Libby parked as close to the gate as she could, and they crossed the road to the end of the lane.
‘It’s like looking into a tunnel,’ said Fran. ‘And look, under the leaves you can just see a faint white line. It was a proper road at one time.’
‘It still is further down,’ said Libby. ‘It’s odd though. Let’s have a look down this side. See if we can see anything.’
The trees stretched away slightly to their right, now, and also ahead, following what Libby supposed to be the other side of the White Lodge estate.
‘Although you don’t know that,’ said Fran. ‘You couldn’t even link it up yesterday from the other end. For all we know we could be miles away and this could be a totally different wood.’
Libby scrambled over some brambles and swore. ‘If I keep ruining jeans like this I shall put in a claim.’
‘No one’s asking us to do this,’ said Fran. ‘It’s self-inflicted. And better jeans than bare legs.’ She rubbed at a large scratch on her left shin.
‘Why you wear skirts I don’t know,’ said Libby. ‘Look. There’s the same thin wire fence along this side of the woodland that I saw yesterday near White Lodge.’
‘That doesn’t prove anything,’ said Fran. ‘And it doesn’t actually look navigable along there. Let’s go back. I want to see the building.’
They retraced their steps and began to walk down the lane through last year’s rotting leaves. Libby managed to pull the gate a little further open and they squeezed through.
‘There,’ she said, and Fran stopped dead.
Libby watched for a moment, unwilling to break in on whatever her friend had seen or sensed, then walked slowly towards the bank she had negotiated yesterday. After a minute or two, Fran scrambled up beside her and pointed her camera.
‘What is it?’ asked Libby. ‘Did you see something?’
‘Not see, exactly,’ said Fran in a strange voice. ‘Felt. I couldn’t get my breath.’
Libby looked at her sharply. ‘TB sufferers couldn’t breathe. Their lungs were collapsed on purpose.’
‘Yes.’ Fran nodded slowly. ‘It was frightening.’
‘Is that what was happening?’
Fran shook her head. ‘I don’t really know, but I think so.’
‘So this is part of the hospital? Or the workhouse? Or both?’
‘The hospital, certainly,’ said Fran, her voice sounding more normal now. ‘Possibly the workhouse. The building’s more that age.’
‘We ought to tell Ian.’ Libby peered down the other side of the bank.
‘Why?’
‘He ought to know.’
‘We don’t even know what he’s found to investigate,’ said Fran. ‘It might not be relevant at all.’
‘It might. I still think we ought to tell him.’ She stepped experimentally on to the other side of the bank. ‘Fancy trying to get a bit nearer?’
Fran put a steadying hand on her shoulder. ‘Go on, then. Careful.’
Helping each other, they managed to scramble over and through the vegetation to the bottom of the bank, where they stood staring up at the blank grey face of the building. Libby shivered.
Fran set off round the side, Libby following. The trees still pressed in closely on either side until they rounded the front.
‘Someone’s been here,’ said Libby.
‘Oh, yes.’ Fran moved slowly across the roughly cleared area towards the only door, scarred metal and heavily padlocked. Two broken windows on the ground floor level looked into blackness, and from one of the two higher up a scrap of cloth fluttered forlornly, exactly the same as the one on the other side.
‘Well, now we will have to tell Ian,’ said Fran giving a crooked smile.
‘I thought you said this might not be connected to White Lodge?’
‘Oh, I think so.’ Fran scraped at the cleared ground with her foot. ‘This is recent. Like the grave was.’
‘But Ian said the body wasn’t recent.’
‘He didn’t say the grave wasn’t.’
‘How could that be?’ Libby frowned at her friend. ‘New grave and old body?’
Fran shook her head. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh, bloody hell,’ said Libby. ‘Do you think we should try and get through those trees and see if we get to White Lodge?’
‘I don’t fancy it. It looks impregnable. The only reason we managed to get here is that some of that undergrowth at the front had been hacked back.’
‘Had it?’ said Libby in surprise. ‘It didn’t look like it.’
Fran nodded. ‘You could see cut marks. This is very like the sort of thing I used to do for Goodall and Smythe, and believe me, I got used to nosing things out even if they were down to earth physical. The smell in that shed, for instance.’ She wrinkled her nose.
‘What was that? You’ve never told me much about what you did then.’
‘You’ve never asked.’ Fran smiled and looked round at the trees. ‘Come on, let’s go, and I’ll tell you in the car.’
After Fran had taken more photographs, they fought their way back to the overgrown bank, Libby looking all the while for signs of recent use of a saw. As far as she could there weren’t any.
‘Yes, there are, look,’ said Fran, reading her mind. ‘There.’ She pulled at a section of bramble, and sure enough Libby could see where branches from the trees behind had been cut off.
‘So someone’s using this as a way in there? But for what?’
‘Presumably the same reason they’re trying to keep people away from White Lodge.’
‘But in that case why aren’t they doing the same thing here?’ Libby lost her footing and slid down the bank into the lane.
Fran joined her and looked down the lane towards the cottages. She stepped back and looked at what could be seen of the church. ‘I should think that’s the reason. There will be people up and down this lane every day, not only people who live here, but churchgoers.’
‘All the more reason to keep them away.’
‘No, playing Debussy every five minutes would attract attention here, exactly the reverse effect of the other side.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Libby cast one more look at the grey building and turned back towards the road and the car. ‘Come on, this place is spooking me out.’
‘Where does this road lead to?’ asked Fran as Libby pulled away.
‘I think it must join up with the road to Steeple Mount. But come on, tell me about the shed.’
Fran sighed. ‘Goodall and Smythe were selling this rather grand house in Kensington. The lower ground floor had been let as a separate flat, but no one was there and the prospective buyers wanted to turn it back into one house. She was very nervy and didn’t like the idea of the basement, so I was sent to have a look round.’ Fran sighed again and shook her head. ‘Honestly, I think I was a mug. Goodall and Smythe didn’t really believe in what I did, I was a “service” to make purchasers feel more secure.’
‘So come on, what happened?’
‘There really was something nasty in the woodshed. I don’t talk about it because it was horrific, but it was nothing to do with my having a “moment”, it was to do with the ghastly smell.’
‘And?’ prompted Libby after a moment. ‘Was it a body?’
‘Yes. Of the former tenant.’ Fran shuddered. ‘Not that you could tell.’
‘Blimey! You poor thing. No wonder you gave up on it all. Was he murdered?’
‘Yes. It was in the papers. The bloke who was selling the house killed him and went abroad. He must have known it would be discovered as soon as someone went to view, but I think he’d gone to ground, somewhere like Brazil.’
‘So you’d already been involved in murder before you met me?’
Fran laughed. ‘There’s no need to sound so affronted! And I certainly wouldn’t recommend finding a partially decomposed body.’
