She murmured to herself as she sent her steps towards The Lamb and Flag at which she proposed to fortify herself with lunch.
'A lot to think about-floods, death-watch beetle, ghosts, clanking chains, absentee owners and landlords, solicitors, banks-a house that nobody wants or loves-except perhaps me… Oh well, what I want now is food.'
The food at The Lamb and Flag was good and plentiful. Hearty food for farmers rather than phoney French menus for tourists passing through. Thick savoury soup, leg of pork and apple sauce, Stilton cheese-or plums and custard if you preferred it-which Tuppence didn't. After a desultory stroll round, Tuppence retrieved her car and started back to Sutton Chancellor-unable to feel that her morning had been fruitful.
As she turned the last corner and Sutton Chancellor church came into view, Tuppence saw the vicar emerging from the churchyard. He walked rather wearily. Tuppence drew up by him.
'And you still looking for that grave?' she asked.
The vicar had one hand at the small of his back.
'Oh dear,' he said, 'my eyesight is not very good. So many of the inscriptions are nearly erased. My back troubles me, too. So many of these stones lie flat on the ground. Really, when I bend over sometimes I fear that I shall never get up again.'
'I shouldn't do it any more,' said Tuppence. 'If you've looked in the parish register and all that, you've done all you could.'
'I know, but the poor fellow seemed so keen, so earnest. I'm quite sure that it's all wasted labour. However, I really felt it was my duty. I have still got a short stretch I haven't done, over there from beyond the yew tree to the far wall-although most of the stones are eighteenth century. But I should like to feel I had finished my task properly. Then I could not reproach myself. However, I shall leave it till tomorrow.'
'Quite right,' said Tuppence. 'You mustn't do too much in one day. I tell you what,' she added. 'After I've had a cup of tea with Miss Bligh, I'll go and have a look myself. From the yew tree to the wall, do you say?'
'Oh, but I couldn't possibly ask you-'
'That's all right. I shall quite like to do it. I think it's very interesting prowling round in a churchyard. You know, the older inscriptions give you a sort of picture of the people who lived here and all that sort of thing. I shall quite enjoy it, I shall really. Do go back home and rest.'
'Well, of course, I really have to do something about my sermon this evening, it's quite true. You are a very kind friend, I'm sure. A very kind friend.'
He beamed at her and departed into the vicarage. Tuppence glanced at her watch. She stopped at Miss Bligh's house.
'Might as well get it over,' thought Tuppence. The front door was open and Miss Bligh was just carrying a plate of fresh-baked scones across the hall into the sitting room.
'Oh! so there you are, dear Mrs. Beresford. I'm so pleased to see you. Tea's quite ready. The kettle is on. I've only got to fill up the teapot. I hope you did all the shopping you wanted,' she added, looking in a rather marked manner at the painfully evident empty shopping bag hanging on Tuppence's arm.
'Well, I didn't have much luck really,' said Tuppence, putting as good a face on it as she could. 'You know how it is sometimes-just one of those days when people just haven't got the particular colour or the particular kind of thing you want. But I always enjoy looking round a new place even if it isn't a very interesting one.'
A whistling kettle let forth a strident shriek for attention and Miss Bligh shot back into the kitchen to attend to it, scattering a batch of letters waiting for the post on the hall table.
Tuppence stooped and retrieved them, noticing as she put them back on the table that the topmost one was addressed to a Mrs. Yorke, Rosetrellis Court for Elderly Ladies-at an address in Cumberland.
'Really,' thought Tuppence. 'I am beginning to feel as if the whole of the country is full of nothing but Homes for the Elderly! I suppose in next to no time Tommy and I will be living in one?
Only the other day, some would-be kind and helpful friend had written to recommend a very nice address in Devon: married couples-mostly retired Service people. Quite good cooking. You brought your own furniture and personal belongings.
Miss Bligh reappeared with the teapot and the two ladies sat down to tea.
Miss Bligh's conversation was of a less melodramatic and juicy nature than that of Mrs. Copleigh, and was concerned more with the procuring of information, than of giving it.
Tuppence murmured vaguely of past years of Service abroad-the domestic difficulties of life in England, gave details of a married son and a married daughter both with children and gently steered the conversation to the activities of Miss Bligh in Sutton Chancellor which were numerous. The Women's Institute, Guides, Scouts, the Conservative Ladies' Union, Lectures, Greek Art, Jam Making, Flower Arrangement, the Sketching Club, the Friends of Archaeology… The vicar's health, the necessity of making him take care of himself, his absentmindedness… Unfortunate differences of opinion between churchwardens… Tuppence praised the scones, thanked her hostess for her hospitality and rose to go.
'You are so wonderfully energetic, Miss Bligh,' she said. 'How you manage to do all you do, I cannot imagine. I must confess that after a day's excursion and shopping, I like just a nice little rest on my bed-just half an hour or so of shut-eye. A very comfortable bed, too. I must thank you very much for recommending me to Mrs. Copleigh.'
'Almost reliable woman, though of course she talks too much.'
'Oh! I found all her local tales most entertaining.'
'Half the time she doesn't know what she's talking about! Are you staying here for long?'
'Oh no-I'm going home tomorrow. I'm disappointed at not having heard of any suitable little property. I had hopes of that very picturesque house by the canal…'
'You're well out of that. It's in a very poor state of repair Absentee landlords-it's a disgrace.'
'I couldn't even find out who it belongs to. I expect you know. You seem to know everything here.'
'I've never taken much interest in that house. It's always changing hands. One can't keep pace. The Perrys live in half of it-and the other half just goes to rack and ruin.'
Tuppence said goodbye again and drove back to Mrs. Copleigh's. The house was quiet and apparently empty.
Tuppence went up to her bedroom, deposited her empty shopping bag, washed her face and powdered her nose, tiptoed out of the house again, looking up and down the street, then leaving her car where it was, she walked swiftly round the corner and took a footpath through the field behind the village which eventually led to a stile into the churchyard.
Tuppence went over the stile into the churchyard, peaceful in the evening sun, and began to examine the tombstones as she had promised. She had not really had any ulterior motive in doing so. There was nothing here she hoped to discover. It was really just kindliness on her part. The elderly vicar was rather a dear, and she would like him to feel that his conscience was entirely satisfied. She had brought a notebook and pencil with her in case there was anything of interest to note down for him.
She presumed she was merely to look for a gravestone that might have been put up commemorating the death of some child of the required age. Most of the graves here were of an older date. They were not very interesting, not old enough to be quaint or to have touching or tender inscriptions. They were mostly of fairly elderly people. Yet she lingered a little as she went along, making mental pictures in her mind. Jane Elwood, departed this life January the 6th, aged 45. William Marl, departed this life January the 5th, deeply regretted. Mary Treves, five years old. March 14th 1835. That was too far back.
'In thy presence is the fullness of joy.' Lucky little Mary Treves.
She had almost reached the far wall now. The graves here were neglected and overgrown, nobody seemed to care about this bit of the cemetery. Many of the stones were no longer upright but lay about on the ground. The wall here was damaged and crumbling. In places it had been broken down.
Being right behind th
e church, it could not be seen from the road-and no doubt children came here to do what damage they could. Tuppence bent over one of the stone slabs. The original lettering was worn away and unreadable but heaving it up sideways, Tuppence saw some coarsely scrawled letters and words, also by now partly overgrown.
She stopped to trace them with a forefinger, and got a word here and there. Whoever… offend… one of these little ones… Millstone… Millstone… Millstone… and below-in uneven cutting by an amateur hand: Here lies Lily Waters.
Tuppence drew a deep breath. She was conscious of a shadow behind her, but before she could turn her head something hit her on the back of her head and she fell forwards on to the tombstone into pain and darkness.
Book 3. Missing A Wife
Chapter 10. A Conference-and After
'Well, Beresford,' said Major-General Sir Josiah Penn, K.M.G., C.B., D.S.O., speaking with the weight appropriate to the impressive stream of letters after his name. 'Well, what do you think of all that yackety-yack?'
Tommy gathered by that remark that Old Josh, as he was irreverently spoken of behind his back, was not impressed with the result of the course of the conferences in which they had been taking part.
'Softly, softly catchee monkey,' said Sir Josiah, going on with his remarks. 'A lot of talk and nothing said. If anybody does say anything sensible now and then, about four beanstalks immediately get up and howl it down. I don't know why we come to these things. At least, I do know. I know why I do. Nothing else to do. If I didn't come to these shows, I'd have to stay at home. Do you know what happens to me there? I get bullied, Beresford. Bullied by my housekeeper, bullied by my gardener. He's an elderly Scot and he won't so much as let me touch my own peaches. So I come along here, throw my weight about and pretend to myself that I'm performing a useful function, ensuring the security of this country! Stuff and nonsense. What about you? You're a relatively young man. What do you come and waste your time for? Nobody'll listen to you, even if you do say something worth hearing.'
Tommy, faintly amused that despite his own, as he considered, advanced age, he could be regarded as a youngster by Major-General Sir Josiah Penn, shook his head! The General must be, Tommy thought, considerably past eighty, he was rather deaf, heavily bronchial, but he was nobody's fool.
'Nothing would ever get done at all if you weren't here, sir,' said Tommy.
'I like to think so,' said the General. 'I'm a toothless bulldog-but I can still bark. How's Mrs. Tommy? Haven't seen her for a long time.'
Tommy replied that Tuppence was well and active.
'She was always active. Used to make me think of a dragonfly sometimes. Always darting off after some apparently absurd idea of her own and then we'd find it wasn't absurd. Good fun!' said the General, with approval. 'Don't like these earnest middle-aged women you meet nowadays, all got a Cause with a capital C. And as for the girls nowadays-' he shook his head. 'Not what they used to be when I was a young man. Pretty as a picture, they used to be then. Their muslin frocks! Cloche hats, they used to wear at one time. Do you remember? No, I suppose you'd have been at school. Had to look right down underneath the brim before you could see the girl's face. Tantalizing it was, and they knew it! I remember now-let me see-she was a relative of yours-an aunt wasn't she?-Ada. Ada Fanshawe.'
'Aunt Ada?'
'Prettiest girl I ever knew.'
Tommy managed to contain the surprise he felt. That his Aunt Ada could ever have been considered pretty seemed beyond belief. Old Josh was dithering on.
'Yes, pretty as a picture. Sprightly, too! Gay! Regular tease. Ah, I remember last time I saw her. I was a subaltern just off to India. We were at a moonlight picnic on the beach… She and I wandered away together and sat on a rock looking at the sea?'
Tommy looked at him with great interest. At his double chins, his bald head, his bushy eyebrows and his enormous paunch. He thought of Aunt Ada, of her incipient moustache, her grim smile, her iron grey hair, her malicious glance. Time, he thought. What Time does to one! He tried to visualize a handsome young subaltern and a pretty girl in the moonlight.
He failed.
'Romantic,' said Sir Josiah Penn with a deep sigh. 'Ah yes, romantic. I would have liked to propose to her that night, but you couldn't propose if you were a subaltern. Not on your pay. We'd have had to wait five years before we could be married. That was too long an engagement to ask any girl to agree to. Ah well! You know how things happen. I went out to India and it was a long time before I came home on leave. We wrote to one another for a bit, then things slacked off. As it usually happens. I never saw her again. And yet, you know, I never quite forgot her. Often thought of her. I remember I nearly wrote to her once, years later. I'd heard she was in the neighbourhood where I was staying with some people. I thought I'd go and see her, ask if I could call. Then I thought to myself "Don't be a damn fool. She probably looks quite different by now."'
'I heard a chap mention her some years later. Said she was one of the ugliest women he'd ever seen. I could hardly believe it when I heard him say that, but I think now perhaps I was lucky I never did see her again. What's she doing now? Alive still?'
'No. She died about two or three weeks ago, as a matter of fact,' said Tommy.
'Did she really, did she really? Yes, I suppose she'd be what now, she'd be seventy-five or seventy-six? Bit older than that perhaps.'
'She was eighty,' said Tommy.
'Fancy now. Dark-haired lively Ada. Where did she die? Was she in a nursing home or did she live with a companion or-she never married, did she?'
'No,' said Tommy, 'she never married. She was in an old ladies' home. Rather a nice one, as a matter of fact. Sunny Ridge, it's called.'
'Yes, I've heard of that. Sunny Ridge. Someone my sister knew was there, I believe. A Mrs.-now what was the name a Mrs. Carstairs? D'you ever come across her?'
'No. I didn't come across anyone much there. One just used to go and visit one's own particular relative.'
'Difficult business, too, I think. I mean, one never knows what to say to them.'
'Aunt Ada was particularly difficult,' said Tommy. 'She was a tartar, you know.'
'She would be.' The General chuckled. 'She could be a regular little devil when she liked when she was a girl.'
He sighed.
'Devilish business, getting old. One of my sister's friends used to get fancies, poor old thing. Used to say she'd killed somebody.'
'Good Lord,' said Tommy. 'Had she?'
'Oh, I don't suppose so. Nobody seems to think she had. I suppose,' said the General, considering the idea thoughtfully, 'I suppose she might have, you know. If you go about saying things like that quite cheerfully, nobody would believe you, would they? Entertaining thought that, isn't it?'
'Who did she think she'd killed?'
'Blessed if I know. Husband perhaps? Don't know who he was or what he was like. She was a widow when we first came to know her. Well,' he added with a sigh, 'sorry to hear about Ada. Didn't see it in the paper. If I had I'd have sent flowers or something. Bunch of rosebuds or something of that kind. That's what girls used to wear on their evening dresses. A bunch of rosebuds on the shoulder of an evening dress. Very pretty it was. I remember Ada had an evening dress-sort of hydrangea colour, mauvy. Mauvy-blue and she had pink rosebuds on it. She gave me one once. They weren't real, of course. Artificial. I kept it for a long time-years. I know,' he added, catching Tommy's eye, 'makes you laugh to think of it, doesn't it. I tell you, my boy, when you get really old and gaga like I am, you get sentimental again. Well, I suppose I'd better toddle off and go back to the last act of this ridiculous show. Best regards to Mrs. T. when you get home.'
In the train the next day, Tommy thought back over this conversation, smiling to himself and trying again to picture his redoubtable aunt and the fierce Major-General in their young days.
'I must tell Tuppence this. It'll make her laugh,' said Tommy. 'I wonder what Tuppence has been doing while I've been away?'
He smil
ed to himself.
The faithful Albert opened the front door with a beaming smile of welcome.
'Glad to see you back, sir.'
'I'm glad to be back.' Tommy surrendered his suitcase.
'Where's Mrs. Beresford?'
'Not back yet, sir.'
'Do you mean she's away?'
'Been away three or four days. But she'll be back for dinner. She rang up yesterday and said so.'
'What's she up to, Albert?'
'I couldn't say, sir. She took the car, but she took a lot of railway guides as well. She might be anywhere, as you might say.'
'You might indeed,' said Tommy with feeling. 'John o' Groat's-or Land's End-and probably missed the connection at Little Dither on the Marsh on the way back. God bless British Railways. She rang up yesterday, you say. Did she say where she was ringing from?'
'She didn't say.'
'What time yesterday was this?'
'Yesterday morning. Before lunch. Just said everything was all right. She wasn't quite sure of what time she'd get home, but she thought she'd be back well before dinner and suggested a chicken. That do you all fight, sir?'
'Yes,' said Tommy, regarding his watch, 'but she'll have to make it pretty quickly now.'
'I'll hold the chicken back,' said Albert.
Tommy grinned. 'That's right,' he said. 'Catch it by the tail. How've you been, Albert? All well at home?'
'Had a scare of measles but it's all right. Doctor says it's only strawberry rash.'
'Good,' said Tommy. He went upstairs, whistling a tune to himself. He went into the bathroom, shaved and washed, strode from there into the bedroom and looked around him. It had that curious look of disoccupancy some bedrooms put on when their owner is away. Its atmosphere was cold and unfriendly. Everything was scrupulously tidy and scrupulously clean. Tommy had the depressed feeling that a faithful dog might have had. Looking round him, he thought it was as though Tuppence had never been. No spilled powder, no book cast down open with its back splayed out.
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