Pam’s mother, Della, and his ingrained belief that any greeting demanded a civilised response. He blamed his upbringing and his parents who had always insisted on good manners, whatever the situation. Nurture got the better of him and he stopped and turned round.
Della was standing behind one of the stalls, an array of garishly coloured pottery ranged in front of her, most of it hideous. She was waving enthusiastically. Wesley always felt uneasy when Della was enthusiastic.
‘I’ll go on. Don’t be long.’ Normally Gerry would have made some witty comment but he sounded serious. Before Wesley had the chance to reply Gerry had gone, weaving his way through the crowd.
He walked over to Della, trying his best to hide his impatience. She was in costume but the overall impression was more tavern wench than medieval lady. She wore a long black skirt and a black bodice tightly laced over a white blouse, low cut to reveal a crinkled cleavage.
‘You skiving off? No wonder there’s so much crime,’ Della said in a voice that was all too audible to anyone passing by.
‘I’ve just been attending the postmortem of a murder victim.’ He hoped this answer would shut his mother-in-law up. He’d only been with her a minute and she was beginning to irritate him.
‘Not the woman in the boat? “The Lady of Shalott” the papers are calling her. Know who she is yet? If she’s a tourist it won’t be good for the festival. I mean —’
‘Sorry, Della, I’ve got to get back to the station,’ Wesley said.
‘Suit yourself. I’m just looking after this stall for a friend. I was thinking of calling round tonight to see my grandchildren. They’ll be in, I take it?’
‘Why don’t you ring Pam and find out?’
He’d been so anxious to get away that he hadn’t been looking at her closely. Only now did he notice it – a small black-and-white badge pinned to the front of her bodice. A black cog sailing on a stark white sea.
‘That badge you’re wearing…’
‘What about it?’
‘Does it have any significance?’
He could see distrust in her eyes. Why did he want to know? What was he after? She taught at a further education college and prided herself on her right-on credentials, which didn’t include getting cosy with a member of the police force. When she’d found out her daughter’s black, archaeology-graduate boyfriend had joined the Met, she’d been horrified.
‘What’s it to you?’ she asked.
‘I’m just curious. I’ve seen a lot of people wearing them.’
She touched the badge protectively. ‘It’s just something my students are into. It’s called Shipworld. It’s an online blog. Fantasy, that sort of thing.’
‘What sort of fantasy?’
She shrugged, as if she couldn’t be bothered to explain. But Wesley persisted and repeated the question.
‘It’s a story set in a medieval port. There’s merchants and pirates and invaders. The usual sort of thing.’
Wesley looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. As Della had never been able to resist filling a period of silence with chatter, she obliged.
‘There’s a character called Palkin. Must be based on the real one; the one the festival’s about. He’s in charge of Shipworld. He raises an army and sends out the ships. Then there’s the Lady Morwenna – she’s the beautiful young wife of the old Lord of Shipworld, the one usurped by Palkin, but I don’t think she really existed. There’s also a dark figure called the Shroud Maker – he’s really bad news.’ She hesitated. ‘If you want to know more I suggest you have a look at the website yourself.’ She looked down at the gaudy wares on her stall. ‘Look, I haven’t got time to stand here chatting even if you have.’
Wesley ignored the rebuke. She was right. Shipworld was something he could discover for himself. But he still had another question to ask. ‘So the Palkin Festival is a big event for Shipworld fans?’
‘Oh yes. The whole thing’s gone
Della was standing behind one of the stalls, an array of garishly coloured pottery ranged in front of her, most of it hideous. She was waving enthusiastically. Wesley always felt uneasy when Della was enthusiastic.
‘I’ll go on. Don’t be long.’ Normally Gerry would have made some witty comment but he sounded serious. Before Wesley had the chance to reply Gerry had gone, weaving his way through the crowd.
He walked over to Della, trying his best to hide his impatience. She was in costume but the overall impression was more tavern wench than medieval lady. She wore a long black skirt and a black bodice tightly laced over a white blouse, low cut to reveal a crinkled cleavage.
‘You skiving off? No wonder there’s so much crime,’ Della said in a voice that was all too audible to anyone passing by.
‘I’ve just been attending the postmortem of a murder victim.’ He hoped this answer would shut his mother-in-law up. He’d only been with her a minute and she was beginning to irritate him.
‘Not the woman in the boat? “The Lady of Shalott” the papers are calling her. Know who she is yet? If she’s a tourist it won’t be good for the festival. I mean —’
‘Sorry, Della, I’ve got to get back to the station,’ Wesley said.
‘Suit yourself. I’m just looking after this stall for a friend. I was thinking of calling round tonight to see my grandchildren. They’ll be in, I take it?’
‘Why don’t you ring Pam and find out?’
He’d been so anxious to get away that he hadn’t been looking at her closely. Only now did he notice it – a small black-and-white badge pinned to the front of her bodice. A black cog sailing on a stark white sea.
‘That badge you’re wearing…’
‘What about it?’
‘Does it have any significance?’
He could see distrust in her eyes. Why did he want to know? What was he after? She taught at a further education college and prided herself on her right-on credentials, which didn’t include getting cosy with a member of the police force. When she’d found out her daughter’s black, archaeology-graduate boyfriend had joined the Met, she’d been horrified.
‘What’s it to you?’ she asked.
‘I’m just curious. I’ve seen a lot of people wearing them.’
She touched the badge protectively. ‘It’s just something my students are into. It’s called Shipworld. It’s an online blog. Fantasy, that sort of thing.’
‘What sort of fantasy?’
She shrugged, as if she couldn’t be bothered to explain. But Wesley persisted and repeated the question.
‘It’s a story set in a medieval port. There’s merchants and pirates and invaders. The usual sort of thing.’
Wesley looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. As Della had never been able to resist filling a period of silence with chatter, she obliged.
‘There’s a character called Palkin. Must be based on the real one; the one the festival’s about. He’s in charge of Shipworld. He raises an army and sends out the ships. Then there’s the Lady Morwenna – she’s the beautiful young wife of the old Lord of Shipworld, the one usurped by Palkin, but I don’t think she really existed. There’s also a dark figure called the Shroud Maker – he’s really bad news.’ She hesitated. ‘If you want to know more I suggest you have a look at the website yourself.’ She looked down at the gaudy wares on her stall. ‘Look, I haven’t got time to stand here chatting even if you have.’
Wesley ignored the rebuke. She was right. Shipworld was something he could discover for himself. But he still had another question to ask. ‘So the Palkin Festival is a big event for Shipworld fans?’
‘Oh yes. The whole thing’s gone
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