Secrets on Saturday (18 page)

I should be trying to get out of here, he told himself, but even as the thought went through his mind, his eyelids closed and he slumped on to his bed and began to snore. He dreamed, and the dream developed into a nightmare. He was in the woods, woods he’d known since a child, but he was lost and couldn’t find his way out. Men were chasing him, brandishing sticks, and he and his old dog were slowing up. Finally they stopped and were caught. He was forced to watch as they began to beat Rosie until she collapsed on the ground. Then they advanced on him, and he awoke screaming. He was sweating, although the room was chilly. The door opened a crack, and a man’s voice said, “Did you call, Mr. Cox?” The door shut again, and everywhere was silent. He was just drifting back to sleep when he heard a distinct tap on the wall next to his ear. He was awake instantly. The tap came again, and this time it was followed by two more taps. William, suddenly awake, succeeded in a wobbly attempt to get up, and was able to pick up a metal mug
from the table. He held it carefully and tapped sharply on the wall. Then twice more.

If he could have seen Herbert Everitt’s joyful expression, he would have wept with relief. All that time in the village Scout troop, learning tracking and Morse code, wouldn’t be wasted after all. So Herbert had been a Boy Sprout too. Maybe they had other things in common, like wondering what the hell all this was about.

I
T WAS A BEAUTIFUL MORNING
,
HIGH WHITE CLOUDS
scudding along in a clear blue sky. Child’s picture-book morning, thought Floss, as she sat next to Lois driving to Dallyn Hall. She smiled, thinking she was nearer to childhood than the rest of New Brooms’ cleaners. But she loved the work, the variety of it, and the satisfaction of leaving a client’s home clean and fresh for them. Most were friendly and grateful, but Dallyn Hall was different. It was more professional. They were hired as a team, and apart from the sniffy manageress, who ridiculously gave herself the title of Director of Hotel Services, there was unlikely to be an opportunity to get to know anyone else. The hotel staff kept themselves to themselves, and Mrs. M was not keen on getting too close to them anyway. “We’re here to do a job,” she’d explained to Floss, “and we do it and then leave.”

Floss’s father had begun to drop hints about “proper jobs” again, but the longer she worked for Mrs. M, the less she thought about looking for other careers. And the idea of going anywhere too far away from Ben was too painful to contemplate. Now that he was accepted by the
family—which meant by her father—she had relaxed, and their relationship had blossomed.

As they drew into the staff car park, Lois suddenly braked hard, put the van into reverse and backed dangerously out on to the narrow road that led across the park to the Hall. She got quickly out of the car and shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand. “Are you looking for something?” Floss said, coming to stand beside her.

“Did you see that car pull out as we came in?” Lois sounded breathless.

Floss shook her head. “Didn’t really notice,” she said. “Is it that one, just past the church? Looks like he’s stopping.” They could just see a figure setting off from the car and disappearing in the direction of the lake. “Taken short, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Floss, laughing. “Come on, Mrs. M, else we’ll be late, and Her Majesty the Director of Hotel Services will give us the boot.”

All morning, as they cleaned bathrooms, hoovered carpets, opened windows to let out the smell of cigarette smoke, and binned evidence of whoopee the previous night, Lois thought about the car. She was certain it was Reg Abthorpe’s old banger, and wondered how she could find out what he was doing at Dallyn Hall, and why he always seemed to be disappearing every time she glimpsed him. As she gathered up cleaning materials and walked with Floss towards the car park, she felt certain now that he did not live miles away in Suffolk, but not all that far from Long Farnden itself.

“They’ve really extended this place, haven’t they, Mrs. M?” Floss said chattily. “I suppose the conversions over there were stables once.”

“And barns,” Lois replied, and as she said this she looked more closely across the stable yard which was now the car park. “Some of those store rooms over there would have been for hay and straw, I expect,” she said.

“Must have been lovely in the old days,” Floss said.

“Lovely for some,” Lois replied. “The nobs who lived in the Hall, anyway. Not so good for the servants at the mercy of their masters.”

“Well,” Floss said, “we could say the same about us and our Director of Hotel Services.”

Lois laughed now, and they got into the van. She started up and was away quickly, but by the time they reached the path leading to the lake, there was no sign of the red car. Not surprising, really. Reg was unlikely to hang about all morning. Lois was silent, trying to work out what Reg could possibly have been doing at Dallyn Hall. It was a smart hotel, and the prices were high, relying on corporate hospitality and rich holiday-makers from all over the world. It was in all the lists of most luxurious hotels, and the cars in the guests’ car park proved it.

“Never seen so many fancy cars,” said Floss. “Where do they all come from?”

“God knows,” said Lois, not concentrating. “And anyway, the one I’m interested in is an old banger, colour red. Belongs to the man handling old Mr. Everitt’s affairs. This bloke in the red car claims to be his nephew, but it all looks a bit dodgy. Keep your ear to the ground, Floss, and let me know if you hear anything interesting on the subject.”

“Thought we weren’t meant to gossip?” Floss said. She was still too new to anticipate Lois’s wrath.

“Don’t you quote rules and regs to me, young lady!” Lois sat ramrod straight, and was silent for a moment. Then she turned and smiled. “OK, point taken,” she said, “but what I ask is in the line of duty. New Brooms is cleaning the old man’s house, and I like to know exactly what’s going on with my clients. If there is something dodgy, the last thing I want is to have the business involved.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll let you know,” Floss said, as Lois dropped her outside her house. Once out on the pavement, she leaned back through the window and said, “Oh, by the way, Mrs. M, any chance of taking Ben on as a cleaner in a temporary capacity? He’s still applying for jobs in IT, but needs to earn some money. He’s quite keen.”

“Ah,” said Lois. She wasn’t too happy about temporary cleaners. They generally let her down, and departed for good without warning. “I’ll think about it, Floss, and maybe get in touch with him. See you later, then.” She drove off home, her thoughts momentarily deflected from Reg Abthorpe to the possibility of another male cleaner. She’d had two in the life of the business. First Gary, whom she’d liked, but who had left her under a cloud. Then Bill Stockbridge, still with her, and a tower of strength. But now that he was expecting a baby—or rather, Rebecca was—he might well decide to get a better paid full-time job. Some clients were happier with a male cleaner, and Lois was reluctant to send the girls to one or two of her clients.

“I’ve decided to give Ben Cullen a try as a temporary cleaner,” she said conversationally to Gran. It was a good idea to mention things to Gran, as she nearly always had something useful to contribute, mostly gleaned from her sessions as shop assistant.

“Goodness gracious!” Gran said. “He’s only a boy. And anyway, does he
want
to be a cleaner?” Lois explained, and Gran said nothing for a while. Then she set down a plate of salad in front of Lois and said, “Well, he’s a nice, clean, polite boy. And you could do a lot worse. But take my advice, which, of course, you won’t, but don’t send Ben and Floss together to the same job. Like to Mrs. T-J, for instance. I know you send in two now and then for big occasions. But you’ll never know what’s going on in them empty bedrooms and long corridors!”

Lois laughed. “For heavens sake, Mum! They’d know better than to waste New Brooms’ time snogging, and if they don’t know, I’ll soon tell them. No, it’s really whether I want a temporary chap or not.”

“Give him a try,” Gran said. “You can always say it’s not working. What’s more,” she added darkly, “he does live opposite where poor Herbert lived, and might be a useful lookout for you and your copper. And don’t deny that anything’s afoot, because your husband and me
know all the signs. Now, it’s time for me to catch the bus. I’m going over to Ringford to visit Ivy Beasley. I met her at WI last month, and she invited me for a cup of tea.”

“Better wear protective clothing, then,” Lois said with a straight face. “She’s known to be a right battling Bessie. She’ll gobble you up if you upset her.”

Gran drew herself up. “I don’t intend to upset her,” she said. “I’m taking her some shortbread I made yesterday. Now, I must be off.”

“Cheers, Mum. Give the old bat my love—no, on second thoughts, give her my respectful greetings. That’ll do. Bye.”

Lois went into her office and looked at the diary. She was picking up Josie to visit Ellen Biggs, but before that she might give Ben a ring, and make a date to see him. She dialled his number, but got the answer phone, and so left a message asking him to call.

T
WO STATELY HOMES IN ONE DAY
! F
LOSS DROVE
round the back of Farnden Hall and parked in front of the stable block. She went over to greet the black mare who snickered in return, nuzzling in Floss’s palm for the usual Polo mint. What a nice friendly old girl, Floss thought. She hadn’t ridden for a while, but had enjoyed it when she was still at pony-girl age.

“Ponies out, boys in,” she muttered to herself, before turning and making for the back door of the house. It opened before she got there, and Mrs. Tollervey-Jones stood unsmiling on the doorstep.

“It is really not very convenient to have you here this
afternoon,” she said. “Still, now you’re here, you’d better get on with it. I hope this is not going to be a regular occurrence.”

Floss did not say that she did exactly as she was told, and had no idea if mornings, afternoons or evenings were what Mrs. M had in mind. Instead, she said pleasantly, “What a nice old mare you’ve got there, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones.” Why couldn’t the woman be Mrs. Jones? It was such a mouthful every time. Still, at least her change of subject had produced a chilly smile.

“Ah, yes, the old queen, we call her. Her name’s Victoria, and I’ve had her for years. Only horse left in the stables now. I’m too old to do much, and Queenie and I move at about the same pace.”

“Nonsense!” said Floss daringly. “I’ve never seen anyone as active as you, Mrs …. um … Jones.”

“Tollervey-Jones,” was the sharp reply. “And now we must get on. I have a meeting in Tresham at three, so I have to trust you to let yourself out when you’ve finished. Make sure you lock up securely. Houseful of treasures here. It really is most inconvenient,” she added, and strode away.

Still, a nice girl, that, Mrs. T-J considered, as she fetched her papers and handbag. Superior to the usual run of cleaners. Must find out a bit more about her.
And
, as far as she could tell, the girl was good at the job. I just hope she leaves the place secure, she said to herself as she drove off down the drive.

Meanwhile, Floss was singing softly to herself as she began work. Downstairs first, then up on the first floor. On the top floor, there were servants’ bedrooms, dark and tiny under the eaves, but Mrs. T-J had told her not to bother with those every week. Once every couple of months was enough. They were never used now, except by spiders and mice.

Floss moved into the entrance hall. She loved it, with its large black and white tiles like a gigantic chess board, good as new after she’d dealt with them. She admired the long windows, with damask drapes, looking over the
park, sparkling in the sun. The ceiling was covered in elaborate plasterwork, and Floss took advantage of being alone in the house to look up at the scrolls and cherubs and roses, until her neck ached. Fancy owning a house like this, she thought. Ah well, if I marry Ben, the best I’ll do is a house in Blackberry Gardens, or similar. Still, I’d rather have Ben than any son of Mrs. T-J! Imagine her as my mother-in-law … Her gaze was interrupted by the line of trophies, dusty and moth-eaten, all down the side of one wall.