7 Sorrow on Sunday (10 page)

As Dot Nimmo drew breath, Lois was able to interrupt. “Of course,” she said. “But first I’d like to see you in my office over the road, cleaned up. And one more thing: I’m not doing this for charity. I shall expect high standards from you, like the rest of my team. And don’t dress for a night in the Butcher’s Arms, please. Quiet, efficient and able to merge into the background. That’s how I like it. Good morning.”

Lois walked swiftly down the road, and surprised Hazel in the middle of a telephone call. “Who was that?” she said.

“The Colonel’s lady,” Hazel replied. “Trying to track you down. I didn’t know you were coming in this morning. How are you, after yesterday—especially the evening?”

“Fresh as a daisy, thanks.” Lois picked up the phone. “What’s Battersby’s number?” she said, and prepared herself for a tale of woe. She hoped Floss hadn’t overstepped the mark and offended the Colonel. “Mind you,” she muttered, “easily done.”

“What is?” Hazel eyebrows were raised. Mrs. M was in a funny mood today—and what was she doing in Tresham anyway?

“Yes, it’s Mrs. Meade,” Lois said into the telephone, her fingers crossed. “Gone missing? What do you mean? Yesterday? And he didn’t come home? Is it his day to come to you? And he didn’t turn up? He might be ill . . . Oh, you’ve done that. What else did his mother say? Right. It’s not really anything to do with New Brooms, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Who’s missing?” Hazel said.

“Darren. The Battersbys’ garden lad. He’s a bit slow on the uptake, and his mum is frantic. Apparently the Battersbys were taking him to a point-to-point yesterday to watch the races. He was going to stay with them for the night, to give his mum time off to visit a friend. He’s fond of Blanche, and she’s very kind to him. But he slipped away from them at the races, and they thought he’d gone home with somebody from the family after all. Didn’t do nothing about it, which was pretty stupid, I reckon. Anyway, Blanche rang his mum when he didn’t turn up to garden this morning, and the poor woman is hysterical. She thought he was safe with the Battersbys. She called the police straightaway, and they’ve searched the village, but no trace. Called me, in case I’d seen him on my rounds. Poor lad, I hope he’s OK. He’s frightened of everything.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “I just came in to tell you we’ve got a new recruit. She’ll be coming in for a talk.”

“Who is it?” Hazel said curiously. She didn’t know Mrs. M was looking for another cleaner.

“Dot Nimmo,” said Lois, and waited for the earth to quake. It did.

“Y
OU’VE DONE
WHAT
?”
N
EXT MORNING
G
RAN STOOD,
duster in hand, by the piano in the sitting room. It was scarcely ever played, now that Jamie had gone off to study music. Lois remembered the night when Derek and his mates had smuggled it into the house after Jamie had gone to bed, ready for Christmas morning.

“I felt sorry for her,” Lois lied.

“Yes, yes, and now tell me the truth,” Gran said.

She speaks to me as if I’d just bunked off school and was covering up, Lois thought. “It’s really my business, Mum,” she said. “But I’ll remember what you said about the Nimmos.”

“It’ll be too late then,” Gran said darkly. “You must be out of your mind. Well, don’t come complaining to me when things go wrong.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lois said. “Now let’s change the subject. I need to go over to Waltonby to see the Battersbys this morning. Their garden boy, young Darren, has gone missing, so they say.”

Gran nodded. “It’s all round the village this morning,” she said. “People are being asked to look out for him. Goodness knows what’s happened to him. He’ll never cope on his own, poor lad. His mum’s frantic, they say. Josie had the police in the shop this morning, asking her to put up a notice.”

“Mum,” said Lois, looking at her watch, “how do you know all this by ten o’clock in the morning when, as far as I know, you haven’t been out of the house?”

“It don’t take long for that kind of thing to get round. And before you get all high and mighty, it’s just as well.
People in villages know everything about everybody, and sometimes it comes in useful.” Gran sniffed, and turned to get on with her dusting.

Lois collected her jacket from the hall, and went out. She was not at all sure she’d done the right thing with Dot Nimmo. Gran could well be right. But Lois justified her decision to herself by saying she’d rather have Dot under supervision than getting up to God knows what on her own. She’d obviously made a start with the nice woman in Tresham. And one thing was sure: the Nimmos would not need to go out scrubbing. Money was their business, and they were certain to have plenty of it. No, Dot was driven by revenge, and if, as Lois increasingly suspected, the Nimmo deaths had something to do with the stable thefts—which in themselves could be the tip of a much worse iceberg—Dot’s connections could be very useful.

She drove through the twisting, narrow lanes towards Waltonby, and had to slow down dramatically when a couple of large horses with beefy women aboard came trotting along. They arranged themselves into single file, and raised hands in thanks as they passed. What enormous creatures they were! All those rippling muscles and powerful legs. Lois chuckled to herself. “And the horses too,” Derek would say. She accelerated, and thought about Darren.

Horses. He was very good with horses, and had been at a point-to-point. If someone had wanted to frighten Darren out of his wits, a horse would not be the thing to do it. The Battersbys had horses, and Blanche was known to be very fond of Darren. He was a gentle, silent lad, who walked around with his head down, and worked solidly when he was in their garden.

Perhaps some of the roughs at the races had thought it would be a joke to have a go at Darren. He would be an easy target. But he was more likely to just run home than retreat into hiding.

Lois turned into the Battersbys’ drive and pulled up alongside the Colonel’s Range Rover. Everything about the Colonel was threatening, thought Lois. His huge great horses, his
dominating vehicle looming over her, his puce face when in a rage, and his leader-of-men stuff.

Blanche answered the door. “Come in, Mrs. Meade, please. Nice of you to come round,” she said pleasantly.

“Best thing
you
could do,” said the Colonel, appearing out of his study and addressing Lois, “is mind your own business. The police have it in hand, and will soon turn up the silly idiot. Frightened of his own shadow, that one. Now, Blanche, if you’re ready, we have an appointment.”

“Do we?” Blanche turned to him in surprise. “I’d like to have a chat with Mrs. Meade just now.”

“Dentist,” said the Colonel. “He can fit us in straight away.”

“But I don’t need—”

“Don’t stand there wasting time, Blanche. We must be off now. I’ll see you out, Mrs. Meade,” he said, walking to the door and holding it open.

Lois had no alternative but to leave. As she brushed by Blanche to cross the wide hallway, a whisper reached her ear. “Come this afternoon. He’s out.”

“Leave it to me, Mrs. Meade,” the Colonel said, as she stepped out into the courtyard. “I shall make sure the police find the lad. They’ll try a bit harder than they have with my tack, I expect. Don’t forget, now, it’s nothing to do with you.”

“Bollocks to you,” said Lois under her breath. She revved up the van and screeched out of the yard. She was very angry, and decided to take the long way home to give herself time to cool down. She’d get no sympathy from Derek or Gran, who would probably think the same as the Colonel.

As she left the outskirts of Waltonby village, she drove slowly, mindful of women on horseback. The way she felt, she would really have liked to drive fast with headlights flashing. But she didn’t, and as she came to a straight stretch of road, she kept a curb on her speed. Besides, she could see a figure in the distance, walking towards her in the middle of the road.

D
ARREN SAW HER COMING.
A
T LEAST, HE SAW A CAR COMING,
and stood stock still in the middle of the road. Car, not horse. Might be a horse behind it. Might be that man in the car. Better go away. Better run. Another place to hide.

He darted to the side of the road, then sped back a few yards to where he’d noticed a field gate. He was over it in seconds and running clumsily, but with the speed of panic, across the field and into a spinney where the trees were planted far apart and light came through to the ground below. Over brambles and fallen saplings he dashed, until he came to the other side of the spinney. He was out of breath now, and had a pain in his side. Then he saw a figure pulling a trolley. Darren froze, and stared. The man took a stick out of the trolley, and hit a small white ball into the air.

Darren did not wait to see where it landed. He was off again, and disappeared into a thicket where the fairway met the spinney. He crouched down, hidden now from sight, and shut his eyes. He would count, to make the time go by. One two three, one two three, one two three, one two three . . . The repetition calmed him down, and he began to hiss, a breathy whistle, as if soothing a crying baby. Shh, shh, shh, shh . . .

It was this sound that Lois heard as she went quickly through the spinney. She stopped and listened. That was no animal or bird. She moved as quietly as she could towards the sound. Then there was a loud cry from the golf course. “Fore!” A man’s voice, which carried through the trees.
The hissing stopped, and Lois saw a movement in the thicket. It was Darren Smith, and he could not find his way out through the thorns.

By the time she reached him, his hands and arms were bleeding, and his jeans were torn in a couple of places. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and Lois took him by the hand and led him out into a clearing. Then she put her arms around him and hugged him tight. “It’s all right, Darren,” she crooned. “You’re safe now, safe with Lois. We’ll go back home, shall we? Take you back to Mum? She’ll make you a nice cup of tea, and you can tell her about your adventure . . .”

In this way, she propelled him forward gently and eventually they reached her van, which was parked by the field gate. Darren backed away when she opened the door, but she persuaded him quietly to get inside, and then shut the door. In the driving seat, she pressed the button to lock all the doors. It would be a disaster if Darren tried to jump out whilst they were moving.

On the way back to Waltonby, she kept up a monologue. She sensed that it didn’t much matter what she said, as long as she kept talking. She was tempted to tell him about the horse riders she had met, just to see his reaction, but decided that it would be cruel, and her first duty was to take the poor lad home to his mother.

Wycherley Estate, just off Waltonby’s main street, had been built as council houses, but many were now privately owned. Lois wondered how she would tell which was Darren’s house, until she saw a familiar car parked. It was Cowgill’s, and he was standing at the gate, his hand on Mrs. Smith’s shoulder. Lois pulled up slowly, and stopped. Both of them turned to look at her, and then Mrs. Smith’s hand went to her mouth, and she swayed. Lois got out of the car fast.

“He’s fine, Mrs. Smith!” she called. “Just hungry and thirsty. Looking forward to a nice cup of tea!”

Cowgill pushed open the gate and put his arm around Darren’s mum. He led her forward, and Lois opened the passenger door and waited.

“Mum,” Darren said, and struggled out. Mrs. Smith moved towards him, and he was safe at last.

*   *   *

A
FTER THEY WERE SETTLED INSIDE THE HOUSE, AND
Cowgill had arranged to call the next day to talk to them, he and Lois walked down the narrow garden path. A small crowd had gathered outside, and Lois was about to send them packing, when Cowgill put his hand on her arm. “My job, Lois,” he said, and in a steady, authoritative voice advised them to go home. “The Smiths will need your support,” he said, “but not until tomorrow.” The neighbours dispersed, shepherding the staring children across the square of grass and into their own homes.

“Will the Smiths be all right? Shouldn’t Darren see a doctor?” said Lois anxiously.