Chapter Three #3
My plan is to take a loop, starting up the main road into Harfold village, then coming back over the fields.
I hurry past the rocks that Reacher pointed out to me earlier, my instincts telling me not to linger.
Up on the road, I see no motorists tonight, nor any hapless dead animals.
An owl swoops ghost-pale overhead. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in the wild.
The road passes a sleeping farm, the manure and milk odour of the sheds familiar in a comforting way.
Me and the other Land Army girls used to hide in with the cattle for our smoke breaks when the weather was bad.
I caught Lou and Gladys in there once, too.
Not smoking. Those cows heard and saw a lot of things …
It’s about a quarter-hour to walk into the village proper, its cottages mostly dark and the main street empty at this time.
A handful of men out the front of the pub when I pass it.
The sign shows a rabbity creature on its hind legs, reaching with forepaws up to a circle moon.
Below it in gold lettering: The Dancing Hare.
The Lascy legend clearly reaches beyond the manor grounds.
A number of eyes track me in silent curiosity as the drinkers finish their last round.
A single woman stands with the men, guarding a pram that she rocks to and fro with her free hand.
Nowhere near as lively as the pubs in Cardiff.
Next I pass St Anselm’s church, a Gothic-looking building with narrow windows and elaborate stone carvings up the walls.
A lone clock tower is topped with decorative battlements.
After this, I come to a village green, and a little further up is the white house that Tom told me to look out for – home to my predecessor – looming like a chalk cliff at sea.
How did Bruce find it, tending to the manor’s grounds?
Must be strange now, knowing that another person has taken his place, is reshaping the gardens that he’d dedicated years of his life to.
I wonder if Mrs Allen was more pleasant to him than she is to me.
Or if Lady Lascy ever stitched his picture.
Something in me hopes that she didn’t. Then I remember I’m not letting myself get caught up in all that.
When I reach the end of the village, I veer on to the fields, hopping a ramshackle hedgerow and following the rise of the hill up, back home, dodging cowpats as I go.
I turn my torch on again – don’t need to twist an ankle on the uneven ground – and confused insects dart in and out of the beam.
The flash of a white stripe as a badger shambles past. Lou used to swear that a badger once bit her nephew’s hand clean off, but I don’t think that can be true.
Still, I give the creature a wide berth. Just in case.
A way ahead, I spot a glimmer of light, twin to my own torch.
I don’t think this one’s electric – it skims the ground as if held low, like you would a lantern.
Must be one of the villagers. Well, that’s no bother to me, so long as they keep themself to themself, I think.
But as my route progresses, I notice this person seems to be headed the same way. Up to the manor.
Perhaps Tom or Mrs Allen, come back from calling on a neighbour?
But either of them would have taken Mutton on such an outing, and I don’t spot him bounding about anywhere.
Can’t make out much in the way of detail from where I am – the artificial lights have reduced my night vision.
Everything else is impenetrable shadow. If not the Allens, then who?
Reacher, out looking for nocturnal birds?
Or could it be an intruder? Someone creeping about in the dark.
I’m sure there’s plenty of value to take from the manor, if a person was so minded, and it’s not like Lady Lascy employs a heavy guard.
I turn off my torch. Again, just in case.
I’ve drawn a sight closer by now, my stride faster than the other walker’s.
As my eyes readjust, I see it’s a woman – or at least someone wearing a skirt.
I’m not one to comment. She keeps halting every so often, lifting her lantern to look about, beam sweeping lighthouse-like over the waves of grass, as if she’s seeking something out.
Then – apparently not finding it – she moves on.
Several more yards. Another pause to search.
I can’t spy anything remarkable myself, but then maybe that’s the problem.
Finally, the other person reaches the stream at the Harfold property boundary. After one last look behind, she crosses at the footbridge into the woods with an easy confidence. Which is when I realize who she is. I know it suddenly, deep in my chest, as if part of me already recognizes her.
I’m hurrying now to close the distance. She’s already disappeared into the trees on the other side, but her lantern still glints between trunks.
I follow over the bridge, almost slipping as I go.
It’s little more than a slimy plank really, a wooden railing for support along one side, the other open to the river below.
On the opposite bank, I plunge into the vegetation.
Branches reach out to touch my face, snatch at my scarf.
Cobwebs tear before me. She must be able to hear my rustling pursuit at this point.
I haven’t thought ahead to what I’ll say when I catch up.
Finally, I break out of the woods, joining the driveway at the gatehouse. She’s still ahead of me, halfway up the path to the main house, passing through the recently cut yews that keep sentry. No longer stopping to look around.
I half raise a hand. ‘Hello!’ My voice is louder than I’d intended in the thick silence of night.
Lady Lascy doesn’t react. But surely she’s heard me, surely she must have seen me following behind. Determination flares in my chest. I will speak to her.
‘Wait!’ I shout, increasing my pace. I reach the first of the yews. Lady Lascy is between the final two, the hares. ‘I want to talk to you!’
She pauses. Twists back to look directly at me.
Her face, lit by the lantern below, appears ghoulish, eye sockets in deep shadow.
And then she smiles, like a wolf baring its teeth.
I’m suddenly rooted to the spot. My own breathing in my ears, ragged after my hurry to catch up. Pulse throbbing at my throat.
After a few heartbeats, Lady Lascy turns again, flitting up the steps to the manor’s front door and slipping inside. Disappearing like the last fragments of a dream.
I get there only seconds later. Consider hammering on the wood – but no, that will wake the Allens.
I press myself to the door to listen. ‘Please,’ I say, hoping my words will carry inside.
‘I just want to know why you sent that picture. I have a right to ask!’ Losing my temper, forgetting I’m speaking to the person who pays my wages.
Silence. I’m just about to give up when I swear I hear a noise from within. A laugh. High and musical, like the peal of a bell.