Beneath the Soil (16 page)

‘That's just the point. Philip
wasn't
against exploiting this. Just the opposite. He saw it as the end to all his troubles.'

Suzie frowned. ‘Then why does everybody think he wouldn't allow it?'

‘Eileen.'

The name drifted away, as if he had dropped it into the water and the river had swept it past them out of reach. Something he could not call back.

‘
Eileen
was against it?'

‘So Bernard Summers says.'

‘And it's her land.' Suzie's thoughts were going past him to the research she had done about the surnames at Saddlers Wood in the old censuses.

‘You were right about that.'

‘I only knew that the Caseleys have been at Saddlers Wood less than a century. Maybe just this one generation. Before that it was the Taverners. And Eileen had told us that was her maiden name. I guessed the rest.'

‘Well, you were spot on. It was Eileen who was standing in the way of Philip and a potentially viable gold mine.'

‘Why?'

‘Search me. I don't think Bernard Summers knows either.'

Suzie detached herself from Nick's arm and went to stand at the edge of the river. She was wrestling with the implications of what Nick had just told her.

‘So, forget about domestic violence. Philip had another reason to murder her.' Her voice was hardly audible above the rushing of the water. ‘Maybe
that's
what Frances Nosworthy found out. Maybe I was just imagining that there was somebody else standing over her, ordering her to make that call to me. Maybe she was just warning me off because she knew now that I couldn't help her clear Philip's name. That all the stuff about prospecting for minerals on Caseley land was actually pointing the other way. Because Philip really
is
guilty.'

She saw again the desperate look on the accused farmer's face as he took his place in the front pew, shackled to a prison warder, for his wife's funeral. His son sitting so pointedly on the opposite side of the nave.

Nick stood up too. ‘Sorry. That rather knocks down a whole house of cards, doesn't it? It puts paid to the idea that there's some conspiracy to frame Philip and take him out of the equation, so that some evil mining magnate can get his hands on the loot.'

Suzie was still digesting the news.

Nick moved towards her comfortingly. ‘It's good news in one way, isn't it? I know you saw yourself galloping to the rescue, saving Philip from being sent down when he was really innocent. But if there's no conspiracy, then we're off the hook. Nobody's been staring at you for sinister reasons. Clive Stroud is an ordinary, decent MP, going about his constituency business. Nobody's threatened Philip's solicitor. She's just discovered the truth. Case solved. We can go home.'

Suzie's thoughts were churning like the mill race, but she let him lead her back up the narrow lane towards the street. She had her head down, staring at the cobbles, when she felt Nick beside her check and stiffen. She looked up.

The top of the lane was blocked by half a dozen men, darkening the afternoon sunshine. There could be no doubt from their attitude that they were waiting for the Fewings.

S
uzie looked them over with panicked questioning. They were all in their twenties or thirties. All dressed in tough country wear in varying shades of green and brown and khaki. She thought they were the same men who had been drinking in the pub. It occurred to her suddenly that the fresh-faced Young Farmers of the tractor pull might look like this in ten or twenty years.

One of them stepped forward, so close she could smell the beer on his breath. There was a high colour in his cheeks. He was a burly man, and he seemed to tower over her on the sloping path.

‘You!' he said, stabbing a finger towards her. ‘You're not welcome here. We've seen you, poking your nose in where you're not wanted.'

Nick started to protest, keeping his voice even. ‘Steady on, now.'

The man swung round on him, ‘And you can keep your big mouth shut, and all. Don't think we haven't seen you, taking off with Bernard Summers. He's bad news, he is. Folk in Moortown know better than to listen to him. But not you. Oh, no. There's some here that saw you making off to his house with him.' There was a growl of assent from the men behind him. ‘What's he been telling you? If he's been blackening Philip's name, he'll have us to deal with.'

Nick held up his hands in a peaceable gesture. ‘Look, guys, you're right. Eileen Caseley's death has got nothing to do with me and my wife. We happened to meet her a couple of days before, that's all.'

‘Oh, yes? So what was your wife doing at her funeral?'

Suzie coloured. ‘I just … felt sorry for her. I didn't mean to intrude.'

‘And what were you doing talking to John Nosworthy just now?' cut in someone else. ‘He's solicitor for the Caseleys. Well, Matthew now. It's none of your business.'

Suzie found a sharper edge to her voice. ‘If you must know, I've been organizing this tractor tow for Age of Silver. John Nosworthy brought me some money from the stalls. I've never met him before in my life. It had nothing to do with Philip and Eileen Caseley.'

She was lying. There had been that strange exchange, when he had given her his mobile number and offered his help if she ever needed it.

Nick was still trying to keep the peace. ‘Look, I can see why you might be upset. The Caseleys were obviously friends of yours. It must have been a shock. First Eileen being shot, then Philip accused of it. Of course you don't want strangers butting in. TV cameras. Reporters asking questions. I'd feel the same. But my wife's right. The reason we came here today has nothing to do with that. Just a charity fund-raiser. My wife works for Age of Silver. I just came along for the ride.'

‘But Bernard Summers has been talking to you,' another voice put in from the knot of men behind their leader.

‘About geology. I was rash enough to ask questions about the stuff on his stall.'

‘Summers has got some crackbrained ideas. You stay clear of him.'

‘I don't see any reason why I should ever meet him again.'

‘Best for you if you don't.'

Suzie could sense the hostility subsiding somewhat. Had they really believed her? Nick hadn't told them the whole truth either. Both John Nosworthy and Bernard Summers, in their own way, had made a link between the Fewings and the Caseley murder. It had been none of Suzie and Nick's doing. They were being dragged into the whirlpool of emotions around this case, whether they wanted to be or not.

Only a few minutes ago, Nick had been reassuring her that many of the things she had been fearing had been the product of a too-lively imagination. That Philip Caseley was, after all, guilty of shooting his own wife because she stood in the way of opening up a gold mine on his farm …
Her
farm. Frances's phone call had not meant what she thought it did.

But here were a group of Philip's friends, fellow farmers by the look of it, willing to get aggressive with a stranger who might question Philip's innocence.

Nick was starting to walk her forward. It was intimidating to have to pass through this knot of muscular men still breathing dislike.

Maybe, she thought, they
didn't
think Philip was innocent. Perhaps that was what was fuelling their anger. A wound too painful to display to anyone from outside their small community.

She should leave it alone. Go now, and not come back to Moortown for a long time.

They were back in the street, with the square opening before them. Suzie felt physically shaken. Nick, too, was breathing fast. They said nothing to each other until they had crossed the square and found the car park where they had left their Mazda.

It was only as they started to drive away that Suzie remembered she had left a giant cardboard cheque for £2,200 propped against a pillar of the market hall.

‘Well!' Nick let out an explosive breath. They had rescued the cheque and were driving along the country roads towards home. Cylinders of hay stood ready to be collected from the fields. It was the start of a peaceful summer evening. ‘What was
that
all about?'

‘I haven't the faintest,' Suzie said. ‘We've hardly done anything, and yet everyone seems to be singling us out. I'm losing count of the number of people who've warned us off now. And all we've done is go to a funeral and talk to some geology freak.'

‘Which makes me think that, however much I try to tell myself otherwise, there
is
actually something quite a few people are afraid we'll find out.'

‘They wouldn't know we'd found that survey nail at Saddlers Wood and told the police, would they? Or about what Bernard Summers found on Caseley land? You're sure he hasn't told anyone else?'

‘He's got a very loose tongue, but he seemed genuinely scared when he realized he'd spilled the beans to me. It seems like gold's dangerous stuff.'

‘Being scared seems to be the default value in Moortown. John Nosworthy was. He didn't say so, but I'm sure of it.'

‘I thought he was just talking to you about the money from the stalls?'

Suzie looked at him blankly as he turned his eyes back to the road. Slowly the truth caught up with her. She had been so intent on telling him about her scary encounter with Clive Stroud that it had not occurred to her to mention that brief meeting with Frances's cousin afterwards.

‘Yes. I forgot to say. He's Frances's cousin. He's got another solicitor's firm. Since he's dealing with Eileen's interests, they agreed that it would be better for her to represent Philip. I think that he's acting for Matthew, the son, too. It was nothing, really. He's been part of the team in Moortown organizing this event for me. Like I told those men, he came to bring me some money. But afterwards … well, I wasn't quite honest with them about it. He said I could ring him if I ever needed help. He gave me his phone number.'

‘And what help did he think you might need?'

‘He didn't say. But … well, it's just a hunch I had … the way he was looking around, as if to see who might be watching … I just had a feeling he might be scared of something, or someone.'

‘Judging by what happened to us, he might have a reason to be. If he's representing Eileen's estate and the evidence is turning against Philip, then the heavy mob who tried to put the frighteners on us could have it in for him as well.'

‘He's a solicitor! It's his job to safeguard her interests.'

‘Try telling that to Philip's friends.'

T
om greeted Suzie's identification of the man in the photograph with incredulous laughter.

‘I knew there was something familiar about that face! Of course. He's all over the local paper most weeks. Opening an agricultural show, supporting some campaign to keep the village pub open. Gets himself about.' He swung round to Nick, grinning broadly. ‘Hey, the police are going to love us. Did you take the photo round there? I bet it's going all round the station. “Look, folks, it's those Fewings nutters again. Guess who they've pinned the murder on this time. Only the Moortown MP!”'

The probable truth of this mortified Suzie.

‘
Did
you tell them?' She turned on Nick.

He nodded.

It was Millie who came to her rescue. ‘Oh, and since when were MPs models of virtue? Just because he's a Member of Parliament doesn't mean he had nothing to do with Mrs Caseley's death.'

Suzie tried to turn the conversation to less embarrassing matters. She had been genuinely frightened in Clive Stroud's presence, but what happened afterwards had radically altered the picture.

‘Nick's got something else to tell you.'

She looked round at him expectantly, and caught the sudden narrowing of his eyes. He reached into the pocket of his gilet and drew out a small paper bag. She watched in surprise as he extracted a little cardboard box and laid it on the kitchen table. He lifted the lid to reveal a piece of grey stone inset with a reddish layer curiously engraved with a network of lines.

Millie read the label. ‘
Icthyosaur coprolite. Fish scales visible. Found at Pormouth.
Hey, prehistoric fish! Those scales are really pretty.'

Of course. If Nick had wanted to find out more about the geology of Saddlers Wood, he would have had to buy his way into the conversation, convince the geologist he was genuinely interested.

Millie turned a curious face to her father. ‘What's coprolite?'

He grinned at her. ‘Fossil poo.'

Millie dropped the stone and wiped her hands on her jeans, as though they could still be contaminated by the petrified remains.

‘Ugh! That's gross! Why would you want to buy that?'

‘It's from a prehistoric sort of dolphin, about one hundred and seventy million years ago.'

‘Fantastic,' Tom said. His smile teased Suzie. ‘Hey, Mum! This puts your thousand years of family history in the shade.'

‘And, as Millie said, the scales of the fish it ate are really rather artistic, don't you think?' Nick suggested. ‘There was this bloke in the square selling them. He did have complete fish, but I couldn't afford those. The great thing about it is, this didn't come from some place like South America. He picked it up on a beach not twenty miles from here.'

As the two teenagers bent over his find, Suzie lifted her face to Nick. He shook his head slightly and raised a finger to his lips.

So, she thought, he doesn't want to tell them what Bernard Summers found on Caseley land. Her mind flew back to something he had said in the car.

‘
Gold is dangerous stuff.
'

It was true. Neither of them knew whether finding gold was really more valuable to Philip Caseley than any other mineral with commercial use might have been. But the very word carried a powerful, even fatal magic. She could tell herself that gold was just another metal, yet it was still undeniably beautiful. It had qualities of permanence and incorruptibility. You could dig up a two-thousand-year-old artefact and brush the soil away and immediately you would see the bright gleam of gold, unlike silver or iron. But it was something more than its beauty and permanence that made men go wild over it and fight each other to get hold of it. The Conquistadores had laid waste to large swathes of South America to get their hands on the fabled gold of El Dorado.