Tragedy at Two (11 page)

“That was very nice, thank you,” Nancy said to Joan. “And really nice to meet you, Mrs. Weedon,” she added. “Perhaps you’d like to come and have tea with me one afternoon?”

Gran said that would be very nice, and of course Nancy must come up to Meades’ house for a coffee or tea soon. “My daughter would like to meet you, I’m sure,” she said. “She’s got two sons,” she added. “Might give you some tips.” She smiled kindly, and waved goodbye as Nancy left.

“Well, that was in at the deep end, Elsie,” Joan Pickering said. “I was hoping we could cheer up the poor woman, not remind her of her troubles. We could’ve talked about gardening, or knitting, or what books we’d been reading.”

“Oh, sorry,” said Gran, who was not in the least sorry. “Still, I think she got some stuff off her chest. Sounds like a bit of a problem there. What’s the father like?”

Joan Pickering shrugged. “Don’t know much about him,” she said. “I’ve seen him over the garden fence several times, I suppose. And I’ve heard him shouting once or twice. Probably at that Mark. Sounds like he deserves a clip round the ear.”

“Bet you never clipped your Floss round the ear.”

“No, well, but she’s a girl, isn’t she? And as for her father, well, Floss’s dad has never been violent, but he’s done a good deal of shouting over the years. I reckon the Browns will sort themselves out. Anyway,” she added, “how much do I owe you for the biscuits?”

 

 

LOIS, MEANWHILE, WAS BORED. SHE’D BEEN SITTING IN THE SHOP all day, and apart from three or four potential clients, she had seen nobody, and nothing was going on in Sebastopol Street outside. She looked at her watch. Another hour to go. Hazel was so efficient there was no filing or paperwork to do. Maybe she would ring up somebody. Gran? Out to tea. Derek? Busy at work. Josie? Ah yes, it would be useful to talk to Josie. She seemed pretty stable at the moment, but Lois was not sure what was going on inside.

“Hello? Long Farnden village shop. Can I help you?” Josie’s light, attractive voice was full of friendliness and efficiency. No wonder the shop was doing so well.

“It’s Mum. I’m stuck in Sebastopol and have run out of jobs. So I’m ringing to bother you and find out how you are. Just say if the shop’s full. Customers come first.”

“No, I can spare a minute or two,” Josie said. “Not like you, Mum, to have time to spare. Anyway, I’m glad you rang. I’ve just had Gran in on her way back from tea with Mrs. Pickering. Apparently another Blackberry resident was there. Mrs. Brown, from number seven. Seems she and Gran had a good old chin-wag. Gran was full of it. Poor woman is the fond mama of one of those louts who lurk behind the village hall. She and her unsympathetic husband are at their wits’ end, apparently. Their precious Mark is, according to her, a reluctant dropout with all the nasty habits to match.”

“Was he one of those taken in by Cowgill?” Lois said immediately.

“Yep, seems so. Of course they were released without charge, weren’t they? But I reckon we could do with a bit of ferretin’ into the squalid lives of those charming delinquents.”

“Right. Glad I rang, Josie. We’ll have to get Gran to invite her new friend to tea and a spot of interrogation.”

“Already done,” said Josie, and her light laugh gladdened Lois’s heart. “Next Tuesday afternoon, three thirty, with a promise of chocolate cake. You’re invited, Mum.”

MONDAY, AND THE NEW BROOMS TEAM WAS GATHERING for their weekly meeting. Cleaning schedules were fixed, and updates were included on Andrew’s work with interior décor clients. His assignments were increasing, and he was beginning to wonder if perhaps soon he would need an assistant.

“How’s Josie?” he asked, when they were all settled in their seats, facing Lois and waiting for her to begin.

“She’s doing very well, thanks, Andrew. Doesn’t talk much about Rob, but I suppose that’s normal. She has a demanding job to do, and seems to have decided it’s best to get on with it.”

“I think she will,” said Hazel. “Talk about Rob, I mean. She’s been in the office on the point of saying
something
, then rushed out again. Must be difficult for her, poor lamb.”

“Any news on who did it?” Sheila Stratford asked bluntly. Her Sam had clammed up on any conversation about Rob’s murder, except to say he couldn’t believe those bloody gypsies were still in the village.

“Time to get on with the meeting,” Lois said briskly. “Now then, shall we go through the schedules?”

Everything seemed to be going like clockwork, and Lois thanked her lucky stars that at least there were no problems with the business. As they were getting to their feet and preparing to leave, the doorbell rang, and Lois heard Gran going to answer it. “No thank you, not today,” she heard Gran say. “We don’t need more pegs these days, what with the drier an’ that.”

Lois rushed out in time to call Athalia back from halfway down the drive. “Please come in a minute, will you?” she called.

Athalia hesitated. “You’re busy, Mrs. Meade.”

“We’re finished. Please, come in for a minute.”

“I’ll go round to the kitchen door,” Athalia answered, and Lois heard Gran muttering that she wasn’t having dirty feet in her kitchen.

When Lois had seen off the team, she went through and found Athalia standing outside the kitchen door, with Gran at the sink looking mutinous.

“Please come in,” Lois said fir mly, and to Gran’s very obvious disapproval, escorted Athalia into her office and shut the door.

“Sit down, please. I’ve been wanting to talk to you again, and I’m sure you didn’t come here to sell pegs.”

Athalia nodded. “Quite right,” she said. “I want you to tell me something about that rumpus the other night. When George and Jal were set upon by a gang and roughed up.”

“What makes you think I know anything about it?”

“Because George is sure Samuel Stratford was the leader, and his woman works for you. We have to know, Mrs. Meade, because next time it could be much worse.”

Lois did some quick thinking. How much should she tell Athalia? That Sam Stratford was a bigoted racist of the kind that unfortunately still held some influence in the locality? Or that Sam Stratford was a nice bloke, good worker, kindhearted to his neighbours and friends? A pillar of society and a loyal parish councillor? All were true. She decided to ask a question instead.

“Did they tell you about the quiz?” she said.

Athalia nodded. “A mistake, Mrs. Meade. It is always best for us to keep ourselves private, stick with our kind and not try to mix in. I believe it was you agreed to join with George and Jal in the quiz? Well, I ask you not to do that kind of thing again. It ain’t no help, whatever you might think. Now, are you going to answer my question about Samuel Stratford?”

“If you will answer one or two of mine.”

“Let’s hear them, then.”

Lois asked for more information about the two gypsies with the bull terrier. “Young Alan Stratford saw them and received the same grim greeting as I did. Is it possible they could be really violent?”

“If you mean did they attack your Rob, I don’t know. I can’t think why they should bring down trouble on themselves without anything to gain. Poaching, yes. Trespass, yes. Thieving, even. But not murder. I could almost stake my life on that.”

“Almost?”

“Nothing absolutely certain in this life, Mrs. Meade. My mother used to tell fortunes, and she would always say that. Mind you, people never listen. They believe what they want to believe, and I know opinion is against us. I have told George we should move on, but he won’t. We may have to leave him behind. Appleby fair is getting closer. So what about Samuel Stratford.”

“Why do you call him Samuel?”

“Because that’s his given name. I happen to know that.”

“Right, well, a bargain’s a bargain,” said Lois, and gave Athalia as fair and balanced account as she could of the Sam Stratford she knew.

“WE HAD A VISITOR THIS MORNING,” GRAN SAID TO DEREK AT supper time.

Lois glared at her. Really, Gran was getting more uppity every day. Perhaps she should have a word with her. Lois looked at the steaming steak and kidney pie on the table, the gleaming saucepans hanging over the Rayburn, the quarry tiles polished to a warm red glow, and knew that she could not do anything of the sort. Her mother shared this home with them equally now, and she certainly earned her keep. She was entitled to say anything she liked, within reason.

“Who was that, then, me duck?” Derek said, looking suspiciously at Lois. He knew at once that whoever the visitor had been, Gran had disapproved.

“It was a gypsy, selling pegs,” Lois said innocently. “Gran told her we didn’t need any.”

To her surprise, Gran said nothing more. Derek said only that he reckoned washing pegged on a line in the garden was much fresher than in a tumble drier.

“Douglas stopped and talked to me this morning,” he said, changing the subject. “He was on his way to a client, and saw the van. We had a half in the pub in Waltonby. Seems him and Susie are close to setting a date for the wedding. In the autumn, they reckon, probably end of September. There’ll be a lot for you to do, me duck, so you’d better leave your spare time clear. Once Cowgill has pulled his finger out and found Rob’s killer, best not to do any more ferretin’.”

Lois bridled. “It’ll be Susie’s Mum doing the organising,” she said. “We shall help, of course, but the main job is done by the bride’s parents. We could offer to pay for the drink, maybe. I don’t think they’ve got many pennies to spare.”

The telephone rang, and Gran looked at the clock. “Who’s that at this hour?” she said.

“It’s not late, Mum,” Lois said, getting up to answer it. “We don’t batten down the hatches at eight o’clock, do we?”

“Hello? Who’s that?” Lois’s mouth was full of pie, and Cowgill was not sure at first that he had the right number.

“May I speak to Mrs. Meade, please?” he said.

“It’s me, of course,” said Lois. “What do you want? We’re in the middle of supper.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, Lois, but this is urgent.”

Not again! Lois’s heart lurched and she grabbed the back of chair.

“Tell me!” she said.

“There’s a fire, a big one. Thought you might want to know. Down at the gypsy camp. I’m going down there now. If you’re not interested, forget it.” He was gone, and Lois turned to the others.

“Fire,” she said. “Somebody’s set the gypsies on fire. Come on, Derek. We might be able to help.”

“Lois!” Gran said. But she was wasting her breath. Lois had her coat on and was out of the front door, reluctantly followed by Derek. As soon as they got to the end of the High Street they could see the red light and smoke and sparks rising into the twilit sky. When they reached the edge of the encampment, a police barrier prevented them from going further.

“Derek!” Lois gasped, out of breath from running. “It’s Athalia’s caravan! Oh my God, the whole place is exploding!” Children, dogs and horses were fleeing into the wood, and fire engines were still arriving. Lois’s ears were assailed by screams, barking, sirens wailing, men shouting, and over everything the roar of the fire.

She hid her face in Derek’s jacket, and he put his arms around her. “Bloody hell!” he said. “Whatever bugger did this?”