He grinned and said, They could hear the sound of my chisel during the quiet moments in the service. Chip chip chip. I thought old Paul might try to get the inscription erased, but to his credit he didnt. He just let the nettles and briar grow over it. I didnt mind about that. Everyone who mattered knew it was there. They still do.
And still keep their mouths shut more than four decades later.
Were close and private people, us Cumbrians. We go to bed with gags on in case we talk in our sleep. And we dont trust strangers till they show us they can be trusted.
Were close and private people, us Cumbrians. We go to bed with gags on in case we talk in our sleep. And we dont trust strangers till they show us they can be trusted.
No? Well, that works both ways, mister, said Sam, growing angry. First time we met, Id just been knocked off a ladder, remember? And Im still not sure it was an accident. And last night in the bar when I asked for help, all I got was some crap about a guy who won a competition for pulling faces. So why should I trust you? What kind of place is it anyway where you get prizes for looking ugly? Im not surprised that your chum couldnt take it.
She was ashamed of the crack even as it came out. It was a bad habit, going over the top. It made it that much harder to drive home your legitimate grievance.
But Winander was looking at her as if he understood, or at least as if he didnt resent what shed said. It began to dawn on her that there was a pain here which nothing she might say could add to. Time for truce.
Look, Im sorry, she said. That was out of order. Im just disappointed. Your friend sounds like he was real special.
Oh yes, he was, said Winander.
He was standing looking away from her with a faint reminiscent smile.
She followed his gaze. It took her to the painting on the wall.
Thats him, isnt it? she said.
It was obvious. Now she looked again she could see the affection which had gone into creating the portrait. She studied it closely the smiling mouth, the tousled blond hair, the bright blue eyes looking for any resemblance with herself or her father.
There was none.
He looks a nice guy, she said. A real spunk. Im sorry for your loss.
And Im sorry for your disappointment. But with your evident detective talent, Im sure youll track your family origins down in the end.
Her mind went back to his earlier comment and, glad now to move away from the dead curate, she said, What did you mean about me getting on with old Mr. Melton?
Noddy? You dont know? He was a policeman. Started as the village bobby here years ago when I was just a kid. Moved on, but came back when he retired.
Must have missed the place, said Sam, recalling the old mans reaction to the name Illthwaite.
Funny way of showing it if he does, said Winander. Hes a nosy old sod, always stirring it.
Why do you call him Noddy?
Enid Blyton. Gets a bad press these days but used to be like a set text way back. We called him PC Plod to start with, but that didnt really fit till one of us kids said he looked more like Noddy the Elf, and that stuck. Like another beer?
No thanks. Time to go. Thanks for being so open with me.
Im sorry we gave you the runaround, he said. Ill see you out. Sure theres nothing you want to buy?
Not on my budget, she said, laughing.
You never said what youre doing here in the UK. Holiday, is it? The grand tour, backpacking round the world?
Theyd reached the front door and she was saved from answering by the appearance of an old pickup which came bumping down the driveway. In it were the Gowder twins. As it moved slowly by, Sam felt their eyes hold her in their sights.
My helpers, said Winander.
They work for you?
And for anyone wholl employ them, said Winander. The Gowders used to be important people round here, but even with the slow rate of progress we admit in these parts, they still managed to get left behind. Jim, the twins father, after his wife died he spent more time and money pissing up against walls than mending them. By the time the twins came into the farm there wasnt enough stock or land left to make it a going concern. Theyd have lost the house too if Dunstan Woollass hadnt stepped in.
The squire?
The same. And old Dunny takes his squirely responsibilities seriously. When Foulgate, thats the Gowder house, came on the market to settle their debts, he bought it and let them stay on at a peppercorn rent and saw to it that they can make a fair living odd-jobbing.
Very community-hearted of him. I gather Gerry takes after him.
Outdoes him in general do-gooding, but when it comes to the Gowders theyre miles apart. He hates their guts. I think they must have bullied him at primary school.
But you like them?
Good Lord, no, he laughed. But theyre part of Skaddale, like the rocks and the moss. And if you need brute force, send for a Gowder. Got to watch them, though. Because they can carry a tup under either arm, they think nothings beyond them. Block and tackles for wimps. Were taking Billys angel down to the church later. Left to themselves theyd try to pick it up bodily and toss it into the back of the pickup. Eternal vigilance is the price of employing a Gowder.
Ill leave you to it then, said Sam. See you later, maybe.
At the gateless gateway she glanced back. Winander waved. The Gowders had halted their vehicle by the smithy and got out. She felt the intensity of their gaze like a gun leveled at her. And she knew with a certainty beyond the scope of mathematical logic that this was the same gaze shed felt in that split second before the trap slammed shut on the church tower.
Suddenly her heart ached with a longing for home.
And Ive eaten my last Cherry Ripe, too! she thought.
6. Ejection
Mig Madero sat in the kitchen of Illthwaite Hall and felt happy.
He and Frek Woollass were to eat alone. On the landing theyd met Mrs. Collipepper, carrying a tray. Dunstan, Frek explained, usually returned to his bed after the exertion of descending for breakfast. He lunched off a tray, then reemerged for tea.
The housekeeper passed without a word. Madero smiled at her but she didnt return the smile. He wasnt bothered. He had other things on his mind. Frek had set off down the stairs and as he followed, despite all his efforts at diversion, he found his gaze and his fancy focused on the point, occasionally visible as her T-shirt rode up from her hipster shorts, where that arrow-straight spine split the apple of her buttocks.
In the kitchen she completed his happiness by apologizing for the absence of her father who along with Sister Angelica had gone to a meeting of an educational charity whose committee they both sat on.
Hed expected something like the room in the Stranger House where hed drunk cognac with Mrs. Appledore the previous night, but this was completely different. Contemporary wall units and electrical apparatus all looked perfectly at home against a background of golden-tiled walls. The broad windows let in plenty of light and looked out on a rising bank of grass and heather out of which some kind of platform seemed to have been carved about ten feet up. In the middle of the kitchen was a pine table of generous dimensions but a mere dwarf by comparison with that in the Stranger. On it stood a cheese board, a fresh cottage loaf and a bowl of fruit.
Frek shook her head when Madero pushed the bread toward her. Instead she took an apple and cut it in two. As the demiorbs fell apart, Maderos thoughts went back to his lubricious imaginings as he descended the stairs. Apple was wrong with its golds and reds. Frek would be white, two smooth scoops of ice cream with the promise of hot plum sauce hidden somewhere beneath
Are you all right, Mr. Madero? Not off with the spirits again?
He realized he was sitting completely still with the cheese knife raised in his hand.
Im fine. But I wonder if I might have some water? Its a bit warm in here.
Sorry. Its the Aga. Pepi always keeps the temperature up high for Grandfathers sake. Would you like a glass of wine? There should be a bottle yes, there we are
She glanced around as she spoke. Like a sky-watcher who has found a new star, he kept his eyes fixed on her, and he saw discovery turn to recognition then to dismay.
He let his gaze drift along the line of her sight till it reached the looked-for bottle. It was his gift of El Bastardo standing already open next to a large crystal bowl through whose sides it was possible to see a layer of red topped by a layer of yellow.
I think, said Madero carefully, your housekeeper is preparing a sherry trifle.
Yes. Im sorry Mrs. Collipepper must have picked it up by accident.
Of course. Perhaps we should lead her out of temptation
She rose and brought the bottle to the table. It was three-quarters full.
Would you prefer something else? It hardly seems right, offering you your own drink and I dont even know if it goes with bread and cheese.
We will call them tapas, in which case the fino is the perfect accompaniment. Your father will not mind us sampling the wine without him?
He asked the question gravely, saw her seeking a polite way of saying Gerry wouldnt give a damn if they poured it down the sink, then smiled broadly and said, Good. Glasses, if you please. Two. It is not polite to drink El Bastardo alone.
She went to a cupboard and produced two wineglasses, not copitas that would have been expecting too much but medium-sized goblets which he half filled.
Salud! he said.
Skaal, she replied.
What do you think? he asked after theyd drunk.
Its different from what I expected, she said.
Not what you look for at the bottom of a trifle, you mean?
I have drunk sherry before, Mr. Madero, she said. Sometimes its unavoidable Sorry, that sounds rude. I mean, sometimes
Please, I understand, he interrupted. In Hampshire, too, where my mother lives, the famous English sherry party is sometimes unavoidable. Usually served at the wrong temperature in the wrong glasses.
Im sorry if Ive got it wrong
He said, A bastard has to be robust enough to stand a little abuse. Which is not to say it lacks the refinement you would expect in a wine of such expense.
I didnt imagine youd brought Daddy a cheap bottle, she murmured. But it does seem a strange name to give to an expensive wine.