Murder in the Afternoon (9 page)

I had expected this hamlet to be deserted, except for the farm, but we passed an inn and brewery, and beyond that an abandoned cottage, its roof half collapsed. A brilliant laburnum tree flowered yards from the broken front door that hung by a single hinge.

After the deserted cottage, the lane narrowed. The east wind treated me to the stench of muck-spreading.

Beyond the parish boundary stone, a narrower track lay to the right. Dry-stone walls enclosed fields where sheep grazed, nibbling daintily at rough grass, lambs hobbling
uncertainly beside them. In the next field, a cow lifted its amiable head, still munching hay as it stared at me.

The dog waited patiently until I opened the farm gate, and then bounded ahead, leaving me behind.

The two-storey farmhouse must have been a couple of hundred years old. It looked in good repair, with a solid slate roof. Smoke billowed from the chimney. Round about were several old barns and sheds. A couple of pigs spotted me before I spotted them. They snorted loudly, and a little derisively.

My feet squelched into foul-smelling mud. After that I was busy watching where I stepped. From the barn to my left came the bleating of a sheep and a low voice.

‘Hello?’ I peered in, my eyes taking a moment to become accustomed to the gloom. The friendly dog, now without its string, greeted me.

The man, whose wild grey hair sprouted from under his cap, knelt beside the silent ewe. He did not turn his head from the task of sticking his hand inside her as he said, ‘You fetched the dog back?’

Guessing he was not addressing the ewe, I answered, ‘He fetched himself.’

He nodded at the dog. ‘Where was he?’

‘On the bridge.’

‘Not like him to disappear.’ The dog looked from him to me, knowing himself to be the subject of conversation. ‘Come on, old girl,’ he cajoled the ewe. ‘You’re righted now.’ He leaned back on his haunches, wiping his hands on an old cloth. A lamb’s head appeared. We both watched as the lamb squeezed itself into the world. The small creature, its pale fleece striped with blood, struggled to find its feet.

‘I’m looking for Arthur.’

‘Then you’ve found him.’

‘I’m Kate Shackleton, helping Mary Jane Armstrong look into the disappearance of her husband. Sorry, I don’t know your last name.’

‘Thah needn’t bother wi’ that.’

‘Arthur, I believe Harriet came to you in her trouble on Saturday.’

‘Aye, and a right bad turn it gave me when she came with her tale.’

His eyes were on the lamb as it found its feet. ‘I believe she came for Bob Conroy. Was he not here?’

‘She brayed on t’farmhouse door all right and come to me when she got no joy.’ He stood up and stretched. ‘I were milking.’ He gestured at the ewe. ‘This ’int my job. I’m herdsman but it’s that kind of set up here, all turn our hands as necessary.’

‘It was kind of you to go with her.’

‘Course, Ethan weren’t there.’ Arthur took out his pipe as he watched the ewe lick the lamb’s head. ‘I’m glad young Harriet didn’t find Bob Conroy.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Don’t thah know? Bob’s own younger brother Simon met his end in that quarry last lambing time.’

‘What happened?’

Arthur struck a match on a stone. ‘He got word that a lamb strayed into the quarry. It were a Sunday, so no quarrymen about. Simon went on his own, to try and fetch the creature back. Poor man took a terrible tumble. Some are saying it was his ghost that Harriet saw, on Saturday.’

The whiff of pipe tobacco mingled with the smell of hay and muck. I supposed there was no reason for Mary Jane to have mentioned this earlier death. But it made me think
differently about the quarry. Small wonder the children were afraid.

‘Did you see anything at all unusual in the quarry when you went with Harriet?’

He sucked on his pipe. ‘Usual or not I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever passed it by, not gone circulating there.’

‘By the time Mrs Armstrong got to the quarry, the sundial was broken.’

‘Nowt to do wi’ me. Never touched it.’

‘Were you out and about at all on Saturday afternoon, after one o’clock? I’m wondering whether you saw anyone by the quarry.’

‘I saw nowt but cows, ewes and lambs. I’m eatin’, sleepin’ and dreamin’ cows, ewes and lambs. And it’s worse than usual without Ethan strolling up here after he’s had his tea to give us a hand.’

‘Ethan helps on the farm a lot does he?’

‘He does, when he’s not out and about changing the world. And afore you ask, he’s said nowt to me about slinging his hook and I’ve no notion where he might have gone. I only hope Harriet was mistaken.’

‘Did he come here last week to help?’

‘He did come, but not to help. He took it hard when Bob told him he’s sold out to the colonel. Ethan was disgusted that Bob’d given up the farm after all these years.’

Something else that Mary Jane had not thought to mention. I acted as if I knew.

‘When did Ethan find out that Bob had sold the farm?’

Mistake. He clammed up and turned his attention to the dregs of tea in a tin mug, letting on not to have heard me. But I guessed the sale to be recent. Arthur had not yet taken it in. Some new owner may not want the services of an old man.

‘I’m not being nosey, Arthur. It’s just that I want to help Mary Jane find Ethan, if he’s still alive.’

‘I know that, missus.’ He tossed the tea leaves from his mug across the dirty hay.

‘Then let me ask one more question. You said Ethan was here last week, but not to help. Was he here for some other reason?’

Arthur shrugged. ‘He went in the house with yon. Don’t ask me what that was about. Nowt to do with me.’

‘Thank you. I hope things work out for you. Perhaps you’ll stay on when the farm changes hands.’

His mouth turned down at the corners as he gave something like a laugh. ‘The colonel won’t keep it as a farm. We all know what he’ll do.’

‘What’s that?’

If he had heard, he did not answer.

He walked to the cowshed as I approached the house. Last week was a bad time for Ethan Armstrong. His friend sold out to the colonel, no doubt in Ethan’s view a bloated capitalist; he lost a strike vote, and he fell out with Mary Jane. Ostensibly about summat and nowt, as she said. But did she keep a secret from him – such as her bank deposit? If so, perhaps the row was more serious than she claimed.

I knocked on the farmhouse door. It took a minute or so before the door opened. A woman with a friendly smile greeted me warmly. I introduced myself, saying my piece about investigating Ethan’s disappearance.

She stood back for me to step inside. ‘I was expecting you.’

I stepped onto the doormat, trying to wipe my shoes and then deciding that it would be best to take them off altogether.

‘Nay lass, leave thah shoes on. We don’t stand on
ceremony here. We’re used to a bit of muck. Come and sit down. I’m Georgina Conroy.’

She was attractive, but not in a conventional way. The attractiveness came more from her liveliness and her energy, her ready smile. With capable hands jutting from dark sleeves, she reached for a bottle that had a teat attached. ‘Come and sit by the fire and be warm. You can talk to me while I keep yon creature this side of paradise.’

The lamb curled in a box by the fire. Bobbing down, she put the teat to the lamb’s mouth. ‘I can listen and faff at the same time, and I’ll make us a pot of tea in a minute. Eh, it’s a bad business, Ethan going missing. I went down there with eggs this morning, hoping Mary Jane would have news.’

Her attention went to the lamb and for a moment we sat in silence.

Sitting in the comfortable room with its blazing fire, I relaxed for the first time that day. I forgot for a moment that I was supposed to be working. Though the farmyard had a run-down look, this house could not have been a greater contrast. It smelled of freshly baked bread. The black lead fireplace and hearth shone from serious polishing. Gleaming brass pots and warmers hung from hooks on the wall. A blackened kettle sang on the hob.

The flagged floor had been treated with something red, perhaps a bright lead paint, and was strewn with peg rugs of different ages, sizes and colours. The furniture comprised a heavy old oak dresser displaying gleaming crockery, a solid table covered in a practical oil cloth, sturdy dining chairs, and a couple of rockers by the hearth. A smaller scrubbed table stood by the large flat sink.

‘Sorry about this. I’ll give you a cup of tea in a shake.’

‘Not to worry about that. You have your hands full.’

‘Not so full that I don’t mind my manners. But you’re right. Work on a farm is never done. That’s why neither me nor Bob was here Saturday when Harriet come by.’

‘If it’s such hard work, perhaps you won’t be sorry to move on.’

She sighed and looked so full of regret that I felt tactless to have mentioned it.

‘I’ll be right sorry to leave this farm, but it’s been hand to mouth for years, and worse since the tragedy of last year.’

‘That quarry seems an unlucky place.’

‘Aye. Bob were that upset that he wasn’t here for the lass, and just as upset that …’ She paused.

‘What?’

‘Oh nothing. I shouldn’t say. Me and my big mouth.’

Who could be more welcome to a detective than a person with a big mouth? ‘Mrs Conroy, I’m trying to find out what happened on Saturday. If you can help in any way, I’d be most grateful.’

‘Well, Ethan took it badly when Bob told him he was selling up. This farm has been Ethan’s bolt hole when he and Mary Jane didn’t see eye to eye. They fell out about it, and Bob felt right bad. So Bob was dead upset not to have been here for Harriet, as if he’d let Ethan down twice.’

‘Where was Bob that afternoon?’

‘In the far field, clearing a ditch. With the size of this place, it’s all hands to the deck most of the time and we’re coming to the end of the lambing so it’s twenty-four hours some days. I’d gone to check the ewes while Arthur was milking.’ She patted the lamb and stood up. ‘I’ll make that tea now. Arthur will be ready for a cup.’

Through the window, I saw a girl sweeping the yard. She looked as if she ought to be at school.

‘Is that your daughter?’

‘Oh no. I have no children. She’s just a kid that does for me.’

‘She’s very young.’

‘She’s gone thirteen. I keep her out of charity really. I’m sure there’s older lassies in the village would do better, but I can’t turn her out.’ Mrs Conroy tapped on the window. ‘She can have a cup of tea and take some to the men.’

The girl turned quickly. She looked a sullen little thing. A moment later she dropped the broom and came through the door, wiping her feet. She ignored the two of us but went to the lamb, stroked its head and spoke a word or two.

Mrs Conroy called to her. ‘Take out this tray to Arthur, and if you see Mr Conroy let him know we’ve a visitor.’

The girl went out, leaving the two of us at the table. Georgina Conroy returned to the topic of the missing Ethan.

‘I made Mary Jane and the bairns stop here for their dinner on Sunday.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Not that she had much appetite.’

‘That was good of you.’

‘That’s what neighbours are for.’

‘It must have been a hard choice for your husband to sell up.’

‘He’d come to a fork in the road.’ She turned her head, so that I would not see the tears in her eyes. From her apron pocket she drew a hanky and blew her nose. ‘He’s a fine fellow, Ethan Armstrong. A man of principle, even if wrong-headed at times. Bob tried to persuade him to
stand for member of parliament, did you know that?’

‘No.’

‘Ethan came to talk to me last week. It was as though him and Bob had both come to the end of something. Mary Jane and Ethan, they were like oil and fire.’

‘What did he say?’

She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t be fair to repeat it. But he told me he just had to get out of the house. Mary Jane never let up with her dissatisfactions. But then, all these meetings he goes to. If I were Mary Jane, I’d be suspicious.’

Her words gave me an opening. I brought out the newspaper cutting. ‘Does this mean anything to you?’ I passed her the cutting, hating to do it because it was an intrusion into Ethan and Mary Jane’s privacy. If Mrs Conroy talked freely to me, perhaps she would tell all to others. Yet she seemed a decent woman, fond of Ethan, Mary Jane and the children.

A well provided and pleasant lady seeks well provided amiable gentleman with a view to joining lives and fortunes.

Box No. 49

She looked at the cutting. ‘Where did this come from?’

‘Ethan’s suit pocket.’

‘Did you show it to Bob?’

‘I haven’t met your husband yet.’

‘Well, if anyone would know, Bob would, but he’s said nowt to me. I know Ethan has been unhappy, but I shouldn’t think he would answer an advertisement in the press. Besides, it’d be bigamy wouldn’t it? He’s a law-abiding chap, for a revolutionary.’

‘Mrs Conroy, if there’s anything at all – even if it seems
insignificant – that you can tell me, that might help solve this puzzle, please do.’