“You think I had something to do with Polly’s death? Don’t be daft. It was an accident and everyone except you and Miss Davenport know it.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and dabbed at his face.
“Insulting me is not likely to make me think better of you. I’d say your interest in the cinema is not as wholesome as you would like your wife to think and that you are enticing young girls into compromising positions. I think Polly got tired of you pressuring her in unseemly ways and she threatened to tell your wife what had been going on. It wouldn’t surprise me if you killed her to keep her from saying something.”
“I take offense to your totally spurious suggestion.”
“Most people are offended by the notion of murder, Mr. Mumford.”
“But you haven’t any proof that I did anything to Polly.”
“I know Polly was a member of your organization and so was the missing girl, Agnes Rollins. Did she threaten to tell your wife about your behavior, too?”
“Now you are being ridiculous. I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but if Polly was murdered, as you seem to believe she was, there is at least one person who makes a much better suspect than me.”
“I find that hard to believe, Mr. Mumford. Look at you all adither looking out the window every few seconds worried your wife will come home and find you in a compromising position.”
“It’s the God’s honest truth. Polly told me all about trying to end things with that young man Norman Davies but he wasn’t having any of it.”
“That’s not what Mr. Davies says. He says she stopped seeing him and that he was heartbroken about it. She was the love of his life. I am disinclined to believe he would harm her.”
“He wasn’t heartbroken. What he was, in fact, was a bully and he couldn’t begin to accept that she might wish to be with another. She was ready to move on and so tired of his persistent pursuit of her that she actually asked me for advice on how to be rid of him without making too much of a fuss.”
“Are you admitting that you are someone with expertise on how to be rid of someone without calling attention to that fact?” Beryl asked. “As far as I’m concerned that makes you a person of interest in the unexplained disappearance of Agnes Rollins.” Mr. Mumford flinched.
“I don’t mean to imply that I am some sort of an expert at intimidating people. It’s more that Polly saw me as a man of the world, you understand, and she thought I would be able to make some useful suggestions.”
“I see. So what did you advise?”
“I said she should tell him if he didn’t desist in his attentions she would go to the police with what she knew.”
“Did she really know something that would get him into legal difficulties?”
“I assumed she did. Everyone in the village knows that he is a shifty sort of a fellow.”
“I haven’t heard anyone call him shifty in the least. In which way does everyone think his character flawed?”
“I like to imagine as a man of some standing in the community I am above spreading common gossip.” Mr. Mumford pursed his unattractively thin lips. Beryl thought he looked like a sweaty snapping turtle.
“I think you have to ask yourself if you are enough of a gentleman to be arrested on suspicion of a murder you believe someone else committed. Because without a real reason to suspect Norman Davies, I’m afraid I still suspect you. After all, I only have your word for it that Polly had any sort of information to hold over her former sweetheart.”
“I see your point. Perhaps as Polly is no longer able to be hurt by my lack of resolve I could be less vigilant in my stance.”
“I thought you might be persuaded to be forthcoming. So let’s hear it.” Beryl tapped her fingers against the arm of the chair. “After all, if you hurry, I might be gone before your wife comes home.”
“It was back in the war days, you see. Norman Davies was working up at the Wallingford Estate. Not to put too fine a point on things, he was abusing the trust placed in him.”
“In which way?”
“He was in charge of much of the warehousing and inventorying of the produce and livestock the estate raised. It was a position easy to take advantage of, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know that I do. He miscounted, misplaced, misappropriated?”
“All three. Nelson was running a good little business for himself stealing from the estate and selling meat and milk and veg on the black market. It was quite an operation.”
“And Polly knew about it?”
“Well, she would have done, wouldn’t she? She joined the Land Army herself and was there to see with her own eyes what was going on.”
“You believe without a doubt that she was aware of Norman’s underhandedness?”
“Why wouldn’t I? She didn’t defend him when I suggested she threaten to take that information to the police. She knew, all right. Besides, how would a humble lad like Norman Davies come up with the money to fund a farming venture of his own? Especially with the economy being as blighted as it is at present.”
Beryl thought for a moment. It made perfect sense with what Edwina had told her she discovered the day before when speaking with her Mr. Jarvis. Polly had asked him about crimes committed during the war. As much as she would have liked Mr. Mumford to be involved in what happened to Polly, it seemed as though the right thing to do would be to question Norman Davies once more. Still with nothing but Mr. Mumford’s word on the matter, Mr. Davies could simply deny any involvement. Why wouldn’t he? She would need a little more detail in order to put the pressure on him to tell the truth.
“Do you know to whom he sold his stolen goods?” She detected a fresh runnel of sweat appearing on Mr. Mumford’s brow. The poor man would be completely dehydrated before long at the rate he was perspiring. “You weren’t involved yourself, were you?”
“I had no reason to be. How would I possibly benefit from making such a purchase?”
“Perhaps not in your cinema business but Mrs. Mumford might have had many uses in the tearoom for eggs, milk, and butter, mightn’t she?”
“I shan’t say anything about my wife’s business. What I am willing to tell you is that first choice of anything would have gone to Sidney Poole the butcher and Gareth Scott the greengrocer.”
“Why them?” Beryl asked.
“Sidney is Norman Davies’s uncle and Gareth Scott was his father’s oldest friend. He would have wanted their businesses to thrive and they would not have turned him in if they had been caught with black market foodstuffs. Not that anyone would have been likely to complain at the time. We all were grateful to be able to buy a few extras now and again.”
“You’ve been most helpful, Mr. Mumford.” Beryl stood and gave him her hand just as the front door pushed open and Mrs. Mumford called out a cheerful greeting. “Oh dear, it looks as though you shall have some explaining to do after all. I must be going.”
Chapter 27
Michael was not at the garage when Edwina arrived. Instead she found him out on the village green sitting on a bench near the duck pond. The day had warmed nicely and the sun shone down pleasantly on her head, reminding her that she still needed to shop for a new hat.
“Good day, Michael. Mind if I sit for a moment?’ Edwina asked, coming up alongside him.
“I’m glad of the company. Although I have to admit, I am surprised to see you. Everyone is saying you are laid up in bed with a dent the size of a duck egg in back of your skull.”
“I just heard much the same thing from Jack the newsboy.” Edwina paused. Plenty of people were sure to see her on the green. She needn’t be afraid of Michael while sitting in plain sight like she was. Still, her stomach fluttered ferociously as she steeled herself for her next comment. “It wasn’t the only interesting thing I heard from Jack though when I bought my paper just now.”
“Really? Do tell what Jack had to say this morning that was as interesting as a lovely lady like yourself being coshed in her own home.” Michael
turned one of his famously charming grins on her and Edwina felt sorry for what she was about to say.
“He said he is called upon by his mum to collect his father from the pub most nights of the week.”
“Jack’s father had a bad war. Many’s the man who seeks to blot out such memories in a bottle. But I do feel for the boy. It might be better if his father hadn’t made it home.” Michael picked at the grain of wood in the slats of the park bench with his hand. “That isn’t exactly news though. Jack’s been sent on that errand ever since his father was demobbed months ago.”
“It wasn’t fetching his father that was the news, although I was not aware of that. It was what he saw while doing so.”
“Which was?”
“You.”
“What about me?”
“You were seen giving a ride in your cab to Polly on the night she died.”
“Maybe I did and maybe I didn’t.”
“Are you saying Jack was making up stories?”
“He may have been confused about the night he saw me. It has been a few days since Polly had her accident.”
“It wasn’t an accident, Michael. It was murder.”
“Not according to Constable Gibbs.”
“I’m sure it won’t surprise you to know Constable Gibbs is not the highest ranking law officer in Great Britain.”
“Even so, the boy was likely mistaken. I drive lots of people around in my cab. That’s what I do.”
“He claims to have seen you driving her from somewhere along the high street out of town on several occasions lately. Can you tell me where you picked her up and where you let her off?”
“I haven’t said I took her anywhere in my cab. The word of a tired boy steering a drunken father down the road in the night is hardly a better judge of what I was doing than I am.”
“Are you refuting his statement?”
“I’m telling you to mind your own business.” Michael stood abruptly and strode off in the direction of the corner where Jack could generally be found. Edwina regretted mentioning the boy immediately. She set off following Michael at a discreet distance. Her knees wobbled with relief when Michael turned off at the garage instead of making for Jack.
She considered shopping for a hat but decided her head would only begin to ache worse if she actually tried any hats on. And where would the pleasure be in not trying on hats in a milliner’s shop?
She made her way into the greengrocer instead where she purchased a sack of baking potatoes, a bunch of onions, and a peck of apples. The greengrocer, Gareth Scott, looked at her with trepidation when he announced the bill. Edwina was inordinately relieved to have the money from Beryl at the ready, no matter how she came to have it.
* * *
Norman Davies had gone to market a few villages over that day. Beryl was glad of the chance to take the car for a longer run. Beryl firmly believed an automobile like hers needed to be taken out and run at full tilt once in a while, much like a large dog. She imagined it languished if left cooped up too long and trips back and forth from the Beeches to the center of Walmsley Parva were not enough to satisfy its heart’s desires. Or Beryl’s if it came down to it. She was surprisingly content with village life thus far, but still she had to admit she would not find a stretch of open desert to race across going amiss after so many days poking slowly along country lanes.
The sun beat down through the windscreen and Beryl felt lighter in her heart than she had in some time. Finding Ed on the floor had been a harrowing experience but it had gotten the blood pumping in a way that had been sorely lacking in recent months. To be honest, longer than she could remember. She had no cause to complain about anytime when she considered the losses and difficulties so many others had suffered. But she couldn’t deny she was glad to have something fresh blowing through her life.
She turned off towards Parnham St. Mary when she saw a wooden sign nailed askew to a nearly leafless tree. She ran along at full tilt for another mile or so then fetched up in a village clotted with carts and people and all manner of beasts crossing the road at the behest of grizzled old men holding ancient-looking crooks.
Beryl found a lay-by along the road and left the car under the gaze of a striped tabby cat whom Beryl was certain would leap onto its warm hood as soon as she was out of sight. Up ahead in the village square, tables and tents and stalls with striped curtains fluttering in the breeze filled every available space. Beryl wandered up and down stopping from time to time to look at eye-catching wares or to sample a bit of something that looked tasty.
After a few discreet inquiries she managed to locate Norman Davies and his cart filled with produce. She watched as he handed a net bag laden with two tidy cabbages to a rosy-cheeked young woman. From the way he lingered over handing it to her it didn’t appear that he was as filled with grief as he might have been, considering the recent loss of his former sweetheart.
“Mr. Nelson, isn’t it?” she asked.
“That’s right. Do I know you? You look familiar.”
“We haven’t actually been introduced but you may have seen me around Walmsley Parva. I’ve moved into the Beeches with my good friend Edwina Davenport.”
“I don’t believe I have. But you do look familiar.”
“It may be because I stood watch over Polly Watkins’s body as Edwina went for help. I believe I spotted you staring at me the whole time I was out there on my own.”
“I don’t remember staring at you.”
“You were looking out from the steps in front of your cottage. But don’t let it worry you. It was becoming dark and you were likely unable to see me clearly.”
“I’ll take your word for it. What brings you all the way out here? You know we have a market day tomorrow in Walmsley Parva, don’t you? My fruit and veg are justifiably famous but most folks find they can wait a day for them.” Mr. Davies gave her a large smile, pleased it would seem by his own joke.
“Produce that you sell is why I am here, Mr. Davies. But actually, I am more interested not in what you are legitimately selling here today, but rather what you didn’t have the right to sell back in days you worked at the Wallingford Estate.” Beryl watched as Mr. Davies’ smile faded from his face. She was having quite an adverse effect on the local male population.
“Am I supposed to know what you are talking about?” He turned his back on her and devoted considerable attention to aligning carrots in neat rows in their scuffed wooden crate.
“I could raise my voice so that you can more easily hear me. You might rather I keep it down. People in Walmsley Parva benefitted from your little side business but I am certain the people in the surrounding market towns would not look at it as kindly if you hadn’t offered them the opportunity to partake of it as well.” Beryl raised her gloved hand and shielded her eyes as she appraised the crowd surrounding them. Mr. Davies whirled round and faced her once more.
“All right, keep your voice down. What do you hope to gain out of dragging up that old business?” he asked.
“Miss Davenport and I are as committed as ever to discovering exactly what happened to Polly. Unfortunately, as is the case for so many women who meet with violence, the trail leads to a man who claimed to have esteemed her.”
“I already told Miss Davenport that I loved Polly and wouldn’t have hurt her for the world. I was trying to win her back.”
“I understand that she was not pleased by your continuing attentions. I also have it on good account that Polly asked someone she respected for advice on how to get rid of you once and for all. That person suggested she use what she knew about your black market business to pressure you to leave her alone.”
“Really? Who would be talking rubbish like that?”
“I’m not sure it would be best for village relations to share the name with you.”
“Suit yourself. It doesn’t matter because it isn’t true.”
“What isn’t true? That you stole produce and livestock from the Wallingford Estate or that Polly tried to
blackmail you about it to keep quiet?” Mr. Davies looked down at the bushel basket of onions in front of him.
“That Polly would tell anyone.” He looked up at her. “She just wouldn’t do that.”
“I heard she was well and truly done with you. What makes you so sure she wouldn’t say anything?”
“Because she was involved in the thefts. And even if she didn’t want to have anything to do with me anymore she wouldn’t have wanted to land herself in trouble, too.” Mr. Davies crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the side of his wagon. “Polly knew all about what was going on up at the Wallingford Estate. It was why she joined the Land Army in the first place.”
“There were rumors that she joined because you were paying too much attention to the other young ladies on the estate and that she was jealous. I heard she joined to keep an eye on you.”
“That’s all talk. She was just as eager as I was to earn a bit of extra money. She wasn’t jealous. She knew I chatted up the other girls to keep them on my side if anything came out. They would turn a blind eye for a man who told them things they wanted to hear and brought them the occasional present bought with his ill-gotten gains.”
Beryl took a deep breath of crisp air and considered what she had already heard. His story made sense if she could verify that Polly knew about the thefts. If Mr. Davies would be willing to tell her to whom he sold his items she might be able to verify what he claimed.
“Unless you have someone besides yourself who is willing to tell me that he or she knew that Polly was involved in what you were up to, I think you are still the very best suspect in her death.”
“My uncle, Sidney Poole the butcher, will tell you. And the greengrocer, Mr. Scott, will say the same. They’ll both let you know that Polly even made deliveries for me sometimes when I was held up at the farm.”
“Yes, but they have reason to be loyal to you, don’t they?” Beryl said. “Is there anyone who might not be as taken with you that could support your claims?”
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