A Room Full Of Bones

CHAPTER 32

The Necromancer comes galloping around the corner of the all-weather track, the black earth flying up behind him. At the top of the hill, by the trees, a woman is standing. The horse starts violently at the unfamiliar figure, standing on his hind legs, nostrils wide with fear. But the horse’s rider just laughs and shifts his weight slightly in the saddle.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Romilly Smith. ‘Did I scare him?’

Randolph laughs. ‘He’s just playing silly buggers.’ He pats the animal’s shuddering neck. ‘Calm down horse.’

‘I’d forgotten what a good rider you are,’ says Romilly, falling into step beside the horse.

‘I’d forgotten too,’ says Randolph, loosening the reins so that The Necromancer can stretch his neck. ‘Not that I could ride but how much I enjoyed it. I was devastated when I got too tall to be a jockey.’

‘You wouldn’t want to be a jockey, darling. All that dieting plays havoc with your skin.’

Randolph laughs and turns the horse towards the stables. Romilly again falls into step beside them. There is still frost on the ground and her smart boots crackle over the grass.

‘Are you really going to run the yard?’ she asks.

‘I’m going to give it a go,’ says Randolph. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Not at all. I think I’m going to move out. Give you some space.’ Romilly looks up at her son, sitting so loosely on the great black horse. He really is lovely, she thinks. I’m glad I don’t have to share him with another woman.

‘Are you still involved with them? The group?’

Romilly pauses with her hand on The Necromancer’s neck. ‘Well, the group’s rather gone into hiding… after that tip-off last night.’

For a few minutes they walk in silence. Both know that it was Randolph who told the police. Eventually, Randolph says, almost apologetically, ‘You just can’t go round doing things like that, you know. Sending poisonous snakes to people.’

‘I know,’ Romilly sighs. ‘It would have shaken things up a bit though. Make people take notice.’

‘Do you think the police suspect you?’

‘Oh, I’m sure they suspect – I’ve got a record after all – but we’ve all got alibis for last night. Pity it didn’t come off. We’d been planning it for ages.’

‘An innocent man could have been killed.’

‘Innocent animals die every day,’ Romilly counters. But she says it without real heat, as if her mind is elsewhere.

‘And that Vicar person,’ continues Randolph. ‘He’s a psychopath.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ says Romilly triumphantly. ‘He absolutely refused to kill Neil.’

Randolph reins in so sharply that the horse stumbles. ‘What?’

‘I asked him to give Neil some contaminated drugs but he refused. You see, he’s quite moral really. For a drug dealer.’

‘You asked him to kill Neil? Why?’

Romilly looks up at him. ‘Because Neil got you into drugs. I’ll never forgive him for that.’

‘He didn’t. We spent a couple of nights together, that was all. I’d started taking drugs at school, for God’s sake. Neil was just a supplier. Like your mate the Vicar.’

‘I don’t care,’ says Romilly calmly. ‘He was a bad influence. I was glad he died. I tried to scare him off before. That’s why I wrote him those letters.’

Randolph looks at his mother, her silvery hair blowing back in the wind. She looks beautiful but somehow frightening, as if he doesn’t really know her at all.

‘Which letters? The ones the police kept going on about?’

‘Oh, did the police find them? Yes. I wrote Neil some letters about the skulls, trying to scare him. I got the idea from the letter that was sent to Dan by those Elginist people. I wanted Neil to leave, to go back home. He wasn’t worthy of you.’

‘But you can’t just…’ Randolph’s voice fades away. They have reached the yard and The Necromancer’s hooves clatter on the tarmac. Randolph pulls him to halt.

‘I’m off drugs,’ he says. ‘You can’t combine running a yard with taking drugs. Too many bloody early mornings. Human beings can only take so much.’

Romilly smiles up at him. ‘Humans are horrible. They’re not nearly as nice as animals.’

Randolph takes this in, realising that this philosophy has been the guiding force of his mother’s life. Is this why they are all so mixed up – him and Caroline and Tamsin? Because, deep down, their mother preferred animals to them?

‘Are you going to go on with the animal rights stuff?’ he asks. ‘If the group ever reforms?’

‘Oh, I’m going to start a new group. Strictly non-violent. Demonstrating at hunts etcetera. I’m going to buy a little cottage somewhere and really devote myself to it.’

Great, thinks Randolph. He hasn’t told his mother that he’s decided to join the hunt. He has always loved hunting (he used to sneak off to go cubbing as a child) and it’s excellent exercise for the horses. He looks forward to seeing her at the barricades. He’s not sure he believes the non-violence either.

‘Do you think Dan knew?’ Romilly asks suddenly. ‘About the other men?’

Randolph dismounts and loosens The Necromancer’s girth. Steam rises up from the horse’s hot body.

‘No,’ he lies. ‘I don’t think Dad knew a thing.’

‘I hope not,’ says Romilly, moving out of the way as a stable boy comes past leading two horses towards the walker. ‘I never wanted to hurt him. I was just… bored.’

‘Yeah,’ says Randolph, lifting off the saddle. ‘Boredom has a lot to answer for.’

‘But you won’t be bored now, will you? You’ve got the stable to run and Caroline’s got the museum. I’ve never seen her so happy. Not since she came back from Australia.’

Not that you ever did anything about Caroline’s unhappiness, thinks Randolph, because she’s not a beagle or a laboratory rat. The Necromancer rubs his head against his shoulder and suddenly Randolph, too, feels a great surge of love towards all animals. The Necromancer doesn’t care if he’s gay or straight, on drugs or clean. As long as Randolph feeds him and takes him out on long gallops, it’s all the same to him. Randolph rubs the horse’s ear affectionately and turns to his mother.

‘There’s going to be a big party at the museum,’ he says. ‘Caroline’s organising it. To celebrate the skulls going back. Will you come?’

Romilly reaches up a gloved hand to touch his cheek. ‘No darling. I think I’ll give it a miss. One way or another I’ve rather had enough of the museum.’