The Drowned Village, page 9
‘Something important, got to keep it hidden,’ Isaac muttered.
‘What is it, Pa?’ Isaac certainly seemed agitated about this thing, whatever it was.
‘A tin. Got precious things in it.’
‘Ah, Pa. You’re muddled about the tin in Martha Atkins’ grave I was telling you about. That’s been taken off to the police. It’s not in your cottage.’
But Isaac was shaking his head. ‘Not that tin. ’T’other one. Tea caddy, it is. Got to keep it safe. Where’s safe in your house? Hidden, I mean. Got to keep it hidden.’
‘I’m sure we can find a hiding place, Pa.’ Jed tried to make Isaac walk on. What on earth was he talking about? Jessie was out of sight down the lane, probably already back at their home. At least he hoped she was, and not hiding in some other cottage, playing a trick on him. Now really wasn’t the time for those kinds of games.
‘Go back, fetch it now, lad. ’Tis under my bed, there’s a loose floorboard, and ’tis hidden under there. Fetch it now. I won’t rest easy till it’s with me again.’
Jed shook his head. ‘Right now, Pa, I need to get you safely back to my house, and then I need to find Jessie, and then I can go back and fetch your things. I don’t know what this tea caddy is you’re talking about. I don’t remember ever seeing it.’
‘Kept it hid, didn’t I? Kept it hid from you and your ma. Not something I’m proud of.’
‘What’s in the tin, Pa?’
Isaac set his mouth in a tight line. ‘Nowt you need to know about, lad.’
Jed sighed. He clearly wasn’t going to get any sense out of Isaac now. Well, one thing at a time, and the priority now was to get everyone safe inside his cottage. ‘Come on, Pa. Nearly there. Sooner we’re there the sooner I can go back for your things.’
Thankfully at that moment Stella appeared, walking up the lane from the direction of their house, home from school, leading a dripping-wet Jessie by the hand.
‘Hello Pa, hello Grandpa. Found Jessie sitting in a puddle. Everything all right?’
‘It is now you’re home, lass,’ Jed said with a smile. ‘Take care of Jessie while I help Grandpa, will you? He’s moving in with us.’
It was two days later that the police called on Jed in his workshop. There were two – a detective sergeant, a red-faced man in his middle years, and a constable, young and fresh-faced. The sergeant introduced himself as DS Theakston. ‘Mr Walker? We are enquiring as to the whereabouts of your father, one Isaac Walker. He’s not at his home.’
‘No, he doesn’t live there any more,’ Jed replied warily, although he knew only too well what it was they wanted Isaac for.
‘Do you happen to know where he lives now?’ Theakston said, pulling out a notebook and pencil.
‘Aye, I moved him in here with me a few days ago. He’s old and frail, and needs help with day-to-day things – getting dressed, eating, going to the privy. Poor old Pa.’ Jed shook his head sadly. It wouldn’t hurt to have the police feel pity for Isaac before they began questioning him. The constable gave him a half-smile as though he sympathised but Theakston gave him a sharp look in return.
‘Is he here now? We need to speak with him.’
‘Wait here. I’ll see if he’s available.’ Jed hurried through from the workshop to his cottage, closing the door behind him. He did not want the police to follow. Better to have a few moments with Isaac to prepare him.
The old man was sitting where Jed had left him that morning – dozing on the chair brought from his cottage, by the kitchen stove. Jessie was playing at his feet, her toys strewn across the floor. Stella was at school. ‘Pa? The police are here to see you.’ Jed spoke urgently.
Isaac awoke with a start. ‘The police? What are they wanting with me?’
‘It’ll be about those jewels found in Martha Atkins’ grave. Remember I told you about them. You dug the grave, so they’ll want to ask how the jewels got in there.’
Isaac looked confused for a moment, then nodded. ‘Aye. I remember. You told me to say it were Fred Thomas.’
‘I didn’t tell you to say that! You said it was him, and I advised you to get your story straight before they came. They’re here now.’
There was a tap on the door before Jed could say anything more. He wondered whether Theakston and the constable had overheard anything. Well, if they had, there was not much he could do about it. He opened the door and the policemen entered, looking all around them as they came in, fingering the pans and plates on his dresser, running their fingers across the table surface. Jed felt oddly violated.
‘Mr Isaac Walker?’ Theakston addressed the old man, while the constable took a seat, uninvited, at Jed’s table and pulled out his notebook.
‘Aye. Who’s asking?’
‘Detective Sergeant Theakston, of the Westmorland police. You were, I understand, the principal gravedigger at St Isidore’s Church, Brackendale Green, around the year 1895?’
‘Aye.’ Jed watched as Isaac’s mouth set into a firm line.
‘And you’d have dug the grave of –’ Theakston consulted his notes – ‘one Martha Atkins who died in July of that year?’
‘Mebbe. I can’t remember.’
‘Mr Walker, in early July of that year, a robbery at Brackendale House was committed. Mr Edward Pendleton reported a break-in while he and his wife were away. The thieves knew exactly what they were looking for and took some very valuable jewellery. Perhaps you remember this event?’
‘Can’t say as I do,’ Isaac said, shaking his head. ‘Were a long time ago.’
‘Really?’ Theakston said, raising his eyebrows. ‘But our records say that you were questioned about it. Besides being the gravedigger here, you also worked as a part-time gardener up at Brackendale House. All the staff there were questioned, including you, and their lodgings searched, as the assumption was that it must have been someone with access to the house who knew it would be empty on that night.’
‘Excuse me, sergeant,’ Jed interrupted, ‘but if my father was questioned and eliminated from inquiries back in ’95, why are you asking him about it again now?’
‘No one was convicted of that theft and the jewels were never found.’ Theakston puffed out his chest as he continued speaking. ‘Until now. A box containing the jewels was found in Martha Atkins’ grave. You, Mr Walker, had firstly the opportunity to commit the robbery and secondly –’ he counted off on his fingers – ‘the means to hide the proceeds of the theft in the open grave you’d dug.’
Jed shook his head. ‘Daft place to hide something.’
Theakston glared at him. ‘I assume there’d been an intention to go back and dig them up again, once enough time had passed.’ He turned to Isaac. ‘Is that right?’
The old man folded his lower lip over his upper one, as though buttoning his mouth.
Theakston sighed theatrically. ‘Well, the jewels have been identified as those belonging to the Pendleton family, and you have been identified by an eyewitness as having dropped the bundle into the open grave on the night following Martha Atkins’ funeral . . .’
‘Who saw me?’ Isaac blurted out. Jed rolled his eyes at this – it was as good as an admission of guilt.
‘Susan Atkins. So you’re admitting you threw the bundle in the grave?’
‘That Susie’s a simpleton. You can’t take her word for owt,’ Isaac said.
‘She knows what she saw. She’s completely certain of it. Did you throw the bundle in? Mr Walker, we can arrest you on suspicion of the theft and continue this conversation at the police station in Penrith, if you’d prefer. Tomorrow, after a night in the cells. Maybe that would help you to remember.’
Jed gasped. ‘You can’t threaten him like that. He’s an old man, infirm, as you can see. Barely able to walk.’
‘Able to remember though, I’ll warrant.’ Theakston folded his arms.
Jed stared at his father. Now was the time, if he wanted to save himself, to mention Fred Thomas’s name. But would he? Or would he remain loyal to his old friend, even if it meant taking the blame himself? Jed realised he could not guess what Isaac would do. You can know a man all your life, and yet not be able to predict what he’ll do when put to the test.
‘So, Mr Walker, you put the jewels in the grave, but was it also you who stole them from Brackendale House? This is your last chance to tell us the truth, before I have you taken to the station at Penrith.’
Isaac opened his mouth to speak, and Jed found himself holding his breath. Whatever he said, this was going to change everything.
Chapter 9
LAURA
There was no way she could call Gran back until she’d charged her phone. Gran had sounded so upset. Perhaps it was better not to ask her any more about her lost sister just yet. Give her a chance to calm down a little. Laura looked at her watch. The campsite reception opened in half an hour so she could leave her phone there to charge. And Gran’s carer, Sophia, would be due to call on her about now anyway.
It was yet another glorious day, with not a cloud in the sky. Laura smiled as she stuck her head out of her tent and looked around. The perfect day for a climb up to a summit or two. And better still, she would not be by herself, but was going with Tom. As long as she remembered to drink enough water to cope with the heat, it promised to be one amazing day. In any case, it wouldn’t be as hot on the tops of the fells.
She hummed to herself as she dressed, and on an impulse decided to go and buy a cup of tea and a bacon sandwich from the campsite office rather than bother firing up her camping gas stove. She had to go over there anyway to put her phone on charge, and to order a round of sandwiches for her lunch.
Tom’d had the same idea, it seemed, for he was also in the campsite office ordering a breakfast bun.
‘Morning! Did you sleep well? Great day for our walk up the ridge, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘Fabulous day. You’ll have to show me on the map what route you’re suggesting.’ She loved maps – following the contours, trying to visualise the lie of the land from its two-dimensional representation.
‘Will do. Bring your breakfast over to my tent and I can show you while we eat?’
She smiled. ‘OK, you’re on.’
Tom’s tent was twice the size of hers, and much better quality. She felt almost ashamed of her cheap festival tent, but after all she had bought it in a hurry. She’d carried over her tea and sandwich, and he pulled out a sleep mat for her to sit on to eat, while he spread the map on the ground.
‘So, we’ll start by driving round to the car park at the head of Brackendale, then we’ll take this path around the end of the lake and up that ridge. Should be great views looking back, of the dried-up reservoir and remains of the village. That path brings us to the top of Bracken Fell, and then we can stay high and follow the path over Brown Pike and Berefell and then down via this gully.’ He pointed it out on the map. ‘There’s normally a gushing waterfall here, flowing into the Bere River that feeds the reservoir, but it’ll be only a trickle at the moment. We can then follow the stream right back to the car park.’
‘Sounds like a great walk,’ Laura said, peering closely at the map. A long one, she thought, but she was up for it.
‘We could, I suppose, start from here by going over the fells via the Old Corpse Road and down to the Brackendale car park from there, but we’d have to do that climb in both directions.’
‘No, let’s drive round to the start. I don’t want to be worn out before we even get to the track we’ve planned to do!’
‘OK.’ Tom was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Weird name for a footpath, isn’t it – the Old Corpse Road? Wonder why it got that name?’
Laura grinned, happy to be able to answer this one, as she’d wondered the same thing after her first walk and had looked it up online. ‘Centuries ago, before there was a church in Brackendale Green, they used to carry their dead via that track down to the church in this valley for burial. There are flat stones set along the way where they used to rest the coffins.’
‘So we’ve both probably got some earlier ancestors in the churchyard here in Glydesdale then?’
Laura nodded. ‘Yes, I reckon so. I quite fancy poking around there some time and seeing if I can spot any Walker graves. That was Gran’s maiden name, by the way.’
‘Well, let’s do it. Later today if we have the energy? Or tomorrow. I’ll look for Earnshaw and Atkins graves. I like old graveyards. There’s something so peaceful and timeless about them. All those souls, sleeping for ever. Have you finished your tea? We should get going – try to get up onto the ridge before the day gets too hot.’
Laura gulped the last of her tea and nodded. ‘Yep, give me a couple of minutes to pack my rucksack and close up my tent, and I’ll be ready.’ She jogged over to her own tent and gathered together the things she’d need for a day in the mountains. With not a cloud in the sky it seemed mad to pack a mac and a survival bag but you never knew what might happen and her years of experience wouldn’t let her set foot on the hills without being well equipped. She tugged on her walking boots, tied her hair in a ponytail and at the last minute remembered to ram a sunhat firmly on her head. With two large water bottles filled, her sandwiches packed and phone collected from the office, she zipped up her tent and walked back over to Tom.
The car park round at Brackendale was almost full, as more and more people had come to explore the ruins of the village. An enterprising ice-cream van had set up at the end of the car park and was doing a roaring trade already, even though it was not yet ten o’clock. Laura fought off the urge to suggest they buy one, and followed Tom as he set off on a path that would normally be hugging the lakeside. It was already hot, and she fervently hoped there’d be a bit of breeze when they reached the ridge. After a little while the path turned away from the lakeside and began to climb, up through thigh-high bracken which was prematurely brown and withered due to the drought. The path underfoot was rock-hard, and the air smelt of dried earth. The land was crying out for rain, Laura thought. The weather forecast was predicting a few more days of sunshine, then an area of low pressure would bring rain. Well, she’d enjoy the weather while it lasted. And enjoy present company, she thought, enjoying the sight of Tom’s broad shoulders and taut buttocks climbing the path ahead of her. He was definitely a well-built man.
Tom didn’t stop until the path reached a rocky outcrop which they had to scramble up. He paused at the foot of the crag and pulled out his water bottle. She was sweating and panting as she reached him, but exhilarated by the physical activity and enjoying every moment. She took a long drink from her own bottle, and he watched approvingly. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to make the mistake of not drinking enough again.’
‘Good. You all right with a bit of scrambling? If not, there’s another path going round that avoids this bit.’
‘I love a bit of scrambling,’ Laura replied.
‘Right then! Onwards and upwards.’ He grinned, tucked his water bottle back into a side pocket of his rucksack and led the way. The first few moves on the crag needed hands on – a big step up, pulling on a jutting-out piece of rock that was just the right height to make a perfect handhold. Then a shuffle along a ledge, a short clamber, and a shimmy up a little gully. It was hard work but hugely enjoyable, and Laura felt almost disappointed when she came out at the top of the gully to realise that was the top of the crag, and from there they would rejoin an easy path across a patch of dried-up marshland, before reaching the main part of the ridge.
‘Worth having a look at the view back to the valley from here,’ Tom said, nodding in the direction of the lake behind them.
Laura turned to take it in. The whole of Bereswater Reservoir was laid below them, two-thirds of it completely dried out, with only a small lake remaining behind the dam. From here, as with the view from the other side on the Old Corpse Road, you could see the layout of the whole village and the old road that ran through the valley. A small stream trickled though the middle, joining the remains of the lake.
‘It must have been so beautiful before it was flooded,’ she said.
‘Yes, but now, when the reservoir is full, it is just as gorgeous. Possibly more so,’ Tom replied. ‘It’s definitely one of my favourite valleys. This and Wasdale.’
‘I love Wasdale too.’
‘Your favourite?’
She thought about it for a moment. Dramatic Wasdale, with its deep lake, steep screes and imposing mountains – was it her favourite? ‘Actually, I think I like Ennerdale best because it’s so unspoiled. You have to walk or bike into it, and you really feel you’ve got away from it all.’ She fell silent, enjoying the peace of the mountains, and thinking about how good it had been to get away this week. Gran had been right. She’d badly needed a holiday, and now that she’d been away a few days and was relaxing into it, she was beginning to realise how tautly wound up she had been. This holiday was healing her, and could be the start of a new, Stuart-free phase of her life. Although receiving those darned texts from him the previous night had not helped.
Tom was looking at her quizzically. ‘What do you need to get away from, Laura? You’re looking thoughtful.’
‘Ah, the usual. An ex,’ she replied, as she began walking along the path. If she was going to talk about Stuart she’d rather do it as she walked than while looking into Tom’s eyes in a crowded pub.
‘Oh. Who ended it, him or you?’
‘Me.’ Laura walked a few steps further before continuing. ‘I found him in bed with someone else.’
‘That’s shit.’
‘Yes. It was my bed. And my best friend he was with.’
‘What a bastard.’ Tom shook his head.
Laura found she appreciated his solidarity. ‘Well, that’s what I thought. So I dumped him, dumped my friend who happened to be our flatmate as well, packed a bag and moved out. That’s why I live with my gran now. There was nowhere else to go at short notice.’
