by Oster, C. G.
Saying these things made her feel manipulative, because she was being coercive, trying to rile his ambition. The way he considered her words showed he had some ambition for himself. Also, what she said was utterly true. This was an opportunity to prove himself, and he would either run with it, or he wouldn’t. It may not come again.
“Fine,” he said. “I will go see Leslie Hartman.
“Excellent. What about Mr. Stubbs?”
“Mr. Stubbs? Eleanor Stubbs’ husband?”
“Yes, him,” Dory said.
“Surely you’re not intending to drag up everything that’s happened in this village? That was a while ago.”
“Has he been heard from since?”
“I suspect most men who walk out on their wives do so because they don’t want to be in touch. In either case, he hasn’t let me know his whereabouts.”
“There was nothing untoward about his disappearance?”
“No, he’d done it before. He was always a high-spirited man. Personally, I think the war called him. I didn’t know him well, but I understood he tried to volunteer, but they didn’t have him. He was eager to get out in the world, and he found some way of doing it. He was seen on a bus in Aylesbury, so we know he took off.”
“Right,” Dory said, taking in all the things he said. “He was from the district?”
“Yes. Except his parents passed some years back, and his brother died in the war, like so many others. There were many ways to do one’s bit during the war beside enlisting. He must have found something for him, maybe even made it across to the continent. I suspect, after the war, he decided to settle elsewhere, or he met some unfortunate incident and they didn’t manage to inform Eleanor. That isn’t unheard of, particularly as he wasn’t enlisted.”
“But he was definitely seen leaving town?”
“Yes, making his way south.”
When she’d first heard about the circumstances of his disappearance, Dory had felt it strange that a man walk away from his family farm, but if he’d been keen on adventure, perhaps he’d had other priorities. Still, it was a substantial burden to leave Eleanor with.
“Now, please, Mrs. Ridley, you must leave me to do my work.” Today, Worthing seemed a little grouchier than normal, suffering from the aftereffects of being careless last night.
“It’s been a pleasure to talk to you, Constable Worthing. My husband is very impressed with the work you have taken on. It’s not easy to solve a homicide. It takes a lot of work.”
She was being manipulative again, but she wanted him to set some pressure on himself, especially as his main concern at the moment was to nurse his hangover, and to pretend no one in this village could possibly murder someone. Because someone had.
Heading out, great progress had been made in the square in the short time she’d been talking to Constable Worthing. Instead of going home, Dory decided to go to the tea rooms for a cup and one of their nice, fresh scones.
Hopefully the young constable would have his wits about him when he went to interview Mr. Hartman. It may well be that this interview established the motive for Edith Wallis’ murder. And as there were centuries of animosities between these families, it could be that very little had pushed Mr. Hartman over the edge. If that was true, the man must have some reputation for violence. A murder done with rage required a person prone to rage.
Did she trust Worthing to do a good job? No, unfortunately, but as Michael said, it wasn’t her place to judge the effectiveness of policing. He had to be given a chance, and his superiors would judge his efforts, as was their responsibility.
The tearooms were bright and clean and cakes, scones and slices were displayed on glass-covered stands. Dory ordered a pot of Earl Grey and the scone that had tempted her here. As she sat, she looked out the window and catalogued the things she needed to do that afternoon.
A WI meeting was coming up in a few days, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to it. How much of that was for the sake of having something to do, she didn’t want to answer. Obviously, she loved her new life. It was wonderful. She had the best, most considerate husband, and a beautiful house beyond what she’d imagined. But the change of pace was something she struggled with.
Children would come and everything would change. Enjoy this peace and quiet everyone said, and she was trying very hard to.
Chapter 19
STANDING BY THE OVEN, Dory waited the minute needed before she took the oat and raisin biscuits out that she’d decided to prepare for the WI meeting. Her sugar stores were very low at the moment, so she’d sweetened them with prune pulp. It could be that she brought nothing to the meeting this time, if they proved inedible.
Tapping her fingers on the countertop, she waited, then finally took them out. They had a golden hue, so they weren’t undercooked, hopefully. Shifting them to the cooling tray, she waited a few minutes more before carefully placing them in the biscuit tin.
The tin was still very warm when she carried it to the meeting hall, but she was eager to get there. She’d been looking forward to this for days. The topic wasn’t perhaps something she was remotely good at—sewing—but it was a skill that served one well if one had some affinity with it.
The murmur of talking was heard in the hall before Dory reached it and she surveyed the gathered party as she walked in. Sue smiled at her as she walked to the tea table to deliver her biscuits. “Hello, Dory. How are you?”
“I’m well,” she replied. “Enjoying autumn in the district.”
“I suppose it’s your first autumn here. I couldn’t imagine moving to a place I didn’t know. I’ve only ever lived here. To be honest, I’m not thoroughly excited about today’s topic, but thought I’d come along anyway. It’s a good excuse to get away from the house.”
Penelope arrived just then and arrived with a batch of shortbread. “How are you both?”
“Well,” Sue said. “Did you enjoy the harvest festival?”
“Immensely,” Penelope said.
“I saw you with Henry Wallis.”
Red spread up Penelope’s cheeks at the statement. “It is true, I made him come. Someone has to ensure he gets out of the house.”
Dory hadn’t seen either of them at the harvest festival, but it seemed that Penelope taking care of Henry Wallis was an ongoing venture. The younger women seemed intent to tease her about it, and perhaps because she refused to say she had any hopes for the association when it was so very clear that she did.
“How are you, Mrs. Ridley?” Penelope asked as Sue moved away to talk to another new arrival.
“I have been working on my winter garden,” Dory said.
“You seem to lead a life of leisure.”
It felt a little as if there was accusation in her tone. Truthfully, it was a life barely keeping ahead of abject boredom, but Dory was trying to find the things that would fill her life. So much of her adult life had been spent working, she hadn’t developed her interest in gentler pursuits and good housekeeping. “It is not as busy as being on a farm,” she admitted. Perhaps that perceived leisure was a major factor in the resentment of the local women to the newcomers. “I ran into Constable Worthing,” Dory said. It was stretching the truth a little as she’d specifically gone to see him. “There seems to have been strong words between Mr. Wallis and Leslie Hartman not that long ago.”
“Oh?”
“You didn’t hear about it?”
Penelope picked a piece of lint off her cuff. “Not specifically, but he is an odious man.”
“Mr. Hartman.”
“He likes to spread discord whenever he can.”
“It sounds like he’s been targeting the Wallises.” That was definitely stretching the truth, but Penelope had a habit of defending Henry Wallis.
“Stupid assertions. Some people don’t know how to handle grief. I suppose it is understandable, and we should be allowing, but the Wallises are grief-stricken too. Were, in Edith’s case,” she finished more quietly.
; “Did he... ” Now Dory couldn’t imagine what he’d asserted, “suggest that someone was benefitting from the death of either the Hartman’s or Wallis’ sons?”
“No, nothing like that. Mr. Hartman believes that Tommy Wallis was in some way responsible for their son’s demise.”
“Is that true?”
“Of course not. It was a war. People cannot be held accountable for what the enemy did.”
Biting her lip, Dory tried to understand. “How can he say that? Does he believe that Tommy Wallis’ actions resulted in the death of their son?”
“I don’t know,” Penelope said with a shrug. “I don’t know if they expected Tommy Wallis to safeguard him, or if they believe he somehow put Eddie in harm’s way. What does it matter when they are both dead now? What point is there in hashing it over and assigning blame?”
“Do you think he could have been incensed enough to kill Edith?”
“I wouldn’t have thought so. I mean, that is very extreme, isn’t it? As far as I know, Leslie Hartman isn’t violent with his fists as he is with his words. Vile and despicable, but I’ve never seen him harm anyone. And why Edith? His harsh words were with Henry.”
Taking it all in, Dory listened to every word. “I understand Constable Worthing is going to question him, if he already hasn’t.”
“Do you think it’s possible he murdered Edith?” Penelope asked.
“There is nothing to say so, but their harsh words were observed. Worthing is dutybound to follow up on such things.”
“Well, if it’s true, they need to take him away. We can’t have people like that in our village,” Penelope finished with a shudder.
“Alright, ladies,” Hesta called from the small stage at the end of the hall. “Shall we call to order? Time is getting on,” she said as she checked her watch. “Now, today we have a session in the handcraft stream, but let’s do the formalities before we get into it. Elizabeth, can we have a quick overview of the minutes from the last meetings? And then we’ll talk about the money raised in the harvest festival. We had quite a good turnover.”
They took their seats and the meeting was officially opened, and then they spent some time talking about the funds raised through the stand and the raffles. There was news about national funds raised for the college and how they were starting to look for a property for it.
It wasn’t so much as a lecture, more that they sat in circles, each with a piece of cloth. Dory joined the beginner circle along with Sue, where Marjorie showed them the basic stitches and explained what they each should be used for. Even simple stitches were more complicated than Dory had thought. They talked about needle sizes, stitch sizes, and how they related to the materials they intended to sew.
In the end, it was quite a fascinating topic to discuss, simply for the fact that Dory was learning something. Even so, she didn’t expect she’d have a great deal of enthusiasm for sewing, similar to Sue who sat next to her trying to stifle a yawn.
The other circles were made up with intermediate sewers and advanced ones, which seemed to cover issues related to quilting and decorative sewing. Dory didn’t really need anything beyond mending and hemming.
And then it was over. The meeting had gone remarkably fast and she was disappointed it was ending. It seemed she’d looked forward to this so much and now it was over before she’d even had a moment to pause.
They closed the meeting quickly as some were eager to get away, to get back to their farms and families. Perhaps she’d be in a similar rush to get home one day, but she stayed to help put the chairs away and pack up the tea table. As she did, Penelope’s statement went through her mind. What was it that had happened over in France that had Mr. Hartman accusing Mr. Wallis? It wasn’t as if they could do anything about it, or were responsible. What was it that Mr. Hartman sought?
Constable Worthing probably knew, as he’d gone to talk to Mr. Hartman. For all she knew, there could have been an arrest made already, the case solved and everything laid to bed.
It would be nice to think, and they could put all this behind them. The thing with murders was that so many people ended up being involved with it. It was a brutal disruption that sat like a gaping wound until it was solved and the person responsible taken away. Only then could communities start to recover.
It was also sad to think that the war could have repercussions even now. Grief was biting and it lasted. If it was the cause of this murder, it stemmed from deep and unrelenting pain, which would be really sad when it came out. That pain would have reiterated and spread like a cancer.
Finally they stepped outside the meeting hall and closed the door. Dory waved to Sue and Tilly Boreman as she walked away, off to her still and silent house. It wasn’t time to start cooking supper just yet.
Should she drop in to see Constable Worthing on the way? Clearly she shouldn’t, but she was so very curious about what developments had come to light. Surely something had come out of this interview.
Chapter 20
“CONSTABLE WORTHING?” Dory called when she reached the police station. The door was open, which suggested he was in. There was no answer, so she took a few more steps in until she saw Constable Worthing at his desk, sitting with his eyes closed. “Constable Worthing?” she repeated and the man startled.
Dazed, he looked around until his eyes settled on her. He didn’t say anything and looked bemused. “Mrs. Ridley,” he said with a frown. “What can I do for you, as you’ve decided to drop in?”
“I just thought I’d see how things went with Mr. Hartman,” she said, feeling unwelcome.
Worthing rose and then half fell into the side of the desk. “Uhm,” he said, blinking a couple of times. “I haven’t had a chance to see him yet.” Well, that was disappointing after he’d said he would go interview the man. She’d come expecting to hear something.
“I’ve heard that the argument between Mr. Hartman and Mr. Wallis was regarding the deaths of their sons. It seems that Mr. Hartman blames Tommy Wallis for the death of his son in some way.”
The constable sat down heavily in his chair again and then looked a little lost. His eyes weren’t quite as focused as they should be. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Are you alright, Constable Worthing?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” he said accusingly and stared at her intently.
Dory didn’t know what to say for a moment. His eyes were glazed. “Are you drunk, Mr. Worthing?”
The man’s mouth opened, but then he closed it. “I might have had a little bit too much to drink.” He indicated with his fingers showing a little distance between his thumb and index fingers, but he couldn’t hold it stable.
Now she didn’t know what to say. “You are on duty.”
“When am I not on duty?” he asked. “I’m the only one here, and all this...” Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, then he started crying.
If Dory didn’t know what to do before, she was utterly lost now. Crying men weren’t something she knew how to deal with.
“I can’t do anything right at the moment,” he said. “I’m going to lose my job.”
“If you’re drinking during the day, it’s probably going to lead that way.”
“I don’t know why I do it. I just can’t stop. They’re asking questions and I don’t have anything to tell them,” he said. “I just can’t get myself together.”
“You’re still suffering with the effects of the war.”
“It’s only a matter of time before they discover I can’t do my job. I can’t afford to lose my job. What will I do if I’m not a policeman? I can’t go back to shearing.”
With a sigh, Dory sat down. “You need a bit of time to recover.”
“They’ll give me all the time in the world when they relieve me of duty. It’s only a matter of time. What am I supposed to do?”
“Maybe start by not drinking while you’re on duty.”
His gaze was down in his lap and he sat in utter stillness. “I just can’t quiet m
y head. It goes on and on, day and night. Nights are the worst. I can’t block it out at night. I thought going away for a while would solve it, but it solved nothing. Nothing solves it. I don’t even know where I am most of the time, and now I have to file a report and I have nothing to say.”
“Nonsense, there has been some development. There is a lead with this argument. It would be better if you could report you’ve interviewed him,” Dory said, looking at the watch. “You can still interview him.” Worthing hiccupped and stared at her blankly. “If you want something to report to your superiors, go interview Leslie Hartman.”
“Right,” Worthing said and stood, crashing into the desk.
“How about I drive you?” she suggested. “Where are the keys?”
For a moment, he patted himself down and shifted papers around on his desk.
“Are these the keys?” Dory asked and walked to the file drawer where a set of keys were.
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Now, do you know where he lives?”
“He’s not far away.”
“Good, you can guide me,” she said, hoping he wouldn’t simply fall asleep in the car.
He nearly did, but Dory nudged him awake. “Now where?”
“Left,” he said, looking sleepy. “Then down the private road on the left.”
Following the instructions, Dory arrived at a farmhouse and drove into the yard. A man wearing corduroy trousers came out of one of the buildings with his hands in his pockets. There was a blank look on his face, his skin had a ruddy complexion on what would probably have been a handsome face at one point.