Lois Meade 02; Terror on Tuesday

by Ann Purser

  Lois cast about for something convincing. “Just the family, really,” she said. “I’m working at the hall and got interested. You know, how they lived and children dying young, an’ all that.”

  “Why don’t you call in some time?” he said, just as Lois had hoped. “I could look out some papers.”

  “Tomorrow?” said Lois swiftly. “About two o’clock?”

  “Well…er…yes, that would be all right,” said Christopher Rogers.

  “Thanks,” said Lois, and rang off.

  ∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧

  Twenty-Three

  The vicarage at Waltonby was an impressive old house, all pinnacles and turrets, with a large garden and glebe meadow where a neighbour kept two engaging donkeys. The stonework of the house had mellowed pleasantly, and when the sun shone, it glowed as if blessed. For the Reverend Christopher Rogers, living in this idyll was not always so pleasant. Built for a cleric with private means and a staff of four or five to run the establishment, it had sadly deteriorated in a more atheistic age. Now he lived mostly in his kitchen and study, opening up the large, chilly drawing room only for Parochial Church Council Meetings and the occasional visit of the bishop. He was, fortunately, a keen gardener, and the approach along a short driveway welcomed visitors with flowers and shrubs. His vegetable garden provided him with a vital supplement to his regular diet of sausages and fish fingers.

  His ordered routine had been temporarily disturbed by Hazel Reading, who had breezed through the house once a week, opening windows, rearranging papers, tidying books into the wrong places in bookshelves, and generally causing him to dread Fridays. But now her mother, Bridie, had taken over, and she was so quiet and considerate, always asking before attempting any reorganization, and Christopher Rogers was contented once more.

  This morning, Bridie had made him his cup of milky instant coffee and brought it to him in the study. “I’ve put a couple of biscuits out for you,” she said, setting down the small tray on to his desk. “Anything else you need?”

  What a pleasant woman, he thought, and how brave of her to turn up under the dreadful circumstances. “Thank you, my dear,” he said. “And I’m to see your boss this afternoon – quite a busy day for me!”

  This was news to Bridie. Hazel had said something about Lois asking questions about the vicar, but she had thought nothing of it. She knew her work was satisfactory, because Father Rogers had said so, several times. He had been careful to stress that Hazel had been wonderful, too, but perhaps not quite right for an old codger like himself! Bridie could have told him it had been a big surprise to her that Hazel had wanted to work for New Brooms in the first place, let alone discover that the girl seemed to be enjoying it. She was, though, well aware that Hazel had stayed in Waltonby, doing a local job, primarily to defend her mother against a violent husband. Now that Dick was gone, in such unbelievable circumstances – she swallowed hard – she supposed Hazel would soon be off to pastures new.

  “Well, I’m sure Lois won’t bother you,” she said now, smiling at Father Rogers. “She’s an old mate of mine, and one of the best.”

  ♦

  By the time Lois lifted the heavy iron knocker on the vicarage door, Father Rogers had gathered together a few books and papers relating to Dalling Hall and its ancient church. He’d met Lois before, of course, when she came to arrange the cleaning service, and he would not have judged her a natural student of local history. A good-looking woman, brisk, efficient, obviously a good wife and mother, yes, all those things; but not…ah, well, you could never tell.

  “Come in, come in,” he said, and Lois stepped into the tiled, dark hallway. It was cold, but Lois was glad to note that a fresh smell of polish and soap had taken over from the musty atmosphere that greeted her on her first visit.

  “Everything all right with Bridie?” she asked, and smiled at the vicar’s enthusiasm. “Yes, well, I didn’t expect either Hazel or Bridie to work for a while, but they wanted to keep busy,” she added in answer to his solicitous enquiries.

  He offered tea, but Lois shook her head. Vicarage tea was pretty pallid stuff in her experience, and anyway, she’d only just had a snatched sandwich at home. “Perhaps later, then,”

  Father Rogers said. “Bridie left us a tray all ready, and I’d hate to disappoint her.”

  What a thoughtful man, thought Lois, and wished that all her clients were so easy. Just before she’d come out, the pub had rung to say Gary had left a hot tap running in the ladies’ cloakroom, and this was the second time it had happened. What was she going to do about it? They couldn’t afford to waste hot water, and might have to think about making other arrangements. She’d promised it wouldn’t happen again, and regretted once again that she’d allowed Cowgill to persuade her to reinstate Gary Needham. His mind was not on the job, that was clear, and she hated to think where else it might be.

  She forced her thoughts back to Father Rogers, who was spreading out books and papers on his desk. “You might like to browse through these,” he invited. “It could be said that the history of the Dalling family is the history of England in a microcosm,” he added, and Lois nodded politely, not having the faintest idea what he was talking about. But she tried hard to follow, and found herself becoming interested.

  Through wars, early deaths, whole families of children lost in infancy, political liaisons and marriages of convenience, the Dalling family had survived. There were some still living in South Africa, said Father Rogers, and they occasionally came over to visit the ancestral home. “Nice people,” he said, “but not the quality.” She wondered what he meant, until he described the last Lady Dalling to live at the hall. She had been renowned for her good works, her care of the sick and poor in her parish. She read that the nineteenth-century Lady Dalling befriended a celebrated freak, a man with a grotesque head and body, who came to stay with the gamekeeper’s family on the estate to escape the painful sideshows where he was exhibited for money.

  “We’ve lost that sense of duty and charity,” Father Rogers said, shaking his head.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Lois, thinking about her mother, who spent long hours in a charity shop in Tresham sorting smelly old clothes and books that other people had chucked out. “Maybe it turns up in different places,” she suggested, and Father Rogers nodded.

  “Quite right, my dear,” he said. “It is important to be charitable in thought as well as deed.”

  Lois had had enough by now, especially if he was going to start sermonizing. “There was one thing I wanted to ask you,” she said. “Hazel told me that Dalling church isn’t used by many people. I expect you wonder if it’s worth going there?” She knew she was risking another homily, but had to get to the subject somehow.

  To her surprise, he laughed. “Absolutely,” he said. “So much so, that once or twice I have completely forgotten the appointed day!”

  “Oh dear,” said Lois, thinking it was just as well. She hated to think of the old boy coming across a gorilla raiding the tombs. “Was there a queue waiting for you?” she said, leading him on.

  “Good gracious me, no,” he said. “It is an evening service, and Mr Betts with his key is usually the only one in the congregation.”

  “Mr Betts?” said Lois. Her voice was sharp with surprise. “Does Mr Betts open up the church?”

  “Oh yes, he’s the churchwarden there. He’s interested in the history and so on, and offered to take it on. Not easy to find churchwardens these days,” he added wistfully. “I have my own key, of course, but Mr Betts always brings his too, knowing my dreadful memory!”

  This odd piece of information settled uneasily in Lois’s mind. She needed to think, to see if this was more than just coincidence. But she couldn’t leave abruptly. Father Rogers had been kind, and so she accepted a cup of tea, and chatted amiably for half an hour more. As she left, she thanked him with genuine warmth for an interesting afternoon, and drove back to Long Farnden at speed, anxious to be there before the children returned home.


  The telephone was ringing as she unlocked the door, and she rushed to answer it.

  “Lois? It’s Mum here. Just ringing to see how you are, all of you.”

  “Why?” said Lois sharply to her mother. “Is something wrong?”

  “No,” said her mother, puzzled. “Just a quick ring, that’s all. I often do.”

  Lois subsided on to a chair. The threat to harm her kids was getting to her, hanging over her. “Right, Mum,” she said. “It’s just that I’m tired. Not thinking straight. Dick Reading’s death has…well, you know.”

  They chatted for a few minutes, and then her mother said, “Look, Lois, would it help if I came over and stayed for a week or so? Just while you get back to normal? You’ve got plenty of room now, and I’d keep out of your hair. I could be there for the kids, and Derek and me get on all right. I’m sure he won’t mind. What d’you think of the idea?”

  It was such a good idea that Lois felt tears of relief welling up. “When can you come?” she said.

  “Next bus,” said her mother, hearing the wobble in her daughter’s voice. “I’ll be with you directly,” she added, and put down the phone.

  ∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧

  Twenty-Four

  “Fancy goin’ out tonight, Lois?” said Derek. He had had mixed feelings about his mother-in-law coming to stay. He got on with her well enough, and over the years she had stood by the family, a pillar of reliability when Lois had asked for help. But Gran was a lonely woman, still full of energy and in good shape, and not at all the sort to sit back with her knitting. Lois being an only child meant all her interest was focussed on the Meade family, and occasionally this became oppressive. Still, he had only to drop a hint, and she backed off at once. No, all in all, Gran was a good old gel, and he was fond of her. Now she was here, he meant to make the most of it and see that Lois took some time off to enjoy herself. She’d definitely been looking peaky lately.

  “Yes, you go, Lois,” said Gran. “Me and the kids want to watch that quiz on the telly, and we can do it without you and Derek fidgeting about, disapproving.”

  “Right, if that’s how you feel,” said Lois, taking mock offence, “you’re on, Derek. Where shall we go?”

  “Pictures?” said Derek. “There’s that new fantasy movie at the Sol Central.”

  Lois shook her head. “Don’t fancy that,” she said. “How about a good laugh? There’s this daft thing on at that little theatre in Tresham…all supposed to be amateur actors puttin’ on plays. The manager at the hall saw it, and said he’d never laughed so much…”

  “Blimey!” said Derek. “Doesn’t sound like my idea of a good night out…nor yours, for that matter. You got an ulterior motive again, Lois, by any chance? Somethin’ connected with your precious inspector?”

  Lois was about to cave in, but her mother interrupted.

  “Yeah,” she said, “there was a woman at the Oxfam shop had seen it. Said it’s a real scream. Her daughter’s in it.”

  “Wonderful,” said Derek. “Amateurs playin’ amateurs. Should be a night to remember.” He was silent for a few seconds, and then shrugged. “Well, if that’s what you want, Lois, we’d better do it. Your treat, supposed to be, and I can always have a snooze.”

  But the whole thing turned out to be a pleasant surprise for Derek. The entire evening, with all its joke stage effects and really good acting – acting bad acting – was a riot. The audience was mopping its eyes by the end, and Derek held Lois’s hand for support. “Come on, gel,” he said, “let’s get a drink. That was the best laugh I’ve had for a long time.”

  Lois had laughed too, but not so wholeheartedly. All the time the players were on stage, she was looking at them closely. None were familiar, except that client, Mrs Jordan, who’d known the major. She was playing the prompt, and had a real gift for comic ridiculousness. It was not until the last play – there were four short dramas – that she saw Gary. Some of the jokes in the Shakespeare skit went over her head, and she suspected Derek was the same, but he was on a roll and now couldn’t stop laughing at whatever was said on stage. And in any case, her attention was on Gary. She watched him closely, first suspecting his loony performance as Testiculo the clown was aided by something not entirely spontaneous; and then decided that he was just good at the part. I’m beginning to see drug addicts round every corner, she thought. Then right at the end, when the cast was taking the applause on stage, she caught sight of another familiar face. A stage hand appeared very briefly to release one of the curtains that had hooked itself round a chair. In those few seconds, Lois knew for sure that it was Mr Betts.

  “Could’ve been him,” said Derek, on the way home. “He’s the sort, isn’t he. Schoolmaster, an’ that. They like that kind of thing. Anyway, so what? I don’t see it’s all that important.”

  “Seems you liked that kind of thing too,” said Lois, leaning over and giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Now, now,” he said, “no distractions when I’m drivin’. Wait ‘til we get home, then I can concentrate. Good thing you put Gran in the back bedroom…”

  ♦

  It was not late when they drove into Long Farnden, and there were lights on all over the house. “Not like Gran,” said Derek, “to waste all that electricity.”

  “What d’you mean?” said Lois sharply, her reaction immediately one of anxiety. Anything out of kilter in her house triggered an alarm.

  “Don’t mean nothing,” said Derek, “just it’s not like Gran to waste electricity.”

  He looked at her curiously, wondering at her white face. “Lois, is there something you’ve not told me?” he said suspiciously. “Because if so, you’d better come clean right now, before we go inside to hear the latest instalment of telly rubbish.”

  “No, no, let’s go in,” she said. “I was just worried in case you’re not really happy about having Mum with us. You put the car away and I’ll go ahead,” she added, and got quickly out of the car and ran towards the house.

  “Everything all right?” she called, as she went into an empty kitchen.

  Her mother appeared at once. “Of course it’s all right, Lois,” she said, frowning. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

  “Oh, no reason,” said Lois, visibly relaxing. “Kids been good?”

  Her mother nodded. “We watched our quiz. Really good tonight. Pity you missed it. Still, did you have a good evening?”

  By now Derek had come in, and took over from Lois, who went off to put on the kettle. She could hear him giving Gran a blow by blow account of each of the four little plays, and wondered how her mother was standing up to the strain. But she was an old hand, and would listen carefully and ask all the right questions, and not look bored or distracted. Why don’t I take after her, with all that calm and wisdom? she thought. Then she remembered the time Josie had gone missing when Gran was in charge. She’d gone off with her boyfriend overnight, and Gran had gone completely to pieces. So there it was…she needn’t feel so guilty about panicking over the kids. It was perfectly natural, with that ugly threat from Joanne bloody Murphy hanging over her.

  It was not perfectly natural, though, to keep it all to herself and not tell Derek. Lois shook her head, as if to rid herself of unwanted thoughts. Better make the tea and be as normal as possible, she told herself. Derek already had his suspicions, and she did not want to add to them. A call to Cowgill in the morning would reassure her, she hoped. She had reason to speak to him, reckoning that Mr Betts’s presence at the theatre was one coincidence too many.

  She sat down with her tea in the kitchen, listening to the rest of the family chatting with the television still churning on, and tried to sort out some of the muddled facts which had come her way. Two killings now, apparently unconnected. The major’s death probably had some sort of ritual meaning – him being dressed up in a suit of armour and stuck on top of a tomb, like some old sacrifice. Poor old Dick Reading – no, she couldn’t think of him like that. Wicked Dick Reading, then. He had been tied to a
tree, but more to keep him upright and in a position to frighten someone – her? – than anything to do with…what was it? Somebody with an apple on his head? Lois chuckled to herself, and then felt ashamed, thinking of Bridie and Hazel in a state of shock, regardless of how much they hated him.

  Then the drugs. Prue Betts had most probably taken the wrong thing, or too much, and ended up in hospital. Joanne Murphy’s cigarette smoke smelled of something suspicious, and she lived in the kind of squalor that Lois associated with dozey druggies. Gary was much too interested in drugs at the surgery, knew Joanne Murphy from the theatre, and had been seen by Derek talking to her by the road. Hazel? But no, Lois dismissed Hazel’s involvement. The girl was streetwise, certainly, and probably knew the drugs scene better than Josie, but she was such a sensible girl. Then Lois remembered how she had disappeared at the theatre that night, and returned with no explanation. Had she been backstage, talking to Gary and…and who else? Mr Betts? But surely…

  Lois’s head began to spin. It was too late to sort it all out, even in a speculative way, and she got up. “Time for bed,” she said, joining the family.

  Jamie groaned. “Oh, Mum!” he said. “Gran said – ”

  His grandmother interrupted him. “That’s enough of that, young man,” she said. “You do what your mother says, and do it now.”

  Derek looked across at Lois, and smiled. “Cheer up, duck,” he said. “With Gran in charge we can all relax.”

  If only, thought Lois, but she marched Jamie, still protesting, upstairs, and tried to dismiss all thoughts of galloping majors, knights in shining armour and him with an apple on his head.