A Cotswold Ordeal (3 page)

‘What?’ she said.

‘The cat. Julia’s Siamese. Unless I’m very mistaken, he’s lying dead on the road, two or three hundred yards that way.’ She pointed eastwards.

‘Oh Jesus!’ said Thea, feeling suddenly sick. ‘Are you sure?’

‘You’d better go and see for yourself.’

The woman did not offer to accompany Thea on her unpalatable quest. ‘You can’t miss it,’ she said, before getting back into the car. ‘It’s just around the corner.’

‘Can’t you show me?’

At last a smile flickered on the broad face. ‘I would if I could, but I’m in rather a rush. You’ll be all right.’

It seemed an odd thing to say. ‘Will I?’ she wondered.

The woman turned the key in the ignition and then seemed to reconsider. Without turning the engine off, she leaned out of the window. ‘Listen – I’ll be free after lunch. I’ll come back then and we can have a talk, if you like. It must feel rather odd, being alone in a strange house. And you won’t have bargained for dealing with a dead cat.’

Thea was rueful. ‘No. But I can hardly complain about any of the other aspects, can I? I knew what it would be like. And I’ve got the dog.’

‘So shall I come back or not?’

Thea looked into the greenish eyes that awaited her reply, seeming to say it wouldn’t much matter either way. If Thea declined the offer, she felt there’d be no hard feelings. ‘Yes, do,’ she said. ‘I’ll have coffee on.’

The cat’s body was limp and muddy and still not quite cold, the pelvic area crushed. Thea slid it into the plastic carrier bag she’d equipped herself with before walking down the lane. The creature’s lips were drawn back in a rictus of suffering that filled Thea with pity and rage and rank despair. ‘Carnage,’ she muttered to herself. The word embraced a bitter pun she had been aware of since her husband had been slaughtered in a road accident. Human or animal, to die at the wheels of a motor vehicle was to pay a sacrificial price accepted almost calmly by the population at large.

‘Now what?’ Thea asked Hepzibah, who was as always only a few yards away. ‘Better get you off the road, before you’re splattered as well. Come on.’

But before they’d got any distance there was a voice calling from a gateway further down the lane. ‘Hello! Has something happened?’

The gateway opened into a modest cottage garden with low-growing plants and a scrap of lawn. Behind it stood a classic Cotswold dwelling in the usual pale stone, flanked by trees.

A young woman stepped out into the lane, and Thea stayed her ground. ‘I’m the Phillipses’ house-sitter,’ she said, raising her voice to cover the distance. ‘I’m afraid I’m off to a bad start. Poor Milo’s been run over. It must have happened only a short time ago – he’s still a bit warm.’

The reaction was dramatic. Covering the ground between them at a run, her mouth widened in a sob, the woman positively shrieked. ‘Oh God, no! Let me see. Oh!’

‘You must be Frannie,’ Thea guessed. ‘Julia said he visited you a lot.’

‘Yes, yes, Frannie Craven. Oh Lord, this is terrible. What’s Robert going to say? He’ll think it’s all my fault. Poor Milo. I can’t bear to look at him!’

Thea had opened the carrier bag to reveal the contents. Frannie reared back in horror. ‘How did you find him?’

‘A woman called Cecilia Something came to tell me.’

‘Bloody cars. Nothing’s safe, is it. You’d think on a quiet little road like this…’

‘Right. But you know – cats do dart out at just the wrong moment.’ Why am I defending the motorist, she demanded of herself.

Frannie was not swayed. ‘Have
you
ever killed a cat?’

‘No.’

‘Neither have I. It’s bad driving, I don’t care what you say.’

‘So why will Robert think it’s your fault?’

Frannie clasped her hands together and jittered on the spot. ‘He says I shouldn’t encourage him to come over to us. He doesn’t like cats much. And the
boys
! They’ll be devastated.’ Her wide blue eyes
gazed into Thea’s. She was blonde and slight and about thirty. Just the sort to have a bossy husband, Thea noted to herself.

‘Boys? You mean yours?’

‘Oh, no.’ Frannie put a hand over her mouth. ‘I haven’t got any.’

‘Julia’s two Harrys, then?’

‘Actually…well, yes, that’s right. The boys love Milo. He’s a sort of mascot to them.’

‘Well, it’s done now. I’d better bury him, I suppose.’

‘You
can’t
. Not without asking Julia where she wants him. They’re away for a fortnight, aren’t they?’

Thea nodded. ‘Maybe I could put him in a freezer or something.’

‘In with the
food
?’

She wasn’t at all sure she liked this Frannie. The overwrought responses to everything she said were beginning to irritate.

‘I expect I could clear a compartment. And wrap him up well.’ Absently she reached into the bag and stroked the dense creamy fur. It had been a very beautiful cat. She turned to go when a man came out of the house and walked towards them, his face framing intense curiosity.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Oh, Robert. This lady’s the one Julia’s hired to look after their house. I’m sorry – I don’t know
your name? She’s just found Milo, look. He’s been run over.’

‘My name’s Thea Osborne. I only arrived yesterday. This isn’t a very good start, is it.’

Robert was a lot older than his wife. He looked to be in his early forties. He did not seem the least bit distressed at the death of the cat. In fact, Thea noted, he almost shrugged.

‘We’ll be late, Fran, if you don’t get a move on.’

‘Oh, sorry.’ Frannie threw Thea a glance full of helpless excuse.
He’s a man, how can I withstand
his instructions?
‘We’re going to see Robert’s mother today and he likes to make an early start,’ she explained. ‘Even though it’s only a few miles away.’

‘Well, nice to meet you,’ Thea said.

‘And I’m terribly sorry about poor Milo.’

‘Oh, well, at least it’s not the pony,’ Thea said, without really thinking.

‘Don’t count your chickens,’ said Robert with a slight snicker that put Thea completely off him.

The immediate dilemma, once she got back to the house, was whether to tell Julia and Desmond what had happened. Her strong inclination was to leave them in cheerful ignorance, since there was nothing they could do. On the other hand, if it had been her in their shoes, she would want to be kept informed. If (fingers crossed, God forbid) anything happened
to Hepzie, she would want to be told instantly. There was something dreadful in allowing a person to continue to assume all was well when it wasn’t.

But Julia had given unambiguous instructions on this topic, albeit more by implication than direct speech. Only if a grim decision was required concerning Pallo should they be troubled. Otherwise it was down to Thea to use her best judgement. And the burial of a cat could wait. There was plenty of space in the large chest freezer housed in the barn that doubled as garage, general store and all-round useful space.

‘Well, at least I’m meeting the neighbours,’ she said, congratulating herself on finding a bright side to the sorry start to the day. And when she went to check on the pony, he stretched his neck towards her, wrinkling the soft floppy lips that for Thea were the best feature of the equine species, and snatching the carrot she proffered. The energy he displayed seemed to Thea a good omen for his survival.

Cecilia Clifton returned on schedule, just as Thea was making coffee in a machine identical to the one she had at home. She heard the car, but was too slow to prevent Hepzie rushing out and leaping at the woman as soon as she was accessible.

‘Get down!’ she shouted, pushing the spaniel away.

‘Gosh, sorry,’ said Thea, wishing for the millionth time that everybody else loved dogs as much as she did. ‘She thinks you’re an old friend, you see.’

‘Her nails are dreadful.’

‘You don’t have to tell me. I’m trying to cut them, one or two at a time. She absolutely hates it, so it’s rather a battle.’

‘Would you like me to hold her while you do it?’

Thea knew she ought to agree to this offer. ‘That’s ever so kind, but somehow I’m not in the mood. You wouldn’t believe how it upsets her. And after Milo… Well, I can’t face it, to be honest.’

Cecilia nodded accommodatingly and Thea warmed to her. ‘What did you do with the body?’ Cecilia asked.

‘Put it in the freezer. According to Frannie Whatnot, that’s a very insensitive thing to do.’

‘Oh, Frannie. Take no notice of her. She’s bonkers.’

‘Really?’

‘Not certifiable, but inclined to excessive emotion.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Thea with a laugh. ‘But what about that Robert? Are they married?’

‘Oh, yes. Biggest wedding around here for years. He’s from an old Chalford family. His granddad was a manager in one of the mills. Frannie’s not the partner anybody envisaged for him, but after a disastrous first marriage in his twenties, I think the family was grateful that he finally seems to have
settled down again, even though she is so young.’

‘No kids?’

‘Not yet, but I gather they’re working on it. Robert’s mum is the matriarchal type and so far there’s just one granddaughter, born to Robert’s little sister. And she lives in York.’ Thea had the impression there was more family information itching to be disclosed, but Cecilia evidently decided she’d imparted quite enough.

‘Do you know the family histories of everybody here?’ Thea prompted.

‘Not the incomers, and that’s most of them. But I get around, you see, and people talk to me. Now I’m retired, I’ve really thrown myself into community matters.’

‘Like the WI, you mean?’

Cecilia’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Certainly not! Listen, the Cotswolds is virtually the only area of southern England where there’s still a chance – a slim one, admittedly, but not completely gone – to stem the tide of urbanisation.’

Thea gulped at this. ‘Oh,’ she managed. ‘Good for you.’

‘It’s a full time job, let me tell you. Everybody thinks their little bit of desecration will go unnoticed, won’t make a difference, they can dodge the regulations and guidelines. But we’re winning.’ Cecilia paused with a smirk of satisfaction. ‘We are definitely winning.’

‘Well,’ Thea asserted, feeling like some sort of Girl Guide, ‘you can include me on your side. I’m all for conservation. My husband—’

Cecilia gave her no chance to finish. ‘Let me show you around, while you’re here. We’ve got a lot to be proud of.’

Thea nodded, struck dumb by such enthusiasm.

The woman went on. ‘Not that this is a wholly rural area, of course. It actually has quite a strong industrial history, just across the river from here. It’s hideous new homes and misguided attempts to attract tourists that we mainly object to.’

Thea found her voice, explaining that she was quite well apprised of the past glories of the region.

Cecilia laughed delightedly. ‘Well, you are a find, to be sure. Such genuine interest is hard to come by.’ She paused, before adding, ‘Would you like me to show you around? What are your interests? I can do you wild flowers, William Morris, clothmaking, canals, architecture, railways, local personalities…’ She ticked each topic off on her fingers.

Thea’s eyes widened. ‘Are you proposing to give me a tour, or just a lecture?’

‘Either. Both. Chalford’s just over there, as I expect you know. It’s almost a ghost town now, compared to how it was less than a century ago. I never get tired of roaming its streets, imagining how it must have been. A veritable hive of industry it was.’

‘Clothmaking?’

‘And the rest. Dyeing, weaving, wood-turning, bone-turning…’

‘What?’

‘It’s true. One of the mills was converted into a bone-turning works for a while. They made bone knitting needles and crochet hooks.’

Thea gulped half her mug of cooling coffee. Her lifelong knack of slipping into a different historical period had taken over. From the kitchen window at the back of Juniper Court, the slopes of Chalford were faintly visible. It did not look like a busy mill town, but with some imaginative exertion, she could visualise the streets full of workers thronging to enter the mill gates before the appointed time. Hooters would summon them from their gossip and hurried shopping forays. It was a scene more associated with Yorkshire than south Gloucestershire.

‘And what’s that place up there?’ she asked, pointing at the settlement across the valley.

‘Oakridge. Nice little village, though I hardly ever go there. Looks its best from over here, quite honestly.’

‘And what about the canal? According to my map, it goes right through the woods between here and Daneway.’

Cecilia’s pause was long enough to be meaningful. ‘There’s a terrible lot I could tell you about the canal,’ she said, eventually. ‘It might be best not to get me started on the canal.’

Thea seldom thought of herself as contrary or unduly argumentative, but this remark was entirely too provoking to ignore.

‘But it’s the canal that interests me most,’ she said. ‘Believe it or not, my dissertation for my degree was on English canals and railways. The period from 1870 to 1890, when the railways were in full swing, and stealing all the business from the canals. You might say I have a special interest.’

Cecilia sighed. ‘I might have known it. But there isn’t a lot to see. They haven’t even started on any restoration along this section, although they’re talking it up and trying to raise money. It’s going to be a massive job, if they ever do knuckle down to it.’ Her face darkened. ‘And that’s rather a big if, the way things are going. Besides, there’s obviously nothing I could tell you. Why don’t we pop along to Daneway instead? Did you know that William Morris had a house there? Quite a few houses in the area go back to the Arts and Crafts movement. We could walk from here, through the woods.’

‘How far is it?’

‘Barely two miles.’

‘Each way?’

Cecilia nodded. ‘Why? What else do you have to do?’

Thea wriggled her shoulders. ‘Not a lot, really. It’s just – the weather, for a start. It’s going to rain, by the look of it.’ She couldn’t have stated precisely
why she felt a reluctance to embark on a woodland walk with this woman, other than a sense of being bulldozed into too sudden an intimacy. The walk would lead to tea and cakes, in all probability, and beyond. It was Sunday, she remembered. Why did Cecilia not have a family to spend the day with? Was she so lonely she had to descend on a temporary stranger for company?