Stephanie’s feeling of pride burgeoned even more. They were treating her almost like a grown-up, taking her seriously and obviously pleased with her. She gripped Thea’s hand, pretending it was because they were walking on slippery stones where the footpath climbed upwards, and looked around for the spaniel. ‘Hey, Hepzie!’ she called. ‘Run!’
The dog needed no encouragement. She began to fly across the adjacent field, long black ears flapping. ‘Lucky there aren’t any sheep,’ said Jessica, who was the only one apparently feeling less than joyous.
‘Did you know that this footpath is more than six hundred miles long?’ Timmy offered, after a short silence. ‘It zigzags a lot, you see, because it’s much less than that from Worcester to Brighton, which are the two ends.’
‘That’s amazing,’ said Jessica, sounding as if she really meant it.
‘It’s because the King was escaping, in the Civil War, and he had to keep going off course to hide,’ said Stephanie. She looked around her. At first glance, there were very few obvious hiding places, but then small banks as well as walls and hedges came into focus as ideal shelters. The land tipped and buckled, forming dips and creases where a person could lie down and become invisible. She connected it with the missing Beverley, as well as the possible presence of buried Roman treasure and suddenly saw the entire landscape with new eyes. ‘I expect there were more trees here then,’ she said.
‘Probably not,’ Thea corrected her. ‘They’d been felling most of the English oaks for a long time by then. And don’t forget this was an area with huge numbers of sheep. You don’t get trees in sheep country. They eat all the baby saplings as fast as they pop up.’
‘And they made coffins out of the elm trees,’ said Drew, reminding them of what he did for a living. ‘Lovely straight trunks, you see. I heard that they’re coming back at last. Won’t that be nice?’
Stephanie had an agreeable sense that everything connected. Charles I and Beverley Frowse, English oaks, sheep, old estates, dogs and death – they all danced around in her mind, joining up in a strangely coherent picture. Thea had often commented on how there was not a single inch of Britain that had not been walked on by people over thousands of years. ‘And a lot of it will have the bones of the dead lying down there as well,’ she usually added. Battles, old burial sites, family members interred close to the homestead – layers of dead people forming part of the very ground they walked on. But probably not up here on this particular wold, she decided. Just dead sheep and birds would be decomposing out here.
It was an idle conversation, with little emotional heft. The wind was slight but very cold. She remembered that Dad had said something about snow. It felt quite cold enough for it. ‘Are those snow clouds?’ she asked, pointing ahead, where the sky was very grey.
‘Could be,’ said Drew. ‘I forget what the forecast said now.’
‘Something about a light covering tomorrow. Maybe I should move my car,’ said Jessica. ‘At least as far as the church.’
‘If it really snows, Damien won’t be able to come,’ said Thea hopefully. ‘Please God, let it snow.’
‘Don’t be so nasty!’ Stephanie protested. ‘I want to see Kim.’
‘Kim and Tim!’ said Drew. ‘I only just realised. Like people from a storybook.’
‘It should be Tim and Kim because I’m older,’ said his son.
‘Timmy and Kimmy sounds even better,’ said Stephanie.
They had almost reached the road, where they would divide into two groups, according to Thea’s plan. The ground sloped downhill, providing better shelter from the cold wind. They had not seen a single person. ‘Why is it so deserted?’ asked Jessica.
‘It’s usually like this in winter. The tourists mostly go for better weather, even the walkers, and the second-homers are enjoying their log fires and mulled wine,’ said Drew. ‘You know what – I forgot to take you to see the burial field. It’s very different from when you were last here.’
‘Have we got time now?’
He looked dubious. ‘Not really. Not unless we go back the way we came, and down the other road.’
‘It’s just a field, Dad,’ said Timmy, who did not at all share his father’s and sister’s relish for graves. ‘And it’s windy on the footpath. It might be better if we go the way Thea said.’
‘I have to say you’re right,’ Drew agreed. ‘Sorry, Jess. Next time, eh?’
The parting of the ways was upon them. ‘You’ll be back before us,’ said Thea. ‘Put the kettle on. If we’re later than five, you can start making something with the cold turkey.’
Drew looked alarmed. ‘What sort of something?’
‘Cut it into little bits and fry it up with onion and tinned tomatoes. Jessica can help, if that’s too difficult for you.’ Drew’s cooking abilities were famously minimal, and yet he had managed to keep himself and two children alive for years when Karen was too ill to do it, and after she died. ‘We’ll have rice with it, but don’t start it until we’re back.’
‘You’ll take the dog presumably?’
‘Of course,’ she said.
As Thea and Stephanie rounded the bend before the entrance to Crossfield, they could see three or four vehicles parked along the edge of the driveway, between the road and the gate up to the big house. ‘Looks as if the police are still here,’ said Thea in some surprise.
‘I wonder why.’
‘They’ll be pressured into finding every scrap of evidence, now they know for sure it was murder. Gladwin’s probably here. Better put Hepzie on the lead. They won’t like it if she gets in their way.’
Stephanie caught the dog and attached her to the lead. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘Better start with Ant and Digby, I suppose. They can bring
