The Caxley Chronicles (10 page)

'Our thatcher,' said Jesse Miller, as they resumed their tour of the farm. 'Francis Clare. Just had to let him know the barn roof needs patching after last week-end's gale.'

'And the girl?'

'Dolly, his daughter. And the copper-nob's her young man, Arnold Fletcher. Getting married next year, I hear. Time you thought of it yourself, Bertie.'

'I'll remember,' promised Bertie.

The air was pure and refreshing, up here on the downs, and scented with the sweet-sad smells of autumn, the damp earth underfoot, and the dying bracken growing in the rustling hedge. Bertie paused to look about him in this lovely open place. In the Cax valley such exhilaration rarely seized him. There was something strong and uplifting in the great sweep of hills with the moving clouds gliding across their tops. He would like to live here, savouring their tranquillity, one day. Perhaps with Kathy for company, he wondered? The thought was as heady as the winds about him.

They returned to the farmhouse for a gigantic tea. A bowlful of freshly boiled brown eggs, set in the centre of the table, was only a prelude to the ham sandwiches, hot buttered scones, home made plum jam, Victoria sponge, Dundee cake, custard tartlets and half a dozen dishes of assorted small cakes.

Ethel pressed her sister and nephew to eat heartily as they had such a long cold drive before them, and Hilda returned the compliment by persuading Ethel to eat equally well as she was 'feeding two'. Between them they managed to dispatch quite half the food arrayed on the table before setting off for home behind the hissing acetylene lamps.

Half-way between Beech Green and Caxley, a fine hare leapt from a high bank and zig-zagged along the road in front of the car, bewildered by the lights. Bertie slowed down and it stopped. He moved gently forward again and the hare continued its erratic and terrified course. At length, Hilda could
bear it no longer, and motioned Bertie to stop completely, which he did in a convenient farm gateway.

The hare made off across the fields. It was very quiet with the engine at rest, and Hilda gave a little sigh.

'Bertie,' she began, 'we don't often get a little time on our own, and before we get home I want your advice.'

'My advice?' queried Bertie, genuinely startled. 'It's usually the other way round, mamma.'

'I'm worried about so many things, Bertie, and I can't discuss them all with your father. Winnie and Leslie Howard is one worry, and there's another.'

She stopped, and her voice had a little tremor which did not escape Bertie.

'There's not much one can do about Winnie,' said he gently. 'She's got plenty of sense, and father will surely have a word with Leslie if he's worried.'

'I doubt it,' responded Hilda, with a flash of spirit. 'He's got worries of his own, I suspect, which are more serious than he'll admit to me.'

She turned to him suddenly.

'Bertie, do try and talk to him. You're a man now, and can help. Something's going very wrong with the business, and he won't discuss it with me. But he's getting so unusually tight with money these days, and only this morning he said he didn't think we'd have the staff Christmas party.'

'No party?' echoed Bertie. Things must be serious indeed if this annual jollity, which Bender so much enjoyed, were to be cancelled.

'And there's a lot of other things. This car, for instance. He's really cross that you've bought it, and says we can't afford it.'

'But it's my own money,' protested Bertie, with justifiable heat. 'I saved every penny of it! Father knows that! And in any case, it's a dashed sight cheaper to run this little A.C. than to keep our horses in fodder and the trap in repair. Really, it's a bit thick!'

'Forget what I said,' said Hilda hastily, patting her son's hand. 'It's simply that he's terribly worried, and if you can help him, Bertie, he'll be so grateful, and so will I.'

'I'll do what I can, mamma,' replied Bertie, a trifle huffily, starting up the car again.

He drove home, fuming secretly at his father's criticism. Can't afford it indeed! Anyone would think he'd badgered the old man into parting with his money! For two pins he'd have it out with him the minute he got home!

But the words were never said. For when he and his mother entered the drawing-room above the shop, they found Bender white-faced, his sparse hair on end, and papers and account books in confusion on the desk and floor.

'Bender,' cried Hilda, hurrying towards him, 'what on earth has happened?'

'Plenty!' replied Bender grimly. 'Bob's gone off with the cash box, and I've sent the police after him!'

T
HE NEWS
of Bob's disappearance swept through Caxley with the speed and commotion of a forest fire.

'I've never liked the look of that fellow,' wheezed fat Mrs Petty, wise after the event. 'Had a look in his eye like this 'ere cod. Proper slimy customer, I always thought.'

The square buzzed with the gossip on that market day. Both stallholders and customers knew Bob and Bender well. It seemed a shameful thing for a man to serve his master so shabbily, wagged some of the tongues.

'We ain't heard Bob's side yet,' replied the more cautious. 'Catch the fellow first, I says. Maybe 'e never took it after all. Who's to say?'

As soon as Sep Howard heard of the affair he went across the square to see Bender. He did not relish the encounter. Bender hurt could be Bender at his most truculent, as Sep well knew, and the age-long tremors still shook the little man as he entered the ironmonger's shop.

Bender was rummaging in one of the many small drawers ranged on the wall behind the counter.

'Can you spare a minute?' asked Sep.

Bender led the way, without a word, into the shop parlour behind the shop, where private transactions were carried out. He motioned Sep to a high office stool and sat himself heavily on another.

'S'pose you've heard?' grunted Bender. 'Fine old how-d'you-do, ain't it?'

'I'm sorry,' said Sep. 'Was much taken?'

'The week's takings.'

Sep drew in his breath with a hiss. He knew what it was to face such disasters in business.

'Any chance of getting it back?'

'I doubt it, Sep, I doubt it.' Bender passed a gigantic hand over his face and head, as though to wipe away the cares that clung to him. 'There's no doubt about one thing though. The blighter's been helping himself off and on for two or three months now, and I hadn't twigged. Been too careless by half, Sep. Left too much to him, you see.'

He pushed a ledger across to him.

'See that eight? That was a three. See that nine? That was a nought. Oh, he's been having a high old time among the books just lately!'

'But what's behind it? He got a decent wage, lived pretty small, never seemed to flash the money about.'

'Betting,' said Bender briefly. 'Always liked a bob on a horse, and now it's turned into a sovereign. I've been round to see his old ma, and it all came out. I feel sorry for the poor old girl, I must say. Come to that, I feel pretty sorry for myself, Sep.'

This seemed Sep's chance to speak up, and he took it.

'If I can help, I hope you'll let me. I don't forget all you did for me, you know. You gave me a hand when I needed it most and I'd like to have the chance to help, if there's any mortal way of doing it.'

Bender's great face flushed red. There was no doubt that he
was touched by the offer. He cleared his throat huskily before answering.

'Good of you, Sep. I appreciate it very much, and you'd be the first I'd turn to, if it came to it. But I ain't pushed for a pound yet, and I reckon North's will make it, Bob or no Bob.'

There was a heartiness about this reply which did not ring quite true to Sep. Bender was making light of a situation which was far more serious than he would admit. But Sep could do no more in the circumstances.

'Well, I'll be over the way if you want me any time, Bender. You know that. I hope it'll all get cleared up satisfactorily.'

He made his way from the shop feeling very worried. But in the midst of his doubts and fears, he took comfort from the words still ringing in his ears.

'You'd be the first I'd turn to, if it came to it!'

He never thought to hear Bender North utter those words to him.

A week passed, and still the villain was at large. The police had found that he was seen on the London-bound train on the evening of his disappearance. Two Caxley ladies, returning from a day's shopping in town, also remembered seeing him at Paddington station. Beyond that, there was nothing. Somewhere, Bob was lying very quietly indeed, waiting for the hue and cry to die down, it seemed.

It was almost November and a bitingly cold east wind bedevilled the town, raising tempers as well as dust. Doors banged, windows rattled, and fires smoked indoors. Outdoors it was even worse. The wind whipped off hats, stung cheeks,
inflamed eyes, and screamed through the awnings of the market stalls. Dust eddied in miniature whirlwinds, raising paper, leaves and straw, and depositing them where they were least wanted. Coughs and colds, sore throats and chapped lips plagued the populace, and it was generally agreed that it would be 'a darned good thing when the wind changed'.

Unscathed by the hostile world about them, Leslie and Winnie continued to rejoice in each other's company. Bertie had dutifully spoken to his sister, saying that their mother was worried, and that he too hoped that she was not serious about Leslie. Winnie had answered briefly. They had known the Howards all their lives. She knew what she was doing. She also knew that her mother was worried, and they had spoken about it before Bertie was approached. Bertie, having fired his warning shot, retreated in some disarray before Winnie's level defence.

Sep had suddenly realized what was afoot and secretly approved of their union. What could be more fitting than a wedding between the two families? It would be a happy bond between Bender and himself. He recalled Bender's comforting words. Sep's heart warmed to the young people. His Leslie was a fine boy and it was time he settled down. Winnie would make a good wife. As far as Sep could see the outlook was rosy. He liked the idea of the young couple finding happiness together. He liked too the idea of becoming closer to Bender. He said as much to Edna, and was disconcerted by her reply.

'You don't think
he'll
like it, do you? Nor our Hilda! She's got her eye on the gentry for her Winnie! Nothing less than a belted earl for Hilda's daughter!'

'What's wrong with Leslie? Fine upstanding youngster with
a share in the business—you don't tell me that the Norths will disapprove?'

'That I do!' responded Edna flatly. 'Say what you like, Sep, the Norths have always looked down on us, and they won't let their Winnie marry Leslie without a fight.'

'You're fancying things!' muttered Sep, turning away. There was too much truth in Edna's sallies to please him, but he refused to be daunted.

'Let the young 'uns find their own way,' he pronounced at last, and hurried in to. the bakery before he heard any more unwelcome home truths.

There was plenty of work to distract Sep's attention from his son's affairs of the heart during the next few weeks, for Christmas was approaching, and there were scores of Christmas cakes to be made and iced.

Although Sep now employed several more workers, he still did as much himself in the bakery. The fragrance of the rich mixture, the mingled aroma of spices, candied fruits and brown sugar, cheered Sep afresh every year. It was his own personal offering to the spirit of Christmas, and he enjoyed the festive bustle in the warmly scented bakery. It was like a sheltered haven from the bleak winds in the market square beyond the doors.

The cold spell was lasting longer than expected, and the weather-wise old folk prophesied a white Christmas in Caxley. Sure enough, in the week before Christmas, a light fall whitened the ground and powdered the rosy-tiled roofs of the town, and the lowering grey skies told of more to follow.

On Sunday afternoon, Bender set off for Beech Green with two large saw blades for Jesse Miller.

'He won't get much done in the fields,' commented Bender wrapping the blades briskly in brown paper. 'The ground's like iron. He'll be glad to set the men to sawing firewood tomorrow, and I promised him these as soon as they came.'

'Give them all my love,' said Hilda. 'I won't come with you with the weather like this. And wrap up warmly, do, my dear. Put your muffler on, and your thick gloves.'

'Never fear,' answered Bender robustly. 'I've known the downs long enough to know how to dress for them. I'll be back before dark.'

The horse trotted briskly through the town. There were very few people about and Bender was glad to be on his own, in the clean fresh air. Now he could turn over his thoughts, undisturbed by family interruptions or customers' problems. He always felt at his best driving behind a good horse. He liked the rhythm of its flying feet, the gay rattle of the bowling wheels, and the clink and squeak of the well-polished harness.

The pace slackened as Bill, the horse, approached Beech Green. The long pull up the downs was taken gently and steadily. The reins lay loosely across the glossy back, and Bender reviewed his situation as they jogged along together through the grey and white countryside.

Things were serious, that was plain. Bob had been picked up by the London police ten days earlier, and now awaited his trial at the next Assizes. He had been in possession of fourteen shillings and ninepence at the time of his arrest, and could not—or would not—give any idea of where the rest of the
money had gone. Clearly, nothing would be restored to his employer.

What would he do, Bender asked himself? He could get a further loan from the bank, but would it be of any use? Had the time come to take a partner who would be willing to put money into the firm? Bender disliked the idea. He could approach both Sep Howard and Jesse Miller who had offered help, but he hated the thought of letting Sep Howard see his straits, and he doubted whether Jesse Miller could afford to give him the sum needed to give the business a fresh start. Jesse was in partnership with his brother Harry at the farm, and times were hard for them both at the moment.