by C. G Oster
The parlor was abuzz with discussion and laughter when Dory made a discreet entrance and walked over to Mr. Holmes. She gently inquired if he needed her to do anything, noticing the mud that had been carried in across the carpet. As soon as the room was deserted again, that would have to be dealt with. "Just keep the drinks cabinet tidy," he requested of her.
Moving to stand by the drinks cabinet, she aligned glasses and decanters until it looked orderly. Ice still sat in the bucket and there wasn't much else for her to do just then, so she stood back and lowered her eyes.
Men were lounging across every sofa and chair with drinks in hand. Some of their boots still had mud on them and a couple of dogs milled around, walking from person to person. Vivian was chatting, looking animated and amused—completely different from the sentiments he'd expressed. His rebellious and outspoken nature wasn't on display for this group like it normally was. He pulled through for the family when needed.
"Chamberlain is assured to carry on Balwin's policies," the man closest to her said, puffing on a cigar. As she noticed this, Mr. Holmes was already opening some of the windows. He anticipated everything. It was his job.
"There's no appeasing a tyrant. In the end, I don't think the policy is going to work. Hitler heeds no one—mark my words."
"Well, how much does a policy of appeasement count for when at the same time you're converting the largest factories in the country to churn out munitions. Hitler might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he's surely noticed."
"Churchill isn't helping, blathering on and on about Germany's building military strength."
"He is right, though. Any concession will only tell Hitler that our word means little, that we will fold on anything."
"Historically, his ambitions in Austria do have some justification."
"Not if you're Austrian."
"Quite a few would welcome him. Both Chamberlain and Baldwin are shutting their ears. It's pure scaremongering. It's criminal what Churchill is doing to the masses, terrifying everyone that Germans are going to march across Europe like locusts."
"I think what Chamberlain is doing is smart. He’ll give appeasement a try, but keeps armament as a backup strategy. If war can be avoided, it is worth a few costs."
"A few countries, you mean?"
"Well, it's all talk, isn't it? Just because he has ambition doesn't mean it will happen. But there has to be a hard line at some point."
"As long as our alliance with the Russians holds, there will be control of his ambitions. The French to the west, the Russians to the east, there isn't too much room for him to maneuver, is there?"
"Well, the Italians are the big question. As long as they hold firm… But saying that, they are telling the League of Nations one thing and doing another. Can we really trust the damned Italians?"
The conversation carried on, talking about the Earl of Perth and difficulties in dealing with Mussolini. Dory hated hearing the threat of a war being discussed. It was too awful to contemplate. They were still recovering from the last one. Every family she knew carried the wounds of the last war. Just the idea of a new one was terrifying. These men made it sound as if they were facing an impossible position, and it was different from the things said on the radio, which were often quite complimentary about that German and the policies he was instilling to strengthen his country's health and education.
Clearly there was a division amongst these men about how to deal with the Germans. Avoiding war was paramount and Dory wanted to believe with everything in her that Churchill was scaremongering. She hoped they were right and Hitler's ambition could be contained. But no one had failed to notice that refugees were appearing in scores in Dover, people that Hitler had deemed unwanted in his utopia.
The men in this room were a fair chunk of Britain's political guard. If anyone knew what they were talking about when it came to the state of the world, these men would. It was very distressing hearing what they had to say and the uncertainty with which they said it. Their lack of faith in Hitler to be reasonable didn't sound assuring. And if there was no certainty amongst these men, what hope had the rest of them?
Chapter 24
Because of the house guests, the staff didn't get their usual Sunday off. Technically, Dory could as Lady Pettifer wouldn't mind, but she didn't feel right leaving everyone else with a mountain of work while she wandered off for a day of leisure. So she put her day off until the guests were gone. Their stay had been endless work from dawn to midnight, and Dory felt exhausted.
When her day off finally came around, she slept until eleven, missing breakfast entirely. No doubt, Mrs. Parsons wouldn't approve, but that couldn't be helped, and a lie in was exactly what Dory needed.
The others were gone by the time she went downstairs and Dory stung at the disapproval that still came from the staff. They hadn't waited for her or approached her about what their plans were for the day. It could be that they hadn't meant to overtly overlook her, but it felt that way.
Larry had driven the girls in the car, so Dory wouldn't be going to Aylesbury unless she walked out to the road and waited for the bus. But Dory wasn't in the mood to go to Aylesbury. The travel would take most of the day and there was nothing she particularly needed. There was also the issue that she wanted to see DI Ridley. He hadn't come around while the guests had been here and Dory was curious about anything new he’d discovered.
Turning her attention to Nora's death also allowed her not to think about the incessant talk of war over the weekend.
With determination, she pedaled to Quainton, eager to be away from the Hall for a while and all the conflicting feelings she felt there. Of late, if felt as though she had been pummeled with emotions—fear of war, hurt at being fired and rejected, confusion over Vivian's hot and cold behavior, and generally dissatisfaction at being in domestic service in the first place. And she was homesick. Having Gladys around helped, but Gladys was generally too busy to talk.
The town was quiet when she arrived. It being a weekday, people were off carrying on with their lives and business. For once, DI Ridley was in the constabulary office, sitting at the desk with a pencil between his teeth. His jacket was off and his sleeves rolled up. She stood there for a moment, watching him through the window, until he noticed being observed and she waved.
"Any developments?" she asked as she walked in. It wasn't a large office. Quainton only had one constable, and the office was essentially built for one.
"Nothing that is leading us any further," he said, leaning back and raking his fingers through his hair. "I'm running out of leads and running out of time."
That didn't sound encouraging. "Out of time?"
"With an investigation, I need to move ahead or start working on other things. The chief thinks it is time for me to go back to London."
"But we don't know who did it yet."
"And there is a possibility that we will never know."
That just sounded wrong. "We can't just give up."
"It's not giving up. It is simply allocating time until something new develops. It is the way of things, Miss Sparks. Care for some lunch at the pub? My treat."
Dory couldn't speak for a moment as conflicting thoughts were competing in her mind. Lunch. Did she want lunch? "Alright," she said and rose when he did. "When would you go back?"
"Well, if nothing new presents itself in the next day or so, then probably late Wednesday."
It was strange to think she wouldn't see him again. She had gotten used to seeing him around, to thinking about him and the investigation, and now it was over. He was getting ready to pack up and leave. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"So am I," he said, holding the door to the pub open for her. It was busy being lunch time, but not like it was on Sunday. A few people sat around the tables, some eating. "I think I'll have the bangers and mash today. You?"
Her mind was still not engaging properly and it took her a moment to think. "Venison pie."
He returned with a pint of ale and a l
emon barley for her. It seemed he remembered what she liked to drink and it made her blush slightly, liking the idea that he remembered anything about her. "Well, I will not stop," she said and Ridley cocked his head to the side.
"You are not responsible for solving this murder. Sometimes things never get resolved. Sometimes the culprit doesn’t get held to account. That is the nature of this, Dory."
It was the first time he'd used her first name and she liked how it sounded when he said it. "Nora Sands deserves to have her murderer found out."
"Don't make the mistake of carrying this as a personal burden. There is only heartache in that. I know this is difficult to hear, but we don't win every time."
Dory didn't want to hear it. "Still, I will keep trying while I am still around. Like you, I don't think I will be here all that long, at least not after Lady Pettifer leaves for France. I will write to you with regards to any progress I make."
"Please do, but don't be zealous about this. There is a murderer around and if you present yourself as a zealous crusader, they might see you as a risk worth eliminating."
This was an uncomfortable thought and one Dory hadn't truly entertained before. It could well be that she had put questions to the actual murderer.
An elderly man in brown tweed sat down at the table next to them and took his cap off. Now it felt like Dory couldn't speak her mind anymore as there was someone close enough to listen in. He nodded to them and took a large swig of his ale. "DI Ridley," he said as greeting. "I hear you've been asking around the village about the Common Road."
"That's right," Ridley said.
"Some say it's haunted," the man continued.
"Haunted?" Ridley said with surprise.
"Had its victim, it has. Why are you asking about the Common Road?"
"Nora Sands was seen bicycling out there shortly before her demise and we cannot account for why. Do you live out that way?"
"Me? No, but the neighbor to my cousin had a gel that met a grisly end out on the Common Road. Not so long ago, either. Tilda was her name. Parents were devastated."
Ridley sat forward in his seat as if very interested. "When was this?"
"Not long ago, some months back. Fell into a ravine. Well, not really a ravine, a bank with a stream down below. They found her and her bicycle the next day after she didn't return. Died straight away."
A frown marred Ridley's brow. "I wasn't told about this."
"Well, you wouldn't have as it was an accident. Girl was always clumsy. Just got clumsy at the wrong time. Plus, technically, she was more a resident in Pitchcott than here. Still, very sad. The family is devastated, of course. Before that, there was a nasty accident between a tractor and a motorcycle, but that was some years back now. Grizzly, that was, too. That road has always been unlucky. They say the Royalists met the parliamentarians there back in the olden days. Soldiers still haunt the road."
"And what was Tilda's surname?"
"Turman it was. My sister married a Turman some twenty years ago. Only distant relation to Tilda, though."
The food arrived, but it was untouched for a moment. "Could these deaths be related?" Dory asked quietly after a while. The elderly man seemed to be lost in thought now, staring at the wall. The idea of falling down a ravine while bicycling was something Dory could relate to as she had been bicycling just a half an hour earlier. One day out for a bicycle ride and then dead. An image of Vivian zooming past her and almost knocking her off the road entered her mind.
"Scratches," she said in barely more than a whisper.
"I have found no connection between Nora Sands and Pitchcott." He turned his attention back to the man. "Do you know what happened to the bicycle?"
"I don't know. I suppose it returned to her parents, but it had gone down the ravine, so it won't be much good to anyone."
"Where exactly do they live?"
The man gave an address, then finished off his ale and placed the empty glass on the table. "I best get back," he said and rose, donning his cap again and tipping his fingers to it.
Ridley sat back again, his eyes off in the distance. "Care to come for a drive to Pitchcott?" he asked.
"Absolutely. This could be important."
"It could be. If Nora was interested in scratches on a car, then was seen out on the road where a girl was driven off, maybe she was investigating what happened to this girl. Mrs. Parsons said she was a curious girl, easily able to get herself into scrapes."
"Mrs. Parsons seems cursed with those girls," he said with a small smile as he returned his attention to his lunch. Dory knew full well there was a jibe at her in that statement.
Chapter 25
DI Ridley's car had the same blue color leather seat as the paint on the car itself. Dory waited by it while Ridley was inside making a phone call to the Pitchcott constable about this death a couple of months back. Eventually, he came outside and they got in. The car whined slightly as he drove, first through the village and then out onto the country lanes.
Dory didn't actually know where the Common Road was, but DI Ridley seemed to know where he was going.
"If Nora was investigating this death," Dory started, "it seemed she found the person responsible."
"If someone is responsible. There is nothing linking these two deaths as of yet. It may be that the death of Tilda Turman was accidental. Nora Sands might have had a completely different reason for being on the Common Road. Maybe she was going to Pitchcott, but we also have no evidence that she got there. The local constable is asking around to see if anyone had seen her."
"If she did meet one of the cars from Wallisford Hall, then that person wasn't driving from Aylesbury because they would have just come up through Waddesford, or up the Willows."
DI Ridley chewed his lip. "It is hard to say. It does suggest someone coming from or driving north, to Bletchley perhaps, but it could also be someone driving south through Luton."
"But why would someone drive to London through Luton?" Dory asked.
"Until we have more details, we can't say."
They drove in silence for a moment, Dory trying to make this new information fit together inside her mind, but there were too many missing pieces. Being one of the family cars, it did suggest a family member, but it could have been someone else. Clearly, the car hadn't been stolen as it had been returned—scratched and damaged enough for George to deem it needed repairs. But there was no indication who had driven it.
They came across a parked car on the side of the road and a constable stood waiting with his rounded, black hat. Ridley pulled over and got out, and Dory followed suit.
"Constable Davis?" Ridley said and the man smiled. They shook hands and the constable nodded his greeting to her. "This is where it happened?"
"This is where she was found," the man said, walking over to the edge of the road. There was a small, stone wall, then a thirty-foot drop. "It took a couple of days searching to find her. Wasn’t readily seen from the road down there." The low, stone wall was there to protect cars coming around the corner, but it hadn't protected Tilda. A chill rose up Dory's arms at the thought of the poor girl lying down there for days alone and unseen.
"She didn't suffer, did she?"
"No, broke her neck on the way down. Coroner said she was dead before she hit the ground."
Dory supposed that was some comfort.
"Why was she out here?" Ridley asked.
"Seeing to an elderly woman out at one of the farmhouses," the constable said. "Was on her way home, and never got there."
"That's awful," Dory commiserated, feeling the chill of the wind roaring across the landscape.
Crouching down, Ridley stroked his fingers along a scratch along the stone wall. As Dory looked closer, she could see flecks of blue along the scratch. "Is that paint?"
"Looks that way. I need some photos taken of this," Ridley said to the constable. "And a piece of the paint."
"I can organize that for you, sir," the constable said.
"And wher
e is the bicycle?"
"Well, it was handed back to the family. If they kept it, I don't know."
It would be a gruesome keepsake if they did, Dory thought, again feeling sorry for this girl and her family. If Nora had been investigating this girl's death, then Dory felt a stronger respect for her. It certainly seemed like a plausible motive for her murder if she found that someone in the house was responsible. So, it wasn't one murder they were investigating, but two.
"We had better go ask them," Ridley said and nodded to the constable. Dory looked down the ravine again before following.
"Poor girl."
Ridley didn't say anything as he started the car and continued down the road.
"Do you think we have our motive?"
"I think that depends on if the bicycle was blue," he said, throwing her a glance. "If not, there was definitely a second vehicle involved."
"One of his lordship's cars is blue," Dory said. "It isn't the main one he uses. The Allard, I think it's called."
Ridley was chewing his lip again and they drove down the tight and winding road to Pitchcott. The village soon came into view. Well, it wasn't much of a village—just a church and some houses. As far as Dory could see, it didn't have a post office or even a pub. It was purely a farming village with not much else to it. There would be no reason Nora Sands would be coming here unless there was someone she was specifically visiting, but no one had ever mentioned that she knew anyone in Pitchcott.
The car swung in through a gate and they drove down a road through a field until they reached a farmhouse. This had to be where Tilda Turman lived with her family. A man stepped out into the yard with his thumb in his front pocket. He wore brown and green wool, and sturdy boots, curious to see what visitors had come to his farm and for what purpose.