Intrigue in the Village (Turnham Malpas 10)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  Mealy Mouth began to giggle. An annoying giggle, which started to put Maggie off her stroke. Then Ginger Nob gave an almighty sneeze, and it broke Maggie’s concentration completely.

  ‘Sorry. We’ll have to begin again. You must be quiet, otherwise I lose the thread and the spirits won’t be moved.’

  ‘I’ve got cramp,’ said Jean, the senior dinner lady. ‘Just a minute.’ She stood up and waved her leg about, then bent to rub the life back into it.

  Finally Maggie asked, ‘Now, are we all settled?’ A deathly hush fell. Maggie closed her eyes and began again. Very slowly, bearing in mind that she needed to make it very realistic, her head began rolling back and forth and then went into circles. Then came the moaning, followed by guttural groans, then finally, ‘Is anyone there? Is anyone out there?’

  The tension in Maggie’s sitting room was electrifying.

  Not a sound.

  Not a tremor.

  A strange, grave tone came into Maggie’s voice as she called out again, ‘Who are you? Who are you? What do you want?’

  ‘It’s Dad. It’s Dad.’

  ‘Dad who?’

  ‘I’m searching for my little girl. Is she there?’

  ‘We don’t know. Give us a clue.’

  ‘She’s the boss. I see food. I see children.’

  Jean trembled. ‘It must be my dad. Your little girl is here. It’s Dodo, Dad.’

  ‘Mind out, my girl. That Larry of yours, beware.’

  The senior dinner lady answered, ‘Beware what of?’ her grammar having gone to pot in the excitement of the moment.

  ‘That husband of yours. He’s always been a wrong ’un. Remember I didn’t want you to marry him?’

  ‘I know. I know, Dad.’

  ‘He’s at it again. He’s an adulterer. A liar and a cheat.’

  ‘Oh God!’

  ‘Beware! Beware!’

  The tone of the medium’s voice changed completely as she said, ‘There’s someone else trying to get in touch. Why, it’s Evadne. You haven’t spoken for a while. Welcome, Evadne. Do you have a message for us?’

  In the dark, no one realized that the sound they heard of someone striving to speak was Maggie grinding her teeth.

  ‘I can’t tell,’ said the spirit of Evadne.

  ‘You must. We are prepared for your message. Have no fear.’

  ‘Ginger. Ginger,’ the spirit voice called.

  Ginger Nob answered in a squeaky voice. ‘Yes, I’m here.’

  ‘Beware! You travel a dangerous path. Other women’s husbands are not for you. Not for you. Take care. T-a-k-e c-a-r-e.’ The voice faded away. A piece of coal fell on to the hearth. Ginger took in a shrieking breath, and the senior dinner lady moaned.

  Maggie began rolling her head again and the red light from the shaded table lamp lit her features and made her wide open eyes glow like hot coals. ‘Evadne’s gone. Evadne’s gone.’ Slowly the rolling stopped and her eyes focused.

  Mealy Mouth, who hadn’t spoken since the seance began, asked, ‘Who the hell is Evadne?’

  ‘I need a drink of water.’ Maggie disappeared into the kitchen, leaving them to sort themselves out. Her throat wasn’t half dry with all that groaning. She listened as she sipped from her glass.

  But there was nothing to hear except the moaning of the senior dinner lady.

  Maggie returned to her chair and waited. ‘Well, that’s it,’ she said eventually. ‘Evadne’s my contact with the spirit world. Sometimes she comes, sometimes she doesn’t, but when she does, boyo! Does she spill the beans!’

  Mealy Mouth jumped to her feet. ‘It’s a load of rubbish. I’m off.’

  Ginger Nob called, ‘Wait for me.’

  But the senior dinner lady spoke not a word. Clearly shocked to the core, she got up, tucked her handbag under her arm and stalked out.

  Maggie shrugged. She’d only told them what she knew from hearing them gossiping. She’d put two and two together and decided Ginger Nob was having it off with Jean’s husband Larry. She couldn’t imagine what the outcome of her seance would be and as she laid her head on the pillow later, Maggie contemplated the success of the evening. It would be a while before they wanted another go! She turned over and smiled, remembering that tomorrow night it was her regulars’ turn and thought about even more five-pound notes in Dave’s fairground jug. It was surprising how they mounted up.

  It was at that moment that she heard strange tappings and rustlings, apparently coming from her wardrobe. Her hair almost stood on end.

  She grabbed hold of the blankets and pulled them over her face but the sounds would not be shut out. ‘Who’s there?’ she shouted. ‘Who’s there?’

  The sound of her voice, strangled and muffled though it was, brought a ‘Miaow!’ from the wardrobe.

  ‘Bloody hell! It’s the cat.’ Relief, what relief. She bounded out of bed to open the wardrobe door and out struggled, from among the jumble of shoes and coat-hangers idling in the bottom, poor old Tabitha. Fluffed up and indignant, the cat strode off. Maggie ran down to open the cat flap for her and then dashed back into bed and covered herself completely with the blankets. She had to face the fact that she’d frightened herself tonight. She’d have to get a grip.

  The following morning each of the dinner ladies rang in to say they weren’t well enough to come to school.

  Kate almost exploded.

  Hetty Hardaker suggested Linda Crimble. ‘Jimbo’s sacked her so I know she’s free. Just temporarily, of course, and if she does well we could always keep her in mind for another time.’

  ‘Good thinking. Mrs Dobbs, if I pay you for the extra hours, would you help?’

  ‘Of course. Of course I will. We all have to rally round in times of crisis.’

  Crisis indeed, thought Maggie. It had never been known before for all three of them to be off at once. At least she’d get a free dinner.

  She and Linda got on famously together. They had cleared the hall and were busy washing up when Linda declared she was at the end of her tether with Alan.

  ‘Such a paddy he threw when I told him what had happened. All ready for going to Jimbo’s last night and having it out. I persuaded him not to. I said, “Look here, Alan, he always comes crawling back because he can’t find anyone else and exactly the same will happen this time, but it might take a bit longer. So please, leave it be,” I said.’

  ‘D’yer think he will?’

  Linda smiled confidently. ‘Of course, and it’ll be different this time because I didn’t half give him a piece of my mind. He’ll treat me different, to say nothing of a pay rise.’

  ‘So why’s Tom in there this morning for all the world as if he’d been born to it?’

  Linda dropped a plate in the sink and the water splashed all over the front of her plastic disposable apron and ran down on to her shoes, but she didn’t notice. ‘What? Tom? The slimeball! I’ll kill him. What does he know about running a Post Office?’

  ‘I don’t know, but there he is, stamps, pensions and a registered parcel. He served me and very nice and efficient he was too.’

  Linda untied her apron. ‘Right! I’m off in there.’

  ‘Eh? Just a minute, you’re not leaving me with all this lot. Have a heart.’

  ‘My career is at stake.’

  ‘Career, my foot. You’re being paid to do this, don’t forget. In any case, you might be grateful for this job, you never know.’

  ‘Don’t think I’m going to spend the rest of my life as a dinner lady! Here, you carry on.’ Linda stripped off her rubber gloves and bounced out of the school kitchen with the light of battle in her eyes.

  Like Maggie had said, Tom was in the ‘cage’ serving a customer, and Jimbo was nowhere to be seen. ‘He’ll be back about three,’ Tom said to Linda. ‘He’s seeing a client about a wedding reception. Harriet’s just gone home. Mrs Jones might be able to help.’

  Linda lit up inside. Of course, she’d be the best one to tell her what was going on. But the mail order office was as bu
sy as ever, and Greta Jones didn’t appear all that glad to see her. ‘Trying to get this lot done to catch the three o’clock post. You did yourself a good turn losing your temper like that, I don’t think. He won’t have you back if that’s what you’re hoping. The waters have closed over your head and no mistake. Get up, I want those labels you’re sitting on.’

  Tears welled in Linda’s eyes. ‘I’d rather thought—’

  ‘Well, don’t, because he taught Tom about the Post Office on Sunday and he’s taken to it like a duck to water. If you want my advice you’ll find another job quick.’

  ‘Honest?’

  Mrs Jones nodded.

  ‘I wish I could get some direction about what to do. Alan is just ranting and raving, and that won’t get me a job.’

  ‘How about getting into catering? Pat Jones might need a waitress or too. She has a list of temps, just in case.’

  ‘Waitressing?’

  ‘The tips can be good.’

  ‘I feel really miserable about this.’

  ‘There’s only one answer; curb your tongue. You let it run away with you from what I heard. Want cheering up?’

  Linda nodded.

  ‘Come with me to Maggie Dobbs’s house tonight. I’ll give you a knock on my way.’

  ‘What can she do?’

  Mrs Jones winked. ‘She does a regular seance and tonight’s the night. It’s a good bit of fun.’

  ‘Really? She’s never said.’

  ‘Well, she wouldn’t, would she?’

  ‘Will she mind?’

  ‘Not so long as you’ve got five pounds.’

  ‘I’ll go straight back to the school and ask her. It’s Alan’s night off and he’s that bad-tempered I’ll be glad to be out.’

  That night Maggie was well prepared. With the table polished to within an inch of its life – extreme cleanliness was a critical factor in getting the spirits to come – the fire crackling in the grate and the red scarf over the lamp, Maggie awaited her visitors. Tabitha had been put out and the cat flap locked, so there was nothing to interrupt the flow.

  Maggie looked at the five pairs of hands resting on the table, little fingers touching to complete the link. Linda’s were trembling in anticipation, Venetia’s, with their vivid, purple nails, were steady as a rock, and Greta Jones’s were relaxed. Her own, workaday hands, square and accustomed to toil, were slightly tense. The weekender’s fingers were lifeless and they might as well be carrots for what good they were in helping the spirits. The fact that they were all dressed in black added a certain frisson to the atmosphere; had it been any darker they would have looked like five heads suspended around the table, like guests at some macabre feast.

  When Maggie’s head began rolling, Linda said, ‘Ooh! Is she all right?’

  ‘Shh!’ said Greta Jones.

  When Maggie started moaning Linda muttered, ‘Ooh!’ again and the shudder she gave was transmitted to them all through their hands. Greta thought the table shook slightly. But it couldn’t have, it was a solid oak table; then again, it did have a lot of memories in it, not like something from Ikea. It was when the groaning and thrashing started that Linda really began to take fright. ‘Ooh! Er.’

  ‘Who’s there? Who’s there?’

  Linda glanced round the room, could see no one and was grateful. But not for long. A strange, ethereal voice called out through the gloom, ‘I’m here! I’m here!’

  Maggie said, ‘Evadne? Is that you?’

  Greta Jones muttered, ‘Oh God. Not Evadne.’

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Welcome, Evadne. Do you have a message for one of us?’

  ‘Yes. I need to contact Lynn.’

  ‘We’ve got a Linda here.’

  ‘Linda! Yes, Linda!’

  Greta Jones said through gritted teeth, ‘Answer her.’

  Linda cleared her throat. ‘Yes, that’s me.’

  ‘You’re going through a difficult time. You need advice.’

  ‘I do. I do,’ whispered Linda.

  ‘Alan is your strength and stay. Lean on him. Lean on him.’

  ‘Oh! She’s so right. He is. I will. I will.’

  There was a long silence after this, during which Maggie appeared to be tussling with some unseen figure. The flames, now casting huge shadows around the walls, looked more than ever before like weird figures dancing around them. The circle of five women drew closer, as if for comfort.

  As though emanating from the fire, the voice said, ‘I have a message for V-v-v— I can’t get the name. Vera, no, not Vera.’

  ‘Is it Venetia?’ asked Maggie in a curiously guttural voice.

  ‘No. Yes! Venetia! That’s it. Yes, Venetia. Take care. Someone close to you is going to be in need of loving care. Someone very close. On the brink. Yes, on the brink. He’s coming very, very close to me.’ There came a ghastly scream, hands flew to mouths, and the circle was broken. Maggie went rigid. Venetia broke down in tears. ‘It’s Jeremy. It must be. Another heart attack.’

  Maggie snapped her fingers twice and became normal again. ‘I need a drink.’ She went to the sideboard cupboard and got out the brandy. She’d only intended getting out a glass for herself, but looking slyly over her shoulder at the others, she decided they all needed one.

  In varying degrees of shock, they sat round the table sipping their brandy.

  The weekender was the least affected by the spirit of Evadne. ‘Well, I come week after week and no one, but no one ever has a message for me. I shan’t come any more. That’s it. I was hoping for a message from my sister, who has been dead five years, as we were very close. No, that’s it for me.’ But the brandy warmed her inside and gradually she began to feel that it might be worthwhile for her to turn up next week.

  Venetia stood up. ‘I’ve got to go, see to Jeremy.’ She switched on the main light. ‘If it’s true, then this Evadne person . . . spirit . . . thingy, must be real. When she said he was coming very close to her, did that mean . . . he’s almost a spirit himself? I’d better go quickly . . .’ And she left in a great flurry, muttering to herself.

  ‘All right, Linda?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘Oh! Yes. Can I thank Evadne for her advice?’

  ‘Next week, eh?’

  Linda nodded and got to her feet, ready to leave.

  Greta Jones said, ‘I’ll go with you.’

  As they passed the Store, they saw the lights were on and Jimbo was dressing the window yet again. Linda wished deep in her heart that things were still OK between them. Still, she’d been told to lean on Alan and ask for his advice and she would.

  Having arranged for Linda and Maggie Dobbs to be temporary standins for a second time, Kate was delighted to find that all three of the dinner ladies were back in harness again. However, they weren’t speaking to each other, and worst of all, Ginger Nob and the one Maggie called Mealy Mouth had only too obviously been punched, one in the eye and the other on the mouth. Kate was too polite to comment on the matter but she did say, ‘If you’re not speaking to each other I hope it doesn’t mean you’re not speaking to the children either. Whatever your problem,’ she purposely eyed the two with the black and blue faces, ‘they don’t deserve ostracizing. I shall take particular note of your behaviour at lunchtime. Any problems and it’s out.’

  Kate turned on her heel and returned to her class. She’d changed these last few weeks. At one time she would have had them in her office counselling and reassuring them, but her recent altercation with Craddock had hardened her and, like him, she wasn’t prepared to stand any nonsense.

  While her class did their quiet reading before school dinner, a time when she would have been marking their maths, she thought about the look on his face when she’d told him what Caroline had done.

  He’d had his back to her when she’d told him and had spun round on his heel to face her. ‘Done what?’

  ‘Reported the condition of the house to Social Services. But they are understaffed at the moment and—’

  ‘After all I�
�ve done for the church, all that money?’ He began counting off on his fingers how many times he’d helped them out. ‘I can’t believe it.’

  ‘I might remind you that Peter has never asked you for money for the church, it’s always been you who’s offered it.’

  ‘That may be, but he’s accepted it without a murmur, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Did you expect a repayment of some kind?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Good. For one minute I thought you were trying to buy your place in heaven.’

  Craddock clenched his fists. ‘That was unworthy of you.’

  ‘Sorry, but you can’t buy people’s loyalty. Money isn’t everything.’

  Craddock paused before he answered, then said, ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘You pay for the cricket pavilion but can you let it go at that? Oh no. It has to have “The Craddock Fitch Pavilion” emblazoned across the front. I wonder you didn’t have your name engraved on each of the church bells you provided, then you really would have gone down in history, or even on the new church boiler on a special plate screwed to the front of it.’

  ‘Kate!’

  ‘It’s no good looking so indignant. What is it in the Bible? “Let not your left hand know what your right hand doeth.” Something like that. Well, just think about it. However, this doesn’t settle the question of Caroline and the Social Services.’

  ‘I shall do nothing. They can shout and carry on as much as they like. After what you’ve said, I shall do nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’ll leave it all to someone else. All those overpaid, underworked do-gooders can have a birthday, at least I shall have found them something to do. But I bet I know who they’ll send the bills to; Me.’ Piqued beyond anything he’d ever known, Craddock sat down in his favourite chair, a glass of whisky in his hand and seethed inside as he picked up what Kate called his weekly Bible, namely The Economist, and thought to himself, at least I shall get some sense out of this.

  Kate, fuming at his lack of understanding, and frustrated by not knowing how to bring him round to her way of thinking, stormed off to soak in one of her lavender oil baths to relax and think of a solution.

  But Craddock kept seeing Kate’s face on the page as he read, and finally he put The Economist down and thought about her. He’d heard the taps running and guessed she would be taking one of her scented baths.