by Rebecca Tope
Praise for Rebecca Tope’s
COTSWOLD SERIES
‘Beautiful descriptions of the countryside …
Excellent thriller with plenty of
quirks and plot twists’
Good Book Guide
‘The classic English village mystery is alive and
well and living in Gloucestershire’
Sherlock Magazine
‘Tope is particularly skilled in creating interesting
and unique characters, and Thea is
one of her best’
Deadly Pleasures
‘Tope’s blending of research, restraint, and a
fascinating protagonist narrator makes this story a
winner for fans of British mysteries’
reviewingtheevidence.com
‘One of the most intelligent and
thought-provoking of today’s crime writers’
Mystery Women
A Cotswold Mystery
REBECCA TOPE
For some of my oldest friends
Dot, Margot, Sally and Willow
Contents
Praise
Title Page
Dedication
AUTHOR’S NOTE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
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About the Author
By Rebecca Tope
Copyright
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The house at the centre of this story is in Blockley High street. I don’t know which one it is, and neither does anybody else. Details of walls, alleys and gardens have wantonly deviated from reality.
CHAPTER ONE
Thea had been warned, but she couldn’t help feeling the warning was inadequate when it came to the point. Mr and Mrs Montgomery – Ron and Yvette as they insisted on being addressed – had instructed her to use the street door to the ‘cottage’, and not the one connecting the two dwellings from the inside. ‘Granny would probably die of shock if you just walked in on her,’ laughed Yvette. ‘And we don’t want that, do we?’
Ron’s flickering left eyebrow had seemed to say Don’t we? but both women ignored him.
So Thea had to stand for four interminable minutes at the door, knocking, ringing and calling ‘Mrs Gardner?’ repeatedly. Feeling embarrassingly conspicuous, she considered giving up and trying again later. There was no urgent need to meet her new charge, in any case. It was mainly out of curiosity that she had headed straight for the cottage even before unloading her bag and settling into the main house. Despite the emptiness of the street, she could feel eyes on her from surrounding windows, and her dog was whining in the car nearby.
She had ample time to get to know Blockley High Street in all its charming particulars. The deep orangey-yellow of the stone; the raised pavement, keeping pedestrians well away from the almost non-existent traffic; the individualism of each house. On the opposite side from where Thea stood, the ground fell away so that the houses were considerably lower than the street. Behind them the land rose again, displaying fields and woods to the south.
Eventually her wait was rewarded when a tiny woman began to jingle keys and locks on the other side, muttering quite audibly, ‘Now who can this be, just when I’m having my nap?’ Thea could see her head and shoulders through the stained glass that filled the upper part of the door.
‘Hello?’ she said, the moment the white head was visible through the slender crack between door and frame. ‘Mrs Gardner? I’m Thea Osborne. Your daughter has asked me to stay here while they’re away. I’m sure they told you I was coming.’ She tried to sound warm but unpatronising, loud but not strident. Nobody had mentioned that Granny was deaf.
‘My daughter’s gone,’ came the firm reply. ‘No use looking for her.’ The door did not open any further, and all Thea could see was a small face looking suspiciously up at her.
‘Yes, I know. I’m here instead. Can I come in for a minute?’
The door remained firmly where it was, giving Thea no further sight of the person inside. ‘What for? I was having my nap. I always have it at three o’clock sharp.’
Thea refrained from advising the old woman that it was actually half past eleven. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll come back later, shall I? I’m staying in the main house while Yvette’s away with her husband.’
‘Oh, Yvette,’ came the dismissive response. ‘Don’t talk to me about Yvette. Much she cares about her poor old mother. Selfish hussy she is.’
Thea made no attempt to defend her temporary employer with protestations about expense and trouble devoted to ensuring Granny’s welfare. Instead, she withdrew and made her way along the pavement to another door in the same deep-yellow building in the historic Georgian centre of Blockley. This time she did have a key, given to her by the Montgomerys earlier in the month, which she quickly used. Directly in front of her was a small cupboard, containing the burglar alarm. She had to tap in 8442 before sirens yowled and klaxons clanged, or whatever ghastly noise had been primed to go off if the aborting numbers were not employed. Her hand shook with the sense of urgency. ‘Bloody thing,’ she muttered.
Out in the street, her spaniel waited impatiently for release from the car. With a rapid glance around the large hall, Thea retraced her steps, carefully leaving the door on the latch.
Despite the almost total absence of traffic in the quiet centre of the little town, she held tightly to the dog’s collar, clipping a lead to it before letting her jump out of the car. A cry of delight filled the air a few seconds later.
Granny Gardner was now standing in her wide-open doorway, wearing an orange dressing gown and green fluffy slippers, her hands clasped together under her chin. ‘A spaniel!’ she crowed. ‘The lovely little darling!’
Accustomed to adoration, Hepzibah strained to approach her admirer. Thea permitted herself to be dragged along, and watched resignedly as the friendship was rapidly cemented between the ancient woman and the exuberant dog. Neither paid Thea the slightest attention, until at last Granny glanced up at her. ‘What’s her name?’ she asked.
‘Hepzibah,’ said Thea, feeling the usual shiver of regret at the rashness of her choice. ‘Hepzie for short.’
‘And a long tail! You don’t see that very often. Doesn’t it make a difference to the shape!’
It was true that Hepzie had a different outline to most cocker spaniels, truncated at the buttocks as they almost always were. Thea nodded, recognising that her initial assessment of old Mrs Gardner might have been hasty. She certainly knew a bit about dogs and Hepzie clearly judged her to be a highly acceptable example of humankind.
‘Who are you, dear? I haven’t seen you in Blockley before, have I? You’re not one of these celebrity people, are you?’
Thea laughed. ‘No, no. I’m staying in the house here – your daughter’s house. She’s asked me to be on hand if you need anything. She’s gone away, you see.’
Mrs Gardner frowned. ‘Went away a long time ago, didn’t she?’ She was now sitting on her doorstep, with the dog between her knees. The over-long ears and huge liquid eyes were doing their irresistible spaniel thing, the old lady’s hands gripping the soft neck affectionately. ‘Is she coming back?’
‘Next week, yes. She’s gone fo
r ten days. To India. I’m staying in the house.’ Thea heard herself shouting. Already she had lost count of the times she’d repeated herself. There had to be a better way to get the facts across.
‘They cut the tails off for a reason, you know,’ said Granny, fingering Hepzie’s plumy appendage. ‘I could do it now for you, if you like. I’ve got a good knife.’
This abrupt change of tack sent Thea’s heart thumping. She took a step back, still holding the dog lead, jerking the animal. ‘No!’ she choked. ‘Absolutely not.’ She was disturbed to find how seriously she took the threat. Hepzie jumped away from her new friend and stood on the pavement watching and wagging.
The old woman smiled, showing unnaturally perfect dentures. ‘Only joking, lovey,’ she chuckled. ‘But if you ask me, it spoils the line. And see how she wags – it’s all in the hips, not really the tail at all.’
Thea looked at her squirming pet and the way her entire spine curved with the effort of expressing pleasure. ‘Well, she’s keeping it,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t be legal to cut it off now, anyway.’
With a sudden movement, Mrs Gardner stood up. She seemed remarkably supple for her years, which surely had to be at least eighty, since her daughter was sixty or more. ‘Well, mustn’t keep you,’ she said. ‘Julian’s going to be here soon, and look at me – not even dressed yet! Do you happen to know what time it is, dear?’ She squinted up at the bright March sky. ‘Looks like dinner time. I thought I was due for my nap, but that’s wrong, isn’t it?’
‘It’s just about twelve o’clock,’ said Thea. ‘Would you like me to help you get your lunch ready? Mrs Montgomery did say you might need a bit of a hand.’
‘Who are you, anyway?’
Here we go again thought Thea with a sense of helpless irritation. ‘My name’s Thea, Thea Osborne. I’m here to keep an eye on things while your daughter’s away. Your daughter Yvette. She must have told you.’
The gaps in Granny’s memory were almost visible. Her small brown eyes seemed to sink further into her head, flickering from side to side in an effort to capture missing facts. ‘I forget things,’ she admitted. ‘I can’t tell you how frightening it can be.’
The lucid confession startled Thea yet again. It was like being in the presence of a growing group of people, all inhabiting one body. With a surge of hope, she rushed to engage this new one while it lasted. ‘It must be awful,’ she sympathised. ‘Does it help to write things down?’
‘A bit. Except I can’t always find the notepad. Julian says I should tie it onto myself. He’s probably right. You’d better come in, hadn’t you? I’m making a spectacle of myself out here like this. Though I don’t suppose it’s the first time.’
Blockley’s streets were as near-deserted as those of most Cotswold villages, in Thea’s recent experience. The Montgomery house was halfway along a street that seemed to go nowhere, with a church at one end and a dense-looking patch of woodland at the other. Thea had almost despaired of finding it, when she had paid a visit a month previously to take her instructions from the absent couple. Blockley was much larger than the villages she had worked in up to now. It had a Post Office inside a general foodstore and a coffee-shop-cum-deli, public lavatories and a children’s playground. There was a hotel called The Crown Inn taking up a considerable section of the High Street, only a little way along from the house Thea was minding. More undulating streets snaked out from the centre in all directions, causing Thea considerable confusion. The buildings were all in a natural bowl, surrounded by sheltering hills, but the bowl had lumps in it, making for sudden steep drops and strange levels.
Two young mothers with toddlers in push-chairs approached, making rather a production of navigating around Thea, Granny and Hepzibah. They manifested no reaction to Granny’s dressing gown.
‘Thanks,’ Thea accepted the offer. ‘Is it all right to bring the dog?’
‘Of course.’
Only when standing inside Mrs Gardner’s living room did Thea remember she had left the door to the main part of the building unlocked and undefended. Surely, she decided, it couldn’t hurt for a few minutes. There were so few people about, and the door looked just as usual. If a very improbable opportunistic burglar did happen to try it, how was he going to make his escape, carrying an armful of the Montgomerys’ possessions? The idea was ridiculous and she relaxed.
‘I understand there’s a connecting door between you and the main house?’ The building must originally have been a fine family mansion erected for a well-to-do wool merchant or something of the sort. Granny’s cottage comprised a one-bedroomed annexe at one end, with its own street door, which had doubtless once been the tradesmen’s entrance.
‘She locks me out,’ said the old woman with a scowl. ‘Thinks I’ll steal her silver, I suppose.’
‘I think she does it to make you feel safe and independent,’ said Thea, inventing quickly. It had seemed peculiar when it had first been explained to her, but then families were peculiar a lot of the time.
‘Julian usually comes to see me about now,’ said Granny with a frown.
Learning fast, Thea accorded this statement some scepticism. Whoever Julian might be, any theories concerning his routine could easily be a decade out of date. Or he could have told her that today would be different. Nothing the old woman said could be taken at face value. It was both unsettling and oddly liberating. Granny herself seemed to have a similar feeling.
‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘I expect I forgot something they told me. If I could find my notepad, it might enlighten us.’
Thea liked the ‘us’. It suggested that she had managed to cross some threshold and was now at least for the moment accepted. ‘Can I help you with your lunch?’ she asked.
But things were already slipping. ‘Lunch? No, no dear. I ought to wait for Julian. Anyway, it isn’t time. Look – I’m not even dressed yet. Off you go, there’s a good woman. Leave me to get on. Who did you say you were?’ The eyes were searching Thea’s face for clues, the mouth rigid with suspicion.
Thea saw no sense in persisting. She caught the spaniel’s eye and together they went to the door. ‘I’ll come and see you later on,’ she said, wondering whether she would ever again gain admission to the slice of the building that was Granny’s cottage.
Back in the larger section that was home to the Montgomerys, she tried to remember everything she had been told a month previously. The connecting door to Granny’s quarters was off the hallway. ‘We keep it locked, actually,’ Yvette had said. ‘It sounds awful, I know, but Granny needs her boundaries kept very firm. You do need to trust us on that point. She would get confused if she could make free with our part of the house as well as her own. I strongly recommend that you keep the door locked, for your own sake. If you need to get to her quickly, the key’s up here, look.’ She indicated a hook on the wall from which hung a three-inch silver-coloured key.
‘Does your mother have a key as well?’ Thea asked.
‘No she doesn’t. Not now. We gave her one originally, but she lost it within a week. Now we’re rather pleased about that. We realised that letting her have a key would defeat the object, if you see what I mean.’
‘So how does she communicate with you if she wants something?’
Yvette blinked a little at this. ‘Well – I suppose she waits until I go to her. She could bang on the door if it was really urgent.’
‘She could telephone us,’ Ron said with a grin. ‘Except she hates the phone. Never uses it if she can help it.’
‘And it would be strange to telephone somebody just the other side of the door,’ Thea said, well aware that she was trespassing on sensitive ground. The Montgomerys let the remark fall unanswered.
For all the oddness of the arrangements, Thea liked Yvette. She was a quietly spoken, soft-faced woman, who seemed to have worries lurking perpetually at the back of her mind. Ron was big and fleshy, well versed in social banter. He had clasped Thea’s hand between his great hams and assured her that she was about
to save their sanity. ‘We thought we’d never get away again,’ he laughed.
Thea’s pulse had quickened with apprehension. Was Granny Gardner such a burden as all that? Yvette hurried to correct the impression Ron had given her. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds,’ she said. ‘My mother’s quite capable of looking after herself. We often go whole days without seeing her at all. It’s just – well, she does need to have somebody here, to keep an eye…just in case…I mean…well.’ Her face crumpled with the difficulty of it all.
Ron gave his wife’s arm a quick squeeze. ‘No more to be said,’ he supplied. ‘No need to think Granny’s going to misbehave herself.’
But Thea had learnt from past experience that it was vital to extract full details from the house owners before it was too late. ‘Could you explain exactly how much she can manage for herself?’ she persisted. ‘I don’t have any nursing qualifications, you know.’
‘She’s perfectly fit physically,’ Yvette said, with an obvious effort to be lucid. ‘She can cook and clean and cope with her clothes. She has a few friends in the village and they drop in on her fairly often. But she does get confused. Lost might be a better word for it. She forgets where she is and what she’s supposed to be doing.’
‘And she never seems to know what time of day it is,’ added Ron.
‘We try to discourage her from going out,’ summarised Yvette. ‘It’s much easier that way.’
Thea tilted her head. ‘You don’t lock her in, do you?’
Ron snorted. ‘Believe me, we’re tempted.’
‘No, no,’ Yvette says quickly. ‘But we do try to keep an eye out, and if we see her in the street, we steer her home again.’
Thea had looked out of the street window. ‘You can’t see her door from here,’ she noted.
‘Aha!’ said Ron. ‘But you can hear it.’ He drew her attention to a small box attached to the wall in the hallway at the foot of the stairs. ‘Every time Granny’s front door opens, this goes off. It makes a loud buzzing sound – you can’t miss it. We only really use it at night, actually, and we’ll switch it off before we go, so you can go to her front door and make yourself known to her on your first day. Clever little gadget, though, eh? A chap from Bourton fixed it up for us.’ He gave Thea careful instructions on the application of two switches connected to the buzzer. One turned it off when it was sounding – ‘You’ll need that one,’ he grinned. ‘It’s quite a racket.’ The other one was the main activator.