by Ann Purser
“We shall be talking to you in detail later, but for now could you cast your mind back to an evening when you and Clive were found by a citizen of Long Farnden, attempting to take objects illegally from Farnden Hall. This citizen was subsequently found unconscious by his wife, with injuries to the back of his head, on the cobbled yard at the rear of the hall. What can you tell me about that?”
“Two things,” said Gerald confidently. “One, we weren’t nowhere near Farnden Hall, and two, if we had been, which we weren’t, we would never have done nobody no harm.”
Matthew sighed. This case was obviously going to run and run.
FIFTY-FIVE
LOIS ARRIVED AT THE HALL PROMPTLY AT TEN O’CLOCK, AS instructed by Mrs. Tollervey-Jones. She and Felicity had already started work in the library, cataloguing books and carefully packing them into tea chests. Each one was labelled, ready for the new house or book dealers in London.
“Ah, there you are, Mrs. Meade.” Felicity pushed her long blonde hair behind her ears and said with relief that they could take a break whilst her mother-in-law gave them fresh instructions.
“Coffee, I think. Perhaps you could do that, Felicity, while I catch up with Mrs. Meade on local matters?” Mrs. Tollervey-Jones sat down in a comfortable-looking library chair, and waited.
When Felicity had gone off willingly to the kitchen, Mrs. T-J looked enquiringly at Lois. “Well, and where have the police got to in their hunt for the missing Mowlems? There is no need to protest that you don’t know. I, along with half the criminal fraternity in Tresham, know that you have a hotline to our Detective Chief Inspector.”
Lois felt her colour rising. “I sincerely hope that is not true, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones,” she said. “My family and my business are my chief concerns, and the less I have to do with the police and criminals, the better.”
“Apologies, my dear,” said Mrs. T-J soothingly. “Now what has been happening?”
“Well, apparently Mowlem father and son were tailed all the way to Pickering, as a result of our report to Cowgill. They didn’t even try to shake off the tail, and obviously knew they were being followed. So I suppose they were determined to see Clive, and to hell with the rest. Says something for them, doesn’t it?”
“Nobody is all bad, Mrs. Meade. Thirty years on the bench has taught me that. And the young one in hospital?”
“Woke up from a coma when he heard his father’s voice, apparently. Doing well now.”
“And Gerald—that was his name, wasn’t it?”
“Under arrest, I should hope. They’ll all be coming back to Tresham today—except Clive, of course. Bert and Gladys should be going home, and Gerald taken into custody ready for questioning.”
“That should please your husband, Mrs. Meade,” Mrs. T-J said as Felicity came back into the room. “I trust he sustained no permanent damage to his head.”
“How did you know—”
“It is my business to know everything, Mrs. Meade. And by the way, may I call you Lois? Seems I shall be seeing a great deal of you in the future. I am relying on you and your team to see me safely into the new house. Oh yes, and while we’re drinking our coffee, let us have a brainstorming session on house names.”
Felicity looked at her mother-in-law with respect. The old thing was back on form.
“I’m no good at this sort of thing,” she said. “How about ‘The Grange’? That’s a favourite.”
“We’ve got one of those already,” Lois said, and then added with a perfectly straight face, “What about ‘Dunromin’? That would be apt. Or you might like ‘Tollervey Rest’?”
Mrs. Tollervey-Jones gave a hoot of laughter. “All right, all right. It’s not fair to ask, I know. But nothing seems to be quite right.”
“Shall I tell you what Derek suggested? I’m not sure, but I think he meant it seriously.” Mrs. Tollervey-Jones nodded. “He said ‘Stone House’ was what he’d choose. Simple and correct. It is built in our lovely local stone, with its beautiful thatched roof. Nothing more needed. That’s what Derek said anyway.”
There was a short silence, during which Lois wondered if Mrs. T-J was offended. But then her face softened into a big smile, and she said, “Perfect! Exactly right! There, that’s settled. Stone House. You know, Lois, I always thought your husband was a man of good sense. Please thank him.”
Coffee finished, they began work again. Towards the end of the morning, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones called a halt. “Before you go, Lois,” she said, “I have remembered my own short stay in custody. The icehouse. I intend to do something about it, before Norrington brings in a bulldozer and razes it to the ground. I would like us to take a walk now and get some idea of what can be done. Will you come, Felicity? Plenty of suitable footwear in the boot room.”
Felicity was glad of the suggestion to take some fresh air, and all three set off, with the faithful dog trailing along. As they went, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones fell behind, and Lois slowed down to walk with her.
“You know, Lois, I am not at all sure I can allow that dreadful Norrington man, and his equally dreadful wife, to take over the estate. And certainly not if I am to stay living in the vicinity.”
“But what if you don’t get a better offer?” Lois said practically.
“He’s not offered the asking price. I am very tempted to let it go to auction. Those Blenkinsop people seem very keen, and it is quite possible they might be able to top Norrington’s highest bid.”
Lois smiled. “It’d be worth seeing Norrington’s face,” she said, and then added hastily that the plan should be discussed with the estate agents. They would give expert advice.
“Expert advice?” said Mrs. T-J, and seemed to be struggling for words. But all she said was that Lois was quite right. She would do it as soon as they returned to the house.
“SHE LIKED YOUR SUGGESTION,” LOIS SAID TO DEREK AS THEY SAT at lunch.
“What suggestion?” said Gran.
“The name of her new house,” Lois answered, winking at Derek. “She said she thought ‘Dunromin’ was the perfect name. Said she had done roaming for good. All she was after, she said, was a peaceful retirement.”
“But—” Gran frowned. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you, Lois Meade,” she said.
“True,” said Derek. “I actually suggested ‘Stone House.’ Plain and simple. Never thought she’d go for it, though, Lois. It’s a bit humble for the Tollervey-Joneses.”
“Speak of the devil,” said Lois, who was sitting opposite the kitchen window. “Large as life, here she is.”
“Why didn’t she come to the front door?” said Gran, hurriedly taking off her apron. She hastened to admit Mrs. Tollervey-Jones, and asked her to come through to the drawing room. Derek’s eyebrows went up, and he said he was sure Mrs. T-J would be happier in the warm kitchen.
“Now, now, I don’t want any fuss,” their visitor said. “I just want a quiet word with Lois.”
Gran and Derek dutifully left the kitchen. “How can I help?” said Lois.
“I have been thinking about my future.”
Now what? thought Lois. More work for New Brooms, she hoped.
“I am retiring from the bench, and since I shall be moving to a much smaller establishment, I shall have very little to do.”
Lois began to protest, but Mrs. Tollervey-Jones held up a restraining hand.
“Please don’t suggest I take up knitting! My body may be failing, but my brain is as active as ever. So this is what I suggest. I know that you, and sometimes members of your team, work with the police in their enquiries into local crime. I am offering my services as a noncleaning member of New Brooms. You may be sure that I have useful contacts and a considerable amount of knowledge of the criminal classes. This will, of course, be completely confidential, and everything I discover or suggest will be siphoned through you to your police connection.”
Lois was astonished, and could think of nothing to say for a few moments. Then she began to see a way out. The old girl was right. Her kno
wledge of local people and places could be invaluable. If she wanted a bit of excitement, no doubt Lois’s continued ferretin’ would provide that.
“Good idea,” she said firmly, making a mental note not ever to pass on this new development to Gran or Derek. “Nothing doing at the moment, but I’m sure something will come up. Now, can we offer you a cup of coffee? And a slice of cake, of course,” she added, seeing Mrs. T-J stare longingly at Gran’s chocolate sponge. “My mother would be so pleased.”
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EPILOGUE
Three months later
WINTER HAD ARRIVED WITH A VENGEANCE, AND LONG Farnden on frosty mornings was a sight to behold. The great trees in the hall park were covered with sparkling hoarfrost, and the procession of cars drove slowly up the long drive in covetous admiration as the auction day approached. Mrs. Tollervey-Jones had, as she had threatened, decided to put the entire estate up for auction in one lot.
Lord & Francis had done their best to give her good advice, in spite of her frequent reluctance to take it, and now the biggest room in the local pub was booked, brochures showing the estate in glowing terms had gone round to a satisfactory number of enquirers and all parties to the auction were ready.
The village had been disappointed in Mrs. Tollervey-Jones’s decision and grudging with their support at first, hating to have the status quo interrupted. Although their working lives were no longer affected by the family at the hall, they all agreed that the village would never be the same after the sale. Now, however, as the date drew very near, excitement had risen, and many residents decided to go to the auction, though they had absolutely no intention of bidding.
Thomas and William from Lord & Francis had been endlessly patient and efficient, and a kind of friendship had developed between them and their client. “Never seen anything like this one,” Thomas said as they drove back to London one afternoon when Mrs. Tollervey-Jones had been at her most demanding.
“I feel like she’s my grandmother,” William said sadly. “I hope she’ll be okay on the day.”
“I’ll take whatever you like on the old thing being on top form. It’ll be the weeks after she’s moved out and the lucky man has moved in. I don’t give much for the peace of mind of young Robert then! He seems a decent kind of fellow.”
“Splendid wife, too,” said William. “Shame, really. I could just see her as the lady of the manor, taking hot soup to the sick.”
LOIS AND JOSIE, MEANWHILE, HAD BEEN HARD AT WORK FINALISING the details of the wedding, fixed for only a few weeks hence. At the same time, the New Brooms team had put in many extra hours helping Mrs. Tollervey-Jones with the huge task of clearing the hall of everything she did not want to take to the Stone House, and doing their best to keep her from descending into a pit of despair. At least, this last was what Lois had instructed the team to concentrate on, but one and all had reported that there was no sign of depression. On the contrary, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones seemed more and more excited as the auction day drew near.
The date fixed was for a Friday evening, when, according to auctioneer lore, they could expect a good crowd. “As many as possible,” was the hope. That way a good auction fever would build up, and many an indecisive buyer would leap to the winning bid at the last minute.
On Friday morning, Lois, Gran and Derek sat at the breakfast table in total silence. After about five minutes, Derek said, “So, are we expecting that the end of the world is nigh?”
“Mm,” said Lois, staring out the window.
“Fancy,” said Gran.
Derek shouted with laughter. “Come on, girls! It’s certainly not the end of the world. We’ll still have the old girl living in the village, and the hall might be bought by a really nice family with young kids and plenty of lolly to spend on doing up the place. Good business for New Brooms, and for the best electrician in the area.”
“Who’s that, then?” Lois said, concentrating now on what he was saying.
Derek stood up. He puffed out his chest, and said he had heard that Derek Meade Incorporated had installed electrical heating systems for royalty. “And now,” he said, “I must get on. Big night tonight, and I mean to be there.”
“Give my love to Her Maj,” said Gran, and began to collect up plates and bowls.
Lois retired to her study and started work on next week’s schedules. She knew already that once the sale had been completed, and her last assignment for Cowgill cleared up, life would fall flat on its face.
She remembered Mrs. Tollervey-Jones’s avowed intention of becoming one of New Brooms’ detection team. At the moment there was nothing to detect, and she told herself at intervals that it was just as well. Derek, when aware of Mrs. T-J’s plan, made sure she heard him say to Lois that with all the extra work in the future, there would be no more ferretin’ for New Brooms. But he’d said that many times before.
“Mum! Mum, are you there?” It was Josie, and the interruption was welcome.
“What’s up?” Lois looked up in surprise. Josie was smiling broadly. “Guess what? Matthew’s got promotion, and it’s all round the station that Cowgill is retiring forthwith.”
“No!” said Lois involuntarily. She saw Josie frown, and hastily said wonderful news about Matthew. “Best wedding present you could have,” she said, and kissed Josie’s hot cheek.
“Who’s in the shop?” Gran asked. “Do you want me to go down there?”
“No, no. Floss came in and offered to hold the fort whilst I dashed up here to give you the news. No, I’m going straight back, thanks.”
THE AUCTION WAS DUE TO START AT SIX THIRTY, AND BY FIVE o’clock there were cars parked down both sides of the village street. It was already dark, and children ran about excitedly, jumping out on passersby with whoops and yells and vanishing off into the darkness of the playing field.
In the bar of the pub, loud voices competed to order drinks, and though the publican had hired extra help, there were still queues waiting to be served. But it was all good-humoured, and bets were being placed on everything from the size of the successful bid to the colour of the auctioneer’s socks. This last bet was a usual one with the particular auctioneer sent from Lord & Francis. He was a jovial, well-rounded figure with rosy cheeks and a penchant for brightly coloured socks and scarlet ties. Robin “Redbreast” Forsyth was a favourite in the district and well known for his entertaining patter and skill in extracting large amounts of money from people who had certainly got it, but had been hoping to have some left over.
It was fortunate that the pub had a large function room, built in more prosperous times for wedding receptions, birthday celebrations, games of carpet bowls and table tennis. There was some competition with the village hall, but on the whole there were enough functions for both.
Conversation had now reached a climax as the door of the function room opened, and taking the steps to the stage in one bound, in came Robin Forsyth. He sat at a table with his assistant at the ready, and beamed at the very large audience.
“Friends, Farndeners and countrymen, lend me your ears,” he began, and was cheered by faithful followers who knew his signature opening. “But if you’d rather keep them, please feel warmly welcome, nevertheless, to this important auction here tonight. I have been instructed by the Honorable Mrs. Tollervey-Jones to introduce the very desireable Farnden Hall estate, comprising . . .” He referred bidders to the glossy brochure, which he hoped gave all a good idea of the particular beauties of mansion, park and farms.
Lois and Derek sat halfway down one side of the room, and Gran had joined her cronies in the front row.
“Just don’t raise your hand and wave,” Derek had said earlier to Gran. “You might find yourself the proud owner of the Farnden Hall estate.”
Robin Forsyth proceeded with great efficiency and pleasantness to remind potential bidders of terms and conditions. He also stated his autonomous standing whilst the auction was taking place.
“In other words, ladies and gentlemen,”
he said, “I am the boss.”
A ripple of laughter went round the audience, and the auction began in earnest. Lois had looked in vain for signs of the Norringtons, but had seen Mr. and Mrs. Blenkinsop, both of whom smiled sweetly at her. Mrs. Blenkinsop was wearing a beautiful pale blonde mink coat, which Lois thought a good sign of affluence, though perhaps not a good augury for her popularity with animal lovers in the village.
By the time the bidding had reached an unbelievable number of millions of pounds, Lois was beginning to feel confident that the Blenkinsops were going to succeed. But then the auctioneer declared that the reserve had not yet been reached, though they were close, and invited sensible bidding to continue. “This property will be selling tonight,” he announced, and his statement was followed by a dramatic pause. Then a man’s loud voice from the rear of the hall offered a figure of a quarter of a million pounds more, and the bidding began again with extra feverishness.
The Blenkinsops were looking worried, and Lois turned around to identify the new bidder. As she had dreaded and half expected, it was Geoffrey Norrington, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, his face alight with determination. At his side, his wife, Melanie, stood like a statue, afraid to move for what might happen.
The bidding continued, and Norrington’s voice swelled confidently. In the end, the next bid was to be with the Blenkinsops, and Robin Forsyth looked kindly at them. After what seemed like an age, Mr. Blenkinsop put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and sadly shook his head.
The gavel came down with a hearty thump on the trestle table, and the deal was done, a legally binding contract with Mr. Geoffrey Norrington.
An instant hubbub of excited conversation broke out, and Lois and Derek stood up in an attempt to signal to Gran. But she was in an urgent huddle with her friends, and Lois said they should sit down again and wait until the room had cleared.