Jane drove back into the centre of Keswick, wondering how she was going to distract Dan so she could shop for Tenille. 'I've got a few errands to run. And we need to get current addresses for the names on the list,' she said.'I could do that if you drop me off at the library,' Dan said. 'Normally I'm good at that sort of thing,' he added ruefully.'It helps if you have the right spelling. Are you sure you don't mind?''No. And you can do me a favourif you're anywhere near a supermarket, could you get me some ground coffee?''No problem. I've got some things to get for home.' They arranged to meet in a cafe in the town centre, then Jane escaped to the supermarket to stock up on supplies for Tenille. Luckily, it was Monday, and Judy had a regular arrangement for lunch and an afternoon of whist at a friend's house in the village. From noon, the coast would be clear for her to deliver her purchases. If her dad was around the yard, she could just leave the shopping in the car till he went back up on the fell.In the middle of the morning, the cafe was crowded with women taking a break from shopping and tourists fortifying themselves for the fells. She managed to find a table right at the back by the kitchen door and ordered a mug of hot chocolate and a teacake. Comfort food, that was what she needed. Something that would still the noise in her head. So much going on, so little that made sense.At Sunday lunch, she'd almost let herself believe that Matthew was telling the truth. Even after a lifetime of bad experiences at his hands, she still couldn't help wanting to believe he was capable of change. But when Alice Clewlow had revealed Matthew's call to Edith, Jane had been forced to accept that she was right. Matthew was her enemy in this quest. His self-righteous claim to be on her side was nothing more than another of his expedient lies designed to get him off the hook while making her look petty and paranoid.Please God, let him not form an inkling that she was hiding Tenille. He'd shop them both to the police without a second thought. And of course, that was the next problem. What was she going to do about Tenille? She couldn't think of a way to penetrate that adamantine determination to protect the Hammer. It wasn't as if Tenille didn't understand the risks involved in her current strategy. She wasn't being stupid, just stubborn. But something had to give sooner or later. The present arrangement couldn't be more than a holding pattern till Jane could come up with the resolution that was beyond Tenille right now. It couldn't go on. Harbouring a fugitive who happened to be the daughter of a man who would apparently stop at nothing to protect her was bad enough, but lying to the police and her parents had her awake all night worrying about what was going to happen next.And then there was Jake. What the hell was that all about? She had to believe Tenille. There was no reason for the girl to lie. She stared into her hot chocolate, as if there were answers to be found in its dark depths.She was startled back into consciousness by the sound of the chair opposite being pulled back. But the man with his hand on the chair-back wasn't the one she was expecting. 'Mind if I join you?' Jake said.'So you are stalking me,' Jane said, her voice surprisingly steady and cool.Jake recoiled slightly, consternation on his face. 'What do you mean, stalking you?''Spying on me, following me. You should be grateful I've not called the police,' Jane said, enjoying the adrenaline rush that came with indignation.Jake held his hands palms outwards, a gesture of surrender. 'Whoa. Can we just back up there? I came to see you, Jane. To talk to you. To tell you I made a mistake.' He looked contrite. 'Please, can I sit down? People are staring.'Jane became aware that they had indeed become the focus of attention in the tearoom. She'd had enough of other people's stares that morning. 'Sit down if you must,' she said through tight lips.The waitress approached, undisguised avidity on her face. 'I'll have' Jake began before Jane cut across him.'He's not stopping,' she said firmly. The waitress drifted off, casting a couple of backward glances as she went. 'What the hell is going on with you?' Jane demanded.Jake sighed and stared down at the tablecloth. 'Just hear me out, please. I came back because I missed you. I realise I've been stupid. I wanted to see if there was still a chance for us. To try again.' He glanced up quickly.'So why didn't you just call me?''Because it would have been too easy for you to hang up on me.'It was hard not to be melted by his piteous expression. But Jane was determined to cling to her dignity. 'So you thought you'd spy on me instead?''I called the university and they said you were up here. So I thought I would come up and try to get you on your own. So yes, I guess you could call it stalking. But all it was about was getting a one-to-one with you.' He looked hangdog. 'I suppose it wasn't very bright, but I couldn't think of any other way to do it. I didn't mean to scare you.''I wasn't scared, Jake. Just pissed off. So what happened in Crete? Did she kick you out?'Jake looked hurt. 'No, Jane. It's like I said. I realised I'd fucked up big time and I wanted to try to make things right between us. What we had was special. And I was stupid enough to throw it away.''So you're saying you woke up one morning in Crete and suddenly thought, "Oh my God, I've made a terrible mistake"?'Jake picked up a teaspoon and fiddled with it. She remembered the feel of those long fingers on her skin and tried not to show how weak it made her feel. 'It was a bit more complicated than that.''So let me hear the tale.''I...uh, I saw a story in the papers. About the body in the bog. And I remembered how excited you would get, telling me your theory about Willy and Fletcher.' He met her eyes directly, without flinching or blinking. 'And I remembered how much more fun that was than any amount of messing around in Crete. So I packed my bags and came home.'She didn't know what to think. He sounded sincere. He looked sincere. She wanted him to be sincere. But he was good at sincere. She knew that of old. She cocked her head to one side, considering. 'Did you come home for me or did you come home for first crack at the manuscript, if I managed to find it?''Why would I think you're even looking for it?' he asked. 'You've been talking about it for as long as I've known you. But you've never been actively hunting for it. Is that what you're doing? Have you picked up a trail? Is that why you're back here?''Would it make a difference if I said no? Would you suddenly lose interest?'Jake shook his head. 'It's you I came back for, Jane. Not some pie-in-the-sky manuscript which probably doesn't even exist.'She wanted to believe him. But he'd hurt her too badly for that to be an easy option. 'Why would I want to try again?' she said sadly. 'You hurt me, you lied to me and you left me.''I know I don't deserve a second chance, but I love you, Jane.''Are you still working for her?''Caroline? Yes. I don't have any option, I need a job. But I'll be looking for other work.' He shrugged.'I've been a fool. Jane, please give me a chance.'It was her turn to look away, to shield her face from his probing eyes. 'I don't feel ready for this, Jake,' she said slowly. 'But maybe we can meet again if you're going to be around for a few days.' She managed a half-smile. 'Provided you stop stalking me.''OK. It's a deal. What about lunch?''I can't. I'm busy.''Tomorrow?'After a little persuasion, Jane agreed to meet him at his hotel for lunch. As he got up to leave, he leaned across and kissed the top of her head. A tingle ran through her from head to toe. 'I'll see you tomorrow,' he said. Then he was gone, leaving her to wonder.Tenille inspected the contents of the shopping bag, finally pronouncing herself satisfied. 'Thanks,' she said. 'I'll pay you back when I can.''No need,' Jane said. 'Call it a late birthday present. So, how are you doing?'Tenille picked up one of the paperbacks Jane had bought in the supermarket. 'Basically I'm bored shitless. I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to these.''I'll bring you some more from the house. Mine are mostly down in London, but my dad has a great collection of old detective novels, if you like those?''Never read any. I guess I can give them a try.'Jane sat down on the bench next to her. 'I've been thinking,' she said. 'How would you feel if I called your dad and explained the situation to him?'Tenille scowled. 'I don't want him thinking you're asking him to dob himself in.''That hadn't occurred to me.''Well, it should've. Just like I'm loyal to him, he's loyal to me. I don't want him to hand himself over to the Bill because of me.''I just thought he might have some ideas about how we get you out of this mess. He's had more dealings with the law than we have, he might come up with something. Besides, I want him to know I'm no threat to him.'Tenille looked dubious. 'Maybe. But how would you get in touch with him? I don't have no phone number.''I'll think of something,' Jane said, her mind a complete blank.'Maybe your mad next-door neighbour could get a message to him.''Mrs Gallagher?' Jane looked baffled. 'Why her?'Tenille looked shifty. 'I just think she'd help, that's all. She's always been nice to me, know what I mean?''I'll think about it.' Jane stood up. 'OK, I need to go, Dan'll be back down from the cottage in a minute then we've got to go to Grasmere. Oh, and by the way, you were right. Jake is here. And he has been spying on me. He said he wanted to make sure he got me on my own, that's why he was watching me.'Tenille scowled. 'I told you he was up to no good. What's he after?''He wants us to get back together.''Tell me you're not going to. You're way too good for him. I saw how upset you were when he pissed off. Nobody that really cared for you would treat you like that. I tell you, Jane, you should just tell him to piss off back to where he came from.'Jane couldn't help smiling at Tenille's seriousness. Sometimes it was hard to remember she was only thirteen. 'I appreciate your concern. And I will be careful, I promise you.' She rubbed a hand over Tenille's nappy head. 'I'll see you later.'Tillie Swain was next on their list. She had been Edith Clewlow's sister-in-law but, according to Judy, Tillie and Edith had never got on. Tillie considered that her brother had married beneath him, and the two branches of the family had been as distant as was possible when their homes were a scant half-dozen miles apart as the crow flies. Certainly Jane didn't remember Jimmy ever talking about his Swain cousins, and she was fairly sure none of the Swains had been at Alice Clewlow's that morning.Tillie lived in a bungalow on the southern edge of the village, one of four that made up a little enclave set back from the main road. She'd been widowed in her early fifties when her husband Don had died in a car crash on the notorious Wrynose Pass. Since then, bitterness had settled on her in tandem with crippling arthritis. When she opened the door to Jane, bent and leaning on a stick, she looked up at her with suspicion. 'Mrs Swain?' Jane said.'Who wants to know?''I'm Jane Gresham. I live up on Langmere Fell, just above Fellhead.''Gresham's Farm? Judy Gresham's lass?''That's right. And this is my colleague Dan Seabourne. I wondered if we might have a word with you?''With me? What about? I'm warning you now, I've only got my pension, so there's no point coming here looking for donations for this, that and the other.'Jane shook her head. 'It's nothing like that.'Tillie exhaled heavily through her nose. Her eyes screwed up behind her large-framed glasses as she considered. 'You better come in, I suppose. Save letting all the heat out.'They followed her into a small over-heated living room which smelled of talcum powder and stale biscuits. The large TV that dominated the room was showing an Australian soap opera. 'You'll have to wait a minute,' Tillie said. 'I don't want to miss the end. Brad's got Ellie pregnant and now he's going to tell her husband the baby isn't his.''That's going to be a heck of a shock for Jason,' Dan said, perching on the sofa and staring intently at the screen. 'They've been friends for years, him and Brad.'Tillie's tight mouth relaxed into a smile. 'You're a fan?''Love it,' Dan said.She nodded. 'It's a grand show. Never a dull moment. Reminds me of when I was young.'Finally, the credits rolled and the anodyne music flowed. Tillie turned the sound down and turned to face them. 'Besides, it's the only company I get most days, I don't like to miss it,' she said. 'So what brings you to my door, Jane Gresham?'Jane had been fully prepared to journey all round the houses before she got to the point of her visit. But she was pretty sure there was no point in attempting small talk with Tillie Swain unless it centred round soap operas, a subject on which her knowledge was manifestly insufficient. And if she set Dan loose on that track, she feared she'd lose the will to live. All she could hope for was to inject a bit of drama into her own quest. 'I'm on a kind of treasure hunt.'Tillie snorted. 'You'll find no treasure here, lass.'Dan grinned. 'Now, Mrs Swain. You're a connoisseur of the soaps, you should know that treasure turns up in the unlikeliest of places. Just have a listen to what Jane has to say before you dismiss it out of hand.''I'm a Wordsworth scholar,' Jane said. 'I have reason to believe that a secret manuscript was entrusted to the care of one of the family servants. A very important manuscript. An undiscovered poem by William Wordsworth. And we're trying to track it down.'Now she had Tillie's attention. 'Would it be worth something, then?''It would be worth a lot of money, yes. And it would be big news. On the TV and in the papers. Whoever found it and whoever owned it would be famous overnight.''That's all well and good, but why are you talking to me about some secret manuscript?''The servant who was given the manuscript to take care of was your great-great-grandmother, Dorcas Mason. I wondered if you knew anything about it.'A series of emotions played across Tillie's wrinkled face. Greed, desire, frustration. 'I wish I did,' she said bitterly. 'I'd know how to spend any money that came my way.' She sighed, long and deep. 'You're wasting your time here. I never heard tell of such a thing. Not even a whisper.'Jane recognised the truth. Wearily she stood up. 'I'm sorry to have bothered you,' she said as Dan also got to his feet.'Life's a bugger, isn't it?' said Tillie. 'This morning, I never knew I could have been rich. And now I feel like something's been snatched out of my hand.''Believe me, Mrs Swain, you can't be as sorry as I am.'Tillie made a small, contemptuous noise. 'Don't count on it. You don't know the meaning of disappointment at your age.'But I do, Jane thought as they walked back to the car. I so do. I so do.
You will doubtless imagine that my heart sank at this apparent failure to locate our haven. But the opposite is the case. If I could not find Pitcairn using the best Admiralty charts & the finest navigational instruments, then neither would anyone else. But the problem remained, viz, how was I to find it if the charts were wrong, isolated as it was among thousands of square miles of empty water? Well, Cartaret first discovered Pitcairn in 1767, four years before the inestimable John Harrison was awarded the Longitude Prize. I deduced therefore that it was most likely that Cartaret got the longitude wrong. So with this in mind I set as our course a generous zigzag tack, along the line of latitude. On 15th January, the island finally broke the horizon & we approached as evening drew on. But our journey was not yet complete. For two more days, we were tossed about by high seas that made landing impossible. It seemed there was only one possible landfall on the island, & when once the seas had subsided, we rowed through the foaming surf. We had come home, whether we liked it or not.
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Jake was feeling rather more pleased with himself than he had been since he'd left Crete. His meeting with Jane had been sticky, but he'd been expecting worse. It was a pain that she'd found out about him spying on her, but he thought he'd finessed that well. He picked up his phone and called Caroline, happy he had something more interesting to report than the death of a pensioner.'Hello, darling,' she said. 'How are things progressing?''I finally managed to make contact with Jane today''How did it go?''I think I'm on the right track. I'm meeting her for lunch tomorrow.''Did she tell you about her progress?''She hasn't even told me she's on a mission yet. She's playing her cards close to her chest. But I think I can worm my way under her guard.''And there's always her email,' Caroline said. 'You must keep an eye on that. And what about the old dears? Did you hit any more of them today?''I'm going to go and see the next one this evening. Let's hope this one lasts long enough for me to dig up any family secrets.''Quite. We don't want any more of them dropping dead before you've got everything out of them. Maybe you should try to persuade Jane to take you with her on her interviews now you're getting back on her good side. With her local connections and your role as money man you might get further together than apart.''I'll do my best.' Jake tried not to sound as lukewarm as he felt. Now that he was trying to acquire a manuscript for real rather than theorising about it, he'd come to believe that Jane's softly-softly approach wouldn't get the results she was hoping for. People needed more reason to give up their family secrets than wanting to please an academic, whether she came from the next village or not. His was a far better guarantee of results, and he didn't really want Jane around to witness it.'Any more news on whether the mystery body really is Fletcher Christian?''I've not heard anything. And if there was anything to hear, I would have. News flies round here like greased lightning.''If that's the case, perhaps you ought to go and see the forensic anthropologist after all. She might have been approached by someone with an interest in what we're looking for, someone smart enough to realise the identity of this body might make what they have even more valuable. Let me know as soon as you have any news.' The line went dead.Jake felt curiously flat after the call. Now, when he spoke to Caroline, there was none of the rush he'd felt at the beginning. It was as if their relationship had slipped imperceptibly into the space occupied by work rather than pleasure. The uncomfortable thing was that he now found himself wondering just how much he liked her anyway, absent the sex.Shrugging off the thought, he turned to his laptop and got online as Jane. He'd have to be carefulhe didn't want her trying to log on and finding she was blocked because she was already supposedly online. But from what he knew of her family, six o'clock was dinnertime and right now she ought to be sitting at the kitchen table eating. He went straight to the
As we explored our new home, it soon became clear that men had lived here before. There were traces of paths through the undergrowth & the shapes of gardens long overgrown on the eastern slopes. The rich red earth looked fertile & we discovered plentiful supplies of all the native plants we had learned would supply the staples of life-mulberry trees for cloth, candlenuts for light, palms for thatching, fruit & vegetables growing wild. There was abundant fresh water. In short, everything we needed was readily to hand. It would be difficult going at first, but I believed we could make something remarkable here based on hard work. & liberty. Our explorations had also revealed another anchorage, on the east of the island, & we removed Bounty there and prepared to settle our new Eden I was so overjoyed at our arrival & our prospects that I forgot that there needs must be a serpent in every Eden.
30
Riding a bike without lights in the dead of night in London would be lethal. But then, the night was never dead in London. Not like here, Tenille thought as she freewheeled down the gentle slope from Fellhead to the main road. Here, now it was cloudy and you couldn't see the stars, it was like cycling underground. Tenille imagined herself as a tube train, speeding unlit through silent tunnels, empty of people. Just her and the rats, the only other things with a pulse. She supposed there were animals out there, doing their night-time thing, stalking and killing and being killed. But their domain was outside hers, it had no relevance.When she reached the main road, she turned right towards Grasmere. Dove Cottage was easy enough to find, right on the main road and clearly signposted. Tenille swung off the road and propped Jane's bike against the wall. She prowled round the cottage, imagining Wordsworth inside, hunched over the arm of his chair, scribbling a line then pausing for thought. It was weird to think what had been written inside those walls. There was nothing special about the house, she thought. You wouldn't look at it and think, 'Wow! Somebody special must live here.'She walked back to the bike, thinking again how lucky it was that she'd spotted it through the open door of an outbuilding when Jane had walked her to the house. She'd thought then about borrowing it for a night ride. Anything to get out of the slaughterhouse, where she was going stir crazy. She'd known there was no point in asking Jane's permission, so she'd resolved then and there to wait till after midnight before sneaking out and going for a ride. Then when Jane had told her about her quest, a whole other agenda had opened up.So here she was at one in the morning, the only person stirring. Tenille turned off the main road and cycled silently into the village proper. And that was when she realised her plan wasn't going to be quite as straightforward as she had thought. She had no idea where Tillie Swain's bungalow might be, but she hadn't imagined it would be hard to find in a little place like this. However, her experience was London, where streets were clearly named and even on estates like the Marshpool, doors had numbers. Grasmere was another creature entirely. Sure, it was pretty. But it wasn't designed to make life easy for strangers. Some lanes had no markings at all and most houses had no number, just names. And of course, there was nobody to ask.Finally she found a village map mounted in a glass case outside a gift shop. It was almost impossible to read, but Tenille struggled with it and eventually worked out where she was in relation to Tillie Swain's house. She cycled back to the main road and turned south. And there it was, right on the edge of the village.No lights showed in any of the group of four bungalows. Tenille left the bike at the mouth of the close then walked down to Tillie's house, staying in the shadows as much as possible. She walked down the side of the bungalow, light on her feet as a cat. Round the back, she surveyed her options. There were patio doors, which she knew were supposed to be easy to jemmy out of their runners. But she didn't have a crowbar and she didn't want to risk the noise. That left the back door, which looked pretty solid with a mortise lock rather than a Yale. She'd learned about locks at an early age, but it had been a while and she didn't have the right tools, only a pair of tweezers and some strong wire she'd picked up in the shed where the bike had been. She could do it, but she'd rather not. Her best hope was the heavy pots that were arranged around the patio. Maybe Tillie had secreted a key under a flower pot. She wouldn't be the first.Tenille crouched down and began to tilt the pots one by one, groping underneath for anything that felt like a key. She got lucky on the fourth pot. She pulled out a key and grinned. She rubbed it clean of dirt on her trousers and headed for the back door.A few minutes later, she had to admit defeat. Whatever this was, it wasn't the back door key. 'Fuck it,' she muttered. The only thing left to try was the front door, exposed to any insomniac pensioner who might be sitting in the dark looking out of their window. Well, there was no help for it. She was going to have to go for it.She crept back to the front of the bungalow and tried the key. The lock turned silently and, within seconds, she was inside the hallway, breathing in the smell of old lady. The house was dark and silent. She stepped silently down the hall and glanced in at the first room on her left. The living room. A good place to start looking. She closed the door behind her and found herself in blackness. Her hand groped for the light switch and clicked it on. If someone saw the light, they'd probably assume Tillie was having trouble sleeping. She hoped.Quickly she scoped out the room. There was an old-fashioned sideboard against one wall and she made straight for it. Both drawers were crammed with papers. Tenille pulled out the first bundle and started going through it. Receipted bills, postcards, insurance policies, a will in a lawyer's envelope. Nothing of interest. The second drawer was equally fruitless. Why anybody needed to keep her electricity bills from the 1980s was beyond Tenille.She took a deep breath. The bedroom was probably where an old lady would hide anything really important. But there was no way she could search in there. It wouldn't hurt to look, though.Tenille turned off the light and moved back into the hallway. The door opposite was closed and, with infinite care, she edged it open. It was a bedroom, no question of that. But the curtains were pulled back and the bed was empty. Yet it was obviously Tillie's bedroom. All the old lady things were on the bedside tablea tumbler of water, a glasses case, a couple of books. A cardigan was tossed carelessly on a chair. Tenille felt a chill in her stomach. Where was the old lady? It wasn't like there was anywhere to go.Never mind that, she told herself. She must have gone to stay with family. Whatever. The thing was, she wasn't here and that was a golden opportunity. Tenille pulled the curtains closed, turned on the bedroom light and started searching.Twenty minutes later, she had to admit that she'd drawn a blank. The only papers she'd found were some letters tied in faded red ribbon along with a marriage certificate for Donald Swain and Matilda Clewlow. She glanced at her watch. It was almost two. Time to get out of here if she was going to take a look at Edith Clewlow's cottage as well. There was only the kitchen and bathroom left here, and she didn't think either of those was a place to store documents.She turned off the light, opened the curtains again and left as silently as she'd arrived. She replaced the key and headed back for the bike. It seemed as if Tillie Swain had been telling the truth after all.She cycled back along the quiet roads, seeing nothing except a lorry with a supermarket logo passing in the opposite direction. Even up here, people had to get their own-brand fix. It was harder work going back up the hill to Fellhead, but Tenille persisted. The village was hushed and dark, the only light coming from the one lamppost on the village green. Here, Tenille paused to consult her map and the list of names and addresses she'd helped herself to earlier. The late Edith Clewlow had lived at Langmere Stile, which according to the map was a mile up the fell. Not far, but not fun either, looking at the contour lines. With a sigh, Tenille mounted the bike again and set off up the hill. Man, she was going to be so fit when she got back to London.She found Lark Cottage with little difficulty. This time, she wheeled the bike round the back. She expected this house to be empty, and she didn't want to risk anyone passing by and seeing the bike outside. A local would be instantly suspicious, and she wouldn't mind betting they'd be straight on the phone to the cops.This time, she wasn't so lucky with the back door. But the kitchen window wasn't latched properly and she was able to raise the sash enough to squeeze through. She landed in the sink with a loud clatter and froze for a few seconds, holding her breath. Nothing broke the stillness.It took much longer to search Edith Clewlow's house. She had been a hoarder to a degree that would have shamed a squirrel. Tenille wondered if the old woman had ever heard of paper recycling. There were boxes of photographs, drawers stuffed to bursting with letters and postcards, an accordion file rammed full of every official document Edith and David had received. The family Bible turned up in the bedside cabinet, on top of a stack of scribbled notes about Edith's childhood in Seatoller. Beneath that was a folder filled with newspaper clippings of her family's exploits, from local football matches to sheepdog trials and village produce shows. But nothing about William Wordsworth or Dorcas Mason.By the time Tenille had finished, the time was nudging past four a.m. She knew she had to get out before the world around her started waking up. She'd already learned that people round here seemed to think nothing of getting up in the middle of the night and driving tractors all over the landscape. She pushed a final stack of photographs back in a carved wooden box, then left the way she'd entered.Within fifteen minutes, she was back at the slaughterhouse, bike safely stowed. She crawled into her sleeping bag, feeling like she'd done a good night's work. OK, she hadn't found anything. But at least now, two names could be properly crossed off the list.Jane was on her second cup of coffee when her father came into the kitchen carrying the morning post, his expression glum. He had, she knew, already been up to the high pastures to check on a wether with suspected water belly, so she said, 'What do you think, then? Are you going to have to call the vet out?'He looked momentarily bewildered, then said, 'The wether? No, I think he's fine. The vet's coming out on Thursday anyway, so I'll get him to have a look then.''That's good. I thought from your expression that he'd taken a turn for the worse.''To tell you the honest truth, what Adam was just telling me put the wether right out of my head,' Allan said, going to the fridge and pouring himself a glass of milk.Adam Blankenship had been delivering the post in Fellhead for as long as Jane could remember, and his van seemed to function as a magnet for all the news for miles around. 'Bad news?' Jane asked.Allan glanced at her sideways. 'It was Tillie Swain you went to see yesterday afternoon, wasn't it? Down Grasmere?''Yes. Why? Has she been complaining about me?'Allan sat down opposite her. 'She'll not be doing any complaining now, love. She died last night.'Jane's eyes widened in shock. 'What? She seemed fine when I saw her. Apart from her arthritis, she was quite perky.'Allan spread his hands helplessly. 'She was old. It happens.''Do they know what it was?'Allan shook his head. 'Adam didn't have much detail. Apparently, her arthritis was worst in the morning so she had a home help who came in first thing to get her up and bathed. When the woman arrived this morning, she found Tillie on the bathroom floor, cold as ice. Maybe she had a fall, maybe a stroke, maybe a heart attack.''Poor woman. It's not how you'd choose to go, is it? Lying on the bathroom floor feeling your life ebbing away. It doesn't bear thinking about. Dying alone must be bad enough without losing your dignity as well.'Allan ran his thumb up and down the side of his glass. 'I don't think there's any dignity in death, however it comes. All we can do is try to live with dignity.'There was nothing Jane could find to say to that. 'It's a bit spooky, don't you think? Two deaths in the space of a few days. That seems a lot for such a small area. Especially when they're both connected to what I'm working on.'Allan shrugged. 'It's just coincidence. I don't know why it happens that way, but old people often seem to die in clusters. It's like, one goes and three or four others decide to give up the ghost. I don't think there's anything peculiar in them both being from the same family. Everybody from round here's connected to everybody else. You're related to half the village one way or another, don't forget that.''I suppose.' Jane finished her coffee and got to her feet. 'I'd better get off. I'm going to see a couple of people in Keswick.''Where's your mother?''Picking elderberries.''Is it that time of year already? It goes by faster and faster.'Jane kissed her father's cheek. 'Stop trying to pretend you're an old man.'Allan gave her a crooked smile. 'Who says I'm pretending?'An hour and a half later, Jane was saying goodbye to the genuine article. Eddie Fairfield was a fragile eighty-two-year-old, rheumy-eyed and leather-skinned, his silver hair streaked with yellow from the nicotine cloud of pipe smoke that shrouded him. 'I gave up when I was fifty, promised myself that, if I made it to eighty, I'd take it up again. Best thing I ever did, it's the only pleasure I get these days,' he'd said when he courteously asked Jane's permission to light up. 'I can barely walk the length of the street, and I'm damned if I can remember what I had for my tea last night. Our lass brings me in a hot meal every night, otherwise I doubt I'd remember to eat at all. My son wanted to put me in a home, but I told him, as long as I've got breath in my body, I'll stop under my own roof. Have you ever been in one of them old folks' homes?'Jane barely had time to admit she had before he was off again. 'Load of old women staring into space. Or else they're mad as a box of frogs, thinking they're eighteen again. No man's safe from those daft old women, you know. You'd think they'd have lost interest, but not a bit of it.' He twinkled a smile at her. 'If they'd have been half as willing when they really were eighteen, they would have made a lot of young lads very happy, let me tell you.'He'd insisted on making her weak milky coffee and had tottered through from the kitchen with a plate of chocolate digestives. 'Not often I get a visit from a bonny young lass,' he said. 'Least I can do is make you welcome.'When she'd finally got a word in edgeways and explained the purpose of her visit, he'd grown excited. 'Aye, I heard tell of yon lass when I were a nipper,' he said, his Cumbrian dialect thickening as he travelled back into the past.Jane felt a quiver of excitement. Was this the beginning of the end of her quest? 'Really?' she said. 'What did you hear?'He closed his eyes. 'Let me think, now. It was my granny Beattie talked about her. She was born a Clewlow. Beatrice Clewlow, born in 1880. She was the oldest. Her mum and dad, Arthur and Annie, they had four kids: Beattie; Alice, who stopped at home and never married; Edward, who died at the second battle of Ypres, never had any kids that we know of.' He winked at her conspiratorially. 'But you never know with them French lasses, do you? And then there was Arthur Junior. Anyway, this Dorcas that you're after, she was their granny. And I reckon she was as much a one for stories as Granny Beattie.' His eyes snapped open. 'She talked about her granny Clewlow quite a bit to me and Annie, my twin. Funny, I hadn't thought about that for years.' He smiled triumphantly, pleased at his own feat of memory.'What did she tell you about Dorcas?' Jane asked, trying not to sound as eager as she felt.He puffed out his lips in a sigh. 'It was mostly about her later life. When she was widowed and bringing up the children. But I do remember Beattie saying her granny, that would be Dorcas, had been a trusted servant of the Wordsworth family. She said her granny had been there when William Wordsworth breathed his last, that she talked about the sadness of seeing such a noble man laid low.' He shook his head. 'That's all I can remember.'They'd talked for a while longer, but it soon became clear that Jane had mined the seam of his remembrance to exhaustion. Eddie Fairfield had no recollection of any family papers or secret connected to Dorcas. All he retained was her claim to fameher presence at Willy's deathbed.It was clear that Eddie would have talked to her all day, but Jane was mindful of her lunch appointment with Jake and she finally managed to extricate herself with ten minutes to spare.She walked down the main street with some lightness of heart. She'd made progress that morning. If nothing else, she could be sure that she was looking at the right family. And she was having lunch with Jake. In spite of her resolve not to trust him, she couldn't help the rush of blood to the head that prospect provoked. That didn't mean she had to fall for his charms all over again. Of course it didn't.
Our early days on Pitcairn were cruel hard. Summer was at its height & stripping our tattered ship of all that could be salvaged was hot & heavy work. Nevertheless, all hands showed equal willingness to ferry our goods ashore. At length when we had stripped her of everything we could carry off, we ran Bounty aground below a 700-foot cliff & on January 23rd, we set her alight as a safeguard against discovery. She burned clean through to the copper sheathing of her hull & finally, tossed by the waves, she sank, in ten feet of water. There was nothing for it now but that we should settle our colony harmoniously. We divided the land in nine equal shares among the white men, & resolved that the natives should have no land of their own, but rather that they should labour in our service, this being more fitting to their child-like mentality. At first, we lived in rough shelters of sails & branches, but we soon demonstrated our intent by building permanent dwellings of timber. Then, as if to seal our bargain with the island, my wife Isabella gave birth to my first child, Thursday October Christian nine months after our landing. I counted myself a happy man indeed.
31
Jake was already sitting at the table when Jane walked into the restaurant. She paused on the threshold for a moment, gauging her response. Such a familiar image; the wedge of dark hair flopping over his forehead, the perfect arch of his eyebrows over the long-lashed blue eyes, the coffee-coloured birthmark on his right cheekbone that resembled the smudge left by a mother's thumb, the long straight nose and the thin lips. Sometimes she thought he looked like Sherlock Holmes would have if he'd been more interested in sensuality than intellect. Once, catching him unawares like this would have caught at her heart. But now, caution mediated her every response. She had her plan. All she had to do was carry it out.As she approached, he looked up from the menu, caught sight of her and sprang to his feet. He stepped to kiss her cheek as she shrugged out of her coat, but she shifted sideways, leaving him lunging at the air. 'You look fantastic,' he said.Strike one. She'd deliberately taken no special care with her appearance. Jane knew she looked OK. Not fantastic. 'Nice of you to say so,' she said, settling herself in her chair and picking up the menu. She ordered a glass of white wine from the hovering waitress then smiled at Jake. 'So how are you passing the time up here in the back of beyond?' She'd deliberately taken no special care with her appearance. Jane knew she looked OK. Not fantastic. 'Nice of you to say so,' she said, settling herself in her chair and picking up the menu. She ordered a glass of white wine from the hovering waitress then smiled at Jake. 'So how are you passing the time up here in the back of beyond?'It clearly wasn't the opening gambit Jake was expecting. He looked disconcerted, then gathered himself and gave a half shrug. 'Well, now I've given up stalking you, I've had to make do with the pencil museum. Did you know they do a whole leaflet on pencil-sharpening techniques?''We enjoy our simple pleasures up here,' Jane said drily. She glanced at the menu and, when the waitress brought the drinks, she said, 'I'd just like a chicken Caesar salad, please.'Once Jake had ordered his steak and they were left alone again, Jane said, 'And you really came all the way back from Crete to try to patch things up between us?'Jake gave her his best hangdog look. 'I told you. I realised I'd made a mistake. I don't know if it's too late, if there's too much damage done. But I want us to give it another go.''OK. I accept that. But I want to take it slowly. I don't want to rush headlong into anything.'He nodded. 'You're in the driving seat.' He smiled and her stomach lurched. 'It's enough for me to be sitting here with you. That feels like a pretty good start to me.' He raised his glass and chinked it against Jane's. 'Here's to fresh starts.''Fresh starts.''So what are you doing back home? They said at work that you were on study leave.'Strike two. The question was too fast, too soon and too bald. Her suspicions about his motives were growing incrementally. But she managed a smile and said, 'Willy and Fletcher. I found some previously uncatalogued material in the archive at the Trust that's very suggestive.' The question was too fast, too soon and too bald. Her suspicions about his motives were growing incrementally. But she managed a smile and said, 'Willy and Fletcher. I found some previously uncatalogued material in the archive at the Trust that's very suggestive.''Suggestive of what?' Jake was trying to sound casual, but she could see his grip tightening on the stem of his glass.'There was definitely a manuscript of some sort that the family wanted suppressed. And there are some clues in the letters that point to Fletcher Christian. I've been talking to the descendants of the last person known to have had the manuscript and I'm confident that I've got a strong lead on it.' It was a lie, but it weighed light in the balance compared to the ones he'd once told her.'Really? You've got a lead on a Wordsworth manuscript relating to Fletcher Christian?' His eagerness was obvious now, which was entirely reasonable in the circumstances. What came next would be crucial. 'I can help, you know.'Strike three. For once, there was no satisfaction in being right. Knowing she'd estimated Jake correctly was a stab in the heart. Jane pushed her chair back and reached for her coat. 'I don't think so. I wondered when you showed up. It's not that I suffer from low self-esteem, but I didn't think anyone as self-obsessed as you would have made such an effort to get back with me unless there was something in it for you. Well, now I know I was right. It's not me you're interested in, it's the manuscript.' For once, there was no satisfaction in being right. Knowing she'd estimated Jake correctly was a stab in the heart. Jane pushed her chair back and reached for her coat. 'I don't think so. I wondered when you showed up. It's not that I suffer from low self-esteem, but I didn't think anyone as self-obsessed as you would have made such an effort to get back with me unless there was something in it for you. Well, now I know I was right. It's not me you're interested in, it's the manuscript.'Panic spread across Jake's face. 'You've got it all wrong, Jane. I don't give a damn about the manuscript, not compared to you.''I don't believe you. I think you're here for one reason and one reason only. To make you and your precious Caroline rich. Well, it's not going to happen, not off my hard work. And I'll be telling the family who own the manuscript not to trust you either.' She got to her feet, ignoring the consternation on that face she'd once loved to distraction. She was hurting hard, but she was determined she wasn't going to backslide. 'Goodbye, Jake.''Jane,' he cried as she walked to the door. But he didn't follow her, and she was glad of that. It reinforced her reading of the situation. It wasn't her he wanted. It was her manuscript.Mentally berating herself, Jane got into her mother's car and set off for the eastern edge of the town, where Eddie Fairfield's cousin Letty lived in a granny flat attached to her son's house on Chestnut Hill. He'd told her Letty was Beattie's favourite grandchild; if she'd confided more about Dorcas to anyone, it would have been Letty.Jane drew up at the car park exit, waiting for a gap in the traffic, still chiding herself for her earlier susceptibility rather than giving herself credit for her fixity of purpose. Her internal monologue was broken when to her surprise her brother drove past. She checked the time on the car clock. Twenty to two. Matthew must have left school at lunchtime.Jane couldn't help wondering what he was up to. The family dentist was in Ambleside, the doctor in Grasmere. It was hard to imagine what was so urgent that Matthew would leave school early to deal with it.Except, of course, his desire to beat her to the draw.She thought of trying to follow him, but it was already too late. Three more cars had passed before she could squeeze out into the traffic, but by then he was out of sight. Cursing under her breath, Jane swallowed her anger and set off for Letty's. At least she could be pretty sure Matthew wasn't going there, since he was heading in the opposite direction.It didn't occur to her at that point that he might have got to Letty before her. But she hadn't even got across the threshold when she found fresh reason to curse her stupidity in taking time out to have lunch with Jake. Letty seemed bewildered by her arrival. At first, Jane thought it was simply the confusion of age. Then she realised the truth. While she had been talking to Jake, Matthew had been interviewing Letty.'Such a nice young man,' she said. 'I promised I'd look out some papers for him. I wasn't sure where they were, you see.'Jane nodded, trying to keep her churning emotions in check. 'These would be old family papers?''That's right, dear. I thought they were packed up in one of the boxes in Gavin's garage. That's my son, Gavin. This is his house, he had the flat built on so I could be near at hand but still independent. But then the minute your brother had left, I remembered I'd put some boxes of family memorabilia in the wardrobe in the spare room, and when I went to look, there they were. That was lucky, wasn't it?'Jane's heart beat a little faster. Calm down, chances are it's nothing to do with what you're looking for. Calm down, chances are it's nothing to do with what you're looking for. 'It certainly was. I wonder, might I have a look at the papers? Matthew and I are working together on this project, and it would save him coming back to check them out. Since I'm here anyway...?' 'It certainly was. I wonder, might I have a look at the papers? Matthew and I are working together on this project, and it would save him coming back to check them out. Since I'm here anyway...?''Of course, dear. Come through, they're on the kitchen table.'As she followed Letty into the kitchen, she saw her quarry at once. A pile of papers, yellow with age, was loosely bundled together and tied with string. 'There you go, dear. You have a look through that and see if it's what you're looking for. Your brother was a bit vague, he just said there might be some Wordsworth papers from my great-great-grandmother. I doubt there's anything like that there, but you're welcome to see what you can find.'Jane sat down and slipped the string off the bundle. The first sheet was unpromising. It was a letter dated 1886, addressed to Arthur Clewlow, congratulating him on the birth of his second son, also named Arthur. Jane scanned it quickly and put it to one side. The next was a recipe for rhubarb syllabub. The next few were household accounts from 1883. She carried on regardless, scrutinising every piece of paper for clues. Letty sat next to her, carrying on a running commentary of sensational irrelevance. Jane had to resist the impulse to ask her to get out of her own kitchen.An hour later, Jane had to admit defeat. She knew more about the domestic minutiae of the branch of the Clewlows descended from Dorcas's elder son Arthur than any human being could reasonably wish for. But there was nothing about Dorcas herself, nor any reference to any manuscript in the family's possession. Jane turned over the last sheet and shook her head. 'I'm sorry, it's not what I was hoping to find.''Oh dear, I've wasted your time with my silly family trivia,' Letty said, looking genuinely distressed.'Not at all. I appreciate you taking the time and trouble to look these out for us. Is that all there is? Nothing from Dorcas herself? Maybe in the boxes in the garage...?'Letty shook her head. 'I'm sorry, dear, that's all I have from the old days. Granny Beattie used to talk about her granny, how she worked for William Wordsworth and was there at his deathbed, but I don't think she had any letters from her or anything like that.''Never mind.' Jane felt the now-familiar crush of disappointment. 'That's just the way it goes.' She stood up. 'Thanks for your time.''Not at all. It's a pleasure having the company of young people. I miss that, living here. When I was living in my old house down in Braithwaite I had lovely neighbours. They had two teenage lads who were always dropping in. They loved hearing stories about what it was like in the old days. But I never see them now,' she said wistfully. 'Nobody ever just drops in up here.'Nothing Jane could think of saying felt adequate. 'I'm sorry,' she said.'Don't get old, dear,' Letty said sadly as she showed her to the door. 'What was that song our Gavin was always playing back in the sixties? "Hope I die before I get old," that was it. They'll be old men themselves now, I suppose.''Only two of them,' Jane said. 'The other two managed the trick. But I don't imagine either of them was very happy about it.''No, I don't imagine they were. Well, good luck, dear. I hope you find what you're looking for.'Jane waved goodbye, weighed down by the day. At least she had dinner with Jimmy and Dan to look forward to. A couple of hours to forget about betrayal and failure.Jake finished his coffee, still smarting at Jane's treatment. Christ, what was it with women? He'd abased himself, offered his belly like a dog acknowledging the leader of the pack. And she'd taken it into her head to walk out on him. What a bitch. If he'd been relying on her loyalty, he'd have been deep in shit with Caroline by now.Mind you, now Jane had blown him out, it was going to be a bit harder than he'd been hoping. He pursed his lips, looking so grim the waitress veered away from his table. Bitch. He was so sure he'd reel her in. But he'd had it with waiting for table scraps from the women in his life. Soon he was going to show them who was really top dog. He'd carry on with his own plans and find the bloody manuscript on his own. And then he'd show Jane what a fool she'd been to walk out on him. He'd be damned if she ever got a sniff of William Wordsworth's missing masterpiece.Jane debated whether or not to stop off at the school-house to tell Matthew not to waste his time going back to Keswick to see Letty's papers. And to give him a piece of her mind. She decided against it. There had been enough Sturm und Drang Sturm und Drang already that day to last her for several weeks. Besides, the fruitless journey was the least he deserved in return for his shitty behaviour. Instead, she picked up her phone and called Dan. already that day to last her for several weeks. Besides, the fruitless journey was the least he deserved in return for his shitty behaviour. Instead, she picked up her phone and called Dan.'Where are you?' she asked.'I've just got on to the M1,' he said. 'Missy Elliott snagged me on my way out of the noon seminar, I think she was checking up on me.''Poor you. How did the seminars go?''You have my undying respect for not having committed an act of violence so far this term.' They laughed. 'Seriously, though, I think they went fine. Nobody asked anything I couldn't deal with, which was my main concern. And you? How's your day been so far?'Jane filled him in. 'To be honest, the best bit was kicking Jake into touch.''Good for you, girl. We'll have to celebrate tonight.''Speaking of which, what time do you think you'll get here?''Seven? Half past? Depends on the traffic. Why?''Jimmy Clewlow is picking us up at half past eight for dinner.''Just couldn't stay away, huh? That's my animal magnetism for you.'Jane poked her tongue out at the phone. 'You're wrong, you know. You just see queer everywhere.''We'll see.''I'm going now, I'm home. See you when I see you.'As she pulled into the yard, she noticed a strange car and wondered idly which of her mother's friends had treated themselves to a new BMW. Not, she reckoned, anyone in the farming community. Not the way agricultural profits were going these days. Heaving a deep sigh, Jane dragged herself out of the car.She opened the kitchen door to find two strangers sitting at the kitchen table and her mother looking like the four horsemen of the apocalypse had just stabled their mounts in the barn. 'There you are,' Judy said, relief mixing with irritation in her voice.Jane took in the visitors, who had risen to their feet without a trace of urgency. Whoever this pair were, they were no friends of her mother. The man looked rumpled, the tightness of his suit indicating that the slump of weight round his middle was relatively recent. The woman, by contrast, looked as if she worked out every day and loved it. Her taste in clothes spoiled the effect. Sweetly feminine didn't really work with shoulders like a Soviet shot-putter. 'Jane Gresham?' asked the woman. Her London accent was evident in those few syllables. 'I'm Detective Inspector Blair. This is Detective Sergeant Chappel. We need to have a few words with you.'Jane dumped her bag on the table. 'ID?' she said. Both officers produced warrant cards, which she made a point of inspecting. 'The Met, huh? I assume you're here about Tenille,' she said, dropping into a chair. 'Have a seat, you're frightening my mother, looming like a pair of steers in her kitchen.'They sat down again. 'Why would you assume that?' Donna asked.'One: I haven't committed any criminal offences lately. Two: my friend Tenille is on the run from the police who have formed the bizarre notion that she murdered a man twice her age and size in London. And three,' she added, ticking the reasons off on her fingers, 'a very charming officer from Keswick came over on Saturday night and searched the entire farm in a fruitless attempt to find her.''Have you heard from Tenille at all since she left London?''I haven't had a phone call, an email, a text or any other form of communication from Tenille since I left London, which was before this crime was committed. As I told DI Rigston on Saturday. Nothing has happened since to alter that statement,' Jane said, aware she sounded pompous, but not caring. Donna Blair did not take her eyes off her for a moment.'Tenille's aunt received a postcard from her yesterday morning, saying she was safe and well. Would you care to guess where that postcard came from?'Jane tried to keep her face poker straight. 'No. Guessing seems to be your strong suit, since I can't imagine anything other than a wild guess that would connect Tenille to a murder.''We have reason to believe Tenille intended to come to you. If you're telling the truth, then I'm "guessing" something bad has happened to keep her from you. Doesn't that concern you?' Donna leaned forward as she spoke, resting her forearms on the table.'Of course it concerns me. This whole business concerns me. And if I had any information, I would give it to you. I'm a decent citizen, Inspector. I don't believe the police are monsters. If I seem hostile, it's because I know Tenille isn't capable of murder. She's a thirteen-year-old who, unlike many of her contemporaries, doesn't hang out with wannabe gangstas. She doesn't do drugs. As far as I know, she doesn't even drink. And while you're wasting your time and resources trying to find her, the real killer is walking around laughing at you.' Jane came to a halt, feeling flushed and hating it.'Then you won't mind if we have a look around?' Donna said mildly.'Better ask my mother. It's her house.'Donna turned to Judy. 'Have you noticed any food going missing, Mrs Gresham?'Judy looked astounded. 'Food?''If she's here, she has to eat,' Donna said.'No, nothing like that. And I would notice, believe you me,' Judy said indignantly.'Fine. Do you mind if we have a look around?'Judy looked helplessly at Jane, who nodded. 'It's OK, Mum. I'll go with them.'She led Donna and her sergeant through the house. When they got to her bedroom, Donna clocked the laptop. 'Do you mind booting up your machine?' she said. 'I'd like to take a look at your email records.'Saying nothing, Jane did as she was asked, going online to make it easier for the detective. Donna spent ten minutes checking everything obvious, including the
Our little community began to have the air of an established colony, with the marking out of gardens & animal pens. We fished & farmed & our fences made good neighbours of us. Our women gave birth to children & we explored our new home. Among the many strange discoveries were stone chisels & hatchets & four idols, crude representations of men hewn roughly from stone. These stones we took for foundations for our buildings, seeing no purpose in leaving them idle. We established a governance of sorts, with decisions of import being taken by a simple majority of the white men. I myself maintained a log of daily life, in part out of habit from shipboard life, in part so that our descendants might comprehend their own beginnings. Although we saw from time to time the unmistakable silhouette of whaling ships on the horizon, none came near enough to trouble us. In short, we seemed set comfortably on course to build a brave new world on our Prospero's Isle.
32
In the end, Dan had been trapped in traffic on the M6 so Jimmy and Jane had set off together, arranging with Dan to meet at the restaurant. Jimmy's company was the perfect antidote to Jane's frustrating day. His relaxed take on life, his apparent refusal to take himself seriously and his open, humorous conversation made it impossible for her to do anything other than respond in kind.He'd suggested an Italian restaurant in Ambleside whose owner encouraged live jazz. There was no band playing that night, but cool tenor sax spilled from the speakers as they walked in. 'I love coming back here,' Jimmy said. 'I played my first paying gig here, back when I was in the Lower Sixth. Five quid eachand frankly that was overpaying us. If he likes our music, your pal Dan should enjoy it here.'Jane smiled. 'He's got pretty eclectic tastes.''Are you two an item?'Jane couldn't restrain the laugh. 'Me and Dan? No way. Even if he was my type, it would be a waste of effort. It's not women that set Dan's pulse racing.''He's gay?''As gay as they come,' Jane said, picking up her menu, trying not to show her pleasure at Jimmy's interest in her relationship status.After they'd ordered food and wine, Jimmy grinned at her, his brown eyes twinkling with good humour. 'It's great to see you,' he said. 'I often think about those long summer days on Langmere Fell when we were kids.'So much for Dan's gaydar, Jane thought, happily basking in Jimmy's attention. 'We must have covered every square inch of this side of the fell, playing Treasure Island and hide and seek and Viking raiders,' Jane said. 'I always liked the way you didn't make me be the beautiful princess who had to be rescued. That's all Matthew ever wanted me to be. But you let me be a pirate or a Viking.'Jimmy shrugged. 'Anything to make up the numbers. I always thought it was a pity we grew apart after we hit our teens.''It goes that way. Girls have to do their girl thing and boys have to pretend to hate us. Until we get to the point where we have to start fancying each other.''But that's not really about friendship either, it's about the ritual dance of rites of passage,' Jimmy said. 'Spots and sexual insecurity, that's about all I remember of those middle years at school.'And they were off down the road of reminiscence. There were undercurrents in their conversation. Jane could feel them, though she was reluctant to acknowledge their existence. Jimmy wasn't exactly handsome, but there was something undeniably attractive about him. Something to do with his obvious intelligence, but also something open and generous. The opposite of Jake, she thought. Jake, whose face was always guarded, never quite telling the whole story, always leaving her guessing as to the real agenda.As that thought crossed her mind, Dan arrived, looking remarkably composed for a man who'd spent hours wrestling with the traffic. Jimmy jumped to his feet, a wide grin animating his face. To Jane's surprise, the men hugged in greeting. Jimmy couldn't seem to take his eyes off Dan as drinks were ordered. At one point, Dan flicked her a knowing look. So much for her instincts. There was nothing more to Jimmy's behaviour with her than friendliness. Dan had been right. He was the one Jimmy was interested in. Jane smarted briefly, then saw the funny side. She didn't even mind being exiled to the fringes of the conversation as Jimmy and Dan talked music.They were mid-way through their main courses when Jimmy did her job for her and brought the conversation back to where she really wanted it to be. 'So, what's this research project you're working on? The one you were hoping to talk to Gran about?''I'm really sorry about what happened yesterday,' Jane said. 'Alice got hold of the wrong end of the stick.''Something Alice has always had a talent for,' Jimmy said drily. 'I didn't read it like she did. But she'd gone off on one before I could stop her. I'm sorry she humiliated you like that. You didn't deserve it.''I probably wasn't being very tactful. But I genuinely didn't know my bloody brother had already spoken to Edith.' Jane sighed, shaking her head.'Matthew up to his old tricks?'Jane's face registered surprise. 'What do you mean?''Matthew was always trying to make you look bad. Especially when there were any grown-ups around. He's always had issues with Jane,' he added, turning to Dan. 'It was always obvious to me. It made me very wary of him. I figured if he could be so vicious to his own sister, it was better to stay on his good side.'Jane blinked back tears. Finding someone else who read the situation with Matthew from her side was a novelty for her. 'I had no idea anybody else saw it. I'm so used to him managing to put me in the wrong. I fight back now, but I had to leave and come back before I could really take him on.''So what's Matthew trying to screw up for you this time?'So they told him: the body in the bog, the letters, the search for Dorcas Mason, the duplicity of her brother and the scheming of Jake and Caroline. Jimmy listened, occasionally asking a question for clarification. When their recital limped to its unsatisfactory end, he whistled softly. 'No wonder you were so interested in my gran. It sounds like the obvious place to start.''She was the most likely person,' Dan said. 'Every interview we do now takes us further from the direct line of primogeniture.''I could ask around,' Jimmy offered without a pause for thought. 'Everybody's going to be here for the funeralsall our side of the family and now all Auntie Tillie's lot as well.'Dan shook his head. 'We don't want you pissing off your family.'Jimmy grinned. 'There are quite a few in my extended family that it would be a genuine pleasure to piss off, trust me. I'll just put a few feelers out therethe way the older generation gossip, it'll soon have better circulation than any of them have these days.''You've always been one of the good guys, Jimmy,' Jane said.He shrugged, looking embarrassed. 'You guys deserve a break,' he said. 'I know that if it was some undiscovered Duke Ellington piece, I'd be desperate to hear it. I'll do whatever I can to help you out.'It was past midnight when Jane finally made it out to the slaughterhouse. The three-way conversation had grown hilarious as the connections between them had deepened. Jane had tried not to mind too much when it became clear that Jimmy and Dan were planning to rendezvous at Shepherd's Cott after she'd been dropped off.As she jumped down from Jimmy's people carrier, she noticed a light on in the kitchen window. She walked in to find her mother pretending she hadn't been waiting up for her chick to come home.'I was watching something on the TV and I fancied a hot chocolate to settle me down,' Judy said defensively as soon as Jane walked in.Jane grinned. 'Nothing to do with me being out to dinner with a man you classify as one step above a dole-ite.''I never said that about Jimmy.''As good as. He's very successful in his field, you know. Not many musicians make it work, but he seems to be.'Judy harrumphed. 'He would say that, though, wouldn't he?''Mum, you can calm down. It's Dan he's interested in, not me.'It was comical watching Judy trying to act as if this were everyday conversation in Fellhead. 'Oh,' she said at last. 'Well, fancy that.''I'll make myself a coffee,' Jane said, taking pity.'At this time of night? You'll never sleep,' Judy said, relief in her voice.'Mother, I'm twenty-five, not twelve.' And so it had gone on, the gentle bickering of two women who love without understanding each other. Judy had eventually gone to bed, leaving Jane sipping coffee and reading the parish magazine by the Aga. Jane gave her mother fifteen minutes to fall asleep, then she changed from her smart shoes into her wellies and tiptoed out of the house.Jane crept along the wall, trying not to trigger the yard lights. Then, hugging the hedge, she made it into the field. She turned the key in the lock and inched inside the slaughterhouse. She sensed at once that the building was empty.Panicking, she snapped on her torch and shone it round the room, caring less about possible discovery than proving her instincts wrong. But her gut had told her the truth. Tenille was gone.But not gone in a permanent way. Her possessions were still here, scattered around the sleeping bag nest. She wouldn't have gone without her MP3 player or her books. Her backpack was missing, it was true. But her change of clothes was still here. So where the hell was she? Had she gone for a late-night stroll, imagining it would be safe at this time of night? More importantly, would she be able to find her way back in the dark?Jane considered waiting for her to return. She would be easier in her mind if she knew the girl was safely stowed back in the slaughterhouse, even if it did make her feel as if she was acting like her own mother. And she suspected Tenille's reaction would be much the same as her ownget out of my face, leave me alone, it's none of your business. Only Tenille wouldn't hold back as Jane had done. She'd let rip and the thin thread of trust between them would be damaged again.And what would happen then? What would happen if Tenille got sufficiently pissed off to disappear into the night for good? The cops would find her sooner or later. But, more significantly for Jane, she had sent a message out into the world for John Hampton. How would he react if he called, only to discover Jane had driven Tenille away? Or worse. What if he and Tenille had already made contact? What if he was on his way back here now with her? Jane shuddered at the possibilities unfolding in her head.No, best to leave it. Best to head back to her own bed. Best to put everything in a box and leave it sealed up till morning. At least that way she might just get some sleep. Things were happening out there in the dark. But she didn't want to know what they were or how they would affect her. Let them get on with their own thing. All she wanted was to bury the day a mile deep in sleep.It was totally spooky how just a few days out of London had messed with her head, Tenille thought as she approached the outskirts of Keswick. Like, this was the sort of place she should feel secure. Somewhere with streets and shops instead of sheep and hedges. But it felt like this was a bad place for her, a place with people and traffic. Because both of those also meant cops. Being on these streets was weird and scary.The worst bit was not knowing where she was going. The Ordnance Survey map was as much use here as a chocolate chip pan. And a bike without lights was asking for trouble on streets where occasional cars drove past. As the houses grew more dense around her, Tenille pushed the bike into an alley and set off on foot for the town centre, hugging the shadows, completely without a plan. She couldn't ask anybody, not looking like she did. She almost felt homesick for London, where she could have asked a cabbie for directions, or found an all-night internet cafe and googled the address.But luck was with her. As she drew close to the town centre, streets of huddled Victorian terraces branched off on either side, their names testament to the era of their construction. Those names meant nothing to Tenille; when Sebastopol Street followed Inkerman Street and Crimea Street, it came as a huge relief. All she knew was that the serendipity had made her night.Eddie Fairfield's house was halfway down the terrace. As she looked up at the narrow facade, her heart sank. It was way too public for a frontal assault, and she had no idea how to get round the back. She walked on to the end of the street, where she spotted a tight entryway leading between the end house and the corner shop. Tenille took a few steps into the alley and found it turned into a wide passageway running the length of the street. And, conveniently, each back gate had its wheelie bin standing sentry beside it. Enough of them had numbers painted on the sides for Tenille to figure out which house was Eddie's.She pushed against the gate in the brick wall, pleasantly surprised when it opened easily and silently. She found herself in a small back yard, no more than a dozen square metres of concrete enclosed by brick walls and the house itself. She crept across the yard, nearly crying out loud when a cat jumped yowling on to the wall behind her. Man, she was going to have nerves of steel by the time she'd finished sorting Jane's research project out for her.Even more surprisingly, the back door of the house was unlocked, swinging open as she depressed the handle. Tenille couldn't imagine anyone she knew leaving their door unlocked after midnight. Not unless they had a serious desire to lose all their worldly goods. She stepped cautiously inside, pushing the door to behind her. A faint light gleamed from the hallway, revealing that she was in a tiny kitchen. A couple of mugs sat on the draining board and a dirty plate lay in the sink, fork and knife askew.Tenille moved into the room off the kitchen, which contained a dining table and chairs and the sort of display cabinet she'd only ever seen through the windows of antique shops. No papers there, just horrible china shepherdesses and other car boot sale tat. The door to the hall was open and, as she drew nearer, a faint smell crept towards her. It smelled like a cat litter tray that nobody had cleaned out for a whilethe dark reek of shit, the sharp bite of urine, overlaid by a bitter edge of spent tobacco. She couldn't understand why people had cats indoors. They were meant to be outside, not stinking up houses like this.The stench grew worse as she gathered her courage to move out into the light of the hallway. She crept towards the other open door, almost gagging now at the smell. She peered round the door jamb and nearly added her own contribution to the smell.Half-facing the door, mouth hanging open and eyes staring at nothing, an old man lay sprawled in an armchair. The bright overhead light revealed dark stains on his grey flannel trousers. It wasn't the explanation for the foul air that Tenille had been expecting. For a long moment, she was frozen in place, staring at the dead body opposite, her heart thudding so loud it sounded like a drum in her head.'Oh shit,' she said. What the hell was she supposed to do now?
But the same serpent that ensnared the first Adam also reared its head to strike at us. From the start, our numbers were unmatched. We were fifteen men to twelve women. It was agreed that the white men should have a woman each for their exclusive companionship & that, according to their own custom, the six native men should share the remaining three women. But soon after we made our home on Pitcairn, Williams' wife died & he demanded the right to a wife for his exclusive use. Although I was opposed to this, I was overruled by the majority and the decision was taken that the natives must lose one of their women. It came as no surprise to me that the natives took, this to be a humiliation. But I did not expect they would take it as occasion to plot against their masters. Two natives proved to be ringleaders in this wicked connivance & we were forced to take action to protect ourselves and our families. By dint of persuasion, I arranged to have them killed by their fellow natives. Thus peace & harmony were restored to our little world. Or such was my belief, at any rate, & it was some little time before I was proved to be wrong.
33
Jane turned over and checked the clock. Ten past two. Nine minutes since she'd last looked. Sleep seemed as elusive as the Wordsworth manuscript. She kept almost nodding off, but then the events of the day would combine in an uncomfortable kaleidoscope that made her start awake. She had that uneasy feeling that she had missed something crucial, something to do with Donna Blair's visit. But it remained elusive.At some point, the shallow dozing gave way to proper sleep. When she finally woke, she couldn't believe she'd slept till quarter to twelve. They had work to do. Why hadn't Dan called? Even in her sleep-fuddled state, Jane knew the answer to that one. She threw back the covers, grabbed her dressing gown and hurtled downstairs. 'Why didn't you wake me up?' she demanded as she burst into the kitchen. It was empty. A note propped against a vase of late roses read, Dad and I have gone to Dalegarth to look at a litter of puppies. Toad in the hole in the fridge, just needs heating through, put it in the bottom oven while you're having your shower We'll be back by teatime. See you later. Love, Mum. Dad and I have gone to Dalegarth to look at a litter of puppies. Toad in the hole in the fridge, just needs heating through, put it in the bottom oven while you're having your shower We'll be back by teatime. See you later. Love, Mum.Tutting in exasperation and muttering curses at Dan, Jane did as she was told. Twenty minutes later, she returned to the kitchen, clean and dressed, her damp curls a corkscrew cascade over her shoulders. She took the hot dish out of the oven and divided it between two bowls. She covered them with a cloth then headed out for the slaughterhouse, apprehensive about what might await her.This time when she opened the door, she could see Tenille sprawled on the stone bench, fully dressed inside her sleeping bag, one arm thrown back over her head. She looked absurdly young to be fending for herself. 'Rise and shine,' Jane called, closing the door with her hip and taking the food over to Tenille.The girl woke up, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She said something that sounded like, 'Wagwan?' which Jane translated as, 'What's going on?''Wamcha?' Jane replied, a response she'd learned from Tenille which corresponded to, 'What happened to you?''Last night,' Jane continued. 'Where were you?''Man, is that hot food?' Tenille's eyes widened and her nostrils flared. 'Smells good.''I thought we could have brunch together. Since we were both apparently awake till late last night,' Jane said, a dark warning in her voice.'You stopped by?' Tenille sounded surprised. 'I figured you couldn't get out. Thought you'd gone to bed.' She stretched luxuriantly. 'You going to share or just torture me?''I'm not sure you deserve it. What the hell were you doing, going out like that? Anyone could have seen you.'Tenille shook her head, reaching for a bowl, which Jane smartly snatched out of her reach. 'There's nobody out round here that time of night,' Tenille said dismissively. 'They all tucked up in bed. I think they turn off the electricity at midnight. And even if anybody does see me, all they're going to see is somebody on a bike. It's not like they're going to clock that I'm black.''A bike?' Jane said faintly.'I borrow your bike. I didn't think you'd mind. Now, are you going to give me that food or what?'Jane handed over the dish. Tenille looked at it suspiciously. 'What the fuck?' she said.'Toad in the hole.''Looks more like turd in the hole,' Tenille said. 'I never saw a sausage curled up like dogshit before.''It's Cumberland sausage. A local delicacy,' Jane said. 'Eat it, or I will. I can't believe you took my bike out in the middle of the night. What if a cop had stopped you?''Why would they? It's not against the law to ride a bike round, even in the middle of the night.''It is if you haven't got any lights. And I know for a fact that the lights for my bike are on the shelf in the hall.' Jane glared at her.Tenille shrugged, her mouth full of sausage and feather-light batter. 'I'll take my chances,' she mumbled when she'd finally swallowed. 'Hey, this is good.''Luckily my mother thinks I have the appetite of a small army,' Jane said. 'But why have you been cycling round the district in the dead of night?'Tenille looked guilty. 'I had to get out. Man, I was going stir crazy. You try being locked up in here twenty-four seven. See how long you can stand it.''It's more than that,' Jane said. 'I can tell. There's something you're not telling me.'Now the girl was definitely looking shifty. 'Don't ask and you won't get told no lies.''I want the truth, Tenille. Stop being so bloody evasive. I'm putting myself on the line keeping you here, the least you can do is be straight with me.' There was no pretence now; Jane was genuinely angry.Tenille refused to meet her eyes. 'I was trying to be helpful,' she said.'Helpful how? What's helpful about wandering around in the middle of the night?'Tenille shuffled her feet inside her sleeping bag. 'I been visiting the old people,' she said.'What? What old people?''The ones you've been talking to about this manuscript. I figured you're too soft, Jane. Anybody could lie to you and you wouldn't know they were doing it if you trusted them. So I figured they might be lying when they said they didn't have no papers.'Jane looked aghast. 'You've been breaking into their houses?''I never broke nothing,' Tenille protested. 'I just found a way in. Then I took a look round.'A horrible suspicion bubbled up in Jane's head in spite of her knowledge of the girl. 'You didn't scare them, did you?'Tenille looked contemptuous. 'Course I didn't. When I went to that Edith woman's house, she was already dead and gone, the house was empty. And so was the house in Grasmere. If anybody's been doing the scaring, it's been them. Man, I nearly crapped myself last night. I went to that guy Edward Fairfield's house in Keswick. Soon as I walked in the door, I thought there was something hinky going on. It smelled funny. Like shit. Anyways, I walked into the living room and there he was, sitting in his chair, dead as a fucking dodo.' She shook her head. 'I tell you, I've seen enough dead people lately to last me a lifetime.'Jane finally recovered the power of speech. 'He was dead?' she yelped. 'Eddie Fairfield was dead?'Tenille nodded. 'I touched his hand, just to make sure. He was freezing cold, Jane. It wasn't nice. His mouth was hanging open and I could see his false teeth and everything. And he'd shat himself. That's what the smell was.''What did you do?'Tenille shovelled more food into her mouth. 'Wasn't anything I could could do, was there? He was long gone. So I just did what I went for and searched the place.' She glanced up at Jane. 'Don't look at me like that. Fuck's sake, what was I supposed to do? He was already dead, Jane. Old people die all the time, it's what they do. I went there with something in mind and I did it. It didn't hurt nobody and I never found anything, so it's like I was never there.' do, was there? He was long gone. So I just did what I went for and searched the place.' She glanced up at Jane. 'Don't look at me like that. Fuck's sake, what was I supposed to do? He was already dead, Jane. Old people die all the time, it's what they do. I went there with something in mind and I did it. It didn't hurt nobody and I never found anything, so it's like I was never there.'Jane put her head in her hands. 'I can't believe it.''I was trying to help,' Tenille whined.'I mean, I can't believe another one of these old people has died. That's three, all in Dorcas's family line. Three in the space of four days. That's not natural.' Her words were muffled by her hands, but Tenille heard them clearly enough.'It's how it goes, Jane. They get to where they feel like they've nothing to live for, somebody else close to them passes and it's like they lose the will to live. It happened to my gran's cousin. When my gran passed, her cousin died two days later. And it's not like they were big buddies, just family, you know?'Jane shook her head, like a swimmer emerging from water. 'It's just too weird, that's all.' She pushed her bowl away, suddenly lost for appetite.'You done with that? Can I have it?''Help yourself.' Jane waited till Tenille had finished eating, then took her bowl from her. 'Promise me you're going to stay put. Otherwise I'm going to take the key off you.'Tenille grinned. 'You'd have to find it first.' She held her hands up, palms outward. 'OK, I submit. I'll stay home. But you got to figure something out because I am going to die if I stay here much longer.''That I doubt,' Jane said drily. 'I'll see you later.'She walked back to the kitchen, shocked and bemused. She couldn't take it in. Eddie Fairfield had been frail, but he'd been full of beans. Jane couldn't believe he'd just slipped out of life so easily. She picked up her mobile, considering whether to alert someone to Eddie's death, when she noticed there was a voice-mail message. She dialled the service and heard Dan's voice. Her relief turned swiftly to dismay as his words sank in.'Hi, Jane. It's Dan. Jimmy just called me.' He cleared his throat. 'I've got some bad news for you. Eddie Fairfieldthe guy you went to see yesterdayJimmy just heard that he passed away last night. Jimmy had been planning to go round there and ask him about the manuscript. He reckoned if the papers had ended up on that side of the family, Eddie's the one who would have known. So we're fucked on that score. Anyway, I just thought I'd let you know. Phone me when you can.'Jane ended the call and dropped her head into her hands. She might be off the hook as far as letting anyone know about Eddie's tragic end. But she was starting to feel like the Angel of Death and it was scary. Her expression troubled, she dialled Dan. He picked up right away.'You get my message?' he said abruptly.'Yes. I can't believe it. That's the third person on our list who's died. It's too much of a coincidence, Dan.''Why? Old people are frail, they dieit happens all the time. The death certificate's usually signed by their own doctor, isn't it? Well, if there'd been anything suspicious, the doctor would pick up on it right away and order a post mortem. If those three hadn't died of natural causes, you'd have heard. For a start, they wouldn't be allowing the funerals to go ahead.''You think?''I think.''It makes me feel funny, that's all. They were on my list, and they died in the same order.' She let out a sigh, pushing her hair back from her troubled face. 'So did you have a nice time with Jimmy?''You don't want to know how nice,' Dan said smugly. 'Let's just say it was very late when he headed back to Alice's.''Well, I'm glad one of us is having a good time,' she said tartly.'What's the plan for today?' Dan asked.'I don't know. I'm feeling pretty shaken. I'll call you later when my head's straight. You could always ring Jimmy, see if he wants to help you pass the time.''I might just do that. Catch you later.'Jane tried to tell herself Tenille and Dan were probably right. Edith, Tillie and Eddie were all in their eighties. Old people did die, and sometimes they just threw in the towel when the aches and pains and frailty got too much for them. But she wanted to mark their passing in some way. Her experience with Alice Clewlow had made it clear to her that she'd better steer clear of wakes and funerals lest she be tarred with the graverobber tag again. But she could still pay her respects. Families tended to stick to the same undertaker. She wouldn't mind betting that Tillie Swain and Eddie Fairfield would be at Gibson's in Keswick.A little later, Jane walked into the large Victorian pile that had been a funeral home for as long as anyone locally could remember. A depressingly unctuous young man in a black suit met her in the hall. She couldn't escape thoughts of Uriah Heep as she explained the purpose of her visit. 'Mrs Swain is in Derwent, just down the hall,' he told her. 'But I'm afraid we're still preparing Mr Fairfield for viewing. You'll have to come back tomorrow to see him. If you'd like to follow me?'Jane let him lead her down the panelled hall and usher her in through a door marked 'Derwent' in Gothic script. The room held a dozen chairs upholstered in red velvet and, set on polished oak trestles, a simple pine coffin. Uriah closed the door behind her and Jane walked slowly across to the coffin. She'd had little experience of the dead and was surprised by how mundane Tillie Swain's corpse appeared. She was expertly made up, but her pallor was hard to hide. She wore a dress with a mandarin collar in peacock blue silk with matching necklace and earrings. She looked like a rather unappetising mannequin.Jane tried to empty her mind and find something meaningful to focus on. But her brain refused to offer her anything but cliche and, after a few minutes, somehow disappointed in herself, she decided to leave. As she walked back towards the front door, a tiny young woman came bounding in the door in a most unfunereal manner. Long dark hair cascaded round her face and she grinned at the young attendant as she passed. 'Hi, Chris,' she said cheerily.'Good afternoon, Dr Wilde,' he said, his grave tone a reproach to her energy.Startled, Jane stopped short. As the woman drew level with her, she said, 'Excuse me? Are you Dr Wilde, the forensic anthropologist?'River paused. 'That's right, yes.''You're dealing with the bog body?'River gestured towards a flight of stairs leading downwards. 'He's right here on the premises.''Can I ask you a question?'River smiled. She was always happy to share her expertise. 'Of course.''The tattoos. Are they typical of the South Sea islands? Tahiti in particular?''They are, as a matter of fact. Why do you ask?''I've a theory that your bog body is Fletcher Christian.' Seeing River's frown of curiosity, she added, 'You know? Mutiny on the Bounty. Bounty. Mr Christian' Mr Christian''Here we go again,' River said impatiently. 'Yes, I know who Fletcher Christian is. You're not the first person to mention that very possibility to me. I'm beginning to wonder if there's something in the water that has everybody wondering if my Pirate Peat was Fletcher Christian.''Pirate Peat?''My nickname for the bog body. We're making a TV programme, they like something catchy. So what's your interest?''I'm a Wordsworth scholar. I'm exploring the possibility that Fletcher came back to his native land and told his story to William.''Sounds pretty vague to me.' River glanced at her watch. 'Look''I've got a lot of circumstantial evidence. And a couple of letters that back it up. I don't think there's anyone around here who knows more about Fletcher Christian than me. If you want accurate historical detail for your TV programme, I could help.'River grinned. 'But actually, what you want is to know if this is your man?'Jane nodded. 'Yes, but the offer still stands. Any chance of it being him?'River made a decision. 'Come on down and I'll show you what I've got so far,' she said, heading for the stairs. 'What's your name, by the way?''Jane Gresham.'River turned and they exchanged a clumsy handshake on the stairs. 'Did you come here to see me?''No, I came to pay my respects to someone I interviewed a couple of days ago. Not anyone close, but I just wanted to...oh, I don't know. Everybody seems to be dying.''Everybody?''Well, only the ones I interview for my research project.''What? The Wordsworth thing?' River swung round at the foot of the stairs to face Jane, a vaguely incredulous look on her face.Jane paused on the bottom step and sighed. 'Yeah, the Wordsworth thing. I drew up a list of people to interviewdescendants of the last person to have had the manuscript. And all these old dears on the list seem to be slipping away. It's a bit spooky, that's all.''Unexplained clusters of elderly deaths do occur from time to time. There's always a reasonheart, whateverbut often no particular thing that points to why today as opposed to any other day.' She put a hand on Jane's arm. 'Don't let it get to you. Come on, I'll introduce you to Pirate Peat. We've finished filming for today and the students won't be back for a bit, so we can have him to ourselves.'Jane followed River into a room that could have provided a film set for a Victorian operating theatre. On a table in the centre of the room lay a surprisingly small bundle. Without muscles and flesh, Pirate Peat looked like a human-shaped leather bag filled with bones. The tattoos were evident, their decorated bands circling his waist. Jane looked for the other tattoo she knew Fletcher Christian had possessed, the star of the Order of the Garter on the left side of his chest. But that area was missing, rough tear marks round the edge of a hole roughly eight inches in diameter. 'What happened there?' she asked, pointing to it.'Probably eaten by animals at some point,' River said.'Could it have been deliberately cut away? By the killer?'River frowned and examined the tear more clearly. 'I don't think so, it looks more like it's been torn by teeth. What makes you think it might have been deliberate?''Because Fletcher Christian had a distinctive tattoo just there.'River raised her eyebrows. 'You're as good as your word, Jane. Full of interesting gobbets of information. Tell you what, I'll take another look under the microscope, see if I can come up with a definitive answer...' She paused, as if struck by a thought. 'This manuscript of yoursis it something a dealer would be interested in?''You bet,' Jane said. 'If there really is a poem in a holograph manuscript, it would likely fetch over a million at auction. Which would mean a tidy commission for the dealer. Why do you ask?''A guy came up to me the other night, over in the hotel bar. He said he was a document dealer, that he was following up reports of a possible manuscript connected to Fletcher Christian. And he was interested to know whether I thought this could be the man.' She gestured at the body on the table.Jane felt her heart sink. 'His name wasn't Jake Hartnell, was it?''You know him?''Only too well,' she said heavily. If she'd needed confirmation that Jake was more interested in the manuscript than in her, here it was. 'Let's just say we don't see eye to eye on most things.'River raised one eyebrow. 'Can't say I took to him myself.'Jane gave a wry smile. 'Then you're at least as good a judge of the living as the dead.' She glanced at her watch. 'I'd better be going. Thanks for showing me this.''My pleasure. And I'll keep you posted. If this turns out to be Fletcher Christian, you'll be the first to know.'Ewan Rigston was briefing his team on an armed robbery at a petrol station when the message came through from the front desk that Alice Clewlow was waiting to see him. He wound up the briefing and had her sent up to his office. He remembered Alice. She was a few years younger than him, but he'd once asked her out to a rugby club hop. She'd laughed, not unkindly, and told him he was wasting his time. He'd been offended at the time, but over the years, it had gradually dawned on him that her rejection had been generic rather than specific. Not that she broadcast the fact. Discretion, that was always the name of the game in a small town.He hadn't seen her except at a distance for a few years, and he was pleasantly surprised to see how little she'd changed. A few more lines, a few silver hairs. But still the same old Alice. She'd retained the air of confidence and competence that he remembered as surprising in a teenager. As she sat down, he noticed a tension round her eyes that he hadn't spotted at first glance. 'Hello, Alice,' he said, waiting till she was settled before he sat down.'Thanks for seeing me, Ewan. Or should I call you Detective Inspector Rigston these days?' There was a genuine enquiry beneath the light tone.'Ewan will do fine,' he said. 'I was sorry to hear about your grandmother,' he added, remembering the mention of Edith Clewlow's death in the weekend report.'That's what I'm here about,' Alice said.Rigston frowned. 'You think there was something suspicious about Mrs Clewlow's death?' His heart sank. There was nothing more troublesome than relatives who got a bee in their bonnet about perfectly natural deaths.'I didn't at the time,' Alice said. 'But since then, two other relatives have died. Both elderly, it's true. But one was my gran's sister-in-law, Tillie Swain. Over at Grasmere. The other was Tillie's second cousin, Eddie Fairfield. He lives here in Keswick. They all died in the night, and they've all been certified as natural causes.' She paused, her expression one of caution. 'You think I'm daft, don't you?''No, Alice, I'd never think that of you. But I'm struggling to understand why you think this is police business. I know it's hard to accept, but old people often pass away without there being any sinister implications.''I understand that, Ewan. But would you feel the same if I told you there was something else linking them?''What sort of something else?' he asked, leaning forward, his interest piqued.'There's a woman called Jane Gresham''From Fellhead?' Rigston interrupted. 'Gresham's Farm?''That's right. You know her?''Let's just say our paths have crossed in a professional capacity. What's Jane Gresham's connection to your gran?''She's looking for a manuscript that she thinks one of our ancestors might have got from Wordsworth. She came to my house with some bloke she's working with when my gran was barely cold, pretending to offer her condolences. But what she was really after was finding out whether Gran had these papers. Her brotherhe's the headmaster at the primary school in Fellheadhe'd rung Gran about it the day she died. Helping his sister, I suppose.''I'm still not quite sure where this is taking us,' Rigston said, his interest seeping away.'You remember my little brother Jimmy? Plays drums?' Rigston nodded and Alice continued. 'He was pally with Jane when they were kids. They hooked up again at the wake. They went out for dinner last night. Jimmy didn't get home till the small hours, and when I told him about Eddie this morning, he looked really shocked. He said Jane Gresham had a list of people she thought might have this manuscript. Gran's name was top of the list. The next name was Tillie Swain and after her came Eddie Fairfield.' Alice stopped and gave Rigston a level stare. 'Now do you think it might be suspicious?''It's odd, I'll grant you that. But are you really suggesting Jane Gresham is running round the district killing old people just to get her hands on some old manuscript?'Alice shrugged. 'I don't know what to think, Ewan. All I know is that members of my family keep dying. And I think you need to look into it.'
While we remained on the ship, I had been able to exercise the authority of a captain. But once on land, my shipmates cleaved to the conviction that no man should be their master again. They perceived themselves as the landed gentry of Pitcairn, & some discovered in themselves a need to oppress others in order to savour their power fully. Quintal & McCoy were prime among this tendency, & they were wont to flog their natives at the least excuse. Bligh's fate had taught them nothing; they could not comprehend that such cruel & J arbitrary treatment might justifiably recoil against them. However I pleaded with them that such behaviour was both unnecessary & provocative, they would not change their ways. I began to fear for all of us & decided to take precautions accordingly.
34
Jane's phone started ringing on the doorstep of Gibson's, making her start guiltily. Just as well it hadn't rung while she'd been paying her respects to Tillie Swain. She pulled her mobile out of her backpack and glanced at the display. An unfamiliar mobile number. Only one way to find out who was calling. She hit a key and put it to her ear. 'Hello?'The voice on the other end was deep and formal. 'Dr Gresham? I believe you wanted to speak to me? Bearing in mind that cellphone to cellphone is not what you could call secure...'The Hammer, she realised, looking around instinctively to make sure nobody was watching her. Thank you, mad Mrs Gallagher. Thank you, mad Mrs Gallagher. Thanks for calling. I need to speak to you about the matter we discussed last week.' Thanks for calling. I need to speak to you about the matter we discussed last week.''Again?' There was a chuckle in his voice, which frightened her more than any threat could have.'The solution you came up with last time appears to have created some fresh problems,' Jane said, choosing her words carefully.'So I heard.''Our friend now refuses to solve her problems in the obvious way because she feels too much loyalty. And she's adamant that you too must avoid taking that particular course of action.''I think I understand you. Neither of us wants to talk to William, right?'The name threw Jane off balance. Why was the Hammer talking to her about Wordsworth? It took her a moment to make the connection; William, Bill, Old Bill. 'That's about the size of it,' she said cautiously.'You're very close to our friend, right?'How did spies manage this sort of cloaked conversation, Jane wondered. She felt completely out of her depth in shark-infested waters. 'Yes, but I don't know how long that's going to last,' she said, hoping he would understand.'If you can manage to make it last till the weekend, I'll get it sorted.' Hampton sounded calm and confident.'You'll both be OK?''Oh, you can count on that, Dr Gresham,' he said, and ended the call.Jane stood staring stupidly at her phone. She needed a drink, she decided. It wasn't normally her first recourse, but then it wasn't every day she had a killer on the other end of her mobile. She left the car where it was and walked down the hill towards the town centre, turning into the first pub she came to.She bought a Southern Comfort and Coke and found a quiet corner where she could turn her back to the room and recover herself. So it was that she had no advance warning of Jake's presence. One minute she was alone, contemplating John Hampton's inscrutably dark world and fervently hoping she never had to come closer to its epicentre than she had just done. The next, Jake was beside her, one hand on the back of her chair, the other touching the edge of the table. 'Jane, what a surprise,' he said.She whirled round so fast a curl whipped into her eye, making it smart and water. Rubbing her eye fiercely she said, 'Stalking me again? How much clearer can I make it? We. Are. Through.'Jake looked discomfited, casting a quick glance over his shoulder to see if anyone in the half-empty pub had picked up on their personal drama. Happily they were all deep in conversation or Sudoku. 'I didn't follow you,' he said. 'I was out for a walk when it started raining. I dived in here to get out of the rain.' He held out the arm of his jacket, stained with dark circles. 'Look, rain.' He gave her the grin that had once made her stomach flutter. Now it made her stomach turn.'Whatever. Doesn't change the message.' Jane pointedly looked away, staring at her drink on the table, trying to avoid looking at his hand. He took his hand away and she thought for a moment he was going to take her at her word. But no. Instead he sat down next to her. She pushed her chair back, preparing to leave. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers a handcuff round her bones.'Let me go,' she hissed, still bound by the English convention of never making scenes in public places.'I accept what you said.' Jake spoke quickly. 'About us. It's not what I want, but I accept it. I want to talk to you about something else.''You want to talk me into helping you get rich quick,' Jane said contemptuously. 'Now let me go.'Jake released her wrist and she rubbed it with her other hand. 'It's not like that,' he said.'No? Then what were you doing asking Dr Wilde if the bog body is Fletcher Christian? And why are you still here? You're trying to cash in on my hard work.''I'm not trying to do you out of anything,' Jake protested. 'Yes, there's money to be made. But please don't pretend you're indifferent to money. I know how much you hate doing two jobs to make ends meet, and how much you'd love to be able to do nothing but your own work. Well, if we work together on this, all that would be within your grasp. I'd get the commission on the sale, you'd get first crack at the poem.''Stop it, Jake,' Jane said. 'I'm not interested in your little schemes. You sit there and talk about commission, but what you're really about is trying to con people. I know you. If you find this manuscript, you'll make whoever has it an offer they can't refuse. They're not smart London operators, they're straightforward Lakeland peoplethey'll be blinded by the zeros. They won't know you're only offering them a fraction of what it's worth.''That's bullshit,' he protested. 'I'm not here to rip anybody off. I want to play fair.''You might, but I bet your precious Caroline doesn't. Jake, watch my lips. I really don't care about the money.'At this, Jake snapped. He got to his feet and thrust his face close to hers. 'Maybe not, Jane. But other people do. And they will go to extraordinary lengths to cut you out of the process.'He turned on his heel and marched out into the rain. Jane stared after him, stunned. For the first time since she'd heard about the body in the bog, it dawned on her that there might be personal danger in what she was doing. There were, it seemed, bad people out there who were a lot less obvious than John Hampton.Rigston stared through the rain streaking his window to the grey rooftops beyond. Bloody miserable afternoon, he thought. Better things to do than sit on the end of a phone waiting to be connected to some bloody doctor who clearly still subscribed to the view that the only people whose time had any value were those in the medical profession. It wasn't as if he expected anything earth-shattering from the conversation. Not if the two previous calls were anything to go by.'Yes? Is that Inspector Rigston?' the voice in his ear said, sounding peevish and about twelve years old.'Speaking.''Jerry Hamilton here. Dr Jerry Hamilton. My receptionist said you needed to speak to me about a patient. Now, you must be aware I can't discuss medical records''You can when they're dead,' Rigston snapped, running out of patience. 'Especially when it's you that signed the death certificate.''Ah yes, well, that does rather alter the situation,' Hamilton said, his tone more emollient. 'And the death in question would be...?''Edward Fairfield. I believe you attended him this morning.''Ah yes, Mr Fairfield. Perfectly straightforward, Inspector. Heart failure.''Did Mr Fairfield have a history of heart trouble?' Rigston doodled heart shapes in a line across his pad.'He had a minor heart attack just under two years ago. He'd been keeping reasonably well since. But this happens with the elderly all the time. The heart just runs out of beats.''So you'd say it wasn't an unexpected death?' Rigston asked, adding arrows to the little hearts.'On the contrary, Inspector. I would say it was unexpectedbut not surprising, given his age and general health. Does that make it any clearer for you?' The peevish tone was back.'And there were no suspicious circumstances?''I don't know what you mean by suspicious.''Signs of a struggle? Petechial haemorrhages consistent with smothering? Any indications of a fatal injection?' Rigston said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. Bloody doctors.'None of the above. Nothing that was in any way inconsistent with natural causes. Why are you asking these questions, Inspector?''I'm pursuing a line of enquiry, sir. You've been very helpful. Thank you for your time,' he said mechanically, ending the call. Rigston leaned back in his chair. Three dead old people. Three different doctors. Three unequivocal verdicts of natural death. He should be satisfied.But he wasn't.Dan leaned back on the sofa and shook his head. 'I don't know what to say. On the one hand, you'd think somebody would notice a maniac bumping off old people all over the place. On the other hand, Harold Shipman was murdering elderly patients for years before anyone noticed.''Living where they did, Edith, Tillie and Eddie would have had different doctors,' Jane said. 'So it's not some crazy doctor doing his own form of euthanasia.''So we're back to natural causes.''Maybe they were scared to death,' Jane said, pushing her foot against the floor to build up momentum in the rocking chair that sat in the corner of the cottage living room.Dan pulled a face. 'I don't think you can scare someone to death very easily. And you couldn't rely on doing it time after time. I think Dr Wilde is rightthey just turn up their toes when they've had enough. Maybe when somebody in the family dies, it sort of turns their mind to it. What do I know? I'm just a simple student of language.''Do you think we should get Jimmy to warn Letty? I mean, if there is something dodgy going on, she's the next on the list.'Dan snorted. 'Oh yes, let's make sure we scare her to death. "By the way, Letty, somebody's out to get you." That'll be helpful. Jane, if there's no murders, there's no murderer. And so no risk to Letty.'Jane scowled. 'It wouldn't do any harm for her to be on her guard. And Jimmy's family.'Dan gave a little cat-like smile. 'He's family, all right.''I don't want to know,' Jane said firmly. 'Harry's my friend too, remember?' She got up and stretched.'I'm going to get some fresh air. Ever since Jake accosted me, I've felt like I should be looking over my shoulder. Like there's someone watching me.' She looked out of the window to the valley below and shivered. 'It's not a nice feeling. I wish I could shake it off.' She turned back to face him. 'It's cleared up nicely now. I think I'll drive up the fell and take a walk. Clear my head.''OK. Have we got plans for later?'Jane shook her head. 'Let's leave it till tomorrow.'As she drove down the hill in the dying light of the afternoon, Jane spotted Matthew wheeling the buggy across the road from the Post Office. She slowed to a halt and wound down the window. 'Don't stake your hopes on Letty Brownrigg,' she called to him. 'I've seen the papers and she's got nothing from Dorcas.'Matthew's eyes narrowed and his brows lowered. 'You are pathetic,' he snarled at her, turning into his driveway and disappearing behind the hedge.The satisfaction was petty, she knew, but it was satisfaction nonetheless. Jane stepped on the gas and headed up past Langmere Stile. She felt a pang as she passed Edith Clewlow's cottage. Nothing to do with me. Nothing to do with me. The thought lacked conviction. The thought lacked conviction.A mile further on, she swung left into the National Trust car park for Langmere Force. Hers was the only car there at that time of the afternoon and Jane felt calm creep over her as soon as she cleared the stile and walked up the woodland path to the forty-foot waterfall that cascaded from the high fell into Dark Tarn below.After a short, strenuous climb, the path emerged from the woods on to a small limestone pavement, its irregular cracks and fissures giving the appearance of giant crazy paving. As was her habit, Jane walked right up to the edge and carefully sat down with her legs dangling over the lip of the rock shelf, just as she'd done since the first time Matthew had dared her to as a child. The rock formed a shallow U-shape round the waterfall that roared amber and white to her left, and her vantage point provided a breathtaking view of the cascade and the tarn below. Jane couldn't remember a time when Langmere Force hadn't mesmerised her, taking her out of whatever ailed her and making her feel healed. That afternoon was no different. Things slowly slid into perspective and she began to feel the pressure lifting.The great advantage of an area with few roads was that it made tailing someone very easy. You could hang well back, knowing there were no turn-offs, then narrow the gap when the rare junctions approached. But he hadn't needed to be even that sophisticated as he tailed Jane that afternoon. She'd driven up the hill towards Langmere Stile, an easy follow. And as he'd climbed in her wake, he'd spotted her car in the Langmere Force car park. It would have been hard to miss, really, sitting in splendid isolation near the start of the path.She was already out of sight by the time he pulled in. Nevertheless, he was careful to park his car in the furthest corner, more or less hidden from sight of the road. He took a deep breath, wiping his hands on his trousers. Killing anonymous old people was one thing. What he was planning now was a different thing altogetherif you could call this flying by the seat of the pants planning. Still, he'd done all right so far. No living witnesses to date. He had to make sure it stayed that way. Eliminate Jane, clear the path to the manuscript.He got out of the car, shivering as the chill air hit him. He glanced at the information board at the start of the path, understanding that the waterfall might give him the perfect opportunity. If he caught up with her there, the roar of the water would cover the sound of his approach. And it would be the perfect place to dump the body afterwards. He needed a weapon, though. As he climbed through the trees, he scanned the ground on either side of the steep path, looking for something suitable. At last, he saw what he needed. A fallen limb had been cut into sections, presumably by one of the park rangers, and stacked alongside the track. He chose a section that was about three feet long and six or seven inches in diameter. He put one end on the ground and leaned into it, testing its strength. It wouldn't do to attempt murder with a rotten piece of wood.He carried on upwards, his chest tightening with anxiety as well as the climb. He didn't want to do it, but it had to be done. As the trees thinned out, he slowed, not wanting to come upon Jane unawares. He'd been right about the water; its rushing filled the air, covering the stealthy sound of his feet on leaves and twigs. When he caught sight of Jane, his heart jumped. The gods were playing right into his hands. She was perched on the edge of the limestone pavement, all her attention focused on the water below her.He crept forward, holding the wood like an unwieldy baseball bat. His soft footfalls were swallowed by the water's rush. A fine mist fell on his hair and face, making him blink. He gripped the wood tightly, battening down any qualms about what he was about to do. It had to be done. He inhaled deeply, raising the wood above his shoulder as he turned sideways on to Jane.When the branch crashed down on her head, it came entirely without warning. So sudden she had no possibility of grabbing anything to hinder her fall, the blow stunned her. Before she had even registered it, she was in mid-air, falling through water, drenched, deafened and dizzy. She tumbled through water, treacherous rock on all sides, too stunned to offer any defence.The plummet into the tarn took the breath from her lungs. Bubbles trailed from her nose and mouth as she sank under the power of the waterfall. The blood pounded in her ears, a red film obscured her sight. A flicker of consciousness told her to strike out for the surface but the message didn't make it through to her limbs.The distance between life and death was shrinking by the second.Tenille was almost beginning to enjoy herself, though she would have died before she'd have admitted it to anyone. OK, it was frustrating not to be able to go out in daylight, but she had books to read, music to listen to, food to eat and it was warm enough tucked up in the sleeping bag. She'd never had a problem with her own company, and Jane came by often enough to save her from feeling completely cast adrift.Jane had brought good news earlier that day. She'd seemed kind of remote, like she was trapped in her own head and it was too much like hard work to get out. But she'd been clear enough about her conversation with the Hammer. Now he knew Tenille wasn't going to grass him up. And Jane had told him Tenille didn't want him making pointless gestures, taking the blame on himself to get her off the hook. Tenille didn't have a clue what her father had planned, but she trusted him. Though he'd kept out of her life for thirteen years, he'd proved his devotion when it mattered. She had no doubt that he would stick by her now. He would come up with some plan that would put them both in the clear. In a few days' time, she'd be able to come out of hiding and get back to her old life.She wondered where Sharon was staying now the flat was burned out. Would the council have rehoused her in one of the empty flats on the Marshpool? Or would she be camping out with one of her mates, drowning her losses in booze and weed? Tenille didn't mind the idea of going back to live with Sharon. Her aunt had mostly left her to her own devices. They'd evolved a way of life that more or less suited them both. But maybe her dad would step into the frame now. She didn't think he'd want her living with himshe knew enough about the kind of life he led to realise he wouldn't want his daughter in the thick of it. But maybe he'd keep an eye on her, make sure Sharon didn't bring home any more deadbeat pervs like Geno.And maybe, with her dad in the picture, she could let herself have the dreams she'd always pushed away because they were beyond impossible. Dreams of study, of university, of maybe even writing her own poetry one day. If she knew there was a real point, then she could make herself go to school, play the game and follow the path Jane had shown her. She could make her dad see that tossing a few quid in the pot wouldn't be money wasted. She could make him proud.But that was for the future. Right now, she was focused on paying Jane back for the way she'd stuck her neck out for her. It didn't matter that she'd made a promise; in her world, promises were flexible. You kept them when they made sense, you broke them when they didn't. Jane was too soft to see that you couldn't take people at their word. That was why she was getting nowhere with those old people. Nobody volunteered anything to anyone, whether information or possessions, unless there was something in it for them.Tenille waited for midnight, then set off. She'd meant to go to Letitia Brownrigg's house the night before, but finding Eddie Fairfield dead in his chair had left her more shaken than she'd admitted. She couldn't face doing Mrs Brownrigg's place after that.She found the address on Chestnut Hill easily enough, though it took her a few moments to figure out that 12A was the low extension that thrust out from the left-hand side of the big stone house numbered 12. She hid her bike behind some shrubs by the entrance to the drive and walked softly up the grass verge. A couple of windows in the main house showed the gleam of a light, but otherwise it was in darkness. Tenille guessed at a landing light left on for children who might wake up needing to go to the toilet. She wondered what it must be like to live somewhere big enough for there to be any chance of missing your way from bedroom to bathroom. She kind of liked the idea and wondered if maybe one day she would live somewhere like that.The door was round the side, a rustic construction of sturdy wooden planks with square iron nail heads. But the handle and the mortise lock just below it were modern. Tenille gently depressed the handle and pushed, to check if there were internal bolts as well as the lock. To her astonishment, the door opened and she almost tumbled inside. So it really was true that, out in the country, people still left their doors unlocked. How mad was that? Her heart pounding, she slipped inside, leaving the door ajar behind her.She moved stealthily down the hall towards the first closed door. Again, she took infinite pains not to make a noise as she opened the door. What she saw made her gasp out loud. A man was standing by a bureau, rifling through papers by the narrow beam of a torch held in his mouth. Hearing Tenille's strangled, 'Fuck,' he started and swung round, the light bouncing over her. Tenille backed out of the room and hurtled down the hall, yanking the door open and slamming it behind her to buy a few precious seconds.She sprinted down the drive, dragging the bike from the bushes and into the road. She threw her leg across the bike and set off down the hill as fast as she could pedal. Through the rush of wind in her ears, she listened in panic for the sound of a car in pursuit. If he had wheels, she'd have to abandon the bike and leg it through the gardens that flanked the road. But luck was on her side. No car loomed behind her, though she still didn't stop till she made it back to Fellhead, sweating and exhausted. She replaced the bike and ran back to the slaughterhouse, making sure she locked the door behind her.Panting, she leaned against the door and tried to calm herself. He couldn't have seen her properly, not with the baseball cap pulled down over her brow and her jacket zipped right up to cover the lower part of her face. Even if he had seen her, he couldn't have known who she was or where she was staying. He obviously had no more right to be there than she had. So it wasn't like he could go to the cops and tell them about seeing a young black burglar. Just as well. If the local cops were smart enough, they'd soon be putting two and two together and coming up with Tenille Cole and Gresham's Farm. She was safe. She really was safe.She wasn't so sure about Letitia Brownrigg, though. If somebody else was after Jane's manuscript, then maybe there really was something funny going on with all these old people dying.Tenille felt her chest constrict. What if she'd come face to face with a murderer? If he knew about the manuscript, chances were he knew Jane. And if he knew Jane, he might know about Tenille. And if he knew about Tenille, he might be able to work out where she was hiding. Was he really going to leave her alive to tell the tale?Maybe she wasn't quite as safe as she'd thought.
When we sank. Bounty Bounty we made sure to keep safe the cutter & the jolly-boat. At 20ft & 16ft in length, they made ideal vessels for our fishing parties. We kept them on the shingle, drawn up beyond the tide-line available to any who wanted to fish from them. As my apprehension of some sort of violent rebellion grew, I began to take secret steps to secure my own survival & that of my family. I made a hiding place near the boats & there I began to build up supplies. Dried fish & meat, cocoa-nuts, dried fruit & skinfuls of fresh water, enough canvas to rig a sail, the sextant I had kept by me; all of these I secreted away, along with a substantial portion of the gold we had carried off from the we made sure to keep safe the cutter & the jolly-boat. At 20ft & 16ft in length, they made ideal vessels for our fishing parties. We kept them on the shingle, drawn up beyond the tide-line available to any who wanted to fish from them. As my apprehension of some sort of violent rebellion grew, I began to take secret steps to secure my own survival & that of my family. I made a hiding place near the boats & there I began to build up supplies. Dried fish & meat, cocoa-nuts, dried fruit & skinfuls of fresh water, enough canvas to rig a sail, the sextant I had kept by me; all of these I secreted away, along with a substantial portion of the gold we had carried off from the Bounty Bounty. It was a fine irony that the one metal that had no value at all on Pitcairn might yet earn me my liberty. I said nothing of my preparations to anyone, not even my dear wife Isabella, for though I doubted not her love for me, the women loved nothing more than to gossip about us men as they went about their daily business. I could not risk may preparations being discovered & so I left her out of may confidence.
35
That Thursday displayed the sort of weather that Jane yearned for when she was in London: high blue skies raked with fragments of thin cloud; leaves green, gold, russet, chestnut and oxblood; skylines etched clear and rugged; birdsong and the smell of autumn on the air. She could hardly believe she was still alive to see it. She was bruised and stiff, there was a long gash down one arm and a lump on the back of her head. But, that apart, she seemed to have survived her ordeal with remarkably little physical damage.The real injuries were internal, she suspected. Jane had never been the victim of violence, never known the visceral fear that comes with knowing that someone is out to harm youand having no sense of who her attacker was made it even harder to deal with the fear.She owed her life to a shepherd and his dog, a man like her father who knew the lines of the fell as well as his jaw under the razor. He'd been walking back to his Land Rover with the dog when he'd seen Jane fall into the tarn. Man and dog had raced across the hillside and he had sent the animal into the water. She had no recollection of the dog seizing her collar in his teeth. She remembered breaking the surface in a panic, convinced the dog was her attacker, struggling to free herself from his grip. Only when the shepherd waded in did she stop struggling and allow herself to be towed to shore. She was groggy but conscious enough to make it back to the Land Rover, her arm slung round a man she vaguely remembered from sheep sales and summer barbecues.Her mother had risen to the crisis with customary calm. Judy's fretting was always in the abstract; faced with concrete calamity, she simply got on with what had to be done. Jane was stripped, inserted into a hot bath, supplied with sweet milky tea. Her wounds were cleaned and she was wrapped in a warm towel before being put to bed in a pair of flannel pyjamas she had never seen in her life. Only then did her mother pause to ask what had happened.'I don't know,' Jane had prevaricated. 'I must have slipped.' Now the practicalities were over, she didn't want to tell her mother the truth. It would terrify Judy, but it would terrify her even more to relive the moments after the blow struck, moments when she'd plummeted downwards half-stunned, her mouth and nose full of water, no sense of which way was up as she tumbled through the column of water. But when Dan had shown up in response to her phone call, she had told him the moment they were alone.'Do you have any sense of who it was?' he demanded, his hands clenched into fists.'I've no idea. I told you I felt like I was being followed, but I can't think who'd do a thing like this. Not Jake, not Matthew.''Whoever did this was serious,' Dan said. 'You should tell the police.''But why would anyone want me dead? I haven't got the manuscript.'Dan reached for her hand. 'Maybe they want to eliminate the competition.''In that case, they could be coming after you too.'His face froze in shock. 'Christ, I never thought of that.' He exhaled loudly. 'Well, from now on, no more solo interviews. No more wandering around on your own. We stick together, right?'Jane nodded, weary of thinking and puzzling. 'Maybe you're right. Maybe I should talk to Rigston.''Sleep on it,' he advised. 'We'll talk again in the morning.'Now morning was here and her concerns still plagued her. It seemed as if every area of her life was in turmoil. Judy had tried to cheer her up over breakfast, but Jane's secrets weighed too heavy. Dan's arrival felt like the cavalry.Judy tried to dissuade Jane from going out, but she was adamant. She and Dan were heading for Coniston and Jenny Wright, younger sister of Letty Brownrigg, nee Fairfield. It was a relief to be out of the house, out from under her mother's smothering concern.'How are you feeling?' Dan asked as he drove out of the yard. 'Really feeling, I mean.''Like shit,' Jane said. 'I'm aching all over. But I've no intention of giving up.''What about talking to Rigston? Have you thought any more about it?''I don't know, what if he doesn't believe me?' Or worse, what if he does believe me, and suggests staking out Or worse, what if he does believe me, and suggests staking out the farm or offering me protection? There'd be no hiding place for Tenille then. the farm or offering me protection? There'd be no hiding place for Tenille then.'Why wouldn't he?'Jane sighed. 'If there is something odd about these deaths, he must be thinking of me as a possible suspect. He might think I made up the attack to divert suspicion away from myself.'Dan threw her a quick glance. 'You have a very devious mind,' he said.'So do coppers,' Jane said drily.They drove for a while in silence, skirting Ambleside and heading out through Clappergate and Skelwith Bridge, the looming bulk of the Old Man of Coniston rising before them. Jane had always liked Coniston village. There was something plain and unselfconscious about it. It felt like what it wasa post-industrial village with few pretensions. It had sprung up because of the seams of copper ore in the mountain behind, and most of the grey stone houses were small and unassuming. Somehow Coniston had resisted the prettification of tourism rather better than most villages in the area; it still seemed a place where local people lived and worked.Jane directed Dan off the main road on to the narrow track that led to Coppermines Valley. She almost wished they'd brought her father's Land Rover as Dan's Volkswagen Golf bounced and groaned its way up the valley and over Miner's Bridge. Ahead was a terrace of tiny cottages which had originally been built to house the miners and their families. Irish Row had been abandoned and left derelict once the mining had ended, but then modern roads and disposable incomes made the Lake District achievably desirable for weekends and holidays. Property in the area became valuable again and the stone terrace had been gutted and turned into sought-after weekend and holiday cottages that no local labourer could imagine being able to afford. Jane remembered coming up here in her childhood for days out, exploring the remains of the old mine workings under the watchful eye of her father. She couldn't remember Irish Row at all, but she did remember the cottage a hundred yards further on where Jenny Wright lived.The memory had not persisted for aesthetic reasons. Copperhead Cottage was a tall, narrow building, its natural stone covered with battleship grey rendering. It sat sinister as a toad in the landscape, the square panes of its blind windows shrouded in net curtains. The first time they'd come up there, she and Matthew had run on ahead of their parents. As they'd rounded the bend, Matthew had grabbed her arm and stopped her in her tracks. 'That's where the witch lives,' he whispered. 'She likes to eat little girls. If you wander off on your own, she'll come up to you disguised as a sheep and she'll gobble you up.'As far as she could remember, Jane had only been about five, and Matthew's words had been all too convincing. So the edge of her pleasure had always been blunted whenever their family outings had brought them to Coniston. So in spite of the glorious weather and her adult sensibility, Jane still felt a faint sense of trepidation as she walked ahead of Dan up the path of Copperhead Cottage.When the door eventually opened to her knock, Jane felt an ancient tremor of fear. The woman who stood on the threshold bore an eerie resemblance to that childhood image of witchery. Her grey hair was an untidy nest, her eyes dark and sunken on either side of a hooked nose which curved towards a strong chin. One shoulder was higher than the other and she leaned on a knobbly stick. As if to complete the picture, a grey cat rubbed against her ankles. 'This is a private house,' she announced. 'No bed and breakfast, no cream teas. And I don't allow people to use my lavatory.''Mrs Wright?' Jane asked, spirits sinking.The woman peered at her through her little round glasses. 'Who are you?''My name is Jane Gresham. I'm a friend of Jimmy ClewlowDavid and Edith's grandson,' Jane said, instinctively going for the family connection. Anyone this unwelcoming of strangers wasn't going to be moved by her credentials. 'And this is my friend Dan Seabourne.''Also a friend of Jimmy's, ma'am,' Dan said, ingratiating smile at the ready.'You're a day early if you've come to take me to the funeral,' she said ungraciously.'That's not why we're here. Jimmy thought you might be able to help us with a research project. Jane and I work together at a university in London,' Dan cut in, his charm to the fore.Jenny Wright frowned. 'What sort of research project brings you up here?''I come from up here. I grew up in Fellhead,' Jane said, trotting out the rest of her credentials.'More fool you for leaving. So what's this project that Jimmy Clewlow thinks I might be able to help you with?''Maybe we could come in and tell you, rather than keep you standing on the doorstep in the cold?' Dan suggested.The old woman shook her head. 'Dropping a name or two won't get you across my door. How do I know you're who you say you are? How do I know you're not here to rob an old woman?'Dan hid his exasperation well. 'You could always phone Jimmy and ask him.'Jenny snorted derision. 'I don't have his number.''I do.''And how would I know it was him? Nay, you can state your business well enough out here.''Whatever you prefer,' Jane said politely. 'I specialise in the works of William Wordsworth. I understand one of your ancestors, Dorcas Mason, once worked for the Wordsworth family at Dove Cottage. And I believe she may have acquired some of his papers.''Are you saying she stole them?' The woman sounded even more hostile.'Not at all. We think she was given them for safekeeping.''Well, if she was, she would have kept them safe. We understand about duty in our family.' She pursed her lips and nodded with self-satisfaction.'That's what we're hoping. We're trying to find out if the papers survived and, if possible, to have a look at them.''What's your interest?'Jane smiled. 'If I'm right, this is an undiscovered poem by Wordsworth. A long poem. I would like to be the first person to read it. And I would like to have the opportunity to study it. To write about it.' She tried to make her tone even more placatory. 'It would be a very valuable manuscript. Whoever owns it could become rich as a result.''See? I said you were out to rob me. Well, I've nothing worth stealing, young woman. No manuscripts. No jewellery. No money, neither. You and your young man are wasting your time here. I've nothing for you.' The door began to close, then it opened again. 'And tell Jimmy Clewlow to make sure somebody comes for me tomorrow. I don't want to miss Edith's funeral because somebody forgot I exist.' This time, the door closed completely, leaving them staring at an expanse of black paint.'And a very good day to you too,' Jane muttered, turning on her heel. She felt as if the windows of the house were staring at her as she walked away. Another wasted journey. At this rate, she'd be back in London with nothing to show for her two weeks of study leave. Nothing apart from a throbbing lump on the back of her head, assorted cuts and bruises and nerves shredded to tatters.After Dan dropped her at the farm, Jane seized the chance to go and check on Tenille. She found her curled in a corner, wide-eyed and twitchy. 'What's the matter?' she asked, settling down beside the girl and putting an arm round her shoulders.'Bad shit,' Tenille muttered.'Are you freaking out, stuck in here?'Tenille leaned into her. 'You know you made me promise I'd stay in?'Jane could hardly bear the thought of more trouble. The attack had left too many nerve endings exposed. 'What happened?'Tenille hunched into herself under Jane's protective arm. 'I went to that Letitia Brownrigg's house last night. I got there round one in the morning. The door was unlocked so I just walked in. Only, there was a man in the living room.''Oh, shit, Tenille. What if he called the cops?''No, you're getting the wrong end of the stick. He was a burglar. He had a torch in his mouth, he was, like, going through this desk thing in the room. Looking through papers. Like I would have been doing if I'd have got there first.'Jake's words came back to her in a rush. Someone a damn sight more unscrupulous than her was intent on finding the manuscript. And Tenille had walked into the middle of it. Her heart was in her mouth; could it be the same man who had tried to drown her? 'Did he see you?''Well, he saw, like, a person. I don't think he actually got a good look at me, not enough to know I was me, if you get my meaning.''Did you recognise him?'Tenille pulled a face. 'I didn't see his face. I just got an impression of him, you know? Like, he was quite tall, not fat, not thin. I think he was wearing a beanie. Like, just a geezer. Could have been anybody.''Could it have been Jake?' She had to ask but didn't want to hear the answer.'I don't think so, but I couldn't say for sure. Like I said, it could have been anybody.''What did you do?''I legged it. Didn't stop pedalling till I got back here. Man, I was scared. I thought, you know, what if he saw enough to see I was black? Cuz there's not many black kids round here, right? And, like, if he's chasing the same thing you're after, chances are he knows you. And that means he, like, knows who I am. Cuz maybe you talk about me, right?' Her voice rose, the fear obvious.'I do talk about you, you're right. But even if this person did figure out it was you, they wouldn't know where to find you.'Tenille snorted. 'Sure they do. They know to look where you are.'It was hard to argue with her logic. 'All the more reason to stay inside, then,' Jane said, trying not to show her own fear. 'There's nothing we can do about this. We just have to keep our heads down. I'll try and get hold of Jimmy, see if he's heard anything about a break-in at Letty's.' She gave Tenille a final squeeze then stood up. 'Let this be a lesson to you. Stay insidethis time I mean it.''Yeah, yeah. You got it.' She yawned. 'I'm too tired for any more adventures anyway. Man, I feel like I ran a marathon last night.'Jane walked back across the yard, her brain in a whirl. Who was the mystery man? It had to be connected to her search. Anything else was too much of a coincidence. But however much they might want to beat her to the manuscript, she couldn't imagine Matthew or Jake having the nerve or the appetite for burglary, never mind murder. Or was it someone else she knew nothing about, someone whose existence Jake had hinted at? Before she could get completely tangled in her thoughts, she was jerked back to the present by the ringing of her mobile. 'Hello?' she said.'Is that Jane Gresham?' The voice was vaguely familiar.'Yes. Who is this?''Detective Chief Inspector Ewan Rigston. We met at your parents' farm on Saturday night.''DCI Rigston. How can I help you? Has Tenille been found?''No, it's nothing to do with Tenille. I need to talk to you about a sudden death.'
And yet, despite my best preparations, when the end came, I was as little expectant as anyone. One black, day in September 1793 a native servant borrowed a gun, saying it was his desire to shoot a pig to provide dinner for the white men. This was nothing out of the ordinary of itself. We had often previously allowed them firearms for such purposes with no ill result. The women left the village as was customary to collect the eggs of seabirds. The white men went to work, on their plantations, while I remained close to home. My wife was large with our third child & I wanted to be at hand. As I worked on my yasms, I heard a gunshot & foolishly rejoiced because I believed this to herald roast pork. For dinner. My joy was short-lived, however. Some little time later, the rebellious natives crept up behind me & shot me in the back, the shot passing clean through my shoulder. I fell to the ground with a cry. Then I felt a blow to the head & blackness descended upon me.
36
Jane fought the feeling of dread in her chest and said a small silent prayer. 'A sudden death?' she said, trying to sound as if it were the least likely thing a police officer might ask her about. 'Who's dead?''An elderly woman name of Letty Brownrigg. She lived up on Chestnut Hill on the outskirts of Keswick. The thing is, she had your name and phone number written on the pad by the phone in her living room.' He let the words hang.Jane felt as if she'd been punched in the chest. She fought to stay calm. 'Yes. She wrote it down on Tuesday when I went to see her. But I don't understand why you're calling me. Is there something wrong? Something suspicious?' Jane was desperately struggling for the words of an innocent person. She knew already she wasn't going to reveal Tenille's presence at the scene. Better to withhold evidence than to expose her to suspicion of involvement in a second death.'Now, why would you think that?'Jane sighed in exasperation. 'Because if she just died in her sleep, there wouldn't be a DCI involved, never mind one phoning me up to ask me what seem like pointless questions.''Fair enough. What it is, Mrs Brownrigg hadn't been to the doctor for a little while, so we need to make some enquiries to make sure everything is as it should be. You say it was Tuesday that you saw her?''Yes. She seemed fine. Quite chirpy, in fact.''Aye, well. She did have heart problems, but she'd been fine lately. But anyhow, you're not the last person to have seen her alive. Her daughter-in-law took her out to lunch yesterday, so we've got a more recent account than yours. It just seemed strange, that's all.''How do you mean?' Jane's skin turned to goose-flesh. Something in the very casualness of his tone unnerved her.'It's just that this is the fourth death this week that connects to you,' he said bluntly.Jane said nothing. There was nothing she could think of to say that wouldn't sound disingenuous.'Edith Clewlow, Tillie Swain, Eddie Fairfield and now Letty Brownrigg. I believe those four names feature on a list in your possession.''That's because they all appear on the same family tree. The only one of those four I had ever met before was Edith Clewlow. And she was dead before I had the chance to talk to her. If there's something funny going on, don't you think you should be looking a bit closer to home?' Jane could hear the defensiveness in her voice, but she knew it was a strong argument.'That might be a valid point if this hadn't all kicked off when you turned up asking about a lost manuscript.''All the more reason to look at the family. If the manuscript exists, it's worth a lot of money. Seven figures, we're talking here, Inspector. If I was the killing sort, I might think that worth the candle.''Maybe so.''And it's my understanding that the first three deaths were deemed to be from natural causes. So I'm not quite sure why you're asking me these questions.'Rigston cleared his throat. 'They say three's the charm, don't they? Well, I'm looking at four now, and my instincts tell me there's something here that goes beyond coincidence. And whatever it is, you're at the heart of it, Dr Gresham. We'll be talking again.''And my answers will be the same.''Heard anything from Tenille?' he added, throwing her off balance again.'No,' she replied firmly. 'Goodbye, DCI Rigston.' Jane's heart was thudding in rhythm with her head. Edith, Tillie, Eddie and now Letty. All dead. The first four names on the list, all dead. Jake's words echoed in her head: And they will go to extraordinary lengths. And they will go to extraordinary lengths. Who were these people? And surely they wouldn't commit four murders in pursuit of what might yet turn out to be little more than a figment of Jane's imagination? Hell, one murder would be too much for a poem. Four was beyond belief. Who were these people? And surely they wouldn't commit four murders in pursuit of what might yet turn out to be little more than a figment of Jane's imagination? Hell, one murder would be too much for a poem. Four was beyond belief.But there was the additional evidence of the attack on her. An attack she couldn't tell Rigston about now, that was for sure. He was already treating her like a suspect. She could see no prospect of him believing in her unseen assailant.She lurched into the kitchen and collapsed into a chair. She needed to talk to Dan. She dialled his number and he answered on the third ring. 'I can't talk now,' he said straight away. 'Can you meet me in Keswick in an hour?''Yes,' Jane said wearily. 'Where?'There was the sound of muffled conversation. She thought she recognised Jimmy's voice. 'Down by the lake. The car park on the road to Friar Cragg. OK?''I'll see you there in an hour.' Jane stared at her phone as if expecting it to give her some irrefutable guidance. Her suspicions weighed heavy on her and she didn't know who to talk to. Certainly not Rigston. She recognised in him a man who was far too smart to be fobbed off with the half-truths that were all she could offer him. But she couldn't just keep her mouth shut either. If someone was killing off old people, she had to make sure the deaths didn't all drift past without anyone acknowledging what was going on.Then it came to her: the one person who would be more interested in the deaths than in whatever Jane might be hiding.Half an hour later, Jane was sitting in the basement of Gibson's funeral parlour, keeping company with a two-hundred-year-old corpse and a forensic anthropologist. If they could see me now If they could see me now, she found herself thinking absurdly. She'd just caught River, who was on her way out to grab a sandwich.'This is going to sound pretty weird,' Jane said.'Oh good, I do like weird,' River said, settling herself on a lab stool.'Bear with me. I know I told you some of this before, but I need to get it straight in my head. It's to do with the manuscript I'm looking for. The last person I know to have had it in her hands was a servant called Dorcas Mason. I figured she might have decided to keep it safe rather than to destroy it. So, if it still exists, the chances are it's been passed down to one of her descendants.''Makes sense,' River said.'I drew up a family tree and then I listed the surviving descendants in order of likelihood, based on primogeniture.'River nodded. 'Soundest principle, especially back then.''The first person on my list died the night before I was going to see her. The second person on my list died the night after I visited her. The third person on my list died the night after I visited him. And I've just had a call from DI Rigston to tell me that the fourth person on my list died last night. Two nights after I visited her.' She produced her rough family tree and illustrated her point.River studied it with interest. 'It's bizarre, I'll grant you that. But, like I said before, old people die.''I know. And none of these deaths has been treated as suspicious. But they're all related to each other. OK, a bit distantly, but still in the same extended family. The same extended family who might just be in possession of a very valuable and very portable piece of property. And since old people don't go out very often, if you want to search for something like that, killing them's the most certain way of making sure you won't be disturbed.''It does feel suspicious,' River said slowly. 'It's not unheard of to have a cluster of deaths in a family, but this cluster is rather too close together.' She tugged at her ponytail. 'This woman Ewan Rigston called you aboutwhy was he ringing you?''He said he wanted to know if I was the last person to see her alive. Something about a sudden death, she hadn't been to see the doctor recently. But he ended up acting like I was a murder suspect or something.'River's eyebrows shot up. 'Really? Well, if she hadn't seen the doctor recently, there'll have to be a post mortem. I tell you what I'll do, I'll have a word with my colleague in Carlisle. Normally he'd be called in to do it. But I'm here on the spot, I'm a qualified pathologist, and it'll get me some Brownie points with my boss if I step into the breach. And I can take a good look around your little old lady and see if there's anything at all suspicious. How does that sound?'Jane grinned. 'You have no idea what a weight you've just taken off my back.''Don't hold your breath,' River said. 'Chances are I'm not going to find anything.''I'd be very happy if you didn't. This all started because I was determined to find a manuscript that might not even exist. The last thing I want is four deaths on my conscience as a result.'The two men were already there, sitting on a bench, staring out across the silver glitter of the water. Dan looked round as she approached, his smile as cheerful as the sunshine. 'Sorry about cutting you off earlier,' he said, pushing off from the car and pulling her into a hug. He kissed her lightly on the mouth. 'You know how it is. So, how are you?''Still aching. And there's something I need to talk to you about. I don't know how to say this except to come straight out with it,' she admitted. 'Letty Brownrigg died last night.'Jimmy's face registered shock. 'Granddad's cousin Letty? Lives up Chestnut Hill? She was at Alice's on Monday. She looked fit as a fiddle. What happened?''They think it was natural causes, but there'll have to be a post mortem.' Talking about it seemed to increase the burden of Letty's death, not reduce it. Jane had let herself be charmed by Letty, and now she was dead. Perhaps because of Jane.Jimmy covered his face with his hands for a moment. He ran his fingertips over his eyebrows, dropped his hands to his lap and sighed. Dan put an arm round his shoulders. 'Poor Letty. Jesus, it's like all the oldies just decided to lie down and die together.' He gazed bleakly at the water for a few minutes in silence. He turned to Jane, a question on his face. 'But how come you know all this?''The police phoned to ask why my name and number were on her phone pad. I was there on Tuesday, remember? They wanted to check that I wasn't the last person to see her alive.' Then the dam burst and Jane's emotions spilled over. 'It's like everybody I need to talk to about the manuscript is dying. First your gran, then Tillie, then Eddie. And now Letty. It's scaring me.'Dan put his other arm round her, instinctively pulling her close. 'I can see why.''And now Ewan Rigston is treating me like I'm a suspect. Just because it's my list they're on.''Well, it is too much to be coincidence,' Jimmy said. 'And I suppose you are the obvious connection. Have you got any better ideas?' There was nothing hostile in his question; it was more a plea.'Somebody who believes the Wordsworth manuscript is out there and wants it very badly. But see, here's the thing about old people. They don't go out much. People come to them. The family takes care of them. They're always home and they sleep notoriously lightly. Consequently, they're hard to burgle. If you want to search their houses properly, you need to shut them up. And this guy shuts them up for good.'Dan shivered. 'Fuck, Jane, that's cold.''I know. But it's the only explanation I can think of.''Surely somebody would have noticed if they were all murdered,' Jimmy said, fighting the logic of her argument because to accept it was too monstrous.'Not if there weren't obvious signs of a struggle or injuries. They were all old. All pretty frail. Not hard to terrorise. Maybe that's what killed them.'Jimmy shook his head, as if trying to dislodge something. 'So what are the police going to do about it? Apart from acting like you're the suspect.''I don't know. But Ewan Rigston seems to be taking it seriously.''So he should.' Jimmy turned sideways to face her, anger in his eyes. 'These are people I've known all my life, people I care about. My kin. Is there nothing we can do?'I'm trying. I spoke to Dr Wilde, the pathologist who's working on the bog body. She's going to do the post mortem on Letty. If there's anything, anything at all to suggest foul play, she'll be all over it.'Jimmy's face cleared. 'That's a start, at least.''There's one other thing. Dan and I went to see Jenny Wright down at Coniston this morning. She was next on my list. I don't think she should be left on her own down there until we know what's going on.'Jimmy pulled a face. 'God, that old witch.''She was very insistent that someone should fetch her to the funeral tomorrow. Maybe you could go down this afternoon and bring her back with you?''That's not a bad idea.' Jimmy groaned. 'But she's such a disagreeable old bag.''Even so, you don't want her murdered, do you?''I suppose not. Couldn't we get the cops on it?''They're not going to care for her like her family will,' Dan said.'OK, I'll go now.' Jimmy looked stricken at the thought.'I could come with you,' Dan said. 'Lighten the load.'Jimmy shook his head. 'Thanks, but I can live without the Spanish Inquisition that would provoke.' He got to his feet, patting Dan on the shoulder. 'I'll call you later.' He leaned down and kissed the top of Dan's bald head.In silence, they watched him drive off. 'He's a nice guy,' Dan said.'I know.'Dan screwed up his eyes against the sparkle of the water. 'I admit, I started it because I thought he might be a useful source for us.' He gave a deep sigh. 'But I'm getting to like him far too much.'For once, Jane couldn't be bothered with the self-indulgence. She got up and started back to the car. Halfway there, she turned and said, 'You know what, Dan? Four old people are dead. Somebody tried to kill me last night. When it comes to your love life, you're confusing me with someone who gives a shit.'
When I recovered my senses, I quickly understood that they had left me for dead. I knew that, if I remained, they would surely return & finish what they had started in so cowardly a fashion. A terrible pain beat in my head & my shoulder was bleeding profusely. But I knew if I did not remove to some other place, I would surely die. I struggled to my knees & almost fainted with the agony. It was then I saw what I took at first to be an apparition. It took the form of my wife Isabella & I thought myself closer to death than I had at first believed. But when the apparition spoke, I understood it was truly Isabella in the flesh. 'Husband,. I am, come to help you,' 'Husband,. I am, come to help you,' she said. she said. 'They told, me you were dead, but. I did, not believe them. They are killing all the white men.' 'They told, me you were dead, but. I did, not believe them. They are killing all the white men.' With her help, I was able to find my feet & together we stumbled into the banyan trees nearby. I was safe, but I feared it would not be for long. With her help, I was able to find my feet & together we stumbled into the banyan trees nearby. I was safe, but I feared it would not be for long.
37
River had developed a knack for getting her own way. It had something to do with determination, but even more than that it had to do with a profound understanding of what made people tick. Judicious flattery, professional courtesy and the willingness to grant favours, often before they were even askedall these helped her to bend the world to her will. By the time she'd finished her phone call, the pathologist on the other end was convinced she was doing him a favour by performing the post mortem on Letty Brownrigg.Since Letty's body had already been transferred to the hospital mortuary, it didn't take long to have everything set up. By the time Jimmy set off for Coniston, River was preparing to examine the dead woman. Her assistant and the uniformed police constable Ewan Rigston had asked to be present were discussing football with casual disregard for what was about to take place. River looked across at the nonchalant policeman and said, 'Have you witnessed a post mortem before?''Aye, I have,' the stolid young man replied. 'More than most. They always send me. My dad was a butcher. Bodies don't bother me.''I'm glad about that,' River said. 'I hate having to hang about while people run off to lose their lunch.''No chance of that with me. It's just meat, isn't it? I mean, whatever it is that makes you human, that's long gone by the time they hit the slab,' he said casually. 'We're all just bags of blood and guts once we're dead. I've never understood the way people get all squeamish about their loved ones having to have post mortems.''Some people do have religious objections,' River pointed out as she began to probe the woman's skull with her fingers for any signs of contusions or abrasions.'And that makes even less sense, when you think about it,' the policeman said. 'OK, I accept some people believe in the resurrection of the physical body. But if you've got this all-powerful god, surely he's capable of putting the pieces back together the way they were? It should matter even less to the religious because they're the ones that're supposed to have faith that their god can do anything. That's the trouble with religion. You bring God in the door and logic flies straight out the window.'River grinned. 'How come you're still just a constable? I'm not used to philosophical discussions from men in uniform.''I like being a grunt,' he said. 'This way, I spend more of my time with people, not paper. I don't have to worry about the politics of policing or keeping the brass happy. When I go home at night, I don't have to fret about the burden of command. It's not a bad life.''Some might call that a lack of ambition,' River said. Suddenly something caught her attention and she stopped listening. She bent over to look more closely, reaching for a magnifying glass. 'That's interesting,' she murmured.'What is?' the policeman asked.'A very faint bruise right above the carotid sinus,' she said, pointing it out to him.'Funny place to have a bruise,' he said. 'I mean, it's not like you're going to knock yourself there. What do you think caused that? Has somebody tried to strangle her?'River shook her head. 'I don't think so. There are no other corresponding marks. Well, we'll have a better idea once we open her up.'But River's confident prediction was not entirely borne out by events. As she left her assistant to close the Y-incision, she shared her conclusions with the PC. 'Heart failure, pure and simple. Her heart showed signs of cardiomyopathy, arteries pretty furred up. Heart stopped beating.''Isn't that what happens to all of us, ultimately?' the philosophical policeman said.'Yes, but for a variety of reasons. Absent any other obvious cause of death, like massive gunshot wound or signs of poisoning or asphyxiation, all we're left with here is heart failure.''OK. So the death certificate will be forthcoming, will it?''I'll see to that.' River peeled off her latex gloves. On the face of it, there was nothing suspicious about Letty Brownrigg's death, but a niggle of unease troubled her. Jane Gresham's concerns hadn't dissipated into thin air as she had hoped. What she planned to do next was entirely outside her remit and against professional protocol, but she wanted to satisfy herself.Once the policeman had left and she had changed back into her street clothes, River walked back to Gibson's. She nodded to the young man who greeted the grieving and headed for the viewing rooms. When she looked in on Tillie Swain, a middle-aged woman was sitting in a chair, head bowed. River slipped back out into the corridor and made for Eddie Fairfield.The coffin sat in splendid isolation, a wedge of afternoon sunshine splashing the body with colour. Swiftly, River crossed to the coffin and looked inside. A white ruff shrouded Eddie's neck but it took only a moment for her to move it out of the way and study his neck. She pulled out her magnifying glass and looked more closely. It was very faint, but it was there. A small bruise on the carotid sinus, about the size and shape of a pair of fingertips. 'Oh, shit,' she muttered. She took out her digital camera and shot a range of pictures, from close-ups of the bruise to longer shots that established it as being indisputably a feature of Eddie Fairfield's body. 'Oh shit,' she repeated, rearranging the ruff.Back in the hallway, she collared the young man. 'Where's Edith Clewlow?' she asked.'All screwed down ready for the funeral tomorrow morning,' he said laconically.River smiled winningly. 'Any chance you could open her up for me?'He recoiled slightly, as if she'd suggested some improper sexual act. 'What for? I thought you were just supposed to be doing the bog body?''Call it professional curiosity,' she said. 'I've got this theory, and I want to check something. Just five minutes, that's all I need.'He looked doubtful. 'I shouldn't, really...'She laid a hand on his arm. 'I realise that. But I need you to trust me. If I'm wrong, nobody need ever know. But if I'm right, we'll be sparing the family a lot of heartache. Nobody likes having to order an exhumation...'He looked startled. 'Exhumation?''Shh,' River cautioned. 'Not a word people like to hear in a funeral parlour.'He stole furtive glances up and down the hall. 'Promise you won't tell?''I won't tell.' She followed him into a smaller room at the end of the corridor where Edith's pine box rested on trestles. From a cupboard, he took a ratchet screwdriver. Unscrewing Edith took only a couple of minutes and it took even less to lift the lid off the coffin. River studied the old woman's neck through her magnifier and nodded to herself in confirmation. 'Bollocks,' she muttered. Out came the camera and again she framed a sequence of shots.The young man was dancing from foot to foot by then. 'Are you done?' he kept saying after every photograph.River stepped away from the coffin and pocketed her camera. 'I am now. Let's get her boxed up again.'They were back in the hall within ten minutes, just in time to see the single mourner leave Tillie Swain's room. 'I'll be right back,' River said to the young man as he headed off to usher the other woman out and she returned to Tillie.Tillie was a disappointment, however. Because of the position in which she'd been lying after death, the blood had pooled under the skin, causing post mortem lividity in the very area that interested River. It was impossible to tell whether there was a bruise. 'Three out of four, though,' she said under her breath. Jane Gresham had been right. There was something going on here.Two hours later, River walked into Ewan Rigston's office. His face lit up when he saw her, then almost immediately became guarded as propriety kicked desire into submission. 'I wasn't expecting to see you,' he said, his delighted tone removing any negativity from the words.'I wasn't exactly expecting to be here.' She sat down heavily. 'You know I did Mrs Brownrigg's post?''Aye. I was a bit surprised, I thought the professor would have done it. He usually does.''Yeah, well, I'm qualified and he thought it would be straightforward.'Ewan raked around the papers on his desk. He pulled a handwritten note out with a flourish. 'Which it supposedly was. Heart failure, you said.' He gave her a shrewd look. 'But that's not right, is it? You wouldn't be here if it was straightforward.''There was a reason I wanted to do the post myself. I had a visit this morning from Jane Gresham.''Now that's interesting.''She said you'd been on her case. She was more than a little freaked out when she came to see me. She's scared someone is bumping off these old people to try and get their hands on this manuscript.'There was a long pause. 'She's not the only one. And did you find anything to support that idea?'River nodded bleakly. 'There was a strange little bruise on Mrs Brownrigg's neck. Not something that would set off alarm bells, but enough to give me pause for thought. So I went back to Gibson's and took a look at the other three cadavers. And I found a similar bruise on two of them. I couldn't be sure of the fourth one just by looking because of post mortem lividity.' She pulled some papers from her satchel. 'I took a few pix.' She fanned them out for Rigston. 'Letty. Eddie Fairfield. Edith Clewlow.''What does it mean? This bruise? Is it an injection site or what?'River shook her head. 'No sign of a needle mark in any of them. But it seems to be over the carotid sinus.''Which is what, exactly?''Your common carotid artery runs up the side of your neck, here' River pulled aside the collar of her shirt to demonstrate. 'And just down here, more or less in line with your ear, it splits in two. The external carotid stays on the surface, the internal goes under your skull. Now, if you apply pressure to the carotid artery at the sinus...' she paused to indicate what she meant'it can cause bradycardia. That's slowing of the heartbeat, in lay terms. But there is a school of thought which maintains that, in cases of the elderly or those with underlying heart disease, pressure on the carotid sinus can provoke fatal cardiac arrhythmia.''A school of thought?' Rigston said weakly.'It's what's called a postulated mechanism, because obviously you can't do experiments to see if it really does kill people or not. So nobody is entirely sure if it works. There have been documented cases of people using it for heightened sexual pleasure, though not with fatal results. But then, you tend not to want your sexual partner to end up dead, so you'd stop applying pressure at the first sign of them losing consciousness. If it does work in the way that's been postulated, it's a very good way to kill someone who's elderly or has heart disease. No traces, you see. No petechial haemorrhages like you get with asphyxiation, no broken hyoid bone like you get with strangulation. It just looks like a heart attack.''Would you need to be strong to kill someone like that?''Not really. I don't think it would take a lot of pressure. And it wouldn't be hard to subdue the victims. It would probably be enough just to hold them down.''So a woman could do it?''If she was reasonably fit and strong.'Rigston rubbed his jaw. 'And you think these old dears have been murdered in this way?''I'd say it's certainly possible. It's too much of a coincidence that I'm seeing the same odd bruise in three out of the four.'Rigston's expression hardened. 'I had a feeling in my water about this. That's not coincidence. That's suspicious.''I agree. On their own, the bruises would be relatively insignificant, but taken in tandem with what Jane told me...well, you have to take it seriously.'Rigston smiled grimly. 'I am. Thank you for coming straight to me with this. I'm bound to say, it doesn't look good for Dr Gresham.''You can't seriously think she's behind this?''She's connected to all our presumed victims. We both know that.'River shook her head, bewildered. 'That doesn't make her a suspect. Ewan, nobody would have had any evidence that there was something dodgy going on if Jane Gresham hadn't come to me. She's the one who initiated this. Why on earth would she draw attention to the fact that she's been getting away with murder?'Rigston shifted in his seat. 'With this fourth death, it was bound to come out anyway. This way, she makes herself look good by being the one that draws attention to it. From what you tell me, she's changed her tune since I spoke to her earlier.''That's because you're a scary cop and I'm not.' River sighed in exasperation. 'Ewan, I know it's your job to consider every possibility, but I'm damn sure the only attention Jane is interested in is what she'll get if she discovers her precious manuscript. She showed me the family tree with her interviewees marked in order of priority. I know the name of the next person on her list. Why would she let me see that if she was the killer?''You've got the name?'River passed him a slip of paper. 'There you go. Ewan, you need to ask her who else might be after this bloody poem that wants it badly enough to be killing people for it.'Rigston frowned. 'And that's another thing. How does killing people get this murderer any nearer to the manuscript?''Jane had a theory about that. She pointed out that old people don't go out very much. If you want to search their homes for hidden treasure, you have to incapacitate them first.''See? She's got it all worked out. I'm telling you, River, Jane Gresham knows more than she's letting on.''She's stubborn as a mule,' Jimmy said, pacing up and down the track outside Copperhead Cottage. 'She won't budge. She doesn't want to leave her cats, she never gets a wink of sleep outside her own bed, she doesn't like being among strangersyou name it. I don't want to frighten her out of her own house, but I don't know what else I can try.'Jane stared out of her bedroom window, her mobile to her ear. 'Why don't you offer to stay over at the cottage? That way she'd be safe without having to leave home.'Jimmy whimpered. 'I thought you liked me. Jane, she's a bloody nightmare.''I know. I met her, remember?' Jane suddenly had a chill thought. Someone cold-blooded enough to kill four people might not be deterred by Jimmy's presence. The last thing she wanted was to put him at risk too. She had to find a way to backtrack without making him feel his masculinity was under challenge. 'Mind you,' she said slowly, 'I suppose you staying over is no guarantee of her safety. It's not as if you'll be sleeping across the threshold of her bedroom like Gelert.''Not bloody likely.''In that case, there's nothing else for it. You're going to have to tell her it's not safe for her to be there. Not till all of this is sorted out.'Jimmy sighed. 'I thought you would say that. I really didn't want to frighten her, you know? Behind all that bluster, she's just a lonely old lady who loves her home. I don't want to make that a place where she doesn't feel safe any more.''I know. But better scared and safe than dead.' 'Wish me luck,' he said heavily. 'If you don't hear from me later on, you'll know she's eaten me alive.'
Once in the trees, I instructed Isabella to remove my shirt & J tear it into strips. Under my guidance, she fashioned a bandage for my wound that would staunch the bleeding. This being done, I insisted we make our way deeper into the banyan grove. As we rested, I told Isabella, the time had come for us to leave Pitcairn. We could never be safe, not now the natives had tasted power of their own. But she put my hand on her swollen belly & reminded me of her condition. 'You, must go if you, will, husband. But I cannot.' 'You, must go if you, will, husband. But I cannot.' The force of her argument was undeniable & I knew that she would be safe where I could not be. My children too would suffer no reprisal; the Otaheitians have a high regard for children, & the paler their skins, the higher they are prized. The force of her argument was undeniable & I knew that she would be safe where I could not be. My children too would suffer no reprisal; the Otaheitians have a high regard for children, & the paler their skins, the higher they are prized. 'Then help me to the base of the cliff,' 'Then help me to the base of the cliff,' I said. This she did, & when we were still some distance from my hiding place, we made our tearful farewells. (I did not want her to know where I was to be found. It was a truth hard-won among us that the natives were not to be trusted, not even those we counted among our own families & I did not wish to put temptation in her way.) I said. This she did, & when we were still some distance from my hiding place, we made our tearful farewells. (I did not want her to know where I was to be found. It was a truth hard-won among us that the natives were not to be trusted, not even those we counted among our own families & I did not wish to put temptation in her way.)
38
Ewan Rigston had never been a Boy Scout; nevertheless, he always liked to be prepared. In spite of everything River had said, he still felt unsure of Jane Gresham. But he intended to be forearmed before he confronted her about her list. And there were precautions to be taken too.He was going to have to go back to the houses of the dead and treat them like crime scenes, even though any evidence would have been compromised by the emergency services and family members trampling over the scene. Still, the fingerprint team might just come up with someone whose dab had no business being there. He was also going to have to talk to the families. Or family, rather, since the dead all seemed to belong to one clan. He knew the Clewlows and the Fairfields, the Swains and the Brownriggs. Decent folk, local roots, community-minded mostly. He'd never had cause to arrest any of them, not even a teenage lad falling foul of too much drink.He'd seen River out to the car park, and promised to call her later. They'd had plans for the eveninga curry and a folk night in Carlislebut that was history now. They'd agreed that there needed to be post mortems on the other three victims, and River had been adamant that she would do them right away. A quick call to the coroner had established his agreement. That was one of the advantages of working in a small town, Rigston knew. The machinery could be made to work faster than in the big cities. Still, neither of them anticipated being finished before midnight.Then he'd gone back to the office, organising the deployment of the handful of SOCOs he had at his disposal that late in the day. He wanted to move fast, but equally he'd have to be careful about authorising overtime ahead of a formal murder inquiry. Bloody bureaucracy. People wondered why the police didn't seem able to keep the lid on crime. They should spend a week in his shoes, shuffling paper and balancing budgets, then they'd have a better idea.A couple of phone calls to his local contacts and he'd established that the entire clan seemed to be gathered at Alice Clewlow's house. He arrived unannounced and alone. Alice answered the door, her face shifting from welcome to satisfaction as she realised who was calling. 'An inspector calls,' she said drily. 'Hello, Ewan. So you decided to take me seriously after all. I'm just sorry it took another death in the family for you to get your act into gear.''Come on now, Alice, that's hardly fair. I've been making enquiries.''An arrest would be even better.''I could use a few words.'She glanced over her shoulder. 'It's mob-handed in there. Come round the side, there's a bench in the garden.'He followed her through a wooden gate in the fence into a spacious, well-kept garden. A few late roses hung their bedraggled heads from a trellis, next to which was a wrought-iron bench. They sat down and there was silence for a moment. 'Spit it out then, Ewan.''I just wanted to keep you posted. Although we still haven't established a suspicious cause of death in any of these four instances, we are investigating the circumstances,' he said carefully.Alice shook her head sorrowfully. 'They were just ordinary, harmless old people.''I know. And if this turns out to be murder, I won't see evil like that go unpunished. The thing is, we think somebody believes a member of your family has something very valuable in their possession, and''I told you. Jane bloody Gresham,' Alice interrupted angrily. 'Is that what this is about?''It might be. But Dr Gresham's probably not the only person who knows about it. So I need to make some enquiries about your relatives. Who saw them last; anything they may have said about Jane Gresham or anybody else asking about this manuscript. Now, I know you're all grieving and I know Edith's funeral is tomorrow, but I could really do with talking to people tonight.''But the funeralsurely you have to do a post mortem or something? If she was...' Alice tripped over the word. Rigston understood; he'd seen that same denial before.'That's all in hand,' he said. 'The funeral service won't have to be postponed. But I'm afraid you won't be able to bury your grandmother.''What do you mean, we won't be able to bury her?'Rigston spread his hands helplessly. 'I'm sorry, Alice. The rules say the body has to be available to the defence in case they want to do their own autopsy.''But what if you don't arrest anyone? How long do you expect us to wait to bury my grandmother?' Alice's voice was growing more shrill.'If we haven't arrested anyone after a month, we arrange for a second, independent post mortem. Then we release the body to the family.'Alice's head dropped into her hands. 'This is terrible, Ewan.''I know, Alice. And I'm very sorry. But I would really appreciate your help right now. The best way you can serve Edith and the others now is to work with us. It's our job to speak for the dead. But we need your help.'She looked up, her eyes heavy with tears. 'Whatever you need. Just give me five minutes to break the news. I'll come and fetch you.'Rigston watched her walk into the house, head bowed and shoulders slumped. He felt for her. Taking that walk back into the heart of the Clewlow clan wasn't something he was looking forward to either.Jimmy Clewlow was not a happy man. It had taken some time to convince Jenny Wright that her life might be in danger if she remained alone in Copperhead Cottage. Once convinced, it had then taken hours to effect the departure. Cats had to be supplied with adequate food and water. Deciding what to pack apparently involved combing Jenny's entire wardrobe, including a trunk that looked as if it hadn't been opened since the Napoleonic wars. All the electrical appliances had to be turned off, including an antique fridge whose contents had to be transferred to plastic bags so they could be removed to Keswick. Jimmy was a patient man, but even he had his limits and Jenny had exceeded them long before she was ready to leave.It didn't help that she was the worst passenger he'd ever driven. Whenever he exceeded thirty miles an hour, she drew her breath in sharply and demanded to know whether he was trying to kill them. If he came within three feet of the verge on her side of the car, she would yelp that they were about to crash. By the time he turned into Alice's street, Jimmy was beginning to wonder why he hadn't left her to her own devices.To his astonishment, when they walked into Alice's living room, Ewan Rigston was settled in an armchair, a mug of tea in his hand. He hadn't seen Rigston for years, but he recognised him instantly. Alice jumped up from the floor and steered him and Jenny into the kitchen. 'What's he doing here?' Jimmy demanded.'I know this is going to come as a shock, Jimmy, but the police think Edith and the others might have been murdered,' Alice said, throwing a concerned look at Jenny.'That's why Jenny's here,' Jimmy said. 'Jane Gresham thinks she might be next.'Alice looked ready to burst into tears. 'Christ, Jimmy, what's going on?''It's a long story,' he said. 'And Jenny's tired. She needs to stay here for a few days.''You don't have to talk about me as if I'm not here, young Jimmy,' Jenny snapped. 'I can speak for myself. Alice, I need somewhere to stop. Can you put me up?''Of course,' Alice said distractedly. 'I'll show you to the spare room.''All in good time,' Jenny said. 'Jimmy, be a good lad and get me a brandy.'Jimmy cast his eyes heavenwards and went back into the living room where Alice had set out the drink. This time, Ewan Rigston caught his eye over the heads of what Jimmy thought of as the council of elders. 'Jimmy,' he said in greeting.Jimmy nodded. 'Shouldn't you be out there trying to catch the person who's killing my family?' he asked mildly, reaching for the brandy.'I'm trying to do just that.''You won't find them in here.' Jimmy poured a generous measure into a glass.'Your family are filling in some background for me. I'm trying to get a picture of what happened before the deaths. Funny thing is, your pal Jane Gresham keeps turning up like a bad penny.'If Rigston had intended to needle Jimmy, he hit the mark. 'Yeah. And her and Dan are victims here too,' he said defiantly.'Who's Dan?''Her colleague, Dan Seabourne.' Jimmy could feel the colour rising in his cheeks and hoped Rigston would put it down to anger.'How do you reckon them as victims, then?' Rigston asked.'Somebody's hijacking their work. And they're making Jane look like the villain of the piece in the process. You should be getting her to help you, not insinuating that she's part of the problem.''Jimmy,' his mother said, her tone a warning. 'Ewan's just doing his job.''Is he? Then why was it up to me to take care of Jenny? If he had the sense he was born with, he'd be getting Jane's list off her and making sure nobody else dies.''Don't tell me how to do my job, Jimmy.''Somebody needs to,' Jimmy said contemptuously. 'If it wasn't for Jane, Jenny would be sitting in her cottage waiting for a killer to show up. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to take her a drink.' He turned to find Jenny in the doorway, smiling at him for the first time all day.'Well said, lad. I expected better from you, Ewan Rigston. If it hadn't been for Jimmy here, I could be dead in my bed. It's time you put a stop to this nonsense. Now, Jimmy, suppose you show me to Alice's spare room?'Tenille was at war with herself. She'd had two major shocks on her most recent excursions and she didn't want a third. But she still felt like she owed Jane for taking care of business. Besides, she couldn't take constant confinement. So if she was going to go out anyway, didn't it make sense to do something useful at the same time? And what were the chances of running into another burglar two nights running?The decision made itself in the end. She'd become accustomed to sleeping at times other than the dead of night and now sleep just wouldn't come when it was supposed to. She gave up tossing and turning just before midnight and headed out towards Coniston. Copperhead Cottage took a bit of finding, but she was relieved to discover it had no near neighbours, especially once she realised it wasn't going to be easy to get into. After lengthy attempts to pick the locks front and back, she finally gave up. All of the windows were locked. She circled the house again, desperately looking for a way in, on the point of giving up altogether.It was a cat that showed her the way. A long-haired white cat came shooting out of the shrubbery, leapt on to a garden bench and from there, on to the roof of a lean-to shed that abutted the gable end. The cat scrabbled up the slates and on to a window sill. As it disappeared inside, Tenille realised the window was open a few inches. She clambered up on to the back of the bench and reached for the guttering. It wobbled, but it took her weight. She managed to haul herself on to the roof at the third attempt, then crawled gingerly up the slippery slates, swearing under her breath.When she reached the window, she clung to the sill as if it were a lifebelt in a stormy sea. She peered in, not wanting to raise the window if it was some old biddy's bedroom. She couldn't see much, but it was enough to know the room was empty, a bare mattress on an iron bedstead the only indication that this had once been a place where people slept.Bracing herself against the roof, she pushed the window sash upwards. It creaked and groaned, but not enough to freak her out. Tenille slid across the sill and landed softly on the carpeted floor. Cautiously she crossed the room, almost tripping over the white cat, who was weaving round her ankles purring.On the landing there were more cats, their yellow eyes gleaming. There was a faint aroma of cat piss and stale meat in the air. To her surprise, all the doors off the landing were open, and she could see that none of the curtains had been drawn. A quick circuit upstairs and down revealed that the house was empty. She breathed a huge sigh of relief. For once, it was going to be easy.She started in the only bedroom that showed signs of occupancy. A thorough search revealed nothing of interest. The second bedroom told the same story. In the third room, however, Tenille found an old brass-bound chest. It seemed to contain nothing but old photographs. But when she lifted them out, she noticed the chest seemed shallower on the inside than it ought to have been. She risked carrying it through to the landing, closing all the doors and turning on the light. When she looked more closely, she saw a thin leather loop in one corner of the bottom. She yanked on it and the whole base lifted up, revealing an inch-deep hiding place.Tenille lifted out a thin bundle of papers. The paper was thick and brittle, yellowing round the edges. It smelled of dust and dry cleaners. It was covered in old-fashioned handwriting, all loops and curls. She could hardly make it out at first. Then the opening words jumped out at her. I am minded tonight of the time we spent at Alfoxden, & the suspicion that fell upon Coleridge and myself, viz. That we were agents of the enemy, gathering information as spies for Bonaparte. I recall I am minded tonight of the time we spent at Alfoxden, & the suspicion that fell upon Coleridge and myself, viz. That we were agents of the enemy, gathering information as spies for Bonaparte. I recall Coleridge's assertion that it was beyond the bounds of good sense to give credence to the notion that poets were suited for such an endeavour since we see all before us as matter for our verse & would have no inclination to hold any secrets to our breasts that might serve our calling. Coleridge's assertion that it was beyond the bounds of good sense to give credence to the notion that poets were suited for such an endeavour since we see all before us as matter for our verse & would have no inclination to hold any secrets to our breasts that might serve our calling.There should be trumpets or drums or something, she thought stupidly. Trumpets or drums or the Hallelujah chorus. This was the real deal. What she was holding in her hand had been written by one of the greatest poets the world had ever seen. Hardly anybody had ever set eyes on it. And she was touching it, smelling it, reading it. She'd have died before she admitted it, but Tenille felt exhilaration and exultation. She sat back on her heels and drank it in greedily.She had no idea how long she crouched there, overwhelmed with it all. She felt drunk with excitement. But at last she came to herself and realised she had to get back to Jane with this news. She was tempted to walk out with the whole manuscript, but she knew instinctively that was the wrong way to play it. She thumbed through the papers, checking to see if there was a poem tucked in between the prose jottings. But no. All she could find were notes. What if she took one of the pages from near the middle? Then Jane would know she was telling the truth. And it would be worth all the hassle to see the look on her face when she realised what she was looking at.Tenille chose a page at random and carefully placed it between her T-shirt and her sweatshirt. Then she put everything back as she had found it, carefully replacing the chest exactly where it had been so as not to disturb the dust around it. She felt giddy with delight as she made her way back to the cat window.The chill night air and the prospect of getting down from the roof sobered her up. She eased the window back down and spreadeagled herself on the tiles. Inch by careful inch she made her way down the roof. When she reached the edge, she realised she was going to have to drop to the ground; the bench was too far from the wall to lower herself back on to it.Tenille didn't care. She felt invincible. She hung from the guttering then let go. It was only a few feet, and she landed safely in soft earth. As she staggered upright, heavy hands descended on her from both sides. Snarling, she struggled to free herself, but it was pointless. Her assailants were bigger, stronger and heavier. Within seconds, she was face down in the dirt, her arms pulled roughly behind her.She felt cold plastic against her skin as a voice said, 'I am arresting you on suspicion of burglary.'Tenille's face screwed up in frustration. 'Ah, shit.'
My hiding place afforded me some sense of safety, which was needful to me as I was in no condition, to load a boat & set sail on the treacherous waters that beset Pitcairn. For some days I had little choice but to remain in hiding, feverish & weak. My head throbbed constantly & my shoulder burned. Under cover of night, I forced myself down to the waters edge to bathe my wound, but that was the only sortie I dared. I knew my best chance of survival was to disappear completely from sight The natives were too simple to understand that I might have survived to escape after they had taken me for dead. As to the disappearance of my body, I trusted Isabella to concoct some tale & this she must have done for I never saw nor heard any signs of a search party.
39
Rigston glowered across the table at the mutinous child opposite. He'd had to wait for an appropriate adult to arrive before he could interview her, and the duty social worker had taken his time to get to the station. The kid had had three hours in a cell to contemplate her options. He hoped it had softened her up a little.He'd gone through the formalities with the tape, but Tenille had refused to confirm her identity. 'I ain't saying one damn thing to you, Mister Man,' was all she had offered.'You're doing yourself no good,' Rigston said. 'I know you are Tenille Cole. I know you're wanted by the police in London in connection with a murder and an arson down there. We've taken your fingerprints and they match the ones the Met sent us. It's only a matter of time before they arrive to take you back down there. Unless of course you'd care to explain your connection to four suspicious deaths up here, in which case I'll be hanging on to you.'She glared at him from under lowered brows. He couldn't fathom her. Most thirteen-year-olds he dealt with were sufficiently intimidated by their surroundings and his presence to fold like a house of cards. But she was a tough customer, no question of that. Not much older than his own daughter, but she could have been from another planet.'We've been processing crime scenes all night, Tenille,' he said, more gently this time. 'We found your prints all over their homesEdith Clewlow, Tillie Swain, Eddie Fairfield and Letty Brownrigg. You were in their houses. But there's no sign of anything having been stolen, so you weren't there for any ordinary burglary. And now we find you climbing out of Jenny Wright's cottage with a sheet of paper that looks pretty old to me. Would you like to talk about that?'Tenille shook her head.'For the benefit of the tape, Tenille Cole has shaken her head to indicate a negative.'Rigston rolled up his shirtsleeves and leaned his meaty forearms on the table. He dropped his voice confidentially. 'See, here's how I think it went down. Jane Gresham's been hiding you. I mean, why else would a London sparrow like you come up here? And Jane Gresham is on a quest. A quest she's roped you into. She thinks somebody up here has something she wants very badly. And when she couldn't dig it out the conventional way, she sent you in to look for it. Is that how it went down?'Tenille made a small noise of contempt and shifted in her seat so she didn't have to meet his eyes.'Only, things got out of hand. In all of those houses where Jane got you searching, somebody died. You're in big trouble, Tenille. But we can maybe find a way to make it go easier for you. I think Jane Gresham put you up to this. She told you what to do, how to do it so nobody would know it was murder. And that lets you off the hook a bit. You're just a kid. You were doing what Jane Gresham asked because you were frightened that, if you didn't, she'd hand you over to the police for Geno Marley's murder. That's called coercion, and it would make things easier on you.'Tenille turned her face back to him, defiance written on her features. 'That's called bullshit,' she said. 'And that's all I have to say.' She turned to the social worker. 'You better get me a lawyer. You're no use to me, man.' She folded her arms and leaned back in the chair, studying the ceiling.'You going to take the rap for Jane Gresham?' Rigston said. 'Very loyal. I wonder if she'll be as loyal to you? I bet you're going to end up carrying the can for all of this, Tenille. You're an easy target. Truanting black kid, bastard love child of a big-time gangsta. You're going to take the fall for your nice middle-class university lecturer. While you're spending the foreseeable future banged up, she's going to be making a name for herself with the manuscript you found.'She flashed him a quick look of contempt.Rigston laughed. 'You reckon that's not how it's going to play? I thought you'd have more street smarts than that. Jane Gresham will walk, and you will not. That's the bottom line.''I think you're badgering her now,' the social worker said. 'If you've got some evidence, let's be having it.''I've got evidence of burglary,' Rigston said. 'My men were staking out Jenny Wright's cottage. They were waiting for a killer. Looks like they got one too. But until we can firm up that part of the case, we've still got Tenille for burglary. And we'll be keeping her locked up for now.' He pushed back his chair and stood up. 'Interview terminated at three fifty-three a.m., Inspector Rigston and Constable Whitrow leaving the room.' He suited his actions to his words and walked out into the corridor.'You didn't pull any punches there, guv,' Whitrow said.Rigston ran a hand over his face, rubbing his tired eyes. 'For all the good it did me. Can you believe that kid is thirteen? Hard as nails and tough as old boots. Doesn't even need to get lawyered up to know to keep her mouth shut.' He set off down the corridor. 'Let's shake the tree a bit and see what falls out. Send a couple of uniforms out to Fellhead and bring Jane Gresham in.''You want them to arrest her, or just ask her to come in for questioning?''Arrest her. Let's get her on the back foot. Conspiracy to burgle, that should do it. She's not got the equipment to stonewall us like Tenille Cole. Let's scare the shit out of her. I've got four dead bodies on my patch and I want some movement.' Rigston swung into his office and closed the door firmly behind him.Shocked awake by the ringing of the bell and the hammering on the door, Jane winced as she sat up in bed, stiff and disorientated. The bedside clock showed four twenty-three. What the hell was going on? She struggled out of bed, groaning as her bruised muscles complained. Grabbing her dressing gown, she opened the bedroom door. Her mother stood at the top of the stairs, her face blurred by sleep, her expression bewildered. She could hear her father's tread on the stairs. 'I'm coming,' he bellowed.She heard the door open and Allan's startled, 'What's going on?' over the clatter of boots on the stone flags of the hallway.'We're looking for Jane Gresham,' a male voice said.'Is she on the premises?' a female voice added.Judy turned a startled face on her daughter. 'It's the police.'Jane pushed past her and took a few steps down the stairs. Her father had his back to the wall. He kept repeating his original question. Two uniformed police officers occupied the rest of the space, the confined area rendering them even more unnerving than their uniforms and bulky utility belts.'I'm Jane Gresham,' she said quietly. 'What's all the commotion?'The woman officer stepped forward. 'Jane Gresham, I am arresting you on suspicion of conspiracy to commit burglary. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say will be given in evidence.'Jane stared open-mouthed, too astonished to feel anything other than shock.'What?' Allan said. 'Are you out of your minds?'Judy followed Jane and clutched her hand. 'There must be some mistake.'The woman pushed past Allan and began to climb the stairs. 'Please step away, Mrs Gresham.' When she reached Jane and Judy, she said, 'If you'd like to get dressed, Dr Gresham, I'll have to accompany you.''This is an outrage,' Judy wailed. 'How dare you march into my home and arrest my daughter?''Please, Mrs Gresham. We have a job to do. I'd advise you not to make it any more difficult.' The woman kept coming, forcing Judy back and to one side without actually touching her. She took Jane's arm in hers, not ungently, and led her upstairs. 'Which is your room?'Jane recovered the power of speech enough to say, 'That one.' She shook her arm free and walked in, leaving the door ajar for the police officer to follow her. Under cover of her dressing gown, she stripped off her pyjamas and dressed in jeans and a shirt. 'You're making a terrible mistake,' she said as she followed the policewoman downstairs. Her mother was huddled into her father's protective arm, tears spilling down her cheeks. 'It'll be all right,' Jane said, feeling useless. 'This is a cock-up,' she added.'What can we do?' her father asked anxiously.'Try not to worry. I'll be home soon.' As she passed her mother, Judy reached out to clasp her hand briefly.'I hope you're bloody pleased with yourselves,' Jane said bitterly as she was escorted out of her own front door to the waiting police car. 'Are you trying to make a point here? Or is it one of the perks of the job, terrorising innocent people in their own homes?''Shut it,' the male officer said as he pushed her head down to avoid her hitting the door frame of the car. 'You'll get your chance to sound off when we get you to Keswick.'The journey was long enough for anger to be subsumed by fear. What did conspiracy to burgle mean? It had to be something to do with Tenille, but what exactly? Jane cursed her failure to tell Tenille about the attack on her. She'd thought she was protecting her, but telling her might have had the salutary effect of keeping her from wandering around on her own after dark. What had she done now? And how was it tied into Jane? Somehow, she couldn't imagine Tenille telling a cop that Jane had known what she was up to. It had to be a trumped-up charge.By the time she was ushered into an interview room, Jane was battling fear with self-righteousness. As soon as Rigston walked in, before he even had the chance to greet her, she was on the attack. 'How dare you send your storm troopers to my parents' home in the middle of the night,' she said. 'I can't believe whatever you have to say to me wouldn't wait till a more reasonable hour.''You're under arrest, Dr Gresham,' Rigston said sarcastically. 'We don't arrest people at their convenience, we do it at ours. Now, whatever you've got to say, save it for the tape.' He set the tapes running and sat down opposite her.'I want a phone call. I'm entitled to a phone call,' she said.'Why don't we have a little chat first?''I've nothing to say to you.''No? We've got your friend Tenille just down the hallway. Caught her red-handed in the middle of a burglary. She was coming out of Jenny Wright's cottage. The next person on your list, unless I'm mistaken.'Jane's eyes widened. Where had he got that information from? Then she remembered showing the family tree with its list to River. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.'Nothing to say? OK. Let's keep going. We've conducted post mortems on all four of the recent deaths in Edith Clewlow's extended family and we have reason to believe there may be suspicious circumstances.'Jane gave him a fierce look but said nothing.'We've also examined the premises where those people were found dead. Care to guess whose fingerprints turned up at all of them?' He paused. 'No? Your pal Tenille again. The same little pal who is already wanted for questioning about another murder. Starting to see a pattern here? The thing is, the only connection between a black London teenager and four elderly corpses in Cumbria is you, Dr Gresham. I can't help thinking that you're the one who put Tenille up to her nocturnal wanderings. Wanderings that have left four people dead.'Jane's eyes were squeezed shut. This was a nightmare and she wanted to wake up from it. She dug her nails into her palms, but all that happened was pain. 'I want to make a phone call,' she said again.'All in good time. You know what the irony is? The one night Tenille gets herself caught just happens to be the night she found what you were looking for.'Jane's eyes snapped open. 'What?'Rigston opened the folder he'd brought into the room with him. He took out a transparent plastic sleeve that held a small sheet of writing paper and pushed it towards her. Jane was transfixed as she read the familiar hand. That night, I lay awake considering the import of Bligh's words. It was clear to me that if I did not endure his iniquitous and unwarranted treatment, I would be forced to suffer a different sort of torture... That night, I lay awake considering the import of Bligh's words. It was clear to me that if I did not endure his iniquitous and unwarranted treatment, I would be forced to suffer a different sort of torture...Ever since she'd found the first clue, she had refused to allow herself to believe in it completely. She had tried to treat it like a research project, not some romantic quest. Now at last she could let down the barriers and feel. The depth of her emotions surprised her. She was moved almost to tears by this simple piece of paper. She ran a finger over the letters, tracing the movements of Wordsworth's pen. The heretical thought came to her that she could understand someone killing to possess this.And with that thought came guilt and remorse. Her search had opened floodgates whose existence she hadn't even suspected. And now four people were dead.Rigston waited patiently, his eyes never leaving her. When she finally looked up, she could feel the tears in her eyes. 'I want to make a phone call,' she said, her voice unsteady.'If it's not you and Tenille, Jane, who is it that cares enough about that piece of paper to want to kill for it? Who else knows the starting point for your search?' Rigston's voice was softer now, his body language less threatening.Even in her daze, she recognised the slide into her first name. He was trying to soften her up. And this was something she could give him at no cost to either herself or Tenille. 'Most of Edith's extended family,' she said. 'There was a roomful of people there when I spoke to Alice.'Rigston shook his head. 'Nice try, but that was after Edith's death. We need names of people who knew before before she was murdered.' she was murdered.''My brother phoned Edith on the Saturday morning to ask her if she had any family papers. I'm sure she would have told other members of her family then. They were close. And I bet they're not going to be admitting it now if she did tell them.'Rigston pounced on the solid fact. 'Matthew knew?'Jane sighed. 'Yes. As did my colleague Dan Seabourne, Anthony Catto at the Wordsworth Centre, and a document dealer called Jake Hartnell. I'm not sure how much he knows or when he knew it, but he does know something. And that's about the least likely list of murderers I can think of. There must be someone else, someone a hell of a lot more unscrupulous.''Someone like Tenille?' Rigston said.Jane stared down at the sheet of manuscript. She'd dreamed of holding this in her hands. She just hadn't expected it to be in a police interview room. How had it come to this? She looked up at Rigston. 'Somebody tried to kill me yesterday and that certainly wasn't Tenille,' she said.Rigston looked sceptical. 'How convenient. Another drunk driver trying to run you down, was it?'Jane clapped a hand over her mouth. 'Oh my God, it never occurred to me. That must have been his first attempt.''You're really clutching at straws now,' he said sarcastically.'I'm serious,' she insisted. 'I went for a walk up to Langmere Force. I was sitting on the edge of the rock outcropping, like I've done for years. And someone crept up behind me and hit me over the head. I fell into the waterfall. I was lucky that Derek Thwaite saw me fall. He and his dog got me out. I would have drowned otherwise.''You could have waited till you had a rescuer to hand and thrown yourself off,' Rigston said, just as she'd predicted.Jane leaned forward, parting her curls to show the tender lump. 'I couldn't have done that to myself, could I?''It's not impossible,' Rigston said. 'You could have smacked your head into a tree or something.'Jane banged her fist on the table. 'Why won't you believe me?''Because you're not very credible, you and Tenille.''Right. That's it. I'm not saying another word until I get my phone call.''You're sure about that?' Rigston said. 'Because now's your chance to get Tenille off the hook of a quadruple murder charge. You stick to your guns and she's going down. With her background, she's a good fit. Unless you admit she was doing what she was doing at your instigation, she's not going to have a leg to stand on. She'll be carrying the can all by herself.'For an instant, Jane almost fell for it. Guilt and responsibility almost swamped her good sense. But at the last moment, she stopped herself. 'I want my phone call,' she said.Rigston stood up. 'Have it your own way. Someone will escort you to the custody desk. You can call from there.'
At length, I felt myself enough recovered to effect my escape proper. I waited for the first night when there was little wind & the sea was calm & then I loaded the jolly-boat with my provisions. I still had little use of my left arm, & dragging the boat to the waters edge was hard going. Once aboard, I had some difficulty in handling the oars. By good fortune, the natives had fashioned paddles for the boats since they found our methods alien to them. I was better able to manage the paddle, & though my progress was painfully slow, by the time dawns first light streaked the horizon, I was well clear of Bounty Bay & able at last to raise my jury-rigged sail. I took a last look at my failed Eden, then resolutely set my back to it & faced the Pacific Ocean, my heart filled with a mixture of relief & terror.
40
It was, Dan thought, like being in a house where someone had died recently. The inhabitants shocked out of the ability to communicate, desperate for something to do but unable to figure out what that might be, the core of the room an absence. Judy and Allan Gresham sat at the kitchen table, hands clasped, mugs of tea untouched and cooling in front of them. Matthew paced restlessly, unable to settle.'I don't understand why she called you,' Matthew had said when Dan explained he'd come to the farm in response to a phone call from Jane.'Because she thought your parents would be too upset to take it in. She didn't know you were here.''Of course I'm here. Who else would Mum and Dad call?' Matthew actually grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged at it. 'So what did she tell you?'Dan pulled up a chair and sat opposite Judy and Allan, who looked at him with mute fear. 'It turns out she's been sheltering Tenilleher friend from London.'Judy looked puzzled. 'Why would she do that? And where?''Because she believed in Tenille's innocence. I'm not sure where she was hiding her. One of the outbuildings, I think.''Bloody madness,' Matthew muttered, throwing himself into a chair. 'But I still don't understand what happened tonight.''The police caught Tenille red-handed in a burglary. And apparently Tenille finally found what we've been looking for.''What? Where did she find it?' Matthew interrupted.'Does it matter?' Dan said, unable to keep a momentary flash of anger from his eyes. 'Jane didn't have time to give me any details. What matters is that the police put two and two together and made five. Jane was looking for the manuscript, Tenille burgled the cottage and came out with a page of manuscript, Jane knows Tenille, therefore Jane must have put her up to it.'Judy shook her head. 'That can't be right. Jane wouldn't do something like that. She wouldn't.''We all know that,' Matthew said impatiently. 'We need to get her a lawyer. We need to get her out of there.''That's what she asked me to do,' Dan said.'Why you? You don't know any lawyers up here,' Matthew said.'She asked me to talk to you and your parents,' Dan said mildly. 'Matthew, she only called me because she didn't want to give you guys any more hassle than you're already having. So, who do we call?'Matthew threw his hands upwards. 'I don't know. I don't know any criminal lawyers. I'm a teacher, for fuck's sake.''I can't bear to think of her locked up,' Judy whispered. 'I can't bear it.'Allan released Judy's hand, patted it and pushed his chair back. 'I'm going to call Peter Muckle.''He does land and contracts, Dad. He doesn't know anything about crime,' Matthew said.'He'll know someone who does,' Allan said stolidly.'It's barely six,' Judy said weakly. 'He won't thank you for it.''I was at school with Peter, he won't mind.'Dan watched him shuffle out of the room, diminished by fear and uncertainty. He leaned across the table and put his hand over Judy's. 'It'll be all right, Mrs Gresham,' he said.Judy gave him an uncomprehending look. 'You've got no idea, have you, lad? No idea at all.'Although it was after eight when Rigston called Anthony Catto, he sounded half-asleep. When Rigston introduced himself, there was a momentary silence, then Anthony cleared his throat. 'Sorry, I had a very late night. I'm not quite with it. You're with the police in Keswick?''That's right. I was wondering if you could help me with something.''That sounds rather ominous, Inspectorhelping the police with their enquiries.' Anthony sounded cautious.'It's nothing like that, sir. A piece of manuscript has come into our possession and I wondered if you might cast an eye over it and tell me whether you think it might be authentic' Rigston rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself. He always became formal to the point of pomposity when he was dealing with people he felt were his educational superiors. It was a miracle it hadn't scuppered his relationship with River.'I'm not a manuscript expert by any means,' Anthony said hurriedly. 'My field is a somewhat narrow one.''I appreciate that, but if this is what we think it might be, it's your field.''I'm intrigued now, Inspector.' The voice was warmer, the tone more interested. 'When would you like me to come and take a look at it?''No time like the present, sir. I could send a car for you.'A short pause. 'No, that won't be necessary. It'll be quicker if I drive myself. I should be with you in, say, forty minutes?''Perfect.' Rigston replaced the phone. Another brick in the wall. Before he could make another call, the phone rang.'Custody suite here,' the voice said. 'Neil Terras is here. Says he's representing Jane Gresham.'The family weren't hanging about, Rigston thought, trying not to feel pissed off at this exercise of Jane Gresham's rights. He was probably screwed now as far as getting anything out of her. Terras was the shrewdest operator of the criminal law for miles around. He was surprised the Greshams knew that. 'You'd better let him see her, then,' he said.'He's asking for disclosure,' the custody sergeant said.'I'll be right down.'Half an hour later, Rigston felt like he'd been gutted and filleted and stitched up like a kipper. Terras's forensic questioning had left him without a leg to stand on. 'It's all suspicion,' Terras had said. 'I wouldn't even grace it with the term "circumstantial". You've got nothing against my client whatsoever. I'm going to talk to her now, and when I come out of there, I expect you to be ready to let her go.'Rigston knew his case against Jane Gresham was weak, but he had been hoping her unfamiliarity with the legal process might have provoked her into revelation. There was no chance of that now. If he bothered to interview her again, he knew she'd be going 'no comment' while the ticking clock imposed by PACE ran down. Best to put off the interview until he had more leverage. It was the end of the game.He watched Terras go off to commune with his client then turned to the custody sergeant. 'When he's done, bail her pending further enquiries.'He walked back to his office, feeling every minute of the long night in his bones. He was getting too old for this kind of thing. Working through the night was a young man's game.Anthony Catto was waiting for him in the CID room. Looked more like a superannuated hippie with a hangover than a world expert on Wordsworth, Rigston thought sourly as he showed him into his office. 'Thanks for coming in,' he said, waving him to a seat.'How could I resist?' Anthony said, crossing one long leg over the other.'Feeling a bit more chipper now, eh? You sounded rough when I spoke to you on the phone.''As I said, late night. I was over in Newcastle giving a lecture, then a group of us went out for supper. It was after two when I got back,' he explained. 'But the thought of what you might have to show me has perked me up.' He gave Rigston an expectant look.Rigston handed over the plastic folder that contained the manuscript page. Anthony held it carefully by the edges and studied it. After a couple of minutes, he looked up. 'Might I ask where this came from?''I'd rather not say at this point. It's part of an ongoing inquiry. Does it matter?''Ultimately, yes, it does. It's a question of provenance. You see, Inspector, this appears to be part of something whose existence until now has been nothing more than rumour and theory. But it has been the subject of...shall we say, some interest lately.''Who's been interested?' They were going all round the houses here, but Rigston didn't mind. Information was always potentially useful.'There's a young woman called Jane Gresham who comes originally from Fellhead. She's an academic based in London, and a good friend of mine. But she recently uncovered some material which suggested there might be an undiscovered Wordsworth manuscript in existence. And she's been looking for it.' He tapped the paper with his finger. 'This appears to be precisely what she was searching for. If it's authentic''You still haven't said what you think it is,' Rigston said.'The handwriting is either that of William Wordsworth or of an expert forger. One would need to test the paper and ink to be certain whether it's the real thing. One would also need to know the provenance to assess how likely it is to be authentic. The subject matter appears to be a first-person account of matters relating to the mutiny on the Bounty.' Bounty.''And you were aware that this was what Jane Gresham was looking for?''Oh yes, I knew all about it. The new material she found was in our archive. I was able to give her a little assistance right at the start.''What sort of assistance?'Anthony met Rigston's gaze. 'Why are you so interested in this, Inspector?''Humour me. I like puzzles.'Anthony shrugged. 'It wasn't much, really. She came across a reference to some papers being entrusted to a servant. All Jane had was a first name. I was able to provide her with a surname, which gave her a direction in which to focus her search.''So you knew she was looking at the Clewlow family?' Rigston asked.'Was that the name of the man Dorcas married? I didn't know that,' Anthony said absently, studying the paper again.'You weren't interested in making your own enquiries? It being your field?'Anthony looked startled. 'Good heavens, no. It was Jane's discovery. She's a very competent researcher and she has a huge passion for this particular project. Even if I was so inclined, I have far too much on my plate with the new Jerwood Centre to spare the time for chasing something so fundamentally unlikely. I was happy to offer any help I could, but this is her baby.'Either he was a very good liar or he was telling the truth, Rigston thought. Somehow, he couldn't see Anthony Catto burgling and murdering his way to anything. The man was too wrapped up in his own world.'This is really very exciting,' Anthony said, as if to reinforce Rigston's judgement. 'I can't tell you how rarely one makes a really important find in this field. And if this is what I think it is, and there is more of it, it's probably the most significant discovery in English literary studies for a few generations. I'd love to see the rest of it.' His smile was wry. 'Are you sure you can't tell me where it came from?''Maybe you should ask Jane Gresham,' Rigston said, unable to keep an edge of bitterness out of his voice. 'We should be letting her out of the cells any time now.'Jane followed her lawyer out to the car park in a daze. 'I can't thank you enough,' she said. 'Rigston had me really scared.''He was trying it on. He doesn't have anything on you. And he's not going to get anywhere unless Tenille Cole starts trying to lay the blame on you. Even then, it'll be your word against hers, and yours will carry more weight,' Terras said, glancing at his watch.'She won't say a thing, she's loyal to a fault,' Jane said. 'Is there anything I can do to help her?''She's got her own lawyer.' He grinned. 'Not as good as me, but not bad for a duty solicitor. She might want to talk to you. If she does, I should be with you.' He looked at his watch again. 'I'd drive you home, but I'm due in court. Will you be OK?''She'll be fine,' a familiar voice interjected.Jane swung round. 'Anthony? What are you doing here?''Waiting to give you a lift home. I've been helping the police with their enquiries,' he said.'I'll be off, then,' Terras said. 'Stay in touch.'Jane nodded, distracted by Anthony's presence. 'Surely they don't think you had anything to do with the murders?''Murders?' Anthony's face registered surprise. 'Murder wasn't mentioned at all. In fact, now I come to think of it, I don't recall a single crime coming up in the conversation.' He moved towards his car and Jane followed. 'But what concerns me is what they were doing arresting you.''In a minute,' Jane said, impatient to hear his story. 'You first. Tell me what went on with you and the cops.'As they drove out of Keswick, Anthony filled her in on his interview with Rigston. 'I can't tell you how extraordinary it felt to hold that piece of paper in my hand,' he said. 'I'm damn sure it's the real thing.''I think so too.''So it was you who found it?' He looked away from the road, his excitement palpable. 'But why is it in the hands of the police? And what's this about murder?'Jane groaned. 'Four murders and a burglary. And from what you've been telling me, it sounds as if Rigston has been checking you out as a potential suspect.'Anthony's mouth fell open and the car swerved alarmingly. 'Four 'Four murders?' murders?''Don't forget the burglary. Which is where the manuscript page comes in.''I don't understand any of this. Can you begin at the beginning?'Jane sighed. 'It all started with a teenager called Tenille,' she said. By the time she got to the end of her tale, Anthony had run out of exclamations and had settled for astonished silence. 'And that's where we're up to,' Jane concluded.'But you simply have to find the rest of the manuscript,' Anthony said. 'Do you know where it is?''All I know is that it came from Jenny Wright's house. That's where the cops picked up Tenille.''You have to talk to this woman, have her show you the rest of it,' Anthony said as they pulled into the farmyard.'I'm too tired to think about it now,' Jane said, getting out of the car. Anthony followed her into the house, still trying to talk her into it. She had barely stepped into the kitchen when her mother was upon her, enveloping her in a warm embrace, tears running down her face. Her father, Matthew and Dan joined in a kind of group hug and it took Jane some moments to free herself.Her ears were assaulted by a chorus of demands to know what had happened. Jane put her hands over her ears and shouted, 'One at a time! I know you're pleased to see me, but give me some space here.'It took a few minutes for everyone to calm down, but before too long they were all seated round the table drinking tea and Jane was forced to tell her story all over again, the narrative disjointed by incredulity, disapproval and outrage from her several listeners.'So did Tenille kill these old dears?' Matthew asked.'Of course she didn't,' Jane said. 'What do you take me for? You think I'd shelter someone who was capable of that?'For once, Matthew was placatory. 'I'm not questioning your judgement. Just trying to make sense of what's going on.''Apart from the fact that she's not a killer, Tenille didn't know about any of this until after Edith Clewlow's death,' Jane said. 'So that lets her off the hook.''Frankly, I see no point in us trying to play an Agatha Christie parlour game,' Anthony said, cutting across the discussion. 'It's the job of the police to sort this mess out. Your real responsibility, Jane, is to the manuscript. You have to persuade this Jenny Wright to let you see it.'Jane stifled a yawn. 'Somehow, I don't think that's going to happen. Don't forget, I'm the prime suspect in the murder of four of her relatives. I don't think she's going to be handing the manuscript over to me any time soon.''Maybe not,' Dan said. 'But Jimmy's her favourite nephew right now. I could talk to him, see if he can get her to let me take a look.'Jane tried to hide her disappointment. 'If you think that will work,' she said despondently, feeling her dream slipping out of her grasp.'I know it's your thing,' he said. 'And I'm not trying to steal your glory. I could get her to let me make a copy of it, maybe? Then you could make a start on it.''It's not a bad idea, Jane,' Anthony said.'And it means you can stop here, where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you don't get into any more trouble,' her mother added ominously.Jane sighed. 'OK. You go and see Jimmy.' She stood up. 'I'm going to bed. I am knackered.' Before she could leave the room, the phone rang. She paused while her father answered it.'Just a minute,' he said. 'It's for you,' he added, passing the phone to Jane.'Hello,' she said impatiently.'Dr Gresham? This is DI Blair from the Met.'Jane groaned inwardly. Not more hassle about Tenille. 'How can I help you?' she said wearily.'I wanted to let you know that we're no longer looking for Tenille Cole in connection with the murder of Geno Marley,' Donna said baldly.Jane could hardly believe her ears. 'What?' she said. 'Why? What's happened? Have you made an arrest?''A young man died in the early hours of this morning during police pursuit of a stolen car,' Donna said, her clipped voice the perfect vehicle for the officialese. 'Among his effects was Geno Marley's wallet. The passenger in the car admitted that the driver had in fact boasted to him about blowing Geno away. So the case would appear to be closed.''That's great news. I mean, not that somebody is dead, obviously, but that Tenille is in the clear.''She's not quite in the clear. There is the matter of the arson.'Jane's spirits plummeted as quickly as they'd risen. 'But...'Before she could go on, Donna cut across her. 'Dr Gresham, can I speak frankly to you?''Of course,' Jane said.'I think Tenille's one of those rare kids who can be saved. Everything I've heard about her suggests that she could make something of herself. Prosecuting her would destroy any chance she has of that. I don't believe there's much prospect of her reoffending. Unless of course we push her through the system and offer her no alternative. But she's going to need somebody in her corner if she's to make good on that promise. To put it bluntly, are you going to be there for her?'Jane didn't even have to pause for thought. 'She's like a kid sister to me. I'm not going to walk away. I promise you, DI Blair, if you give her this chance, I won't let her waste it. And I don't think her father will either.''Yeah, well, the less said about him the better. Let her know it's safe to come home, will you?''Um...it's not quite that simple,' Jane said. 'You're going to have to talk to DCI Rigston.''In Keswick? Is there a problem?''I'd rather you heard it from him. I'd appreciate you giving him the same message about Tenille that you just gave me.''That doesn't sound very promising,' Donna said, her doubts about her own judgement obvious even over the phone.'She's a good kid, DI Blair. She's redeemable.''I'll talk to DCI Rigston. I hope our paths don't have to cross again, Dr Gresham.''I hope so too, in the nicest possible way. Thank you, Inspector. I'll do my best to make sure your leniency isn't wasted.''Good luck.' Donna hung up.Jane looked around the room, her face cheerful for the first time in days. 'That was the police in London. Tenille's off the hook for the murder and arson down there.''That's great news,' Dan said.'Maybe now Rigston will leave you and Tenille alone and start looking for the real killer,' Matthew added.'Let's hope so. Now, I really am going to bed,' Jane said. 'Perhaps when I wake up, this will all make sense.'Dan grinned. 'I wouldn't bet on it.'
I was naturally alive to the irony of my situation. I had been responsible for setting my captain adrift in an open boat. Yet here I was a scant four years later in precisely the same predicament. Poetic justice, indeed. Now I would find out if I had truly absorbed Bligh's lessons in navigation. I set my course to bring me upon the western coast of South America & prayed to God for fair weather. My prayers were answered for I was fortunate in that the weather looked kindly upon me What rain I endured was a blessing in that it allowed me to replenish my fresh-water supplies. I sailed for twelve days & nights & saw neither sail nor land on the horizon. On the thirteenth day, a whaler from Newfoundland hove into sight & I made for her. My gold was sufficient to buy me passage without questions being asked & my seamanship made me a welcome addition to the ship's complement I felt like a free man again and resolved to make my way home to England to clear my name.
41
Jimmy slid into the passenger seat of Dan's car, parked up at the end of Alice's street. 'Mysterious phone call,' he said, leaning across to kiss him. 'I feel like a spy''I didn't want to come to the house without talking to you first, what with the funeral preparations and everything. Have the police been in touch with Jenny?' Dan asked.Jimmy's monkey face screwed into a frown. 'No, should they have?''The cottage was burgled last night.''No way' Jimmy breathed. 'Man, I'm so glad we got her out of there. That could have been the killer, Dan. She could have been lying dead this morning.' He shook his head.'We don't think the burglar was the killer, Jimmy' Briefly, Dan outlined the events of the previous night. 'I don't think it was Tenille. That means the killer is still out there. Frankly, the best thing Jenny can do right now is to hand over the manuscript to us. Once it's out there in the public domain, there's no point in any more deaths. If Jenny wants to make sure she stays alive, she needs to take herself out of the target circle.'Jimmy nodded, seeing the force of his argument. 'Let's go and talk to her now,' he said. 'Alice is round at Gibson's so the coast's clear.'They found Jenny sitting in the conservatory drinking tea, watching the birds feasting on Alice's bird table. She peered suspiciously at Dan. 'You're that lad was with Jane Gresham the other day,' she said, no welcome in her voice.'Dan's a friend of mine,' Jimmy said.Jenny raised her eyebrows. 'Oh, aye? You want to let your head rule your heart a bit more, young Jimmy. Handsome is as handsome does and he's out for what he can get, this one.''Auntie Jenny,' Jimmy protested. 'That's not fair. If it wasn't for Dan and Jane, you could be dead in your bed. There was a burglary at your cottage last night.'Jenny's hand clutched her chest. 'Oh my God. What did they take? Did they vandalise the place?''The burglar only took one thing,' Dan said. 'A piece of paper. Just one. A sample, you might say.''What are you on about?' Jenny looked every inch the timorous, confused old lady, but Dan wasn't buying it.'You've got the manuscript, Jenny. We know that now.' He crouched down so he was level with her. 'I really don't want to frighten you, but four people have already died so someone could get their hands on this manuscript. As long as you keep it hidden, you're next on that person's hit list. But if you get it out in the open, entrust it to Jane, or Anthony Catto at the Wordsworth Trust, you protect yourself. I don't want you to die for a bundle of papers. Nobody does. Give it up, Jenny.'The old woman's lower lip thrust out in an expression of defiance. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' she said.'The sheet of paper came from your house. The police were watching the house, they caught the burglar as she was leaving. She had it on her.'Jenny's head came up in defiance. 'And what's to say she didn't have it on her when she went in? What's to say it's not all some clever bluff? You and your university friends, you're all so bloody clever-clever, that's just the sort of thing you'd come up with. I'm telling you, I don't know what you're talking about and I'll thank you to leave me to drink my cup of tea in peace.' She turned away, pointedly studying the birds again.'Auntie Jenny,' Jimmy said, his voice a plea. 'It's for your own good.''It would be if I had the papers he's talking about. But I don't, and that's that. Now be a good lad and get him out of here before Alice comes back and has a come-apart at the sight of him.'Jimmy followed Dan out to the street. 'What can I say? She's a stubborn old biddy.'Dan shrugged. 'We tried. Work on her, Jimmy. For her own sake.'Matthew glowered at Ewan Rigston. 'I don't believe my sister tried to make out I'm some sort of fiend who goes around preying on little old ladies. We might not always see eye to eye, but she knows me too well to entertain a thought like that.''When people are in a tight corner, they have a way of speaking the truth,' Rigston said.'So why are you quoting lies at me and pretending Jane said she suspected me?''I never said she suspected you. I said that she told us you were one of a handful of people who knew she was interested in the Clewlow family. And that you knew what she was looking for. It's my job to talk to people in possession of that information, Mr Gresham. Four people are dead.''Well, it's got nothing to do with me. I was just trying to help Jane.' He pouted like a child. 'Fat lot of good it did me.''The person we caught burgling a cottage last night was just trying to help Jane too, we reckon. There seem to be a lot of people willing to give your sister a helping hand.''Stop treating me like an idiot, Rigston. You're not going to trick me into some stupid admission because there is no admission to make. Like I said, I was only trying to help. And this is the thanks I get. Up half the night trying to get my sister out of jail. Police turning up at the school, making me look like some sort of criminal.' Matthew shifted irritably in his chair. 'Are you done now? Only, this is supposed to be my lunch hour and so far I haven't had any.''I'm done for now, yes. But I'll be checking what you've told me and I may have some further questions for you.''Fine, ruin my reputation. Look, I don't murder people. I'm just a country schoolmaster, dull and boring. People like me don't go on killing sprees.''I'm sure people said the same thing about Harold Shipman,' Rigston said drily as he walked out. He didn't like Matthew Gresham. He thought the man was a vain, pompous prick. But that didn't make him a murderer. Nor did the fact that he'd spoken to a couple of the victims. He wasn't a likely killer. But, in Rigston's book, he wasn't off the hook yet either.It was mid-afternoon by the time Jane surfaced. Dan and Judy were in the kitchen, drinking yet another pot of tea. 'Any joy?' Jane asked Dan as she poured herself a cup.'Stubborn old witch wouldn't give an inch,' Dan said. 'She won't even admit she knows what we're talking about. Jimmy's going to work on her, but don't hold your breath.''I wish I knew how Tenille is doing,' Jane said. 'I asked if I could see her, but they wouldn't let me near her.' She looked thoughtful for a moment, then gave her mother a speculative look. 'You could go,' she said. 'Take her some food, something to read. So she doesn't think she's been abandoned.''Me? You want me to go and visit her? After the trouble she's caused you?'Jane sighed. 'She's a good kid. Please, Mum. You'd be taking a load off my mind.'Judy looked uncertain. 'What would I talk to her about?'Jane rolled her eyes. 'It doesn't matter. Just being there will be enough. Please? For me?'Judy pursed her lips. 'I don't know why I let you talk me into these things, I really don't. All right, I'll go and phone the police and see if they'll let me talk to her.'As she left the room, Jane's mobile rang. 'Hello? Jane Gresham speaking.'The querulous voice on the other end was vaguely familiar but she couldn't place it at first. 'I want to talk to you about something important but I need you to promise me you won't tell another living soul,' the voice said.'I'm sorry, I don't know...''It's Jenny Wright,' the woman said impatiently. 'Promise me you won't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you.'Jane's eyes flicked towards Dan. He had picked up the paper and was apparently reading. She turned her head slightly. 'I can do that,' she said.'I'd go myself, but it's Edith's funeral and I've no way of slipping away. And I think it's urgent. Your pal, Jimmy's young manhe said my life was at risk while the papers stay hidden. He said I'm on a hit list. I don't want to die, lass. It might not seem like much of a life to you, but it suits me fine.''I can understand. I feel the same,' Jane said gently. She was desperate for Jenny to get to the point but knew there was no point in hustling her.'I know he's your pal and all, but I've never trusted nancy boys,' she said, apparently off on a tangent. 'I don't understand how our Jimmy turned out that way, but he's family and he's a lad that knows family comes first. But I don't trust any of the rest of them. So even if he is right, I'm not letting him near it.''Fair enough,' Jane said. 'It's up to you.' Her heart was thudding in her chest now, anticipation making her feel light-headed.'I want you to fetch it. There's an old privy at the bottom of the garden with some old paint tins on a shelf. The spare key to the back door is under a tin of white gloss paint. Go upstairs to the spare bedroom and you'll see an old brass-bound chest. It's full of junk, but underneath all that, there's a false bottom. Lift it, and you'll find the papers. You go and get them and take them to the Wordsworth Trust. They can make a proper song and dance about it. That way the killer will know to leave me alone. Have you got all that?''Clear as crystal. Thank you. Thank you so much.' She tried not to sound too enthusiastic, not wanting to alert Dan to the momentous nature of the call. She hated keeping him out of the loop, but a promise was a promise.'And not a word to anybody. That way, you stay safe too.''Don't worry. I'll let you know how things go.' She heard Jenny hang up the phone but she kept her mobile to her ear, pretending the conversation was ongoing. 'OK, Neil. My mum's going to try to see her this afternoon, but I'll make sure she doesn't talk about the case. Thanks for calling.' She put the phone down.Dan looked up enquiringly.'My lawyer,' she said. 'He's been talking to Tenille's solicitor. He thinks I should give a statement saying Tenille didn't know about the manuscript until after Edith was dead. It can't hurt me and it can do her a lot of good.''I would have thought so,' he said, stretching and yawning. 'I think I might go back up to the cottage and take a nap. Will you be all right here on your own?''Yeah. I think I might go back to bed. I feel wasted.'As Dan got up, Judy returned. 'That's all sorted, then. I can see her in an hour. Jane, you need to help me with a care package.''I'll leave you ladies to it,' Dan said, heading for the door.It took twenty minutes for Jane to get her mother out of the door. She was in a fever of impatience. Then it dawned on her. With her mother gone, she had no car. And her bike was presumably still at Copperhead Cottage from Tenille's excursion. 'Fuck,' Jane muttered. She found her wallet and checked her cash level. She had enough for a taxi to get her to Coniston, but not enough to get back. 'Sod it,' she said, reaching for the phone book. She could call Anthony on her mobile once she had the manuscript. She didn't think he'd mind in the least coming to collect her and her precious cargo.Jake was sitting in the bar of his hotel, nursing a pint and wondering why he was still kicking his heels in this godforsaken hole. He'd grown tired of knocking on doors where there was no reply and he'd finally given up altogether when his arrival for the third time at Eddie Fairfield's had coincided with a police Scene of Crimes team. He hadn't even stopped the car, just cruised on past and headed straight back for the hotel. He'd tried telling Caroline he was wasting his time, but she had insisted on him staying put. 'You never know what will turn up,' she'd said mysteriously, then refused to be drawn further.If this was working in the private sector, he couldn't help feeling he'd made a mistake. He'd expected much more action, much more hands-on contact with the old manuscripts that had always fascinated him. Not all this hanging around in hotel rooms waiting for directions like some errand boy.As if to confirm him in his thoughts, his phone rang. 'Hi,' he said, trying not to sound as bored as he felt.'Let's have a little hustle, Jake,' Caroline said. 'It's showtime.''What?' He sat up straight in his chair.'I know where you can find a Wordsworth autograph manuscript,' Caroline said.'How the hell...''Jake, you're not my only set of eyes and ears,' she said. 'But you are my only pair of hands. I know where it is, and I need you to fetch it. I'm flying back tomorrow. We'll enjoy the spoils together.'It was all moving too fast for him. 'OK, OK, I'm on my way.''Don't let me down, Jake. This is what I need you to do...'
I sailed with the whalers for some months until they called at the port of Valparaiso. I rejoiced at being back. On dry land, but my journey was still only barely begun. I signed on with a trading ship that was headed, for Savannah, Georgia. There I hoped to make passage back, to England on a cotton trading vessel. But although my actions on Bounty may speak, otherwise, I am not a man given to rashness & J having made Savannah, I took, lodgings in the town & sent word to my brother of my whereabouts & J asked whether he considered it possible for me to return safely to these islands &to broach the reasons for my actions in respect of Bligh. You will imagine the impatience with which I awaited his response & my horror at his account of Bligh's voyage, his hero's welcome in England & of the courts martial of the notorious mutineers. I could have conjured up no worse outcome for myself. Instead of returning home, I could envisage nothing other than cruel & perpetual exile from both of my families, the one in England & the other on Pitcairn. It seemed almost too much to be borne.
42
The last of the light was fading behind Langmere Fell when the taxi turned up. By the time they reached Coniston, the only light came from windows where curtains had not yet been drawn. There were a few people making their way to and from the pub, and Jane asked the driver to drop her there. She didn't want to draw attention to herself by having him take her right up to Copperhead Cottage.It was a brisk fifteen-minute walk up to the cottage and Jane enjoyed the feel of the fresh air on her skin. Even a few hours behind bars had been enough to reinforce her need to be out of doors. There was an autumnal tang to the air, made up of leaf mould and the smoke from coal fires. It was a smell that made Jane nostalgic for the autumns of her youthHallowe'en guising, Guy Fawkes bonfires and fireworks, cosy evenings in the kitchen doing her homework to the background sounds of her mother baking and making preserves.She was so lost in her memories that she was on Copperhead Cottage almost before she realised it. Glad that she'd remembered a torch, she picked her way through the garden, its bare stalks and tender plants wrapped in sacking a sad remnant of what must have been glory in the summer. The outhouse wasn't hard to find, and the key was exactly where Jenny had told her it would be.Jane let herself in and felt for a light switch. She clicked it on, but nothing happened. Cursing, she remembered Jimmy's tale of Jenny's elaborate preparations for leaving the house. She must have turned off the electricity at the mains. Jane was too impatient to go searching through the dim house for the fuse box, so she climbed the stairs by torchlight.The room with the chest was the third door on the landing. As she swept the room with her torch, Jane noticed an old-fashioned oil lamp sitting on a chest of drawers, a box of matches next to it. That would make things easier, she thought, lifting the glass and turning the knob that raised the wick high enough to light it. The flame guttered and smoked, but Jane lowered the wick a little and replaced the glass. It wasn't as good as electric light, but it was a damn sight easier than trying to juggle the torch and the contents of the chest.Jane crouched down and raised the lid. Her eager hands hurriedly lifted out the jumbled contents and dumped them on the floor next to her. By the light of the lamp, she could see the thin leather loop. Holding her breath, she lifted it and set it to one side.'Oh, my God,' she murmured, reaching out and letting her fingers caress the brittle, yellowing pages. It was real. She lifted the bundle out and stared at it. William Wordsworth wrote this. Dorcas Mason kept it safe. William Wordsworth wrote this. Dorcas Mason kept it safe.'Thank you, Dorcas,' she said, getting to her feet, her eyes still fixed on the familiar handwriting.'I'll take that now.' The voice was as shocking as the chill waters of Langmere Force.Jane whirled round, clutching the papers to her chest. 'It's fine,' she gabbled. 'I've got them safe, it's fine.'Dan shook his head, his mouth curling in a pitying smile. 'Just hand them over, Jane.''Why? What are you doing here?''Did you really think I was going to fall for that line about a call from your lawyer? You've never had an emotion that wasn't written all over your face. There's not a lawyer on the planet could make you look like that. Now, just give me the fucking papers.''But why?''Because I want them. Because I'm tired of my crappy life. Because I'm tired of being a nobody going nowhere. Because I deserve something better and this manuscript is my ticket to it.' He made an impatient movement with the hand that wasn't holding the heavy rubber torch. 'Because I can. Now give me the fucking papers.' He took a step closer and Jane backed up, almost tripping over the chest.'This is crazy, Dan. We can work on this together, that's enough to make a great career for us both.'He snorted. 'You think I want to be a fucking academic for the rest of my life? You really think that's how I want my life to be? What a tiny, pathetic ambition. I want things you can't even imagine.'Cold creeping fear had its hand on her now. She had never suspected this viciousness existed within a man she had counted a friend. 'Things worth killing for?''It was an accident, the first time. I just meant to scare her. But' he snapped his fingers'she went out like a light, and it made things easier. It's no big deal, Jane. They were old. I've seen how death creeps up on people and it's not pretty. You might even say I did them a favour. Saving them from a slow and lonely decline.''You don't have the right to make that decision. They valued their lives, how dare you presume to play God?' She had no idea how she was going to escape him, but she knew she had to try to keep him talking. 'And what about me? I'm not old, but you tried to kill me.''I'm not getting into it, Jane. Stop playing for time. Give me the papers.' He lunged towards the manuscript, but she fended him off with her free hand.Sudden rage erupted in his face, turning his lips to a snarl and his eyes to narrow slits. 'Stop fucking with me,' he screamed, slamming the torch into the side of her head.A brilliant light exploded behind her eyes. Then everything went dark.It was the acrid smell of burning that acted on Jane like smelling salts, helping her make the last steps on the upward spiral into consciousness. Bleary and groggy, she pushed herself up on one elbow, unsure of where she was and how she had come to be there. The flames were what drove her disorientation from her, sharpening her consciousness. Jane pushed herself to a crouch. A line of fire extended from the spilled oil lamp across the floor for about eight feet. The carpet was burning, and the paint around the door frame was beginning to bubble. The air was already thickening with smoke, sparks shooting upwards like baby fireworks. Through the shimmering haze above the flames, she could see Dan, his face attentive, watching the fire take hold, making sure the blaze across the threshold kept her at bay.'You should have given it to me,' he shouted above the roar and crackling of the fire. 'I'd have made it easy on you. Burning's a bad way to go, Jane. A bad way to go.'Still crouching, Jane turned her head towards the window to see if there was an escape route there. But heavy wooden shutters were bolted shut top and bottom. There was no way of reaching the top bolts. The only furniture in the room was too heavy for one person to shift. She looked back at Dan. 'You bastard,' she screamed. 'You bastard.'He grinned at her, the familiar open, careless expression she knew so well. It was like a physical blow. 'I've always admired your spirit, Jane. Just despised your ambition.' The fire was rising now, and she could hardly see him. 'I'm off now, it's getting a little too hot around here for my taste.'And he was gone.'Fuck this,' Jane said, coughing as the smoke caught the back of her throat. She wasn't going to let this happen. It was now or never. She moved crabwise as close as she dared to the blaze. She blinked the tears from her eyes, pulled her coat over her head and launched herself through the flames in a diving forward roll.Jane scrambled to her feet, pulling off her smouldering coat. Dan had barely made it to the top of the stairs and she went for him with a scream of pure rage. Dan stopped and turned back, taking the full force of her charge in the ribs. He grunted in anger and drove into her, landing a punch to the side of her head that made her dizzy. She lashed out again and caught him in the ribs. This time he yelled and she felt a moment's grim satisfaction.But still he was coming at her. He smashed a fist into her stomach, forcing the air from her lungs in a sudden whoop. Jane staggered backwards and his hand was on her wrist, forcing it back, threatening to break it. He pushed her and she felt herself falling. But just in time, she grabbed hold of his jacket, catching him off balance. They crashed to the floor together, their momentum carrying them back towards the stairs. Jane scrambled away from him, trying to get to her feet, but he was faster than her, lurching forward and grabbing her leg. She kicked him in the face with her free foot and he yelped as he let her go.This time, she made it to her feet. Three steps and she was at the top of the stairs. She chanced a look over her shoulder just as he launched himself at her. Instinctively she threw herself to one side.He crashed into the newel post at the top of the stairs then spun away from it. For a long moment, he seemed to hang immobile, one foot on the top stair, the other in space. Then his balance went and he tumbled sideways, completely out of control. One foot caught a stair tread, pitching his whole body into a cartwheel. He landed head first at the bottom of the stairs with a sickening crunch.Jane was frozen with shock. She couldn't move a muscle. Then she began to shake, her whole body shivering from head to foot. She clutched the banister for support, staring down at the unmoving heap below. This time, it was the crackle and hiss of the fire that got her moving. Step by step, she made her way downstairs. Even in the gloom of the hallway, she could tell he was dead. Nobody's head could be at that angle to their body and still be alive.A sob caught in her throat. It didn't matter that it had been Dan who had made it a matter of life or death. What her head knew hadn't yet filtered down to what her heart comprehended. At that moment, she was looking at her friend with his life snuffed out.A loud crack from upstairs galvanised her into action. She stooped over his body and tried to figure out where the papers were. It was no good; she was going to have to turn him over. Grunting with the effort, she managed to push him on to his side. His jacket fell open, revealing a plastic folder rolled up in the inside pocket. Hastily, she grabbed it, checking it was truly what she sought. She glanced upwards, in time to see the balustrade crumpling under the weight of flame and falling into the hall scant feet from her. She had to get out of there.Jane raced for the back door, still unlocked as she had left it. She burst into the cold air, chest heaving, pulse hammering in her head. She knew she had to get away from the house, knew it wasn't safe to stay close. Staggering after her effort, she rounded the corner of the house and made for the track. Fire brigade, police. Fire brigade, police. Stupidly, she patted her pockets. Stupidly, she patted her pockets. Jacket. Jacket. That's where the mobile was, in the jacket she'd discarded on the landing. That's where the mobile was, in the jacket she'd discarded on the landing.Her head swimming and her legs rubbery, Jane staggered off down the track towards Irish Row.Jake had been sitting in the car at the end of Irish Row for a good twenty minutes when he realised he couldn't wait any longer to pee. He got out of the car and turned to walk behind it when he saw a faint orange glow against the skyline. At first he thought it was a bonfire but as it intensified and grew bigger, it dawned on him that this was something much more serious.He zipped himself up and headed for the track, almost tripping over a mountain bike stashed behind a bush. Catching himself before he fell, he stumbled on to the track and headed in the direction of the fire.As he rounded the bend, he saw tongues of flame shooting out of a couple of upstairs windows of a lone cottage. 'Jesus Christ,' he exclaimed, reaching for his mobile. When he was connected to the emergency services, he explained he needed the fire brigade. 'There's a cottage on fire. In Coniston. You go up past Irish Row, it's maybe a quarter of a mile further on. It's a huge blaze,' he said, raising his voice as another window exploded like a bomb, showering the air with shards of glass that glittered in the red glow of the fire.In normal circumstances, the instinct for self-preservation would have driven Jake from the scene for fear that this fire was something to do with his acquisition of the manuscript. But the ancient fascination of fire held him fast. Enthralled, he watched the flames thrusting like blades into the sky, the cinder trails snuffing out as they fell to earth, the billows of smoke shifting like clouds on fast forward. The figure that came staggering down the path from the house was almost upon him before his trance was broken.At first, he registered only that the escapee from the fire was dishevelled and filthy, bleeding and stumbling, coughing and gasping. He saw the glint of eyes in a smoke-blackened face, then a voice he knew as well as his own rasped, 'You too? You were in it too?''Jane?' was all he had time for before she was upon him, raining blows against his chest, sobbing and shouting incomprehensibly. He tried to fight her off without hurting her, but she was like a woman possessed. She just kept hitting him.The next thing he knew, strong hands were gripping his arms and shoulders. Jake struggled, but he was held firm. He realised there was a man on either side of him, clearly determined not to let him go. A third man had his arms round Jane from behind, holding her tight and saying meaningless words of reassurance.'What the fuck's going on here?' one of the men said.'I've got no idea,' Jake said desperately. 'I saw the fire and called the fire brigade. Then Jane came staggering out of the fire with some crazy notion that I was involved and started beating up on me.' As he spoke, he realised how unlikely his version appeared.'That sounds like a right load of bollocks to me,' his other captor said. 'Reckon we'll wait for the cops to come and sort it all out.''Are you all right, love?' the man holding Jane asked, loosening his grip and turning her to face him.Jane burst into a fresh bout of sobbing and leaned against him. 'Nay, lass, it's all right,' he said, looking over her head at his mates with an expression of bewilderment. Before anyone could say anything more, the night was split open by blue flashing lights and sirens.He was, Jake realised, well and truly fucked.