by Ann Purser
BY THE TIME LOIS HAD PARKED IN THE ENTRANCE TO a field, bumping over the ruts and hoping her van would stand up to it, the rain had eased off. There was a fine drizzle now, and she stepped smartly over to the Lodge, avoiding puddles and heaps of horse manure. More horses than people in Ringford, she knew, and not too particular where they dropped their dollops. She reached the arched front door, and before she could knock, Ellen stood there, smiling broadly. “I thought it was you, making a fist of parking over there,” she said.
“Is that all the thanks I get for turning out in the storm to come and see you?” Lois was smiling too. Ellen laughed her fruity laugh, and, taking Lois by the hand, drew her into the dark little sitting room. Lois lowered her into a chair. “Now, you sit down, Ellen, and I’ll make us a cup of tea.”
“Coffee for me, please,” said Ellen, and relaxed in her usual armchair. Lois knew that she could not be feeling quite herself, otherwise she would have objected violently to anyone using her kitchen. “There’s cake in the tins!” Ellen shouted. “People have been and brought me so much cake I could set up a stall at the Bring and Buy all by myself!”
Lois returned in a few minutes with coffee and cake, and sat down. “So, you’ve had visitors. That’s nice, isn’t it?”
“It’s nice when Doris Ashbourne comes,” Ellen said, “but not so good when Ivy hobbles down with her. That woman could fill the cemetery single-handed. Talk about depressed! If you weren’t suicidal before she arrived, you certainly would be by the time she went!”
“I’ve just been to see her,” Lois said. “She and Doris are coming down later to see you’re all right. Something to look forward to …”
Ellen grimaced. “Thanks for the good news,” she said. “But let’s forget them. How are you, me dear, and that lovely family of yours. How’s your Josie getting on in the shop?”
“Fine. She loves it, and my mother helps out a lot. It’s the gossip that she loves. Still, it means Josie can go off to the warehouse, and do some deliveries. It’s hard work, running a shop. And with the post office too, she never has a minute to herself.” Lois paused, and Ellen nodded but didn’t speak. Another sign that she was still not quite tickety-boo. “But Josie doesn’t seem to mind. I must say, I like a girl who’s not afraid of hard work. They’re a bit rare these days, not like old times when all the family had to buckle to and bring in some money.”
“Well, I certainly did,” Ellen said, following Lois’s trail. “I was a kitchen maid at fourteen. Lowest of the low, dealing with anything from spilled soup to cockroaches. Now, my sister, she was altogether different. Martha got this idea she was a lady, and wouldn’t soil ‘er lily-white hands! She wasn’t the slave she let people think she was.”
“But on the farm she must have helped?”
Ellen laughed. “Hated the smell of cows and getting ‘er feet wet. And she was forever telling the men to leave their muddy boots outside. Well, you know what farmers are, and William Cox was no different. They ‘ad row after row, and Martha would go to what she called her ‘sewing room,’ though she never did any sewing, and sit and sulk. Eventually they got a girl from the pub to help out, but that made things worse, ‘im bein’ what he was.”
“What happened to the girl?”
“God knows,” Ellen said. “She was no better than she should be, and worked in the bar at the pub in the evenings. Got what she deserved, I dare say.”
“And what was that?” said Lois, holding her breath.
“What they all get,” Ellen said. “A bun in the oven. And served her right. Her mum and dad were respectable people, and they sent her away. Never saw her again, though they missed her in the bar! The men did, anyway.”
“Do you remember her name? Do her parents still live in the village?”
Ellen shook her head. “No, they moved away when they retired. It’s a while ago now, and I can’t remember the name. I wasn’t one for going to the pub … I wouldn’t have minded, but girls didn’t go to the pub at all in those days.” She frowned, in an effort to recall the publican and his wife. “I tell you who might know,” she said, brightening. “Doris Ashbourne. She’s got a memory like an elephant. Ankles like one, too!”
Ellen’s roars of laughter gladdened Lois’s heart, and she remembered what she had primarily come for. “Now then, Ellen,” she said. “I’ve been thinking, and for a few weeks I’ve arranged for Sheila Stratford—you know her well—to come in an extra couple of mornings a week to tidy you up and do any jobs you need doing. Just ‘til you’re better,” she added, seeing thunderclouds gather.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t afford that, and you know it. I shall manage very well with them women from Social Services, and our Doris and Ivy. They come for free!”
“And so will Sheila,” Lois said firmly, rising to her feet. “No arguments, Ellen. Sheila’s looking forward to it. You two’ll have lots of memories of the villagers to talk about. No, don’t get up. I’ll rinse these through, and then I’m off. I’ll pop in again soon, and see whether you’re being good.”
Ellen opened her mouth to object, but then it turned into a yawn, and she realized she was tired. It was very nice of Lois, and she might as well give way, for once. “By the way,” she said in a sleepy voice, “if you see William Cox, ask him the name of that girl. He’ll remember all right.”
F
ORTY-S
EVEN
WILLIAM COX HAD WOKEN UP AT DAWN, AND IN the clear light looked sleepily around the room, seeing the familiar cobwebs on the ceiling, the patches of damp destroying the wallpaper. One of the patches was in the shape of a pig’s head … no, it was more like a badger, with its piggy snout and long face. He wondered what was happening in his woods. Was Reg still operating his nice little earner, taking fees from bloodthirsty lowlife who wanted a bit of sport? Funny how most of them came from towns and cities. Their idea of country life, maybe? No, they just liked killing, seeing animals fighting, tortured and suffering.
His eyes wandered on round the room, but suddenly he looked back at the badger’s head. Now he was not seeing the damp, but under the buckled wallpaper the outline of a door. He got out of bed and went over to the corner where he ran his hands over the unmistakeable outline of a door. The floor was cold, and he returned to pull on his grubby, now smelly, clothes and shoes. He looked around the room. It was too early to rouse Bert. On the rickety table under the window he found one of the pencils Bert had unearthed. With the sharpened end, he pushed it round the door outline, cutting easily through the sodden wallpaper, and tore away soggy strips to reveal, as he’d hoped, a door. His heart sank when he saw a keyhole with no key. But when he turned the handle it opened immediately. A blast of musty air hit him, and he backed away. After a few gulps, he returned and peered in. It was pitch dark, and he could see nothing.
“Bill?” It was Bert, walking bleary-eyed into the room. “I heard you moving … what the hell is that?”
“What it looks like. Another room. But it was papered over. I’ve looked in, but can see bugger-all.”
Herbert put his head inside the musty darkness, and stayed there for a few minutes until his eyes adjusted. “There’s a window over there,” he said. “At least, I can see a window frame, but it’s been bricked up. We’d better find a light.”
William didn’t move. “I know what it is,” he said. “My grandmother used to have a room like this in her old house. The dark chamber, they used to call it. Been bricked up at the time of the window tax. They used to put all kinds of junk in there, and when she died we found things from a hundred or more years ago.
“Right,” said Herbert, unimpressed. “Well, if we’re going to find hidden treasure, we’d better find a light. Come on. No good standing there shivering.”
They went downstairs fast, too fast for William, who slipped and ended up on the bottom step on his rump. He struggled painfully to his feet, and Bert took one look at him and walked over to put on the kettle. “We’ll have a spot of breakfast first,” he
said. “Plenty of time. That’s the one thing we have got plenty of.”
OUTSIDE IN THE THICKET, EYES WATCHED THE FIGURE at the window. It was very early, and Reg had not expected the old codgers to be about. The dog was not out yet, either. This could be a good thing, he reckoned, stroking the cool metal of the gun in his pocket. He had decided it was time they were back under his care, after all. That old Everitt was too resourceful, and might even have spotted him. He had planned to take them by surprise when they were still in bed, but this could be a better way. Once he saw that Everitt was dressed, he could grab them and force them back to their luxury apartments at gun point. Nobody would be about at this hour, and they’d be up and ready to go without hanging about.
Half an hour passed, and he reckoned it was safe to move.
FRANCES WALLIS WAS ALSO UP EARLY. SHE HAD HEARD Reg leaving the house at least an hour ago, and although it was only a chilly dawn light, she had been unable to get back to sleep. She’d tried the bedside radio, very low so that she could hardly hear it. This usually did the trick, especially if it was some boring programme about world economics. Radio 4 did not kick in until five thirty, and up until then the BBC World Service brought news to and from far-away places. Fine for people on night shifts, and excellent for insomniacs.
Downstairs in the kitchen there were no traces of Reg. He must have gone out without so much as a cup of tea. What was it this time? Some nasty, secret errand. God, how she disliked him, even if he was her half-brother! She put on the kettle and turned to find milk in the fridge. The doorbell rang, and she froze. Who on earth? She put out all the lights, and then crept into the dining room to peer from behind the net curtains. It was Shorty. She didn’t know his real name, and didn’t want to. Backing quickly out of sight, her heart beating fast, she retreated to the stairs. Reg had locked up securely, she was sure of that. All she needed to do was get back into bed, and Shorty would go away.
He didn’t. He rang the bell and kept his finger on it. Frances put her fingers in her ears and pulled the bed covers over her head. The shrill bell penetrated, even so. Well, the battery would run out sooner or later. Then it stopped, and she heard Shorty’s footsteps on the gravelled drive. But he was only going round to the back of the house, and she heard banging and crunching as he pulled a ladder out of the garden shed.
That’s enough, Frances decided. She got out of bed and marched to the back bedroom. Flinging open the window, she shouted, “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing!”
Shorty looked up, smiling. “Ah, Frances,” he said. “Can’t y’ sleep?”
“Don’t try being funny! Just bugger off.”
He shook his head. “Let me in, Frances,” he said, now unsmiling. “I want to talk t’ you about Reg. Me and Nelly have decided to do somethin’ about him. He’s bloody mad, and we’re getting out. But he owes us a lot o’ money. We reckon you can help us.”
“I’ve got no money, so get out of here before I call the police.”
“Reg wouldn’t like that, Frances,” Shorty warned. “Anyway, we don’t want your money. We want t’ get him somewhere safe, wivout his gun, and persuade him to pay up. We’re good at persuadin’.” His upturned face was white in the early morning light, and his grin more evil than usual.
Frances was silent, thinking. If those two idiots could pull it off, with her help they might be able to get rid of Reg Abthorpe for good. She had nothing to lose. Yesterday’s post had brought a card from her husband saying he would not be back for a while, as he had to stay out of the country. He sent his love, which she did not want, and she put the card in the bin. Nothing to lose, then. She leaned out of the window, and said in a whisper, “Hey, Romeo, wait there and I’ll let you in. And no funny stuff, because Reg is not the only one with a gun.”
“We’ll sit in the kitchen,” she said, pulling Shorty inside. Before she could shut the door, Nelly appeared from nowhere and squeezed in behind. “Don’t put the light on!” Frances snapped. “My neighbours are a nosey lot.”
“They’ll not be up at this hour,” said Shorty.
“Doesn’t matter. Just do as I say.” Frances pulled up the blinds, and the kitchen was dimly lit by the lightening day.
“What’s the plan, then?” Frances had no great hopes for imaginative strategy from these two, but had decided to listen to what they’d got to say.
Nelly opened his mouth, and shut it again as Shorty glared at him. “I’ll do the talking. Well, it’s like this. We know Reg is living with you—”
“Lodging with me,” Frances snapped.
“And so we need your help. We got a great place to take him, where we can give him a goin’ over. But we got to get him there.”
“Is that it?” Frances said incredulously. “Your great plan? Sounds more like wishful thinking to me. Where is this place, anyway?”
Nelly said, “It’s up the …” Shorty dug him in the upper arm with his elbow, and the other winced. “Sorry, mate,” he said.
Shorty turned back to Frances. “We can’t tell you now. Security, an’ that. But if you agree to help, we’ll give you the details later.”
Frances laughed. “D’ you think I was born yesterday?” she said. “Now, straight up, if you don’t tell me the place, you can get out now and don’t come back.”
She opened the kitchen drawer, which she knew held nothing more dangerous than wooden spoons, but they both chorused at once, “All right. We’ll tell you!”
Shorty continued, “No need to be hasty. I know we can trust you.” He didn’t, but he had no alternative.
“So where is it?” said Frances, her hand still hidden in the drawer.
“Up at the farm,” Shorty said tersely. “A barn at the back. Nobody knows about it, but Reg’s made it into a lock-up garage for his car, and space for a camp bed. Nelly’s had a spare key cut. Knows a bloke what done it for us on the nod.”
“Does Reg know you know?” Frances was almost persuaded, and shut the drawer. Reg was clever in his twisted way, and a barn out of sight at an empty farmhouse, with dark woods creeping up to it, was a great hiding place. She knew something had gone wrong with the trap for the Meade woman.
Shorty nodded. “Yes. But we don’t get asked up there often, and we don’t go without bein’ asked. Unless we’re sure he’s not there.”
“So, when are you planning to do this?” Frances looked at the kitchen clock, and began to worry that Reg might be back soon.
“Well, that’s it. We got to make a date OK with you. You’d have to slip stuff into his goodnight cocoa, and then give us the signal.”
“Ain’t you forgotten somethink?” Nelly said.
“What?”
“The gun. She’d need to find that and put it where he couldn’t find it. He’ll be dopey, but not uncon … uncon … scious.”
“Right,” said Frances. “You two can get going now. Reg might be back any minute. How can I contact you?”
“Tie a dog lead to the gate. I’ll be watching,” said Shorty. “Reg won’t suspect nothin’. You can say you dropped it and somebody brought it back. I’ll come when he’s out. No need to say anything except the day and time.” He grabbed Nelly’s arm, and the fat man winced. It was where Shorty had thumped him. In seconds they were out of the door and disappeared.
Frances sat for another ten minutes, thinking over what her visitors proposed. It could work, she decided. It was worth a try at anything to get rid of Reg. She opened the fridge and took out milk and juice. Helping herself to a generous portion of muesli, she drowned it in milk and began to eat hungrily. A good start to the morning. She prayed that the rest of it would go equally well.
F
ORTY-E
IGHT
REG ABTHORPE WAS UNCOMFORTABLE. HE HAD been standing motionless for about twenty minutes and had cramp in his foot. He carefully shifted his weight and looked at his watch. There had been no signs of either of the old men in the kitchen. They were probably getting dressed. A good time to strike! He w
as about to emerge from the thicket when the back door opened. It was Herbert Everitt, and he had his terrier by the collar. He bent down to tie the dog up, but it lifted its head, stared straight at the thicket hiding Reg, and began to bark hysterically.
Herbert looked across in alarm, and the dog pulled away from him, rushing towards Reg. It disappeared into the thicket and there was sudden shouting and growling and more furious barking. Herbert instinctively ran towards his dog, desperate to rescue him, but almost immediately there was a shout of “Get off, y’ bugger!” and then the sound of a shot, followed by dead silence.
For one terrifying moment, Herbert was shocked into immobility. Then he turned and scuttled back into the house, slamming and locking the door. Reg followed, limping and cursing, but he was too late. The house was still, with no sounds. Reg consoled himself that he had only to wait. Everitt would not be able to resist coming out again to look for the dog. Best to hide again, this time in a different place, and wait. He limped back and hid behind a thick thorn bush, scratching himself deeply on his arm. He was close to crying. His ankle hurt like hell where the dog had sunk in its teeth, and he knew he should have it treated. But to give up now was to waste time. He would have to start all over again. And anyway, the old men knew he was around now, and would do all they could to keep him out. No, it had to be today. He crouched down and took a look at the ankle. Blood was oozing out fast. He folded up a cleanish handkerchief and bound it round the wound. That would have to do for now.
HERBERT SAT UPSTAIRS ON WILLIE’S BED, HIS HEAD IN his hands, his shoulders heaving.
“Oh, Bert, how could anybody do that?” Willie said, his arm around Herbert’s shoulder. “I can only think of one thing to say that might help.”
Herbert sniffed hard, and said, “What’s that, then?”
“It would’ve been quick, Bert. Like the fox—a good shot in the head is far kinder than being torn apart by hounds. I never used to think that, but I do now.”