“I’m sorry to say he never arrived for work this morning. Most irregular,” he said. “I can’t understand it. The man has been utterly reliable during the course of his employ.” Edwina kept her eyes trained on his expression, looking for signs of dishonesty. Edwina prided herself in her ability to recognize fibs and untruths of all sorts. Her time spent volunteering on committees, working for the Women’s Land Army, and a long-standing relationship with her gardener, Simpkins, had prepared her to recognize lies whenever she encountered them. She was surprised to realize she could not tell whether or not Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe was baffled by Lionel Cunningham’s failure to appear at work that day.
“Do you have any idea where he may have gone?” Edwina asked. “Any family members he may have suddenly needed to visit due to illness or some other personal difficulty?”
“You mean has he toddled off to Brighton to tend out on an elderly spinster aunt or some such thing?” he said, turning to address Edwina for the first time. She nodded, hoping her face did not reflect her thoughts on his tone at the mention of spinsters. “Lionel never mentioned family other than to say his parents had both died and that he was an only child. I very much doubt familial obligations would have caused him to miss work, especially without a word of warning.”
“So you have no suggestion as to where we might locate him?” Beryl asked.
“None whatsoever. It is dashed unpleasant to have unreliable staff, I don’t mind telling you,” Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe said, throwing his hands up in the air. “I wish I could help you but I am at a complete loss myself.”
Miss Chilvers entered the room carrying a silver tray. She placed it upon a side table and set about pouring out cups of tea for each of them. Edwina noted the secretary knew exactly how her employer took his tea. “Milk? Sugar?” she asked Edwina and then Beryl. Edwina took the opportunity to include the secretary in the questioning. In her experience, from her visits to the local solicitor’s office as well as the doctor’s surgery, the secretary was the person who really knew all that went on.
“We are here asking about Mr. Lionel Cunningham. I suppose you knew him, too,” Edwina said. She observed the secretary’s steady hand holding the teacup as she responded to the question.
“I most certainly did. We have worked together for quite some time. We also each have lodgings at Shady Rest Boardinghouse. Which makes us neighbors in a way, I suppose,” she said. Edwina noticed the muscles along Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe’s jawline tightening at the mention of his secretary’s living arrangements, and as he placed a broad hand over his paunch as if his stomach had begun clamoring for his attention. She wondered if he felt that it was not quite nice for the two of them to be living under the same roof.
“What did you think of him?” Beryl asked.
“I’m sure it’s not for me to say,” the secretary said.
“But surely you had an opinion of some sort,” Beryl said. Edwina caught a quick glance between the secretary and her employer. He gave the slightest of shakes to his head.
“Mr. Cunningham is a most valuable employee and a pleasant gentleman. Our interactions are cordial but in no way personal. I respect the work he does here and I should like to think he holds my work in similar esteem,” she said. “If there’s nothing further, Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe, there are some letters I need to type up.” Rather than waiting for an answer she turned sharply on her sensible low heel and left the room.
“You never said how Mr. Cunningham’s disappearance came to your attention,” Mr. Ecclestone-Smythe said. Beryl placed her teacup on the edge of his desk and rose. Edwina followed suit.
“No, we did not. We’ll see ourselves out,” Beryl said.
Chapter 5
Beryl reminded herself to slow down as she rounded the corner and turned into the driveway that led to the Beeches. After all, while she did prefer high rates of speed, she had already had one mishap with the pillars flanking the end of the drive. While it had only been a few months since she had swerved to avoid hitting Crumpet, Edwina’s beloved terrier, and had crumpled the hood of her automobile in the process, it seemed like far longer. Beryl had never felt quite so at home anywhere before. Really, she felt unwaveringly at peace for the first time in her life.
Edwina, on the other hand, seemed decidedly ill at ease. Beryl was certain her friend’s mood could not be attributed to her driving. Surely Edwina understood she was in the hands of an expert. It must be their lack of progress at the colliery that was disquieting her friend. She took one hand off the wheel and patted Edwina’s arm with it. Edwina clutched at the door handle with even more determination. Perhaps the right words would best put her mind at ease.
“We can’t let our lack of progress at the colliery discourage us, Ed,” she said. “We’ve only just begun poking around. I’m sure something will turn up any moment now.” She pulled to a screeching stop directly in front of the Beeches. Edwina flung herself from the automobile and headed for the front door without a backward glance. Beryl told herself her friend was only hurrying as there was a visitor standing on the front step. Beryl eased herself from behind the wheel and followed the other two women into the house.
“You remember Mrs. Lowethorpe, I’m sure,” Edwina said. Beryl knew how to take the hint. The middle-aged woman dressed in a shapeless frock the color of porridge seemed slightly familiar. But if Beryl had had to recall her name she would not have been able to do so. Nor would she have been able to recollect where in the world she had encountered a woman who was so obviously dedicated to the concept of respectability.
“The vicar’s wife,” Beryl said. “How could I possibly forget?” She followed Edwina and their guest to the parlor.
“What brings you by for a visit, Muriel?” Edwina asked.
“I understand the two of you have agreed to assist Wilfred with his ill-advised pigeon club entanglements,” Muriel said. She paused, looking from Beryl to Edwina. When they nodded, she continued. “I had intended to be there when you called but the work of a vicar’s wife is never done. I was unfortunately attending to one of the many duties I shoulder in the community.”
“I don’t know how the village would function without you,” Edwina said. Beryl snuck a glance at her friend’s face.
“That’s very gratifying to hear. Not that I expect praise or thanks from anyone. It’s my job to provide service without thought to the toll it takes upon me,” Muriel said.
“I’m sure I don’t know how you manage it all,” Edwina said. Edwina made soothing noises, a skill Beryl had never acquired.
“Still, one’s activities make it difficult to attend to things on the home front as readily as one might like.” Muriel sniffed loudly and squinted into a corner of the parlor whose housekeeping Beryl was certain would not hold up to her close scrutiny.
“You don’t sound as though you entirely approved of your husband’s involvement with the pigeon racing club,” Beryl said.
“Well, it isn’t quite nice, is it, a vicar spending time he could be working on his sermons or ministering to his flock associating with degenerate gamblers and brawlers.” Muriel plucked one of Crumpet’s buff colored hairs from the arm of her chair and flicked it to the floor. “I would never have permitted his involvement in any capacity, let alone in a leadership position if he hadn’t convinced me that by participating he would provide a much-needed stabilizing and elevating influence on the existing members.”
Beryl couldn’t agree with Muriel’s scathing assessment of the merits of racing and the people who participated in the sport whatever the capacity. If it weren’t for gambling Beryl knew for certain her alimony checks would never have covered her living expenses. She could think of far less moral ways to make a shilling stretch but she didn’t think mentioning them to Mrs. Lowethorpe would endear her to their only client’s wife. If they were to earn their pay she would need to keep her thoughts to herself on that score.
“I’m sure the vicar provides a very reliable moral compass to any group in which he
finds himself. It was most broad-minded of you to approve of his participation,” Edwina said. Beryl gave Edwina a disapproving look before steering the conversation elsewhere. Smoothing and soothing was one thing. Nauseating displays of flattery were a different matter entirely.
“Was there some reason you wished to be in attendance at our meeting with your husband?” Beryl asked. “I can hardly imagine a woman with as many commitments as you would drop by simply for chat.”
“There certainly was. Wilfred has a shocking memory. He never seems to remember a thing I say,” Muriel said. Beryl thought perhaps the vicar had simply learned how best to survive living with a force such as his wife. She would have done the same herself. Beryl had always found those earnest women who engaged long-sufferingly in good works to be the most difficult individuals to bear with good humor and attentiveness. She attributed Edwina’s ability to do so to her friend’s unwavering sense of duty and to years of practice while caring for her hypochondriac mother. “I told him to be sure to mention the ill will brewing in the club but he claims he cannot remember if he brought it up or not. I rather expect he didn’t.” Muriel clucked her tongue.
“I’m sure we should have remembered any mention of any unpleasantness within the pigeon racing club,” Edwina said. “Wouldn’t we, Beryl?”
“Edwina makes a practice of taking notes during all of our interviews and is very conscientious about such things,” Beryl said. Edwina took the hint and pulled her notebook and pencil from her pocket once more. “We would be very eager to hear whatever information you can contribute to the investigation.”
“Just as I thought. Wilfred is utterly hopeless in all practical matters,” Muriel clucked again. “I knew he wouldn’t tell you about the trouble with Mr. Scott.”
“The greengrocer?” Edwina asked, her pencil at the ready.
“The very one.” Muriel leaned forward in her chair. “I hate to go carrying tales but I feel I would not be doing my duty if I didn’t tell you there was no love lost between Mr. Scott and Mr. Cunningham.” Edwina paused in her scribbling and looked at their visitor.
“Are you quite sure about that?” Edwina asked.
“Indeed I am. The two came to blows in the front parlor of the vicarage not a week ago. I saw it with my own two eyes.” Muriel nodded swiftly enough to set her second chin swinging softly back and forth.
“Do you know what it was that they were arguing about?” Beryl asked.
“It would have been difficult not to know with the way the pair of them were carrying on. Shouting and waving their arms about. I actually had to remind them not to take the Lord’s name in vain. In the vicarage no less,” Muriel said. “I cannot for the life of me see how anyone could be so competitive about pigeon racing.”
“Were Mr. Scott and Mr. Cunningham rivals? I thought they are both members of the same club,” Edwina said. Beryl had noticed a decided lack of competitiveness on Edwina’s part but had not realized how incomplete was her education concerning the world of sport. Beryl decided they would have to make a point of correcting that as soon as possible. Perhaps they could attend a cricket match or even a three-legged race at the upcoming village May Day fete.
“Belonging to the same club does not eliminate competitiveness between the racers, Edwina. If anything, such close quarters fan the flames of any rivalries that might lie lurking below the surface,” Beryl said.
“Just so.” Muriel nodded. “Mr. Cunningham and Mr. Scott took turns coming in first or second, at least in club standing. The rivalry between them could not be described as friendly.”
“You mentioned brawling and gambling earlier,” Beryl said. “Was Mr. Cunningham ever involved in any such thing?”
“I am sorry to say that at the last meeting he and Mr. Scott indulged in a shocking display of fisticuffs right there in my own parlor. They managed to shatter my best crystal vase. Not that I held it against them, mind you. A vicar’s wife is above such petty grudges.” Beryl wondered if there was a special risk to the soul of vicars’ wives who told bald-faced lies. From the way she pursed her lips it was clear Mrs. Lowethorpe most certainly had not forgotten or forgiven the destruction of her ornament.
“It must have been very shocking for such a scene to take place in your own home. Do you know the cause of it?” Edwina asked.
“What didn’t the two of them argue over? They berated each other over their choice in pigeon feed or in training schedules. They almost resorted to violence on the subject of breeding stock and fledging chicks. Most recently they disagreed about how to run the club,” Muriel said. “Mr. Scott is the vice president of the club and he told Mr. Cunningham in no uncertain terms what he thought of his bookkeeping at the last meeting.”
“When did the last meeting take place?” Beryl asked. A stir of excitement moved her chest.
“The night before Mr. Cunningham went missing. In fact, Wilfred thought it was rather big of Mr. Cunningham to offer to run the birds up for the race the next day considering how abusive had been Mr. Scott’s manner,” Muriel said. “Wilfred did not want me to mention the divisiveness to you but I told him it might have important bearing on your investigation.”
“Indeed it might, Mrs. Lowethorpe. You were very right to bring this to our attention,” Beryl said. Edwina made a last note and then snapped her notebook shut with finality.
The vicar’s wife shot to her feet, startling Crumpet who lay quietly in his basket near the cold hearth. “My business is done then. I shall take my leave of you and trust you know how best to use this information.” She nodded at each of them in turn and then swept from the room banging the front door behind her before Beryl could cross the room.
“What a lot of energy that woman has,” said Edwina. Beryl winced at the tone of admiration in her friend’s voice.
“That is one way of looking at it,” Beryl said. “I should think the vicar’s wife gives Prudence Rathbone a run for her money in the race to be Walmsley Parva’s biggest gossip.” Edwina looked satisfyingly shocked.
“How can you say such a thing? She is practically a member of the clergy,” Edwina said. “And what’s more, she’s given us our only lead in the case.”
“You think Mr. Scott, our mild-mannered greengrocer, might have done away with the missing man?” Beryl asked. She had not taken Mrs. Lowethorpe’s concerns all that seriously. After all, in her experience men had a habit of getting worked up over sports. She had often used that fact to her advantage when it came to placing a wager or proposing a dare.
“You forget, Beryl, I may not be one to spread gossip, but that does not mean I never hear any of it. It so happens Gareth Scott has been locked up overnight on several occasions for getting into drunken altercations with other men down at the Dove and Duck. More times than I would like to mention his wife had to open the shop in his stead. The poor woman. What a thing it must be to be married to such a self-centered sort of a man.” Edwina bent to give Crumpet a pat on his small head. “You are a much nicer sort of fellow to have around the place, I daresay.”
“I suppose there is one other thing that could count against him,” Beryl said.
“What is that?” Edwina straightened and turned her full attention to her friend.
“A man who sells vegetables would know a lot of market gardeners and farmers, wouldn’t he?”
“Of course. It is a part of the trade.”
“Then he would know where any number of patches of turned-up earth could be found. And should he wish to dispose of Mr. Cunningham he would know several places where it would be easy to do so,” Beryl said.
Chapter 6
Edwina had demurred Beryl’s offer to drive her into the village. She did not enjoy rides in Beryl’s motorcar under the best of circumstances. She was quite sure she would not feel properly prepared for her interrogation of Gareth Scott if her heart was lodged in her throat as it so often was after going for what Beryl breezily referred to as a jaunt. In her mind Edwina always thought of it as more of a jounce but
she never mentioned the fact. Far be it from her to spoil someone else’s pleasures.
Edwina had armed herself with her third best hat and second best pair of shoes for her mission. Striking the right tone between what one would consider professional and what would make one appear to be flagrantly involving oneself in the grubby world of commerce was more difficult than she would have imagined it would be. She would not want it to be said about the village that she esteemed a visit to a tradesman sufficiently to wear her best hat or shoes.
She arrived in front of the greengrocer to find the shop empty save Mr. Scott himself. He was replenishing a basket filled with spring onions as she entered. He turned and wiped some smudges of soil from his fingers against his striped apron. Edwina shuddered to herself at the thought of poor Mrs. Scott being confronted with a heap of her husband’s washing.
“What brings you in this afternoon, Miss Davenport?” Edwina could not help but notice Mr. Scott’s eyes sliding sideways to the counter beneath which the ledger was kept. Given the state of her household finances, she was in no position to discuss settling her account. Fortunately he had given her just the opening she needed to steer the conversation in a more comfortable direction.
“I am here with some questions about your pigeon racing club,” she said.
“What about it?” he asked. “You don’t seem the sort to take an interest in any manner of racing. Now your friend Miss Helliwell looks like the type of woman to enjoy a flutter from time to time but I am surprised to hear you are interested.”
“I am here at the request of Vicar Lowethorpe. He has asked Miss Helliwell and myself to look into the disappearance of Mr. Cunningham.” Edwina watched his face closely as she mentioned the missing man’s name. A look of disgust flickered across it as though he were physically pained by the mention of the other club member.
Murder Flies the Coop Page 4