by Oster, C. G.
It was all so very unfortunate, and poor decisions had snowballed and drawn more people into it. None of them were inherently bad people, but it only went to show how important decisions and choices were.
These thoughts all bothered her as she walked to the grocer, holding her coat closed against the brisk weather. These thoughts occupied her and she wished she could escape them, but they returned to her mind incessantly. This relentlessness must be a fraction of what occupied Worthing’s mind, because his experience with the war had to be severe compared to hers. She understood the desire to escape, because there was little to be done with these preoccupations until they were done with you. Hers would come to an end, however. Worthing’s might not.
The door dinged as she walked into the general merchant and nodded to Mr. Turner as she usually did. A few people were there and Dory headed over to the egg box. It was lovely to have fresh eggs available.
“One pound of sugar, please,” a woman said at the counter and Mr. Turner went to pour whiteness into a paper bag. Sugar had come in. Well, there was a treat. Dory walked to stand in line for her portion. Perhaps she would bake an apple pie that night. It would be a nice treat after a long week.
“Hi, Dory,” a voice said and Dory turned to see Mary.
“Mary. Lovely to see you. I hope you are well.”
“As well as can be expected. I hear there’s sugar. I came to see.”
“It looks that way.”
“Quite a shock what’s happened,” Mary said. “But I understand we are to start meetings again. Ruth will run them.”
Biting her lips together, Dory listened.
“I still can’t believe what’s happened,” Mary continued. “It must be wrong. Sue told me that you informed the police it was... Marjorie,” she finished in a whisper. There was accusation in her voice and Mary watched her intently. “How can you say that?”
This was perhaps what Dory had feared. It wasn’t as if she could deny it. She had gone to Worthing and said it was Marjorie. “No one will be accused of this crime if there isn’t proof.”
“They arrested her.”
“I think they brought her to the station for questioning, also for their involvement with...” This really wasn’t the place for this discussion. “Mr. Stubbs’ demise.”
Mary looked down. That something had happened to Ruben Stubbs couldn’t be argued as they’d found his body.
“I understand,” Dory said. “It would be better if none of this happened, but it did, and we can’t look the other way.”
Finally Mary looked at her. “She couldn’t have hurt Edith. It just couldn’t be.”
“Like I said. Nothing will happen if they can’t show proof of it. If there is none, there is none.”
There was uncertainty in Mary’s expression now. Dory also understood that Mary wanted someone to direct her anger to. Just like the Fellingworths and the staff at Wallisford Hall directed their anger toward her to this very day.
As Michael had said, there were repercussions for being involved and Dory had to face them. It didn’t make her regret having played a part, and it shouldn’t.
“It’s all very unfortunate,” Dory said, repeating the thoughts that had circulated in her head for days. “There is nothing good to come out of a crime like this. No silver lining, but we cannot stick our heads in the sand and ignore it. Edith deserved for us all to understand what happened to her.”
Now Mary remained silent. It was a very difficult thing to process, especially as Marjorie had been so well-respected.
“It’s just awful,” Mary finally said. “All of it.”
“I know,” Dory replied.
The bell over the door tinkled, and Dory saw Penelope enter, looking smart in matching hat and gloves. Her eyes roamed the shop until she spotted them, and she walked straight to them.
Dory felt a little uncomfortable. Penelope had never strictly liked her, and had more than anyone been subject to her questioning.
“Hello,” Penelope said.
“Penelope,” Mary said in reply. Dory smiled and nodded, not sure what to expect from this encounter. Perhaps her conversations with the ladies of the WI would all be terse and uncomfortable from now on. “I understand another meeting has been planned. Did you hear?”
“Yes, Ruth told me.” Penelope’s attention turned to Dory. “There is, of course, talk about the role you played in Hesta and Marjorie’s apprehension,” she stated blatantly.
Dory didn’t know where to put her arms for a moment. “I did assist Constable Worthing where I could.”
“I don’t think he would have solved it on his own. Bless the man, but he is a mess. It was a brave thing to do,” Penelope said.
A statement Dory hadn’t expected. “I’m not sure I was brave. I just have a habit of questioning things that don’t make sense. A flaw, some would say.”
“Henry is very angry. It’s incomprehensible what happened. That they could do that to their friend.”
“I think they felt painted into a corner,” Dory said. “They took the only way they saw out.”
“She would have told on them,” Mary said in a sad voice.
“Well, Henry is very grateful for what you’ve done,” Penelope said, placing her hand on Dory’s arm. “We all are. I hope we’ll see you at the meeting.”
Now she felt uncomfortable, because she wasn’t sure everyone would welcome her. Like Mary, many focused their discomfort about what had happened on her, as if she’d ruined the illusion that nothing had been horribly wrong right under their noses. It was an uncomfortable feeling to know someone so callous had been right next to them, and they hadn’t seen it. It was easier to shoot the messenger. “Well, …” Dory started, not quite sure what to say.
Penelope’s hand tightened on her arm. “We mustn’t let something like this change things for us. The WI is important and it does important work. We cannot let something like this stop us, or let the despicable acts of some shift out focus. If nothing else, we need more people like you. As you say, we cannot look away if something isn’t right. Has that not been a leading value for us all along?”
“I’m not sure solving murders is a leading value,” Mary said tartly.
“We have always stepped in if something is wrong. We’ve never backed down, have we?” Penelope reiterated earnestly.
“True,” Mary said. “Maybe you should do a talk on it,” she said, turning to Dory.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Penelope chided. “But I will see both of you at the next meeting. I insist. We need to recover and recuperate. It’s a setback, but it isn’t the first we’ve faced. We managed through a war. This is nothing in comparison.”
With a nod, Penelope kept going, seeking whatever she’d come for.
“It’s a surprise she was never part of the leadership,” Mary said. “She embodies the WI in many respects. But Hesta and Marjorie never liked her. I guess that’s not a problem anymore. She’d make a good leader of the chapter. You wouldn’t be interested, would you?”
“No, I don’t think I could ever ‘embody’ the way Penelope does,” Dory said. And really, nothing in her called to taking on a leadership role in the WI. She was too... different from the kind of person they needed. “You know, I’m not really a leader,” Dory said. It was actually the first time she’d thought about it, but she really wasn’t. Wandering off on her own and following her curiosity was more her style. Well, there was a realization.
“I swear those two will be married by year’s end. Penelope has finally found her man,” Mary said.
Dory had to agree. They seemed to have latched onto each other. If it made them both happy, what was the harm? They appeared to work well together, and Penelope was of the disposition to honor Edith, which would likely be a comfort to Henry. “Well, I hope they’ll be happy.”
“You know, I think they’re quite well suited. Not that Edith and Henry weren’t, but I think they will be sedately and undramatically content together. I suppose Edith would
be happy to know he’d be taken care of.”
“Yes,” Dory agreed. Perhaps she would want the same thing if something happened to her. She certainly wouldn’t want Michael to suffer unduly. With a shudder, she dismissed the thought. Maybe that was something he feared, that her curiosity would lead her to someone who would object enough to do something drastic about it.
No more investigating, Dory told herself. Hopefully this would now turn into the sleepy village it was supposed to be. Likely she wouldn’t have any call to.
Chapter 34
THE WIND WAS BLUSTERY as Dory and Michael walked along the stretching beach of Weymouth. It was far outside the tourist season, but the pub was still open—as was the nice little tearoom they’d found.
The weather might not be perfect. In fact, the wind was icy, but it had a wintery charm. Foaming seas, a mist of sand as the wind grabbed it, and gentle gray skies. In fact, it was as pretty as a picture.
“I understand you can see France on a good day,” Dory said and smiled, tucking herself closer to her warm husband.
“Not sure we’ll see any such days on this trip. Maybe we should have waited till spring.”
“I’m glad we didn’t. I like having this whole beach to ourselves.”
The sand underneath their feet was quickly losing its wetness from the recent rain that left indentations from the drops. With wind like this, it didn’t stay wet for long.
They walked in silence for a while. Michael looked as handsome as he always did. Dory knew he’d insisted on this weekend away just to get her away from the messiness in the village. Everyone talked about the arrests, and their now apparent suspicions. And they all knew that she’d played a part in it.
Michael’s warnings about the repercussions were very much true, but even so, Dory couldn’t regret the part she’d played. What had been the alternative? To sit back and simply ignore it? It just wasn’t in her nature.
If this would have any impact on Constable Worthing, she had no idea. The man wasn’t fit for duty, but maybe this helped him somehow. She firmly believed he’d come right with time. In the meanwhile, it would be immensely helpful if it could return to the sleepy village it were supposed to be.
In all this, though, Michael disapproval made her feel as though she couldn’t speak about her feelings. But they were thoughts and feelings she needed to put behind her now. This was done. It was over, and she needed to return to her life—of gardening, cleaning and making meals. Rightfully, she was grateful for the wonderful life she had—a marvelous and caring husband, a beautiful house and no pressing needs. No one would argue that it wasn’t perfect.
“Feel like a hot cider?” Michael asked and Dory nodded. “Maybe we should try that other pub?”
“The one that looks like it would smell of fish?” It even had glass buoys where flowers pots would typically hang. If that was merely decoration, or if that was the pub the fishermen used, she didn’t know. It could be either, in a town like this. It did look old.
“It certainly has character. And I suspect it has some good ale too. Fishermen are fussy, you know.”
“I suppose they are. They are used to the freshest produce.” Dory tried to imagine what the life of a fisherman would be like. Out at sea every day, rain or shine. If Michael were a fisherman, who lived in a tiny little cottage like some of the ones they saw here, she would love him just the same. And she would worry every time he left the house—exactly like she did now.
“Have you heard from France?” Michael asked. Dory knew he wasn’t particularly interested, but he knew it was important to her.
“Lady Pettifer wrote. She says things are very normal there. There’s little actual damage to the area around. It’s the same as how things were before, but the poverty is apparent. Even with everything, I think they’re having a much harder time on the Continent than we are.”
“That is likely true. It was a damned war.” His expression was grim for a second. It was the most he’d said about the war. A topic he couldn’t be persuaded to talk about—not that she pressed. Bad things had happened. She knew it by how he dreamt at times—unpleasant and urgent dreams. It was a large part of his life that he didn’t share with her.
But it didn’t seem to affect him the way it did Constable Worthing. The man worried her. What if this case was the only thing that kept him together? Would he lose all bearings now?
It wasn’t for her to deal with, but no one would keep an eye on him after the detectives from Aylesbury left. Dory just didn’t know what to do, but he wasn’t for her to monitor. As before, maybe he just needed time to pull himself together.
A few days ago, Dory had written to Lady Pettifer and detailed everything that had happened with the case. It still made her deeply uncomfortable in many respects. It may be that the law would see Eleanor Stubbs’ actions as indefensible, and that sat uneasily. How much was one person supposed to put up with? But she could have left—although for some that wasn’t possible either.
And then Marjorie and Hesta. Dory wasn’t sure how they were to be charged, but she understood they’d been painted into a corner by Edith not being able to live with the secret. If they’d chosen a different person, none of this would have come to light—and Eleanor would have gotten away with it.
It was just awful all around. There were no simple answers—just unease.
The sand softened as they walked further away from the water’s edge. Pale and silky. It really would be lovely in summer. “Perhaps we should do a few days here in the summer? I do miss a nice swim in the ocean.” It likely wouldn’t be as warm as the Mediterranean, but it would be a nice refreshing swim.
“We can do that,” Michael said. “Maybe we’ll come for a week.”
Pleasant things to look forward to. That was what she needed to focus on.
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Cairo Rose – A Rowan Pierce novel – Taking on a role with the Cairo Police force places Inspector Rowan Pierce into a completely foreign environment. His first case is the murder of the beautiful young Egyptian woman found floating in the Nile, and without Captain Salid, he’d be utterly lost, with the unfamiliar customs and language, not to mention the city itself.
As the British Protectorate gives power over to the Egyptian Government, the shift is not happening as fast or as completely as some would like. The political situation in the tense city makes news and crime political in nature, especially if there are foreigners involved. Jurisdictions complicate investigations, particularly those that veering into the British class, who are used to their power and privilege protecting them.
