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‘Were you there when they did it? When they killed that baby?’
So yeah, I could see why Robyn hadn’t appeared.
Chapter Forty
Spofforth
Ihad nearly made it to the car when I had an idea. I dumped the weighty bag in the boot, locked it and ran back to the castle. By the time I found the old gent, I was dripping with perspiration.
I leaned over, resting on my hands on my knees.
‘Are you quite well?’ he asked, pulling the dog on its lead.
I rose and steadied myself. ‘You haven’t seen a man with an easel, painting here?’ I was panting so much I could barely talk.
He pondered, drawing his grey lips into a crumpled pout.
Oh my God, what was I thinking? This was a man who thought ghosts jumped on him. ‘It’s okay. Forget it.’ I hung my head.
‘Scruffy. Could do with a shave if you asked me. Don’t like these young chaps with their whiskers.’
I clapped my hands together into a prayer position. ‘When?’
Please make it today.
‘Yesterday, I think. Not today. Quieter today. Too hot, I think.’ The buttons on his heavy coat rose up to his chin.
Which meant Joseph was at Conisbrough. ‘Thank you,’ I yelled, running in the opposite direction.
It took an hour and a half to drive to Conisbrough due to an accident on the motorway. I fumed, fretted, and cried in frustration. Time ticked, always moving on, taking me with it, kicking and screaming in its wake. So much of my life I wanted to go backwards, to the past, now I merely wanted to stay here, in the present, where the action was actually happening.
I couldn’t see his car below the castle, but he might have walked from the village. I was willing myself to believe anything.
In the ticket kiosk, I waved my membership card. ‘Have you seen an artist painting today? Scruffy guy with stubble?’ If a description worked, use it.
Slowly, a pair of eyes, hidden behind bottle top glasses, focused on my face, followed by a leisurely scratch of the nose. ‘Sorry, not seen anyone like that today.’ The man behind the counter continued sticking price tags on pencil sharpeners.
‘Are you sure?’ Had Joseph decided to skip a day and come back tomorrow?
‘Well, now.’ He paused. ‘It’s possible. I only work afternoons.’
‘Was anyone here earlier, somebody else on duty?’
‘Margaret.’ He adjusted his spectacles. ‘She’s gone home.’
I nearly slithered onto the floor in tortured agony.
‘I’ve only been on the desk an hour. I suppose if he came earlier, he might be somewhere—’
I bolted out of the little shop and charged up the earthworks into the open space of the inner bailey. If he was here, then this is where I would find him, painting the limestone keep against a backdrop of trees and sky. But there was no sign of him anywhere.
I couldn’t blame him for not waiting and it didn’t matter what I thought of the relationship if he wasn’t feeling the same way as me. I had scared him off with my silly tales of visions. That night, he had simply comforted me, and I had reciprocated in kind, hoping that was a good a display as sympathy as I could muster, when in reality, I had fallen far short of understanding the burden he carried. Ours was a summer’s love affair that had blossomed in one night, then died the next day like a mayfly.
I mechanically photographed the vaulted ceiling, absorbing nothing of interest. On any other occasion, I would have soaked up the history of Conisbrough. It was the perfect castle and surrounded by beautiful countryside. I would have worked my way through everything, the buttressed keep, the crumbled remains, and imagined all the intrigue and plots until they came alive. Instead, I performed a perfunctory duty. There wasn’t enough time left to do anything else. The sun, dodging the clouds, sank to the tops of the trees, and the shadows stretched from one wall to the next. In the distance, towards the north, an electric fork of lightning criss-crossed the blackened skies.
The man with the disappointing news waved to me from the gatehouse. I picked up the tripod and walked over.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s closing time.’
