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

to catch ‘er, when she trips ‘erself up an’ starts to fall.” Cora stood back, as they all stared at her. “An’ that’s when she wakes up, all ‘ot and bothered.” By the look of them, with their grim expressions, taut mouths and anxious fidgeting, she knew that all those villagers seated at the table, including Samuel Handysides, were in no doubt as to the inference of her words. Cora Flint was too adroit in village matters to openly display a look which said ‘I told you so,’ as it could easily provoke a divisive reaction behind her back and nobody in the room, or in the village for that matter could afford that, by her reckoning. She drew comfort from the fact that she’d pointed the possibility out and they were all well aware of it. But it didn’t stop her silently gloating. There were some who would treat her with a new respect now and it was no more than she deserved.

“That was the main thing that was a-worryin’ ‘er.” Cora’s voice focused everyone’s attention on her end of the table, once again, after they had had time to digest the earlier information. “But it was by no means the only thing. I reckons there’s sommat that’s goin’ on inside ‘er ‘ead, chirrupin’ away at ‘er, tryin’ to tell ‘er there’s a rat in her larder but she ain’t quite got the message yet.” Maybe she hadn’t but those seated around the table were beginning to understand the gravity of what the speaker was saying. “There’s a cat’s turned up, spittin’ image of Smokey. Same colour, same size, everythin’. If I ‘adn’t ‘ave seen it with my own eyes, I’d never ‘ave believed it. ‘ccordin’ to Miss Foxton, at night it only sleeps in the small bedroom at the end of the landin’.” The silence in the room was so overpowering it weighed on them like some malignant force exerting its dark influence over them.

“I never seen a cat the likes of that ‘round ‘ere, not for some years anyways,” Cora Flint added, pointedly. “Just came in bold as brass and made itself at ‘ome. An’ talkin’ of that bedroom there’s sommat else,” she went on quickly, lowering her head briefly unable to face the cold, questioning eyes that were riveted on her. This was what she had been dreading. What would they think of her now, after she’d told them this? She could just imagine the wagging tongues, after the meeting, accusing voices speaking her name relieved to have someone else to point the finger of blame at. All the good work undone.

“Ever since I been keepin’ ‘ouse at Willow Cottage I been puttin’ flowers in that room, just as a reminder like…” Her voice died away and Cora Flint saw the immediate reaction in the narrowing of their eyes, the surreptitious glances from one horrified person to another, the disbelief so evident that to Cora it was tangible. To her there was no discrimination between feeling and touching. Their response was as obvious, as potent, as a physical blow but she had had enough experience of the miseries of life and the pettiness of people to know that if she showed herself to be uncertain or remorseful that the others would recognise her weakness, as surely as sharks sense blood in the ocean, and circle for the attack. An inner strength born out of adversity and loss suddenly fortified her and she appeared to grow a little in stature in front of their eyes as the new found confidence flooded through her.

“I puts flowers in that room,” she said, coldly, “’cos I ‘ave every right to and I dares any one of you to question that right. No one ‘ere’s suffered like I ‘ave. Many of the folk that ‘ave stayed there complimented me on ‘em and thought nothin’ of it. If Miss Foxton ‘adn’t ‘ave come along no one would be any the wiser!” Not one of them could meet her eyes, unable to accept the challenge in her hard, uncompromising stare. It took Samuel Handysides and his common sense to steady the floundering ship.

“No one’s blamin’ you for anythin’ Cora. It’d be an ‘eartless soul who said it was wrong to put flowers in that room.” He looked at each one of them in turn, daring any of them to speak out. “You been through enough, by my reckonin’, so don’t you go worryin’ youself about it. Best you just carry on, eh, as time’s getting’ away on us.”

There wasn’t much else to say, only to relate Bella’s comments about how Jane  had felt, on her weekend visit. But it was the sum total of everything Cora Flint had told them by the time she had finished that left each one of them in no doubt that pigeons had appeared on the horizon and looked like they had every intention of coming home to roost. With her part in the proceedings over, Cora sat down and all eyes turned to Samuel.

“I’m sure that can’t ‘ave been easy for you Cora an’ I’d like to thank you, on be’alf of us all, for coming ‘ere tonight.” His face softened into a sympathetic, cheery smile but it was no reflection of what he was feeling in his heart. He turned his attention to the others in the room.

“There’s no point in puttin’ Mrs. Flint through any more distress tonight I think you’d all be agreein’?” A general nodding of heads, accepted his comment and he looked up at Cora.

“You can go now, m’dear, an’ I’ll let you know what goes on ‘ere tonight, if you don’t mind?” She stood up, wearily, pushing her chair back and it scraped noisily across the wooden floor where it was exposed through the hole in the ageing, threadbare carpet. With a prim nod at the gathered assembly she made her way from the room.

After she had left no-one spoke immediately. It was almost as though her departure