Aftermath by Peter Turnbull Page B

on him and would have recognized a stranger.’
    â€˜During the day time also, sir. Poaching goes on twenty-four hours. Bromyards . . . that is Bromyards estate, has been a source of meat for this village for years now, and a source of fruit. He has apples and pears in his orchard . . . dripping with fruit in the season, sir. Folk didn’t do no damage, they just . . . don’t know the word . . .’
    â€˜Harvested?’
    Penny Merryweather smiled, ‘Yes, I like that word to describe what went on, we just harvested the Bromyard estate for game and fruit.’
    â€˜But not vegetables?’
    â€˜None to be had, sir.’
    â€˜So no one ever went into the kitchen garden?’
    â€˜No, sir, no reason, any vegetables in the kitchen garden would be long rotten in the ground and vegetables need planting each year. Fruit grows each year anyway once the tree is established. Fruit farmers have an easy time of it compared to vegetable growers. No annual planting for fruit farmers, just maintain their old trees and harvest every September. Jeff Sparrow will be the man to ask about the kitchen garden, he’ll know when the last vegetables were taken up . . . but that’ll be ten years ago now. Fish too.’
    â€˜Fish?’
    â€˜Yes, he had a trout pond . . . never did taste better trout . . . the villagers harvested that as well. Never took all the fish, left some to keep the stock alive . . . trout can look after themselves . . . so we had grilled trout for supper, roast pheasant for Sunday lunch with apple pie afterwards, and fruit in the fruit bowl, and it all came from Bromyards, well, the estate, even venison, the poachers brought in deer hounds to bring a deer down. All the while, Mr Housecarl was retreating room by room. This village enjoyed good living for the last twenty years. Now there’ll be new owners, but I dare say all good things come to an end.’
    â€˜You don’t feel guilty?’
    â€˜About accepting food from Bromyards estate, you mean?’
    â€˜Yes, that’s what I mean . . . just curious . . . not being accusative.’
    â€˜No, like I said, the village was keeping an eye on Mr Housecarl and the poachers were careful to not ever take too much, just what the estate could afford to give and that benefited the estate. It keeps the game and fish numbers healthy and the poachers would never bring down young or male deer, just the old females . . . healthy . . . good to eat but not going to reproduce any more. They knew what they were doing. Like all villages, we look after our own and Mr Housecarl and the Bromyards estate belonged to Milking Nook so we looked after him and it.’
    â€˜So no one harmed Mr Housecarl, but quite a few men went on his land?’
    â€˜Quite a few, and a lot of women when the apples and pears were ripe. Fruit harvesting has always been women’s work you see, sir, you can believe me on that one.’
    â€˜Interesting.’ Yellich stood. ‘Thank you for your information. Where do I find Jeff Sparrow?’
    The slender woman with short, close-cropped hair stood quite still and looked down at the neatly cut area of grass. She might, to an observer, have made a curious spectacle, had it not been for the fact that the small area of grass in question was within Fulford Cemetery, and had it not also been for the fact that on that summer’s day the cemetery was being visited by a small number of people, each, as individuals or in pairs, also visiting a specific grave of some relevance to them. Any curiosity the woman might have attracted to herself would have been instantly evaporated as she knelt on one knee and gently laid a single red rose on the unmarked grave.
    â€˜Veronica . . .’ the woman sighed as she placed the carrycot containing a slumbering newborn upon the table in