No. They stay shut up inside of nights.'

‘Did he take Sid's tack up with him?'

‘Why would he do that? He had no need of it, not meaning to ride him.'

And yet, some time between then and early morning the horse must have been brought down from his paddock and his saddle and bridle taken out of the tack room.

Robin stood up. ‘Shall I be seeing after Sid, then?' Then, ‘Are they after taking Mr Beston away to bury him?'

I said I didn't know, but when I was back in the yard and Robin had gone to see to the horse I had an answer. Midge came up to me, tense and white-faced.

‘The doctor's taken the gig and gone. He's sending up a covered cart to take Mr Beston away for a post-mortem.'

‘Where's Alan?'

‘With Imogen somewhere. He had a talk with the doctor before he went. He won't say much before he does a proper post-mortem, but Alan gathered he thinks the horse might have rolled on him. He had some ribs broken and a bump on the back of the head.'

‘That couldn't have been from the stones on the beach the day before. It was the front of his head he grazed then.'

It was a relief to be with Midge, matter-of-fact about everything as usual, but even she was looking worn out. It was so hot in the yard by now, with the afternoon sun full on it, that we thought we'd both be better for some air. We walked up the track towards the woods. A long way ahead of us, Robin was leading Sid back to his pasture.

‘Nathan thinks I should have protected you from seeing him like that,' I said. ‘I thought you were asleep.'

‘I woke up. You weren't there and your towel had gone so I guessed you'd gone down to the bathing place. I was annoyed with you for not waking me to go with you. Then I heard the horse's hooves in the yard and your voice and guessed something was wrong.'

‘When you went down to the yard, what exactly did you see?'

‘He was still on the horse's back then. Robin was trying to get the horse to stand still and Dulcie was the other side. I think she must have been untying his foot from the stirrup. I asked what had happened and Dulcie said he was dead.'

‘Nothing else?'

‘No. So I went up to them and saw his wrists were tied as well. I started trying to undo one of them and Robin helped from the other side because he'd got the horse quieter by then, and Dulcie went and got a knife from the tack room. When we'd got him cut free Robin asked me to take hold of the bridle so that he could lift him off.'

‘So you found the knots round his wrists were too tight to untie?'

‘For goodness' sake Nell, why don't you come straight out and ask it? I haven't entirely lost my brains any more than you have.'

‘Ask what?'

‘Whether he could have tied the knots himself. Isn't that what's in your mind?'

‘Yes.'

‘In my opinion, no he couldn't. I know about knots. When we were children my brothers were always tying me to trees and playing cannibals or Indians. I got quite clever at escaping. Look Nell.' She stopped us beside the gate to the big hayfield. ‘Imagine the gate's the horse. That gatepost is its neck and there's a strap round it. You might be able to tie your left wrist to the strap, using your teeth and your right hand … he was right-handed?'

I tried to remember him doing something with his hands, but all I could picture was the arm sliding round Dulcie's hips.

‘I think so.'

‘Anyway, once you've got one hand tied, how do you manage the other?'

‘I don't know. I couldn't find the bits of string and leather you cut.'

‘I told you we just threw them down. It wasn't the first thing on our minds. Why? Have the police been asking?'

‘They didn't ask me, but I think they've been giving poor Robin a bad time. You didn't notice him or Dulcie tidying them away?'

‘I wasn't thinking about that.'

We walked on up the track. Just past the gate to Sid's paddock on the left there was a place in the hedge that looked as if it had been recently disturbed. A few hazel leaves had been torn away and were lying on the path, curled up in the sun. I wondered if a badger might have pushed through and looked at the bank under the hedge for more signs of it, anything to distract myself from what we'd been talking about. About halfway up the hedge, pushed in among the branches, there was something black and cylindrical. It wouldn't move at first and came reluctantly when I tugged at it, tangling and pulling out more leaves.

‘What's that doing there?' Midge said.

She sounded alarmed and when I saw what I was holding I felt the same. It was the Old Man's carriage whip, the one he carried with him when he patrolled his fields at night, the long lash still caught up in the hedge.

‘I don't know.' One thing I was sure about was that it hadn't been used on Sid. His fine silver hide had been quite unmarked.

‘Did the Old Man put it there?'

It was possible, I supposed. If it had been simply lost or thrown away it wouldn't have been so deep in the hedge. It might have been his equivalent of breaking his staff of office if he'd decided to kill himself. I untangled the lash from the hedge and coiled it in my hand. It felt odd holding it, knowing that the last touch on it might have been the Old Man's, but we couldn't leave it lying on the track. We turned to walk back down and as we got near the gate to the hay field a voice called hello from the other side of the hedge. It was Nathan coming down from the barn with a pack on his back and a rolled-up hay mattress under each arm. He looked too hot and bothered to notice the whip.

‘What were you two conspiring about?'

‘We were trying to work out if Mr Beston could have tied himself to the horse,' Midge said, opening the gate for him. He made a noise that sounded like a strangled swear-word and dumped the mattresses on the grass. I'd known Nathan for more than a year and this was the first time I'd seen him angry.

‘I've had more than enough of this. I was going to wait until I'd got the three of you together but you can tell Imogen when you see her. I'm driving us to the station tomorrow, and we're leaving.'

We stared. ‘Who?'

‘You two, Imogen and I. Alan should never have brought you into this, but since he's stuck here it's my responsibility to get you out of it.'