Lois Meade 03: Weeping on Wednesday (1987)

by Ann Purser

  He almost caught up with her when she tripped over an exposed root, but she managed to regain her balance and pick up speed in time to leave him still a couple of yards behind her. Finally she drew ahead, and as the brightening light showed they were approaching the Bell’s Farm edge of the wood, the man stopped. It would be better to go back, get out of sight before the girl raised the alarm. As he passed the prone body of the dog, he bent down, then straightened up with difficulty and disappeared quickly into the dark interior of the wood.

  §

  Rosie filled the kettle and glanced out of the window to see if there was any sign of Anna. She should be back very soon, and Rosie prayed that the walk had been as therapeutic as Sebastian had predicted. Emotional au pairs were a frequent source of conversation between the more affluent young mothers, but Rosie considered Anna had topped the lot in creating such a disturbance on Christmas Day. It would be something to tell the others at the school gates!

  She was turning away to prepare tea, when a movement at the edge of the wood caught her eye. Was it Anna? Rosie frowned. Whoever it was, the figure looked in trouble, stumbling and sliding about in the mud. Then she could see that it was indeed Anna, and she rushed out of the back door, into the garden and across the field at top speed, not bothering to grab a coat, but yelling as she went, “Seb! Come quickly! Anna’s hurt!”

  It was several minutes before they could establish that Anna was not physically hurt, just exhausted and distressed beyond speech.

  “Where’s Rick?” Sebastian had looked around for the dog, but he was nowhere.

  “Never mind about him,” said Rosie.

  “But he might be lost. It might be why she’s so upset,” said Sebastian practically.

  At this, Anna’s hysteria reached a critical point, and Rosie amazed herself by slapping the girl firmly on the cheek.

  “Mummy!” chorused the children, standing open-mouthed by the door.

  “Hey, come on you two,” said Sebastian. “Mummy knows what she’s doing. Let us go and have a look around for Rick. Breath of fresh air will do us good.”

  Suddenly Anna found her voice. “No,” she croaked urgently. “No, don’t take the children! I must speak with Rosie alone. But don’t take the children, please!”

  Sebastian was now confused, but Rosie nodded at him. “Why don’t you all get the new game out and read the rules. Then we can play after tea, when Anna’s better.”

  Left alone, Rosie led Anna to the sofa and pulled her down beside her. She put what she hoped was a motherly arm around the thin shoulders, and waited. The pitiful story came out in fits and starts, but was clear enough. By the time Anna had reached the point where the man finally abandoned the chase and disappeared, Rosie was thoroughly alarmed. “I think we must tell Sebastian,” she said quietly. Anna nodded, meek and quiet now.

  “My God!” said Sebastian, called in by Rosie and now sitting on the floor in front of Anna. “Did you get sight of his face?”

  Anna shook her head. “He was covered, except for his eyes. When he ran, I could hear him…er…panting. I don’t think he was very good. The little bit of face around the eyes was very…how do you say…pale?”

  “Right,” said Sebastian, getting to his feet. “You telephone the police, Rosie, and I’ll go and find Rick. Don’t like to think of him out there…It’s getting dark now, and you never know, he might not be quite…well…you know…”

  “He is,” said Anna flatly. “He is dead. But I think you should not touch him. The police should see him first, I think.”

  Rosie blew her nose hard and nodded. “She’s right, Seb. Best not to touch him for the moment.” Then she left the room, and Sebastian could hear her choking back tears before she lifted the telephone and dialled the police.

  He made a decision. He was a vet, after all, and he could not leave an animal possibly in pain. “I’m going to look for him,” he said, passing Rosie in the hall. “I won’t touch him, unless there’s something I can do for him. If there is, then bugger the police.”

  §

  Enid Abraham woke up and saw that it had grown dark. Christmas Day had not been a very festive affair. She’d done her best, cooking a chicken her father had killed, and heating up the pudding she’d bought from the shop. It was all good, and even the plates put outside her mother’s door were completely empty. Every bit of both courses had been eaten, and Enid had felt gratified.

  “Why don’t you have a rest, Enid, after all that cooking,” her father had suggested, even proposing to do the washing-up.

  “I shall fall asleep for sure,” said Enid.

  “Good thing too,” said her father. “You’ve been looking tired lately, doing all that housework for other people.” She ignored the jibe, but agreed that a snooze would be quite a pleasant prospect. She’d gone up to her room and been asleep in minutes.

  Now she could hear her father out in the yard, banging the chicken shed door and clattering pails in the barn. Time to get up, Enid, she told herself. There wasn’t much to get up for. Another dimly lit evening by a smouldering fire. The wind had got up, and moaned around the old mill. Perhaps I’ll just stay here in bed, she thought. At that, she stood up swiftly and began to tidy her hair. That was probably how Mother’s long retreat into reclusion had started. Giving in once to temptation, and then the next time things had been bad with Father and Edward, finding it easier to shut herself away again…and then for longer periods of time, until she reached her present hermit-like existence.

  Enid went downstairs as her father came into the kitchen. “Ah, there you are,” he said. “Time for a surprise.” Her heart stopped. Surprises at the mill were always bad ones. What was Father up to?

  Walter walked over to the cupboard where he kept his gun, unlocked it and opened the door. He reached inside and then turned around, a broad smile crossing his lined face. “Happy Christmas, Enid,” he said.

  It was a small cake, iced, and with holly berries stuck into the top. She had seen them in the shop, but had thought them too expensive. She blinked. “My goodness, Father,” she said. “You’ve certainly been slaving over a hot stove while I was asleep!”

  In the warmth of the shared joke they sat down at the table, and Enid poured tea and cut cake. “If only Mother would…” Enid’s voice tailed away as usual, and her father nodded.

  “Maybe one day,” he said, and wiped his hands across his eyes.

  Twenty

  Next morning, Rosie and Sebastian Charrington awoke to a specially clear, cold light that could mean only one thing. Snow. In the night, unexpectedly, snow had fallen heavily. The children rushed into their parents’ bedroom whooping with excitement, demanding that everybody must be up and dressed and outside before it all melted away.

  Rosie surfaced with difficulty. It had been such a dreadful day yesterday, and for one blissful moment before properly awake, it had gone from her mind. But then, as she sat up to drink the cup of tea Sebastian brought, the whole appalling business rushed back.

  Constable Keith Simpson had finally arrived, clearly resentful at being called out on Christmas Day. Anna, now more or less recovered, and beginning to feel quite important and the centre of attention, had led the way in the twilight into Cathanger wood, saying she remembered exactly where Rick had been done to death.

  They had met Sebastian on the way, and he’d frowned at Anna. “Where did you say he was?” he’d asked her, and she had guided them to the clearing where she’d seen the blow falling on the unsuspecting dog’s head.

  She was shivering again, and Constable Simpson had put his hand on her arm. “All right, gel?” he’d asked, and Sebastian had reluctantly taken her hand.

  Then the embarrassment had begun. No dog, dead or alive. The clearing was quiet and empty. The soggy grass stretched away from them, undisturbed, and though they’d hunted around for a long time, thinking he might not have been quite dead but crawled away to die, as animals will, they had found nothing. In the end, they had returned to the house and A
nna made a statement for the records. After profuse apologies for getting Keith Simpson out on such a day, they had made a great effort to return the family to normality, doing their best to ignore Anna’s frequent lapses into tears.

  Now, pulling on some old clothes, Sebastian took the children away to get dressed. “We’ll get Anna up,” he said to Rosie. “She was keen to see snow at Christmas. And there’ll be some talking to do later,” he added grimly. Late the previous night, when he and Rosie had exhausted all the possibilities of what might have happened, he had been very definitely sceptical. “Made it all up, that’s what I reckon,” he’d said finally.

  “But why?” Rosie had asked.

  “I expect she just lost him, and was scared,” he’d replied. “Invented the whole thing, knowing we’d go and look and find nothing, but not thinking much beyond that. Perhaps she thought when we couldn’t find him, we’d just wait for him to come back. I don’t suppose she really cared much whether he did or not. She’s never seemed particularly fond of him.”

  He was not a great fan of Anna, but kept quiet because she undoubtedly made life easier for Rosie. Up to now…Rosie did not agree with him, but had been too tired to argue. Now it was Boxing Day, and they were all due to go to the pantomime in Tresham this afternoon. She slid out of bed feeling unrested and depressed.

  In the garden, building a giant snowman with the children and a subdued and wan-looking Anna, Sebastian evolved a plan. He felt very strongly that the whole family relied on him to find their dog, and the children seemed to think because he was a vet, he could, if necessary, magic him back to life. He was going to need help.

  Young Bill Stockbridge, one of Lois Meade’s cleaners, had approached him several weeks ago. He’d explained who he was, and said although he enjoyed the New Brooms’ work, he was missing his dad’s farm. “Mostly the animals,” he’d said. He had wondered if he could help Sebastian at the weekends. “Money’s not important,” he had said confidently, though Rebecca had thought otherwise.

  “If you’re disappearing to work for hours over the weekend,” she’d said, “I shall expect big treats in compensation.”

  “Treats don’t need to cost money,” he’d replied, with a lascivious look. He had gone out once or twice with Sebastian, and been very helpful.

  Now his services would be required for something different: a big trawl through the woods, an exhaustive search for Rick, as soon as the snow disappeared. Sebastian noticed the temperature rising, and the snow on the house roof was melting at the edges already. Soon it would slide down, turn into slush, and be gone in hours. Sebastian returned to the house and rang Bill’s number.

  §

  Rebecca had said she must go home for Christmas and had invited Bill, but he had found good excuses for declining. His own family did not expect him, regarding him and Rebecca as being more or less married, and saying he should stay with her at such a time. But Bill felt uncomfortable with Rebecca’s family. He knew they did not really approve, and she became a different person in their midst. So in the end it was agreed that he would stay and mind the cottage, be on Lois’s emergency list, and have a good time in the pub on Christmas Eve.

  When the telephone rang, Bill was sure it would be Rebecca. She had rung twice yesterday, and sounded miserable. Well, that was no bad thing. But when he heard Sebastian’s voice, he was pleased. He had begun to feel lonely, though he wouldn’t admit it, and when the idea of a search through the woods was put to him, he agreed gladly. “This afternoon then?” he said.

  He and Sebastian set off from the farmhouse soon after lunch, to make the most of the light. The snow had almost disappeared in the bright sun and rising temperature, and when they plunged into the deeper part of the wood the canopy of trees had protected the ground beneath. They did not talk, concentrating on the job. When they came to the place Anna had pointed out, a thin layer of snow had drifted into the clearing.

  “Nothing here, Bill. You can see that,” Sebastian said, stopping and looking all around.

  “Well, there’s no dog, that’s for sure.” Bill wandered off through the trees and halted suddenly. He bent down, looking at the melting snow. “There is something here, though,” he called. Sebastian joined him, and they looked at what was clearly a footprint in the snow.

  “That’s odd,” said Sebastian. “The snow came during the night, long after any of us had been in the woods. Someone else has been here.” He frowned. It didn’t seem likely that walkers would be out in the woods today, and anyway, these prints – there was a small trail – led up to where Bill stood, and then turned around and went back the same way.

  “She spoke of a man, did you say?” Bill measured the print with the span of his big hand. Sebastian nodded. Bill straightened up and said, “Well, this’d be a very small man, more like a child or a woman.”

  “Very odd,” said Sebastian. He looked away through the trees, and suddenly stiffened. “Hey! Stop! You there, stop!” Bill looked in the same direction and saw a figure, a small figure, disappearing fast. They both took off at speed, crashing through the underbrush and yelling as they went. They were faster, especially Bill, who was used to charging through human obstacles on the rugby field. Bushes were nothing to him.

  “Stop! Stop!” he yelled, as he closed in on the fleeing figure. Sebastian followed close behind and saw that their quarry had finally come to a halt and was leaning against a tree. Bill was there first, and saw arms and hands stretched out against him, as if to stop any violent approach he might make.

  “It’s all right, Miss Abraham,” he said, seeing a terrified Enid straggling for breath, pushing her muddy hands into her pockets. “Why on earth didn’t you stop? I’m really sorry if we frightened you.”

  Sebastian had caught them up and stared at her. “Enid!” he said. “What on earth are you doing here? And why did you run…surely you could see it was us?”

  Enid Abraham shook her head. Making an obvious effort to keep back tears, she said in a small voice, “I wasn’t sure…It’s so dark in the woods…”

  Sebastian looked at her white face and said, “Let us walk you back home. Do you know the way?” Enid nodded dumbly, and he took her arm. “I was just out for a breath of fresh air,” she muttered after a while.

  Bill said, “But why were you frightened?”

  She did not reply, and they walked on in silence. Then she said, “I’ve always been frightened of the woods. The locals say there’s a big old cat in there, a wild one, that attacks people…and somebody had a dog badly scratched once.”

  Sebastian told her about Rick’s disappearance at once, of course, and she sympathized, saying she did hope he would return of his own accord. Dogs often did that. But Bill thought privately that it was all a bit much of a coincidence. Seb’s dog going missing, and then Enid comes along with her cock-and-bull story of a big bloody cat! He’d worked alongside Enid, of course, and had no fault to find with her. There was nothing to dislike, and yet he disliked her. She never gave anything away, never relaxed or told him anything about herself, except to make it clear that visitors to the mill were not encouraged.

  They reached the Abrahams’ track, and Enid stopped. “Thank you both very much,” she said. “I would invite you to come and have a cup of tea, but you know how it is. Mother would never…” Her voice trailed away in its usual fashion, and the men stood and watched as she picked her way carefully through the ruts and potholes.

  “That’s that, then,” said Sebastian. “Better get on with our search.”

  “And watch out for the Big Bad Cat,” said Bill, with a caustic look at Seb. “Never heard such rubbish,” he continued, after she’d gone.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Sebastian, reluctant to mock Enid. “There are such things as feral cats, and they can be vicious. It is possible.”

  Bill said nothing, but thought that he would like to know more about Miss Enid Abraham’s habit of taking walks in dark woods that frightened her out of her wits. He would have a word with Lo
is.

  §

  “Where’ve you been?” said Walter Abraham, as Enid came into the kitchen and took off her coat. “It’ll soon be dark out there. I suppose I’d better do the chickens for you…”

  “Thanks, Father,” Enid said. “I just went for a walk. The snow’s all gone, thank goodness. All very well for children and people who don’t have to tend animals, but I’m glad to see the back of it.”

  She watched her father put on his boots and when he had gone out she felt in her coat pocket, bringing out a note on a dirty piece of paper. Yesterday, even though it was Christmas Day, she had hoped for a last minute card to swell their meagre collection and went to check their improvised letter box, a broken drainpipe at the end of the track. No card, but she had found the note. It had been a shock to see it was unmistakably Edward’s handwriting, so like her own. It instructed her to go and look for a dead dog he’d come across in the woods. He’d moved it to a suitable place, and she was to take something to dig with, and bury it. That was all. No clue to his whereabouts, no explanation of his disappearance, no message of affection or concern.

  She had collected a trowel and gone reluctantly to do as she was bidden. After wandering about for a while, she’d found the dog and was horrified to see it was the Charringtons’. She’d dug as well as she could with the trowel. It took a long time, and the dog was heavy. She’d wept as she spread loamy soil over him and a thick layer of leaves, and then, not really satisfied that all trace had gone, she’d heard a rustle in the undergrowth and panicked, running back home and planning to complete the job next day.

  At the second attempt, she had concealed the grave to her satisfaction, and was returning to the mill when she’d caught sight of Bill and Sebastian. Panicking again, she had fled, but when she was finally out of breath, they’d caught her. Long experience of Edward’s lying explanations warned her not mention the dog. ‘Found a dead dog’ could mean much more. Still, they had seemed satisfied with her explanation, though it sounded thin, even to her. She threw the note on the fire. It had been best to do as she was told, even though she had no idea why. Edward had always been like this, giving her orders, never explaining, skipping off when there was trouble and leaving her to face the music. Then he would laugh away her anger and she would forgive him. Always that bond between them. And now, not once did it occur to her that she should tell the police.