by Ann Purser
Hazel shook her head. “Not that I ever heard,” she said. “Mind you, I kept conversation light. Prue used to chat to him a bit, but she didn’t like him and I don’t think he ever gave her anything.”
“Nothing to do with Joanne Murphy and the theatre, then?”
Again Hazel shook her head. “Well, we all know J. Murphy was supplying, and the major certainly acted in the theatre shows, but I don’t know of any connection.”
Lois stared at her. “Is that the truth, Hazel? All of it?” she said. Here was a girl she had known since birth, and she still couldn’t tell from the cool look in her eye whether she knew more than she had said. It was only to be expected, probably. Hazel would have had plenty of practice in editing the truth, acting as a buffer between Dick and Bridie. Poor kid. Lois said nothing more, and the two of them began to clean. It took a long time, scrubbing and disinfecting, and they had just about finished the ground floor when it was time for Hazel to go.
“Take care, then, Mrs M,” she said. “Lock up when I’ve gone, and just keep your eyes open.”
It was very quiet in the house, and Lois thought of turning on the radio in the sitting room. But then she would not be able to hear any possible visitors. Common sense told her the Gorilla would be unlikely to come back, but she was taking no chances. She had left the mirror room until last. Should she clean each one? Leave a sparkling, freshly-polished interior for whatever nut was likely to want such a room? I’m just the cleaner, she reminded herself, and set to work, removing spiders and dust and fingerprints…fingerprints? Oh well, the police would have done all that ages ago.
She tried to move a large wooden box to clean behind it, but it was too heavy. The lid was not locked and she opened it apprehensively. Nothing but innocent weight-lifting apparatus. She tried removing some of it, to make the box lighter, but failed. Then a glint of glass caught her eye. There was something different at the bottom of the box. She heaved weights to one side, and saw that it was a camera, with the lens glinting in the light. With difficulty she managed to extricate it, and looked to see if it was loaded. The frame counter showed 10. Film still in there then. Lois saw in her mind the thumb-sucking child…
She walked over to the window, and looked over the back garden wilderness. Now what? If she left the camera where it was, the chances were that the Gorilla would come back for it. He may well have been looking for it, and not for her, when Hazel frightened him away. If she took it, she could be in big trouble, trouble which could jeopardize New Brooms. There was only one thing to do, though she was reluctant to do it. She fetched her mobile phone from her bag, and dialled Cowgill’s direct line.
“Look, I don’t want to be seen here with you,” she said firmly. “I’ll tell you where it is, then I’m locking up and going home. Give me time to get away, then you can do what you like.”
“Thank you, Lois,” said Cowgill, with a touch of irony.
She told him about the magazines, and he sounded very interested. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said happily.
“It’s a pity your blokes didn’t spot them,” she said acidly.
“None of us are perfect,” he replied. “Now, off you go, and I’ll be in touch later.”
“Don’t ‘off you go’ me!” Lois shot at him. “It’s me the Gorilla wants to get his nasty paws on, not you!”
“Gorillas don’t have paws,” said Cowgill calmly. “See you later, Lois.” He had fortunately rung off before hearing her reply.
♦
Derek and Gran were sitting in the front room, the television on, and both were fast asleep. Gran’s mouth was open, and her upper set of false teeth had descended. Derek had a beatific smile on his bruised and battered face. Both were snoring, but not quite in unison.
Lois sighed. She need not have worried. All the way home she had scolded herself for going out working when Derek had only just come back from hospital, and now here he was, already with more colour in his cheeks, and looking wonderfully rested in Gran’s tender care.
He stirred and opened one eye. “Lo, duck,” he said, and closed it again. Lois turned off the television, and the sudden lack of noise woke them both.
“All finished?” said Gran. “Was it a big job? Why didn’t you ask Hazel to help? She dropped Josie off, and said she’d look out for you.”
“She found me,” said Lois. “And yes, it was a lousy job. The house was filthy. I sometimes wonder why I do it. Must be mad,” she added grimly.
“You didn’t have to,” said Derek, wide awake now. “Hazel and Bridie could have done it.”
“If you want a job done well, you do it yourself,” said Gran, illogically. “I suppose you didn’t want to off-load this nasty one on the others. That’s why you’re good at your job, dear.”
“And why we all love you,” said Derek, reaching out a hand and patting her bottom. She hated this, and he knew it, and her usual reaction was to fetch him one, if only lightly. Now she stopped herself in time.
“That’s taking advantage, Derek,” she said, and finally relaxed and laughed.
“Got to make the most of it,” he said, and pulled her down on his lap. Gran tactfully left the room, saying she was gasping, and it was time to put the kettle on.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Forty
Prue Betts had dropped the bombshell whilst her mother was cooking supper. Her father was, as usual, sitting in the most comfortable armchair reading the Guardian.
“Go round the world! What on earth are you talking about?” said her mother, and was in such a dither that she sliced into the end of her finger instead of the potato. After this diversion, with a fruitless search for a sticking plaster ending in Prue raiding the school first-aid box, her father joined them in the kitchen and asked what all the fuss was about.
“Oh, nothing,” said Mrs Betts quickly. “Just wasn’t looking what I was doing,” she added, shaking her head meaningly at Prue. But Prue took no notice.
“I’ve decided to take a gap year, and see the world,” she said boldly.
“All of it?” said her father mildly.
“There’s a group of us going,” Prue continued. “We’ve got it all planned out. We’ll be off in September.”
“Just one thing,” said her father, still in a calm voice. “What are you intending to use for money?”
“I’ve saved enough from the pub for my fare out to Australia, and after that we’re going to work our way round.” Prue was beginning to feel nervous. This reaction from her father was not at all what she had expected. “So you can forget me in your plans for moving,” she added. “I’ll be off to university when I get back.”
“Right.” Mr Betts walked forward and put his hands gently on Prue’s narrow shoulders. “Now listen, Prue,” he said. “You are not going round the world. You are not even going to the Isle of Wight!” His smile was small. “You are coming with us to Scotland,” he continued, “where I have almost certainly secured a good post, and – if I can get old Rogers to release me – we shall be there in time for the new school year in September. You have a place already at St Andrews University, and will take it up in October as planned.” He smiled kindly at her, sure that she would see reason.
She did not see reason. “No, Dad,” she protested. “We’ve decided, me and the others, and it is too good an opportunity to miss.”
Mrs Betts tried diplomacy. “Shall we discuss it later, dear, when your father and I have had time to think about it?”
“Nothing to discuss,” said Mr Betts quietly, and walked out of the kitchen.
Prue looked at her mother, her face mutinous. “I don’t care what he says,” she blurted out. “I’m going with the others. And I’ll be bloody glad to get away!”
“Prue! Please watch your language!”
“Oh for God’s sake, Mum, I’m not a kid any more. I know more about things than you ever did, and as for Dad, he just shuts his eyes and hopes I’ll stay his precious little bluestocking for ever.”
Her mother did not answer. She had been well aware that lately her husband had not been himself. In some ways, he had been easier, less dogmatic and more willing to listen to her point of view. He hardly spoke to her, though, and when he did, he seemed preoccupied with something other than the subject in hand. But this new plan of his to go to Scotland had been hatched without any consultation with her, and she was worried. Why did they have to move away so suddenly? Waltonby was such an idyllic village, and the school a privileged place for children and teachers, especially the head, who had almost total control over his little empire. There had been that unpleasant business with Mrs Whatsit, but that was all forgotten now. It had been one of his rare outbursts of temper, and this time, as usual, it had been something to do with Prue. The old woman had been making insinuating remarks. No, now she was getting on so well with Sheila Stratford, and if were not for this strange mood that had descended on her husband, life would be very comfortable. She had heard him say many times in the past that he intended to stay in Waltonby until the great School Inspector in the sky told him it was time to go.
“Leave it now, Prue,” she said wearily. “I’ll speak to him, see if I can get him to discuss it with you, at least. But I don’t hold out much hope.”
“Then I shall go without his permission,” said Prue. “I don’t need it, anyway. It would have been nice to have his help and blessing, but I’ll manage. Anyway, Mum,” she added, “what’s eating him lately? We can’t seem to get through to him at all.”
♦
Next morning, Prue got up late. As she came down the stairs to make herself a cup of coffee, she heard voices in her father’s study. “Who’s here, Mum?” she said, going into the kitchen.
Her mother shook her head. “Don’t know who it is,” she said. “Some woman…I suppose it’s a parent, but he doesn’t usually ask them into the house. She’s been closeted in there for half an hour. I expect he’ll tell us when she’s gone,” she added hopefully.
“Or not,” said Prue. “On present form, he’s just as likely to sidle off back to the school. And who’s taking his class while he’s in here, anyway?”
“The classroom assistant is holding the fort. He said he wouldn’t be long.”
On cue, Mr Betts was heard opening the front door and ushering the woman out. Prue went into the hall, and caught sight of the tail end of a blonde with shiny, curly hair, disappearing up the garden path. Her father said to the retreating back, “As soon as possible, Mrs Murphy,” then shut the door and turned. “Not eavesdropping, I hope, Prue?” he said, and added, “I’d like to talk to you for a minute, anyway.” He went back into his study and she followed.
“Well?” she said. Really, this was ridiculous. See me in my study at ten thirty. Six strokes of the cane for daring to grow up?
With what looked like a big effort, Mr Betts managed a smile. “Sit down, Pruedy,” he said. He hadn’t used this pet name for years, and she was at once alarmed. “Now,” he continued, “perhaps I was a bit hasty yesterday. Should have given you a chance to explain. Shall we start again?”
She couldn’t believe it, but after a short pause while she gathered her wits, they began to talk. Now he was all sweet reasonableness. It could be a good idea, after all. He remembered having had the same plan in his youth. It had not been possible then, of course, with absolutely no spare money in the family. No, he’d been thinking, and had changed his mind. “Has Auntie Betty been speaking to you?” asked Prue, wondering if her father had, for once, gone for a pint, and been got at by her aunt. When Prue had mentioned it to her, she’d been all for it. “Go for it, gel,” she’d said.
But Mr Betts shook his head. “Good gracious me, no,” he said. “I don’t discuss family affairs with my sister. No, I’ve just been thinking, that’s all. I shall give you all the help I can, and with luck some financial assistance, too. We must have a meeting of everybody concerned – the other young people and their parents, perhaps? – and get the ball rolling.”
Mrs Betts was apprehensive when they both came in for lunch after what seemed like hours in the study. She had been very curious about what he was saying to Prue, and had stooped to listening silently outside the door. But the old doors were heavy, and soundproof, and she could only hear the odd word.
“It’s on, Mum!” Prue had burst out, grinning from ear to ear. Mr Betts was more dignified, but smiling, and he put his arm around his wife’s waist. “It’ll be just us after September,” he said. “A dear old couple, you and I, slipping into quiet obscurity in the remote Highlands of Scotland.”
Mrs Betts was not sure she liked the sound of that.
♦
Sheila Stratford heard the telephone ringing, and ran in from pegging out her husband’s shirts on the line. There was a good blow this morning, and she hoped the rain threatened by the weather forecast would keep off until the washing dried. She was due at the schoolhouse this afternoon, and made a mental note to check before she left.
“Hello? Oh, Lois, hello. Nothing wrong, I hope?”
Lois assured her all was well. “I’ve had an emergency call from Ringford. They need someone at once, before hoards of guests arrive this evening. It would be quite a good contact…local new rich at the old rectory…so I thought you’d be the person to impress them!”
“But what about the Betts’s?”
“I’ll come over and do them. They won’t mind, I’m sure. Mrs Betts seems so grateful to get help.”
Sheila was flattered, as Lois had meant her to be, and agreed to be over at Ringford at two o’clock sharp. Lois asked if there was anything she should know about the Betts job. She was perfectly confident that the schoolhouse would not present any difficulties. She had plotted this exchange carefully, meaning to keep her eyes and ears open. The more she thought about the deaths, the more certain she was that the theatre was the common denominator, including Mr Betts. All of them were involved, except perhaps Dick. As far as she knew, Dick Reading had had no connection with the theatre. She could just hear him scoffing: “You won’t catch me anywhere near a load of poofs!” But she was absolutely sure that the two deaths were linked, and the theatre was at the core of it all. Time for a spot more culture.
After settling the details with Sheila, she put down the telephone and picked up the local newspaper, turning to the ‘Attractions’ column. She glanced down the list of fêtes and car boot sales, and found what she wanted. A larger advertisement announced the latest production at the Tresham theatre: ‘LIBEL’, it said in large bold type. “An old favourite with an exciting twist!” Lois had never heard of it, but thought she could probably sit through it. She noticed that it was playing for three weeks, and resolved to ask Derek. If he dug in his toes, perhaps she could persuade her mother to come with her. In fact, it might be better to take Gran anyway, leaving Derek to stay with the kids. She could sell it to her as a treat, a reward for all her hard work in helping out.
This reminded her that some decision would soon be necessary about her mother’s bungalow in Tresham. Originally council property, her parents had bought it when her father had retired. Now it was wholly her mother’s, and not doing any good standing empty most of the time. She would bring up the subject tactfully. How did she feel about it herself? It had just been a short-term thing, a stopgap, but having Gran there, a solid reassuring presence for the kids, gave Lois a great deal more freedom to run the business more efficiently. She was not bound by school times, and in the holidays there was no problem about children being left alone in the house. On the whole, although there was a small difficulty about privacy, times when she and Derek wanted to be left alone to have a good row…or something nicer…Gran was an unmixed blessing. Derek was extremely fond of her, always had been, and seemed to have accepted her as a permanent fixture.
She tidied her papers and left her office. Gran was busy in the kitchen, and Lois walked in with a big smile. “Mum,” she said, “how would you like to go to the theatre with me?”
Her moth
er looked up from the pastry board. “Me? Why don’t you take Derek? I can sit with the kids.”
“No, I want you to come,” persisted Lois. “Sort of thank you for all you’ve done to help us.”
Her mother looked alarmed. “Here,” she said quickly, “you’re not chucking me out, are you? Because if you are, you’d better say so straight away, before I put the bungalow on the market. I’d just decided.”
So there it was, thought Lois. No need to broach the subject tactfully. Mum had decided, and now she was sure it was the best thing for all of them. “Phew,” she said, laughing, “that’s a relief! I hadn’t liked to mention it, but we’d hoped you’d want to stay.” She walked round the table and gave her mother a smacking kiss on her floury face.
“Right then,” said Gran, “now go and do something useful while I finish this pastry.”
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Forty-One
Lois arrived at the schoolhouse a few minutes early, and knocked gently at the door. Almost immediately it was opened sharply, and Mr Betts stood there, unsmiling.
“Yes?” he said.
Lois was disconcerted for a second or two, then said pleasantly, “Good afternoon, Mr Betts, I’ve come instead of Mrs Stratford. We had an emergency, and had to do some reorganizing. I hope that’s OK with Mrs Betts?”
She watched him closely, and thought for one moment that he was going to say that no, it was not OK, and shut the door on her. Definitely not pleased to see me, she noted.
“Who is it, darling?” Mrs Betts came up behind him, and he withdrew. Lois explained again, and this time was welcomed in. “I’m so pleased with Sheila,” Mrs Betts enthused, “but I expect from the boss we shall get an even better clean up!”
“Mm,” said Lois. “Could you just tell me where the things are, and I’ll make a start. Anything special you need doing?”
Mrs Betts shook her head. She went over Sheila’s routine, and added, “My husband is in his study at the moment, but he’ll be getting back to the school shortly. He likes everything to be left as it is on his desk. Just dust around the heaps!”