Murder in an English Village

by Jessica Ellicott

  Bearing all that in mind, she had risen early, dressed in black, and packed a white paper box with an assortment of licorice and lemon drops. Tucking it under her arm she had congratulated herself on being a generous enough sort of person to not mind going to the expense of hiring a cab. Michael Blackburn managed to get her out to the Watkins house to deliver her condolences and to collect any available information before the rest of the village had cracked open their morning newspapers.

  It had been a bit awkward perhaps that the Watkins were not as grateful of her attentions as they might have been. Perhaps she should have offered them chocolates but it wasn’t as if they were regular customers, now was it? Prudence told herself the bereaved were always unpredictable and the rest of the village had a right to know the sort of danger they might be in from a violent criminal.

  Things had gone more smoothly when Constable Gibbs had entered the post office midmorning to collect her post. The constable had long relied on Prudence for information crucial to her peacekeeping efforts in the village and the two enjoyed a cordial relationship. A friend would do nothing less than enquire as to the progress of so arduous a task as the investigation into an unexplained death. Prudence kept a box of butterscotch disks on hand as added incentive if the constable seemed reticent. Butterscotch disks was the way Prudence had learned the name of the person responsible for stealing ladies undergarments off the washing lines two years previous. She could hardly expect less of them as time went by.

  Prudence had already told half the village the news by the time Beryl and Edwina wandered in to enquire after some peppermints for Beryl and a bottle of mucilage glue for Edwina.

  “How well the pair of you look considering the horrors you must have felt last evening,” Prudence said, punching the enameled keys on the large brass till. “I’m sure I would still be abed clinging to a hot water bottle if ever I had such a nasty shock.” Prudence hoped her tone clearly conveyed her disapproval of their callousness. It spoke very ill of them both that they were seen outside of the Beeches after such a discovery. It shored up her already firm conviction that one, the other, or both of them were somehow involved.

  “One must go on, no matter what, don’t you think, Miss Rathbone?” Beryl asked. “Even when confronted by a murder.” Beryl turned to Edwina and the two of them nodded knowingly. Prudence felt thrilled right down to her very soul. The idea that she knew something two of the King’s own valued secret agents did not warmed her like nothing had in years. She fairly bubbled over with the news.

  “But it isn’t murder, now is it?” Prudence slowly selected Beryl’s change from the drawer. “Constable Gibbs brought the news herself this morning. I’m surprised she didn’t stop to tell you since you are all investigators.” She dropped the coins into Beryl’s outstretched hand.

  “As I am sure you will agree, one of the great strengths of the British people is a clear understanding of one’s place. I’m sure Constable Gibbs would never have gone so far above herself as to consider imposing upon loyal and devoted servants of you know who,” Edwina said. “I am most grateful to the constable for not placing us in such an awkward position. But rest assured, if our nation would be best served by us becoming better informed on this matter, we will not hesitate to do so.” Edwina turned on her heel and strode out the door. Beryl gave Prudence a bright smile just like the ones she always displayed in the newspapers, reached for her parcels, and followed her friend out into the street without another word.

  * * *

  Beryl waited until they were out of the reach of Prudence’s prying eyes before turning to Edwina in amazement. “You were magnificent in there. After all your talk about not being able to hold your head up in the village I wondered how you’d manage Prudence, but I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

  Edwina waved her hand in front of her face as if to dismiss the compliment.

  “The important thing to consider is that Constable Gibbs has determined not to investigate,” Edwina said.

  “You’re right, of course. Where do you suggest we begin?” Beryl asked.

  “We will accomplish twice as much if we question people separately,” Edwina said.

  “Agreed. But where to start? You’re the expert on Walmsley Parva.”

  “I think I should pay a call to Polly’s family to offer my condolences and then just happen to stop at Norman Davies’ cottage since I would be passing so near it would be a deliberate snub not to stop in.”

  “How very underhanded you are, Ed,” Beryl said. “I think I will pop into the cinema and satisfy my curiosity about Mr. Mumford and his claims that Polly was an avid patron of his establishment.”

  “I do wish you had a perpetrator you preferred to Mr. Mumford. I still think he’s a lovely man.”

  “Why don’t you reserve judgment until we’ve both made the rounds. Shall we plan to meet back for teatime at the Beeches to compare notes then?”

  Edwina nodded and Beryl watched as her friend hurried off down the high street towards the far edge of the village. A little voice in the back of her head told her to hope she was not seeing the last of her. Filled with a sense of excited urgency she set off for the Palais.

  Chapter 16

  The cinema opened for the matinee at two in the afternoon. Edwina had agreed that it would be best if only one of them approached Walter Bennett, the projectionist. If he were as leery of interacting with others as Mr. Mumford had said, just one visitor would be too many. Two would likely send him into hiding.

  It took her rather longer to walk to the cinema than she would have expected. While she wouldn’t have admitted it for the world, the walk last night had tired her out completely and had left her more than a little sore from all the walking on uneven ground and standing out in the cold and damp. There were no two ways about it. She was becoming soft. Perhaps a course of exercise was in order. Maybe she would be wise to set up a sort of camp in the garden to re-acclimate herself to the perils of sleeping rough. She had a reputation after all that she was not eager to relinquish.

  She stepped into the warmth of the lobby and made straight for the posters on the wall. She lingered in front of each, giving the girl dressed in a pinny and wandering around with a carpet sweeper time to fully work up her curiosity. By the time Beryl turned to face her, the young woman had abandoned all pretense of minding her own business and was instead staring goggle-eyed at Beryl and her ankle-length, mink coat. Beryl turned on her best public smile and crossed the plush carpeting to the ticket window.

  “You’re Beryl Helliwell,” the girl said. “We showed newsreels of your balloon takeoff. And your trans-Atlantic flight attempt.”

  “And you’re Eva Scott.” If anything, the girl’s eyes bulged even farther out of her head.

  “How do you know my name?” she asked.

  “Your employer told me your name when he described you as someone who would know all about the comings and goings in the cinema.”

  “Are you here to see one of the pictures?” Eva asked. “I can tell you all about all of those.”

  “I’m sure you could and I am ever so obliged but what I need is a bit more specialized knowledge than that. After all, I can read about the movies on the posters on your wall. What I want is something only you would be able to tell me.”

  Eva bobbed her head up and down. “I’ll help any way I can. What do you need?”

  “I wanted to know if you sold a ticket to Polly Watkins for any of the shows two nights ago?”

  “Polly Watkins? The woman that was found dead up on the Wallingford Estate?” Eva asked with a squeak.

  “Yes. Did she attend a show the night before last?”

  “Do you want to know if she attended a show or if she bought a ticket?”

  “Aren’t those the same thing?” Beryl asked, her curiosity aquiver.

  “Not necessarily.” Eva clucked her tongue like an old woman. “Some girls seem to rate special privileges.”

  “Was Polly one of those girls?” Bery
l asked. Eva hesitated. “She was quite pretty.”

  “Her looks were part of it but so was her manner.”

  “Let the right sort of people know she’d welcome some attention, did she?”

  “That’s just it. She never missed an opportunity to advertise her willingness to be friendly,” Eva said. “If you understand my meaning.” Beryl nodded sagely.

  “So did someone else pay for her tickets to the cinema or was she simply let in for free?” Beryl asked.

  “Some of each. She had a local lad she used to walk out with and he bought tickets for them both from time to time.”

  “I understood Polly was far more regular in her attendance than someone who came from time to time.”

  “That is true. A real enthusiast she was.”

  “So I bet you know who gave her the nod to get in for free and I bet it wasn’t you.” Eva looked around and when no one else appeared in her line of sight she leaned towards Beryl and lowered her voice.

  “My mum will be ever so cross if I lose my job.”

  “I promise I won’t say a word. Your employer has none of my esteem and you have my sympathy. The man is not really a gentleman, is he? I assure you I shan’t be shocked by whatever you have to say.”

  “Mr. Mumford lets some women and girls into the shows without a ticket. He told me if someone comes to the ticket window and tells me they were actresses invited by him I was to let them in for free.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “He told me he wanted the actresses from his cinematographer’s troupe to have as many opportunities to study the professionals as possible.”

  “He did, did he? Did you believe him?”

  “Not hardly. I asked, all innocent-like if he meant Mrs. Mumford, too. He said certainly not to tell her as she didn’t look as kindly on his participation in the group as he would like.” She gave Beryl a knowing look.

  “Have there been a lot of actresses in here asking for free admittance?”

  “I’ve had the job for at least three years and in that time I’d say there have been upwards of a dozen,” Eva said. “Polly Watkins was one of the latest of them.”

  “Did you recognize any of the other so-called actresses?” Beryl asked.

  “There used to be more of them when the Land Army was here. All sorts of girls from the Wallingford Estate used to watch the shows for free.” Eva bit her lip like she was thinking.

  “How about that young woman who went missing? Did she ever come in here and watch a show for free?”

  “I believe she did but I don’t remember for certain. It’s been some time since she disappeared.”

  “Anyone else you recognized?”

  “Nurse Crenshaw, if you can believe it. She was the one who was a regular just before Polly started coming in every time there was a new show.”

  “Did Polly come in for a free show two nights ago?”

  “She didn’t come to the ticket window. But I saw her outside looking in not too long before the evening show started.” Eva shook her head. “Dressed up like she was trying to impress someone, she was. My mother would never let me out of the house in the sorts of things Polly Watkins wore.”

  “Your mother must love you fiercely,” Beryl said. “Although such attention is not always easy to bear.” Not that Beryl had any firsthand experience with such things. Her own mother had sent Beryl to boarding schools just as soon as it could be said she had outgrown her nanny. Still, she had heard tell that many mothers possessed a fiercely protective nature.

  “She means well. I suppose with what happened to Polly I appreciate her more than I did. People are saying if Polly’s parents had been a bit more careful she might not have ended up like she did.”

  “Anyone in particular saying that?”

  “Just about everyone. People are saying she must have caught the attention of some lunatic skulking around the village. You have to expect problems when you run around showing yourself off like some sort of exotic bird.”

  “I was just leaving Mrs. Mumford’s tearoom about the same time Polly was looking in the window here at the cinema. I thought I heard someone calling her name from across the street. Did you happen to see anyone near her?”

  “No, I didn’t. The street was very quiet for most of the show. Hardly anybody about until I saw you drive by at about the time the show let out,” Eva said. “Your motor is easy to notice, isn’t it?”

  “You saw my car on the road? Are you sure?”

  “It must have been yours. It’s the only one like it in town.”

  “You are sure you saw me driving it?”

  “Well, no, not exactly. But it is yours. Besides, you drive awfully fast and the motorcar was hurtling down the road at top speed.”

  “Do you remember which direction the car was headed?” Beryl asked.

  “Out of the village. Off towards the Wallingford Estate,” Eva said. “Don’t you remember where you were going?”

  “A little known side effect of travelling at high rates of speed is that they can result in temporary memory loss. I appreciate you helping me to fill in some embarrassing gaps in my evening.” Beryl laid a velvet-gloved hand upon Eva’s arm. “I can trust you to keep my little slip-up to yourself, can’t I? I shouldn’t like such a thing to become common knowledge. It might discourage progress in the entire automotive industry.”

  “Of course, Miss Helliwell. You can count on me.” Eva positively glowed. Beryl flashed her a million-pound smile and strode out the door. She stopped on the sidewalk and looked towards the Blackburns’ garage and wondered how difficult it would have been for someone to steal her car from within its walls. Or if Eva’s sighting of her vehicle laid the blame for its use on one of the Blackburns. She had offered for them to take it for a drive. She had to wonder too whether or not it had been used in what had happened to Polly.

  Chapter 17

  So many people filled the Watkins’ small cottage, Edwina was able to quickly make her excuses and leave Polly’s grief-stricken parents in the care of their well-meaning relations. If Edwina hadn’t known better she would almost have said some of those relations were enjoying themselves on account of the novelty of it all. It was with a great sense of relief that she saw herself out and made for Norman Davies’ cottage, an easy and pleasant twenty-minute walk away.

  Edwina had dressed for the weather and for the fields and found her spirits rising despite the fact that her mission was born out of tragedy. Beryl had been right; it felt extraordinarily good to put Prudence in her place for once and to have something to occupy her time besides sorting jumble sales or arguing with Simpkins over the placement of spring bulbs. Which reminded her, she would need to speak to him about her stick pile when next he showed up at the Beeches. Simpkins’ work habits made Polly’s look as regular as a well-oiled clock.

  The field looked as unlikely a place for a body to turn up as Edwina could imagine. As she approached the spot where Polly’s body had lain she considered again the question of Polly’s walking shoes. Or for that matter, the question of Polly walking at all. She had been a silly girl in many ways but she had not been frivolous with her money. In fact, Edwina had the distinct impression she was planning for a large purchase from the way she had asserted herself over her wages when Edwina had been forced to dismiss her.

  It heated her face just calling the incident to mind. Polly had looked at her with more pity upon her face than anger the day she put her cheaply shod foot down and announced she would not return until she was paid her back wages. She had things to pay for she had said and as much as she liked obliging Edwina she simply could not continue to do so when there were other ladies in Walmsley Parva with ready money who kept at her to come to work for them instead.

  Edwina shook herself a bit. The best thing she could do for Polly now was to keep asking questions until the truth of her death was uncovered. She was determined not to allow another girl in the village to end up with as little justice as had been served for Agnes Rollins.
Edwina swept her gaze over the field as she made her way between the place she’d discovered Polly’s body and Norman’s front door. Polly’s walking shoes were nowhere in sight. Edwina felt more worried than ever for Norman. Beryl’s theory that someone wanted it to look as though Norman was involved in Polly’s death seemed all the more sensible as she noted the scant distance between the two points.

  Norman opened the door and came out onto the stone stoop as soon as Edwina landed the first rap upon the wooden door. His face looked grey even in the bright daylight and his shirttails flapped in the breeze. He clenched his bare toes against the stone surface of the stoop and Edwina thought for a flicker of a moment that perhaps it had not been wise to come to call without Beryl. Or at the very least Crumpet. He wasn’t large but he was loyal and Edwina realized she would have been very glad of an extra set of teeth she knew to be on her side.

  “Rumour has it you’re the one who found Polly,” Norman said.

  “I did. And very sorry I was to do so. Such a loss.”

  “You’re sorry to be out your maid, don’t you mean?” Norman said. He turned his back on her and stepped into the cottage. Edwina glanced back over her shoulder then decided that since she had come this far she would risk going in after him. Norman was not the most prepossessing of men but she had not often known him to display a violent temper. She stepped in after him and noted the heavy scent of spirits. A bottle lay on its side on the wooden table in the center of the dimly lit room, its contents darkening the stone flags of the floor.

  “I’m not here about my own connection to Polly, but yours. I am sure you are badly grieved by what has happened and I wished to convey my deepest sympathies.”

  “Why should you do that? I had no claim on Polly anymore.” Norman dragged out a chair from beneath the table and sank into it. Edwina helped herself to the only other one and folded her hands in her lap.