Guardians Of The Haunted Moor (11 page)

No time
like the present to do a little weeding. “That’s right. Lee did me
the honour of marrying me last July—didn’t you, love?”

Lee
stepped forward, hands in his pockets. “I did that.”

Pendower
was blushing furiously. But he tugged his jacket straight, adjusted
his cap, and after a couple more displacement actions was able to
say, with some grace, “Well, my best congratulations to you
both.”

“
Thank you.” Gideon glanced at Granny Ragwen’s firmly closed
front door. “Right. I gather you wanted to take a look at the field
where poor John Bowe died.”

“
I... Er, that’s right. To see if Mr Tyack can pick up any
psychic impressions.” Pendower collected himself. “He really is
quite marvellous. I can dismiss most alleged clairvoyants as frauds
with no effort at all, but... Well, I don’t need tell you. You’ll
know all about him, of course.”

“
Some. But he keeps surprising me. Shall we move on? The
coroner ought to be finished by now.”

“
Oh, no. I really must interview Granny... er, Mrs
Ragwen.”

“
You have to be kidding. You don’t seriously think an unhinged
eighty-year-old had anything to do with this?”

“
Directly? Of course not. But if she’s a self-styled witch, who
knows what kind of influence she has over impressionable minds in
an isolated place like this?”

Gideon
looked him over. Neither of them could pull rank—it was
sergeant-to-sergeant, and a clash out here on the pavement would be
unseemly, after Gideon had just broken one up. “I’ll interview her,
if someone has to,” he said. “You’re welcome to
observe.”

“
I’m told you’ve also made arrangements to interview the
child—a shameless delinquent, as I gather—who found John Bowe. Has
it ever struck you, Sergeant Frayne, that you’re not protecting
these villagers of yours so much as allowing them to run rings
around you?”

Yes, it’s struck me. I know the rings, and I know where and
when they’ll spiral in and run back to me.
Gideon kept his mouth shut. On some deep level he no longer
cared. After Tamsyn’s feed and playtime, Lee would take her to the
park to wear her out. The one text a day he allowed himself to send
would often be a picture of the odd little soul with her latest
discovery, a snail or a worm or a lovely lump of moorland dirt.
“Okay,” he said tiredly, ignoring Lee’s glance of alarm. “Like DI
Lawrence would say, knock yourself out. But be gentle, Pendower,
or...” He struggled to find a threat. Then a good one occurred. “Or
I’ll let you interview the Prowse child yourself.”

Chapter Five

There’d
been no need for the warning, or so it seemed at first. Granny
Ragwen was having one of her rare intervals of lucidity. Madge was
nowhere to be seen, and the old lady, smiling and affable, had set
out on her little table three teacups, saucers and plates. It
didn’t strike Pendower to wonder how she’d known to set a place for
Lee, who had done his best to escape but been dragged in by his
adoring new friend. “That was a fuss and a half, wasn’t it?” she
said placidly, resuming her seat in her armchair. “Still, it was
better than last time. Burning torches they had then.” She paused
and added, just as Pendower was pouring his tea, “Back in
Bavaria.”

He looked up at her from under the brim of his cap. Gideon was
suddenly irresistibly reminded of Sergeant Howie encountering his
first native on Summerisle, and he pressed his lips together, glad
that the tiny dimensions of the living room had forced him to perch
on the window ledge behind Pendower’s shoulder. Lee, much better at
keeping a straight face, only nodded from his seat by the table.
“It
was
a fuss and
a half,” he said, “and not one you should’ve had to put up with.
Are you all right?”

“
Why should I be anything else, with Madge and you and the
constable there to protect me? And after all, those poor boys were
only lads from Carnysen farm. They had a right to be angry
today.”

“
Yes, Mrs Ragwen,” Pendower said, mopping up spilled tea from
his saucer. “But why were they angry with you? Did you have any
dealings with John Bowe?”

“
Me? Goodness, no. I hardly saw him in my life, apart from the
usual matters.”

“
Would you mind telling me what those are?”

“
Must I?” She gave Gideon a wide-eyed glance. “Am I on my oath,
Constable?”

“
Not at all,” Gideon told her. “This is just a very informal
interview. But we really would appreciate anything you can tell us
about John.”

“
Very well.” She was kneading a piece of blue-tack between her
fingers. In anyone else Gideon would have taken it for nerves, but
she was neat and calm as ever, an innocuous old lady in crimplene
slacks and floral blouse. “Some of the modern-day farmers are a bit
ashamed, that’s all. But Farmer Bowe would come to me for cattle
charms just like the rest, and to ask me for good weather for the
harvest.” She leaned forward to look at the sky. “The sun should
hold out nicely for them in the fields today. Right up till sunset,
and then...” She gave Lee an enquiring little glance, as if he too
should know. “Then there’ll be a storm.”

“
Wait,” Pendower said, taking out his notebook. “You scarcely
knew John Bowe, or so you tell me in one breath. And in the next
he’s coming to you for charms and weather spells, and goodness
knows what other superstitious claptrap, and the other farmers do
the same?”

The
blue-tack took on tiny human form. “Of course they do, officer,”
she said mildly. “When did you ever hear that a Dark harvest
failed?”

“
So you are, by your own confession, a witch?”

“
Oh, Constable Frayne, he is fierce, isn’t he?” As if startled,
she dropped the little figure into the fireside ash. Gideon
struggled not to notice that it had acquired a jaunty sergeant’s
cap and a tiny but accurate face. “Worse than old Matt Hopkins, I
declare. Wait a moment while I pick this up—Madge’ll want it for
the posters in the children’s room. My, it is dusty in here, isn’t
it?”

Pendower
sneezed violently. “Yes, it is. You were saying, Mrs Ragwen—you
consider yourself a witch, with the power to heal cattle and alter
the weather. What else do you think you can do?”

She
fidgeted around in her chair. One hand strayed towards the
waistband of her trousers, and Gideon prayed they weren’t in for a
repeat of the grocery-shop incident. “It’s funny,” she said. “Ever
since I got what they call the Alzheimer’s, I think I can do all
kinds of things. Then I calm down again and I remember I’m just a
tired old lady with a few little tricks up her... Ah, there you
are.” Triumphantly she withdrew a long white feather from the
cushion at her back. “Madge is good to me, you know—always buys
these with the goose-down. But sometimes the feather-ends don’t
half proggle your arse.”

“
Mrs Ragwen!
Sergeant
Frayne is right in that these are informal
proceedings—for now. But I do need your cooperation. Do you
believe, and have you at any time convinced anyone else to believe,
that the fields around this village require any kind of sacrifice
for their harvest?”

“
A
sacrifice
?
Gracious...” She drew the feather absently across the face of her
little blue-tack man. “What an imagination you have, Sergeant! I
had a friend once, you know—Doreen, they called her, from all the
way over in Sussex, but no worse a woman for that. And she wrote a
kind of poem, and the young ones today—the girls you’d call
witches, I suppose, Sergeant—have taken it up.
Nor do I demand aught of sacrifice
,
it said,
for all acts of beauty and
pleasure are my worship.
Well, Doreen died,
and some of the young ’uns have come to believe it’s a very old
chant.” Back went the feather in the opposite direction, sweeping,
delicate. “Which it’s not, and Doreen never said it was, but it’s
none the less true for all that. Do you take my point,
Sergeant?”

“
Not at all. And I’d be very much obliged—” Pendower broke off
with another enormous sneeze, followed rapidly by three more. “Good
grief,” he rasped, sitting up. His eyes were streaming. “Do you
have a cat in here?”

“
I wouldn’t dare keep a cat these days, would I, Sergeant—not
with accusations of witchcraft going around. Allergic, are
you?”

“
No. Well, yes, but normally it’s pollen, and I haven’t had an
attack like this in years... Oh, excuse me. I’ll have to go and get
my medications from the car.”

He
stumbled out. Lee followed, his face a little too carefully
composed, and Gideon got to his feet. He paused by Granny Ragwen’s
chair, folding his arms. “You’re really not doing yourself any
favours, you know.”

“
I know. But isn’t it fun?”

“
Did
you have anything to do with what
happened to John?”

“
Of course not. All I said down in the village—and I might have
been having one of my turns—was to stay off the moors after dark. I
bet you’ve been telling ’em the exact same thing.”

Gideon
couldn’t deny it. He put out his hand for the little blue-tack man,
and when the old lady surrendered it, rolled it into a harmless
ball, hoping his motives were pure. “There. For your
grandchildren’s posters. Do you think you can stay out of mischief
till all this is over?”

“
Look out for the Beast, Constable.”

Ice went
down Gideon’s spine. “I’m sorry?”

“
I’ll do my best. That’s all I said. I’ll do my best,
Constable.”

Out on
the pavement, Pendower was wiping his eyes. Lee was patiently
holding a box of tissues. The sneezing was beginning to let up, and
Pendower managed a nod in response to Gideon’s polite enquiry. “I’m
a little better now. Must have been something in her
carpet.”

“
Very dusty, these modern terraces,” Gideon agreed. “I hope you
feel you’ve eliminated Mrs Ragwen from your enquiries.”

Pendower
eyed the net curtains, and the trim little figure moving about
innocently behind them. She seemed to be shaking a feather duster,
and something about the action made him shudder. “Not at all. She’s
a very disturbing person. But I’m prepared to leave it for now.” He
glanced at his watch. “I have to be back in Truro this afternoon,
Mr Tyack. If your offer to look over the scene with me still
stands...”

***

“
You’d think,” Lee said innocently, surveying the field of
trampled corn, “that your allergies would be worse up here,
Sergeant, not better.”

“
Yes, they would be, if I hadn’t had my pills.”

Gideon
watched the pair of them from the discreet position he’d taken up
by the stile. Technically he had no business here, and Pendower
clearly wished he’d go and make himself busy with the half-dozen
interviews he had scheduled for the day, but Lee had gone pale at
his offer to get out of his hair. So here he would stay, quietly
waiting, as long as he was needed. He knew it could take a long
time.

Pendower, not acquainted with Lee’s methods, was expecting
faster action. He’d followed at Lee’s heels for his first pass down
the barley rows, from one length of fluttering tape to the other.
Now they were back within Gideon’s earshot again. Lee was standing
with his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed. He’d made a big
effort after sending Zeke and Ma Frayne on their way, Gideon could
tell—was showered and fresh in his jeans and clean white shirt. His
grey waistcoat lent grace and class to the outfit, displaying his
broad shoulders and neat build. Gideon could have watched him all
day.

His was
a specialised point of view, though. Pendower was starting to pace.
“How will you go about this, then, Mr Tyack? Will you dowse the
land, try to get a read on any electromagnetic
currents?”

“
No. Probably I’ll just stand here for a while. Why don’t you
go and talk to Gid?”

“
Well, I’d like to watch your methods, if...”

“
Seriously.” Lee’s voice edged out of its normal good-natured
timbre. “Could be a while. Might be best if you let my, er... aura
expand.”

“
Oh, is that how you begin? Do you believe you have an aura, a
personal energy field you can expand or contract at—”

“
Pendower?” Gideon called. “Come over here for a second. I
forgot to tell you something about Granny Ragwen.”

God, the
man was like a baby bird, running from one parent to the other in
the hope of a beakful of worms. Gideon wondered what had made so
dry and level-headed a copper turn to the weird shit as his
speciality. Was he seeking proof, or a chance at demolition?
“You’re interested in the origins of words, right?”

“
Yes, very. I wrote a paper on etymology as part of my degree
thesis. Place names, surnames... They’re often a clue to local myth
and legend when all other evidence has gone.”

“
In that case I’ve got a good one for you. Do you speak
Kernowek?”

“
Only a few words. A shame, since it’s part of my heritage, but
I never had time.”

“
Me neither. Lee’s taught me a bit, though.”