‘What you tell me about him certainly helps to explain his somewhat unorthodox views. He does not seem in the least concerned that the Bitton-Bittadon family are buried in what is called unhallowed ground,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘Ah, that’s a bit of a funny tale, that is, ma’am. The grave is inside the churchyard wall, but it seems that in the eighteenth century it was decided the churchyard needed enlarging and the only enlargement available was land belonging to the squire. Well, as gentlemen did in those days, he’d founded a sort of local hell-fire club and professed himself in every way a heathen and worse. His gang used to hold meetings up at the old hill-fort and pray to the old gods (whoever they might have been in the squire’s opinion, for, by all I can read up about him, he was anything but an educated man) and he agreed, being a good-natured sort of cuss in his way, (and very liberal-handed to the villagers at harvest times) to give the parson the ground he wanted except for the piece he meant to keep for his own grave. The parson of that time seems to have agreed and to have signed the papers, and nobody’s ever taken any more notice, so far as I’m aware. There’s no law against burying folks wherever they’ve a mind to be buried, so long as the death is reported and the death certificate signed, I believe.’
‘Most interesting. And none of the family, even in Victorian times, has ever attempted to make the piece of land over to the Church?’
‘They say that, in his will, the old chap swore he’d come and haunt the one that did. We’re great believers in ghosts around these parts, ma’am. There’s all sorts of tales of headless horses drawing a phantom coach with a headless driver, and a ghost that runs at you backwards, and the usual black dog, and all the rest of it.’
‘Ghosts hardly seem to be a race of original thinkers, or villagers either, do they? How did your enquiries go at the More to Come?’
‘I can’t think we gained much, ma’am. The story, on the face of it, seems likely enough. On the Sunday after the Mayering on the Thursday, the Shurrocks were due for their annual fortnight’s holiday, and the present manager was put in as a locum by the brewers.’
‘The Shurrocks did not own the inn, then?’
‘Lessees, not exactly owners, ma’am, but, of course, the pub had to be kept open and it seems the Shurrocks themselves didn’t know of anybody to take over, so, as was their custom during the other years they’d been here, they asked the brewers to help them out, and the brewers sent along these people whose name is Kingley.’
‘Had they ever acted in the same capacity before?’
‘At other houses run by these particular brewers, yes, ma’am, but not at the More to Come. They always seem to have given satisfaction and had been promised the next nomination as soon as there was a vacancy, but, up to then, they’d been unlucky. However, it seems that Shurrock wrote to Kingley (who, of course, he’d met on the Friday just to introduce him to the business and one or two of the regulars) by the first post Monday morning, telling him that none of them were coming back and that if he wanted the lease, and the brewers would let him have it, to go ahead. Seems the brewers were all set on opening up the place and making it residential, but Shurrock told Kingley he wanted no part of it and that there had been a bit of a toss-up with the brewers about the proposed alterations. We’ve been on to the brewers, but they say there was no argument.’
‘The Kingleys, from what my great-niece tells me, have wasted no time in carrying out the brewers’ instructions,’ said Dame Beatrice.
‘Oh, a lot of the work had already been done in odd spots and from time to time, you know. Then, it seems, Shurrock took the chance the holiday gave him to quit, leaving no forwarding address. Seems to me a bit queer, but that’s the story, and the brewers received his resignation all right.’
‘But they do not know where he has gone?’
‘Don’t much care, either, according to Kingley. Shurrock didn’t leave owing any rent, or any other bad debts, and they’re just as glad to see the back of him, seeing how discontented he said in his letter he’d been, with the village so dead and alive.’
‘Oh, well, if he resigned, that clears up one mystery, I suppose. It still seems an unusual way for him to have acted, though. My great-niece represented him as a jovial, sociable man, certainly not a malcontent.’
‘Yes, ma’am. More than a suggestion of a moonlight flit about it, but it doesn’t seem to have been that way at all.’
‘From the way my great-niece described them, the Shurrocks do not seem to have been the sort of people to go off in what one can only describe as a hole-and-corner fashion, certainly. There must be a factor in the situation which has not come to light.’
‘I couldn’t agree more, ma’am. Oh, well, now to tackle Sir Jeremy and see what he thinks about opening up the family grave. As the vicar has no objections, it’s up to the manor house now. Do you think Lady Bitton-Bittadon—?’
Dame Beatrice found her hostess arranging flowers.
‘Jeremy?’ said Lady Bitton-Bittadon. ‘Goodness knows where he is. He spends a great deal of time in the
