Secrets on Saturday

by Ann Purser

  “You mean it’s not just the badgers?” William uncovered his face and stared at Herbert. “What else is he up to, then?”

  “What else is there? What are all the likes of him up to? Money. That’s what he’s after, I’m sure. Though I’m not certain how he plans to get hold of it. You got any ideas?”

  William looked shifty. He shook his head. “No idea,” he said. “He came here from nowhere, and bullied me into allowing the badger-baiting. That was all. Never mentioned money.” He turned away and studiously read his book. Herbert left the room and stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the dense thicket. He sighed again. William was lying, he knew for certain. But why?

  FRANCES WALLIS HAD GONE EARLY TO BED. REG HAD stayed in his room, listening to his favourite music from the sixties. She had quite liked it at first, but quickly became bored with the same old songs over and over again. She pulled the covers over her head and tried to get to sleep. Her husband was away on a long driving trip, and she was alone in the house with Reg.

  Sleep would not come, so she sat up and reached for a book. But she couldn’t concentrate. Perhaps she would go down and make a cup of tea, but that would risk disturbing Reg, and she didn’t want that. Her thoughts went round and round and she realized she had read the same page three times without taking in any of it.

  Reg had told her only the bare details of what he wanted from her, and she had little idea of what he was up to. She’d had enough of it, and decided to make a plan. She was sick of being at his beck and call, of telling lies and acting like a gangster’s moll—without the fun! No, it had to come to an end somehow, and an idea began to form in her head. She switched off the light, settled back under the covers, and began to think. First, she had to find out as much as she could about what was really happening. What were the secrets, the transparent lies, that he had told her? Where were the gaps in his stories? The two most obvious were, first, old Mr. Everitt’s sudden decision to go into a home, when there was clearly no need for him to do so. Reg had spun her some tale about advancing senility and not safe to be living alone. But was that really so? Then, on one of her rare outings to Tresham, she had passed old Cox’s Farm and it was up for sale. When she asked Reg what he would do, now that there would be a new owner, and very likely one that was opposed to the badger business, he had said that he would soon find another suitable farmer. Most of them with livestock were anxious to get rid of the diseased little buggers, spreading tuberculosis. His words. William Cox, he said, had finally accepted he was too old and disabled to run the farm, and decided to sell. He’d already gone off to sheltered accommodation. “Same place as Herbert Everitt?” she’d suggested.

  “No business of yours,” Reg had snapped.

  So where had William Cox gone?

  With a plan of action, and plenty to find out, Frances cheered up. She would begin tomorrow. Reg would find out that she could be equally devious. Perhaps it ran in the family, she thought, and smothered a chuckle. In no time at all she fell asleep.

  F

  ORTY-F

  IVE

  LOIS WAS HAVING SECOND THOUGHTS. HAD SHE been wise to suggest the shop for meeting Cowgill? One of her reasons had been that Derek would no longer worry about the possibility that she might be having a bit of the other with the cop he so disliked. In spite of the fact that she had been working with Cowgill for years now, Derek was still suspicious, though he hid it successfully most of the time.

  Now, as she checked the time on the kitchen clock and reached for her jacket, she was not so sure. Up to now, she had kept her ferretin’ more or less separate from the family, but by fixing up the shop rendezvous she had brought it slap into the family’s midst. Ah well, it was worth a try, and if it didn’t work, they could easily find some other place.

  “Just off to see Josie,” she said to Gran. Only Josie and her partner, and Derek of course, were to know about the meetings. “Tell Gran, and you tell the whole village,” Lois had said.

  Once more, Derek was reluctant. “I’m not telling no lies for that bugger,” he said.

  “You won’t have to,” she had assured him. “You won’t have to say anything.”

  The blinds were down on the shop windows, and Lois opened the side gate to walk round to the back. Cowgill stood there, and as he saw her his face lit up. “Ah, there you are, Lois. This seems like a good idea.”

  “Yes, well, we’ll see,” she said, and knocked lightly on the door. It was ajar, and she pushed it open. “Josie? It’s Mum. OK for us to come in?”

  Josie appeared, unsmiling. “There’s a couple of chairs there. Give me a shout, Mum, when you’re going, and I’ll lock up after you. We have to shoot all the bolts. You never know when villains will break in.” She looked pointedly at Cowgill, then turned around and disappeared, shutting the door with a bang.

  “Ah,” Cowgill said. “Do I gather your daughter does not altogether approve?”

  “She’s OK. Just wants us out of here as quickly as possible. But Derek approves, and nobody else knows. Now, shall I start?” Cowgill nodded. Lois did not know that he had had a word with Derek, and assured him that, contrary to appearances, this was part of his plan to wean Lois away from her work with the police. With him, specifically. Derek had grudgingly agreed. Cowgill sat down on one of the uncomfortable chairs Josie had provided.

  Lois gave him all the details of her abortive inspection of William Cox’s house and did not spare herself. “If it hadn’t have been for Derek, I don’t know what would have happened. I was an idiot to think I could spy without them looking around and seeing me.”

  “I wonder if you were a bit hasty, Lois,” Cowgill said cautiously. “It could have been a perfectly genuine meeting, and the people with the estate agent were perhaps other clients looking at the house?”

  “And they all decided to chase a woman innocently walking in the woods? Pull the other one, Cowgill.”

  He smiled at her, and said, “You know my name is Hunter.”

  “Bad luck for you, but I can’t help that,” Lois snapped. “So you don’t believe me?” she added, standing up.

  “Sit down, please, and listen,” Cowgill said, and now his voice was gently authoritative. “Of course I believe you. I believe every word of your account of what happened. It is just that at moments when we are expecting something nasty to happen, we sometimes misinterpret what actually happens. They could have thought you were in trouble and needed help, or—”

  Lois interrupted him sharply. “Oh, come on, Cowgill,” she said. “I’m not stupid. I know when crooks mean business, and that lot certainly did.”

  “Right,” he answered. “Let’s leave that for the moment. I wanted to tell you that we are following up the sale of Cox’s Farmhouse, and the whereabouts of Cox himself. We went to the estate agent’s office, and it wasn’t there. Empty. None of the surrounding neighbours knew anything about them, except that they had hardly arrived in the premises before they disappeared again. I then sent one of our lads to look at the property itself, and the For Sale sign had gone. Now, either the agent’s business has gone bust, or they have sold the farmhouse and decided to move on to a more lucrative district. There was no sign of William Cox, so he’s safely in an old folks’ home somewhere. I don’t think we need to worry about him.”

  “So what are we worrying about? Still not caught the serial rapist in Tresham? I bet you haven’t given a thought to old Everitt. He’s safely in another old folks’ home, is he? And what about Reg Abthorpe? I am certain he was among that group of louts at the farm.”

  “We still have Mr. Abthorpe on file, and are proceeding with enquiries.”

  Lois groaned. “I think we’re wasting time here,” she said. “I don’t know what it takes to convince you that much worse than badger-baiting is going on. By the way, have you been out trying to catch them at it?”

  “No evidence of any baiting going on at the present time,” Cowgill said. “Plenty of signs of past activity, but nothing new.”

>   A gentle knock at the door interrupted them. “Come in, Josie,” Lois said wearily.

  “Are you nearly finished? I need to get some stock from the shelves.”

  “We’re finished, thanks. I’ll let you go first,” she said to Cowgill, indicating the back door. Then she turned to Josie, and added, “I don’t think we’ll be needing this room again, love. But thanks anyway.”

  After both had gone, and the lights were out, a shadow moved along the overgrown footpath behind the shop. It was Reg Abthorpe, returning to Blackberry Gardens by an interconnecting network of footpaths that hadn’t been used for years. He had watched the cop and that woman leaving separately, and could scarcely smother a laugh. My God, couldn’t they do better than that? But there was a serious point here, he reminded himself. Mrs. New Brooms Meade was still ferreting, and reporting back to the cops. Something would have to be done about that.

  * * *

  “SO HOW DID IT go?” DEREK SAID, WHEN THEY WERE alone in the sitting room. It was WI tonight, and Gran was a faithful member.

  Lois shook her head. “Waste of bloody time,” she said.

  “Lois! It’s not ladylike to swear.”

  “You do,” she countered.

  “I’m not a lady. But let’s not get into an argument. Why was it a waste of time?”

  “I just can’t get it into his thick head that there’s something wrong about Herbert Everitt and William Cox. I know it, but I can’t get any help from him. He fobs me off with cops’ replies.”

  “So you’re giving up?” Derek was hopeful, but one look at Lois’s face gave him his answer. She never gave up.

  THE SPEAKER AT THE WI MEETING IN THE VILLAGE hall had been a good one. After the business of the meeting, including planning for entertainment at next month’s group meeting, the president introduced a pleasant, friendly woman who would tell them the story of how she had become interested in quilting, bringing exquisite examples with her. There was a buzz of conversation as tea was prepared, and members clustered round the jewel-bright quilts, stroking them covetously.

  Gran was impressed, but not being a needlewoman herself she made room for others and sat down to wait for tea. Ivy Beasley from Round Ringford was next to her, and sniffed when Gran asked politely after her health. “Could be better,” she said.

  Gran thought she looked hale and hearty, but was sympathetic. “It’s old age with me, I’m afraid,” she said. “Twinges and aches are constant companions. Specially first thing in the morning.”

  Miss Beasley did not want to hear about Gran’s twinges, and turned the conversation back to herself. “But I have no help in the house,” she said. “Not like you with a family around you.”

  Gran’s hackles rose. “You do have one of Lois’s cleaners coming in, don’t you? Isn’t it young Bill?”

  Another sniff. “At present, yes,” she said. “But I expect he’ll be off for a better job once he’s a father. Can’t support a family on scrubbing floors.”

  “He has his vet work as well,” Gran said. She decided to try a safer subject. “Did you see Cox’s Farm is up for sale?” she ventured. “I wonder where the old man has gone. No family round here, I heard.”

  “I’ve already told your daughter that I know nothing about it,” Ivy Beasley said firmly. “But I’ll say this,” she added, “William Cox pleaded poverty all his life, but if he is in a home you can be certain he’s got the money to pay for it. You ask Ellen Biggs. She’ll tell you.” Ivy looked towards the kitchen. “Where’s our tea, then? Ah, here it comes. Nab a piece of that chocolate sponge for me, will you? Good. Thanks.” And that was that. Ivy’s mouth was full of cake, and Gran heard no more.

  When she got home, Gran relayed word-for-word what had happened at the meeting, what the speaker had said, and the president’s vote of thanks, and her conversation with Ivy Beasley. Lois had been interested in her mother’s description of an amazing quilt in black and gold, hung up like a shining banner on a frame. Then she heard Ivy Beasley’s name, and pricked up her ears. So Ivy had told Gran to ask Ellen Biggs. Had Ivy been trying to pass on a hint to Lois? Something more about those early days when Ellen’s sister was the unhappy bride of a faithless young farmer?

  Lois did not need telling twice, and planned a visit to the hospital tomorrow morning.

  F

  ORTY-S

  IX

  “OH, I’M SORRY, MRS. MEADE,” THE NURSE SAID. “I am glad you rang and saved yourself a wasted journey.” Lois’ heart missed a beat, but the nurse’s next words reassured her. “Ellen went home yesterday. We shall be keeping a close eye on her from here, but she was so anxious to get back to her own home. She has good friends to look after her, and will be having plenty of help from Social Services.”

  And from me, Lois thought. She told Gran she would be out all morning, and decided to call on Miss Beasley before seeing Ellen Biggs. Ivy would certainly be up to date with any news about Ellen, and it was as well to be prepared. Bill should be there this morning, and Ivy would be in a good mood.

  “D’ you want to bet on it?” Gran said drily. “That woman’s moods are a mystery to man and beast. Still, you might be lucky.”

  It was raining hard as Lois drove through the narrow lanes to Round Ringford. At intervals, the old ash trees had meshed their branches and formed a tunnel over the road. It was twilight gloom, and the heavy drops banged on the van’s thin roof. Not a good day for someone living in a tiny lodge house with small windows and diamond panes. Light was always dim in Ellen’s house, and Lois hoped she was not sitting miserably in the dark, saving electricity.

  But first Ivy Beasley. Bill’s car was outside Victoria Villa, and Lois touched the doorbell lightly. “Hi, Mrs. M!” Bill sounded relieved to see her. Ivy not in a good mood, then.

  “Is Miss Beasley in? Could I have a few words with her?”

  Bill winked at her. “I’ll just go and ask,” he said. Lois heard a short conversation and then Bill reappeared. “Miss Beasley is willing to receive you,” he said in a near whisper, so only Lois could possibly hear.

  “That’s quite enough of that!” Ivy’s voice was loud and clear.

  “Ooops!” said Bill, and led the way.

  “Good morning, Miss Beasley,” Lois said. “How are you this morning?”

  “Never mind that,” said Ivy. “Have you come to see Bill or me? And get on with it, because I’ve got things to do.”

  “I was on my way to call on Mrs. Biggs,” Lois said firmly. “But I thought I would look in to see if you had any news of her that I should know before I go. You are her greatest friend, I believe?” Flattery will get you everywhere, Lois hoped.

  “I don’t know about that,” Ivy replied, softening. “But I have known her a very long time. Yes, she’s home, but frail. Quite a change since I last saw her. She’ll need looking after, Mrs. Meade. Still the same obstinate old woman, though, and that should keep her going.”

  “Thank you,” Lois said. “I’ll be off then. I don’t want to interrupt you when you’re busy.” She turned to go, but Miss Beasley put up her hand.

  “Don’t be in such a hurry!” she said. “I thought of something that would interest you, and now I can’t call it to mind. Bill,” she added, “make your boss a cup of coffee …” She turned to Lois and said, “That’ll give me time to remember. Pull up a chair.”

  Crumbs, thought Lois, what did I do right? But she obediently sat down, hoping that Ivy’s memory would concern William Cox. Time passed. Ten minutes later, they were still exchanging trivialities about village affairs, and Lois said, “I really must get round to see Ellen now. It’s been nice talking to you.”

  “Hold on,” said Ivy. “It’s coming back to me. Yes … it was about that sister of Ellen’s. Poor silly Martha. I remember it was the talk of the village at the time. When she died, I mean. They had a girl working for them at the farm, a cross between char and housekeeper. Martha was so useless, and spent a lot of time in Tresham, meeting old friends and spending William’s m
oney. So this girl was there several days a week. Lived in the village, at the pub. She was the daughter of the people running it at that time. There was talk, of course, everybody knowing William’s reputation! Then she left suddenly, and disappeared. The pub people said she’d got a job in Essex, but we never saw her again. Shortly after that, Martha began to sicken, and it wasn’t long before we were following her coffin to the church. Thought you’d like to know,” she added, “because I wasn’t born yesterday, Mrs. Meade, and I know what you’re still up to. Right. Tell Ellen I’ll be down with Doris to see her later. Bill! Show Mrs. Meade out, there’s a good lad.”

  At the door, Lois couldn’t resist. “Bye, my good lad,” she said, and walked swiftly down the path.

  She sat in her car for a few minutes, thinking over what Ivy had just said. A girl from the pub. That publican and his family would have gone long since. But Ellen might remember them. Lois started her engine and drove slowly round the corner and up the lane to The Lodge.

  “SO WHAT IS IT THIS TIME?” IVY SAID TO BILL. “SHE’S much too nosey, your Mrs. Meade. Still, if it helps solve some unpleasant mystery, then I’m prepared to help. I know it’s to do with William Cox and his poor wife, but what exactly?”

  Bill shook his head. “No idea, Miss Beasley,” he said truthfully. “Mrs. Meade doesn’t confide in me about private matters like that.”

  “Nonsense!” Ivy actually grinned. “I know New Brooms’ team are all on the snoop. Ideally placed, in and out of people’s houses. Still, I won’t ask you again. I’ll mind my own business, as always.” This, coming from Ringford’s arch-gossip, was rich, and Bill went back to finish the little bathroom with a smile on his face.