by Oster, C. G.
“And what were you planning to discuss?”
“Managing animals.”
“And what time was this?”
“About two in the afternoon.”
“Had no one else seen her since?”
Silence reigned in the room.
“I’m sure Henry saw her after that,” Marjorie said. “Poor man, he’s going to be devastated.” A look of sadness seemed to crumble her face and she looked to Hesta.
“It’s all so unfortunate,” Hesta added, looking equally distraught. It was the only time Dory had seen either of the women look remotely ruffled.
“Who found her?”
“That would be me,” Mary said.
“But we knew something was wrong when we first got to the house because the cake was burning in the oven.”
“And what time was this?”
“About eleven thirty,” Hesta said. “Perhaps five minutes after. I believe we finished out discussion in the hall at eleven thirty on the dot and then the time to walk here. We could smell the cake as soon as we entered the house.”
“She was baking it for us,” Mary said and started to cry, and Sue put her arm around her.
“We had agreed to meet here after the meeting. Edith must have gone into the chicken coop to prepare. We were going to talk about it. And...” Marjorie drifted off.
They were all silent for a moment.
“Have you identified where exactly she hit her head?” Dory asked. Nowhere in the chicken coop had she seen blood. She would have noticed, surely.
“Well, sometimes, with these things, the bleeding takes a moment to start.”
That didn’t sound right to Dory, but she was by no means an expert on head wounds. The wound had been quite gory at first glance, but she hadn’t looked too closely, and it wasn’t her business to determine. She just would have assumed that if Edith had fallen and hit her head on one of the shelves or structure of the chicken coop, it would leave a mark—particularly if it was enough to kill her, and then fall face down.
The fact that a wound from a fall was fatal wasn’t astounding. An unlucky person could die from little more than a tap to the head. While others could take a large impact and barely be impaired. There had been more than a few head wounds during the bombings, and one never could account for how someone fared through them.
Pressing her palms to her eyes, Dory reiterated that she wasn’t to get involved.
“Well, there’s nothing more we can do here today, ladies,” Hesta said. “Unless you have any more questions, Constable Worthing?”
“No, not at the moment. I know where to find you all if I need to,” he said with a tight smile.
It was quite clear that the young man was hiding how intimidated he was by Hesta and Marjorie. Not surprising, as they were ladies who didn’t take well to being displeased.
The man gave a quick nod and then escaped out of the house. Dory could see him walking away through the window. And then it was just them. It was amazing how quickly Edith had been bundled up and then they’d all simply left.
Marjorie turned to the group. “I don’t know what to say. It’s been a tragic day. That is all one can say, isn’t it? But I suppose one can take comfort in thinking she’s reunited with her precious Tommy. She wasn’t quite the same after his death.”
Who this Tommy was, Dory wasn’t sure, but they had all lost people in the war, so the details weren’t necessary. Most likely, it was the son Dory had heard referred to. Too many sons had died. It was such a common story now, one couldn’t really take on the details of yet another loss. There simply wasn’t capacity for more.
Yet now they had one more tragedy, and it seemed so utterly senseless. A happenstance fall. Pure bad luck. Dory held onto that belief tightly, because if she gave her mind room to maneuver, she would start questioning. Questions regarding where she hit her head, could it possibly happen without any trace, and wouldn’t there be more damage if she’d flailed around to eventually land face down? It wasn’t as if she’d injured herself on the ground. She must have been upright.
And saying that, Dory had hit her head a few times in her life, but she’d never achieved that degree of damage.
Biting her lip, Dory swore. Why did she have to go into it? It wasn’t any of her business.
“I think we had better go home,” Hesta said, voicing what Dory was thinking. There was no point in them staying.
“Do you think someone should be here for when Henry gets home?” Penelope asked. “Maybe we should cook him something, or he would starve too.”
“Good point,” Sophie said. “I’ll stay with you and prepare a supper for him.”
Penelope nodded and the room grew silent.
“I suppose I’ll go, then,” Dory said and smiled weakly. She slipped out the door and out of the house, and didn’t look back as she walked toward her house. It felt less oppressive out in the open and she continued walking straight home. When she got there, she would busy herself with cooking supper too.
It seemed to have cooled a little since they’d walked to Edith’s house. Or maybe it just seemed so as the jolly atmosphere had dissipated completely. Replaced by misfortune and loss.
It could be that she’d simply tripped over a chicken and fell quite severely. Chickens weren’t the brightest creatures. It could just be plain bad luck.
The coroner would have to make a determination based on the evidence. Likely, Edith and her wound, would be examined. If anything untoward had happened, it would show, surely.
The house was utterly quiet when Dory returned, letting herself in through the kitchen door and sitting down at the table. What had she decided to cook tonight? She couldn’t remember. Oh, yes, lamb chops, potatoes and green beans.
The last thing she wanted to do was stand over a hot stove, but she had to, or they wouldn’t eat. Michael probably wouldn’t be too happy if all she presented were warmed tinned beans and toast. Although that had proven a perfectly serviceable meal for her on more nights than she’d care to mention.
So cook she had to. After checking her watch, she determined that the perfect time to do so would be in half an hour. The meal would then likely be ready and still hot when Michael came home.
Would she tell him about the death? She wasn’t sure. It certainly wouldn’t be something he would wish to discuss, but equally, she should mention it had happened related to the group she was spending time with. It was just an unfortunate thing that had happened. That is what she would say. It may not be fully what her suspicion would be, but she knew what he would say if she mentioned that: to leave it to the professionals to deal with.
And that was exactly what she was going to do.
Chapter 6
THE TELEPHONE REMAINED silent for a few days. No one called, no one came around, and Dory had no idea what was going on. With her ‘don’t get involved’ edict, that worked out just fine, but she was just so curious what was happening. Had the examination discovered something concerning?
Dory paced by the window of her front parlor, looking out on the quiet street. Very little happened out there. Occasionally, a woman would walk by with a pram or a dog. The mailman made his way down the street, stopping at just about every mailbox.
The chapter meeting was supposed to happen tomorrow, but she didn’t know if it was still on. Maybe she should go as usual, but would it seem heartless if she went, expecting everything to be normal when one of the members had been murdered?
Not murdered, she quickly corrected herself. They didn’t know anything about her being murdered. It was perfectly reasonable that it was an accident—just one with some very curious characteristics that could be interpreted as sinister.
The sharp peal of the phone ringing nearly had Dory jumping out of her skin. Why did it have to be so loud in a quiet house like this? What if there had been a baby sleeping? There had to be a way of turning the volume down. Absently, she touched her belly that was as flat as it had always been.
Something in
her felt uncertain about taking this call, but she walked into the hallway where the telephone sat on a small table. “Ridley residence,” she said when she answered.
“May I speak to Mrs. Ridley?” said a voice that was familiar, but Dory couldn’t place it.
“Speaking.”
“Ah yes, it’s Penelope Middlesmore.”
“Hello, Penelope, how are you?”
“Well, you know. Best as can be, I suppose. Under the circumstances. It’s just awful what’s happened.”
“Yes. I haven’t heard anything further about what’s happened since.”
“Henry was distraught when he returned home. Poor man. First his son and now his wife. He’s all alone.”
“That is very sad. Did constable speak to him?” Dory asked, feeling as though she was pressing unnecessarily.
“I don’t know, but I think he came around in the evening. Now the reason I’m calling is that we are all going to go to the funeral tomorrow.”
“Oh yes, of course.” Curiously, not a single thing had been written in the paper about the incident. Then again, what were they going to say: a remarkably unlucky woman died after hitting her head while feeding her chickens?
"So the chapter meeting isn’t going ahead, and frankly, no one wishes to speak about mending clothing right now. We are all attending the funeral instead. I know you didn’t know her terribly well, but you are welcome to join us.”
“I would be honored. She seemed like a very kind woman, and I’d like to lend my support.”
“Yes, some have taken this blow very badly. She was one of us, and now she is gone. It’s unfathomable.” Even after all this loss, it was still unfathomable to some. Maybe Penelope had come out of this war rather unscathed. “It starts at ten in St. Mary’s. We’re meeting there beforehand.”
“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dory said with a soft smile, even as Penelope didn’t see it. “Things one must get through.”
“Yes, exactly.” It grew awkward for a moment. “Well, goodbye then. Until tomorrow.”
Penelope hung up before Dory had a chance to say her goodbye. Likely Penelope was one of the ones who was taking this badly. They must have been friends.
As Dory returned to the window, she saw the paperboy cycle down the street and throw the paper into her front yard. Dory went out to claim it. It was cool outside and she stood there with her arms crossed, surveying the street beyond what she could see from her window. So very quiet. What one had always wished for during the war, wasn’t it?
Taking the paper, she brought it back to the kitchen table and unrolled it. There were no articles about the police investigating a murder. There was an obituary in the back, stating how Edith had been a wonderful mother to Tommy, who had been lost during the war. How she was a kind woman who lent a hand to anyone who needed it, always with a warm smile and a sincere welcome. She would be greatly missed.
It stated the funeral would be held at St. Mary’s tomorrow.
This didn’t necessarily mean that the incident was accepted as an accident. Maybe the examination of the body explained why the blow had appeared so hard when there was no evidence of it. It could be that they had found some other place where she had been injured, and she’d wandered into the chicken coop being unaware or the injury, or possibly dazed. People with head injuries did curious things. They must have found proof that it was an accident.
A sense of relief washed over Dory. Who wanted a murder committed in their neighborhood?
The doorbell rang and Dory looked up in surprise. Hardly anyone came to the house. It was too late in the day for the milkman, and the postman had already been.
Getting up, she moved through the house to the front door and was surprised to see the young constable who’d come to Edith’s house.
“Mrs. Ridley?” he asked expectantly. For a moment it seemed as though he had no recollection of her at all.
“Yes. Constable Worthing, please come in,” she said.
It struck her for a moment that people on her street might note that a policeman came to her house, but then it wouldn’t perhaps be such a curiosity as her husband was a policeman.
She showed him into the salon. “Would you like some tea?”
“Thank you, but I won’t stay long.”
“Alright,” Dory said and took a seat on the sofa. The young man chose the chair opposite from her across the table. First, he took off his hat and then brought out a notebook from his pocket. His movements suggested he felt uncomfortable. “Have you been a policeman long, Constable Worthing?” she asked.
“About eighteen months. I was... injured, and after, I was recruited.”
“I’m sorry to hear you were injured. How can I help you?”
Looking down, he checked through his notebook as if the answer was in there. “Now, I understand you didn’t know Edith Wallis well,” he started and then looked up at her, waiting for an answer when he hadn’t really asked a question.
“No, I’d only met her a few times. No, I didn’t know her well at all. I’m not sure I ever spoke to her. If so, it wasn’t an in-depth discussion.”
Dutifully, he noted down the answers.
“I understand your husband is with the force.”
“Yes, with the Met.”
A smile and he nodded awkwardly. “So I don’t suppose you would have any impressions that someone would harm Mrs. Wallis?”
“No, I couldn’t say. I don’t know any of her family or the people she’s close to. Did the medical examination conclude that someone hit her?”
For a moment, he looked shocked and concerned. “Oh, no, that hasn’t come back yet. I’m just covering all bases. The doctor seemed quite adamant that it was the knock on her head that killed her. But there is nothing to say it wasn’t accidental.”
“And have you found a source of that knock?”
“Not directly.”
Not directly? What did that mean? It sounded like no.
“There are so many hard objects she could have fallen against on a farm.”
“But nothing with evidence of blood?” Dory asked.
“The doctor did say with knocks, the bleeding can take a few moments to start.”
Biting her lip, Dory considered it. How could she question what a doctor said? She was no expert on head injuries.
“Apparently one can go on for quite some time after an injury, not knowing how badly one is injured, until it takes its toll. Internal bleeding, the doctor said. Dr. Tilley said head injuries can be tricky and deceiving.”
With a smile, Dory nodded. “I suppose the postmortem will reveal more.”
“In the meantime, I’m just asking some questions. Standard procedure.”
“Of course.”
“I suppose you hadn’t heard of anyone carrying ill will towards Mrs. Wallis?”
“No, nothing.”
Quick scribbles in the notebook again, then he looked up, looking lost as if he couldn’t think of what else to say. This wasn’t an experienced questioner. There was none of the calm ease that Michael had. It was as though this young constable was exercising the things he’d read about, but hadn’t done before. Well, everyone had to start somewhere. Although he did say he’d been a policeman for eighteen months, so it wasn’t his first day.
Saying that, in a sleepy town like Beaconsfield, there probably weren’t a great deal of unexplained deaths.
“Well, then. If you think of anything, or hear anything I should know of, please call. The operator can put you through.” A smile and he closed his notebook. “Thank you for your time. I’m sure this will all be sorted out quickly. It’s distressing when things like this happens.” Standing, he moved to the door. “I’m questioning everyone who was there.”
“Probably wise,” she said and moved ahead of him so she could open the door for him.
“Oh, yes,” he said when he stood on the door stoop. “You were at the meeting beforehand, I understand.”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Good. Again, thank you for your time.” Putting his hat on, he turned and walked down the small walkway to the street, then continued.
Dory watched him for a moment. Did this mean he had some suspicions as well? Like her, he probably didn’t want it to be true, but the medical examination would tell. The idea that there could be a hard knock on the head with no blood sat badly with her, but who could argue with the doctor when he said it was very much possible?
Chapter 7
ST. MARY’S WAS A BEAUTIFUL stone church. No doubt hundreds of years old. It was lovely inside too, with soaring columns and arches. It did look, however, that the inside had been upgraded more recently. Memorials lined the walls for the parish notables. Maybe she should look into the history of the parish a bit more. History wasn’t really something that interested her greatly, but sometimes one understood a place better if one knew what had come before.
“Dory, so good you could come,” Penelope said. “It’s such a sad day. Henry isn’t here yet, but he’s distraught.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” Dory said, not quite knowing the appropriate thing to say.
“Did that policeman come speak to you?”
“Yes, he came by yesterday. Asked some questions and then left.”
Penelope nodded absently as she looked around. “Quite a good turnout. She was well liked in the village. I see Eleanor is here. Not sure you’ve met her yet. They were quite close. Lost her husband during the war.”
"That’s terrible,” Dory said, as she did when anyone’s war loss was brought up.
“She’ll be quite distraught about this. First her husband and now her close friend. And we’ve all lost a valuable member in our community. I understand there’s to be a reception at the house. Do you intend to come?”
“I had planned to.”
“Good,” Penelope said, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “I must see that everything is organized. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
Penelope walked off purposefully, and Dory looked around, seeing Sue and Mary smiling at her. They look smart in their black dresses, a way Dory had never seen them dressed before. Walking over to them, she decided to join them for the service.