‘Didn’t she have a house to sell when her husband died?’
Miss Grindey shook her head. ‘Oh, no. Until he died they lived at Bowden.’
‘Of course.’
Cooper mentally kicked himself for his naive question. Bowden was one of the estate villages for Knowle Abbey and its residents were all tenants. Their landlord was the owner of the Knowle estate, Lord Manby himself. He owned Bowden.
‘We urgently need to track down Sandra Blair’s family,’ said Cooper.
‘She has a sister in Scotland.’
‘So I understand. Do you have any idea of the sister’s name or where she lives?’
‘No, I’m sorry.’
He looked across at Irvine, who seemed to have finished with young Kimberley.
‘You could try Mr Naden,’ said Miss Grindey, finally volunteering information now that she sensed the police were about leave her tea rooms.
Cooper turned back to her. ‘Who?’
‘Mr Naden. He and his wife come in here for afternoon tea sometimes. I always had the impression that they knew Sandra quite well. Not that they chatted or anything. But just the way they spoke to each other, you know.’
‘I know,’ said Cooper, glad that his instinct about her had been correct. ‘Thank you for your time, Miss Grindey.’
‘I don’t know their address, but Geoff Naden looks after the churchyard,’ she said. ‘You might find him there.’
9
Outside, the centre of Hartington village was gradually getting busier. Some of the people he could see were probably local, calling at the post office or filling up their cars at the little petrol station in Mill Lane. But there were visitors too. There were always folk looking for somewhere to spend their time at the weekend, as long as the weather wasn’t too bad. And even then some hardy individuals would venture out in the snow.
Near the village stores they passed a row of eighteenth-century cottages. The door of one stood partly open, with a sign offering free range eggs and pure Hartington honey straight from the hive.
‘The part-time girl, Kimberley, hardly ever saw Sandra Blair,’ said Irvine. ‘She knew a lot more about the old dear she works for.’
‘Miss Grindey? Anything interesting?’
‘Not really.
They turned into Hyde Lane, where the village hall stood. This end of the building still showed traces of its original sign, which had been painted on the wall. Hartington Amusement Hall. Cooper wondered if the amusements in those days had been the same as those enjoyed by Hartington residents now.
He opened a small gate and they climbed a set of steps into the graveyard of St Giles’ Church. According to a plaque, the bench at the top of the steps was a gift from His Grace the Duke of Devonshire in 1978. That must have been the old duke, father of the present incumbent at Chatsworth. From somewhere in his memory, Cooper dredged the fact that the eldest son of the duke held the title of Marquis of Hartington, at least until he succeeded to the dukedom.
As in many English villages the signs of the ancient landowners were everywhere, even if they no longer owned any of the properties. That part of English history would take a long time to disappear. It would still be evident while the pubs existed and while some of these houses remained standing.
Cooper turned at the bench and looked back at the village. The organisers of events held at the amusement hall would probably have been obliged to get approval from the duke for their entertainments. He must have had the final say in pretty much everything else.
In the graveyard they found a thickset, middle-aged man vigorously raking leaves off the paths into a big heap. He was wearing a baseball cap and he had receding grey hair sticking out in untidy clumps. He didn’t see them coming at first and Cooper was struck by his grimly determined expression as he lashed out with the rake. He was digging out the last of the dead leaves from cracks between the stones, but his mind appeared to be dwelling on something entirely different that made him angry.
‘Mr Naden?’ called Cooper when they got closer.
The man looked up, startled. Almost frightened. For a moment Cooper wondered if he was deaf, or listening to an iPod while he worked. But it appeared he’d just been so deeply engrossed in his thoughts that he was noticing nothing around him. That took quite a bit of concentration.
‘Yes? Can I help you?’ he said, with the rake poised in mid-air. ‘I can’t show you the church. I don’t have the keys.’
‘We’re not visitors, sir.’
Cooper produced his warrant card and introduced himself and Irvine.
Naden looked around him and hefted the rake in his hand. For a second Cooper thought he was going to do a runner or lash out at the two police officers. He almost took a step backwards to put himself out of reach of a weapon, but stopped himself. He was surely just imagining things. Everybody was starting to look suspicious.
‘What can I do for you, Sergeant?’ asked Naden finally.
‘We’re making enquiries about a lady called Sandra Blair,’ said Cooper.
‘She works at the tea rooms.’
‘That’s the lady.’
Naden began to poke at some more leaves, but in a desultory fashion. There was no longer the passion he’d been showing with the rake when Cooper first set eyes on him.
‘We’re trying to contact her family. Would you know-’
‘There’s a sister in Scotland, I think.’
‘We’re aware of that.’
‘But that’s all I know.’
Cooper sighed. He was beginning to wonder if this sibling north of the border actually existed. Could she be a figment of Sandra Blair’s imagination, casually mentioned to everyone she met in order to give the impression that she had a family like everyone else? If the sister in Scotland couldn’t be tracked down, he might have to turn his attention to finding the family of the deceased husband. For some reason he couldn’t explain to himself, he had no faith in the existence of a grandfather who’d arranged a meeting at one o’clock in the morning.
‘Are you the churchwarden or something?’ asked Cooper.
‘No, I just help out,’ said Naden. ‘We all have to do our bit.’
‘And how did you first meet Mrs Blair?’
Naden shrugged. ‘I’m not sure, really. I suppose she’s always been working at the tea rooms.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, that’s where we always saw her. She doesn’t live in Hartington.’
‘No, you’re right there.’
Out of the corner of his eye, Cooper noticed Irvine had walked a few yards away and was kicking at a pile of leaves. He was getting bored.
But Cooper waited a little longer. Naden raised his head, sensing from the silence that he was supposed to say something else.
‘What’s happened to Sandra Blair, then?’ he said. ‘Has she had an accident?’
I thought you’d never ask, thought Cooper.
‘Something like that, sir,’ he said.
‘Well, he was a washout,’ said Irvine as they returned to the car. ‘Mr Grumpy with the rake. What was his name?’
‘Mr Naden,’ said Cooper.
‘He didn’t tell us anything.’
‘He might do, though. Given time.’
Irvine laughed. ‘I don’t know how you can have so much patience with people like that, Ben.’
‘Sometimes it’s the only way,’ said Cooper.
‘Are we going back to West Street now?’ asked Irvine.
‘Yes.’
‘What next, then?’
‘That address book has to be gone through,’ said Cooper. ‘Sandra Blair’s remaining relatives must be in there somewhere. The sister in Scotland…’
‘And her grandfather,’ said Irvine.
‘Yes. Well, possibly. And perhaps someone who knew her a bit better than her employer and her neighbours. Gavin should be in the office. You can do the job between you. But let me know if you think you’ve traced the sister. We’ll need her to come down for a formal identification and start going through all the formalities.’