(8/13) At Home in Thrush Green (13 page)

The rest appeared to be without animals.

Justin Venables began to look relieved, and Charles less strained.

'The Jermyns are at one end of the block, and Miss Fuller's apartment is several homes distant, I see, and Tom Hardy's is some way off. And in any case, one imagines that the birds are accommodated in a cage. Well, ladies and gentlemen, what about it?'

'If I may,' said Charles diffidently, 'I should like to suggest that these first tenants are allowed to bring their present pets, on the clear understanding that they may not be replaced and if they cause problems an alternative home must be found for them. Any tenants who come after must realise that pets are not allowed.'

'I think that's an excellent suggestion,' said John Lovell. 'It means that people such as Tom Hardy will not be penalised for having a pet, and debarring them from the homes they really need. I propose it formally.'

'I'll second it,' said Mrs Thurgood. 'So much fairer to the pets,' she added, i know I should
never
consent to be parted from my dear pekes.'

'Those in favour?' asked Justin.

All hands went up, and to Charles's mortification he felt tears prick his eyes.

Letters to the successful applicants were to go out during the week, with the pets' clause clearly stated, but Charles took it upon himself to go beforehand to see Tom.

He had left the old man in some turmoil of spirit, he feared, and wanted to calm him.

He had intended to walk to the cottage by the river, relishing the prospect of gentle exercise in the company of moorhens, willow trees, and the pleasant burbling of the River Pleshey, but at breakfast time the heavens opened, the rain came down in a deluge, and Charles, standing at the window, watched the last of the petunias and marigolds being flattened under the onslaught.

Resignedly, he took out the car, and drove down the main street of Lulling through the downpour. The road was awash, the pavements streaming, and passing vehicles threw up a cloud of spray.

It was still pouring down when he drew up at Tom's cottage, and the rector, collar turned up, hurried across the slippery plank bridge, and gained the shelter of the little porch.

'Why, bless me,' exclaimed Tom, opening the door. 'What brings you out in this weather?'

'Good news, Tom,' said Charles, brushing drops from his jacket.

Polly advanced to meet him, putting up her grey muzzle to be stroked, and wagging her tail.

'You come right in before you tells me more,' said Tom. Kettle's hot. Coffee?'

'I'd love some,' said Charles.

He watched the old man moving slowly about his work, taking down a mug from the dresser, reaching for a jar of powdered coffee, making his way deliberately to the drawer where he kept the teaspoons. There was no doubt about it, thought Charles, although he could just about manage when things were going normally, there must be times when a kindly warden would be needed in the future.

'There you are, sir,' said Tom at last, putting the steaming mug before his visitor. 'Get that down you. There's a real autumn nip in the air this morning, and we can't have you ailing anything. Good people are scarce, they tell me.'

'This goes down well,' said Charles. 'Now the news!'

'About the little house?'

'That's right.'

'And Poll?'

'She can go there with you.'

Tom's face lit up.

'Well, that's wholly good news, I must say. What made them change their minds? You, sir, I expect!'

'Only in part, Tom. We all thought it out. It seemed wrong to part people like you from their animals, but I think the long-term idea is still "no pets". That will apply, of course, to the residents who come later.'

He took a long draught of coffee.

'You will be getting a letter in a day or two, Tom, but I wanted to tell you myself.'

'Any idea when we shall move in?'

'In the early part of October, I think. Can you get someone to help you with the move? If not, I'm sure some of the young fellows at my Youth Club could give a hand.'

'I might be glad of that, sir. Most of my friends are as shaky as I am now. More coffee?'

'No thanks, Tom. I must get back, but I'll call again in a few days' time.'

He bent to pat Polly.

'Coming back to Lulling with me again?' he asked her.

'She would too,' said Tom. 'She's as fond of you as she is of me, and that's the truth. But I wouldn't want to part with her, not even to you, sir.'

'Well, there'll be no parting now, Tom. You and Poll can soldier on together. Many thanks for the drink.'

He wrung his old friend's hand, and set forth again into the wild wet world.

9 Some Malefactors

JOHN Lovell's telephone call to the police superintendent had set loose a stream of local activity. He learnt a little from his friend when they met.

By the time we went to Leys Farm the birds had flown, as you might expect, but we found a few clues, tyre marks, paint scrapings, bits of cloth and so on, which the forensic boys are working on. However, I think these are the chaps directly involved, and it was bright of you to spot them.'

'Not bright enough to twig earlier,' said John ruefully. 'And as for recalling the makes of the cars and colours, not to mention numbers, I'm afraid I'm a broken reed. All I had in mind, of course, was how my patient was reacting to my prescription. He'd had a pretty bad go of sickness and was seriously dehydrated when I first saw him.'

'He must have been in a very poor state for the others to have called you in. I bet that was the last thing they wanted – a visitor to the premises. Obviously, they hid the cars away when you were expected, but were caught on the hop when you turned up unexpectedly.'

'Have you any leads at all?'

'Well, all the other areas have been notified, and we're keeping a sharp watch on the ports which have car ferries, but no doubt they'll lie low for a bit. One thing in our favour, it isn't easy to hide a car. A small packet of heroin can be tucked away quite successfully. A thumping great Rolls isn't so simple.'

He rose to go.

'Anyway, you did a good job by getting in touch. I hope we'll be able to see you in court as a prime witness before long.'

'Heaven help you!' exclaimed the doctor. 'I've always lived in dread of someone asking me where I was on the night of October the fourth three years earlier.'

'Who hasn't?' laughed his friend.

Naturally, John Lovell had said nothing about the affair. All that John had allowed himself was a brief word to Ruth who, as a doctor's wife, was the soul of discretion.

Nevertheless, it was soon common knowledge in Thrush Green and Lulling that something delightfully wicked and illegal seemed to have been happening at Leys Farm over the past year.

Betty Bell was agog with news and conjecture when she went to clean at Harold and Isobel Shoosmiths'.

'Never knew such a carry-on,' she puffed, dusting Harold's study energetically. 'My cousin Alf opened the door, not three days since, to find Constable Darwin on the step with one of them little notebooks. Well, to tell the truth, he's not my
real
cousin, not like Willie Bond, I mean, but Alf's mum and mine used to work up the vicarage when they was young, and they was always good friends even after they got married.'

This sounded to Harold, busy trying to fill in a form for an insurance company which was incapable, it seemed, of expressing its needs in plain English, as a slur on marriage. Did it mean that early friendships usually foundered after a spouse had been acquired?

'So, of course, I always called her Auntie Gert,' went on Betty, knocking an antique paperweight to the ground, 'and Alf was a sort of cousin. When he was born, I mean.'

Harold said he understood that, and watched Betty retrieve the paperweight, luckily unharmed.

'Well, Alf had been ploughing just behind Trotters after they'd harvested the barley, and the police wanted to know if he'd seen anything funny.'

'Funny?'

'Funny unusual, I mean. Suspicious like. Men with stockings over their faces, holding machine guns. That sort of thing, Alf thought.'

'But surely,' expostulated Harold, setting aside the form for quieter times, 'they wouldn't be got up like that if they were
living
in the place?'

'Who's to say?' said Betty airily, flicking her duster dangerously across a row of miniature ornaments of Indian silver much prized by her employer.

'Anyway, Alf hadn't seen nothin' much, just an odd car or two being put in the barn. That PC Darwin kep' all on about what colour and what make and when was it and that, until Alf said he was fair mazed, and as his dinner was just on the table he told young Darwin one car was red and another was blue just to get rid of him. Alf reckons he'd have been there still if he hadn't told him something.'

'But that is definitely hindering the course of justice!' Harold exclaimed, much alarmed at such behaviour, it was very wrong of your cousin to mislead the police like that. For two pins I'd ring the station now and tell them what you have just told me.'

'Oh, I shouldn't bother,' replied Betty. 'Ten to one that Darwin never wrote it down. He's not much of a scholar, they tell me.'

She whisked from the room, leaving Harold confronting his form with severely heightened blood pressure.

At The Two Pheasants the subject was aired with more drama than accuracy.

Percy Hodge said that the way the police handled things was a crying scandal, and it was a wonder more decent people weren't murdered in their beds when you heard how long these Trotters' chaps had been up to a bit of no good. What did we pay our rates for, he wanted to know?

Albert Piggott opined that you could earn more by being dishonest these days, than by sweating day in and day out, as he did, at his own back-breaking job.

And an old man in the corner, toothless and shaky with age, said that no good ever came out of Trotters. It had always had a bad name, and that fellow Archie Something who farmed there before the war – the first war, he meant – had three daughters who all went to the bad, and the local lads was warned about them by the vicar at that time. Not that it stopped 'em, of course.

He would have continued with his reminiscences to the great pleasure of his hearers, but Mr Jones, the landlord, spoiled everything by rapping on the counter and ordering his clients to drink up sharpish.

Even little Miss Fogerty heard something of the affair, for John Todd, capering about in the playground with his hand extended pistol-fashion, yelled that he was a car robber from Trotters and that he was spraying his unconcerned playmates with real bullets, and they ought to be lying dead.

On relating this to Miss Watson later, her headmistress replied:

'Yes, dear, I did hear something about it. Trust John Todd to pick up such news! That boy is not as green as he's cabbage-looking.'

With which statement her colleague agreed.

Nelly Piggott was one of the few inhabitants who managed to ignore the excitement at Leys – or Trotters – Farm.

The truth was that she had a great many other excitements to think about. The first, and most pressing one, was the christening party at Mrs Thurgood's, due to take place in just over a week's time.

She told her friend Mrs Jenner about it as they walked down the hill to a bingo session in Lulling. The two women had struck up a firm friendship. Mrs Jenner, a lifelong resident at Thrush Green, and sister to Percy Hodge, recognised the good qualities in Albert's wife which far too many local people ignored.

It was true that Nelly was somewhat flighty. She was occasionally vulgar in speech. She dressed rather too flashily for Thrush Green's taste. Nevertheless, she was hard-working, good-tempered, and coped splendidly with Albert's moodiness and bouts of drinking. Altogether, Mrs Jenner approved of Nelly Piggott, and enjoyed their weekly trip to the bingo hall.

'Mrs Peters gets a bit worked up,' said Nelly confidentially. 'Well, I suppose she's a lot to lose if anything goes wrong, and say what you like, that Mrs Thurgood is proper bossy. All teeth and breeches, my father used to say. Tough as they come. She did her best to beat down the price per head when she came to work things out, but give Mrs Peters her due she stuck to her guns, and we've got a fair price, I reckon.'

'She seems to rely on you quite a bit,' responded Mrs Jenner.

'I don't know about that,' replied Nelly, sounding surprised, 'but I don't get in a flap about things, so maybe she talks to me to calm herself. After all, I haven't got the same responsibilities that she has. Stands to reason she worries more.'

'You've got your livelihood to get, and to lose,' pointed out her friend.

'I suppose so,' reflected Nelly, 'but I could turn my hand to pretty well anything, if need be. After all, I did a good spell of cleaning at The Drovers' Arms, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I don't mind a nice bit of scrubbing.'

And that, thought Mrs Jenner, as they approached the hall, was one of Nelly's virtues. She was game to take on anything, even Albert Piggott.

It said much for her courage.

On the way home, Nelly was invited for the first time to have a cup of coffee at her friend's house along the road to Nidden.

'There's nobody in obviously,' said Mrs Jenner, as the two women surveyed the Piggott establishment which had no glimmer of light in the windows.

Next door The Two Pheasants was glowing with lights, and it did not need much thinking to surmise where Albert was spending the evening.

'Just for a few minutes then,' agreed Nelly, pleasantly surprised by the invitation, and a quarter of an hour later she was ensconced in Mrs Jenner's farmhouse kitchen with a steaming cup in front of her.

She looked about the great square room with approval. The solid-fuel stove gave out a comfortable warmth. From the beams overhead hung nets of onions and shallots, bunches of drying herbs, and some ancient pieces of copper. A blue and white checked cloth was spread cornerwise on the scrubbed kitchen table, and a thriving Busy Lizzie was set squarely in the middle.