She shoved her hands through the slits in her cape, deep 26
into the pockets of her cords, and marched the way she imagined an ancient Roman would have done. Beyond the clouds, she could make out the pearly sheen of a half moon.
The great silence all around magnified the little sounds-the clatter of small stones, the rhythmic crunch of gravel, the swishing of her cords against the cape-and Mara felt the strain on her weak left knee that she always got going downhill. She raised her head and let the thin, cool rain fall on her closed eyelids and breathed in the wet-dog smell of the air. When she opened her eyes, she saw the black bulk of distant fells against a dark grey sky. ?.
At the end of the track, Mara walked into Relton. The change from gravel to the smooth tarmac of Mortsett Lane felt strange at first. The village shops were all closed. Television sets flickered behind drawn curtains.
Just to be sure, Mara first popped her head inside the Black Sheep, but neither Seth nor Rick was there. A log fire crackled in the corner of the cosy public bar, but the place was half-empty. The landlord, Larry Grafton, smiled and said hello. Like many of the locals, he had come to accept the incomers from Maggie’s Farm. At least, he had once told Mara, they weren’t like those London yuppies who seemed to be buying up all the vacant property in the Dales these days..
“Can I get you anything?” Grafton called out.
“No. No, thanks,” Mara said. “I was looking for Seth. You haven’t seen him, have you?”
Two old men looked up from their game of dominoes, and a trio of young farm labourers paused in their argument over subsidies and glanced at Mara with faintly curious expressions on their faces.
“No, lass,” Grafton said. “They’ve not been in since lunchtime. Said they were off to that there demonstration in Eastvale.”
Mara nodded. “That’s right. There’s been some trouble and they haven’t come back yet. I was just wondering-“
“Is it right, then?” one of the farm labourers asked. “Tommy Exton dropped in half an hour sin’ and said there’d been some fighting in Market Street.”
27
Mara told him what little she knew, and he shook his head. “It don’t pay to get involved in things like that. Best left well alone,” he said, and returned to his pint.
Mara left the Black Sheep and headed for the public telephone-box on Mortsett Lane. Why they didn’t have a phone installed at the farm she didn’t know. Seth had once said he wouldn’t have one of the things in the house, but he never explained why. Every time he needed to make a few calls he went down to the village, and he never once complained. At least in the country you could usually be sure the telephones hadn’t been vandalized.
The receptionist at Eastvale General Infirmary answered and asked her what she wanted. Mara explained that she was interested in news of a friend of hers who hadn’t come home from the demonstration. The receptionist said, “Just a minute,”
and the phone hiccupped and burped a few times. Finally a man’s voice came on.
“Can I help you, miss?”
“Yes. I’d like to know if you have a patient called Seth Cotton and one called Rick Trelawney.”
“Who is this calling?”
“I … I’d rather not say,” Mara answered, suddenly afraid that if she gave her name she would be inviting trouble.
“Are you a relation?”
“I’m a friend. A very close friend.”
“I see. Well, unless you identify yourself, miss, I’m afraid I can’t give out any information.”
“Look,” Mara said, getting angry, “this is ridiculous. It’s not as if I’m asking you to break the Official Secrets Act or anything. I just want to know if my friends are there and, if so, how badly they’re injured. Who are you, anyway?”
“Constable Parker, miss. If you’ve any complaints you’d better take them up with Chief Inspector Banks at Eastvale CID Headquarters.”
“Chief Inspector Banks? CID?” Mara repeated slowly. She remembered the name. He was the one who had visited the farm before, when Liz was there. “Why? I don’t understand. What’s going on? I only want to know if my friends are hurt.”
28
“Sorry, miss. Orders. Tell me your name and I’ll see what I can do.”
Mara hung up. Something was very wrong. She’d done enough damage already by mentioning Seth and Rick. The police would surely take special note of their names and push them even harder than the rest. There was nothing to do but wait and worry. Frowning, she opened the door and walked back into the rain.
IV
“Feel like a broke-down engine, ain’t got no drivin’ wheel,” sang Blind Willie McTell.
“I know exactly what you mean, mate,” Banks mumbled to himself as he poured a shot of Laphroaig single- malt, an indulgence he could scarcely afford. It was almost two in the morning and the interrogations had produced no results so far.
Tired, Banks had left the others to it and come home for a few hours’ sleep. He felt he deserved it. They hadn’t had to spend the morning in court, the afternoon on a wild-goose chase after a stolen tractor, and the evening listening to the Hon Honoria, who would no doubt by now be sleeping the sleep of the truly virtuous before heading back, with great relief, down south in the morning.
