Bruar's Rest

lie.
    A thick-set middle-aged man dressed in plain clothes walked over. She’d watched him poking under canvases, lifting baskets, going in and out of vardas. He said very little, but by the slit-eyed look on his rugged face she could tell he was a thinker. He was taking everything in, and it would be hard to pull wool over those eyes.
    ‘Well then, I suppose you both saw nothing, heard nothing, and like the rest slept peaceful in your beds.’
    ‘I heard the wind get up in the night, a pair o’ owls took to fighting. Blasted tree branch scraping agin the varda roof put paid to a good night’s slumber, but other than that we heard nothing.’ Mother Foy had composed herself to appear almost normal.
    Megan nodded in agreement, then tried once more to reach the water can, but was again hindered by the thin-faced policeman. ‘Can I fetch some water for the old woman’s breakfast, arse with moustache?’ she asked.
    ‘Impudent bitch,’ retorted the man, then, ‘That’s no English accent. If I’m not mistaken you’re a Scot. Why are you here with this lot?’
    ‘Leave the girl alone, she’s the daughter of a cousin. He married a Scot. I’m looking after her for a while, Mr Martin, sir.’
    Why did her old friend need to lie? After all, she’d no knowledge of last night. But it dawned on her that here was a wise old woman who’d been around a long time. Maybe she sensed something.
    The detective accepted her reasons for Megan’s presence, then warned everyone they’d be back the next day, so his parting words were ‘Nobody move on’.
    A fearful silence settled on the campsite, it was stifling. The gypsies held their breath, watching as one by one the policemen piled into two charabanc-type motors, that looked like square tin cans on wheels.
    Detective Martin had a car, which spurted and spat into life, taking him and the thin-faced constable off down the road. They had not travelled fifty yards when a young man almost threw himself in front of the vehicle. He was in a terrible state, panting and sweating as if he brought news so awful it would shock trees from their roots.
    ‘A young lass! There’s the body of a girl on the far east side of Bleak Fell.’
    Megan’s heart froze. ‘Lucy! He’s murdered Lucy!’ she cried out. Visions of last night’s mist-shrouded events flashed vividly on her mind’s eye. She dropped onto her knees, remembering the scream she’d blamed on an owl. The one she thought had taken a heavy rabbit. It hadn’t been a rabbit, but poor, sad Lucy, and her killer had two legs, not wings.
    ‘What’s that?’ shouted Martin, hearing what she said from the open window of his car.
    Megan ignored him and ran towards the gypsies. ‘That beast Buckley, the one you cowards gave ground to fight and kill another man, I saw the fiend kill Mr Newton, and order Hawen to get Lucy. You let him come and never lifted a finger to stop him. Bloody cowards you are!’
    Every one of the gypsies turned their backs to her, older children joined their dogs beneath the wagons, while little ones clung to their mothers’ skirts.
    Detective Martin caught up with Megan and held her tightly by both arms. Here was a witness, a gypsy willing to expose another gypsy, unheard of. He wasn’t letting her go. ‘Constable,’ he summoned the thin-faced one, ‘take this young lady into custody.’
    Mother Foy hobbled up and called to the eager detective, ‘A word in your ear if you please.’
    Beady-eyed Martin, impatient to get Megan away from the gypsies, said, ‘What is it, old woman? Can’t you see I’ve a crime needing solved?’
    ‘Now, everyone in these parts knows you to be an expert policeman, a real clever fella, a solver o’ crimes. Would you agree with me?’
    He pushed out his chest, swallowing her compliment as she continued.
    ‘I’ve seen you come and go onto sites ever since you had the brain of a babe and the face to go with it. I’ve watched you find wisdom dealing with us gypsies. Now tell us, have you ever come across a single gypsy who’d say anything agin another?’
    ‘Can’t say as I have, but there’s always a first.’ He’d found the first one, as far as he was concerned, and needed to find out what she had to say further. The old woman raised her voice so that all could hear, including the police.
    ‘She’s not fit in the head, my poor little niece; she’ll only fill your good selves with nonsense. She thinks Bull Buckley was the killer. Bull came here last