He spat the word out with the same force hed used twenty-four hours earlier.
Illthwaite. An ill name for an ill place.
So what was going on here? wondered Sam, as she sipped the tea hed made and nibbled a biscuit. Hed offered her bread and cheese as it was getting on for lunchtime, and shed said no, though if he had anything chocolate, the darker the better and hed come up with half-coated milk digestives.
Well, beggars couldnt be choosers of chocolate, but they could certainly pick their pitch, and she was starting to think this could be a complete waste of time.
Melton said casually, Theyve probably told you Im a bit cracked.
Something like that, she said. But I make up my own mind.
Thats the impression I get, he said. Which makes me think it might be better if before we get on to your story, I tell you mine.
I like a good story, she said.
He laughed, a high-pitched whinny.
Thats a perfect cue, he said. Do you like a good story? was what my first caller said back in 1949. Farmer called Dick Croft. Big man in these parts, family had been farming here since the Dark Ages. I said, yes I did. He nodded and said, Then get yourself signed up with the traveling library next Monday, because youll have plenty of time for reading. I asked him what he meant and he said, The laws here already, son. Theres Gods Law and theres Sods Law, and they take care of most things, and what they dont cover, we like to take care of ourselves. And then he shook my hand and went.
Weird, said Sam. And was he right?
Mostly he was. I certainly did a lot of reading. But a young man cant live on books alone, and after three or four years when I began to feel Id got accepted as one of the community, I picked myself a girl. A local lass. Her name was Mary. Mary Croft.
Like in Dick Croft? His daughter?
The same. We didnt make a big public show of things. Not that you needed to in Illthwaite. Break wind in the church and theyll get a whiff in the Stranger thirty seconds later, thats what they say. Anyway, I was smitten. I asked her to marry me. Imagine that. I asked Dick Crofts daughter to marry me, and her only eighteen.
So? said Sam, puzzled.
Still a minor back in those days. Needed her fathers consent. Her mother had died when Mary was a lass. There was a stepmother, far too young to be a second mother to Mary. Anyway, her father had things worked out for her future. A neighbors son. Bring the two landholdings together. But Mary dug her heels in. She and her dad didnt get on. He was a right hard bastard, but she had a mind of her own too.
He paused. The sharpness of his eye was misted. It was hard to imagine this aged elf as a young romantic but Sam made the effort.
So what happened?
She vanished, he said.
He spoke the word flatly, leaving her to grasp at its meaning.
Vanished? Like what? She took off? Got abducted? Died?
He said, as if she hadnt spoken, We used to meet behind St. Ylfs, by the Wolf-Head Cross. Popular place for courting couples. Well hidden at least, thats the theory.
He rose from his chair and went to stand by the window from which the stumpy church tower was visible over a clump of blood-pearled rowan trees.
I wanted to talk to her father, but she said it was pointless, hed rather see her die an old maid than get mixed up with a thick copper. I could see only one way to get Croft to agree to a wedding. That was to get Mary pregnant.
He turned to face Sam.
You know what young men are like. Id have been at it already, but Mary always said she didnt want to take the risk. But now risk was our best hope. At first she looked at me like I was daft. When she saw I was serious, she said shed think about it and we arranged to meet three nights later. I said, Come to Candle Cottage if you decide yes. I dont want our first time to be in a cold and drafty churchyard. She kissed me then. A real passionate kiss. It felt like a promise.
He looked around the room, as if searching for something he had misplaced.
After a while Sam prompted, So what happened?
You can imagine the state I was in for the next couple of days. I kept thinking of that kiss. God, how the time dragged. Then the night came. I couldnt sit still. I must have walked twenty miles up and down this room. Its a wonder I didnt put my hand through the window the number of times I rubbed the pane to see if I could spot her coming.
Abruptly he sat down once more.
But she never came. I sat up waiting till I fell asleep in my chair. Early next morning I was woken by knocking. It was Dick Croft, demanding to know where Mary was. He burst in and started searching the cottage. It was the start of a very confusing period. I didnt know if I was on my arse or my elbow. By the time things got official, the story had settled down to this: Mary had told her stepmother that Id given her an ultimatum, either we had sex or it was all off between us. She was going to say no and wanted to do it to my face but was a bit scared. And then shed vanished.
I thought you said she didnt get on with her stepmother?
I said she couldnt be a proper mother to her. Anyway, weve only her word for what was said. But the upshot was, suddenly I found myself sitting in front of a DCI hitting me with questions about whether shed come to the cottage to break things off and Id got angry and thered been a fight and maybe thered been an accident He thought he was offering me an easy way out. I told him to sod off. God knows how it would have finished, but then things changed. Marys stepmother found some clothes were missing. And the following day she took a phone call from Mary. Im OK. Ill be in touch when Im settled. Nothing more. There was no technology in those days to check where the call came from. Or even if it came at all. But it was enough for the CID. Now it was simply another runaway case. No crime, so I was no longer a suspect. Which was ironic, as I was the only policeman in the county who didnt believe shed done a runner.
He shook his head and fell silent for almost a minute, rapt in his memories, till Sam, who had never been long on patience, rattled her teacup.
Sorry, he said. Im talking too much about me. This should be about you.
He shook his head and fell silent for almost a minute, rapt in his memories, till Sam, who had never been long on patience, rattled her teacup.
Sorry, he said. Im talking too much about me. This should be about you.
No, no, said Sam. I need to know what happened next.
Thats simple. I left Illthwaite. Its funny, if wed got married Id have happily spent the rest of my days as the village bobby. As it was, Marys disappearance was the making of my career. A year later I transferred to CID. I was a natural. The trick-cyclists say a good detective will always have at least one case he keeps open in his mind long after its been closed in the files. I brought mine to the job with me.
And youve kept it open ever since.
Sam tried to sound sympathetic but prevarication wasnt her strong suit.
Youre thinking that makes me a sad bastard, arent you? he said, smiling. I could have been, but I met a lass in Penrith. We got married, me and Alison. I never forgot Illthwaite, but it didnt get in the way of having a life. If wed had kids, or Alison had survived to share my retirement, I doubt if Id ever have come back here. But we didnt, and she didnt. Cancer. God rest her.
Im sorry, said Sam.
So am I, every day. She left a gap I filled with work. And when the work stopped, I had to find something else to fill that gap. When I saw the Authority was selling off Candle Cottage, it seemed like a message. So I bought the cottage, and came back here. Me versus Illthwaite, round two. First round Illthwaite won hands down. This time, I thought, its going to be different. If thats sad, Im sorry. But its kept me alive.
What about Mary? asked Sam. You get any nearer to finding out the truth?
He smiled rather slyly and said, Hard to say. Dick Croft died a few years later and the stepmother sold up and moved away. But Im still here where everyone can see me. Theres two histories of Illthwaite, the official one, the kind that gets printed in books like Peter K.s Guide. And the true history that only gets written in peoples minds. To read that you need to be around a long time. Passing through, youve got no chance.
Which is why you asked me here, right? To improve my chances?
I dont know if I can, my dear, but if I can, I will. First you must tell me what it is you are truly seeking for.
He settled back in his chair, fixed her with a keen unblinking gaze, and said quietly, In your own time, my dear.
8. A bag of stones
Nothing had changed, at least nothing you could factorize. But somehow it felt to Sam as if Melton had switched elderly eccentricity off and an interrogation tape on. She was beginning to think this wasnt a guy to mess with. On the other hand, unless he started after her with a rubber truncheon, she saw no reason to give more detail than shed already put on public record.
She said, Like I said in the pub last night, Im looking for information about my paternal grandmother. All I know is she was called Sam Flood, she came from England to Australia in spring 1960, and she might have some connection with Illthwaite.
Melton took a notebook out of his jacket pocket and made a note.
He said, Did she sail with other members of her family?
No. She was part of that Child Migrant Scheme there was all that fuss about when the details came out a few years back.
I remember, he said. Isnt there a Trust that gives advice and help?
Tried them. Nothing positive.
Not directly anyway, and it seemed best to keep things direct.
Have you found anything to support this possible connection since you got here?
Only the name Sam Flood carved on the churchyard wall.
He showed no reaction, which must mean hed known about it too.
It struck me as odd that no one made any reference to it, she went on. But Ive just been talking to that guy Thor Winander and he filled me in on the story and now I guess I can see why people dont want to talk about it.
Yes, he tells a good tale, Mr. Winander, murmured Melton. So now youre happy its just coincidence? Mission accomplished? No link?
She thought about this then said, Almost. But once you write stuff on the board you cant just scrub it off.
He looked puzzled then said, Are we talking mathematics here?
Thats right. Sometimes you do a calculation on a blackboard. Blackboards are good because it means you can see the whole thing at once. Most calculations arent aimed at finding something out but at arriving somewhere you want to be. But you dont always get there. Maybe youve gone wrong. Maybe you started in the wrong place. But even if you wipe the board clean, all that stuffs still in your mind to go over again and again, maybe for years, maybe forever. Sorry, does that sound crazy?
Sounds like good detective work to me, he said, going to a tall mahogany bureau that occupied almost the whole of one wall. From his pocket he took a bunch of keys attached to his belt by a chain. He used three of the keys to unlock the bureau cupboard doors which swung open to reveal lines of files and a stack of cardboard boxes.