Dry Bones

by Margaret Mayhew

  ‘All that awful dyed hair,’ another said. ‘It was a joke!’

  ‘Actually, to be fair, Lois, I think it was real. A lot of Swedes have hair that colour and men always seem to fall for it. Hook, line and sinker. Remember the Brigadier making a complete fool of himself?’

  ‘He wasn’t the only one, was he?’

  The Colonel took his time, browsing along the shelves. More names were mentioned – some he knew, most he didn’t. Agreement was reached over the incompetence of the police, the unlikelihood of the crime ever being solved and the fact that it didn’t much matter anyway. Gunilla Bjork had only got what she deserved. The shop bell jangled loudly as the coven dispersed.

  The Colonel emerged with his newspaper. Vera was standing behind the counter, impassive as always. He would have been interested to know her thoughts.

  As he paid, he said pleasantly, ‘Beautiful day, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very nice.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you get much time for sitting in the sun.’

  ‘I don’t get much time to sit anywhere. Nor does Alice.’

  ‘No, I shouldn’t think she does.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, we’re thinking of selling up.’

  ‘Really? That would be a sad loss to the village.’

  ‘We’re not very concerned about the village,’ she said. ‘It’s not the place it was when we first arrived here. We’ve come to that conclusion.’

  He took the change she was holding out. ‘Do you have somewhere else in mind?’

  ‘Norfolk. I used to go there for holidays as a child, and Alice likes the idea of living by the sea. There’s something clean and honest about it.’

  ‘I know what you mean. Would you open another shop?’

  ‘I don’t think so. The business would be too seasonal, and it’s time we retired. Alice hasn’t been well recently.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  ‘The business over Gunilla Bjork has upset her a lot.’

  ‘Yes, she seemed rather distressed about it.’

  ‘She hated Gunilla, you know.’

  ‘But you didn’t?’

  ‘I fell under her spell, Colonel, if you want the truth, and she treated me like she treated all the rest. She was completely heartless. In the end, I hated her as much as Alice did. We neither of us had anything to do with her death, but it was a very painful episode for us, and still is. So, it’s better we move away from here, you see. Close the door behind us.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll both be missed.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think so. We’ll sell to someone who’ll keep up the same standard. That’s all these people will care about.’

  He was not very surprised by her assessment of the residents of King’s Mowbray.

  ‘I’ll be leaving myself, as a matter of fact. Mrs Heathcote has a replacement couple arriving next week and her husband will be returning soon from abroad.’

  ‘I hear the property is on the market. I wonder if they’ll find a buyer, considering what happened there.’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think there’ll be too much difficulty. The estate agents don’t seem to think it will make any difference.’

  She looked at him steadily. ‘Life moves on, doesn’t it, Colonel? Gunilla Bjork will soon be forgotten.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I expect she will.’

  ‘You won’t mention what I just told you – about us leaving?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I know I can trust you.’

  How does she know, he wondered, as he walked back through the village. How can she be so certain? Why did people place such blind faith in him? Extraordinary.

  He should, he knew, relay his conversation with Vera to Detective Chief Inspector Rodgers. After all, she had freely admitted that both she and Alice had hated Gunilla – Alice from jealousy, herself from heartless rejection. They had both certainly had a motive, even though Vera had denied that either of them had anything to do with the Swedish girl’s death. But the Inspector was most unlikely to be interested; as far as he was concerned the case was virtually closed.

  For once, Ester Simmons was not working in her garden. Passing her cottage, he saw that the door was shut, though windows were open. She, at least, had not entrusted him with her secret – whatever it was.

  On an impulse, he went up to the front door and knocked. After a while, she opened it, looking startled. He lifted his cap to her.

  ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you,’ he said. ‘But I wanted to ask you the name of those charming blue flowers by your gate.’

  ‘They’re blue poppies,’ she said. ‘Meconopsis grandis, if you want the Latin name.’

  He smiled at her. ‘Plain English will do. Are they hard to grow?’

  ‘I’ve never had any trouble. I divide the clump every two or three years and they don’t seem to mind.’

  ‘Well, they’re very attractive. I’ll remember the name.’

  She hesitated. ‘You’re welcome to come in for a cup of coffee, if you like, Colonel.’

  ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘Not at all. I seldom get visitors these days. It’ll make a pleasant change.’

  He went into a narrow hallway, which Hans Birger would certainly have eliminated, and followed her into the sitting room.

  It reminded him of Miss Butler’s front room at Lupin Cottage, which had the same air of impoverished gentility, but it was nothing like as pin-neat nor as spotlessly clean. Freda Butler would have been shocked by the old ashes lingering in the fire grate, the unpolished brass fender, by the layer of dust and the disorder.

  He waited while Ester Simmons went off to make the tea, looking round the room with curiosity. In his experience, photographs put out on display often provided interesting clues to their owner – as in the case of Miss Butler’s fearsome father, the Admiral, who glared down from the top of a bureau. But here there was only a faded studio portrait of a nondescript couple in Edwardian clothing and another of a young woman wearing a nurse’s uniform – the proper old-fashioned kind of uniform with frilled and starched cap and cuffs. He would have expected to see several photos of Miss Simmons seated in the centre of rows of village schoolchildren, but there was nothing of the kind. He was looking at the nurse again when Ester Simmons came back carrying a tray with two cups of coffee.

  ‘My late sister,’ she said. ‘She trained at Guy’s Hospital in London. She died before she was thirty. Cancer.’

  ‘How sad. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It was a long, long time ago. I find it extraordinary to think that while she has never grown old, I’m now in my eighties. I wonder what it would be like for us to meet again? Like two strangers, I suppose. If there’s such a thing as the afterlife, I can’t imagine how that sort of oddity is sorted out. Do you believe in life after death, Colonel?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Don’t worry, nor do I. To be honest, I hope there isn’t one. The mere idea is exhausting.’

  ‘Were you close to your sister?’

  ‘Very. We shared rather a miserable childhood. Our parents believed in strict discipline and not sparing the rod. Come to that, so do I. I suppose I must have inherited from them. I can’t stand all the mollycoddling and nonsense that goes on today. Parents blaming teachers for correcting their spoiled children’s appalling behaviour. Child psychiatrists making up all sorts of ridiculous excuses for it. Children getting away with murder. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of corporal punishment in my view, if it’s deserved.’ She set the tray down on a low table. ‘Do you take sugar?’

  The cups and saucers, he realized, had exactly the same pattern as those used by the Frog End Women’s Institute to serve teas at local functions, including the annual summer fête. For some reason, he felt a pang of homesickness.

  He said, ‘The police don’t seem to have made much progress in finding Gunilla Bjork’s killer, do they?’

  ‘I didn’t expect them to.’

  ‘Do
you have any thoughts yourself?’

  ‘Thoughts, Colonel?’

  ‘You knew the girl, and what she was like. I remember you describing her as Trouble with a capital T.’

  ‘That’s right. She was.’

  ‘And you disliked her very much?’

  ‘Yes, I certainly did. And I wasn’t alone in that, I might add. At first, I felt rather sorry for her. You see, I occasionally used to have pupils at my school who were rather similar. There was always some fundamental flaw in their make-up or some happening in their background that was not their fault and I found that it could never be eradicated. In my opinion, Gunilla fell into that category. But there was also something quite evil about her. She enjoyed the harm and suffering she caused. It amused her very much.’

  ‘Did you come across her at the Golden Pheasant?’

  ‘I don’t go to pubs, Colonel. I don’t drink.’

  ‘But you saw enough of her to know what she was like?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I knew what she was like. She used to walk by this house on her way to and from the village shop. She had a sweet tooth, you see, and she was very fond of Alice’s cakes. As I told you, Vera was very smitten with her. Besotted is the word. Poor Alice was extremely upset.’

  ‘So I gather.’

  ‘The shop is a hotbed for gossip, of course, but I hardly ever go there myself – it’s too expensive for me. I go to a supermarket in town instead, once a month in my old car.’

  ‘You hear all the gossip, nonetheless?’

  ‘It comes to me, Colonel. I spend a lot of time working in my garden and people often stop to talk at my gate as they pass by. They don’t like me much, but they use me as a sort of listening post. I hear most of what’s going on in the village.’

  ‘Did Gunilla ever stop to talk to you?’

  ‘No. I was of no interest to her. But, one day, when she was going past, I stopped her and told her exactly what I thought about her behaviour.’

  ‘And what did she say?’

  ‘She said I was a frustrated old maid and told me to mind my own business.’ Miss Simmons stirred her coffee briskly. ‘There was another occasion when she spoke to me, Colonel. I may as well tell you about it. I know I can trust your discretion.’

  For the second time in a single day his discretion was on the line.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Some time later, when she came by, she called me over to the gate. I thought at first that she might be going to apologize for her rudeness but, of course, she wasn’t. Instead, she said that she had something to tell me. Something I ought to know.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘She told me that a man had come into the Golden Pheasant who had been one of my pupils at the village school, many years ago. She said that he’d told her all about how I’d beaten him until he bled and that I’d taken a perverted pleasure in it. He said that I’d done the same to other children in the school as well but they were all too frightened to tell anyone. Then she said that she was going to tell all the people in the village because they should know how wicked I was.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I told her to do what she damned well liked. I told her nobody would believe a word of it and that she’d made the whole thing up. Of course, she laughed at me – the same way she laughed at everybody. It wasn’t me that was wicked, Colonel, it was her.’

  ‘What happened, then?’

  ‘She disappeared.’ Ester Simmons gave him a dry look. ‘And I don’t deny that I was extremely glad to see the back of her. But that doesn’t mean that I murdered her. I can assure you that I didn’t.’

  Crispin Fellows might have been on the right track, he thought. Caning children had been common enough in those days; six of the best had been perfectly normal. But perverted pleasure taken in it was a different matter altogether.

  ‘You do believe me, don’t you, Colonel?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  But he wasn’t sure if he did. Or if he didn’t.

  THIRTEEN

  Cornelia was having lunch with a friend, which gave the Colonel a perfect excuse to stop at the Golden Pheasant to sample some more of their home cooking and Edward Maplin’s ale. Sausage and mash was on the menu: a good old English dish, the kind he liked best.

  He ordered it from Kevin and took his pint over to the corner table where he had sat before. Betty Turner brought a mat, cutlery and a proper napkin.

  ‘Nice to see you again, sir. You’re getting to be quite a regular.’

  He smiled. ‘Not for much longer, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure Mrs Heathcote’s been very thankful to have your help.’ She moved a step closer and lowered her voice. ‘The police came to ask me more questions.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘They wanted to know if I knew what Gunilla’s suitcase looked like.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Well, I only went into her room a couple of times and I can’t really remember. It was dark blue, I think, and cheap, like cardboard. Anyway, it was gone when I came back from helping with my grandson. There wasn’t anything at all left of Gunilla’s in the room. Nothing. I know that because Mrs Barton asked me to give it a good clean. I was amazed that Gunilla had cleared it out so thoroughly, considering how lazy and messy she always was, and with her leaving in such a hurry. Mrs Barton told me she went the same day that Mr Barton gave her the sack. Couldn’t wait to be out of the place.’

  ‘What did Mrs Barton think of Gunilla?’

  ‘I don’t know. She never said. She always kept her opinions to herself. I suppose she had to put up with her, seeing that she couldn’t help her husband like he needed. Not that Gunilla ever did much work. Between you and me, I think Mr Barton only hired her in the first place because he thought she’d be good for business. The pub hadn’t been doing too well before Gunilla arrived on the scene. Once word got around about her, everything changed and the customers were flocking in.’

  ‘How did Mr Barton treat her?’

  ‘Well, he’d be angry with her when she hadn’t done something she was supposed to do, but she’d get away with it, every time. She’d peep round her hair at him, like she did with all the others, and she’d laugh at him.’ Mrs Turner gave the linen napkin a tweak. ‘Of course, men are all the same.’

  The Colonel rather hoped that he was included in this sweeping statement; it would be nice to know that, for once, he was not considered entirely trustworthy.

  ‘Do you mean Mr Barton was attracted by Gunilla?’

  ‘Oh yes. He didn’t show it – he wasn’t that kind of man – but I could tell that he was. And she’d have known it. She flirted with him, like she did with all the rest. Of course, she was just leading him on. Playing her games. He wouldn’t have been at all her type.’

  ‘What exactly was her type?’

  ‘Hard to say. But she liked them to be a bit of fun.’

  ‘And Mr Barton wasn’t fun?’

  ‘He was overworked, poor man – running a pub’s a very hard job – and there was always Mrs Barton’s health to worry about. I felt sorry for him.’

  The sausage and mash, when it came, was accompanied by a rich onion gravy and mushy peas. And, praise God, Betty Turner even remembered the Colman’s English mustard.

  Afterwards, he walked on towards the house, thinking over what Betty Turner had told him. Inspector Rodgers had dismissed the Bartons as of no consequence to the investigation: Mrs Barton being a sick old lady and Mr Barton beyond communication in his grave. The Colonel was not so sure he agreed. The Bartons could hold the key to what had happened to Gunilla. And why.

  He arrived at the house at the same time as Cornelia returned in the Range Rover from her lunch. She was in high spirits and he realized that she was rather drunk.

  ‘Pour me a brandy, will you, Hugh? I feel like celebrating.’

  He fetched the decanter and a glass, poured the five star brandy and lit her cigarette.

  ‘What are you celebrating, Cornelia
?’

  ‘Getting rid of this bloody place. Henry Willoughby called me to say they’ve already got someone interested.’

  ‘That’s fast.’

  ‘Well, they know what they’re doing. He’s bringing them here tomorrow. They’re Dutch, apparently. They grow tulips in a big way. I don’t care if they’re Hottentots so long as they buy it.’ She took a gulp at the glass. ‘Won’t you join me, Hugh?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Well, sit down, at least. Don’t just stand there. My God, I’ll be rid of Gunilla Bjork at last! I can forget all about that horrible bitch.’

  He said, ‘Not quite yet. Her murder hasn’t been solved.’

  ‘And it probably won’t be, will it? How can the police ever find out? It’s been too long. Too late. They don’t care anyway. Nobody does. She wasn’t worth caring about.’

  He watched her take another gulp. ‘You never told me about the Bartons, Cornelia.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The couple who employed Gunilla at the Golden Pheasant.’

  ‘Oh, them. What about them? There was nothing to tell except that they weren’t very good at running a pub, poor things. In fact, they were useless. You’ve got to know what you’re doing these days – like Henry Willoughby.’

  ‘Apparently, Roy Barton fell for Gunilla.’

  ‘Well, I expect he did. I mean, there she was flaunting herself like crazy and he had an invalid wife . . . Of course he did. But Gunilla wouldn’t have bothered with him, except to tease him. He was a very dreary sort of man.’

  ‘No fun?’

  ‘No fun at all. And she liked fun, God rot her! Well, she did rot, didn’t she? Down to her bones.’ Cornelia emptied her glass. ‘I think I’ll go and lie down for a bit, Hugh.’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea.’

  She started up the circular staircase, clinging with both hands to the steel rail, and he called after her.

  ‘By the way, I’ll be out tomorrow.’

  She stopped and turned round. ‘All day?’

  ‘Yes, all day.’

  ‘But you’ll be back by the evening?’

  ‘I should think so.’

  ‘Where are you going, Hugh?’

  He said firmly, ‘That’s my business, Cornelia.’