Lois Meade 03: Weeping on Wednesday (1987)

by Ann Purser

  “But a tramp out in the woods in that wintry weather would not be a rational human being, Rosie,” Sebastian explained patiently. “Panic probably took over. Then after Anna had gone, the tramp buried Rick to cover his tracks.” He was trying hard to convince himself, as well as Rosie. He had a recurring mental picture of a neat, middle-aged woman hoofing it through the trees next day…In other words, Enid Abraham, with muddy hands.

  Rosie, who could read her husband’s thoughts, said, “Well, what about that time you and Bill found Enid in the woods? She’s not a tramp, and is a perfectly rational human being. So far as we know…”

  “That was another occasion entirely,” Sebastian said. “And she lives right by the woods, just like us, and would naturally go in there for a walk. We do, all the time.”

  “Mm.” Rosie got up from the table. “Might as well make a cup of tea. I’ve gone off the idea of the auction. What are you going to do, anyway? I suppose we should tell the police? After all, now we know Anna wasn’t making it up, we should do something to show we believe her. Are you going to tell her you’ve found Rick?”

  Sebastian was silent for a minute. “Oh, I dunno, Rosie,” he said finally. “I don’t want to alarm the girl, or make her too nervous to go out with the kids. Perhaps it would be best to keep it to ourselves for a bit, until I’ve done some thinking. I shall go back and collect him. Take him to the surgery and see if I can get a better idea of what killed him.”

  “I’d be happier if you told the police.” The thought of their beloved Rick reduced to a decomposing corpse, being taken to bits – even if it was by Seb – like a laboratory specimen, set her off weeping again.

  “Oh, come on, love, pull yourself together,” Sebastian said. He was only too familiar with grown men and women sobbing their hearts out in the surgery as he prepared to ease their pets into whatever animal heaven awaited them. He had always respected this raw emotion, and sometimes felt tears prick his own eyes. Dogs, particularly, were heartrending in the way they looked at their owners, trusting that they wouldn’t let them down. And, in a way, they didn’t. Sebastian often thought it would be a good thing if human beings, lingering on in great pain and with no possibility of recovery, could be ‘put to sleep’. It was a daily event in the surgery, and he’d never had a moment’s doubt.

  Rosie scrubbed at her face with a tissue, and gave him a watery smile. “Seb,” she said, “I think there’s only one thing to do now.”

  “What’s that then?” said Sebastian, dreading that Rosie would demand an emergency call to Tresham Police Station asking for the Chief Inspector to come out to the scene of the crime immediately. He misjudged her.

  “We’ll go to the view day of the auction after all,” she said. “I saw the catalogue the other day…one of the mums had it outside the school. There was this rather nice-sounding display cabinet…just what I’m looking for. D’you think it would be all right to go…not heartless?”

  Sebastian sighed with relief. “Good girl,” he said. “I’ll sort things out while you tell Anna we’re going.”

  He disappeared out into the yard and Rosie turned off the kettle. She quickly tidied things away and picked up a scrap of paper from the table. About to screw it up and bin it, she saw handwriting. Ah, yes, Seb had said Enid mentioned a Labrador breeder who’d be sure to have puppies. Well, now they could go ahead, absolutely sure that Rick was not coming back. She smoothed out the paper and tucked it into the kitchen drawer, noticing with mild surprise that Enid’s script was all in spiky capitals.

  §

  By the time they reached the grand country house, they had about an hour before the view day closed. “Let’s go straight to the display cabinet,” said Rosie, and looked up the lot number in her catalogue.

  “Oh, Seb! It’s just what I’ve been looking for!” Rosie was ecstatic, and Sebastian shushed her, saying they didn’t want everyone to spot it.

  “No chance of that one going at a bargain price,” said a voice at his elbow. It was Bill Stockbridge, grinning at them and holding hands with a good-looking girl he introduced as ‘my Rebecca’.

  “We’ve already marked it down,” she said. “Got just the place for it in the cottage.” She and Rosie eyed each other competitively. Their smiles had a definite edge. It was a cut-throat business buying at auction.

  “Seen anything else you like?” said Sebastian, changing the subject tactfully. Bill and Rebecca had made a short list. Furniture in the cottage was still a bit sparse, and they’d spotted a sofa and a couple of bookcases they hoped to get.

  “Coming tomorrow, then?” said Rosie lightly. Rebecca nodded. “My head teacher has very kindly given me time off…she’ll cover for me for the time it takes. All the lots I’m interested in are coming up before lunch.”

  “Well, then,” said Rosie, “I shall see you here. I expect the dealers will push up the prices. They usually do, at quality sales like this.”

  Bill and Sebastian had wandered off to look at an old bag of golf clubs. “Look at this – hickory shafts!” Bill said. He pulled one out and tried a few practice swings, narrowly missing a small woman coming suddenly round the corner.

  “Enid!” Bill was mortified and apologetic. “I thought you were working this afternoon?”

  “I am, just on my way,” she said. “I was just having a quick look around. I love auction sales, as I said to Mr Charrington.” She turned to smile at Sebastian, who had difficulty returning the smile. “Glad to see you took my advice,” she said. “Did Mrs Charrington find a cabinet?” Sebastian nodded mutely. All he could think of was the rotting body of his dog in a rough grave in the woods.

  “Well, I must be off,” Enid said happily, looking at her watch. “Mustn’t be late, or I shall be getting New Brooms a bad name,” she added. “And that won’t do, will it, Bill?”

  After she’d gone, Bill looked at Sebastian and said, “You all right, mate?”

  Sebastian nodded. “Yes, I’m fine,” he said, “but I think there’s something I should tell you. Remember that day we went looking for Rick in the woods, and we didn’t find him? Well…”

  §

  Rebecca was subdued that evening, and in the middle of a television programme that neither of them was really watching, Bill switched off.

  “All right,” he said, “come on, let’s have it. What’s bothering you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Rebecca!”

  “OK then, there is something. But you’ll be cross.”

  “Try me,” said Bill.

  Rebecca pushed her hair back from her face and twisted it at the nape of her neck. “Well, it’s those people we met today. The Charringtons.”

  “What about them?”

  “Didn’t you say Enid worked for them?”

  “Yes, she does. She’d been there today, as a matter of fact. Why?”

  “Well, she went to Uncle Christopher the other day, filling in for Bridie Reading – is that her name? – and he told me something really odd. Seems Rosie Charrington told one of uncle’s young mums…he’s started a family service in church, and she’s a regular…”

  Bill shook his head as if to clear it. “Could you stick to the point, Rebecca duckie,” he said. “Now, your uncle told you something that his young mum told him, about Enid Abraham, and it was really odd. That right?”

  “No need to be so patronising, William Stockbridge! You’re only a old char, don’t forget!”

  Bill began to get up, offended, and then saw her laughing and thought better of it.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Go on.”

  “Well, the young mum had called at the vicarage about the next family service, and Enid answered the door. Uncle had talked to the mum in the hall, which, as you know, is big enough to accommodate this entire cottage, and she had asked if he’d heard any more about that Edward Abraham who’d gone missing. Seems Rosie Charrington and some of the other mums are scared, wondering if he’d attack a child on its own, maybe. They’ve all got extra careful, appar
ently.”

  “Really,” said Bill, with mock patience.

  “And then, after she’d gone, Enid had asked to speak to him. He said it was very embarrassing, though he’s used to hearing all sorts of things. But he’s a nice old bloke, as you know, and he felt sorry for Enid. Seems she’d overheard what the mum said, and was really upset that her brother should be thought of as a child molester. Said the worst he’d ever done was get into debt and try to evade the money men.”

  “What did he say?” Bill didn’t see what was odd about all this. Perfectly natural for a sister to stick up for her brother, he thought.

  “He tried to cheer her up. Then the odd thing happened.” Rebecca fell silent.

  “You’d make a good mystery writer,” said Bill. “Go on, for God’s sake.”

  “Uncle heard a door slam at the back of the house. And then he swears he heard footsteps running down the gravel path that leads to Glebe Close behind the kitchen garden. Enid had opened all the windows while she was cleaning – one of her less appealing habits, as far as Uncle is concerned – and he could hear clearly, he says.”

  “And?”

  “So he asked Enid if anyone had called at the back door, and she said no. When he suggested she should go and look, she wouldn’t, said it was not necessary, it must be the draught had blown the door shut.”

  “And the footsteps?”

  “She laughed, and said Uncle’s hearing must be playing tricks on him. Annoyed him, actually. He hates being reminded of his age. Anyway, they didn’t say any more about it, but Uncle went out after she’d gone, and said he could swear some of the gooseberry bushes that hung over the gravel path had been broken off, little twiggy bits that stuck out.”

  “Ah,” said Bill. “Now that is odd. What’s she up to, old Enid?” Time for another word with Lois, he reckoned. If Enid was upsetting the clients, that was serious.

  “You don’t like her, do you, Bill?” Rebecca said, coming over to sit beside him on the floor.

  He took her face in his hands. “Yum,” he said. “I like you best, my little duckie. Come on, let’s go to bed.” His conversation with Sebastian was still circling in his mind, and he hoped he wouldn’t dream of dead dogs. Still, dreaming wasn’t what he had in mind at the moment.

  “If we get that long sofa at the sale,” said Rebecca, never one to miss an opportunity, “we’ll not need to go to bed, will we?” She kissed him long and sweetly, and he would at that moment have forked out for anything, three sofas if necessary.

  Twenty-Five

  “I don’t see any point in living in a village if you don’t join in things,” Gran said. A taste of spring had warmed up the village for a day or two, and Lois and Gran were strolling round the garden, looking at bulbs coming up and a drift of snowdrops under the silver birch.

  “The doctor planted that tree. He told me. Very proud of it, he was,” Lois said.

  “I expect he was sad to leave this place.” Gran spoke quietly, remembering the tragic circumstances. “Still, I bet he was pleased you lot were moving in. It’s a good family house.”

  Lois nodded. “Funny, isn’t it though, how soon Derek has put his stamp on this garden,” she said. “It always used to be neat and tidy, o’course. Mrs Rix was like that. A place for everything and everything in its place. But there was never much in the garden, if you know what I mean. Now Derek’s got loads of veg and fruit, and rows of chrysanths for us to cut in autumn, and he’s got the greenhouse going again. It’s Derek’s garden now, isn’t it.”

  Gran agreed. “He’s put his roots down here,” she said, and then laughed her hearty laugh.

  “Very witty,” said Lois.

  “I try,” said Gran. “Anyway, Lois, as I was saying” – Lois knew what was coming, and sighed – “Maybe you should come and join the Women’s Institute with me. I’m going along tonight. They’re a new branch, and trying to recruit members. Especially young ones…”

  “No thanks!” said Lois. “I’ve got a few years yet before it comes to that!”

  “Just showing your ignorance,” said Gran, unmoved. “They’ve got several young women, younger than you, actually. It’s not what it used to be.”

  “Jam and Jerusalem, that’s all I know,” said Lois. “But anyway, I don’t want to put you off. Sounds just up your street.”

  They were outside the kitchen door now, and Lois said she would nip down to the shop for a couple of things. “I might have a wander round,” she added, “see what’s happening. They’re putting a new mobile classroom in the school…might take a look.”

  Lois was interested in the village school. She’d been a parent governor of the kids school in Tresham when they lived there, and enjoyed the contact with little ones. Sometimes she looked wistfully at five-year-olds going past the gate in their scarlet and grey uniforms. But Derek soon put a stop to any thoughts in that direction.

  She would walk past and have a look, maybe have a chat to whoever was in the playground. Must be break time about now. She walked briskly down the street, collected a few purchases and items of gossip from the shop – nothing useful about the Abrahams – and strolled more slowly round to Farnden school. It was playtime, as she’d hoped, and the long-serving headmistress was in the playground, cup of coffee in hand, doing duty. She was rare among head teachers in wanting to watch the children at play as well as in the classroom. She was also wise, seeing useful pointers to the way they progressed in their schoolwork in the constantly shifting patterns of friendship and gang-warfare amongst the children in the playground. “Concentration on the whole child is not a philosophy invented yesterday,” she would say gently to her young staff.

  “Morning, Miss Clitheroe!” Lois called, and the head teacher walked over to the school railings.

  “How are you, my dear?”

  “Very well thanks,” said Lois.

  Miss Clitheroe was an old pro at public relations and said, “How’s your mother? Such a nice helpful person at our jumble sale!”

  “Yeah, well, she likes nothing better,” said Lois. “Works in the Oxfam shop…a regular rag-and-bone-lady, we tell her.”

  “Did I hear that you’ve acquired a piano? I’m sure that didn’t come from the Oxfam shop!”

  Lois laughed. “News gets around pretty quickly, doesn’t it,” she said.

  “Certainly does to me,” said Miss Clitheroe. “Some parents would be horrified if they knew what their offspring write in their newsbooks! Anyway, is the piano for your mother?”

  “No, no, it’s for Jamie, my youngest,” Lois said, and then happily saw a way to get to the subject she’d had in mind all along. “He’s having lessons from Miss Abraham from Cathanger Mill. I expect you know her?”

  “Oh, goodness, yes. We know Miss Abraham…Enid. She used to teach recorder – and piano, if required – round all the schools in the county. Very popular, too. Used to give little concerts with the children, singing and playing, for parents and friends. She was much missed when she had to give up.”

  “Why did she stop?” Lois prayed that the end-of-break bell would not go yet.

  “Family problems. Her mother became a recluse, and began to work on Enid to stay at home with her. Then there was the brother…”

  “The brother? Edward?”

  Miss Clitheroe gazed across the playground, where an impromptu game of Creeping Jinnie had got going with much screaming and shouting. “That man was one of the nastiest pieces of work I’ve come across,” she said flatly. “Enid was scared of him, you know, frightened of what he might do next.” she added. “He and his mother ruled the whole family. Sponged off his father, and wound Enid round his little finger. They were close, in a funny way. Sometimes I thought she hated him, but then she’d turn and defend him. I’ve heard they’re twins, though she denied it when I asked her. He resented her having friends, or anyone visiting her. In the end, it was easier for Enid to give up. She braved it out as long as she could, but they won in the end. Poor Enid.”

  “Do
you know where he might have gone?” said Lois quickly, seeing the playground monitor approaching the rope that pulled the old bell.

  “To hell, I hope,” said Miss Clitheroe vehemently, and walked off to shepherd her flock back into school.

  Nothing new there then, thought Lois, setting off for home. The twins thing again, though. She stopped on hearing a voice calling her name. “Mrs Meade! Just a minute!”

  It was Miss Clitheroe. Must be something urgent for her to leave her class. Lois turned and walked back towards the hurrying figure. “There is something,” Miss Clitheroe gasped. “Must tell you now, in case I forget.” Lois waited. “That Edward Abraham – you asked me if I knew where he might be. I saw on television that he’d done a runner.” Miss Clitheroe was more or less up to date with jargon, even if she was close to retirement.

  “Well?” Lois smiled at her encouragingly.

  “Alibone Woods. I remember Enid telling me he sometimes vanished for two or three days, living rough in some hiding place he’d found. She laughed when I asked if it coincided with the full moon. But seriously, Mrs Meade, I think he is a bit mad. Whether dangerously mad, I don’t know. But I hope the police find him soon. Do you think they’ve looked in Alibone Woods? And in other woods around?”

  “I think they have, but maybe not well enough,” said Lois. “Do you remember anything else she said about the hiding place?”

  Miss Clitheroe thought hard. “There was…oh, now what was it…Ah, now wait a minute. She said there was some sort of cave where there’d been a landslide…something to do with an old quarry. It was completely grown over with trees and bushes. I remember she said he came home with snagged jerseys and even ripped trousers. And, of course, Enid had to mend them. Yes, that was it.”

  At this point they heard a shout from the school direction, and looked round. “Oh lor,” said Miss Clitheroe, “that’s my deputy waving her arms about! Better dash…”

  “Damn,” said Lois. “Still, thanks very much, Miss Clitheroe.” Time for a report to the top cop.