Miss Pink Investigates series Box Set Part Two

by Gwen Moffat

  Down at the camp site in the sycamore grove Judson was beaming with delight. ‘You don’t care, do you? I can throw you off this land without notice and you don’t turn a hair.’

  ‘Don’t be childish,’ Seale said. ‘I don’t play your kind of game, and I don’t care to camp on land where people make a nuisance of themselves.’

  There was a pause. His stare was moody, then he relaxed.

  ‘You go off at half-cock,’ he told her. ‘You’re different from other women but you don’t seem able to come to terms with it. You’re a poor judge of men too. I was paying you a compliment.’

  ‘You were trying to intimidate me.’

  He shrugged. ‘Why do you hold out against me? Am I dull?’

  She regarded him thoughtfully. ‘Only some of the time.’

  ‘Frightening?’

  ‘God, no!’

  He winced. ‘So?’

  She sighed. ‘You’re bombastic.’

  He wasn’t put out. ‘That’s a value judgement. To you I appear arrogant but my people have farmed this valley for centuries. You’re arrogant yourself.’

  She smiled. ‘This isn’t the first time I’ve met a land owner.’

  ‘Damn it, I know! Tell me in France and the States and England you find your own level! Stop procrastinating, woman. You’re going to give in and you know it. You’re just playing hard to get. Well, I’m coming to Ebeneser; I’m going to see those pictures of yours again and afterwards it’ll be a case of your place or mine. As for now: get that tent zipped up and let’s go down to the coast for a lobster. Hock and lobster at a discreet little place on top of the cliffs. How’s that?’

  ‘I don’t have to be discreet.’

  ‘Now that’s unfair—but it’s what’s so attractive about you: the carelessness. Doesn’t it ever occur to you that it could be dangerous? You’re reckless. What are you watching?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Seale said, drawing it out, turning to him with a puzzled expression.

  ‘You look a little lost,’ he said softly. ‘I’m sorry; am I going too fast?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Her gaze travelled over the trees and then she gave a sudden loud sniff and bent to close the tent.

  A farmer called Hughes shouted across the yard to his wife:

  ‘Dil! You unchained that bitch?’

  Her face appeared at the kitchen window.

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘She’s gone, chain an’ all. Damn! Here’s me going to mate her with a cham-pion, and she’s away!’ He was distraught.

  ‘Go after her.’

  ‘Too late. She’ll be mated with every bloody dog in the valley by now.’

  ‘You should have shut her up.’

  ‘I did then. In the byre. Door come open, didn’t it? Shut and chained, she were. Bloody bitch on heat’ll break out of a p’liss cell.’

  ‘Seven more for lunch,’ Waring cried, bustling into the kitchen. ‘Can we do it, Lucy?’

  ‘No sweat,’ she assured him comfortably. ‘Plenty of salad left and a couple of guinea fowl from last night. You can make it sound like guinea fowl salad was something only millionaires eat. Give it an up-market name. Salade Gleneagles.’

  ‘Gleneagles is British Rail now. Salade Dorchester?’

  ‘They wouldn’t know the Dorchester from a fried chicken joint. Call it salade Hilton. That’ll send them.’

  They giggled and Anna Waring, coming in from the passage, looked at them stonily on her way to the bar. Waring followed her and for a while they were fully occupied with serving pre-luncheon drinks to the guests. Seeing them settled for the moment, he went to the cellar for a crate of bitter lemon, muttering to himself about the weather. In the heat men drank beer and women fruit juice—small profit for a publican.

  As he was stooping to the crate Anna’s voice came from behind him: ‘I’ve no objection to your familiarity with the help but I’d rather you did it in private.’

  ‘What the hell—’ It was too much: on top of a lunch time when the profit on drinks wouldn’t cover his overheads.

  ‘Giggling together like a couple of kids in front of the kitchen staff! She’s an old-age pensioner.’

  ‘A well-covered bird. You’re getting a bit stringy yourself.’

  ‘And what exactly does that mean?’

  He lifted the crate and moved towards her.

  ‘Men like ’em younger and rounder.’ He was breathing heavily. ‘Move over.’

  She stayed where she was, her eyes flashing.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Don’t keep repeating yourself. And get out of my way.’

  ‘You’re implying something. You’ve been building up to this all morning—’

  He dropped the case with a crash. Anna shrank back, livid.

  ‘That could have crushed my foot!’

  ‘Pity. You followed me down here to start something.’ He regarded her tightly. ‘I’ll give you one chance. You’re mad because he followed that youngster out of the bar last night. If you’ve got something special to moan about, something that relates to me and this place, let’s have it, right now. Otherwise move out of my way or I’ll move you. I will drop the bloody crate on your foot, so help me.’

  ‘You’d threaten me!’

  ‘Too right, lady. I’m about choked.’

  ‘You’re—! You and that Lucy Banks!’

  ‘Now look—’ he was quiet and tense, ‘—stop raising your voice; the customers will hear, if they haven’t already. This place is our livelihood. You know damn well I know what’s eating you so stop taking it out on me. This is summer: the season—there’s a recession on, remember? But we’re making money, holding our heads above water, if we can just keep it up. If you’re mad, clear out for a day, go to Chester, go to London if you want. I can hold the fort, but don’t you go putting Lucy’s back up. It wouldn’t matter if she was young and luscious and in and out of beds like a flea; what does matter is that she’s the best cook in a fifty-mile radius and every other hotel is after her—but she works for us. Do I make myself clear?’

  Anna shrugged. ‘I might do just that: go away for the weekend. It’ll leave you free, won’t it?’

  He nodded grimly. ‘Yes, dear. Lucy and me’ll have a ball.’

  Somewhere above the valley, muffled by heat and humidity, a shot rang out. In the Judsons’ stable yard Handel Evans lifted his head.

  ‘Where was that?’ Gladys Judson asked.

  ‘Up the top of the combe, mum.’

  She turned back to the stable door. Both its halves were closed. Behind a high window barred with wooden slats a form rose and fell silently.

  ‘I wish he wouldn’t keep leaping like that,’ she said unhappily. ‘It worries me.’

  ‘Strengthens his legs, mum.’

  ‘Evans, are you sure that door’s safe? It’s only a thumb latch, after all.’

  ‘Yes, but you got to put your finger through the hole and lift. Only a ’uman can do that. If it was a matter of bearing down—like the real thumb latch in houses, he could jump up, catch it with his paw, and spring the door open by accident. But he can’t put his paw through and lift, can he?’

  She sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right. And there’s no way he can get into the garage?’

  The garage was next door to the stable, under the same roof, its double doors open, a green Mini facing them. They stared at the wall between garage and stable. It was made of breeze blocks. Evans said nothing.

  ‘Yes.’ Gladys smiled. ‘He’ll never get through that, but I’d be happier if he were chained.’

  ‘He were chained, and he got out.’

  ‘He slipped his collar. Now that you’ve tightened it, and with the door closed.… It would be safer, Evans.’

  ‘Close the half-door, mum?’ His voice rose. ‘And him chained behind it?’ He was suddenly expressionless. ‘That’s cruel. What would the master say?’

  There was the sound of another shot. He looked puzzled.
<
br />   ‘Is Mr Judson shooting?’

  ‘Shooting? He went to town.’

  ‘Is that so. I think I’ll take a turn round the place, see who’s about, like.’

  The glen drowsed through the hot afternoon while the tourist traffic drifted up the main valley, the haze gathered on the mountains and the water shrank a little more between the banks of gorse and golden buttercups. A stranger, driving idly up the lane under the oakwoods, might have thought that no one was abroad, that if anyone were alive in the old houses glimpsed through jungly foliage, like people in lower latitudes, they would be asleep behind drawn curtains, windows open wide to catch a breeze.

  There was no breeze, no movement, only sound: the persistent drone of insects, the somnolent note of the wood pigeons, and once the barking of a dog, or dogs.

  At five-thirty Gladys Judson came home from shopping, eased her Mini into the cobbled yard and braked. The top half-door of the stable was open. Satan was loose again.

  Chapter 4

  The village folk had a bad evening. During the night most people were to sleep well because they were safe indoors but earlier in the evening few local people were out walking, and when motorists went to and from their cars parked on the Bridge’s forecourt, it was noticeable that no one loitered, and their glances towards the thick shrubbery were scared and resentful. Nor did anyone sit out on the terrace that night.

  It was Gladys Judson who had spread the word as she searched, first through the Reserve and the meadows, then the village and further afield: driving slowly in her Mini, stopping to speak to pedestrians whom she knew, and some she didn’t, drawing up at houses with an open door. And that was how pedestrians came to be off the roads, children indoors and the doors closed. ‘Our Alsatian, the black one; have you seen him?’ She wouldn’t use his name, Satan; she had always disliked it.

  They felt sorry for her: a very polite lady, Mrs Judson, and obviously upset; all the same, no one dared to voice disapproval of her husband—not openly.

  Gladys searched until dusk. Handel Evans, with the ribald advice of the Bridge’s customers in his ears, concentrated on the local bitches and so eventually reached Hughes Cae Gwyn, who confirmed that his animal was in season, had been loose but had now returned and was shut in the byre. No, the black Alsatian had not been around the farm but if Handel Evans cared to come back in nine weeks’ time, he’d be able to tell then if she’d seen the Alsatian in her travels. Evans started to point out coldly that information in nine weeks’ time was no good now, when he saw Hughes exchange a deadpan glance with his wife, and he turned on his heel and walked out quietly, loosely, a figure of menace. Behind him he heard stifled giggles. He went home raging.

  It was one o’clock in the morning when Judson stumbled up the stairs of his house and, if he read his wife’s note on his bed about the dog’s escape, he ignored it. No one saw him until nine o’clock when Ellen Evans, prompt to the minute this exciting day, was cleaning in the drawing room. As the vacuum whined down the scale she looked up to see Judson in the doorway, holding the plug.

  ‘Morning, Ellen.’ He was in a good mood, and that surprised her.

  ‘Good morning, sir. I’ll bring your coffee this minute.’

  She bustled to the kitchen where Gladys was already putting bread in the toaster.

  ‘Any sign of the dog?’ he asked as Ellen placed the coffee pot in front of him.

  ‘None, sir. Evans was out most of the night.’

  ‘No doubt.’ He smiled, opening The Times. ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘Still searching. He won’t stop until he finds Satan.’

  ‘Send him to me as soon as he comes in.’

  She hurried back to the kitchen. ‘He’s not bothered,’ she whispered to Gladys. ‘I told you not to take on so.’

  Gladys nodded wordlessly. Ellen said, through the clatter of her own activity at the sink: ‘That dog’ll be getting hungry; shouldn’t wonder if he comes slinking into this yard any minute now.’

  Gladys’s eyes widened but still she said nothing. She basted Judson’s eggs, turned down the flame under the pan, glanced at the clock. Her eyes were haunted.

  Half an hour later Judson came into the kitchen. He was lightweight suit, the one he wore for town.

  ‘Evans not shown up yet?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Ellen was quick. Gladys looked from the suit to her husband’s face.

  ‘I have to go to Liverpool,’ he told her. ‘Something’s come up.’

  No one mentioned that it was Saturday.

  ‘When are you leaving, dear?’

  ‘Before lunch.’

  ‘I’ll go and pack a bag for you.’

  ‘Just a couple of shirts.’

  During this exchange Ellen’s movements never faltered. She was scouring the sink and paying scrupulous attention to the corners. Judson regarded her back thoughtfully.

  ‘Which way did Evans go?’

  She straightened. ‘Now that I couldn’t say. Will I go out and see if I can find him?’

  ‘Don’t bother.’ He was casual, then he grinned. ‘But I’m not hanging about.’ It sounded like a promise. Suddenly he turned and strode out of the back door. She craned her neck, squinting sideways through the window above the sink, trying to see which way he went.

  ‘That’s that,’ Gladys said when she came back to the kitchen: ‘Oh, he’s gone.’

  ‘He’s gone to look for Evans,’ Ellen said eagerly. ‘Do you need any help?’

  ‘Help?’

  ‘With his packing?’

  ‘Two shirts?’ It was only faintly ironic. ‘It’s done. You can go home when you’ve finished the drawing room, Ellen. I shan’t need you until Monday.’

  ‘It’s better I come across. You’ll need company.’

  ‘I shall be out most of the time if that dog isn’t found.’

  ‘Then you need me to run the house and see to your meals. I’ll be here to answer the phone too.’

  ‘Very well. If you like.’

  At eleven o’clock—coffee time—Evans came in, and there was fluster and indecision as everyone wondered where Judson was. He came home half an hour later, his step jaunty, his eyes gleaming.

  ‘Any sign?’ he asked as he entered the kitchen.

  No, Evans told him, no one had seen the dog.

  ‘That’s a valuable animal,’ Judson said. ‘I’ll report it to the police.’

  ‘No one would steal him!’ Evans was horrified.

  ‘No one could steal him. What d’you think, Evans? Has he gone right out of the valley, over the mountain, after a bitch?’

  ‘Hughes Cae Gwyn’s bitch were on heat, but Hughes never saw our dog. But someone were shooting yesterday afternoon.’

  ‘With a dog, d’you mean? A bitch?’ Judson spooned sugar into his coffee.

  ‘No, sir. I did not mean that.’

  ‘Huh? What are you getting at, man? Speak up.’

  Evans glanced at the women, puzzled. Gladys looked resigned but Ellen was tense as a pointer.

  ‘You may remember, sir,’ he said heavily, ‘that threats has been uttered.’

  Judson blinked and the sparkle left his eyes. He looked annoyed and ugly. ‘Threats,’ he repeated. ‘He’d never dare. None of ’em would.’

  ‘The dog’s not come back,’ Evans said, greatly daring himself.

  They watched him, waiting for an explosion, but he exhaled slowly and his face cleared.

  ‘You’re paranoid, Evans. The dog’s after a bitch. But it won’t hurt—no, it won’t hurt.… Go up and lean on Lloyd a bit, and if you see those two lads, Banks and Owen, a few threats of your own wouldn’t come amiss.’

  ‘It’d come better from you, sir. They respect you.’

  Judson nodded carelessly. ‘I’ll threaten ’em all right: after the weekend, on Monday. I have to go to Liverpool now on business. I’ll be back. I’ll leave it in your hands, for the moment. You know what to do if there’s trouble. Bring the police in.’ He was grinning happily, exuding good humou
r.

  ‘Very well, sir.’ Evans rose, removing his beret from where he’d tucked it under his epaulette. ‘I’ll go up there now and do a bit of leaning.’

  The woodlands were scored by paths. He took one that ran from the back of his cottage, zig-zagging steeply to Lloyd’s access track. As he emerged from the trees he saw that the man wasn’t alone and for one moment he thought he’d caught the boys here as well. Was there anything in those suspicions of the boss’s? Could Lloyd be one of them? But the second figure moved and he saw the outline of her breasts. He would have liked to pause, to work out how to deal with this unexpected development, but he was afraid they’d catch him hesitating, so he hunched his shoulders, his arms hanging loosely ready for any sudden move, and continued.

  They became aware of him at the same time, turning to contemplate his arrival without interest, as if he were a bullock that had strayed up the track. They left the first words to him.

  ‘Mrs Judson were here yesterday,’ he said, without expression.

  Lloyd was suddenly furious. ‘Haven’t you found that bloody dog yet?’

  ‘I understand that you told her you hadn’t seen it.’

  ‘If I’d seen it I’d have shot it, if I’d had a gun with me.’

  ‘But you didn’t,’ Seale said.

  ‘A pity,’ Lloyd spat out. ‘I hope someone else has by now.’

  ‘Perhaps we could examine your weapon,’ Evans said silkily and stared as Seale crowed with delight.

  ‘You know what you can do,’ Lloyd growled.

  Seale stepped inside the cottage and emerged carrying a shot gun. Lloyd opened his mouth, glanced at her face and said nothing. Evans took the gun suspiciously. He, too, was watching her face. She was amused. He broke the gun, squinted down the barrels, sniffed the breech.