by Mandy Morton
‘I did, and not before time. Miss Jingle’s money will enable me to fix the Hall and restore it to its former glory, but we need to look to the future and make sure we sustain her legacy. My gardens and the Michaelmas Show don’t bring in enough income. We need to attract visitors all year round, so I’ve decided to make the tenants work for their places here at Wither-Fork. It’s not good enough for them to potter about on their allotments, providing a few vegetables and flowers. In Lettuce Wither-Fork’s time, they had to work the land and serve in the Hall, so that’s my plan. I’m going to open Wither-Fork to visitors and create a theatre space in the Great Hall, which I shall dedicate to Micks and Mash. We shall have evening performances from travelling companies all year round, and I shall move to the gatehouse where I can keep an eye on things. The tenants will be asked to work in the gardens or in the Hall, depending on their skills. Only those too old to work will be spared. We have to justify our existence, and Miss Jingle’s generous legacy has given us the chance to do that.’
Hettie and Tilly were impressed, and said so as their evening out drew to a close. Tucking the fifty pounds into the pocket of her almost-new jacket, Hettie rose from the sofa, and she and Tilly escaped into the cool night air.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The parkland was lit by lanterns as Hettie and Tilly emerged from Wither-Fork Hall. The cats who were part of the show were making preparations for bed in their tents and vans as the chilly September night drove them in from their conversations under the stars. It was a magical sight as the lanterns were extinguished one by one, leaving only a few late-night cats to mull over the day’s events.
Hettie and Tilly took the path that led directly to the gatehouse. They had ten minutes to spare before Bruiser was due, but once again their progress was rudely interrupted by the roar of Augusta Stitch’s bread van as it forced its way across the park, heading in the direction of the church. Hettie grabbed Tilly, pulling her off the path as the van thundered past and left a plume of black diesel smoke behind it. Tilly choked, waving the fumes away with her paw, and Hettie stared after the van. ‘I wonder what she’s up to at this time of night?’ she said. ‘We’ve got a few minutes before Bruiser gets here. Come on, let’s have a look.’
The friends retraced their steps and took the path to the church, which was in darkness. The van had disappeared around the back and, as they approached, they could clearly see a flashlight moving about in the dark. They stood silently at the corner of the church, watching as the back doors of the van were thrown open to reveal what appeared to be a mountain of dead bodies, stacked on top of each other. The substantial form of Augusta Stitch dragged the bodies out of the van, wheezing with the effort, and took them one by one through the back door of the church.
Hettie signalled to Tilly to stay put as she crept towards the van, which was now empty. Minutes later, Augusta emerged with an armful of tins as Hettie dissolved into a convenient rose bush. The vicar repeated her journey several times, filling the back of her van with the food from the harvest festival altar. When she could fit no more in, she closed the doors and moved round to the driver’s seat, where Hettie pounced. ‘Good evening, Vicar,’ she began. ‘A nice evening for a spot of undercover work?’
Augusta was so taken by surprise that she was speechless, and stood staring blankly at Hettie before recovering herself. ‘It’s not what it looks like,’ she said. ‘It’s part of my pastoral duties. All this food has to be distributed to the poor of the parishes, and I thought I’d get an early start in the morning. God waits for no cat, you know.’
Hettie was pleased to see that the Reverend Stitch was visibly shaken and decided to go in for the kill. ‘And what about the bodies you’ve just unloaded into the church? Are they the poor of the parish or part of your congregation at St Kipper’s? Have you bored them to death with your patronising dogma? You might have fooled your bishop, but you won’t get one over on me!’
‘No, no! You don’t understand,’ she said defensively. ‘They’re not dead, they’re …’
‘Scarecrows!’ shouted Tilly triumphantly, joining Hettie by the van.
Augusta Stitch was crushed. She had been caught fair and square, and had nothing to say in her defence. She fell to her knees, offering a woeful request for forgiveness up into the evening sky as Hettie and Tilly began to unload the food and take it back into the church. The scarecrows had been roughly dumped by the Wither-Fork pew. Tilly counted at least a dozen of Blackberry’s beautifully crafted figures, so recently used to bulk out St Kipper’s congregation. She was pleased that they had been returned in time for the show, as it was one of the attractions she’d been most looking forward to. Now, the scarecrow procession and competition could go ahead, and seemingly there was no harm done – but not even divine intervention could save the Reverend Stitch. When all the tins, fruit and vegetables had been safely rescued from her clutches, Hettie felt that an explanation was due to her.
The vicar was sobbing by one of the back wheels of her van as Hettie and Tilly approached. ‘Not exactly typical behaviour for a cat of the cloth,’ Hettie began. ‘Kidnapping scarecrows and stealing food from the poor. I would think that’s a hanging offence in your line of business.’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Augusta. ‘I was forced into it. My congregations have been dwindling and the bishop gave me a final warning – either I improve my ratings or I’d be banished to the chapter house to wait at table like a servant. I thought if I added the scarecrows to the front of the church, he’d think I’d pulled things together and let me stay, but one of the heads fell off during the Lord’s Prayer and I was undone.’
Tilly stifled a giggle, and Augusta continued, ‘I’ve never seen the bishop so angry. He went round the whole congregation to see which cats were real and which weren’t, and he didn’t even let me finish the service. He marched me back to the rectory and defrocked me there and then. He said there was no place for liars and cheats in his diocese and gave me twenty-four hours to pack up and leave. I’ve lost my home and my job. I knew that I should return the scarecrows, and I was tempted by all that food in the church. With no livelihood to sustain me, I’m afraid I helped myself, and now I’m at your mercy.’
Hettie looked at the shambling wreck in front of her. It had been a day of compromises, a day when the truth hadn’t always been the best course of action. Augusta Stitch had never been the ideal candidate to serve the spiritual needs of her allotted flock, and the bishop’s silver lining to Augusta’s cloud was perhaps a real blessing. ‘I’m with the bishop,’ said Hettie. ‘I think your time is done here. You should go where you can find something real to believe in instead of hiding behind a dog collar that chokes you. Good luck and goodbye.’
Augusta looked into Hettie’s face, and for the first time in her life felt the warmth of a kindness and understanding that she had never been able to find in her Bible. It was a revelation to her to feel free and alive without looking to the heavens. As she climbed into her van, she knew that her life would from then on be governed by earthly matters, and she embraced the many joys that they would bring.
‘Had you thought of applying for the vacancy?’ asked Tilly as they waved Augusta off.
‘I’m not sure that the Reverend Bagshot has the right ring about it,’ said Hettie, and led the way to the gatehouse, where Bruiser was waiting with Miss Scarlet.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The joy of having my own allotment has done much to inspire this book. Many of the characters are taken from life, and with that in mind I would like to thank Lady Victoria Leatham, Fenella Dawn and the National Trust.
A big thank you also to Susie Dunlop and all at Allison and Busby, W. F. Howes and Jenny Funnell, and St Martin’s Press across the Pond, who have all made this series of books a reality, and to Marni and Arthur for their belief and support.
Finally, Nicola, who shares every journey and adventure with our lovely girls, Hettie and Tilly, who may be gone, but are never forgotten.
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About the Author
MANDY MORTON began her professional life as a musician. More recently, she has worked as a freelance arts journalist for national and local radio. She currently presents the radio arts magazine The Eclectic Light Show and lives with her partner, who is also a crime writer, in Cambridge and Cornwall, where there is always a place for an ageing long-haired tabby cat.
@icloudmandy
@hettiebagshot
HettieBagshotMysteries
By Mandy Morton
The No. 2 Feline Detective Agency
Cat Among the Pumpkins
The Death of Downton Tabby
The Ghost of Christmas Paws
The Michaelmas Murders
ALSO IN THE NO. 2 FELINE DETECTIVE SERIES
Hettie Bagshot has bitten off more than any cat could chew. As soon as she launches her No. 2 Feline Detective Agency, she’s bucketed into a case: Furcross, home for slightly older cats, has a nasty spate of bodysnatching, and three of the residents have been stolen from their graves. Hettie and her sidekick, Tilly, set out to reveal the terrible truth. Is Nurse Mogadon involved in a deadly game? And what flavour will Betty Butter’s pie of the week be?
In a haze of catnip and pastry, Hettie steers the Furcross Case to its conclusion, but will she get there before the body count rises – and the pies sell out?
The town is celebrating its first literary festival, and The No. 2 Feline Detective Agency has been hired to oversee security.
On the arrival of the three Brontë sisters and the famous aristocat, Sir Downton Tabby, Hettie Bagshot and her sidekick, Tilly, are plunged into crisis as a serial killer stalks the festival grounds. Will there be an author left standing? Will Meridian Hambone sell out of her ‘Littertray’ T-shirts? And will there be enough Crime Teas to go round?
It’s a week before Christmas and Hettie and Tilly set out on a very dangerous case for The No. 2 Feline Detective Agency. Lady Eloise Crabstock-Singe has summoned them to the Cornish coast to solve the mystery of Christmas Paws: a servant cat who haunts the family manor intent on killing off all of the Crabstocks.
Should they put their trust in Absalom and Lamorna Tweek? Will Saffron Bunn’s cooking get any better? And will Hettie and Tilly get home safely in time for Christmas dinner?
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COPYRIGHT
Allison & Busby Limited
12 Fitzroy Mews
London W1T 6DW
allisonandbusby.com
First published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2017.
This ebook edition first published in 2017.
Copyright © 2017 by MANDY MORTON
The moral right of the author is hereby asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher,
nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from
the British Library.
ISBN 978–0–7490–2118–4