I loved those woods and so did Sidney. In fact, the whole village loved them but Sidney’s early morning visits managed to find places of solitude and quiet. Occasionally during my foot patrols, I would walk through the woods at dawn, chiefly as a deterrent to any lurking poachers, and from time to time had come across Sidney with his dogs. I discovered that one of his favourite places was Sally’s Rock. This was a circular and rather flat boulder, something like a massive scone. It was positioned high above the river near Sally Foss which was one of the more beautiful of the waterfalls, and it provided wonderful views both upstream and downstream. Sidney would often sit there to smoke his pipe while his dogs galloped among the trees, exploring all manner of doggy delights. I’d seen him there several times, and he always waved his pipe in greeting. “Now then, Constable,” he would call in his high-pitched voice. “Nice to be out and about, eh?”
“Wonderful,” I would respond with feeling, and sometimes I’d pause for a chat or to make a fuss of Bess and Tinker.
“It’s a shame I have to go to work!” he would sometimes add.
“I am at work!” I would laugh in response.
“Lucky for some,” he would reply without rancour.
Sidney’s routine was just one of those things which I had mentally absorbed, without any particular motive or intention, during my days at Aidensfield and his activities meant nothing to me until I chanced to see another person — a woman heading for the same woods in the early hours of the morning.
But that did not just happen on one occasion; during the summer months when the sun rose extremely bright and early, it became a regular event and it was soon noticed that her dawn excursions almost coincided with those of Sidney. I was one of several witnesses who came to realise that her trip to the wood occurred a few minutes after Sidney and dogs had vanished beneath the canopy of dark-green leaves.
The lady in question was Arabella Clarkson, a spinster of the parish of Aidensfield. In her early forties, Arabella was an artist who staged regular exhibitions in the district, and who taught part-time in Strensford Grammar School. A tall but very striking and pretty woman with long fair hair, dangling earrings and a slim figure, she wore long, flowing and highly colourful dresses and seemed to float about the place. Arabella was almost from another world; the sort of woman who would have made a fine model for a fairy had she been only six inches tall instead of nearly six feet. And most certainly, she was not known as an early riser.
She was the sort of lady who would remain in bed well into the middle of the morning if circumstances permitted, consequently this unexpected desire to rise at the crack of dawn and head for the woods was rather unusual. I found myself wondering whether she and Sidney met there; I wondered if he had found another love, someone to replace Mavis, and then I wondered what they must look like, Sidney and Arabella, walking side by side with him being knee high to a grasshopper and she towering like a maypole in its full array of colours. She was young and beautiful, he was middle-aged and balding; she was an artist, a person of individuality and ambition, while he was content to serve nuts and bolts from behind a dreary shop counter. Two opposites — but opposites can attract.
Even so, I kept telling myself, I had no evidence that they ever met in the woods nor did I know whether or not they emerged together. Apart from anything else, it was no business of mine, and I hoped it never would be. They were not committing a crime, even if they were meeting surreptitiously. Nonetheless, I did make a mental note of those occurrences, an instinctive reaction in a police officer, and I did note that they were never seen together in the village or elsewhere. Later, though, I saw that when Arabella was heading for the woods, she did not wear her gaudy clothes. She used dark-green, brown or bronze outfits, sometimes trousers and sometimes skirts and blouses; furthermore, she began to carry an easel together with a case which held her brushes and paints. She had not done either of those things during the first of her visits. So was she painting? Or pretending to be painting? Was it a ploy to throw local gossips off the scent?
Her changed clothing was more like a camouflage now. For his walk, Sidney always wore old brown trousers and either a green or brown sweater on cool days or similarly coloured T-shirts when it was warmer. He’d always worn those for his morning walk but with that kind of colouring, it would be easy to hide oneself among the trees. I began to regard them as a very crafty couple. Ostensibly, and for public consumption, he had his dog walking to do, she had her painting — both rather neat and feasible excuses.
As is the case in such secretive liaisons, the entire village was soon agog with the notion that little Sidney Layfield was having an affair with Arabella. The only person who seemed unaware of the drama was Sidney’s hard-working wife, chiefly because she spent long hours at work. The absence of Mavis during those months did seem to coincide with Sidney’s meetings in the wood. People who were out and about in Aidensfield in the early morning noticed his daily trek accompanied by Tinker and Bess — the milkman, postman, some local lorry drivers, myself, farm and estate workers — all saw him heading for the gate which led into the wood and a few minutes later they saw Arabella floating towards the same destination. As most of the witnesses were men, there is little doubt that the esteem of Sidney rose greatly — none thought he was capable of such a thing, few reckoned he had the guts to defy or cheat Mavis. But the evidence suggested otherwise.
News of his infidelity did spread around Aidensfield as one would have expected and soon, people along the route of the couple’s early morning walk through the village would themselves get out of bed, ostensibly to enjoy the early sunshine but in reality to watch Sidney and his dogs followed ten minutes later by Arabella and easel. It led to a good deal of tut-tutting in the post office-cum-village store, and quite a lot of speculation in the pub. Ladies gossiping in the shop wondered how long it would be before Mavis discovered the tryst and pondered her actions when she did find out, while drinkers in the pub speculated upon how Sidney coped with her height, her clothing and the uncomfortable floor of their woodland paradise.
It was one of Mavis’s cookery-classes pupils who made a further contribution to the saga. There were no classes during the summer, of course, but one August day I was talking to Mrs Herringswell, the wife of a retired bank manager, when she chanced to mention Mavis. Mrs Herringswell, a big lady in the WI who was that year’s speaker-finder, wanted to know whether I would talk about my work to the Aidensfield members sometime next January and when I agreed, she told me she was seeking other speakers and asked if I knew of anyone who was suitable. Without thinking about the aura which currently surrounded Sidney, I told her he might make a good speaker. I suggested he might tell them about his early days working with racehorses, something a world apart from making lace or decorating fruit cakes.
“Oh, Mr Rhea, how could you!” she expostulated. “After what he’s doing to Mavis, and just before their anniversary too!”
“Anniversary?” I puzzled.
“Yes, their wedding anniversary.”
“Really, when’s that?” I asked.
“At the end of September. Poor Mavis is so excited about it,” she said. “Twenty-five years, it’s their silver wedding. And she knows nothing about his behaviour. There are times I wonder whether someone should alert her to the goings on with that artist woman.”
“I think not . . .” I began.
“They think no one notices, with her dressing-up in camouflage like a soldier on manoeuvres. Sidney really ought to be ashamed of himself. At his age, too!”
“I’ve heard the rumours,” I chose my words with care, “but there is no proof there is anything untoward going on.”
“Who needs proof?” she cried. “Who needs proof when they parade themselves for all the world to see . . . going off to the woods at sunrise like that, thinking nobody notices them . . . we know what’s going on, Mr Rhea, even if you don’t.”
“Personal relationships like that are not a matter for the police.” I tried
to be diplomatic. “Furthermore, I don’t think anyone should interfere. What goes on between Sidney and his wife is personal. And I still think he would make an interesting speaker.”
“Well, I’ll think about your suggestion, of course, but I know my ladies, and I cannot see they would welcome an adulterer and wife-cheater into their midst. But I can see trouble brewing, Mr Rhea, mark my words. Sooner or later, Mavis Layfield is going to either find out or be told what’s going on under the nose.”
She was right, of course. The pair were heading for trouble and one of the regular features of a police officer’s life is to deal with fights between man and wife.
We call them domestics, a term meaning domestic and family disturbances. They are always unpleasant and there are no winners and losers — except for the unfortunate police officer who is called to quell the disturbance. He or she is always the loser because both protagonists turn against the peace-keeping constable as if the law is the cause of all the trouble and misbehaviour. It is not surprising that I had no wish to be called to a domestic involving Sidney and Mavis, should it ever happen.
I realised that Mrs Herringswell was speaking for the entire village. The rumours and innuendo which were flooding Aidensfield all tended to follow her line of thinking. I began to wonder if I should warn Sidney about his conduct and of the rumours he had sparked off — but then I told myself it was nothing to do with me. At that stage, there was no violence between him and Mavis, no outbreak of domestic friction, no throwing of either party out of the marital home or smashing of one another’s belongings . . . nothing in fact. Not even gloom on the face of Mavis as she went off to work or did her shopping in the village — she was behaving as if nothing was happening. In fact, at times she looked positively radiant.
And then two strange and rather surprising things happened.
Mary and I received an invitation to the silver wedding celebrations of Sidney and Mavis. We were invited because Mary was a member of Mavis’s cookery classes. The party would be in the form of a buffet supper with drinks and dancing, and it would be held in the ballroom of the Crown Hotel in Ashfordly on September 29th beginning at 8 p.m.
By the same post, we also received an invitation to the preview of an exhibition of new oil paintings by Arabella Clarkson. The preview was from 7 p.m. until 8 p.m. in the same ballroom of the Crown Hotel, Ashfordly, and at 8 p.m. the exhibition would be formally opened by — none other than Sidney Layfield! The exhibition would then continue for the following week. I must admit that, at first, I wondered how Mavis fitted into this scheme of things — it seemed Arabella and Sidney had concocted a fiendish scheme to be together. But to select his own silver wedding anniversary and to have his new woman there, albeit under the guise of supervising her preview of paintings, did seem rather ill-advised.
But the enigma thus presented did persuade everyone to go along, if only to find out what was really happening! Gossip around the village was, by this time, rife and those who had received invitations to this bizarre celebration were regarded as very honoured indeed. Not everyone had an invitation even though many would have loved to be there, but I did learn that Mrs Herringswell received one. Certainly, a lot of the ladies were determined to go, if only to see Mavis crown Arabella with a bottle of champagne or drench her with a plate of pea soup. It promised to be the social event of the decade.
On that Saturday night, Mary and I went along in our best clothes, having secured Mrs Quarry to babysit for our infants, and we arrived at 7 p.m. to see Arabella’s preview of oil paintings. They were hanging around the walls of the ballroom, all numbered, and we received a small printed catalogue listing those on display.
Everyone received a free glass of sherry or a soft drink upon arrival and among the guests I noticed Mrs Herringswell and many other people from Aidensfield. It was while we wandered around the exhibition that I became aware of a large framed painting, still on its easel, on the stage at the far end. And it was covered with a green cloth. When I checked in the catalogue, it said, ‘No. 77 — to be unveiled by Sidney Layfield’.
Sidney! I felt he had recognition at last! But it was an enjoyable occasion and I reserved a painting of Aidensfield which depicted my house. Then at 8 p.m., Arabella in her most colourful and flowing of dresses, mounted the stage and was handed a microphone by a member of the hotel staff. She tapped it and tested it, and upon finding it was functioning correctly, called for silence. We all ceased our chatter and, like a good teacher, she drew us all closer to the stage. The painting was behind her, still under wraps, and then I saw Mavis and Sidney enter the stage from the right.
When everyone was silent, Arabella began to speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen, friends. Friends of mine and of Sidney and Mavis,” she started. “I welcome you all and to thank you for coming to this preview. Previews are important to any artist and I hope you will persuade your friends to visit my exhibition from tomorrow. But tonight is more than a preview — in a moment, my preview becomes the silver wedding party for my friends, Mavis and Sidney. And as a special gesture, in a few minutes I am going to ask Sidney if he will unveil my most recent oil — this one behind me. But first, Mavis wants to say a few words.”
Mavis took the microphone, smiled at the gathering and said, “I wanted to give Sidney a surprise for his silver wedding. I’ve always thought he should be more famous than he is,” and there was a ripple of good-natured laughter. We all knew what she meant. “However, he would have none of it and so I had a word with Arabella. We knew he went into the woods for his morning walk and that he likes to sit for a while on Sally’s Rock smoking that pipe of his while Tinker and Bess explore. And so Arabella has followed him for the last few months . . . with her easel and paints and brushes. He had no idea she was watching him and certainly had no idea she was painting him, a little each day . . . she behaved like a spy . . . and I do know what the village was thinking . . . but they were wrong! Sidney is not like that. And so, Sidney, if you will take hold of that cord and give it a gentle pull . . .”
Arabella located the tip of the cord and passed it to him. With a puzzled frown on his face, he tugged the cord and the cover fell away to unveil a splendid portrait of himself. He was sitting on the rock smoking his faithful pipe. A small spiral of smoke rose from its bowl and behind were the trees and rock-strewn river while the foreground featured Bess and Tinker snuffling among the undergrowth . . . and Sidney looked excellent. In fact, he looked majestic, handsome, strong and full of character. He stood back with shock and surprise on his face as everyone applauded — and then he hugged Mavis and Arabella, with tears in his eyes.
“I had no idea . . .”
“It’s for you,” said Arabella. “Commissioned by your wife . . .”
“Speech!” someone called from the floor and so Sidney took the microphone and in his squeaky but now emotional voice, said, “I’ve been teased lately,” he said. “Some of the chaps in the village have been asking what I was doing with Arabella in the woods . . . well, now they know! It is a total surprise, ladies and gentlemen, I had no idea she was following me and painting me as I sat there thinking nice thoughts. But thank you, Arabella — and thank you, Mavis. Once again, thanks for this and for twenty-five lovely years. And now, I have a present for you . . . I was going to give it to you later, but, well, perhaps now is the right moment.”
He went behind the curtains and produced another painting, this time smaller than his own, but covered with a cloth. He passed it to Mavis who took it, opened it and found a portrait of herself as a young woman. She was standing at a farmhouse table full of pastry and cooking utensils, a real country scene.
“Great minds think alike,” he grinned as he kissed her. “And it was painted by Arabella — from photographs. I had the devil’s own job to stop you finding out I’d taken photographs from the album!”
“It’s wonderful,” said Mavis, hugging the little fellow.
“It’s been a hectic few months!” sighed Arabella. “Es
pecially keeping two big secrets . . .”
As the applause died away, we all adjourned to the food tables which were being uncovered by the hotel staff for the wedding anniversary celebrations were about to commence. As the principals left the stage, a three-piece orchestra moved on and began to prepare to play for dancing.
As I moved towards the food, Mrs Herringswell appeared at my shoulder and said, “Mr Rhea, I think I might ask Mr Layfield if he would speak to us after all.”
“And Arabella?” I suggested.
“Yes,” she said smiling. “And Arabella. They really surprised everyone, didn’t they?”
Later, I realised just how rumours and disinformation can circulate due to a series of misinterpreted actions. The people of Aidensfield had placed their own salacious interpretation upon a series of innocent events and had come to believe what they wanted to believe. And I was no better. As a policeman, I should have not made such assumptions but then, as I entered Aidensfield Wood one fine autumn morning for a walk, I was reminded of Sidney’s pipe and of the smoke captured so atmospherically in Arabella’s splendid painting.
For some reason, the words of an old saying came to mind. It was ‘There is no smoke without fire’.
* * *
Oddly enough, it was the same stretch of woodland which featured in another case where speculation was allowed to outstrip the facts of an incident. In this instance, it featured an elderly widow called Edna Waggett. She lived in a beautiful if neglected detached house of mellow limestone set on a lovely hillside site. Close to the centre of Aidensfield, it had been her family home for more than eighty-five years. She had been born there and had lived there ever since, her husband living with her in this spacious home upon their marriage.
He was a salesman of cattle medicines who had died some ten years before my arrival, but between them, they had produced five sons all of whom lived away from Aidensfield. One was in South Africa, another in Mexico, two in the Midlands and the nearest in Cumberland; all had been successful in their chosen careers but their work and the distance from Aidensfield meant they rarely visited her at home. She did, however, go and see them from time to time, and had been to South Africa twice since reaching eighty. She had also spent a month with her son in Mexico for her eightieth birthday. Edna was a remarkable lady who managed to look after herself; I had never known her be ill or incapacitated, and she attributed her spritely condition to a daily nip of whisky before going to bed coupled with the ability to get a good night’s sleep.
CONSTABLE AT THE GATE a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors (Constable Nick Mystery Book 18) Page 19
