The Knapthorne Conspiracy Malcolm Ballard (most popular novels of all time .txt) 📖

scramblin’ through the undergrowth, an’ ‘e could barely ‘obble. His face an’ arm were bleedin’ a bit where Ruthy must’ve scratched ‘im. He were sittin’ by the far side of a stream way on the other side o’ Spinney Lane an’ he were taken out with a single shot to the chest from some way off.”

“Lex talionis,” Bella murmured. She knew the stream well. May even have sat where he had been sitting.

“Beg Pardon, Miss?”

“An eye for an eye, Samuel.” She felt drained but couldn’t suppress a mounting anger that, regardless of what Patrick had done, he had been murdered, in cold blood. His killer, to her mind, no less guilty than Patrick had been.

“That makes him no better than Patrick, then!” Her sudden vituperative response didn’t surprise him, with what she had just learned. The level of her voice rose as she continued, all the bitter, pent-up feelings, all the sadness and frustration coming out. The loss of Patrick, the death of Ruth and the tragedy of Alfie. All her emotions were suddenly channelled into a stinging attack.

“Taking the law into his own hands and exacting revenge, it’s positively medieval. What gave him the right to play the role of executioner, tell me that?” Anger had brought a flush of colour to Bella’s cheeks and her eyes were blazing. “So what happened at his trial? He must have been found guilty.” She was glaring at Samuel, waiting for an answer. As she sat there, fuming, her mother’s words came back to her. ‘Nothing was ever proved.’  Samuel hadn’t found his voice, not knowing what to say.

“There was no trial, was there?” The light of revelation had dawned in her eyes and her voice was little more than incredulous. “So what happened, Samuel?” He had gone deathly pale, his normal easy-going demeanour replaced by a palpable nervousness.

“Remember, Miss Foxton, you swore you wouldn’t repeat anythin’ you ‘eard in ‘ere to anyone.” There was little conviction in his voice, the words sounding more like a desperate plea, to her ears.

“But we’re talking murder, here, Samuel!” she replied, in disbelief. “Two murders in fact and I demand to know what happened!”

“We sorted it out, there an’ then, when the bloke from Thornden came back. Every man at the cottage knew ‘e’d o’ done the same if only ‘e ‘ad a gun at the time. Patrick Foxton weren’t goin’ to be missed by anyone, beggin’ your pardon, Miss, so we agreed to look after our own.” Still ashen-faced, it had taken Samuel a moment to marshall his thoughts before speaking and Bella listened dispassionately, as the story began to unfold. “Not a soul knew about them two deaths save for the folk at Willow Cottage and we put our ‘eads together as to what to do. The only risk, as we saw it, were Alfie but the lad had gone into a world of ‘is own an’ ‘e were just goin’ to need lookin’ after.” The landlord’s voice kept catching in his throat and he broke off, momentarily, to cough in an attempt to put it right.

“We had to get the car away from here and It were agreed that we’d give Ruthy a decent burial but were to let on that she’d left the area…”

“But what about her parents, for God’s sake?” Bella cried, in astonishment. “You were agreeing to whatever it was, in their home and behind their backs. It was their daughter who’d been murdered, Samuel. Christ!…” She was lost for words and turned away, angrily, leaving her visitor visibly disturbed by her attitude.

“Miss Foxton…” he said, at length, but she didn’t respond. “Bella,…please! Listen to what I ‘as to say,” he implored. The sound of the diminuitive did the trick and she turned to face him, obviously distressed.

“Ruthy’s father, Sid, were in The Lamb when his son, Alfie, burst in,” Samuel explained. “He were one o’ those that rushed up to the cottage, and,” he added, for good measure, “the bloke from Thornden were married to Sid’s wife’s cousin. We’re all like one big family round these parts. Feelin’s were running very ‘igh, Miss Foxton, make no mistake. If’n that bloke ‘adn’t o’ shot your father then Sid Flint would ‘ave done, sure as I’m sittin’ ‘ere! Can you understand that?” The import of his words hit home as Bella sat in stunned silence, trying to imagine the atmosphere at Willow Cottage and how high everyone’s emotions must have been running. How would she have felt in that position? Never having been a member of a close-knit community it was impossible to say but now she knew all the facts it certainly shed a different light on things. She stood up and began to walk around the room, backwards and forwards, trying to get her thoughts into some sort of order. Finally, she came back to the armchair and sat down, a perplexed expression on her face.

“Samuel, I don’t know what to think. It’s really difficult for me, trying to come to terms with the thought of murdering someone as an act of revenge but, there again, it’s not difficult to understand the outrage and fury that Ruth’s murder would have caused. I’m sorry if I got a bit emotional just now. You talk about family, well Patrick was part of my family and that doesn’t make it easy for me. It was the shock of such a blatant act of retaliation. What you’ve just told me does make a difference but it’s so alien to my way of thinking that I’m still having difficulty reconciling myself to it. Can you understand that?” she pleaded, looking at him a little helplessly.

“I may look like an old codger what’s past his use by date, to you, Miss Foxton but I ain’t entirely stupid. You got to appreciate things ‘appens on the spur of the moment sometimes. None o’ those lads set out to become a murderer that day. They’s all decent folks like you an’ me.