Murder By Committee

by Veronica Heley

Plus she seemed to be good in bed. Or so she said. Ellie had no reason to doubt it.

  Yes, Diana would be a suitable consort for a powerful man like Sir Arthur. Ellie could well imagine he'd discard Felicity for Diana. Diana would enjoy being Lady Kingsley. Oh yes. Wouldn't she just!

  ‘No, no.’ Ellie shook her head. ‘He wouldn't marry her. She's not got enough to offer.’ Except this house, and a way of getting at Kate and Armand's house, too. If he knocked down this house, say … and did it carelessly, so that the party wall was breached … or somehow dumped building material in their garden, by mistake … or worse still, threatened baby Catriona.

  It didn't bear thinking about. There were building regulations against his damaging someone else's property, of course, and planning permissions would be needed. But he'd got round such things before, hadn't he?

  Well, that was one thing Ellie could do - if she lived through this. She could go to her MP and lobby councillors, dear Mr Patel for a start, and contact the local press and make sure that Sir Arthur didn't have it all his own way in local affairs in future.

  She squeezed Felicity's shoulder. ‘Come on. You've got to keep your strength up. Do you fancy a boiled egg, perhaps?’

  Felicity put her head down on the table and wailed.

  Ellie stifled impatience. She forked up another mouthful of omelette and took a gulp of coffee.

  She tried to reassure Felicity. ‘Your husband would never discard you. You know that. You're necessary to him. You keep his home immaculate, and while married to you, he has the perfect weapon to hold your father in check.’

  Felicity wailed again. ‘Oh, how could you!’

  Ellie spotted the box of tissues, which was on the floor. Midge must have dislodged it from the top of the boiler, where it was usually kept. She dived for the box and dumped it in front of Felicity. Then paused in the act of lowering herself back on to her chair.

  Shock.

  No, it couldn't be.

  Or, could it?

  Felicity struggled to lift her head from the table, and reached for the tissues.

  Ellie said, more to herself than to the girl, ‘Diana's just signed my death warrant.’

  ‘What?’ Felicity went on weeping.

  Ellie repeated the words, more loudly. ‘Diana's signed over her interest in this house to your husband for redevelopment. She inherits half on my death.’

  Felicity snorted into her tissue. Took another. Stopped crying. ‘So …?’

  Ellie looked around her. The old, familiar, slightly shabby kitchen. ‘I haven't made a will, so Diana - as my nearest relative - gets this house on my death. How long do you think I've got?’

  ‘Well … I suppose you're not that old really,’ said Felicity, reaching for another tissue and blowing her nose thoroughly. ‘Some people live till they're seventy. Or even older. Mummy's just fifty, though you wouldn't think it. Some days she can still look thirty. As young as me.’

  Ellie nodded. ‘How many years would you give a woman who stood in the way of your husband making a fortune?’

  Felicity froze. Shook her head. ‘You don't mean what I think you mean. He wouldn't ever … I mean, no!’

  ‘A week?’ said Ellie. ‘What if he arranges for me to be run over - as he did your half-brother? A couple of days?’

  How soon could she arrange with Bill to make a will? How soon could she get a copy to Sir Arthur? Today was Sunday. How could she ensure her safety till she could get to see Bill?

  Silence. Felicity sniffed. ‘You're being ridiculous.’ Faintly.

  ‘Am I?’ said Ellie, draining her coffee cup. ‘Let's look on the bright side. Maybe he'll be a bit more careful now the police are investigating Julian's “accident”. He'll wait till things have settled down again. I assume Martinez has provided himself with a good alibi. Marco too.’

  Felicity was silent.

  Ellie stacked dishes in the sink. ‘I have to go off to church in a minute. I suppose I'll be safer there than staying here. Felicity, will you do me a favour? Ring your husband on your mobile. Tell him that you've seen Diana, and heard all about her plan to sell him my house. Tell him that Diana has misled him because she only gets half the house at my death.’

  ‘Half the house …’ The girl was trying to understand, but not succeeding too well.

  Ellie considered going through it in words of one syllable, but decided life was too short. ‘Get through to him, then hand the phone over to me. I'll tell him myself.’

  Felicity produced her mobile. Sniffed twice. Punched a number. Waited.

  Ellie switched on the kettle to make Felicity a cup of tea. She was thinking. She had Bill's home number. She could ring him before she went off to church. Perhaps he could inform Sir Arthur that Diana had misled him about the house.

  Felicity put on a bright, false tone. ‘Arthur, is that you?’

  Of course it was, thought Ellie. Silly girl.

  ‘Arthur, I'm sorry to ring you when I know you must be terribly busy …’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ Sir Arthur's forceful personality entered the room with his voice. He was not pleased at being interrupted. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Something you ought to know. Diana's played a nasty trick on you … Are you there?’ So far, so good. The girl was holding together better than Ellie had expected.

  Silence at the other end. Voices were heard, arguing, in the background.

  Ellie reached for the phone, but Felicity eluded her. ‘Diana's cheated you!’

  ‘Nonsense! I know why you're doing this, Felicity, and it won't do you any good, do you hear? Don't expect me back tonight, either. I have other plans.’

  The phone clicked off.

  Felicity was trembling, ashen-faced.

  Ellie poured hot water on a tea-bag in a mug, and put it on the table in front of Felicity. Subduing an impulse to tell the girl she'd have done better to have handed the phone over to her, Ellie patted her on her shoulder. ‘Well, you tried.’

  Felicity whispered, ‘He always comes back to me on Sunday nights, no matter who he takes down to the manor. Always. I get back from visiting Mummy and he gets back from the manor and that's our special time together. He thinks I'm jealous of Diana, and of course I am, but … I've just realized, if I'm no longer important to him, then … I'm at risk too. He insured my life for a million.’

  Fifteen

  Ellie looked at Felicity with horror. A million to insure her life? Felicity explained. ‘We made wills in each other's favour and took out insurance as soon as we got married. Arthur said he was often travelling and if there was an accident, I'd have something to fall back on. He said I was worth a million pounds to him. He was being nice to me then.’

  Ellie closed her eyes for a second. Was the girl really so naïve? Well, yes; she was.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ said Felicity, looking to Ellie for help.

  Ellie didn't feel like helping. She felt like throwing Felicity out of the house, banging the door shut behind her, and phoning Bill Weatherspoon for help. Come quickly, Bill! My life is in danger. Please tell the nasty man to run away and play.

  She braced herself. Tears wouldn't help. Yelling and screaming at Felicity wouldn't help, either. She glanced at the clock.

  ‘First things first. I have to be at church to sing in the choir in twenty minutes. I'll be safe there. You'd better come with me, unless you know of a better place to go?’

  Felicity was calming down. She was still pale, but the threat of personal danger seemed to have steadied her. ‘I used my mobile to ring him, but he'll probably think I'm at home. I don't want to go back there, especially now, especially if … he might try to … oh, this is just a nasty dream, isn't it? He wouldn't really … would he? But I must admit, I don't want to go back there by myself. Also, if Marco's recovering from an all-night drinking session, he can be very rude to me.

  ‘I'd feel safer if I came with you. Mummy always used to take me to the little village church beside the manor. I used to like that. Mummy used to say she
preferred “bells and smells” in church, but I like it plain.’

  Everything for Felicity and her mother went back to nostalgia for the manor. Ellie was inclined to be impatient until she remembered what a shock it had been for her to realize her own home might soon be demolished. Not that she'd know anything about it, if she were dead.

  Though possibly - if her present attempts to help other people were to count against her sins - she might end up on a fluffy cloud, playing a harp, and looking down with a smile on future occupants of the flats which were to replace her home. That is, if you thought of heaven that way, which on the whole Ellie didn't. She'd never been that musical, even if she had been dragooned into singing in the choir.

  ‘I think that's sensible,’ she said. ‘I see it's started to rain. Drink your tea, wash your face, brush your hair and I'll see if I can find something warm for you to wear. The weather's turning nasty and they've only just turned the heating on in church. Meanwhile I've a couple of phone calls to make.’

  Ellie tried Diana's landline and her mobile. She wasn't answering either. On both lines Ellie left a message to the effect that she'd warned Sir Arthur that Diana had misled him about inheriting the whole house. Maybe that would prevent his acting straight away. Maybe not.

  She rang Bill Weatherspoon at home. He was out too. Bother. She left a message asking him to ring her, urgently. What else could she do to protect herself?

  She glanced at her watch. She could hear Felicity splashing about in the bathroom. She must leave the house within the next five minutes, or she'd be late. Sometimes, if she were late, Mrs Dawes would get Ellie's music ready for her. But Mrs Dawes was laid up with her bad knee, and Jean would be checking her watch every few seconds, waiting for Ellie to appear.

  She rang Chris Talbot's number. He answered, cool and precise as ever.

  ‘Mrs Quicke?’

  ‘Yes. Problems. Sir Arthur's gone into the City to try to stop-’

  ‘I know. He won't succeed.’

  ‘There's another player entered the game. My daughter, Diana. She's threatening Felicity's position vis à vis Sir Arthur. Diana's also sold her half-interest in my house to Sir Arthur, who wants it for redevelopment. He insured Felicity's life for a million. We're both more than slightly worried.’

  Silence. ‘I see. Where are you?’

  ‘At home. Felicity is with me. We're both due at church in a minute.’

  ‘And after?’

  ‘I don't know. I have to visit an old friend, and possibly my aunt, also. I'll have to think.’

  ‘Ring me when you leave church.’

  As Ellie and Felicity left the house, they heard someone call after them.

  ‘Yoohoo!’ It was Kate from next door, with baby Catriona asleep in her pram. ‘I gather there's ructions going on up in the City, but my money's on Gwyn. Are you off to church? I thought I'd come too. Armand needs space to do his marking.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Ellie. ‘Can you take Felicity in for me and look after her?’

  Somewhat breathlessly, Ellie dashed round the church to enter the vestry just as Tum-Tum - Thomas - was beginning to marshal his troops.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ said Ellie, struggling into her robes, and looking wildly around for the music she needed. No Mrs Dawes, of course.

  Nice Maggie - who'd been working in the kitchens with her yesterday - helped her. ‘Thanks,’ whispered Ellie, as they fell into line and Thomas led the way out into the church. The organist was playing something rousing. For a moment Ellie couldn't think what it was. Then she got it, and had to stifle a laugh.

  ‘Onward, Christian soldiers' was a bit dated, perhaps, but it struck a chord in Ellie today. She certainly felt like a soldier under fire.

  The first hymn … the confession … the children's talk … the second hymn. Where was Felicity? Ellie had found her a jacket in a soft coral to wear and it should be possible to pick that out. Yes, over by the pillar. No one could get at her there, wedged in by Kate, who'd kept the pram by her side. Catriona seemed to be fast asleep. Good. It could be awkward, having a baby wake up in the service. Some people objected strongly to hearing babies cry for attention, though Tum-Tum - Thomas - never seemed to mind.

  Whatever were they going to do after the service? Felicity had used her mobile, so Sir Arthur wouldn't know where she might be, but he knew where Ellie lived all right.

  Ellie's eye, roaming over the congregation, located Roy sitting at the back of the church. Gossip had it that he'd soon be asked to consider becoming a sidesman. He'd do the meeting and greeting bit well. Beside him - wonder of wonders - was Aunt Drusilla, with Rose. Well, Rose did often come, of course. But Aunt Drusilla? Not in living memory. Well, not in Ellie's memory, anyway.

  Why was Aunt Drusilla there? She had her own morality, but was she a Christian? She'd been brought up to consider the state of her soul a private matter. She'd suffered minor ailments all her life: teeth, feet. But nothing really serious until her hip had started to play up. Ellie wasn't sure how long her aunt's hip had been giving her trouble. She'd carried a stick about with her for years, but recently she'd actually been leaning on it. And in considerable pain. Perhaps this hip trouble had reminded her that earthly bodies do wear out, and that she ought to think about making her peace with God. Perhaps.

  Thomas didn't preach long sermons from the pulpit. He wasn't that sort. He stood at the top of the steps down into the chancel, and treated the congregation to something multilayered. His sermons were light on top with a joke somewhere inside. The middle had something thoughtful in it. And the bottom layer was good, solid comment.

  So what would he have to say today?

  ‘Friends … a good result yesterday, don't you think? For Brentford Football Club, I mean. Not the Autumn Fair.’

  Everyone relaxed, most laughed or smiled. Brentford Football Club indeed! Most people had never even heard of it, even though it had many enthusiastic supporters in the borough.

  ‘A local Derby, of course,’ said Thomas. ‘I was amazed that so many of you turned up to do your bit for the church, instead of enjoying yourselves on the terraces, shouting till you got laryngitis, sitting outside in a cold wind, missing your tea … well, perhaps not missing your teas. I gather the fish-and-chip shop in the Avenue did well last night-’

  More low laughter. The fish and chip shop in the Avenue was always under siege at weekends.

  ‘-whereas we poor souls had nothing much to shout about. Or perhaps we did, come to think of it. Instead of bellowing for Brentford, we turned out to work for the good of others. We sorted and priced books and bric-a-brac. We toasted and turned the food on the barbecue. We pulled the handle on the urn - instead of pulling pints. We served food all day, we cleaned up after mucky eaters, and washed and dried cups on a production line. We sold tickets for games, and supervised the children in the play area. We worked our socks off - for our own home team. Not Brentford, but the church.

  ‘It was hard work, wasn't it? Backs ached, feet swelled up, tempers frayed all over the place. It didn't actually rain yesterday, though the clouds may have kept some people away. Somehow, the work got done. Even the clearing-up got done, eventually.

  ‘There were casualties, of course. The most important was that Mrs Dawes fell over and hurt her bad knee, trying to collapse one of our awkward metal tables. I worry a bit that this elderly lady felt she ought to tackle a job which should have been done by someone younger and fitter.’

  Ellie was amused. If Mrs Dawes heard that Thomas had called her ‘elderly' in front of the whole congregation, she'd be livid!

  ‘Also,’ said Thomas, with a change of pace, ‘they tell me that there were five cups broken, two plates have gone missing, and the urn is leaking again! Talk about stress! No -’ he held up his hand to quell amusement - ‘I am not joking now. These occasions can be very stressful, and stress takes its toll just as much as laryngitis or a chill on the kidneys. The result of all that effort was an unexpectedly high sum to add to our rebuilding fund. I
t's not going to be enough to rebuild the vicarage, of course. For that, we need to take someone else into partnership.

  ‘But we must choose our partner wisely. I think all of us here know how important that is. We have had an offer of partnership recently which proved to be from a man who thought less of the glory of God and the good of this parish, than of his bank balance. I didn't think that we should accept such a partner. Your reaction to the offer showed that you don't either. The fact that you turned out in such numbers yesterday, to work without pay or even commendation, shows that you all know what's important in your lives.’

  He held up both hands in the surrender position. ‘And before anyone starts taking pot shots at me, I know Brentford is important in our lives, too.’

  Everyone smiled. Everyone was intent on his words.

  ‘You might say it was peer pressure that brought you all out to help. If one of your friends had offered to help with the candyfloss, then you didn't want to be left out, so you offered to do a stint face-painting. Perhaps you came to make some money; you'd made some colourful scarves, and you didn't mind paying to rent a table in the hall, if you could cover your costs and make a bit on the side. There's all sorts of reasons why people come to help, but the one I like best is the one that flourishes in this particular church - and that is what I call the servant syndrome. Jesus called himself the Servant, didn't he? If He'd been around yesterday, would he have been sitting around in an armchair, smiling benignly at everyone working their socks off for him?

  ‘I don't think so. I think he'd have taken an apron and helped out washing floors and feet, and humped chairs and tables when it was all over.

  ‘There are a lot of you servants about. Would you be justified in calling yourselves minor saints? Perhaps you would. You work without pay, or thought for your own comfort. Sometimes you overestimate your strength and it knocks you up. You never expect praise or thanks. It's … remarkable.’

  Everyone was very quiet. One or two people glanced sideways at their neighbours. Some people looked uncomfortable, and shifted in their seats. Perhaps they hadn't pulled their weight? One or two looked wooden-faced, pretending they didn't know what Thomas was driving at. Possibly they hadn't helped at all, but now wished they had.