The Shrouded Path Read online

  ‘Dadeeee! Don’t want to go yet. Back to the trains. Whoo whoo. Where’s the choo choo? Whoo whoo.’ The child was screaming with delight and the man stopped briefly to adjust the child in his arms.

  ‘Stop it, Archie.’

  The child ignored him. ‘Whoo whoo.’

  The man’s mobile phone rang and, as Mina stood at the top of the Cutting, she could hear the conversation across the clear air.

  ‘Where the hell are you?’ A woman’s furious voice. ‘I said take him out for an hour not all afternoon. It’s nearly dark.’

  ‘We were delayed. Something happened. I thought I saw a girl in the tunnel but I was mistaken. I had to go back and … well … go back and look.’

  ‘Look for what?’

  ‘Not now. I’ll tell you when I get home. This place gives me the creeps. I thought I saw a girl go into the tunnel but she never came out. I need to get us out of here.’

  Mina shifted around to get a good look at the man. He was aware of her scrutiny and turned his back on her and continued down the hill out of earshot. He finished the call and began to run, hunched over the little boy, as if protecting him from rain although the sky was clear. Mina squinted after him. Why was he running? Perhaps he was late for something. When he reached a little white car on the side of the road, he took a moment to strap the child into the back seat and drove off at speed.

  Mina watched the car take the corner and disappear from sight, and then looked back at the tunnel. What had he been running from?

  PART THREE

  Valerie

  48

  Monday, 15 December 1947

  The little girl watched as her mother rocked the crying baby on her shoulder, holding tight to his sturdy legs as his bawls echoed around the valley. With her other hand, she clasped the sleeve of her daughter’s coat, aware that the little girl was desperately trying to wriggle away. She’d put extra clothes on them both. The baby was wearing a thick cable cardigan knitted by her aunt in Llangollen. In his temper, he pulled at the fat buttons, his face puce with the effort. The girl was wearing her winter coat, which was already too small for her. Spindly arms poked out from the sleeves like pipe cleaners, a large expanse of flesh between the hem and the start of the woollen mittens. Never mind, it kept her warm enough today. She knew how cold this valley got. The intuitive knowledge of a child of these parts. Derwent valley held a chill that would take more than the winter sun and unseasonal drought to dissipate. The girl looked up at her mother, who had spotted a movement and become unnaturally still, watching transfixed as the men went about their business at the base of the church spire, tiny figures at the bottom of the valley.

  ‘Will it be loud?’ the girl whispered. ‘Will it go boom?’

  ‘It’ll go more than boom,’ said the stranger next to her, his rough Derbyshire accent made thicker by the Woodbine hanging out of his mouth. ‘That’ll give the babby something to cry about.’

  The girl ignored him but her mother jiggled the child harder, trying to dampen the screams.

  They’d been held back at the top of the valley, a disparate group of people forming a wall on the hill’s crest. Not once did the men below look up. Many of the crowd were sightseers, here after reading an article about the church’s demolition in the local newspapers. The rest knew this valley inside out. News of the dynamiting had spread around the invisible network winding through the Peaks. When the appointed day had come, people had downed tools, called in sick and bunked off school to see the act with their own eyes.

  ‘It’s a terrible shame,’ her mother commented to an elderly woman. She took in the water that usually covered the church spire, left intact when the village was drowned. The water had retreated during the hot summer and, not being replenished, was still lapping around its base. The valley looked parched. A dry winter is worse than a dry summer. ‘We’ll be telling this tale to our grandchildren.’

  ‘Not me.’ The elderly woman caught the little girl’s eye. ‘The money gave us a fresh start. I’m settled where I am and I’m not going to rake over old coals. The past is finished.’

  ‘You’re here, though.’

  The elderly woman didn’t turn but her eyes behind her glasses filled with tears. ‘Best forgotten,’ she repeated.

  ‘They’ll ask anyway.’ Her mother surveyed the valley. ‘Don’t you think?’ There was a hint of a plea in her voice. ‘This won’t be forgotten. They say the bells have gone to Chelmorton and Cold Eaton and the pews to one of them churches in Bampton. They’ll make a new history.’

  The other woman was silent and the mother was compelled to continue. ‘And what about the school kids standing over there? They’ll remember. The fact they’re here means they know about the old village. They’ll remember it when it’s their grandchildren who are drinking water that’s come from this reservoir.’

  She pointed towards a group of children, most of whom the girl recognised from the drowned village. Some of those families had been entwined for generations, father going to school with mother, grandparents working in the fields, ancestors coming together in times of sickness, blight and strife. Now they were scattered around the Peaks, making a new life in new communities. Some welcomed. Some not.

  There was a shout from below and the group fell silent. She felt her mother put her hands over her ears as the roar echoed through the valley. She looked up for reassurance and saw that her mother was smiling. ‘We’ll remember, won’t we? And we’ll tell. This is a story that will be carried down the generations.’

  The older woman shrugged and turned back to the cloud of smoke and debris.

  49

  Monday, 6 November 2017

  Mayfield huffed into the room, her hips knocking a paper tray flying. ‘It never rains but it pours. And what’s more, the heavens always open when I’m about to go home.’

  Connie looked out of the large window of the CID room, which showed a darkened sky but no rain on the window. ‘It’s clear out I think.’

  Mayfield rolled her eyes. ‘I wasn’t talking about the weather. I was referring to this bloody job. Why do we always have an emergency at six o’clock in the evening?’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘We’ve just had news of a fatal collision on the Matlock road. At least one fatality.’

  ‘Not again. Some idiot overtaking?’

  ‘A car shot out of the side road into the path of an articulated lorry. The driver says he didn’t even have time to brake. There’s a child involved, apparently.’

  ‘Oh no, how awful. It’s Accident Investigation’s job, though. What do they want CID for?’

  ‘They don’t, but because I was dawdling by the control room inspector listening to the news of the incident, I hadn’t handed over to the duty officer. Which is when the incident log came in from uniforms. We’ve got a missing vulnerable person.’

  Connie looked at her watch. ‘Great.’

  ‘Exactly. I’m supposed to be going to my singing class tonight.’

  ‘I didn’t know you could sing.’

  ‘I can’t, which is why I’m going to classes. It’s a new group that’s been set up. A choir for those who can’t read music. We sing modern stuff: songs from the shows, Elvis …’

  ‘Elvis is modern?’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  There was a short silence. ‘Who is the next duty officer?’ asked Connie.

  ‘Vinnie, but I think he was hoping for a quiet night. His wife’s in hospital due to have her first. They’re inducing it any day now.’

  Connie held out her hand. ‘Give it to me. I’ll take it then hand over to Vinnie.’

  ‘You sure?’

  Connie was reading the incident. ‘Fourteen-year-old girl hasn’t come home from school.’ Connie looked at her watch again. ‘It’s only quarter past six. You’re having a laugh, aren’t you? She’s probably drinking cider in one of the local parks.’ Connie looked again at the log. Catherine Hallows. ‘Shit.’

  ‘What?’
<
br />   ‘Didn’t you read the name of the missing person?’

  ‘No. Why?’ Mayfield leant closer. ‘Oh no.’

  Connie scanned the rest of the report. Aged fourteen, about five feet two with dark hair and blue eyes. Last seen wearing yellow polka dot dress.

  ‘What does the mother say?’ Mayfield sat down in her chair, clearly glad to take the weight off her feet.

  ‘She’s called a couple of her daughter’s friends and they haven’t seen her since the morning’s lessons which she attended. Afterwards, she went to the hospital to do a couple of hours of patient support, which she apparently completed. She’s not been seen since she left around 3.30 p.m.’

  ‘That’s still only a couple of hours missing. You want to leave it a bit?’

  Connie looked down at the piece of paper. ‘Of course not. Shit, I knew I should have interviewed her at the weekend.’

  ‘It’s possible she’s bunked off somewhere. Fourteen’s one of those funny ages. You’re partly still a child and yet you’re almost an adult.’

  ‘She’s a vulnerable person who isn’t where she should be.’

  ‘I know that but it’s a bit odd. The mother’s saying that the girl wanders around the countryside. Talks about being connected to her ancestors and yet she calls the police the minute she doesn’t arrive home on time.’

  ‘She usually gets a bus to Cold Eaton and either walks up the hill to the house or her mother picks her up. She wasn’t on her regular bus or the two after that.’ Connie sighed. ‘I need to speak to the mother.’

  ‘Do you think her disappearance might be connected to the Hilary Kemp case?’

  ‘She was a person of interest and we were due to interview her so it’s possible. I’ll head out to the farm now. The uniforms have conducted an initial search of the house, which hasn’t revealed anything untoward. It doesn’t look like she’s hiding in the farm. Where’s Dahl?’

  Mayfield looked at her watch. ‘Gone for the night. Do you know what, I think I might have worked out why he needs to leave early.’

  Connie closed down the computer and picked up her handbag. ‘Never mind about that. I’d better go and see Lorna Hallows.’

  *

  Sadler opened the door to Nell Colley’s house. The dusk meant he could slip through the entrance without attracting the attention of Nell’s neighbour. They would be committing one of the worst atrocities on the body of Nell tomorrow morning. Removing it from the earth where she’d been laid to rest. Thankfully, her time out of her grave would be quick. By tomorrow evening she would be back in her resting place. The body would give up some secrets but not all and Sadler wanted to see the house for himself.

  Connie and Dahl had done a good job of clearing the space of any evidence. Sadler began in the bedroom, a place where most people often kept their secrets, but found nothing. He moved to the two spare rooms, barren spaces with none of the junk people usually deposit in unused bedrooms. He made his way downstairs and into the dining room. A low G Plan sideboard held crockery and old silver cutlery. In the drawers, tablecloths and starched linen napkins were lined up neatly. Sadler slid his hands inside but found nothing untoward.

  A bang on the door made him jump and he went to open it. A small thin woman stood uncertainly on the doorstep.

  ‘Are you the police? I saw the lights on.’

  ‘I am.’ Sadler reached into his pocket but the woman had backed away.

  ‘I was just checking. Have you …’

  ‘It’s tomorrow.’

  Janet looked down. ‘I’ll say a prayer for her tonight.’

  ‘That would be a good thing to do.’

  Emboldened, the woman looked up. ‘I always say that even if you don’t think it does any good, it can’t do any harm.’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Were you looking for something?’

  ‘I wanted to see if I could find anything about the memoir Nell was writing.’

  ‘You don’t think that has anything to do with anything?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Now I think about it, I’m pretty sure she didn’t have a laptop. I remember asking her if my grandson could borrow one and she said she’d never got on with computers when she was working. She must have intended to write it by hand.’

  ‘You’re sure she never talked about it?’

  ‘Only in the vaguest terms. She was definitely doing research. I’m sure she said.’ Janet looked around her. ‘I’m not sure what about.’

  ‘At the library?’

  ‘No. She wouldn’t go there. She refused, I’ve no idea why. She took a few bus trips, though. Said they were research trips. She was very secretive about it.’

  ‘Research trips to where?’

  ‘She never said. All I know was she caught the bus. She was looking at the timetables when I called round.’

  As Janet moved away, Sadler shut the door and rifled through the telephone desk next to the doorway. Nothing there. He moved through to the kitchen and saw a letter rack hanging on a wall. Two bus timetables were sitting in the top bracket. He pulled them down. One was for Cold Eaton and the other for Ladybower reservoir. The Cold Eaton one he flicked through and put it back in the rack. The Ladybower timetable was thicker and, as Sadler unfolded it, he saw that it had been bulked out by two used envelopes set on top of each other. Both had, on one side, Nell’s home address and stamps that had been inked at the Bampton sorting office. Local correspondence, although what the envelopes had once contained was impossible to tell as both were empty. It was the reverse side of them that was the revelation, the white paper covered with tiny writing. Sadler took them over to the kitchen table and put them side by side.

  The first envelope contained a list of seemingly random words, Nell trying to get her thoughts straight. Sadler scanned through the items. School, Cold Eaton, yew tree, promise, Valerie, the Neales, Ladybower, tunnel, after. The final word had three dashes underlining it. Some of the references were easy to guess, others not. The Neales presumably meant Monica and her sister Ingrid if she was referring to her childhood.

  Sadler turned his attention to the other envelope. It was A5 in size and had been folded in half to cover the writing scrawled on the back. Here, Nell had made a start on a narrative of sorts. Squinting in the poor kitchen light, Sadler deciphered the tiny words.

  It’s hard to know where to begin and I’ve spent a long time getting my thoughts in order. I have to start, though, as the intervals between my attacks are beginning to shorten. I’ve realised that you can go at any time. Ingrid’s death showed me that at least.

  Now I see that I must start at Cold Eaton because what came before it – school, making friendships – was nothing compared to how we were in the village. I’ve just come back from a trip there and it hasn’t changed at all. The pub had the same sign hanging with the clipper ship in full sail now faded with age and exposure to the elements. The old house still stands at the top of the hill, unkempt as ever. I walked to the house and no further. The former railway line I couldn’t face nor did I get beyond the entrance to the churchyard. I can rely on my memory for those parts of the narrative. I’ll have to. Some things are too hard to revisit. One good thing did come from the trip, though. I saw the one who came up with the idea of the punishment and I told her I was going to write this. She didn’t like the idea at all.

  The narrative stopped. Sadler went back to the letter rack and searched through the contents but nothing else was to be found. He picked up the two envelopes and stared at them again. Nell had told someone in Cold Eaton she was writing her memoir and ‘she’ hadn’t liked it. He bundled up the letters and placed them back into the Ladybower timetable. Ladybower. The name was also on Nell’s list. What was the significance of the reservoir?

  50

  It would be her last night at The Nettle Inn. Mina couldn’t face the obfuscation of Emily and the others at the bar this evening. People told you nothing but kept an eye on your movements and she was sick of it. Sh
e found the top end of Cutting Lane blocked off when she left the bridge and the young traffic cop ordered her to reverse back down the lane, forcing her into a long detour along country roads that deposited her in the heart of Bampton. She parked and slipped into the minimarket next to the town’s main square. It was a small shop with just five aisles, a strip of which was dedicated to alcohol. She picked up a bottle of red, found a half-decent-looking baguette and some Derbyshire cheese, light coloured with fine veins of blue.

  At six o’clock, the dark had fallen and the lights dotted around the square gave off an amber glow. As she approached the van, someone was peering into her driver’s window. She coughed loudly and the figure stood up and walked quickly away. Mina opened the van and checked the back seats before getting inside. She locked the door and sat for a moment, her heart thumping. A potential thief checking if she’d left something of value inside the van? Possibly, or perhaps the author of the note left on her windscreen at the Cutting. When her heart had slowed to a steadier pace, she drove out of Bampton and towards Cold Eaton. As she turned left off the main road towards the isolated village, the car behind her also indicated and followed her.

  I’m spooked. Ignore it, she cautioned herself. She drove carefully down the meandering road and was relieved when she saw the light on in the window of the house on the outskirts of the village. She drove faster towards the safety of the pub and, instead of using the car park to the side, pulled up outside the front door as she had seen other patrons do. The car behind her drove past without the driver looking at her. This was odd in its own way for surely human curiosity would have impelled you to look at the car you’d just driven behind, even it was only to see if they were someone from the village. Mina sat for a moment and then crawled up the hill after the car. The village ended at the old manor house but the vehicle was nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, Mina reversed and drove back to The Nettle Inn reflecting on her paranoia.