Read Online The Drowning Ground by James Marrison - Free Book Online Page B

the hill to the other side.
    I turned away and walked towards the gates, where Cleaver and Graves were looking through the bars. Cleaver was gesturing to the house as if he owned it, but it was Graves – younger, aristocratic-looking – who appeared more in keeping with the sedate surroundings of Dashwood Manor.
    Graves moved his head closer, so that his forehead was touching the flaking black-painted metal bars, and squinted as he tried to look further in at the house. ‘I still can’t see what you’re talking about,’ he was saying. ‘And I really don’t see why you just can’t tell me, Cleaver.’
    Cleaver was in his mid-forties, wiry and ruddy-faced, and at the best of times surly and bad-tempered. I always had the impression that the moment I told Cleaver to do something, he’d be rolling his eyes like a teenager in disgust behind my back. But Cleaver seemed relatively cooperative right now and even eager to please, despite the peculiar guessing game he appeared to be playing with Graves.
    â€˜There,’ he said, putting his hand as far as it would go through the bars, ‘and there,’ he said, pointing to the bottom of the house. Then he slowly moved his finger upwards towards the second floor. ‘And there,’ he said finally.
    â€˜Oh, for Christ’s sake, Cleaver,’ Graves said, losing patience, ‘will you stop playing silly buggers and bloody well tell me or…’ Graves stopped and began to press his face even closer to the bars of the gate. ‘All of them, you say?’
    Cleaver nodded and poured out a cup of something hot from his flask and offered it to Graves as if he had just won a prize. Graves took it, looking doubtful while Cleaver wasn’t watching, but then taking a polite sip when Cleaver turned towards him.
    â€˜What is it?’ I said. ‘What’s the big deal about the house?’
    Cleaver wisely did not play the same guessing game with me. ‘Hurst’s only gone and barred all the windows, sir. All of ’em. Noticed it first thing this morning.’
    I looked. I hadn’t noticed either on first inspection. But now that Cleaver had pointed it out, I realized immediately that he was right. Thick black bars spanned every single window. The original front door also appeared to be barred from the outside.
    â€˜How very odd,’ Graves said quietly.
    â€˜Maybe this isn’t going to be so easy after all,’ I said. ‘Maybe we could try round the back?’
    â€˜I don’t think that’s going to help much, sir,’ Cleaver said, sounding pleased with himself.
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜Well, when they sent me out this morning’ – Cleaver looked vaguely resentful at the thought – ‘to guard the house, I had to check to see if there was any sign of a break-in, didn’t I? So of course I had to go round the back. You’re not going to believe this, but he’s only gone and bricked up some of the windows in the back and put bars on all the others. Looks bloody horrible.’
    â€˜Bricked some of them in?’
    Cleaver nodded. ‘He’s bricked in the big old French windows at the back, and he’s barred all the others. Didn’t do a great job of it either. It looks sturdy enough, but there’s cement everywhere.’
    I briefly considered this. ‘Does it look recent?’ I asked.
    Cleaver scratched at the back of his neck. ‘Hard to tell, really. But no. Looks like it’s been that way for a while – few years at any rate.’
    â€˜What is it, sir?’ Graves said quickly.
    â€˜Well,’ I said, not all that sure myself yet, ‘the only place where you can get a glimpse of the back of the house is from the top of that hill over there. We’ve been hearing all day about how much he hated people rambling through his field.’
    â€˜So you think he wasn’t really bothered about the field