by Jo Carnegie
Jack looked around, scanned the green and pulled his mobile phone out of his back pocket. After a few rings, he got through to Bedlington police station. ‘Jack Turner here, landlord of the Jolly Boot,’ he told the operator. He turned to look at the cottage. A light had come on downstairs: Eunice and Dora had been woken by the disturbance. For the first time, Jack considered what might have happened if he hadn’t spotted the sinister figure, and his blood ran cold.
‘I’d like to report a suspicious character in the village. I’ve just seen him outside No. 3 The Green. Yeah, just standing there, dressed all in black. Up to no good if ever I saw it, thought it might be the guy you’re looking for.’ He listened to the person on the other end: ‘OK, I’ll stay put. See you in a bit.’
Behind him, the porch light flicked on as the front door creaked open a few inches. ‘Hello?’ a shaky voice called out.
‘Eunice, Dora, it’s me, Jack,’ he said, striding up the path. ‘Sorry to wake you.’
The door swung fully open to reveal the sisters, hairnets on and quilted dressing gowns pulled tightly around them. ‘Jack?’ said Eunice, a look of concern on her face. ‘What’s going on?’
He reached the door. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing to be worried about, Eunice, but I just spotted a dodgy looking figure lurking outside the front here.’ He gestured to the spot.
‘Here? Outside ours?’ cried Dora. ‘Oh Eunice, it’s the murderer! I knew we’d be next. My horoscope said I was about to encounter danger.’ Bursting into tears, she covered her face with her hands.
Her older sister whipped out a lace handkerchief from her dressing gown and gave it to her. ‘There, there dear,’ she said consolingly, but Eunice had gone as white as a ghost.
She looked at Jack. ‘Oh, how dreadful!’
‘Don’t upset yourselves,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I’ve called the police, they’re on their way over.’
Dora looked up from her handkerchief, eyes red. ‘The police? Coming here? Oh, but we don’t want to cause any trouble!’ She retreated back behind the lace, weeping in the most heartrending fashion. Jack felt awful. The figure had been a big enough shock for him, let alone these two old dears. He was surprised it hadn’t finished them off.
‘Would you like to come in?’ Eunice asked him.
Jack looked back at the pub. ‘I’ll just call Beryl and tell her where I am, and to lock the doors – we don’t know if he’s still about somewhere.’ At this there were fresh cries from Dora, and Jack shot Eunice an apologetic look. She nodded understandingly and ushered her sister back inside the house.
By the time Jack had finished talking to an alarmed Beryl, a police car was pulling up outside. DI Rance sprang out, followed by a sleepy looking PC Penny. He gave Jack a brisk nod. ‘Thanks for calling us, Mr Turner. This was the property you saw the suspect outside?’
Jack jerked his head. ‘There, just by the front gate.’
Rance stared at the grassy area. ‘Penny, go and check for footprints,’ he ordered. ‘Look for anything else he might have left behind: cigarette butts, chewing gum, his bloody calling card if we’re lucky.’ He glanced at the front door. Eunice had appeared again, her hands held fearfully to her mouth. ‘Can we come in, madam?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘If you don’t mind going in to the sitting room. There it is, first on the right. I’m afraid the rest of the house is a bit of a mess. Knitting seems to take on a life of its own, Inspector. We’ve got wool and needles everywhere!’
Rance smiled politely at her. Oh God, these were the two Powers and Penny had moaned about. The most ineffectual witnesses you could ever have the misfortune to come across. He’d probably be stuck here for hours talking about fluffy bunnies. Rance sighed and stepped into the sweltering cottage. Like lots of old people, the Merryweather sisters were permanently cold. By the looks of them, both had several layers of night clothes and God knows what else under their dressing gowns. Thermal all-in-ones most likely, thought Rance, shuddering.
The sitting room was the most claustrophobic space Rance had ever been in. Ornaments of woodland animals covered every shelf, table and surface, pictures of old-fashioned countryside scenes hung from every available piece of wall, and draped across the two uncomfortable-looking armchairs that faced out on to the green were a hideous set of chintzy lace covers. A tiny, floral-covered sofa heaped with owl-embroidered cushions made up the rest of the furniture. Rance wedged himself uncomfortably on it while Eunice and Dora sat in the armchairs and Jack hovered by the gas fireplace.
‘Can you tell me what time you saw this figure, and what you were doing, please, Mr Turner?’ asked Rance.
‘It must have been about forty minutes ago. I was just putting the bins out like I always do,’ Jack recounted. ‘Something caught my eye over the green and when I looked, I could see a figure standing by Eunice and Dora’s here.’
A squeak came from one of the sisters, Rance couldn’t tell which one. ‘Can you tell us what this person looked like?’ he asked Jack. Jack furrowed up his brow in concentration.
‘I couldn’t see his face. I mean, I thought it was a bloke because he was quite tall. About six-foot I would say. And sort of lean-looking.’
Rance felt a flash of excitement. It sounded like their suspect, all right. ‘What happened next?’ he asked.
‘Well, I shouted at him and ran over,’ said Jack, ‘but by the time I’d got here, the bugger had disappeared. That’s when I called you.’
‘Ooh, you are brave, Jack,’ cried Dora. ‘Isn’t he, Eunice?’ Her sister nodded enthusiastically.
Rance turned to the sisters. ‘Now then, ladies,’ he said. ‘Did you see or hear anything before Jack got here?’
‘Not a thing,’ said Dora, clutching the handkerchief to her chest. ‘We’d been asleep for hours by then.’
‘Anyone hanging around recently you thought was a bit out of the ordinary?’
‘No one, Inspector!’ declared Eunice. ‘Oh, we are such silly old things, not being able to help you. This isn’t how it happens on Midsomer Murders, is it?’
Just then, a breathless Penny came into the room. ‘Nothing, Guv,’ he said. ‘Ground’s so hard a JCB would have a job to leave a mark.’
Rance breathed out heavily. For a while, it had seemed as if they were about to catch their suspect, only for him to disappear again, like a wreath of smoke before their eyes.
He got to his feet. ‘All right, I think we’ll leave it there. Mr Turner. Eunice and Dora Merryweather. Do let me know if you see or hear anything else. In the meantime, make sure you lock up and have a good night’s sleep. Thank you.’
‘What do you think, Guv?’ asked Penny as they drove back to the station. ‘Sounds like our man, doesn’t it?’
‘I just don’t know,’ said Rance wearily. ‘I’ve got a feeling in my guts. Something about this case doesn’t quite add up.’
Chapter 52
NOVEMBER SEEMED TO fly by for the Save Churchminster Ball and Auction Committee members. They now met every few days, to keep everyone up-to-date on progress and make last-minute preparations. They’d had to hastily build a helicopter landing-pad at Clanfield Hall for Mick to land safely, and there had been a hairy moment when the uber-cool fashion designer’s studio had nearly burnt down, which would have meant waving goodbye to the coveted work-experience slot. Luckily the fire brigade had got there just in time.
There was no doubt about it, though, this was a cause that struck a chord with the public. Another anonymous benefactor had kindly donated five hundred thousand pounds to the fund, and through yet another generous contact, Angie had managed to secure lunch with a top supermodel. This would surely go down well with the testosterone-fuelled bidders at the auction.
All in all, the organization was running wonderfully smoothly, far better than anyone could have hoped. Poignantly, this was largely down to Harriet and her role as site manager before disappearing. Frances had taken over, as much as she was able, but Harriet had planned everything in su
ch fine detail that the site arrangements practically ran themselves. As they sat round the large dining room at Fairoaks one evening, Harriet’s absence had never been so conspicuous or felt so tragic. Several committee members were in tears as Clementine told them what a marvellous job she had done.
Halfway through the month, Ambrose and Frances had an extremely upsetting meeting with DI Rance. After weeks of being plagued by Frances’s daily calls for updates on her daughter’s investigation, he had decided enough was enough. He had phoned Clanfield Hall and asked if he could visit them. They insisted on driving to the police station, and so it was in a rather squalid and dingy back room that Rance quietly told them that, although they were still doing everything they could, it was more than likely their daughter was dead. A single tear ran down Ambrose’s face, and he collapsed into the nearest chair. Frances, chalk-white face and rigid shoulders, declined the offer of a lift home and calmly drove them both back to the Hall.
Once she’d sat by her husband’s bed and watched him sob himself to sleep, Frances got back in her car, drove to the furthermost field of the estate and, for the first time since it had happened, truly let her emotions pour out. Jed Bantry, in the area checking for rabbits with myxomatosis, thought the noise was a wild animal wailing in pain. As he got to the boundary of the field, he found Frances on her knees, crying into the ground. Face paler than ever, Jed took a step forward to console her, then changed his mind and silently retreated. Lady Fraser would not have wanted him to see her like this.
The next day, Frances invited Camilla round for afternoon tea. Her hand clasping the younger woman’s, Frances relayed the meeting with Rance. She’d expected to be the one to comfort Camilla, but found herself breaking down again. Camilla, sheet white, held her tightly, struggling to keep her own emotions in check. Frances had finally confirmed what she had been too scared to let herself believe all these months.
Harriet was gone.
The next day, Frances received a phone call from Clementine. Clementine was desperately concerned for her and Ambrose, was she sure they wanted the ball to go ahead?
‘Clementine, I’ve never been so sure of anything,’ Frances told her, voice wavering. ‘Churchminster was Harriet’s life. It’s what she would have wanted.’
Chapter 53
THE AUCTION FOR the Meadows on 10 December was going to be held in Bedlington town hall. Clementine was beginning to feel rather sick about it all. After the murder of the Revd Goody, and the mystery of poor Harriet, and the effect of these two tragedies on the whole village, she really couldn’t bear to consider the prospect that they wouldn’t raise enough money.
Even more worryingly, someone had leaked Sid Sykes’s application plans to the press. It was worse than they had thought. Not only did he want to build the housing estate, Sykes now planned to put in a betting shop and a themed pub, too. He had also had a lucrative offer from a waste-disposal firm to locate one of their tips on the outskirts. Outraged, Clementine had been straight on the phone to Humphrey Greenwood at the council. Surely this wasn’t allowed? But after learning that, due to a ridiculous new legal loophole, Sykes could include these additional proposals, Clementine was in despair.
The cold, wet November weather had crept over the village like a bad mood. One day late in the month, Camilla drove up to Gate Cottage. She didn’t know why, perhaps part of her hoped futilely that she might find her best friend there, as though nothing had happened; but another part just wanted to be close to the house they had had so many good times in.
It was a grey day, chilly, with heavy clouds gathering in the sky. Camilla wondered if there might be snow. They had said on the weather forecast that it was possible. It would be wonderful if they had a white Christmas, she thought wistfully as she drove the familiar route to the Clanfield estate. But then the reality of spending it without Harriet hit her, sending her heart plummeting again.
Camilla parked the car in her usual spot by the side of the cottage and made her way round the hedge and into the front garden. The weather was making it worse, but the house and garden looked dreadfully sad and unlived in. A wooden bench sat under the living room window. It was a fantastic sun-trap in summer, and she and Harriet had wiled away many a lazy afternoon on it, gossiping, chatting and laughing.
Now Camilla made her way over there, carefully picking up a luridly bright ceramic dragon that had been kicked over, probably by the police when they searched the cottage. She smiled as she looked at it; Harriet had bought it when they’d gone to the Chelsea Flower Show some years ago. Camilla had thought it was perfectly hideous and told her best friend so, but Harriet had loved its kitsch appeal and bought it anyway, saying if ever an intruder tried to get in they’d be frightened off by its sheer bad taste. The smile suddenly left Camilla’s face. Despite her hopes, the dragon didn’t appear to have saved Harriet from God knows who or what terrible fate.
‘Hats, I miss you!’ she cried, sitting down heavily on the seat. Her eyes welled up and she put her head in her hands. God, there was so much she wanted to talk to her friend about. The ball, Angus, life; even mundane things like what she was going to cook for dinner and whether she should cancel her subscription with Country Life and switch to Tatler.
Suddenly, a shadow fell across her and she jerked her head up. To her surprise Jed Bantry was standing there in his work clothes, a toolkit in one hand. ‘You scared the life out of me,’ she cried.
Jed stared down at her for a second, his strangely impassive look again seeming to reach deep inside her. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.’ He sat down on the other end of the bench.
Camilla glanced away quickly; she found his gaze unnerving. ‘I just thought I’d come and sit here for a bit,’ she said. ‘It probably sounds silly, but I feel close to her this way.’
Jed looked out into the trees beyond the garden. ‘It’s not silly at all,’ he told her. ‘I often come round here and do little repairs,’ he gestured to his toolkit. ‘I used to think it would look nice for her when she came back. But now . . .’ He trailed off.
Camilla turned and studied him properly for the first time. ‘You think a lot of her, don’t you?’ she asked softly.
Jed looked down at his feet. ‘She’s always been there, you know? When we were growing up and stuff. It feels like a part of me isn’t here any more. If I ever find out who did this to her . . .’ His voice broke, and he stayed silent for a moment.
Camilla felt tears surge up again, and blinked them away. ‘I know how you feel, I really do. We just have to hope the police catch them.’
Jed turned to her again, and this time Camilla didn’t look away, taking in the sharp contours of his face, the long dark eyelashes and those mesmerizing, khaki green eyes. Slowly but surely, he brought his hand up and caressed the outline of her cheek. She could feel his rough, calloused fingers on her skin, it was the most comforting, yet erotic sensation she had ever experienced. What on earth is going on here? she wondered. Am I really feeling like this about Jed Bantry?
He kept his hand there, cupping her face.
‘You’re not alone, Camilla.’ For some reason she felt thrilled as he used her name for the first time.
She thought he was going to kiss her, but his hand dropped away. She felt a stab of guilt at her disappointment: she was here to remember poor Harriet, not cop off with Jed Bantry! But he looked at her again, a little nervously, and asked, ‘Do you fancy going for a drink some time?’
Camilla went bright red but didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes! Sorry, gosh, I mean, that would be great!’
He eyed her carefully. ‘Thursday? It’s not very exciting but we could go to the Boot.’ He gave her a cheeky smile that illuminated his solemn features. ‘Of course, if you’re too embarrassed to be seen with the hired help we could go into Bedlington or something.’
Camilla gave him a mock-indignant slap on the arm. ‘Of course not! The Boot is just fine.’ She smiled at him. ‘Unless you’re worried about Stacey emptying a pint over you.’<
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Jed laughed; it was a deep, throaty sound. ‘I think I can handle it. From what I’ve heard she’s got a new fella anyway, and knowing Stacey, she’ll have forgotten my name by now.’
Camilla smiled. ‘Great. So that’s a date? I mean, er, a drink . . .’
Jed grinned back. ‘It’s a date, Camilla.’
He offered to walk her to her car, but Camilla wanted to sit for a while longer. As she watched his handsome form stride out of the garden, Camilla wondered if she should really be doing this. Was it appropriate, in the circumstances? The wind rustled across the garden and Camilla glanced round. Did she just hear someone laughing? A weird sensation spread over her and for a while she couldn’t place it. Then she realized: for the first time in months – and arriving in the surprising form of Jed Bantry – she was looking forward to something.
Thursday arrived, and with it Jed and Camilla’s date. As he was the first man she’d been out with since Angus, Camilla hadn’t told anyone. But when Calypso came bounding into Camilla’s room that night as she was getting changed in a mist of perfume, she guessed instantly.
‘Oh my God, you have totally got a date!’ she exclaimed, throwing herself on Camilla’s bed and watching her.
Camilla blushed. ‘Mind your own business,’ she said.
Calypso whooped. ‘Ooh, touchy! C’mon, who’s it with?’ Her face dropped suddenly. ‘Yuk, it’s not Angus, is it? Don’t tell me you guys have got back together.’
‘No, of course not, and don’t talk about him like that,’ said Camilla crossly, hunting for her pale-pink Lancôme lip gloss.
‘Who then?’ asked Calypso impatiently. ‘It’s not like you have a life and go and meet people and stuff.’ She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Fuck, is it someone from the village?’
‘Might be,’ said Camilla, looking through the drawers of her dressing table. Where was the bloody thing?
