Chapter Six – Gossip and Uncertainty

It was early, yet the sun was making it feel like noon as the middle aged wife to the now deceased politician walked down the main street of the Aidensfield village. Joyce Jowett had a tight schedule for the day and figured she might as well do the shopping first. Then with a sigh she stopped short as she couldn't remember if she'd brought the wallet with her.

She looked up from rummaging through her purse outside the village grocery store as she caught the black Ford Anglia police car in her periphery vision.

"This can't go on," she heard a familiar voice mutter from behind.

Joyce turned around slightly as the police car drove through the village to face one of her neighbors.

"Angelica," she said with a forced smile.

"What does the council say about it?" She pressed.

Mrs. Jowett raised an impeccable eyebrow. "About what? The campers up at Ashfordly Hall, the imminent threat about the closing of our railway station or the murder?" She asked. "You should now anyhow considering your husband's involvement in the council."

Angelica rolled her eyes ignoring her last statement. "About the murder of course, and the repercussions after that," she returned in annoyance. "The man who did it could still be out here somewhere. I mean look at what the police are doing."

"And what are they doing?" Joyce asked.

"That's exactly my point," Angelica Nolan was fuming now. "Nothing, they're doing nothing about it. I've been talking to several people in the village and they're all scared."

"I don't usually side with police, Angelica," Joyce began carefully. "But in this case I'm sure they're doing what they can."

The woman huffed. "They've been running around the area for several days and yet there's no news," she said.

"Bertha overheard something promising at the pub last night," Joyce let on. "Something about Liverpool and a doctor."

"Liverpool? Didn't Sergeant Merton work there before he came here?" Angelica asked curiously. "He probably knows more than he let on."

OOOOOO

Jack Lane looked up from the newspaper he was studying as he heard a car upfront. His hands shook as he reached for the bottle of whiskey standing next to him. He inhaled a shaky breath before letting the content of the bottle soothe his raw throat. His eyes once again locked on the picture of the young man being declared as a deceased by the journalist. Memories of a happy little boy played out before him and then the boy morphed into a somber young man who'd lost everything he held dear. He'd watched the young man change before him, seen him struggling with his upbringing, missing his brothers and sisters. Jack had seen him coming home from school with a black eye and he'd seen him clean it up. The man had a fighting spirit, a belief in right and wrong that sometimes amazed him.

Jack had envied him at times, envied how he could shake off everything bad that had happened and fought for a scholarship. He'd been proud of his nephew when he'd gotten a place at the large hospital back in Liverpool but it was with sadness he'd let him leave. Now as he looked at the picture of his nephew he felt a rage spreading through his body. Someone had taken the life of one of the people that meant the most to him. Jeremy kept him together as he lived under his roof and had helped him with the farm while no one else in the village seemed to care if he survived or not.

A sharp knock on the door had him throw a hasty glance in the direction of the hallway but he made no move as to get up and greet his guests.

"Mr. Lane, please open up we know you're there," a stern voice called.

Jack sighed and shook his head, undeterred by the man on the opposite side of the door. He'd seen the car arrive so he knew it was the police standing outside his door. The hard ass Scottish sergeant and his minions were the last persons he'd wanted to speak to at the moment.

"It's the police, Mr. Lane. I'd advise you to…"

Jack had enough and dragged himself out of the chair, he made his way to the worn entrance door and roughly grabbed the door handle and swung the door open.

"Took you long enough, Merton," he said without pardon.

The Sergeant looked as unimpressed by the words thrown at him as Jack was by the fact that the man of the law stood outside his door.

"I believe, Mr. Lane, that you already know that your nephew was found dead up at the Ashfordly Estate," he said.

"That is correct," he let on, as he leaned on the doorframe, content on keeping the police officer outside.

"If you knew it was him why didn't you come to us when you knew we were looking for clues about him?" Merton asked.

"Would it had made any difference?" Jack drawled. "He was already dead and, as far as I know, the police don't have the power to bring him back from there."

"You could have saved us a lot of trouble," Merton returned, his voice slightly raised.

"Well, excuse me, your highness," he muttered, meeting anger with anger. "I've never got any help from you or the village council, or my neighbors for that matter."

"Mr. Lane," Crane began carefully, trying to diffuse a situation that might get out of hand.

However, the drunken farmer only had eyes for his superior officer.

"Look what happened to my brother and his family. He even got accused of murdering his wife yet he had nothing to do with it! So forgive me for having little faith in the police. Who knows what kind of accusations you would have thrown at me if I had come down to the station and told you he was my nephew. You might have suggested I had killed him myself!" Jack exploded, his voice bitter and rising with every word he spoke until the last few was shouted at the Scottish man standing opposite him.

"That is enough!" Merton yelled back. "I'd advise you to cooperate or I'd haul you back to the station and continue this discussion there. The choice is yours, Mr. Lane."

Jack snorted. "It takes effort to call me mister doesn't it, Merton?" He gloated.

"What was he doing in the area?" The Scottish sergeant asked, ignoring the remark thrown at him, his voice as cold as ice.

"How should I know?" Jack questioned. "I haven't seen him in ages."

"Look, Mr. Lane," Steve began in a neutral voice. "You're the only one he's got up here. You must have some clue as of why he got on the train from Liverpool and got off at the Aidensfield station."

"I tell you what," he said angrily as he walked up to stand very close to the young police officer, invading his private space. "I wish I knew."

OOOOOO

Lord Ashfordly smiled as he inhaled the brisk air in the early afternoon, the tranquility of the large garden calming his grated nerves. He'd just put away the last number of the Gazette in frustration as there was a follow up article about the murder. To him it meant another booth of bad publicity.

He walked over the courtyard and headed off to walk his land in order to calm down and maybe shot a pheasant or two on his round. At least he should be grateful that the campers had moved away so that he needn't concern himself with having his unique garden figurines and other things stolen.

As his lordship wandered further away from the Hall, the riffle over his arm, secured, he suddenly stopped short as a faint smoke pillar rose to the sky behind the trees marking the end of his land. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and the thought of pheasants vanished from his mind.

Lord Ashfordly mumbled a few curses under his breath as he neared the group of white dressed people sitting around the campfire. He could hear a low chanting repeated over and over again among the men as walked up to stand behind them.

Mr. Rah opened his eyes at the sound of footsteps approaching and looked up to see the lordship stand next to him. He put on a smile. "Welcome, my lordship," he greeted politely.

"I believe my right hand, Mr. Norton, told you to leave the premises?" He said ignoring the man.

"That is correct," Mr. Rah let on. "However, your land was calling out to us."

Ashfordly began a silent countdown in his head, furious at the trespassing but when he spoke his voice was calm and aristocratic. "Then I believe you need to have your ears examined," he said dryly as he unsecured his rifle. "This is private property and you're not invited. Now, please leave immediately and do not come back."

OOOOOO

Phil Bellamy sighed in frustration as he inserted the key in the lock to his apartment. He didn't feel like going for lunch back at the pub in Aidensfield with Steve. It still hurt too much to look at the love of his life seeing the look of contempt on her face and the blame in her eyes as she looked at him. She wanted nothing to do with him, she'd been clear about that. Still she'd not walked away when he'd approached her and she'd talked to him when she stood behind the bar with Oscar by her side.

Life was finally moving on but it was a slow process and he hated it. Not too long ago he'd had the woman of his dreams and he'd had a baby – now he had nothing, just an empty apartment. The only thing that was constant in his life for the moment was his job and for that he was grateful. The murder case had helped him shift focus from himself and his misery to the young doctor's misery. It was funny how the death of a young person could somehow open your eyes.

He took a deep breath as he slid the refrigerator door open and wasn't surprised when he found nothing that could even begin to work as something eatable. He'd neglected to go to the grocery shop again, not finding it worth its while. He just had to go out and have something to eat so it might as well be that new restaurant at corner next to the police station in Ashfordly. Of course he could visit his grandma but he couldn't find the energy to do that at the moment.

As the young officer made it to the door, he turned around and glanced through the haphazardness of the room and realized that he should clean the place as well. His eyes involuntarily stopped at a beautiful picture of him smiling as he stood beside a proud mother with her newborn. With a twinge of sadness he wished for that moment to never have ended.

Phil ran a hand through his hair and put on his helmet, locked the door after him and headed out. Maybe it was time anyway to have that lunch over at the Aidensfield Arms?

OOOOOO

"Just one more, David," Vernon encouraged in satisfaction as he stood by and let David shift the heavy sacks filled with various ratio of dung and soil.

The younger, rather heavyset man, huffed, his face taking on a shade of red thanks to the heavy duty of loading the truck.

Bernie Scripps walked out on the front side of his garage looking annoyed and not the least amused by the whole thing. His left hand was placed over his nose to effectively prevent the odor that came with the sacks from reaching his nostrils.

"Why can't you have those at home?" The undertaker and garage owner complained. "You're scaring my customers. Absolutely no one wants to get his sports car washed and waxed next to that."

"Relax brother dear," Vernon said with confidence. "The way our business is going at the moment all this would be gone by the end of the week."

Bernie frowned as he stared at the rather large amount of sacks sitting just outside his garage doors.

"The news about my services are spreading around the villages and then some," Vernon began.

His brother huffed as he crossed his arms across his chest, his eyes never leaving the fertilizer. "It usually does, Vernon, although it's seldom good news," he pointed out.

Ignoring the remark Vernon's face cracked up in a half grin. "I've even got a customer from the council. We'll be heading over to Emile and Angelica Nolan in the afternoon," he said cockily.

"Be careful, Vernon, just be careful," Bernie said gloomily.

OOOOOO

To be continued