Crime at Christmas

  Jeremiah Arkwright’s death was sudden and violent. He was a domestic tyrant and uses his strict religious beliefs to control his family. He also had fraught relationships with his farming neighbours. There was another side to Jeremiah, however – a secret life. Has somebody discovered his secret or has someone close to him sought revenge? Edith Horton is drawn into the dark secrets of Pear Tree Farm.

  CRIME AT CHRISTMAS

  Edith Horton Mysteries, #3

  Noreen Wainwright

  Tirgearr Publishing

  Author Copyright 2015: Noreen Wainwright

  Cover Art: EJR Digital Art (ejrdigitalart.com)

  Editor: Sharon Pickrel

  Proofreader: RL McCoy

  A Smashwords Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away. If you would like to share this book, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not given to you for the purpose of review, then please log into the publisher’s website and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting our author’s hard work.

  This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, incidents are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  DEDICATION

  To my parents, brothers and sisters and Brian

  DEATH AT DAWN

  Edith Horton Mysteries, #3

  Noreen Wainwright

  Prologue

  Jeremiah Arkwright, farmer, pious, God-fearing man. There comes a time when it’s too late for words, far too late. You have preached your last sermon at the meetinghouse or anywhere else. I hope when you meet your maker it will all be written down in a big book just as you say it is. Your sins and transgressions, your cruelty and your hypocrisy.

  I hope I have the courage to do it. Farms are dangerous places; it would easily pass for an accident but that’s not quite enough. It isn’t that I want to be caught, but in the end they must know how much you were hated. You won’t be there to know, but others must be shown it. Ridding the world of you isn’t quite enough though it will make a lot of folks much happier.

  I have planned it and seen it in my mind’s eye, and I don’t think it will fail. You won’t see my face, so if, by some strange quirk of fate, you survive the tumble, I will have to try again. Something resembling an accident is a bit like a halfway house. I want to do it, and I want the world to know. But I’m not able to face you with a shotgun or a knife or take the risk of you tasting something funny in your food—as you see, I’ve been working this out for a while. Ashamed as I am to admit it, I’ve become too much of a scared rabbit—thanks for that—to do it in a more direct way.

  Chapter One

  Edith smiled and savoured the moment of contentment. She was making the effort to do this. In the past, she’d been too wrapped up in pointless rumination for too long and failed to notice the good moments. No more.

  It was almost Christmas and Aunt Alicia was planning a party for her eightieth birthday. This would involve a mountain of work. Her aunt had sprung it on her, but she didn’t mind. In fact, she was looking forward to throwing her energies into something fun.

  Her studies were fascinating but required a different type of concentration, and there had been moments when the old anxieties resurfaced. Was she courting failure? Her brother, Archie, had been all in favour when she’d told him of her plans, and that had been one of the most surprising things that had happened to her for a while. Well, that and the way her friend, Julia, had been, since her husband Giles’s death. She frowned and turned back to her list. She’d just decided to concentrate on the positive and the practical, and here she was now, worrying about Julia.

  Most of the people Aunt Alicia wanted at her party were unknown to Edith. That was hardly surprising, as she’d spent almost all her working life down in Gloucestershire. Edith would talk to her properly about it all one day, particularly how she’d managed to persuade her father, Edith’s own grandfather, to let her train to be a teacher.

  It had been hard enough for Edith to get permission to go off to join the Voluntary Aid Detachment and that had been decades later, during a war when women were actively encouraged to do all sorts of work. For all of Aunt Alicia’s sweetness and vague air, she must have a backbone of steel.

  Edith went to the kitchen to get Max’s lead. She’d made up for years of stagnation with some big changes. Max was one of the best of those. Her housekeeper, Hannah, sat at the kitchen table, peeling cooking apples. There was a warm, spicy smell, and Edith relished the homeliness of it and smiled at the other woman. “I’d better take this fellow for a walk.”

  Outside, the cold took all her attention; her breath caught in her chest, and for a minute she questioned her sanity. She could be at home with her textbooks or a novel and a cup of tea, by the stove. No, all those pleasures would be much enhanced by depriving herself of them for a while.

  She’d nervously signed up in Harrogate for a psychology course, just on a whim. Well not exactly a whim, more like a core of certainty in the midst of a fog of confusion. She had to do something, and this was something she’d found an interest in.

  Fair enough—having a nervous breakdown wasn’t how she’d have chosen to bring about change in her life. But in a roundabout way, it had shaken her out of herself and led her to think about next steps rather than occupying herself as Archie’s assistant in his practice and immersing herself in Ellbeck life. The course had gone beyond filling a gap in her life. It was hard, challenging, but absorbing. She didn’t just look forward to Thursday evenings, she had already started looking to the next, more advanced course.

  “Come on, Max.” A Labrador was a lovely dog, faithful and good-natured but not satisfactory at all when it came to exercise. All he wanted to do was snuffle about in the ditches, ferreting out goodness knows what.

  “Come on, you rascal…Max.” She pulled on the lead. But he was a strong dog and determined in his pursuit of whatever his nose could detect in the undergrowth. A shiver ran up Edith’s spine and not just from cold, which, if anything, had intensified. What if there really was something in the ditch?

  She was being stupid.

  “Come on, Max.” This time, he emerged from the ditch, backend first, tail going nineteen to the dozen. “Look at you now. You’re filthy, bad dog.” She laughed as he panted round her feet. “You might be a lot of things Max, old boy, but you’re a terrible dog to take for a walk.”

  Then, stupidly, she let him slip his lead, and he was off. Oh, for goodness sake, where was he going, and how could she get him back, apart from calling?

  He’d flown up a farm track, and Edith’s heart did a fast flip. It was too early for lambs, but some farmers didn’t take kindly to dogs, any dogs, off the lead. You could say, until you were blue in the face, that your dog was friendly and wouldn’t chase or hurt anything, but a lot of the time you’d be wasting your breath—they’d heard it all before.

  She trudged up the rough track to the farm. An old wooden sign at the bottom read, Pear Tree Farm. Edith’s spine tensed for a few seconds. She didn’t know what it was, but the name of this place stirred up some forgotten memory, and it wasn’t a nice one.

  “For goodness’ sake, Max, come here now, this minute.” She heard a bark and hoped the daft animal might be making his way back to her. He picked his moments. The cold had turned bitter and sour, and the short day was darkening. Irritation turned to panic.

  “Oh, thank goodness.” He bounded back, tail wagging madly, looking muddy though not as bad as he’d have been if the ice h
adn’t hardened the ground. “Get back here, you bad, bad boy.” He came and jumped up at her, and she managed to get his lead on. At least she hadn’t had to go up to the farmhouse. What was it she’d heard about this place? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember.

  At the shriek, she jolted back, and her heart jumped into her throat. She held tightly to Max’s lead. The hairs on his back stood up, and the phrase about hackles rising came to mind.

  Edith wanted to run. There was evil in this place. All her instincts told her to get as far away as fast as she could. Her hand gripped Max’s collar as he stood stock still for a few seconds. The dog’s hackles stayed up and he strained against her hold. He was a dog that rarely barked, but now he emitted a low growl.

  She couldn’t just leave, and as far as she could remember, there was no other house in the vicinity.

  “Come on, Max,” She was probably mad, but she couldn’t walk away. She pulled the dog’s lead and went up the drive. Her hands and feet were like blocks of ice, despite her boots and gloves; her face was hot, and her stomach roiled as though she were on a fair ground ride.

  The farmhouse at the top of the drive was built of stone like all others in these parts, but unlike other farmsteads, no attempt had been made to brighten the place. It looked as dour and forbidding as the moors a few miles away.

  “Hello?” Edith’s voice to her own ears sounded tentative and weak. She was a fool. But there was no point in second thoughts at this stage. She’d come this far.

  “Who’re you?” The voice was male, but she couldn’t see anyone straight away. Then he stood in front of her, having come out of a building at the side of the yard.

  “I’m sorry. I’m Miss Horton from Ellbeck, just out walking with my dog. I thought I heard someone call out. It sounded like someone in distress, in trouble.”

  “No trouble here, miss.”

  His tone was sly, and Edith’s skin crawled as though a spider walked up her back.

  Then, came another shriek. “No, mother, no, let me out, let me go.”

  Courage, Edith told herself and fought against weak legs and a racing mind to appear calm. She called out, “Something’s obviously wrong. Can I help?”

  The man didn’t answer, but the sound of a door opening came from the house and a woman emerged. “Get in here, Reuben,” she said. “Who’re ye talking to?”

  The woman continued, “Oh, I know you, from village, doctor’s sister. Isn’t it? You’d best be coming in. ‘Appen, we need go fetch your brother.” She wiped her hands on a rough apron.

  Edith swallowed, wished her mouth wasn’t so dry.

  “Father’s dead,” the woman said. Her voice was flat, out of kilter with the words.

  The man came up close to Edith, too close for comfort. What choice did she have but to go into the house? She gripped Max’s lead tightly, tried to send a silent message to the dog to protect her. Pretty stupid. Max was a Labrador, noted more for friendliness and eating everything in sight than fierceness. Maybe he would though…would protect her. Please God, he wouldn’t have to.

  “Do you mean your husband? Is it your husband who’s dead?” Her words sounded crazy. Could this actually be happening? Who had been screaming? She was pretty sure it wasn’t this dry-eyed woman in front of her.

  The big, square, white-washed kitchen seemed to be full of people. She looked again. There were two young men and two girls, one quite young, maybe sixteen. Edith was pretty sure she was the one responsible for the screaming. She still sobbed every few seconds.

  “Hush, Ruth Your crying’s helping no-one.” The mother’s tone was harsh. Edith tried to be fair. The woman’s words were dismissive rather than harsh. What had she inadvertently walked into, here?

  Apart from Ruth’s sniffles, there was silence. Edith put her hand on Max’s collar for reassurance. “Has your husband had an accident?”

  “Seems so, miss.” The young man she’d spoken to outside had followed her in. She’d almost forgotten him. That made five children, five grown up children—grown up apart from Ruth, who was still not much more than a child. Five children and a mother and dead father.

  Edith’s stomach lurched again. What was wrong with them? Shouldn’t they be getting help for the man? Where was he? Was he actually dead or maybe just injured and unconscious? Only a couple of minutes had passed since the woman and son had brought her in, but what were they all doing sitting and standing around the place, looking at her as if she was the one behaving strangely?

  “Would you like me to have a look at your husband? I used to do some nursing in the war? Maybe I can help?”

  The woman gave a short laugh. “No-one can help our Jeremiah now, Miss Horton, apart from the good Lord. But, come and look at him if you like.”

  “All right. Do you have a telephone in the house?”

  One of the boys, laughed. “Hear that, Jethro? Lady asks if we have a telephone? God bless you, no, miss. Father didn’t hold with anything like that.”

  “Have you transport?” It was a pretty pointless question. There had been no signs of a tractor, truck or motor car in the yard, and in these parts it wasn’t that unusual for farmers to still rely heavily on horses for farm work and transport.

  The woman answered. “Yes, there’s the old Ford. Reuben will soon be in the village.”

  Edith was very glad about that—the quicker someone else arrived on the farm, the better. If it was Archie wondering what on earth she’d got herself tangled in this time, she’d have to deal with that.

  The woman, the mother touched Edith on the arm and spoke He’s in th’shed, Miss Horton.”

  Edith just managed not to flinch or start at the woman’s touch, but it was more of a battle not to feel that she’d wandered into some surreal nightmare. When they went outside, the change in the temperature wasn’t all that noticeable. The kitchen had been cold, lit only by a small, gleaming black cooking range not giving out much heat. All the people in the room had been clothed almost for the outside too. The men wore top coats.

  “In here, miss.”

  The brothers had followed them out—apart from Reuben who must have got in the motor car and set off for Ellbeck. She still held on to Max’s lead and took quiet, deep breaths as the woman, who carried a torch, led the way into a barn. It was ridiculous not to know the names. Anyway, she needed a distraction. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” she said to the woman.

  “Arkwright, Martha Arkwright.” Neither of the two young men nor the girls offered their names. Up here in their isolated spot, normal social courtesies had passed this family by. She was being too harsh. They must all be in shock.

  “Here’s father.”

  The man seemed to have been moved since his death because although his head was at an angle, his limbs were straight. Mrs Arkwright held a torch so she could see; at least they’d moved on from lamps—no natural light seemed to reach the inside of the shed.

  There was no doubt in Edith’s mind that the man was dead – given the position of his head and something indefinable that she’d seen before when life had departed.

  She was being fanciful.

  Her nurse training may have been basic, but, she knelt down by the man’s body and touched the side of his neck. His skin was dry and cold and there was no pulse.

  For a second the torch light wavered and she wondered about Mrs Arkwright’s apparent stoicism. What had happened though? There was no blood, thankfully. There had been a moment walking across the yard with the family trailing behind her and Mrs Arkwright that she’d dreaded what they were walking into.

  “Poor father,” a voice rang out, and the sobbing began again.

  “What happened? Did he fall?” Edith looked up as she spoke but it was fairly hopeless; the shed was filled with shadows.

  “Yes, fell,” said one of the boys. Edith thought he was called Cain. If any of them were any bit normal, he was the one. She put him in his early twenties, and he looked different from the rest of the family, with a
broader build and reddish-brown hair. The other two brothers were angular and wiry with dark, thick hair.

  Happen he were shuttin’ the trapdoor.” Mrs Arkwright indicated a wooden door high up in the wall, presumably used to throw hay through from the wagon. There was a wooden floor over their heads where they kept the hay for winter.

  “Your daughter found him?” Edith tried to make sense of what had happened. Had it been a straightforward fall, then? The family were very odd, and their reaction to what had happened was strange. But that didn’t mean anything untoward had happened.

  “Yes, our Ruth came out to call him in for his dinner.” There had been no signs or smells of food in the house, at least not in the kitchen.

  Max growled, reminding her of his presence. Should she take her dog and just go? But that seemed callous. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” She asked the woman.

  “Nowt anyone can do now, is there?” She was apparently resigned, not shocked but accepting. Her four children stood silently, the girl breaking the stillness with the occasional sniff.

  “If there’s nothing I can do to help, I’ll go then. Take my dog and get out of your way.”

  One of the boys laughed, Jethro, she thought. “It’s getting dark. You can’t be going off in the dark, miss, ‘taint safe, like.”

  Edith flinched from an involuntary shiver at the base of her neck. She was being ridiculous. Someone would be here soon. How long would Reuben take to reach Ellbeck? She had no idea but guessed not too long.

  “Come in th’ouse, Miss Horton, for a cup of tea.

  She didn’t have much choice. “Thank you,” she said.

  All of this was odd. It was more than odd; bizarre would be a more apt word. No-one had shown any emotion, and they all seemed happy to walk away from the remains of the man without a backwards look. Only the girl, Ruth had shown any distress.