Deadfall (19 page)

‘Oh, dear. I'm afraid you've put our friend's nose out of joint, taking up with the opposition,' Barney said, shaking his head gravely but with a twinkle in his eye.

‘I guess so,' Linc agreed, thinking that, in fact, being seen with Barney Weston might just save his bacon. His original story had been one of trying to track down someone called Barney or Barnaby to buy a dog; to any suspicious onlooker it would
appear that he had done just that. Coming to the track might just have been a good thing after all.

Early the next morning, Linc rode out with Ruth, giving Noddy and Magic a steady hack with a short, pipe-opening gallop as they were both travelling to the one-day event the following day. Josie was still in London, having stayed on for a couple of days to look up some friends, according to Ruth. She apparently saw nothing unusual in this, and neither would Linc have done if it hadn't been for Josie's reserve when they parted on Wednesday night.

He gave himself a mental shake. He was almost certainly reading too much into it; after all, there was no formal understanding between them. Certainly their friendship had seemed to be flourishing but maybe that was all it was destined to be. Nothing had been said between them to the contrary. Deciding that dwelling on the matter was unproductive, he returned to Farthingscourt and immersed himself in the business of the day, refusing to acknowledge the faint depression that was dogging him.

The cross-country course for the following day was open to be walked from two o'clock on the Friday and, as it was fairly local, it had been Linc's intention to walk it that evening before going on to the Vicarage to plait Noddy. But, as on the night of the burglary, work commitments kept him longer than he'd anticipated. The delay on this occasion was caused by his father requesting an update on the restoration work at the mill, and suggesting halfway through Linc's report that he would rather like to see the progress for himself.

At any other time Linc would have welcomed the chance to show off his pet project, but just now he wanted to get away. It was unfair to leave all the preparatory work to Ruth, even though he knew she'd cheerfully do it. He'd not mentioned his plans for the weekend, but as he turned the Discovery into Mill Lane, he tried to rid himself of the suspicion that his father was aware of both his desire to get away in good time that evening, and the reason for it.

With what he felt was commendable strength of character, he managed to hide his frustration, reflecting that if his father were being deliberately obstructive, then any show of impatience would only gratify him.

In the event, they never made it to the mill. Halfway along the lane, at the edge of the wood known as Millersholt, Linc's mobile trilled and he fished it out of his jacket and flipped it open.

‘Sir?' It was Reagan, sounding flustered.

‘Jack. What can I do for you?'

‘It's South Lodge Farm, sir! The barn's on fire!'

‘Christ! Okay. Calm down, Jack.' Linc stood on the brakes and swung the Land-Rover one-handed into a convenient gateway. ‘Has anyone called the fire brigade?'

‘Yes, sir. They've just come. But—'

‘Okay, I'll be right there.' Linc snapped the phone shut and dropped it in his lap so as to use both hands on the wheel. With regret he was forced to relinquish any hope of walking tomorrow's course this evening.

South Lodge and its accompanying farm were at the diametrically opposite corner of the estate from
the mill, and much further away from the house itself. It took Linc the best part of ten minutes to get to it, even driving at a pace that had his father wincing and reaching for his seatbelt – a precaution often neglected within the confines of the estate. Retracing their tracks, they shot past the house and raced down the drive, over the bridge and up the other side through the avenue of beeches, before turning right along what was generally known as the top road. This led away from Geoff Sykes's home at the East Lodge and the turning to Farthing St Anne and, after a mile or so, took them past Jack Reagan's cottage and through the nearby copse.

Due to the wooded nature of the surrounding land, Linc and his father saw no sign of the fire until they were almost upon it. They burst out of South Lodge Wood doing close on fifty and Linc had to slam the brakes on hard to avoid a collision with a police car that was parked across the lane. Beyond it, two red-and-silver fire engines stood, their wheels spanning the width of the tarmac, and four men manned the hoses that were pouring water in silvery streams on to the burning wreck of the barn. A southerly wind was blowing the smoke away from the lane, and in the farmyard several other helmeted individuals could be seen going about their business.

One of the two uniformed police officers who had presumably arrived in the car swung round with startled anger on his face at the speed of Linc's approach, but bit any intended reprimand off short as he recognised the occupants of the vehicle.

Linc leapt out of the Land-Rover, hardly noticing the policeman; his attention immediately caught by
the sight of an unkempt figure in blue overalls who was talking to another officer, a little further off. He couldn't see Reagan.

‘What the hell's
he
doing here?' Linc demanded, marching round the back of the police car and glaring at Jim Pepper.

‘Ah, Mr . . . er . . .?' the PC began. He was a young man, thickset and blond; Linc didn't recognise
him
either.

‘Tremayne,' he supplied. ‘What's this man doing on our land?'

‘It was Mr Pepper who discovered the fire and called the fire brigade,' the policeman stated.

‘Well, what a coincidence!' Linc exclaimed with heavy irony.

‘Sir, I don't think this is the time . . .'

‘You should be grateful to me,' Jim Pepper put in unctuously. ‘I saved two of your tractors.' He pointed a grimy finger to where the machines stood in the lane.

‘Yes, he did,' the policeman said, nodding and turning a little pink under the pressure.

‘And I suppose you
had
to drive them
through
the new farm gate?' Linc observed.

‘You should be thanking me,' Pepper said again.

‘You shouldn't have been on my land in the first place.' The Viscount had caught up with them. ‘You've been warned off more than once.'

‘Mr Pepper thinks he saw some children running away from the barn just before the fire started,' the policeman interposed. ‘I was just—'

‘How very convenient,' the Viscount cut in. ‘And then, seeing the smoke, I imagine he rushed to fetch the farm's own fire hose and put the fire out . . .'

Pepper shifted uncomfortably.

‘Perhaps Mr Pepper wasn't aware of the fire hose?' the officer suggested reasonably.

‘Oh, I think he was. After all, he used to work here three days a week.'

The policeman dried up, looking unhappily from the Viscount to Pepper and back again. His colleague passed behind the group, heading for the fire engines.

Linc had been scanning the area. There was no sign of Phil Sutton, who managed South Lodge Farm, but he could see Reagan now, watching the proceedings from a safe distance.

‘Where's Phil?'

‘He's took his wife to the hospital,' Jim Pepper replied, sulkily.

‘Ah,' the Viscount said on a note of dawning understanding. ‘So there was no one here except you? Oh, and the kids with the matches, of course, we mustn't forget them. No doubt, knowing Sutton was out, you felt you ought to come and see that everything was all right? Very neighbourly of you.'

‘Now, sir!' the officer protested. ‘You really have no grounds for those kinds of allegations . . .'

‘Everything all right?' His older colleague had returned.

‘Yes. Well, no. Lord Tremayne is suggesting . . .'

‘I'm saying I think it's very unlikely that Pepper's presence here has anything whatsoever to do with coincidence,' the Viscount said bluntly. ‘The man is known to bear a grudge against me and it's quite obvious you need look no further for your arsonist.'

Jim Pepper spluttered indignantly and the young policeman tried once more. ‘But, the children . . .'

‘Oh, spare me that cock and bull story, I'm not interested!'

‘I think if you've finished with Mr Pepper and have his contact details, we should send him on his way now,' the newcomer advised. ‘Lord Tremayne, Constable Diller. Could I have a word?'

He moved away a little and, with a sour look at Pepper, the Viscount followed.

‘You heard the constable. Go,' Linc told the former estate worker. ‘And from now on, stay off Farthingscourt land or there'll be trouble.'

‘You can't talk to me like that! Can he?' he appealed to the young PC.

‘I think you'd better go, sir,' the officer said, apparently deciding to fall in with the majority.

Jim Pepper gave both of them a dirty look, hissed a number of expletives and something that sounded suspiciously like a threat at Linc, and stomped off.

Linc sighed and turned his attention to the burning barn. Edging between the fire engines and the hedge he made his way into the farmyard, nodding to Reagan as he passed.

The air was heavy with the acrid tang of smoke and Linc's eyes began to sting a little but there wasn't much to see. What was left of the barn was no longer burning but it would clearly be a long time before the three or four hundred bales of hay it had sheltered would stop smouldering. One of the two hoses still poured gallons of water through the beams that had once held the roof and, down below, half a dozen men in fluorescent-striped jackets raked hay out into the yard to be soused by the other hose. None of it could be salvaged. It was all such a waste.

‘There wasn't anything I could do,' Reagan stated, coming to stand beside him. ‘I didn't get here till after the fire engines did.'

Linc shook his head. ‘Once it gets a hold on a haystack, there's nothing much anyone can do. I suppose you know it was Pepper who called them? Have you seen him around the place since that business the other day?'

‘No, sir. I would have told you if I had,' Reagan said a touch defensively.

‘Mr Tremayne, sir?'

Linc turned to find Phil Sutton, the farmer, standing at his elbow. Stocky and bespectacled, he wore a permanently anxious expression, especially marked now.

‘I'm sorry, sir. I've only just got back. I had to take Cindy to the hospital for her scan, and I told the boys they could go when they'd finished. I didn't know how long we'd be but, honest to God, I thought the yard would be all right for half an hour with the dog here. He usually keeps folk out.'

‘Unless he knows them,' Linc agreed. ‘It's all right, Phil. It can't be helped. Er, how many people knew you'd be at the hospital this afternoon?'

‘Quite a few,' Phil told him sheepishly. ‘I reckon I told everyone at the pub, last night, I was that excited. They was placing bets on whether it'd be a boy or a girl.'

‘Never mind. How did it go, anyway? Boy or girl?'

The farmer looked a little crestfallen. ‘We still don't know. They couldn't see.'

It was another twenty minutes or so before Linc and his father left South Lodge Farm, and thankfully
Sylvester seemed to have given up the idea of visiting the mill that evening. They drove back to the house discussing the problem of Jim Pepper, and Linc went on to the Vicarage to find that Noddy and Magic had already been neatly plaited, and Ruth had all but finished loading the horsebox.

He apologised unreservedly, helped check everything on board, then put up very little resistance before accepting an invitation to the house for a meal. Ruth had already been over to walk the cross-country course that afternoon, and went over it fence by fence with him during supper.

The mood when they set off for the event the following morning was light-hearted. Quite apart from the usual excited anticipation of the challenges ahead, Abby was showing signs of increased brain activity, which her consultant viewed as very promising, and Ruth was buoyed up with optimism.

Linc and she were joined in the cab of the horsebox by Nikki, who'd offered to groom for them both. Nikki had apologised very prettily to Linc the day after the dinner party. She confessed to having no memory of having behaved badly, and told Linc she was horrified when Crispin had informed her of it.

‘I hope I didn't mess things up between you and Josie,' she said, and Linc assured her with, it had to be said, less than perfect truth that it was all forgiven and forgotten. He had decided that, given time, Josie and he would sort things out, if indeed it were meant to be.

An advance telephone call to the secretary, two
days before, had furnished them with their start-times, two of which were fairly early in the running order. In addition to this, they had set out at the crack of dawn to allow Linc to walk the course before the competition got under way. Consequently there were only a handful of lorries and trailers on the field when they turned the Hathaways' horsebox off the road and bumped across the grass under the directions of several enthusiastic young stewards in fluorescent tabards. Linc preferred an early start; always supposing they opened proceedings promptly, it meant less time for the inevitable hitches and delays to build up. Once ready to go, being kept waiting for more than a few minutes can result in both horse and rider becoming stale and losing the keen edge needed for competition.

On arrival, Nikki took charge of the horses whilst Linc and Ruth fetched their numbers and familiarised themselves with the general layout of the showground. Then, Linc set off to walk the cross-country course in double-quick time and Ruth, who was first to ride her dressage test, went back to the lorry to saddle Magic.

Fifty minutes after arriving she presented herself at the arena, impeccably turned out in breeches, boots and black coat. Her long hair, neatly confined in a net, almost exactly matched Magic's gleaming chestnut hide and Linc thought they presented a lovely picture, which was only slightly marred by the mare's shying at the shiny white boards that marked the perimeter of the rectangular arena. Once they got started, however, they produced a very creditable test, which Linc knew he had little hope of
matching. Magic was a lot more animated and her paces more showy than Noddy's.