Death at the WI

by Oster, C. G.

  “That does sound exciting,” Sue said.

  “But surely it’s only talk,” Mary countered.

  “They say we are starting to raise money to create it.”

  Dory wasn’t entirely sure what they were talking about. Was this a college for children, a school run by the WI?

  “I always felt the WI needed a place we could go. Something more permanent. I think it’s a brilliant idea.”

  “Did you put in the pectin?” Ruth asked, looking at Dory with her large blue eyes.

  “Not yet,” Dory replied.

  “Good, because we need to bring the heat down or it will turn stiff.”

  Ruth took over and turned the gas knob down. She stirred the pot, looking almost like a witch over her cauldron. “Blackberries take a lesser amount of pectin, except if they’re tart—then you need a little more. Now, where is it?” she asked, searching the table until she found what she was looking for—a light blue box, squarish in shape. She handed it to Dory. “Four tablespoons should do it. And two cups of water.”

  Dory measured and poured in the powder into the pot, and Sue came with the first cup of water, then the second. Ruth stirred the concoction diligently, as if it would go terribly if it didn’t receive her full attention.

  Dory had heard mention of this college a few times now, so it was a topic that persisted.

  “So what do they want us to do?” Mary asked.

  “More of the same. Sell things and raise the funds for this college.”

  Mary’s confused expression stayed, as if she didn’t understand. Well, that made two of them.

  “Alright,” Ruth said. “You can start filling the jars.”

  They took jugs and filled them with the jam to pour into the lined-up jars. It had turned from a bloody mess into deeply purple jam. The little seeds suspended in the thick liquid. The jars steamed as the jam went in, and the girls behind them quickly lidded them before the heat escaped.

  Luckily they had enough jam jars. The country would probably grind to a halt if they didn’t have jam jars. All fruit and vegetable were jammed, pickled or brined, yet there seemed no end in sight to the food shortages. However, the benefit of living in Beaconsfield was that they could buy fresh eggs, and didn’t have to depend on the horrid powdered eggs.

  This made Dory wonder if she should bake a cake tonight. Or a pie. Surely there were some blackberries that they’d missed. Hopefully apples weren’t too far away.

  Having finished with the filling, Dory was urged to write out labels for the jars. The heat of midday was dissipating and it was starting to cool, so Dory pulled on the cardigan she’d brought with her.

  “Alright, I think we’re about done,” Marjorie called and Dory stopped writing labels. “Let’s crate them up and put them in the van. They should probably settle a few days before we take them to market. Mary, Sue, would you carry the crates into the van, please?”

  This signified the end of things for Dory to help with, so she gathered up her small purse and waited to see what the others were doing. In terms of distance, it wasn’t terribly far to walk to get home, but she wished she had a bicycle. It would make her a little more mobile.

  “Alright, I’d better go then,” Dory said and said her farewells to the others who were no longer needed. The sun shone outside when she got out of the hall, but it didn’t have much heat. It would be a few hours until Michael came home, and she had to get home to start cooking. There wasn’t time to go around and look for any missed blackberries. While they’d been picking, there were a few that hadn’t been ripe enough yet, and it was unlikely anyone would go back for them for jam purposes, so in a few days, Dory might be able to pick enough for a small pie, or a crumble. A blackberry crumble was worth spending a little of her sugar reserves.

  In fact, she was looking forward to autumn deepening. It was a nice time of year—especially as the apples and pumpkins came into season. Winter must be relatively easy to bear in their modern, new house. It had both a fireplace and electric heating. The rooms weren’t overly large and drafty as they were in Wallisford Hall. Only the kitchen was warm in Wallisford Hall during cooler times of year.

  As Dory walked, she wondered at her life. It was so wonderful, yet she still felt as though she wasn’t measuring up. There were some key things she simply wasn’t good at. For the first time, she chided herself for not learning more from her mother and aunt when it came to domestic things, but there had been so many other things to focus on. Now was when she needed those skills.

  Granted, she was learning a great deal at the WI. She knew how to make jam now. The pickling and brining, she was still useless at, but the Institute’s main purpose was to teach skills. Perhaps this college wasn’t such a bad idea—it could help her to not feel so lost when being confronted by what should be quite simple tasks, like sewing curtains. Secretarial school hadn’t prepared her at all for her life now. Although she could take notes in shorthand when taking a message over the telephone, but not all that practical as Michael couldn’t read it.

  Chapter 4

  DORY FELT QUITE EXCITED about the upcoming chapter meeting by the time it came around. The topic for the day was animal husbandry, which was a completely foreign topic for her. Most likely, her neighborhood wouldn’t allow animals other than pets. It wasn’t the kind of street where one kept animals.

  Still, she was quite excited to go along and listen, even if it was unlikely she would ever put it to use. The topics were generally still very much orientated to rural life, which was perhaps why other women from her neighborhood weren’t members. Although she saw them at times, she didn’t really know how they spent their time. It was an issue she hadn’t sorted for herself yet either. At times, the house was so quiet, she could hear Michael’s alarm clock from upstairs anywhere in the house.

  So she read cookbooks, and the magazines she bought at the store, and she bought food for supper. In her week, which did seem quite monotonous, coming to the chapter meeting to spend an hour or two was something to look forward to.

  Saying that, many of the ladies in the WI had plenty of work to do at home managing house, family, farm, garden kitchen, animals and food management. They would hail Dory’s life as leisurely if she told them how little she did during the day.

  Children changed all that, she’d been told, and she should enjoy this time when there was little pressure on her.

  The hall was cold when she stepped inside, joining the women standing around with cups of tea drawn from an electric urn.

  “I just don’t know if I trust Attlee,” Marjorie said with a shake of her head as she stood and spoke with Ruth, Penelope and Sophie. “With Churchill, you always knew where you stood.”

  “True, but Churchill would never be all that sympathetic for our cause.”

  “But how do we know the Germans aren’t going to rise up and cause trouble again?”

  “That won’t happen. Germany is in ruin.”

  “They did it to themselves,” Penelope said with a sniff.

  “My John says we can’t be too punitive. It will only build resentment.”

  “I can’t see the Germans not being resentful. They lost the war. They lost the last war, but that didn’t stop them from trying again. Are we to have war with them every twenty years?”

  “God forbid,” Marjorie said and crossed herself. “Let’s speak of something more pleasant.”

  “It is said that the Attlee government does in essence agree with our aim of equal pay for women.”

  “The problem is that he rolls it in with the National Insurance Bill they are trying to pass, but it’s not the same thing at all. Granted, he is setting up that Institute for domestic servants.”

  “But we don’t all want to be domestic servants, or to simply receive an income if we fall on hard times. They are excellent measures, but it does not reach as far as equality for women in the workplace. We know women can do just as good a job as a man. The war proved it.”

  “We are addressing
it,” Hesta said, addressing the group in such a way as to kill any further conversation. There was always such command in how she spoke. “Now, I have agreed with Edith Wallis that we will explore her chicken coop at the end of the meeting, but for now, let’s start. Please take your seats, everyone, so we can officially begin.”

  The meetings were quite structured with people having roles like chapter leader, treasurer and minutes taker. They reviewed the last meeting and then discussed any news that had come from the national organization. Fundraising for the college was one of the main initiatives they’d been asked to help with. There were also requests to write to their local MP about providing supplementary milk to all school children.

  After the structured business was done, it was onto the topic of the day, and Sarah McDonagh stood up and led the conversation. They talked predominantly about animals that supported the household, and not farm animals related to the business of farming. Pigs and goats, chickens and lambs.

  Of course Dory knew that animals had to be raised, but it was hard for her to imagine raising an animal specifically for the table. Feeding and caring for it. Her squeamishness made no sense whatsoever, but it was much easier for her to eat animals she hadn’t known when alive.

  Sarah McDonagh had no qualms about that, it seemed. She spoke at length about how to raise animals for the best quality meat, milk or eggs. Then about the seasons and what they meant for animal husbandry.

  It was an interesting topic, but by the end, Dory still didn’t think it would ever apply to her life. Michael would probably not be encouraging of keeping chickens in their small garden. Having a vegetable garden would be more palatable, but through the war, she had learnt it wasn’t something she was specifically skilled at.

  “Alright, so shall we pop around to Edith’s house? I understand she’s baked a cake for us to have after, which is lovely. Alright, everyone, chop, chop,” Hesta ordered and they all rose. “We won’t convene the meeting in the regular manner since we’re finishing with this outing, but if there is anything anyone simply must say, now is your chance, if you’re quick.”

  No one said anything and they all walked out of the hall and to the right. They chatted amiably, Sue and Mary walking arm in arm. They kept quite a brisk pace as they strolled toward the end of the old village. Dory wasn’t sure where Edith lived. She barely remembered her from previous meetings, recalling a quiet withdrawn woman with brown hair—if she was thinking of the right person.

  A cottage at the end of the lane was their destination.

  “We have arrived, Edith,” Hesta called to the open windows, and they walked inside. The house smelled burnt. “Marjorie, go check the oven.”

  Margorie walked through what had to be the kitchen door. She clearly knew this house.

  “Edith? I think something’s burning,” Hesta called again.

  “I hope it’s not the cake,” Sue said.

  “Of course it’s the cake. What else would be in?” Hesta chided.

  Sue looked deeply disappointed.

  “I’m sure it can be salvaged,” Penelope said with a reassuring smile.

  A pitcher of orange cordial stood on the table that had been neatly dressed with a knitted tablecloth. That was enough as a treat in Dory’s book.

  “I can’t find her anywhere,” Marjorie said as she returned to the parlor where they all stood.

  “She couldn’t have been called away?” Sue asked.

  “I suppose it’s possible if something had happened to Henry. There might have been an accident and she ran out without even thinking of the cake,” Penelope said.

  “Or she left it for us to take out, but we arrived later than she expected,” Mary said. “Did you see a note?”

  “No,” Marjorie confirmed. “I do hope everything’s alright. It would be awful to lose her son during war to then have something happen to her husband a mere year later. That would break her, I’m sure.”

  “I’m sure everything is fine. No need to panic about something we don’t know has happened,” Hesta stated.

  Biting her lip, Dory wondered. It would have to take something quite substantial to leave the house when the women of the WI were coming around. Or perhaps Edith was flighty that way. Dory didn’t know her well, so it was possible.

  “Should we wait for her to come, or should we just get on with it?”

  Hesta and Marjorie exchanged looks. Marjorie shrugged. “Perhaps we just get on with it and Edith will catch up with us when she can.”

  “Alright, ladies,” Hesta said with authority. “To the chicken coop.”

  They walked out and around the side of the house. A nice garden ran along the fence and across the front of the house, but the back was more used for farming purposes. There was a tractor stored under the shed lean-to, and a shed full of farming equipment. Dory assumed it was farming equipment.

  The smell of chickens reminded Dory of Wallisford Hall. That smell would forever be linked to the place in her mind now. That would probably offend the Fellingworths deeply, but it was simply a fact. The Fellingworths were forevermore linked with the stink of chickens.

  “Oh!” came a gasp. “Oh no. Edith.”

  Unease crept up Dory’s spine. Something bad had happened. She knew it in her bones.

  “Oh my,” someone else said, the sound of panic infiltrating their voice.

  Unlike others, Dory didn’t rush forward.

  “She must have hit her head somehow. Should we call an ambulance?”

  “I suspect it’s too late for that.”

  Sue came away looking impossibly pale.

  “We must notify the authorities there’s been an accident. She must have fallen and hit her head.”

  Inside the chicken coop, Dory thought. That was deeply unlucky. Poor lady. But then people did die doing the most mundane things.

  Most of the ladies moved away, the look of shock and dismay was clear on their faces, and most repeated ‘poor Edith’ over and over. People didn’t know how to react to death.

  Unable to help herself, Dory stepped closer and had a look. The chicken coop was a structure built of wood and wire. An old and well used one by the look of it. Edith was lying face down and a chicken stood on her back almost as if victorious. A silly thought entered her head that the chickens had conspired to kill their master. Perhaps they hated humans for stealing so many eggs.

  It picked her blouse and flapped down onto the ground as if bored by the intruder.

  Blood could be seen on the back of her head, so it was clear where the injury was, and also evident why people had thought she’d slipped. But saying that, the injury was on the back of her head and she was lying face down. That seemed odd.

  Stepping away, Dory tried not to think about it. The authorities would deal with it, as it should be. It wasn’t her place to dig into the ins and outs of how this had happened. She would stay well clear of it. Michael would be disappointed in her if she charged in like she had the habit of doing. It wasn’t her business. There were professionals who did this for a living. Granted, in her time, she hadn’t developed any great admiration for most of the one’s she’d met—except Michael, who was an excellent investigator, and an excellent man.

  “We must call Doctor Tilley,” Marjorie said. “I believe he has to... pronounce...” Drifting off, she clutched her arms tightly to her and her fingers pressed to her mouth. “It’s just awful. Poor Edith.”

  “Perhaps we should all go inside,” Hesta suggested.

  An urge to argue struck Dory, because the police wouldn’t want them to trample all over the house, but then Edith was clearly murdered where she fell. There were no drag marks. Although it could be that someone had carried her there, where they had just trampled out any evidence of it. It would have to be a strong person.

  Penelope was the one who looked most shocked, to the point where she didn’t seem to have her wits around her. She just kept shaking her head.

  “Let's go inside,” Dory said, urging her to turn. They had al
ready trampled all over the salon as it was, so what harm would it be if they returned there?

  Even so, Dory walked around the room and looked for any evidence that there had been a scuffle, or that small spots of blood were present on the wall. Likely the woman had fallen, but it was curious that she had fallen face down.

  There was nothing to indicate that there had been a struggle or accident, much less murder.

  Chapter 5

  THE DOCTOR CAME, THE priest came and finally the constable came. They spent some time in the chicken coup and a short while later, an ambulance came and they carried Edith’s covered body to it on a stretcher.

  Her mind asked if there had been any defensive wounds, but she also completely dismissed the question. This was none of her business.

  A little spear of loss hit her as she missed having Lady Pettifer to talk to about these things. It was the one thing she couldn’t talk about with Michael. Obviously she’d mention it had happened, but he simply wasn’t interested in pouring over the details like she did with Lady Pettifer. It was none of her business, Dory repeated to herself.

  “Right, ladies,” the constable said as he walked into the front parlor where they had all congregated. “What’s happened here?” He was quite a young man, mid-twenties perhaps. A nice-looking man with neatly trimmed hair.

  “Well, poor Edith’s had a terrible accident. It seems she’s hit her head,” Hesta said.

  “She always had a bit of an unlucky streak,” Marjorie added.

  “That’s true,” Penelope added. “It seemed if it could go wrong, it always did so for Edith. Has her husband been informed?”

  “Father Churing has gone to find him,” the constable replied and took out his notebook. “So when was the last time any of you ladies saw Mrs. Wallis?”

  The group was silent for a moment. “Yesterday,” Hesta finally said. “We came to speak to her about today and what we were planning to discuss.”