got better things to do. Bill should put a socking great bull in that field. That’s what I say!’
Zoë hid a smile. ‘Why is it called Dead Man’s Field? That sounds a bit spooky.’
‘And rightly so. There is a tumulus in the field. Now that is on a lot of the maps, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, Rosemary, though you’ve chosen to ignore it. The field has long had a reputation for being haunted. Another reason the locals wouldn’t walk there if you paid them and why there wouldn’t be a footpath across it. Why is it, Rosemary, it is always newcomers who stir these things up? Why don’t you ask the locals if there was ever a path there? And listen to their answers.’
‘Because the locals aren’t interested.’ Rosemary sniffed. ‘They don’t care about the countryside half the time.’ She wasn’t going to admit that she had at the beginning overlooked the fact that the silly little pile of earth she had contemplated bulldozing was a tumulus. Most of the maps didn’t show it any more anyway. ‘All they are interested in is if they can stuff the latest plasma telly into their front rooms.’
‘Oh, my dear, that is so wrong.’ Lesley shook her head. ‘Read the history, the proper history of the estate, not your little maps which were probably drawn up by retired clergy-men in the thirties who never set foot in the fields themselves.’ She was looking agitated. ‘I’ve read a lot about this area; it’s my job as part of restoring the gardens.’
‘Well, the farm was never part of the gardens,’ Rosemary said stiffly. ‘The local people wanted access to the river. It is the obvious route if you look at the maps.’
‘The local people have the lane, Rosemary. That is why it is there. That is where it goes. To the river.’
‘They’ll thank me in the end.’ Rosemary helped herself to a piece of cake. ‘They don’t know anything about rights of way and they are too lazy to bother, but they will use the path once it’s there, you’ll see.’
Zoë stared at her. ‘That sounds awfully snobby and patronising, Rosemary, if you don’t mind my saying so. Are there any farm workers’ cottages belonging to the estate?’ She changed the subject hastily, looking at Lesley. ‘I was looking at a map in the library and it didn’t seem to show any that are still there.’
‘No. There aren’t any left now.’ Lesley stood up and reached for the coffee pot. Tight-lipped, she topped up Rosemary’s cup and then Zoë’s. ‘The Old Forge next to you is the only one left, as far as I know. I am sure there were cottages; there must have been on the estate, when the farm was in its heyday, but I expect they collapsed over the years. They were probably fairly basic, and once the family had gone who would care? They were not part of a village, after all. Bill might know.’ She glanced at Rosemary. ‘Come on, don’t sulk, old thing. Hurry up and drink that and we’ll show Zoë round the gardens.’
Straightening up for a few moments to rest his back after bending over the engine housing, Ken saw Steve Formby strolling down the path towards him. He groaned inwardly, but managed a cheery wave. ‘The girls have gone up to the Hall for coffee, I gather,’ he called.
Steve nodded. He lowered himself carefully onto the edge of the landing stage and sat with his legs dangling over the water. ‘It is so lovely here,’ he said. ‘Peaceful.’
Ken contemplated a response and decided to say nothing. He was not a fan of Steve’s wife. She was noisy and bossy and far too aggressive for his liking. He leaned back against the cabin door. ‘I hear the Watts family are down. We haven’t met them yet.’
Steve blew gustily through pursed lips. ‘I wouldn’t bother. They are a nightmare.’
‘Noisy?’ There had been a never-ending blast of sound from The Summer Barn this morning. Music, shouting and revving engines, to say nothing of dogs barking.
‘Noisy,’ Steve confirmed. ‘The blessing is that they don’t stay long. The kids will have to go back to school at some point.’
Both men were silent for a while. Ken reached for an oily rag and began slowly to wipe his fingers on it. ‘Odd thing happened the other night when we came home after dark,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Did Zoë mention it to Rosemary? Strange noises out here on the river.’
Steve laughed. ‘Yes, she told me. I’ve never heard them.’
‘But you know about them.’
‘Load of crap, in my view.’ Steve was rhythmically kicking the seaweed-covered post beneath him ‘Sound carries over water, we all know that. There was probably someone messing round upstream somewhere. They could have been a long way away so you wouldn’t have been able to see them.’
Ken grinned ‘You’re right. That could well have been it. Or I did wonder if it could have been smugglers bringing contraband up-river, drugs or illegal immigrants. It was a bit odd.’
‘The little woman scared?’ Steve laughed again.
‘Something like that.’
‘I reckon you’re more likely to be right than the girls’ theory that it is a ghostly visitor.’ With another snort of laughter Steve drummed a further tattoo with his heels on the wooden piles beneath him. ‘Don’t let her talk to Leo about it,’ he went on. ‘He’s a bit fey, in my opinion. Probably something to do with that ghastly accident the poor chap had. He reckons it is a Viking longship.’
Ken nodded sagely. ‘I haven’t met him yet. He always pops in when I’m not there.’ He sensed rather than saw Steve glance at him sharply.
‘I wouldn’t worry.’ Steve thought for a minute. ‘I doubt if he’s a lady’s man. Not looking like that. He would stir up compassion in a stone wall, but I don’t get the feeling he’s a danger to our women.’ Ken refrained from pointing out that Steve’s wife was a weather-beaten battle-axe, while his was still young and attractive. It seemed unnecessarily unkind.
‘He’s not gay?’
‘No. In fact I think he’s married. But separated. Our cleaning lady, Annie, mentioned it; said she walked out on him after the accident. What a bitch.’
Ken noticed Steve pat his pockets speculatively for the third time and he gave a knowing grin. ‘Am I right in thinking you’ve given up smoking?’
Steve nodded. ‘Can’t get used to not having any on me.’
‘Would you like to come aboard for a lager? Then you can tell me about this Viking ship.’
Ten minutes later the men were seated in the cockpit of the Lady Grace. ‘You know we’re only a few miles from Sutton Hoo, the Anglo-Saxon site where they found the great ship burial,’ Steve said as he made himself comfortable and pulled the tab on the can.
‘We haven’t been there yet.’ Ken leaned back into the corner and rested his arm companionably over the tiller. ‘Is it worth seeing?’
‘I enjoyed it. There is a museum and a café and a shop, and then you walk out to these burial mounds. Nothing much to see there, just grass, and nice walks overlooking the river, a bit like this actually, but round where they found the ship it all feels a bit special, even I have to admit that.’
‘And this ship is the same as the one Zoë and Leo are talking about?’
Steve frowned. ‘I assume so. Is Viking the same as Anglo-Saxon?’ Both men shook their heads. ‘History is not my thing,’ Ken said after a moment. His attention was caught by a movement over Steve’s shoulder. Out in the river a cormorant flew low over the water, its dark iridescent wings and sharp head and beak a black arrow against the green of the rising tide.
Eric