River of Destiny (61 page)

Zoë looked up at him. ‘That is incredible. Wonderful.’

‘It makes it all the more important we do the right thing.’ Yes, it would be romantic to throw it in the river, but wouldn’t that be sacrilege? There is so much history here.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘You want to keep it, don’t you?’

‘Only for a while, to do more research.’

‘And what about the curses you told me about? Which protected the graves.’

‘Ah, the curses.’ He stood up. ‘I’ve found my old books on the Anglo-Saxons. Here’s my copy of
Beowulf
. I’ve looked it up. Listen to this.’ He picked up a slim paperback from the litter of books and papers on the kitchen table; on the cover there was a picture of the iconic helmet from Sutton Hoo. The book was old, the pages discoloured and loose. ‘Here we are, listen to this:

‘Goblets, flagons, dishes, and rich swords lay beside it, eaten with rust, as they had lain buried in the bosom of the earth for a thousand years. For the vast golden heritage of the ancients had been secured by a spell. No one might lay a finger on the treasure-house unless God Himself, true lord of victories and protector of men, allowed the hoard to be unsealed by a man of His own choice – whoever He thought fit.’

He laid down the book and smiled at her. ‘Obviously God did not consider Jackson or Rosemary or whoever found the sword to be the man of his choice. Wonderful stuff. This book was my mother’s first. She loved poetry; she was a clever lady.’

‘And she encouraged you to read it?’

He nodded. ‘I enjoyed it all so much I went on to study English at uni. Fat lot of use it was in my career, but it gave me a wonderful background against which to live my life.’ He shook his head. ‘Fine mess I made of that, though, come to think of it.’

‘So you read it in the original at university?’ She brought him back to the subject firmly.

‘In Anglo-Saxon? I did, actually.’

‘And can you still speak it?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s a difficult language. And not one I practise regularly.’

‘It could have been useful.’ She smiled. ‘I had a vision of you standing on the prow of the
Curlew
declaiming to the ancient gods.’

‘And warning off the ghost ship?’

She nodded.

‘I haven’t read the best bit yet,’ he went on. ‘Or perhaps the worst, depending on one’s point of view. Here: “… the princes who placed their treasure there had pronounced a solemn curse on it which was to last until doomsday that whoever rifled the place should be guilty of sin, shut up in dwelling places of devils, bound in bonds of hell, and tormented with evil.”’ He put down the book. ‘Strong stuff.’

‘Poor Rosemary. I hope the devils realise it wasn’t me who took it,’ Zoë said dryly.

He stood up and began rewrapping the sword carefully. ‘They will. I have made an executive decision. We will hang on to this for the time being. There will be plenty of time to decide what to do with it later.’

‘So, you don’t think it’s cursed?’

‘Oh, I’m sure it is.’

‘And you’re not afraid?’ She could feel her own fear suddenly as she looked down at the parcel laying between them.

He smiled and shook his head. ‘Superstitious nonsense! Besides, as you say, we’re not the ones defiling the grave.’

Her skeleton lay on the slab in the mortuary with a certain degree of elegance. Her bones were small and fragile, her teeth in excellent condition. Beside her the remains of her riding boots and her jewellery had been placed neatly in two boxes. Next to them was a swathe of her light chestnut hair which had remained strangely untouched by its time underground. On the slab next to her lay the skeleton of the unknown man. He was tall, and had been strongly built. His boots too had survived in part. He had no jewellery but they had found some working tools buried with him, a hammer, tongs, two horseshoes and a handful of nails, and surmised that he might have been a blacksmith.

Sylvia Sands, in her capacity as a freelance reporter on the local paper, came down to look at the bodies and interview the archaeologists and the archaeo-pathologist who had joined them. After speaking to Ken she had been to the library and surfed the Internet and was piecing together the story. ‘She disappeared in the winter of 1865. Three months before, the blacksmith on the estate, Daniel Smith, had also vanished, although there was a rumour that he had died in an accident on the farm. His wife, Susan, was buried with her still-born baby in the church in the village but there was no sign of his grave anywhere.’

She peered at the empty eye sockets of the woman’s skeleton and shivered. ‘She was the second wife of the squire, and she was supposed to have been very beautiful.’ She glanced sideways at the chestnut hair. ‘Do you think they were lovers? Would someone from the Hall fall in love with a lowly blacksmith? Did she kill herself to be with him?’

‘Not unless she strangled herself,’ Doug Freeman the pathologist put in. ‘See here, the hyoid bone is fractured. Same with him. I would bet money they were both killed by the same person. Professional killer. Good at his job.’

She peered at the bone he was indicating with his gloved hand. ‘But they could have hanged themselves.’

‘Possible, I suppose. But unlikely. If they did, why were they buried out there in the field?’

‘Because suicides couldn’t be buried in consecrated ground and an ancient burial site was the nearest they could think of?’ Sylvia was thinking aloud. ‘But murder does seem more likely. So was it the husband?’ She moved across to inspect the male skeleton. ‘I gather he was the main suspect, though he had an alibi; he was in London when she disappeared, but he was around when this guy vanished.’

‘I doubt if the husband was a professional killer,’ Doug said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve looked it up too. He was a country squire! He could have paid someone to do it, though.’ He shook his head morosely. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.’

‘What will happen to the bodies?’ Sylvia was looking at the jewellery now. The rings were tiny; the wedding ring would barely slip on her little finger. ‘Will they be buried together?’

‘There are no descendants to pay for a funeral, so I doubt it. They’ll probably end up in cardboard boxes in an archive somewhere.’

She looked up, shocked. ‘You mean they won’t rebury them?

‘I doubt it. Are you going out to the mound again tomorrow?’ He looked at Colin Hall, who was standing beside him.

Colin nodded. ‘We have to go very carefully there. If it is like Sutton Hoo there may be a sand body and nothing more.’

‘A sand body?’ Sylvia looked puzzled.

‘The actual body has gone and there is just an imprint of where it was.’

‘Where would the body have gone? You mean it’s been stolen?’

‘No. The sandy soil contains chemicals which would have dissolved it. It would have disappeared and just left a shape in the sand where it lay.’

‘Wow.’ Sylvia made a note. ‘That is spooky. Amazing. But his belongings are still there, is that right?’

The men nodded. ‘They’ve found a few things already.’

‘But why weren’t these two sand bodies?’

‘They’ve only been there a hundred and fifty years or so. An Anglo-Saxon warrior – you can add a nought on the end of that.’

As Sylvia left the building she pulled out her mobile. ‘Ken, thank you so much for the tip-off about the burial mound. It’s the most amazing story. I’ve spoken to my editor and he wants me to do a feature.’ She paused. ‘Can I mention your ghosts? Your Ouija lady seems to have been spot on. He was called Daniel Smith and she was Lady Emily Crosby, and we have stumbled on a Victorian murder mystery.’

Sharon opened her front door to the police at two o’clock that afternoon. A man and a woman, both astonishingly young, stood uncomfortably on her doorstep and asked to come in. She led them into her lounge and sat them on the huge settee in the bay window. ‘So, what is this about?’ She could feel her panic rising and she clenched her fists in the pockets of her jeans. ‘Rosemary’s snuffed it, has she?’

The younger police officer, Anna Briggs, looked puzzled. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Isn’t that why you’ve come? To tell me Rosemary Formby has died?’

Anna glanced at her colleague, Andy Nailer, in evident confusion. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know anything about Rosemary Formby, Mrs Watts.’

Sharon cast her eyes up towards the ceiling. ‘Gawd help us; so much for joined up policing. Then why have you come?’

‘We’ve received some information, Mrs Watts, regarding your daughter, Jade,’ Andy said solemnly. ‘A suggestion has been received that she has been seen in the company of a man suspected of being a paedophile.’

Sharon stared from one to the other. ‘No!’ She narrowed her lips angrily. ‘That is not true. I thought we made it clear that my son made that accusation out of spite. There is no foundation to it whatsoever.’

Anna glanced at her colleague. ‘You know the man concerned?’

‘Leo Logan? I know him, and I have already told the police in Woodbridge that I would trust him with my life – and with my daughter,’ she added. ‘Jackson had no business saying that and he is sorry.’

‘Jackson?’ Andy queried.

‘My eldest son. Isn’t this what this is all about? He thought he would drop Leo in it. Leo is a nice man.’

‘I appreciate that you like and trust Mr Logan, but it is often the nicest men who are guilty,’ Anna said grimly. ‘We are going to have to make further enquiries about this, Mrs Watts. As our colleagues in Suffolk have passed on the information and contacted social services we are bound to follow it up. And we would like to talk to your daughter, if we may. In your presence, obviously.’

Sharon looked from one to the other. ‘I’m ringing my husband,’ she said at last. ‘You can’t do anything till he gets here.’

Jade, unusually demure in a pink T-shirt and short frilly skirt, with on her feet mock-satin slippers with roses on the toe, sat on the edge of the sofa between her mother and father and smiled angelically at the two police officers. She was impressed that Jackson’s anonymous phone call to the police that morning had had a result so quickly. He hadn’t wanted to do it. She had had to threaten him with the information that she had heard him and Mike planning to shoot Rosemary. That knowledge would make the tractor accident look as though it was deliberate. Jackson, already in a state of nervous collapse, had caved in at once and made the call.

‘I liked Leo so much,’ Jade said with a sly glance at her mother. ‘My parents didn’t have much time for me, so I often went round to see him and he gave me biscuits and presents and took me on his boat.’

‘Alone?’ Anna said with a frown.

‘Just him and me, yes.’ Jade smiled.

‘And did he ever –’ Anna paused, ‘touch you inappropriately, Jade?’

Jade smiled again. ‘He put his hand on my bottom,’ she said a little smugly. ‘I told him I didn’t like it.’

‘Jade?’ Sharon said warningly. ‘If we find out you’ve been lying –’

‘I’m not lying,’ Jade replied. ‘He did touch me. Often,’ she added defiantly. ‘Will he go to prison?’

Andy nodded. ‘I think he probably will, Jade. Don’t you worry. It’s not going to happen to you again.’ He glanced up over her head at her mother. ‘We will need her to be examined, Mrs Watts.’

Sharon looked at Jeff. She appeared to be stunned. ‘Of course,’ Jeff said quietly. ‘If this is true, I will kill him.’

‘No need, Mr Watts,’ Andy put in quickly. ‘We will deal with the matter.’

‘What do you mean, examined?’ Jade put in suddenly.

‘You will have to talk to a doctor, Jade,’ Sharon said. She was tight-lipped. ‘I will come with you. I can, can’t I?’ she asked Anna, who nodded.

‘Of course.’

Jade looked wary. ‘Why a doctor?’

‘To see if Leo has hurt you.’

‘He didn’t hurt me,’ Jade said quickly. ‘I don’t need to see a doctor.’

‘I’m afraid it’s the law, Jade,’ Anna put in firmly. ‘It won’t hurt.’

‘Hurt?’ Jade jumped to her feet. ‘What is he going to do?’

‘It will be a lady doctor, Jade. Nothing to be frightened of, I can assure you.’ Anna smiled at her. She glanced at Jeff. ‘Perhaps sooner rather than later?’

Jeff nodded. ‘Now.’ His face was tight with anger. ‘To think we asked that ugly bastard into our house!’

Sharon had stood up too, followed by the two officers. ‘If this is true, if Jeff doesn’t kill him, I will.’

‘What will happen to Zoë?’ Jade hadn’t budged. They all turned and looked down at her as she sat alone on the sofa. She looked up at her father.

‘Zoë?’ Jeff repeated, puzzled.

Jade nodded. She narrowed her eyes. ‘She’s Leo’s lover. She hates me. She’s jealous.’

‘Who is Zoë?’ Andy had taken out his notebook again. He glanced at Jeff.

‘Another of our neighbours in Suffolk,’ Jeff replied with a sigh. ‘She and her husband moved in about four months ago.’

‘And she has been having an affair with Mr Logan?’

Jeff looked at his wife. ‘I’m always the last to know about anything like that.’

‘She is,’ Jade put in smugly. ‘She is the one who should go to prison. She’s touched me too.’