Rustic vendetta, p.5
Rustic Vendetta, page 5
The front of the church was plainly illuminated. Heather’s gaze dropped from the solid square tower to the pathway leading to the great studded oak doors. Mist was rising from the ground and swirling to a height of about three feet.
A movement on the left of the path caught her attention; and she watched in cold horror as Josiah Ashley rose, naked, from his grave, stretched out his arms and slowly began to circle on top of the mounded earth. His macabre dance became faster and faster as he stamped his feet in a wild tarantella. As he began to slow down again, Heather got the strangest impression that Josiah had grown breasts. Her hands were gripping the window ledge and she was frozen to the spot. Then, to add to the horror, another ghost arose from behind a large tomb on the other side of the path and attacked the first. They sank, struggling, into the mist above Josiah’s grave, and disappeared.
I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming. This is a nightmare, thought Heather, blinking hard as she looked down at her hands and willed them to let go of the window ledge. She looked again at the churchyard and, as the mist cleared for a moment, realised that the ghosts had not vanished back into the grave. They were still there, lying on top of it. Two white arms were raised towards the moon. No, not arms, her sluggish brain told her. There were feet on the end of them.
She released the grip of one of her hands and pushed the window open slightly, catching a series of soft grunts on the air, followed by a quavering moan of ‘graaave’.
She rushed back to the bedroom.
‘Alan, I’ve just seen Josiah Ashley rise from his grave and…and…Alan, wake up!’
‘Mmmm?’
‘I’ve just seen two ghosts copulating in the churchyard!’
‘Mmmm’, Alan turned away from her and pushed his face into the pillow.
‘Alan!’
‘Go back to sleep, darling - you’ve been dreaming,’ he muttered.
‘I haven’t. I…’ she gave up. Alan was snoring gently.
Shivering, she drew on her dressing gown and went back to the landing window. The churchyard was quiet and so was the square, but through the curtain of mist she thought she could make out a figure hurrying up the road towards the council estate.
As she looked the other way, along the road leading out of the village, there was another form striding away through the mist, thicker here as it rose from the river. Were these her ghosts? She was rather glad Alan hadn’t woken up. But who on earth would choose the churchyard, in full view of the village, to hold their tryst.
She ran the scene through her mind again; and as she did so, Mercy’s words came back to her. The muttered words Heather had caught as Mercy pushed Josiah’s wheelchair past her in the square the day before he died. ‘Dance’ and ‘Grave’. It was Mercy! Fulfilling her promise. With a vengeance.
‘Some dance!’ Heather muttered as she got back into bed, trying to control a smile which didn’t feel quite appropriate. But who was the man? ‘Tuesday,’ her mind said. ‘Tuesdays I go to Mercy’s,’ Dave had told her.
‘No,’ she said, but she knew it was him. That figure walking away down the hill had been on his way home to Small Profits. It wasn’t ‘graaave’ that the ghostly Mercy had moaned. It had been ‘Daaave!’
At this Heather began to giggle. Alan reached out in a semi-conscious state and tried to turn off the alarm clock.
‘It can’t be morning yet, it’s pitch dark,’ he said. ‘Was that the clock? What time is it? Were you laughing? You woke me up.’
‘It’s about half past three.’
‘Oh God! Why don’t you take a sleeping pill or something?’
‘It was Mercy and Dave,’ she said.
‘What was Mercy and Dave?’
‘In the churchyard…doing it on Josiah’s grave.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Making love.’
‘Don’t be disgusting. They’re old!’ He propped himself on one elbow to look at her.
‘That’s unkind Alan. They’re not that old. I think people their age have been known to still have a sex life.’
‘Not in the churchyard at three o’clock in the morning,’ he said.
‘How do we know? How often have we kept watch on the local churchyards in the dead of night?’
‘You’re mad. Tell me about it in the morning.’
……………………..
Peggy turned up to work the next morning with two boxes of large brown free range eggs.
‘I’ve brought you some eggs. I’ve got Mum’s too. I just rang ‘er to say I was bringin’ them up, but she said not to bother as she was ‘avin’ a lie-in. Said she’d meet me ‘ere at lunch-time for a drink. What you grinnin’ at?’
‘Nothing,’ Heather dragged her face into a serious expression. ‘Just something Alan said at breakfast…about the government,’ she floundered.
‘Oh,’ said Peggy. ‘Could ‘ave done with a lie-in myself this mornin’. Was awake half the night waitin’ for Luke to come back. Said ‘ed been to an NFU meetin’ in Exeter, then some of them ‘ad gone on to a club after. Don’t know ‘ow ‘e got back without bein’ arrested. ‘E bloody weren’t sober.’
She picked up her box of polish and dusters and went off into the bar, muttering to herself.
‘Seems half the village were out on the ‘toot’ last night,’ Heather said to Alan as he passed her. He was carrying a crate of tonics into the bar.
‘Well they weren’t in here. Yesterday’s takings were pretty dismal.’
‘No, I mean after closing time. Luke was getting legless in Exeter until the wee small hours, and then Mercy…’
Alan interrupted her. ‘You dreamt that. And even if you didn’t I think we’d better drop the subject. Don’t forget all these people are our customers. It’s best we ignore their private lives - however bizarre,’ he added with a grimace.
‘You’re a bit grumpy this morning.’
‘Is it any wonder? I hardly got any sleep with you rampaging about all night.’
‘I’ll get on with making some sandwiches,’ said Heather, burying all the other answers to this statement which were struggling to leave her lips.
Mercy came in at lunch-time.
‘Where’s Peggy? Out the back? Tell her I’m here…two halves please Heather.’ She yawned hugely. ‘I’m so tired today…must be the weather.’
Heather struggled with her expression while Mercy suddenly narrowed her eyes, studying Heather’s face closely. She seemed to come to a conclusion. The corners of her mouth twitched.
‘Told you they should have put it round the side,’ she said.
Heather choked back a giggle, and suddenly they were both laughing. Mercy put a hand on Heather’s.
‘Our little secret,’ she said.
‘Cross my heart,’ said Heather. ‘Those drinks are on me.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Heather came out of the shop a few days later and bumped into Anne.
‘Come and have a coffee. Alan and I were just about to stop for one. Bring Rudi, we might find the odd biscuit for him,’ Heather bent down to pat Rudi, whose eyes were flicking round the square in search of the grey cat. He glanced up at her and gave a quick wag of his tail. Heather could see the cat. It was sitting on the roof of a garden shed, well out of reach, glaring at Rudi with its tail twitching angrily.
‘I was coming to see you anyway,’ said Anne. ‘I’m collecting for the jumble sale.’
The milk tanker rumbled through the village, and Anne nodded towards the driver.
‘That’s the bloke who ran off with Dave’s wife.’
‘Dave doesn’t seem too heartbroken about it,’ said Heather.
‘No, well he’s always had several others on the go. He was quite a handsome lad in his youth. He’s in that photo of the cricket team hanging up in the bar.’
They crossed the yard and went into the pub kitchen, which was full of the rich smell of the lasagne Heather was cooking for bar meals.
‘Hear you’ve bought a horse,’ said Anne, as she sat at the kitchen table and accepted a mug of coffee from Alan.
‘Not me. This loony mare,’ he said, smiling at Heather.
‘Thank you, darling…I suppose that’s a shade better than being called a stupid cow.’
‘Have you done much riding?’ Anne asked.
‘Virtually none. I just couldn’t let Luke kill him. He was going to send the horse off with some pigs to the butcher. He’s a cruel so and so, that Luke. Jimmy’s terrified of pigs.’
‘Jimmy?’
‘The horse. That’s his pet name,’ said Heather.
‘A racehorse no less,’ said Alan.
‘You’re going to race him?’ Anne asked, her eyebrows raised.
‘No…it’s a pet name for a pet horse at the moment. I may ride him when his legs get better - if I can pluck up the courage. He’s very lame. Luke said he bowed the tendons when he was racing.’ said Heather.
‘I used to ride in my youth,’ said Anne.
‘Oh, that’s good. Now I know where to come to for advice,’ said Heather.
There was a bang and the sound of breaking glass from the bar, accompanied by some very unladylike language from Peggy. The door from the bar to the kitchen crashed open as she stormed through.
‘Bloody dustpan and brush,’ she was muttering, making for the cupboard where the cleaning materials were kept. ‘Oh sorry! Sorry Anne! Didn’t know you was all in ‘ere. I’ve broke an ash tray.’ She took the pan and brush and went back into the bar.
‘What’s the matter with Peggy? She seems a bit flustered,’ said Anne.
‘She’s not a happy bunny today,’ said Alan.
‘I think maybe Luke is staying out too late, too often,’ said Heather quietly.
‘That wouldn’t surprise me. Now - have you got anything you can let me have for the jumble sale?’ said Anne
‘Come upstairs and I’ll have a look,’ said Heather.
‘Not my tweed jacket,’ said Alan, rinsing his coffee cup and standing it upside-down on the wooden draining board. ‘See you later, Anne.’ He pushed open the door to the bar, then stood back to allow Peggy through with a dustpan full of glass.
‘You running a stall at the jumble on Saturday, Anne?’ Peggy asked.
‘Yes.’
‘You see any nice warm winter coats, stick one under the table till I gets there. Doesn’t have to be the ‘eight of fashion. The cows don’t mind what I wear. And I’m sick of dressin’ up for a bloke what don’t notice.’
‘All right.’
‘Thanks,’ said Peggy as she went out of the back door and shot the contents of the dustpan vigorously into the metal dustbin, banging the lid back on with unnecessary force.
‘If I were Luke, I would think twice before upsetting Peggy,’ said Heather quietly. ‘Come on, we’ll go upstairs.’
Anne tucked Rudi under her arm and followed her up onto the landing, stopping to look out of the window.
‘You’ve got a good look-out position here. You can see what everybody round the square’s doing.’
‘Yes,’ said Heather, biting her lip, horribly tempted to confide in Anne about the graveyard romp. But she had promised Mercy. She put the picture of that night out of her mind.
At that moment Rudi spotted the cat on the roof and barked furiously. The cat’s head shot up with horror at the sound of a dog coming from above it. It pinpointed the noise, then jumped from the shed onto the cottage roof, shot up the tiles and crouched by the chimney. Anne put Rudi down, where he proceeded to demolish the landing wallpaper trying to jump back onto the window ledge. She put his lead on and pulled him away.
‘Will the cat be all right? D’you think they’ll have to get the fire brigade to get it down?’ asked Heather.
‘Hope not. The cat could die of exposure before they arrive. Years ago, and I mean years ago, there were three cottages up at the end of the village, where the council estate is now. They were thatched, and they caught fire. The only fire engine was in town, ten miles away, and it was horse-drawn. By the time they had collected the third horse, who was out pulling the roller on the cricket pitch, and galloped the ten miles, the cottages were burned to the ground.’
Heather laughed, and was relieved to see the cat gingerly making its way back down the roof towards the shed. She opened the wardrobe, and hesitated before pulling out a pin-stripe suit she had bought three years before, in the days when ‘power dressing’ for women was all the rage. She had only worn it once and Alan had laughed at the concept. Rather nervously, she thought. There wasn’t going to be much call for it down here. The powerful women down here wore thorn-proof trousers and wellingtons, bought at the farmers’ co-operative shop.
‘I’m sorry, Anne, I don’t seem to have much. I had a good clear-out before we moved.’
‘That’ll be fine, every little bit helps,’ said Anne.
They went back downstairs and Heather put the suit into a bin liner for Anne, who left dragging a reluctant Rudi. He had grown roots by the cooker and was trying to tell Heather that lasagne is what dachshunds like best.
Peggy came through from the bar into the kitchen and began to put the cleaning materials away in the cupboard.
‘Would you like a coffee before you go, Peggy?’ Heather asked.
‘Wouldn’t mind.’ Peggy sat down at the table with a sigh that said ‘ask me what’s wrong.’ So Heather did.
‘It’s Luke. We used to get on really well, but somehow ‘e…oh I don’t know…’e treats me as if I were a nuisance. ‘E don’t tell me where ‘e’s going, or when ‘e’ll be back. It’s as if I don’t really matter no more. Still expects me to keep ‘ouse and do the mornin’ milking…for nothin’. But ‘e don’t seem to want, well you know, the bed bit any more…and I misses that. Main reason I moved in in the first place.’
‘Have you asked him what’s wrong?’
‘’E just says ‘nothin’, and tells me to stop naggin’.’
She was distracted by the sound of bolts being drawn back in the bar as Alan opened the pub door to let in the lunch-time customers. There was a buzz of chatter and Heather glanced through the open kitchen door to see Dave, Audrey and Colin enter together.
‘I better go.’ Peggy got up and rinsed her mug.
‘Any time you want to talk, you know where I am,’ said Heather. She was to regret that remark over the coming months.
She turned off the oven and opened the door slightly, leaving the lasagne inside to keep warm, and put some plates on the rack above the cooker before joining Alan in the bar.
There was quite a jolly party in progress with Dave, Audrey and Colin looking very flushed, and laughing uproariously at a ‘not very funny’ joke Alan had just told. Even he looked slightly surprised at the result of his tale.
‘Was that one of the old elephant ones?’ Heather asked quietly.
‘Yes, perhaps they never reached down here in the wilds,’ he said.
‘Oh yes they did,’ roared Dave.
‘Oh no they didn’t,’ shouted Colin.
‘Don’t mind them,’ Audrey giggled. ‘Dave’s just tapped the first barrel of last year’s cider and we’ve been having a tasting session. Blimmin good stuff - even better than last year Dave…and that was good.’
‘Yes. I’m still using the same secret blend of apples as my father and grandfather. Though I says it as shouldn’t, it’s bloody good stuff. Fordesh Tanglefeet Cider - famous round these parts. You two’ll have to come down and sample a glass or two,’ he nodded at Heather and Alan. ‘In fact, why don’t we all go back there this afternoon, after you’ve closed? I don’t think I’d better get on the tractor after this morning’s session. Don’t want to go the same way as dad.’ There was a moment’s thoughtful silence from the three customers.
‘What happened to your father?’ Heather eventually asked. Visions of another horrific village death colouring her thoughts.
‘Silly old bugger got smashed…’
‘Oh, how awful,’ said Heather.
‘No! Not smashed,’ Dave said. ‘Smashed…drunk…out of his skull he was, with Luke’s dad. Spent most of the afternoon cider tasting, then they decided to have a competition to see who could get the little old Ferguson round that steep sheep meadow, the quickest. Dad went first, got halfway along the top of the hill, hit a rut too fast and rolled it. Killed two of them on the way down…’
‘Killed both of them?’ Heather gasped. ‘Does anyone die a natural death in this village?’
‘Pardon?’ said Dave.
‘You said they both died.’
‘No! Not dad…two of the ewes. Dad was all right. Tractor was never much good after that though.’
At two thirty Alan closed the pub, and Heather cleared away the plates from the bar table used by Dave, Colin and Audrey, who had decided to have lunch there as a foundation for the afternoon’s cider sampling. Then they all set off towards Small Profits. The road was so quiet they were able to spread out and walk line abreast down the hill.
They paused on the bridge to stare at the river. Alan thought he could see a trout and Dave told him he was welcome to fish from his bank if he wanted. Alan grinned at Heather.
‘If you are going to start riding, and possibly hunting, maybe I should take up fishing.’
‘I wonder if she is still hereabouts,’ said Audrey thoughtfully, gazing at the dark, overgrown, deep stretch of the river which had made Heather shiver the first time she saw it.
‘Who?’ asked Alan.
‘Rose, Rose Butler,’ said Audrey. ‘Poor thing.’
‘No, we’ve had some very wet winters since then,’ said Dave. ‘ She’m probably washed right out to sea. I liked Rose - went out with her for a bit when we was young. Terrible shame for her to end like that.’
