Jane Hetherington's Adventures In Detection

by Nina Jon

  “Poor things,” Nellie said. “They’re not allowed any fun nowadays.”

  “We used to love playing in the cathedral grounds when we were children,” her sister Lettice said. “Our parents came quite regularly. We did so love it, didn’t we girls? Oh my,” she said, of the cream teas which had just arrived on a silver, three-tiered platter. The first tier was piled high with sandwiches made from white bread, cut into triangles. The second tier contained enormous fruit scones filled with cream and jam, and the third tier a whole home-made Victoria sponge. Pots of tea, in silver teapots, alongside jugs of milk and delicate china crockery and silver cutlery also appeared.

  “Oh my, indeed,” Jane said. “How on earth are we to eat all of this?”

  “I think we will manage somehow,” Mirabella said, looking as though she could single-handedly demolish the whole lot, which Jane had no doubt she could. Food was Mirabella’s great love. She loved cooking, and was rarely unable to find time to cook for her family. If Mirabella wasn’t cooking food, she was preparing it, buying it or thinking about it. Sometimes she even thought about food when delivering a sermon, and more than once had lost her place as a result. She knew she ate far more than was good for her. Both she and Felix were overweight, her cholesterol and B.P was too high and she was almost certainly diabetic, but you only live once, she reasoned, and whilst she knew she would have to lose weight and get some exercise eventually, as far as she was concerned, that day had not yet come.

  “Shall I be mother?” she asked, holding one of the teapots in her hand and beginning to pour.

  “There was a train running then,” Dotty announced.

  Unsure to what it was that Dotty was alluding, Jane and Mirabella glanced at each other. Realising that neither Jane nor Mirabella could have known what she was talking about, Dotty explained herself.

  “The train used to run between Failsham and Southstoft, in those days, you see,” she said.

  “That’s how we used to get to Southstoft to visit the cathedral, when we were still children,” Nellie said. “We didn’t have such a thing as a car. Hardly anyone did in those days. Only the rich could afford them.”

  “You know, I never knew there was a train between Failsham and Southstoft,” Mirabella said. “Did you Jane?”

  Jane said she had not.

  “It was the train which still runs between the coast and London, but in those days it also stopped at Failsham,” Lettice said.

  “I remember when I was allowed to travel on it for the first time without our Mama or our Papa,” Dotty said. “I felt so grown up. My cousin, Iris and I made a real day of it. She was to die of yellow fever only a few years later. I still miss her to this day.”

  A poignant silence followed, which was broken by Mirabella saying, “Do help yourself to sandwiches, ladies.”

  Nobody needed to be asked twice, and the sandwiches quickly moved from platter to plate. Jane took a bite from her cucumber sandwich. This is what she loved about the Maidservant’s Arms – it was a trip back in time, something quite appropriate for a day out with the Bailey sisters.

  “I remember my daughter playing Pooh sticks with her father from that bridge. She was so little, she had to be picked up to be able to drop her stick over the edge. I can’t remember who won,” Jane said.

  “Talking about childhood, you promised to show me some photographs, ladies,” Mirabella said, kindly.

  “Oh you do indulge us, you really do,” Nellie said, giggling. With help from Mirabella, she took a photograph album out of her bag. It was too big for her to hold, and therefore she laid it on the table. Inside were tiny black and white photographs, cut up from larger photographs to form a montage, crowded together on the page. Her hand shaking slightly, Nellie turned its pages, “This is our mother as a five-year-old with her parents,” she explained, her old gnarled hand resting on a photograph of a young couple and their little girl. The man, dressed formally in a dark morning suit and stood slightly behind his younger wife, came across as aloof and distant. The sisters’ grandmother, equally formally attired in heavy ankle length dress and coat, rested her hand on the shoulder of a smiling little girl.

  “And this handsome young man…” Dotty said, her hands also swollen with arthritis, pointed to a photograph of a man in his early twenties. “… is our dear Papa.”

  Jane looked at the photograph of a young man with a full head of hair, and a moustache.

  “He fought in the First World War, but didn’t speak about what happened to him to anyone, not even to Mama,” Lettice said. “He was a signal man on the railways. Signals had to be changed manually then. They were as big as a man, you know,” she said, miming signals being pulled forward or backwards.

  Every page contained more montages, mostly of the sisters as children, or young women dressed in the fashion of the day. In one, Lettice was dressed in a white lace cotton knee length dress and holding a white lace parasol, lent against the bumper of a Bentley next to a young man wearing a tweed suit, his arm around her.

  “His name was Alfred Foraker and he was Lettice’s beau,” Dotty explained. “She was the only one of us girls who came close to marrying, but Alfred died in the Second World War and that was that.”

  “His elder brother was killed forty-eight hours later, leaving a widow and two children. They were buried side-by-side,” Lettice said.

  “We still visit his grave on his birthday…” Nellie said. “…to tend it. It’s not far from here.”

  “He was not yet twenty-six when he died,” Lettice said, her voice so low it was almost inaudible.

  “Lettice, I had no idea, I really didn’t,” Jane said, reaching across the table to take the old lady’s hand in hers.

  “Neither did I,” Mirabella said, wiping the tears from her eyes and blowing her nose.

  Nellie turned a page and a sketch fell out. Jane picked it up. The portrait was of a young couple sat astride a penny farthing, laughing and clearly very much in love. Jane asked who the couple were.

  “Our mother’s mother’s parents. There weren’t any photographs of them, the photographs of our parents are the oldest photographs in the book. Mama sketched them from memory. Mama was such a good artist. She used to sell her pictures in the market. Only Nellie has inherited her artistic talent. She used to display her paintings, didn’t you Nellie dear?” she said to her sister, to which Nellie raised her hand to her face in embarrassment.

  Another picture showed their parents helping out in a soup kitchen.

  “It was the depression. People who had, gave to people who hadn’t,” Lettice explained simply.

  “You must have lots of stories of village life to tell,” Jane said. “Quite a few of them scandalous, I’ll bet.”

  “Oh we do,” Lettice said.

  “Oh do tell,” Mirabella said wickedly.

  The sisters glanced at each other.

  “Well, there was Amelia, Lady Hoven, the squire’s wife,” Dotty explained. “She loved her heirs and graces that one, but she was no better than many of those she liked to look down her nose at, when all was said and done.”

  Nellie took up the story. “She got herself involved with an Arthur Carter – an out and out rogue if ever there was one – the stories we could tell you about that family would make your hair curl.”

  “He once stole some of our coal from our coal scuttle,” Dotty interrupted, “I saw him run away from the garden myself with a bag of our coal under his arm. I gave chase and he dropped the coal.”

  “We went straight to the police,” Lettice said. “But they said we were mistaken in our identification. Their investigations proved him to have been at the Winter Fair the whole time. They told us many people swore to having seen him there. He even participated in a wrestling match according to them and so nothing ever came of it naturally, but we know it was him who tried to steal our coal, and we know how he did it.”

  “How?” Mirabella asked.

  “He went to the fair, strolled around as big as brass
drawing attention to himself, slipped away, stole a horse, rode to Failsham, did his thieving, and rode back again in time for his wrestling match,” Nellie said triumphantly.

  “My word,” Mirabella said. “What happened between this scoundrel and Lady Amelia?”

  “Well, Lady Amelia got herself involved with Arthur Carter…” Dotty said.

  “… and when Carter’s wife had a baby more than a few eyebrows were raised,” Lettice said. “They’d been married nay on eighteen years and produced nothing, then this boy arrived.”

  “It couldn’t have been Carter’s wife who gave birth to that boy. She was past her time for that kind of thing,” Nellie said.

  “There were rumours of course, Lady Amelia hadn’t been seen for months beforehand, but no one could ever prove a thing. All I’ll say on the subject, is if there was ever a human being who was a cross between his parents it was that boy,” Lettice said disdainfully.

  “Is Arthur Carter still alive?” Mirabella asked.

  “Long dead we’re happy to say,” Lettice informed the party.

  “Carter’s son wasn’t the only one whose birth caused a stir. There was Clive Wilberforce’s son,” Nellie said. “Old Clive had married the baker’s daughter, but the only birds he was ever interested in were those pigeons of his, and so his wife started spending a lot of time at the ironmongers.”

  “Never known a horse lose so many shoes,” Dotty sniggered.

  “So, when his son was born not looking a bit like his father, we all knew who and we all knew why,” Lettice said.

  “My word,” Mirabella said. “You should record all these lovely stories of yours somehow or, and forgive me for saying this, they will die with you. I have a blog for the rectory. Many of my parishioners blog on subjects which are important to them. They talk to people all over the world. I’m sure my son could set you up with your own blog or some type of video link and that way you can share your memories with the whole world.”

  “You may have to change some of the names, though,” Jane felt the need to point out.

  Mirabella finished eating a scone, piled high with cream and jam, and turned her attention to the slice of Victoria sponge on her plate. She eyed it greedily, before taking a mouthful.

  “Is that as nice as it looks, Rector?” Dotty said.

  “It’s quite delicious, you must all try a slice,” Mirabella replied, placing a slice on each of the sisters’ plates.

  Jane looked out of the window. In the grounds outside, a young father and his two young children flew a bright yellow kite, which the family’s retriever tried to catch by jumping up and down in the air after it. Jane could only laugh. Everyone turned to look at the family and their dog, still barking and snapping at the airborne kite high above him. In that moment the past, and the uncertain future, were temporarily blotted out, leaving those at the table happy to enjoy the present.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Good Bergers of Failsham

  Their cream tea over, and with the public meeting on the redevelopment of the market square about to start, Jane returned to Failsham where she dropped Mirabella and the Bailey sisters outside its old Primitive Methodist Chapel, whilst she went to make a quick telephone call. Something had occurred to her when looking at the photograph of the Bailey sisters’ parents helping at a soup kitchen. Churches often provided soup kitchens for the homeless and the type of working girl Roz had once been. Maybe that was the connection all along? Why hadn’t she thought of it earlier, she asked herself as she called Roz.

  “Are you able to talk?” she asked.

  “Go on,” Roz said.

  “Did you ever have anything to do with any churches in your Flyborough days? Did you regularly eat at a soup kitchen in one, for example?”

  “I did, yeah,” Roz said. “I used to eat in a soup kitchen in a church called St. Cuthberts. I was married there too, but not to my current hubby, obviously. The vicar and his missus were okay. They never preached. You don’t think it was one of them, do you? They seemed so nice, but then you never can tell.”

  “We must rule nothing out. Do any names from St. Cuthberts come to mind?”

  “‘Fraid not. The drugs I was doing back then, it’s amazing I can still remember my own name.”

  Well that was useful, Jane thought. She put her phone away and returned to the Primitive Methodist Chapel, buoyed by this revelation.

  The meeting room was almost full. Most of the seats reserved for the public had already been taken, forcing some to stand at the back of the room. Mirabella and the sisters were at the front. They’d kept a seat for her. As Jane walked towards them, she noticed her neighbours, twenty-four-year-old Charity Parsons, and Charity’s thirteen-year-old kid brother, Jack, at the back of the room. She waved at them and they waved back. Jane sat next to Mirabella, and smiled as reassuringly as she could manage at the sisters. She looked up at Felix, sat with the other council members on a platform facing the public. He looked extremely uncomfortable. A man with an electronic notebook and curser in hand, lent against the side of the room, ready to report back to his local newspaper, and Felix kept glancing nervously in his direction.

  Councillor Duigan got to his feet and waited for the noise in the room to reduce. He was dressed, as always, in his tweed jacket, patched at the elbows, over corduroy trousers. “I formally declare this meeting open,” he said before reading from a pre-prepared statement. “On behalf of the district council, I would like to announce that the council wishes to proceed with the proposed redevelopment of the market square in accordance with the plans available for inspection in the council offices.”

  Oh do stop being so pompous, Duigan, Jane thought to herself, as she watched him from the audience. She couldn’t help wondering how a man so disengaged from his electorate had ever managed to get elected in the first place. His must be a safe seat, she thought.

  “The council wishes to redevelop the centre of Failsham on the following grounds,” Duigan continued. “One: that the redevelopment is for the overall benefit of Failsham by introducing more retail units and jobs. Two: that through the introduction of such retail units and jobs, the public will be encouraged to shop locally. Three: that the redevelopment will provide the council with much-needed revenue. Four: that the aforementioned revenue will be used by the council to improve the infrastructure of the area. Five: that the developer has agreed with the council to build a skate park on the currently derelict site on the outskirts of Failsham, which is something I understand, the young people are very much interested in. I would like to add that as someone who has, on more than one occasion, almost been knocked off their feet by skateboarders, I would also like to see a skateboard park safely out of town. I would like to emphasise that the council believe the redevelopment is essential if the town and the local region are to survive and prosper.”

  On these words, Councillor Duigan sat down, leaving Jane rather more impressed with both him and the case for redevelopment, than she would have liked to be. Judging by the loud applause in the room, it seemed she wasn’t alone in this. The people had heard his words and they had liked them, she realised.

  “I now invite comments from the floor,” Duigan said.

  Nellie Bailey slowly got to her feet. “I wish to speak on behalf of myself and my sisters,” she said. The room fell silent and everyone turned to look at her. “My sisters and I have instructed lawyers on our behalf,” she continued to applause. This grew as she said, “My sisters and I are going to fight this with every breath in our bodies.”

  “I have the letter from your lawyer in front of me,” Councillor Duigan said, holding the letter up for all to see. “I must remind you that the council has offered to re-house you.”

  “We don’t want to live anywhere else,” Nellie said, stamping her foot in exasperation. “Moving from our home at our age would kill us.”

  Dotty also got to her feet. “Everywhere we look familiar to us. We know each and every nook and cranny of that house and each nook and
cranny has a story to tell that only we know. If you bulldoze our home down, you bulldoze our lives and memories with it.”

  A woman from the audience got to her feet. “I don’t think it fair to evict the old ladies. I wouldn’t want it on my conscience if anything happened to them because they were forced to move out of their home.”

  “As a local shopkeeper,” a different man said, standing to speak from the floor. “I would welcome anything which brings trade into town.”

  “That side of the square is in a terrible state. Theirs is the only property occupied now the squatters have gone. It needs something doing to it,” a woman said.

  “I love buying wool from the old ladies,” someone else said. “Their shop is so old worldly. We can’t lose it.”

  “Yeah, well people like you would have us all living by candlelight like the old biddies do,” someone replied angrily.

  Jane heard the sisters give a little start. They’d believed that everyone would side with them, but were unfortunately having to learn otherwise.

  “We do not live by candlelight,” Dotty said. “We have had electricity for many years now.”

  Jane and Mirabella looked at each other knowingly. The property did have electricity, but it ran through cables still on the outside of the wall to large round-holed plugs, leaving Jane and everyone who knew them, wondering how on earth the sisters found any electric appliances to fit.

  Jane watched on in silence as the people in the hall argued on. The proposed redevelopment had divided the local region, as it had divided the Dawson-Jones’s. She admired the sisters’ fighting spirit, but she wasn’t sure it would be enough. She felt so sorry for them. They were elderly and, despite the brave face they were putting on things, terrified. Beside her, she heard them whimpering as the argument in the hall raged on. The woman who had said she liked buying her wool from the shop, got back on her feet to address the three ladies.