The Crowsbrook Demons

Chapter 3

The next morning, the damp and heavy air rushed in as Sarah opened the front door, and she shivered and pulled her scarf around her as she stepped out into the October drizzle. The sky was overcast, but the clouds were high and the wind tugged at her clothing.

Going to be like this all day, she thought.

She made her way along the narrow lane, past the cottages, and turned into the road. The trees were dark and wet on either side; their branches met at the top, forming a tunnel that filtered the light so that it felt, to Sarah, like light streaming through the upper windows of a cathedral.

Take care of the spiders. But how?

Maybe Auntie Dot was losing her marbles by the end, thought Sarah.

She knew in her heart that that wasn't it.

The village store was in a gap in the trees. She walked up the path to its door, past a notice board covered in brightly coloured pieces of paper advertising whist drives, beetle nights, babysitting, dog walking, and a goat for sale, complete with a faded photograph of the dispirited-looking beast chewing a piece of car tire. A bell clanged as she pushed the green door and walked into the shop. It smelled of fresh meat and old cheese and green vegetables. Sarah picked up a wire basket with red handles and began hunting for breakfast. Bread. Eggs. Bananas. Corn flakes. She filled the basket and went up to the till, behind an agitated woman berating the shopkeeper.

"—absolutely unacceptable. It's outrageous! I don't know how they can even consider it. It's completely illegal."

"Well, I'm sure they'll go through all the proper processes," said the shopkeeper, a heavyset man with short grey hair, wearing a red and white striped apron.

"Well, we've got to stop it! Richard started working on it as soon as he heard. We're both going to the meeting. And we'll definitely be organizing a protest. And a table, in town. To tell people, you know? This is how they get away with things like this; nobody knows about it until it's too late."

"I think that's a good idea," said the shopkeeper. "It really doesn't sound that pleasant, does it? Big factory like that. And we're in the middle of the greenbelt. They're not supposed to build here."

"Oh, they don't care, do they?" said the woman. She had long red hair and was wearing a cloche hat. Sarah saw a copy of the Guardian in her wire basket. "It's all about the money with them, isn't it? Pay off the right people, and you can put a tyre fire in the back garden at Buckingham Palace. Disgusting. Can I put a petition in the shop?"

"Fine by me," said the shopkeeper, a little absently. "See you later then, Maureen." Maureen, whoever she was, strode out of the shop, making the bells clang like old-fashioned fire alarms.

The shopkeeper turned to Sarah and pressed his hands together with a smile. "What can I do for you, love?" he said. The electric fly trap behind him buzzed.

"Just paying for these." She started unloading her groceries onto the counter.

The shopkeeper looked at her hard for a moment.

"I hope you don't mind me asking," he began. "Did you just move into Foxglove Cottage? Miss Trevelyan's old place?"

"Yes," said Sarah. She felt uncomfortable. Years of being in the family business had taught her to keep a low profile, and she didn't like being recognized anywhere, let alone somewhere she'd just arrived. This was not a good start. "I'm her great-niece."

"Makes sense," said the shopkeeper. "Pat, from down on Green Lane, with the dog, said someone had turned up last night in a cab. Don't imagine there's a lot of food lying around there after a couple of months. Dot Trevelyan was a tough old girl. Kept herself to herself, but she was always pleasant enough. When she was around."