by Ann Purser
Sobered up by the awfulness of the scream, he reluctantly went back and pushed open the Turners' gate. He could see a light on in Bill's shed, and the back door of the house stood open. Sounds of crying and jumbled words came from the kitchen, but Michael was not up to facing Joyce. He went on down the path to the shed and opened the door.
He couldn't see anyone at first, then noticed a crouching shape in the far corner. He could see it was Bill, and then realised with horror that he too was crying. 'Bill?' he said. 'What the hell's goin' on?'
There was no reply, but Bill straightened up and wiped his face with a grubby handkerchief. He tried to say something, choked, and then indicated the rabbit cages with a hopeless wave of his hand. Michael Roberts saw that all the doors were open, and he peered inside.
'Oh God, no ...' he said. 'Oh, good God, no.'
Each cage contained a small, stiff corpse. Protruding eyes stared lifelessly out at Michael as he went round the shed, unable to believe what he saw. Bill sat down heavily on an old chair, and put his head in his hands.
'I never thought she'd do it,' he said in a muffled voice. 'She threatened often enough, but I never thought she'd do it.'
'What a bloody nightmare,' said Michael Roberts, quite sober now. 'They bin poisoned?'
Bill nodded. 'My fault,' he said. 'I got the stuff to deal with rats eating the feed.' He looked up at his neighbour, and said, 'What am I going to do?'
'Beat the livin' daylights out of her,' said Michael Roberts. 'I'll do it myself if you're squeamish.' He patted Bill awkwardly on the shoulder and said, 'Come on, Bill, let's go and see to 'er.'
Bill shook his head. 'Won't do any good,' he said. 'Even if I agreed with you, which I don't. Violence doesn't answer violence. Better go now, Michael, and leave me to deal with her. She's screaming the place down now out affright, scared of what I'll do.' 'You sure?' said Michael Roberts, beginning to wish he was back home where he knew how to act when retribution was needed.
'Yep,' said Bill. 'I'll just clear up in here, calm down a bit. Ifl go back in there now I shall kill her. You could just shut the back door, Michael, as you go by. Thanks for coming over.' He began to pull out the dead rabbits and put them in an empty sack, stroking each one for the last time before they fell with a dull thud into the growing pile. 'That's it, then, Joyce,' he said.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ivy Beasley sat in her kitchen, her damp coat hanging over the back of a chair in front of the range, steaming gently. She looked speculatively at a small enamelled brooch, shaped like a violet flower, which she had taken from her pocket and placed on the table.
'Now, my little beauty,' she said, 'who do you belong to, and how did you get on the floor of Bill Turner's van?'
Who do you think it belongs to? said the voice in her head. You'll not have far to go to find the owner of that.
Ivy got up and fetched a little box from the table drawer. It had a few drawing pins rattling around inside, and she emptied these on to the table. She fitted the brooch carefully inside, and tucked in the flap, sealing it with a small rubber band.
Just the right size, she said. Now, I think that will be safest in your desk, Mother, and she took it through to her sitting room, tucking the little box neatly inside a shallow drawer her mother had used for pens and pencils.
She looked out of her window, across the Green where children had come out to play as soon as the rain had stopped. Mark and the twins were jumping in puddles, seeing how much muddy water they could splash into each other's boots. They were all laughing and shouting, and Ivy Beasley felt a stab of loneliness, catching her unawares.
Why was I an only one, Mother?' she said. But this time there was no answering voice in her head. In death as in life, her mother backed away when Ivy ventured a question bordering on intimacy.
Ivy sighed, and went to fetch her raincoat. She did not trust the sky, which still glowered and threatened more showers, in spite of weak sunlight striking wet roofs and leaves. Picking up a bunch of roses cut earlier in the day from her garden, she walked out into the glistening evening to pay homage to her mother's grave.
It was quiet in the graveyard, and Ivy fetched a bucket of water and pulled a scrubbing brush and bar of strong green soap from her basket. She knelt down, and began to scrub the white marble headstone. Not much dirt had collected since Ivy last scrubbed, and when she was satisfied that the stone was sparkling clean, she arranged the roses in a glass vase and stood back to admire the effect.
'Good evening,' said a pleasant, man's voice. She looked round, startled, and saw Richard Standing, dressed in his town clothes, leaning against the old pump and smiling at her.
'Mr Richard!' she said. 'You gave me a fright!'
'So sorry,' said Richard. 'I just saw you from the road and thought I'd catch you for a quick word. It's about the new vicar.'
'A word with me?' said Ivy Beasley, wondering why she should be consulted at this late stage, when her opinion had not been sought before. Richard Standing was aware of this, of course, and, knowing Ivy's influence in the village, decided on the spur of the moment to make her feel she was part of a decision which was, in fact, already made.
'I'd like very much to know what you thought of Nigel Brooks,' he said. 'Your family have been in Ringford very nearly as long as mine, and your comments would be most valuable.' Don't overdo it, Richard, he said to himself, old Ivy's not stupid.
She flushed with pleasure, however, and said, 'I'm not one for making hasty judgements, Mr Richard, but on first meeting he did seem a very nice man, and quite suitable for the village. That's not to say his wife will be the same, o' course.'
Her mouth closed tightly, as if surprised that such favourable sentiments could be expressed by Ivy Beasley.
'Oh good,' said Richard Standing. 'We all liked him very much, and I'm so glad you agree. And as to his wife, they are both coming next week to spend a couple of days looking round. They'll stay at the pub - good sign, I thought, when Nigel suggested it!'
So it's 'Nigel' already, is it, thought Ivy Beasley, well, that must mean he's the one. She felt a little frisson of excitement at the thought, and subdued it instantly. Many a slip, my girl, she told herself, better wait and see what his wife's like.
Peggy sat at her dressing-table in her nightdress brushing her hair and looking absently at herself in the looking glass. She had watched a film on television and gone up to bed later than usual. Just as she pulled the covers back on the lonely double bed the telephone rang.
She stood stock-still in alarm. Who on earth would be ringing her at this time of night? She considered not answering it, but then thought perhaps it might be an emergency and, pulling on her dressing-gown, ran downstairs to the sitting room.
The last voice she was expecting was Bill's. 'Peggy?' he said, and he sounded stiff and strange. She had seldom spoken to him on the telephone, and certainly not in the middle of the night.
'Bill!' she said. 'What's wrong, where are you?'
'In the box up by the village hall,' he said. 'I must see you.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' Peggy said, beginning to feel frightened, sensing something awful. 'It's nearly midnight!'
'If I wait outside in the van, will you slip out and we can go somewhere Ivy won't see us?'
'Bill, this is really silly, why can't it wait until morning?'
'Please, Peggy,' he said, 'please come.'
'But I'm ready for bed,' she said, 'I can't see ...'
There was a click as Bill's money ran out, and then the dialling tone. Peggy put down the telephone and stood frowning. I wish I could ask Frank what to do, she thought, and then realised what a stupid thought it was.
She went back upstairs and looked out of the window. The road was empty in the moonlight, and the village asleep. She sighed with relief, thinking that Bill must have gone home. Then she saw a shadow moving along opposite the school, and knew that it was Bill's old white van. It stopped short of the Stores, out of sight of Victoria Villa, and she heard the engine cut ou
t.
Peggy slowly took off her nightdress, and began to put on the day's clothes still in a heap on a chair. She combed her hair roughly, collected her anorak from a peg in the hall, and quietly let herself out of the back door, going down the path at the side of the Stores and through the little gate on to the pavement outside.
Bill leaned over and opened the passenger door for her, and she got in. He said nothing, but started the engine, and began to back slowly until he could turn up the Bagley Road, then they climbed up the hill and were out of the village.
Neither of them spoke until Bill turned the van off the road into a clearing in the woods and switched off the engine. He put his arms round Peggy and held her so tightly that she could not breathe. He did not kiss her, and she knew something really bad had happened.
'What is it, Bill?' she said, when he finally released her.
Hesitantly, and with his voice breaking from time to time, he told her about Joyce and the rabbits. Peggy listened in growing horror. Nobody would do such a dreadful thing unless they were very sick, or very full of hate.
'Where is she now?' she asked, stroking Bill's hand comfortingly.
'Gone to bed,' he said. 'Sleeping like a baby when I came out. She always does after one of her storms.' He turned and looked at Peggy in the shadowy moonlight under the trees.
'Can I come home with you, Peggy?' he said. 'I could leave before folks are up. I can't go back there tonight.'
Peggy did not answer for a long while, and Bill just sat and looked at her, drawing comfort from her presence, holding her hand. Finally she took a deep breath and said, 'No, Bill, not like this. Not when we're both shocked by your Joyce. And then you having to creep out like some criminal at first light. I couldn't bear it, Bill, not like that.' She did not say that Frank's photograph was by the bed, and she could never turn his face to the wall.
Bill silently shook his head, and his face was so beaten that
Peggy reached out and touched his mouth with her fingers, inviting a kiss.
'Bill,' she said, 'I think I love you ...'
He took her hand and kissed the palm, folding her fingers over and squeezing her fist very gently.
'Could've bin worth it, then,' he said, 'to hear you say that.'
They sat in silence, looking at the woods and the silhouetted tree-tops where the bright moon shone. through. An owl hooted, and they saw it swoop, a whitish floating shadow, absorbed in its nightly hunt, unaware of intruders. Bill reached out and turned the key, and the engine was loud and alien. He backed the van round, and coasted down the hill into Ringford. The village was still and sharply outlined in the moonlight, like an abandoned toy, all life gone out of it.
'I'd better get back and face it,' he said, his voice now firm and more his own. 'I'll do some cleanin' up while she's asleep. And don't forget,' he whispered, as he drew up just before the Stores, 'I know I love you, Peggy Palmer.'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nigel and Sophie Brooks drove over the brow of Bagley Hill and marvelled at the view. It was a calm, brilliant day, and the village smiled, all its green and golden colours heightened in the bright sun. The Ringle glinted through the willows and the white flag pole in the school yard stood out like a marker post for travellers across the- wilderness.
'Slow down, Nigel,' said Sophie, 'there's something in the road down there.'
The something was a herd of black and white cows being driven to new pasture by Foxy Jenkins, and they were taking their time. At last the final cow lumbered by, and Foxy followed, waving his thank you to the car. When he saw who was in it, his smile broadened, and he shouted, 'Mornin', vicar! Mornin', missus!' and went on his gingery way, calling instructions to the cows who took no notice at all but wandered where impulse took them.
'Looked a nice chap,' said Sophie, her spirits rising. It had been a grey, misty morning when they left Wales, and she and Nigel had travelled in silence for most of the first hour or so. Then, as the sun began to break through, Nigel talked about Round Ringford, telling Sophie details which were coming back to him as he drove nearer to the village.
He was at that church meeting,' said Nigel. 'Can't remember his name, but he had a fat and jolly wife.'
Nigel had had a telephone call from Richard Standing, who said that of course it all had to be finalised by the Bishop and a number of formalities gone through, but assured him that if he still wanted the living of Round Ringford, Fletching and Waltonby, it was his. Nigel and Sophie had celebrated with a half-bottle of good champagne, and toasted each other over a delicious supper enthusiastically prepared by Sophie.
'Are we to go straight to the pub?' said Sophie, turning her head this way and that, not wanting to miss anything as they drove down the main street past the Green and came to a halt outside the Standing Arms.
'Yes, Richard Standing will find us later on, he said.'
'Come on, then, Nigel,' said Sophie, 'let's go and check in. I can't wait to get out into the village and see the church and the vicarage and ... oh, come on Nigel, quickly!'
Their progress had been observed from Victoria Villa, and Ivy Beasley felt her heart flutter in an unaccustomed way as she caught sight of a handsome greying head, and knew it was Nigel Brooks. For the moment, Ivy had only a swift impression of the red hair and fine features of Sophie sitting beside him.
She got out of her chair and watched the car pull up outside the pub. The passenger door opened first, and a small, slender woman got out, stretching and turning round in a complete circle, taking in the whole village in a long, slow look.
Looks a bit of a titch, Mother, said Ivy Beasley, and pulled the lace curtain a little to one side to get a better view. The driver's door opened, and the familiar figure of Nigel Brooks emerged. Ivy thrust tightly closed hands into her cardigan pockets and watched Nigel say something to Sophie, and then both of them disappeared into the Standing Arms.
Ivy walked back into the kitchen and looked at herself in the small mirror over the sink. She saw a long face, the skin red and coarsened by lack of care, and a short bush of grey hair cut relentlessly without shape. Her eyes stared back at her, grey, with flecks of black, and short, straight lashes. Not much to look at there, Mother. Never was, said her mother's voice, looks aren't everything. Ivy tried a smile at the face in the mirror, and was comforted by her white, even teeth. Pity there's not much to smile about, said Ivy. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, said the answering voice, get on and do something useful.
But Ivy felt restless. She didn't want to bake, or work in the garden, or knit. Even the prospect of seeing Bill Turner going yet again into the shop could not tempt her back to the window. I think I'll nip up and see Doris, she thought, take her a few peas. Not for one moment would she admit to herself that she might just bump into the Reverend Nigel Brooks. 'That's very nice of you, Ivy,' said a surprised Doris, taking the little basket full of fresh pea pods and two small lettuces from the garden of Victoria Villa. 'Have you had your dinner, or do you want a sandwich with me?'
Ivy would usually have spurned such an offer, rejecting a quick sandwich as part of the general decline in standards, but today she needed company and so nodded stiffly. 'If you've got some spare, Doris, I wouldn't say no,' she said.
It was very pleasant in Doris's little sitting room, with the sunshine warming it, and the two women sat eating and drinking tea, chatting idly and watching the Roberts and Jenkins children with their bikes and dolls' prams and footballs.
'You got company here, anyway, Doris,' said Ivy. 'You could've been lonely after all them years in the shop with folks in and out all the time.'
'Quite right, Ivy,' said Doris, 'it's almost as good a look-out as your front room.'
Ivy looked at her suspiciously, but Doris's face was bland. 'Do you fancy a bit of ice-cream, Ivy?'
'Turning into quite a party!' said Ivy Beasley, and at that moment caught sight of Nigel and Sophie Brooks walking hand in hand across the end of the Gardens.
'No thanks, Doris,' she ca
lled out to the kitchen, 'better be off now- thanks for the sandwiches.' She was out of the door and halfway down Macmillan Gardens before the ice-cream was dished out, and Doris stared at her retreating back in amazement.
'Might have known something was behind Ivy callin' like that,' she said to old Ellen as they met later outside the shop. 'What's she schemin' now?' said Ellen. 'God 'elp some poor soul.'
Sophie sat with Nigel in Ivy's front room wondering how they could get away. Ivy had nabbed them as they stood looking across the Green, and asked them if they'd like a glass of elderflower wine to quench their thirst.
'It is most delicious,' said Nigel appreciatively. 'Have you always made wine, Miss Beasley?'
'Oh, indeed, Reverend Brooks,' said Ivy, 'and my mother before me, and generations of Beasleys before that. We've lived in this village for hundreds of years, you know, though not in this particular house.'
Ivy's voice had a strangulated posh edge, and the voice in her head said warning things to her as she poured herself another glass of the cool, clear wine. Ivy ignored them.
'We are very much looking forward to you coming to Ringford,' she said, remembering to include Sophie in her smile. 'When do you think you will be with us? In time for Open Gardens Sunday?'
'Unfortunately not, but it should be by the end of August with any luck,' said Nigel, returning her smile with his customary twinkle. 'There seem to be no obstacles, and we can't wait, can we, Sophie?'
Sophie nodded, and tried to signal with her eyes to Nigel that she wanted to go. There was something not quite right about this Beasley woman, something lurking under the surface that Sophie did not like. She stood up, draining her glass.
'Well, Nigel, if we are to see the rest of the village, we must be moving.'
Nigel took the hint, and stretched out his hand to Ivy Beasley. She took it and he shook hands warmly.
‘Thank you so much for your warm welcome, Miss Beasley,' he said. 'No doubt we shall soon be firm friends!'