Murder in an English Village

by Jessica Ellicott

  “You know, I think you’d be doing home cooks with small budgets a real service if you were to publish a cookery book sharing the recipes that kept this business flourishing through the war years. There are so many families that are in dire circumstances and would benefit greatly from your wisdom.” Edwina glanced over at Minnie who all at once seemed more interested in the bowl of a serving spoon that was justified.

  “I don’t think that I am any more qualified to speak on such things than the average cook. I am quite sure I would have no special expertise to write such a book.”

  “Nonsense. Everyone in Walmsley Parva is consumed with curiosity about how you pulled off such confectionary and culinary feats. You are a legend both far and wide as the best place for miles around to find a proper cup of tea and a delicious slice of cake. I am quite certain that the ongoing success of your business has to do with that reputation.”

  “It’s very kind of you to say so. Although tearooms are very popular no matter who runs them, I’m sure.”

  “You may be right about that. Beryl told me that she passed several tearooms on her way down here from London.” Edwina glanced at Minnie’s face as she dipped her buffing rag into the polish jar once more. “I do hope the competition won’t create downturn in your own business.”

  “I can’t see why other tearooms would. After all, as you say, my reputation is enough to attract people from a distance. And motorcars easily traverse that distance. I trust I shall continue to do well.”

  “Still, it seems it would be important for your reputation as a baker of almost mythic ability to remain intact if your business is to continue to be profitable.”

  “Yes, that’s likely true enough. But why shouldn’t it?” Minnie asked.

  “Because of this,” Edwina said, laying aside a small pair of silver sugar tongs. She unclasped the latch on her handbag and pulled Polly’s brooch from inside it. Minnie gave a small start then looked Edwina brazenly in the eye.

  “Edwina, I believe you were hit on the head a good deal harder than you realized. We were discussing tearooms, not cheap little bits of jewelry.”

  “Don’t you recognize it?” Edwina asked.

  “Should I?”

  “I think that you should. It belonged to you not so very long ago.”

  “I don’t recall owning such an item. And even if I did, I can’t say that my reputation would be tarnished by possessing a cheap bauble.”

  “I’m told you gave it to Polly in exchange for some black market baking ingredients from the Wallingford Estate when it was up and running.” Edwina fixed her gaze on Minnie’s face. Fear, then obstinacy, flitted across it in quick succession. “I don’t mean to put you in a bad position, Minnie, and I don’t want to expose your secret. But I do need the truth.”

  “You are accusing me and insulting me in my own shop. I think you should go.”

  “If I leave, I will have to ask other people the same question I would rather ask you.”

  “You have no proof. Only baseless accusations.”

  “It was your brooch. I can easily prove it.” Edwina rose and crossed to the section of wall centered between the front door and the coat rack. She lifted a framed newspaper clipping down from the wall and carried it back to the table. She placed it down in front of Minnie. “That’s you on the day the tea shop opened. And that’s this same brooch pinned right to your blouse for all the world to see.” Edwina gently tapped the glass.

  “What do you want to know?” Minnie’s voice was barely above a whisper.

  “I just need you to confirm that Polly was involved in selling the stolen items from the Wallingford Estate. It has bearing on why she died.”

  “Do you think I had something to do with her death?” Minnie’s voice rose again and took on a hysterical note. “Buying a bit of black market butter is one thing but murder is quite another.”

  “No. I never said that. I am asking in pursuit of the truth of someone else’s involvement. You are just supporting or refuting the assertions of another.” Edwina laid her hand on Minnie’s trembling one. “I really do just want to know about Polly. I won’t say a word about your purchases.”

  “Not to anyone?”

  “I will be discussing it with Beryl of course but neither she nor I have any intention of carrying tales anywhere at all.”

  “You promise not to tell Prudence?”

  “Minnie, I know she is your friend but I wouldn’t tell Prudence the day of the week if she asked,” Edwina said. Minnie gave the faintest of smiles.

  “She is rather a gossip, is Prudence. All right. Since you know everything already I’ll tell you. Polly admired my brooch every time she saw it. The girl liked a bit of frippery and who could blame her? You know what girls like her are like, always attracted to things with some shine to them.”

  “I know just what you mean,” Edwina said.

  “One time when she came in money was a bit tight. Many of the folks around here had contracted the Spanish Flu and so fewer patrons were coming in. When Polly admired the brooch during a delivery I offered it to her as payment instead of money.”

  “I remember those weeks. It seemed almost everyone was ill. Prudence had to close her shop. The reading room was closed. Simpkins didn’t come to work in my garden. I think even the doctor’s family was ill at that time. It is no wonder you had little extra to spend.” Edwina nodded.

  “Polly was glad to have it and when I asked her later if Norman had minded she said he was pleased for her to have a piece of jewellery instead of having the money. Everyone was happy with the arrangement and I never thought of it again.”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Do you think less of me, Edwina?”

  “I think everyone has enough grief to bear these days without making more for our neighbours. Let’s never think on it again.”

  “Really?” Minnie asked.

  “Why don’t you hand me that cake server. It looks like it could use a good going over.”

  Chapter 31

  Beryl had promised she would meet Edwina in the village before luncheon. She could hardly contain her excitement. She headed for the Silver Spoon Tearoom but hauled up short when she looked through the window and even from a distance could tell that Edwina and Minnie were deep in conversation. Taking a seat across the street, she turned her thoughts to the case at hand.

  Michael was still the strongest suspect. That was, as long as Minnie confirmed Norman’s story about how Polly ended up with the brooch. She was distressed to think that Michael had killed Polly, but there were so many young men who had come away from soldiering changed men, and not for the better. Even though she had not said so outright, Beryl was certain Norah was terribly concerned about her brother’s state of mind.

  She still wished Mr. Mumford would be found to be the one who had done it. He may have moved them closer to a solution to the case but she truly disliked the way he took advantage of young women, and she thought his treatment of his wife was reprehensible. As far as Beryl could see, Minnie would be better off without him. By the time Edwina pulled open the tearoom door and spotted her, Beryl had come up with a whole speech to deliver to Minnie on the joys of divorce.

  “So what did she say?” Beryl asked, pushing her women’s rights battle cry into the back of her mind.

  “She confirmed Norman’s story. He was telling the truth about Polly being involved in the illegal sales.”

  “That is good news. I promised to return the brooch to Norman today at the market. Let’s walk over and I’ll tell you what I discovered. I am quite certain you will never guess.”

  * * *

  “Agnes is alive? She’s a mother?” Edwina said. She blanched, then wobbled, and finally grabbed Beryl’s arm. “Why didn’t Norah tell us before? She knew how worried I was about Agnes when she disappeared.”

  “She was protecting her friend. Not everyone is charitable about momentary indiscretions.”

  “A child is hardly momentary.”
>
  “Nevertheless, she wished to avoid ridicule. I, for one, don’t blame her. I likely would have done the same thing had I unfortunately found myself in her shoes.”

  Edwina, she noticed, was very quiet on the subject of what one should do if a baby arrived on scene without a father. It wasn’t like her to be so reticent concerning her opinions.

  “We shall have to speak to her to confirm she is alive and well,” Edwina finally said.

  “I agree wholeheartedly. I propose we motor up tomorrow and camp out at her address until we find her.”

  “Can’t you go without me? I hate to leave Crumpet on his own for long.”

  “You hate to leave your precious Walmsley Parva for long. Crumpet can keep watch over your brush pile and ensure that Simpkins doesn’t do away with it again,” Beryl said. “Besides, you are the one who will recognize this Agnes. She’s using a new name now, remember, and has no reason to own up to her previous name just because I tax her with it.”

  “Oh, all right. But promise me we will come back by nightfall.”

  “I promise nothing, Ed. It is an adventure and any promise to stick to a schedule will be broken as a matter of course. I’ll tell you what; while we are in London I will take you to the best milliner in the city to replace the hat you lost in the tussle with your intruder. If that doesn’t sweeten the deal, I don’t know what will.”

  “Let’s wait and see what our adventure brings before you decide to turn it into a shopping expedition. Is that Norman up ahead?”

  They crossed the green and stopped in front of Norman’s cart. Beryl had a sneaking suspicion she was looking at much of the same produce she had viewed the day before. It seemed trade was not swift in the neighboring town.

  “Have you come to return my property?” Norman asked as he looked up and noticed them there.

  “We have,” Edwina said, handing the brooch back to him with care. “Safe and sound.”

  “It seems Miss Davenport was able to persuade Mrs. Mumford to give credence to your story,” Beryl said.

  “Does this mean you no longer are accusing me of murdering Polly?” Norman asked.

  “It means there is one less reason to believe that you would have done so. But no, you are not entirely off our list of suspects.”

  “Why not?”

  “One reason is that we’ve had it on good authority that you were seen grabbing Agnes Rollins by the arm. It makes you seem like a man who would behave violently. Would you care to explain why that was?” Edwina asked.

  “Agnes said she knew about the thefts. She threatened to tell Hortense Merriweather what was going on. I panicked and grabbed her. When she pulled away I told her she was crazy and that she would look a fool if she went to the matron with no proof.”

  “Did she go tell Hortense?” Edwina asked.

  “She must not have done since the matron never asked me about it. And you know her.” Norman turned to Edwina. “If there was anything the slightest bit off she wanted it corrected. And quick.”

  “How long was this before Agnes went missing?”

  “No more than a few days, I think. I was worried about it but Agnes seemed to have other things on her mind. I tried to keep out of her way but even though I bumped into her a few times after that she never mentioned it again,” Norman said.

  Beryl gave Edwina a long look. Likely worries about her own situation had driven all other thoughts from her mind. The theft of a few cabbages and some butter would have seemed small compared with deciding what to do about a baby. Edwina nodded slowly at her.

  “Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Davies. We’ll let you get back to your customers,” Beryl said. She and Edwina stepped aside and allowed a stout woman with a large basket to shoulder past them.

  “All the more reason to go to London to speak with Agnes, wouldn’t you agree?” Beryl said as they walked away.

  Chapter 32

  The next morning, at just past daybreak, Beryl descended the stairs to find a pile of blankets, coats, and a large valise heaped up near the door. She heard noises coming from the kitchen and followed them to find Edwina in a state of frenzied preparation.

  “Ed, what are you doing?” she asked, staring in awe at the production spread out before her.

  “You never can be sure what you will encounter whilst away from home. I prefer to be prepared,” Edwina said. From her tone it was clear her friend did not wish to be jollied along. Beryl stood watching as Edwina wound several feet of bandage material into a neat wad. She held her tongue as Edwina packed a picnic hamper with a loaf of bread, a dozen boiled eggs, and a small wheel of cheese. Her curiosity got the better of her when her friend reached for a glass bottle adorned with a chemist’s label.

  “What in the world is that?” she asked.

  “Quinine.” Edwina said.

  “We are going to London, Ed,” Beryl said. “Not to the Amazon.”

  “That’s what you say now, Beryl, but with you, one never knows.”

  “There shan’t be room for all this if you keep it up. Besides, we need to get on the road if we are to have enough time to get to town and back again by your bedtime,” Beryl said. That did it. Edwina snapped the lid of the hamper shut and hurriedly donned her coat. Both women carried an armload to the motorcar and Beryl pulled open one of the back doors.

  Edwina set the picnic hamper on the bench seat and bent to tuck a spare pair of boots on the floor.

  “Are these yours?” she asked, holding a pair of work gloves up for Beryl to see.

  “No, they aren’t mine. I’ve never seen them before,” Beryl said.

  “How did they get in here?” Edwina asked. “Do you think Michael or Norah left them by accident when they were conducting the repairs?”

  “I hope that is when it happened.”

  “How else would you explain it?”

  “Maybe they were left by whomever was using this car the night Polly died,” Beryl said.

  “You don’t think they belonged to Polly, do you?”

  “No, but I do think they might have belonged to whomever killed her,” Beryl said. Edwina looked down at the gloves. For a moment Beryl thought she might hurl them from her.

  “Then I’d best tuck them away somewhere for safekeeping just in case we need them as evidence at some point,” Edwina said. “I shall be ready to go momentarily.”

  * * *

  Edwina reluctantly left Crumpet and her beloved garden in the unsupervised hands of Simpkins. He promised both would be none the worse for his stewardship but her doubts remained firmly fixed. While she was eager to see Agnes Rollins with her own two eyes, she was not looking forward to the journey. She would have tried to persuade Beryl that the train service to London was the more practical choice but she hadn’t the money to pay the fare. She was most reluctant to accept any more funds than absolutely necessary from her friend.

  By the time they’d been on the road for half an hour Edwina’s nerves were completely jangled. There were far worse things to say concerning the condition of her digestive system. First there was the cat that darted across the road in front of them. Then there were the tight turns and little hills that Beryl took at enough speed to lift and then immediately to drop one’s stomach. Weaving in and out of London’s traffic only made things worse.

  Beryl however seemed to relish the entire ride. She nattered on almost constantly about the pep of the motor and the beauty of the scenery and the pleasure of being able to pull over anytime one wished to do so. Not that there was any sign of Beryl slowing down whatsoever.

  Carriages with horses, buses, and pedestrians flooded the streets. Everywhere Edwina looked there were signs of activity. She had been to the city before, of course, but it had been many years. Her mother had been ill and there was the worry about leaving her for long. The war years did not make one inclined to stray the least bit from what little comfort could be found, and in truth Edwina had found London to be more overwhelming than comfortable.

  Beryl seemed to know
her way around though and steered confidently, if somewhat recklessly, through the maze of streets and people. She pulled up in front of a brick building with little to recommend it and to Edwina’s relief, came to a complete stop.

  “This is the address Agnes gave to Norah,” Beryl said. They sat in silence for a moment evaluating the situation. The neighbourhood did not inspire enthusiasm. Laundry flapped out of an upper-floor window and Edwina was dismayed to see that sheets and garments, which should have been white, were marred by soot. Litter skittered in the stiff breeze that moved between the buildings and the smell of unnamed dank things reached her nostrils. “Shall we see if she’s home?”

  They stepped out onto the street and Beryl opened the door to the building with far more confidence than Edwina felt. No sooner had they stopped to inspect the names on the mailboxes than a red-cheeked woman yanked open a door right next to them.

  “Who are you looking for then?” she asked, crossing her sizable arms over her even more outsized bust.

  “We are here to see Mrs. Agnes Martin,” Beryl said.

  “Don’t I know you?” the woman asked. “You look familiar.”

  “You’d be surprised how often I hear that. I must just have one of those faces.”

  “It says A. Martin has a flat on the fourth floor,” Edwina said. “Shall we see if she’s in?”

  “She won’t be in until the evening. She works at some sort of office in the city.”

  “Do you know where?” Beryl asked.

  “No. I just know that she works all day during normal business hours and she comes back by six every evening. I let my tenants keep to themselves so long as they pay their rent on time.”

  “I suppose we shall just have to find a way to entertain ourselves until she returns,” Beryl said, giving Edwina a bright smile.

  * * *

  “The milliner’s I think first, don’t you?” Beryl asked. She couldn’t help but notice that her friend had been terribly quiet throughout the journey. Ed was not much of a city person and Beryl was determined that the visit to London in the company of one who knew it as well as she did would change her mind. “I am eager to hear what you think of their selection. Hop in.”