Lois Meade 03: Weeping on Wednesday (1987)

by Ann Purser

  She watched him, and he did not once glance towards her window. The car slid off down the High Street, and as far as she could tell, no one noticed. Of course, she could not see that a small grey car had been parked outside the shop, and that Miss Enid Abraham had been bent over the biscuit selection whilst Inspector Cowgill had discussed the break-in with the shopkeeper behind the counter.

  The ring-back call came in, and Lois forgot about Cowgill for the moment. The estate agent’s office was small, three rooms in all, with a sub-manager and girl clerk working there five days a week. They needed to keep it tidy and clean, said the girl, because they had so little space. “And you won’t catch me going round on hands and knees!” she said brightly. “Can you help us? Perhaps you can give us a special rate, as there’s really not much to do.”

  “No, no special rates,” said Lois flatly, thinking that estate agents deserved their evil reputation. “I think you’ll find we give good value for money. Our team is the best, and you won’t have any reason to complain. Would it be all right if I call in this afternoon to discuss it?”

  “Oh, right,” said the girl in a more subdued voice. “Yes, that will be fine. See you later then, Mrs Meade.”

  The morning went quickly, with Lois attending to paperwork and working out the schedules for next week. Bill would start at the estate agent’s, with luck, and Enid Abraham would be going with Bridie to the vicarage to work alongside her and get used to the routines. Lois had decided this was the best way to train new staff. Gran had said surely there wasn’t much to learn; it was a poor sort of woman who couldn’t clean a house decently! But there was quite a lot more to it. Lois had done the job herself. Professional cleaners invaded a client’s private space. It was very important that they did it with tact and efficiency, leaving homes as they found them, but with a cheerful shine. The client must wave them goodbye with a pleasant feeling of well-being that had not been there before.

  “Are you out this afternoon?” Gran said at lunchtime. She had made a mushroom omelette, and frowned as she watched Lois clearing her plate in minutes. “Have you any idea what you’re eating?” she said.

  “You sound like somebody’s mother,” Lois answered. “But thanks, Mum,” she added quickly. “That was great. Got to be going now, and I may not be back in time for the kids getting home. Will you be here?”

  “Of course,” said Gran, smiling happily. “Aren’t I always?”

  §

  The woods were dark, although it was only halfway through the day. A thick mist hung over meadows that bordered the wood, and Lois regretted agreeing so readily to meet Cowgill. She’d have to think of a better place than this, if their arrangement was to continue.

  “Thanks for coming.” He stood by their chosen tree trunk, tall and unsmiling, immaculately turned out as always. Must have a very dutiful wifie, thought Lois, noticing the snowy-white handkerchief showing from his breast pocket.

  “Tell me about the Abrahams, then,” she said. “I haven’t got much time. Thingy’s in Fletcham want a cleaner, and I’m going there after here.”

  “Useful for your new chap – Stockbridge, is it?”

  “Is there anything you don’t know?” said Lois. “Anyway, get on with it. I suppose it’s about that brother. Enid’s brother?”

  Cowgill nodded. Edward Abraham had been on the fringe of certain dodgy deals in the area for some years, he said. Nothing criminal. He was too clever for that. But he was a nasty piece of work, and nobody liked him. His father was, in Cowgill’s opinion, frightened of him, completely under his thumb, although Edward had sponged off his parents on and off all his life. “To tell the truth, Lois,” Cowgill said, “I don’t know how they live. The old boy’s got a pension, I suppose, and dabbles about in his smallholding with a few bullocks. But that wouldn’t keep the three of them in socks.”

  “Four of them,” said Lois. “There’s the mother as well.”

  “Mother?” said Cowgill. “Since when?”

  “Since always.” Lois shrugged. “She’s some kind of a recluse, according to Enid. Gradually losing her marbles, from the sound of it. Rules them all from a shuttered room where only Enid is allowed. She clammed up on the subject after a bit, and anyway, it’s not really my business. I liked the woman – Enid, that is – and reckon she’ll do a good job.”

  Her voice had a defensive edge and Cowgill said, “What does Derek think?”

  “None of your business,” said Lois sharply. “Now what’ve you got to tell me?”

  “Not much more,” said Cowgill, wishing that Lois was short, fat and ugly, so that he could dislike her, “except that Edward Abraham has disappeared. There was a court case coming up. Some poor sod trying to get money he was owed. But when Abraham didn’t answer any letters, a collector bloke was sent round to try and get something out of him. The father said he wasn’t there, and slammed the door. We had a try, and this time it was quiet as the grave, and though we were sure somebody was there – Constable Simpson said he could see a curtain twitching – nobody came to the door. And your Enid Abraham is quite a slippery fish. None of us has been able to talk to her yet. Still, we’ll catch up with her. Especially now we know where she’s working…”

  “Lay off!” said Lois. “If you want my help, it’ll be on my terms.”

  “As always,” said Cowgill, fractionally bowing his head, and feeling that old frisson when she reluctantly half-smiled in acknowledgement. “But we need to find Edward Abraham. Keep in touch, Lois,” he said, and strode off out of the woods to where he had parked his car. Down Fido, he said to himself as he drove off.

  Nine

  Sackville’s was an old-established property agent with a main office in Tresham, and a small branch in Fletcham covering the villages in that area. They had a reputation for moving property fast, for keeping prices reasonably low, and making sure sales went through with the fewest possible hitches. That way, they wasted no time and little money, and had a considerable edge over their competitors.

  Lois parked outside the Fletcham office and went in. A small girl behind a big desk looked up and smiled. “Can I help you?” she said.

  “I’m Mrs Meade, New Brooms. I phoned,” said Lois briskly.

  “Ah yes, do sit down, Mrs Meade,” replied the girl. “There are a few questions I’d like to ask…hours and rates of pay and so on.”

  After ten minutes, the girl was shaking Lois by the hand, thanking her profusely for dropping by, and wondering who had been interviewing whom. Lois, on the other hand, felt quite content at securing a new client, and drove the two hundred yards up the road to Bill Stockbridge’s cottage on the offchance that he might be at home. He wasn’t, and Rebecca would be at school, so Lois sat outside their cottage for a while, deciding what to do next.

  She had been intrigued by the smartly-dressed woman who had come into Sackville’s office a couple of minutes before Lois’s interview had ended. She had announced herself as Rosie Charrington, and had wandered about looking at photographs of properties until Lois got up to go. Her opening words, as Lois left the office, had been easily audible: “I’ve come about Bell’s Farm…you know, I spoke to you earlier…I’d like to take a preliminary look.”

  Well, it could do no harm to drive round that way. She needed to have a word with Bridie and Hazel in Waltonby, and anyway, Mrs Charrington might be a possible client for the future. She watched until the smart little red car drove off from Sackville’s, and then followed at a discreet distance.

  The day had not improved. A strong wind had blown away the mist, but great black clouds raced across the sky, chucking down heavy showers of large, cold raindrops. Lois’s windscreen wipers were not really up to the job, and she peered through the streams of water at the road ahead. The tunnel of trees approaching Cathanger Mill acted as an umbrella for a few yards, and suddenly she could see more clearly. The red car had disappeared round the corner, and Lois speeded up. Then right in front of her, with no warning, a figure appeared, shrouded from head to fo
ot in dark clothes. It was a man, she was sure of that as she braked heavily. He’d stepped out of the trees and was followed by a big sheepdog, which turned and bared its teeth at her as she squealed to a halt.

  “Why the bloody hell don’t you look where you’re going!” yelled Lois, winding down her window. The man did not turn his head. In fact, he seemed to hunch it even further into his shoulders. He trudged on across the road, and started into a gateway on the other side. The dog, however, stayed on the same spot, facing Lois’s car and barking a deep throaty bark that echoed through the trees. Lois beeped, a long impatient beep, and the man, now standing on the grass verge, turned and shouted one word at the dog. Its tail went down and its ears flattened. It slunk away across the road and followed the dark figure down the track. Lois realized her heart was thumping. She’d seen the dog before, in Cathanger Mill, chained to the old gatepost at the entrance, on guard.

  A quick glimpse of the man’s face as he shouted had been enough to frighten her. It was not an old face, but was pale, unshaven, and had an unmistakable likeness to Miss Enid Abraham.

  §

  Bell’s Farm, although empty for some time, and surrounded by unkempt garden, was a sunlit paradise compared with Cathanger Mill. Lois pulled up a short way past the farm gate, and walked back to where she could see the red car. Two women were opening the front door – Sackville’s girl and Rosie Charrington – and, as Lois bent down to remove a non-existent stone from her shoe, they disappeared inside the house. She thought for a moment, and made a quick decision. Turning quickly, she walked up the short path to the farmhouse and knocked at the door.

  “Mrs Meade? What are you…”

  “Sorry to chase you,” said Lois, with an apologetic smile. “I’m going home this way, and saw the car and you in it. I think I forgot to say we could start next week? Saves me a phone call. And, by the way, we bring our own cleaning materials. All in the price,” she could not resist adding.

  Rosie Charrington stood at the foot of the stairs, her hand on a dusty bannister. “Cleaning?” she said. In her experience, cleaners were gold dust. “Are you a cleaner?”

  “I run a cleaning business,” said Lois cheerfully. “Looks like you might need us if you move in here!” She reached into her pocket and produced a silvery pen with New Brooms – we sweep cleaner! and a telephone number embossed on the side. “Here – this’ll help remind you.” It had been Josie’s idea. “Quality, Mum,” she’d said, “that’s the impression you’re out to give.” Lois had been doubtful, but ordered the pens to please Josie. They had been a great success, and everyone on the team flourished them at every opportunity.

  “How nice!” said Rosie Charrington, taking the pen with alacrity. “We’ve a long way to go yet, of course, but once I’ve made up my mind, I move fast. Sebastian is the same. If there’s not too much to do here, and we could live with it more or less straight away, I might be in touch sooner than you think!”

  Sackville’s girl was beaming. Things were looking very promising, and she turned to show off the rest of the house, launching into the jargon with practised ease. It occurred to her, as they picked their way through accumulated junk in the big kitchen, that it might be worth getting Lois Meade to clean up the house before they had any more enquiries. First impressions were all important. This Mrs Charrington seemed very keen, but you never knew in this business. She made a note to ring New Brooms when she got back to the office.

  §

  “Hi, Lois, what’re you doing here?” Bridie Reading had just returned from her job at the vicarage, and was making a cup of tea in the kitchen. “Got time for one?” she said.

  Lois nodded. “Yep, that’d be good. Make it strong and sweet. Just had a bit of a shock.” She was smiling, but still felt a bit shaky after that encounter in the trees by the mill.

  “There’s a woman looking over Bell’s Farm,” she said conversationally.

  “What was shocking about that?” said Bridie, putting a large mug of tea in front of Lois.

  “Nothing,” said Lois. “No, it wasn’t her. But I was just telling you that in case you hear anything about it being sold. Could be a new client for us. I put in a word to her, and gave her a pen.” She paused, and Bridie waited.

  Finally, she said, “And the shock? What was that?”

  Lois shook her head. “It wasn’t nothing, really. Just that I nearly ran into a bloke who stepped out into the road in front of me. In that tunnel of trees by Cathanger. And a dog, too. Shakes you up, doesn’t it?”

  “Who was it, then?” said Bridie. She knew Lois so well. There was more to come.

  “Not sure,” said Lois casually. “The dog looked like that brute of Abraham’s. I don’t think the man was old Abraham. I’ve seen him in the shop once or twice. Anyway, this bloke was younger. Only caught a quick flash of his face…he looked a bit like Enid. You know, Enid who’s coming to work for us.”

  Bridie’s face had darkened. “Oh my God,” she said. “I thought he’d gone for good. It’d be Edward, I reckon.”

  “Does he look like Enid? I thought he was a lot older?”

  “Oh no, Lois. There is a strong resemblance, as you would expect. They’re twins,” said Bridie.

  Ten

  In the semi-darkened room where her mother passed strange, lonely days, Enid Abraham moved about quietly, cleaning and folding her mother’s cast-off clothes. In a bizarre routine, each morning Mother would get out of the divan bed against the wall and take all her clothes from the cupboard which Father, on her instructions, had moved from the bedroom upstairs. From the untidy pile on the bed, she would take one dress, or skirt and jumper, and one pair of shoes, and after slowly putting them on, she would stand for a couple of minutes, and then begin taking them off again, ready to pass on to the next outfit. In this way, she would go through all her clothes every morning, and the process would last until it was time for Enid to come in, tidy up and give her a cup of hot chocolate, which, unless it was exactly the right consistency and temperature, would be dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

  “What do you mean, Enid?” said Mother now, watching her daughter’s every movement like an old parrot. “What d’you mean, you will leave my chocolate in a flask? Where do you think you are going? You are needed here, my girl. This is your place, make no mistake about that!”

  “I shall be out most mornings, I expect,” said Enid mildly. “I’ve got a job. Helping out where people need it.” She dare not say cleaning. That would be totally out of the question. No daughter of Mrs Abraham went out cleaning other people’s houses.

  The hot chocolate hit the wall behind Enid’s head. She was used to ducking at the right time, and quickly picked up the empty cup, fetched a bucket and cloth and cleaned up the mess, and then – closing her ears to the invective hurled at her – went calmly out of the room and shut the door. It was some time before the house was quiet, but when she was sure her mother had settled down, Enid put on her coat and wellies, tied a scarf around her head against the cold wind, and went out across the yard to a stone barn where the chickens awaited their usual feed.

  “That’s the worst bit done,” she confided to a noisy mob of hens, scattering grain in smooth arcs so that all should get their share. “Now Mother knows, she’ll accept it. She’ll punish me in her time-honoured fashion, no doubt, but I’m used to that.”

  She went to collect the eggs from nest boxes in the corner, and found yet another broken open and the yolk spilled. Her face set, she looked around the milling chickens. She knew which one she was looking for. It had a damaged wing that dragged along the ground. Reaching down, she took it by the neck, ignored its one flapping wing, and neatly pulled the head sharply away from the body. The flapping continued for a few seconds, and its legs pounded away in an automatic effort to escape. Then it was still, and Enid pushed it into the empty grain bucket.

  “That sorts out supper for tonight,” she said, this time addressing her Father, who had come into the barn and seen the whole thing.r />
  “Good girl,” he said approvingly. “Well done. If you get an egg-eater, there’s nothing else to be done. Give it here. I’ll see to it.”

  Enid handed over the bucket and rubbed her hands together. “I must get off now,” she said. “Library day. Anything you want, Father?”

  He shook his head. “Don’t be too long,” he said, with an anxious look back at the house.

  §

  Just up the road, in the empty farmhouse, Lois was putting on rubber gloves and collecting cleaning materials together for a major assault on the dust and dirt. Hazel was already there when she arrived, and the pair of them set to work.

  “Better tidy up first, don’t you think, Mrs M?” said Hazel, pulling out a roll of black rubbish bags.

  Lois nodded. “You start upstairs,” she said, “and I’ll be down here. Give us a shout if there’s a problem.”

  Hazel picked her way upstairs, noticing that the stairs still had threadbare carpet, but seemed in good repair. The whole house was solid, reassuring, and, unlike some much cleaner but chillier jobs Hazel had been sent to, it had a pleasant, friendly atmosphere. The low sun shining through dusty windows warmed up the rooms, and Hazel set to work with a will. She picked up old newspapers, books with no covers, empty bottles of patent medicines that had never seen a sell-by date, some showing vestiges of dark brown liquid clinging to the sides. She opened one of these, and sniffed. “Ugh!” she exclaimed. “Yuk! No wonder they all snuffed it!”

  Lois came upstairs. “What’s up?” she said.

  “Nothin’,” said Hazel, “it’s just these old bottles – here, take a sniff.”

  “Ipikek,” said Lois flatly. “I remember it from my nan. Used to give it us if we had coughs. Kill or cure, I reckon.”