Funny way to show your love of the natural world, by shooting most of it, thinks Ruth. She notices a brace of guns over the head of the waxwork Lord Smith. He looks a nasty customer, alive or dead.
There are two ways out of Lord Smith’s study. One says ‘New World Collection’ and one ‘Local History.’ She pauses, feeling like Alice in Wonderland. A slight sound, a kind of whispering or fluttering, makes her turn towards Local History. She feels in the mood for a soothing collection of Norfolk artefacts. She hopes there are no more waxworks or embalmed animals.
Her wish is granted. The Local History Room seems to be empty apart from a coffin on a trestle table and a body lying beside it. A breeze from an open window is riffling through the pages of a guidebook lying on the floor, making a sound like the wings of a trapped bird.
CHAPTER 2
The body is lying on its side, legs drawn up into an almost foetal position. Ruth touches a hand, which is still warm. Is there a pulse? She can’t find one but her own hands are suddenly slippery with sweat and she’s not really sure what she’s looking for anyway. Oh, why didn’t she go on that first-aid course? She realises that she is holding her breath and forces herself to exhale, in and out, nose and mouth. It won’t do anyone any good if she faints. Gently she turns the body over and has two shocks, so severe that she almost stops breathing again.
There is blood all over the face and the face is that of someone she knows.
Neil Topham, the curator, who once came to one of her lectures on the preservation of bones. Neil, polite and unassuming, who often asked her advice about exhibits. Neil, lying on the floor of his own museum, his nose and mouth covered in blood.