man and Harry fought a temptation to push it away.
‘Not at all,’ he replied. ‘Rituals are very important to people. The church is awash with them.’
‘Quite so,’ said Tobias, in his low, cultured voice, allowing his hand to fall. ‘Events like this one hold communities together. Very few of the men here tonight work on the land any more – they have jobs in the nearby towns, maybe they’re self-employed and work from home, some of them have no jobs. But the Cutting of the Neck is something they all take part in because their fathers and their grandfathers did. Through it, and other traditions like it, they feel a connection to the land. Can you understand that?’
‘I was brought up in the rough end of Newcastle,’ said Harry. ‘We didn’t see much of the land.’
‘Everything you will eat tonight was grown or bred within five miles of this spot,’ said Tobias. ‘All the game I shot myself, although my eyesight isn’t what it was. Ninety per cent of what I’ve eaten my entire life comes from this moor. Quite a number of people in town can say the same. The Renshaws have been self-sufficient for hundreds of years.’
‘You’re not fond of fish, then?’ said Harry.
Tobias’s eyebrows lifted. ‘On the contrary, we own a trout stream at the bottom of the valley.’ He gestured towards the buffet table. ‘I recommend the trout pâté.’
‘I look forward to it. Hi Gillian, did you need me?’
‘I’ll keep you just a moment longer, Vicar. Excuse us, my dear, won’t you?’ said Tobias. ‘Run along, boys, I need a private word with Reverend Laycock.’ Without waiting to be told twice, Tom and Joe scurried across the hall towards the weapons cases. Gillian moved away to the other side of the hall, but Harry could feel that she was still watching them.
‘There is another town tradition you should know about, Vicar,’ said Tobias. ‘Again, you’ll find variations all around England. A few weeks after the harvest, typically in the days leading up to Old Winter’s Day in mid October, we slaughter the livestock that won’t be needed next spring. Mainly surplus sheep and pigs, some chickens, occasionally a cow. In the old days the meat would be preserved to take us through the winter. These days we just fill our freezers.’
‘Sounds sensible enough. Do you want some prayers to send the animals on their way to the abattoir?’
‘You misunderstand, Vicar,’ said Tobias. ‘Your services won’t be required and the animals are sent nowhere. We slaughter them here.’
‘Here in town?’
‘Yes. Dick Grimes and my son hold all the necessary licences between them. Dick has the facilities at the back of his shop. I only mention it because the Fletcher family live just across the road and will hear something of what’s going on. A lot of the men are involved. The street outside gets – how shall I put this? – a little messy. We call it the Blood Harvest.’
‘The what?’
‘You heard me correctly. I’m happy to talk to the Fletchers myself, of course, but I just thought, as you seem to have something of a rapport with them, it might come better from you. If they were to visit relatives for the weekend, that might not be a bad thing.’
A few feet beyond the door to the party room, Millie sat on the floor. Oblivious to the feet and legs around her, she was stroking a cat. Her fat little hand ran down its fur, from head to tail-tip. The tail twitched. Millie caught it and squeezed. The cat jumped to its feet and stepped daintily away.
Millie looked round. One of her brothers, the one she called Doe, was very close by, looking at some weapons in a glass case. He didn’t turn around as Millie pushed herself to her feet and toddled after the cat. First the cat, then Millie, stepped out of the party room and into the alley outside. No one noticed them leave.
‘There you are, Harry. You seem quiet tonight. Is everything OK?’
Alice had found him at the bottom of the walled garden, on a wicker bench surrounded by old roses, nursing an empty glass.
‘I’m fine,’ he said, moving sideways on the bench to give her room to sit down. ‘Just recharging the batteries. People rarely just chat to the vicar, you know. They always expect something more. A bit of spiritual guidance over the sherry. Maybe a discussion on where the Church of England’s going. Get’s a bit tiring after a