by Debbie Young
I expounded my deductions so far. “Whoever it was must have known that Joshua had a scythe, and that Billy kept it in the churchyard. Snaffling the scythe and preparing a special costume suggests a premeditated act by someone in the village, not just spur-of-the-moment hijinks by some yob from Slate Green. And it must have been someone agile enough to get away without being caught by the men who chased after him.”
Hector toyed thoughtfully with the lace ruffle down the front of his shirt. He seemed to rather like it now he’d got used to wearing it.
“Not necessarily. Stanley and his mates are not famed for their fleetness of foot, and even though some of the younger dads are runners, they’ll all have had a bit to drink, which will have reduced their reaction times. Also the rain had made the ground slippery, so they couldn’t have run very fast without going base over apex. Besides, the mist had settled at the foot of the valley by that time in the evening, and visibility was poor.”
He paused to open a new box of books that had arrived earlier and began to unpack them onto the counter.
“So if the Grim Reaper was stone cold sober and had his escape strategy planned, even the fastest runner won’t have stood much chance of catching him after he’d had a head start. But the scythe’s identity definitely suggests the culprit is local, or has local knowledge. Maybe we should have a discreet word with Billy about the scythe next time he’s in.”
To me all the evidence still pointed to the vicar, and I hoped Hector might draw the same conclusion of his own volition.
We were prevented from any further analysis by the arrival of a group of mums back from the first school run after half-term, lightheaded with the relief of being child-free once more. They’d clearly put Saturday night’s fiasco behind them and were ready to move on to the next engagement in the village’s social calendar.
While I prepared their drinks, they filled me in on the odds for the guy-making competition sweepstake. The shortest odds were still on Jemima, the spirited little girl who had been my first coaching pupil in the village. I wasn’t surprised.
“I’d put my money on Jemima any day,” I said to her mother. “She’s a determined little soul. And I noticed she won first prize in the children’s scarecrow-making class at the Village Show, which is basically the same thing.”
As I turned to go back to the counter, I forgot I was wearing a long dress and tripped over the skirt, drawing the mums’ attention to Carol’s handiwork.
“What will you tell the vicar if he comes in and sees you defying his Halloween ban?” one of them asked.
Hector answered for me. “That we’re having a storytelling-themed activity day to mark Halloween. That’s perfectly reasonable. Most bookshops will be doing something similar today, I’m sure. My shop, my rules - and if he doesn’t like them, he can shop elsewhere. I have no problem with that.”
“Grimm’s Fairy Tales ought to be right up his street,” said Jemima’s mum. “He’s like someone who’s stepped out of its pages. He’d probably keep children locked up and fatten them for the pot, given the opportunity.”
“Better hide that book from the vicar, then,” said her friend. “You don’t want to give him ideas.”
Hector never missed a trick. “Have you ever read the real Grimm’s Fairy Tales? I’ve got a super gift edition tucked away on a shelf somewhere in the children’s fiction section.”
I hoped his quick wittedness might yet help me get to the bottom of the mystery of the Grim Reaper.
25 Penny for the Billy
Late afternoon I had a different fright on my way back from posting parcels at the post office.
As I passed the pub, I noticed a dark figure slumped on the pavement in front of Hector’s House, amidst a pile of dead sycamore leaves from next door’s front garden. I was sure it hadn’t been there when I’d left the shop half an hour before. As it was starting to get dark already, I couldn’t make out who it was without getting closer.
I broke into a run, lifting my gown in both hands to save me falling headlong on the way. Skidding to a halt outside the bookshop, I shouted for Hector and banged on the shop window to get his attention. Then I stooped to tend to the figure, whose face was concealed beneath a wide-brimmed black felt hat. Its body wrapped in a brown overcoat that covered the tops of riding boots, it lay entirely motionless.
Had the Grim Reaper struck again?
I reached for one limp wrist to find a pulse and shrieked when it suddenly sprang to life and grabbed me back with a vice-like grip. I found myself being shouted at for my trouble.
“Oi, what do you think you’re playing at, girlie? You’re too late to ask me to dance.”
With its free hand, the figure lifted its hat to reveal Billy’s familiar face.
Hector emerged from the shop, looking even more dashing in his Beast costume next to Billy’s ragged outfit.
“What on earth—?” Hector bent down to pick up a battered flat cap that lay on the pavement the other side of Billy and fished out a couple of sodden brown leaves, a twenty-pence piece and an old Manila envelope, on the back of which was written in wobbly pencil: “Penny for the Guy”.
“You’re five days early, Billy. Or rather, about forty years too late, because that’s how long it is since anyone last went begging for a Penny for the Guy in this village. It’s not as if you even bothered to make a proper guy. It’s just you in old clothes. Sitting still and looking scruffy doesn’t make you a guy, you know. Now get up and stop cluttering up my shopfront.”
Billy groaned as he staggered to his feet. “Well, I call that downright ungrateful, young Hector. I picked that spot very carefully. I thought if the vicar came by, he’d think you’d had a change of heart and was doing things his way. I’m showing the kiddies how Penny for the Guy is done. And I’m being scary for Halloween at the same time. So I’m giving them the best of both worlds and providing you with an extra attraction for your shop. It’ll make people stop and look at Hector’s House.”
“Make people cross the street to avoid it, you mean.” Hector scowled. “Penny for the Guy indeed. Penny for the beer, more likely. How much beer will Donald let you have for twenty pence?”
Grumbling, Billy snatched the flat cap and its contents back from Hector, stuffed it in his coat pocket, and turned to trudge off home.
As Hector held the door open for me to go back into the bookshop, I realised I was trembling. To my embarrassment, as soon as I got inside, I burst into tears.
“Sophie, what’s wrong?”
I fell into his outstretched arms, too distressed to enjoy his embrace as much as I should have done.
“I’m sorry, Hector. For a few minutes, I was convinced it was a dead body. I assumed one of our customers had been struck down by the Grim Reaper as punishment for our transgressions against the vicar’s will.”
I felt Hector tense. “What on earth do you mean? You’re not taking Neep’s threats seriously, are you? He doesn’t really have any power over us. The man’s just a bully. And anyway, the Grim Reaper at the disco wasn’t a murderer, just some silly prankster. He didn’t kill anyone – just pulled the plug on the disco.”
“Hacked at a cable with a lethal weapon, you mean.”
“Pah! The only person at any real risk at the disco was the prankster himself. He’s lucky he didn’t get electrocuted, slicing through a live wire with a blade. He must have been wearing wellington boots beneath his robe, so he wasn’t earthed, which is just as well.”
He gave a flicker of a smile. “Or, of course, he could have been a her.” Now he was just trying to wind me up. I pulled myself away, feeling foolish and embarrassed, and went to sit on the furthest tearoom chair. Turning my back to him to wipe my eyes with a serviette, I realised from the dark marks that appeared on the white paper that my mascara must be badly smudged.
“I thought it might have been you, Hector.”
When he looked offended rather than flattered, I realised Billy didn’t look at bit like Hector really. I tried aga
in. “Or a vision of something terrible to come.”
Then I decided to get straight to the point. I’d had enough of playing games.
“You know, the more I think about it, the more I am convinced that the vicar was the Grim Reaper. I mean, I can’t believe it wasn’t him. Isn’t it obvious?”
Hector pulled a chair up close to mine and sat down, his hands on my knees. As he leaned forward, I couldn’t help but notice the neat curve of his velvet costume breeches stretching taut across his thighs.
“Sophie, I think you’re letting your feelings run away with you. That whole business on Saturday night was just a village prank in dubious taste. Not one of Wendlebury’s better jokes, and best forgotten. I mean, I know I’m not exactly Neep’s best friend, but even I don’t think a clergyman would do something so crass.”
“But Reverend Murray did. Joshua told me he dressed up last Halloween as the Pope, and his wife went as Mother Teresa.”
Hector chuckled at the memory. “Yes, but that was good-natured. It’s not like they spent the evening waving sharp knives around. No, Mr Neep might not like Halloween, but as a vicar he will be a responsible adult, not a madman. Trust me, the Grim Reaper will turn out to be some hormonal, moody teenager. We’ve got a few of those tucked away in Wendlebury who emerge from their bedrooms to play ill-conceived practical jokes now and again. Like when Tommy Crowe put on a false beard and tried to convince Donald he was a beer inspector from the brewery. And Billy told me once that Tommy had asked to borrow his scythe for the weekend. That boy’s too interested in sharp instruments for his own good. My money’s on Tommy. But he’s harmless, really.”
I sniffed, rubbing my eyes “OK, don’t believe me then.”
“But what is there to believe?”
“My instincts. I’m following my instincts. I’m not completely stupid, you know.” I didn’t want to be snapping at Hector, but I couldn’t help it. This should have been a lovely day, with us flitting about gracefully in our beautiful costumes, looking like the perfect couple. Instead it was turning sour.
I tried again. “And what about what the vicar said about Halloween?”
The shop door creaked open behind us.
“Speaking of which—” Hector, facing the door, saw the visitor before I did. I swivelled round to see Mr Neep had planted himself by the till, hovering in his usual sombre suit and his black shoes. I felt like I’d summoned him up.
Hector stood his ground, waiting to judge the tenor of his visit.
“Ah, Mr Hector.” I allowed myself the slightest of smiles at Neep’s opening gambit. How could a vicar be so bad at getting the names of his parishioners right? I wouldn’t put it past him to forget his own.
“How can I help you, vicar?”
I was glad to see Hector smiling politely, prepared as ever to be the bigger person.
The vicar stepped forward and gave a strained attempt at a smile, holding out a couple of sheets of paper and purposely averting his gaze from Hector’s flamboyant costume. His eyes never dropped below Hector’s chin. “I am distributing further intelligence about two important events in this week’s village calendar. The All Souls’ Day service on Wednesday and the Guy Fawkes party on Saturday. You might make amends for your clear flouting of my advice about Halloween by displaying them in your shop window in the intervening passage of time.”
The vicar avoided eye contact with either of us, and I felt he was holding something back.
Hector read the posters in silence, keeping the vicar on tenterhooks. “I suppose I could accomplish that conciliatory request.” I don’t know how he kept a straight face as he mimicked the vicar’s convoluted manner of speaking.
From beneath the counter he pulled a tub of drawing pins and proceeded to add the posters to the corkboard beside the shop door. “This is where we customarily display public notices, so as not to obstruct our customers’ inspection of our windowly display.”
Hector was on a roll.
“As the proprietor of this emporium, it is my pleasure to support local eventualities here via the instruments of advertising.” He returned to his seat behind the counter, and leaned forward to fix the vicar with a knowing look. “We reap what we sow in this village. Perhaps you may care to reciprocate when we are holding in-store events ourselves? Too late of course to promote our Grimm’s Fairy Tales day today.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth to stop myself laughing out loud at Hector’s clever word games. It was sweet of him to try to allay my fears and cheer me up like this.
“Though that particular purveyor of tales was Grimm by name, he wasn’t always Grimm by nature. Admittedly some of the stories are rather dark, and there’s too much chasing about in the night for my taste, but good always seems to triumph over evil. At least in the Disney versions.”
The vicar backed towards the door, looking perplexed. “Another time, perhaps, Mr House.” He reached behind him for the door handle, whisked it open, and let it slam behind him in his haste to escape.
Hector let out a bark of laughter and strode back triumphant to the tearoom. He pulled out a chair, turned it round to face away from the table, and sat astride it back to front in an uncharacteristic display of machismo.
“I must confess I enjoyed that a little more than I should have done. I might have to go to his wretched party after all to salve my conscience for being mean to a customer. But at least it’s made you smile, so that’s something.”
“Thank you, Hector. Although you do realise that if he wasn’t the Grim Reaper, he’ll think you’re completely mad now? Oh my goodness!” A horrible thought struck me. “He could have come to the disco as a Beast like you and got away with it. It was – it was you that walked me home, wasn’t it?”
“So have you forgotten the moments when I took my mask off to talk to you – and to kiss you? I must be losing my touch.” Hector laughed. “I hope you’d be able to tell us apart, even in full costume. If I pitched up in a vicar outfit tomorrow, would you mistake me for Mr Neep?”
He had a point. Though they were of similar height, they had completely different builds. Neep was wiry and thin, whereas Hector had just the right amount of muscle.
“Funny how he seemed so nervous, though,” I said. “Do you think our costumes put him off?”
Hector shook his head. “No, he probably just didn’t like having to ask us a favour, after swearing he’d have nothing to do with the shop.” He looked down at the posters. “Honestly, you’d think a grown man could do a better job of publicity than this. I’m guessing he’s worried that not many people will show up.”
Hector’s words about reaping what you sow were echoing in my head, and I tried to be as kind to Neep as I’d like him to be to me. “Perhaps he’s just very shy. Maybe he’ll be more confident on his own territory, like the vicarage and in church.”
“My goodness, you’re being very charitable, Sophie.”
I shrugged. “I’m thinking a priest is used to being the centre of attention, unchallenged by his audience, and to having the feeling of being right, what with having his god on his side.” I toyed with the spoon in the sugar bowl, scooping up the crystals and letting them rain slowly down again into the dish.
Hector reached across the table to still my hands. “Let’s hope he’s not so confident at his party that he gets carried away and starts burning witches at the stake. Better warn whoever was dressed as a witch on Saturday to stay away.”
I gasped, freed my hands, and knocked over the sugar bowl. “Surely not?”
“Sophie, I’m joking. Though if he were to choose a victim, I bet I’d be on his hit list. And Billy.”
I rounded up the spilled sugar grains with the side of my hand and brushed them back into the bowl. Hector leaned back and stretched wearily.
“I doubt he’s got the courage to go breaking the law, to be honest. For all his bluster, he strikes me as fundamentally weak, but I could be wrong.”
I emitted a sigh of defeat.
“You and
Donald are probably right. The Grim Reaper was more likely a bored teenager. Whoever it was will be rumbled soon enough because they won’t be able to keep the secret to themselves and will start boasting about it. This morning it will have been the talk of the bus that the older kids catch to secondary school.”
Hector thought for a moment, running through the eligible bored teenagers in his head. “The more I think about it, the more I am sure it was Tommy Crowe. He’s a tall, lanky kid, with the right kind of build, and an unresolved grudge against the world. Poor kid was abandoned by his dad when he was a toddler, and his mum’s been nurturing his sense of resentment against the world ever since. He’s usually behind most village mischief that doesn’t originate in the pub. Apart from the wife-swapping, of course.”
“What?”
“Joke.” Hector was straight-faced, but nothing would surprise me in Wendlebury Barrow.
I picked my moment. “Speaking of losing people, do you think I could duck out of the shop for an hour on Wednesday morning to go to the All Souls’ service?”
Hector looked surprised. “I didn’t think you were religious.”
“No, I’m not, but Joshua was pretty persuasive yesterday that I ought to go. And to be honest, if I didn’t go, I’d feel I was letting him and Auntie May down. I still feel bad for missing her funeral.”
Hector knew I’d been working in Germany at the time and was unable to get away.
“Yes, that was a shame. It was a wonderful celebration. Standing room only, hymns and readings from her favourite travel destinations. Highly cosmopolitan by Wendlebury Barrow’s standards.” He reached for my hands again, in tenderness this time rather than to stop me vandalising condiments. “Cinders, you shall go to the service. But first, please chuck that sugar away now that it’s been all over the table. You don’t want to add further mayhem by giving our tearoom customers food poisoning.”
I smiled weakly. “Thank you, Buttons.”
26 All Souls’ Surprise
On the Wednesday morning, I donned subdued colours ready for church. Although May’s gorgeous black silk cardigan would have been perfect, I didn’t want to risk looking more like her than my genes dictated, for fear of upsetting Joshua. I also left off my make-up to guard against panda eyes.