Dying Fall, A (36 page)

Inside, a long trestle table is filled with food and drink. Nelson moves forward, remembering what Ruth told him about Cathbad’s cooking. To his disappointment, though, breakfast is light on bacon and heavy on things like kedgeree and grapefruit compote. Across the room he can see two of the druids tucking in with a vengeance. He takes a roll and some cheese and then, on second thoughts, goes back for a Danish pastry. Might as well make the most of the last days before his traditional post-Blackpool diet.

‘Detective Inspector Nelson.’

It’s the blonde woman, Elaine Something, who was mixed up in the Clayton Henry murder. She is rather inappropriately dressed in a flowing dress and shawl and has a look in her eyes which Nelson privately characterises as ‘bonkers’. Nothing that Sandy has told him about the history department makes him revise this judgement. Sam Elliot seemed to spend most of his time dressing in women’s clothes, Elaine and the others were all members of some loony sect that danced on the hills at night pretending to be King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. He remembers Clayton Henry bouncing around his converted windmill on a giant rubber ball. It’s not exactly a good advertisement for higher education.

‘Hello,’ he says now, warily.

‘I’m so pleased to meet you,’ says Elaine. ‘Ruth has told me
all
about you.’

Nelson glances at Ruth who is standing by the door to the garden talking to Cathbad. Cathbad is holding Kate, looking for all the world as if he is her father. Nelson suppresses his irritation, knowing that he’s not in a position to object. He doesn’t believe Elaine’s statement anyway. Ruth never tells anyone
all
about anything.

‘I love Ruth,’ Elaine is saying. ‘She’s such a warm, caring person.’

At that moment, Ruth looks over and catches Nelson’s eye. She sees Elaine and raises her eyebrows. Warm and caring are not the words that spring to mind.

‘She has her moments,’ says Nelson.

‘You know she’s found King Arthur’s bones? She’s going to do a full investigation. King Arthur will live again!’

She raises her glass of orange juice and looks more unhinged than ever.

‘And you don’t mind what colour he turns out to be?’ asks Nelson drily.

‘Oh no,’ says Elaine. ‘That was Sam, not the rest of us. We never got involved with that side of the White Hand.’

Nelson, remembering some of the things that Sandy told him about the group’s activities, is not convinced by this airy disassociation. From what Ruth says, Elaine suspected that the White Hand were behind Dan Golding’s death. This must mean that she knew exactly what kind of organisation it was. All the same, the arrest of Sam Elliot has meant that Sandy and Tim were at last able to infiltrate the group. With any luck, that will be the last of the Neo-pagans at Pendle University. Maybe, without their baleful influence, Elaine will be able to live a normal(ish) life.

‘And I’m in AA,’ she is saying, waving the orange juice. ‘Guy and I are thinking about getting married.’

Nelson hasn’t met Guy but he knows what his advice to him would be.

‘Congratulations,’ he says. ‘Excuse me. I must go and talk to a friend.’

Ruth and Cathbad are looking out into the garden. There is still a neat trench where Arthur’s skeleton was excavated. Ruth looks at it with pride. Tomorrow, she’ll be back in Norfolk and she can start preparing for a new term. She’ll have a lot to do, writing up the case of the Raven King, but she’s determined to do more real archaeology. Maybe she can bring a team up to Ribchester.

‘Looking forward to going back?’ asks Cathbad, displaying a flash of his old sixth sense.

Ruth smiles. ‘Well I can’t wait to see Flint again. And I’d like to see something of Shona before the end of the holidays.’

‘Give her my love.’

Ruth looks at him. ‘You’re not coming back, are you?’

Cathbad shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry, Ruth.’

‘Are you going to live here? In Dame Alice’s cottage?’

‘Yes. I like this house. It has good energies.’

‘Despite . . . despite what happened here?’

Cathbad pats Thing, who has come galloping through the hedge to his side. He is trailing mud and hawthorn branches but Cathbad doesn’t seem to mind.

‘Yes. I feel Pendragon is at peace. We set his soul free this morning. I think that he wants me to live here.’

‘Won’t you be lonely?’

Cathbad smiles. ‘No. I’ll have Thing, and Guy thinks he’ll be able to find me a job at the university. Besides, I like solitude, as you know.’

‘What about Judy?’

Cathbad is silent for a moment, stroking Thing, who has his eyes shut in ecstasy. ‘I’ve got to give her a chance to make it work with Darren. It would be impossible, with me being in Norfolk. I wouldn’t be able to keep away.’

‘Even if Michael is yours?’

Cathbad smiles again, but sadly. ‘Children don’t belong to us but to the universe.’

Ruth looks at Kate, who is now sitting on the grass pulling up daisies. She may belong to the universe, she thinks, but she’s mine for now and I’m going to keep her close for as long as possible. To her embarrassment, she feels tears coming to her eyes.

‘I’ll miss you,’ she says.

‘I’ll miss you too,’ says Cathbad, ‘but you can come and visit. And there’s always our psychic connection.’

‘And Skype.’

‘Skype too has its place in the universe.’

‘What has its place in the universe?’ Nelson looms behind them. ‘Should Katie be sitting on the ground, Ruth? It might be wet.’

Ruth ignores him. ‘Cathbad’s staying in Lancashire,’ she says.

Nelson nods and Ruth realises that he already knew. ‘You’re a lucky man,’ he says. ‘Ruth and I have got to go back to God-forsaken Norfolk.’

‘Oh, I don’t think God has forsaken you yet,’ says Cathbad.

‘You sound like my mother.’

Cathbad brightens. ‘I hope to see a lot of Maureen while I’m living here. It’ll make me feel closer to you, Nelson.’

Nelson and Ruth go into the garden. Kate comes running up to them and Nelson lifts her onto his shoulders. Max does that, thinks Ruth. She realises that she hasn’t thought about Max for days.

‘It’s been a funny sort of holiday for you,’ says Nelson. Ruth thinks about finding Clayton’s dead body, about seeing the cloaked figure on the riverbank, about the terrible moment when she thought that Kate was going to die. Then she thinks about the sand on Blackpool beach, about the donkeys, about sailing artificial rapids in a pink plastic boat.

‘We’ve had some good times,’ she says.

‘And you’ve made a big archaeological discovery. It could make you rich.’

Ruth grins. ‘Archaeologists never get rich but it could be good for my career, that’s true.’

‘And what about us?’ asks Nelson.

Ruth looks away. ‘There is no us, you know that.’

‘You don’t believe that.’

Ruth turns back to him. Since she has known Nelson, his hair has grown greyer and the lines about his mouth more deeply etched. Knowing that she loves him makes it somehow easier to say what she has to say.

‘You would never leave Michelle,’ she says. ‘And I wouldn’t want you to.’

‘Really?’

‘Really,’ she lies. ‘I’ve got my life, you’ve got yours.’

‘Your life, does it involve that Max fellow?’

‘No,’ says Ruth, thinking that this decision must really have been made long ago. ‘My life is just me and Kate and Flint.’

Nelson looks as if he is about to speak, but in the end he just smiles and, with a flourish, takes Kate from his shoulders and hands her back to Ruth.

Most of the places in this book actually exist. The Pendle Forest and the Pendle witches are real enough, though Dame Alice and her cottage are imaginary. Pendle University is also fictional. Blackpool and the Pleasure Beach certainly exist in all their glory. Thanks to Katie Stainsby for the information about Blackpool Pleasure Beach. All the rides mentioned in book, with the exception of the Raven Falls, can be found at the Pleasure Beach, although the events described are entirely fictional.

This book is set in 2010, when Blackpool had just been promoted to the Premier League. The statue of Jimmy Armfield at Bloomfield Road was not actually unveiled until May 2011 but I hope Blackpool fans will forgive this slight distortion of the facts. I just wanted Nelson to be able to talk to his hero.

Thanks to Matt Pope for telling me about the world of the Neo-pagans, though the White Hand are (thankfully) fictional. Thanks to Andrew Maxted for the archaeological information, though I have only followed his advice as far as it suits the plot and any subsequent mistakes are mine alone.

Special thanks to Michael Whitehead for the Blackpool background. This book is for him and Sarah and for my father-in-law, John Maxted.

Thanks, as ever, to my editor, Jane Wood, and my agent, Tim Glister. Heartfelt thanks to everyone at Quercus and at Janklow and Nesbit for working so hard on my behalf.

Love and thanks always to my husband Andrew and to our children, Alex and Juliet.

EG

January 2013

1

‘And we ask your abundant blessing, Lord, on these, the outcast dead . . .’

There is a murmured response from the group gathered on the bank below the castle walls. But Ruth Galloway, standing at the back, says nothing. She is wearing the expression of polite neutrality she assumes whenever God is mentioned. This mask has stood her in good stead over the years and she sees no reason to drop it now. But she approves of the Prayers for the Outcast Dead. This brief ecumenical service is held every year for the unknown dead of Norwich: the bodies thrown into unmarked graves, the paupers, the plague victims, forgotten, unmourned, except by this motley collection of archaeologists, historians and sundry hangers-on.

‘Lord, you told us that not a sparrow falls without our Father in Heaven knowing. We know that these people were known to you and loved by you . . .’

The vicar has a reedy hesitant voice which gets lost before it reaches Ruth. Now she can only hear Ted, one of the field archaeologists, giving the responses in a booming baritone.

‘We will remember them.’

She doesn’t know if Ted has any religious beliefs. All she knows about him is that he was brought up in Bolton and may or may not be Irish. If he’s Irish he’s probably a Catholic, like DCI Harry Nelson who, however hard he denies it, has a residual belief in heaven, hell and all points in between. Thinking of Nelson makes Ruth uncomfortable. She moves away, further up the hill, and one of the people gathered around the vicar, a tall woman in a red jacket, turns and smiles at her. Ruth smiles back. Janet Meadows, local historian and expert on the unnamed dead. Ruth first encountered Janet over a year ago when examining the bones of a medieval bishop believed to have miraculous powers. It was Cathbad who put Ruth in touch with Janet and, even now, Ruth can’t believe that her druid friend won’t suddenly appear in the shadow of the castle, purple cloak fluttering, sixth sense on red alert. But Cathbad is miles away and magical powers have their limitations, as she knows only too well.

Words float towards Ruth, borne on the light summer breeze.

‘Remember . . . lost . . . gone before . . . heavenly father . . . all-merciful . . . grace . . . forgiveness.’

So many words, thinks Ruth—as she has thought many times before—to say so little. The dead are dead and no words, however resonant, can bring them back. Ruth is a forensic archaeologist and she is well acquainted with the dead. She believes in remembering them, in treating their bones with respect, but she doesn’t expect ever to see them again, carried heavenwards on clouds of glory. Unconsciously, she looks upwards at the pale blue evening sky. It’s June, nearly the longest day.

A loud ‘Amen’ from Ted signals that the service is at an end and Ruth walks towards the knot of people sitting or standing on seats cut into the grassy bank. She approaches Ted but sees that he’s talking to Trace Richards, another of the field archaeology team. Trace’s aggressively alternative appearance—purple hair, piercings—belies the fact that she’s from a very wealthy family and has, in fact, just got engaged to a prominent local businessman. Ruth has never really got on with Trace so she veers off at the last minute and finds herself next to Janet.

‘I like this service,’ says Janet. ‘We
should
remember them, the ordinary people. Not just the kings and the bishops and the people rich enough to build castles.’

‘It’s one of the reasons I became an archaeologist,’ says Ruth. ‘To find out about how ordinary people lived their lives.’ She thinks of Erik, her ex-tutor and mentor, saying, ‘We are their recorders. We set down their daily lives, their everyday deeds, their hopes and dreams, for all eternity.’ But Erik is dead now and his hopes and dreams are forgotten, except by those people, like Ruth, whose lives he has marked for ever.

‘You’ve been digging at the castle haven’t you?’ says Janet.

‘Yes,’ says Ruth. ‘Right near here, by the entrance to the cafe.’

‘Find anything?’

‘We think we’ve found the bodies of some prisoners who were executed.’