Aftermath by Peter Turnbull

black and white set having, thought Yellich, the look of that vintage about it. Framed portraits of children and adults stood along the mantelpiece in a neat row. The wallpaper had faded and, like the television, seemed to Yellich to belong to a different, earlier, era. The room smelled heavily of furniture polish. Mrs Merryweather sat in the second armchair and leaned forward, smiling in what Yellich thought was an eager to please and almost childlike attitude.
    â€˜Mr Nicholas Housecarl,’ Yellich began, ‘of Bromyards.’
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    â€˜Deceased. Recently so.’
    â€˜Yes, sir, but you can’t say it wasn’t no surprise can you? I mean, his age. He did very well did the old gentleman, very well, all the village said so.’
    â€˜I understand that you worked for him?’
    â€˜Yes, sir, I was one of the staff at the big house and I was the last to leave. I was still there almost to the end I was . . . even though in the last ten or fifteen years I used to work part time, just two or three afternoons a week and none at all in the depths of winter . . . but still almost to the very end.’
    â€˜One of the staff?’ Yellich settled back into the armchair. ‘How many were there?’
    â€˜Oh . . . quite a few at one time, sir, quite a few . . . such a big house you see with huge gardens and grounds beyond the garden that needed looking after, not as much as gardens but looking after just the same . . . a large field of grass that Mr Housecarl had scythed once every two years.’
    â€˜Scythed?’ Yellich smiled.
    â€˜Yes, sir, couldn’t use a motor mower on it because of stuff laying in the grass like rotting tree trunks and so it had to be scythed. You can believe me on that one, sir.’
    â€˜How many men did that take?’
    â€˜Just the one . . . Brian Foot did that. He used to like working alone did Brian, and, with a huge field to scythe, and that he got paid when it’s done, no matter how long it took to do, it suited him. It wasn’t a crop you see, it just had to be cut but not gathered in. Dare say it’s waist high now, but Brian wasn’t on the staff, retired farmworker brought in to scythe the ten acre once every two years. He didn’t gather the grass he scythed, just let it lay there to rot but that’s how Mr Housecarl wanted it.’
    â€˜I see.’
    â€˜So, not only was there quite a lot of people employed by Mr Housecarl at Bromyards, but there was work enough to do that he had to hire in extra help like Brian Foot. He went before some years ago now . . . good age though . . . but not quite Mr Housecarl’s age to be sure. But one by one he had to let us go . . . good days they were . . . very good days.’
    â€˜What was Mr Housecarl like as a person?’
    â€˜As a person,’ Penny Merryweather exhaled and then replied in a fairly, but not hard to listen to, high-pitched voice, so Yellich felt, believing Penny Merryweather’s voice might best be described as ‘chirpy’. ‘Well now, see . . . see . . . now what was he like as a person? He was a nice enough old boy. He did like his own way but it was his old house, I reckon fair play on that one. I like my own way in this little house of mine, so I do, but he always had time for his staff and he took an interest in us, yes he did. You see it seemed to be the case that if you worked for Mr Housecarl then he felt he had more of an obligation to you than just to pay you at a fair rate. He helped quite a few people over the years . . . someone needed a new pair of spectacles, then he’d pay for them . . . over and above paying their wage and then there was the Head Gardener . . . Jeff Sparrow . . .’
    â€˜Yes, we’ll have to talk to him . . . but please, do carry