Peril in the Parish, page 21
‘That suggests,’ said Florence, ‘that if someone else decided to save him from Anne’s temptations, by frightening her away, he or she would most likely live in the neighbourhood of her home. That’s Silkwood Way. It has only a few houses on it, and some have changed hands over the years, so only long-time residents would be of interest.’
‘I agree that if Pimcrisp wasn’t the writer that’s where we should look for whatever can be revealed after twenty years. To be frank with you, Mrs Norris, I’m not optimistic.’
‘May George and I have a try at what we can ferret out?’
‘By all means. I would terrify the guilt free into silence.’
‘I think, however, I’ll wait a few days or a week until the furore begins to ebb.’
‘I’ll send one of our men to see what he can get out of Pimcrisp. Where is he now?’
‘On his cousin Lord Asprey’s estate in Northumbria. Lord Stodmarsh can let you know where it’s located, his grandfather was a good friend of his and Mr Fielding’s father was, or is acquainted with him.’
Inspector LeCrane’s mouth quirked. ‘Thank you, Mrs Norris, but we’re not talking about someone named Smith.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘that has … would have its difficulties.’
‘I’ll also have a chat with this new vicar and his boyhood friend about what they remember from their stay at the vicarage. There’s also the possibility that one or other of them wrote those letters because Anne had lost interest in their attentions. The young can take rejection hard, beyond all proportion.’
‘I thought of that,’ said Florence.
‘But dismissed the idea?’
‘After speaking with them, yes, but I could be proved wrong.’
The inspector got to his feet. ‘Many thanks, Mrs Norris, I’ll be back in touch. Now for a talk with Constable Trout, before bringing in the necessary people for the disinterment. What an ugly word that is, Mrs Norris. I’m tempted to linger over a pint of Mr Bird’s excellent ale, but best to get on with it. Please tell Elsie she’s in my good books, not the reverse.’
Something to be glad about, thought Florence when she returned to Mullings to seek out Ned and Mrs Tressler to let them know the past was about to shake up the present and life in Dovecote Hatch would not be itself for the foreseeable future. She wondered if Frank Shilling would mind having his job as grave digger taken over by others. Policemen, or whatever, who mightn’t be Church of England. Or even christened. His rousing singing voice would be absent, leaving room for an unearthly silence.
TWENTY-ONE
That morning the undertakers returned to remove Agnes’s coffin to the Chapel of Rest. Sophie asked if they would take the flowers if she emptied the water from the vases, was told it would be easier if she wrapped them in newspaper instead. There’d be plenty of containers at the chapel. She thanked them and went into the kitchen where Sally was doing the breakfast washing up.
‘Newspapers, Miss? There’s some in the scullery, I’ve been using them to clean the windows; I’ll get some. Want me to take care of the flowers?’
‘Let’s do it together.’
Sophie wondered frequently over the next couple of days how she could have got through them without Sally. She’d listened thoughtfully yesterday to Mrs Norris’s account of Anne Rudge’s death and her burial in the grave where Agnes was to have been laid to rest with her brother. At intervals her eyes blurred with tears, but they did not fall.
Mrs Norris had concluded with the Reverend Pimcrisp’s activities, omitting the source of this information. And Sally had spoken up stoutly. ‘It was a horrible wickedness all round. I’m not surprised he turned out to be a dirty old man.’
‘Remember we only have one witness to his behaviour, who will need to be questioned further. But there’s point in my hushing it up because questions will have to be asked to see if anyone else can provide corroboration.’
‘Well, I’ll bet it’s true. And I hope whoever wrote them letters is shaking in their boots at the thought of being found out and punished. And they will be, till they pleads for mercy, Mrs Norris, ’cos there’s no one better at getting to the truth than you. As for Miss Younger’s funeral being put off, she’d want right to be done and no fuss made. No need to worry about miss. I’ll get rid of anyone showing up just to be nosy. And I pity the newspaper man who thinks he can charm a word out of me beyond good riddance.’
After Mrs Norris left Sally had made a pot of tea and as Uncle Henry would’ve said, talked sense to Sophie.
‘Now, miss, if it doesn’t rain it pours. Mrs Younger dies before you had a proper time with her and now this terrible business. Your heart goes out to Anne Rudge and her family, mine does too, but you’ve got a particularly big heart, but like my mum says, take time being upset, but then find a way to cheer yourself up. Why not sit quiet a while and read a book.’
Sophie had agreed meekly, gone up to her bedroom and decided escape was to be found in one of the boarding-school books of which Sally had now borrowed three and said they whisked her away to a world a girl of her upbringing could never have known. Sophie, who had been a day pupil at a boarding school, did not enlighten her that midnight feasts, secret societies holding meetings in crypts, or teachers engaged in espionage, were not the norm. She, herself, could still believe they did happen on opening up New Girl at Maryville.
She closed it on page thirty-seven, at the point where Carole, our heroine, has discovered her hockey stick was missing immediately prior to the start of a match between Maryville and their chief rival. Reading had also had the benefit of keeping thoughts at bay of Mr Fielding and what, if anything, he might have said if Mrs Norris had not arrived when she did.
She found Sally in the sitting room mending a tablecloth.
‘Oh, don’t get up,’ she said and sat down. ‘Your advice was exactly right, I’m back to myself again. I’ve been reading about this girl who’d broken her leg badly and had been in a cast for months and didn’t think she’d ever be able to play hockey well, but when she started at a new school she kept improving until she was better than the captain of the team. In one of my mother’s letters to Agnes she mentioned how Mrs Younger had taken them out to buy hockey sticks for when they started at their secondary school. I think you’ll like this one.’
‘Thanks ever so, miss. I’m just finishing up For the Sake of the School by Angela Brazil. The Fortunes of Philippa was the first one I read by her when I was about twelve. That’s why I was excited when I saw you had those books.’
‘This one isn’t by her, but I’ll hand it over when I’m done. Now I want to tell you what Mr Wendell came to talk to me about.’ She explained about Agnes’s investments and the income they would provide and had the overdue talk with her about wages and days off.
‘Sally, how does three pounds a week sound?’
‘For what, miss?’
‘Your earnings?’
‘But, I couldn’t, it’s far … far too much.’
‘I’ve looked it up’ – this wasn’t true – ‘and it’s on the low side for a companion.’
‘I don’t want it.’
‘Well, that’s a pity. If you continue to argue I will have hysterics like Mrs Quigley.’
‘Oh, miss, you’ll make me laugh and I’ll splutter me tea.’
‘How about one and a half days off a week?’
‘One’d be lovely.’
‘All right. And you can take two when something comes up.’
‘However can me thank you, miss. This’ll mean I can help the family out, get the extras they wouldn’t spend money on. Mum’s been wanting one of Miss Milligan’s boxer pups forever, but there’s the price and then the feeding of it.’
The rest of Wednesday passed quietly; there wasn’t much housework needing immediate attention, and knowing that the inspector was expected to make his appearance, it was not one for leaving the house. Sophie suggested they explore the attics. This, with its trove of belongings from past lives, proved enthralling. They were particularly enchanted with their discovery in the far corner of an inner room of a cradle, a doll’s house with its tiny furniture and family dressed in mid Victorian clothes, a rocking horse and a box containing all that was required for a little girl’s play kitchen.
‘I wonder who she was, miss, I picture gold ringlets and big blue eyes, but she could’ve been quite different and dark and sallow, the kind that makes up a world of her own and grows up, remembering what it’s like to be a child, and writes books for them and gets to be famous even though she doesn’t care about that.’
‘I’m glad you love it,’ said Sophie. ‘Maybe she was Agnes’s mother. But she could have written books, boarding school ones, under an assumed name.’
Sally giggled. ‘You are fun, miss.’
‘If I am it’s because you bring it out in me.’
They spent the next half hour or so looking over the attics, lifting coverings from pieces of furniture that could be brought downstairs if there was a need or a place for them. They were about to leave when they spotted a spinning wheel and could not resist it and between the two of them carried it downstairs.
They were in the hall, getting their breaths back, when the door knocker fell. It was Mr Fielding and Sophie hoped her flushed face and unsteady voice would be explained by exertion. But before she had time to respond to whatever he was saying about why he was there, the knocker went again. This time it was Miss Gillybud, whose mind went instantly to the question of what was a spinning wheel doing in the hall.
‘Do you spin, Summer Rose, oh, please tell me you do? I’ll come and watch you; it’s the sort of thing everyone should see at least once, like glass blowing.’
‘I don’t, but now you talk of it I think I’d like to learn. Sally and I found it in the attic.’
‘And do you plan on keeping it in the hall?’ Mr Fielding asked, his smile making Sophie’s heart turn over.
‘No, in the sitting room, maybe, possibly, under the window.’
‘Then let’s try it there.’ He’d already picked up the spinning wheel and now carried it through, set it down and asked Sophie what she thought.
‘If you would angle it slightly.’ She was about to say it now looked perfect, when Sally, who had discreetly vanished when the callers arrived, now came into the room.
‘Pardon me.’ Her eyes took in Miss Gillybud and Mr Fielding as well as Sophie before searching the room. ‘Any sign of Marmalade? He was on one of the kitchen chairs when we went upstairs; he’s not there now, nor in the scullery, the pantry and the dining room neither and the bedroom and other doors is shut like always, so I thought I’d find out if he was here before going back to the attics in case he followed us there and now’s shut in. Could be meowing his head off and we wouldn’t hear none.’
‘Oh, dear. You’re quite right, Sally.’ Miss Gillybud flapped her hands, ‘I’ve been up there with Agnes and I remember thinking someone could be getting murdered down here, screaming their lungs out and we’d be none the wiser. I’ll come with you, he knows my voice and always comes when I say fish paste sandwiches.’
‘Who would come into this house to get themselves murdered?’ Mr Fielding asked wryly.
‘I don’t know, but it could happen, dreadful things abound. I was, however, making the point that if Sally had not been so observant that poor boy could be languishing in isolation for hours.’
Sophie said she should go. She had grown much attached to Marmalade. He was now her cat and she was concerned; there was also the added factor that she was fluttery at the thought of being alone with Aiden … Mr Fielding. It wouldn’t do to appear too friendly and being detached could be a mistake.
In the end they all went and, sure enough, when they entered the box room they heard Marmalade meowing irritably from above. When rescued he put on a display of indifference that convinced nobody but himself.
Miss Gillybud and Mr Fielding did not stay long. They explained that they had come to let Sophie know that the activity in the churchyard with its police presence and that of Dr Chester was over. What remained of Anne Rudge had been taken away for examination. The coffin containing Agnes’s brother remained where it was. At least for the time being and the still open grave roped off.
As he was leaving Mr Fielding said, ‘Be strong, Sophie; you have more courage than you realize. If you need me send Sally and I’ll be right over.’
‘Thank you.’ She again felt that lovely warmth on sensing tenderness from him. ‘I’m not going to hole up here as if unwilling to face people’s questions. Tomorrow I’ll go to the shops and if I’m stopped along the way say I’m saddened by what has happened, but am doing very well.’
‘Splendid!’
Sophie told Sally of this plan over their evening meal of mince and potatoes and apple crumble.
‘You want me to come with you, miss?’
‘Of course. We should have quite a bit to buy and when we’re thoroughly exhausted we can go into that teashop you pointed out to me the other day.’
‘You’ll get to meet my sister-in-law, she started working there. Ever so nice she is.’
A list was compiled of necessary purchases and at ten o’clock the next morning they set off, shopping baskets in hand. There had been no newspaper reporters thronging around the door to detain them. Their first stop was the grocer’s which was abuzz with the expected. They caught some of the scraps – ‘terrible!’ … ‘who’d have thought?’ … ‘in the churchyard all this time’ – before silence fell. Sally dealt with the awkward moment by breezily introducing Sophie to the shop at large and then chatting away about how fast you could go through sugar and what a nuisance it was to find yourself out of baking powder.
Normality restored. The focus was now on welcoming Sophie to Dovecote Hatch. Condolences were offered for the loss of her cousin and the hope extended that she would enjoy life in the village if she stayed on. She said that was her plan, that her home had been a small village, so she expected to be very happy here.
They went next to the butcher’s where they were the only customers and received a warm welcome from Mrs Saunders. She said she was sorry about this new trouble, patted Sophie’s hand and introduced her to her son, Dick, who looked bashfully at her and dreamily at Sally, until elbowed aside by his beaming father.
‘He admires you,’ said Sophie when they left with their rashers of bacon and a veal and ham pie.
‘Mr Saunders? He likes to look, but there’s no harm in him.’
‘No, the son.’
‘Yes, well, he’s asked me to walk out with him and I wouldn’t mind if he didn’t take it serious. I’m not ready to think wedding bells and babies, especially now you’ve taken me on.’
They went on to the fishmonger where again Sally successfully steered a conversation into generalities with others waiting to be served. And then, finally to Hobbs’ Haberdashery because Sally needed some reels of cotton. There the only customer present was Miss Gillybud. She was asking the woman behind the counter if she might possibly have left behind the dressing gown cord she had bought the previous morning.
‘I thought I put it in my coat pocket, Miss Hobbs, you may remember I said I didn’t want a bag, and it’s entirely possible that on the way home I reached in for my handkerchief or door key and it dropped out. I know my purse was in my other pocket, at least I think it was. Yesterday was difficult for all of us – with a body that shouldn’t be there being dug up in the churchyard and my mind does tend to wander at the best of times.’
Miss Hobbs cut in briskly. She was a middle-aged woman, wearing rimless glasses and blessed with abundant still fair hair. ‘You didn’t leave it here, Miss Gillybud, I remember you putting it in your pocket, and thinking you should have let me put it in a paper bag.’
‘So foolish of me.’
‘With God’s grace someone may find it and bring it back here. I will say a prayer. Yesterday was difficult, but one also for reflection on how to avoid straying from the path of righteousness. Anne Rudge worked here briefly, she was a diligent worker; it’s a shame she died as she did and is denied the glory of heaven.’
‘There is that passage about glass houses and throwing stones,’ said Miss Gillybud vaguely.
Miss Hobbs’ eyes flashed behind her spectacles. ‘Exactly what are you implying?’
‘Nothing personal.’ Turning, Miss Gillybud saw Sophie and Sally behind her, beamed at them and made muddled introductions. Miss Hobbs said she hoped to see Miss Dawson in church. Sophie said that would be nice. And Miss Gillybud asked if this was Una Smith’s day off.
‘She phoned to say her leg, the one she hurt falling off her bicycle, is bothering her again. I may have to let her go if this keeps up. When my nephew returns from his buying trip, I’ll insist either he puts his foot down or I will.’
‘Such an attractive young man, so very like his mother,’ murmured Miss Gillybud. ‘It must comfort you knowing your dear sister is looking down from above seeing how the two of you get along.’
Sally remembered her reel of cotton. And out the shop they went.
‘Ooh, Miss Gillybud,’ Sally giggled. ‘You said that last bit to irritate her; everyone knows Mr Kaye can’t stick her and she’s tried to buy him out of the business.’
‘Yes. For the moment I couldn’t help myself. Childish. But I should remember to make allowances for her. She had that recent breakdown when Pimcrisp retired, and I imagine is always on the verge of one. I’ll have to go back and buy another dressing gown cord if the one I’ve lost doesn’t turn up. Such a particularly attractive colour! Royal blue with threads of green, I don’t suppose I dropped it in your hall yesterday, Summer Rose?’
