Fear on Friday

by Ann Purser

  Norman Stevenson—Lois grimaced. She knew his voice, and what he looked like from the funeral day and a smudgy photograph in the local paper. She knew he received blackmailing letters, and suspected he had telephoned Jean Slater at Hornton House. So he knew the Slaters well? And there was a possibility his frightening letters had been written in Doreen Jenkinson’s hand. This last was difficult to swallow. Why on earth should the very well-heeled Doreen blackmail a former employee of her husband, probably fallen on hard times, for money which she could not need? Lois shook her head. She would have to wait for the results of Cowgill’s investigations.

  That left her with the Jacob family. Mrs. Jacob she had met only once, and in not very friendly circumstances. As for Susanna, although she worked for Lois, and they had had a number of conversations, she was well aware that she had failed to get close to her in even a preliminary way. She knew quite a lot about the family, from Doris Ashbourne and even the formidable Miss Beasley. Not much chance of gleaning anything more from them. But Maureen Smith? She had clammed up quickly, but another approach might work. Perhaps that would be the best place to start.

  The telephone rang; it was Hazel. “Mrs. M? I’ve got a lady here who would like us to clean for her, but I’m wondering whether you want to travel that far. She’s a few miles this side of Birmingham, and I’m not sure what our radius is.”

  “That’s too far for us at the moment,” Lois said. “Too much time spent travelling. Maybe in a year or two, when we’re operating worldwide, but make our apologies nicely and send her on her way. Oh, and Hazel, I’ll be dropping in this afternoon—around three. See you later.”

  HAZEL AND MAUREEN WERE CHATTING AT THE DOOR WHEN Lois arrived. “Well, I’ll love you and leave you,” Maureen said, turning away with the pushchair. She was out for a stroll with her toddler, and said she’d be going to the park for an hour or so.

  “Just a minute, Maureen,” Lois said. “We mentioned Susanna Jacob last time we met, and now I’d really like to ask you some questions. It won’t prejudice her job with New Brooms—” Here Hazel interrupted with a sotto voce “Pity!”

  “It is just that something has come up, and you’re the most likely person to be able to help me. Of course, if you’d rather not, I shall respect that …” Hazel’s eyes widened. This was a new, tactful Mrs. M.

  “Well, all right, then,” Maureen said. “But if there’s something I don’t think it’s right for me to tell you, I shan’t.”

  And that will probably tell me more than what you do say, Lois thought, and smiled encouragingly. “You’d better take Robert now, and perhaps we could have a quick word when you get back. Is your Mum at home? Perhaps she could have him for a few minutes?”

  It was arranged, and Lois said Hazel could go early, as her mother was looking after Elizabeth. Hazel knew this was because Lois wanted private words with Maureen, but accepted gratefully. It did occur to her to wonder what Mrs. M would do if Josie had a baby. How much time would she be willing to give to liberate her daughter? It would be interesting to see.

  Maureen came back into the office in due course, and Lois asked her to sit down. “I do appreciate this,” she said, “and I certainly won’t keep you long. It’s just a small point.”

  “Right,” Maureen said. “Let’s have it, then. Mum wants to change her books at the library.”

  “I’ll say straight out,” began Lois, “that I know about Susanna’s pregnancy. So that’s out of the way. Now, I need to know who the father was.”

  “Why don’t you ask her?” Maureen said belligerently.

  Lois paused, then said quietly, “You know the answer to that.” Then she was silent for a few seconds.

  Maureen shifted in her seat. “Could’ve been one of several,” she said finally.

  “But you know which one,” Lois said.

  Maureen chewed the corner of her lip. “Mmm,” she said. “But I promised Susanna I’d never tell anybody.”

  “Okay,” Lois said. “Now, if I make a guess, and it’s right, will you tell me?”

  Maureen shook her head. “That’s as good as breaking the promise, isn’t it.” She looked at her watch. “I must get back,” she said, beginning to rise from her seat.

  “Howard Jenkinson?” Lois’s tone was conversational, but her eyes were fixed intently on Maureen’s face. It was enough. “Fine,” Lois said. “No broken promises, Maureen, and I’ve got my answer. I shan’t mention it again.”

  After Maureen had gone, Lois tidied the office, put out the lights and locked up. She drove off in her van, and on the way home, going slowly through the twisting lanes, she began to see why Mayor Jenkinson had ended up in close watery association with his beloved fish.

  FORTY-FIVE

  “MUM,” LOIS SAID, STICKING HER FINGER IN THE RAW cake mixture and licking it appreciatively.

  “Yes,” Gran said patiently, moving the bowl out of Lois’s reach.

  “You know Daisy Forsyth. She joined the WI, didn’t she? What’s she like?”

  “What d’you mean? She’s a middle-aged woman, mutton-dressed-as-lamb, but nice and cheerful. What else?”

  “Well, did you chat to her? Has she mentioned the old days or anything?” Lois knew how her mother loved to talk about the past. She supposed all old people did. After all, the past was a lot more interesting than the present or future to them.

  “Um, let me think.” Gran did not approve of Lois’s sudden interest in Daisy Forsyth, and knew quite well there was a reason behind her curiosity, a reason to do with that Cowgill policeman. On the other hand, Gran could not resist passing on interesting titbits, and thought hard. “She hasn’t been to the WI more’n a couple of times,” she said, “but I did sit next to her when we had our cups of tea, and we chatted. She said she found Farnden very quiet, and I asked her what she was used to. She roared with laughter—she’s got a nice laugh—and said most of it wasn’t a suitable subject for the WI. Well, I knew about the shop’n that, so I didn’t think much of it. Then I had a good look at her when she wasn’t noticing, and you know, Lois, she must have been a really fine girl when she was young. Good features, pretty hair, even now, and a good pair of legs. She shows a bit more of ‘em than she should at her age, but at least they’re still in good shape.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Lois said. “But what were the things unsuitable for the WI? Was she a model—you know the sort—for some of those weird things they sell?”

  Gran paused, and hatched a wicked plan to stop Lois asking questions. “Adult posters,” she said, “late-night videos, all kinds of stuff. You know the sort of tiling. Lodger’s Voluptuous Dominant Landlady …” Gran chuckled.

  “Mum! How do you know all this?”

  “Blimey, you’ve only got to look at the back of the Exchange & Mart! On Her Knees in the Dungeon, Naughty Nurse Natasha—there’s hundreds of ‘em. And there’s a lot worse than that. A really good read, those pages!” Gran laughed again, but mostly at the expression on Lois’s face.

  Lois was speechless. She thought she was unshockable, but the sight of her old mum beating the cake mixture with a wooden spoon, coming out with all that, was too much. “Well, I don’t know, I’m sure,” she said, unaware that she was echoing her mother’s favourite phrase. “I think I need a coffee. D’you want one?”

  “Tea for me, please,” Gran said demurely, scooping the mixture into a baking tin and shunting it into the oven. “Now, what else can I tell you about Daisy Forsyth?”

  “That’s plenty to be going on with,” Lois said, filling the kettle. “So you reckon she’s led a colourful life?” she added, collecting her thoughts.

  Gran nodded. “Though how she came to marry that old misery is a mystery. Old Rupert is a real grouch at home, and she’s a girl used to lots of fun … No wonder.”

  Gran paused, and Lois said, “No wonder what?”

  “No wonder she gets dressed up and disappears off up to London now and then,” Gran said.

  “Does she do that?” Lois
wondered how much more her mother was likely to dredge up from only a couple of conversations with Daisy. But then, of course, the WI was the swap-shop for gossip. Daisy did not have to be at the meeting for her life to be chewed over by the girls.

  “Yep,” Gran said. “Rupert takes her to the station, but doesn’t wait to see her on to a train. Goes off with a face like thunder.”

  Lois sat down heavily. “Mother,” she said. “Is there anything you don’t know about Daisy Forsyth?”

  “Yes,” Gran said, looking straight at Lois. “I don’t know why you are so interested in her. And I don’t suppose you are going to tell me.”

  “No, I’m not,” said Lois. She made for the door, anxious to consider all that she had heard.

  Gran hadn’t finished yet. “Oh yes, and before he snuffed it, his late Worship’s car was seen parked outside Forsyths’ house once or twice. Stayed there quite a while, and those that saw it knew for sure Rupert wasn’t there. What d’you think, Lois?”

  “JOSIE,” LOIS SAID. SHE SAT IN JOSIE‘S LITTLE SITTING room, sampling some disgusting new herb tea that Josie had got in specially for Mrs. Tollervey-Jones up at the Hall. “Ugh,” she said. “Don’t ask me to try any more of this.”

  “Okay,” Josie said. “But what did you want to ask me? There was something?”

  “Yes.” Lois hesitated. She didn’t much like questioning her much-loved daughter like this, but her session with Gran had been so fruitful, and she wouldn’t press Josie too hard. “I was wondering,” she said, and then stopped. “No, I’ll come straight to it. I need to know more about the Forsyths. Daisy and Rupert, and Fergus too, if you’ve heard anything about him.”

  “For Cowgill?” Josie said, as straightforward as her mother.

  Lois nodded, and waited.

  “Well, as you know, I hear a lot of stuff in here, and I decided right from the start that I wouldn’t gossip. Not pass on anything I heard in here in confidence.”

  “Quite right too,” Lois nodded.

  “But,” Josie added with a grin, “if I hear the old tabs gossiping away about stuff that’s general knowledge, then that’s different.”

  “So?” Lois said.

  “Well, this comes under that heading, I reckon. Daisy and Rupert started the Rain or Shine business, but most of their sales are by post. Tailed off a bit recently, after a bumper lot when the Mayor snuffed it. More people are quite open about it all. But not everyone, and Rupert still gets lots of orders by post. Oops!” she said. “Forget I said that.”

  “Forgotten already,” Lois said.

  “And anyway,” Josie continued, “their only son Fergus runs the shop, with his father in strict control.”

  “And Daisy?”

  “She’s a live wire! Not really cut out for village life, if you ask me.”

  “You sound like Ivy Beasley,” Lois laughed. “What else?”

  “Well, it was quiet in here one day, and she came in and started talking. I didn’t encourage her, because I had work to do. But she ignored my hints, and spilled out a lot of stuff about being a model, and making little films with other girls and blokes, all in the altogether, and getting up to all kinds of tricks. Enjoyed it, she said. It was a bit of a laugh. That’s her favourite phrase! She met Rupert in some dodgy bar, and was curious about him. He was certainly out of the usual run of customers. But then, she said, he turned out to be a great surprise, and worth making a fuss of. Is that enough, Mum?”

  Lois chortled. “She’s a great girl, our Daisy,” she said. “Who’d’ve thought it of old Rupert? No, there’s only one more thing, love. It is serious, of course, not just curiosity. Do you know of any connection between Daisy and Howard Jenkinson?”

  “Oh, yes—he was one of her regulars, from years back. She was quite open about it. Said it made it difficult for her when the Jenkinsons moved to Farnden. Well, only Mrs. J moved in the end.”

  “Nothing startling about Fergus?”

  “A dark horse, I reckon. Never heard much about him, but he’s very much his mother’s boy, according to report. Now that’s it, Mum! How about another lovely cup of this gnat’s pee? No? Well, I’ll make us a nice, strong cup of Sergeant Major’s.”

  FORTY-SIX

  MISS BEASLEY HAD SENT FOR LOIS. IT WAS A ROYAL Command, and Lois would not dream of ignoring it. As she drove through the twisting lanes, she saw green fields stretching out as far as she could see, bordered by neatly cut hedges and spinneys of tall ash and beech. Circling black crows intimidated her with raucous cries as she accelerated up a steep hill where the overhanging branches made a dark tunnel. I wonder if I’d qualify as a country person now, she thought. Derek might. He spent hours in the garden, and had lately taken on an allotment to grow even more vegetables. Josie sold the surplus in the shop, and said customers had begun asking which were Derek’s. Lois knew she could not go back now and live on a housing estate. But after a morning in Tresham, trawling the charity shops and market stalls, she felt refreshed. A foot in both camps, she reckoned, and smiled. She knew one person who would not accept her as a country girl! Ivy Beasley, born and bred in Ringford, narrow-minded, bigoted and censorious. But, so Doris Ashbourne had confided to Lois, with a heart of gold. “Hides it well,” Lois had said, and now approached Ivy’s front door with trepidation.

  The door was opened by Ivy herself, walking with a stick. “Ha! That surprised you, didn’t it, Mrs. Meade,” she said. “Didn’t expect to see me up and about … well, come on in. Don’t stand there letting in the draughts.”

  Would she offer Lois a cup of coffee? Not likely. Ivy sat down in her seat by the range, and with her stick motioned Lois to a kitchen chair that wobbled on the uneven floor. “What can I do for you, Miss Beasley?” Lois realised there was no point in pleasantries, such as asking how the old girl was, and how nice it was to see her on her feet.

  “It’s your young Bill,” Ivy said. Lois could not believe Bill had put a foot wrong, and prepared to defend him. But Ivy said, “He’s a very good lad. Can’t say I gave him much of a chance when he first came, but he’s done a good job. And Doris’ll tell you I’m very particular.”

  I don’t need telling, Lois said to herself. What was the old thing leading up to?

  “I’ll come straight to the point,” Ivy said. “I’ve decided I’m too old to be doing all the work myself, and I’d like to keep him on permanently.”

  Lois smiled in surprise. “Well, of course—”

  “But“ said Ivy, “when I say ‘him,’ I mean Bill and nobody else. I don’t want no flibbertigibbets coming here and making more mess than they clear up. So what have you to say?”

  Lois took a deep breath, forced another smile, and said, “That will be fine, Miss Beasley. I will make sure Bill comes to you regularly, and I’ll only send a substitute if he’s ill.”

  Ivy Beasley shook her head. “No substitutes. If Bill is sick, I’ll do it myself. I doubt he’s sick very often, anyway.”

  “Not once, in all the time he’s worked for me.”

  “Mind you, I’d let him have time off for honeymoon.” Ivy Beasley was delighted to see the surprise on Lois’s face.

  “What do you mean? Has he said something to you?” Lois couldn’t believe Bill wouldn’t tell her first.

  “I never repeat what’s said to me, and others would do well to do the same.” Miss Beasley looked at the old clock on the mantelshelf. “I expect you’ve got other calls to make,” she said, and as Lois got to her feet, she added, “And if you want to know who pushed the Mayor into the fish pond, as I know you do, you’d better ask those Slaters. Never were any good. I knew his mother, and you couldn’t trust her with a sixpence.”

  Lois was stunned. How could the housebound Miss Beasley possibly know she was after Howard Jenkinson’s killer? She shivered. There was something very creepy about the old woman and her cat curled up in her lap. Then she thought of Bill. But he would not have even hinted. She was quite sure of that.

  What was it Doris Ashbourne said? Ivy
Beasley had a sixth sense, and used to tell fortunes at the village fête? Oh my God, let me out of here. Lois was still muttering to herself as she got into her van. “Ken Slater’s mother. ‘Couldn’t trust her with a sixpence.’ Like mother, like son?”

  She switched on Radio Five Live, and tried to immerse herself in the outside world, but Ivy Beasley’s words haunted her as she drove on to winkle out Susanna Jacob. She had to get a final word out of the girl before she advertised for someone else. What a morning! It had begun to rain, and Lois set her screen wipers going. Two sweeps, and a wiper flew off and disappeared. The curse of the Beasleys! she shouted aloud, and drove on very slowly, peering through a curtain of raindrops.

  And what was all this about Bill’s honeymoon? Some questions to ask there.

  Lois drew up outside the Jacobs’ house, and put on a stem face. At least she could assert her authority over Miss Susanna. She looked forward to it, and marched up the path with purposeful vigour.

  • • •

  SUSANNA WAS OUT. “OUT WHERE?” SAID LOIS SHARPLY. Mrs. Jacob flushed. “She’s gone for a walk with the dog,” she said. “The doctor recommended a little walk, each day.”

  “Huh!” Lois remembered this mythical doctor of the Jacobs, who was never consulted but gave advice that suited Susanna’s purposes. “Well, if it’s a little walk, I’ll wait,” she added. “I’ve got something very important to discuss with her.”

  Mrs. Jacob opened the door wider with some reluctance, and Lois marched in. She refused an offer of coffee, and said she would be quite all right on her own, if Mrs. Jacob wished to get on with her work. But Mrs. Jacob wasn’t having that. She asked Lois to sit down, and perched on the edge of a chair on the opposite side of the room.