The Sixpenny Cross Collection

by Victoria Twead

  The thought made him tremble almost uncontrollably but also warmed him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

  15

  At the pub that night, conversation centred around the discovery of the unexploded shell. Dorset had been a major target during the second world war and, years later, the discovery of unexploded bombs was a common occurrence.

  The bomb disposal unit arrived from nearby Bovington. They removed the bomb and then conducted a thorough search of the village green. All the cottages skirting the village green, including the pub and post office, were evacuated. Many hours later, the area was declared safe and everyone was allowed back.

  When the Captain entered the pub, a cheer went up.

  “Pour that man a drink!” shouted Archie Draper. “If it wasn’t for him, the fête wouldn’t be going ahead tomorrow.”

  Hands clapped the Captain’s back.

  “No, no,” he protested, awkward as always, “it’s nothing.”

  The Captain was too socially inept to interact easily with the villagers, even though he had known most of them all his life. The attention was too much for him, and he soon left, having only enjoyed the briefest of glimpses of his love behind the bar.

  Never mind, he told himself, I must be patient. Soon Barbara and I will be together for ever.

  Early the next morning, the stall-holders began to arrive, and the Captain observed the activity from the drawing room window. True to his word, the vicar arrived and hung No Entry, and Private notices on all the manor house doors, and on the gate into the walled garden.

  On the outer lawns, a coconut shy was erected, as well as a skittle alley and a hoopla stall. Cloths were flung over tables, and posters and placards fixed up proclaiming “Guess the weight of the cake” and “How many sweets in the jar?” A tombola appeared, and also a ‘Test your strength’ machine.

  A long, thick rope was laid on the ground in readiness for the tug-of-war, and vans began to arrive that would serve burgers, popcorn and candyfloss. An inflatable bouncy castle began to pulse and raise itself from the ground as air was pumped into it.

  Unseen, the Captain watched it all.

  Blast it, Sixpence! he couldn’t help thinking. You would have enjoyed all this!

  But then he remembered Barbara, and the way her soft hand felt in his.

  Villagers began arriving carrying cake tins, jam and pickle jars, vegetables, fruit, flowers and all manner of produce. They disappeared into the marquee to set up their entries on the tables, ready for judging.

  Somebody else would win the Best Rose competition this year, while Sixpence’s prize roses would be left to wilt and rot unseen within the walled garden.

  Suddenly, the Captain felt an overwhelming urge to see his lady love.

  He looked at his watch. It was one o’clock and the pub would remain open until two. Plenty of time. He could walk down to the Dew Drop and order himself a Ploughman’s Lunch from the menu. A good slice of thick, crusty bread with cheese and pickle and a salad garnish would make a nice change for lunch. And he could feast his eyes on Barbara, even if she was busy.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he had visited the Dew Drop at lunchtime. The thought of surprising Barbara put a little spring in his step and his heart raced faster as he locked the house and headed towards the pub.

  He didn’t hear the telephone in the hall ringing.

  PC Stan Cooper was uneasy. The Captain wasn’t answering his telephone.

  “He’s probably in the grounds, watching the preparations for the fête,” his wife, Sally, said. “I wouldn’t worry.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that’s what it is. I’m going to walk over there soon anyway, those raffle tickets won’t sell themselves.”

  He and Sally had been discussing the Captain’s obvious passion for Babs. Both had agreed that, although the Dew Drop’s barmaid hadn’t broken any laws, it was probably wise to tell the Captain what they had discovered about her.

  “It’s for his own protection,” said Sally.

  “I don’t think he’ll take it very well,” said Stan, shaking his head. “He’s not really a man of the world.”

  “I think you have to warn him,” said Sally. “Imagine if the manor house was broken into, or worse, and you’d known about her and her husband all the time. You’d never forgive yourself!”

  “No, you’re right. I must have a chat with him, man to man, and sooner rather than later.”

  Outside the Dew Drop Inn, wide red parasols advertising beers shaded wooden tables. People were seated enjoying cold drinks and pub snacks.

  Even before the Captain entered the pub, he heard laughter ringing out through the door that had been flung open to let in the summer breezes. He smiled, recognising her voice mingling with others.

  Always the life and soul of the party, he thought fondly. So unlike me! Whatever does she see in me?

  He stepped into the pub and stood still, scanning the interior, his eyes adjusting to the dark, eager to see her. The hilarity he had heard emanated from one particular table.

  And Babs was at the centre of it.

  Three men sat round the table, drinking and laughing. A fourth man had Babs perched on his knee, her back to the Captain. The man’s arm encircled her waist.

  The Captain froze.

  “Go on,” the man begged, “one more kiss and I’ll buy you another drink.”

  “Just one, then,” Babs exclaimed and landed a long kiss on the man’s waiting lips. “There you go!” she shrieked, and threw back her head, filling the pub with peals of laughter.

  The men were all cheering and raising their glasses, but the Captain had seen enough. He turned and blundered out of the pub, past the outside tables, in the direction of the manor house.

  Images flashed through his head, so vivid that they almost blinded him, making him stumble as he headed home.

  Barbara.

  Barbara flirting with men.

  Barbara kissing another man.

  Margaret.

  Margaret in Kensington Gardens.

  Margaret telling him she had met somebody else.

  His dying father.

  His promise to his father.

  And finally, Sixpence.

  16

  Blind to everybody and everything, the Captain staggered home and pushed the key into the lock. He turned it and entered the coolness, shutting out the sounds of the fête. Leaning his back against the door, he felt more protected from the outside world, but waves of nausea swept over him and he found breathing difficult.

  Gathering his strength, he lurched to the kitchen, drew the bolt and opened the door to the walled garden.

  The fête was in full swing. Madonna’s latest song, Crazy for You, blared from a loudspeaker. Children screamed as they bounced on the inflatable castle, and adults called each other.

  “Hold tight!” yelled parents to their youngsters as they trotted past on Shetland pony rides.

  “Sorry, missed! Have another go,” urged stall holders when punters lost their money attempting to hook ducks or throw hoops over targets.

  But the Captain heard nothing.

  He stumbled past the neat rows of vegetables that Sixpence had grown from seed. Lettuce, spinach and clambering broad beans, all ready for picking. As he passed the herb bed, one shoe brushed the pungent mint plants, but he smelled nothing.

  A spade leaned against the wall, soil still clinging to it.

  Panting, he finally reached his destination.

  The rose garden.

  On an ordinary day, the Captain would have enjoyed and admired the blooms. Perfect buds, poised, and others already open, showing the sun their velvet petals and exquisite colours.

  The Captain stepped off the path and into the bushes, paying no heed to the cruel thorns that scratched his skin.

  He stood, tears coursing down his cheeks, aware of a growing pressure and tightening of his chest.

  “Sixpence!” he mouthed. “What have I done?”

 
Stan Cooper had already completed one circuit of the fête, selling raffle tickets. Having forgotten to bring a box, he stored the bought tickets in his upturned police helmet, much to everybody’s amusement. It was a good plan, except that sometimes the breeze sent the tickets hurtling across the grass.

  “I’m going to try and have a word with the Captain,” he told his wife, handing her the helmet and unsold books of raffle tickets. “I shouldn’t be long.”

  “Good luck,” said Sally, “and see if you can borrow a box or something. We can’t be chasing raffle tickets across the lawn all afternoon.”

  “Ah, a box! I’ll use that as my excuse.”

  Aware that the Captain was unlikely to answer a knock on the front door, Stan headed for the gate to the walled garden. He ignored the large Private, No Entry sign and tried the handle. It was unlocked. He quietly let himself in and walked up the path to the kitchen door. Despite it being slightly ajar, he rapped it lightly with his knuckles.

  No answer.

  He stuck his head round the door and glanced into the empty kitchen.

  “Captain? Are you there?”

  No reply.

  “Captain? PC Stan Cooper here. Sorry to bother you, but I wondered if you had a box or something I could borrow.”

  Nothing.

  “For the raffle tickets…”

  He listened carefully, but nothing stirred in the house. Stan pushed the door open and entered, all his senses alert.

  “Captain?”

  He checked the dining room, but that was empty, too.

  “Captain, are you there?” he called as he entered the drawing room.

  The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, shutting out the sunlight and deadening the sounds of the fête. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  Stan’s finger flicked the light switch, flooding the room with artificial light.

  “Ah, there you are, Captain,” he said, seeing the figure in the armchair. “Sorry to disturb you, but I was…”

  He never finished the sentence.

  Neither did the Captain answer.

  The Captain’s eyes were wide open, staring ahead at a spot above the mantlepiece. His hands, already cold, were clenched in his lap.

  The Captain was dead.

  The ambulance had to come from Yewbridge, so Stan had plenty of time to look around while he waited for it to arrive. He was sure the Captain had died of natural causes, but he knew better than to tamper with anything. His keen eyes and sharp detective brain missed nothing.

  Without touching them, he examined the Captain’s clenched fists. His eyes scanned the room, absorbing every detail. He walked back out into the walled garden and prowled around. Before long, he believed he knew exactly what had happened, and was filled with sorrow.

  The ambulance swept up the gravel drive, and the attendants ran up the steps.

  “There’s no hurry,” said Stan. “I’m afraid he’s already passed away.”

  They checked for a pulse, but there was no sign of life.

  “Looks like he’s had a heart attack,” commented one of the attendants, “but the doctors at the hospital will confirm that.”

  Stan nodded.

  The blue flashing light and siren had attracted the attention of the crowds at the fête, and news of the Captain’s death spread like wildfire. As the body was carried down the steps on a gurney, the onlookers fell silent.

  “I saw the Captain go into the Dew Drop Inn at lunchtime,” somebody said in a low voice.

  Stan heard the comment, and felt he probably now held the last jagged piece of the jigsaw puzzle.

  When the ambulance pulled away, and the crowds had dispersed, Stan entered the house again and, with a heavy heart, contacted Yewbridge police station.

  “Hello, PC Stan Cooper of Sixpenny Cross here. I wish to report a murder.”

  17

  Angus McDonald, Stan Cooper and his wife, Sally, sat around the kitchen table at the police house.

  “What I’m telling you now must go no further,” said Stan. “It’ll all come out in the open soon enough, but I thought you’d probably need to know, Angus, as you’ve been in on it from the beginning.”

  “Of course, but I don’t understand anything,” said Angus, bewildered. “You say there’s been a murder, but I thought the Captain died of a heart attack?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “The Captain wasn’t murdered, was he?”

  “No.”

  “Then who was?”

  “I’m coming to that.”

  “I take it my barmaid has something to do with all this, am I right?”

  “Yes. I don’t believe it would have happened if it hadn’t been for Babs and her villainous husband. But no, I don’t think they murdered anybody.”

  Sally frowned but said nothing, knowing that her husband would explain all in good time.

  Stan took a gulp of tea from his mug.

  “Sixpence told me long ago about the Captain’s promise to his dying father to bring back a wife to Sixpenny Manor. But we all know that the Captain had no idea about women.”

  “Or anything really,” remarked Sally.

  “He was like putty in Babs’s hands,” agreed Angus. “I never liked her, but she’s a jolly good barmaid.”

  “Exactly. The Captain fell for her, hook, line and sinker. As you know, Sixpence was very protective of the Captain. He’d saved the Captain’s life once before, long ago, and I think Sixpence felt kind of responsible for him ever since.”

  “They were genuinely fond of each other,” said Sally. “And we all know the Captain was not exactly worldly wise.”

  “I think the murder occurred last Thursday, the night of the dinner party,” said Stan. “I phoned Sixpence that night because I had just found out about Babs and her husband’s background. I was worried that they might target the manor house, and that Babs was casing the joint. I told him not to tell the Captain yet, but I think he did. And it was too much for the Captain, which is why I think the Captain killed Sixpence.”

  “What?”

  “The Captain killed Sixpence?”

  “Yes, I believe he couldn’t accept that Babs wasn’t genuine. Maybe Sixpence even told him he suspected Babs was already married. The idea drove him completely insane.”

  “So Sixpence never went away? Have you found Sixpence’s body?”

  “No. But I’m pretty sure I know where it is. And I know how he was killed.”

  “Where?”

  “How?”

  “Let me explain. During the time before the ambulance arrived, I had a chance to have a good look around, and I found several things that told the story.”

  “Like what?”

  “I looked round the walls, and there were lots of slightly darker squares and rectangles where pictures used to hang long ago. The wallpaper had faded less behind the pictures. But in one place, right above the mantlepiece, there was another, similar, much darker mark on the wall, as if something used to hang there, but had recently been removed.”

  “A picture?”

  “No, a curved shape. I think an Indian scimitar used to hang there. A souvenir brought back by the Captain’s grandfather.”

  Sally and Angus stared at Stan, who continued.

  “In death, the Captain’s eyes were open, staring at that point on the wall.”

  Both listeners gasped.

  “I looked at the carpet. It’s one of those brown, ornate Persian affairs, and there was a big stain on it. I took my handkerchief out of my pocket, moistened it with water, and rubbed at a corner of the stain. I’m positive it’s blood.”

  Stan drew out a white handkerchief and showed them.

  “It does look like blood,” agreed Sally.

  “Also, his hands were clenched tightly in his lap. I could see he was holding something and at first I thought it was scraps of white paper. But it wasn’t.”

  “What was it?” breathed Sally.

  “Rose petals. White rose pe
tals. It was almost as if he was trying to confess, trying to tell us something. His expression in death showed such pain and sorrow…”

  Stan stopped. The memory was a sad one. Then he took a deep breath and continued.

  “The rose petals led me outside, and I found an area in the walled garden, next to Sixpenny’s rose bushes. It had been cleared and well dug over recently.”

  “Didn’t Sixpence say he was planning to cultivate chrysanthemums? Perhaps that’s the spot he had chosen?”

  “Yes, I think that’s it. But I think that’s where they will find poor Sixpence’s body, and the scimitar, probably. I think the Captain killed Sixpence in a moment of blind rage, then carried him to the walled garden and buried him. It’s very sad. I believe he caught sight of Babs flirting in the pub at lunchtime, and he realised he’d made a terrible mistake.”

  “He realised that Sixpence was telling the truth?”

  “Exactly. And the shock of his dreadful mistake, and grief for Sixpence, brought on a massive heart attack.”

  18

  Of course, when the police investigated, little one, they found everything just as Stan said they would. Poor Sixpence’s body was buried in the patch where he had planned to grow prize chrysanthemums. With him was the Indian scimitar that killed him.

  Stan Cooper had a fine policeman’s mind, no question about that.

  People still talk in whispers about the village fête of 1985. First it was almost cancelled because of the unexploded shell, then two bodies were found at the manor. As you can imagine, Sixpenny Cross made national news that month.

  Babs and her husband, Richard Kane, left Yewbridge. Some say they went up north but nobody missed them, except perhaps Angus who had to advertise for a new barmaid. As Stan always said, the couple hadn’t committed murder or broken any law. Even so, everyone felt that the whole sorry affair was Babs’s fault. It was her greed that made her act the way she did, and caused the Captain to become unhinged.