Guilt in the Cotswolds (6 page)

Thea sighed and scrutinised the dogs. ‘What are their names?’

‘Betsy and Chummy. They’re both girls, but they’re not sisters.’

Thea continued her inspection. One was much longer-haired than the other, with a wider head and bushier tail. But the markings were similar. They were clean and looked very healthy. ‘Did you bring food, and leads and bedding, and all that?’ she asked.

‘In the car. This is ever so kind of you. I know it wasn’t what you agreed to, but we’ll pay you extra, of course. How’s the sorting out going?’ she asked with a rueful expression, as if to convey that she had reconsidered some of her opinions on the subject.

‘Better. I’m getting into the swing of it now. But I haven’t been into the attic yet. I’m more and more worried that I shouldn’t be doing it at all without knowing where your father is. If you’re going to see your gran, maybe you could check it with her?’

‘No, I can’t. I told you – she doesn’t know about
you being here. I wouldn’t dream of telling her.’

‘Well, I might chicken out of doing the attic.’

Millie grimaced. ‘I was always terrified of going up there. I remember when I was little and came here one time, there were two boys visiting Gran and they shut me in and took the ladder away. I screamed the house down and the father of one of them thrashed them both.’

‘Heavens!’ said Thea. ‘Who were they?’

‘Cousins of some sort, I think,’ she said with a frown. ‘I was too little to understand how they were related.’ Her face showed how hard she was trying to remember. ‘I’d forgotten the whole thing until now. Now I think about it, one of them must have been Brendan. The other one was just a friend, I think.’

‘Not Martin?’ asked Thea, remembering something that Norah Cookham had said the previous day.

‘Do you know Martin?’ Millie’s eyes widened. ‘Has he been here?’

‘No, no. I just heard the name.’

‘He’s Gran’s nephew. Terribly rich and successful. Dad hates him.’

Thea did her usual mental gymnastics where family trees were involved. ‘Cousins, then,’ she concluded. ‘Your father and Martin. His son is your second cousin.’

Millie shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. So you might leave the attic, then? Does that mean the job’s almost finished?’

‘That depends. It would take a while to put everything back as it was.’

‘Well, don’t go yet. I need you to mind the dogs. You’d probably enjoy the attic, and the ladder’s much easier to use now. Gran had a few restructuring jobs done, including that staircase and the hatch at the top. It’s got wiring and everything now. You could use it as a bedroom if you wanted to. There’s a Velux window, as well.’

Thea had been resisting the prospect of groping in the dark roof space, accessed only by a wobbly ladder. Now she knew there’d be light and perhaps a proper floor, it took on a more inviting aspect. ‘My fiancé’s coming this afternoon,’ she said. ‘He’ll help me for a bit.’ She frowned as she thought over what Millie had just said. ‘You wouldn’t think the house needed any more bedrooms, even if your grandfather was still alive at the time. Why go to all that expense?’

‘Grandpop wasn’t alive. He died when I was three. I don’t remember him. No – the idea was that we’d move in here and live with Gran, when I was about eleven. I don’t know what went wrong, but it never happened. There was some falling-out, I suppose. I have a sort of memory of my mother shouting about it, and being in a foul mood for months. Probably she just refused to live with her mother-in-law. She was probably right that it would never have worked out. They never talked about it afterwards, but I think my dad was always disappointed. He really loved this house when he was little. I think he’s changed his mind about it since then, though. The way he’s neglected it is pretty bad.’

A momentary silence served to remind Thea that she should be working. ‘Well …’ she began.

‘I have to go,’ said Millie at the same time. ‘Thanks ever so much for having the girls. They’ll be no trouble, I promise.’

‘You didn’t give me much choice,’ said Thea, with a weak smile to soften the words. ‘And I must admit I was finding it a bit strange not to have any animals to look after. That’s what people usually want me to do, you see.’

‘Of course, if Dad turns up, he’ll come and collect them right away. You might only have them for a few hours. Who knows?’

Who indeed
, thought Thea. The disappearance of Richard Wilshire should probably be worrying her rather more than it was.

Millie made her escape, with a perfunctory farewell to the dogs – who watched her closely the whole time she carried the box of their things to the front door – got into her car and drove away out of sight. Then they sighed in unison and raised their muzzles expectantly in Thea’s direction. They had ignored Hepzibah and her efforts to become their new best friend. Sheepdogs did that in Thea’s experience. They were snooty and superior and impossibly clever. Always panting to be helpful and completely incapable of spending a quiet morning in peaceful contemplation. But they knew the house, and made their way shoulder to shoulder into the kitchen, where they sat on a handmade rag rug in front of the Aga, which was cold. Richard Wilshire had neglected to give instructions
for firing it up, and Thea knew better than to tinker with it. At first glance, it showed signs of considerable age and was sure to be highly temperamental.

‘You stay here for an hour or so, while I get back to work,’ Thea told them.

Okay, they said resignedly. But make sure it’s not more than an hour.

Did they know where their master was? Thea wondered. They showed no signs of anxiety or distress at the change of routine. Perhaps he’d explained it all to them and they were perfectly content to wait for his return.

She went back upstairs, and managed to forget about the dogs and their absconding owner for a while. There was always a fascinating family history to be discovered in these sorts of circumstances, as Thea had learnt. Already absorbed by the biographical material kept in the little bedroom, she realised there was a story attached to the house itself, as well. Any house carried marks of the lives it had sheltered, but a beautiful old Cotswold house might have more than its share. She had noted two cupboards, as yet unexplored. One under the stairs, and a very big one in the main bedroom. Most families would have transformed the latter into a small bathroom, but the glance Thea had given it had revealed an almost empty space, rather to her surprise. Perhaps it had been the preserve of the deceased Grandpop, and nobody had ever taken it over after he died. It would come in useful as a repository for some of her sorted
piles, she thought. Being able to spread things around made the operation a lot easier. She was inclined to return to the ottoman, and really examine all the lovely things again. Although she’d already listed them, she could spread them out and inspect them for holes or stains which ought to be noted on the inventory.

So she embarked on just that procedure, with a growing sense of achievement. The old satins and velvets were in excellent condition, for the most part. There was a fur cape in a rippling silvery colour that screamed
luxury
and was probably still quite valuable in the right market. Chinchilla, she thought. It sparked musings about the way humanity exploited other species for their own ends. Poor little animals, slaughtered for the warm pelts that nature had given them.

But she didn’t dwell on this for long, distracted by the discovery of two flamboyant hats at the back of a high shelf in the wardrobe. Fit only for a dressing-up box, she judged. Perhaps her sister Jocelyn’s children would like them – although they were probably rather old for dressing up by now. Noel, the youngest, was eleven. There had been some talk about a group of his friends getting together for some role play games. Presumably that involved donning outlandish garb to represent various warriors and goblins. The last time Thea had visited, Noel had talked relentlessly about the latest fantasy series he was reading, with detailed descriptions of dozens of characters.

And all the time, she was mentally counting the
hours and minutes until Drew would arrive. He had deliberately avoided naming an exact time, knowing how unpredictable his schedule would be. All she knew was ‘afternoon’, which meant he wouldn’t want lunch – but an evening meal was definitely going to be required, especially if she made him go and ferret about in the attic as soon as he arrived.

Those dogs would want exercise, too. Could they wait until Drew arrived, so they could all go out together? She wanted to get a better idea of how Chedworth was arranged. All she had managed to glean so far was a long straggling main street with numerous loops and cul-de-sacs leading off it, and a myriad of public footpaths going in all directions. To the north was woodland and a Roman villa. At least she had found the two significant landmarks for any village – the church and the pub. From there, everything else ought by rights to fall into place.

It occurred to her that she had not given Drew any instructions on how to find the house. Then she recalled that he had recently started to use a satnav, with all the zeal of the convert. ‘The road signs will all fall into ruin before long,’ she’d said irritably. ‘They don’t think anybody needs them any more.’

‘That might be true, but honestly, it is fun. The thing knows
exactly
where you’re going. It’s like magic.’

‘You’re being deskilled,’ she said. ‘You’ll be sorry one of these days.’

She must find distraction, she told herself. It was barely
midday. He would most likely not even have left home yet.

So she thought about Richard Wilshire instead. Where, for heaven’s sake, had the man disappeared to? His daughter struck Thea as an unreliable witness on a number of levels. She had initially refused to ever come to Chedworth again, according to Drew’s original report on the commission. Then she had casually appeared on the doorstep with her famous friend, but declined to enter the house. She was vague and volatile by turns, swinging from anger to anxiety, then back to a relatively businesslike answer to the problem of the abandoned dogs. She had poured out a mass of information that would take a lot of sorting out, if Thea ever decided she wanted to understand even the basic structure of the Wilshire family.

The absence of Millie’s father was clearly of deepening concern to the girl – and if she was honest, Thea herself was growing increasingly worried about him. And yet there was a sense of a family that did not share information very readily. Rita didn’t know her house was being ransacked. Millie wasn’t sure about anything in the past – even the identity of her own cousins. Judith was an additional complication, and the dogs were stark reminders that something irresponsible and perhaps alarming was going on.

But Drew would shed some light, she was sure. He knew the Stratford addresses of Richard and his mother, for a start. He would take a clear view of the ethics of the situation, as regards how much more delving into Mrs Wilshire’s possessions they should do. Without
him, Thea might have been tempted to feel a degree of resentment. She might conclude that she was being taken for granted, for example. And that might tempt her to think it would serve the Wilshires right if she bundled up some of these gorgeous old clothes and took them home with her. If nobody paid her, that could be rationalised as nothing more than her due. But Drew would never permit such an act. Knowing this made her smile ruefully, as she covetously fingered a velvet jacket.

She would have to go down and see to the dogs. They’d be bored soon and that might lead to bad behaviour. She could at least take them to the nearby field and give them a bit of fresh air. Not that she dared let them run free – that way led to all kinds of terrible trouble, as she had learnt in Lower Slaughter.

‘Come on, then,’ she invited them, having found their leads in the box still sitting in the hall. ‘Heps, you can go loose, if you’re good.’ Keeping three dogs from tangling themselves around her legs was not an inviting prospect. She opened the front door and ushered them all out. Before she reached the gate, there was a loud voice signalling urgent annoyance, coming towards her.

‘What does she want this time?’ Thea muttered, as she waited for Norah Cookham to get close enough to speak normally.

‘What are those dogs doing here?’ she demanded, without preamble.

Thea ran quickly through a selection of responses: flippant, defensive, outraged or placatory. None of them felt quite wise. ‘Why?’ was all she ended up with.

‘The last time they were here, they killed my cat. They’re demons, the damned things. Rita never had any control over them. It wasn’t her fault, I know. Her selfish beast of a son foisted them onto her whenever it suited him. I thought at least I’d never have to see them again, once Rita went into the home. And now here they are, large as life. It’s a disgrace!’ Her voice rose into a squeal of protest.

Thea could only blink and hold her ground. ‘They killed your cat?’ she managed. ‘That’s incredible.’

‘I assure you it’s true. She let them out, and they just shot after poor Sammy like wolves. Tore him to bits. It was appalling.’

Thea looked to the dogs for an explanation, but none was forthcoming. The story was hard, but not impossible, to believe. Whilst there were other breeds – which were most likely to be of the hound variety – with tendencies towards the murdering of passing cats, rabbits or lambs, even the highly humanised and disciplined shepherding ones could forget themselves on occasion. Two bitches together were notoriously unpredictable. ‘Oh dear,’ she said feebly. ‘I’d better not let them off their leads, then.’

‘You can’t let them out of the
house
.’ the woman insisted. ‘They’re banned. It went to court. There’s an injunction.’

‘Blimey!’ Again Thea looked at the dogs. ‘That’s going a bit far, isn’t it?’

‘They were lucky not to be put down. Now take them in again. I can’t bear the sight of them.’

There did not appear to be much choice in the matter. Betsy and Chummy would have to make do with the garden behind the house, until somebody came to retrieve them. It seemed a harsh fate for two such pleasant animals. Perhaps when Drew arrived, they could be smuggled out of Chedworth in a car and allowed a bit of freedom in the woods. Chasing squirrels was surely allowed and with a second person to help, it might be safe to give them a run.

With a mixture of resentment and doubt, she made herself a sandwich and let all the dogs out into the back. The aborted walk had confused them and they milled about indecisively, waiting for the next surprise.
Norah Cookham had supervised, with arms folded, the retreat into the house and Thea did not doubt that she would be keeping a close watch to ensure there were no infringements of the extraordinary injunction. Had Millie not known about it? Presumably not, or she would have said something – or never even brought the dogs in the first place. Again, Thea wondered how closely the Wilshire family communicated, and what events there might have been in the recent past to lead to the current situation.

She went back to the upstairs sorting with a heavy tread. The enjoyment had gone out of it, thanks to the woman living opposite and the multiple visits from Millie. There were undercurrents and mysteries that bothered her. Richard Wilshire was beginning to look like a man disliked by many people – neighbours, the farmers he worked with, and possibly even his mother. Drew had seen them together, and reported no animosity, but perhaps they had deliberately presented a bland public face especially for him. There had even been a flicker of emotion on the features of Famous Judith, when his name was mentioned. Was he a bully? A coward? A heartless bureaucrat? Had he ridden roughshod over the wishes of his mother and his daughter? And had he selfishly taken himself off without warning, leaving other people to pick up the reins in his absence?

And perhaps, if he really had disappeared, it was foolish of her to continue with the work he’d given her. Perhaps everything was now different. It was highly
likely that the old lady who owned the house would instruct her to put everything back exactly as she’d found it, once she learnt what was going on.

The old lady might even have some useful explanations for the way the little family was behaving, Thea realised. In the absence of Richard, his mother was inevitably the next in line for consultation, and Thea would feel much more comfortable morally if the owner of the house knew she was burrowing through its contents. She really ought to be told. Thea liked to think that if she had known the old lady was in ignorance, she would have refused the commission in the first place. Impatiently, she waited for her fiancé’s arrival, when she would suggest they go and see Mrs Wilshire in Stratford. They could do it the next morning. There’d be time to go to Broad Campden as well, if they made an early start, and abandoned any attempt at exploring the attic.

At half past two, she felt sorely tempted to phone Drew and ask him where he was. It took about an hour and a half to drive from his Somerset village to the Cotswolds, up the M5 and then following one of two routes they had devised, depending on whether Thea was occupying a house in the north or south of the area. Chedworth was towards the south, not far from Northleach. On Thursday, approaching from the east, she had turned from the A40 onto the A429 and found herself in Lower Chedworth quite easily. But for Drew, it would prove more complicated.

Chedworth on the ground in three dimensions was bizarrely unlike the comparatively straightforward depiction on the map. It was mainly to do with the switchback levels, the ground plunging bumpily down to the valley carved by the little River Churn, and boasting more than the usual quotient of small streets running at odd angles. The place was a lot bigger than first expected, too. Even a satnav might find it tricky. Maybe she could phone him and offer advice. But if she did that, he’d feel patronised – or annoyed because he could not legally answer it.

While these ditherings were filling her mind, she heard a car pull up outside. Hepzie yapped in recognition, and in half a minute she was hugging her man on the doorstep.

Conversation was postponed while they indulged in a joyous reunion for a while. Then Drew pulled away and looked around. They had somehow got into the kitchen, where three dogs were paying close attention. ‘Lovely old Aga,’ said Drew. ‘Why isn’t it on? It’s chilly in here.’

‘I don’t know how to work it. The living room’s got a log fire, so we can make it nice and warm. But we have to take the dogs out first. I hope you had some lunch? There’s loads to do. What shall we have for supper? There’s absolutely no food here, except for bread and a bit of milk. And stuff for the dogs.’

‘Why are there so many dogs?’ He frowned down at the unfamiliar animals. ‘Who do these belong to?’

‘Richard Wilshire. I told you he’s gone missing. His daughter dumped these two on me this morning. They’re not supposed to be here – there’s an injunction. I have to take them somewhere in the car for a walk.’

‘What?’

‘They killed a cat, according to the woman over the way. She’s not very nice. I haven’t met anybody else.’ This was unusual, she realised. Even in the empty little streets of a typical Cotswold settlement, Thea Osborne generally managed to make the acquaintance of at least three or four locals within her first day.

‘Let me get straight. I need the loo. And I should bring my bag in. Will the woman over the way object to my being here as well?’

‘Probably. If she thinks you’re a friend of Richard Wilshire’s, that’ll put her against you. She dislikes him, apparently.’

‘Poor chap. He seemed quite harmless to me.’

‘And me. But he’s got form, according to Millie. He went missing for three months, five years ago.’

‘Yes, you told me.’

‘Did I? Sorry. It’s intriguing, though. How can somebody get away with such mysterious behaviour these days? No wonder his wife couldn’t cope with it. It wrecked the marriage.’

‘Maybe that was the intention. A cowardly way to do it, of course.’

‘And cruel. If she had any feelings for him, she must have been desperately worried. And his mother. Even
worse for her, in a way.’ Thea tried to imagine how she would feel if her daughter disappeared without trace, succeeding so well that she began to shake. ‘It would be so ghastly, not knowing what had happened.’

Drew folded his arms around her. ‘Maybe he kept her secretly informed and swore her to secrecy.’

‘I was wondering if we could go and visit her? You know where her care home is, don’t you?’

‘The satnav does,’ he said proudly. ‘It worked perfectly coming here, you know. I can’t believe the difference it makes.’

‘Shut up,’ she said fondly. ‘You’re just trying to pick a fight.’ She made herself think about the Wilshires. ‘Why didn’t his mother move in with him? He must have quite a big place – Millie lives there, and her friend’s been staying as well. And if it’s too small, why don’t they sell this house and get somewhere big enough for all of them in Stratford?’

‘They did explain it all to me. I think he’d have preferred something like that, but the old lady insisted on doing it the way they have. She really likes the home, you know. I had a little note from her this morning, in with a paper I asked her to sign. She made a point of telling me how happy she is there.’

‘Hmm – Stratford’s a bit far to go, I suppose. But it sounds as if she’d really like to see you.’

He looked doubtful. ‘I don’t think she has any special liking for me. It might seem a bit odd, dropping in on her without warning.’

‘We’ll think of an explanation. I really do want to meet her. How long have you got tomorrow?’

‘If I leave here at five, it should work. I can collect the kids and get them to bed in reasonable time for school. I feel a bit guilty about it, but they seem happy enough.’

‘I feel guilty taking you away from them,’ she admitted. ‘But we don’t do it very often, do we?’ she added defiantly.

‘Not often enough. I haven’t had you to myself for ages.’

‘Just wait till you see the bed,’ she teased. ‘It’s like magic.’

‘What if I can’t wait? Why don’t we …?’

‘What? Now? We can’t, Drew. There’s too much going on. At least—’ She had heard herself sounding prudish and less than enthusiastic, and wondered what she was thinking. An hour of afternoon passion with the man she loved would break no laws, and the dogs had no urgent need for an outing, after all. ‘All right, then,’ she said, with a laugh.

‘Women!’ he complained. ‘Never know their own minds.’

‘Careful! One wrong word, and I’ll change it again.’

She led him upstairs, where he paid a quick call to the bathroom, and then put his head into each bedroom in turn. ‘Just checking there’s nobody here,’ he said. ‘It feels as if there’s a presence somewhere.’

She looked at him, unsure whether or not he was joking. ‘Must be a ghost, then,’ she said. ‘I expect a few people have died here over the years.’

‘That room –’ he indicated the second bedroom ‘– looks as if a bomb’s hit it.’

‘That was me. Come on, Drew. You’re meant to be consumed by passion, not exploring the house.’

The lovemaking was good, but nowhere near their best. Thea felt uneasy using the big old bed in such a way and Drew picked up on her mood. ‘It’s rather awful of us,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think?’

‘A bit,’ she agreed.

‘I’m her undertaker, for goodness’ sake. It’s macabre, when you think about it.’

‘More like a very black joke. You could make a funny film out of it – an undertaker who always has sex in his clients’ beds.’

He groaned. ‘Stop it. Even
Six Feet Under
didn’t do that. Not as far as I can remember, anyway,’ he added.

‘Well, we’ve done it now, and it was very nice, and I am extremely happy that you’re here. Let me show you the house properly. It’s not really haunted at all. It’s got a lovely welcoming atmosphere, actually.’

They dressed, still slightly self-conscious about it. Thea pushed aside a niggling thought that the real truth was that she and Drew functioned best together when they were talking, making plans, and exploring new places. He was approaching forty and she was some years senior to that. Young enough for a vigorous sex life, but too old for it to be the mainstay of the relationship. She could easily envisage a somewhat tepid middle age, in which they settled into a routine where the sex was more
of a habit than necessity. And yet she definitely loved him. Looking at him now, she swelled with it. His boyish looks concealed a maturity that she was still discovering. He was stoical about the death of his wife, honest about his uneven feelings towards his children. Stephanie was inescapably more special to him than Timmy was – a small tragedy that he did not try to hide from himself. Timmy had been an accident, born uncomfortably soon after his sister, and cheated of proper parenting by his mother’s long-drawn-out illness and death. Drew hoped that the role played by Maggs Cooper had compensated in some way. Maggs had immediately observed the situation, and taken it upon herself to focus on the child and his needs. But now Maggs had her own baby, and Timmy was nearly eight and increasingly inscrutable.

The second bedroom was indeed a mess. The contents of all the various drawers, chests and boxes were laid out on every surface, including the floor, despite many of them having been moved to the little closet off the main bedroom. ‘There’s
masses
of it,’ Drew said. He fingered a silk camisole. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a garment like this before. And look at this hanky. It’s got some sort of crest embroidered on it.’ He smiled. ‘I always think it’s weird to decorate something you use to blow your nose on. This stuff must be fifty years old.’

‘More like eighty. It’s pre-war, some of it, I think. I don’t understand what it’s doing here. People don’t keep their old clothes as long as this. They hardly seem to have been worn. I started packing it all away
again, but then I thought you might like to see it.’

‘They’re not hers,’ said Drew suddenly. ‘They must be the sister’s.’

‘What? What sister?’

‘She died young. Mrs Wilshire told me about her. People do that,’ he explained. ‘They go back through all the funerals they’ve known. It’s a sort of instinct. And it helps them decide how their own should go. Makes sense.’

‘Okay,’ said Thea thoughtfully. ‘So, assuming she was born in the 1920s and died as a young adult – old enough to wear these clothes, anyway – that would be the forties or thereabouts when she died.’