Murder Cuts the Mustard

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Murder Cuts the Mustard Page 10

by Jessica Ellicott


  “If you are sure, I will fetch my shears,” Alma said.

  Alma fastened a protective cape around Edwina’s neck and gently pulled a comb through her damp hair. Edwina closed her eyes as she felt the cool metal of the shears press against the back of her neck. Her spirits rose with each snip. Her head felt lighter as strand after strand of brown hair fell to the floor. As Alma completed the cutting and loosened the cape, Edwina realized she was holding her breath. She forced herself to exhale slowly, then opened her eyes.

  “Well, what do you think?” Alma asked, pointing to the mirror.

  Edwina barely recognized the face staring back at her. Her eyes seemed larger; her cheeks fuller. She turned her head slowly from side to side, surprised at the way short tendrils softly framed her face. Released from its own weight, her hair seemed to have discovered a natural wave. She reached up and touched the nape of her neck and was reminded of a most improper but enjoyable incident involving a young man during her youth. She smiled at her reflection from the utter astonishment of her appearance.

  She slid from the chair, thanked Alma for her service, and settled her bill. Hattie crossed the room and handed Edwina her hat, which she promptly placed upon her head. The girl had been right. It was a remarkably comfortable fit. Feeling like an entirely new woman, she set off for the Beeches, wondering what Beryl would have to say when she saw her.

  Chapter 14

  Just as she had suspected, Simpkins had found his way to the Dove and Duck. However, it had not been a straight path from the Beeches to the pub, if the bits of twig embedded in his beard and the mud spattering his trouser cuffs were anything to go on. Beryl had not thought it possible for Simpkins to look any more disreputable than he usually did. But somehow, he had accomplished just that. She thought a good use of his newfound wealth might be a visit to a bespoke tailor. Or at least for him to make an investment in a new bar of soap.

  She stopped off at the bar and ordered a pint of lager for Simpkins and a glass of soda water for herself. Despite the fact that she had no qualms about imbibing at any hour of the day she saw fit, she wished to keep a clear head while speaking with Simpkins. He did not look as though he could be entirely responsible for himself, and Beryl had a sneaking suspicion he might need to rely on her for moral and possibly physical support. She carried the drinks to the table he generally occupied at the far end of the room, and placed the pint before him.

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” Beryl said, settling into the seat beside him.

  “Miss Edwina’s been talking, then, has she?” Simpkins said.

  “She looked almost as shocked as you do,” Beryl said. “I’m not sure she would have said anything if I hadn’t pried it out of her. It was easy to see something very shocking had happened in my absence.”

  “You can say that again. I’m not sure my ticker can take much more,” Simpkins said. “I slept on the hard floor of the shed last night, awoke to find a police constable accusing me of murder, discovered my brother-in-law had been murdered, and now find out I’m a man of means.”

  “I see your point,” Beryl said. “You must be completely overwhelmed by the surprise of the news.” She took a sip of her soda water and grimaced. She really would have preferred a double whisky. Still, needs must.

  “I’ve been racking my brain and racking my brain, trying to figure out how it is that I came to inherit this money, but I honestly have no idea. Besides, what am I supposed to do with it?” Simpkins asked.

  Beryl could tell from the quantity of glasses littering the surface of his table that Simpkins had had a prodigious amount to drink, even for a veteran imbiber like him. She had a sneaking suspicion that he might burst into tears at any moment. He was the sort to become maudlin. She wasn’t uncomfortable on her own account. Tears rarely bothered Beryl. They were just another part of life, like laughter or the hiccups.

  But men seemed to have a more difficult time with such things, especially British men. She generally preferred men from countries where lips were supple rather than stiff. She let her mind wander for a brief moment to a pleasant fortnight spent in South America. Simpkins let out a rumbling belch, jolting her back to the present.

  “I don’t think you need to make any decisions straightaway. As a matter of fact, considering the fact you are probably well and truly lubricated, I doubt it would be advisable. There will be plenty of time for you to worry about that once you’ve gotten more accustomed to the idea,” Beryl said.

  Simpkins hoisted his glass and drained it, then slammed it down on the surface of the table. Or perhaps it was more that it slipped from his grasp and clattered downwards with a thud. Either way, from the sharp looks the publican was sending his way, Beryl decided it was time to take him home. The only problem was, she couldn’t see him being left on his own at the empty cottage he had shared with Hector.

  While it seemed clear he and his brother-in-law had not gotten along of late, it was also true that the cottage had once been a place full of warmth and family and supposedly many fond memories. Even someone like Beryl, who had never had such a home to return to or even to lose, could understand that that was not the right place for an elderly man who had suffered several shocks in short duration.

  With only the briefest thought to the likelihood of protestations from Edwina, Beryl took Simpkins by the arm and steered him out the door of the Dove and Duck. She led the way down a narrow alley between the pub and a neighboring shop in order to keep out of sight of the beauty salon.

  Beryl was glad she had not given in to the temptation and indulged in a few drinks of her own. By the time she had piloted Simpkins back to the Beeches, she had worked up quite a sweat. Steering him up the wide staircase and along the passageway to a back bedroom required more effort than she had expected to expend. Beryl was grateful for her strong stomach and survival skills as she unlaced Simpkins’s hobnailed boots and eased them from his feet. She thought once again of the wide variety of soaps he would now be able to afford.

  Without a word, he toppled backwards onto the bed, which was covered in a snowy-white counterpane. Beryl did not wish to consider what Edwina would have to say about either Simpkins snoring heartily in one of her guest rooms or the condition of her linens after his dirt-encrusted wardrobe had come into contact with them. At least, she thought, he would be in a position to offer to purchase new bedding should the stains prove impossible to eliminate.

  Now that she had conducted her good deed for the day, Beryl felt she deserved that drink she had denied herself at the pub. Besides, Edwina would be back from the hairdressing salon soon, and unless Simpkins managed to quiet down before she returned, she would certainly be aware that someone was snoring on the second floor. The best way to handle Edwina in such cases was directly appealing to her better nature after plying her with a gin fizz. She strode to the parlour and set to work.

  By the time she heard Edwina opening the front door to the Beeches, she had chipped the ice for the ice bucket, buffed two glasses until the crystal shone, and had added a fresh cartridge to the soda siphon. She also had run through her prepared remarks in her mind several times.

  “Isn’t it a bit early, even for you?” she heard Edwina ask from behind her.

  “After the day we’ve had, I didn’t think it would do us any harm to bend the rules just a little. Besides, I had nothing whatsoever to drink at the pub.”

  Beryl dropped three ice chunks into a glass, splashed in a generous quantity of gin, then topped the whole thing off with several squirts from the soda siphon. She fixed a second in exactly the same manner, then carried both to the seating area, where Edwina had stationed herself and taken up her knitting, curiously with her second-best hat still placed firmly upon her head.

  “Please tell me you found Simpkins,” Edwina said as she reached for the glass in Beryl’s outstretched hand.

  “He was just exactly where I expected him to be. I found him at his usual table at the Dove and Duck,” Beryl said. “He was rather w
orse for the wear, I would have to say, though.” Beryl settled into the wingback chair opposite Edwina and stretched her feet out on the footstool in front of her. She rattled the ice in her glass before taking a sip.

  “I’m very glad that you found him. That’s one thing off my mind at least,” Edwina said.

  From the set of her friend’s shoulders and the way they had crept up close to her ears, Beryl knew that hearing Simpkins was a houseguest would not be welcomed information. Perhaps she should delay the revelation for a few minutes and ask Edwina about her trip to the hairdresser.

  “I cannot help but notice you have not removed your hat,” Beryl said. “I must surmise that your head is cold or that your visit to Mrs. Poole was unprecedentedly disastrous.”

  Edwina lifted her glass to her lips and took a deep drink. Beryl was surprised. Her friend usually made a single cocktail last through an entire evening. Something terrible must have occurred. Surely such an unfortunate turn of events could not have taken place at a worse time.

  “Do you promise not to laugh?” Edwina said.

  Beryl looked at her with even greater concern. “I should never consider mocking you,” she said with feeling.

  Edwina nodded and raised her free hand to the brim of her hat. She took another gulp of her gin fizz, then yanked off her headwear. Beryl’s mind reeled. For a split second, she wondered if she had somehow forgotten that she had spent the afternoon matching Simpkins drink for drink at the pub. Surely the vision in front of her was the product of spirit-fueled imaginings.

  She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Even if she had forgotten throwing back a drink or two, she had not been at the pub anywhere near long enough to have become inebriated. While she prided herself on her ability to entertain a wide range of possibilities in any given situation, she had never given a moment’s thought to the chance that Edwina would bob her hair. The pleading look in Edwina’s eyes assured her she was not imagining things.

  “How smart you look,” Beryl said, leaning forward to give Edwina’s new look careful consideration. “The very picture of a modern businesswoman.”

  “Do you really think so?” Edwina asked. Beryl heard the ice rattling in Edwina’s glass. Her hand shook, and she nibbled on her lip once more.

  “I think you ought to have done it years ago. I would have suggested it if I had had any notion you would be interested in lopping off your locks. I know I have never regretted bobbing mine.” Beryl ran her broad hand over her sleek cap of platinum-blond hair. “But whatever made you do it?”

  “Something just came over me when Alma asked if I wanted the usual. I suddenly felt all topsy-turvy and utterly rebellious. So I asked her to bob it.”

  “I understand the nature of rebellions. I spent some time in Russia, you know.” Beryl leaned back and considered Edwina’s appearance. “But do you like the way it looks?”

  “You know, I do rather. My head feels so light, I keep expecting it to float off my neck. It even fits better with my hats.”

  “To think if Simpkins’s inheritance hadn’t caused you to question the entire social order, you likely wouldn’t have made your discovery,” Beryl said.

  Edwina scowled at the contents of her glass, and Beryl thought perhaps it was unwise to remind Edwina of Simpkins’s good fortune, considering he was asleep on the second floor. She decided to steer the conversation to firmer ground.

  “Did you pick up any gossip concerning the case from the other ladies at the hairdresser?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did hear something interesting,” Edwina said.

  Beryl leaned forward. “Do tell,” she said.

  “Hattie, the shampoo girl, was gossiping about Hector’s murder. She mentioned something about Alma being relieved about his death,” Edwina said.

  “That’s interesting,” Beryl said. “Did she say why?”

  “She did not. As a matter of fact, Alma made it quite plain that she wanted to change the subject,” Edwina said. “Fortunately, I had the presence of mind not to pry. If I had forgotten myself and pursued a line of questioning, my hair might look decidedly less flattering.”

  “Do you have any guesses what the shampoo girl may have been talking about?” Beryl asked.

  “I have no idea. It seems like a viable line of enquiry, though,” Edwina said. She took another sip of her gin fizz. A bit more small talk and she might be ready to hear the news about Simpkins.

  “I would say it’s the first surprising lead we’ve had. All the other animosity towards Hector has been sitting right on the surface,” Beryl said. “Speaking of things not on the surface, Simpkins is not one to say a great deal about his personal life, is he?”

  “I should think not,” Edwina said. She dropped her knitting into her lap, and Beryl realized she might as well just plunge ahead. By the time Edwina had become relaxed enough to hear about Simpkins, she might be too squiffy to comprehend.

  “Despite his reticence, the man has had several extreme shocks in the course of just one day. That’s quite a lot for a man of his age to endure,” Beryl said. “Don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. I know we are a nation of reserved and stoic people. But I admit, even for me, his news was quite shocking. I can only imagine the extent of Simpkins’s own turmoil,” Edwina said.

  “That’s just what I thought you would say,” Beryl said.

  Edwina squinted at her, and fine lines appeared around her friend’s tightly pursed lips. “You’ve done something, haven’t you?” Edwina said. “You might as well tell me. It will only make things more difficult if you wait.” She picked up her knitting once more and jabbed the needles through the still forming fabric.

  “Like I said, Simpkins was well in his cups when I found him at the Dove and Duck. I didn’t think it was the most sensible thing to escort him back to his cottage,” Beryl said.

  “You haven’t put him back in the potting shed, have you? Another night sleeping on the floor will hardly do him much good,” Edwina said. Beryl noticed her friend dipping her head to the side, as if training her ears on an unfamiliar noise emanating from the second floor of the house.

  “Certainly not. He needed to be tucked up in a proper bed,” Beryl said. “Somewhere where someone could keep an eye on him, should the need arise.”

  “He hasn’t any family here in the village. Did you take him over to see his aunt in Pershing Magna?” Edwina asked.

  “It was rather too late for that by the time I found him at the pub. He was in no fit state to deposit with an even more elderly aunt,” Beryl said. “No, I decided on a far more sensible solution.”

  Edwina did not look convinced. Beryl had noticed that she and her friend had very different opinions of what constituted a sensible solution. For Beryl, it most often meant taking swift action and employing tall tales and fast automobiles.

  Edwina, on the other hand, preferred to mull over possibilities and weigh the pros and cons of each before proceeding down a carefully planned route. In her opinion, they balanced each other out perfectly. But sometimes, it could be a bit frustrating to reach that balance. Beryl was afraid it was likely her friend would take some convincing in order for them to reach an accord.

  “And I suppose you’re going to tell me you’ve installed him in one of the small bedrooms at the back end of the upstairs hall,” Edwina said before taking another sip of her gin fizz.

  Beryl was astonished. Was it possible she was having a marked influence on Edwina? Then a more upsetting thought occurred to her. Was she herself becoming predictable?

  “That’s exactly what I’ve done,” Beryl said. “I was sure you wouldn’t mind, considering how worried you were about his whereabouts when we parted company this afternoon.”

  “I am certain the village will have a great deal to say about it, but I am too tired tonight to care. I’m sure you’ve done the right thing, considering,” Edwina said. She held out her empty glass. Beryl hopped out of her chair and hurried to replenish it. “It gives me q
uite a chuckle to think what my mother would say if she knew Simpkins lay snoring away under one of her prized counterpanes.”

  “Actually, I left him passed out on top of one.”

  “Please tell me you at least remembered to remove his boots,” Edwina said.

  Chapter 15

  Both Beryl and Simpkins were still in bed when Edwina heard a knock at the scullery door. She looked up from her toast soldiers and cup of tea and noticed Charles standing there. With a wave of her hand she beckoned him to enter.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you again so early in the day, but I wanted to be sure to share some information with you concerning Simpkins before much more time had passed,” he said. “I say, whatever have you done to your hair?”

  “Not that I need answer to you or anyone else, Charles, but as you can clearly see, I have had it bobbed.” Edwina knew her tone sounded strident, but she did not care. There were not all that many compensations for spinsterhood, but not being required to account for oneself to a man was chief amongst them.

  “I beg your pardon. I was just taken by surprise. You know, I think you look quite fetching. Like something from the cinema come to our little village,” Charles said.

  Crumpet pranced around Charles’s polished shoes. He was an excellent judge of character, and Edwina found herself forgiving Charles for his impertinence and his interruption of her morning quietude when he bent down to scratch Crumpet beneath his chin.

  “Have you breakfasted?” Edwina said, noticing a certain gauntness to Charles’s face.

  He had lost his domestic help in the autumn unexpectedly and had not found a replacement. It was a common story and one of the reasons Edwina had been so distressed to hear that Simpkins would likely soon be leaving her employ. Servants were almost impossible to find since the war, even if one had the means to pay them. Charles had not been raised to cook for himself, and having no wife or even an unmarried sister who made her home with him, he had grown thinner and thinner in the intervening months.

 

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