We were called through to the dining room, where the shooting party was already occupying a long table across the French windows at the rear of the building. I’d been a little dubious about sitting in close proximity to a group that included Matthews and Armstrong, but luckily the landlord had placed us in one of the cubicles near to the bar, where a large wooden partition shielded us from the view of all but a couple of our fellow diners. None of them noticed us take our seats, so we were left in peace to enjoy an intimate dinner. By tacit agreement we didn’t discuss the murder or any of the surrounding mystery as we dined, but instead talked over our plans for the future, which at that stage seemed far more important.
It was only after we’d finished our main course, in which Eve demolished one of the steaks for which the pub was becoming well known, that she noticed those diners that were visible from her viewpoint. I saw her eyes widen with surprise. ‘What’s matter?’ I asked.
‘You know what Mr Calvert told us about that solicitor woman, Ursula Moore, and that man, Bartlett she’s seeing?’
‘Yes, what of it?’
‘I took it with a pinch of salt at the time, but now I can see what she’s doing to him under the table, I believe every word of it.’
‘Why, what is she doing?’
Eve looked around, and saw that nobody could observe us in our sheltered nook. She gave me a mischievous grin and proceeded to demonstrate, under cover of the tablecloth, with her napkin draped over her hand for added privacy. I gasped with delight and astonishment, and have to confess I was more than a little disappointed when the demonstration was over. ‘That’s certainly convinced me,’ I muttered, when I’d recovered my power of speech.
‘That’s nothing, wait until I get you home.’
I was still pondering Eve’s implicit suggestion when we returned to the bar to settle up. Any plans she had to fulfil the promise were deferred as I was paying the landlord and expressing our thanks for the food. I looked up as the door opened, in time to see John Pickersgill enter the pub. He was out of uniform and clearly making a social visit, by the way he sauntered across to the bar, pausing for a friendly word with a couple of regulars on his way.
He greeted us, and I offered him a drink, suggesting to Eve that she might also like a nightcap. Pickersgill agreed, as did Eve, so I ordered a pint for him, a brandy for Eve, and a whisky for me. When he’d collected his beer and drank to our health, Pickersgill asked Eve what she thought of our local.
‘It’s a lovely pub,’ she told him, ‘and the food is excellent. Admittedly the company in the dining room wasn’t exactly to my liking, but that’s not the landlord’s fault.’
Pickersgill raised an enquiring eyebrow.
‘The shooting syndicate from Rowandale Hall,’ I explained. ‘Zeke Calvert made some cutting comments about a few of them earlier. That, added to our previous encounter with Matthews and Armstrong, is what Eve was hinting at.’
Pickersgill glanced towards the corner of the room, where Calvert was studying the dominoes on the table before him. ‘Zeke is somewhat bitter, which is only to be expected, but he’s also fairly accurate as a rule.’
‘He reckons they let him go because he wasn’t up to the job.’
‘Not Zeke, there’s generations of keepers’ blood in his veins. His father was head keeper before Zeke, and his grandfather came to Rowandale Hall from off one of the royal estates. What’s far more likely is that his face didn’t fit with the syndicate members. Not because they’re nouveau riche as such, but because he doesn’t rate their prowess with a shotgun. Unfortunately, Zeke is too blunt to suffer fools gladly, and sees no reason to hold back from expressing his opinion.’
I already suspected that, out of uniform and off duty, John Pickersgill was an inveterate gossip. All it took was a few direct questions from me and some discreet prompting from Eve for him to tell us all he knew or suspected about the members of the syndicate and all the others who were frequenting the Admiral Nelson that evening. From this we learned that Zeke Calvert’s first wife had died in childbirth, leaving him to bring up their son alone. He had done this, and the two of them had been inseparable until the boy was nineteen.
‘What happened then?’ Eve enquired.
‘Zeke got involved with a lass from the village. The inevitable happened and she fell pregnant. She moved in with Zeke and the following day Stan, the son, moved out. Zeke was very upset; he wanted Stan to follow him as keeper to the estate.’
‘What happened to the son?’
‘He went to live in America, or so I heard. Funnily enough, his son leaving brought Zeke and Rupert Latimer closer than they had been before. Both of them had fallen out with their sons, although in Rupert’s case, the split was permanent, because young Brian Latimer died before they could make up their differences.’
‘I heard something about that. In Mexico, wasn’t it?’ Eve asked.
‘That’s right,’ Pickersgill agreed. ‘He was shot to death and his body buried in an abandoned mine. Apparently it was only by chance that it was discovered.’
‘How very sad, and now it looks as if the Hall will pass to new owners. That man Matthews gave the impression that he’d already bought it.’
‘I think he might be jumping the gun there,’ Pickersgill said cautiously.
‘I wondered if that was the case. He seems a bit of a dodgy character,’ I suggested, ‘what does he do for a living?’
‘Matthews is head of a property company in West Yorkshire that specializes in buying up run-down property cheap, spending as little as they can tarting it up, and then renting it out for exorbitant sums to university students and the like. You’re right though, he has an unsavoury reputation, but he’s by no means the only one in that set. His big buddy Derek Bartlett is another. You’ve heard the expression “as thick as thieves”; well; it was never more appropriately used than to describe Matthews and Bartlett. I wouldn’t trust either of them as far as I could throw them. Bartlett owns a company called DB Developments, which is a big civil engineering outfit. They’re involved in everything from motorway construction to water and sewage systems. There’s been some unpleasant rumours about them as well.’
‘Whose idea was the syndicate?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure. Matthews’, I think. He certainly does all the organization, and presents himself at my house before the start of the season with all the syndicate members’ licences for me to inspect. That’s not strictly necessary, but I don’t discourage it. Whether Matthews or Bartlett is the kingpin I couldn’t say. Of course it could be neither of them. The rest of the guns are all well-heeled, and it might not even be a kingpin, it could be a queenpin, if you get my meaning.’
‘You’re talking about the lady solicitor?’ Eve asked. ‘Mr Calvert was gossiping about her and Bartlett earlier.’
Pickersgill gave a wry smile. ‘The one word I wouldn’t use to describe Ursula Moore is “lady”, but I won’t sully your ears with those I would use. She may be a good-looking woman, and she certainly gives the appearance of being sweet and gentle, but don’t let that fool you. Underneath, she’s as hard as nails and ruthless into the bargain. She specializes in criminal work, so teaming up with that lot is natural, I reckon.’
‘She doesn’t look the type,’ Eve murmured.
‘Appearances are deceptive. I’ve a pal in Leeds CID and when I mentioned her name I thought he was going to have a heart attack. Apparently she represents almost every villain in the West Riding, usually successfully. Last year, Leeds had a big fraud case coming to trial just before Christmas. On paper it looked to be open and shut, but when it came to court, several of the prosecution witnesses suddenly developed amnesia, and the case got thrown out. After that, one of the detectives nicknamed her “Satan’s Little Helper” and it stuck. My pal commented that it was strange, because her partner, Rhodes I think his name is, specializes in civil law, and he’s reckoned to be as straight as a die.’
Something Pickersgill had said rang a bell faintly in my mind, but it would be several days later that I remembered, and had chance to test my theory out. ‘Are the rumours about her and Bartlett correct, do you think?’ Eve asked.
‘I can’t say so for certain, but I think they must be, judging by the evidence. Not that I blame him. As I said, she’s a good-looking woman, and if you’d seen Bartlett’s wife, you’d understand why he would be tempted to stray.’
‘What’s wrong with his wife?’ Eve’s curiosity made me smile. Her obvious fascination with gossip meant she was sure to fit in well around Laithbrigg.
‘It’s difficult to know where to begin, to be honest. I only encountered the woman once. When the syndicate was being formed. Bartlett brought his missus here for a meal and the landlord had to very tactfully suggest that she shouldn’t return.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Her behaviour was atrocious. I’d brought my wife here. It was our anniversary and we were in the dining room at the same time as them. I didn’t see all of it, but my wife witnessed it, and got abused for the privilege.’
‘What happened? What did the woman do?’
‘First of all she ordered two starters and polished them off in record time. Prawn cocktails, as I remember; and she also ate almost a full loaf of bread. Watching her eat almost put me off my food, and that takes some doing. She was more like a pig at trough than a human being. Then she ordered a big T-bone steak, plus two helpings of chips and vegetables and cleaned them up in record time. Any normal person would have been struggling after that, but she then ate two huge slices of Black Forest Gateau to finish with.’
‘Crikey, she must be built like a house side,’ I murmured.
‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you, but she isn’t, quite the opposite. She’s like a stick insect. If she turned sideways you’d miss her. Added to that she has a face like one of Barbara Lewis’s horses.’
‘How on earth does she eat all that and still not put weight on?’ I wondered.
‘Ah, well, now we’re coming to the point. My wife went to the ladies and Mrs Bartlett was in one of the cubicles. She was sticking her fingers down her throat to make herself sick. My wife asked if she was all right, or if she could help in any way, and all she got was a torrent of foul language. She was in tears when she came out, which was when I complained to the landlord. He had a word with Bartlett. Apparently it’s some sort of disease she’s suffering from.’
‘It’s a symptom of a condition they call anorexia nervosa,’ Eve told us. ‘I read an article about it recently. Apparently a lot of the top models suffer from it as a result of continuously dieting.’
‘Anyway, her behaviour goes a long way to explaining why her husband has taken up with Ursula Moore.’
‘What about Armstrong?’ I asked. ‘Zeke gave the impression he has no experience of keeping.’
‘Zeke’s a bit prejudiced, but to be fair he isn’t too far wrong. Armstrong was under-keeper to an estate in Cumbria before he applied for this job. I understand he was fired because he was useless and lazy.’ He paused for a moment, before adding, ‘At least, that was the official reason given, but my sources tell me the true explanation is that he was caught having it off with the wife of one of the guns.’
‘Not the most sensible of career moves. Just out of curiosity, how did you come by that information?’
John laughed; he obviously thought my question was naive. ‘I told you, I make it my business to find out all I can about anyone who comes to live on my patch. It goes with the job.’ He gave me a sly grin, ‘That includes the two of you.’
‘But I don’t live here,’ Eve objected, ‘I’m only visiting.’
‘Really? That’s not how I read the situation.’
‘What makes you think different?’
He looked at Eve for a moment before replying. ‘For one thing, there’s the fact that Adam drove you to catch the London train on Monday and you were back on Saturday along with a mound of luggage that suggested you were moving in. I was at Dene Cottage when Sherpa Bailey here was struggling with the load. Then you came for a romantic dinner here, and just watching the way you look at one another I can tell you’re very much in love. And if that wasn’t sufficient proof, there’s that sizeable rock on the third finger of your left hand. I think it’s so obvious that even a numbskull like Ogden could work it out, given time.’
‘And what did you find out about me?’ Eve demanded.
John smiled. He leaned forward and whispered something in Eve’s ear. She burst out laughing. Maddeningly, neither of them would repeat the remark that had caused her amusement.
After a while, as I suppose was to be expected, the conversation turned to the murder. ‘I’ve been given strict orders not to interfere,’ Pickersgill told us. ‘Ogden said in no uncertain terms that when he wanted my advice he’d ask for it, and unless and until he did, I wasn’t to meddle in things I know nothing about. Technically, I’m off the case. Which means that it has little chance of being solved.’
‘As you’re no longer on Ogden’s Christmas card list, I think I should tell you he came to search Dene Cottage.’
‘Am I surprised? Did he think you were hiding Mrs Lewis under your bed?’
‘Something like that.’ I thought John was going to choke on his beer when I told him of Eve’s assault, both verbal and with the dining room door.
‘It’s a shame it didn’t hit him on the head,’ John said, as he drained his glass. ‘Might have knocked some sense into him.’ He headed for the bar and refilled our glasses.
When he returned, I asked him, ‘Do you remember you told me that Matthews and Armstrong had gone to the station and given statements about witnessing Lewis’s encounter with Barbara and the tramp the previous Sunday?’
‘I do; what of it?’
‘That would be why Ogden searched my cottage, believing Barbara is a suspect.’
‘Aye, you’re probably right.’
‘But how did they know he was dead? It hadn’t been on the news at that point and even when it was, the identity wasn’t revealed. That means someone leaked the information. Either that, or they know far more about Lewis’s murder than they’ve disclosed.’
‘I knew Ogden would mess it up. Now you can see why I asked you to help.’ He looked from me to Eve. ‘What do you say? Will you look into it? Strictly off the record, of course.’
I waited for Eve to answer. ‘I don’t know,’ she said after a long pause. ‘Last time anything like this happened, Adam did his best to get us both killed. I don’t want to push my luck.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re safe,’ Pickersgill reassured her.
We returned to Dene Cottage long after closing time; and much later than we’d intended. We were both a little bit tipsy and very amorous. At some point during the night, Eve whispered, ‘I think we should get a puppy.’
‘A puppy? Why on earth do you want a puppy?’
‘It isn’t for me really, although I would like one. I read somewhere that if you get a puppy and bring it up along with the children it is good for both of them.’
‘Hang on, we haven’t got any children.’
Eve put her arms around me, pulling me close. I didn’t object. ‘No, not yet, but the way things are going, it shouldn’t be long.’
‘Do you want children?’
Eve thought for a moment before replying. ‘I never did. I used to watch Harriet’s kids growing, and thought that was nice, but it didn’t awaken any yearning for my own. Now, I can’t think of anything more exciting than having our child growing inside my womb.’
It was then I put my idea of the extension to Dene Cottage to her. ‘Oh, Adam, I’ve been meaning to mention it. I thought exactly the same. It would be ideal. A terrific place to raise a family.’
Anyone watching our antics next day might have had cause to doubt our sanity. To the casual observer, it must have seemed that Eve and I were taking it in turns to march around the garden of Dene Cottage attempting to emulate the exaggerated strides of some foreign army parading for the glorification of their dictator. In fact, what we were doing was trying to calculate how much space we had for the extension we’d agreed on, and to visualize what effect the proposed additional structure would have on the appearance of the building and how it sat in its surroundings. Fortunately, passers-by in that area were a rare event, especially in winter, so we were able to complete the exercise undisturbed.
By late afternoon we had even progressed far enough to have a rough sketch of how the property might look. This was purely down to Eve’s artistic prowess, a talent I was unaware she possessed. Left to me, the drawing would have been a disaster, as I’m unable to draw a straight line without the aid of a ruler. Our preoccupation with our own plans for the future hadn’t caused us to ignore our concerns over Barbara’s prolonged absence, and our disquiet had only been marginally eased when we’d visited the stables again, earlier in the day.
The senior stable lad greeted us with the news. ‘I had a note from the boss. It were stuck through our letterbox sometime during the night.’ He scratched his head, no mean feat for someone wearing a flat cap. ‘She must have sneaked up to the house right quiet, because my dog didn’t make a sound and he usually kicks up a rumpus at the slightest noise. Anyroad, she said she’d be back here tomorrow.’
‘Do you have the note with you? Can I see it?’ Eve asked.
He fumbled in several pockets before producing a crumpled piece of paper. The jagged edge suggested the page had been torn from a book. Eve examined the note carefully before passing it to me. ‘That’s definitely Barbara’s handwriting. There’s no mistaking it. See that swirl round the letter B. She’s been doing that ever since third form, despite the teacher telling her off about it.’
‘At least we know she’s all right.’
As I spoke, I turned the paper over. One glance at the back of the page caused alarm bells to ring in my mind, but I decided against voicing them. I didn’t think it right in front of Barbara’s employee, for one thing, and besides, I didn’t want to worry Eve. I was happy to concede that Barbara had written the note of her own free will, but I couldn’t for the life of me work out what she was playing at. Another concern that crossed my mind was that, although I had a shrewd idea who had provided the paper for her to write on, where was she? I opted to remain silent, in the hope that when Barbara returned the next day she would provide the answers to at least some of those questions. However, that hope went unsatisfied for a while longer.