Bella stumbled out of the woods and back to the village. Instead of heading for Jayne’s, she staggered to the police house and knocked on the door. Stan opened it. Tufty recognised her and hurled himself at her.
“Ah, Mrs Jenkins,” said Stan, his mouth full of sandwich. “Excuse me, just having a snack.”
“That’s okay,” said Bella, uncharacteristically ignoring the dog’s welcome. Her face was pale and she held onto the door jamb for support. “I’ve just come from the woods. I… I think I’ve killed Christine Dayton.”
Stan acted quickly. He guided Bella by the elbow, steering her inside.
“Mrs Jenkins, come in and sit down. When you’re ready, you can tell me what’s happened.”
Bella sank into the chair he offered and sat silently staring at her feet for a long time. Then she spoke. There was no expression in her voice.
“I was going to Sixpenny Woods to set some young rabbits free, and I met up with Christine. I suggested we climb the Wishing Rock, for old time’s sake, and so we did. When we were at the top, I pushed her. She fell, and I heard her head hit the rock on the way down.”
PC Cooper stared at her, then grabbed his helmet from the rack.
“Are you sure she was dead?”
Bella nodded dumbly, her eyes devoid of expression.
Stan’s mind raced.
“Mrs Jenkins, I need you to do something for me. I need you to stay here and don’t move until I get back. Can you do that?”
Bella nodded again.
“I’ll wait,” she said, her hand on Tufty’s head.
Stan leaned his bicycle against a tree and hurried to the Wishing Rock. A few autumn leaves had already settled on the body on the ground. He noted Bella’s abandoned pet carrier set down close by.
It wasn’t necessary, but duty made him lift Christine’s wrist and check for a pulse. There was none. Without disturbing any possible evidence, he checked her pockets, finding nothing but a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a flick knife and a train ticket stub.
He didn’t hurry. He sat down on a tree stump and removed his policeman’s helmet. A squirrel ran up a nearby tree, its tail twitching as though annoyed by the policeman’s presence. But Stan didn’t see it. As he cradled his helmet in his hands, he was thinking hard. He stayed in that position for a long time before he finally stood, replaced his helmet and picked up the pet carrier. With a last glance at the body, he marched over to his bicycle and climbed back on. Steering wasn’t easy with the pet carrier held in one hand, but Stan wobbled his way back home without mishap.
Stan hung his helmet back on the rack and turned to face Bella in the chair. Her face was tear-streaked and almost as white as the corpse lying in the woods.
“Did you find her?”
“I did.”
“Are you going to arrest me now?”
“No, Mrs Jenkins, I’m not.”
Bella looked at him.
“Why not?” she whispered.
He sat down in the chair facing her and leaned forward, speaking quietly and deliberately.
“Here’s what I think, Mrs Jenkins, and I don’t want you to say anything. You see, I think I know what happened today. I’ve suspected it for a long time, but of course I had no proof. Christine Dayton was always jealous of you, wasn’t she?”
Bella opened her mouth but Stan raised his palm.
“No need to answer, Mrs Jenkins. I think Christine was behind that business when your father’s brake cable was cut, am I right? Don’t answer… And she stole your bicycle, didn’t she? I expect she carried out countless nasty deeds, but you never reported her. But then she went too far. Christine Dayton set fire to your house, Mrs Jenkins, didn’t she?”
Bella buried her face in her hands. She was sobbing.
“I thought so,” he said gently. “Today, as the pair of you sat on the top of the Wishing Rock, she told you what she’d done.”
“She could have killed Red,” Bella moaned. “I was so furious, I pushed her!”
“Now here’s what I’m going to do,” said Stan, ignoring her outburst. “I’m going to file a report. It will state that you were in the woods releasing young rabbits and found Christine dead at the bottom of the Wishing Rock, and that’s all. It’s obvious that she climbed the rock and fell from the top.”
“But why would you do that?” Bella stammered through her tears.
“Because, Mrs Jenkins, if you hadn’t pushed her, I believe she would have killed you. The world is probably a better place without Christine Dayton and what’s done is done and can’t be undone. That’s my final word. I don’t think we ever need to talk about what happened today again, Mrs Jenkins.”
20
The people at the Fire Brigade carried out numerous tests, little one, but they never discovered the cause of the fire at Bella’s house. Most people believed it must have been some kind of electrical fault.
Christine Dayton was dead, and the coroner declared it ‘death by misadventure’. She was given a council funeral in Yewbridge. They couldn’t trace her parents, or her older sister, Mary. Only four people attended the funeral, and I don’t believe they did it out of any fondness for Christine.
PC Stan Cooper, Bella, Red, and my very good friend, Jayne Fairweather, listened as the priest said a few words and the coffin disappeared behind the curtains to be cremated.
Red was lucky the smoke inhalation hadn’t done his lungs any permanent damage. He became a very respected inventor and earned a good living. The couple were able to rent a little house with a garden in Bristol where they stayed while Bella continued her studies at the university. Of course Sadie went with them. Hattie had passed away peacefully from old age a few months before.
When Bella qualified as a veterinary surgeon, she joined the team at the Animal Hospital in Yewbridge, the same one that had saved Hattie so many years before.
I’m pleased to say that Red stayed sober. Bella occasionally popped into the Dew Drop Inn, but only to stroke Scout, the cat that Angus McDonald had adopted from her.
As Scout lay on his back enjoying a tummy rub, two figures sat beside the fire, engrossed in a game of dominoes. They were regulars, almost part of the pub’s fixtures and fittings.
They were known as the Captain and Sixpence, and the next time I watch over you, little one, I’ll tell you their story.
Yes, C is for the Captain, but the story of the Captain and Sixpence isn’t a pretty tale, my dear, so I’ll wait until you’re fast asleep before I begin.
June Tait’s Cinnamon Hazelnut Biscotti
“We’re going to miss you, Bella,” her mother said. “Make some space on the table, I’ve made a plate of hazelnut biscotti to celebrate.”
Ingredients
¾ cup butter
1 cup white sugar
2 eggs
1½ teaspoons vanilla extract
2½ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
¾ teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
I cup of roughly chopped hazelnuts
Method
Preheat oven to 175℃ or 350℉. Grease a cookie sheet or line with parchment paper.
In a medium bowl, cream together butter and sugar until light and fluffy.
Beat in eggs and vanilla.
Sift together the flour, cinnamon, baking powder, and salt; mix into the egg mixture.
Stir in the hazelnuts.
Shape dough into two equal logs approximately 30cm or 12 inches long.
Place logs on baking sheet, and flatten out to about ½ inch thickness.
Bake for about 30 minutes in preheated oven, or until the edges are golden and the centre is firm.
Remove from oven to cool.
When the loaves are cool enough to handle, use a serrated knife to slice the loaves diagonally into ½ inch thick slices.
Return the slices to the baking sheet.
Bake for an additional 10 minutes, turning over once.
Cool comple
tely, and store in an airtight container at room temperature.
C is for the Captain
Sixpenny Cross 3
Ageing bachelors, the Captain and Sixpence, have always been inseparable. Then Babs, the new barmaid, begins work at the Dew Drop Inn.
1
Dream on, little one, and I’ll put another log on the fire. I do so love to watch the orange flames flickering. Nothing is more welcoming than a real fire, so much nicer than those new-fangled electric things. It’s a great pity, but nowadays not many people can be bothered with fireplaces in their homes.
If you asked me, I would say that the best fireplace in Sixpenny Cross is in the saloon of the Dew Drop Inn. I’ve seen the logs stacked up in the yard, higher than my shoulder. Everybody knows they can pop in and warm themselves by a blazing fire on a frosty winter’s evening. The pub is hundreds of years old, and the fireplace has inglenooks on either side.
You are much too young to go in a pub, little one, and of course you won’t know what an inglenook is. So I’ll tell you. It’s the space either side of the hearth, roomy enough for bench seats in the Dew Drop. Those seats are always occupied by regular customers. The same old faces, day after day, month after month, year after year.
Why am I telling you this? Well, I promised to tell you the story of the Captain and Sixpence, and they always sat by the fire playing dominoes, happy in each other’s company. Greater friends I never saw. Nobody in Sixpenny Cross could have guessed what would happen to those two gentlemen. It’s a terrible story and I’m glad you are fast asleep, little one, so you’ll hear none of it.
Yes, C is for the Captain.
But wherever the Captain was, Sixpence wasn’t far behind.
2
Richard Edwards, heir to Sixpenny Manor, sat at his father’s bedside. The old man’s life was ebbing away and there was nothing his only son could do to prevent it. He cradled his father’s gnarled old hand between his own.
“The war changed all our lives,” quavered the old man. “Thank God, my boy, it ended without taking you away from us.”
“Yes, Father. Rest now, and try not to worry about anything.”
“You know that your mother and I are very proud of you. You came out of the army an officer, a captain. I’m quite sure you would have reached a higher rank had the war continued.”
“Well, thank goodness it didn’t. Too many lives were lost.”
Father and son lapsed into silence. The old man closed his eyes while his son watched over him. Then the dying man’s eyes opened again.
“Look after your mother, Richard, she’s very frail,” he said.
“Of course I will, Father.”
“I wish we’d given you brothers and sisters, but it wasn’t to be, I’m afraid. The responsibility now is all on your shoulders.”
“Don’t worry, Father. Just rest.”
“Son, find yourself a good woman to marry.”
Father and son smiled into each other’s eyes.
“I will, Father, and we’ll fill this house with babies and dogs!”
“Is that a promise?”
“It is!”
His father’s hand twitched once, and the smile still played on his lips as his heart finally stopped and his eyes clouded over.
The son sat motionless beside the bed, still holding his father’s hand, as the bedside clock ticked the minutes away. Eventually, even his loving clasp couldn’t keep the hand warm. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he bid his father a final farewell.
His mother, unable to cope with the loss of her cherished husband, soon joined him in Sixpenny Cross churchyard. Husband and wife lay side by side under the sun and stars, while their son was left to continue alone in the manor house.
It was 1951, and the Captain was thirty-one years old. A shy man at the best of times, he was discovering that being in sole charge of the manor house was too big a burden to bear.
His gregarious parents had actively participated in village events but their introverted son had avoided the limelight, preferring his own company to that of the village children. The situation was made worse when he was sent to a private boarding school, alienating him even more from the villagers.
Now, as the new squire of the manor house, his only visitor was the vicar, Thomas Ridsdale, who, having officiated at the funerals of Richard’s parents, hoped their son would continue where they had left off.
“Would you care to present the prizes at this year’s village fête, Captain? I’m sure the villagers would appreciate the gesture.”
“I think not, Vicar,” said the Captain, and the vicar didn’t ask again.
Richard’s days in the army had taught him how to issue orders but he didn’t understand the basics of running a large house. He was awkward with the servants, and although Mrs Anderson, the housekeeper, did her best, the house did not thrive.
His father was right. He needed a wife.
And he wasn’t going to find one in Sixpenny Cross.
A year had slipped by since his parents had passed away. Apart from the few remaining servants, he’d been rattling around alone in the Manor House and things needed to change. Something had to be done before it was too late. Soon, a plan began to formulate in his head.
“Mrs Anderson, I wonder if you’d mind joining me in the library in an hour. I have something rather important I wish to discuss with you,” he announced one day.
“Of course, Captain.”
Mrs Anderson had worked in the manor house for decades, and had known Richard since the day of his birth. Then she had addressed him as Master Richard but now, with the death of his father and as a mark of respect, addressed him as Captain.
She too had mourned the passing of the old squire, whom she had loved dearly, and now she stood in front of her employer in the library, anxious to hear what he had to say.
“Do sit down, Mrs Anderson, this won’t take long.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Mrs Anderson perched herself on the edge of a chair and smoothed her apron.
“How is your boy, Mrs Anderson?”
The Andersons’ son was actually a couple of years older than the Captain.
“We don’t hear from Peter very often, sir, thank you for asking, but he’s fine. When the war ended, he took a long time to find a job but he’s working up north now.”
“Not married?”
“No, sir. Not yet...”
The fact that the Captain, too, had not married, hung uncomfortably in the air between them.
She paused, waiting for him to continue. The Captain took a breath and resumed.
“Mrs Anderson, I’ve come to a decision. I’ve decided to live in London. I’m going to move into the family apartment in Kensington and shut this house down for the time being.”
Mrs Anderson gasped, a hand flying up to cover her mouth.
“Please don’t worry, Mrs Anderson! Let me explain. When I go, I’d very much like you and Mr Anderson to carry on living in the estate cottage. Of course I won’t need a housekeeper any longer, but I wondered if instead, you would take on the role of caretaker? The grounds will still need looking after, so I’ll still require your husband’s gardening skills. His job would hardly change.”
Mrs Anderson’s eyes had grown large as she absorbed this information.
“I… I…”
“Of course you and Mr Anderson must have some time to think about it,” the Captain hurried on, “but I would be most grateful if you would accept.”
“London?” asked Anderson, shock on his face.
“Yes! If you ask me, I reckon he’s going to look for a wife. He’s not going to find one round here, is he?”
“And we can just carry on livin’ here?”
“Yes. He said we could stay in this cottage for as long as we want. I’m to keep an eye on the house, and you’re to look after the grounds and gardens like you’ve always done. And if the work ever gets too much for us, he’ll hire some help, and if something needs fixing or mending, he’ll hi
re somebody from the village to do that.”
“Well! That sounds very decent!”
“Yes, it certainly does!”
“And how’s he goin’ to look after himself in London?”
“He’ll go to that Gentlemen’s Club to eat, the one his father was a member of.”
“No, I meant financially. Will he look for work in the city?”
“No! I know for a fact he’ll never need to work, his parents left him very secure. Mark my words, he won’t stay in London long. Some lady will snap him up and they’ll be back down here, ready to open up the house and start a family.”
“You could be right. It’ll be good to hear a bit of life in the old manor house again. I bet he’ll be back in no time.”
3
But time marched relentlessly on.
If the Andersons thought the Captain would easily find a wife in London, they were mistaken. And if the Captain imagined he would slip effortlessly into London life, he was wrong.
The greyness of London depressed him. An all-pervading fog seemed to permanently cloak the streets, and he missed the clear air of Sixpenny Cross. He experienced the ‘pea-souper’ fogs he’d heard so much about and didn’t enjoy them at all. Then, although the people of London were accustomed to thick fogs, worse was to come.
History was made in the December of 1952, following a spate of cold weather when folk burned more coal than usual to keep themselves warm. On a windless day, the pollution, combined with vehicle exhaust fumes, smoke from homes and industrial chimneys, was so bad, it blanketed the city.
The effects of the sulphur dioxide laden fog were deadly. At least 4,000 people died from respiratory problems, and 100,000 more were made ill. Traffic ground to a standstill because there was no visibility, and the Captain had to walk to his Club with outstretched hands, unable to see anything beyond a few feet ahead. The Great Smog of London lasted for five days. Then the weather changed and breezes arrived which swept the pollution away.
The Sixpenny Cross Collection Page 16