It looked as though there had been a farmhouse here. But the house and its outbuildings had been converted. A barn had become a series of small apartments for staff. A lodge with castellations and imitation arrow slits guarded the entrance to Knowle Park itself. Cooper recalled seeing a matching lodge at the north entrance.
Sheep were grazing in an adjacent field and across the park he could see a small herd of cattle. Limousin cross, if he wasn’t mistaken. During the landscaping of the park, the course of the River Dove had been altered slightly and a new bridge had been built. Big landowners could do that in those days, if it improved the view. Planning permission was never a concern. Nor was consideration for your neighbours, probably.
Bowden had a small church with a disproportionately tall spire. But the doors were locked and weeds were growing in the porch. On two sides of it was the burial ground, with several untidy rows of headstones, many old enough to be worn and corroded by the weather, their inscriptions almost illegible.
This was where the mourners from those small hamlets to the east would have arrived after their arduous trek across the hills and over the Corpse Bridge. Many of the coffins mouldering under these headstones would have been carried for miles and allowed to rest for a while on the same coffin stone where they’d found the effigy on Friday. Cooper found it hard to grasp the fact that all those people had been brought here at the end of their lives and laid to rest on the earl’s property, as if they were a final tribute.
Though he could hear a few children playing somewhere, there seemed to be very few residents of Bowden actually at home. On a small field next to the graveyard he could see piles of wood heaped up in a large stack, ready for Bonfire Night on Tuesday. A short distance away from it a yellow bulldozer was parked behind the church. It must be handy to have that sort of equipment available.
They began to knock on doors and it was Diane Fry who found someone first. Cooper got a call from her on his phone and he walked back across the central green to meet her.
‘This is Mrs Mellor,’ said Fry. ‘Mrs Mellor, my colleague Detective Sergeant Cooper.’
She was a woman in her mid to late sixties, with a welcoming smile and a faint smell of pine disinfectant and toasted cheese. In the background Cooper could hear what sounded like daytime TV, perhaps an old episode of Lewis or Midsomer Murders.
‘Hello. Come in,’ she said. ‘Would you like a cup of tea? I don’t see many people during the day, even on a Saturday.’
Fry followed him into the house. Cooper wished he was alone in circumstances like this. He would find it easier to get on with people and encourage them to talk. But he seemed to be stuck with her for now.
They sat down in a cosy sitting room and the kettle was soon boiled for tea. Mrs Mellor produced a plate of biscuits and it occurred to Cooper that it must be around lunchtime. He felt hungry.
‘I gather you knew the Blairs,’ said Cooper. ‘They used to live in Bowden.’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Mellor. ‘They were just across the way there. They lived here for many years.’
‘All these properties at Bowden still belong to Knowle Abbey, don’t they? The cottages were built for estate workers.’
Mrs Mellor poured the tea for them both. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘The earl himself is the landlord. Though I don’t think anybody sees much of him these days. Not this present one, anyway. We deal mostly with the estate manager or one of the office staff.’
‘So the people who live here are all workers at the abbey or on the estate?’
‘Knowle Abbey staff and pensioners.’
‘Pensioners?’ he asked.
‘You know, retired staff or estate workers. You don’t get kicked out of your house as soon as you retire. At least, that’s been the arrangement in the past.’
‘So Gary Blair’s father must have worked for the estate? Or he used to?’
‘He was a forester. Alan Blair was part of a team maintaining the woodlands around the estate. Mostly to keep the paths clear and remove any damaged trees. But they produce a bit of commercial timber too. He started working at that job a long time ago, under the old earl.’
‘The old earl,’ said Cooper. ‘He was popular, wasn’t he?’
Mrs Mellor sat down opposite him and sighed.
‘All the estate workers loved the old man,’ she said. ‘He was lovely. The old earl liked to ride round his land and see what was going on. Somehow he managed to know all the men personally and asked after their families by name. And he always gave them a big dinner at Christmas too as a “thank you”. The children of the estate were given two parties a year, one in the summer and one in December. Of course, Father Christmas always managed to make a surprise appearance. The earl used to love doing that job himself, until he got too old for it. I believe there was quite a lot of beer drunk in honour of the old man. But it doesn’t happen now.’
‘I see.’
Cooper felt torn over whether that was a good thing or not. Paternalistic employers had certainly disappeared. There might not be so many toasts in the present earl’s name, and he probably didn’t know all his staff personally, but the old-style landlords had exercised a kind of autocratic control over their workers. He bet that the previous earl would have had no hesitation in sacking a man on the spot if he misbehaved or was disrespectful. With workers living in these tied cottages in the estate villages, that meant a man would lose his home too, and his family would be evicted. At least the current earl would be expected to obey current employment legislation.
‘At one time there was even a school here for children of the estate workers,’ said Mrs Mellor. ‘It was set up by one of the Manbys who had a particular interest in his tenants. They say that school had as many as sixty pupils in its heyday. But it was demolished long ago. Children are picked up by bus to go to the local primary school now.’
‘So what happened to the Blairs?’ asked Cooper.
‘Oh, Alan dropped dead from a heart attack one day. It was quite a shock and Pat became very ill. She was in hospital for a long, long time. In fact, she never really recovered, poor woman. She died of pneumonia in the end.’
‘Gary and his wife Sandra lived with them for a while, I believe.’
‘Yes, they couldn’t get a house of their own. It’s difficult for young couples.’
‘I heard they wanted to start a family of their own. So they stayed here while trying to save up to buy their first house.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Mrs Mellor. ‘But I think they were hoping for a tenancy of their own here on the estate.’
‘Oh?’ Cooper hesitated, not sure he’d understood correctly what she meant. ‘Mrs Mellor, do you mean Gary Blair worked for Knowle Abbey too?’
‘Yes, of course. Didn’t you know that?’
‘No.’
For a moment Mrs Mellor looked as though she might regret having told him something he didn’t know. But it was just a fleeting confusion. Cooper must have given the impression he knew more than he actually did.
Diane Fry took up the opportunity presented by his silence.
‘What job did Gary do?’ she asked. ‘Was he a forester too?’
Mrs Mellor turned to her. ‘That’s right. He learned the work from his father and went into the job himself when he left school. He was very good at it, so I’ve heard. He knew how to manage a chainsaw.’
Cooper ate another digestive as he watched the two women in conversation. Fry hadn’t even touched her tea, let alone the biscuits. She was probably unaware of how rude it looked to people when she did this. Since Mrs Mellor had taken the trouble to make the tea, she ought at least take a sip or two out of politeness.