Page 9 of The Peculiar Incident at Thistlewick House

Edward let the telescope drop to his side.

He had no idea if all the bones were human, but he knew that the skull most certainly was.

What he didn’t know was how long it had been there.

A hundred years? A thousand? The local history volumes he’d looked at in Barnabas’s study said Thistlewick Tye had been mentioned in the Domesday Book, so it had certainly been a settlement for a while.

He spun back to face the sea and another rogue wave rushed up to his feet.

This time, it covered the toe of his boot.

To the west, the cliffs ran into the distance, dark and dramatic, backlit by a sky that had turned blood-red in those last few minutes.

It would be dark before long and he had no light with him, so he returned to the rift and trudged back up the track to the village centre.

In the inky canvas of night ahead, he saw several heartening squares of gold casting their cheery light out into the street.

It was still early and a few figures darted about, most likely returning from a long day at work and making their way home to a roaring fire and hearty meal.

A small group of men entered a low Tudor building, and a much larger rectangle of light briefly flashed onto the road as they filed through the door.

These were thirsty men, sneaking in a quick drink before they returned to their wives and families, he realised, as the sign hanging above announced that the establishment was the Sailmaker’s Arms. It was an opportunity too good to miss.

He could purchase a pint of ale and make some discreet enquiries about Emma.

Had she made any enemies in the village?

In his experience, men merry from drink had loose tongues.

He walked across the long, damp grass of the common and pushed the heavy oak door open.

The interior was gloomy, not helped by the low ceiling and smoky atmosphere.

Decorated plates and stone jars were balanced across the top of the dark panelling that lined the room.

A pair of rifles hung above the fireplace, barrels crossed, and the head of a stag was mounted above.

The group of men who’d entered before him settled down at a table near the open fire, and a pink-cheeked man in a grubby apron stood behind the bar.

As Edward approached, a scruffy mongrel got to its feet and barked at him.

The man, who he assumed was the landlord, shouted at the animal to be quiet.

‘Good evening, stranger. And why might you be finding yourself in Thistlewick this time of year?’ he asked, wiping a pewter tankard on a cloth, as a scrawny young woman prepared a tray of drinks for the table of regulars.

‘It’s too cold for sea bathing, and only tinkers and traders visit when the weather turns. ’

‘I’ve just come from Thistlewick House,’ Edward said, removing his gloves and carefully placing his top hat on the bar stool beside him.

Two men, both substantially older than him, were propping up the bar and they turned to see who’d disturbed their drinking.

Were they father and son? Edward wondered.

Brothers? Cousins? They were clearly related because they both had the same wiry eyebrows, square heads and wide noses, but one was older, taller, broader and had a more intimidating presence than his smaller, hunched-up, nervous-looking companion.

The oldest one was quite annoyed. ‘We don’t want no newspaper people sniffing about here after that woman’s death. Leave poor Mr Shaw alone. He’s suffered enough.’

‘Now, now,’ the landlord said, and held up the tankard to Edward with a questioning look, who nodded to confirm he would very much like a drink.

‘Everyone is welcome in Thistlewick Tye.’ The man had a disarming smile, with a distinctive gap between his two front teeth that made him look slightly comical.

‘I’m not with the papers.’ Edward settled on a high wooden stool. ‘Barnabas Shaw is my cousin.’

The old boy narrowed his eyes and sniffed. ‘You don’t look much alike. He ain’t got your boot-black hair or suspicious-looking blue eyes. And he certainly wouldn’t wear such fancy clothes,’ he added, as an afterthought.

‘No,’ Edward agreed. ‘He takes after his mother’s family, whereas my features came down the paternal line.’

‘Mr Shaw mentioned contacting some relative who knew about spirits and the like when his missus went all strange in the head,’ the landlord said over his shoulder, turning the tap on the barrel behind him and filling up the tankard.

‘Is that right?’ the old man asked, squinting at Edward. ‘You some sort of medium?’

‘Edward Blackmore, at your service.’

‘Jacob Palmer.’ The man behind the bar nodded in return. ‘But I’m afraid we don’t abide such nonsense here. We’re good Christian folk who are minded to consider such practices akin to witchcraft.’

‘Let me assure you, Mr Palmer, I have some of London’s finest society amongst my client list: dukes, eminent professionals and even members of Her Majesty’s government. Many of these men attend church and quite happily reconcile the two.’

‘Bunch of frauds, the lot of yer,’ the grumpy customer said, but he looked uneasy. ‘Once you’re dead, you’re dead.’

‘I can assure you that my gift is very real and I’m only disappointed not to have spoken to Mrs Shaw before she was so cruelly taken from us.

My cousin hopes I’ll be able to contact her in her spirit form, before she departs to the next life.

’ He smiled. ‘But enough about me, let me buy you gentlemen an ale and we can talk of more cheerful things.’

The offer was accepted and Edward learned that he was sharing the bar with Silas Garrod and his much younger brother, Noah.

It quickly became obvious that Noah was simple.

There was something unfocused about his eyes and his head hung forward in a strange manner.

The three of them chatted for a while about the village and its inhabitants.

Edward learned that the men were unmarried, lived together in one of the terraced cottages near the school and both worked for Lord Felthorpe, who was the biggest landowner in the area.

Silas claimed he was a fair and generous man, popular with his tenants and the villagers, even if he was occasionally quick-tempered and somewhat aloof.

But he’d embraced the legacy of his father, the previous lord of the manor, and continued to administer the Benevolent Committee that oversaw almsgiving to those in need, as well as financially supporting the parish church.

Edward moved the conversation on to discuss the influenza that poor Mrs Shaw had inadvertently brought into Thistlewick Tye, hoping to find out if her peculiar behaviour had a medical explanation.

‘Has anyone else hereabouts suffered the same troubled mind following such a raging fever?’ he enquired.

In the same way that contracting rabies might drive a man to madness, could her illness have been responsible for Emma’s delusions?

‘Only that babe down at the forge last month,’ Silas volunteered. ‘Sickly thing all its short life and started acting right peculiar out of nowhere. Never known anything like it.’

‘It was odd,’ the landlord agreed. ‘It wasn’t influenza though.

Measles, I believe. The mother thought she’d lost it in the night but it survived, only to display the most extraordinary strength the following morning – thrashing about and trying to crawl.

Pulled itself right out of the cradle. She came in after hanging out the linen and found it dead on the floor.

If we’d any witches living hereabouts, I’d have said a spell had been cast over the poor mite. ’

The talk of witches made Edward think of the woman who’d just attacked him.

‘I encountered a strange, cloaked woman on the beach. She certainly looked the part.’

‘Maude Grimmer. Ha.’ Silas banged his tankard onto the bar.

‘Closest thing we’ve got to a witch but she ain’t magic.

She’s just a dirty drunk who lives outside the Thistlewick boundary, beyond the woods, but you’re best keeping out of her way.

Got a pretty face – at least she used to have when she was a young ’un, before all the drinking.

Nasty piece when she’s had a few, though.

Slapped her husband about until the poor bugger couldn’t take it no more and left. That were about five years ago now.’

Edward had smelled the sour alcohol, despite the sea breeze blowing between them, and she’d been clutching a bottle of what he now suspected was gin. As for the slapping, he could equally vouch for that. He’d had first-hand experience of her lashing out with no provocation.

‘No one thought he’d have the guts to leave her,’ Jacob Palmer chipped in. ‘Real shock when he ran off, along with his wages, and she had to find a way to make a living. Started combing the beach and hawking the bits and pieces she found: bottles, scraps of metal, fossils and the like.’

So, she’d been collecting the bones to sell to the rag-and-bone man. It explained why he’d seen her down by the shoreline.

‘Only comes to the village to buy essentials from Drayton’s, the grocer.

Gets the gin from Sheringham, mind, as she knows no one here will sell it to her.

’ The landlord rolled his eyes. ‘Won’t be making old bones, that one.

Surprised she’s lasted this long, to be fair.

She’s more pickled than these eggs.’ He pointed to a large glass jar behind him. ‘No family or visitors to speak of.’

The grocer’s surname was that of his cousin’s housekeeper, who must surely be related. As an unmarried woman, Mrs Drayton would have kept her maiden name but been given the title of Mrs as a mark of respect. Everyone had a connection to everyone in a village, he realised.

‘Talking of family, how come we’ve not seen yer around these parts before?’ Silas asked, sliding his empty glass to the landlord and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. ‘Can’t be very close to Mr Shaw if you’ve not visited him in the ten years of his marriage.’

‘You’re quite correct – I’m not. Barnabas and I are very different men but I was inordinately fond of his wife, and it was her I came to see.

But then we don’t get to choose our family,’ he lamented.

‘So, it’s rather heartening to see how close you are to your brother. ’ He nodded at the younger man.

‘Saved my life, didn’t you, Bruh?’ Noah said, who’d let Silas do most of the speaking thus far.

Silas’s face briefly flashed genuine affection, as his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment.

‘I saved your life, Noah. That I did.’

‘Poor Noah here was mucking about in the water when he was a lad and got swept out to sea,’ Mr Palmer said, returning behind the bar.

He’d slipped out to wipe down the table the group of working men had been sitting at.

They’d been particularly restrained, Edward noticed, and only consumed one after-work drink before heading home.

‘Silas swam out and saved him, but he contracted pneumonia shortly afterwards and nearly died a second time. Weakened his heart though, and he’s lucky to still be here. ’

‘I’m a lucky man, aren’t I, Bruh?’

Silas nodded. ‘That you are, brother. That you are.’

The landlord’s scruffy dog reappeared and put his two front paws on Noah’s knees, revelling in the ensuing attention, as his tail frantically whipped from side to side. If dogs could smile, Edward would have sworn it had the biggest grin across his furry face.

‘I love Banjo, don’t I, Bruh? And Banjo loves me?’

‘That he does, Noah. That he does.’ The older brother smiled, before his suspicious eyes returned to the stranger.

Edward offered to buy the men another drink, hoping one more would loosen their tongues further, but Silas informed him that two drinks were sufficient for any man.

The way he said it made Edward think it was an often-repeated phrase of his.

The Garrods collected their coats from the hatstand and began to put them on.

‘When I grew up here, it was a lovely little village,’ Silas grunted, helping Noah feed his arms into the thick wool coat he held up.

‘Everyone knew everyone, and no one was unkind or dishonest. I weren’t ever keen on the railway coming to Cromer.

It just brought more trouble and a load of strangers.

Occasionally, some of them find their way here, poking about in our business, when all the good folk of Thistlewick want is to be left alone. ’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Silas,’ Mr Palmer said. ‘It helps the fishermen further along the coast to get their catch to market quicker. We can’t remain isolated forever. Times are changing.’

‘Well, they rattle me – swanning about in their top hats, with their foreign ways.’ Edward wasn’t sure if the comment was aimed at him. ‘But I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: bad things always happen when strangers turn up.’

Silas threw Edward one final suspicious look, tipped his hat and ushered his brother out into the night.