DESPERATE FOR FRESH AIR and some semblance of normality, I walked up and straight out the front of the school – and almost into the arms of the law.
Bernhard was still there with his clipboard. He was talking to the two policemen who had arrived earlier. He seemed to be directing them towards the beach. I was not inclined at that moment to speak to them, or indeed to anyone else, so I hung back until they passed.
‘Ah, Sefton,’ said Bernhard, spotting me. ‘All well?’
‘Yes, all fine,’ I said. ‘All fine. The police, they’re here to … ?’
‘I’m not sure. Something to do with Founder’s Day? They’ve seen Alex. They are looking for the headmaster.’
‘Very good,’ I said. ‘And you don’t know where Alex is?’
‘He was here a moment ago.’
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it.’
‘I’ll see you later, at the speech?’
‘Yes, of course.’
The lorries were still being unloaded of their tables and chairs and I strode briskly up the lane towards the farm buildings where I had spent the previous night. I was going to smoke, perhaps take a few photographs, clear my head, and forget about the morning’s grisly events. I was tired of people – all of them, the living and the dead. Mrs Standish. The headmaster. Alex. The dead boy. Everyone.
Just before the farm buildings there was a gate on the right into a field and at the gate were gathered a trio of forlorn-looking farm labourers, and Mr Gooding, with an expression of gap-toothed despair.
‘Good morning, Mr Gooding,’ I said. ‘Gentlemen.’ One of the labourers I recognised as Abednego, the man who had been out watching the school the night before.
Mr Gooding looked at me uncomprehendingly, as if he’d never seen me before.
‘Stephen Sefton,’ I said, ‘you’re kindly putting me up, in the farmhouse?’
Mr Gooding continued to look blank and forlorn, just as the headmaster had looked on the beach. The gathered labourers looked at me suspiciously, and in utter silence.
‘Father’s lost a donkey,’ said Abednego eventually.
‘Lhost a donkey,’ said Mr Gooding.
‘Oh dear. I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Lhost a donkey,’ said Mr Gooding again.
‘You’re sure you’ve lost it? Don’t they wander, donkeys?’
‘Not our donkey,’ said Abednego. ‘He’s been safe tethered in that field for thirty years.’
‘It’s them boys,’ said one of the other men. ‘Stuck-up bunch of good-for-nothings, the lot of them.’
‘Well, I’m sure they’re not all—’ I began.
‘What would you know about it?’ continued the other man. ‘We never had any trouble before the school came. I tell you what I’d do if I got my hands on one of them. I’d—’
‘Bhoys!’ said Mr Gooding.
‘Sorry, we’ve not met,’ I said to the angry man, trying to calm things down. ‘My name’s Stephen Sefton. And you must be …’
‘Shadrach,’ he said.
‘Meshach,’ said the other.
‘And Abednego,’ I said. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘We’ve never lost a donkey before,’ said Abednego. ‘In all our years.’
‘And you’ve been here a long time?’ I asked.
‘We’ve been farming here sthince the Chivil War,’ said Mr Gooding.
‘And this was always a good farm,’ said Shadrach.
‘And good land,’ said Meshach.
‘And we never had any trouble,’ said Shadrach. ‘It’s them bloody boys.’
‘Forgive his language,’ said Abednego.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘He wasn’t sick, your donkey? They’re not like elephants, where they—’
‘There wasn’t nothing wrong with my donkey.’
‘Father took him to Sidmouth every summer, for the children,’ said Abednego.
‘He was a good donkey,’ said Mr Gooding. ‘Didn’t take much to look after him. Half an ounce of tobacco to get him moving and a half-pint of cider when he’d done. Children loved him.’
‘We lost a goat last month. And then the chickens. And now the donkey. What’s next?’ said Meshach.
‘You want to take some photos of this,’ said Shadrach, nodding towards my camera, stepping away from me, turning and pointing behind him towards a large empty donkey field, and beside it a chicken run, protected by wire, which was entirely empty of chickens. ‘Plymouth Rocks, Minorcas, Brahmas, Dorkings – good all-round fowls. And they’re all gone! Gone, the lot of them. Go on! Take a photograph of that!’
I wasn’t sure that it would make a particularly interesting photograph, but nonetheless I took up my camera and was about to take a few photos of the missing hens when there came the characteristic sound of the Lagonda: ‘the call of the wild’, according to Miriam; ‘the sound of a puma’, according to Morley. I turned to see the car coming thundering up the lane.
Miriam was at the wheel and I was astonished to see that sitting in the passenger seat beside her was Alexander, a homburg mounted on his head like a helmet. I recognised an excuse to get away from my donkey conversation with the labourers and went to wave Miriam down – ‘Sorry, gentlemen,’ I said, ‘I’ll be back in a moment’ – but at the sight of me Miriam showed absolutely no sign of stopping. Instinctively, before I knew it I found myself in the middle of the lane, making it impassable, with Miriam violently honking the horn and the vehicle continuing to bear down upon me.
I stood my ground. Miriam looked at me. And I looked at her. She blinked first. The car came to a halt a mere three or four inches from my chest.
I took a deep breath of relief.
‘Going for a spin?’ I asked, when Miriam turned off the engine.
‘And what business is it of yours?’ she demanded.
‘Is it not rather …’ irregular, I was going to say, but everything at Rousdon was beginning to strike me as irregular. In the context of the morning’s events, Miriam’s driving around with a married man was perhaps not the strangest thing that could have happened, but it seemed disturbing and inappropriate nonetheless. Not least because Alexander surely had important police business to attend to.
‘Miss Morley expressed a desire last night to see the caves at Beer,’ said Alex.
‘The caves at Beer?’
‘Indeed. And I happen to have some business in Beer this morning so I thought I might ask her to accompany me there. Instead, she has very kindly agreed to take us both in the Lagonda.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, Sefton, really,’ said Miriam. ‘Now—’
‘But what about—’ I began.
‘The other matter is already in hand, thank you, Mr Sefton,’ said Alex, glancing away.
‘What other matter?’ said Miriam.
‘Just, preparations for Founder’s Day,’ said Alex.
‘Very good,’ I said.
‘If you wouldn’t mind letting us past then, Sefton. We are of course deeply touched by your concern and interest, but—’
‘But shouldn’t you really be here?’ I said, still standing firm round at the front of the car. ‘Helping … Mr Morley prepare for this afternoon? Rather than going on a jaunt?’
‘First,’ said Miriam, clearly getting ready to refute and rebut. (I had long since learned to recognise the signs of her refute and rebut manner, a manner that involved a pursing of the lips, a twitching of the nose, and a very slight but nonetheless discernible tossing of the head.) ‘As well you know, Sefton, Father requires very little assistance. And second, it is not a jaunt we are embarked upon. It’s for the book. It is educational. And so, if you wouldn’t mind …’
‘Everything’s in hand and under control,’ said Alex, staring ahead. ‘Everything in hand and under control,’ he repeated.
‘There, you heard X,’ said Miriam, smirking.
‘X?’
‘Alex,’ she said. ‘Everyone calls him X.’
‘Really,’ I said.
‘Everything’s in hand, Sefton. And under control. Did you want anything else?’
‘Actually,’ I said, stepping round towards the driver’s door.
‘If you wouldn’t mind excusing us for a moment, Alex – X – Mr Standish? I wonder if I could have a word, Miriam?’
‘About?’ said Miriam.
‘It’s a … personal matter, actually.’
‘Really!’ said Miriam. ‘A “personal matter”? I do sometimes wonder who brought you up, Sefton. It is really the height of bad manners. I’m sure that whatever it is you need to “have a word” with me about can wait till later, and in the meantime …’ and she went to switch on the engine.
‘No,’ I said, grabbing her wrist as she was about to turn the key in the ignition.
‘Sefton! Take your hands off me!’
‘Sorry. I—’
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’
‘Actually,’ I said, changing tack, ‘I thought I might come with you.’
‘To the caves?’
‘Yes. I’ve heard so much about the caves at Beer.’
‘Well, thank you but no thank you,’ said Miriam. ‘No need. We’ll be fine.’ She moved to switch on the engine again. And I grabbed her wrist again. She glared at me. And I stared at Alex, who was staring straight ahead.
‘For the book,’ I said. ‘I really must take some photographs of the caves at Beer, for the County Guides.’
‘Inside the caves?’ said Miriam. ‘They’ll not be very interesting photographs, will they?’
‘They are very dark,’ said Alex.
‘Exactly,’ said Miriam. ‘They’re caves, Sefton. Dark caves. You don’t have any lighting equipment with you, do you? Not that I’m aware of.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘But I rather thought … Outside the caves. That would make a wonderful photograph, I think, wouldn’t it?’ The hesitation seemed to have secured my passage. I opened the back passenger door of the Lagonda and leapt into the back. ‘Let’s go then,’ I said.
Miriam glanced around and glared at me. Alex glanced at her. She started the engine, and we sped off down the lane, Mr Gooding, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego staring after us.
‘Really, Sefton,’ called Miriam from the front, ‘your quarrelling and tiresomeness is quite appalling.’
‘Don’t mind me though,’ I called from the back. ‘You just carry on there. Imagine I’m not here.’
‘Really!’ began Miriam again, clearly about to launch into another series of complaints.
‘Actually, you are very welcome to join us,’ called Alex from the front. ‘It’s probably wise to take three, in case one of us gets lost.’
‘Do people get lost?’ asked Miriam.
‘It’s certainly happened before.’
‘I would love to get lost!’ said Miriam.
‘I’m sure,’ I said.
Miriam glanced around again and gave me another of her stares. ‘I do hope you’re not going to be a killjoy. Sefton is a terrible killjoy, I’m afraid, X.’
‘I’m sure he has his reasons.’
I leaned forward to touch Miriam on the shoulder. ‘Miriam, I do wonder if we might have a word.’
‘Not now, Sefton. My God, man, will you not take no for an answer?’
I cleared my throat. ‘In private. It’s a rather … thorough conversation.’
‘A thorough conversation? Certainly not! Never!’
We continued in this back and forth bickering manner, with occasional contributions from Alex, all the way to Beer, through narrow lanes shadowed by the great dark trees that stood weeping and brimming over the roads.
Beer itself, I must admit, was rather an idyll: fringed with thatched cottages leading down towards a tiny harbour, several of the cottages displaying examples of intricate lacework in their windows and outside.
‘Oh, how delightful!’ said Miriam, spotting the lacework. ‘It’s absolutely exquisite!’
‘Queen Victoria’s wedding dress was made here,’ said Alex.
‘Really?’
‘Or Honiton.’
‘Gateway to the south,’ I said.
‘Here or Honiton,’ continued Alex.
‘Perhaps both?’ said Miriam.
‘Precisely,’ said Alex. ‘The true origins and whereabouts of the making of Queen Victoria’s wedding dress are rather like tales of the origins and whereabouts of the relics of Christ, I fancy.’
‘Ha, ha, ha, ha!’ snorted Miriam, unnecessarily.
‘It was said, I think, to have cost a thousand pounds.’
‘Worth every penny, I’m sure,’ I said.
‘Ignore him,’ said Miriam. ‘He’s just trying to be provocative.’
Unlike Miriam, I was not trying to be provocative.
A swarthy-skinned woman who looked like a gypsy, or a Spaniard, was sitting outside one of the cottages and waved to us as we approached, clearly recognising Alex. She was smoking a small clay pipe, and wore an intricately embroidered shawl.
‘If you might stop here,’ said Alex.
‘Certainly,’ said Miriam.
‘I’ll only be a moment,’ said Alex, getting out of the car. This was my opportunity. ‘A word then, Miriam, if you don’t mind,’ I said.
‘Oh, Sefton!’ said Miriam. ‘Absolutely not!’ And she leapt up from her seat, and went to join Alex and the woman.
I sat, stranded rather, in the car. There was some kind of exchange between Alex and the woman, with Alex possibly handing over some money, though with no noticeable exchange of any goods. And as Alex had promised, the exchange, whatever it was, was over in moments, and he and Miriam returned to the car.
‘They’re terribly skilled lacemakers,’ said Miriam.
‘Really?’ I said.
‘They’re producing some work for the school,’ explained Alex.
‘Lace?’ I said. ‘For a boys’ school?’
‘They do work of all kinds,’ said Alex. ‘Sewing, embroidery. We could stop and look around the village at some other examples, if you’d like’.
‘Oh yes, let’s!’ said Miriam.
‘We do have to be back at the school by lunchtime,’ I cautioned.
‘Will you ever stop being a killjoy?’ asked Miriam. ‘Particularly when I’ve asked you not to.’
‘I’m just saying that we need to—’
Alex consulted his watch. ‘Actually, Miss Morley, Mr Sefton might be right.’
‘I do hope not. How tiresome. Surely we have enough time, don’t we? The caves are not far, are they?’
‘There’s an entrance to the caves about a mile along the road here,’ said Alex. ‘But once we’re there some of the passages to the larger chambers are rather long. And torturous. And treacherous.’
‘Well, I certainly don’t mind torturous and treacherous,’ said Miriam. ‘Do you, Sefton?’
I coughed loudly.
‘We should probably press on,’ said Alex.
‘I blame you,’ said Miriam, to me.
‘I do think you’ll enjoy the caves,’ said Alex.
‘I’m sure I will,’ said Miriam, clambering back into the Lagonda.
‘They’re really quite extraordinary. I think I can safely say that you will never have experienced anything quite like the caves at Beer.’
‘Beer: Cliff and Cove’