At that the women around her started to protest because these were the same questions I’d been asked by the local teenager and it didn’t seem fair that she’d get her words printed inTheWestern Bugle Onlineand read all over the district, and beyond, when his would not go past the bounds of Upper Iffley—Great Beadington, if he was lucky. So, I was allowed to leave and Emma was dragged toward thestalls, but now she knew who I was and where I lived, and I suspected that might be the reason she went so docilely toward Guess the Weight of the Melon.
“Do you think there is any connection to the finding of Lennie Green?” she called out as I hurried away, but I pretended not to hear, even when she shouted, “Or Doug Newman?”
***
It turned out Emma Beddoe wasn’t the only person to have connected the ancient bones to the body of Lennie Green. The next morning Mrs. Billings took a break from vacuuming our bedroom to tell me, “Old Bill’s poking around in the graveyard.”
“What’s that?” I said, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m very busy.” I looked around for something I might be busy with; I chose to clear out a cupboard.
Mrs. Billings came hobbling through. “I said Old Bill’s on the premises. What do they want now?”
“I don’t know.” I was already struggling to keep my voice level.
“Don’t you want to come and see?” Mrs. Billings asked and I supposed most people would want to see, so I followed her to the bedroom, bouncing with nerves, adrenaline telling me to justrun. I kept myself stationary as Mrs. B put her glasses on for a better look.
“Aren’t they supposed to ask before they go searching through your property? Like they came and introduced themselves before,” Mrs. Billings said as we watched five or six of them, small figures in the distance, often hidden by the trees, but unmistakable in their uniforms, and the car they had parked on the grass. The archaeologists sat in a line along the hedgerow by the road, watching as the police examined the ground.
“I don’t think I can stop them,” I said.
Mrs. B said, “Aren’t you going to go down and speak to them?”
“I usually leave that sort of thing to James.” I realized I ought to phone him. Wouldn’t any innocent woman let her husband know if the police started to search their property, allegedly without cause or warning?
I stared as hard as I could at the graveyard and I thought I could make out Arty, sitting amongst the gaggle of bone experts. What did he think? Was he wondering what I had done? What James had done? Or did he think the police had taken leave of their senses?
“Just ask them what they’re doing. And why. Hold on…” And Mrs. B took her phone out of her overall pocket and called Mr. B. A moment later he strode across the grounds toward the graveyard, there he stood speaking to the police officers before turning around and heading back. We made our way down to meet him.
“You heard they found Lennie Green’s body?” he said to me and I nodded. “Well, they reckon it came from here. Same as all those bones they’ve been collecting up.”
I gasped and that, at least, was genuine. Mr. B scratched his head while Mrs. B said, “Never!”
“That’s what I said,” Mr. B agreed. “Lennie Green was a man in his prime.” That was debatable. “Them bones are ancient; what would they all be doing together?”
Presumably he hadn’t made the connection with the collapsed mausoleum in the corner. They looked at each other, then at me.
“Are you alright, Lady Langley, love?” Mrs. B said.
I nodded feebly. “What else did they say?” I asked.
“Nothing else,” Mr. B said. “What else would they say?”
“I think I’d better give James a ring,” I said.
I had to ring five times before James answered, but when he did, he took the news more stoically than I expected. He told me to go down and ask them if they wanted him to come home, but the thought of going down there and looking their official faces in the eye sent me all a-fluster. So off Mr. Billings went again and came back with the news that, no, they didn’t want him to come home, but they would want to speak to him later.
“And you, Lady Langley,” he said.
So we left them to it. Mr. Billings was looking tired by then, so I agreed that mowing the lawn could wait until next week.
“It’s a young man’s game is mowing,” Mr. Billings said.
“Not long now, Eric, and we’ll be folk of leisure,” Mrs. Billings said to him. “Like Lady Langley here.” They looked at each other, smiled, and nodded. Their nest egg.
The police came and went that day without speaking to us, other than to answer Mr. B’s questions. Consequently, James and I were agog to watch the local news that evening. And there it was:
“Police search stately home as Lennie Green investigation continues!”
“That’s not what happened!” I shouted. They made it sound as if they’d come into the house and ransacked it. Then we saw the reporter in the road that passed the hall, police tape, police cars, police signs—all the paraphernalia—behind him. We hadn’t been able to see the reporters from the house.
