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Authors: Henrietta Reid
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garden that was situated in the orchard.
There was a selection of pitchforks and spades leaning against the stable door, and except for the poultry picking amongst the cobbles, the yard was completely deserted. The men were all busily engaged in the fields sowing and planting. Bedsocks, being an inquisitive cat, followed, delicately picking her way over the cobbles and carefully sidestepping a bad-tempered turkeycock.
Feeling like a conspirator, Kate glanced about as she helped herself to a spade and, pushing open the orchard gate, walked towards the plot which was planted with spring vegetables. She would bury it between the rows of peas, she decided, as the supporting staves would give her at least an illusion of being unseen.
She dug into the soft loamy earth and when she had excavated quite a deep hole, placed the shrivelled and blackened object in it and swiftly covered it, feeling with each shovelful more and more like a criminal. When she had finished and had neatly patted the earth down into place to cover all trace of her handiwork, she straightened with a sigh of relief, and was about to turn and retrace her steps when she felt a vice-like grip on her arm.
With a swallowed scream of fright, she dropped the spade and twisting round, she found Owen gazing at her grimly. ‘Oh, what a fright you gave me !’ she quavered.
He appeared unsympathetic, however. ‘And just what are you doing?’
‘Digging,’ Kate said weakly.
‘So I gather. I assume you weren’t just digging for gold, like the man in the song.’
‘Oh no,’ Kate assured him, trying to sound bright and guiltless.
‘Then just what were you digging for? Do you realise you’re not doing those peas any good?’
‘Well, nothing in particular, really,’ Kate said slowly. However, as Owen showed no sign of relinquishing her arm and in fact gave it a hasty shake, she added hurriedly, ‘I haven’t really done the peas any harm. I was only digging between the rows. And now,’ she added hurriedly, ‘I think I’ll go back to the house. I haven’t finished dusting the sitting-room.’
‘And why not?’
‘Eh?’ Kate said in surprise. It was not at all like Owen to take any interest in the domestic arrangements. In fact, at times he showed a depressing indifference to her activities.
‘I said, why have you not finished the dusting you spoke of? Shall I tell you? Because you were too busy going about your nefarious concerns out here in the kitchen garden.’
‘ Not nefarious,’ Kate protested in shocked tones.
‘Stop beating about the bush.’ He spoke loudly, losing patience. ‘You shan’t go back to the house until you tell me what you’re doing here.’
With a sigh of resignation Kate was about to give the history of the burnt soda-cake when he said slowly, ‘Don’t bother. I think I know what you were up to.’
She followed his gaze and saw, to her embarrassment, that Bedsocks had not been idle during her encounter with Owen, and now sat complacently beside the hole she had busily scraped open revealing the withered fossil which only bore the smallest resemblance to having once possessed the contours of a soda-cake.
‘But what is it?’ He released her and gazed at the object with interest.
‘It was a soda-cake,’ she replied in a small voice, ‘but it got burnt while I was dusting the sitting-room.’
‘So it appears ! But why go to all that trouble?’ he asked. He seemed puzzled and faintly amused. ‘Why not simply dump it, or if you didn’t want any identifiable remains to exist, simply give it to the poultry?’
‘The idea did cross my mind,’ she admitted, ‘but I thought perhaps it might give them indigestion.’
For the first time she saw a glimmer of amusement pass over his bony and impassive features. ‘Don’t you know it’s almost impossible to give farmyard poultry indigestion? You’d be amazed at the things they pick up on their travels.’
‘Well, no, I didn’t,’ Kate said in an
There was a selection of pitchforks and spades leaning against the stable door, and except for the poultry picking amongst the cobbles, the yard was completely deserted. The men were all busily engaged in the fields sowing and planting. Bedsocks, being an inquisitive cat, followed, delicately picking her way over the cobbles and carefully sidestepping a bad-tempered turkeycock.
Feeling like a conspirator, Kate glanced about as she helped herself to a spade and, pushing open the orchard gate, walked towards the plot which was planted with spring vegetables. She would bury it between the rows of peas, she decided, as the supporting staves would give her at least an illusion of being unseen.
She dug into the soft loamy earth and when she had excavated quite a deep hole, placed the shrivelled and blackened object in it and swiftly covered it, feeling with each shovelful more and more like a criminal. When she had finished and had neatly patted the earth down into place to cover all trace of her handiwork, she straightened with a sigh of relief, and was about to turn and retrace her steps when she felt a vice-like grip on her arm.
With a swallowed scream of fright, she dropped the spade and twisting round, she found Owen gazing at her grimly. ‘Oh, what a fright you gave me !’ she quavered.
He appeared unsympathetic, however. ‘And just what are you doing?’
‘Digging,’ Kate said weakly.
‘So I gather. I assume you weren’t just digging for gold, like the man in the song.’
‘Oh no,’ Kate assured him, trying to sound bright and guiltless.
‘Then just what were you digging for? Do you realise you’re not doing those peas any good?’
‘Well, nothing in particular, really,’ Kate said slowly. However, as Owen showed no sign of relinquishing her arm and in fact gave it a hasty shake, she added hurriedly, ‘I haven’t really done the peas any harm. I was only digging between the rows. And now,’ she added hurriedly, ‘I think I’ll go back to the house. I haven’t finished dusting the sitting-room.’
‘And why not?’
‘Eh?’ Kate said in surprise. It was not at all like Owen to take any interest in the domestic arrangements. In fact, at times he showed a depressing indifference to her activities.
‘I said, why have you not finished the dusting you spoke of? Shall I tell you? Because you were too busy going about your nefarious concerns out here in the kitchen garden.’
‘ Not nefarious,’ Kate protested in shocked tones.
‘Stop beating about the bush.’ He spoke loudly, losing patience. ‘You shan’t go back to the house until you tell me what you’re doing here.’
With a sigh of resignation Kate was about to give the history of the burnt soda-cake when he said slowly, ‘Don’t bother. I think I know what you were up to.’
She followed his gaze and saw, to her embarrassment, that Bedsocks had not been idle during her encounter with Owen, and now sat complacently beside the hole she had busily scraped open revealing the withered fossil which only bore the smallest resemblance to having once possessed the contours of a soda-cake.
‘But what is it?’ He released her and gazed at the object with interest.
‘It was a soda-cake,’ she replied in a small voice, ‘but it got burnt while I was dusting the sitting-room.’
‘So it appears ! But why go to all that trouble?’ he asked. He seemed puzzled and faintly amused. ‘Why not simply dump it, or if you didn’t want any identifiable remains to exist, simply give it to the poultry?’
‘The idea did cross my mind,’ she admitted, ‘but I thought perhaps it might give them indigestion.’
For the first time she saw a glimmer of amusement pass over his bony and impassive features. ‘Don’t you know it’s almost impossible to give farmyard poultry indigestion? You’d be amazed at the things they pick up on their travels.’
‘Well, no, I didn’t,’ Kate said in an
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