Charles cast a glance at the cooker and then at Edwina’s half-empty plate on the table. “I shouldn’t wish for you to go to any trouble,” he said.
“Nonsense. I expect you would not say no to an egg and some toast soldiers,” she said as she crossed the room and plucked her pinny from a hook on the wall. She tied it around her waist, then motioned for Charles to take a seat at the table. She fetched him a cup and urged him to pour some tea for himself. “Now, what is it that you wanted to tell me about Simpkins?”
“This information is off the record, you understand,” Charles said.
Edwina nodded. “You know you can trust me to be discreet, Charles,” she said.
“I only meant that you should convey this message as such when you speak with Simpkins,” Charles said.
“Of course. It must be rather important,” Edwina said.
“I’m afraid it is. You remember my acquaintance Mr. Pettigrew?” Charles said.
“I am unlikely to forget a stranger from London bearing news of a vast fortune for my jobbing gardener,” Edwina said, banging the iron skillet for the eggs on the cooker with a bit more ferocity than she had intended. Charles, with his usual unflappable good manners, ignored her unseemly outburst.
“He has advised me that Simpkins would be well served to engage a solicitor of his own. He indicated that the interests of the Kimberly family are unlikely to align with Simpkins’s own and that he would be foolish not to retain individual counsel,” Charles said.
Edwina turned away from the cooker and gave Charles her full attention, a smooth brown egg clutched in her hand.
“Does Mr. Pettigrew represent either the Kimberly family or the corporation?” Edwina asked.
“Neither. He represented Colonel Kimberly himself in his private affairs. He has represented Mrs. Kimberly and even Colonel Kimberly’s nephew in the past but feels it is unlikely that they will retain him in future, as he was the bearer of such unexpected financial news when the will was read,” Charles said.
“Were you surprised that he confided such a thing to you?” Edwina asked.
“I was, rather. Pettigrew is a close-to-the-vest sort of man. His reputation is that of an exclusively by-the-books sort of solicitor. I think the whole situation had him more than a little rattled,” Charles said.
Edwina turned back to the cooker and cracked the egg into the hot pan. She watched as it sizzled and began to firm up. As it did so, thoughts similarly coalesced in her mind.
“You don’t suppose that Simpkins’s windfall is likely to lead to rather a lot of difficulty, do you?” Edwina said.
“From what Pettigrew had to say, the Kimberly family did not take the news well at all. Pettigrew indicated Simpkins should be prepared for them to try to keep ahold of the money one way or another,” Charles said.
Edwina cut two slices from a fresh cottage loaf and placed them under the grill. She watched them carefully as they turned a golden brown, then sliced them into soldiers and placed them, along with the fried egg, on Charles’s plate. She took her own seat and topped up her cup of tea, which had grown cold.
“It would seem that Simpkins would be well served to have a solicitor of his own,” Edwina said. Edwina had spent enough time as a girl at her father’s chambers to know that disputes about a family’s money could turn nasty very quickly. It had hardly mattered about the amounts involved. Edwina could see, however, that the stakes were much higher, considering the size of the fortune. Simpkins was going to need all the help he could get. “Would you be willing to act on his behalf?”
Charles looked up from his breakfast. A bit of egg yolk clung to his chin. It was rather endearing.
“While I am not an expert on the ins and outs of corporate law, it would be my great pleasure to assist Simpkins in protecting his interests, should he prevail upon me to do so,” Charles said.
“I’m sure that if there’s anything you do not know, you will make every effort to find out. Simpkins will be most fortunate to have you on his side,” Edwina said, reaching out with a serviette and dabbing the yolk from his face.
Chapter 16
When she had first arrived in Walmsley Parva some months earlier, Beryl had been surprised at how much village life revolved around the small rituals of the day. She was even more astonished at how easily she, too, had fallen into a course of predictable behavior. But surprising or not, the fact remained that she had fallen into the habit of walking into the village most days either to purchase a copy of the newspaper, to pick up produce for a meal, or even just to window-shop amongst her fellow villagers.
While she had felt no need to bustle off much before noon, she had found herself awake slightly earlier that morning than was her habit. Perhaps it was the sound of Simpkins’s snores reverberating through several horsehair plaster walls that had roused her ahead of schedule.
No matter the cause, she found herself once more smiling and nodding to passersby as she strode along the high street, Edwina’s sturdy wicker shopping basket draped over her arm. With Simpkins in the house, Edwina had insisted that they would require additional comestibles.
Her first thought was to head straight for the butcher shop. She crossed the street and peered at the window display. The offerings were no more inspiring than usual, although to be fair, no less so. Two paltry chickens and a sad excuse for a leg of lamb hung from iron hooks in the window.
She found herself longing for a thick porterhouse steak served rare, like the ones at her favourite steak house in Chicago. She pushed open the door and set the bell jangling. Sidney Poole, purveyor of fine meats, or so his shop’s sign would have one believe, looked up from a brown paper packet he was wrapping up for the vicar’s wife, Muriel Lowethorpe. He neatly tied a double knot around two pork chops, then slid them across the counter.
“Good morning, Miss Helliwell,” Muriel Lowethorpe said. “How is Simpkins this morning?”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion,” Beryl said.
She knew that Edwina would not be pleased to discover news of Simpkins’s installation at the Beeches had already made its way around the village. She was not entirely sure if there was some sort of prohibition on such a cohabitation by the Church of England. Edwina was an upstanding member of Vicar Lowethorpe’s flock and would be loath to sully her reputation as a parishioner of sterling character. Although, even the nastiest of minds could not have entertained the notion that something untoward was afoot between Edwina and Simpkins no matter how closely they may have passed the previous night.
“But surely you’ve heard about his windfall, have you not?” Muriel said. “It’s all around the village.”
Beryl had often wondered in the past how such news had spread around Walmsley Parva. But this time, she felt quite certain the news had come from the source itself. Simpkins was not a man to hold back about the things on his mind when he was well into his cups. Judging by his behavior at the pub the previous afternoon, he probably had told each and every patron about his newfound wealth.
“You have heard about that, then, have you?” Beryl said.
“I’d reckon everyone in the village has heard,” Sidney Poole said, crossing his beefy arms across his rotund chest. Beryl had often thought that the creature with the most meat on its bones in all the shop was Sidney Poole. “With the way he was crowing about it at the Dove and Duck yesterday, it would be a wonder if they hadn’t. Not that anyone begrudges him his good fortune.”
Sidney shot a look at the vicar’s wife. Beryl seemed to recall he was also a regular attendee at the local place of worship, and she remembered once having heard some sort of proclamation that envy was considered a sin.
“I don’t know as it’s entirely accurate to state that no one begrudges him his inheritance,” Muriel said.
Beryl wondered if there was a similar admonition about gossip in the good book. If there was, Muriel had conveniently put it out of her mind. Fortunately, Beryl had no such qualms. As an investigator, it was her duty to use whatev
er means necessary to get to the truth. Even if it meant indulging in a bit of sin with a vicar’s wife.
“I find that hard to believe. Simpkins seems to be so well liked in Walmsley Parva,” Beryl said unashamedly. She propped her shopping basket on the counter and leaned against it, as if prepared to stay for a while.
Muriel and Sidney exchanged a significant look.
“The source of animosity does not come from anyone well acquainted with Simpkins. As you say, he is well liked in the village. I’m sure all of us are delighted for him,” Muriel said.
“It’s them folks from up in London,” Sidney said.
“Folks from London?” Beryl said. “Speaking ill of Simpkins?” She wondered if Mr. Pettigrew, the solicitor, was the person to whom Sidney referred. From what Edwina had said, Mr. Pettigrew seemed to have Simpkins’s best interest at heart.
“That’s right. People who seem to think he had done them out of their fair share,” Sidney said. “Mrs. Kimberly, for one.”
“Would that be the widow of Colonel Kimberly of condiment company fame?” Beryl said.
“Exactly the one. Although, I do confess I was a bit shocked that a man of as much position as Colonel Kimberly would be married to someone who seemed more suited for the dance halls than ballrooms,” Muriel said.
Beryl had long suspected there was a sharp side to Muriel, which Edwina never seemed to notice. Beryl was always leery of persons so doggedly devoted to good works. She felt they were most certainly covering up for some sort of wickedness simmering just below the surface.
Beryl found that her ideas of wickedness very often did not align with those of more traditionally minded people. She rather prided herself on her capacity to enjoy several of the seven deadly sins. What she could not tolerate were close-mindedness, grudge holding, miserliness, an unwarranted sense of superiority, or false modesty.
“You said folks from London. Is there anyone else here besides Colonel Kimberley’s widow?” Beryl said.
“There was a solicitor and also a man who mentioned being on the board of directors for the company,” Muriel said. She turned to Sidney, who nodded in agreement.
“That’s right. A man stopped in here yesterday, asking if I knew of any place that offered lodgings in the village,” Sidney said. “And where I might find Albert Simpkins.”
“And what did you tell him?” Beryl said.
“I mentioned the Beeches for Simpkins. As for the lodging, I recommended the Dove and Duck since it is the only place in town that lets rooms,” Sidney said.
“Unless one knows a resident and can prevail upon him or her, Sidney is quite right. Walmsley Parva is not exactly a sightseeing destination,” Muriel said. “And I thank the Lord for that.”
“And you say they were speaking disparagingly of Simpkins?” Beryl said.
“Not so much disparagingly as slyly. As if they wanted to plant the seed in the minds of his fellow villagers that Simpkins had somehow acquired his inheritance in an underhanded manner. No one came right out and said anything you could quite put your finger on. It was more what they implied,” Muriel said. “Rather wicked, I thought it was.”
Beryl understood exactly what Muriel meant to convey. Perhaps there was more depth to this woman of good works than she had previously considered.
“Do you mean there was nothing he could actually refute because there had not been anything said outright?” Beryl asked.
“That’s it exactly. It was clever but quite nasty of them,” Muriel said.
She made a tut-tutting noise that was particular to the English population. It was as close as many of them got to complaining overtly. Beryl thought she might add tut-tutting to her list of seven deadly sins. In her mind, if one had a complaint, why would one not just get it off the chest? To her way of thinking, it was ever so much better to air things out. With that in mind, she determined to complete her shopping quickly and to track down the people from out of town who were doing their best to discredit Simpkins.
“Well, as we have much to celebrate at the Beeches on Simpkins’s behalf, I’m here to purchase some celebratory items for the table. No matter what people from London have to say about any of it. What would you suggest?” Beryl said, turning to Sidney.
Muriel lifted her parcel and placed it in her own shopping basket before taking her leave. A few moments later Beryl followed suit, a stringy-looking duck, a beef tongue, and a half pound of sausages weighing down her own basket.
She made her way farther up the street and paused in front of the Dove and Duck. Peering through the window, she noticed the owner, Bill Nevins, behind the bar, wiping it down with a cloth. She rapped on the window. He looked up and beckoned her inside. Her enquiries after his overnight guests yielded no positive results.
According to the publican, he had had two guests overnight, but neither of them was still within. Bill had remained in business for many years partly by knowing which questions not to ask of his customers. He had no idea whatsoever where Beryl might find either of them. Nor did he know when they were likely to return.
She stopped in at the greengrocer for a pint of strawberries, a bunch of radishes, and a quantity of peas. With her basket heavily laden, she determined to return to the Beeches. Perhaps Edwina would be more likely to know where out-of-town visitors might choose to spend the day. At the very least, she should be informed that they had arrived. Beryl had a suspicion it would not be long before Simpkins would need to deal with them.
Chapter 17
Beryl had been right to head back to the Beeches. She entered the house through the scullery door and placed Edwina’s shopping basket on the table. Her friend stood pouring hot water from the kettle into a china teapot. Not the best one, mind you, but certainly a serviceable and attractive piece, nevertheless. Something in the set of Edwina’s shoulders told Beryl there was something afoot.
“You’ll never guess what I heard down in the village,” Beryl said.
“Is it that visitors from London are here and wish to speak with Simpkins?” Edwina said.
So that was where they had gone, Beryl thought to herself.
“That’s it exactly. Those city people waste no time in getting straight to the point, do they?” Beryl said.
“I would rather that they had wasted even less time,” Edwina said. “As it is, I find that I am fixing tea for a woman I would not have hired as a parlourmaid. I would prefer that they would just get on with whatever it is they wish to say and stop beating around the bush about it.”
Edwina placed the lid on the teapot with a clatter. Beryl could not help but notice a lack of home-baked goods placed on the tray. Edwina opened a cupboard and pulled down a packet of store-bought biscuits. Beryl could only surmise that Edwina was well and truly affronted at the behavior of their uninvited guests. She had never before seen packaged biscuits on offer when visitors were present. It was rarely done when just she and Edwina were on their own.
As a matter of fact, there had been no such thing in the house until Beryl had arrived on scene several months earlier. She felt peckish now and again and did not wish to bother Edwina with preparing something from scratch. Given her own culinary skills, packaged goods were the only way to keep up her strength.
“Shall I take the tray in for you? You look as though you would rather not,” Beryl said.
“I would be very grateful if you would do so,” Edwina said. “It had been my intention to simply leave them to it, but I didn’t have the heart to leave Simpkins on his own with them. He is rather an innocent about people of that sort, and it felt wrong of me to leave him to fend for himself. But there’s just something about their superior behavior that puts my teeth on edge. I’m not sure I can trust myself not to point out that Mrs. Kimberly has difficulty not dropping her aitches.”
That settled it. Beryl could not wait to meet them. She patted Edwina on the shoulder and then hoisted the tea tray.
“I’ll take it from here. You go on out to the garden and keep out of sigh
t.”
“But what will you give as an excuse?” Edwina said. “It should be horribly rude for me to abandon guests mid-visit.”
“They’re not your guests, are they?” Beryl said.
“I suppose not. They are here to see Simpkins, after all,” Edwina said with a hopeful lilt to her voice.
“I don’t intend to tell them anything. I make it a policy never to explain things I do not wish to explain. As far as I can see, you owe them nothing, not even this tea,” Beryl said. “Now scoot, before they come in and find you.” With that, Edwina bustled out the back door, Crumpet capering close at her heels.
A half hour in her beloved garden ought to set things right, Beryl thought.
She pushed open the kitchen door with her hip and set off down the long hallway to the parlour. The door was open, and voices floated towards her as she approached. Beryl was a sizable woman both in height and, after a winter of a sedentary lifestyle, she had become a bit larger in breadth as well. That did not mean, however, that she was not light on her feet. After all, Beryl had spent so many years in the bush, making her way quietly through in order not to disturb the permanent inhabitants or expose herself to dangers unseen, that she found it quite natural to move silently as she approached the room.
The tone of the widow Kimberly’s voice grated on Beryl’s nerves. While she was not one to consider any of the social classes more worthy than the others, she was able to recognize the differences in their manner of speaking and their comportment. It was obvious even to her that Edwina had been correct in her assessment of Mrs. Kimberly. Beryl thought it likely she was hearing a cunning chorus girl who had captured a wealthy older man’s heart.
First and foremost on her mind was the idea that the widow not be allowed to do so a second time. Simpkins was not for sale. She strode through the door, the tea tray held out in front of her, a bright but firm smile plastered on her face. Simpkins looked up in relief as she crossed the room and placed the tray on the low table in front of him.
Murder Cuts the Mustard Page 11