River of Destiny (41 page)

Benjamin had used the bellows with gusto, fanning the fire to a white heat. He stopped and wiped his forehead with the back of his arm then he looked round, puzzled. Dan had been gone a long time. At twelve years old Ben was proud of his position as bellows boy to the smith, who was already training him in the trade. He walked over to the door and stood looking out across the yard. The place was deserted except for the hens, as usual scratching happily about amongst the ears of corn which Betsy had thrown them earlier. He turned towards the cottage. Had Dan’s missus called him back there? He would have heard. The door was closed and he could hear nothing coming from inside. He wandered out into the yard and then headed for the old barn.

He stopped in the doorway, looking inside. Motes of sunlight were slanting across the floor and the place seemed empty. He frowned. He could see the heap of chain lying on the cobbles and beside it a large patch of what looked like blood. The boy froze. ‘Dan?’ he called nervously. ‘Dan, you there?’ He looked fearfully at the blood; it was smeared and there were drag marks on the floor heading towards the side of the aisle. He took a step or two further in, staring round. At first he didn’t see it, then he moved forward again and stopped, immobilised by shock. Dan was hanging from a beam near the side of the barn, his legs trailing on the floor, a hay bale lying out of place near him. The front of his shirt was soaked in drying blood, his face was contorted, his eyes bulging and sightless. For a long time the world seemed to stand still as the boy stared at the man who was his employer and his friend, then he crumpled to the ground, catatonic with shock.

For a while he rocked himself to and fro, moaning, then at last he tried to pull himself together and stood up on shaky legs making his way backwards out of the barn, his eyes still fixed on Dan’s face, before he turned and stared round wildly for help. He looked at the cottage and knew instinctively he couldn’t go there. He would probably never go there again. With a sob he realised that there was no one nearby to help him. The men were in the fields. There was nothing for it but to go and find them. With one last look over his shoulder he headed for the gate into the lane and began to run.

At the Hall Lady Emily was sitting in the morning room with her husband. She glanced at him and then looked away. On her knee lay a piece of embroidery. The fabric was crushed, the stitches messy. She wanted to hurl the whole silly piece of nonsense into the fire but she didn’t dare. Henry’s face was a study of dark anger, and had been for several days. He had barked at her the day she had told him she was going riding and forbidden her to go to the stables; later he had come to her room and forbidden her to go out at all. He had called Molly and told her to sit with her mistress to keep her company and later had come back and dismissed the woman before sitting down himself across the fire from her.

‘Is there anything wrong, Henry?’ she had asked timidly.

‘Anything wrong?’ he had shouted. ‘You tell me that you have been raped and you ask me if there is anything wrong?’

‘What have you done about Daniel?’ she said at last.

‘That is none of your business. He is to be punished.’

‘Has he been dismissed?’ She leaned forward a little and he saw the sudden spark in her eyes.

‘I will see that he never works again.’ He set his lips in a thin line. ‘That is enough. Get on with your embroidery.’

She saw him glance at her handiwork with disdain and she bit her lip. She had never been a good needlewoman; she remembered screaming at various nursery maids who had tried to teach her to sew as a child. Reluctantly she picked up the frame again and began to stab at the design with stitches of pale blue silk. It was only a short time before she pricked herself and with an exclamation of pain and annoyance saw the bloody stain spread across the spray of flowers.

Zoë asked Rosemary and Steve to join the four of them for supper that night and laid the table in the window of the great room. Ken was at his jovial best, playing host with alacrity as she retreated to the kitchen to put the finishing touches to the meal. She drew the new blind on the kitchen window and bolted the back door; they had already agreed to leave the large window unscreened as a huge harvest moon floated up into view. With several people there she didn’t feel so exposed and their guests were enchanted with the whole feel of living in a barn.

She heard a roar of laughter from next door and smiled. They were all enjoying themselves; drinks were flowing freely and the meal was nearly ready. There was a rustle in the doorway and Amanda appeared. She was carrying two glasses. ‘We can’t have the cook slaving away in here without a drink,’ she announced. ‘Come on. Stop for a minute. We need to talk on our own. What’s going on? You can tell me.’ She hitched herself onto the edge of the pine table and picked a salad leaf out of one of the hors-d’oeuvre bowls. She began to nibble it tentatively and grimaced. ‘I hate rabbit food! I hope you’ve got something meaningful to eat with this.’

Zoë laughed. ‘Don’t worry. I remembered your appetite. I’m afraid it is out of the freezer, but you will like it, I promise.’ She set down her oven gloves and picked up the glass. ‘God, I need this.’

‘So, what is going on?’

‘Ken loves it here. I don’t.’

‘Ah.’

‘I’ve nothing to do. There is no job for me here. I don’t know people. I’ve no backup.’

‘So, what’s wrong with them?’ Amanda nodded backwards towards the door to the great room.

‘Nothing. They are a bit boring and a bit obsessive. Has Rosemary started on about her wretched footpaths yet?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Amanda looked heavenwards. ‘We heard about that in the first five minutes. The gentlemen have steered her away from the subject, I am pleased to say. Ken keeps plying her with gin; I doubt if she will still be coherent by the time we eat.’

‘The food won’t be long.’

‘That wasn’t a hint. I want to know, Zo, what is it? OK, so you don’t like the house, but there is something up between you and Ken. Something else, isn’t there?’

Zoë gave a quiet laugh. ‘I had forgotten how perspicacious you are.’

‘So, who is he?’

Zoë stared at her. ‘How did you know?’

‘Because I am perspicacious!’ She leaned forward. ‘Come on, spill the beans.’

Zoë glanced towards the door. ‘You won’t say anything.’

‘You know me better than that.’

‘It’s the man next door. No,’ she giggled at Amanda’s expression, ‘not Steve, bless him. Next door across there.’ She waved her arm towards the window. ‘He’s a maverick ex-blacksmith, scarred in body and soul.’

‘Wow!’ Amanda’s eyes widened.

‘And he is a fantastic lover! Is that too much information?’

‘No such thing, dear. Go on!’

‘There is no future in it.’

‘Ah. He’s married?’

‘I’m not even sure about that. He has an ex, but he is a free spirit now. And he is cultivating mine.’

‘Your free spirit?’

‘Yes.

‘In that case, he has my total support. We all love Ken dearly, but he has never been the man for you.’

Zoë stared at her. ‘Why did you never say anything?’

‘Not my place. It was something you had to see for yourself. So what happens next?’

Zoë shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea.’

‘Just concentrate on the illicit sex. It is so much more exciting than the marital kind.’

‘Amanda?’

‘We are not talking about me, dear. Now, what about this food. Can I help? Then tomorrow you will have to introduce me to your Lothario so I can give him my full approval. We need to get rid of the men. No problem there, of course. We will send them to sea in the boat!’

Zoë was laughing. ‘You are good for me, Amanda. I needed cheering up so badly.’

‘Doesn’t sound like that to me. OK. No more for now in case the walls have ears. Which reminds me, you need to tell me about your ghost. That is a suitable subject for public discussion, I take it?’

Zoë nodded. ‘We’ve both felt things, seen things. Through there, in the great room.’

‘The great room!’ Amanda giggled. ‘Well, I suppose it is hard to call it anything else. It really is barn-like, isn’t it. What do you see?’

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you. Wait for your famous knack to kick in. I didn’t even know you had ghost-hunting skills.’

Amanda sobered for a moment. ‘It’s not something I talk about. Or enjoy. It is just one of those weird things that I seem to have a facility for. Sensing things. But I didn’t when we walked in, so maybe that is a comfort for you.’

Zoë was loading a tray with the small bowls of hors-d’oeuvres. ‘Can you take this through?’ She reached for a jug of dressing. ‘You didn’t feel anything at all?’ she said. Her tone was carefully neutral.

‘No.’ Amanda reached for the tray. ‘Perhaps I’ll go in there later when everyone else has gone to bed. That’s a good time to feel things. There is too much noise going on there now.’

Zoë nodded. She was unconvinced.

‘Fantastic nosh, Zoë, old girl!’ John said some time later. He rubbed his stomach and grinned at her. ‘You’ve lost none of your skill at cooking, I’m glad to see.’

Zoë smiled. ‘Thanks, John. I don’t see why I should have. This is Suffolk, not Mars.’

She paused. The room was growing colder although the woodburner was glowing with heat. Outside the moon was shining down across the gardens and there was a suspiciously frostlike glitter on the grass. She shivered. ‘Is everyone warm enough?’

Amanda’s cheeks were glowing; Rosemary, Steve and Ken were engaged in a heated conversation down the other end of the table. No one seemed to hear her question.

She could feel her eyes drawn to the far corner of the room where the panel was let into the floor. There was a focus of energy there, a vortex of swirling mist and suddenly she could hear the creak of a slowly swinging rope. She blinked. It was the heat, the food and wine; her head was throbbing and they had left the lights dim on the far side of the room, concentrating on lighting the table with candles. She heard the knife drop from her hand onto the plate with a clatter.

‘Zoë?’ John’s voice sounded a long way away. ‘Zoë, are you all right?’

She knew what the rope was; on the end there was a noose. Someone had died, hanging from the beam. She could hear the creak of the thick strands tightening, the scrape of heels on the floor, the wind in the straw which whisked across the floor as a dust devil spun in through the doors and was gone, and the squawk of a suddenly panicked hen. She felt herself stand up, pushing her chair away. She turned away from the table, staring at the spot where the body hung, swinging gently, slumped against the hay bales from which it had fallen.

‘Zoë? What’s wrong?’ There was silence round the table now. She heard other chairs pushed back. Someone had come and put their arm round her shoulders. ‘Zoë?’

‘Leave her!’ That was Ken, suddenly authoritative. Then he was there. He was trying to lead her somewhere. She resisted, her eyes still fixed on the scene, trying to focus, trying to make it more solid, trying to understand what had happened.

‘Murder,’ she murmured. ‘It was murder.’

‘Oh my God!’ Amanda’s voice was shrill. ‘What do we do?’

‘I thought you were the expert, honey!’ That was John. She couldn’t engage with them. She was somewhere else, but not somewhere else. The scene still hovered there, the silence behind the quiet ordinary sounds of the deserted barn almost tangible around her. No one spoke. She took a step forward and Ken’s restraining arm fell away. She was completely focused on the scene before her. Why did no one come? But someone had come. A boy was standing in the doorway looking towards the body. It shouldn’t be a child who found him; that was all wrong. That was cruel. She saw the boy move forward, his eyes rounded, then she saw him fall to the ground.

‘No!’ she screamed.

There was a resounding silence in the room. The scene had vanished. Now the barn walls were again painted; pictures hung on the spaces between the great vertical beams where once horse collars and nosebags and bait sieves had hung, the floor was shiny wood, covered in rugs, the underfloor locked away beneath its glass. She staggered forward a few steps and collapsed on the sofa nearest the woodburner. She was shaking.

Slowly she raised her head and looked round. The other five people in the room were standing round her in a semi-circle, their faces a picture of concern and fear and horror respectively. ‘Sorry,’ she stammered. ‘Not sure what happened there.’ Her hands were clutched together in her lap. She glanced nervously over her shoulder at the corner of the room but normality seemed to have returned.

‘Can you tell us what happened?’ Rosemary came and sat on the sofa next to her.

‘The usual.’ Zoë gave a shaky smile.

‘More than the usual,’ Rosemary persisted. ‘You said there was a murder?’

Zoë closed her eyes. She nodded. Then she shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what I said. He was hanging, from the beam.’ She glanced up. All eyes followed her gaze.

‘Oh my God,’ Amanda whispered again.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Zoë rubbed her face hard with her hands. ‘It has never happened before like this. We’ve sensed things; we’ve seen things, but not like this.’ She was shivering violently suddenly.