Tragedy at Two

by Ann Purser

  “Maybe not,” Sam said. “If I’m not allowed to look at fields, I might go into Tresham on the bus and catch the four thirty back.”

  Sheila’s mood deepened. Go to Tresham . . . and meet someone? Who? She was sure there was someone. She got into her car and drove off to her client in Fletching, trying to concentrate her mind on cleaning.

  “WHO WAS THAT ON THE PHONE?” ALF ASKED. HE HAD COME into the farmhouse kitchen to find Edwina replacing the receiver.

  “Oh, that woman from WI headquarters, trying to persuade us to get a rounders team together for the county tournament.”

  “So will you?” Alf said, smiling as he pictured the ladies of the WI wielding a rounders bat. Heaven help anybody who got in the way!

  “I’ll have to speak to Mrs. T-J. She’s in charge,” Edwina said. “By the way,” she continued, “I see we’re low on several things we need from the wholesaler. I’ll go in this morning and stock up. Library, too,” she added, “my book’s overdue.”

  “What about lunch? Shall I get something?”

  “I’ll make you a sandwich before I go,” Edwina replied. You wicked woman, she thought, but not very seriously. Your poor husband has to exist on a sandwich, while you go off gallivanting with your lover. It was some time since she had seen Sam, and the thought of having lunch with him in that new place behind the library drove all creeping feelings of guilt from her mind.

  “Have a good trip, then, lovey,” said Alf. “I reckon I’ll give Sam Stratford a ring, see if he can come over and give me a hand with a bit o’ fencing.”

  Ooops! Edwina had a momentary pang of alarm. Why would he say that, out of the blue? She looked at him closely, but his bland face gave nothing away. She went out to collect the eggs.

  THE SMALL CAFÉ WAS ALMOST EMPTY WHEN EDWINA ARRIVED. She looked around for Sam, but could see only one single lady sitting at the window looking out into the small passage that ran round the back of the library. The waitress came out with her order pad, and Edwina said she was waiting for someone and would order when he came. He shouldn’t be long, she said.

  “No hurry,” the waitress said, smiling. “We’re not exactly packed out, as you can see. The café has only just opened, so it’s early days. Would you like a newspaper while you wait?”

  Edwina read the headlines, and then turned to the cross-word. She had solved several clues, and began to wonder if Sam was really coming. Perhaps Alf had persuaded him to do the fencing job. Maybe he’d made it impossible for him not to do it. There was something in Alf’s eyes this morning when she said goodbye and set off in her car. Something calculating?

  The café door opened, and the tall, bulky figure of Sam walked in. He saw her at once, and as he sat down, said, “Sorry I’m late, gel. Your hubby kept me talking, an’ I didn’t like to hurry away sayin’ I’d be late for lunch with his wife.” He chuckled and took her hand surreptitiously, at the same time looking round to check there was nobody in the café who would know him.

  So that’s all right, thought Edwina, and relaxed. The waitress reappeared, and took their order, and they were left alone. Suddenly neither could think of anything to say. It was different at the farm when Alf was out, or in the woods or up in the hayloft of the old barn. Familiar places were comfortable, and there was always some farming subject for them to talk about. Now, here in a big town, in a café remote from everything familiar, they searched for something to start a conversation.

  IN THE FARMHOUSE, ALF SAT EATING HIS SOLITARY SANDWICH and thinking about Sam Stratford. They were troubling thoughts, so he switched to thinking about something else. Sheila had told him the latest gossip. The Tollervey-Jones girl was pregnant, and the old thing at the hall had extended a reluctant hand of friendship to that young liar, Mark Brown. Lucky lad. He was not stupid, and could have a useful life. He was surely clued up enough not to get a girl in the family way? Perhaps it was a clever move on Mark Brown’s part. Now he was safely under the protection of the Tollervey-Jones umbrella. Untouchable. Or was he?

  Alf rinsed his plate under the tap, washed his hands, and walked out of the kitchen, locking the door behind him. He had decided to tackle at least one of his problems this afternoon, and set off in his car towards Waltonby, where he intended to call on Sheila Stratford.

  EDWINA HAD DISCOVERED THAT SHE COULDN’T EAT HER OMELETTE and chips. Her appetite seemed to have gone completely. Fortunately, Sam was having no such trouble, and happily dealt with Edwina’s plateful as well as his own. It was this that made them laugh, and finally got the conversation going.

  “You like cooking, don’t you, Edwina?” Sam said. “I bet this is not up to your standard. D’you fancy anything else, love?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, Sam. I expect I’m a bit nervous. You know. . . .”

  “No need to be sorry. We’ll find another place with better grub. This is handy, because we’re not likely to meet Farnden folk here. Anyway, have some pud? They got ice cream. That’ll slip down easy, as my mum used to say.”

  “I don’t remember her,” Edwina said. The past was probably a safe subject. “Were you an only?”

  “Yep. And Mother’s pride and joy, as a result. It wasn’t always easy, especially as the other mothers wouldn’t speak to her outside the playground, an’ when the word got around, some of the other kids took it out on me at fir st. Like they do. I hated my mum then. Still, I was bigger and stronger than the others, so I soon showed ’em who was goin’ to be boss. They forgot about it in no time.”

  “Why was your mum ignored?”

  Sam hesitated. He had spent his life trying to hide it, but he supposed Edwina could keep it to herself. “She was from the bloody gypsies,” he said. “She was fantastic to look at, and my dad meant to have her, come what may, silly fool. They were married secretly in a registry office, an’ I was born six months later. And no, I wasn’t premature!” His laugh was hollow, and it was Edwina’s turn to take his hand.

  “Nothing wrong with that, was there?” she said. “Happens most of the time in villages. There’s one family in Fletching with five daughters, an’ every single one of ’em was five months gone by the time they got married! Sailed up the aisle in purest white empire-line dresses, carrying all before them!”

  She had to explain what empire-l ine was, and then Sam saw the joke. He looked at his watch. “I should be getting back,” he said. “Your Alf made me say I’d look in later to help him finish the fences. I’ve really enjoyed this,” he added gallantly, and signalled for the bill.

  “Me, too,” lied Edwina. She was relieved to know they’d soon be out in the streets. She felt like a squirrel in a trap, waiting to be discovered. They made their way to the door, where two people were entering, and Edwina’s empty stomach gave a painful lurch.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Smith! And Mr. Stratford . . . how nice to see you. Marjorie and I thought we’d try this new place. Any good?” It was Father Keith Buccleugh and his wife. The vicar was a professional, and managed to ease his way past the embarrassed couple without turning a hair. Not so his wife. Marjorie faked a sudden sneeze, and with a handkerchief up to her nose she nodded at Edwina and bolted for a table.

  “Well, Keith?” she said. “And what d’you make of that?”

  FORTY-NINE

  LOIS AND JOSIE DECIDED TO GO TO APPLEBY IN THE NEW Brooms van, it being the newest and most reliable of the family vehicles, and also, said Lois, it would be good for publicity. She had read in her researches on the Internet that fifty thousand people visit Appleby during horse fair week, and surely some of them might need a cleaner?

  “Mum, these are Romany people,” Josie had said. “They don’t have cleaners doing their trailers once a week. And they’re always on the move, most of them. Besides which, huge numbers of tourists come from countries abroad. Are you planning New Eurobrooms?”

  “Why not?” Lois replied, and changed the subject. “We’ll start early, then we can stop on the way for coffee and lunch an’ that. I said we’d check in at
the hotel around fiv e.” Derek had said that they must stay in the best hotel, in the town centre. He didn’t want them wandering about up side roads, he said. And when Lois had been shocked at the price of a twin-bedded double room, Derek had said what was the point of winning the lottery if you couldn’t stay in a good hotel once in a while? He had found the name of the old county town hotel, the Appleby Arms, and booked them in.

  THE NEXT MORNING, GRAN AND DEREK WAVED THE TWO OF them off, Gran with a frown, and Derek with a cheery wave.

  “Take care of y’ mother, Josie!” he shouted, as they moved away down the street.

  “You’d think we were going to darkest Africa! Did you see Gran’s face?”

  “Yep,” Lois said. “She was always like that when I was a girl at home. Anxious all the time I was away anywhere. I reckon that’s why I went off the rails.”

  Josie looked sideways at her and smiled. “You mean when you met Dad?”

  “Never you mind,” Lois said. “Now, when shall we set the satnav going? I know the way to the M6, and then it’s straight on for miles.”

  “It’ll be useful when we get off the motorway and head for Appleby across the moors.” Josie was determined to use her latest acquisition. She had had fun using it to go to Tresham and villages around, sometimes obeying the confident woman’s voice, sometimes not performing a U-turn when instructed. When she was delivering groceries on wet, grey days, she sometimes had a conversation with Mrs. Satnav, telling her there was a much better way, cutting off corners and negotiating lanes where grass grew down the middle of the road.

  As they sat in a rush-hour jam around Wolverhampton, Josie said suddenly, “Hey, look, Mum! Look at that wonderful shiny trailer! That must be gypsies on their way.”

  Then they began to see more of them, including a traditionally painted, curve-topped old caravan safely anchored on a flatbed truck with an entire family crammed into the lorry cab. Lois wondered irrationally if they would see Athalia . . . or George. . . .

  If only she had been able to tell them she and Josie were coming, she was sure they would at least have looked out for them. As it was, Lois would have to keep her eyes open. She remembered Athalia’s surname was Lee, but had no idea of George’s. She was convinced that if she could talk to them away from Farnden bigots and Tresham cops, they would have more to tell her about poor old Rob.

  Mrs. Satnav guided them to Appleby by a main route, and Josie, looking at the road map, said that when they returned home she had found a much more interesting-looking route. “Sorry, Mrs. S,” she said, as they drove into the yard, where old stables had been converted into guest rooms, “but don’t worry. We’re very grateful.”

  “You want to watch it,” Lois said, getting out of the van and stretching her arms up in relief. “You’ll be talking to Mr. and Mrs. Sidelights next.”

  The receptionist greeted them warmly, and showed them out into one of the rooms overlooking the market square. It was spacious and elegantly decorated, and Josie flopped down on the bed, closed her eyes, and said, “This is the life, Mum! Wake me in an hour with a glass of champagne and a soup çon of caviar.”

  “A what?” said Lois. “Now, get up at once and help me unpack. We’ll go and get a cup of tea in the town, and then have a walk around. It looks as if it’s all happening already.” Cars had indeed been nose to tail over the bridge that crossed the river Eden, and Josie had seen small children playing in the shallows on a sandy bank.

  It was early evening by the time they began their stroll around town. “It’s a great place, isn’t it?” Josie said, snapping away with her camera at the wide main street with its monuments top and bottom. There was a steady incline from the marketplace up to the top, with beautiful old houses, offices and galleries and shops, lining the road.

  “Shall we look in the church?” Lois said. She loved old churches and graveyards. “All the history of the town lies there,” she told a sceptical Josie.

  “Do we have to, Mum? Can’t we just walk along by the river and see what’s happening? That’s where the action is, I reckon.”

  Lois gave way, thinking she could always indulge herself with a mooch round the church on her own. She was reminded of Derek saying he wanted them to stay together all the time. What nonsense, she thought, looking at the happy scene. The strong wind had dropped and the evening sun shone benevo lently. But this was their first evening, so she said, “Right, lead on, Josie. I’ll have a look at the church tomorrow.” She knew from when Josie was a teenager that her daughter was a great companion, but not for too long. Then she needed to get away by herself for a while.

  “What did you say?” Josie hopped back on to the pavement to avoid being run down by a trotting pony and trap, driven by a fiercely handsome, bare-chested young man with dark curly hair who yelled at his mates on the side of the road as he passed.

  “Nothing,” said Lois. “Just watch where you’re going, and stop ogling the raggle-taggle gypsies.”

  They walked on over the bridge, and turned left on to a footpath leading along the riverbank into a stretch of tall trees. They passed a slipway into the river, where horses were being led down to be washed, ready for selling among the dealers. There were children everywhere, small brown imps, fearless in the water.

  The river under the bridge looked treacherous to Lois, and she noticed police and RSPCA officials mingling among the gypsies here and there. Sandbanks stretched out almost to midstream, and then the fast running channel was suddenly deep enough for young lads to ride bareback with no safety gear whatsoever, driving their horses on until the animals swam, with wild eyes and only heads visible. More imps, their clothes soaking wet from the river, clung precariously to the backs of cars and trucks, as the nose-to-tail traffic edged forward along the road.

  “You know what Gran would say,” Josie laughed. “It’ll all end in tears!”

  Lois smiled back at her daughter. This was really nice, she thought, being away from home and all its attendant responsibilities and worries, with her only daughter, who looked brighter and prettier than she’d seen her since the—But no! This was a holiday, and until she found Athalia and George she would not brood on anything else but enjoying themselves.

  They strolled slowly along the riverbank, listening to the Romany language being spoken. “You know what, Mum,” Josie said. “I feel like we’re the foreigners here. It’s rather humbling, isn’t it.”

  “Not humbling for the residents of Appleby, apparently,” Lois said. “They’re all advised to lock up their daughters, cars, garden statuary, an’ that. Some of them curse at the loss of trade when they shut up shop for the week. I suppose it’s necessary,” she added, looking at a family picnicking under a tree, “though it all seems peaceful enough now.”

  “Ah, but,” Josie began, and then was aware that her mother had stopped and was staring back along the road that ran parallel to the footpath. “What is it, Mum?” she said.

  Lois did not answer for a moment, and then said, “That was one of the gypsies we saw at Farnden! I’d know him anywhere!”

  “Not the ones with the dog!” Josie said.

  “No, the one who introduced me to the old woman when I thought I’d run over her dog. I’m not sure, but I think his name was George.” She was sure, of course. She was absolutely certain that the tall, strong figure sitting sideways on a minimal racing trap, waving to friends at the wayside, was indeed George. He was wearing a bright check shirt, enabling her to follow him with her eyes as his horse sped along with its odd-looking trotting action, weaving its way through the traffic.

  Josie frowned. “Aren’t they endangering the public, driving like that? Where are the police?”

  “Everywhere. You must have noticed. But it seems Appleby hands over the town to the gypsies for the fair. It’s been going on for more than three hundred years, you know.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s safe now. Supposing a child ran across in front of that man? It wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Lois refu
sed to feel depressed. She recognised her daughter as a child of the health-and-safety age, and wondered what had happened to a sense of adventure and learning to cope with risk by encountering it.

  “What about the hunt at home?” she asked Josie. “They mill around on the roads, and their followers in Land Rovers are a menace on the narrow lanes. Nobody persecutes them.” But even as she said it, she knew she was wrong. Hunting with dogs was banned, and the hunting folk were keeping a low profile, desperate not to attract attention to the fact that they were carrying on regardless.

  “Forget it, anyway,” Josie said. “We’re here to soak it all up. The romance, the tradition, the danger and the spectacle! Stand still, Mum,” she added. “I want to take a picture of you up to your ankles in empty tins and plastic bottles, just to see if Dad mistakes you for a gypsy!”

  They walked on through the shadowy trees and out into a camping place. Lois could not believe her luck when there across the field she saw the trap with the horse still between its shafts, with George in close conversation with a man half his height, wearing a cloth cap and carrying a stick.

  FIFTY

  LOIS DID NOT APPROACH GEORGE. SHE HAD DECIDED TO MAKE her first contact with him when Josie was off doing something on her own. It was a small risk, she knew. She might not be able to find him again in this huge crowd, but as all the gypsies from Athalia’s lot would be here, she would be sure to see at least one of them, and ask about George. Best of all would be to meet Athalia herself. Although the old woman had warned her off from wanting to be friends, she reckoned she could persuade her that here, miles and miles from Long Farnden, there would be no harm in it.