The Coffin Trail

Chapter Fifteen

After parting from Hannah Scarlett, Daniel had a sandwich lunch at a cafe in the Master’s House before returning to the library. This time he was searching out archive materials about Lakeland corpse roads that might provide background for the article he’d suggested to the editor of Contemporary Historian. For the best part of three hours, he lost himself in research. He hadn’t brought his laptop: a conscious decision. It had remained locked in its case and hidden under a pile of magazines at the bottom of a cupboard ever since his arrival at Tarn Cottage. Instead of tapping details into his computer in the manner that had become second nature, he jotted longhand notes in a school exercise book he’d picked up at the branch of WH Smith just down the road, much as he had when revising for his A Levels. It was a nostalgic indulgence, but when he checked his watch and realised that he’d spent longer than he’d intended, it dawned on him how much he’d enjoyed his afternoon’s work. Enjoyment. He’d yearned for it during his sabbatical and been disappointed. In Oxford it had eluded him but here, in a modest provincial library possessing a fraction of the resources available in the Bod, he’d rediscovered the pleasure of historical research for its own sake. At last he wasn’t racing against a deadline for a script or a book, or trying to find a new way of presenting old facts for a tutorial or seminar. He felt as though by chance he’d bumped into a childhood sweetheart and found that she was as much fun to be with as when they were both seventeen and first in love.

The sun made a belated appearance as he started back to the cottage. His mood was light and he followed a roundabout route along leafy back lanes, catching glimpses of Windermere every now and then, and of the chain- guided car ferry chugging across from Bowness to Sawrey. Low branches kept caressing the roof of his Audi. Whenever a vehicle approached from the other direction, one or other of them had to reverse as far as the nearest passing place. But the peacefulness of the Lakes amply compensated for any trivial inconveniences. He could understand why his father had fallen in love with this place, just as he could understand why the old man had liked Hannah so much. He liked her too; he felt sure he could trust her. With a little prompting, she would help him to get a handle on his father’s life after leaving home and to understand at last what had made the man tick.

Turning into Tarn Fold, he saw a flash of yellow shining through the trees. Tash Dumelow’s car was parked close to where he and Miranda had stopped that very first morning when they had found that Tarn Cottage was up for sale. The Alfa came into full view a moment later. It was carelessly parked, making it difficult for him to pass, and it was empty. She’d left the driver’s door open.

What had happened to her?

Puzzled, he pulled up behind the Alfa and jumped out. He had a half-formed idea of going in search, but maybe he was overreacting. Besides, he didn’t know which way to head.

Might she have left the car here and set off on foot for the cottage?

The sun had disappeared again and he felt a chill on his back as he wandered beneath the canopy formed by the trees, trying to decide what do for the best. He heard a rustling and then footsteps, coming from behind.

‘Hi, Daniel, how are things?’

He spun around and saw Tash emerging from a path that led between the trees and down to the beck. An artist’s pad was in her hand. Relief flooded through him.

‘Are you okay?’

She was breathing hard, as though from the exertion of the climb. As she approached, he was conscious of her perfume. Although she was casually dressed in white T-shirt and blue jeans, a second glance revealed that, despite the lateness of the afternoon, they both looked as crisp and freshly laundered as if she’d just put them on. It may have been a long time since Tash Dumelow went slinking on the catwalk, but old habits died hard. Even when she came out to do a little sketching on her own in an unfrequented corner of the valley, she took care to keep up appearances.

‘I’m fine, how are you?’

Rather than answer directly, she asked, ‘Stopping for a stroll along the banks of the beck?’

He pointed to the open car door. ‘Curious, that’s all.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you.’ She gave him a teasing smile, but he thought he could detect tiredness and strain behind it. ‘I should have taken more care to park prettily and lock the car up. But one of the nice things about this part of the world is that there’s so little crime. In the pay-and-displays at Bowness or Ambleside it’s different, but I don’t think many car thieves venture this far off the beaten track.’

‘You’re here to paint a picture?’

‘Not today. I’m just working up an idea for my next exhibition. Even though it’s on my own doorstep, I’ve never tackled the old corn mill. I’ve been wandering up and down and on both sides of the beck, trying to decide on the best viewpoint. Thinking out the composition, seeing how the shadows of the trees fall on the brickwork. On second thoughts, I ought to come back early tomorrow morning, catch the freshness of the light when the sun first comes out.’

‘I never realised watercolouring was so complicated.’

‘Well, sketching out a scene soothes my nerves whenever I’m a bit flustered. Some people chill out with music, others with sport. For me, the ideal escape involves heading off alone with just a few sheets of paper and a piece of charcoal for company.’

‘You don’t look flustered to me.’

‘Thanks.’ A brief smile faded. ‘It’s nothing, really.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Instinct told him that she wanted to say more, but was holding back. She shifted from one foot to another and he was reminded of his time in college, when students wavered before confessing their latest cause for angst.

‘As a matter of fact, I’m worried about a friend of mine.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’ He wasn’t sure that it was a good idea to encourage a confidence. Especially from an attractive and very married woman. But he could hardly walk away without another word. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’

‘I hope not. With any luck, I’m over-reacting, making a fuss over nothing.’ Head bowed, she seemed to be deliberating whether to say more. ‘Actually, it’s Jean. You know, Jean Allardyce? She may work for us, but she’s also one of my closest friends. I rely on her a lot. She’s a lovely lady.’

‘As it happens, I saw her again yesterday. I’d been walking along the old coffin trail and she gave me a lift into the village.’

‘Of course, I saw you both. She and I had a cup of coffee in the baker’s after she’d dropped you off.’

‘What’s the matter with her?’

Tash glanced over her shoulder, as if anxious that someone might overhear. But they were alone, and Tarn Fold was peaceful and silent. Daniel couldn’t even hear the sound of distant hammering from the cottage.

‘She’s — well, she’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘Left home. At least, that’s the way it seems. We haven’t seen her at the Hall since this morning. She’d said she wanted to have a private word with me about something and we’d arranged to get together at one o’clock, but she never showed up.’

‘Perhaps she forgot?’

Tash shook her head. ‘One thing about Jean, she never forgets.’

‘There’s a first time for everything.’

‘Mmmm…’ Tash was plainly unconvinced. ‘I waited for three-quarters of an hour. By that time, I was very concerned. It was so out of character. I walked over to the farmhouse, but there was no sign of her, inside or out. Tom wasn’t there, either. When eventually I tracked him down, he denied all knowledge of where she might be.’

‘Maybe she’s set off on another shopping trip.’

‘I don’t think so. She’s due to go to the supermarket tomorrow to stock up.’

‘There are other shops besides supermarkets.’

‘But she hasn’t taken the Land Rover and Jean wouldn’t even walk to Brack, let alone any further. She’s suffering from an ingrowing toenail… And there’s something else.’

Gently, he said, ‘Tell me.’

‘When we were in the house, I saw a suitcase, stashed behind the umbrella stand. It bulged as though she’d