“I’m not sure the man knows as much as he’s letting on. He seems an utter buffoon to me,” Edwina said. “His wife on the other hand seems like quite an astute individual. She also appeared troubled by something. She looked surprised to hear Mr. Cunningham’s name mentioned.” Edwina chewed on the end of her pencil. It was a habit held over from their schoolgirl days. Beryl found it endearing. Or perhaps Edwina was simply hungry. She did have a tendency to forget to eat.
“I noticed that, too. I think we should make a point of speaking with her again,” Beryl said.
“Here at the race?” Edwina asked.
“If we get the chance,” Beryl said. “But for now let’s see if we can find out a little bit more about Mr. Cunningham and pigeon racing. After all, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to call on Mrs. Ecclestone-Smythe. But pigeon races are not held every day.” Edwina nodded and followed her friend across the green. Up ahead was what appeared to be a staging area for the pigeon carrying baskets. There were large ones and small ones. Most were made of wicker but some of the containers were wooden slatted crates.
Young boys ran up and down the aisles between the rows of baskets calling to each other excitedly. A small boy, much younger than the others, tripped and fell to the ground. Edwina and a younger woman both rushed to his side to inspect for damage. Beryl kept watch from a safe distance. With rare exceptions, like Jack, the Walmsley Parva newsboy, children made her feel slightly queasy and light-headed. Part of her contentedness in life stemmed from the fact that she had avoided ever producing any children of her own. From the way Edwina crouched next to the small boy and wiped at his scraped knees with her handkerchief, Beryl felt certain her friend did not feel the same sense of elation at her own childless state.
The war had been cruel on many fronts and the lack of men to go round was not the least of them. She and Edwina had not spoken of such things, but Beryl had noticed, and mentioned, how Charles Jarvis, the solicitor in Walmsley Parva, had shown more than a passing interest in her old friend. Maybe, if fate were very kind and inclined to miracles, it would not prove too late for Ed to experience the joys of motherhood for herself. Although Beryl would find life at the Beeches far less pleasant with a small person in residence, she would not want to ever stand in the way of Edwina’s happiness.
The other woman assisting with the boy appeared to be in her twenties, but then one never knew anymore. So often the young were old beyond their years. Another small suffering to be laid at the feet of the war. The young woman grasped the boy’s chubby little hand firmly and raised him to his feet. In a flash he scampered away as if the incident had never occurred, shouting for the older boys to wait for him. Beryl, content that the coast was clear, approached the other women.
“I wish I were as resilient as that,” the younger woman said as she watched him run off.
“He was lucky not to have been badly injured. If he had fallen a few feet to the right he could have needed looking at by a doctor.” Edwina nodded to a bale of barbed wire coiled up nearby. “I should not have liked to have seen such a thing at all.”
“I know just what you mean. I saw enough needless injuries during the war years,” the woman said.
“Were you a nurse?” Edwina asked.
“I was. In France. It was an experience I would not like to repeat but at least I met my husband out there.” The younger woman smiled. “I’m Alice Morley. Are you here for the race?”
“Edwina Davenport. And allow me to introduce my friend Beryl Helliwell.” Edwina turned to include Beryl in the conversation. She stepped closer.
“We are here for the race. It seems like quite the to-do.” Beryl swept her hand about her at the crowd and the eager vendors filling the green. “Are you here as a spectator, too?”
“My husband, Dennis, is one of the racers. In fact, he participates in both long- and short-distance racing,” Alice said. Her thin face broke into a wide smile as she mentioned her husband’s accomplishments.
“Isn’t that quite unusual?” Beryl asked. “I thought most racers picked one distance or the other to commit to.”
“They do generally but my Dennis is an unusual case. He was in charge of a mobile pigeon loft during the war and he never lost his love of the birds. When he was demobbed he was lucky enough to find work at the Hambley mine. Naturally he started racing with the other miners as soon as he managed to purchase his first bird. In fact, he went to the owner and asked if the miners could set up an area dedicated to lofts in the mining village. Fortunately he agreed.”
“So how did he get involved in long-distance racing?” Edwina asked.
“When the head clark at the mine, Mr. Cunningham, heard about my Dennis’ expertise with the birds, he asked him to become a member of his own long-distance racing club. Dennis wasn’t sure he wanted to look as though he were getting above himself by joining, but some of the miners encouraged him to give it a try. He’s been participating in both types of races ever since.”
“He must spend a great deal of time engaged in his hobby. Not all wives would understand that kind of commitment,” Edwina said.
Alice shrugged. “It keeps him happy and anything that does that is fine by me. So many of our boys are still feeling the distressing effects of the war. Any bit of happiness we can manage to cling to is worth whatever it costs as far as I’m concerned.”
Beryl had heard the same sentiment more often than she cared to remember. So many young, and not so young, men of her acquaintance were maimed in body, spirit, or both. If all it took for some of them to find happiness were a few stolen hours and a flock of birds, there were few who would begrudge them that.
“Did you know Mr. Cunningham too then?” Edwina asked. Beryl was so lost in thoughts of the past she had forgotten entirely about their investigation. It was one more reason she was certain she and Edwina would make a success of their joint venture. One of them would be sure to be attentive to their cases at all times.
“I knew him from the club and also from the mine. I live in the mining village with my husband but I am also employed as the village nurse,” Alice said. “Mr. Cunningham was in charge of handing out the pay packets.”
“Were you aware that he has gone missing?” Edwina asked.
“My Dennis told me all about it. One of his birds was amongst those that went missing,” Alice said. “Dennis is still distraught about it. He does worry so about his birds.”
“It seems so odd to think a grown man and a basket of birds could simply vanish in broad daylight,” Edwina said.
“Dennis says it wouldn’t be so hard to do if someone wanted to. He said Mr. Cunningham could have taken a train and sold off the birds to fanciers anywhere in the country,” Alice shielded her eyes with her hand and looked out over the crowd. “It seems as if my husband has vanished himself. I don’t know where he could have gotten to.”
“Does your husband believe that Mr. Cunningham deliberately made off with the pigeons?” Beryl asked.
“Too right he does. Those birds were all worth a pretty penny and there isn’t any other explanation for him disappearing without a trace, now is there?” Alice said. “There’s my husband. It has been very nice chatting with you ladies but I need to catch up with him.” Alice gave them a small wave then picked up her skirts and hurried away across the green.
“I do hope that Mrs. Morley is right about that,” Edwina said, turning her head to watch the younger woman disappear into the crowd.
“About our missing man setting off to sell the birds somewhere in the hinterlands?” Beryl asked.
“No. About that being the only explanation for why Mr. Cunningham vanished,” Edwina said.
“I think we are right to be concerned that his disappearance may not have been his idea,” Beryl said. “If it turns out he has come to harm I think we need to add Mr. Morley to our growing list of suspects.”
Chapter 8
A horn sounded and pigeons filled the sky and flew off in all directions. The s
ound of their beating wings almost drowned out the sound of the crowd of spectators. Beryl felt her heart soar at the sight of them. It had been many months since her own last flight and she suddenly felt earthbound. With a light heart she tucked her arm through Edwina’s and joined in the cheering along with the rest of the crowd.
From behind she felt someone lightly touch her shoulder. She turned her head and found herself staring directly into a familiar pair of dark blue eyes. A cry of surprised glee escaped her lips. She dropped Edwina’s arm and reeled to envelop Archie Harrison in a firm embrace.
“Archie, what are you doing here?” Beryl asked. “I thought you made it a point of honor to rarely leave Australia.” Beryl released him and looked his lanky frame up and down approvingly. With his bushwhacker ensemble and his straw fedora he looked every bit the man of action she knew him to be.
“I’m here covering the pigeon racing. I’m just as surprised to see you as you are to see me,” Archie said with a broad smile. “Last I heard, you had crash-landed somewhere in Africa.”
Beryl had been keeping a very low profile for months. During her last escapade, a hot-air ballooning expedition over the Sahara Desert, she had realized her penchant for adventure was fading fast. When her balloon collapsed near a desert oasis she threw herself upon the mercy of the handsome Bedouin who helped secret her away from the crash site without a trace. She had taken a circuitous route from Africa to England using a combination of disguises and aliases. She spent many weeks living as a variety of different women. One of them was a Russian countess, another was a minor member of the Swedish royal family, and a third was a midwestern farmer’s daughter who had left the North American continent for the first time during the Great War.
The subterfuge had provided just the sort of break from her own high-profile identity that she had desperately needed. It wasn’t until she had spotted Edwina’s advertisement for a lodger in a newspaper that she had admitted who she really was to anyone in months. Not that she could have possibly fooled Edwina with any sort of false identity. The two had been friends for far too long for that kind of thing to work. She wasn’t, however, surprised that someone like Archie would have had no word of her. As much as she enjoyed his company he was not on her very short list of people with whom she corresponded even somewhat regularly.
“I haven’t been in Africa for months. But let’s not talk about all that. Allow me to introduce my dearest friend, Miss Edwina Davenport.” Beryl shifted her stance to better include Edwina in the conversation. “Ed, this is Archie Harrison, celebrated sports reporter and my favorite Australian,” Beryl said. Edwina stepped forward and extended her gloved hand.
“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harrison. Welcome to England,” Edwina said.
“Thank you very much, ma’am,” Archie said. “I’ve always wanted to visit and when my newspaper suggested a trip to cover current sporting enthusiasms in the old country I couldn’t think of a valid excuse to stay at home. My editor booked me on the first boat out of Sydney so here I am.” Archie looked around as if still a bit bemused to find himself in such an entirely different landscape than that of his homeland.
“When was the last time we saw each other?” Beryl asked.
“I believe it was during your divorce proceedings. I seem to remember being named in the complaint brought by your husband,” Archie said. Beryl was pleased to note his freckled face crinkled into a crooked grin.
Beryl heard Edwina stifling a sort of recriminating gasp with a gloved hand pressed firmly over her mouth. “I hope you’re not still holding that against me,” Beryl said.
“The only thing I ever held against you about any of it was the fact that I was not the only one named in the proceedings,” Archie said. This time even Edwina’s best efforts could not disguise her surprise. A decided squeak made its way past her pursed lips. Archie turned to her, his broad grin still fixed firmly on his face. “If you’re an old friend of Beryl’s I’m sure none of this comes as a surprise to you.” Beryl knew she should step in. Edwina was simply not prepared to have that sort of conversation. In fact, there was every possibility she had never had a conversation with a reporter before in her life, and certainly not one who worked for the sporting pages.
“Tell me the truth, Archie, are you really here because your editor sent you, or have you lost your job again? Have you run out of newspapers in all of Australia that will hire you?” Beryl said. Archie was the sort of man who lurched from one newspaper to another just barely ahead of the wrath of a managing editor. He took far too many chances and had absolutely no sense of self-preservation. Most of his stories involved infuriating wealthy and powerful people, especially those people who spent a large number of advertising dollars supporting his publication. The only reason he was still employable was that he was so very good at sniffing out newsworthy stories.
“Guilty as charged, Beryl,” Archie said. “I knew I shouldn’t have tried to sneak anything past you.”
“It’s only because we’re such kindred spirits, Archie, that I’m able to look straight through you. Are you here working for a newspaper or is this a freelance job?” Beryl asked. Archie shrugged.
“A little of both, I suppose. I’ve been hired on a trial basis by an outfit out of Dover. If they like my writing they’ll take me on full-time. It’s quite a comedown from the papers in Sydney but beggars can’t be choosers, now can they?” Archie said. “And jobs aren’t exactly easy to come by in England right now. I’m lucky to have this shot at a job in journalism.”
Beryl’s heart went out to her old friend. What he really needed was a story far juicier than that of local pigeon race. Perhaps she could do them both a good turn.
“Would a really surprising human interest story impress your new overlords?” Beryl asked. Next to her Edwina cleared her throat. Beryl felt a warning glance scalding the side of her face. Sometimes Edwina was positively psychic.
“It might. What did you have in mind?” Archie asked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a notebook remarkably similar to the one Edwina had started to carry. He licked the end of his pencil and held it poised above a blank sheet of paper. Edwina cleared her throat again.
“I’m not quite sure we are ready for all that, Beryl,” Edwina said. “You shouldn’t like to make a liar out of this nice young man, now would you?”
“I have no intention of making a liar out of anyone, Ed. Besides, if anyone can take care of himself as well as I can, it’s Archie Harrison,” Beryl said. She batted her long eyelashes in Archie’s direction. “What would you say to an exclusive interview with Edwina and me about our new business venture?”
Archie began scribbling furiously. “What sort of a business venture? You’ve not suddenly gone into pigeon racing, have you?”
“Not even close,” Beryl said. “See if you can guess.” Beside her Edwina let out a disapproving sigh.
Archie turned his attention to Edwina. “Knowing Beryl, it would have to be something extraordinary. A mountaineering expedition company for ladies?” Archie asked. Beryl shook her head. “A cooking school for women who cannot open tins unassisted?” Beryl decided to take no notice of Edwina’s ill-concealed guffaws.
“Be serious, Archie,” Beryl said.
“I am being serious. You would have expertise in either of those arenas of endeavour. How about a school for avid markswomen?” he asked. Beryl shook her head once more. “I know. A gambling den for high-society ladies?” Edwina chortled disloyally.
“Not even close. Although I will say it is distinctly possible that my skill with the pistol will be required at some point,” Beryl said, arching an eyebrow at Edwina.
“I certainly hope not,” Edwina said. Perhaps Beryl had allowed Archie to get just the slightest bit under her skin. There was no call to ruffle Edwina’s feathers.
“Not to worry, Ed. I only say that to provide drama for Archie’s story. Do you give up?” Beryl said.
“Well, if you aren’t about to start your own hangar an
d some sort of aviation school for young ladies, I suppose I do give up Archie said. “Do tell.”
“Edwina and I have started a private enquiry agency.” Beryl had the satisfaction of watching Archie’s eyes bulge out of his head. For a moment it appeared they might leave his face entirely and go walk about. She had to give him credit though; he recovered quickly and resumed his furious note-taking.
“You set yourself up as gumshoes?” he asked. “No, I never would’ve guessed that if I’d kept at it all year. How long have you been in business?” Edwina started to answer but Beryl cut her off with a glance.
“I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you come to the Beeches the day after tomorrow? We’ll give you the entire scoop then,” Beryl said. “We haven’t any engagements that morning, do we, Edwina?” Edwina shook her head.
“We would be delighted for you to pay us a call then, Mr. Harrison,” Edwina said as she handed him a calling card with their address printed upon it.
“It’s a date,” Archie said. “This is just the sort of thing my editor would love to hear. I am absolutely certain the world is eagerly awaiting another story about the latest adventure of the celebrated Beryl Helliwell.”
“I expect they’ll be equally delighted at their first glimpse of Miss Edwina Davenport, too,” Beryl said generously. It was a joint venture and one she did not wish to appear to be taking all the credit for. She turned to look at Edwina. Not surprisingly, two spots of color dotted her dear friend’s cheeks. Edwina had always been far too modest. “After all, she’s the one with the real detective skills.” Archie flipped the page in his notebook and continued writing. At this rate he would need a new notebook for the interview.
“We look forward to seeing you then,” Edwina said. “Beryl, as we are here on a case, I suggest we get back to work. Besides, I’m sure Mr. Harrison has other things to do besides chat to us. He was here on a story before we caught up with him.” Beryl nodded and Archie slipped his notebook back into his pocket and stuck his pencil behind his ear.
Murder Flies the Coop Page 6