‘Yes, we’ll have to talk to him. . but please, do carry on.’
‘It was then that Jeff’s son, his only son, fell ill while he was in Australia. . the son that is. . Jeff had never been more than five miles from Milking Nook in all his days, but when his son was in Australia he fell ill.’
‘Oh. . long way from home.’
‘Yes, and it was the fact that he fell ill in here,’ Penny Merryweather tapped the side of her head, ‘in here so he did. . mental. . and he got locked up in a mental hospital. . and do you know what Mr Housecarl did?’
‘Tell me.’
‘He only paid for Jeff to go to Australia and bring his son back to the UK, everything, airfare for the both of them plus spending money for food and rail fares and that. .’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, he did that. It was just like Mr Housecarl to do that for one of his own. He got a lot of loyalty that way. There were other similar things like that he did, but what he did for Jeff Sparrow is the biggest one. The village still talks about it.’
‘I see.’
‘So the staff loved him, they did. . old army officer type, always in tweeds. If you got a job at Bromyards you were in a good way of employment. He paid fair wages but it was that he cared for his workers, took an interest in us and was really sorry when he had to let us go one by one, and we were sorry to have to go, especially old Jeff Sparrow.’
‘So you left at different times?’
‘Yes, sir. . at different times over many years. . it seems as he sort of retreated he let his staff go, old Mr Housecarl, God rest him. I mean at first it was the grounds, so the under gardeners went, then the garden got too much. I mean he had staff to look after the grounds but in here,’ for the second time in the interview she tapped the side of head, ‘I mean in here he couldn’t cope with the grounds. Then he couldn’t cope with the garden in his head, he couldn’t, that’s when he let Jeff Sparrow go. Then room by room it all got too much and so the domestics went, one by one, until I was the last one. He lived in just two rooms by then. Then I heard he just lived in one room. . lived. . I mean ate and slept in one room within that huge, huge house. He was the last of his line, you see, no more Housecarls after him. . not from him anyway.’
‘So we understand.’
‘But he didn’t betray his ancestry, no he didn’t. A proud man he was, sir, principled, a real gentleman of the old school. They say he was camping in the end, cooking on a camping gas stove, getting Meals on Wheels a few days each week and had a nurse looking in on him.’
‘But no one bothered him?’
‘Tormented him, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘No, sir. The village wouldn’t have stood for it. It kept its own children in check, sir, well in check, you can believe me on that one, and if any youths from another village tried to torment him then they would have been well sorted out. They would have gone home with very sore faces; you can believe me on that one, sir. The men of the village poached his land, sir, tables in this village have all been laid with a roast pheasant or a duck taken from Bromyards, but in return, the poachers kept an eye on him. They would have seen any strangers well off the land.’
‘Poachers?’ Yellich inclined his head.
‘This is the country, sir, poaching happens. You hear shotguns being fired around here each day, they’re not toffs shooting clay pigeons, no they’re not, you can believe me on that one, sir.’
‘Understand that, and I am not going to get anyone into trouble for shooting a pheasant or setting a rabbit snare, but I am interested to learn that men went on to Mr Housecarl’s land at night, and, as you say, kept an eye on him and would have recognized a stranger.’
‘During the day time also, sir. Poaching goes on twenty-four hours. Bromyards. . that is Bromyards estate, has been a source of meat for this village for years now, and a source of fruit. He has apples and pears in his orchard. . dripping with fruit in the season, sir. Folk didn’t do no damage, they just. . don’t know the word. .’
‘Harvested?’
Penny Merryweather smiled, ‘Yes, I like that word to describe what went on, we just harvested the Bromyard estate for game and fruit.’
‘But not vegetables?’
‘None to be had, sir.’
‘So no one ever went into the kitchen garden?’
‘No, sir, no reason, any vegetables in the kitchen garden would be long rotten in the ground and vegetables need planting each year. Fruit grows each year anyway once the tree is established. Fruit farmers have an easy time of it compared to vegetable growers. No annual planting for fruit farmers, just maintain their old trees and harvest every September. Jeff Sparrow will be the man to ask about the kitchen garden, he’ll know when the last vegetables were taken up. . but that’ll be ten years ago now. Fish too.’
‘Fish?’
‘Yes, he had a trout pond. . never did taste better trout. . the villagers harvested that as well. Never took all the fish, left some to keep the stock alive. . trout can look after themselves. . so we had grilled trout for supper, roast pheasant for Sunday lunch with apple pie afterwards, and fruit in the fruit bowl, and it all came from Bromyards, well, the estate, even venison, the poachers brought in deer hounds to bring a deer down. All the while, Mr Housecarl was retreating room by room. This village enjoyed good living for the last twenty years. Now there’ll be new owners, but I dare say all good things come to an end.’
‘You don’t feel guilty?’
‘About accepting food from Bromyards estate, you mean?’
‘Yes, that’s what I mean. . just curious. . not being accusative.’
‘No, like I said, the village was keeping an eye on Mr Housecarl and the poachers were careful to not ever take too much, just what the estate could afford to give and that benefited the estate. It keeps the game and fish numbers healthy and the poachers would never bring down young or male deer, just the old females. . healthy. . good to eat but not going to reproduce any more. They knew what they were doing. Like all villages, we look after our own and Mr Housecarl and the Bromyards estate belonged to Milking Nook so we looked after him and it.’
‘So no one harmed Mr Housecarl, but quite a few men went on his land?’
‘Quite a few, and a lot of women when the apples and pears were ripe. Fruit harvesting has always been women’s work you see, sir, you can believe me on that one.’
‘Interesting.’ Yellich stood. ‘Thank you for your information. Where do I find Jeff Sparrow?’
The slender woman with short, close-cropped hair stood quite still and looked down at the neatly cut area of grass. She might, to an observer, have made a curious spectacle, had it not been for the fact that the small area of grass in question was within Fulford Cemetery, and had it not also been for the fact that on that summer’s day the cemetery was being visited by a small number of people, each, as individuals or in pairs, also visiting a specific grave of some relevance to them. Any curiosity the woman might have attracted to herself would have been instantly evaporated as she knelt on one knee and gently laid a single red rose on the unmarked grave.
‘Veronica. .’ the woman sighed as she placed the carrycot containing a slumbering newborn upon the table in the living room of her small terraced house in Holgate. The smell within the room was of warm milk and rusks and baby food. The washing machine in the kitchen whirred on its spin cycle. Carmen Pharoah had the impression that the machine was in constant use and she thought the young woman looked weary. ‘“Ronny”. . sometimes she was called “Ronny” or “Ronica”. . but how could I forget her? We grew up together. . we were great mates in fact. Can we talk in the kitchen? He’ll wake up if we talk in here.’