Murder in an English Village

by Jessica Ellicott

  “Really. I went straight over to the garage to ask the Blackburns about it but they both denied driving it. They suggested it might have been local men or boys who couldn’t resist taking her for a run.”

  “Did they say who could have done so?”

  “One of them mentioned Norman Davies as a possibility. Michael said he was admiring the motorcar the morning he came in with the late produce run.”

  “He never mentioned to me that he stopped in at the garage. He made it sound as if he were hard at work all day long either in the fields or doing the produce delivery.”

  “What else did he have to say for himself?”

  “He said he had no idea how Polly came to be found in the field. He also said that he was the one we heard calling her name in front of the cinema.”

  “Did he say why she didn’t respond to him?” Beryl asked.

  “According to Norman she had been giving him the cold shoulder for weeks and had finally told him she no longer wanted to go walking out with him.”

  “That fits with what we had heard from others about her throwing him over. It wouldn’t be the first time that a young woman was killed by a man that said he loved her,” Beryl said. “I suppose he told you that he was still desirous of her company?”

  “He said he was trying to win her back, which is why he was following her.”

  “Did you believe him?”

  “I believe that he loved her and wanted her back but I am not sure he wasn’t consumed by a jealous rage. He says he had suspected for some time that she had found another man and he was following her in part to confirm that he was right. It seems the night she died he got his answer.”

  “Really? How so?” Beryl took a sip from her glass and stared over the rim.

  “Polly went round the back side of the cinema and he followed her there. He saw her bang on the door and then the projectionist let her in,” Edwina said.

  “The mysterious projectionist. That explains why such an avid film enthusiast would stop taking advantage of Mr. Mumford’s offer of free entrance to the shows. She was getting another man to let her in for free,” Beryl said. “What do you know about the projectionist? Is he a local man?”

  “Not at all. He arrived in Walmsley Parva one day out of the blue. Prudence managed to winkle out of him that he wanted to make a fresh start in the English countryside after picturing it for so long while he was down in the trenches. She must have given him quite a grilling because no one has really laid eyes on him since. He stays entirely out of village life,” Edwina said. “You know there is nothing to prove Polly spent time with him after she entered the building. He doesn’t seem the sort to be chatting with strange young ladies.”

  “There is only one thing to do. We shall have to ask him.” Beryl refilled her glass from the crystal decanter and inhaled the rich scent. The day had been the best she’d had in some time. Something about this sort of adventure suited her down to her boots. Which reminded her.

  “Did you ask Norman about Polly’s shoes?”

  “I did. He said she never would have worn her party shoes to walk across the field. Especially since she would have known he had recently manured it. In fact Norman said she would have been able to smell it from her parents’ house and would have known not to risk her shoes.”

  “So her shoes are missing. If we find them we may find who killed her,” Beryl said. “Did you think to ask him about any vehicles in the area that night?”

  “I did but he said he had been drinking heavily from the moment he arrived home and he didn’t see or hear a thing until he spotted our torches so close in the field. He worried about vandals in the crops enough to rouse him from his stupor.”

  “Could he have been drowning his sorrows to such an extent to try to forget what he had done to Polly?”

  “He might have done. I hate to think so, but someone killed her. He is probably the strongest suspect.’

  “Who knows what tomorrow will bring, Ed? I suggest we do the same tomorrow as today and separate. Although I did wonder for a moment or two at the wisdom of that. I actually slipped a spanner in my coat pocket before I went in to question Michael and Norah Blackburn.”

  “A spanner?”

  “It’s a very effective weapon, Ed.”

  “Please tell me you’ve never used one yourself for protection?” Edwina’s teacup chattered in its saucer once more.

  “You recall me mentioning that unsavory bedtime reading material preferred by my former husband?” Edwina nodded. “It was included in a chapter concerning violence and the motorcar.” If Edwina’s teacup could be trusted she was soothed by the answer. Beryl saw no reason to upset her further with the truth.

  “So where do we go from here?” Edwina asked. “Who do we question next?”

  “I think I ought to have a word with the projectionist. I think you should go to speak with your Mr. Jarvis.” Beryl fixed a gimlet eye on Edwina’s face for signs of interest.

  “He’s not my Mr. Jarvis. Why on earth would you say a thing like that?”

  “If he isn’t, I dare say he’d like to be. Have you seen his collection of watercolors?”

  “I’ve accompanied him from time to time on his en plain air ventures. He does rather tepid landscapes. I try to encourage him, but to be honest I doubt he will ever set the artistic world ablaze. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason. I just noticed his collection when I was at his house to speak with Polly about returning to work here. If you call on him at his house you should ask him to show them to you.”

  “What is it you think I should ask Mr. Jarvis as concerns the case?” Edwina said.

  “We need to know if Polly was acting differently than usual. If so, Mr. Jarvis might have noticed something and would tell you about it.”

  “I could stop in tomorrow at his chambers. I haven’t been there in some time and I do like to visit the place from time to time. It holds many pleasant memories for me.”

  “It was your father’s office too, wasn’t it?”

  “It was. Mr. Jarvis was the junior partner in the firm until he took sole ownership upon Father’s death. Father wanted Fred to follow him into the law but he had other plans.” Beryl knew more from what had not been said over the years than from what had, that Frederick Davenport had been a bit of a disappointment to his father. He wasn’t a serious sort of person like his older sister. If life were different, Edwina would have been the far better choice to follow in her father’s footsteps. In fact, Beryl seemed to remember the question of Edwina attending university with an eye towards joining her father’s firm.

  Mrs. Davenport had put an end to that scheme almost immediately. No daughter of hers was going to make such a bluestocking spectacle of herself. What was next? Agitating for the vote like those Pankhurst women was not what she had planned for her only daughter. In the end Mr. Davenport had looked outside the family for a protégé and had found one in Mr. Jarvis. Fred joined up as soon as war was declared and for some time it looked as though he had finally found his calling as a soldier. But his luck ran out not long before Armistice when his trench collapsed upon him and he was smothered to death. Mrs. Davenport died herself not long after, leaving Edwina with death taxes, a large house, and no family at all.

  “Then by all means stop in and ask about Polly at his office if you think it best. I am sure you will be more than welcome wherever you chose to hunt him down.” Beryl forced herself not to wink. Edwina would assuredly not approve of winking.

  “I can’t imagine why you keep saying such silly things. You only met Mr. Jarvis one time and then very briefly,” Edwina said, two spots of color heating up her pale cheeks.

  “May I remind you I also only met Mr. Mumford very briefly and I took an accurate measure of him? I happen to be an expert in the male mind, and while I don’t like to make it sound like a criticism, Ed, you, simply put, are not.”

  “I cannot imagine why I’d want to be.”

  “I’m not suggesting that you s
hould. It’s nasty business really and one you might be glad to be well shot of, with occasional exceptions like your Mr. Jarvis.” Beryl put her glass down on the table and stretched her long arms above her head. “Time to head for bed. If tomorrow proceeds as I hope it does, you shall need your beauty sleep.”

  Chapter 19

  First thing that morning Norah had telephoned to say she could return Beryl’s motorcar by midday. Crumpet danced around her feet as Edwina opened the door of the cooker. The roast chicken was coming along nicely no matter how Beryl had complained of its size. A tantalizing scent of savory vegetables mingled with the fragrance of the bird and filled the kitchen with its aroma. She hummed to herself just under her breath. It had been far too long since Edwina had had anyone to cook proper meals for and she hadn’t realized how much she had missed it. After Father died she and Mother had developed the habit of taking most of their meals in the kitchen. As her mother’s health failed she preferred a tray in bed. By the end her mother hadn’t any appetite no matter what she prepared.

  She closed the oven door and passed through the butler’s pantry to the dining room. In just a few trips she had the glasses and plates set out and the candlesticks and a vase of Michaelmas daisies placed on the table. It had been so long since she had bothered Edwina had almost forgotten how the walnut paneled room looked with the table laid.

  She stepped back and admired the results. Edwina had even had time to polish her mother’s prized silver carving set that morning. She laid the knife and fork at the end of the table just as she heard the crunch of gravel in the drive. She stepped to the window and watched as Norah hopped out of Beryl’s motorcar. From this distance there was no sign any damage had ever been done to the bonnet. Crumpet fled down the hallway barking when the sound of knocking landed upon the front door.

  * * *

  Beryl presided over the luncheon in such a way as to make Edwina almost forget the purpose was to conduct an interview. Between forkfuls of roasted potatoes and sweet parsnips her old friend managed to regale them both with the comic details of an expedition to Nepal. She worried that the meal would be over before anything was said and that they would be no closer to discovering what Norah had to say about her brother. She was very curious as to how it would tally with what the doctor had confided when Edwina had consulted him about her bruised neck.

  “These potatoes are first rate, Ed, but they would be even better dressed with yak butter,” Beryl said, waving her fork laden with a speared piece of potato in Edwina’s direction. “I don’t suppose they’ve got any of that at the local shops, have they?”

  “Things became quite dire during the war years but I am proud to say we were not reduced to relying on yaks for our dairy products.” Edwina was rather pleased for the opening in the conversation to introduce the topic. “Thanks to the efforts of women like Agnes and the other Land Army women, we could depend on fine British cow’s milk.” Beryl nodded and placed her fork down.

  “You have some things to tell us about Agnes too, don’t you, Norah?” she asked.

  “I have more to say about Michael really. Since you’re determined to look into the whole business I expect you’re likely to hear how he was and to wonder if he had anything to do with what happened.”

  “Why don’t you tell us what you think we should know?” Edwina asked.

  “I’m afraid any problems that arose were my fault. After all, I gave Agnes the suggestion.”

  “Which suggestion was that?”

  “I told you I used to do repairs on the machinery from time to time at the Wallingford Estate,” Norah said to Beryl. The older woman nodded. “Once when I was there I got to talking with Agnes. She said she loved reading and wished she had some more books to read. I told her there were plenty at the hospital. I said they’d been part of the library on the estate when Lady Wallingford turned the whole thing over to use for the war effort.”

  “What does that have to do with your brother?”

  “I’m getting to that bit,” Norah said. “Agnes said she wouldn’t feel right about borrowing books from the hospital when so many of the patients couldn’t read them.”

  “The gas?” Edwina asked.

  “That was part of the problem. A lot of the men at Wallingford couldn’t see, at least until their eyes healed from the blistering. But there were others that just didn’t seem to see anything even though their eyes had not been injured. I suggested Agnes would be a real help if she read aloud to the soldiers who couldn’t read to themselves.”

  “Was Michael one of those soldiers?”

  “He was one of the ones who had what they called the thousand yard stare. I spoke to him and sang to him and held his hand but nothing got through. It was like his spirit had lifted up and out of his body and only a husk remained.” Norah dabbed at her eyes with her serviette. “But slowly he seemed to respond to Agnes’ voice reading to them. She found a copy of Tarzan of the Apes, which Michael had read over and over as a youth. She used to sit near his bed and she read it to him. By the beginning of the second book Michael was looking around and starting to respond to noise and light. By the time she had moved on the third book, The Beasts of Tarzan, he was making conversation and almost seemed back to his normal self.”

  “So what was the difficulty?” Beryl asked. “It sounds like Agnes was a godsend.”

  “I thought so, too. I still do. Michael believed he owed his recovery entirely to her. Dr. Nelson told me he thought that explained what happened next.”

  “Which was?” Even as she asked, Edwina wasn’t sure she had the stomach to hear whatever Norah was going to share. She had heard far too many sad stories of lives run off the rails to have the heart for another one.

  “Michael became possessive of her. He didn’t want her to read or even talk to any of the other men. He certainly didn’t want her to show any interest in them. He would spend all day asking where she was and when she was coming to visit next. The doctor and the nurses and even I tried to explain that Agnes had other duties to perform and she wasn’t able to devote herself exclusively to entertaining him.”

  “How distressing,” Edwina said.

  “It really was. He kept saying he knew the others were no good for her and that she should be careful. I think she was quite uncomfortable with the situation because her visits got further and further apart. In the end the doctor suggested it would be better if she simply stopped coming.”

  “How did Michael react?”

  “At first he was quite melancholy. As I remember it, he retreated back into himself for a bit. But by the time she went missing he seemed back to his old self once more,” Norah said. “He’s finally adjusted to the loss of his arm and has gotten on with his life. I think it was just an unfortunate fixation and one that has passed. But I’m sure you can see why I don’t want you to bring Agnes up with him.”

  “We shouldn’t like to set him back in any way. He’s a very pleasant young man and we need all of those that we can come by,” Edwina said.

  “Not to mention he’s a very fine mechanic,” Beryl said. “I do have one question though. Did anyone ever question Michael about Agnes’ disappearance at the time? Did he even know she had gone?”

  “The doctor wouldn’t allow it. He said his loyalty was to his patients and that their needs came first. In fact he wrote to me to assure me that whatever had happened with Agnes would not be brought to Michael’s attention,” Norah said. “It must have worked because he improved quite rapidly after she was gone.”

  “And he never asked after her once he was fully recovered?” Beryl asked.

  “He never asked and I never offered any information. I expect he assumed she left Walmsley Parva when her commitment to the Land Army was fulfilled. They only signed up for a year, I believe.” Norah turned to Edwina.

  “That’s right. Although some of them signed up again,” Edwina said.

  “All I know is that I heaved a huge sigh of relief when I realized she was gone. He still has his
bad days but nothing like he used to. Which is how I intend to keep it. I’ve told you all I know and would be most grateful if neither of you did anything to jeopardise his peace of mind.”

  “I think we’ve heard enough, don’t you, Ed?” Beryl said.

  “Absolutely. I hope all this sad talk of the past hasn’t spoilt your appetite. I’ve made an apple tart for pudding.” Edwina didn’t wait for an answer but rather pushed back her chair and left the room.

  * * *

  Beryl offered to drive Norah home after each of them had enjoyed their fill of tart and had taken a brisk walk around the garden to settle all they’d eaten. Norah refused, saying she could still do with a good deal more exercise than a stroll. Once the door was closed behind her Beryl took Edwina by the arm and steered her to the parlor.

  “What do you think of that?” she asked.

  “I think if Agnes’ body had turned up instead of Polly’s, Michael would have easily been the first one to look at as having killed her.”

  “He certainly seems like a strong suspect. Fixated, unstable in his mind. Jealous.” Beryl drummed her fingers on the side table. “But you know, there is another possibility as well.”

  “Besides her not being dead but merely missing?”

  “Yes. Assuming she is no longer amongst the living, we have another possible suspect.”

  “Who?”

  “Norah herself,” Beryl said. “She is remarkably protective of her brother and was very clear about the fact that she was delighted for Agnes to have had no further contact with Michael.”

  “But to kill her? Doesn’t that seem a bit extreme?”

  “Can you think of a better way to be sure Michael would never see Agnes again?”

  “No. I’m afraid I cannot.”

  “Do you know of any reason either of them might have had reason to do away with Polly?” Beryl asked.

  “I shall have to think about it a bit more and ask some more questions. Hortense might have a better idea than I do about Polly’s friends during her time in the Land Army.”

  “I believe we have already established that you are the best person to charm information out of Mr. Jarvis,” Beryl said. “Which leaves me with the formidable matron, Hortense Merriweather.”