Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (8 page)
Read Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
Well, there was one thing for certain, Muriel declared to herself after a whole hour of tortuous struggling, she was going across to ask Sheila Bissett to give her a hand: if
anyone could put things right it would be Sheila. She pushed back her hair from her face, pulled out her handkerchief from her skirt pocket and dabbed her forehead and top lip. It really was all too much and she’d never ever attempt this again.
All this angst had come about because Muriel had volunteered to arrange the church flowers for the weekend. A series of unusual coincidences had brought the situation about and here she was deputising for an official flower arranger and wishing to heaven she wasn’t. The greenery was limp and wouldn’t hang right, the oasis kept crumbling, and the tape holding it in place was not doing a proper job of it at all. Now she couldn’t push in the stems of the flowers, and whoever had chosen roses that had no intention of standing straight? Muriel stood back to assess her arrangement and could have wept. A child of seven could have done better.
Leaving everything as it was Muriel stepped as quickly as she could across the Green towards Sheila’s house, hoping against hope that though it was Saturday they would be in, and she’d get Sheila to help her. Muriel never got on very well with Sheila, but give her her due, where flowers were concerned … She knocked lightly on the door. Rather apologetically she knocked again and then to her surprise found that the door appeared to be knocking back at her. How odd! Low down, there it was again. How peculiar. Maybe it was Sheila’s new cat playing games. But then she thought she heard a quiet groan.
Muriel lifted the latch and tried the door; she could open it a few inches but then no more. Cautiously putting her arm at shoulder level through the gap she had made she
could feel nothing, so she went lower still waving her hand about in the hope of coming into contact with something. Then, low down close to the floor, she did. Exploring but not able to see what she explored, she felt around and came to the conclusion she was actually feeling someone’s knee. Embarrassed, she stopped, retrieved her arm and knelt there wondering what on earth to do next.
She stood up, dusted off her knees and gave the door a heave. Something gave way and it opened a few more inches. Muriel, being slim, pressed her way through the enlarged gap. There at her feet lay Ronald Bissett, curled up like a baby. Muriel stuffed her knuckles into her mouth to stop herself screaming. He looked horrific. His head and face were bloody, swollen and so badly bruised he was barely recognisable, and his suit and shirt looked as though someone had stood on him in dirty shoes. Great splashes of blood had sprayed across his shirt front in a wild psychedelic pattern. Beside him his glasses had been ground into the carpet, and his bloody hands were in a claw-like grip grasping the fringe of the hall rug.
Ron groaned.
‘Oh, Ron! Whatever’s happened? Where’s Sheila?’
But she got no reply. Fearing what she might find, Muriel tiptoed around the ground floor in search of Sheila. She tried the sitting room first, then the dining room and all that was left was the kitchen so she pushed open the door and found her. Surely no one could take a beating like that and not be dead? She must be. There was blood all over the place, up the cupboard doors, on the dishwasher, even as high up as the worktops. In fear and trepidation, for she’d never before touched a person she thought might be dead,
Muriel stepped over the kettle to put her hand to Sheila’s ghastly bruised and battered neck and found, she thought, a slight pulse. Oh, Sheila! Oh, Sheila! An ambulance! With hands scarcely able to hold the receiver she tremblingly dialled nine nine nine on the kitchen telephone, but there was no life in it at all. Glancing at her hand still furiously tapping the number nine button Muriel saw it was red with blood. Sheila’s blood, thick and dark and congealed. Oh, God! Oh! God!
Ralph! No, he wasn’t at home.
Peter! Neither was he.
Jimbo! Of course!
The door stood wide open so Muriel was in the centre of the Store without any warning at all, distraught, hands and dress streaked with blood shouting as loud as she could, ‘Police! Quick! Ambulance! Dear God!’
Silence fell. Everyone there was transfixed at the sight of this terrible apparition. What on earth was she talking about? What on earth had she done?
The first to gather his wits was Jimbo. ‘Muriel! Muriel!’ He put an arm around her shoulders and asked, ‘Who for? Who do you want the ambulance for?’
‘Sheila and Ron.’ Bel just managed to get a chair under her as she collapsed.
‘Nine, nine, nine, Linda. Quick.’
Bel grabbed a bag of frozen peas she’d just sold to a customer and put it to Muriel’s forehead, hoping it might calm her down and stop her fainting.
Tom raced out and headed for Orchard House as fast as he could.
Linda said,’ ‘Are they murdered, do you think?’ and promptly fainted.
The two Senior sisters began chanting like a pair of demented nuns. ‘Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!’
The two Charter-Plackett boys, Fergus and Finlay, having been commandeered for shelf-filling that morning, ran out after Tom. Within seconds they were back ashen-faced and Finlay had to rush back out again to be furiously sick in the grating outside.
‘Dad! You should see. It’s terrible,’ Fergus shouted. ‘Just terrible. I don’t think they’ll live.’
At this the remainder of Jimbo’s customers squeezed out of the door and ran round to Orchard House, leaving Bel to get a glass of water for Muriel and one for Linda. Jimbo, still holding Muriel, muttered dark threats about coming to the village for peace and security for the children and then this happening, but he reproved himself when he recollected that Ron and Sheila were probably at death’s door.
It was on the regional TV news that night and in the papers the following morning. Trade-union leaders, eager for the exposure the media would give them, spoke grimly of this atrocious crime, of in what high esteem this elder of their movement was held, how shocking and apparently motiveless it was. Potted histories of Ron’s career appeared, hastily pulled together by journalists taken by surprise.
In the village the reaction to it was more sincere. For those who’d lived alongside them these last years this wasn’t just a ten-day wonder to fill the newsreels and the papers in the dying days of a newsless August. In the Store Jimbo did a brisk trade in newspapers, having to double his order of
some to satisfy demand. In the Royal Oak Georgie, Dicky and Alan worked like slaves to keep up with the meals and drinks all the journalists and sightseers demanded. At night the village was as quiet as the grave. The nonchalant attitude most of its inhabitants had had about locking their doors was tossed to the wind and every door and window was locked and checked both day and night.
But for heaven’s sake why? Sheila and Ron had never done anything to deserve such a vicious attack. Mild, innocent lives they’d led. Mind you, Sheila couldn’t half be provoking and verging on abandoned with her outspoken comments, as most of them knew to their cost, but to deserve such a beating? No. This was some outside job, but what was the motive?
Louise had searched through the house but found nothing of her parents’ possessions missing, so far as she could tell. Agreed there’d been a bit of vague throwing about of drawer contents to make it look like a burglary but it was obvious that murder had been the intention or at the very least a serious warning.
Sheila was the first to speak. Muriel and Ralph were visiting the two of them in the hospital and talking to her about the village. ‘So you see, Sheila,’ Muriel said, ‘we’re having the meeting tonight to mobilise everyone. We can’t let Mr Fitch ride roughshod over us all, can we? I’m just sorry you can’t be there. But I’ll let you know what goes on. We have to move quickly, you know, or else. You’ve not to worry about anything though, just you get well. All the things you are responsible for are being attended to. All you’ve got to do is get better. Grandmama Charter-Plackett has taken over the Flower Club,’ at this Sheila stirred, ‘just
temporarily, of course, and she’s going to oversee the Harvest Festival for you, so there’s no need to worry about that. She’s …’
Sheila’s mouth opened and she whispered hoarsely and almost unintelligibly, ‘She’d better not ’ave.’ Her false teeth having been removed Sheila appeared to Muriel to be extraordinarily vulnerable, and she felt more moved by the intimate glimpse she’d had of her helplessness than she was by her injuries. Ralph had to chuckle: apparently just the mention of her old adversary taking over had penetrated her unconscious mind and stirred her into a reaction.
Muriel shook her head. ‘Only a small speech in support of you. I get so nervous.’
‘Very well. We’ll have coffee afterwards then you and I can circulate. I’ve rung up quite a few people and they’ve promised to come.’
‘Caroline, are we doing the right thing, do you think?’
Caroline looked surprised. ‘Of course we are. Are you getting cold feet?’
‘I always do. It is his hedge, you see, just like our garden is ours. It’s just that his is bigger.’
‘I know, but he has responsibilities to the land. After all, it
is his in trust during his lifetime, in the end the land belongs to itself. He’s simply privileged to look after it for a while.’
‘I hadn’t seen it like that, but of course you’re right.’
‘See you tonight then. Sylvia’s sitting in for me and she’s coming round at seven so I’ll be there in good time.’
‘Peter not back yet?’
‘No.’ Caroline turned away saying, ‘See you tonight,’ and leaving before Muriel could ask another question.
When Muriel walked into the hall at five minutes past seven she was surprised to find it a hive of activity. Posters were up round the walls, a leaflet on every chair, and six of the chairs were already occupied.
They all turned to look at her. Arthur and Celia Prior were there, two of the weekenders, Miss Pascoe from the school, and Georgie from the Royal Oak.
‘Good evening! So good of you all to come.’
Arthur, Ralph’s so-called cousin, stood up. ‘Good evening, Muriel. Celia and me, we’ve come to give you our full support. Someone’s got to put a stop to him and I for one am willing to stand up and be counted.’
‘Thank you, Arthur, Celia. I do appreciate that.’
Georgie patted the chair beside her, ‘Do sit with me, Lady Templeton.’
‘I’m supposed to be sitting at the front with Caroline, thank you, Georgie. I’ve a speech to make.’
One of the weekenders called out, ‘We’re right behind you. The man’s a monster. We can’t let him get away with it.’ He clenched his fist and raised it in the air. ‘Down with Fitch, I say!’
Gently Muriel reminded him, ‘It’s not Mr Fitch himself but rather what he’s doing that we’re protesting about.’
‘There are people who think he should be allowed to dig it up, you know.’
‘Are there indeed! Just show them to me and I’ll give them a piece of my mind!’ He laughed loudly and nudged his wife, who almost toppled off her chair. ‘Sorry, pet, but I’m so incensed.’
At this point Grandmama Charter-Plackett came in. Muriel thought she heard a slight booing sound but sincerely hoped she hadn’t.
Grandmama went to sit on the front row, ignoring the murmur of protest, calmly placed her bag beside her and folded her arms. ‘Good evening, Muriel!’
‘Good evening, Katherine.’
‘Is Mr Fitch coming?’
‘He has had a leaflet but not a personal invitation.’
‘And what about the council? Anyone from there daring to face the flack?’
‘Those concerned have been invited but they have not replied.’
‘I shall be the only one then?’
‘Only one?’
‘The only one on Mr Fitch’s side.’
Muriel’s heart quailed at the prospect of answering her, but that dear little wren needed her support. ‘We’ll have to wait and see.’
The hall was beginning to fill and Tom had to find more chairs. Caroline was already there, standing behind the table on which she had placed her notes. Muriel, whilst highly delighted at the interest their meeting had attracted, shook with nerves as she took her place beside Caroline. Why on earth had she said she would spearhead a protest they hadn’t a hope of winning? Ralph smiled at her from his seat at the back and she gathered courage. There must be forty people at least already and there were bound to be latecomers. At seven thirty prompt Caroline tapped the end of her pen on the table and brought the meeting to order.
‘Good evening, everyone. First I should like to say how pleased and impressed Muriel and I are to see so much interest in this protest of ours. Obviously it isn’t just Muriel and I who have taken this threat to our village to heart, apparently you all have too. I shall begin by …’
Muriel listened to Caroline’s well-reasoned argument and felt proud to be associated with her. Observing the reactions of the crowd she noticed that most kept nodding their heads in agreement and at one stage some shouted, ‘Hear, hear!’ or clapped their hands in approval.
Then suddenly it was her turn and Muriel, knees knocking, stood up as the applause for Caroline faded.
‘I’m a country woman at heart though not a very knowledgeable one. But what I do know is that we have to fight to preserve our countryside. It simply will not do for us to stand by and bow to the destruction of it. I have been to the county records office and I have seen with my own eyes ancient maps and there, as large as life, is that hedgerow, already well established by the seventeenth century. Living
in that hedgerow are dozens of wild creatures and wild flowers and plants which must not be left homeless.’
Muriel picked up her notes. ‘There are holly, yew, hazel, wild rose, dogwood, blackthorn and ash as well as flowers such as wild violets, to say nothing of birds and small mammals which rely upon it for food and for bringing up their young. So determined am I to stop the destruction of this hedgerow that I am prepared to stand in front of any tractor, any digger, any tree-destroying equipment, at the risk of my
life
, to stop this happening. If it comes to it, how many of you will join me?’
Her challenge was greeted by cheers and the noisy weekender stood up and called out, ‘Me for one! I’ll be right beside you, shoulder to shoulder!’ He faced the crowd eyeball to eyeball. ‘Well?’
‘And me!’
‘And me!’
In the midst of the excitement the door opened and in came Mr Fitch. The proverbial pin could have been dropped and everyone would have heard it. The whole room froze into silence.
Mr Fitch paused for a moment and then marched between the chairs towards the table. He stopped in front of it and faced the meeting. ‘Permission to speak, Madam Chairman.’
Muriel couldn’t answer him, but Caroline could. ‘Of course, it’s a public meeting.’
He glared at each and every one sitting in front of him. ‘In all the years I have lived in this village I have bowed to your wishes. Because of your opposition I have stood down from being chairman of the cricket club whose pavilion and
equipment
I
financed, I have paid for the church bells to be rehung, I have paid for the church central heating, I have set up an educational trust to help talented children and young people, I have underwritten the Village Show, the like of which has never been seen in this county before, and I have hosted the Bonfire Night party. I employ nineteen workers of one kind and another from this village and the surrounding ones, and I am always a soft touch when it comes to donating to charitable causes. Now this time I want my own way. A simple thing, the replacing of a hedge by a stout wooden fence. That is all. I have come simply to inform you of my intentions. I
will
remove the hedge and I
will
, despite your opposition, erect a fence.’
Mr Fitch turned on his heel and left the hall.
The silence, which had fallen when he arrived, was nothing compared to the deep silence he left behind him. Muriel felt ashamed. Caroline questioned her own motives. Grandmama Charter-Plackett smiled smugly. Ralph looked grim and an awful lot of them were embarrassed.
‘He is right, he has done a lot for us. We’d miss him in more ways than one if he sold up.’
‘He’s paid half our Lynn’s ballet-school fees. We’d never have been able to let her go if he hadn’t.’
‘Look at that time when he …’
‘And when he paid …’
‘We owe him a lot.’
‘Perhaps we shouldn’t oppose him. After all it is his hedge, isn’t it?’
Muriel, realising that in another minute her cause would be totally lost, was about to stand up to implore them to
back her and Caroline, when the door opened again. Who was it this time? Not Mr Fitch come back?
Heads turned to see. ‘Why! It’s the Rector!’
‘Hello, sir, glad you’re back.’
‘Just the person we need.’
‘The man for the moment.’
Muriel sneaked a look at Caroline. Her eyes were fixed on Peter. He was wearing that royal blue pullover which picked up the colour of his eyes and emphasised his blond good looks in a way no other colour could. His jeans hung on him a little, but otherwise he looked the same except that the peace and joy which normally emanated from him was missing. Finally, after a long stare, Caroline smiled at him and he smiled at her.
Muriel said quietly, ‘Glad you’ve come. We do need your help.’
Ralph stood up and gave Peter a brief résumé of what had taken place. ‘So we have stalemate. We’re all well aware of what he has done for this village but at the same time …’
‘One thing we have to be careful of is to be sure we’re not objecting simply because it’s Mr Fitch being highhanded again. There must be some legal way of stopping him. Have we investigated that?’ He put the question to Caroline directly.
Taken so completely off-guard by his sudden appearance Caroline stammered, ‘W-w-we’ve been advised that the – council can’t stop him.’
‘Officially?’
‘Not in writing.’
‘That’s what we need then. Cannot Neville Neal advise us?’
Muriel told him of her conversation with him. ‘So we assumed we’d drawn a blank.’
‘I think there must be something somewhere we can use. But first I shall go visit Mr Fitch myself. Tomorrow. First thing. If I might suggest, seeing as you are all obviously very much concerned about this matter, that you leave your names and addresses before you go so that you can be contacted and told of future developments?’
Muriel clapped her hands when she realised that the fight might not be ended. ‘What a good idea! Of course. How splendid.’
Hastily she found clean pages in her notebook and laid it out on the table alongside her pen. ‘Here we are! Here we are!’
Grandmama, who’d felt herself to be on the winning side for a moment, forbore to add her name to the list and strode towards the door, distinctly put out by the turn of events.
Peter went to sit down at the back of the hall and wait for the meeting to close. By the time Caroline had had a word with people, collected her papers, thanked Tom for getting the hall ready for them and for locking up, and coped with her emotions at Peter’s unexpected reappearance, she was exhausted.
It was Peter’s key in the lock, Peter who thanked Sylvia for babysitting, Peter who made a hot drink for them both and Peter who carried it into the sitting room. He placed the tray on the coffee table and handed Caroline her mug.
‘Thank you. You’re back then?’ She looked up at him as she spoke, not knowing whether she should be glad or not.
‘I am. This problem of the hedge. I certainly don’t want it
uprooting. It’s a delightful sight and precious too. I’m glad you’ve decided to do something about it.’
‘I was incensed when I found out.’ She explained about Ralph’s party and how furious Grandmama Charter-Plackett had made her.
Peter, having listened attentively to her explanation, said, ‘As one of his tenants she has a lot to lose if she opposes him and so have a lot of other people in this village – Jimbo with his catering contract, which I understand is a sizeable percentage of his turnover, and all Mr Fitch’s employees. It will be very difficult for them to come out in protest, especially workers like Barry Jones and Greenwood Stubbs so soon after their last scare about losing their jobs.’
‘I hadn’t quite seen it like that. Harriet didn’t come and I thought perhaps she might.’
‘Like I said, many will have divided loyalties. That’s why I think it might be best to approach it from the legal direction. I’m amazed –’
‘Peter! Have done!’
He put down his mug and looked at her. ‘Have done?’
‘Have done! Where have you been? I daren’t tell anyone that you’d disappeared off the face of the earth. If they asked where you were I said you were taking a holiday. You appear without warning and wonder why I’m …
hurting
like I am. I need an explanation.’
‘I’ve been walking in the Dales and I’ve come back because the Bishop will shortly be making enquiries as to my whereabouts and so …’ he looked down at his hands ‘… but I needed to be back anyway. Couldn’t manage, you see, without seeing you.’ He looked up and smiled apologetically.
