‘Kimberley wasn’t here yesterday,’ said Miss Grindey. ‘She only helps us out part-time, mostly at weekends. Though what I’m going to do now without Sandra…’

‘Even so,’ said Cooper. ‘Might my colleague DC Irvine chat to Kimberley for a few minutes?’

‘I suppose so.’

He nodded at Irvine, who managed to lead the girl into the kitchen area without any reluctance on her part. Irvine might not get anything from her, but at least now she was out of earshot.

Cooper found Miss Grindey watching him expectantly. A knowing expression had come into her eyes.

‘I suppose you’re going to ask me about Sandra Blair’s private life now,’ she said.

‘Well—’

‘It’s always what the police are interested in, isn’t it? The prurient details. The victim’s sex life. How did she get on with her husband? Was there a boyfriend involved?’

‘Well, we know her husband has been dead for several years,’ said Cooper calmly.

‘Indeed.’

‘So was there…?’

He waited patiently. Finally, Miss Grindey sighed. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’

Cooper had the feeling she wouldn’t have told him even if she’d known that Sandra Blair had a string of lovers. It was something about the way she’d said the word ‘sex’ in a hushed tone, as if it were a subject never mentioned in a Hartington tea room. He knew that wasn’t the case, of course. When some people got together over a pot of tea, they talked of little else. He was sure that Miss Grindey must be the sort of person who noticed little things about her customers.

‘She never mentioned any friends at all?’ he asked.

‘Not by name,’ said Miss Grindey. ‘She was in a few local organisations, I understand.’

‘Yes. What sort of interests did Mrs Blair have? Did she talk about any of her activities?’

‘Oh, she was interested in all kinds of crafts,’ said Miss Grindey. ‘She brought little things in to show us sometimes. I think it was something she took up after her husband died. Poor dear. You do need something to occupy your time in those circumstances.’

‘Is that why she took the job here too? I mean … no offence, Miss Grindey, but it was hardly launching herself into a new career, was it?’

‘No, you’re right.’ Miss Grindey lowered her voice. ‘Actually, I believe she needed the money.’

‘Oh?’

‘Her husband’s death didn’t leave her very well off, from what I gather. She was able to buy her little cottage at Crowdecote. But even that wasn’t cheap. I’m sure you know what property prices are like in this area.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Cooper.

The unexpected jolt of memory made him gulp. He’d spent many months looking at properties with Liz, when they were planning their future. He could probably have put an accurate asking price on anything on the market below two hundred thousand pounds. And he knew there were many houses to be found at that price.

‘I think it was thanks to a life insurance policy that she was able to do that,’ said Miss Grindey. ‘Otherwise she would have been stuck in rented accommodation.’

‘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.