Lois Meade 03: Weeping on Wednesday (1987)

by Ann Purser

  Hunter Cowgill finally stopped and looked at Lois and Derek, sitting yards apart. They stared back at him and said nothing at all. What more could he say?

  Then Derek stood up. He walked across to Lois and held out his hand. “Right then,” he said. “Best be gettin’ home.” There was a fractional pause, and then Lois took his hand. “Silly bugger,” she said, and they both left the room without a backward glance.

  Cowgill was left with three cooling cups of coffee and a feeling of desolation. It would have been much easier if he’d never met Lois. Crimes would have been solved without her, and his dull, respectable marriage been enough. But the sight of her, trouble as she was, lifted his day. He hated to think he might never speak to her again. Also, on a more professional level, he realized that he now had no undertaking from Lois that she would keep to herself what he had told her, nor did he know whether she would continue to work with him. He sighed again, and leaned back in his chair, his eyes shut. He had work to do. Thinking work. Time passed, and he was following a convoluted train of thought when he heard his door open and a voice addressing him.

  “Shall I take these away, sir?”

  He nodded, without opening his eyes. If he concentrated hard, the girl would go away without the usual exchange of pleasantries. He heard cups rattling, but no footsteps leaving his room. It was no good, his concentration had gone, and he opened his eyes. Lois stood there, with a tray in her hands, and she was smiling broadly.

  “Oh, no,” groaned Cowgill, but he was smiling too. “Don’t tell me he’s chucked you out.”

  Lois shook her head. “Derek’s no fool,” she said. “We came to a compromise. He says I’m to go on doin’ what I do for you – getting information, an’ that – because he knows I’ll give him hell if he tries to stop me. But I got to tell him what’s goin’ on. And you got to find out who wrote those poisonous letters.”

  Cowgill stood up. “It would be a more sensible arrangement if you’d take money, Lois,” he said, but she shook her head. “Oh, all right then,” he continued. “I agree to your – or is it Derek’s? – terms. And of course I’ll find out who wrote those letters. That’s our job. Now go away, before I – ”

  “I’m gone,” said Lois, and disappeared. Two minutes later she was back.

  “I forgot,” she said. “There was something to report. That Edward…he’s a nastier piece of work than we thought. I’ve still got to talk to Enid about Alibone Woods, but I reckon we got to tread carefully. There’s a funny old set-up there, between him and her, and I don’t really know which way she’ll jump.”

  “Right,” said Cowgill, the wise, senior policeman once more. “I leave it in your hands, Lois. Thanks. Now, please go home.”

  Twenty-Three

  Gran awoke next morning feeling that a great weight had been lifted from her. Then she remembered why. Derek and Lois had returned home from Tresham, in separate cars, but somehow together again. She had said nothing, but cooked Derek’s favourite steak and kidney pie for supper.

  The kids, too, had seemed to sense a return to normality, and had teased Jamie about his promised piano lesson. “You don’t need lessons,” Douglas had said loftily. “I can teach you all you need to know,” and he’d picked out chopsticks with no trouble at all.

  “Go on then,” Jamie had protested, “what else can you play?”

  “Too busy, too much homework.” Douglas had disappeared before he could be challenged.

  Now it was nearly time for the school bus to deliver them back for tea, and Enid Abraham was at the door, early and apologetic. “Doesn’t matter, dear,” said Gran, ushering her in. “Come on in. They’re not back yet, so we’ve got time for a chat. It’s really nice of you to teach Jamie piano. He’s so excited!”

  “It’ll be a pleasure,” said Enid quietly. “It is so long since I played myself…lost heart, really, when Mother got so agitated every time I sat down to play. Now I have a reason to take it up again, and I’ve looked out some music. Most of it is Edward’s…he forged ahead of me. So clever at everything…”

  Gran nodded. “Lois told me. But Jamie is only a beginner, so he’ll just need someone with patience, mostly!”

  Enid smiled. “Ah, well, that’s a commodity I have in plenty,” she said. “Did you know Patience is my middle name? I mean, really…I was christened Enid Patience…”

  “Well I never!” said Gran. “There’s a coincidence.”

  “And Edward’s second name is Justice…that was my mother’s idea. I sometimes wonder if it was a good one.”

  “Perhaps justice is what he’ll get in the end, with any luck,” said Lois, coming in behind Gran and smiling at Enid to show she was joking.

  With Edward in the forefront of their minds, Lois and Enid went through to look at the piano. Enid sat down and played a few bars. She had a light touch, and Lois could see at once that she was good.

  “It’s a very nice instrument, Mrs M,” Enid said. “You did well…Oh, is that the children coming back?”

  Lois had been hoping to bring Edward back into the conversation, but now there was the usual turmoil of grumbles and quarrels, and desperate hunger, and the need for help with homework; in general a settling back into the nest.

  Jamie rushed in, having seen Enid’s car. “Hi, Miss Abraham,” he said. “Can we start?”

  Enid smiled. “If Mother says it’s all right,” she said. “Might as well not lose any time.”

  Lois shut the door quietly on the pair of them, their heads already together over the first piano primer. She heard a few tentative notes, then Jamie’s fruity laugh, and knew that all would be well.

  §

  An hour later, Lois heard Jamie calling. “Mum! Come and listen!”

  He had mastered the first scale, and stumbled through it with pride. “You got to get the right fingers, Mum,” he said knowledgeably, and Enid nodded.

  “An apt pupil, Mrs M,” she said, “and now, Jamie, we’ve done more than enough for today. Run along and have your tea, and we’ll have another lesson next week.”

  “Not ‘til next week!” Jamie was exaggeratedly horrified. “But what do I do ‘til then?”

  “Learn the notes. Practice that little tune, and your scale, until it’s easy. Learn it off by heart, and play it to the others. You’ll be surprised how much time that takes!”

  “Now Enid,” said Lois. “You and I are going to have a cup of tea, and you can tell me how we can help Jamie.”

  “That would be very nice,” Enid said politely. “The only thing you need to do is give him time. Don’t try to force him. Children are very easily discouraged in the early days. I remember when Edward started, Father was very stern with him, and it caused endless trouble. It was why he gave it up in the end, I think. I was dogged, though less talented, and…”

  She dried up, as usual, and Lois began talk. At first it was about anything and everything: New Brooms, the weather, the garden. Then, had Enid seen the bluebells in Alibone Woods? They weren’t out yet, of course, but a little later on they’d be spectacular.

  “Oh yes,” she replied. “I’ve been there many times in the spring. We all used to go, even Mother in her good days, and if it was warm we’d take a picnic. Weekends were busy of course, but during the week we’d be the only people there. Edward would disappear, hunting for rabbits, he’d say, but I think it was to get away from Father. He was often at home, never seemed to be able to keep a job. They got on one another’s nerves. I was often the only one who could handle Edward. Father used to say he never knew what he would get up to next. I felt the same, and sometimes it frightened me…One day,” she continued, and now she was gazing out of the window at the darkening garden, “one lovely day, when the sun was shining through the leaves and the birds were singing at the tops of their voices, Edward disappeared and didn’t come back.”

  Enid was silent, lost in memory. Lois shifted in her chair. She didn’t want to break the spell, but she could hear raised voices in the kitchen, and wasn’t su
re Gran could cope. “Did he eventually come back?” she said, after a minute or so.

  “No.” Enid’s voice was so quiet, Lois could hardly hear her. “At least, not that day. We had to go home without him. There was a terrible row. Then he turned up next morning, chirpy as a cricket. Father started at him, and then Mother collapsed, so he had to stop. It was horrible. Father went off to the barn, and Mother shut herself away.”

  “And Edward?”

  “He laughed,” said Enid, turning to look at Lois. “He laughed, and said he’d had a very peaceful night. Said if he ever decided to become a hermit, he’d found just the place. And then he made himself a huge breakfast and ate it.”

  The din from the kitchen had subsided, and Lois refilled Enid’s cup.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’ve told you all this,” Enid said. “How did we get on to Alibone Woods? Oh yes,” she added, with a shaky smile, “it was the bluebells. Wonderful colour, Mrs M, but it never comes out on photos. Something to do with the light.”

  As she left, she turned to Lois and said again, “I’m so sorry I went on a bit. It won’t happen again. I so much enjoyed my time with Jamie. Lovely boy. Goodbye for now.”

  She was gone quickly, and Lois watched the rear lights of her car vanish down the village street. Poor woman, poor, poor Enid. She thought again about the Alibone Woods story, and could imagine it all. A lovely day spoilt by a wayward son. Was he just wayward, or was it worse than that? Enid had said she was frightened of what he might do. Anyway, he’d certainly discovered a hiding place of some sort, and this piece of information she would pass on to Cowgill. For the rest, it was Enid’s personal life, and Lois would keep it to herself.

  §

  Wednesday, and Enid was due at the Charringtons’ at nine o’clock. She had her own key now, in case everybody was out. Rosie took the children to school, and often went on with Anna into Tresham to shop. Sebastian was always off early on his errands of mercy to the livestock of the area. Today, however, he had a day off, and retreated to the small room that had once been old Bell’s farm office to do some paperwork. He was the only person at home, and heard Enid come into the kitchen.

  “Morning!” he yelled, in case she should be frightened, thinking the house empty.

  She appeared at his door. “Good morning, Mr Charrington,” she said quietly, neat as ever. “Is it all right if I carry on as usual?”

  “Yes, of course, why not?”

  “Um, well, you are not usually at home…”

  “Catching up,” he said, already back into his work. Her silence interrupted him. He looked up, and saw that she was still standing in the doorway. “Was there something else, Enid?” he said. He was never sure about calling her by her Christian name. She was so dignified, so unlike a char, that he felt impertinent. But Enid smiled slightly, and nodded.

  “I was wondering,” she said, “if you ever heard any more about poor Rick? Was he found anywhere?”

  Her question nudged Sebastian uncomfortably. He repeatedly promised the children that he would go into the woods and have another look for their lost dog. He had little hope of finding him, and he would certainly be as dead as mutton if he did, but he supposed he should do as he promised.

  “No, no trace of him. I’m going out to have one more look, just to satisfy the children. They haven’t forgotten, of course, and Rosie has said they can have another puppy once we’re sure Rick’s not coming back.”

  “Ah,” said Enid, turning to go, “you might as well just get another puppy straight away. I know dogs, and once they’re gone they seldom return.”

  This was so patently untrue that Sebastian stared at her. How many times had relieved dog owners turned up at his surgery with thin, filthy skeleton dogs that had been God knows where for weeks, and then turned up again on the doorstep looking hungry and contrite?

  “Not sure you’re right there, Enid,” he said mildly. “Anyway, I promised the children. Might go this afternoon, if it stops raining.”

  She nodded seriously and went off. He heard the vacuum cleaner going in the sitting-room, and wondered why he felt as if he had been reproved for not doing as he was told. That was it, he realized. Enid always made him feel as if Nanny was cross with him. He grinned to himself, and got on with his work.

  At coffee time, Enid set a steaming mug and a couple of biscuits on his desk. “Still raining, I’m afraid,” she said. “The forecast said it would last all day. February fill-dyke! A bit early, but the seasons are not at all how they used to be.”

  “Very true,” said Sebastian absently. He was reading a report on the aftermath of the foot-and-mouth outbreak, about farmers driven into bankruptcy, depression, and one or two to suicide. He was not really listening to Enid.

  “Um, I was wondering…?”

  “Yes, Enid?” Sebastian looked up, irritated at the interruption.

  “Um, I was thinking…Father knows this dog breeder over the other side of Tresham…black Labradors…they always have puppies. Would you like me to get details? I’m sure the children would be excited to have a puppy again.”

  Oh dear, thought Sebastian. Nanny does not give up. “Well,” he said, “that would be very useful, once I’m sure we’ve lost poor Rick for good. If you could leave the details with Rosie, that would be most helpful. And thanks for the coffee,” he added. That was a clear dismissal, surely? But Enid was still there, hands neatly folded in front of her.

  “So there’ll be little point in trudging through wet woods this afternoon!” she said, almost merrily. “There’s a country house sale viewing day over at Fletching, with some good stuff. Wealthy family moved away. Mrs Charrington was looking for a display cabinet, I know, and you’d more than likely find one there. I used to love going to auction sales…”

  Sebastian knew she was expecting a reply, and gave her the one she clearly wanted. “Good idea, Enid,” he said, but added stubbornly, “we can go over straight after I’ve had my sortie in the woods.” So there, Nanny. I’m the boss here. Sebastian smiled at how much disapproval could be expressed by a retreating back. He did not think to wonder why on earth she should be so keen to prevent him blundering about in the woods.

  §

  Rosie was delighted at the prospect of snooping round a large country house. She loved to sniff the air and imagine how the family had lived. Servants, gardeners, tennis on summer evenings and impromptu dancing in large drawing-rooms in winter. She would stare at faded photographs of shingled women and doggy-looking gentlemen with large moustaches. Poor things had come to this. Nosy hoards of commoners strolling around private bedrooms, picking up personal possessions, poking into cupboards that had nothing to do with them. Rosie would feel deliriously sad, and when it came to bidding for this or that, she felt she was rescuing a loved item and giving it a home.

  “We’ll go as soon as I get back,” said Sebastian, pulling on his boots.

  “I’ll come with you,” Rosie said. “I need some air. Anna’s in her room…I’ll tell her we’re out for a bit.”

  They set off across the field towards the woods, and Rosie pulled up the hood of her Barbour. “Enid was right,” Sebastian said. “She said it would rain all day.”

  “Was she OK today?” Rosie negotiated the gap in the fence where they plunged into the woods. “Fine,” said Sebastian. “Bit stern with me, but fine.”

  “Stern?”

  “Yep, you know how she is. Bit nannyish. Said I’d be wasting my time looking for Rick again. Tried hard to stop me! Hey, look out, Rosie…it’s very boggy there.”

  They had come to a place in the woods where the mill stream ran through on its way to join the river. Sometimes it was a torrent – as now again – and in summer it trickled amiably through grassy banks dotted with wild flowers.

  Rosie struggled through the waterlogged ground, and put out a hand to save herself from falling as she stepped over an exposed root. Almost prone, she gasped. “Oops! Give us a hand up,” she said. Sebastian leaned across to help h
er, and his eye was caught by a patch of freshly turned earth. Moss covered the ground around, but here it was bare.

  “Look at that, Rosie,” he said.

  “Somebody’s been digging,” she replied, and her heart began to beat fast. “Seb! You don’t think…”

  He pulled her free of the bog, and told her to go and sit on a tree stump a few yards away. “Better take a look,” he said, and with a sinking feeling he found a strong stick and began to root around in the loose earth. The stick struck something hard almost straight away. “Rosie!” he shouted. “What? What is it?”

  “You’d better go back home now.”

  “Why? Have you found something?”

  “Just go on back, there’s a love. I shan’t be long.” He watched until she was out of sight, then began to move the loose leaf mould with his bare hands. He continued to scrape gently, his hands covered in wet earth. Finally he sat back on his haunches and stared down. Well, he knew the remains of a black Labrador when he saw one. He eased the rotting collar round so that he could see the metal tag. “Rick – Bell’s Farm”. Sebastian choked, and pushed back the earth, stamping it down. He marked the spot with the stick, and chipped at the root until he could recognize it again, just in case.

  Twenty-Four

  Rosie and Sebastian sat at the kitchen table, silently staring at each other. They were shocked and grieving. For an hour, they had talked about Sebastian’s grisly discovery, speculated on who could have done it, and – most of all – why? The most likely explanation, Sebastian decided, was a tramp in the woods, an unhinged tramp who was scared by the sudden appearance of Anna and the dog. Tramps often carried knives for cutting up food, or opening tins, and he could have used a heavy handle to finish off poor Rick. Maybe he hadn’t meant to kill him, but just stun him to stop him barking, so that he could get away quickly.

  “Get away from the frightening sight of a defenceless young girl?” countered Rosie, who was not impressed by this theory.