Murder in an English Village

by Jessica Ellicott

  “I had a bit of trouble with my scarf last night whilst out walking Crumpet. I wondered if you might have some sort of soothing liniment?” Edwina unwound the silk scarf from her neck once more and exposed her throat for inspection.

  “That looks like a great deal more than a bit of trouble. What have you done to yourself?” The doctor stooped over her and looked closely. “Or should I ask, what was done to you?”

  “That is the second reason I am here, if you want the truth.”

  “I always want the truth from my patients. I find things get on the mend far more quickly if one needn’t sift through a heap of falsehoods in order to proffer a diagnosis.” He seated himself on the edge of his desk. “You haven’t been coaxed into feats of derring-do by your adventurous housemate, have you?”

  “So, like everyone else in Walmsley Parva you’ve heard about Beryl Helliwell’s arrival, have you?”

  “Nurse Crenshaw told me about it before I’d even taken off my coat this morning. I assume the rumors are true then?”

  “They are. You heard the rest, too?”

  “That you are employed by His Majesty to ferret out nefarious activities in the heart of our green and pleasant land?” The doctor gave her a broad smile. “I had. I can think of no one I’m more amused to imagine bringing wrong-uns to justice than you, Miss Davenport. That is, so long as it doesn’t place you in harm’s way.” He leaned towards her once more and gently touched the side of her neck. Edwina tried not to wince and failed.

  “Naturally, that is exactly what Beryl believes happened. In the afternoon she mentioned that she had arrived to help me with an investigation and by nightfall someone had attempted to strangle me in my own back garden.”

  “Are you quite certain you didn’t simply catch your scarf on a low-hanging branch? After all, the entire idea of someone attempting to harm you over such obvious poppycock beggars belief. If such an investigation were to be undertaken it would be unlikely for it to be assigned to a woman and certainly not one of your advancing years,” he said.

  Edwina wasn’t sure she entirely liked his attitude towards her investigation. In fact, if she were to be honest with herself, she would admit he had gotten her dander well and truly up with his lighthearted dismissal of her capabilities. While she had herself protested that it was unlikely Beryl’s tale of investigatory prowess would be believed, it had not been on account of her gender or her age but rather her lack of experience in such matters. Still, he was a man and as such should be expected to be saddled with a predictable and unfortunate narrowness of mind.

  “I am intimately acquainted with my garden, Doctor, and I assure you that I did not ensnare myself in the branches of a tree. The local flora is not so vicious as to cause a wound such as this.” Edwina pointed to her neck once more.

  “I shall have to bow to your greater botanical knowledge. Assuming you were attacked, have you any idea what might have caused such a desperate move?”

  “Agnes Rollins. You remember the Land Army girl that disappeared.”

  “Of course. Quite a dither at the time if I recall. Why should you mention it to me though?” Dr. Nelson got to his feet and turned his back on Edwina as he opened a glass-fronted cabinet filled with bottles and tubes. He took his time selecting one before turning to face her once more.

  “Hortense reminded me that Agnes made time to read to the soldiers at the hospital whenever she wasn’t dead on her feet.”

  “She was a very dedicated young woman. The soldiers were always very eager to have her there.” The doctor vigorously shook the brown glass bottle he held in his hand.

  “Did you have any inkling at the time why she might have gone missing? Did anything happen at the hospital that might have explained it?” Dr. Nelson leaned over her and dabbed a bit of liniment on her bruise. His brow furrowed and he looked as though he were debating something.

  “Some of the soldiers awaited her visits even more eagerly than the others. One in particular comes to mind.”

  “Do you remember his name?” Edwina asked.

  “Oh yes. Michael Blackburn. He had come to us suffering from shell shock and also had lost a limb. Until Miss Rollins came to read to the men he was almost completely unresponsive. Even his sister could not provoke a response from him when she came in daily to visit.”

  “I hadn’t realized he had been quite so affected. You wouldn’t know he had suffered from any disturbance of the mind to speak with him now.”

  “One never knows what will cause the mind to recover. In Michael’s case it seemed to be Miss Rollins who rekindled his interest in the world. He became quite besotted with her by all accounts.” The doctor cleared his throat. “She actually came to me for advice about him. She wanted my professional opinion as to whether her visits were doing more harm than good.”

  “In which way?” Edwina asked. She was surprised. Michael had always been such a pleasant, even-tempered young man before he was sent back from the front, injured.

  “Michael seemed to believe Miss Rollins’ attentions were of a more personal sort than she had intended. He became quite persistent about it all.”

  “That sounds unpleasant.”

  “It was very awkward for Miss Rollins and for everyone else as well. I finally felt it best to ask her to desist in reading to the men.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Michael began to shout at the other patients if they spoke to her or even if she chatted to them. He threatened them with bodily harm if any of them made the least indication they wished to interact with her. No one needed that sort of outburst and I asked her to refrain from visiting any further.”

  “How did she react to your request?”

  “I believe she was relieved. I think by that point in time she was rather frightened of Michael and was content to be done with the whole experience.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Not long before she left, I believe, but the whole time period is such a blur I am not clear on the details. There was a great deal of more importance happening in the hospital than jealous rantings and obsessions of delusional young men.”

  “Did you not think at the time there might be a connection between Michael’s behavior and Agnes’ disappearance?” Edwina felt stunned. “That he might have either frightened her off? Or worse?”

  “Perhaps I should have but you have to recall what the circumstances were like then. The hospital barely managed to attend to the extreme needs of the soldiers we had recuperating there. That doesn’t even take into account the myriad patients we attended from the village. I had very little ability to give thought to a missing volunteer girl.” Dr. Nelson passed a hand over his face as if to wipe away the memories. “What does it matter now? Michael has made as full a recovery as one could hope and it seems to me there’s no reason to go stirring things up at this late date.”

  “Doctor, someone is worried enough about an investigation into something criminal in Walmsley Parva to do this to me.” Edwina touched her neck lightly. “It might be that Michael is not as well as you would like to believe.”

  “Or it might be that what happened to you has nothing whatsoever to do with that girl’s disappearance. Perhaps someone has a more personal reason to attack you and simply used the rumor to cover up their reason. ” Dr. Nelson crossed his arms over his chest. “Had you considered that?”

  “I had not in any way considered that possibility. After all, who would want to harm me? And why now?” Edwina felt a shiver run along her scalp. Part of her was terrified and a smaller part just the slightest bit thrilled to think she might stir such events into action.

  “You advertised for a lodger recently, didn’t you?” Despite Beryl’s efforts that bit of gossip wasn’t fading easily. Edwina felt her cheeks grow hot.

  “Yes. I did.”

  “I assume you provided an address for your house in the advertisement?”

  “Yes.” Edwina grew uneasy.

  “And your name, which identified you as
a lady on your own, I expect?” Edwina nodded. The doctor shook his head. “Did it not occur to you that some lunatic took the knowledge about yourself that you provided and took the opportunity to try to satisfy his irrational and homicidal urges on you?”

  “You think I was attacked by someone who read my advertisement? You think it was simply an opportunistic and unbalanced stranger who did this?”

  “I’d say that is at least as likely as the possibility someone made an attempt on your life over an old and not particularly worrisome missing person’s case, don’t you agree?” The doctor shoved back his chair and came round the desk to stand beside her. “I suggest you go home and be sure to apply this liniment to your neck a few times each day until the bruising fades. I also advise that you lock all your doors and don’t wander around in the dark on your own until you are quite certain all the copies of your advertisement have had time to end up as wastepaper.”

  Chapter 9

  Beryl rounded the back corner of the Beeches determined to find a sunny spot to sit and think about her new situation. An appealing stone bench sat tucked up against some sort of twiggy shrubbery just ahead. Beryl never interested herself in the names of plants. She zigzagged across the browning lawn with the intention of taking a seat. As she approached, a scuffling, dragging noise emanated from just beyond the shrubbery. Considering Edwina’s plight the evening before, Beryl felt it foolish to turn her back on the noise without further investigation. She crept around the leafless bush and came upon a man well past his prime dragging sticks off a towering pile and heaping them into a wheelbarrow. She waited while he paused, pulled a tarnished flask from a jacket pocket, and took a long swig from it.

  “Hello,” Beryl said. Her travels had taught her to always lead with friendly intentions and to expect the best of native populations. Some of her most pleasant and memorable experiences while traveling had been from meeting and forming friendships with locals. Especially over a glass or two of the local variety of potent hooch. Elderly men were one of her particular specialties. But then they should be as she had plenty of experience with them through her numerous marriages to the sort. The man turned to face her and she realized he was even older than she had first imagined. Truly it was a wonder he was still putting one hobnailed boot in front of the other, let alone that he could perform physical labor. Especially if he was as pickled as she suspected him to be. Even in the open air the fumes rolling off his person made Beryl’s eyes smart.

  “Morning, missus.” He swiftly hid the hand holding the flask behind his back then doffed a disreputable excuse for a flat cap with his free hand and bobbed his head.

  “I don’t suppose you would like to share whatever it is you’re sipping back here?” Beryl’s tone was playful and friendly.

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether or not you are planning to tell Miss Davenport what I’ve been up to.”

  “I shan’t be able to promise any such thing until I decide if I approve of the contents of that flask.” Beryl tugged off her gloves and held out her hand. The old man flashed a semi-toothless grin in Beryl’s direction and she got the impression he would have been a rather difficult man to resist had he been forty or fifty years younger.

  “I won’t tell Edwina about the spirits if you don’t.” Beryl took a healthy gulp of the old man’s refreshment. He wasn’t much of a dresser but he did know his liquor. “I can forget about the flask but I cannot promise anything without knowing what it is that you are up to with the vegetation. Are you stealing her brush pile for some nefarious purpose?”

  “That’s as Miss Davenport would have folks believe. Right barmy about stick piles is Miss Davenport. But it’s only for her own good.”

  “What is?”

  “I told her no good would come of piling up brush. Rabbits and rodents. Hedgehogs even can’t resist a grand pile of sticks. It causes no end of troubles with the vegetable plot. But would she listen?” The old man jabbed an angry finger at the offending brush.

  “I would hazard a guess that she is not inclined to do so,” Beryl said. “Edwina has always listened best to her own counsel as long as I’ve known her.” She handed the flask back to the gardener.

  “I’ll say she does. I heard at the post office that she almost strangled herself getting all tied up by her scarf in there. Almost lost that poor wee dog of hers too whilst she was at it.”

  “I think Edwina might not be quite as much to blame as you suggest,” Beryl said. The man appeared not to have heard her.

  “Here I am on the day I usually oblige at the solicitor’s clearing this lot up before she does herself any more mischief. Do you think she will thank me for me troubles? Not likely.” The man reached for a long stick and gave it a firm yank. “It’s a hard enough thing to keep up with the garden when the mistress doesn’t insist on laying out the welcome mat for all manner of pests. I’m all on me own now that young Norman’s gotten above himself and has taken against helping out from time to time.”

  “Who’s Norman?” Beryl wondered if Norman was the old man’s son. If so, Norman could easily be quite elderly himself. If that was the extent of the help available it was no wonder the grounds at the Beeches were looking as run-down as the house. Even though he hadn’t responded to her offer to help Beryl pitched in and carried an armload of sticks of her own to the waiting wheelbarrow.

  “Norman Davies, the lad who used to work with me once a week when they could spare him from the estate.”

  “The Wallingford Estate?”

  “That’s the one. He was one of those workers of special need what didn’t end up in France like the rest of the lads round here.” The man shook his head. “Now all he can think about is making a go of that bit of property he’s renting. Trying to win back that girl of his. The lad’s got no time for the likes of his old friend Simpkins anymore.”

  “It can be very difficult to find help these days, can’t it?” Beryl asked. “I’m sure that Edwina is very pleased to have you even with the disagreement about the brush pile.”

  “You wouldn’t think it with how slowly she loosens the purse strings.” Beryl wondered if Simpkins had been talking to the postmistress and the greengrocer. Her payment the day before of Edwina’s delinquent accounts at both establishments would likely have been as much a part of the gossip going round as stories of criminal investigations.

  “I think you’ll find her to be much more prompt at delivering your wages now.”

  “So you say, missus, but I’ll believe it when my pay packet is tucked in me back pocket all snuglike.”

  “I assure you, fortunes are on the rise here once more. In fact, Edwina asked me to approach the maid, Polly, who used to work here, to return. She starts back at her job tomorrow morning.”

  “Polly Watkins?” Simpkins gave a mighty tug on a stuck branch and nearly knocked himself off balance with the effort. Although on second thought, Beryl considered it might have been the drink making him so wobbly on his pins.

  “I believe Watkins was her surname. Fresh-faced girl with plenty of freckles and honey-colored hair?” Beryl said. Simpkins made a grunting sort of sound then heaved the stick he wrested free from the pile a few yards away. “Do you know her?”

  “I thought I did. Until she threw young Norman over without an excuse.”

  “They were sweethearts, your Norman and Polly Watkins?” Beryl asked.

  “They walked out together. Had something of an understanding, if you know what I mean.”

  “Were they engaged to be married?” Beryl asked.

  “No one had announced the bans, if that’s what you’re asking.” Simpkins grunted again. “Still, young Norman had expectations and no one can convince me that Polly didn’t lead him a merry chase.” Simpkins perched a final stick on the wheelbarrow and grasped the handles. He rolled it unsteadily forward. Beryl followed him as he headed to the edge of the wood at the far reaches of the property. One by one he pulled the sticks out of the wheel
barrow and scattered them on the ground below the trees.

  “It sounds as if it may be a good thing that this Norman won’t be helping out here at the Beeches anymore if Polly will be coming and going.”

  “You might be right at that. I shouldn’t like to see young Norman forced to see that girl at close quarters. It’s hard enough in a village this small for him not to have to see her more often than is good for his temper.”

  “He has a temper then?” Beryl asked. “Perhaps Edwina is best off without him for even more reasons.”

  “Nothing that he can’t usually control. The boy’s a good lad. He never lashes out unless sorely provoked.” Simpkins stiffened like a foxhound that had caught the scent. “Speaking of women who provoke fellows beyond what any reasonable man can be expected to take, Miss Davenport has returned.” Beryl turned to see Edwina rounding the corner of the house. Simpkins offered Beryl a final swig from his flask before pocketing it, sketching a small salute, and stumbling off through the woods.

  Beryl watched him until he disappeared from view. Edwina arrived at her side a moment later.

  “Whatever has happened to my stick pile?”

  Chapter 10

  “I think it most disloyal of you to have assisted Simpkins,” said Edwina. “It’s taken me weeks to get my pile built back up to a satisfying size again.” Edwina had required a great deal of coaxing but Beryl had finally persuaded her to have their tea at the Silver Spoon Tearoom, Minnie Mumford Proprietress. Despite Minnie’s encouragement to take a table in the center of the shop where she would be sure to overhear any choice bits of their conversation, they had flatly refused and chose instead a table barely large enough for two near the window overlooking the street.