7 Sorrow on Sunday (34 page)

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
C
OWGILL CALLED AGAIN, SAYING
that Mrs. Smith was back home in Waltonby, and had said she would like to see Lois any time. The funeral would be on Friday, at two o’clock in Waltonby church. Mrs. Smith was calm, but Cowgill had the feeling she could collapse at any time and would need support. There were no relatives, and she had no idea where Darren’s father was, nor did she want to find out.

“I’ll go this morning,” Lois said. “How’s Mrs. Battersby? I shall call on her, too, to arrange for someone to fill in for Floss. Poor girl is heartbroken. I’ve told her to have a day or two off.”

At this moment, the doorbell rang, and Lois put down the phone and went to answer it. It was Floss. “Can I come in, Mrs. M? I have to talk to someone, and Mum’s . . . well, she’s Mum. You know . . .”

“Come into the kitchen, Floss,” Lois said, taking her arm. “It’s warm in there, and there’s nothing secret from Gran, even if I try to keep it secret!”

Floss was shivering, though it was not particularly cold outside. “It’s a mackerel sky today,” Gran said by way of a greeting. “Means we shall have a change in the weather. Come and sit down and I’ll make us some coffee.”

“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Weedon. It was just that . . .” Floss burst into tears, and Lois put her arm around her. She was sniffing hard herself, and Gran pulled a tissue from her apron pocket and dabbed her own eyes. After a minute or two, Floss sighed deeply and turned to Lois. “He was a nice lad. Seemed to belong somewhere in another place where the rest of us couldn’t go. He was lost here. Never
felt safe. Except in Battersby’s garden—provided the Colonel wasn’t about—or on the allotment.”

“How is your mare?” Lois asked. “Did you catch her?”

“Oh yes, after a while. She went into one of those meadows out towards Fletching, and I talked her into standing still. I rode her home, and she was trembling all the way. When I got her into the stable, old Battersby came down to see if she was all right. Couldn’t have cared less about me. He looked ten years older. Really shaken up. I heard Blanche shouting at him, and no wonder. He had apparently told her he would help with saddling up the mare and getting them on their way, but he was nowhere to be seen.
I
knew where he was, of course. He was in his study. It looks out down the drive, but he wasn’t that quick off the mark even after all the yelling and neighing. I didn’t hear it with that old vacuum cleaner going. Did you know Blanche has broken her ankle?”

“Yeah. I’m going over there in a while. I said I’d send somebody else in until you felt better.”

“I’d rather go to work, and I don’t mind going over there. I might be able to help more, knowing where everything is. Poor Blanche won’t be able to get about. I don’t want to stay at home, Mrs. M, just thinking about it. I’d be better doing something.”

After she had gone, Lois telephoned the Battersbys and of course Horace answered. “How is Mrs. Battersby?” she asked, and the Colonel grunted that she would be fine in no time.

“Is Floss coming in this afternoon?” he said. “I can’t do it all on my own.” He sounded sorry for himself, and Lois bridled.

“I’m sure you’re very capable,” she said, “what with organizing armies, an’ that. Anyway, Floss will be with you as usual. I am sure you will respect the fact that she was and is very upset. Thank you.”

She rang off, and then dialled Mrs. Smith to tell her she would be with her in half an hour. The poor woman’s voice was weak, but she assured Lois she would be very pleased to see her.

“Give her my condolences,” Gran said. “He was a good lad. That time he came and had tea, d’you remember? He was very partial to my chocolate cake . . .” Then she reached for the tissues again, and Lois tactfully went out to her van.

*   *   *

I
N THE SHOP,
J
OSIE FIELDED A NUMBER OF QUESTIONS
about Darren. News between villages travels fast, and several of the older women had been full of sympathy and understanding for Mrs. Smith. Others had not been quite so understanding. “A blessing in disguise,” said one, and, oblivious of Josie’s frown, continued, “There was no future for him. Nothing but worry and disappointment for his mother. No, the Almighty knows when to take his own.” Josie fumed, but said nothing.

“Stupid old bag!” she burst out, as soon as the woman had left. But there were others with the same sentiments, and Josie felt like putting a bulletin on the door. “Darren Smith has died, and IT IS NOT A BLESSING IN DISGUISE!” Rob had not gone in to work today, and he calmed her down. “People always say stupid things at such times,” he said, “mostly because they’re embarrassed and don’t know what to say. They like a happy ending, and this is the only one they can think of.”

Josie thought privately that this was just about the most useless way of looking at it, but then her mother came into the shop, and she went to greet her. “Sorry, Mum, about Darren. What a sodding thing to happen.”

“Don’t swear, Josie,” Lois said mechanically. “But yes, it is a sodding thing to happen. I’m just going over to see Mrs. Smith. She wants to see me.”

“Oh, Mum. Would you like me to come too? You look very tired. Shouldn’t you still be resting?”

Lois shook her head. “No, I feel like poor little Floss. I’m better doing something. I thought I’d take a gift for Mrs. Smith. Are those yesterday’s flowers?”

“Certainly not!” said Josie. “They’re fresh this morning. Here, take a couple of bunches from me. Though what
good are flowers when you’ve lost your only son?” She bent down to pick out the best bunches from the bucket, and was able to hide her tears. “Mum,” she said, when she straightened up, “do
you
think it is a blessing in disguise?”

Lois stared at her. “Good heavens, no! Do you?”

Josie shook her head, and began to wrap gift paper around the flowers. “There’s some as does,” she said quietly.

“They should talk to Mrs. Smith,” Lois said. “Bye-bye, duckie. Don’t let ’em upset you.”

*   *   *

M
RS.
S
MITH OPENED THE DOOR, AND ALTHOUGH
L
OIS
thought she had prepared herself for what might be, she was taken aback by the deathly pallor of the woman’s face.

“Come in, please,” Mrs. Smith said, and stood aside to allow Lois to enter the narrow hall. “Go into the sitting room, please. The kettle’s on. Would you like tea or coffee?”

Lois wanted neither, but she said tea would be fine, thinking it might help. In the few minutes while she was alone, she looked around the room, seeing all the photographs, neatly framed, of Darren. Darren in a paddling pool, Darren on the beach, Darren on a tricycle. And Darren on a donkey, his head thrown back in laughter.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the tea. “It was kind of you to let me come and see you. My mum sent you her sincere condolences.”

“He liked her,” Mrs. Smith said blankly. “He said he liked Mrs. Weedon. He said so several times. But then, he said most things several times.”

It was like watching an old factory chimney crumble under explosive. Lois took Mrs. Smith’s hand, as she seemed to get smaller and smaller, hunching up into a tight ball of grief. No sound came from her. It would be easier, thought Lois, holding on, if Darren’s mum could yell and shout and drum up a storm.

Then Lois did it for her. Her eyes filled with tears at last,
and she yelled out loud, “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! Where were you, bloody Horace!”

Mrs. Smith slowly uncurled and looked at Lois. “Yes, dear,” she said in a whisper. “He was supposed to be helping. Where
was
Horace Battersby?”

A
S
L
OIS OPENED HER CAR DOOR, AFTER A GOOD HOUR
with Mrs. Smith, she heard a voice calling her name. She turned around and saw an old lady walking with difficulty towards her.

“Hello? Can I help you?” Another client for New Brooms?

“Good morning, Mrs. Meade.” The voice was breathless with effort. “You don’t know me, but I am Margaret Horsley’s aunt. Everybody calls me Auntie Eileen. Have you got a minute to spare? I just wanted to have a word.”

Lois looked at her. A nice face, with a wise expression. “Why don’t you sit in my van for a minute or two, while we talk?” she said, and helped the old lady into the passenger seat. “Now, what was it you wanted to ask me?”

“Nothing,” said Auntie Eileen firmly. “I didn’t want to
ask
you anything. I’ve something to
tell
you.” Lois nodded and waited. “It’s about Darren. I’ve known him since he was very small. He was happy in this village. Everybody knew him, and he was so anxious to please that you couldn’t help liking him. Nobody made much fuss about it, but we all supported his mother where we could. A village was the right place for him. His farmer friend over the fields taught him to ride, and he was really good with horses.”

Lois looked surreptitiously at her watch. She knew all this already, and wondered how she could shorten the chat. She was still planning to call on the Battersbys before going home.

“You’ll know most of this, I expect,” Eileen said, not missing the glance at the watch. “But there is something you probably don’t know. You might wonder why I’m telling
you. Well, I’ve heard about you and cases you’ve helped the police with. That’s why, and what I’m going to tell you might help Mrs. Smith. Somebody’s got to pay for Darren’s death, which I’m pretty sure was not an accident.”

Lois sat up straight, startled into close attention. The object of her talk with Mrs. Smith had been to comfort and support, but the poor woman had been too distressed to reveal anything of incidental use. Now, either the old lady was wandering, dramatizing in the way of village gossips, or she really did know something. “Go on, Auntie Eileen,” she said. “Take your time.”

Eileen did not need to take time. She had mulled over the facts for so long now, determining all the while to reveal them to the right person, and now she spoke fluently and clearly.

“Blanche Battersby knew all Darren’s difficulties, and as she is a Christian woman, she did her best to help. He loved working in their garden, and then began to ride the quietest of their horses, always with Blanche by his side. The Colonel kept well out of the way. I heard him one day, out by the gate, saying loudly that Blanche was wasting her time. The boy would never be any good.”

“Where do you live, Auntie Eileen?” Lois hesitated, and then added, “Do you mind if I call you Eileen? It seems more natural . . .”

“Call me what you like, dear, as long as you don’t call me early in the morning. Oh yes, I forgot to tell you. I live just around the corner, next to the school. I spend a lot of time at my gate, talking to the children. They know me, and I know most of them.” She tut-tutted and added, “Except for the ones that are hustled into four-by-fours at the school gates, that is. They love to chat, do the children. Amazing what they know, what they pick up from school.”

“And what were you saying about Darren?”

“It’s not unconnected, dear. Have patience! Well, one day the Colonel saw Darren riding in the paddock, jumping a nice old horse over some low jumps that Blanche had
fixed up. There were a couple of the children there as well. Blanche used to give them lessons after school. It was them that told me what happened. Seems the Colonel shouted across to Darren, ‘Well done, lad!’ He was smiling, and seemed surprised, they said. Then he went into a huddle with Blanche, and the children’s mother was cross because they were late having their lesson. They were indignant, and said it wasn’t their fault!”

“And after that?”

“Darren was often round the village. I used to see him, always up on a horse, going by with Blanche. One day she stopped at my gate and had a word. Darren was very shy, you know, but he was excited, and suddenly said, ‘Going to a point-to-point tomorrow! Lots of horses. Maybe Darren have a ride!’”

“But how could . . . ?” Lois stopped sharp. She had seen in her rear-view mirror the tall figure of the Colonel approaching. “Um, Eileen,” she said. “Colonel Battersby is coming this way. I’m going to drive off now, and I do have a good reason. I’ll bring you back straight away. Fasten your seat belt.”

Starting the engine, she drove off quickly before the Colonel could see who was in the van with her. He might know the van, but couldn’t possibly see Eileen. “Sorry about that,” Lois said, when they were out of sight. “I’ll explain.”

“No need,” said Eileen. “He’s dangerous. And now it’s all gone wrong, he’s probably desperate.”

Then she finished her account of Darren and the point-to-point. Apparently he’d been taken, but of course had not ridden a horse. “But when he came back,” Eileen continued, “he told his mother, who told me, that the Colonel had said that one day Darren would ride in the races, if he was a good boy and did what he was told. Mrs. Smith was really proud, poor woman. After that, Darren was always there, riding horses, and some of them were not quiet at all. His mum said Darren was so good with them. He could ride a bucking bronco, she told everyone in the village.
Sometimes Margaret’s Joe was there as well, and he told her the same.”