‘Will you tell me all about it then?’
‘Discuss it we will, all four of us.’
After an enormous meal, eaten around the big table which had been covered in dishes of food that all but obliterated the snowy-white table cloth it was time to leave and Oliver suggested calling on his gran.
‘I’d like to tell her about the Mumbles Train celebration,’ he explained to Margaret. ‘Perhaps we can go and see the fun? Gran loves a bit of fun.’
They walked through the green fields, stopping to count Billie’s sheep to see if that would really make them fall asleep, following the erratic course of the stream for part of the way and, as they climbed up to the woods and approached Nelly’s cottage, Oliver asked, ‘Margaret, do you sit in Billie’s settle chair and dream?’
‘When you give me a chance! Yes, I love to daydream and play pretend, don’t you?’
‘I dream about being top of the class.’
‘I imagine playing the piano with a big huge orchestra and Mam and Freddie, and you of course, clapping in the front row and Mam crying as she sometimes does when she’s happy.’
‘Your dream will come true, Margaret, but I can’t see me ever understanding sums and writing.’
‘Of course you will! Besides, Billie says there’s more than one way to be clever. He thinks you’re clever with machines, knowing how they work before he’s explained to you. That’s really smart.’
‘I do understand machines a bit. That’s why it would be so great to go and see the Mumbles trains. There’ll be a horse pulling dozens of people in a carriage on rails and everyone will be dressed up. I bet Gran’ll love it.’
* * *
Nelly and George went to see Tad Simmons to deal with the loss of the camera. They knocked on his door somewhat nervously, wondering how to broach the subject without Tad becoming angry.
‘It’s about the camera I was showin’ Dawn,’ Nelly began.
‘The camera you gave her you mean. Don’t suggest she took something that didn’t belong to her,’ Tad said at once. ‘I’ve met people like you before, Nelly Luke – er – Masters. Giving something then changing your mind.’
‘We haven’t changed our mind,’ George said calmly, ‘we just want to show her how it works and buy a film to put in it.’
‘Oh.’
‘No sense givin’ only ’alf a present, is there?’ Nelly added. ‘Tell ’er to bring it down after school on Monday and we’ll fix it up for ’er.’
‘We covered up for her with her father,’ George said as they walked back down the hill, ‘but I think we should let her know we don’t approve of what she did.’
‘She’ll be told, George. It’s best for ’er to be told.’
When they reached their gate, they heard voices. Margaret and Oliver were using the swing Billie Brown had made for Oliver and which had been set up in Nelly’s garden. Oliver jumped down when he saw Nelly and greeted her with his suggestion of a day out.
‘’Course we’ll go, Ollie, an’ if Amy can’t shut the shop Margaret’ll come with us. Dawn too, an’ anyone else you can think of. Make it a real outin’ we will, picnic, ice cream, chips, the lot!’
Nelly walked to the main road with the children and watched as Margaret turned right and Oliver turned left, both stopping several times to wave to her and each other before passing out of sight. She had the dogs with her and decided to walk along the main road and up Sheepy Lane to call on Ethel and enquire about Sheila.
It was as she turned into Sheepy Lane and was bending down to release the dogs from their leads that a taxi passed her. To her surprise, Sheila was inside, obviously on her way home from hospital. With her, in soldier’s uniform, was Freddie Prichard, Amy’s son.
‘What’s ’e doin’ with that Sheila Powell?’ she muttered with mild anger. ‘I’d ’ave thought ’e’d ’ad enough of that one!’ She was distracted from thoughts of Sheila and Freddie by Oliver calling from the bottom of the lane.
‘Gran, can I come back with you? Mam and Dad are out.’
Although curious about Sheila and knowing that a visit to Ethel would satisfy her curiosity, she put the dogs back on their leads and turned back. A car pulled up in front of Evie’s house and she and Oliver waited. Evie stepped out from the driving seat and called irritably to her son. ‘Oliver, come on in and get cleaned up, it’s time for your tea.’
‘I’ve had tea with Uncle Billie and Auntie Mary,’ he explained.
‘Then come and get your homework done. I don’t suppose you found time for that, did you?’ With a brief nod to her mother, Evie opened the door and went inside, leaving Timothy to drive the car into the garage.
‘’Ello, Timmy, bin ’avin’ fun, ’ave yer?’ she asked with a wry grin.
* * *
The burglaries began on a Wednesday evening in the middle of June and the first victim was Archie Pearce who lived near Netta Cartwright. Archie worked at the forestry and each Wednesday evening he went to play darts at The Drovers. It was his only regular evening out. His other visits to the public house were last minute decisions based on the attractions, or lack of them, the wireless had to offer.
He always drank too much on Wednesdays and came home on the late bus, often assisted to his door by the good-natured bus conductor who worked with Johnny. He would fall into bed, pausing only to throw off his clothes and wind his alarm clock. The clock went unheard on Thursdays and this time the driver of the bus which took the workmen up to the forest was the one who helped him.
On this Thursday morning the driver issued a few threats, thumped on his horn and eventually left his cab to knock on Archie’s door, shouting loudly as he did so. But instead of the little man bursting out of his door, hurriedly pushing his shirt into his trousers, tightening his belt and apologising for the delay, a very sober Archie opened the door and said, ‘Oh, I thought you must be the police.’
‘Police? Why, what you bin up to, boy?’
‘I’ve been robbed, that’s what. Money I’d put away for rent and insurance. Someone broke in and stole it. Left me without a penny to my name. Lucky I wasn’t murdered – like poor Harry Beynon when he was robbed.’
‘Look, I’ve got to go. Sorry I am, but these men’ll be late. Called the police then, have you?’
‘I put a note through PC Harris’s door last night. Damn, it sobered me up proper it did, coming home to find all this mess.’
The row of faces in the bus windows all stared at Archie as he stood waving them off, his face shrunken and old at the shock of his home being invaded by strangers. He knew he should go and find PC Harris in case his note had not been found, but he was afraid to leave his house for fear of another break-in.
He had lived alone since his mother had died and had never worried about the house being empty every day. He rarely locked his door, except when he went out in the evening and he frowned with concentration as he tried to remember if he had done so the previous evening. He shook his grey head, the frown deepening, and closed the door. He must have, the lock on the back door had been broken. How ironic that the house had been open all day and robbed when it was locked. He sighed with relief. At least he wouldn’t be thought a fool when the police questioned him. He made himself a cup of tea, washing the cup before using it as if everything in the house was tainted with the touch of a stranger.
The contents of drawers had been strewn across the linoleum, his clothes pulled out of the wardrobe and even handkerchiefs were no longer in the carefully ironed piles, but crumpled as the thief had searched for money. He felt sickened and would not use anything before it had been washed, cleansed of the filthy grubbing hands that had trespassed on his privacy.
Constable Harris called at nine and noted all the information Archie could give him. Archie told him of the fear he held that the burglar was the same one who had broken in and murdered Harry Beynon. PC Harris reassured him.
‘Different altogether this one, Archie. Amateurs who went into the Beynon home. Killed in panic. No, not the
same at all. I don’t hold out much hope of you getting the money back, mind, there’s a look of an expert here. He broke in round the back and at a time when he knew you’d be out. And these terraced cottages with their fences between the yards are very private. I doubt if anyone saw anything unless they happened to be upstairs and looking out. I’ll ask, mind, but in the evenings most people are listening to the wireless, or television for the lucky ones. I’ll ask along the row and if there’s the slightest clue we’ll get him, but as for the money –’ he shook his head – ‘I bet that’s already spent.’
‘The only clue is a couple of leaves on the bedroom floor,’ Archie muttered. ‘Not much help, is it?’
Archie spent the day sitting staring into the fire and wondering if he would ever be able to go outside his door again. Or, if he did, whether he would have the nerve to cross his threshold and walk back in. He went to look at the mess the intruder had left but which he, as yet, felt unable to clear away. He stood on the front door for a while at intervals but could not explain why. He had an unconscious need to feel less shut off from others, but did not speak to anyone who passed: his need to see people was stronger than his ability to discuss what had happened.
The village was full of talk, most people believing that the murderer of Harry Beynon had returned. This opinion was scorned by Nelly, although she couldn’t tell them why. She alone knew the truth about Harry’s death. She had witnessed his wife Prue strike the blow that knocked him against the hearth and had sworn to remain silent, believing the death to have been simply a tragic accident.
Netta Cartwright called and brought some cake for his tea, and later in the evening Griff Evans came, having heard the reason for his absence from the forest.
‘Come on, Archie, it isn’t that bad. Look, the boys have made a collection to pay your rent, so at least you aren’t going to be put out on the road. Now, isn’t that something to smile about? Come on, boy, cheer up. It’ll never happen again. Who ever it is will know there’s nothing to steal now, won’t he?’ He tried to cheer Archie but the old man hardly acknowledged the envelope filled with an assortment of coins amounting to almost three pounds. Griff finally gave up and, accepting the mumbled thanks and promising to convey it to the rest of the gang, he left.
Nelly discovered the second of the burglaries and George was the first person suspected of committing them. Since Prue Beynon had given birth to Sian, early in April, she had been in a mental hospital. The shock of her husband Harry’s death, followed by the realisation that at forty she was pregnant for the first time, had unhinged her and she had surrendered into a silent and uncaring life within the walls of the large hospital from which she emerged only rarely. Her uncaring attitude included the welfare of her daughter, and she showed little interest in her when Amy visited. Her house, not far from that belonging to Mrs French, stood empty, cleaned every few weeks by Nelly.
It was as Nelly opened the front door to begin dusting one afternoon soon after Archie had been burgled, that she realised that something was wrong. The hall looked the same except the door to the small room that had been Harry’s office was wide open and the door to the kitchen was ajar.
Her heart raced with fear as she stepped cautiously inside and stretched out to push the doors further to see into the rooms. They were all empty and she stared anxiously up the stairs. Should she go up or get some help? So far she had seen no evidence of anyone entering, yet she knew that someone had been in the house since her last visit. Prudence won and she left the front door open and walked across to Mrs French to explain the situation.
‘What with poor old Archie bein’ robbed, I thought I’d better not go in until someone knew where I was, just in case.’
‘I don’t think you should go in at all! I’ll telephone for the police and we’ll wait until Constable Harris gets here,’ Mrs French said firmly.
With Nelly’s help, the policeman made a careful note of all that was missing.
‘There ain’t much that I can see, only the little vase she used fer flowers occasionally, like violets or a rosebud. Glass it was.’ Nelly looked around.‘P’r’aps ’e ’oped fer money and didn’t find none.’
Nelly tidied the contents of the drawers and cupboards upstairs and cleaned the rooms, looking nervously behind her as she did so, half afraid that the man was still there, even though the constable had searched, even up into the loft. She was glad to finish and go home to start cooking George’s dinner.
The first thing she saw when she walked through the door was the vase she had missed from Prue Beynon’s house. George was sitting near the fire, taking off his thick socks and feeling under the big armchair with a toe for his slippers.
‘What’s that?’ she demanded.
‘A present for you,’ George smiled.
‘From – not from you, George?’ she asked fearfully.
‘No, from young Dawn.’
‘Hells’ bells! Get rid of it quick!’
‘Why, don’t you like it?’
‘I love it but it ain’t ’ers to give. It’s the one that went missing from Prue’s kitchen!’ She hurriedly told him about the burglary and about the small glass vase being one item she had realised was missing.
‘I see. I think we should go and see Dawn at once. No, perhaps I’d better take the vase back first, the sooner it’s back where it belongs the better.’
‘Hello in there?’ a voice said, and a shadow filled the doorway as PC Harris stood peering in.
‘Constable Harris! You gave us a fright! Stay an’ ’ave a cuppa, why don’t yer?’
George deftly removed the vase and slipped it into the table drawer as he took out spoons and knives. He helped Nelly make the tea and cut a slice of bread pudding for the policeman and, if their chatter was less relaxed than usual, PC Harris did not appear to notice. He had called to ask if George had seen anyone in the area who did not belong.
‘A stranger is usually quickly observed in a place like this,’ he explained, ‘and I think, or hope, that this thief is not one of the locals. Who would take from Archie, poor dab?’
‘And a local would know that Prue’s ’ouse ’as bin empty fer weeks and wouldn’t ’ave anything valuable in it, wouldn’t they?’ Nelly agreed. ‘Yes, this ain’t the work of no local.’
When it began to get dark, Nelly and George set out down the lane, the dogs left protestingly at home. Before they reached the main road, George slipped through the hedge and ran across the field where the two friendly horses trotted over to greet their surprise visitor. He soon reached the house belonging to Prue. He walked quickly but with no attempt at concealment, believing that to walk boldly would attract less attention or curiosity than if he were furtive. He went into the empty house using Nelly’s key and placed the vase in the back of a kitchen drawer where it might reasonably have been overlooked. He was outside, turning the key in the lock when he felt the heavy grasp of a hand on his shoulder.
‘Now George, what are we doing in Mrs Beynon’s house at this time of night, eh?’ Constable Harris asked in a loud voice.
‘Nelly left her purse here,’ George said, using the story they had prepared.
‘Oh? And what did you put in the kitchen drawer, then? Go and have a look, shall we?’
Nelly, who was waiting anxiously in the lane was horrified when George returned accompanied by the policeman. They went back to her cottage and after taking out his notebook and sharpening his pencil, the uniformed man began to ask questions.
They hesitated at first, not wanting to involve the girl in further trouble, but eventually George looked at his wife and shrugged. ‘Seems we have no choice but to tell, Nelly.’
Nelly agreed and they told the constable about the girl’s wanderings and the mischievous stealing.
‘She brought me the vase as a present an’ bein’ as ’ow I cleans fer Prue Beynon while she’s in ’ospital, I recognised it. We thought that if George put it back and hid it, you might think it ’ad bin overlooked an’ not missin’ at
all.’
Harris considered it his duty to lecture the pair on the foolishness of concealing crimes, even those carried out by juveniles, and of tampering with evidence.
‘But I do understand your motives,’ he added. ‘It’s so easy to set young people on the wrong path by too heavy a punishment for youthful devilment. But I’ll have to see the girl, and I can’t really avoid telling how I got on to her, can I? Besides, if she has broken into a property then it’s well past what we could call youthful devilment, and on to real crime.’
‘Can we go up there with you? That Tad Simmons is a bit of a bad-tempered bloke and if we were there to explain how it happened?’ George said.
The policeman smiled. ‘Coming along to protect me, George?’
‘No need of that. He isn’t half your size and I think my fighting days are long past. But we’ve tried to help the girl and we don’t want her to lose confidence in us without a fight – of the verbal sort!’
‘No. Best not.’ Harris shook his head and pursed his lips as he finally made the decision. ‘Best you don’t. I’ll go now and catch the man before he goes to bed, with any luck.’
‘Then come back an’ tell us ’ow you got on, will yer.’
‘A bit of toast and a cup of tea?’ George coaxed.
‘All right then. I’ll come back and let you know what happens.’ He hesitated at the door. ‘No butter for the toast, I suppose?’
‘No, but a bit of ’omemade blackcurrant jam.’
They sat in the doorway after the policeman had left, waiting for news. They spoke little, content to watch the night settling in around them, the darkness slowly creeping into the garden, hiding the corners and making the bushes grow larger as deeper shadows filled out the spaces beneath and beside them. A robin sang a sudden song as if disturbed by a dream, a blackbird clucked as he settled for the night and a mouse crept out quite close to them, so Nelly bent and held the dogs’ collars to allow it to search for food undisturbed.
The Changing Valley Page 7