The Problem at Two Tithes (An Angela Marchmont Mystery Book 7) (3 page)

‘Oh, yes,’ said Angela and jumped up immediately, although she knew perfectly well where her room was. The two ladies left the drawing-room, of one accord for once, and Angela allowed herself to be escorted up to the small box-room in which she had slept as a child. There she found that Marthe had already unpacked her luggage and pointedly lit a fire to take off the chill, even though it was early June.

‘You’ll find everything quite comfortable,’ said Elisabeth, ‘but do ring if there is anything you require.’

She then left hurriedly, leaving Angela to gaze about her and try to summon up some feelings of warmth and regret for her old home. Pleasantly situated and comfortable as it was, she was disturbed to find that she felt nothing. She wandered over to the window and looked out into the kitchen-yard. William was down there, smoking and flirting with one of the maids, and she smiled and turned away. An old, white-painted cupboard stood in the corner of the room and she pulled open the door and looked inside. One or two items of clothing hung there, but nothing that had ever been hers. None of her old toys were here either; in fact, the house seemed to retain no impression of her at all. She had never been precisely unhappy at Two Tithes, but somehow she had never felt as though she belonged here, and odd though it sounded, she wondered whether perhaps the house felt the same. She laughed at her fancy and closed the cupboard door.

‘You’re going soft in the head, Angela,’ she said to herself, and went out.

The next day brought warm, hazy sunshine, and after breakfast Angela excused herself and said she was going to take a solitary walk around the grounds and reacquaint herself with the place.

‘You won’t stay out too long, will you?’ said Elisabeth. ‘I shall need your help with the rosettes and the bunting for the fête.’

‘And don’t forget you are to visit Mrs. Hunter this afternoon,’ added Humphrey.

Angela promised to return in good time, and set off before one or both of them could suggest walking with her. She crossed the garden briskly and passed through the field beyond, then began to climb up the hill that lay behind the house. From the other side of this hill it was possible to see as far as London on a clear day, although there was too much haze today, so she stopped a little way up and turned to look back at the house. Two Tithes was a typical, rambling old country place which had been owned by the Cardews since the previous century. It was certainly attractive enough, set as it was among flower gardens and smooth lawns, with fields and woods beyond it and a little stream running along the edge of the grounds, and yet still Angela was unable to call it home. She supposed she had never been the type to indulge in nostalgia and could not regret having left, for she knew that had she stayed she should have felt like a captive. No: Humphrey had the house and was welcome to it. She was quite content to consider herself merely a visitor.

She came back down the hill and passed through the fields and beyond the boundaries of Two Tithes, then drifted along a lonely path through a tunnel of trees, hat in hand, with only the pleasantest of thoughts in her head and a smile on her face of which she was completely unaware. She was proceeding along the path, not paying a great deal of attention to her surroundings, when she suddenly became aware of a low growling, and she raised her head to see an irritable-looking bull terrier standing on the path before her. There was no mistaking the menace in its demeanour.

‘Oh!’ said Angela, and stopped. The dog began to approach her, still growling, and she backed away, eyeing it nervously. ‘Good boy,’ she ventured. The dog gave a scornful sneeze at such patently insincere praise, and kept on advancing until it had her pinned against a tree. Then it let out a loud bark and she squeaked in surprise.

‘Dear me,’ she said. Glancing about for the dog’s owner, she turned her head and found herself staring into the barrel of a shotgun. She gave another squeak.

‘I beg your pardon,’ said the newcomer, lowering his gun. ‘Down, Skipper! Here, boy!’

The dog gave one last disgusted growl and padded over to its owner, who turned out to be a tall, hearty man of sixty or more with unkempt hair sticking out from under a deer-stalker hat.

‘I hope we didn’t frighten you too much,’ said the man. ‘I thought you were someone else, and one can’t be too careful. I’m not fond of trespassers, you see.’

Angela stepped away from the tree, keeping a wary eye on the dog, and replaced her hat as she composed herself. She bit back the words that had initially come into her head, and said:

‘It’s Mr. Norris, isn’t it? I remember you. I’m Angela, from Two Tithes. Humphrey’s sister.’

The man squinted at her, then straightened up. His expression cleared and immediately became more friendly.

‘Ha! So it’s you, is it?’ he said. ‘Back again. How long has it been? Ten years?’

‘Nearer twenty, I think,’ said Angela.

‘So long?’ he said. He appeared to have found his manners now, and was looking at her appreciatively. ‘Well, you’re quite the elegant lady now, aren’t you? I remember when you were barely this high, all curly hair and mischief, and would as rather be covered in mud as not. The curls are still there, I see, but I must say I hardly recognize the rest. What’s your name now? I don’t suppose you’re still a Cardew. And where have you been hiding for all these years?’

‘My name is Marchmont now,’ said Angela, ‘and I’ve been living in America and London.’

‘America, eh?’ said Mr. Norris. ‘A man of mine was there for a while. Ben Shaw. Do you know him?’

Angela forbore to point out that the United States was not a village bowls club but a large nation with many millions of inhabitants, and merely said politely:

‘I’m afraid I don’t recall the name.’

‘And now you’re back. Visiting family, I expect. The Sir and Lady. Not as la-di-da as
her
, though, I’ll bet.’

Angela affected not to know what he was talking about, and said:

‘Is this your land, then? I’m awfully sorry if I was trespassing. I didn’t mean to.’

He drew himself up.

‘It most certainly is my land,’ he said. ‘I’ve been to law to prove that Dead Man’s Path is mine, and prove it I shall one of these days. I’m not an unreasonable man: I know this is the quickest way through to Banford and I won’t stop anyone from using the path who doesn’t cause me any harm, but I
will
defend it if I have to. I won’t let what’s mine be taken from me.’

‘Who is trying to take it from you?’ said Angela.

Mr Norris’s face darkened.

‘There are some who would have it that the path is common land,’ he said. ‘But it’s most certainly mine, and if that’s the way they want to play the game then I’ll show them what’s right and what’s wrong. There’s no call to stand up against me and try to deny me my rights.’

‘I see,’ said Angela, and then, since he seemed to want her to ask, went on, ‘Who has tried to deny you your rights?’

But he did not reply, and indeed was no longer looking at her but at something over her shoulder. Angela turned and saw that someone else was approaching. As he came closer she could see that he was a man of similar age to Mr. Norris. He was dressed in aged tweeds, and he, too, had a shotgun and a dog. The two men scowled at one another and the dogs began to growl, but then the second man spotted Angela. He nodded to her politely, then passed on without a word. Mr. Norris, fingering his shotgun, watched him until he was out of sight. It seemed to Angela that her question had been answered, and she said curiously:

‘Who was that? I don’t believe I recognize him.’

‘
That
is Tom Tipping,’ said Mr. Norris in a tone of deep disgust, ‘and if you’ll take my advice you’ll have nothing to do with him, for he’s the worst sort of neighbour and he’ll have the shirt off your back before you know it. He’s cheated me out of my rights once before, but I won’t let him do it again.’

‘Is he the one who says that this is common land?’

‘That’s him, all right,’ said Norris, ‘and it’s lucky for him you were here, or I’d have seen him off. I won’t let him pass, you see. Not until he admits the truth of the matter.’

‘Just to avoid confusion, then,’ said Angela, ‘am I to understand that you allow all those who agree that this is your land to use it, while those who don’t agree are warned off?’

‘That’s about it,’ he said, nodding. ‘Most people are sensible enough about it, but there’s no making Tom Tipping see sense. And he
will
walk along the path just to provoke me. I’ve told him I won’t be held responsible for what I do if he keeps at it, but he doesn’t listen. Mark my words, though, one day he’ll regret it. If he thinks I won’t use my shotgun against him he’s wrong.’

‘Oh, I do hope it won’t come to that,’ said Angela. She was keen to get away from Mr. Norris before he forced her to swear an oath of allegiance in exchange for permission to use the path, and so she glanced at her watch and exclaimed, ‘Dear me! I had no idea it was so late. Humphrey and Elisabeth will be wondering where I have got to. It has been very nice to see you again, Mr. Norris. Goodbye.’

He returned her salute and she hurried off. As she left the path she glanced back to see him still standing there, his shotgun in his hand and his dog by his side, watching her.

As it happened, Angela
had
been walking for longer than she intended, and by the time she returned to Two Tithes it was almost lunch-time. She was rather cross with herself, for she had wanted to seek out Doggett the butler and have a comfortable chat with him about the old days, away from all disapproving stares, but now there was no time. She arrived to find Elisabeth packing armfuls of ribbon into a box with a martyred air, and remembered that she had promised to help with the bunting and the rosettes. It was hardly the best way to make a good impression and she chided herself for having spent the morning wandering about in a day-dream when she was supposed to be forgetting all that and concentrating on her familial duties.

‘I’m awfully sorry I was so long, Elisabeth,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid I ended up walking a little farther than I meant to and didn’t notice the time. Have you finished the bunting? I can do some more after lunch, if you like.’

‘No, it’s quite all right,’ said Elisabeth with a sniff. ‘I’ve finished it all myself. It didn’t take as long as I expected, and I’m sure Mrs. Tipping has managed the cakes admirably on her own this morning. She won’t mind that I couldn’t come and help.’

Angela abased herself suitably, although Elisabeth had said nothing about agreeing to help Mrs. Tipping today and Angela could not help suspecting that there had been no such arrangement. Still, hers not to question: she had come to Two Tithes to cast down her eyes and act like a dutiful sister, and this she would do to the best of her ability. This morning she had made a bad start, but from now on she was determined to do better. The bell rang for lunch and she followed Elisabeth into the dining-room, where Mrs. Randall was already seated. The old lady immediately raised her lorgnette to her eyes and stared hard at Angela as she entered, then made a little noise that sounded like ‘Hmp!’ which may have denoted approval or disgust; it was impossible to say. Angela was starting to feel quite uncomfortable under her dispassionate gaze, but there was nothing to be done, so she merely smiled at Mrs. Randall and took her seat meekly. Humphrey just then arrived, followed by Kathie and Peter, and all talk was of the fête, which was due to take place the next day.

‘Did you happen to speak to Margaret Tipping this morning?’ asked Elisabeth of her sister. ‘I am wondering about the cakes.’

‘No, but I saw Norman earlier. He was in a hurry so didn’t stop, but he did say in passing that she was just finishing the icing on the last ones,’ replied Kathie.

‘Norman Tipping is Mrs. Tipping’s son. He is a particular friend of Kathie’s,’ Humphrey explained to Angela in the manner of a bewhiskered head of the family of some fifty years earlier.

‘Oh?’ said Angela. ‘Do they happen to be related to someone called Tom Tipping? I believe I met him this morning on Dead Man’s Path.’

‘Yes, Tom is married to Margaret,’ said Kathie. ‘He is Norman’s father.’

‘I see,’ said Angela. ‘I was talking to old Mr. Norris of Low Meadow Farm when he turned up. There appeared to be some sort of dispute between them.’

Elisabeth sniffed disdainfully.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It’s most tiresome of them, and quite embarrassing. Of course, it’s Mrs. Tipping I feel most sorry for, since she has to put up with it.’

‘What exactly are they feuding about?’ said Angela. ‘There seemed to be a disagreement over who owns Dead Man’s Path.’

‘Yes,’ said Kathie. ‘Mr. Norris has spent the last I don’t know how many years trying to prove that it legally belongs to him. He hasn’t succeeded yet, but he is determined to win his cause one day.’

‘Of course it doesn’t belong to him,’ said Elisabeth. ‘It’s common land, and has been for centuries, but most people have the good sense to nod and smile and agree when he starts on the subject, since it’s quite impossible to convince him that he’s wrong. It’s only Tom Tipping who insists on contradicting him and writing to the newspapers about it whenever the case comes up. Naturally, that only serves to infuriate old Norris further.’

Kathie gave a sigh.

‘Yes, I’m afraid that’s true,’ she said. ‘Poor Margaret! And each of them is as stubborn as the other. I believe Tom has taken to walking along Dead Man’s Path several times a day, and I can only imagine it’s because he wants to provoke Mr. Norris, since there’s no real reason for him to do it quite as often as he does.’

‘I should have thought he would rather want to avoid the place,’ said Angela. ‘Mr. Norris was brandishing a shotgun and he hinted very strongly that he was minded to use it.’

‘Oh, Andrew Norris and his shotgun,’ said Humphrey. ‘I have had words with him on numerous occasions about it. He is far too fond of pointing it at people. One day it will go off accidentally and then we shall have all manner of trouble. Now, Angela,’ he went on, dismissing the subject of errant landowners, ‘don’t forget that Mrs. Hunter is expecting you this afternoon. She remembers you very well and is looking forward to hearing all about what you have been doing over the past few years. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that she is an old lady and that certain subjects are not suitable for her ears.’