He parked outside St Swithin’s and went into the churchyard. Something had changed since last he was here for Imogen’s funeral. The defensive metal paling around the Ulphingstone tomb had been removed.
As he approached the tomb he saw there’d been other changes. A young rowan tree had been planted before it, its handful of berries shining bright in the twilight.
And the inscription now read Here lies Virginia, beloved daughter of Wilfred and Imogen Hadda, and granddaughter of Sir Leon and Lady Kira Ulphingstone.
Daughter. That was right, whatever Imo had said. She’d been his beloved daughter all those years. Nothing could ever change that.
He stood there for a moment then turned away.
A voice called, ‘Wolf.’
Luke Hollins was standing in the church porch watching him.
‘Great news, Wolf,’ said the vicar. ‘I was delighted. I thought I might preach on the prodigal son on Sunday.’
‘Shouldn’t bother,’ said Wolf. ‘The talents might be more appropriate. I’ll see you, Padre.’
‘In church, you mean?’ said Hollins hopefully.
‘When you bring my Tesco order.’
He went out of the churchyard. Opposite the church the lights of the Black Dog were already burning bright in the gathering dusk. Three men were strolling towards the pub entrance. He recognized them all as local farmers. One of them was Joe Strudd, his nearest neighbour.
Strudd looked across the street and called, ‘How do, Wolf. What fettle?’
‘Middling. How’s yourself?’
‘Not si bad. Coming in for a pint and a crack?’
‘Later maybe.’
‘See you, then.’
The trio raised their hands in salutation and vanished into the pub.
Wolf smiled as he drove out of the village. Luke Hollins still had much to learn about his parish. They didn’t go in for fatted calves round here. An invitation to have a drink and a crack was as good as it got.
The turn-off down the lonning to Birkstane came into view. He swung the Defender into it without slowing and the judder of its wheels as it bumped over the old ruts and potholes felt like a caress. The gate was open and he could see a light in the farmhouse while out of the chimney a plume of grey smoke drifted across the star-studded sky.
Home. He recalled JC’s words, half mocking, half envious. Start as a woodcutter, end as a woodcutter. Is that what he really wanted? In fact, is that really possible after . . . everything.
He brought the car to a halt and started to climb out. The house door opened and Sneck came hurtling towards him, eyes blazing, teeth bared, as if intent on tearing out his throat. Then the dog’s paws were on his shoulders and its great rough tongue was sandpapering his face.
‘Get down, you slobbery lump!’ he commanded.
‘Is that what you’re going to say to me?’ asked Alva from the doorway.
Childs must have rung her. Bless you for that at least, JC! he thought.
What the future held, he didn’t know. What demons lay in wait to haunt him, he could only speculate. But this moment, this place, were too perfect for such considerations.
For the rest, wait and hope was all a man could do.
He went towards her, smiling, and said, ‘Well, let’s see, shall we?’
About the Author
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Also by Reginald Hill
The Stranger House
Fell of Dark
The Long Kill
Death of a Dormouse
Dream of Darkness
The Only Game
DALZIEL AND PASCOE NOVELS
A Clubbable Woman
An Advancement of Learning
Ruling Passion
An April Shroud
A Pinch of Snuff
A Killing Kindness
Deadheads
Exit Lines
Child’s Play
Under World
Bones and Silence
One Small Step
Recalled to Life
Pictures of Perfection
Asking for the Moon
The Wood Beyond
On Beulah Height
Arms and the Women
Dialogues of the Dead
Good Morning, Midnight
Death Comes for the Fat Man
The Price of Butcher’s Meat
Midnight Fugue
JOE SIXSMITH NOVELS
Blood Sympathy
Born Guilty
Killing the Lawyers
Singing the Sadness
The Roar of the Butterflies
Credits
Jacket photography © Doug Armand / Getty Images
Copyright
THE WOODCUTTER. Copyright © 2011 by Reginald Hill. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
FIRST U.S. EDITION
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hill, Reginald
The woodcutter : a novel / Reginald Hill. — First U.S. edition
p. cm.
ISBN: 978-0-06-206074-7
1. Ex-convicts—Fiction. 2. Revenge—Fiction. 3. Cumbria (England)—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6058.I448W67 2011
823‵.914—dc22
2010053608
EPub Edition © 2011 AUGUST ISBN: 9780062060846
11 12 13 14 15 OV/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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