by Ann Purser
Herbert lowered his hands and stared at William. “What if it’s not a good shot? Supposing Spot is lying out there in the bushes only half dead, in agony? I’m going to find him,” he added, and stood up.
“No, you’re not, Bert,” William said, pulling him down again. “Just listen to me. If Spot is still alive, and hurt, he’d be whining and calling you. Listen …” They were both quiet for a couple of seconds. No sounds from outside. “See? The old boy’s in dogs’ paradise by now. Special supper of his favourite meat, an’ a dog choc to follow. Oh, shit,” he added, muttering to himself and rubbing his eyes.
They sat in silence for five or so minutes, and then both spoke at once. “We’ve got to think now,” William said, and Herbert reluctantly suggested they should both make the house as secure as possible and then find a hiding place. Together they stood up, and looked across at the open door leading to the dark chamber.
“That’s it, boy,” said Herbert. “Everything’s locked up downstairs. He can crash through the windows, o’ course. But I reckon Spot had a good go at him, got his jaws round his leg, before he … well, until he … you know. No, let’s get in there and move some of that stuff up against the door. There’s heavy trunks in there, and Abthorpe looks a bit of a weed.”
“And no windows in there,” William said. “Couldn’t be better. D’ you reckon we should get some water and food?”
Herbert shook his head. “Better stay up here now. I’ve got water by my bed, and you have, too. Bring that.”
William looked embarrassed. “I’ve got some chocolate biscuits, too. They were in that cupboard over the sink. Gone off a bit, but still edible. I’ll get ‘em.” They collected up these meager supplies and went quickly into the dark chamber, pulling the door shut behind them.
Reg, listening intently from outside, could hear faint sounds of bumping and scraping, and then all was quiet. He decided it was now or never. He’d have to get help with his ankle soon. He emerged from his hiding place into the back yard once more, and limped over to the door. He could hardly put his foot to the ground, but he tried to forget it. The door was locked, of course. He threw his weight against it, but it didn’t budge, and he had difficulty in suppressing a scream from the intense pain.
The windows, then. He limped round the house, but all windows were shut and the catches rusty and fixed. He could break the glass, but how would he climb through with his dodgy ankle? He slid down on to his haunches, his back against the wall. Think, Reg, think. He felt dizzy, and after a minute or two of being totally unable to think of anything except the pain, he decided he would have to get back somehow to the farm, and rest up until he could think clearly again. He’d have to ask the two idiots to get some dressings or something similar from the shop. If they had any. Antiseptic cream would be better than nothing. He knew that driving his car was out of the question.
He fell forward on to all fours, and began to crawl across the yard. How are the mighty fallen! he said to himself and went doggedly on, stopping now and again to take deep breaths.
Inside the dark chamber, Herbert and William sat on a box, side by side, eating a stale chocolate biscuit and drinking rationed amounts of water. “If we ever get out of this,” Herbert said slowly, “I’ve been thinking of making a suggestion.”
William looked at him. “No good proposing,” he said, with a brave effort at a smile. “I’m spoken for already.”
Herbert bit his lip. “Close,” he said. “My proposal was that you come and live with me in Blackberry Gardens. There’s plenty of room for us to keep out of each other’s way when necessary. But it’d be companionship. Maybe watch telly together in the evenings. That sort of thing …” He tailed off, looking anxiously at William.
“It’s a deal, Bert.” William replied. “Here,” he added, holding out another biscuit. “Half each to clinch it.”
F
ORTY-N
INE
FRANCES HAD GONE BACK TO BED AFTER HER EARLY morning snack, but she did not sleep. She was thinking hard, and had come up with an idea which, if it worked, would solve all her problems at once. She was not stupid, and knew that Shorty and Nelly had not told her everything. Once Reg was out of the way, they would be back with one thing on their minds. Blackmail. But she could be one step ahead. They were not, after all, the brightest of crooks. She got out of bed and looked at the clock. No sounds of Reg’s return, but that meant nothing. He came and went like a pale shadow, and never told her where he was going or when he would be back.
It would be a good time to make the call, she decided, and picked up the telephone.
LOIS HAD JUST WAVED OFF DEREK ON HIS WAY TO Tresham when the telephone rang. She rushed back into the house, thinking as usual that it must be one of her grown-up children in trouble. Derek was always reminding her they were no longer children, but she couldn’t kick the habit.
“Hello? Who’s that?” she said.
“Mrs. Meade? Oh, good. It’s Frances Wallis here. Blackberry Gardens.”
Lois sighed with relief. “Good morning, Mrs. Wallis. What can I do for you?” It would not be a cleaning job, she was pretty sure of that. So what else?
“Well,” said Frances, “I’m not sure, but I think I may be able to do something for you. Could you meet me somewhere? Not here, and not at your place. Could we meet by chance across the fields this afternoon?”
Lois was for once taken off balance, and stuttered, “Um, y-y-yes. of course. I won’t ask why. Yes, well, fine,” she added, regaining confidence. “I shall be out with Jeems at half past two, across the fields, past the sewage works—sorry about that—and along by the river. There’s a couple of willow trees where the river bends. I’ll wait for you there, but if you are first, don’t go away. I shall definitely be there.” She was still thinking of Frances as a timid soul, easily frightened off.
“Don’t be too late, then,” Frances said. “It’s very important that I’m not seen talking to you. Must go now.” There was a click, and she was gone.
Frances had heard a noise outside, and was sure it was Reg returning. But when she looked out, there was nothing there … except a parcel leaning against the back door. She knew the postman had not been. It could only come from one person—or maybe two. She looked at it closely, then touched it with her foot. It was not going to explode. Those idiots were too dim to play the terrorist. She decided to open it, and knew she was right. A dead chicken, headless and ripe, fell out on to the step. There was a note, misspelt and badly written: “Do not blabb! Wotch it.” Frances rewrapped the mouldy mess and dumped it in the bin. She went back into the house, laughing derisively.
REG HAD MANAGED TO MAKE HIS SECRET WAY BACK TO the farm, crawling where possible and limping painfully the rest of the way. It took him a long time, and the last stretch, across a neglected footpath full of stones thrown up by years of ploughing, nearly broke his resolve. He was tempted to lie down and die. But he knew that it would take a long time for a bitten ankle to finish him off, and had staggered on. His two useless henchmen were due to meet him this afternoon, and he meant to be there. As he’d dragged himself along, he made a plan. It would be foolish to stay long in the farm bolt-hole. Sooner or later, probably as a result of betrayal by his faithful pair, the police would arrive. No, he had to think of somewhere else to go, and exactly the right place had come to mind. After dark, Shorty and Nelly could drive him, and nobody need know. First a farewell call on Frances, who knew too much, and then safe seclusion. And how appropriate! Where else would a man in trouble go, but home to Mum …
IN THE DARK CHAMBER, HERBERT PEERED AT HIS watch. They were rationing themselves on candlelight, but it took only a second to see that it was noon. “Not really midday in here, is it, Willie,” he said.
“Well, I dunno,” was the answer, “I think my stomach knows. I could just do with a nice plate of juicy fish and crispy chips.”
“Don’t!” groaned Herbert. “Don’t talk about food. I reckon if my stomach could speak, it’d
be swearing blue murder at us.”
Silence. “You know what you just said,” William said.
“What?”
“Blue murder.”
“Well, what of it? It’s just a saying, isn’t it?”
William slowly shook his head. “Not to me, Bert,” he said. “Not to me.”
Herbert wished he could see the other’s face. He’d never thought before of how much he could read in people’s faces. “You’re not going to suggest we finish off that Reg?” He kept his voice light.
“No, not him, though he deserves it. No, I’d better tell you. I’ve never told anybody else, not all these years.”
Herbert was not sure he wanted confidences along these lines, but made encouraging noises. After all, it would pass the time.
“You know I was married once? No? Well, she was a lovely girl. Lived in the village. There were just two of them, two sisters. You’d know the other one. Old Ellen Biggs, her that lives in The Lodge at Ringford.”
“No, don’t know her. I haven’t got around much,” Herbert said. “Did she work at the Hall?”
“Ellen worked her way up to cook,” William said, “but my Martha was too ladylike for servants’ work. Anyway, she was young when I married her. Hadn’t had a chance to do much, except snare the handsomest young farmer for miles around.”
“You, I suppose?” Herbert laughed, but Wiilliam did not join in.
“We were happy at first,” he continued. “I’d have given her whatever she wanted. And did! But after a while, she seemed discontented, always wanting to go out, on shopping trips an’ that. And then … well, you’ll understand … she withdrew her favours, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh dear,” said Herbert, beginning to dread what might be coming next.
“Yes, well, I was a normal bloke with normal appetites. So I had to look elsewhere. I suppose that was the beginning of it—or maybe the end. Of our marriage, anyway.”
“She found out?”
“Oh God, yes. The nosey women of the village made sure of that. I don’t know why she was so surprised. I should’ve thought she’d expect it. But she was hit hard. It was a terrible blow to her vanity, I suppose. She’d always been the prettiest girl in the village, you see.”
“So were you divorced?”
“No. I offered, but she wouldn’t have it. Never had divorce in her family, she said. It would be a disgrace, and she wouldn’t consider it. So we soldiered on, living more or less separate lives. I let her get on with it, and she began to lose weight. Her sister tried to get her to eat more, and to go out together, like they used to. But she became practically a recluse. We had the doctor, but he couldn’t help. In the end, she just faded away. Faded away, Bert, and I reckon there was only one person who could have stopped it.”
“Who?” Herbert spoke very quietly. He could hear that the old man was near to tears.
“Me. I was her husband, and I should’ve been able to do it.”
Herbert said nothing, and after a few minutes William said, “But to get back to murder, the rumour went around the village that I’d done her in. Poison was the favourite weapon with the gossips.”
“My God!” said Herbert. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. The more you say, the worse it gets. So I just laid low and said nothing. They forgot it eventually. Ellen Biggs has never forgiven me. She hated my guts anyway. But some of the old biddies are dead, and others are ga-ga. There’s always new scandals to gossip about, and the village has left me alone.”
They were so quiet, Herbert could hear a blackbird singing from a tree outside. He had no idea what to say, so he said nothing. William blew his nose, and then began to speak.
“I reckon it’s lunchtime, Bert,” he said. “How about a delicious chocolate biscuit and a drink of water? And then we’d better think what we do next.”
F
IFTY
“LOIS,” GRAN SAID AT LUNCHTIME, “I’VE OFFERED to look after the shop this afternoon and give Josie time off. The post office is shut anyway. She’s worked so hard lately. Beginning to look a bit peaky. I expect you’ve noticed it, being her mother …”
Lois recognized this as criticism, and bristled. “She’s a busy woman and so am I,” she said. “We don’t need to be in one another’s pockets to be close.”
Gran grinned, knowing she’d hit a bull’s eye. “Good,” she said. “Well, if you’re taking the dog for a walk this afternoon, you could ask Josie if she’d like to come with you.”
Lois said nothing, but started washing the dishes. Her mother was a genius at messing things up. She was a wonder and a tower of strength, a brilliant cook and a good grandmother, thoroughly reliable … But … She could not resist adding her four penn’orth most days, and sometimes it was infuriating.
Gran pushed her to one side, telling her washing-up was her job, and she should go off and telephone Josie. There was nothing for it but to hope that Josie could not come. Lois dialled her number.
“Hello, Mum. What can I do for you?” Lois obediently asked if she would like a walk with Jeems this afternoon. “Thanks, but no,” Josie said. “I’ve seen enough of the soggy fields round Farnden, and I’m off to Tresham to buy some new clothes. I seem to have been slopping around in these for ever. As Gran said, ‘you’ll lose your man unless you smarten up.’ ” Realizing that they had both been manipulated, they hung up in good spirits.
Trudging across the marshy field where shining yellow marsh marigolds flowered in summer, Lois thought of Josie’s “soggy fields” and remembered how it had been when they first moved to the village from Tresham. She had felt it was alien country, and it was a while before the slow pace of life and long periods of empty streets seemed anything but dull. But now she grumbled along with everyone else about the rumbling modern farm machinery, shaking the foundations of all the houses. Some people, she knew, never adjusted to country life and had to have regular doses of noisy supermarkets and crowded town centres. Perhaps Josie was going to be one of those.
She was speculating about the rest of her family, and did not realize she had come to the willows. “Here I am,” said Frances, popping out from behind one of the trees. She looked around, up and down the river and over to the spinney at the edge of the next field. “I’ll make it quick,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind, but it is important.”
Jeems sat down on the wet grass. Lois nodded and said, “Carry on.” She could not help noticing that Frances seemed like a different woman. There was an air of authority about her. She spoke with confidence, and Lois listened carefully.
“There are things I can’t talk about,” Frances began. “Just believe me when I say I know what’s going on, and I know about your part in it. Now, these are the facts you need to know, and I hope you’ll act on them.”
Lois said, “Fine,” and the other continued.
“Reg Abthorpe is behind it all. The two old men are still alive and in hiding. Two brainless crooks from London work for Reg. They are fed up with him and plan to get rid of him. I shall help. Then the crooks will turn on me. To stop that, I want you to get them. I shall get in touch and at the time and place I tell you, be there with your cop friend. I’ll leave the rest to you.”
Lois marvelled at how much this woman knew about everything. She saw that Frances was again looking around apprehensively, and said quickly, “When will it be?”
“Can’t tell you that, but be ready.”
Lois and Frances both saw a figure approaching in the distance. “I’m off,” Frances said, and walked away in the opposite direction. Lois loitered, and then had a dog’s ball-game to allow the figure to catch up.
“Hi, Josie,” she said, “that was a quick shopping trip!”
“Didn’t go,” Josie said. “I felt bad about turning you down, and decided to come after all.”
Lois impulsively gave her a hug, and Jeems barked. “I’m really glad to see you, Josie,” she said, and then looked down at her daughter’s smart shoes, soaking wet.
“Mind you,” she added, “you’d have done better to put on your wellies.”
“Yes, Mum,” Josie said humbly, and as Frances disappeared from sight, Lois made sure they took another route home.
THE CONFERENCE IN THE DARK CHAMBER WAS NOT going well. Neither William nor Herbert could think of anything sensible to do. They suspected that Spot had slowed up Reg, but had no idea of the extent of the injury. They did not even know if Reg was still out there, patiently waiting until they should be forced out by hunger or desperation.
“It’ll be hunger, won’t it,” William said. “I reckon both of us are strong enough to stay here until Reg gets fed up and moves in. Probably with help from his trusty helpers. But after these biscuits are finished and the water gone, we’ll have to go down and find something else. Maybe at night, when we’ll be pretty sure nobody will be around.”
“Reg will expect that.” Herbert’s voice was dismal. “No, he’ll post a watch night and day. Except, o’ course,” he added, brightening, “so long as we don’t have any light, we can probably creep down and get food without him or his crew knowing.”
“So shall we try tonight?” William sounded keen. “I don’t mind going. I’m used to keeping quiet, stalking animals an’ that. You townies haven’t got a clue.”
Herbert let that pass, and said William was welcome to try. One of them had to go, and the other would have an emergency plan at the ready.
“What emergency plan?” William asked.
“Haven’t thought of one yet. Give me time. You can have a little snooze while I think.”
“No chance,” said William. “I couldn’t sleep now, not if I had the best feather bed and a good hot-water bottle. No, I’ll shut up while you think.”
Several minutes elapsed, and Herbert was amused to hear from William’s breathing that he had in fact dozed off. As he listened to the birds outside, he tried hard to imagine normal life going on not a couple of miles from where they were holed up. Blackberry Gardens would be quiet. Nothing much happened there between the rush to work in the mornings and the return home in the evenings. Young Ben opposite would be looking for work and irritating his mother. That strange woman with the terriers would skulk about, peeping from behind net curtains. And those dogs! He had disliked them intensely, hated their barking which set off Spot … oh Lord, Spot … His eyes filled with tears, and he sniffed hard.