7 Sorrow on Sunday (14 page)

“Give it some thought,” Lois said. “I must admit I can’t help thinking there’s something more than meets the eye about this. But it’s really between them and you. If you want to have it, I’m not objecting, provided it doesn’t compromise New Brooms or me. I expect you’ll want to talk it over with your parents, too?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ll have to tell them. I can just imagine what Dad will say.”

“What will he say?”

“‘How dare they patronize my daughter like this! If she wants a horse, I’ll buy her one! Refuse at once, Floss!’ That’s what he’ll say,” she answered sadly.

“Mmm, well, he could be right,” said Lois. “Let me know what you decide, Floss. It’s a tricky one.”

“I’ll talk it over with Ben first,” Floss said defensively. “Now we’re engaged, we share everything. We’re as one, Mrs. M.”

Lois swallowed. “How nice,” she said.

A
S FATE WOULD HAVE IT,
F
LOSS WOKE UP WITH THE SYMPTOMS
of flu the next day, and her mother telephoned Lois to give her the news. “She’s got a high temperature, Mrs. Meade, and not making much sense. Rambling on about horses! Anyway, I’ve phoned the doctor, and I’ll let you know what he says. Sorry she’s off work again so soon. Can’t be helped, though. She probably caught it from Ben . . .”

“I know,” said Lois, “they’re as one.” Mrs. Pickering laughed.

Lois rang off, and looked down the schedules. It was a busy week, and the only one who could spare extra hours was Dot Nimmo. “Bugger it,” Lois said aloud. She was reluctant to send Dot on her own so soon, but it looked as if she had no alternative.

“Well,” said Derek at lunchtime, “at least Dot will give the Colonel a piece of her mind if he don’t behave.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Lois replied. “For all his bluster, they are good clients, and I don’t want to lose them.”

Gran raised her eyebrows. “You should’ve thought of that before you took on that Nimmo woman in the first place,” she said.

Lois didn’t answer. Her mind was working fast. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to send Dot Nimmo to the Battersbys. She was a nosy old bag, and might well glean something interesting from Blanche about the Colonel and the mare. The Nimmos had been around in the area as long as the Battersbys, and Dot was bound to know of a skeleton or two in their cupboards.

“Thanks for lunch, Mum,” she said, and disappeared
into her office to use the telephone. “Bridie?” Lois had dialed Bridie’s mobile, remembering she was at the Bucklands in Fletching, and that Dot was with her. “Bridie, it’s me. Is Dot there? Oh, upstairs. Well, could you put her on the phone, please, and keep your voices down, both of you.”

She could hear Bridie’s footsteps on the stairs, and then Dot’s voice, whispering. “Yeah? What y’want?”

Lois explained about Floss being ill, and gave Dot instructions on getting to the Battersbys and being very careful not to offend either the Colonel or Mrs. Battersby when she arrived.

“You’re joking!” said Dot in her normal harsh smoker’s voice. “Just bein’ alive offends him!”

Lois heard Bridie shushing her, and then coming back on the phone. “Mrs. M? I’ll make sure she knows where to go, and how to handle it. Leave it to me. Cheers.”

Thank God for Bridie
, thought Lois. She refused to think about whether Dot was a good idea or not, and instead dialled the Battersbys.

“Lois Meade here, Mrs. Battersby. Unfortunately Floss has flu, but I am sending Dot in her place. She’ll be with you at the usual time, and I hope you’ll find her satisfactory. Please don’t hesitate to explain what you want, if need be.”

“I hope she’s reliable.” Blanche sounded doubtful. “You see, the Colonel is not here, and I’m always a little nervous on my own, with new people in the house. Did you say Dot? Is she new? What’s her other name?”

But Lois pretended not to hear the last question, and said a cheery goodbye. Nimmo was not a name to boast about.

*   *   *

H
ORACE
B
ATTERSBY DROVE INTO
J
OE
H
ORSLEY’S FARM
drive and parked his car in the stable yard. He got out and looked over at the house. Joe’s vehicle was nowhere to be seen. “Blast!” the Colonel muttered to himself. “I told the
stupid idiot I’d be coming.” He walked over to the door and pressed the bell. After a few seconds he heard footsteps, and the door was opened by Margaret.

Her face fell when she saw him, and she half-closed the door again. “He’s not here,” she said.

“No matter,” said the Colonel, and pushed his way through the door and into the kitchen. “I’ll wait. A cup of coffee would not go amiss.”

“I don’t recall asking you to come in!” said Margaret with spirit. “In fact, I’m very busy, so you can just go and wait in your car. Joe might be some time. He’s gone into Tresham to the bank, and then he’ll probably go for a drink with the boys, and God knows what time he’ll be home.”

“He’ll be here soon,” countered Horace. “We arranged to meet. Now, how about that coffee?”

His voice was quiet, and Margaret shivered. It was worse than when he blustered. Oh well, she couldn’t physically turf him out, so she put on the kettle and said he must excuse her because she was in the middle of doing the farm accounts.

“They can wait,” he replied. “Sit down and talk to me, Margaret. It is a long time since we were alone together.”

Oh God, not that again, thought Margaret. Please, Joe, come home soon—like now. She made the coffee and set it in front of him.

“Sugar?”

“No thank you, Margaret. Surely you haven’t forgotten that?”

Margaret perched on the edge of a chair, and asked after Blanche. “Is she well? Still riding those lovely horses? She was so good with them. I think they really love her.” If I can keep the conversation on these lines, she thought, maybe it’ll be all right.

“Too soft with them,” Horace said. “Lets them get away with murder.”

Margaret looked up at him sharply. “What did you say?” The colour had drained from her face.

“I said,” Horace replied in measured tones, “that Blanche
is too soft with the horses. Still, not for much longer. I’m selling them. After the tack theft, it is not worth replacing it.”

Margaret opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment she heard the sound of a car in the yard. “There’s Joe!” she said with obvious relief. “I’ll go and tell him you’re here.”

Horace Battersby shrugged. “He knows,” he said to Margaret’s retreating back. Then he laughed.

*   *   *

B
LANCHE, MEANWHILE, WAS SURREPTITIOUSLY FOLLOWING
Dot around the house, checking on her every move. Dot was aware of this, but had the sense to pretend not to notice. She was practised in dissembling. She had merely said a polite hello, and got on quietly with the work. Bridie had prepared her well, and she was especially careful with the antique furniture and porcelain figures that were Blanche’s prized collection.

“Do you usually have a cup of tea? Or would you like coffee?” Blanche asked finally.

“Tea, if that’s awright with you, Mrs. Battersby,” Dot said. Tea was offered first, and so she took that. She wanted to keep on the right side of this woman, at all costs.

“I’ll call you when it’s ready. Floss usually sits down for a minute or two. Just a little break.” Blanche made it quite clear that the break would be very little indeed.

When the call came, Dot appeared in the kitchen and proceeded to wash her hands at the sink. “Dust and vittles don’t go together,” she said smugly. Just as well she can’t see my house, Dot thought, and suppressed a smile.

“Here, dry your hands on this,” Blanche said quickly. It looked like the dog towel to Dot, but she said, “Ta,” and sat down.

“How long have you worked for Mrs. Meade?” Blanche asked. “I don’t remember her mentioning a new cleaner.”

“Oh, on and off for quite a while. I’ve been a temp, as they say, but now I’m on the permanent staff. Had one or two clients myself, in a private capacity, in Tresham. I
expect you’d know some of them,” she added speculatively.

“Like who?” Blanche asked suspiciously.

“Mrs. Parker-Knowles. Up in that posh estate near the hospital.”

Blanche frowned. “The name does sound familiar. We may have met her through the Conservative Association. The Colonel has been Chairman for ages, and given long service to the party. Is there a Mr. Parker-Knowles?”

“Dead,” said Dot in a funereal voice. “Poor lady is a widder-woman. We get on, though. Perhaps the Colonel will remember. Now,” she said as she got to her feet, “I must get back to work. We like to give value for money at New Brooms.”

Blanche looked impressed. “Right,” she said. “I won’t keep you.”

“Oh yeah,” said Dot, as she reached the door, “I meant to ask you. Have you still got them horses? The Colonel used to be a racing man, didn’t he?”

“At the moment, yes,” said Blanche, determined not to prolong the little break. “Now, what did you say your name was?”

“Dot,” she answered, and vanished.

H
ORACE AND
J
OE STROLLED ACROSS THE STABLE YARD AND
Horace eased himself into his car. “Right, then,” he said peremptorily, “it should go well, as long as we all do what we’ve planned. Can you trust the other two? Is it safe to leave that job to you?”

Joe scowled. “Of course it is. What d’you take me for? I’ve been in this business long enough—longer than you, if you think about it.”

“What business?” said Margaret, coming up behind Joe. He turned swiftly. “Farming, of course. What else do I know?” He turned back to the Colonel. “You know the way back. Take care in the narrow track through the copse. They say there’s highwaymen in there.”

After the Colonel’s car had disappeared, Margaret took Joe’s arm. “I wish you wouldn’t have anything to do with him,” she said quietly.

“You did, once,” Joe said shortly, shaking her off, and strode back into the house.

*   *   *

H
ORACE
B
ATTERSBY SPED DOWN THE NARROW TRACK,
his face dark with irritation. If only he did not have to deal with Horsley. The man was far too arrogant, considering he had little education and a dubious reputation to boot. Horace had seen him lording it over his companions in the Tresham pub, downing pint after pint. Still, they all did that. He sighed. He had to make the best of it. He turned out into the main road without looking to right or left, and heard a furious hooting behind him. Idiot! He accelerated and shook his fist.

As he turned into his drive in Waltonby, he saw a strange woman getting into a BMW parked by the front door. Who the hell was that? He drew up and got out. But the BMW was too quick for him, and had disappeared out of the drive before he could hail the woman.

“Who was that?” he said abruptly to Blanche, who stood by the door waiting for him.

“Hello, dear,” she said. “Did you have a good morning?”

“Who was that?” he repeated impatiently.

“Dot.”

“Dot who?”

“Don’t know. She’s new with New Brooms. Oh, that’s good,” laughed Blanche. “A new broom with New Brooms!” She was well aware that she was provoking Horace, but felt quite perky after Dot’s visit. She’d dealt with her well, she thought, and the woman had quite a sense of humour.

“Well, find out,” said Horace. “We don’t want unknowns going through our things. Could be dangerous.”

Blanche laughed. “Oh, for goodness sake, Horace,” she replied, “what have we got to hide?”

He didn’t answer, but went swiftly through to his study and banged the door.

“Old fart!” muttered Blanche, and giggled at her new-found courage.

*   *   *

T
HE
B
ATTERSBYS WERE IN
F
LOSS’S MIND AS SHE LAY
sweating and shivering by turns. Had she dreamed they’d offered her a horse to ride? No, it was Mrs. M who had told her, and she trusted Mrs. M to tell the truth. She hadn’t yet mentioned it to her parents, and certainly did not feel up to telling them now. It was coming back to her now, and she remembered Mrs. M’s face as she told her. It was as if she was reluctant to give her the good news. As if she didn’t think it
was
good news . . .