“Well no, because I’m thinking of sowing chillies and they’re very slow growing so it’ll be ages before they’re ready for the greenhouse.”
“I didn’t know you had any chilli seeds.”
“Yes, I have. I bought some at the car boot sale last year because I like the shape of them and the name. They’re called Scotch Bonnets.”
“Scotch Bonnets!” laughed Lottie. “My Hugh loved making curries but he wouldn’t use them because they were too hot.”
“No, can’t be that bad. I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
“On your head be it.”
On Monday evening, the Pentrillick Players held the meeting postponed from the previous week. Hetty and Lottie walked down to the village with Kitty, all eagerly looking forward to hearing details of Brett Baker’s play. As they approached the village hall a steady stream of people were going inside and the three ladies agreed it looked as though there was going to be a very good turnout.
Robert Stephens began the meeting by apologising for the cancellation of the previous meeting but said had it gone ahead it was unlikely many would have ventured out in the atrocious conditions. Several heads nodded while others voiced their agreement. Robert then proceeded to recap on the previous year’s performance during which he read out a glowing report from a local newspaper in case there was anyone present who had missed it.
“Oh, come on, Robert,” blurted Tess Dobson, as he lay down the newspaper, “cut the waffle and tell us what this play’s about. That’s what we’re all dying to know.” Tess was seated on the end of the front row and determined not to miss any facts worthy of repeating to whoever might be willing to listen.
Robert chuckled as he cast his eyes over the gathered crowd in rows, overlooked by the stern faces of deceased members of past village hall committees whose framed pictures hung around the walls of the old hall. Most in attendance were ladies and many he had never met before. In fact, in the fifteen years he had been the organiser of the Pentrillick Players’ performances he had never seen such a large crowd at a first meeting and he was very much aware of the reason for the turnout.
“It’s a comedy and a murder mystery,” said Robert, “and as usual it’s a three act play and most of the action takes place in the drawing room of a large country house owned by a celebrity hair stylist and his wife.”
One of the ladies raised her hand. “Well, if you need any help with hairdressing and suchlike then Karen and I are your girls. We both work in the salon here in the village.” The person seated beside her nodded vigorously.
“Now that is interesting, and you are?”
“Nicki, Nicki Timmins.”
“And I’m Karen Walker.”
“Thank you Nicki and Karen I’m sure your contribution will be invaluable and may I say welcome to our drama group. In fact I must extend the welcome to all the new faces. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a good turnout for a first meeting.”
Someone coughed.
“Oh yes, and of course a big welcome to the old familiar faces as well.”
“Less of the old,” chided Daisy, who worked in the village charity shop.
Robert chuckled. “Come on, Daise, you know what I meant.”
Taffeta, a young attractive blonde who ran and worked in Taffeta’s Tea Shoppe, raised her hand as though still at school. “Robert, sorry to interrupt but what we all want to know is: is Brett Baker coming here tonight?”
Most of the ladies nodded and uttered words of agreement.
“No, not tonight because he went up to London this afternoon.” There was a collective groan. “But I can assure you that at some time during rehearsals he will be showing his face and he hopes to keep track of our progress over the coming months.”
There was much excitement amongst the ladies and even some of the men. Brett Baker, the professional playwright who had recently bought Sea View Cottage, and was the author of the play for their next performance, was after all the reason for the large turnout. For many saw themselves as leading ladies and men who would receive gushing praise from the village’s newest and most prestigious inhabitant.
During the next hour, Robert gave a few more details to the meeting about the nature of the play and the proposed dates for performances but he refrained from revealing who any of the characters were including the status of the murder victim and his/her assassin for he wanted members to read the play and find out for themselves. He ended the meeting by saying he was in the throes of printing off scripts and once done he would leave copies in the post office so that anyone interested in auditioning for a part the following Monday could familiarise themselves with the script. The meeting was adjourned at nine o’clock.
“Crown and Anchor?” Kitty asked Hetty and Lottie as she picked up her handbag.
Hetty chuckled. “Do you need to ask?”
“No, but then again you might have been fancying an early night.”
“Not likely. I’m brimming with enthusiasm and can’t wait to get my hands on a copy of the script.”
“And hoping no doubt that one of the characters will be a lady on the wrong side of sixty.” Lottie buttoned up her coat and pulled on a pair of woollen gloves. “Come on, let’s go before everyone else gets there and the seats by the fire have all been taken.”
The three ladies were first to get to the pub and so were able to claim the table nearest the log fire. Shortly after they had bought drinks and were seated, Alex and Ginny, who lived next door to Hetty and Lottie, arrived and asked if they might join them.
“Of course,” said Lottie, moving around on the cushioned bench.
“We were just saying how keen we are to read the play through,” gushed Hetty. “It sounds quite exciting.”
Ginny put down her glass and removed her scarf. “It does, I just hope it doesn’t upset the Liddicott-Treens. They’ve been patrons of the drama group for years and do a lot to help.”
Hetty frowned. “But why on earth would they be upset by an amusing murder mystery play?”
“Because the setting is in a large country house and the burglary episode might bring back bad memories of the robbery,” said Alex.
Kitty’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, my goodness, I hadn’t thought of that. Someone will have to warn them to soften the blow.”
Lottie took a large sip of wine. “Would you care to enlighten us a bit because Het and I have no idea what you’re talking about?”
“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” agreed Ginny, “it must be two or three years ago now since it happened so before your time.”
“And the rest,” gushed Kitty, “Jeremy and Jemima were still at the village primary school back then and they’re both well into their teens now.”
“I think it was 2013,” said Alex, his brow knitted as he thought, “and it was about this time of year. Well no, actually it would have been a bit earlier than this because it was half term.”
“So five years. Yes, that sounds about right.” Kitty nearest the fire, stood up and removed her coat.
Hetty drummed her fingers on the table. Lottie tapped her feet.
Ginny laughed. “Alex, Kitty, is it just me or do you also detect a look of impatience on the faces of the ladies from Primrose Cottage?”
Kitty tried not to giggle. “Sorry, we got a bit carried away with minutiae there.” She looked at Ginny and Alex. “Shall I tell them about it or will you?”
“You can do it and we’ll prompt you if you miss a bit or get it wrong,” said Ginny.
“Okay,” She turned to face Hetty and Lottie. “Well, as you’ve already guessed it happened during half term week in 2013 when Tristan, Samantha and the two children were away on holiday abroad somewhere or other: it, of course being the robbery. While the Liddicott-Treens were away the house and grounds were as usual open to the public during the day but because they were away it was the responsibility of the staff to lock up at night and set the burglar alarms. On the Friday night before the family were due to return home, thieves
broke into the house and stole two seventeenth century pistols, a solid silver platter worth a lot of money and jewellery which had been in the Liddicott-Treen family for many, many years which was extremely valuable from a money point of view and also sentimentally.” Kitty paused, “Was there anything else?”
Ginny shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“There was,” corrected Alex, “you’ve forgotten the Fabergé eggs. I believe there were two of them.”
Kitty gasped. “Of course, how could I have forgotten them; they were absolutely exquisite.”
“But surely things of such value weren’t just left lying around the house. I mean, that’s asking for trouble,” spluttered Hetty.
Lottie nodded. “Quite right. It should all have been locked up in the safe.”
Alex smiled. “Well, to be fair none of it was just lying around. In fact quite the opposite, it was all in a very secure room with no windows and a door with several complex locks.”
“And everything that was taken was kept in locked display cases for visitors who toured the house to see and because I’d seen them often, that’s how I know the Fabergé eggs were exquisite,” Kitty added.
Ginny nodded enthusiastically. “And there was always a security guard on duty when people were touring the house.”
“Humph, well none of it could have been very secure if thieves got in,” scoffed Hetty.
“They were professionals, Hetty,” said Alex, “they deactivated the alarms and blew open the secure door with explosives. Of course had it not been for Pickle the poacher who was fishing on the lake knowing there was no-one in the house, the robbery might not have been discovered until the next morning when the staff arrived. As it was Pickle phoned the police on his mobile and raised the alarm because he saw flashlights and was aware of a vehicle in the grounds.”
Ginny sighed. “Such a shame he didn’t spot the lights earlier though because if he had the thieves might have been caught red-handed: as it was they had gone before the police arrived.”
Hetty frowned. “Would it be a silly question to ask who Pickle is?”
“Obviously a poacher,” sighed Lottie, “that’s what Alex just said.”
“Yes, I gathered that but who is he and why is he called Pickle?”
Kitty smiled. “His real name is Percy Pickering but when he was little he couldn’t say Pickering and so called himself Percy Pickling. That caused several people to call him young Pickling and it gradually got shortened to Pickle.”
“And he lives in one of the council houses along Hawthorn Road,” said Ginny, “Except the house doesn’t belong to the council now because Percy and his wife bought it several years back. Sadly though his wife is no longer with us because she died two or three years ago. They have a couple of grown up sons but neither one lives in the village now. One is in Falmouth and the other in Taunton.”
“And if you want some gardening jobs done he’s the chap to call,” suggested Kitty, with enthusiasm, “A lot of people, especially the elderly, swear by him and his rates are very reasonable. Not that I’m suggesting either of you are elderly or need help.”
“Thank you, Kitty. We’ll bear that in mind because I must admit sometimes the heavy jobs can be a bit much.” Lottie made a mental note to write down Percy Pickering when she got home.
“He must be a bit trustworthy then,” reflected Hetty, “and I hope he wasn’t prosecuted for trespassing and poaching.”
“He wasn’t,” Alex confirmed.
“So did the police ever catch the thieves?” Lottie asked.
Ginny shook her head. “Sadly not. They got clean away.”
Hetty tutted. “And what about the stolen goods. Were they ever recovered?”
“No, none of them; as Samantha used to say, it all seems to be lost without trace.” Ginny tutted as she picked up her glass of wine and took a large gulp.
“And they never had any real leads as to who the robbers might have been,” added Kitty, “and everyone in the village was questioned, even holiday-makers down for half term.”
Alex half-smiled. “Yes, we all had to provide an alibi. Especially Ginny and me having an interest in antiques.”
“What!” Lottie exclaimed, “I mean, surely they never suspected you two.”
“They did,” laughed Ginny, “It was quite funny really.”
“And silly too,” scoffed Kitty, “as I’m sure whoever the thieves were they were miles away from Pentrillick long before the investigation got underway.”
Alex agreed. “Yes, and I recall the police were mystified that there was not a shred of evidence to link the thieves to the crime. Which ratifies my earlier claim that it was done by professionals.”
“Who no doubt sussed out the security system at some point while viewing the house as tourists,” said Lottie.
Alex nodded. “Precisely.”
“Don’t they have CCTV?” Hetty asked.
Ginny shook her head. “No, at least they didn’t back then but they do now in parts of the house where it’s deemed necessary.”
Hetty sighed. “Well I can see your point about not wanting the Liddicott-Treens offended although I’m sure the robbery in Brett’s play will be nothing like as dramatic.”
“I hope not,” grinned Alex, “and I must admit I’m looking forward to reading it.”
“Me too,” gushed Hetty.
“Out of interest, have either Tristan or Samantha ever taken part in any of the productions?” Lottie asked.
“No,” said Ginny, “but a couple of years back they let us rehearse at Pentrillick House because Paul who was very talented and our leading man that year couldn’t make rehearsals on the group’s usual night which is Monday because he often went up-country for long weekends, so we opted for Tuesday instead but then of course we couldn’t use the village hall because it’s bingo night.”
“And we had the performance at a different time of year as well,” added Alex, “Because Paul couldn’t spare the time in May, we went for September.”
“So is this Paul still around?” Hetty felt he was not someone she had encountered before.
Ginny shook her head. “Sadly not. He was only here for six months and left at the end of September.”
“I see, so he would have left shortly before Lottie and I moved down here.”
Kitty frowned. “Wasn’t he in the Navy or something like that?”
“Possibly,” Alex replied, “Someone certainly claimed to have seen him in a uniform one day but I don’t know how reliable that person is or even who it was. Rumour had it that he was down here for training purposes, something along those lines. He never talked about work at all but then I suppose they’re not allowed to. You know, official secrets and all that.”
Hetty chuckled. “Cloak and dagger stuff, eh?”
“I don’t think he was in the Navy,” remarked Ginny, “because he was often around during the day so I reckon he worked from home and was probably a novelist incognito or something like that.”
“How exciting, “declared Lottie, “So out of interest where did he live while he was here?”
“He rented one of the houses in the terrace up near the Vicarage,” said Ginny.
“Married?” Hetty asked.
Ginny laughed. “I don’t know and as I said he was only here for six months.”
“And if he was married his wife wasn’t down here with him,” divulged Kitty, “but I do recall he had quite a few women keen to make his acquaintance.”
Chapter Three
On Wednesday morning, Hetty calmly announced that she was taking Albert for a walk down to the village and asked Lottie if she’d like to join her. Lottie declined saying she wanted to make a start on the sweater she proposed to knit for her son Bill, so that it would be ready when he and the family arrived for Easter. Hetty was quite happy with that because the real reason for her walk to the village was to visit the post office to see if Robert had yet dropped off copies of the play. However, her curiosity was res
olved even before she reached the post office for she met Tess Dobson flicking through sheets of A4 paper as she walked along the pavement.
“Is that the play?” Hetty eagerly asked.
“Yes, and if you want a copy you better get there quick because according to Gail, Robert dropped off sixty copies this morning but there are only half a dozen left now.”
Hetty gasped. “Really! Thanks, Tess, I’ll put my skates on. Come on, Albert, best foot forward.” And with a quick wave to Tess she hurried off as fast as Albert’s short legs could go.
“So what’s it called?” Lottie asked, as her sister arrived back at Primrose Cottage waving the penultimate copy of the play.
Hetty quickly unhooked the lead from Albert’s collar and removed her coat. “Murder at Mulberry Hall,” she gabbled as she kicked off her shoes and tossed them into the cupboard beneath the stairs.
“Hmm, not the most imaginative of names.”
“No, I suppose not but then it’s easy to remember.”
“And self-explanatory.”
Hetty sat down heavily on the settee and put on her slippers. “I’m feeling quite breathless. Albert and I practically ran up Long Lane.”
Lottie tutted. “But there’s no rush to read it. There are still five more days until the next meeting.”
“But the next meeting will be the auditions so it’s imperative I get to know the play inside out before then.”
“So are any of the characters on the wrong side of sixty?”
“That my dear, Lottie, is what I’m about to find out. Meanwhile, would you be a sweetheart and make your poor old sister a mug of coffee?”
Lottie laid down her knitting and stood up. “Of course. It’s not every day that I get the chance to make coffee for a rising celebrity.”
“Cheeky,” chortled Hetty, “Anyway, the characters are probably all young and glamorous.”
“Humph, won’t be very realistic then if they are.”
When Lottie returned from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee she found her sister beaming.
“I’ve just read through the list of characters and there are several parts for ladies of my age. Well, ladies nearly my age anyway. Shall I read the list to you?”
Tea and Broken Biscuits Page 2