Her friend had nearly ruined every piece of cooking equipment she had touched. Beryl claimed that the best coffee was made over a campfire and involved a sock and an egg white. With claims like that, there was no way Edwina could take her seriously or allow her anywhere near the cooker. Still, it did hurt one’s pride to see such a grimace when one’s offerings were imbibed.
“It’s not a cookery book, is it?” Simpkins asked. From the slightly jocular tone of his voice, Edwina realized that Simpkins was going to be right as rain before much more time had passed. That is, as long as Constable Gibbs did not actually arrest him for murder. Edwina could not bear to think how her reputation would suffer if not only her jobbing gardener was correctly rumored to have been living in her potting shed, but the fact that she had been harboring a murderer as well.
“Certainly not,” Beryl said. “Although I have a few things to say about food in the book I have planned. I’ve decided to write a lady’s guide to adventure travel.” Beryl took a crashing bite of toast and chewed it with gusto.
“While I agree you know plenty on the subject of travel, I daresay you know very little about the practicalities of writing a book,” Edwina said.
“How difficult can it be?” Beryl asked. “The way the world is filling up with books, it seems every Tom, Dick, Harry and their uncles are writing them. I see no reason why I shouldn’t toss my hat in the ring. Do you?”
“I can think of two reasons,” Edwina said.
She looked over at Simpkins, who seemed to share her skepticism. He sensibly flicked his eyes back to his plate and began dunking pieces of toast into the oozing yolks of his eggs. Watching Simpkins eat was one of the more harrowing aspects of Edwina’s life. Which, she supposed, was why Beryl was more qualified to write a book on adventure travel than she would ever be.
“Which are?” Beryl asked. Edwina thought she detected the smallest hint of pique in Beryl’s tone of voice. Her friend was not easily offended, but she did not like for anyone to dampen her enthusiasms. Truth be told, Edwina spent much of her time feeling like a wet blanket.
“Well, for one thing, one has to sit still and stay put long enough to write a book. You have a great deal of ability for moving about and going on adventures. Sitting still is not amongst your strengths,” Edwina said.
“I’m sure I could get the hang of it. After all, I’m sitting right now, aren’t I?” Beryl said. Edwina did not point out that Beryl fidgeted and shifted even as she spoke. “What’s your other objection?”
“I believe in order to be someone who is capable of writing a book, you have to be the sort of person who frequently reads them,” Edwina said.
“I shouldn’t think that was true,” Beryl said. “If you can read a book, you should very well be able to write one.”
“I, for one, look forward to reading whatever you come up with,” Simpkins said with guarded enthusiasm.
Edwina should have known that he would take Beryl’s part in any disagreements. He so often did, as the two of them were birds of a feather in so many ways.
“I still think you ought to have some sort of experience before you set off on a project like that. How about writing a poem or a short story? Maybe an article for the newspaper,” Edwina suggested.
“We had absolutely no experience in running a private enquiry agency before we set out to do that,” Beryl said. “And look how successful that has become. If one waits until one is ready, one will never try anything new.”
With that, Beryl wiped the last bit of egg from her plate with her piece of toast and popped it into her mouth. Then she pushed back her chair and headed off down the hall, humming a little tune under her breath.
Chapter 5
The Lomax farm must have been a pretty piece of property at one time, Beryl thought as she looked about. The low stone cottage, with its white trim, surrounded by rolling fields of plantings dotted here and there by gnarled apple and pear trees presented a bucolic picture. However, as they stopped in front of the cottage, she could see signs that the property was more run down than it first appeared. Upon closer inspection, it was easy to see that the paint was peeling from the windowsills and the doors. A few slates from the roof had come loose, and weeds choked the plantings on either side of the walkway leading to the door.
Simpkins led the way and pushed open the door with a hesitant hand. Beryl wondered at the cause of his trepidation. Did he expect Hector’s ghost to be wandering the halls? Or was he more concerned that there had been some mistake and his brother-in-law had not really passed on to his eternal judgment? She looked over at Edwina, who wore a troubled look on her face. Edwina hurried after Simpkins, leaving Beryl to bring up the rear. The elderly gardener shuffled into the kitchen. Even Beryl, with her limited housekeeping skills and even lesser amounts of house pride, was surprised at the mess.
Crockery was piled in the slate sink, and several cooking pots littered the surface of the cooker. Windrows of dust clung to the skirting boards, and one would have needed rather more courage than even Beryl felt she possessed to clear off the kitchen table sufficiently to sit down for a meal. She heard Edwina exhaling with the whistling sort of a noise that indicated extreme displeasure.
Simpkins simply stood in the center of the room with his shoulders slumped. Edwina uncharacteristically took him by the arm and carefully guided him towards the adjoining room. Beryl followed as they entered the parlour. Edwina gently pressed Simpkins onto the couch, then crossed the room and firmly tugged open the draperies. Light spilled into the low-ceilinged room, and Beryl could see that it had once been a cheerful and pleasant place to pass an evening.
It was no wonder Simpkins was so fond of spirits. It was clear the heart had gone out of his home. Beryl suspected it had happened long before Hector died. She took a seat on the couch next to Simpkins. Edwina lifted a pile of papers out of a straight-backed chair and placed them on the floor. She lowered herself gently onto the seat and cleared her throat.
“Now, Simpkins, I think it’s time you told Beryl and me the truth about your argument with Hector,” Edwina said.
Simpkins lifted his forlorn face and returned her stern gaze. “So you didn’t believe we argued about the farm?” Simpkins asked.
“I certainly did not. Having seen the attitude with which you care for my plants, I could not imagine you having an argument with your brother-in-law over the conditions of the farm, which led to you abandoning your home. I have to assume that it was something that would cast you in an even more suspicious light with the constable, if that was the reason you gave,” Edwina said.
Simpkins nodded. “That’s true, miss. It is,” he said. He leaned back and stuffed a weathered paw into his trouser pocket. With a grunt, he pulled something out and opened his hand to show the contents to Edwina. Beryl leaned forward to get a look at it too. There in his hand lay a glittering woman’s ring.
“You fought with Hector about jewelry?” Beryl asked.
“I rowed with Hector about thieving,” Simpkins said.
“Why don’t you tell us about it,” Edwina said.
“This was my Bess’s ring. My mother gave it to me when I told her I was going to ask Bess to marry me,” Simpkins said.
“Your mother must have approved of your choice of a bride,” Edwina said.
“The two of them got on like beans and toast,” Simpkins said. “She wanted me to give this to Bess because she said it was just as lovely as she was. As far as I was concerned, nothing was as lovely as my Bess, but I was right proud to give it to her just the same.”
“Where does the theft come in?” Beryl asked.
“It might have been wrong of me, but I couldn’t stand to have Bess buried with this ring. It reminded me of her and our life together. We never had much except each other, and the ring was a symbol of how much I loved her,” Simpkins said. “Hector knew that.”
“Did Hector steal the ring?” Edwina asked.
“I caught him at it red-handed. I always kept it on the li
ttle dressing table that Bess used in our bedroom. A couple of days ago, when I came home from working at the Beeches, I didn’t see it in its usual place. I asked Hector about it, but he claimed not to have seen it,” Simpkins said.
“I’ll venture a guess that you didn’t believe him,” Beryl said.
Simpkins let out a snort. “Of course I didn’t. As soon as he went to the loo, I searched his room. He had it tucked up in a pair of socks in his chest of drawers. I confronted him about it right quicklike,” Simpkins said.
“What did he say for himself?” Edwina said.
Beryl was sure she saw a small tear threatening to trickle out of Simpkins’s eye. “He said Bess had no use of it anymore and I was a fool for hanging on to something so valuable. He said he had planned to pawn it and use the money to keep the farm afloat,” Simpkins said.
“That’s dreadful,” Edwina said. “I never did like that man.”
A look passed between Edwina and Simpkins that Beryl could not quite interpret. It looked like acknowledgment and agreement. As much as everyone had made her feel very welcomed in Walmsley Parva, from time to time, she was silently reminded that she really was a newcomer. There seemed to be something that happened when one spent so long living in a single place. Edwina had a sense about things that Beryl simply did not. It was as though there was an unwritten code, a tapping into a collective knowledge, that the residents of Walmsley Parva shared and that she simply had not been able to access. Perhaps, she thought with a surprising pang, she never would.
“He always was a wrong’un,” Simpkins said. “And a fool besides. Saving the farm would have taken more money than pawning Bess’s ring could’ve provided. It would have been simple enough to keep things running if he had ever bothered to throw himself into the tasks at hand instead of looking for ways to cut corners and shirk his responsibilities.”
Beryl could see that Edwina was keeping her lips firmly clamped shut. Many was the time Beryl had heard her friend saying the very same sorts of things about Simpkins’s own slapdash attitude towards the gardens at the Beeches. She was relieved when Edwina’s mind seemed to take another tack.
“May I see the ring more closely?” Edwina said.
Simpkins gently placed it in Edwina’s outstretched palm. She stood and carried it to the window. A shaft of sunlight beamed through the wavy glass and landed on the stones studding the ring. Dozens and dozens of sparkling reflections danced about the room.
“Beryl, come take a look at this.”
Beryl got to her feet and joined Edwina at the window. Edwina passed the ring to her, and Beryl gave it a closer inspection. The stones were quite large, and the cut exquisite. She lifted the ring to eye level and held it up to the light. Even without a jeweler’s loupe, it was possible to see that the clarity was very fine indeed. Clusters of emeralds, sapphires, and rubies surrounded a large center diamond. It was an extraordinary piece of jewelry, even more so considering it had been pulled from the depths of a workingman’s pocket. It was at least as surprising that Simpkins’s mother had had it simply on hand to give to her future daughter-in-law. She passed the ring back to Edwina with a raised eyebrow.
Edwina carried the treasure back to Simpkins and placed it gently on his calloused palm before sitting once more. “You say your mother gave you this ring for Bess?” Edwina asked.
Simpkins nodded.
“Do you happen to know how she came to have it?”
“I asked her that at the time, but she said it was something she just happened to have tucked away for a rainy day. A family heirloom is what she told me,” Simpkins said.
“I think you may be wrong about your estimation of its value,” Beryl said.
“What do you mean?” Simpkins said.
“I believe it is a very valuable piece of jewelry,” Beryl said.
“Well, it’s valuable to me, and I know it was to Bess, but I’m sure it’s nothing more than a bit of paste,” Simpkins said. “Not that my wife didn’t deserve more, but we were never people of means.”
“Having been the recipient of a large quantity of jewelry over the years,” Beryl said, “I assure you that ring is not made of paste.”
Simpkins looked from Beryl to Edwina, a look of shock on his face. Beryl feared for the elderly gardener’s heart. Two great shocks in just one morning might prove too much for any man.
“What do you think, Miss Edwina?” Simpkins asked, turning to Edwina. “A lady such as yourself would be likely to recognize a fine piece of jewelry, would she not?” Beryl had noticed that although the relationship between Edwina and Simpkins was often combative, he did seem to respect her opinion on matters he judged to be over his depth.
She wondered if that meant that Simpkins thought she was not an authority on jewelry of quality. She wondered if he thought Americans were easily fooled by chintzy glitz or if he did not think of her as a lady. She didn’t suppose she could blame him for either opinion.
“I would have to agree with Beryl. I think you would be wise to keep that ring somewhere very safe. I don’t know how your mother came to have it, but although I would not consider myself an expert, I would say that it’s worth a great deal,” Edwina said.
“If that’s the case, would you be willing to do me a favor?” Simpkins asked.
“That would depend on what you require,” Edwina said.
“Would you take it back to the Beeches with you and put it somewhere safe?” Simpkins said. “I can’t say as I feel too secure keeping it on my person. Especially if the constable decides to arrest me.”
“I would be happy to do so,” Edwina said. “If you would like, I shall put it in my mother’s jewelry box.”
Beryl didn’t say so, but she knew that there was plenty of room in the late Mrs. Davenport’s jewelry box. Much of Edwina’s education on the value of jewelry had been hard won during her recent economic slump.
Edwina got to her feet. Beryl joined her.
“Simpkins, I suggest you get to bed. I’m sure you slept poorly on the floor of the shed last night and have had a nasty shock. You may rest assured that we will keep your ring quite safe. Do let us know if you need anything,” Edwina said.
With that, the pair of them took their leave and headed back out the door. As soon as they pulled it closed behind them, Edwina turned to Beryl.
“I’ve sold enough of my mother’s jewelry to know that Bess Simpkins’s is worth far more than anything I ever had to sell,” Edwina said.
“It certainly rivals anything given to me by any of my husbands,” Beryl said. “It even rivals gifts I received from men who were married to other women.” The two of them exchanged a significant glance.
“I feel torn, Beryl,” Edwina said.
“Because the theft of this ring gives Simpkins an even better reason to have murdered Hector?” Beryl asked.
“Exactly,” Edwina said.
“You aren’t suggesting that we tell that to Constable Gibbs, are you?” Beryl asked.
Edwina assumed a shocked expression. “Assuredly not,” she said. “After all, what sort of private investigators would we be if we left all the detecting to Constable Gibbs?”
“Where do you think Simpkins’s mother got the ring in the first place? Wasn’t she a local girl here in Walmsley Parva?” Beryl asked.
“Yes, she was. From what I understand, Simpkins’s family goes back for generations in the village. Perhaps they are not as well established as the Lomax family, but they definitely have deep roots here in the community,” Edwina said.
“Then how can you possibly account for her having something of such value? It’s the sort of a ring you would never expect to find just languishing in the bottom of someone’s jewelry box,” Beryl said.
“I suppose we ought to do some poking around about it, especially if it has anything to do with what happened to Hector,” Edwina said.
Beryl was about to agree when she heard a man’s voice shouting at them from the road. Beryl squinted at him and realized that he
was the bald man she had seen the previous day at the Dove and Duck.
Chapter 6
Edwina was not surprised to discover the source of the shouting was the owner of the neighboring farm, Clifford Hammond. The morning sun glistened off his sweaty bald head, and Edwina found she would have thought him decidedly repulsive even if he had not been assailing them with angry words. This would never do. Her first thought was to climb back into the motorcar and leave him and his angry gesticulations in a billowing cloud of dust.
But first thoughts were often far more appealing than practical. If there was one thing she had learned in her short time as a private enquiry agent, it was that people often had much to reveal when they were upset. Despite the fact that every fiber in her being urged her to flee, Edwina took a step towards the angry man.
She was inordinately pleased to feel Beryl walking along beside her. There was something about being part of a team that made things seem far more manageable than they did when one was on one’s own.
“As there is no one else about, I can only assume you are attempting to converse with us,” Edwina said with far more vinegar in her voice than she actually felt.
Clifford Hammond was an imposing figure. His broad shoulders and thick chest, as well as his bulging arms and callused hands, made it clear that he was a man who was physically quite capable.
Edwina did not like to imagine what he might do if provoked. She spared a thought for Beryl’s penchant for carrying a pistol in her pocket. She fervently hoped it would not come to a thing like that.
“Well, of course I am,” Clifford Hammond said. “You don’t think I’m shouting like this at the local wildlife, do you?”
“I’ve oftentimes been counted as some of the local wildlife,” Beryl said. “I always took it as a compliment.”
“From his mannerisms and tone of voice, I am sure that is not what Mr. Hammond intended,” Edwina said. “If you would like to keep our attention, I suggest you control yourself and come to the point.”
Murder Cuts the Mustard Page 4