Whispers in the Village Read Online Free Page A

of talk broke out, which she could hear as she passed the side window of the bar on her way home. Mentally she shrugged. Only what could be expected: lots to say when she’d gone, but very little to say to her face.
    The rectory still smelled of Peter and Caroline. It was there in every cushion, every plate, every chair, the angle of every picture, the colour of the tablecloth, the newness of Peter’s state-of-the-art computer, the sweep of the pelmet in the sitting room, even the sheets on her bed, which had been Beth’s. Her pictures and maps and posters still adorned the walls. It would never be hers, but it was better than that dreadful flat in the Abbey precincts, which had been her home for two years. The tiny kitchen scarcely bigger than a cupboard, the dreary living room with its tiny windows, no space for a washing machine, no wiring for a TV. It was a living hell and she spent as little time there as she could.
    Here at least she had space, all Peter’s books to go at and, best of all, a woodburning stove in the sitting room, which, in the oncoming winter, would be sheer bliss. A washing machine, an Aga, a microwave – more bliss. She was back in the twenty-first century with every amenity for modern living.
    Was she though? Anna settled herself at the kitchen table with her lunch. This village was so ancient she could feel history constantly dogging her footsteps as she walked about. The plague pit, the oak tree on the green, that tomb in the church, haunted or so they said. People from generations back seemed never to have left the village, because she felt that their presence still filled the streets.
    As she bit into her Scotch egg, Anna decided to read Peter’s ‘Parish Notes’. She put down the egg and went to the study, picked up the file from his desk and carried it back into the kitchen. She wouldn’t read straight through from the very beginning right now; she’d open it up at random and find an interesting piece.
    The piece she found was about the discovery of the church silver hidden at the Big House in 1940 because of the fear of invasion. Peter had recorded how outraged the villagers were and of their hate campaign when they realized that Mr Fitch, having bought the estate, considered that everything in it was his to dispose of as he chose. Hate campaign? An organized hate campaign? It was positively medieval. Hanging an effigy from a tree on his drive? Cutting off the heating at the Big House? That they succeeded in getting the silver back in the church where it belonged amazed Anna. She shuddered. The whole episode felt to have a hint of evil about it, which she didn’t care for at all. Was it all these ancestors she was so acutely aware of who had motivated the campaign? Now she really was being ridiculous.
    A good walk in the autumn air to prepare herself for evensong would be much better than sitting here getting all goosepimpled. Having made the decision, she quickly cleared away her lunch, found a sweater, checked she had her keys, closed the front door and stood out in Church Lane, deciding which way to go. She caught sight of huge trees behind the roof of the Village Store and headed for them.
    A breeze had got up and Anna revelled in it. She loved the wind. It stirred her emotions in a way that a hot summer day could never do. She’d been born during a gale and her mother had always said she’d loved the wind from her first day. Being Sunday, her hair was in a French pleat, but in moments she had released it, stuffed the hairpins in her pocket and shaken her hair free to blow in the wind. She paused to admire the display in the window of the Store and then she arrived at the wood, huge beech trees guarding the narrow entrance. Then, suddenly, there she was standing beside Turnham Beck. The water was gurgling along at a good pace, and briefly she spotted a kingfisher flitting along above the surface of the water. Anna chose to cross the little bridge and then strode off along the