Haunted Ground (16 page)

I walked out of the church, suddenly unsure of where I wanted to go next.  It was too early to go back home, so I wandered through the cemetery, looking at the headstones.  I’ve always had a morbid fascination with death and its aftermath.  There were always gravestones that had fresh flowers, a sure sign that someone still cared and missed that person deeply, but the majority looked neglected, the deceased forgotten in the whirlwind of daily life.  Those are the ones that always made me feel sad, especially when the dates indicated that the person who died had been young.  I walked around staring at names that meant nothing to me until I came across the graves of Kelly Gregson and Eleanor Hughes. 

Mother and daughter were buried side by side, their graves surprisingly well tended with remnants of flowers that had wilted no more than a day or two ago.  I couldn’t help wondering who came to visit them since Myra was gone, and Neil Gregson was still in prison, as far as I knew.  Kelly and Eleanor had lived in this village their whole lives, so someone must have loved and cared about them besides their family. 

“Came to pay your respects, have you?” a voice behind me asked, nearly making me jump out of my skin.

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to startle you,” Dorothea Martin said as she appeared next to me.  “I come every week.”

“Were you very close with Mrs. Hughes?” I asked, glad that someone visited the graves. 

“More so in later years,” Dot said as she went about picking up the wilted flowers and dead leaves.  “I used to come ‘round quite often when the girls were still at school and we were all friends, but it wasn’t until after Kelly’s death that I began to work for Mrs. Hughes.  Myra hired me to look after her mother, so I saw her every day.  She was a good woman, very motherly, and she reminded me of my own mum when she was still alive.  Sometimes Eleanor forgot herself and called me Myra or Kelly.  There were days when she was lucid, but then there were other days when she just retreated into the past, forgetting that her daughters were gone.  And on those days, she kept asking for Sandy, her granddaughter.  She kept worrying that Sandy had gotten lost and wouldn’t find her way back.  Those were the days that broke my heart.”

Dot placed fresh flowers on both graves and rose to her feet, brushing invisible dirt off her skirt.  She touched her fingers to her lips and then pressed them to each gravestone before turning to leave.  “I hope you’ll come by for a cup of tea one of these days.  I’m just down the road.  It does get lonely when you’re on your own, doesn’t it?  My husband passed a few years ago, but sometimes I still think that I hear him on the stairs, or that he’s just gone out to the pub for a drink.  And then I remember that he’s gone, and it’s like losing him all over again.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Martin.  I would love to come for tea, and you’re right, it does get lonely.  This is the first time I’ve truly been on my own, and I’m finding it rather hard.”

Dot noticeably perked up, a smile lighting up her face.  “Why don’t you come by around four?  I’ll make us a nice shepherd’s pie. That was my Brian’s favorite.  I don’t cook much these days.  Usually just make a sandwich for my tea, but I do enjoy cooking for a guest.”

“That sounds wonderful,” I replied, glad to have made someone happy.  Talking to Dot made me miss my own mother terribly.  I’d asked her to come to England with me, but she refused.  Maybe she’d come once the inn was open and she could stay as my guest.  My mother had never been much of a cook, but she did enjoy eating out, and we spent many a Sunday morning enjoying brunch in the city.  I’d taken those outings for granted, but now I’d give anything to spend a few hours with my mother; just talking things over and asking for her advice.  I knew that she missed me dreadfully as well, but for some strange reason, she was stubbornly refusing all my invitations to come and stay.

I showed up at Dot’s cottage at precisely 4 p.m. bearing a store-bought cake and a bottle of wine, just in case.  I wasn’t sure if wine was proper for tea, but I didn’t want to come empty-handed.  Dot was overjoyed to see me and gratefully accepted my gifts, setting the cake on the sideboard and rummaging in a drawer for a corkscrew, which she finally unearthed and handed to me triumphantly before disappearing into the kitchen.  She set the steaming shepherd’s pie on the table and took off her flowery apron before inviting me to sit down.  The pie looked delicious; the potato crust perfectly browned and sprinkled with shredded cheese.  There was also a salad and some freshly baked rolls. 

“Dot, that smells amazing.  I’ve never had shepherd’s pie, but it seems like the ultimate comfort food,” I said as I took my first bite and rolled my eyes in ecstasy.  It was heaven. 

“Oh, it is.  Nothing satisfies like meat and potatoes, does it?  But I’m glad you like it.  It’s too much of a bother to make for one person, but I do enjoy cooking for company.  I’ll be sure to give you some to take home.  Do you cook?” she asked, her interest not altogether innocent.  I was beginning to guess that there was more to Dot’s invitation than mere hospitality.  She was auditioning for a job, and at this rate, I was very likely to give it to her. My role would be to manage, but I’d still need someone to clean and cook for the guests, and although I might have to hire a chef to prepare exquisite dinners, Dot would be perfect for making good, local fare that would be available to those who didn’t care to spend hundreds of pounds on a meal.

I had to admit that I had ulterior motives of my own, other than getting a home-cooked meal that didn’t involve beans.  Dot was clearly fond of talking, and I wanted to find out more about the Hughes family and the murder.  My father always used to say that information was the most valuable commodity, and I tended to agree with him.  I had to be prepared for any eventuality, and frankly, I was also morbidly curious which made me feel slightly ashamed, but undeterred.

“So, was Neil Gregson a violent man?” I asked innocently, hoping to steer Dot toward the subject of Kelly’s death.  That question was all it took. From that point on, all I had to do was listen.

“Oh no, not that anyone could say.  Neil was a gentle soul, the type of man you’d never suspect of an act of violence.  He loved Kelly since he was a lad, always trailing after her and carrying her satchel after school.  She went with him, but I don’t think her heart was ever truly in it.  She just liked the idea of having someone love her that much.  I suppose she was curious too, as we all were.  We weren’t as open back then about our sexual experiences, not like today.  Girls and boys were experimenting, but they kept it to themselves until someone got in the family way and there was a quickie wedding.  There were plenty of children born out of wedlock in the big cities, but in a village like this, the old ways linger.  I think Kelly was sleeping with Neil, but I suspect it was more out of curiosity than true passion.  I asked her about it a few times, but she was a coy one, giving very little away.  The trip to America changed her.”

I poured Dot another glass of wine, but didn’t interrupt the soliloquy.  I wanted to keep her talking. 

“See, Kelly was the type of girl who wanted to be a big fish in a small pond, but Myra wasn’t satisfied with village life.  That one was always chomping at the bit, as you Americans say.  She wanted to see something of the world, and be a part of something bigger.  She did a secretarial course in Lincoln, and fled to America as soon as she could afford it.  Said she had some friend there who would put her up until she found a job.  She invited Kelly to come and visit her, and that seemed to have been the catalyst for everything that happened later.  Kelly came back a changed girl, and suddenly all the things she loved made her feel stifled, including Neil.”

“Did you go to the trial?” I asked as I accepted another piece of the pie.  I was stuffed, but I had to admit, it was irresistible. 

“Oh, yes.  I went for Eleanor’s sake, and of course, Kelly had been my friend.  The whole trial lasted less than an hour, mind you; it was over before it began.”  Dot took a sip of wine, her eyes shining with the pleasure of being able to enlighten someone who was so clearly in the dark.  These were the kind of moments she’d probably relished.  I could almost picture her prattling on about all the village gossip, as her husband silently chewed his food and made occasional sounds to let her know that he was actually still listening.  Or maybe he loved hearing about all the people in the village.  My own father had encouraged my mother to share all the gossip with him.  He particularly enjoyed all the romantic “shenanigans” as he called them.

“How could a murder trial last less than an hour?”  That didn’t make sense at all.  Just the opening arguments would probably take that long.

“Neil had refused counsel and asked to represent himself.  He pleaded guilty, and naturally, got the maximum sentence.  He didn’t say a single thing in his own defense.  I heard some people talking outside the courthouse, and they said the charge could have easily been reduced to manslaughter had he allowed legal representation.  You see, it wasn’t as if he shot Kelly point blank, or stabbed her.  They had a row, and he hit her so hard she fell and hit her temple on the edge of a table; so for all intents and purposes, it might not have been his intention to kill her at all.  It wasn’t premeditated, you see, but a crime of passion.”

“So you think he wanted to go to prison?” I asked, shocked.  What kind of person would want to spend decades in prison if he didn’t have to?

“I think he was just so broken up over what he’d done that at that point, he simply didn’t care what happened to him.  He appeared dazed in court.  Half dazed and half dead.”

“You felt sorry for him, didn’t you?” I asked, seeing the look of sympathy in Dot’s eyes.

“I did, rather.  Neil was a nice lad, the kind of lad any girl would have been happy to have on her arm.  He really loved Kelly; we all knew it.  Something dreadful must have happened to drive him to such a fit of rage, and if anyone was capable of provoking him, it was Kelly.  I certainly don’t condone physical abuse, but had Kelly fallen the other way, she’d probably still be alive now, and Neil would be a free man, although one with a record for domestic violence.  It was just bad luck for all involved, especially poor Sandy.”

“Are there any pictures of the family?” I asked as Dot cut the cake and poured me a cup of strong tea, to which she added a splash of milk. 

“There was a box of family albums in the house, but Eleanor took it up to the attic after Sandy was taken away.  She couldn’t bear to look at them.  I reckon the box is still there, unless you consigned it to your bonfire.”

“No, I would never do that.  Had I seen it, I would have offered to return it to either Myra or Roger Hughes.  I’m actually very surprised that neither one had bothered to go through the house and clear it out.”

Dot took a sip of tea and a dainty bite of cake, which seemed to meet with her satisfaction.  “That house holds too many painful memories for Myra, and as for Roger, he was never the sentimental type.  He had very little to do with Eleanor in later years, so I wouldn’t expect him to take the time to bother with her belongings.”

I couldn’t help feeling sad for Eleanor Hughes.  Not only had she lost a daughter, but her granddaughter had been taken away, her eldest daughter moved to London, and no one cared enough to even try to salvage something of Eleanor’s belongings.  How sad to think that the possessions she acquired over a lifetime, valued and preserved, meant so little to other people that they couldn’t be bothered to sift through them and keep even a memento of the woman who was no longer there.  I wouldn’t expect Myra or Roger to hang on to the outdated furniture or old-fashioned appliances, but to leave a box of family pictures for a stranger to find?  That just seemed awfully callous.

“… and Aidan Mackay?”  Dot’s voice interrupted my thoughts, her eyes shining with curiosity over the rim of the cup as she continued to sip her tea.

“I’m sorry, Dot, did you ask me something?” 

“Oh, I was just asking if there might be something brewing between you and Aidan.  He’s another dark horse, so beware.  Broke off his engagement to a lovely young woman just days before the wedding.  Young men these days are so terrified of commitment.  The poor thing was so heartbroken she left the village.  Of course, that’s not much of a deterrent for women these days, is it?  There’s not a girl in this village who hasn’t set her cap for him since Noelle left.  He is good-looking; I’ll give you that, with those dreamy blue eyes and that sexy smile.  Oh, don’t look at me like that!” Dot laughed.  “I might be old enough to be your mother, but I can still appreciate an attractive man, and Aidan is an attractive man.  Had I been about thirty years younger, I’d try for him myself.”

“No, there’s nothing going on.  He’s doing a job for me; that’s all.”  I felt myself blushing, and hoped Dot wouldn’t notice my discomfort.

“Oh, come now.  You must have noticed how attractive he is.” 

“He is, but our relationship is strictly professional.”  I suddenly remembered waking up next to Aidan on the hillside by the embers of our fire, my butt pressed against his pelvis.  I could feel his arousal through my jeans, and the memory turned my cheeks from flushed to full-blown crimson.  Dot just smiled serenely and poured me another cup of tea.  I had a feeling that there was very little she missed, and that made her a great ally and a dangerous enemy.

As I walked home, I couldn’t help thinking of everything I’d learned from Dot.  She was right about one thing: it was really all about luck.  Had Kelly and Neil fought someplace else, or had she fallen onto the sofa or to the other side of the coffee table, she’d still be alive now and Neil wouldn’t be serving a sentence for murder.  Their daughter would still be in Upper Whitford, not somewhere out in the world, torn apart from the only family she had known, and Myra would probably not have run away for fear that she was somehow responsible for what happened to Kelly while she was away.  Eleanor Hughes wouldn’t have died a broken and lonely old woman.  Funny how life worked out sometimes.  One terrible argument led to so many broken lives.

I hadn’t wanted to gossip about Aidan, but the things Dot said gave me pause.  Did I get him all wrong?  I unwittingly put my trust in him and allowed him to become more than just a contractor.  He had become my friend, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t find him attractive, but Dot painted a very different picture of him.  Was he the type of person to break off an engagement a few days before the wedding because of cold feet, or was there another reason?  He’d mentioned that his fiancée had left, but had it been her decision or had he driven her away from her home with his callous behavior?  Had he been seeing someone else behind her back?

Stop jumping to conclusions
, I admonished myself as I slid the key in the lock,
you have absolutely no basis for your speculation
.  Whatever happened between Aidan and his fiancée was none of my business, and he owed me no explanations.  If there ever came a time when we got closer, he might tell me, but for now, I would put it out of my mind.