Slaughter in the Cotswolds by Rebecca Tope

the Hawkhill responsibilities – all in vain. She had, after all, met Sam Webster. He had seemed a decent human being, clever and cheerful. He ought not to have been bashed to death as he had been. Nobody deserved that. And if Emily had any means of helping to catch and punish his killer, then she had a duty to use them. And her sister, Thea Osborne, was going to make sure she did.

CHAPTER NINE
    Monday was overcast, with a serious threat of rain. Basil and Freddy were still subdued, but did finally eat the meal that Thea offered them again. Ignatius muttered, ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,’ five times in a row, when she removed his night-time cover. The voice was so completely unlike Clark Gable’s that it took Thea four of the repetitions before she got the reference. Then the bird cracked a lot of sunflower seeds and threw the shells onto the floor. The ferrets squirmed and frolicked and cheeped at her in a manner she took to be friendly.
    ‘Everybody seems OK today, then,’ said Thea. ‘Except for you, that is,’ addressing the spaniel,who had spent the night in the kitchen on an old blanket. The dog had yapped intermittently, in the hope that this was an oversight and she could sleep as usual on her mistress’s bed. Thea had shouted at her from the spare room, until she quietened down. The resulting reproach overflowed from the liquid eyes by the bucketful. Hepzie was not enjoying herself, that was obvious. The parrot continued to horrify her, and banishment to the kitchen just because of a bit of mud seemed the height of cruelty. Plus she had a lot of sore scratches from the barbed wire that needed intensive licking at regular intervals.
    Freddy and Basil were still far from presentable, particularly Freddy, with his long hair. Thea took each head in turn and looked into the clear trusting eyes. ‘Did you slaughter those sheep?’ she asked each in turn. ‘Are you really guilty of murder?’ For reply she got two slowly wagging tails, two earnest gazes of friendship. ‘Oh, God, I hope you didn’t,’ she groaned. ‘You’re such nice boys. It wouldn’t really be your fault. I never should have let you go.’ She had reattached their chains soon after they returned home, wondering whether it felt like much worse confinement after their hours of freedom.
    ‘I suppose we could go for another walk,’ Thea capitulated, having noticed Hepzie’s gloom. ‘On the lead, through the village, no nonsense – right?’
    Even under grey skies, Lower Slaughter was gorgeous. The ancient stone alongside the little river, the quiet solid atmosphere, as if nothing could really matter after so many centuries of continuity – it all combined to create a picture of perfection. The buildings took precedence over everything. If a seam of pure gold were to be found underneath them, there would be no question of mining for it. There was no imaginable human need that could justify the destruction of these beautiful symbols of the Cotswolds. It was restful to know this, as if there were no need to make difficult decisions or worry overmuch about anything. There was a strong impression that even after humanity was long gone, these well-constructed houses would remain.
    She walked slowly alongside the river, which was only slightly deeper and faster than it had been on Saturday, despite all the rain, a breeze ruffling the water where it widened on the western side of the village. Now and then a car would pass by on the other side of the river, moving slowly, the driver giving her a good look. She felt considerably more self-conscious than she had on her previous stroll, before her sister had witnessed a murder and the dogs in her charge been accused of wholesale slaughter. Now she felt conspicuous in her delinquency, sure that peoplewere whispering about her behind the curtained windows. Further attention must surely be drawn to the scruffy spaniel, still showing signs of yesterday’s mud bath.
    ‘Morning,’ came a