7 Sorrow on Sunday (3 page)

Blanche was not so sure, but she found the house friendly enough. It was lovely to look at, built in dark gold stone
that gleamed in the sun, and had a large garden where she could indulge her hobby. The borders and sloping lawns, the rose garden and walled kitchen garden were all too much for her alone, and so Horace had agreed to a lad from the village coming in once a week to do the heavy work. He was what the village children called a dimmie, and was certainly odd. He loved Mrs. Battersby with respect and awe. As far as the Colonel was concerned, the lad kept out of his way as much as possible. His name was Darren, and on the whole he was happy.

In her sewing room, Blanche stared out of the window and wished herself back in the solid, four-square Victorian villa in the best part of Tresham, where she could manage the garden on her own, and, with Mrs. Meade’s help once a week, could keep the house clean and neat. There had been no tack room to burgle there.

*   *   *

D
EREK
M
EADE WAS WORKING OVER NEAR
F
LETCHING,
fitting a bathroom heater into an isolated farmhouse. The farmer, Joe Horsley and his wife Margaret, had gone into Tresham, so he could work steadily without interruption. As the lottery news spread, he was beginning to dread meeting people in the street, and the thought of being stuck in a bathroom at the housewife’s mercy filled him with gloom. Still, he couldn’t go into hiding, and would have to find a way of changing the subject away from lottery wins. It was amazing how many people were anxious to tell him stories of winners they knew who had been ruined by unaccustomed wealth, and how some had squandered the lot in the first three months.

He was comforted by the thought that Lois handled the family’s finances. Since she had become a businesswoman, she was very sharp about where to put their savings, and how much they could spend. He was happy to leave her to it, and had been relieved when, on hearing of their win, she had immediately started making plans.

The bathroom overlooked a big farmyard, which was
enclosed by barns and stables on three sides. A wide stone arch allowed access for vehicles and horses. Everything was tidy and well cared for, and Derek knew from the luxurious interior of the house that there was money here. Well, now he and Lois had money, lots of money, and it was a wonderful feeling. Security, that’s what it was. He heard a car pulling up in the yard, and looked out of the window. He’d parked his own vehicle round the back of the buildings, out of the way. Now he peered out, but the glass was frosted and wobbly, and he could see only vague shapes. If it was Joe and Margaret returning, he would finish quickly and depart. But it wasn’t the Horsleys. He could see the outline of a van. Delivering something, perhaps? A figure appeared, distorted by the glass, and he decided he’d better take a look. But he didn’t hurry, and by the time he opened the yard door the van had moved off at speed, and all he could see was a trail of exhaust smoke down the track.

He returned to the house and resumed work, thinking about what he had just seen. Probably not important. Something to do with the farm. Still, he’d mention it when Joe and Margaret came back.

They drove into the yard as Derek was packing up to leave. As they unloaded shopping, he told them what he had seen, and was surprised at Joe’s reaction. He rushed off to the tack room and emerged red-faced and shouting. “The buggers have taken a saddle!” he roared accusingly at Derek.

“Don’t blame me,” Derek said calmly. “By the time I got downstairs, the van was moving off. I hardly saw it, let alone had a chance of stopping it. Any road, I didn’t know they were up to no good, did I? You’d better tell the police.”

Joe deflated like a punctured tyre. “A lot o’ good that would do,” he muttered. “No, we don’t want them coming here asking a lot of damn stupid questions. I can handle this myself.”

“They might be able to help,” said Margaret mildly, and
Joe rounded on her. “Just mind your own business and get that shopping in the house!” he said roughly.

Derek judged it was time for him to go.

*   *   *

L
OIS WAS AT HOME WHEN
D
EREK RETURNED, AND
Gran greeted them with tales of what had gone on in the shop. “Josie was unindated,” she said. “Looks like it’ll be good for shop business, if nothing else.” Gran had been feeling disorientated, as if walking on shifting sands. Everything would be changed. People talked of nothing else, and sometimes she wished the syndicate hadn’t had the winning ticket. The family had been jogging along on Derek’s job and what came in from New Brooms, though that wasn’t a fortune. Mind you, she said to herself, with Derek’s being a one-man business, if he was seriously ill or had an accident, they’d have been in trouble. There was still a mortgage to be paid off, and all the expenses of living in an old house. The lottery win had cushioned them against that, at least.

The three sat in silence for a while. There was so much to think about. Then Derek said, “I had a bit of excitement today,” and told them about the Horsley drama. “I didn’t see a lot—just the back of some old van disappearing down the track. Joe discovered a saddle had been took, and he was furious. Looked as if he’d like to blame me. Nasty to his wife, too.”

Lois said swiftly, “Did you say an old van? Have you seen it before? Did you get the number?”

“Oh, God,” groaned Derek. “No, I didn’t see anything much at all. Why are you so keen to find out? As if I didn’t know,” he added. “Lois rides again, with Cowgill close behind.”

T
HE
M
ONDAY MIDDAY MEETING OF
N
EW
B
ROOMS WAS
more of a party than the usual serious discussion of the week ahead and allocation of jobs. The cleaning staff were all there, except for Floss Pickering, who had gone to the doctor with a painful earache. Hazel, having closed the Tresham shop for a couple of hours, had followed Lois and was pouring champagne, and Bill Stockbridge, nearly the longest-serving cleaner, had a glass or two, enough to forget the broken nights and daily anxieties of a new baby. The others chatted excitedly, each with a story of lottery winners they knew, but none had had even a share of the jackpot.

“Now,” Lois said, a little flushed, “we’d better get down to business. We’ll keep it short today. I expect you’ll be wondering what we’ll do next. Well, there’s one thing that won’t change: New Brooms. With your help, I’ve built up a good business here with plenty of scope for expansion. No reason to change it. And, in any case, as Derek says, the amount we won is not big enough to retire on, but just right to give us some extra income and a few treats.”

There was a spontaneous burst of applause, and Lois laughed. “And there’s something else,” she said. “Derek and me, we’re nowhere near retirement, so what on earth would we do with ourselves? We’re working class, and like to work. Work is what we know. So there we are. Now, I’m due at the Battersbys’ in ten minutes in place of Floss. I expect it’ll be clean and tidy as ordered by the Colonel, but Mrs. B likes somebody to talk to. So if there’s nothing else to bring up, I’ll just say thanks, all of you, for standing by me.”

One or two sniffed and all wished Lois and her family good luck as they departed. Lois, left alone, sat down for a few minutes to compose herself, then collected her things and set off for Waltonby and the Battersbys.

*   *   *

T
HE MOMENT
L
OIS ENTERED THE HOUSE, SHE KNEW
something was wrong. The atmosphere was charged with tension, and when Mrs. Battersby clattered down the stairs in undignified haste, Lois was sure there had been some major disaster.

“Thank goodness you’ve come!” Mrs. B said, twisting her hands.

“Of course I’ve come,” said Lois. “Floss has gone to the doctor, so I’m here instead. If there’d been a problem, I’d have let you know.”

“Oh, I know, I know.” Mrs. Battersby walked towards the kitchen, and Lois followed. “Would you like a coffee before you start?”

This was new, and Lois almost declined. Then she looked at the poor woman’s worried face, and accepted. “I’ll take it with me upstairs,” she said. “Mustn’t waste time, else the Colonel will have me on a charge!”

At this, Blanche Battersby burst into tears. Lois stared at her, and said, “Goodness, Mrs. Battersby, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. It was just a silly joke.” She reached out and patted Blanche’s hand. Slowly the tears dried up, and Lois stood up. “Better get on,” she said, “but thanks for the coffee.”

“Sit down again for a minute,” Blanche said. “We’ve had a nasty shock this morning, and I apologize for losing control. It’s just that when the Colonel went to check the horses this morning, the tack room was empty. All our stuff had been stolen. Nothing left. He was so angry, and I was frightened he’d have a stroke or something. He’s gone out now, and I don’t know where. Almost hit the gatepost when he drove out of the drive. I’ll be so glad to see him back.”

I bet she hasn’t always thought that, Lois said to herself, remembering how many times Mrs. B had reportedly
escaped to her sewing room when the Colonel had been in a shouting mood. Then she was struck by the full import of what Mrs. B had said. The stable thieves had fallen straight into her lap! How lucky that Floss had earache. Lois knew she must ask more questions, and on the pretext of claiming Mrs. B was in shock and mustn’t be left for a while, she made her a cup of tea with plenty of sugar. It seemed that the Battersbys had heard nothing in the night. But then, the walls were thick, the curtains were heavy drapes which would shut out sound, and the stables stood a way off from the house. The Colonel was a little deaf, though he denied it hotly, and Blanche always slept with the bedcovers pulled up over her ears.

“What time did the Colonel go to the stables?” Lois asked gently.

“After breakfast. About eight o’clock. Never a lie-in for us!” Blanche seemed to be recovering, and even managed a small smile.

“No damage to the horses?”

“No, thank God. I immediately thought of those wicked people who cut horses, but ours were just frightened. And they
were
frightened, Mrs. Meade. Very jumpy and nervous.”

“Do you think it had been in the early morning, then? Not long before you got up?” Lois knew very little about horses.

Blanche shook her head. “Difficult to say. If something upsets them, they take a long while to settle down.”

The sound of the Colonel’s car returning sent Blanche scuttling upstairs, and Lois quickly rinsed out the cups and put them away. She was on her way to start on the bedrooms when he came storming into the hall. “Ah!” he said. “Mrs. Meade. Just the person. You go to lots of houses in the village, don’t you? Can you throw any light on this tragic business?” He seemed confident that she knew all about it.

Lois shook her head. “I am sorry for you, and for the horses,” she said. “But I only know there’s been rumours about stable thefts, and my husband actually saw a stranger
making off with a saddle on one of the farms where he was working. He chased, but didn’t catch him. The farmer was out, but when he came back, he didn’t seem too bothered. Didn’t want the police told. So Derek hasn’t done nothing about it.”

“Send your husband to see me,” the Colonel said. Lois frowned.

“I’ll ask him,” she said, “but he’s very busy just now. I must get on,” she added, and went upstairs, aware of a boiling Colonel behind her. But he said no more, and so she started work.

*   *   *

“W
HERE HAVE YOU BEEN, DEAR?”
B
LANCHE SAID TENTATIVELY
at lunch.

“When? Been here for hours.” The Colonel’s appetite had not been affected by the disaster, and he lined up peas and carrots as if they were on parade, in order to dismiss them with relish.

“But earlier,” persisted Blanche. “You went out in the car.”

“Ah, that. Just went into the village to find Darren. Thought he might know something.”

“You didn’t frighten him, I hope, dear,” Blanche said.

“Frighten him? Of course not! In any case, he wasn’t there. The neighbour said he’d gone shopping with his mother on the bus to Tresham. I’ll talk to him later. He comes here tomorrow, doesn’t he? I’ll leave it until then. See what the police say first.”

Blanche stood up suddenly. “Horace! It’s them. The police have just driven in. Shall I go to the door?”

“Certainly not. I’ll go at once. Trust them to come at lunchtime.” He strode out of the room, and Blanche heard the front door open and then loud voices. Well, one loud voice and two reasonable ones. She heard them go into the drawing room, and the door shut behind them. So that’s that. I might as well creep to the kitchen and wash up, she thought.

But she misjudged the police. After a while, Horace
came steaming back in, and said, “Come along, Blanche. They want to talk to you, though I can’t think why. It was I who discovered the burglary, after all. Still, they insist, so come now. And take that apron off! They’ll think you’re the scullery maid! What was that?” he added sharply.

“Nothing,” said Blanche, “nothing at all.”