Blind to the Bones

‘Is it your turn on the rota for tidying up the churchyard then, Mr Alton?’ said Cooper.

‘Rota?’ Alton laughed. ‘I am the rota.’

‘Oh?’

‘Other churches have rotas. My other church, All Saints in Hey Bridge – that has a churchyard rota. The graves are tended wonderfully, and the parishioners don’t expect the vicar to lift a finger, let alone wield a scythe. Here in Withens, though … Well, they’re too busy to spare the time, I suppose.’

‘Who are your churchwardens here?’

‘Michael Dearden and Marion Oxley.’

‘I’ve heard of the Oxleys.’

‘Good for you.’

‘But who’s Mr Dearden?’

‘Shepley Head Lodge. It’s out past the village, that way.’

‘Right.’

‘They’re both very worthy people, but they have their own concerns, you see.’

‘Of course.’

‘The trouble is, when we get the first bit of sunshine in the spring, this is what happens.’

Cooper looked around at the undergrowth. There were gravestones somewhere in there, but it was difficult to be sure. Mats of rough grass had grown over the plots, and brambles and ivy had attached themselves to the stones, so that few of the inscriptions were decipherable. He realized he was standing on what had once been a flagged path, but the grass and dandelions had forced their way through between the flags and covered them. Burgeoning nature was out of control here, and it was spreading nearer and nearer to the church itself.

‘So you have no help at all?’ said Cooper.

‘A young man called Neil Granger is going to help me. At least, he said he was going to. He said he had one of those things you mentioned, a brush cutter, and some other tools. But he hasn’t turned up. I don’t suppose he could be bothered in the end.’ Alton sighed. ‘He’s always seemed a very genuine young man, but there we are. It’s the way of the world these days. Young people think nothing of letting others down.’

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ said Cooper.

Alton suddenly looked at him again, and smiled. ‘Good heavens, a policeman who doesn’t have a cynical view of humanity. Let me tell the curators of the folk museum in Glossop about you – they might want to preserve you for posterity.’

‘Young people always get a bad press. But I don’t think they’re any worse than they used to be, on the whole. We should put in a bit more effort, take an interest in what they’re doing, instead of writing them off.’

‘You make me feel positively ashamed,’ said Alton. ‘It should be part of my pastoral duties to draw the best out of the young people in my parish, not denigrate them. I’ll do my best to emulate your attitude.’

If it had been anyone else he was talking to, Cooper might have thought they were taking the mickey out of him. If it had been Diane Fry speaking the same words, they would have meant something quite different. But, strangely, the Reverend Alton seemed sincere.

‘Take an interest in them – that’s what you should do,’ said Cooper.

‘I will. Thank you.’

Cooper felt sure he was being patronizing. It was ridiculous to find himself lecturing a clergyman on showing an interest in his parishioners. But the vicar genuinely didn’t seem to mind. Probably he had received far blunter advice from his parishioners.

‘PC Udall tells me there have been some problems in the village with the children of the Oxley family.’

‘I’ve had to complain to their father a few times,’ said Alton. ‘They do tend to gather in the churchyard in the evenings – particularly at the back here, because it’s completely secluded and no one can see what they’re up to.’

‘And what are they up to?’

‘I shudder to think sometimes. I regularly pick up beer cans, and that kind of thing. They cause a bit of damage, and there’s some graffiti. It’s just a nuisance, really.’

‘But you find their father co-operative?’

‘Lucas? He listens. And so does Marion, of course. But I’m not sure how much control they have over some of the children.’

‘How many children are there?’

‘Oh,’ said Alton vaguely. He looked at the fingers of his gloves, as if he needed something to count on, but couldn’t find enough fingers. ‘There are so many of them down at Waterloo Terrace. Lucas has at least three sons – Scott is the eldest, and then there’s Ryan and Jake. And possibly Sean. Then there are a couple of married daughters. Well, one is married, but I don’t think Fran has ever bothered. And Lorraine and Stacey are the younger girls. But there are some cousins around, too, like Neil. He’s a Granger, but I think he’s Lucas Oxley’s nephew. It’s hard to keep track, you know – especially if you see them all in a group. Very often, I can’t sort out which is which, except for little Jake, of course.’

‘Jake – is he the one they call the Tiny Terror?’

‘Yes, poor boy. Now, I think Jake pays more attention to his grandfather than to his parents. That’s old Mr Oxley. It’s quite surprising, really, since Jake is only nine years old, and Eric must be about eighty. But perhaps Jake is going to take after his grandfather one day. We can but hope. Eric was a hard worker in his day, by all accounts.’

Cooper was having as much difficulty as Alton in counting the number of Oxleys. He had Lucas and Marion placed as the parents, but he’d already lost track of the number of children. Was it seven or eight? There were Scott, Ryan and Jake, but did Sean count? And how many cousins were there? Did the married daughters have children of their own? It was confusing enough, but now there was an older generation to take into account.

‘Is old Mr Oxley a member of your congregation here at St Asaph’s?’ he asked.

‘Sadly not.’

‘I’m surprised. I felt sure he would be. At his age, he would have been raised in the expectation that he would go to church every Sunday. Unless he’s a nonconformist, of course. There are a lot of Methodists in these parts.’

‘Wash your mouth out,’ said Alton, and smiled down at his scythe.

‘Is he a Methodist?’ asked Cooper.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ said the vicar. ‘I haven’t had the chance to ask him. Eric Oxley hasn’t spoken a word to me since I arrived in the village. Though I’ve passed him on the road several times and spoken to him, he’s never acknowledged me, never spoken to me at all.’

‘Not a word?’ said Cooper.

‘Not a word.’

‘Mr Alton, do you think the Oxley youngsters were responsible for breaking into your vestry?’

Alton sighed. ‘I really don’t know. They’re obvious suspects. But it’s a bit beyond what they normally get up to. They’ve never got inside the church before. There’s some quite serious damage to the doors and the furniture. And, of course, there are several items missing. They’ve never stolen things before.’

‘Some silver plate, I understand?’

‘Yes. Oh, they were nothing much, but they were the only things we have of any value at St Asaph’s. They were a gift from one of the founders, back in the 1850s.’

‘It’s quite possible we might be able to get them back.’

‘It’s kind of you to give me some hope.’