by Oster, C. G.
They were quiet as they walked, staying that way for about ten minutes when Eileen stopped and turned to them. “This is a good place to start. Mushrooms like it dark and damp, so thicker forest is where we’ll find them. Spread out.”
Dory followed Mary and Sue, her eyes searching again.
“I do like mushrooms on toast,” Mary said. “Butter and salt. My mother used to cook it in the autumns.”
“We never really cooked with mushrooms that much,” Sue said. “How about you, Dory?”
“At home, not much, but my aunt cooks with them quite a bit.”
“I know I’m going to pick all the poisonous ones. Ooh, there’s one,” Mary said and approached a tree where two white mushrooms stood out of the fallen leaves.
“I don’t think any of us have a clue. Should we pick them?”
“I think I’ve seen these before,” Mary said and cut the base with her knife. “I suppose I’ll just pick one. Maybe we should check first?”
“I can go,” Sue said, taking the mushroom carefully between her fingers. “They’re not poisonous to the touch, are they?”
“I don’t think so, but maybe you should ask that Eileen woman,” Mary said, and Sue walked off.
“How have you been?” Dory asked. “I feel like I haven’t seen anyone for a while.”
“Busy as always. Yourself?”
“The usual.” Which was basically not that busy at all. She cooked and she cleaned, and went to the shops for what they needed. “I went to see my aunt one day. She lives north of here.”
“Oh, nice,” Mary said and they waited for a moment.
“Have you heard anything about Edith?”
“Not really,” Mary said. “Then again, I’m not sure we will hear anything at the moment since that policeman has taken himself off to the seaside.”
“This time of year?”
“I think his nerves got the better of him. He suffers with them.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“We went to school together. He was a few years older. I don’t think he even knew I was there, but we’re like that at school, aren’t we? We don’t notice the younger years. I never thought he’d be a policeman, but things turn out in unexpected ways.”
Well, this wasn’t great. The policeman investigating the case taking himself out of the district to calm his nerves.
“The war really affected him,” Mary continued. “Some of them have come back different people, haven’t they? Not that he’s that different, just... sensitive.”
“Perhaps the pressure of investigating a murder isn’t the best for him.”
“Murder? Is that what they say it is?”
“It seems that way.”
“Blimey,” Mary said. “Who would have thought that could happen somewhere like here? Who would do such a thing? Penelope better watch out or people will think it’s her.”
“Penelope does seem very sad about what happened to Edith. They were close friends, I take it?”
“Oh, yes, for years and years. Saying that, it wasn’t as if they were best friends, I don’t think.”
“Who were her best friends?”
“I don’t really know if people that age have best friends?”
“Some people don’t.” Not everyone did. Dory had had lots of friends in school, but no one she would count as a best friend, except perhaps for Lady Pettifer.
“As far as I know, she’s always been a member of the WI, so she knew all the women very well. She was just always around. It’s hard to think she won’t be. Poor thing.”
“Did she do much outside of the WI?”
“Not that I saw. It was a central part of her, I think. Other than her family and the farm. Losing her son was very tough on her and she completely withdrew after that. There was a time she didn’t come to meetings at all.”
“When did that change again?”
“Just recently. They had to take the position of treasurer off her because she simply didn’t have the interest anymore. I don’t think she was particularly bitter about it, but then I hadn’t spoken to her in quite a while. Honestly, even when she came back, she wasn’t the same.”
“Losing a child is a huge loss.”
“I couldn’t imagine,” Mary said with a shudder. “I lost a cousin in the war. It was horrible.”
“It’s edible,” Sue said, stumbling through a low branch. “I was worried I lost you. We’d better pick the other one too, then. But she also said to pick all kinds we find and she will review them afterwards.”
“Well, that’s easy. We shouldn’t have any problems with that. Let’s spread out.”
They searched for a while. Dory wasn’t having much success, until she came onto this orange ‘thing’ growing on a tree. “Girls,” she called and Sue and Mary came over. “Do you think this is a mushroom?”
Now that they looked at it, it was shaped more like orange fans than the classic mushroom shape. “I think they’re supposed to be,” Sue said. “Are there fungi that aren’t mushrooms?”
“We’ll put it in and we’ll look like idiots if it’s not,” Mary said.
“It never hurts to ask questions,” Dory said as she stepped closer to cut the curious growth off the tree. These things growing on trees were supposed to be mushrooms. Sometimes things were just different from how they were supposed to be. She put it in the hamper. “What is the likelihood that either Edith or her husband were having affairs?”
“Edith?” Sue said with a raised eyebrow. “An affair? That is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. She was over fifty. Who would she possibly be having an affair with?”
Dory was asking the wrong people this question. To young girls, romance was for the young, but it was a source of discord in marriages. Someone had killed her, and it had to be for a reason, and as the girls said: why in the world would anyone want to murder Edith Wallis?
There had to be something in her life that had caused it. “All I am saying is that someone must have hated her.”
“No one hated Edith. There was nothing to hate. She was a good person. Certainly wasn’t someone who had enemies. They must have it wrong. No one could have done this to her.”
Well, someone had, and it was someone hidden. In terms of hate, most often it was family, but having lost her son, there was only the husband, who had been elsewhere at the time. Maybe she was upset with someone about the son’s death. That was a stretch with the war, but grief wasn’t always rational. “Did the son have a fiancée?”
“Tommy? No, I don’t think so. He was very sporty. He liked cricket, I think. Do you know if he ever stepped out with anyone, Mary?”
“Not that I knew. He was on the shy side when it came to girls, if you know what I mean. No one in that family were great conversationalists.”
“You said Edith had stopped coming to meetings,” Dory prodded.
“Well, she’d started coming less. After Tommy died, she just lost interest, I think.”
“But she agreed to show her farm.”
“Edith always helped when you asked her to. Her house is close to the village, but more rural in nature than most, so it was a good choice if we wanted to talk about chickens.”
“Of course,” Dory said. It did mean there had to have been some interaction with someone from this group prior in order to set that up. Had Constable Worthing established her movements in the day before she’d died? It really was inconvenient that he take holidays now, but she had seen how his nerves had been hampering him with her own eyes. It must be that taking some days away had been necessary. Maybe dealing with a murder was too much for him. But what investigating was happening while he was away?
Chapter 13
IT TURNED OUT THEY WERE even commended for the orange fan-like mushroom. “Excellent eating,” Mrs. Dartfeld had said. When they’d all gathered, she’d gone through the baskets and talked about each kind of mushroom she found in there. Some were poisonous, while others were simply inedible, but not dangerous. To Dory
they all looked so very similar. A few of the poisonous ones looked exactly like the edible ones. Mrs. Dartfeld would point to something on it and say, “See, these ridges are a little darker.”
The day had given Dory little confidence. This was not enough to make her pick safely. Much more study was needed than this, because they all had names too, and it was just a jumble of roughly similar shapes with minute differences between them. Except the orange fan things, which she would be able to recognize again. Perhaps those were the only mushrooms she would search for.
The lesson finished and Dory joined Penelope for the walk back.
“I heard said that you and Edith were close friends. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. We were close, but less so lately. The war was very hard on her.”
“She started attending meetings less often,” Dory said. “Do you think she suffered from melancholy?”
“Well, one would after losing one’s only child. She took it very hard. Withdrew completely.”
“I suppose it was a step in the right direction to participate in one of the lectures.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. I think she was quite excited about it. She’d prepared refreshments for us, or had started to. Edith really was a decent baker.”
“I never really had a chance to know her. Had you been friends for a long time?”
“Yes, we were, but as I said, the loss of her son changed her quite dramatically.”
Now Dory found it hard to broach the subject. “How is Henry, Edith’s husband?” As carefully as she could, she watched Penelope for how she reacted.
“The man is devastated, which is understandable.”
“He seems to lean on you a great deal.”
“We must be there for one another in times like this.” Except no one else was there for Henry the way Penelope was. It seemed she’d stepped right into the Edith’s role, and it made some people wonder. Could Penelope really have killed Edith for her husband? No, couldn’t have. She’d been at the animal husbandry meeting along with everyone else.
“It’s just such a shock what’s happened,” Dory said, trying to find a way into this discussion. “Just out of the blue. Naturally, people look first to the husband in cases like this.”
Penelope stopped abruptly. “No, you cannot say such a thing. Henry adored Edith. He would never do anything to hurt her. That’s the most ridiculous assertion. You really should be careful about the things you say. It’s unseemly to cast unfounded aspersions. Shame on you.”
The defense of Henry was stronger than Dory had expected, and there was a degree of anger too. “I’m just saying that is where people look, but he’s been well accounted for when the murder happened.”
Penelope’s stare was still harsh, but she relented after another moment. “Yes,” she said and finally started walking again.
It could well be that Dory had just lost her friendship with Penelope, but the woman was extraordinarily sensitive on the topic. It was, after all, true what Dory had just said. In most cases of murder of women, the husband was responsible.
“People really shouldn’t take it on themselves to think ridiculous thoughts,” Penelope continued, apparently still angry with the statement.
“I don’t really know him, but he seems a nice man.”
“He’s a good man,” she said with a sniff. “He doesn’t deserve something like this happening to him.”
That was also a curious statement, because Penelope’s empathy seemed much more directed toward Henry rather than Edith herself, but that could simply be that she was a practical person and focused on the living. It was a common disposition during the war. The dead were lost, and as terrible was it was, they had died and they couldn’t any longer be helped.
Well, she’d upset Penelope already, so she might as well bite the bullet. “Do you think anyone was perhaps jealous of Edith?” she asked, trying to sound as blasé as possible.
“Jealous of what?” Penelope said immediately and the expression in her eyes suggested she truly was confused. Else, she was a very accomplished actress.
“I don’t know. A nice farm and a comfortable life.”
The woman blinked. “Well, I suppose some desperate, mad person. No one around here, though. No one is in dire enough straits that they would resort to such behavior. And what would they have to gain?”
It seemed Penelope had no perception of how people saw her in all this, how they felt she was the one who gained—particularly if she did manage to step into Edith’s position.
That might not be what was happening at all. Henry’s view on all this was important. Perhaps he was simply accepting help throughout this period. People could be reading motives into Penelope’s actions that simply weren’t there. Unmarried women weren’t always unhappily so. This could simply be a case of generosity and empathy as Penelope stated.
“I can’t say anyone has said an unkind word about her,” Dory said.
“No one thought ill of Edith. What was there to object to? She was a good person. Always cheering and helpful.”
Curiously, Penelope had been saying the opposite just before, that Edith had become withdrawn and quiet, staying away from her friends. Perhaps Penelope was simply a person who defended, and did so a little too zealously. Dory supposed if she questioned if there was perhaps some notion of extramarital activities on either Edith or Henry’s part, Penelope would go apoplectic. “Someone still did this to her,” she said quietly.
To this, Penelope didn’t seem to have an answer. She simply shook her head as if utterly lost for words, and maybe she was. Any reasonable person would be. “It’s terrible,” Penelope said. “Just terrible.”
“What was she baking?”
“Excuse me?” Penelope asked with confusion.
“When we came around, what had she been baking?”
“Uhm, a coconut cake, I think. Heaven knows where she got desiccated coconut from. She must have been saving it for a special occasion.”
“Us coming to visit must have been a special occasion to her.”
By the look of it, Penelope fought tears for a moment as she straightened herself and looked around. “It was an encouraging sign that she was coming around. I thought it so. I was hoping it meant she would start to join us more often—that she was coming out of her malaise. And then… I just can’t understand it.”
For all her peculiarities, it seemed that Penelope was genuinely concerned for a friend, but it was perhaps the zeal in which she was helpful that was making some people question her motives. And perhaps she had a tenderness for Henry. It wasn’t a crime. Granted, it could constitute a motive for murder for a certain type of person.
Either Penelope was very manipulative and underhanded, or she was simply a little artless in how she did things, but it didn’t seem to Dory that she would have murdered Edith so she could steal her husband. Saying that, Dory had been fooled a number of times before. People hid things, and it could be that there was enough to gain here for Penelope, or even Henry, to remove the impediment to what they wanted.
In all fairness, Dory didn’t know much about Henry’s alibi. She’d just assumed it was strong because no one seemed to be looking closely in that direction. For all she knew, though, Constable Worthing might be investigating more closely. Although not at the moment as he’d taken himself off to a seaside retreat. Was anyone giving this investigation the attention it needed?
Chapter 14
A FEW DAYS LATER, DORY noted that the door to the small village police station was open. It had been locked for about a week, which suggested that Constable Worthing had returned from his retreat. Dory stood on the street opposite with her shopping basket in her gloved hands. There was no motion inside. It seemed utterly still, but the door was open.
Should she go inside? No, she really shouldn’t. But then she also knew that Constable Worthing was suffering from his afflictions at the moment, enough to take himself away for a rest.
Perhaps she sh
ould check on him. He was unmarried, so he didn’t have a wife to do so. It was the kind thing to do, she decided. Having made her decision, she walked across the street to the police station.
“Constable Worthing?” she called, but it was quiet for a moment, until she heard rustling somewhere in the back. Finally he appeared, pulling a handkerchief that had been tucked into his neckline. “Oh, I’m sorry. I caught you at an inopportune time.”
“No, not at all. How can I help you, Mrs. Ridley?”
“I just thought I’d come see how you are,” she said with a smile. He blinked at her for a moment as if he didn’t understand. “And also to mention that some of the women have said things about Edith that you should perhaps know about.”
“Such as?” he asked. “Would you care to sit, Mrs. Ridley?”
Accepting the invitation, she took a seat opposite him at his desk and placed her basket in her lap. “And what have they been saying?”
“I don’t know how much you’ve spoken to them.”
“I have spoken to most of them. It seems all were accounted for because of the meeting.”
“Well, they did mention that Edith had withdrawn from the group, and it was her first engagement with them for quite a while.” His sandwich sat half-eaten beside him, and she looked over at it. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come back at a later date?”
“It won’t go off. I know she lost her son during the war.”
“Yes, it seemed to have hit her very hard,” Dory said. Uncertainty clenched inside, being painfully aware she was butting in where she wasn’t asked. “Mrs. Penelope seems to be taking on the role of carer in Edith’s place when it comes to Henry Wallis. She used to be close to Edith, but was also a casualty of her withdrawing from the group. But I cannot help but wonder if one doesn’t lean more on one’s friend when recovering from such a loss.”
“Perhaps not everyone reacts that way.”
“No, there has been mention of melancholia. Did Henry Wallis confirm that? I assume his whereabouts have been confirmed.”