The Wolf Border(103)
Don’t approach them, she says. Don’t try to interact; don’t leave bait out or anything to attract them. They’d rather hunt, but they’ll scavenge if there’s an opportunity. They’re not tigers, but they’re not poodles, either.
OK, good. So, we’ll reassure first and foremost, say they are wild creatures, but not harmful to humans. They should not under any circumstances be approached. Don’t attempt to interfere with the animals. Just notify us.
She pauses.
That’s fine.
So, you think they might stay in the forest? We’ll cordon off the Galt roads anyway.
She shakes her head.
It’s possible they will. But not certain. They don’t need to hunt, not immediately.
Meaning?
They’re well fed. They could pass through the forest and keep on going. For quite a while, and without stopping.
Sergeant Armstrong nods, but looks slightly alarmed by the information. This is not what he wanted to hear, she knows.
How far can they travel in, say, a day or two?
In forty-eight hours? To the border. Across it.
He recoils a little.
Even with the young ones?
They’re not quite mature but they’re big enough to travel now. If they were in the wild, they’d be migrating.
He considers this for a moment. She does not mention, though it has crossed her mind, that whoever let them out – if they were let out – perhaps understood this. If it is another sabotage, it has been elegantly executed; it is beneficent.
Right. I’m going to contact police headquarters in Dumfries and Galloway, the sergeant says. They should be aware. We might need to formally hand over control at some stage.
He lowers his tone, attempts to be tactful.
Also, I’m assuming Lord Pennington will have connections. We need to liaise with anyone from the private sector involved, OK? Will you let me know once you’ve talked to him?
Rachel shakes her head again.
I’m going to track them, she says. I’m licensed to carry barbiturates and a gas-projector. Do you need to see the paperwork?
No. That’s OK. You’ll be registered on the system.
Then I should get going.
She stands up. Sergeant Armstrong collects his hat from the chair next to him.
All right. Stay in touch, Rachel. You’ve got my number, and we can arrange transport. Last thing for now – we’ll need a full list of names – anyone with access to the enclosure, anyone agitating against the project, anyone you might suspect. Perhaps your colleague can help when he gets back?
Yes, he can.
She tries not to think beyond the present, to a phase of accusations and recrimination. But already her mind is at work. She’s sure the timing of the incident is not random. But talking with Sergeant Armstrong has been somewhat reassuring: she had conceived of a far worse scenario, the county grinding to a halt, aerial spotters and thermal cameras, a race to save them from execution. It is clear the police don’t want to own the situation. At least not yet. She pulls on her coat. An hour has passed since the last sighting. There’s still Charlie to manage. She has tried Lawrence but his phone is switched off, and his office line has been going through to voicemail.
Rachel is about to take her leave when Honor enters the drawing room and makes her way over, a tight smile on her face. She’s neatened herself – the chignon is smooth and there’s a waft of newly applied perfume.
I’ve just been speaking with Thomas, she says. He’ll be here by this evening.
She glances at Sergeant Armstrong.
He’d like it to be known that he is offering a substantial reward for anyone assisting with their safe return. I won’t disclose the figure at this stage. There’s also the matter of compensation, for any natural damage.
The phrasing is very tactful. Damn it, Rachel thinks, did she have to flag that up? She turns back to the sergeant.
OK to say that in the bulletin, too? he asks.
Just the reward part, Rachel says. But it might be an idea for farmers to bring flocks indoors for the time being. I mean indoors, not penned. Just as a precaution, there’s no need to get dramatic.
I understand, he says. We’ll mention it to the union.
I better go.
He nods.
Good luck.
She excuses herself and heads to the office to collect Charlie. Damn Honor, she thinks again. She did not want to be explicit about the negatives in the first stages. But this is Cumbria; there’s a high possibility of agricultural loss. In tracking the pack she may indeed be following a trail of carcasses. Most animals will instinctively avoid the path of wolves, but the sheep, lame motif of the Lake District, corralled in their walled fields and scattered across the moors, won’t stand a chance. Nor will the famous republic of shepherds remain peaceful about their plight.
*
The Galt Valley is on fire as she makes her way in. The plantations blaze with autumn colours – copper, mustard, a hundred reds. The heather has bronzed; worked over by bees all summer, it is dying back. Higher on the slopes are industrial stands of conifers, not yet stripped out, oddly artificial-looking in the anatomy of the forest. The summit of Galt Fell rises above the yellow and green skirts, hairpins looping the mountain pass and the broken face of the crags. There’s no traffic on the forestry road, which has been cordoned off by the police; Rachel’s is the only car. The Saab bounces over potholes, tracks gamely upward. In places the lane has deteriorated to shingle, small landslides moving the concrete surface downhill. There are no passing places; were she to meet another vehicle, she would have to reverse for miles.