Murder at Cleeve Abbey
Page 19
‘What about Betsy? Where did she go after her argument with Mr McCallum?’
‘I assumed she had gone home. It was only the next day that I learned she had left the village.’
‘Mr Cripps, you said yourself Betsy was distressed.’ Flora kept her voice calm but found her impatience with this man difficult to hide. ‘She ran off, presumably in only the clothes she stood up in, and no one has seen her since. You do know the police are looking for her?’
‘Apparently so. I believe they questioned both Mr McCallum and your father, amongst others of course.’
‘Surely they didn’t think my father had anything to do with Betsy’s disappearance? He would only have spoken to her-’
‘Please don’t misunderstand me.’ He raised a hand, halting. ‘I doubt that very much. Besides, he spent the rest of the afternoon at the fête, as everyone will tell you.’
‘What do you think happened to Betsy Mason?’ Bunny asked. His hand closed on Flora’s in her lap, as if he sensed her growing anger.
‘I don’t indulge in local gossip or speculation, Mr Harrington. In my position, one needs to place oneself above such things, naturally.
‘Naturally,’ Flora murmured, though her sarcasm passed him by.
‘I did mention to Mrs Mountjoy that I believed the uh-liaison to be over, but she didn’t seem at all interested.’ He blinked, evidently confused. ‘I thought that quite strange, after the fuss she had made. The only reason I mentioned this at all was because you’ve been asking questions, I—’
‘Who said I was asking questions, Mr Cripps?’ Flora asked.
‘Why Mrs Mountjoy did, when I saw her yesterday.’
‘Mrs Mountjoy seems to insinuate herself into most situations, apparently,’ Flora said through pursed lips. ‘Though my interest was never in Betsy Mason.’ Maybe it should be?
‘She’s a good woman and has the interests of the community at heart.’
Flora gave him a weak smile as she tugged on her gloves, experiencing a sudden urge to leave the dusty vicarage as soon as possible. ‘Good day to you, Mr Cripps.’
17
‘That was unexpected,’ Bunny said as they retraced their steps around the side of the church. ‘Maybe Reverend Cripps hasn’t heard the gossip about Mrs Mountjoy and McCallum.’
‘I don’t believe that for a moment. More likely he saw it as respectable.’
‘I gather you don’t think much of our venerable reverend?’
She tightened her grip on Bunny’s arm as they left the neat churchyard behind them and strolled the grass verge beneath a row of trees that lined the road, going from shadow to sunlight and back into shadow again.
‘He’s typical of his class and generation. He’s the type who aligns himself with the highest-ranking member of his congregation, content to slander anyone lower on the social scale. Like poor Betsy. I didn’t hear him criticize Mr McCallum.’
‘You could be right.’
‘I know I am. I attended his Sunday school as a child, although as a butler’s daughter he saw no advantage in cultivating my good opinion.’ Flora slowed her steps as they negotiated the incline at the top of the High Street. ‘Oh dear, that sounds bitter doesn’t it?’
‘A little.’ Bunny massaged her arm with his other hand. ‘I don’t like to think of anyone being unkind to you. Didn’t your father have a word with him?’
‘I didn’t carry my complaints to him. Besides, the hierarchy of a servants’ hall dictates what sort of life you have. The maid’s children get bullied by the housekeeper’s. The groom’s children are lorded over by the estate manager’s and so on. I fared better than some.’ Her thoughts went back to what Reverend Cripps had said about the fête. ‘If Caroline Mountjoy had turned her attentions to William,’ Flora began, ‘why the keen interest in what McCallum and Betsy were doing? Unless it was simply to cause trouble for him after being rejected.’
‘Who knows? A woman scorned and all that.’
She halted and dragged him back a pace. ‘Is my judgement flawed in some way? Because as soon as I think I begin to understand our Mr McCallum, something else comes to light which throws his entire character open to speculation again. He’s like a ghost slipping through cracks.’ She set off again, her feet picking out the smoother areas of the uneven road.
‘He’s not the only one.’ Bunny interjected. ‘That Scrivens gives me the creeps the way he appears out of nowhere. Then there is the estate manager, who would rather circuit the entire grounds rather than acknowledge anyone.’
‘Mr Bracenose?’ Flora frowned. ‘He’s always been quite nice to me. Surly maybe and abrupt but that could be his manner.’
‘More like shifty I would say. Tom Murray has his secrets too, I mean how did he get that shiner?’
‘Ah you noticed that? He says he walked into something but it looks more like a fight to me.’
‘And to me. Over Betsy do you think?’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me. Betsy could still be lying out there.’ Flora recalled the tightly packed trees in Bailey Wood, where little light penetrated. The damp and musty atmosphere would turn into thick mist at night when the temperature dropped. She shivered just thinking about it.
‘I doubt it. From what I’ve heard, the search for your father was quite comprehensive. Had Betsy still been in the area she would have been found. Maybe on this occasion gossip is accurate and she simply left.’
Flora had no response. This was so different from hunting down clues on board the Minneapolis. There she had no emotion invested in the guilt or innocence of strangers. Cleeve Abbey was her home, the people in it integral to her life; even the ones she barely knew were friends of those she loved.
*
In the village high street, they rounded a corner of a building whose cob walls jutted into the road. A sign swung above their heads which bore a pale-bellied bird with a fantail which declared it was The Red Kite public house.
‘S’cuse me, Miss,’ a man murmured, head down as he skirted round them, applying a broom to the dirt road.
‘Mr Griggs?’ Flora said, recognizing him. ‘It’s Flora. Don’t you remember me?’
He raised his head, his eyes dark and hostile and his lips pressed into a firm line. In seconds his eyes lit with recognition and he tugged at his cap. ‘Beg pardon, Miss Flora. Didn’t recognize you for a moment.’ He crossed swollen, arthritic knuckles over the broom handle. ‘I ’eard about Mr Maguire,’ he said in a bald, bland statement with no emotion attached.
Andrew Griggs couldn’t have been above forty, but a life of hard work and personal tragedy meant his years didn’t sit well on him. Fine lines radiated from his piercing blue eyes, while deeper ones carved grooves between his nose and mouth. He held himself like a man with a heavy burden, stooped and defeated.
‘Thank you. In fact I’m Mrs Harrington now. This is my husband, Mr Harrington.’ She indicated Bunny, who thrust out his hand. ‘I heard about your niece, Betsy. You must be very worried.’
Griggs hesitated, wiped a hand on his trousers and shook Bunny’s. ‘Betsy!’ He snorted and swiped a sleeve beneath his nose, the broom held loosely in his other hand. ‘Nothing but trouble that girl, from the day she came to live ’ere. Always chasing the men she was, though they didn’t exactly make it difficult for her.’
‘I heard she was, is, a very pretty girl. She commanded a lot of attention,’ Flora said, implying the situation may not have been entirely Betsy’s fault.
‘Couldn’t get a decent day’s work out of her.’ Griggs’ top lip curled, unimpressed. ‘Always going off at all hours. Wasn’t as if I could manage without the help, either. What with my Peter showing the signs of the consumption that took off his mother.’
‘Again, I’m very sorry to hear that.’ Flora recalled a tow-headed boy who played on the village green. He had been about eleven when she last saw him but thought at the time he looked younger. ‘What does the doctor say?’
‘Doctor?’ Griggs snorted, the broom swaying pre
cariously in his hand. ‘Haven’t got money fer doctors. I get a tonic from the pharmacy in Montpellier Street when I can afford it. Reginald Meeks makes it up for me. Peter seems to perk up for a while after taking it. Anyway, not much can be done if it is the consumption.’
He didn’t add that he had lost his wife to the illness, though from pragmatism or a deep-seated bitterness that he was about to lose a child too was unclear.
‘Mr Griggs,’ Bunny gave the façade of The Red Kite a sweeping glance, ‘I take it you’re the landlord here?’ Rewarded with a curt nod, he went on, ‘Did you hear about the beer at the fête being contaminated?’
‘Heard about it!’ Griggs turned his head and spat on the ground, his eyes bright with resentment. ‘I don’t like to cast aspersions on good men, Miss, but your pa did me no favours on that score.’
‘What do you mean, Griggs?’ Bunny took a step forward, shielding Flora.
She tightened her hold on his arm, reassuring him she was in no danger.
‘Maguire asked some pretty damning questions about the beer I serve here.’ Griggs waved a hand at the public room behind him. ‘Practically accused me of buying home brew, which everyone knows is illegal.’ A bead of spittle settled on his bottom lip, which curled into a grimace. ‘As if I would do something that stupid. I get all me beer from McCallum’s.’
‘I’m sure my father didn’t mean to accuse you,’ Flora said. ‘He wasn’t that kind of man.’
‘Nay, well mebbe not.’ His mouth twitched as if he realized he had gone too far. ‘Someone must have heard him though, because when those men got sick after the fête, they went to the White Hart for their ale.’
‘Is that still the case?’ Bunny asked. ‘Are villagers still boycotting the pub?’
‘Well, no. Mr McCallum proved there was nothing wrong with his beer after your father stirred things up. Had his place inspected and everything. He told the parish council meeting that all my beer came from his brewery and had been passed as fit.’
‘Then the matter was settled, Mr Griggs,’ Flora said stiffly. ‘I’m sure my father wouldn’t have let anyone blame you after the truth was revealed.’
‘Aye, well.’ Griggs hefted the broom in both hands again. ‘All I know is I lost money. And with Betsy running off like that, and everyone thinking she was no better than she should be, well, I can do without the aggravation.’
‘Are you certain Betsy ran off?’ Flora asked. Perhaps he knew more than they did at the Abbey. ‘Did she have a particular gentleman friend?’
Griggs shook his head. ‘Could have been any one of them scruffy youths who hung about her. Betsy wasn’t one to relish her own company, if you see what I mean.’
Griggs didn’t appear at all concerned about his niece, or care whether or not she was safe. Most of Griggs’ complaints appeared to be the creations of a discontented man. Not that he did not have good reason to feel sorry for himself. However, there was something about self-pity that repelled people, and Flora wasn’t immune.
Griggs ducked his head. ‘My condolences anyway for Mr Maguire, but I have to get on. There’s only me to do all the work now and I’m due to open in half an hour.’
‘Of course,’ Flora said, relieved. ‘Don’t let us keep you.’
The cool, dark interior of the taproom was in stark contrast to the relentless, blinding sun that reflected off the white painted walls as Flora and Bunny set off again towards the Abbey.
Every step was an effort and before long Flora was breathless. Her black calico blouse was the thinnest she could find but it clung to her damp skin. ‘Slow down a little, Bunny, this heat is giving me a headache.
‘Not far to go now.’ Bunny grasped her hand and pulled her up the incline, past the green where a group of children played ball near the fountain. They passed the local store where trestle tables lined up outside bore boxes of fresh vegetables and plump red strawberries and aromas of nutmeg and thyme wafted through the open door.
Bunny worked his charm on a shopkeeper and purchased a bag of ripe strawberries, leaving the woman blushing at his effusive praise about her immaculate establishment.
‘Did you notice,’ Flora asked, gripping the brown paper bag as they set off again, ‘Griggs was scathing about Betsy’s male admirers, but he didn’t mention Mr McCallum, who hardly fits the “scruffy youth” category.’ Flora peered up at him. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘That Reverend Gibbs seemed inclined to absolve McCallum of wrongdoing in respect of Betsy. Perhaps he is more sinned against than sinning.’ Bunny bit his lip in a gesture which told Flora he was about to alter his opinion, but didn’t know where to begin. ‘I should have mentioned this before, but from what both William and Lord Vaughn said over billiards last night, McCallum wasn’t actually involved with Betsy.’
‘You told me yesterday that he was.’ Flora dragged one foot in front of the other, kicking up puffs of road dust with each step.
‘I may have jumped the gun there.’ Bunny winced. ‘It appears McCallum is the target of women, he doesn’t chase them. Lord Vaughn said your father was convinced Betsy had set her cap at him, but there was no actual relationship. I suspect that wasn’t a break-up of a love affair the vicar saw at the fête, but a rejection.’
Flora dug a hand into the bag of strawberries. ‘That’s the conclusion I came to, especially after what McCallum told me about his wife.’ She spoke through a mouthful of the sweet, red flesh that dribbled juice down her chin.
‘Then it looks like your new beau was the innocent party.’ Bunny’s voice held reluctance. ‘Not only did he sort out the misunderstanding over the beer, he didn’t seduce Betsy either.’
‘You sound disappointed. And he isn’t my beau.’ She wiped her face on a handkerchief but her chin still felt sticky.
‘There’s nothing so attractive as a grieving widower who eschews female company. Women see him as a challenge,’ Bunny said. ‘Perhaps Caroline had no more luck than Betsy, and was jealous of her, so she asked the vicar to intervene.’
‘Even though as you say, there was no relationship between them?’
‘Perhaps Mrs Mountjoy believed there was and set out to ruin it. We know she was genuinely interested in Mr McCallum before she turned her attentions to William.’
‘Hmm, I suppose so.’ The beginnings of a heat headache began to pummel her temples and a trickle of sweat pooled around the waistband of her bombazine skirt. Hetty’s famous lemonade would have been very welcome just then.
‘Or,’ Bunny mused, ‘Caroline decided to stir up local feeling against McCallum out of spite. A woman scorned and all that.’
‘You are trotting out all the clichés today aren’t you?’ Flora laughed. ‘Jocasta told me Caroline had shifted her attentions to William when he arrived from South Africa. There was no suggestion of any rejection on either side. Even if she had, would she go to the length of poisoning McCallum’s beer simply to soothe her own hurt pride?’
‘You’ve met the woman. She’s not exactly shy and retiring is she?’
‘No, but that does seem excessive. If she was responsible, she hurt more people than Graham McCallum.’
‘Not everyone has your social conscience, Flora.’ Bunny extended a hand to assist her over a stile. ‘They see only their own ambitions, disregarding inconvenient things like consequences.’ He circled her waist with both hands and lifted her onto the dirt path.
‘Our devising scenarios is all very well,’ Flora waved off a bumblebee that flew close to her face with the bag of strawberries, ‘but we have no real evidence. More importantly, how does my father feature in all this, to the extent someone would want him dead? I wonder if the fact Caroline got Bracenose to do her fetching and carrying has any bearing.’ Flora followed the flight of a blue butterfly as it floated between gorse flowers on the grass verge.
She was about to set off again when she realized Bunny wasn’t at her side. She turned back to where he had halted several paces behind her and stared about in confusion.
‘I thought you would like to see the cottage. If I remember correctly, it’s this side of the stables and on the other side of this bend.’
The white-painted building with its neat red-tiled roof looked as empty as when Flora had first seen it; the windows like vacant eyes behind which nothing moved. The lawn needed mowing and a gardener would have shaken his head over the weeds that had sprung up between rows of marigolds and nasturtiums.
‘It’s quite pretty, like a picture on a box of Peak Freans shortbread biscuits.’ Bunny stood at the waist-high gate and tilted his head on one side, then the other. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it was the sort of place which would give anyone nightmares.’
‘Haven’t you read Hansel and Gretel?’ Flora smiled up at him from beneath the rim of her straw hat, her attention caught by a movement to her right. What looked like a female figure disappeared behind a tree at the rear of the garden. A flash of a yellow skirt and a hat trailing a white ribbon disappeared into the next field behind the cottage, too far away to make out a face, or even the woman’s hair colour. She stared at the spot for several seconds, but the figure did not appear.
Her gaze returned to the cottage, while images like sepia photographs with blurred edges marched through her head. The rug on the kitchen floor, the crack in the flagstone, the ponderous black cooking range, all overlaid by the sight and smell of blood; everything that made her dreams so disturbing. Her breathing quickened and she became aware Bunny stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders.
‘Take a few slow, deep breaths, Flora,’ he said in a low whisper. ‘A week ago you didn’t know about this place. It’s just a house. Bricks, mortar and wood. It cannot hurt you now. Think of it as a puzzle you have to find the pieces to.’