‘Goodbye. I’ll bear in mind what you say.’
Chapter 14
The following Saturday night the bar of The Royal Oak was exceedingly busy. Every table was occupied and the dining room constantly full. The low-ceilinged room was hot, for massive logs were burning in the inglenook fireplace and great waves of heat poured out across the room. The customers were grateful, for the night was cold. It had taken three years for the villagers to come anywhere near accepting Bryn and Georgie Fields, the licensees, into their lives. Three years wasn’t long enough though for the couple to have been initiated into the centuries-old undertow of prejudice and bias which coloured present-day arguments. Cricket was the subject under discussion at the small table beside the fire.
‘My grandfather played in the cricket team before the Second World War, and his father before him played as well. They had some grand times in here after they’d won a match. Drunk as lords they were, singing and dancing. By jove, my grandad said the beer flowed and not half. Him’ – the speaker jerked a derisive thumb in the direction of the Big House – ‘up there’s no business to be president. Should be Sir Ralph. Tradition counts. They always had a party up at the Big House to celebrate the end of the cricket season. My grandad said they used to eat till they could hardly stand. Wonderful cook they had up there. None of this daft French business with a couple of peas on your plate and hardly a mouthful of meat but plenty of fancy sauce. Great piles of food they had. Delicious. They didn’t eat for a week after. And the ale and cider never stopped coming. They was gentlemen, was the Templetons. Everything given with a good heart. Him’ – he jerked his thumb again – ‘him, he likes gratitude.’
Vera Wright laughed. ‘You’re right there, he does.’
‘Sir Ralph’s a real gentleman, yer see. Can mix with anyone, high and low. Grand chap.’
‘You’re only saying that because he came in here the other night and bought you a couple of drinks. Sat here an hour or more you were with him, raking over old times.’ Vera glanced up as the door opened and in came Willie and Sylvia. ‘I shall have to go, me friends have just come in.’
‘I’m off, they can sit here if you like.’
‘Oh, thanks.’ Vera waved to Sylvia and she came across.
‘Isn’t it busy? Bryn and Georgie must be making a bomb tonight. Doing really well out of it.’
‘Yes, they must be. Everybody seems to be doing well except me, good old Vera Wright. There’s Pat marrying the best pair of thighs in Turnham Malpas, and she’s got that wonderful Garden House ’cos of her Dad’s job, there’s that awful Alan Crimble grinning his head off behind the bar, got married and got a lovely house as well. Mr Charter-Plackett’s like a dog with two tails, his business is doing so well. Though I shouldn’t say that, not since Sadie died. Unnerving, that was. Even so, everybody seems to be doing well but me.’
Sylvia watched Willie threading his way between the tables carrying their drinks. ‘Come on, Vera, things can’t be that bad.’
Willie put down the drinks. ‘Evening Vera. There’s your drink, my Sylvia.’ He leant over and kissed her as he handed her the drink.
‘See what I mean? You two’s happy as sandboys as well.’
‘Look, life’s what you make it. You’ve got a lovely steady husband, couldn’t be steadier, and a nice grandson.’
‘Nice grandson? I don’t think. Out all hours, he is. Must have been three o’clock this morning before he got in. At least tonight we’ll be able to get to sleep. He’s gone to stay with a friend top of Ladygate in Culworth. So we’ll have two nights of peace at least.’
Willie proffered the idea that maybe he’d got a girlfriend.
‘Come on, Willie, he’s only sixteen, he’s got no girl. Having said that, in the paper last Sunday there was this story about a boy of twelve, put in care he was because …’
Their three heads came close together in conference as Vera revealed the details of the story. But they were interrupted by the bar door crashing open so hard that it swung back and smacked into a chair which fell over with a resounding clatter. Everyone looked up to see who was coming in. It was Jimmy. He staggered in, looking as if his legs would give way at any moment, and headed straight for the bar counter. Leaning on it he heaved in several deep breaths and feebly requested a double whisky, which he proceeded to swallow in one gulp.
Jimmy – a double whisky? He hadn’t had one of those since the night he won the pools. Surely he couldn’t have won again, could he?
But Jimmy’s face, not as tanned as it used to be when he was an idle good-for-nothing who spent most of his waking hours in the woods and fields poaching, was ashen. He tremblingly placed his empty glass on the bar counter and dragged the words ‘another double’ out of his throat.
Bryn said, ‘Now look, you’re not used to drinking whisky. Let this one settle first and then I’ll serve you another.’
But Jimmy would have none of it. He gestured pleadingly at Bryn, so he was served another double.
Sylvia said to Willie, ‘I really think you should go to him, you know. I can see him shaking from here. Go and find out what the matter is.’
Someone had put a bar stool under Jimmy’s bottom and he’d sunk gratefully on to it as he downed his second whisky.
The colour was beginning to creep back into his cheeks when Willie said, ‘Now then, what’s the matter, seen a ghost?’ Jimmy’s colour receded again and he clutched Willie by his lapels and whispered in a voice which sounded as though he was being strangled, ‘Sykes.’
Willie, thoroughly startled, whispered back ‘Have you seen something horrible in Sykes Wood, is that it?’
‘No, no.’
‘Well, what is it then? Tell me.’
Jimmy shook his head and the trembling grew worse. He took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face.
‘It was ’im. It was ’im.’
‘Who?’
Jimmy struggled to speak and eventually came out with, ‘I treated him like a son, I did. Loved him like a son. And now this.’ Tears began to roll down his cheeks. Willie had never seen him cry, not even when his wife and baby died. He stood in front of him to shield him from the other customers; he didn’t want all the world to see Jimmy’s tears.
‘I can’t help yer if I don’t know what yer talking about,’ he said gently.
‘It’s Sykes. I saw Sykes.’ The tears continued to rain down his cheeks.
Willie was so surprised he said loudly, ‘Saw Sykes?’
Someone said, ‘Sykes? Who’s that?’
‘His dog. Died three maybe four years ago.’
‘What’s he on about then if he’s dead?’
Jimmy asked for another whisky.
Bryn shook his head. ‘No, I’m sorry, no.’
Jimmy was by now too distressed to protest. ‘It’s punishment, you know.’ He gestured to the ceiling with a thin shaking hand. ‘Him, Almighty God, He’s punishing me for what I did. For the way that poor dog of mine died. It was all my fault.’
‘No, it wasn’t. Of course, it wasn’t. You weren’t to have known.’
Jimmy’s lips trembled as he said, ‘It was my rabbit snares that killed him – let’s face it. Best Jack Russell terrier any human being could have.’
‘But how can yer have seen him when, he’s, yer know, when he’s as you might say, dead … like?’
Jimmy raised his voice to convince Willie. ‘I ’ave, I tell yer I ’ave. Out in Church Lane.’
‘It’s dark, it’d be a cat.’
‘It barked.’
Willie, taken aback but reluctant to believe Jimmy, protested, ‘Yer can’t ’ave. There’s no such thing as ghosts.’
‘Sez who? You’ve seen ghosts. What about that tomb in the church you say is haunted.’
Willie agreed, but then ghosts near tombs in churches were only right and reasonable, not like a dog out in Church Lane.
Sudenly there was a commotion at the table where Jimmy and Willie and Vera and Sylvia usually sat
. One of the customers had stood up and said, ‘There’s a dog under here.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘There is – I can smell it. That wet warm woolly smell yer get when they’ve been out in the rain and they’re drying off. It’s brushed past my leg. Get the damn thing out. It’ll be ruining my new trousers.’
They all looked under the table but there was no dog there.
‘But there was a dog, I felt it!’
Willie and Jimmy were electrified. Jimmy pointed towards the table with a shaking hand, and proclaimed in a loud voice filled with fear: ‘See? He’s followed me in here. He’s there where he usually sat. Remember, I allus put me glass down there and he’d have a drink. Come back to haunt me, he has. Come back to haunt me. Divine retribution. That’s what.’
The group finished their drinks and left in haste, unnerved by Jimmy’s assertion that they’d felt a ghost. The chatter in the bar rose to a crescendo and more than one was visibly shaken by the idea of Sykes revisiting his old haunts. Not a few ordered more drinks to calm their nerves.
Bryn laughed. ‘It’ll be good for trade, then. A haunted pub.’
Georgie, furious, nudged him sharply and said, ‘Shut up!’ Patting Jimmy’s arm she said comfortingly, ‘Look, love, go home, Willie will take you, and you get to bed with a couple of headache tablets. You’ll feel better in the morning.’
Resolutely Jimmy shook his head. ‘Can’t do that, he might follow me ’ome.’
Sylvia stood up. ‘Now look here, this is all getting absolutely ridiculous. We’ll all go – Willie, Vera, Jimmy and me – and we’ll sit at our usual table and you can put a glass of ale down where you used to, Jimmy, and we’ll all sit there and prove there’s no smell of a wet dog and the ale won’t be touched and we’ll know it’s all imagination. It’s worth trying it out as an experiment, isn’t it? Jimmy can’t stay here all night, can he? We’ll settle our minds once and for all. Come on, bring yer drinks.’
Rather hesitantly the three of them drifted across to the table where Sylvia had already plumped herself down on a chair. Bryn carried across the glass of ale and Jimmy placed it just where he always had done when Sykes was alive.
At a loss for conversation while the experiment took place, Sylvia began talking about the shoes Willie had bought that afternoon in Culworth. She was just describing how rude one of the shop assistants had been to her when all she’d said was ‘these same shoes are two pounds cheaper down the road’, when they distinctly heard the sound of a dog lapping. Everything stopped. Conversation. Drinking. Laughing. The entire bar froze. The only noise was the lapping which sounded almost indecently eager for a ghost. Sylvia looked at the three of them to see which one of them was going to dare to look under the table. But Willie and Jimmy and Vera were paralysed. Their only movement was their eyes, swivelling from side to side in terror. So it was she who bent down to have a look. Everyone heard the sound of breath being rapidly drawn in through tightly clenched teeth, then, energised by some unknown force, Sylvia’s head shot up from under the table, she leapt up onto the seat of her chair, clutched her skirt around her knees and screamed, ‘It’s ’im! It’s ’im!’
Someone muttered a heartfelt, ‘Bloody hell.’
Vera slid off her chair in a dead faint.
‘So there I was, Rector, up on the chair screaming my head off! Bryn came and enticed it out from under the table with a biscuit. I was still standing on the chair, my heart was absolutely pounding. The relief was unbelievable. It’s a nice little dog and the absolute spitting image of Sykes. Same size, same colouring, even to the placing of the black patch round his left eye. Just like Sykes it is. ’Cept perhaps the black isn’t quite as black as Sykes’ patch but, as someone said, what else could you expect when he’d been buried in the wood for three years? Jimmy didn’t take kindly to that remark, I can tell you!! It hadn’t a collar on, so we still don’t know whose it is.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘Well, Saturday night what could Jimmy do but take it home with him. He tried turning it out on Sunday morning and it went straight to church. Like you saw him when you went to Matins at eight. Then when the ten o’clock service was over it went back to Jimmy’s and it’s been there ever since. Anyway, Willie saw Jimmy first thing this morning. He was off to see the Sergeant, ask him if anyone had reported a dog missing, and the dog was trotting behind him for all the world like Sykes used to do. I’ve half a mind to think he’ll keep it if the real owners don’t turn up.’
‘I wish I could have seen your faces!’
‘I’m glad you didn’t. I felt such a fool afterwards. I don’t mind telling you we were scared and not half! But you know, there is something very odd about that dog. First it had a liking for ale which Sykes did – he loved it, would’ve been drunk as a lord every night if he’d been allowed. Then when Jimmy got it home it knew exactly where to go to look for a drink, the exact place where he always kept Sykes’ water bowl, and when it was time for bed it went to stand where Sykes’ bed had been, but Jimmy’s got a little table there now so it couldn’t lie down. Anyway, Jimmy moved the table and the dog laid down on the carpet with its back against the skirting board in exactly the same position as Sykes. So Jimmy got an old blanket out Sykes had used and put it down and he settled on it as if he’d been sleeping there for years. I don’t mind tell you it’s put Jimmy’s thinking cap on and no mistake. He’s not the man he was. What do you think, sir?’
‘It does all seem very odd, Sylvia. I mean, the dog appearing is not so peculiar; obviously it’s lost and happened quite by chance to appear in Turnham Malpas, but what you say about it knowing where Sykes slept and where to look for his water bowl is certainly more than a bit disconcerting. I don’t know much about dogs really; maybe they have a sixth sense of where the best place is for sleeping and such. I just don’t know.’
‘There’s something else I’ve got to tell you, nothing to do with the dog. Have you got a minute?’
‘Yes.’
Sylvia told Peter about finding Mimi’s collar. ‘So I’ve still got it here in my bag. I’ll give it to you and perhaps you can decide what’s best. It’s been weighing on my conscience and it’s time I did something about it. I couldn’t tell Dr Harris, just couldn’t find the words. Don’t you think, sir, that there’s a strange series of coincidences nowadays. First Mimi missing, then poor Sadie Beauchamp dying so sudden and now this blessed dog.’
‘All perfectly explainable.’
‘I know, but together all very odd. Here’s the collar. Make sure you hide it; can’t have her coming across it by mistake. Shall you tell her?’
Peter fastened the collar and tried to pull it open with a crooked finger. But he couldn’t. ‘Unfastened, you say?’
‘Oh yes, and half kind of buried in the soil.’
‘I’ll think about what to say. Thanks.’ Peter smiled. ‘Vera came round all right, did she?’
Sylvia chuckled. ‘Well, it took a double brandy to bring her round properly, but then we had had a terrible fright!’
Chapter 15
Many of the children at school that morning had been in church on the Sunday when the little Jack Russell had been found sitting for all the world like a regular worshipper on top of the tomb Willie claimed was haunted. They were full of the story and could talk of nothing else.
‘What do you think, Ms Pascoe?’
Tight-lipped and dismissive she snapped, ‘Just a stray dog from somewhere, just happened to be like Mr Glover’s.’ Then, to avoid the children’s questions, Kate went to her office.
‘My mum says it’s just like Sykes was.’
‘It is. That black patch that makes him look like a pirate.’
‘That’s right and they say he knows Mr Glover’s house like the back of his hand, er paw.’
‘Pissed as a newt he …’
Hetty Hardaker interrupted. ‘Brian, that will do! You know better words than those with which to describe the condition he was in.’
&
nbsp; ‘He was just like Mr Glover then!’ The children burst into hysterical laughter at Brian’s joke.
‘Children, time for prayers, now come along.’
‘My dad says old Jimmy was as white as a sheet. Shaking, he was.’
‘I ’opes nobody claims ’im. Be nice for Mr Glover to have a dog again. Perhaps he’ll dig up his snares in Sykes Wood and start poaching again.’
‘I hopes not. There’ll be Sykes’ skellington there. Ugh!’ Stacey shuddered.
‘No, there won’t ’cos he’s been spirited to life. That’s what my mum says. Brought back to life! She’s certain it’s the real Sykes, she is. She was there when they found him.’
‘Something funny going on, my dad says. Lights in Sykes Wood at dead of night. He’s seen ’um.’ Stacey rolled her eyes, enjoying the sensation she was creating.
Brian asked what Stacey’s dad was doing in Sykes Wood at dead of night?
Stacey tapped the side of her nose. ‘Ask no questions, get told no lies.’
Hetty Hardaker said, ‘I think it best you don’t ask what Stacey’s father was doing in Sykes Wood at night, Brian. Now, you can be leader and take us into prayers. Stand tall and lead the way. Miss Booth is already playing the “settling down” music. Come along, Class Two. Chop chop! Nice straight lines, nice straight backs. Lead on Brian, quietly, and don’t stamp your feet, please. We’re not on Horse Guards Parade, and there’s definitely no need to salute.’
As they settled down for prayers Peter came in from the playgroup room. The children all turned and without prompting chorused, ‘Good morning, Rector!’
‘Good morning, children. May I join you for prayers this morning, Ms Pascoe? Mrs Hardaker?’
Kate said, ‘Certainly. Can someone fetch a chair for the rector?’ A flurry of hands shot up. ‘You Flick, get my chair from our classroom. The rector needs a grown-up’s chair.’
‘I’ll sit at the back.’
One of Ms Pascoe’s children gave him a hymn book and he seated himself on the chair Flick brought for him.
Village Secrets Page 11
