by Jill McGown
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m interrupting—’
‘We’ve finished,’ Mrs Langton said, and the other woman smiled. ‘This is Chief Inspector Lloyd, Penny,’ she went on.
‘Acting,’ said Lloyd, conscientiously.
‘Some might say over-acting,’ said Eleanor Langton in a quiet aside, as she began clearing away.
Lloyd was surprised, and smiled, pleased to discover that at least he’d been picking on someone his own size.
‘This is my mother-in-law, Inspector. Penny Langton.’
‘How do you do, Mrs Langton,’ he said, shaking hands. ‘It’s a bit confusing,’ he added. ‘Two Mrs Langtons.’
‘Then you’d better stick to Eleanor and Penny,’ said Eleanor.
‘Right.’ He felt a little awkward now that he was on Eleanor Langton’s home ground. She was in command here. She was enjoying herself.
‘I’ll be back in a moment,’ she said, and Lloyd leapt to open the door to the kitchen as she made for it with both hands full. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and he was relieved to be left alone with her mother-in-law.
‘You’ll be here about the business at the vicarage?’ said Penny, her eyes worried.
‘Connected with it,’ Lloyd said. ‘Mrs . . . er . . . Eleanor has been very helpful.’
‘Have I?’
He hadn’t heard her come back, and he turned to see her in the doorway, flicking her long blonde hair back from her face. She was very good-looking, in a Scandinavian way. But there was something about her that reminded Lloyd of the snow-scene outside.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m here to thank you for coming in, and to confirm that I have no reason to doubt the accuracy of your statement.’ He paused. ‘And to apologise if I . . .’ He searched for the appropriate words. ‘If I offended you in any way,’ he said.
Her eyes held his, and there was a hint of amusement in them that he didn’t like.
‘Why the change of mind?’ she asked.
Lloyd thought for a moment. ‘Further evidence has come to light that . . . casts a new light on the incident,’ he said, annoyed with himself as soon as the words were spoken, because they had been clumsy. She unnerved him.
‘Thank you for the apology,’ she said. ‘Will you join us for coffee?’
He hesitated, because he wished he’d never come at all. But it was a tedious drive back, and if she was prepared to offer him coffee, the least he could do was to accept it. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
Over the coffee, Mrs Langton senior did most of the talking. Lloyd learned that her son had died in a motor accident, that Eleanor had coped wonderfully, and that Tessa was the most delightful grandchild anyone could ever want.
‘I’ll just look in on her,’ said Eleanor. ‘Help yourselves to more coffee.’
Penny Langton waited until she closed the door. ‘It’s very difficult for her,’ she said. ‘Bringing up Tessa on her own.’
‘It must be,’ said Lloyd.
‘It’s not money – she got some compensation after the accident. She doesn’t need to work here, if you know what I mean. It’s more for something to do – but I wish she’d move back to Stansfield. It’s lonely here, don’t you think?’
Lloyd couldn’t but agree.
‘But she says she really likes the job, and of course, another kind of job might be difficult, with Tessa, but . . .’
Lloyd waited.
‘But the thing is, I’m worried about her being here,’ she said. ‘Is she safe?’
‘Sorry?’ said Lloyd.
‘I mean – is she in danger, Mr Lloyd? If she’s got some sort of evidence . . . if she’s mixed up in it somehow.’
‘Oh,’ said Lloyd. ‘No – she isn’t involved in it. She’s in no danger. Eleanor just cleared up a small mystery for us.’
She looked slightly less anxious. ‘I was so worried, you see. Because Eleanor rang on Christmas Eve to say that the snow would probably block the road into the village, and I’d better listen for the road reports before I set out. So I put on Radio Barton in the morning, and the first thing I heard was that someone had been murdered in the village. I just got into my car, and thank God, the road had been cleared.’ She paused for breath.
Lloyd nodded. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be saying.
‘What’s happening about it, Mr Lloyd? The radio didn’t even say who was killed. A man, that’s all.’
‘I’m sure Inspector Lloyd has better things to do than gossip,’ Eleanor said.
Lloyd wished the damn woman wouldn’t creep about. ‘We have advised people in the area to keep their doors and windows locked, of course,’ he said, thankful that that was the truth. ‘And not to open the door to anyone they’re not sure about—’
‘Did someone get in?’ asked Penny Langton. ‘I haven’t even seen an evening paper since I’ve been here.’ She looked accusingly at Eleanor.
‘I’ve told you, Penny. I’m not in any more danger than anyone else. I just told the police something I thought they ought to know.’
‘But you won’t talk about it.’ She turned to Lloyd. ‘Have you caught anyone?’ she asked.
Lloyd took a breath. ‘Our enquiries are proceeding,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure there’s no cause for general alarm.’ He was sure, he told himself. He was sure.
He suddenly felt sorry for Penny, stuck in the middle of nowhere with her enigmatic daughter-in-law, frightened to leave her alone. ‘The facts are that the vicar’s son-in-law was the victim, and that we are following a number of lines of enquiry, including the possibility of a break-in of some sort. And that’s about as much as it said in the paper.’ He smiled. ‘We have no reason to think that the incident was anything other than a one-off,’ he said.
‘Do you mean it was someone in the vicarage?’ she asked.
Lloyd refrained from glancing over at Eleanor. She had obviously told her mother-in-law nothing at all.
‘Our enquiries are proceeding,’ he said again, and rose.
Eleanor came out with him, almost closing the door, so that the only light was from the ghostly moon, full and low in the misty sky. ‘Have you let Mrs Wheeler go?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. He pulled on his gloves. ‘You haven’t told your mother-in-law about it?’
‘No. I’ve tried to play it down,’ she explained. ‘Penny gets very nervous.’ She shivered slightly in the cold air.
‘I’d have thought that a village this size would know every detail,’ said Lloyd. ‘She’d hardly need the evening paper.’
‘It’s a very large village,’ Eleanor said, proprietorially.
‘By area,’ Lloyd agreed. ‘But most of that’s farmland. There aren’t so many people, are there? It can’t be easy to keep a secret.’
‘Probably not,’ said Eleanor.
And you probably have one to keep, thought Lloyd, thinking about George.
‘But we’re sort of cut off from the rest of the village here.’ Eleanor smiled. ‘And I’m a newcomer.’
Lloyd glanced round at the stone walls of the castle. ‘Is the family here?’ he asked.
‘No. They winter somewhere exotic.’
He frowned. ‘Are you alone?’ he asked.
‘For the moment,’ she said. ‘They do have a couple of staff who live in, but they’re on holiday too, just now.’ She smiled her cold smile. ‘The place is riddled with burglar alarms connected to the police station,’ she said. ‘I’m perfectly safe. I just wish they’d hurry up with the phone.’
‘Aren’t there any pay-phones?’
‘One, would you believe? In the café, which is closed until Easter.’
‘Well,’ said Lloyd, slightly diffidently. ‘I know the telephone manager – do you want me to put in a word?’
‘It’s not British Telecom who are dragging their feet,’ she said, and smiled suddenly. A real smile. ‘You don’t have to worry about me,’ she said. ‘This place has survived Cromwell, hasn’t it? I’m as safe here as I could be.’
&nbs
p; Lloyd said goodnight, and got back to the car. He glared back at the snow when he turned on his headlights, and regretted bringing his own car back into service as he steered it gently over the icy ground back to the untreated estate road. He wondered, as he slowly made his way out, why Eleanor Langton was so unwilling to share her knowledge with her mother-in-law. Because of George? But it was idle curiosity, more than anything else. It was none of his business.
And apologising hadn’t made him feel better in the slightest degree.
Chapter Seven
‘Did you manage to see the kids?’ Judy asked.
They were in the lounge bar of the Duke’s Arms in Castle Road, where the Reverend Mr Wheeler and his daughter had spent some time on Christmas Eve. That much had been established; what they wanted now was a clearer indication of when they left the pub, but so far all they had done was wait. Voices floated in from the public bar, but she and Lloyd were alone in the lounge, except for the landlady, who couldn’t help. Some of the regulars might, she had said. But they wouldn’t be in until lunch time, and what with people taking the whole week between Christmas and New Year, there might not be many of them.
Lloyd laughed. ‘Kids?’ he repeated. ‘Yes, I managed to get over for a little while on Boxing Day.’
‘How is everyone?’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Except – Linda’s got some ridiculous idea about going to London. She’s far too young.’
Judy smiled. ‘I hope you didn’t tell her that,’ she said.
‘No. In fact, I wondered . . .’
Judy raised an eyebrow, recognising the wheedling tone.
‘You were a single girl in London,’ he said. ‘You know how difficult it is – accommodation, that sort of thing. I thought you might talk to her.’
‘There wouldn’t be much point,’ said Judy.
‘Why not?’
‘For one thing, I lived with my parents, which is hardly the same thing: I don’t know any more than she does about flat-hunting and finding a job – probably a lot less.’
Lloyd looked glum.
‘And for another – Linda can barely bring herself to speak to me.’
‘Oh, no,’ Lloyd assured her. ‘She’s over all that, I’m sure.’
‘Is she?’ said Judy, disbelievingly. ‘All right – she says hello if we meet, but she still doesn’t think much of the idea of you and me.’ She sipped her drink. ‘It must run in the family,’ she said.
‘Judy,’ Lloyd began. ‘I don’t—’
‘I know, I know. I’m breaking the rules. But since you won’t see me in anything other than working hours, I—’
The door banged open, and a middle-aged woman breezed in.
‘You got back then,’ said the landlady, unnecessarily. ‘Did you have a nice time?’
‘Oh, you know,’ said the other woman. ‘So so. It’s nice to be back in my own house.’ She hung things up on various pegs. ‘But anyway—’ she began, excitedly.
‘You didn’t have too much trouble getting there?’ interrupted the landlady.
‘What? Oh – it was past midnight before I arrived. You wouldn’t believe the number of cars out at that time on Christmas Eve. But never mind that,’ she said. ‘I can’t turn my back for five minutes, can I?’
Judy could see the landlady in the mirrored wall, as she mouthed ‘police’, nodding over to their table.
The barmaid, for such she proved to be, looked over at Judy. ‘We can’t go to jail for talking about it, can we?’ she asked, with a laugh.
Judy smiled.
‘I couldn’t believe it,’ she said, and turned back to the landlady. ‘I felt awful when I heard,’ she said. ‘I mean, I’d made a joke about it – you know the way you do.’
‘A joke?’ queried Lloyd, twisting round.
‘About her black eyes. She said she’d been to the dentist, and I said something about her husband getting funny looks. I never dreamed it was her husband. And now . . .’
Villages. Judy didn’t know how people could bear to live in them, with everyone knowing everyone else’s business. When she had been Joanna’s age, she would have died if she had thought her private life was common knowledge.
And when she had been Joanna’s age, she reflected, her private life had been Lloyd, just as it was now. A secret, guilt-ridden, unconsummated love affair. She glanced at Lloyd, who was joining in the gossip. What was it now, now that it had been consummated? There was no guilt; Barbara was no longer part of Lloyd’s life, and Judy owed Michael nothing. But there was still secrecy, because once Michael found out, champion of Victorian values that he was, her bridges would be burned, and she wasn’t sure she could face that. And because of that, she was right back where she had been, when she had been Joanna’s age. Sitting opposite Lloyd in a pub, staring unhappily into a half pint of lager, trying to disguise her cowardice as principle, and failing.
‘They say he put her in hospital,’ finished the barmaid.
‘I’d heard that that was why she’d left him,’ said the landlady. ‘I didn’t believe it myself. A vicar’s daughter.’
‘You never told me!’
‘No. Well. You shouldn’t repeat gossip.’
‘See what I have to put up with?’ the barmaid demanded.
Judy laughed; Lloyd picked up his drink. ‘So you were here on Christmas Eve, then?’ he said. ‘And you spoke to Mrs Elstow?’
‘Who? Oh – is that her name? Only for a minute. She was with her father – they were talking about something. In fact,’ she said, ‘he was angry with her, I’m sure. I remember thinking that the poor little girl could do with some sympathy, not being glared at.’
‘Did you notice when Mrs Elstow left?’ Lloyd asked.
‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘No, sorry. We were packed – well, you know what it’s like on Christmas Eve.’ She thought hard. ‘No, I just don’t remember,’ she said. ‘I know when he left, though. The vicar.’
Lloyd turned back, glancing at Judy. ‘They didn’t leave together?’ he asked carelessly, finishing his beer. He stood up. ‘I’ll have another one in there, love,’ he said.
She pulled another pint, and handed it to him. ‘He left on his own,’ she said. ‘About half past eight. There’s always carols on Christmas Eve, and the pianist came in just as Mr Wheeler was leaving. I thought it was funny, because he and his wife normally stay for that. I wondered if she wasn’t well, because she’s usually with him. I don’t think that girl was well enough to be out, quite honestly . . .’
She chattered on, and Lloyd looked as though he wasn’t really listening, as he sat at the bar, reflectively sipping the beer Judy knew he didn’t want. But he was paying much more careful attention than the barmaid suspected, for through her he was learning the habits of the Wheelers on Christmas Eve.
Habits which had, for one reason or another, been broken.
‘Why did you do it?’ Joanna was asking, her face sad and cross at the same time. It was the first time she had mentioned it; Marian had thought that she had escaped interrogation.
‘The inspector thinks I wanted to be a martyr,’ she said. ‘But that wasn’t it.’
‘You can’t really blame him,’ said Joanna.
Marian considered her motives, now that she had been asked. ‘I just think,’ she said, after a few moments, ‘that if you love someone, you should be prepared to help them.’
Joanna’s eyes widened. ‘But it was crazy!’ she said. ‘And unnecessary. You didn’t have to do something like that.’
‘People don’t think it odd if someone dies saving their child from a fire,’ Marian said. ‘They don’t call them martyrs.’
‘But I didn’t do it!’ Joanna shouted suddenly. ‘Everyone thinks I did – but I didn’t, I swear I didn’t.’
The front door banged, and George came back from wherever he had been. Marian could hazard a guess.
‘It’s very slippery at the top here,’ he said. ‘I almost broke my neck.’
‘I’ll put some ash down,
shall I?’ Joanna said, getting up.
Marian didn’t think that was at all a good idea. ‘No, dear,’ she said. ‘I don’t think you—’ She stopped. ‘It’s a very dirty job,’ she said.
‘I’ll wear the overalls,’ said Joanna.
‘I’ll do it,’ said George.
‘But you’re not well,’ protested Joanna.
George sighed. ‘I’m all right,’ he said. ‘Doing something physical might help.’
Marian rather thought that was just what he had been doing. It didn’t seem to help at all.
‘It’s just all this business,’ he said.
Marian saw Joanna’s eyes flash. Joanna was sometimes so like George.
‘You’re sick because you think I killed Graham,’ she shouted. ‘That’s why you told the police you were with me all evening!’
Well, thought Marian. It was the reason advanced, at any rate. But unlike Joanna, she knew the real reason for the lie.
‘I don’t think you did it. I just thought it would clear you of any suspicion. It was stupid, I know. But it’s done now.’
‘You lied to them. Either you think I did it, or—’
‘You think I killed him? I wish I had, Joanna. Believe me, I wish I had.’
Marian didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t want to know.
‘Yes! Because then you could take the blame. You think I did it – you both do! The police do – and now they’ll be convinced,’ she added, with a flash of something less than gratitude at Marian. ‘You don’t have to lie for me, do you understand? I can take care of myself.’
‘Oh, can you? Then perhaps you’ll enlighten us—’
‘That’s enough!’ Marian’s voice, rarely raised, brought the shouting to a halt. Normality. Ever since Graham Elstow had turned up, she had got by on normality, and so would they.
‘Sorry,’ muttered George. ‘We’re all a bit on edge.’
‘Me too,’ said Joanna, sitting down.
Marian relaxed. That was better.
Joanna frowned slightly. ‘Where are the overalls?’ she asked.
‘I’m doing the path,’ said George firmly.
‘No – I mean where are they?’
Lloyd relieved himself of some of his liquid intake, and sighed. So, he thought, George and Marian always stayed for the carol-singing, which went on until ten-thirty. But this year, everything was different. It probably meant nothing, he told himself. But George must have gone somewhere.