Buried Secrets: The Freeman Files Series: Book 11 by Ted Tayler (highly recommended books txt) 📗

be with you in ten minutes. Alice will look after you until then.”

The horse rider wheeled away coming no closer and trotted to the far side of the yard. Gus presumed the large building on that side was the stables. He wondered how many horses one family needed.

Luke pointed to a wrought-iron attachment to the side of the door.

“Is that what they call a butler bell-pull, guv?” he asked.

“No good asking me, Luke,” said Gus. “I’ve never had a butler. Especially not one called Alice.”

Luke rang the bell.

Gus smiled at the comforting sound of a bolt getting drawn back and a well-oiled key turning in the lock. He was glad they were visiting this remote farmhouse in broad daylight. At night, in the depths of winter, that sound would evoke memories of every Hammer horror movie he’d ever watched.

The door opened, and Alice stepped forward into the sunlight.

“You rang?”

Gus resisted the temptation to ask whether Vincent Price was at home.

Alice qualified as an elderly retainer. Diminutive in stature, she had probably been living here since Davinia Campbell-Drake’s husband was a child.

“We did,” he replied. “Your employer told us you would look after us while she stabled her horse. We’re the police officers she’s expecting.”

“Follow me, please.”

Alice was a lady of few words, it seemed. Luke and Gus followed her indoors.

The contrast between the bright sunlight outside and the low-ceilinged, dark interior caused Luke to stumble on the flagstone floor.

“Pick your feet up,” said Alice. “You get used to it.”

Gus hoped they were heading for a conservatory, or an orangery, at the rear of the house that offered light and warmth. A chill ran down his spine as a pair of brown eyes pierced the gloom. As he ducked his head to leave the hallway, Gus realised that one of Davinia’s ancestors had employed a taxidermist on the head of a fox and mounted it over the doorway.

They were in luck. Alice had brought them through to a sunny verandah that ran the width of the main building.

“I’ll bring coffee,” said Alice.

“Black without for me,” said Gus.

“I’ll bring coffee,” repeated Alice, “with everything you’ll need to suit your particular taste.”

That’s me put in my place, thought Gus. Luke was grinning at him over the top of Alice’s head.

“It’s as if the place is frozen in time, guv,” said Luke when they were alone. “Can the whole farm be like this? How do they operate at a profit?”

Alice returned in less than a minute with a tray. Gus was disappointed she hadn’t used the silver version. He had to accept that a copper tray was good enough for the lower classes.

Gus couldn’t fault the tray’s contents. Alice had even remembered the biscuits.

Gus heard boots on the stone floor outside the sunroom as he finished his second custard cream. It was the measured step of someone who wasn’t in a hurry to reach them, despite having delayed their meeting by ten minutes already.

The door opened and in swept the lady of the house. Davinia Campbell-Drake wasn’t what Gus had expected. Nobody had described the farmer’s wife to him. He had conjured an image in his head based on the report of her phone call to the police.

It showed once more that he shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Davinia was tall and elegant, with a mane of blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. Gus reckoned she was in her mid-fifties, although the top-brand jacket, jodhpurs and boots helped to knock ten years off that, if not more. Davinia Campbell-Drake could pass for Suzie’s elder sister.

Davinia took a seat on the opposite side of the room and poured herself a coffee.

“Call me Bunny,” she said. “Everyone does. It made life easier when Mummy was alive. She was Lavinia. Don’t stand on ceremony; dig into the biscuits. I won’t be joining you.”

“I don’t need to remind you why we’re here, ma’am,” said Gus.

Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to call her Bunny, and the meeting would stretch until lunchtime if he kept using her full name.

“You’re taking another look into that dreadful business up at Fifty-Acre field,” said Bunny.

“We are,” said Gus, “and we’d appreciate it if you would describe the events of that evening.”

“I ride out at various times of the day,” said Bunny. “Ten years ago, I exercised our string of horses more often than I do today. We stable horses here for the hunt, and for owners that send horses to point-to-point meetings, that sort of thing. It’s a living in one sense, but it’s important to retain a way of life. I doubt you would understand. Sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Freeman,” said Gus, “my colleague is DS Sherman. Gus and Luke, to our friends. Which is the nearest Hunt to you?”

“People who ride with the Beaufort are our main source of income,” said Bunny.

“Was a Wednesday evening ride a regular thing for you?” asked Luke.

“In the summer months, I rode at least four nights a week, so that Wednesday was no different. I left here at six and used the fields and tracks to reach Challows Lane. Then I planned to stay on Ham Lane until By Brook. A combination of the Weavern Lane and more of our fields would have got me home by eight.”

“Did you see any strangers around the farm in the weeks before the murder?” asked Gus.

“I would have reported them to the police if I had,” said Bunny. “The animals in our charge can be valuable, of course, but they are worth more than money to their owners. Horse thieves are the scum of the earth. We’ve always had to keep a close eye on any of our larger equipment. We’ve got security lights and CCTV for the main house and the yard. Foxes might get to