Secrets on Saturday (32 page)

“Thank you,” Lois said. “I’ll be off then. I don’t want to interrupt you when you’re busy.” She turned to go, but Miss Beasley put up her hand.

“Don’t be in such a hurry!” she said. “I thought of something that would interest you, and now I can’t call it to mind. Bill,” she added, “make your boss a cup of coffee …” She turned to Lois and said, “That’ll give me time to remember. Pull up a chair.”

Crumbs, thought Lois, what did I do right? But she obediently sat down, hoping that Ivy’s memory would concern William Cox. Time passed. Ten minutes later, they were still exchanging trivialities about village affairs, and Lois said, “I really must get round to see Ellen now. It’s been nice talking to you.”

“Hold on,” said Ivy. “It’s coming back to me. Yes … it was about that sister of Ellen’s. Poor silly Martha. I remember it was the talk of the village at the time. When she died, I mean. They had a girl working for them at the farm, a cross between char and housekeeper. Martha was so useless, and spent a lot of time in Tresham, meeting old friends and spending William’s money. So this girl was there several days a week. Lived in the village, at the pub. She was the daughter of the people running it at that time. There was talk, of course, everybody knowing William’s reputation! Then she left suddenly, and disappeared. The pub people said she’d got a job in Essex, but we never saw her again. Shortly after that, Martha began to sicken, and it wasn’t long before we were following her coffin to the church. Thought you’d like to know,” she added, “because I wasn’t born yesterday, Mrs. Meade, and I know what you’re still up to. Right. Tell Ellen I’ll be down with Doris to see her later. Bill! Show Mrs. Meade out, there’s a good lad.”

At the door, Lois couldn’t resist. “Bye, my good lad,” she said, and walked swiftly down the path.

She sat in her car for a few minutes, thinking over what Ivy had just said. A girl from the pub. That publican and his family would have gone long since. But Ellen might remember them. Lois started her engine and drove slowly round the corner and up the lane to The Lodge.

“S
O WHAT IS IT THIS TIME
?” I
VY SAID TO
B
ILL
. “S
HE
’
S
much too nosey, your Mrs. Meade. Still, if it helps solve some unpleasant mystery, then I’m prepared to help. I know it’s to do with William Cox and his poor wife, but what exactly?”

Bill shook his head. “No idea, Miss Beasley,” he said truthfully. “Mrs. Meade doesn’t confide in me about private matters like that.”

“Nonsense!” Ivy actually grinned. “I know New Brooms’ team are all on the snoop. Ideally placed, in and out of people’s houses. Still, I won’t ask you again. I’ll
mind my own business, as always.” This, coming from Ringford’s arch-gossip, was rich, and Bill went back to finish the little bathroom with a smile on his face.

B
Y THE TIME
L
OIS HAD PARKED IN THE ENTRANCE TO
a field, bumping over the ruts and hoping her van would stand up to it, the rain had eased off. There was a fine drizzle now, and she stepped smartly over to the Lodge, avoiding puddles and heaps of horse manure. More horses than people in Ringford, she knew, and not too particular where they dropped their dollops. She reached the arched front door, and before she could knock, Ellen stood there, smiling broadly. “I thought it was you, making a fist of parking over there,” she said.

“Is that all the thanks I get for turning out in the storm to come and see you?” Lois was smiling too. Ellen laughed her fruity laugh, and, taking Lois by the hand, drew her into the dark little sitting room. Lois lowered her into a chair. “Now, you sit down, Ellen, and I’ll make us a cup of tea.”

“Coffee for me, please,” said Ellen, and relaxed in her usual armchair. Lois knew that she could not be feeling quite herself, otherwise she would have objected violently to anyone using her kitchen. “There’s cake in the tins!” Ellen shouted. “People have been and brought me so much cake I could set up a stall at the Bring and Buy all by myself!”

Lois returned in a few minutes with coffee and cake, and sat down. “So, you’ve had visitors. That’s nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s nice when Doris Ashbourne comes,” Ellen said, “but not so good when Ivy hobbles down with her. That woman could fill the cemetery single-handed. Talk about depressed! If you weren’t suicidal before she arrived, you certainly would be by the time she went!”

“I’ve just been to see her,” Lois said. “She and Doris are coming down later to see you’re all right. Something to look forward to …”

Ellen grimaced. “Thanks for the good news,” she said. “But let’s forget them. How are you, me dear, and that lovely family of yours. How’s your Josie getting on in the shop?”

“Fine. She loves it, and my mother helps out a lot. It’s the gossip that
she
loves. Still, it means Josie can go off to the warehouse, and do some deliveries. It’s hard work, running a shop. And with the post office too, she never has a minute to herself.” Lois paused, and Ellen nodded but didn’t speak. Another sign that she was still not quite tickety-boo. “But Josie doesn’t seem to mind. I must say, I like a girl who’s not afraid of hard work. They’re a bit rare these days, not like old times when all the family had to buckle to and bring in some money.”

“Well, I certainly did,” Ellen said, following Lois’s trail. “I was a kitchen maid at fourteen. Lowest of the low, dealing with anything from spilled soup to cockroaches. Now, my sister, she was altogether different. Martha got this idea she was a lady, and wouldn’t soil ‘er lily-white hands! She wasn’t the slave she let people think she was.”

“But on the farm she must have helped?”

Ellen laughed. “Hated the smell of cows and getting ‘er feet wet. And she was forever telling the men to leave their muddy boots outside. Well, you know what farmers are, and William Cox was no different. They ‘ad row after row, and Martha would go to what she called her ‘sewing room,’ though she never did any sewing, and sit and sulk. Eventually they got a girl from the pub to help out, but that made things worse, ‘im bein’ what he was.”

“What happened to the girl?”

“God knows,” Ellen said. “She was no better than she should be, and worked in the bar at the pub in the evenings. Got what she deserved, I dare say.”

“And what was that?” said Lois, holding her breath.

“What they all get,” Ellen said. “A bun in the oven. And served her right. Her mum and dad were respectable people, and they sent her away. Never saw her
again, though they missed her in the bar! The men did, anyway.”

“Do you remember her name? Do her parents still live in the village?”

Ellen shook her head. “No, they moved away when they retired. It’s a while ago now, and I can’t remember the name. I wasn’t one for going to the pub … I wouldn’t have minded, but girls didn’t go to the pub at all in those days.” She frowned, in an effort to recall the publican and his wife. “I tell you who might know,” she said, brightening. “Doris Ashbourne. She’s got a memory like an elephant. Ankles like one, too!”

Ellen’s roars of laughter gladdened Lois’s heart, and she remembered what she had primarily come for. “Now then, Ellen,” she said. “I’ve been thinking, and for a few weeks I’ve arranged for Sheila Stratford—you know her well—to come in an extra couple of mornings a week to tidy you up and do any jobs you need doing. Just ‘til you’re better,” she added, seeing thunderclouds gather.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t afford that, and you know it. I shall manage very well with them women from Social Services, and our Doris and Ivy. They come for free!”

“And so will Sheila,” Lois said firmly, rising to her feet. “No arguments, Ellen. Sheila’s looking forward to it. You two’ll have lots of memories of the villagers to talk about. No, don’t get up. I’ll rinse these through, and then I’m off. I’ll pop in again soon, and see whether you’re being good.”

Ellen opened her mouth to object, but then it turned into a yawn, and she realized she was tired. It was very nice of Lois, and she might as well give way, for once. “By the way,” she said in a sleepy voice, “if you see William Cox, ask
him
the name of that girl. He’ll remember all right.”

W
ILLIAM
C
OX HAD WOKEN UP AT DAWN
,
AND IN
the clear light looked sleepily around the room, seeing the familiar cobwebs on the ceiling, the patches of damp destroying the wallpaper. One of the patches was in the shape of a pig’s head … no, it was more like a badger, with its piggy snout and long face. He wondered what was happening in his woods. Was Reg still operating his nice little earner, taking fees from bloodthirsty lowlife who wanted a bit of sport? Funny how most of them came from towns and cities. Their idea of country life, maybe? No, they just liked killing, seeing animals fighting, tortured and suffering.

His eyes wandered on round the room, but suddenly he looked back at the badger’s head. Now he was not seeing the damp, but under the buckled wallpaper the outline of a door. He got out of bed and went over to the corner where he ran his hands over the unmistakeable outline of a door. The floor was cold, and he returned to pull on his grubby, now smelly, clothes and shoes. He looked around the room. It was too early to rouse Bert. On the rickety table under the window he found one of the pencils Bert had unearthed. With the sharpened end, he pushed it round the door outline, cutting easily through the sodden wallpaper, and tore away soggy strips to reveal, as he’d hoped, a door. His heart sank when he saw a keyhole with no key. But when he turned the handle it opened immediately. A blast of musty air hit him, and he backed away.
After a few gulps, he returned and peered in. It was pitch dark, and he could see nothing.

“Bill?” It was Bert, walking bleary-eyed into the room. “I heard you moving … what the hell is that?”

“What it looks like. Another room. But it was papered over. I’ve looked in, but can see bugger-all.”

Herbert put his head inside the musty darkness, and stayed there for a few minutes until his eyes adjusted. “There’s a window over there,” he said. “At least, I can see a window frame, but it’s been bricked up. We’d better find a light.”

William didn’t move. “I know what it is,” he said. “My grandmother used to have a room like this in her old house. The dark chamber, they used to call it. Been bricked up at the time of the window tax. They used to put all kinds of junk in there, and when she died we found things from a hundred or more years ago.

“Right,” said Herbert, unimpressed. “Well, if we’re going to find hidden treasure, we’d better find a light. Come on. No good standing there shivering.”

They went downstairs fast, too fast for William, who slipped and ended up on the bottom step on his rump. He struggled painfully to his feet, and Bert took one look at him and walked over to put on the kettle. “We’ll have a spot of breakfast first,” he said. “Plenty of time. That’s the one thing we
have
got plenty of.”

O
UTSIDE IN THE THICKET
,
EYES WATCHED THE FIGURE
at the window. It was very early, and Reg had not expected the old codgers to be about. The dog was not out yet, either. This could be a good thing, he reckoned, stroking the cool metal of the gun in his pocket. He had decided it was time they were back under his care, after all. That old Everitt was too resourceful, and might even have spotted him. He had planned to take them by surprise when they were still in bed, but this could be a better way. Once he saw that Everitt was dressed, he could grab them and force them back to their luxury apartments
at gun point. Nobody would be about at this hour, and they’d be up and ready to go without hanging about.

Half an hour passed, and he reckoned it was safe to move.

F
RANCES
W
ALLIS WAS ALSO UP EARLY
. S
HE HAD HEARD
Reg leaving the house at least an hour ago, and although it was only a chilly dawn light, she had been unable to get back to sleep. She’d tried the bedside radio, very low so that she could hardly hear it. This usually did the trick, especially if it was some boring programme about world economics. Radio 4 did not kick in until five thirty, and up until then the BBC World Service brought news to and from far-away places. Fine for people on night shifts, and excellent for insomniacs.

Downstairs in the kitchen there were no traces of Reg. He must have gone out without so much as a cup of tea. What was it this time? Some nasty, secret errand. God, how she disliked him, even if he was her half-brother! She put on the kettle and turned to find milk in the fridge. The doorbell rang, and she froze. Who on earth? She put out all the lights, and then crept into the dining room to peer from behind the net curtains. It was Shorty. She didn’t know his real name, and didn’t want to. Backing quickly out of sight, her heart beating fast, she retreated to the stairs. Reg had locked up securely, she was sure of that. All she needed to do was get back into bed, and Shorty would go away.

He didn’t. He rang the bell and kept his finger on it. Frances put her fingers in her ears and pulled the bed covers over her head. The shrill bell penetrated, even so. Well, the battery would run out sooner or later. Then it stopped, and she heard Shorty’s footsteps on the gravelled drive. But he was only going round to the back of the house, and she heard banging and crunching as he pulled a ladder out of the garden shed.