sandstone to withstand the heat, open at the bottom.’
‘I noticed a sort of arch, a crescent opening.’
‘That’s where you put the coal in. The “eye”. There should be one at the other side, too, though it’s probably buried in the hillside by now. It formed a sort of air tunnel, you see, to keep the fire burning. Above it, inside, there should be an iron grate. You layer crushed limestone and coal up inside, then cover the top with sod, put more coal in the bottom and set it alight. They used to burn for days. People used the quicklime to spread on the fields or for mortar in building, and maybe to get rid of a body or two.’ He winked. ‘Though I heard once that it can actually have the opposite effect and preserve a dead body. Anyway, there are a couple more kilns about two hundred yards farther along, on the same side of the dale as your house.’
‘When did they stop using lime kilns?’
‘The 1850s, or thereabouts. Demand got too high, so the manufacturing of lime became industrialised. The smaller kilns weren’t needed any more. Pity. You can imagine what a sight they must have been in the Dales, especially at night, the plumes of smoke and the fiery eyes.’
‘You seem to know a lot about the area for a Southerner,’ I said. ‘Do you live here in the village?’
‘Yes,’ said Ted. ‘Just over the road, by the green. Been here six years now. I worked in banking. Got out early, before the whole world started to hate us.’ He leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes. ‘I understand you’re something to do with Hollywood, the movie business? Famous, aren’t you?’
‘Word gets around,’ I said. ‘Though I’d hardly call myself famous.’
‘I’ve heard of you.’ Caroline sounded as if it had taken her a great deal of time and courage to let the words out. ‘You did the music for that last Sandra Bullock film, didn’t you? I liked it. I mean, the film, but the music, too. It was very romantic.’
‘Well, I’m grateful for that,’ I said. It wasn’t one of my favourite efforts, but it had a pretty theme, which in one scene played well ironically against the heroine’s tears of distress.
‘You don’t seem at all the way I pictured you,’ Caroline said.
‘Well, my studio photo’s a couple of years old now, but apart from a few more grey hairs I haven’t changed all that much.’
‘No, I don’t mean that,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen any photos of you. I mean more… like a composer… like someone who’s… I’m sorry, I can’t really express myself very well.’
‘Well, I don’t look like Beethoven, that’s for sure. Not enough hair, for a start.’
Ted rushed into the awkward silence with the panacea offer of another drink.
I was thinking of saying no, that I had to go, but I thought Ted Welland might prove an interesting source of local knowledge. I still wanted to know more about the house I was living in, and the people who used to live there. ‘Pint of Daleside, please,’ I said. I didn’t imagine that one more pint would put me over the limit, and I doubted that there were many police patrols on this road, anyway. I had noticed that the car park was almost full, and nobody seemed to be sitting around drinking Coke or tomato juice.
‘Can I have a rum and blackcurrant?’ Caroline asked. ‘For my cold.’
Ted patted her on the shoulder. ‘’Course you can, love.’ He made his way to the bar.
After a short pause, Caroline asked, ‘Did you like living in America?’ She had a curious habit of glancing at me sideways when she asked me a question, sniffling occasionally, her hands clasped on her lap.
‘Most of the time,’ I said.
‘I’ve never been there. Are you working on a new film?’
‘Not at the moment. I’m taking a break.’
‘Must be nice. Is that why you came here? For inspiration?’
It was an odd sensation, having a conversation with Caroline. I felt as if she really needed to ask her questions but had little or no interest in the answers. ‘Partly,’ I said.
‘Kilnsgate’s a big house just for one person, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve never been inside, but even from the outside… you can tell.’
‘Yes, it’s big,’ I said. ‘Probably too big. But I got used to having a lot of space in America. It suits me fine. I imagine it’s the kind of place that used to have servants and the like?’
‘It would have had once,’ said Caroline. ‘But it’s been empty for a long time. It’s too far off the beaten track, and nobody can afford big houses these days. Nobody from around these parts, at any rate. It’s the economy, you know.’
Fortunately, Ted came back with the drinks, his hands wrapped around two frothing pints, yet still managing to hold Caroline’s rum and blackcurrant cordial with his fingertips. He bent to set the glasses carefully on the table and sat down again.
‘Your wife was just telling me that Kilnsgate House was empty for a long time,’ I said, as a way of bringing him back into the conversation.
Ted glanced at Caroline, then back at me. ‘Yes, that’s right. Interestingly enough, during the war it was used for a while by some hush-hush military unit. The Special Operations Executive would be my guess. Cloak-and- dagger boys. They were mainly involved in overseas missions, supporting resistance groups, sabotage and the like, so I imagine they used the place for briefings and training. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that.’
‘And later?’
‘Not so interesting, I’m afraid. In the fifties and sixties it was mostly just sitting there, going to rack and ruin. In fact, I even think some hippy commune took it over for a few years in the early seventies. Then the owner, or his solicitor, got a rental outfit to manage the property, but they had constant trouble renting it out. It just sort of stalled, more trouble than it was worth. You must have been a godsend, old boy.’
‘Why did nobody want to rent it or live there?’
‘Well, let’s face it, the place is hardly a cottage, and it is rather remote, isn’t it? Talk about Wuthering Heights or Bleak House. And it’s not a great spot for farming. Then… Do you know much about it, yourself?’
‘I know there was a murder there, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Right. Yes. Well, perhaps people were also put off by what happened there. I mean, it’s not everyone who wants to live in a house where there’s been a murder, is it? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… you know.’
‘No need to apologise,’ I said. ‘I had no idea of its history when I bought it. All the negotiations were conducted from a distance, and my estate agent didn’t see fit to tell me.’
‘Can’t blame him, can you?’ said Ted. ‘Might have put you off.’
‘It doesn’t bother me, but it does interest me. Do you know much about the case?’
‘Not a great deal. I’m afraid murder isn’t my forte, so to speak. But it was back in the early fifties,’ Ted went on. ‘They lived there, I think, from about the mid-thirties until 1953. That was when she poisoned him. A woman’s method, if ever there was one.’
Caroline had been following our conversation with that sideways gaze of hers, sniffling and blowing her nose from time to time. She took a sip of rum and blackcurrant and gave a little moue as Ted spoke. ‘Oh, Ted,’ she said. ‘Don’t be so chauvinistic.’
‘Well, it is! Name me one famous male poisoner.’
‘Dr Crippen,’ said Caroline.
‘He didn’t do it,’ Ted argued. ‘They’ve proved it wasn’t his wife’s torso they found under the cellar floor. DNA.’
‘That’s just a theory. Besides, it was someone’s torso, wasn’t it?’ Caroline argued. ‘And it didn’t get there by itself.’
Ted had to concede that she had a point there.
‘Will you let me carry on, woman?’ he said. ‘As I said, they found traces of poison, arrested the wife, and that was that. She was hanged at Armley Gaol in April 1953. Got a fair bit of notoriety at the time, but it didn’t seem to linger in the national psyche like some murders do.’
‘Why do you think that was?’
‘I don’t honestly know,’ said Ted. ‘It had all the ingredients. Sex, intrigue, a mysterious, beautiful woman, a nice juicy murder. A hanging. Maybe she got overshadowed by Ruth Ellis a couple of years later? And, don’t forget, she also came between Bentley and Christie, too. They were both pretty controversial and sensational cases. I mean, not a week or so after she went on trial, they started finding the bodies in the walls at 10 Rillington Place. That’d blow everything off the front page, wouldn’t it? Whatever the reason, the Kilnsgate poisoner has been largely
