The Kaiser's Gold Page 8

  Eve was remorseless. ‘No, we don’t. Now out!’ she thundered.

  As we watched their car pull away, my arm was around Eve’s waist, and I could feel her shaking with suppressed laughter. Once they were out of sight she gave into it.

  ‘Oh, I did enjoy that,’ she said after she recovered. ‘I was about to come down when the bell rang. Ogden has a very loud voice, so when I heard him order the boy upstairs and you didn’t object, I knew you were up to some mischief, so I took my blouse and jeans off and waited, ready to scream.’

  She paused and looked at me. ‘You were dead right, Adam, the man’s an idiot.’

  ‘It’ll be interesting to hear what John Pickersgill makes of this fiasco. I only hope Ogden doesn’t blame him for it.’

  Although the episode with Ogden had been entertaining, it did nothing to advance our knowledge of the case. ‘As the police obviously haven’t a clue what’s going on, I reckon we should try and find out by other means. Do you fancy dining out tonight? The Admiral Nelson has a good restaurant, and they do an excellent steak.’

  ‘How will that help us? Not that I’m averse to you buying me dinner.’

  ‘If anyone knows what’s going on around here, it’ll be the locals in the pub. John Pickersgill reckons they’re better than the KGB at obtaining secret information.’

  ‘OK, why not.’ She glanced at me slyly, ‘Is this just an excuse for you to show me off?’

  ‘There is that as well. Then they can all see how lucky I am.’

  At the time, it seemed that the plan was little more than a long shot, but as it transpired, visiting the pub proved to be a momentous decision.

  It was only a few minutes after seven o’clock when we entered the bar of the Admiral Nelson, but although the pub had only been open a short while, the room was already busy. The locals, many of whom had undergone years of training to become seasoned drinkers, had been augmented by a sizeable contingent of new recruits, almost all of whose faces were unfamiliar to me.

  As we waited by the bar for service, I got into conversation with Henry Price, our local milkman, whose wife had discovered Lewis’s body. Naturally, I enquired about her wellbeing after such a shock.

  ‘Aye, she were right shaken up by it, I can tell you,’ Price replied. He shook his head, ‘Couldn’t get a word out of her all that day and t’ next as well. I were beginning to think I’d gone deaf.’ He paused and added, ‘Anyroad, she’s back to normal now; talking t’ hind leg off a donkey. I reckon she’s making up for lost time.’

  ‘Who are all these people?’ I gestured to the far end of the room, where the strangers had congregated. They had formed a defensive, tight-knit circle. It reminded me of how the wagon trains protected themselves from Red Indian attacks in the westerns I’d watched as a boy.

  ‘Shooting syndicate from t’ Hall,’ Price replied succinctly. ‘Although judging by what Zeke Calvert says, maybe missing syndicate would be nearer t’ mark. He reckons wildlife around here is safe from extinction as long as that lot are their only threat.’

  ‘Do you know any of them?’ By now I’d recognized two of them: Walter Armstrong and Trevor Matthews, both of whom we’d encountered at Linden House. I mentioned this to Price and was rewarded by a scornful laugh from my right.

  ‘Armstrong! Calls hissen a keeper? That idle sod couldn’t keep hens, let alone pheasants.’

  I turned, to find Ezekiel Calvert standing alongside me, an empty pint glass in his hand. I’d just succeeded in attracting the barmaid’s attention, so out of courtesy; I offered to buy them both a drink. Neither refused, and as the girl filled our glasses I introduced Eve to them. I added an explanation for her benefit. ‘Ezekiel used to be keeper on the Rowandale Hall estate, but he was replaced by Armstrong, hence his jaundiced opinion.’

  Calvert’s eyes gleamed appreciatively as he shook Eve’s hand. ‘Nowt jaundiced about it. Armstrong knows bugger-all about gamekeeping. He has no idea how to raise pheasant poults, or how to incubate the eggs. And hasn’t a clue how to manage release pens, or keep the young birds safe from foxes and other predators. He doesn’t know the first thing about vermin control or woodland management, and his knowledge of fieldcraft wouldn’t cover my thumbnail. Even if you wrote it in massive letters,’ he added.

  Calvert paused, but only to take a sip from his newly replenished pint. ‘Mind you, it doesn’t matter to that lot if the pheasant stock has gone down by nearly half. It just means they get to spend less on cartridges. The reason for the decline in pheasant numbers has nowt to do with their supreme marksmanship.’

  ‘They’re not very good shots, then?’ Eve enquired.

  ‘You’re joking, Miss Eve. Most of them couldn’t hit a barn door with a twelve-bore, even if they were leaning on it. The only two amongst them who are half-decent shots are that tall bloke in the corner and the slip of a lass standing alongside him.’

  Calvert gave us a sly grin. ‘Shooting isn’t the only thing they have in common, either. Luckily, I don’t think his wife knows owt about the cottage on Rowandale Moor. Tucked away down a little lane; out of sight of prying eyes. A right cosy little love nest.’

  I could tell Eve was fascinated by this glimpse into local scandal and gossip, so I asked, ‘Who are they?’

  ‘His name’s Derek Bartlett. He’s got summat to do with property in Leeds. Her name is Ursula Moore. She’s a solicitor. You wouldn’t think so to look at her, but they reckon she’s a holy terror in court. You want to hear what Johnny Pickersgill has to say about her–if you can put up with the swearing.’

  ‘Zeke’s right about the cottage,’ Price confirmed. ‘She phones me whenever they’re about to use it, which is most weekends during the winter, whether there’s a shoot on or not. I have to deliver milk from the Friday right through to the Monday. There’s always just the two cars parked outside, his and hers, but the curtains are kept drawn and there’s never a sign of life. I collect the empties on Tuesday and the money is always there, plus a bit of a tip. To this day I’ve never seen either of them at the cottage; but for the cars, I wouldn’t know they were there.’

  Calvert sniggered. ‘Well, I have. Seen them, I mean. When folk want to be private, they should shut curtains at t’ back of t’ house as well as t’ front. They must think nobody ever goes up on t’ high moor.’

  ‘And what were you doing up there?’ Price asked.

  ‘Poaching, of course. A man’s got to feed hissen and his family. The wife’s partial to a bit of grouse. I were that distracted I nearly went home wi’ an empty game bag. I’ll tell thee summat, the way those two were going at it they could teach rabbits hereabouts a trick or two.’

  ‘What about Armstrong, then? If he’s as useless as you say, how did he get the job? Surely they must have asked for references before they took him on.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Calvert shook his head. ‘I’ve never heard of probation officers providing references.’

  Price took issue with him. ‘Now, Zeke, you know that isn’t true.’

  ‘Ah, well, he’s from Manchester, so it might be. One thing I do know, there’s no pheasants around there.’ Calvert paused, ‘Or maybe his fancy bit of stuff got him the job.’

  ‘Who might that be?’ Price got his question in before I had chance.

  ‘I’ve no idea what her name is. Quite a glamourpuss though, and she drives a fancy sports car.’

  ‘What, like that one Lewis had?’

  Calvert shook his head in reply to my question. ‘No, a smaller one, with a lower body. Can’t remember the name.’

  ‘Why did they replace you?’ Eve changed the subject.

  As we waited for Calvert to respond, I noticed Price wince slightly, but the reply was understated, calm even. ‘They reckoned I wasn’t presenting enough birds for their liking. I could have done, but the truth was I couldn’t be bothered. I did the first couple of times, but when they came back empty-handed I lost interest. Everything was different in the old days. The men Mr Rupert invited could shoot.
In the height of the season we’d usually have more than a hundred birds in the bag by the end of the morning drives. This lot were lucky if they managed a dozen. Those birds were the unlucky ones. By the time it came to the afternoon session, a lot of birds were queuing up to fly over them because they knew they were safe. The others couldn’t take off because they were too weak from laughing.’

  ‘That’s hardly Armstrong’s fault, though, is it?’ As she spoke, I wondered if she was provoking Calvert on purpose. His comments were certainly entertaining.

  ‘It is if he’s not prepared to walk through the forest. The birds will soon learn they’re safe so long as they don’t venture too near the edge. I don’t think he’s walked all the way through since the day he started.’

  ‘Why not? I thought that was part of his job.’

  ‘It should be, Miss Eve, but I guess he’s frightened. That forest is a bit scary. Who knows, maybe he’s worried that the babes will get him. Sometimes, I wish they would.’

  ‘The babes?’ Eve asked, her face a mask of innocence.

  Calvert looked at her for a second; then glanced at me. ‘Haven’t you told her about the babes?’

  ‘I didn’t know about them. I only heard about them a few days ago. And I did tell her.’ I nudged Eve in the ribs to make her behave herself.

  ‘I forgot you’re not locals. What did you think when you heard the tale? Do you reckon it’s just a fairy story, like some people round here believe?’

  ‘I’m not sure; it certainly sounds unlikely.’

  ‘Aye, well, unlikely or not, there are plenty believe in the babes, and are less than keen to catch sight of them.’

  ‘What’s your opinion?’ Eve asked.

  ‘It isn’t an opinion. I know the babes are real. I’ve seen them.’

  Even Price was startled by Calvert’s admission. He looked at the keeper accusingly. ‘Are you making this up, Zeke? Fancy yourself guiding ghost hunters through the forest, do you?’

  ‘It’s true, I tell you.’

  ‘Then why haven’t you said anything before now?’

  ‘For the very reason that you doubt me now, Henry. If I went around telling folk I’d seen three children covered in blood, children that disappeared into thin air as I got close to them, folk would think I was off my rocker.’

  ‘When did you see them; or think you saw them?’ Price persisted.

  Calvert was silent for a moment. ‘It’d be five, maybe six years ago. Two days after I saw the babes, I got a letter from my nephew in New Zealand, telling me my sister and her husband had been killed in a road accident.’

  Once again, I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. There was a long silence before Price asked, ‘Whereabouts did you see them, Zeke?’

  The tone of Price’s question had changed, the disbelief now absent, reflecting the legend that the babes foretold bad tidings.

  ‘In the forest, of course, they were standing by the edge of one of them coal pits near the Silent Lady.’ Calvert saw my puzzled expression. ‘The Silent Lady is a waterfall. It’s where Thorsgill Beck tumbles off the high moor and runs through Rowandale Forest. Nearby there they used to dig for coal and stuff in ancient times. Because the waterfall is right in the heart of the forest, the vegetation is dense, muffling the sound of the water, hence the name, the Silent Lady.’

  ‘It’s very unusual to have a waterfall where you can’t hear the sound of the water,’ I commented. ‘I’ve stood near Niagara Falls and almost been deafened by the noise.’

  ‘Aye, well maybe it’s because it’s unusual to find a silent lady that they gave it the name.’

  At that moment, we heard Calvert’s name called. He looked round towards the corner where the dartboard was. ‘I’ll have to go. I’m next up on the oche. Nice to meet you, Miss Eve.’

  When Calvert was out of earshot, I asked Price, ‘What do you make of that?’

  ‘I’m astonished on two counts. First off, I’m staggered that Zeke came out with that tale about the babes. Second, I’ve not heard him talk so much in front of strangers before. I think that might be Miss Samuels’ doing. Zeke always did have an eye for beautiful ladies.’

  Eve laughed. ‘Especially the silent ones, it seems.’

  Chapter Nine

  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 Pick
ersgill 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.’