Death at the WI

by Oster, C. G.

  “So this is a murder investigation.”

  “Yes,” he said, still looking deeply uncomfortable.

  “You know, my husband and I met during such an investigation. Not far away, actually. Quainton. He was brought in to investigate a murder. Perhaps they will do the same thing.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of investigating crime,” he responded, now offended.

  “Of course. I never meant to suggest otherwise. It’s just...” How could she put this? “It’s often good to be guided by a more experienced hand, if you know what I mean.”

  “I assure you, there is no need for you to worry.”

  If only she had been able to trust that a single time someone had told her that. Well, she had been able to trust Michael, but he had struggled to get information out of some of the people at Wallisford. He would have in the end, but it would probably have taken longer without her assistance.

  A car backfired and she wasn’t sure she had ever seen someone drain of color so fast. The constable looked haunted, and he began to shake. “Are you alright, Mr. Worthing?” He looked as though he was about to faint.

  “I...,” he started. “I’m not good with loud noises.”

  “It was only a car.” His hands shook and he was pale as a sheet. “Perhaps you should sit down,” she suggested, because she worried he actually would faint.

  “No, I should go,” he said and started walking off. He looked both uncertain and a little unstable, and he’d shrunk in on himself somehow. As Dory watched, he kept walking.

  “Goodbye then, Constable Worthing,” she called, but he didn’t answer. As she stood there, he took a seat on one of the benches, still looking as if he’d had the fright of his life. For a moment, she wondered if she should go and assist him, but he’d just about run away from her.

  It seemed their young constable might not have any physicals scars from the war, but there were internal ones. Shell shock was common. It seemed like a spell of it. It wasn’t just the men who fought, some of the women still heard phantom planes coming, along with debilitating fear. Poor man, he must suffer. He’d said loud noises brought it on.

  Again she wondered if she should go assist, but she suspected it wouldn’t be appreciated. The spell would pass, hopefully. His superiors would know of this, surely, and they’d provide any assistance he needed. Still, it was disconcerting to see someone so distressed and turn around and walk away. But not everyone wanted help. They just wanted space to let things pass. With a sigh, she turned and walked away.

  Chapter 11

  THE DRIVE TO QUAINTON was lovely. The trees were lush, the road was dry and the breeze wasn’t too cold to drive with the windows down. It really had been a while since she’d driven. Michael drove if she ever needed to go anywhere. In all, she sometimes forgot that Beaconsfield wasn’t the entirety of her world. She could wander farther afield, and Michael even encouraged it. Maybe it was her that was limiting herself. There was nothing stopping her from popping down to London for the day.

  Maybe she stayed close to home because she felt she hadn’t mastered her domain yet. But today, she was enjoying going for a drive, and popping in to see her aunt, even if she didn’t learn a thing.

  It couldn’t be said that she knew this road well. Mostly when she came to Wallisford Hall, she came by train, but she recognized Quainton when she reached it. It looked the same. The war hadn’t changed it a bit. Deciding not to stop, she continued to drive to Wallisford Hall, which was some ways from the village.

  Before long, she reached the long, treelined driveway of the Hall. There was a point when the house came into view and suddenly she felt very emotional, to the point where it was best she pull over. A great sadness washed over her and she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if she’d particularly liked working there, and had in some ways missed it. Truthfully, she didn’t like the place all that much, but she did like some of the people in it. Lady Pettifer was a close friend, and she felt removed and detached from her. Gladys too. Her life was now elsewhere.

  Pulling herself together and checking her face in the mirror, she smudged away any evidence of this uncharacteristic outburst. In all, she wasn’t a terribly emotional person, and it was something she prided herself on. It had held her in good stead many times in her life.

  Putting the car in gear, she continued driving and parked on the far side of the garage. It wasn’t as if she was a guest of the house and should park in front. It wasn’t even something she felt comfortable doing even if she’d been specifically invited by Lady Pettifer.

  Vivian came to mind and his vitriolic accusations that she held herself in higher regard than she should. Him trying to put her in her place had been a central theme of their relationship, and she hoped there wouldn’t be a further rendition of it today. In fact, she hoped not to see him at all.

  As she walked around the garage, she noted that his car wasn’t there. Then again, he could be driving another one these days.

  Dory headed straight for the kitchen door, and was met with the smell of baking bread as she walked down the steps. The door was open and it was quiet inside, which wasn’t always the case.

  “Gladys?” she called when she reached the kitchen.

  “Dory, how wonderful to see you,” Gladys said, coming out of the pantry to give her a large embrace. “I hope the drive was nice.”

  “It’s a nice day for a drive. Not too wet.”

  “The wet weather will probably set in soon. I miss summer days.”

  “They will come again. I brought you some blackberry jam.” Dory had had to buy it from the WI stand at the market. There hadn’t been enough blackberries left over to make her own once she’d looked. “I made it. Partially. It wasn’t just myself. You’ll be pleased to know we were guided by a master jam maker.”

  “Oh, lovely. I’ll make some scones. Come, sit down,” Gladys said and urged her to the large table where the staff sat and had their supper. No one was there.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Well, there’s not so many of us here now as there were in your day. There’s only Mr. Holmes and Mrs. Parsons, Agnes, the new scullery maid and Josie. There’s two more maids, but they come from the village every other day. We are barely running on any staff these days. People are so hard to come by, we have to make do with just us. Mind you, it’s only his Lordship here most of the time. The others are scattered to the wind.”

  “I suppose there is less for you to cook for.”

  “Honestly, it doesn’t make much difference. But at least those blasted chickens are gone. Some days we just couldn’t open the windows for the smell of them. I haven’t put chicken on the menu since the day they left. I think we’ve all had enough of them.”

  Dory smiled. The large chicken enclosures that had covered most of the vast front lawn all throughout the war had smelled terribly when the wind had shifted. But it was what Wallisford Hall had contributed to the war effort.

  “Now, tea or coffee?” Gladys asked.

  “Coffee, I think. I do have to drive all the way back, so I wish to be alert for it.”

  Gladys busied herself and placed a tin contraption on the stove, which percolated coffee inside it. It was Italian, and quite common in the South of France too, except they liked their coffees much thicker and stronger.

  “Have you heard from her ladyship?” Gladys asked.

  “Not for some time. I understand she was quite eager to see how her house had fared.”

  “We haven’t seen her much of late. She stayed with her son during the summer months, but Livinia has gone with her to France.”

  Dory felt a pang of... It wasn’t jealousy exactly, just a bit of sorrow that her life had diverted from that path. Obviously, she was happily married, but she missed the things she’d given up, most centrally was her close relationship with Lady Pettifer. It wasn’t as if their friendship had ended—it was just more distant now.

  “How are you, Dory?” Gladys asked.

  “I’m fine
,” Dory said, trying to be bright. Being here was reminding her of the things that were no longer a part of her life.

  “You know, it takes time to find who one is as a married woman. The changes are quite extreme. It doesn’t happen overnight.”

  Looking down, Dory nodded, because Gladys seemed to read her so well. She did feel lost. Unskilled and untethered. “He’s a good man.”

  “Yes, I dare say you made an excellent choice with him. What is your house like?”

  “It's entirely new in a neighborhood of entirely new houses.” In all honestly, it did feel a little soulless. As it was all so new, it hadn’t had a chance to develop any character yet. Or maybe it was that everyone who lived there were strangers, and from elsewhere to boot. “It’s very well constructed. Everything is modern. It’s a very comfortable house.”

  “I have seen some pictures of the new houses being built. They do look very nice.”

  “There’s a garden and I’m just about to plant winter crops.” And Dory strived to present she wasn’t doing it out of desperation for anything else to occupy her. “It is a bit of a readjustment. Technically, it’s the only time since reaching adulthood that I haven’t worked. Although I have to say, being a companion to Lady Pettifer didn’t feel like work in the least.” But she hadn’t felt as lost as she did now.

  “You will find your feet,” Gladys said. “And when the children come, you will pray for a moment to put your feet up.”

  Everyone kept saying that to her, and she did understand. It had been bad enough with her brothers at home, particularly as her mother had had to work throughout their childhood.

  “So embrace this time. You will never have freedom like this again.” Gladys came over with the coffee maker and poured two cups of coffee before placing it down on a reed pot protector.

  “Well, in that spirit, I came to see you. And also to get your guidance on gravies, because there isn’t a one I haven’t managed to ruin somehow.”

  “Ah, it is essential to make a good gravy. It’s like the jewels to a fine dress. But all sauces are important. White sauces for fish and seafood.”

  “Honestly, I don’t dare touch seafood. I’m sticking to food that won’t make us sick if I get it wrong.”

  “Your repertoire wouldn’t be final without seafood.”

  “I’m not even close to worrying about final at this point. Barely passable is what I am aiming for.”

  “Why did you never learn to cook properly, Dory?”

  “It just... I was busy.”

  After the coffee was had, they spent a couple of hours making every sauce under the sun. Dory’s arms were sore afterwards, because some of them needed vigorous stirring.

  “But really, Dory. There isn’t any magic to it. It’s just practice. You will get better the more you do. Oh, I think the scones are ready. Will you have one before you go?”

  “Yes, please,” Dory said and took a seat by the table again. Gladys joined her with a plate of four scones from the oven. Testing them with her fingers, Dory determined they were still too warm to eat. Rush too much and the cream would simply melt into the scone, turning them into mush. “I might have one with just butter,” she said, unable to make herself wait any longer. They were just as good with butter when it melted on them.

  “Always so impatient. That has always been you. Even as a child.”

  Right now, Dory didn’t regret that one bit as butter-covered scone melted in her mouth.

  “But it’s good to see you. The hall is so quiet these days. We haven’t had a party in ages, not that I mind. But we shouldn’t sit yakking like this. You have to get back. You don’t want to drive in the dark.”

  “I have to pick Michael up from the train station in the evening.”

  “Best get a move on, then. I’ll send you packing with some scones,” she said and stood, walking over to the large kitchen bench and placing scones into a tea towel. “You should drop in again some time. It’s not too far, is it?”

  “No, not too bad. I didn’t tell you, I’m going foraging for mushrooms next week. Maybe I’ll bring you some.”

  “You have to know what you’re doing with mushrooms.”

  “Never fear, I will be with some very experienced ladies,” Dory said and walked over to kiss her aunt on the cheek. “Thank you for the scones.”

  “Life really is more pleasant if you know how to bake a good scone.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” Dory said with a smile as she grabbed her coat. “Hopefully I can come up again in a few weeks.”

  “Alright. Goodbye, Dory. Best you go. I need to get on with supper.”

  With a wave, Dory left through the kitchen entrance into the brisk air. With the large lawns around Wallisford Hall, the wind swept through freely. Swiftly, she walked toward the garage.

  “Well, if it isn’t Dory Sparks,” a familiar voice said in bored tones. Only one person was so consistently bored, Dory considered as she turned to see Vivian.

  “Vivian,” she said with the barest smile. It couldn’t be said she was ever happy to see him, but she supposed she was glad he’d survived the war, for Lady Pettifer, if for no other reason. “You look well.”

  “We both know I don’t,” he said with a tsk. Well, he didn’t have the glowing, youthful health he’d had. “But I am getting better.” It had been over a year since his liberation as a Japanese prisoner of war. “So you married that policeman, I heard.”

  “Yes, Captain Ridley.”

  “You have a thing for policemen, don’t you? You’re forever running after one or another.”

  Biting her lips, Dory considered him and tried to understand what insult he was flinging her way. “I certainly have a thing for one,” she finally said. Where was this going?

  “Still out solving the world’s problems?” he asked. There was that smug look she was familiar with. “Or are you stealing the family silver?” he asked, looking at the parcel she carried.

  “Scones,” she clarified, but disliked that she rose to his baits. “And what are you doing with yourself following your return?”

  “Returning to my degenerate habits.”

  “All’s well that ends well, then.”

  “Yes,” he said. “What are you doing here? My aunt’s not here. Oh, yes, Mrs. Muir. I forgot you were related. And you’re running off with our afternoon treat. How cruel.” That was the thing with Vivian. He always seemed to have an accusation ready, and he was observant—mainly for the purpose of being very annoying.

  “Didn’t think you were that into sweet things. Perhaps a good thing, because the blackberry jam you’ll be served, I made myself.” Honestly, she had no idea why she said that. Vivian gave a little sideways nod as if she’d scored a point. Why was it always like this with him? Was he forever fighting every person he met? “Well, it is good to see you healthy. Everyone was very worried for you.”

  “Were you?”

  Why in the world would he ask that? As if he cared what she thought after going to extraordinary lengths to inform her that she didn’t matter? “Of course. Your family would have been devastated if the war took you. As it happens, it seems both of our families were lucky in the war.”

  “I guess that makes us lucky.”

  “Well, I best harness that luck for my drive home,” she said with a curt nod and turned away from him. Really, she had never met such a thorny person in her life. Being starved and tortured hadn’t really changed him, it seemed. That had to mean he was never going to change his ways.

  Getting in her car, she put the unease of dealing with him behind her. How could one be uneasy with the smell of scones in the car? In fact, she was looking forward to the drive.

  Chapter 12

  THE WEATHER HAD TURNED cold and rainy. After a decent start to autumn, Dory didn’t mind the change in weather, and she headed out with her basket, her coat and her Wellingtons. Mushroom picking day had finally arrived, and Dory was excited. The days without meeting the ladies felt long and empty, and it
had been a while since she’d seen them.

  It had also been a while since she’d had any news at all. Each day she searched the newspaper for any more details on the murder, but there hadn’t been any mention of it, although that was not unusual. The police rarely publicized their progress.

  Today they were meeting at a bus stand by one of the forested areas around the village. Until now, it hadn’t really occurred to her that they would have to go into the forest for mushrooms. Of course, they did, but the location of mushrooms hadn’t really entered her mind. Perhaps she’d been thinking more of meadows.

  The road was quiet as she walked down it, the bus stop finally coming into view. From a distance, she saw some of the ladies gathered already. Sue and Mary, who were typically together, and the unmistakable tall form of Marjorie. Penelope and Lilian Broadman, who Dory didn’t know as well as the others. She only came once in a while, but clearly she couldn’t give up mushroom picking. There was another woman Dory didn’t know, an older woman standing in a green canvas coat.

  “Dory,” Sue said. “We weren’t sure you’d make it.”

  Why wouldn’t she make it? “I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Dory said with a smile.

  “Are we waiting for anyone else?” Mary asked.

  “Jilly said she might come, but she wasn’t sure,” Penelope said.

  “Well, we’re not waiting for ‘not sure’,” Hesta said and drew everyone’s attention. “Some of you know Mrs. Eileen Dartfeld, who is our resident expert forager. If there is something edible in the district, Eileen will know of it.”

  The woman didn’t smile at all and from the looks of her, she didn’t bother much with her appearance either. Not that Dory minded.

  “Right, let’s go,” the woman said, clearly eager to get moving. They all followed and she led them into the woods, down a thin path. With eager eyes, Dory searched for mushrooms, but she didn’t see anything, not ever recalling where she had seen mushrooms in the past. She knew that she had, but she couldn’t recall the circumstances.