His first task was to interview Walter Pettigrew.

  Nick rode through the village and turned down a rough track to Spinney Farm, the home of Walter Pettigrew. Although it adjoined the Siddons farm, the two spreads could not have been more different. The Siddons had a beautiful farmhouse surrounded by acres of productive land which was all kept in pristine condition, while Walter’s house was in desperate need of modernisation and his land looked neglected and poor. In addition to his

  goats, pigs and pigeons he had a few blackfaced moorland sheep on the heights and a small herd of dairy cattle. Nick knocked on the door but as there was no reply, he wandered round the buildings. He found Walter in the feed shed, measuring out some cattle cake.

  ‘Now, Mr Pettigrew, how’s things?’

  ‘Same as usual, bloody awful. Milk yield’s going down and prices are going up. Anyroad, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Siddons was burgled last night, Mr Pettigrew.’

  ‘Serve him right, he can afford it.’

  ‘They lost some wedding presents.’

  ‘I’ve nowt against the lass, but that father of hers is a bastard, Mr Rowan, a snob and a bastard. I’ve no sorrow, for him.’

  ‘Were you out and about last night, Mr Pettigrew?’

  ‘Me? No, I was in bed by eleven and slept till six.’

  ‘So you never saw anything? Heard noises? Noticed vehicles on Siddons’s property?’

  ‘Nope, nowt. He deserves everything he gets, that one. He took my land off me. And look at me now, struggling to make a living, existing a year on the money he spends in a month.’

  ‘Would you object if we took your fingerprints, Mr Pettigrew?’

  Pettigraw glared at him. ‘Are you accusing me, Mr Rowan?’

  ‘No, it’s for elimination purposes.’

  ‘Well, I’ve nowt to be afraid of, I never burgled his bloody house. All right, you can have my prints.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Nick. ‘I’ll have our CID come down later.’

  Friday was the day of Mary Begg’s funeral and almost the entire village attended the service. During her long life, Mary had been well known and respected by the community, and the vicar delivered a touching tribute.

  Following the interment, there were light refreshments in her cottage, comprising ham sandwiches, home-made cakes and copious quantities of tea. These had been organised by Kevin Begg and supplied by George of the Aidensfield Arms. Some of the village ladies, friends of the deceased, had rallied around to help Kevin and now they all arrived to pay their respects. Among them was Gillian Siddons, pretty in her black coat with matching shoes and gloves. Although she came to the cottage, she did not make small talk with the elder members of the community.

  She wandered around the familiar place, touching the rocking horse on which she’d played as a child, opening the dolls’ house that Mary had kept, looking at photographs on the mantelpiece and thinking of all the good times she and Mary had had. Mary had been more like a mother to her, more like a member of the family than her own parents. As a lonely only child, Gillian had spent hours in Mary’s company, playing games, learning to draw and sew, finding out about the wildlife around her. And then Kevin had come along. When his parents had died in the car crash, Mary had taken him in and the two children had become inseparable. Kevin and Mary, going everywhere,

  playing together, going to school, growing up …

  ‘Penny for them,’ said a voice behind her. She turned to find Kevin standing there with two cups of tea in his hands. ‘I brought you some tea. You’ve not eaten anything?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I couldn’t. Poor Mary … she was so good to me.’

  ‘To us,’ he reminded her. ‘I often think of our days together. We had a great time, didn’t we?’

  Gillian took the cup and sipped from it.

  ‘What are you going to do when this is all over, Kevin?’

  ‘I’d like to stay here, in the cottage, and find work in the area, but your dad would never let me rent it, would he? Especially now you’re getting married!’

  She stared at him! So he knew!

  ‘I overheard people talking in the pub,’ he said quietly.

  ‘I didn’t want you to know,’ she began.

  ‘You don’t really want to marry that man, do you?’ Kevin came close and spoke softly. ‘Your heart’s not in it, surely Gillian!’

  ‘Please, Kevin, don’t. I’m upset enough as things are, losing Mary.’

  ‘But I love you, Gillian, you know that. We’ve loved each other all these years and now we can get together … You could persuade your dad to let you have the cottage, we could be together here, you and me, like it used to be …’

  ‘No, Kevin, don’t. It won’t work. I’m marrying Richard, he loves me and there is a house available for us on the estate he manages. I wanted a quiet wedding, not a big fussy event like Dad’s organised, but I am marrying Richard tomorrow. You’ll be there?’

  ‘Me? I didn’t get an invitation, and you know it! I can’t just turn up! Your dad’s always done his best to keep us apart, I wasn’t good enough for you, Gillian, not in his view anyway. It’s my grandmother who’s brought us together again, it’s an omen, surely? Imagine those happy times all over again, just the two of us … I do love you, Gillian, and you know it …’

  ‘Kevin, don’t. I’m going. I must go now.’ ‘No, stay,’ he pleaded.

  ‘No, I just get upset by it all … please leave me alone.’

  And placing her cup on the sink as she had always done, Gillian hurried out of the house and started to walk home. As she hurried back to the farm, Claude Jeremiah hailed her.

  ‘Is your dad in, Gillian?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, he went straight home after the funeral,’ she told him.

  ‘Well, I’m just off to see Kevin to pay my respects, then I’ve a delivery for your dad.’

  ‘He’ll be there.’ Gillian tried to produce a happy smile for Claude Jeremiah, but she knew it looked rather false. She hurried on.

  When she arrived home, her parents were outside and the place was a hive of industry. There were poles and canvas sheets everywhere, tables and chairs waiting in furniture vans, people milling around, catering vehicles with portable ovens and refrigerators. At the sight, Gillian burst into tears and galloped upstairs to her room. Her

  mother, witnessing this, went to try and comfort Gillian but the girl was lying on her bed, sobbing and refusing to talk.

  ‘What is it, Gillian? Look, shall I get the doctor? Is it nerves, is everything getting too much?’ But Gillian merely sobbed and sobbed.

  Claude Jeremiah Greengrass and Banger Bailey arrived at the farm within half an hour, Banger with several containers in the boot of his car. Claude sought out Jack Siddons who was busy at the marquee and said, ‘Jack, I’ve brought the stuff. Where do you want it?’

  ‘Oh, right, aye, well. The caterers are over there, at that end, Claude. Where the portable fridges and things are. Take it over there and we’ll put it in a fridge, then I’ll tell the caterers. How much is there?’

  ‘Enough for two hundred,’ said Banger. ‘And a bit extra for yourself, Mr Siddons. A bonus. A taster.’

  And Banger produced a small bag of prawns which he handed to Jack. Jack smiled, ‘I’ll try them with my tea tonight, lads. Now, Claude, here’s the money,’ and Jack Siddons pressed some notes into Claude’s greasy fist. ‘And a tip for you both!’

  As Claude Jeremiah and his friend disappeared along the lane back to the village, Jack Siddons placed his bag of prawns in the fridge and decided it was time to position the direction signs around the entrances to Aidensfield.

  The flowers would be arriving too; he’d decorated the church for Mary’s funeral, and now some of those flowers, with lots of additions, would be arranged for the wedding.

  He’d wanted the very best and so the entire parish church would be adorned with the most beautiful floral display ever seen in Aidensfield. The team of flower-arrangers were scheduled to arrive at a decent interval after the funeral to transform the old church into a place of dreams. Jack’s plans for the decor of the church would take hours to complete so it had to be started today. He was assured the flowers would remain fresh for tomorrow’s ceremony.

  ‘I’m going down the village,’ Jack shouted to his wife. ‘I’ll put the signs up and make sure those flower-arrangers have arrived. You keep an eye on those folks at the marquee. I don’t want it blowing down at the slightest puff of wind!’

  ‘Right you are,’ called Beth from the kitchen.

  By the end of that Friday, Nick was no further forward in his investigation of the burglary at Clough Farm. Examination of Walter Pettigrew’s fingerprints revealed that he was not responsible and Nick went to thank him for his co-operation. Upon his return from Walter’s farm, he found Jack Siddons hammering wooden signs into the grass along the verges, pointing variously to the parish church and especially to his own farm which lay off the beaten track.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jack, but I’ve not arrested anybody for that burglary yet. It wasn’t Walter, we’ve eliminated him through his fingerprints.’

  ‘Well, I can’t think of anybody else who’s got it in for me, Nick. Maybe it was an ordinary burglar who got disturbed. Well, so long as nowt else happens. I’m not too bothered, to be honest, now we’ve got the presents back. I’ve fixed the window and put locks on. What do you think to my signs?’

  ‘A good idea, your farm being hard to find!’

  ‘Even for burglars, eh?’ grunted the burly farmer. ‘Right, well, it’s time I got along to the church now. You’ve got to keep these folks on their toes, Nick, they allus try to cut corners if you let ‘em. And nowt’s going to spoil our Gillian’s big day!’

  During his patrols, Nick passed Mary’s cottage and saw Kevin clearing out her things. He had borrowed an old van and was filling it with her clothes and other belongings, some of which would be dumped on the tip and others which he would sell or even take to Birmingham. As Aidensfield prepared for a happy event to follow Mary’s sad and lonely death, Nick went home for his tea. He was looking forward to the big event tomorrow. For Jack’s sake, he hoped everything went smoothly.

  For Jack, it had been a tiring day, and it was not over yet. He had a short rest before his evening meal, at which he asked Beth to serve the prawns; she declined to have any because she did not like them, while Gillian wasn’t eating anything. Their daughter was still in her room, uncommunicative and sullen. Jack had not lost his appetite, though; he tucked into the prawns with considerable relish before turning to his pork chops and apple sauce. Beth watched him; he was enjoying this, she realised. He really was putting his heart and soul into the arrangements for Gillian’s wedding, but Gillian seemed unable or unwilling to respond in a similar way.

  Beth went to her daughter’s room and sat on the bed; Gillian lay beneath the covers, pale and unhappy.

  ‘Gillian, you do want to marry Richard, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do, Mum. I really do. I just get upset at all this fuss. It’s my day, not Dad’s. He’s running around as if the Queen was coming …’

  ‘It is important to him, you know. You are our only daughter and he just wants the best for you.’

  ‘I don’t want to spoil things, Mum, but I do wish he’d asked me what I wanted instead of rushing into things like he has.’

  ‘Try to make it a happy day for us all, darling.’ Beth leaned forward and kissed Gillian. ‘And don’t spoil your father’s fun …’

  ‘Fun?’ she cried, is that what it is? Fun?’ And she buried her head in the bedclothes. ‘I just want everything to be all right!’

  ‘It will be, it will be,’ sighed Beth, leaving the room. ‘Tomorrow, everything will be fine.’

  But at eight o’clock that evening, Nick’s telephone rang. Kate was busy ironing his best white shirt in readiness for the next day, and he was in his office, writing up his pocketbook.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ he said. ‘Hello, this is Aidensfield Police.’

  ‘Mr Rowan, it’s Mrs Surtees at Curlew Cottage. I look after the flowers at the church, you know.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He knew the little grey-haired lady who was one of the stalwarts of the parish. ‘So what can I do for you?’

  ‘Well, I’ve just been to lock up the church for the night and, well, somebody’s been in. They’ve smashed all those lovely flowers that were put in for the wedding. They’re ruined, trampled on, crushed … every one of them. It’s terrible, it really is … I wasn’t sure what I should do.’

  ‘I’ll come straight away,’ said Nick.

  page 297

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It looked as if a hoard of vandals had rampaged around the church. Flowers were strewn everywhere; they had been thrown on to the floor and trampled over, cast across the pews and scattered along the aisle. Some had had their heads pulled off and others had their leaves stripped from the stems to be thrown around like confetti. As Nick surveyed the damage with Mrs Surtees standing mute with shock behind him, he asked, ‘Has anything belonging to the church been damaged, Mrs Surtees? Books, altar cloths, candlesticks?’

  ‘No, it’s just the flowers, Mr Rowan. It’s the sort of thing children would do, isn’t it? So silly and pointless … who’d want to do this just before a wedding?’

  ‘I wish I knew,’ sighed Nick. ‘Well, I’ll go and tell Jack and then I’ll make an official report of the damage. Jack’ll probably want to come back with me to see what’s happened. Will you still be here?’

  ‘Yes, somebody will have to clear up the mess,’ she said. ‘We can’t leave it like this, can we?’

  It was just as easy for Nick to ride up to the farm as it was to return to his own house and ring Jack Siddons. When he got there, Beth said, ‘He’s not at all well, Nick, he’s been violently sick; he’s upstairs lying on the bed.’

  Nick explained what had happened and she shook her head in disbelief. ‘Oh, this is terrible! Who’s doing all these things, Nick? Wait there, I’ll tell him. He’ll want to know.’

  Pale as a ghost, Jack Siddons appeared a few minutes later, still fully dressed but looking like death warmed up. His face was pinched with pain and he was almost doubled up as he walked.

  ‘My bloody stomach, Nick, God, the pain’s terrible…’

  ‘Have you eaten something that disagrees with you?’

  ‘No, nowt that I know of. Anyway, Beth says somebody’s been in the church messing about with the flowers.’

  ‘Look, I think you should see a doctor. I’ll ring Kate.’

  ‘No need, it’s just stomach-ache. Nerves, perhaps. Mebbe I’ve been doing too much, all this rushing around. Anyroad, who’s done this to my flowers? Kids, was it?’

  ‘I don’t know, but they’re ruined. You’ll need some more before tomorrow. I’ll make enquiries, but I’m wondering who’s got it in for you if it’s not Walter Pettigrew.’

  ‘All that can wait, Nick. My priority is to get that church in a proper state for Gillian’s big day tomorrow. I’ll come down straight away …’

  ‘Dad, what’s happened now?’ Gillian had appeared dressed in a casual sweater and jeans. ‘Why is Mr Rowan here?’

  The state of her hair told Nick she had been asleep, or at least lying down in her room.

  She looked ill too, but nothing like as fragile as her father. Nick explained the latest incident, but her reaction was strange.

  ‘It’s only flowers, Dad,’ she said almost dismissively. ‘They don’t matter!’

  ‘Don’t matter?’ he almost exploded. ‘Course they matter! Everything matters …’

  ‘Dad, I just want to get married, that’s all. The trimmings aren’t all that important.’

  ‘Do you want to see them, Jack?’ Nick asked quietly. ‘Mrs Surtees is waiting to lock up.’

  ‘Aye, I’d better come,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll take you down there, Dad,’ offered Gillian. ‘You’re in no fit state to drive, not like that.’

  ‘And Beth?’ Nick smiled. ‘Ring Kate, will you? Ask her to pop down to the church as well? I want her to have a look at Jack and he’ll be fairly handy when he’s in the village!’

  ‘Thanks, Nick, he wouldn’t let me get her out to see him; he said it would wear off.’

  And so Nick on his motorcycle led the Siddons’s car along the track and eventually to the church. Only Jack’s sickness prevented him from hitting the roof at the sight of the devastation as Gillian tried to calm him down. When Kate arrived, Nick had a quick word with her before she approached Jack. He was sitting in one of the pews, miserable but not defeated, his anger spent. Gillian, Nick and Mrs Surtees were clearing up the mess.

  Nick saw Kate speak to Jack at length, quizzing him about anything he might have eaten, then she carried out a swift but skilful examination.

  ‘I’m sure it’s food poisoning, Jack,’ she said. ‘You’ve got rid of the worst, judging by what you’ve told me. So if you don’t eat anything else, you should be fit enough to give your Gillian away tomorrow. I’ve got something at the surgery that will help, call before you go home. I’ll go there now.’

  ‘Food poisoning?’ he gasped, his stomach still aching as if he’d been kicked by a mule.

  ‘What have you been eating today that you don’t normally touch?’ she asked him.

  ‘Well, I had a nibble here and there, some vol-au-vents and things, bits of stuff the caterers are bringing in. I sampled some of it, then I had some prawns.’

  ‘Prawns?’ Nick heard the word and in the back of his mind, he recalled a recent meeting with Sergeant Blaketon. ‘Where did you get the prawns, Jack?’

  ‘Well, it was a deal I had, a bulk supply offered very cheap, cheap enough for me to order enough for all my guests.’

  ‘And the supplier? Jack, you’re not going to tell me it was Claude Jeremiah Greengrass, are you? No wonder he was so helpful over your burglary, offering his expert advice … He was after off-loading a load of rotten prawns!’