Death at the WI

by Oster, C. G.

  “They have,” he admitted.

  So that was a big development. “Right. Obviously I don’t believe so, but it would be worth it to establish if there were any intruders into the Wallis marriage.”

  “What do you mean?” he said with a puzzled look.

  “I mean, if either of them were having an affair,” she said.

  “Henry or Edith?” Worthing said with a chuckle. “I don’t think so.” Clearly he suffered with the same illusion that Sue and Mary did that older persons weren’t attractive to anyone. “I can hardly see it,” he continued. “But as you say, I haven’t heard anything the like. Are you suggesting Mrs. Middlesmore?”

  “It has been suggested, but not in full seriousness. However, someone did kill Edith, and there is a reason for it.”

  It seemed the constable hadn’t uncovered any motive, or he wasn’t speaking of it if he had.

  The man sighed and his shoulders seemed to slump. “There seems to be nothing untoward around the pair. No, there has been no indication of any affairs on either part. Henry seemed perfectly happy in his marriage, and that he is distraught by her death is evident. They managed a farm. It was a simple life. I haven’t been able to find anything that suggests tension.”

  “Or a means of how she was killed,” Dory added, more to prompt him than her knowing for sure.

  “No,” he confirmed.

  And that was suspicious. Whoever had hurt her had taken the weapon with them.

  “I’ve even explored the idea that one of the steers could have come into the house yard and whacked her on the head with its horn, but the steers were two paddocks away, according to Mr. Wallis. It would have had to jump across a paddock and over a fairly substantial stone wall. Mr. Wallis thinks it’s unlikely. Saying that, it could perhaps be that she was hit by a vehicle, like a truck, on the road and then wandered into her own yard, dazed, until she collapsed in the chicken coup.”

  “And closed the chicken coup door behind her after picking up some chickenfeed?”

  “It is possible,” he said.

  It was possible, Dory had to acknowledge, but wouldn’t there have been more damage to her generally? “Much more likely is that someone approached her while she was feeding the chickens, whacked her on the head and then closed the door as they left, taking the weapon with them.”

  “There is absolutely no motive for anyone to kill her. She was well liked by her friends, had a decent marriage. There’s not even a hint of a motive,” he said with a shoulder shrug.

  “There is. You’re simply not digging deep enough.”

  “What would you like me to do, Mrs. Ridley?” he asked and Dory was starting to get annoyed with him, even if he was suffering from shell shock. Surely he had to see that someone was responsible for the murder?

  “Discover who murdered her. There is a motive, but it’s hidden. Whoever did this is hidden.”

  “How do we know some madman didn’t come along and bash her on the head before absconding?”

  “Are there any reports of madmen in the area? Is there a hospital nearby?”

  “No,” he said petulantly, giving an impression of what he’d been like when younger. A little like her younger brother, actually.

  “Then whoever holds this madness, or other motive, is hiding it. It’s your job to find out who that person is.” Then she sighed and softened. “If you find this too difficult, you can request help from your superiors. As I said, it is common practice.”

  “I am fully capable of doing my job,” he shot back. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “Then start digging,” she said and rose. Normally, she would never speak so directly to a policeman, but he seemed stuck in some malaise that robbed him of all motivation. Perhaps it was simply that he was out of his depth, but this was still his job and he couldn’t give up because no one immediately presented themselves as responsible. “Someone here is responsible, and they are in her circle of acquaintances. The best thing to do is to discover what she’d been doing the weeks before her murder, because there’s a good chance that something changed, something that prompted the murderer to action. What did she do? Or else, what has happened that could cause such a change?”

  Worthing chewed his lip for a moment as if he was being told off by his headmaster. Well, it would either be her or his superiors, and getting told off by her would be much easier for his future career options.

  “Good day, Constable Worthing.” With a nod, she left. That hadn’t at all gone as she’d expected. Now that she left she was gripped by uncertainty. Perhaps she shouldn’t have spoken so firmly to a man who was clearly under pressure. Had she made things much more difficult for him, even sent him over the edge to do something harmful to himself?

  For a moment, she wondered if she should go back in and apologize, to see that he was alright, but really, he would get much harsher a telling off from his superiors for his approach to this.

  Dory was still gripped with uncertainty. Should she tell Michael that the young constable was struggling? Michael was in no way responsible for him, but he knew how to contact his superiors. Although Constable Worthing seemed very reticent to admit to his superiors that he was struggling. It could be that he was relieved of duty—could even lose his job. A policeman who wasn’t capable of reacting in all situations was a liability.

  Could he really lose his job because he was damaged from the war? It seemed grossly unfair. The kind thing to do was to give him a moment to get his bearings and to recover his footing.

  It could be that he would take this advice and do what needed to be done with this investigation. It felt heartless to simply dismiss him as incapable. The fair thing would be to give him a chance.

  Chapter 15

  DORY’S FRUSTRATED MOOD lasted all the next day. At supper, she hadn’t mentioned any of her reservations about Constable Worthing to Michael, feeling she had to give the man a chance to set himself right.

  It wasn’t her business to pass judgement, but it was still difficult to stand by and watch as the investigation completely ground to halt because the investigator was... incapable. No, she would give him a chance to prove himself. Surely his superiors would notice if the case wasn’t proceeding in any meaningful way.

  Instead, they’d talked about the plans for the upcoming harvest festival, and he’d promised he would try his very best to be there for it. It had been a pleasant evening. After supper, they’d listened to the wireless for a while and Michael had even danced with her at one point.

  Stroking along her neck, Dory remembered the sweetness of the evening as she stared out at the unchanging scene outside the salon window. The postman had been, but the school hadn’t let out yet.

  In no way did she want to say she was bored, but this house was stiflingly quiet. Gladys’ words returned to her that it took some time to get into the swing of her new life. Perhaps she should go out and work a bit more on the winter garden, but there wasn’t much else she would do now. The bed had been prepared and she was waiting for the seedlings that were coming at the next WI meeting. Apparently, they were going to sell some seedlings at the festival too, and honey, jam, and pickled vegetables. Dory had agreed to man the WI stand for an hour. Michael would happily entertain himself for a little while. Probably he’d just head across to the pub. He liked a quiet ale in the cozy environment of a pub when he could.

  Again Dory sighed, wondering what she should do with herself. Maybe she should try her hand at embroidery. They’d had a session on embroidering linen, but she really couldn’t be bothered. It wasn’t something Michael particularly cared about. Although it could be nice to embroider his handkerchiefs with his initials. Still, it wouldn’t be something she’d relish.

  The telephone ringing pierced the quiet of the house and saved her from the pressure to make a decision. Walking to the telephone in the hallway, she picked it up to hear a series of clicks after she said hello, and then crackling. “Dory?” she heard Lady Pettifer’s voice.

&nb
sp; Excitement soared in Dory. “Lady Pettifer, how are you?” she said, clutching the telephone receiver tighter as if her grip would make the connection more stable.

  “Excellent, Dory. All is well here. The house is relatively unscathed, although some blighter had the cheek to fell some of my trees.”

  “How odd. Why would they want to do that?”

  “Always questioning,” Lady Pettifer said. “How is your new life in Beaconsfield?”

  For a moment, Dory felt stumped. “It’s interesting. I’m meeting quite a few of the ladies who live in the district.” She itched to tell Lady Pettifer about Edith Wallis, but it was better to do so in a letter. “There is a perceptible dismay with the originals inhabitants of the village to us incomers.”

  “Perhaps that is not surprising. People don’t like change.”

  “I’m so glad the house is still standing. Is Livinia with you?”

  “Yes, she is here. Vivian is coming in a few days.”

  “Oh, he didn’t mention.”

  “Have you seen him?” Lady Pettifer asked.

  “I ran into him when I went to see Gladys at Wallisford Hall.”

  “Oh, wonderful. We’ve just had the telephone reestablished so I thought I’d give you a call. I can’t chat for long. The calls are strictly timed. It’s nice to hear you’re doing well. I suppose it will be some months until we see each other. Do write.”

  “I will,” Dory said, feeling as if this was a goodbye. Lady Pettifer wouldn’t be back in England until next year, at least eight months away. “I’ll tell you about some of the ongoings here. There has been an incident.” Alright, she clearly couldn’t help herself.

  “Oh, that is curious.”

  “The local constable is rather inept, not strictly through any fault of his own.”

  “Dory, you will have to write about it. I can’t stay on the line much—” The line cut off and Dory was left listening to the jarring buzzing of the disengaged line.

  For a moment, Dory had felt like her old self, but now she was back in her quiet house. There may even be some jealousy of the Fellingworth twins for being so free and able to travel to the south of France, but that was unreasonable. Dory had no right to be jealous. The Fellingworths were entirely different beings than her, and even thinking of the things they could do was arbitrary—especially as Dory had chosen to marry a man she loved.

  There were always trade-offs with decisions and her marriage meant that she couldn’t go galivanting around the world with Lady Pettifer. Not that she wasn’t grateful for the galivanting she’d done in her time. It had been a wonderful time of her life, but she had embarked on a new chapter, one she didn’t regret for a moment. Saying that, she just had to readjust to a life that was different from the one she’d known. And really, a whole war had happened since she’d served as Lady Pettifer’s companion.

  Well, after this she couldn’t omit things when writing to Lady Pettifer, who would be displeased with her for promising to reveal what she’d stumbled across, so Dory walked over to the desk in the corner of the salon and sat down to write her letter detailing Edith’s demise and how there was no indication of anyone having done this to her. She revealed how Constable Worthing was woefully underexperienced and suffering from the effects of the war.

  Perhaps she hadn’t thought this through. Now that she’d told Lady Pettifer about it, she would keep asking about the case, and Dory couldn’t back out of it entirely. Granted, she could just observe Constable Worthing—which really was what she’d intended on doing all along.

  Staring at the envelope, she paused before writing the address on it and neatly folding the letter into it.

  Really, who was she trying to fool? There was no way she wasn’t going to pay attention to how the case developed, probably in detail. She loved going over the details with Lady Pettifer. It was an interest that united them, like solving very complicated puzzles that always included the past, psychology, timing, actions and consequences. It wasn’t as if she was the only person who had an interest in the crimes that happened in the community.

  And if Constable Worthing was unable to do the job, they, as the community, had the right to know and to ensure that crime was investigated properly. Maybe this was something she should discuss with the women, but because of the nature of this crime, that might be difficult. The Institute did care deeply about issues that impacted women, and particularly crime inflicted on women and children. Saying that, it may never have been in the position of one of its members being murdered.

  With a sigh, Dory stared out the window. There must be more to Edith Wallis’ life than contented and comfortable farmer’s wife. There was something that wasn’t on the surface. Pulling over a sheet of paper, she reviewed the things she knew about Edith. Primarily, she had lost her son and was suffering with the loss. She’d withdrawn from the WI, and that reticence was deemed tied to the loss of her son. Lately, she had started to re-engage, which was also natural after the depths of the loss had been traversed.

  Either she was seen as the expert on animal husbandry in the circle related to the WI, or it had been a means of drawing her out of her shell and back into the fold. If so, it was probably Marjorie or Hesta who’d decided on the strategy. Penelope would have mentioned such a motive, surely.

  Folding the letter and tucking it into the envelope, Dory sealed it. It was hard to imagine this could travel all the way to the South of France to Lady Pettifer. It justified a trip to the post office in the morning.

  Along with this letter, Vivian Fellingworth was apparently on his way there too. What for? Was it to recuperate further? He hadn’t seemed that weak when she’d seen him, but perhaps he was like Constable Worthing, who looked perfectly healthy, but had severe scars on the inside. Dory didn’t like to think so. At no point had she been a great supporter of Vivian Fellingworth, but she couldn’t wish that on him. He could be his arrogant, perfectly selfish self just as he was always meant to be.

  But this war had changed everyone, hadn’t it?

  Dismissing the thought, she went into the kitchen to start preparing her lunch, which she liked to sit and eat in the back garden, but the weather was turning too cold.

  Chapter 16

  DORY HAD AGREED TO BAKE a Victoria Sponge for the harvest festival. What she felt was a deceptively difficult cake to bake. Its simplicity made it harder, because there was little that could be done to hide imperfections.

  The morning of the festival had been spent baking the one she would sell, and she’d carefully read every recipe she could get her hands on. It was a waste of both flour and sugar if she baked something that wasn’t worth selling. There was extra pressure because the women of the WI were known for being excellent cake bakers. Not an accolade she could claim for herself, but the cake looked good. It was even golden and not grossly malformed. Hopefully it tasted as a Victoria Sponge should.

  Assembling it was best done just as she was leaving. It wasn’t time just yet, and Michael wasn’t home. There had been something urgent he’d needed to see to at the office, but he’d promised it would only take a few hours and he would be back to take her to the festival at midday.

  Looking up, Dory checked the clock in the kitchen. He should be home. Should she whisk the cream now, or wait until he got home?

  Walking out into the salon, she looked out the window to see him arriving, but he simply didn’t come. Minutes ticked by painfully slowly, but she also became aware that they were ticking past midday. If he didn’t come soon, they would start wondering where she was. She was supposed to man the stand. Now she was torn what to do. It was only a few minutes past, but she needed to get the cream done so they could go the minute he came back.

  In the kitchen, she beat the cream until it was thick and then assembled the cake. No car had pulled into the driveway and she didn’t know what to do. It would take her ten minutes to get there. Much faster if they drove, provided he arrived shortly.

  Back in the salon, she looked down the roa
d, but saw no car coming.

  In the end, she decided to pull her coat on and place the cake in a biscuit tin. She couldn’t wait any longer. Hopefully Michael would realize she’d gone and catch her on the way.

  As fast as she could, she left the house with the cake tin and ran down the road, carefully trying to hurry while at the same time not damage the cake.

  Halfway there, she realized she’d left her handbag at home with both her wallet and keys. Michael had to come home for her to get inside. Why was he late? Immediately her mind searched the most awful options she could think of, but she dismissed them. Police work was rarely perfectly on time. Things happened, leads needed to be chased, culprits apprehended. Whatever it was, he had good reason. It wasn’t as if he’d be careless about something important to her simply because he didn’t care. Something must have come up.

  The festival ground came into view, and a number of stalls set up around the village green. Dory rushed to the WI stand with her cake.

  “There you are. Running late, I see,” Ruth said tartly. “We were starting to wonder.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dory said and placed her cake down before carefully lifting it out of the tin. It didn’t look worse for wear. In fact, it wasn’t that bad at all. She was pleased.

  Ruth didn’t look pleased, however.

  “There was an unexpected change in plans. That happens when you’re a policeman’s wife,” Dory said with a smile, in way of explaining what had happened.

  The fierce disapproval relented somewhat, but not entirely. Then again, Dory hadn’t seen much that Ruth approved of.

  “All slices are three and a half pence. Biscuits are two, and the jam jars are six,” Mary said, looking much more understanding.

  “Right,” Dory said, looking around for a way of making herself useful. A second later, a young mother approached the stand with a child on her hip, and Dory attended her as she bought two jam jars while balancing her fussy child.