Dead Man Riding (21 page)

‘Yes.'

‘But there's an alternative, isn't there? You reminded me yourself that Mazeppa didn't want to kill himself. He was tied on the horse against his will.'

‘Are you saying that's what happened?'

‘When I saw him and Sid, they were coming from the direction of Major Mawbray's land. Major Mawbray's a cavalry officer. He thinks the Old Man killed his son. Even before that the two of them had quarrelled.'

‘That's just a series of separate facts. It's not a hypothesis.'

‘All right, if you want a hypothesis, here it is. Major Mawbray watched us when we were riding through his field on Wednesday. That's not just part of the hypothesis. I saw him and he looked furious. The next bit is hypothesis. That was the last straw, so while we're away at the coast he's thinking of a way to punish the Old Man. Everybody round here will know how much Sid means to him, so, on the first night we're back he waits until the Old Man's somewhere else on his rounds, goes up into the top paddock and takes the horse.'

‘Wouldn't that be difficult. He's quite a spirited animal.'

‘Yes, but biddable and used to human beings. And remember Major Mawbray was a cavalry officer.'

‘Very well, we have Major Mawbray creeping on to his neighbour's property and stealing Sid. What next?'

‘He wouldn't think of it as stealing. He probably didn't intend to keep the horse, but the Old Man would have gone to the top paddock as soon as it got light and found Sid gone. He'd have been furious and guessed immediately who'd taken him. So naturally he'd go looking for Major Mawbray.'

‘Who manages single-handed to overpower him and tie him on Sid's back?'

‘It might not have been quite as cold-blooded as that. Suppose there was a fight and he managed somehow to knock the Old Man unconscious? It might have seemed a good idea to humiliate him by sending him back that way – only it went too far.'

‘That still leaves us with a middle-aged man…'

‘In poor health too, I admit that.'

‘… knocking out an old man and tying him on a restless horse single-handed.'

‘Does it have to be single-handed? What if he's got a strong young son hidden away somewhere?'

He sighed, ‘So we're back with Mawbray's son again?'

‘Yes, we are. I've thought all along he might still be alive. I'm almost sure of it now.'

‘Because your hypothesis demands him. You're getting dangerously close to a circular argument.'

But the way he said it didn't sound sharp or hostile. I sensed that he was taking my theory at least half seriously. We sat in silence for a while. It was getting dark. He said he supposed we should be getting back, but made no move.

‘Miss Bray…'

‘Nell.'

‘Nell, I know it's no use my telling you not to get involved. You are involved and that's all there is to it. But I'm sorry. Sorry for all of you.'

‘It's worse for Alan. And for Imogen.'

He sighed and I thought I probably shouldn't have mentioned her. I couldn't help feeling a bit annoyed and this time I was the one who said we should be getting back. He stood up and held out a hand to help me. I ignored it, scrambled up in a hurry to make the point that I didn't need help, caught my boot in the torn hem of my dress and nearly pitched headfirst into the river. He grabbed my flailing hand just in time.

‘Naturally if you prefer to drown, I'll respect your wishes and let go.'

He was laughing and far from being annoyed I found myself laughing too. ‘I can swim, you know. I can swim quite well.'

‘I'm sure you can.'

I hadn't pulled my hand away from him and he seemed in no hurry to let it go. I could make a lot of excuses for what happened next: that it had been a long day and we were all under strain, that grief and shock do odd things to people, that I was a little jealous of Imogen, that he made the first move. They'd all of them be true except the last one. I made the first move. I stepped towards him up the bank and kissed him, full on the mouth. When his face came back into focus, it looked surprised but I thought not unpleasantly so and I must have been right, because then he kissed me. After that he said ‘Well.' I said nothing, wondering what had come over me and whether I'd behaved like a free and honest woman or a silly fool and if my kiss had tasted of mustard and if it mattered. We walked up to the field gate and along the track to the house, saying nothing and with a little space between us that somehow seemed to be humming like bees in the sun.

‘Where have you been Nell?' Midge said, back in the lamplit kitchen. ‘We were worried.'

Imogen just looked at me then at Meredith. Odd how some people guess.

Chapter Thirteen

T
HE NEXT DAY WAS A SATURDAY.
The rest of the world left us alone over the weekend. In the normal course of country life I suppose there'd have been neighbours visiting, cards and letters commiserating, but the Old Man's death was as unconventional as his life. We all went about our tasks in a stunned way, not talking much about what had happened. It felt as if we were in a mountain village with a great rock slide poised above our heads that a loud noise or sudden movement might bring crashing down on us. So we kept quiet and moved carefully so as not to provoke it.

Luckily there were plenty of practical things to do. The Old Man's death had left a gap in the affairs of the household, especially the stables, that it took all of us to fill. Over the two days we managed to share out tasks. Alan and I, under Robin's instructions, helped with the horses. It seems odd to say instructions when he hardly said a word from morning till night but as long as we were around the fields or the stable yard he had a way of communicating what needed to be done that didn't need words. We filled mangers and water buckets for the mares that were kept in the stables, checked three times a day on the ones running free in the field and treated insect bites with some herbal concoction brewed by the Old Man and kept in a big green bottle. Sid was Robin's responsibility. Early in the morning and just before it got dark in the evening he'd go up to the top of the stallion's field just as the Old Man had done, sometimes with the Afghans running races round him, and stand with the horse under the trees. I imagined him crooning his soft Irish words to Sid but that was their time, his and the horse's, and none of us tried to intrude on it. Nathan and Meredith took over most of the odd jobs around the house, carrying in coal for the kitchen fire that had to be kept going for the oven even though the day temperature was now up in the eighties, bringing in buckets of water from the yard pump because the small pump over the kitchen sink was unreliable. Nathan tried to repair it, stripping it down and putting it together again, but it needed a new part that would have to be got from town. He was gloomy about that, his normal high spirits quite cast down.

As for Meredith, he and I sat at meals with the rest round the kitchen table or met on our errands about the house and yards and treated each other as if the evening by the river had never happened. That suited me. I didn't regret the kiss, not even slightly, but didn't want him to think I expected anything to follow from it. A kiss wasn't a brand of ownership.

The fact that we were all eating our meals together must have added a lot to Dulcie's work but she gave no sign of it and stayed in sole charge of the kitchen, though Midge and Imogen took over the hens and helped with the vegetables. They'd sit out in the yard, scrubbing carrots and peeling potatoes with straw hats keeping the sun off their faces. The heat inside the kitchen was the sensible reason for working in the yard but I knew there was another one – it meant Imogen didn't have to spend a lot of time in Dulcie's company. Midge and I didn't know why she wanted to avoid Dulcie as much as possible but we didn't want to add to the strain on Imogen by discussing it. And there was no doubt that the strain was affecting her worse than anybody else, even Alan. When their work allowed, the two of them would walk together slowly up and down the farm tracks and she'd come back more subdued than ever. Up in our loft at night she hardly seemed to sleep at all and there were deep violet shadows round her eyes. Kit seemed the least changed of us, but then he'd been downcast anyway. He did his best to help with the work and didn't complain about the pain from his arm, but it was clear that it was still giving him trouble. He spent a lot of time reading in the shade or walking on his own, carefully avoiding routes where he might come across Alan and Imogen.

*   *   *

On the Saturday afternoon the heat was bludgeoning. I'd offered to go and check the mares but had left my straw hat somewhere and needed it for shade. I went up to the loft in case I'd left it there and found Imogen sitting on her straw pallet, looking so dejected that I sat down and put my arms round her. She slumped against me and let her head fall on my shoulder. ‘Oh Nell. Why did it all go wrong so quickly?'

‘It hasn't gone wrong. You still love Alan, don't you, and he loves you?'

‘Yes, yes, yes.'

‘Well then.'

‘It's as if all the old moralists were waiting to get us. Waiting behind the hedge for us.'

‘What do you mean.'

‘The night before last when Alan and I … you know … when we became lovers, I was so proud, Nell. Proud of us, proud of myself for not being a hypocrite and daring to say and do what I knew was right. Only it's all poisoned now with the thought that while we were … while we were together, the Old Man was out there somewhere, the same night, doing that terrible thing to himself. It feels as if … oh, I can't explain it, not even to myself … as if somehow he were bringing death into what Alan and I were doing … quite deliberately bringing death into it.'

She was shaking. I stroked her shoulder.

‘The two things aren't connected. It was just a coincidence. You know that rationally only you're too tired and shaken to think clearly. Besides, I don't think the Old Man was like that. He loved life and he'd lived his own life to the full. If anything, he'd have approved of what you and Alan were doing.' Cheered them on, probably, but I didn't say that.

‘No, you're wrong Nell. There was something sinister about him. Didn't you feel that from the start? After all, the first thing he did was shoot poor Kit.'

‘He didn't mean to.'

‘I hate him, Nell. I know I shouldn't say it because he's dead but I really hate him.'

‘Why?'

‘I'm sure he got Alan and the rest of us here quite deliberately to have an audience. He planned it all.'

‘To kill himself, you mean?'

‘Yes. He knew he'd got himself into trouble he couldn't get out of, and he wanted to go with as much drama as he could manage.'

I went on stroking her shoulder. After a while she stopped crying, got up and mopped her face with water from the washbasin.

‘Sorry to be such a silly.'

‘You're not.' I suppose I should have left it at that and it was tactless of me to say anything else. But I was used to Imogen as an intellectually robust person who'd discuss anything, so I misjudged her mood. ‘Has Midge said anything to you about the way we found him?'

‘What?' She had her face in a towel.

‘Midge and I don't see how he could have tied himself on to the horse like that. If he really did kill himself, somebody must have helped him.'

‘Nell.' It came out as a wail from under the towel. ‘Don't make me think about it. I've been trying not to.'

‘I'm sorry.'

The towel came down. She looked angry. ‘This is exactly what he'd have wanted. Can't you just imagine him working out how to do it, laughing to himself about how it would puzzle everybody and the trouble it would cause?'

I couldn't, but I didn't want to start an argument so I suggested she should try to catch up on some sleep and went to look for my hat elsewhere.

*   *   *

By common consent we had our evening meal early, a high tea northern-style around six o'clock with cold meats, oatmeal bread and boiled eggs for those who wanted them. The hens seemed to be back in kelter again in spite of all the comings and goings. Afterwards we all went our separate ways and by the time it was getting dark Midge, Imogen and I were all up in our loft over the tack room. The men had suggested that they should clear a bedroom for us in the house – thinking, I suppose, of how the Old Man's body had been laid in the room just below us – but we were rational beings and anyway we'd come to like it there. We were all three desperately tired from the emotional strain and physical work and hoped we'd be able to sleep properly for once. I'd got undressed to my underwear when there was a high-pitched barking from outside. It sounded like the two Afghans and seemed to be coming from the small paddock in the angle between house and stable yard, where two cows grazed.

Imogen groaned, ‘What's happening now?'

I started getting dressed again to go and look but before I'd finished we heard Robin down in the stable yard asking if anything was wrong.

Dulcie's voice answered him from the far side of the yard, ‘Don't fash thissen. It's nobbut the dogs seen a hare.'

So we settled down again and for once I slept solidly until well past daybreak. In the morning, as we did our various jobs round the stable yard and paddocks, there were church bells ringing from the town. None of our party were regular church-goers and I couldn't picture the Old Man leading his little household into a pew. Still, I imagined congregations gathering outside churches and chapels, and the gossip there was bound to be about his death. In a small town like that, most people would be on speaking terms with at least one police officer, so the gossips probably knew more than we did about how the authorities regarded it. A bizarre suicide would fit the general view of the Old Man and perhaps everybody would be content with that. The one certainty was that there'd be more material for the gossips in the week ahead, with the opening of the inquest and probably a funeral as well.