Dancing With the Virgins by Stephen Booth Read Free Book Online Page B

Farm. He owns most of the moor. The old quarry road runs across his land. We can go in the Land Rover, if you like. ’
    The farm was reached by a back road out of the village of Ringham Lees, an almost invisible turning by the corner of the Druid pub. A group of a dozen or so youngsters were hanging around in a bus shelter near the pub. When they saw the lights of the Land Rover coming, two teenage boys ran across the road directly in front of its bonnet and stood laughing and waving from the opposite pavement.
    ‘ Some of these young people,' said Owen. 'Their common sense has left home before them. And it didn't give a forwarding address.'
    ‘ We get a lot like them in Edendale,' said Cooper. 'I bet you do. ’
    The Ranger had four radio sets in the cab of the Land Rover. The wide-band set under the dashboard was constantly scanning the channels for the Ranger Service and other local organizations. Another set was for the Mountain Rescue team. Behind the seats, fixed to a wire grille, were two battery-operated handsets on permanent charge for when they were needed. Cooper saw that there was also a satellite positioning device in a leather case. But the best-used piece of equipment seemed to be the vacuum flask. It was battered, but no doubt a welcome sight on a freezing day on the moors.
    ‘ Some of this technology is all right,' said Owen. 'But we'll be completely computerized one day. I only hope it's after my time. I was brought up to think "online" meant your mum had just put the washing out. ’
    Cooper laughed. 'Did you say this Leach owns the moor?'
    ‘ Part of it. It's all privately owned, one way or another. The PDNPA doesn't own any land, you know. Being a national park doesn't mean what people think it means.'
    ‘ No, I know.'
    ‘ But Ringham Moor is one of those places where the landowners have an access agreement with the national park, so Rangers are involved a lot. Especially with the attention the Nine Virgins get. They seem to have a special significance at the summer solstice — a bit like Stonehenge, you know? There can be two hundred or so people gathered up there — illegally, I might add, under the access agreement; not to mention the by-laws covering ancient monuments.'
    ‘ But what do they get up to exactly?'
    ‘ Oh, you wouldn't believe it. Music, jugglers, camp fires. Children and dogs running round. It's a bit like a medieval fair. One year we had to call in a mountain rescue team to carry off a young lady who'd been danc ing from stone to stone, but fell off and broke her leg. Every year I pray it will rain — it keeps things quiet for a change.'
    ‘ So much for the peace and quiet of the Peak District.'
    ‘ Peace and quiet? One of our biggest jobs is looking after the safety of visitors. None of them have any common sense. If we left the fences off the old mine shafts, half of them would throw themselves in, think ing it was a new visitor experience. ’
    Owen Fox had a direct gaze and a sly smile in his eyes when he made a joke, though his face hardly moved. It took a bit of careful listening to understand when he was joking.
    ‘ I wouldn't want to work anywhere else, though,' said Owen. 'I've even picked the exact stone where I want my ashes to be scattered. ’
    They passed a large field containing a herd of black and white cattle and approached Ringham Edge Farm down a steep, narrow lane constricted between stone walls. The farm buildings were built mostly of the dark local gritstone, and the house itself had small, deeply-set windows that must let in little light. An extra shadow was thrown on the house by a large modern shed some distance from the track. Close to the shed stood the burnt-out shell of what looked like a Mitsubishi pick-up, the paint stripped from its bodywork and the interior of the cab blackened. Many farmers had the habit of letting all sorts of junk accumulate around their farm buildings .
    Owen glanced at Cooper. 'Would it be best if I talked to him?'
    ‘