into a field that was almost level for a change. The marks were less easy to see out in the open, where the most recent snowfall had almost filled them. But the weight must have been considerable, and the runners had made grooves of sufficient depth to show through as slight indentations. They ran alongside a hedge, heading more or less north. At this rate, Thea mused, she would emerge onto the road – and who would have risked dragging a sledge containing a dead body along the public highway?
The answer came at the far end of the hedge. The marks turned at a sharp right angle, along the lower side of another hedge, through a conveniently open gateway and on in the same direction, running roughly parallel with the road leading into Hampnett itself.
She had lost all sense of distance, despite frequent backward glances to monitor where she was in relation to Lucy’s Barn, but knew she’d been walking for at least twenty minutes. It came as a surprise to see the tower of the church ahead of her, only a few hundred yards away.
Again the same question arose – wasn’t itimpossibly risky to take a dead man into the centre of the village? Perhaps, she thought doubtfully, she was merely following the tracks of an enterprising wood collector. Someone who had gone to the clump of trees to gather dead boughs and take them home for the open fire.
But she carried on with her quest, following the parallel lines in an almost hypnotic state of mind. Her nose was cold, and even through her gloves her fingers had gone numb. Her legs felt heavy, the muscles down the back of her calves complaining at the weight of her boots and the clogging resistance of the snow.
And then she was onto a paved road, with well-tended hedges on both sides, signs of a few walkers and animals under her weary feet. The snow was still very evident, but there were signs that a car had turned around on the spot where she stood. It was a cul-de-sac, with a scattering of houses on either side. But it was not until she saw the church tower directly ahead that she understood that she had emerged into the very heart of Hampnett.
She walked on a few yards, still following the marks of the sledge. Abruptly, she found herself beside a small opening to the left, a little gate standing open, revealing a virgin patch of garden in front of a very small cottage. There, miraculously, were the sledge tracks again, withthe footprints between them, heading right up to the front door along a pathway between two areas of garden.
It must have been somebody scrumping firewood, then, she thought with a pang of disappointment. Nothing to do with the dead man, after all. She was no further forward, and had just wasted a lot of time getting cold and lost for no good cause.
But then she noticed the door was ajar, which seemed strange in this security-conscious time and place. And the sledge was nowhere to be seen. And she could hear voices that sounded for all the world like young children.
Cautiously, she approached the little house, listening intently. She pushed the door wider and went in, transfixed by the scene in front of her in the shadowy room.
CHAPTER TEN
There was a jumble of humanity on the floor which took a few moments to distinguish. A body was on its back, legs drawn up, hands clutched in front of its chest. Two smaller people knelt on either side of it, and Thea slowly recognised Benjamin and Nicholas. Then she saw a straggly beard, and narrow shoulders, and made two distinct deductions. This was the body she had seen in the field, and the body was of the man she had met in the road, over a week before.
‘What happened?’ she cried, in a state of appalled surprise.
The boys looked at her as if an angel hadarrived to save and terrify them. ‘It’s George,’ said Nicky. ‘He’s frozen dead.’ The older boy simply stared at the lifeless face, his mouth open, his skin a greenish white.
Thea approached the tableau gently, aware of a host of conflicting
The answer came at the far end of the hedge. The marks turned at a sharp right angle, along the lower side of another hedge, through a conveniently open gateway and on in the same direction, running roughly parallel with the road leading into Hampnett itself.
She had lost all sense of distance, despite frequent backward glances to monitor where she was in relation to Lucy’s Barn, but knew she’d been walking for at least twenty minutes. It came as a surprise to see the tower of the church ahead of her, only a few hundred yards away.
Again the same question arose – wasn’t itimpossibly risky to take a dead man into the centre of the village? Perhaps, she thought doubtfully, she was merely following the tracks of an enterprising wood collector. Someone who had gone to the clump of trees to gather dead boughs and take them home for the open fire.
But she carried on with her quest, following the parallel lines in an almost hypnotic state of mind. Her nose was cold, and even through her gloves her fingers had gone numb. Her legs felt heavy, the muscles down the back of her calves complaining at the weight of her boots and the clogging resistance of the snow.
And then she was onto a paved road, with well-tended hedges on both sides, signs of a few walkers and animals under her weary feet. The snow was still very evident, but there were signs that a car had turned around on the spot where she stood. It was a cul-de-sac, with a scattering of houses on either side. But it was not until she saw the church tower directly ahead that she understood that she had emerged into the very heart of Hampnett.
She walked on a few yards, still following the marks of the sledge. Abruptly, she found herself beside a small opening to the left, a little gate standing open, revealing a virgin patch of garden in front of a very small cottage. There, miraculously, were the sledge tracks again, withthe footprints between them, heading right up to the front door along a pathway between two areas of garden.
It must have been somebody scrumping firewood, then, she thought with a pang of disappointment. Nothing to do with the dead man, after all. She was no further forward, and had just wasted a lot of time getting cold and lost for no good cause.
But then she noticed the door was ajar, which seemed strange in this security-conscious time and place. And the sledge was nowhere to be seen. And she could hear voices that sounded for all the world like young children.
Cautiously, she approached the little house, listening intently. She pushed the door wider and went in, transfixed by the scene in front of her in the shadowy room.
CHAPTER TEN
There was a jumble of humanity on the floor which took a few moments to distinguish. A body was on its back, legs drawn up, hands clutched in front of its chest. Two smaller people knelt on either side of it, and Thea slowly recognised Benjamin and Nicholas. Then she saw a straggly beard, and narrow shoulders, and made two distinct deductions. This was the body she had seen in the field, and the body was of the man she had met in the road, over a week before.
‘What happened?’ she cried, in a state of appalled surprise.
The boys looked at her as if an angel hadarrived to save and terrify them. ‘It’s George,’ said Nicky. ‘He’s frozen dead.’ The older boy simply stared at the lifeless face, his mouth open, his skin a greenish white.
Thea approached the tableau gently, aware of a host of conflicting
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