by Ann Purser
She kept thinking of Gloria laid out, stiff and cold and…well, dead. “None of us knew her very well,” she said.
“Not much to know, I reckon,” he said. “Kept herself to herself, didn’t she?”
“I often wondered how she lived…I mean, what she did for money,” said Rachel, and felt Malcolm twitch. He always twitched when his mind was working overtime.
“Private means, probably,” he said. “Anyway, let’s try and get her out of our minds and sleep for a bit. Busy day tomorrow, no doubt, and it’s a Lois day. She’ll want to know all the details.”
“Maybe,” said Rachel, “though she’s not much of a gossip. Never wants to swap news with me, anyway.”
“Thank God for that,” said Malcolm, and Rachel heard him mutter something. “What did you say?” she asked.
“Sic transit Gloria mundi,” he repeated, and to her amazement, gave a snort of laughter. Then he disentangled himself, turned over and in minutes loud snores reverberated round the room.
I’d hardly call her the glory of this world! thought Rachel, but she’s certainly passed away. She nudged him, but he continued to snore. Irritation made her nudge him harder. She knew a real snore from a false one. Then a thought struck her; suppose the murder had something to do with sex. It would be right up Malcolm’s alley then. His speciality in the academic world. No doubt he’d be in there like a shot, assisting the police with their enquiries. As she drifted off into a troubled sleep, her last waking thought was of Gloria and sex. Gloria and sex? That tight, secretive face? Those net curtains and locked doors? Oh well, anything was possible.
♦
Peter White sat and shivered in his cheerless kitchen, vainly trying to warm his hands on a mug of lukewarm Bovril. He’d been sitting there for some time, trying to think rationally about the dreadful events of the evening. He’d been summoned to the village hall as an afterthought. Well, he was used to that. It had been Rachel Barratt who called, saying she thought some of the women were so upset they could do with as much help as could be mustered. He was last on the list, of course, and had gone along, pale and apprehensive, and done what he could. Which, he accused himself, was very little. The police seemed to find him a nuisance, an irrelevance, and the Detective Inspector actually suggested it might be better if he returned home.
“Just confuses things, you see, sir,” he’d said, quite respectfully, but firmly. And anyway, most of the women’s husbands had arrived and were holding their hands. The Farnden grapevine had wasted no time, and by morning there were few of its inhabitants who could not imagine Gloria Hathaway, dead as mutton, lying shockingly naked on a marble slab.
“Oh, dear God,” prayed Peter White, now doubled over with his head resting on the cold kitchen table. “Dear God, give her rest and peace and let me, your servant, come to your judgement in due humility.”
But not, he added to himself, as he fell into an uncomfortable doze, not yet.
♦
He awoke the next morning with a stiff neck and an appalling headache. A sharp knocking brought him to his feet and he stumbled towards the door. “Reverend White! Are you there?” It was Lois’s voice, anxious and loud.
He let her in, explaining that he’d bolted and barred the doors because of the dreadful murder. Then he filled her in with as much detail as he thought appropriate. He frowned and looked at her curiously, his thoughts coming back into order. “But it’s not my day for you,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be at the Barratts?”
Lois nodded. “Couldn’t get any reply. All the curtains still drawn, and they’re bolted up just like you. Nobody in the street and the shop blinds still down. It’s like a morgue,” she added, and then wished she hadn’t. Peter White’s face crumpled and with a sound like a chicken being strangled, he rushed upstairs.
♦
Lois finally got some sense from Nurse Surfleet, who was up and dressed, and very wide awake indeed. “Come in, my dear,” she said. “Come in and have a cup of tea. You’ll find no one astir in the village! Tongues exhausted as well as bodies.”
The bare bones of the previous evening’s events shocked Lois nearly as much as the villagers themselves. “Poor old thing!” she said. “She’d certainly got on the wrong side of somebody! Still, she was a bit of a mystery, wasn’t she…”
“She wasn’t that old, about the same age as you, Lois,” said Gillian Surfleet, as they sat at her kitchen table drinking hot tea. “I sometimes saw her first thing in the morning, in the bathroom with the windows wide open, as if she didn’t care who saw her. She was in good shape, you know, Lois. A good body for someone of thirty-eight.” The word ‘body’ seemed suddenly loud, and assumed gigantic importance in the little kitchen.
Both women were silent for a minute or so, and then Lois said, “Had she got any blokes?”
“Lovers, do you mean?” said Gillian, with a small hesitation. “Not to my knowledge. Mind you, only someone around here all day long would notice if men came and went. I’m out on my rounds such a lot. And then again, it’s only that bathroom window that’s overlooked, and only by me. And I’ve got better things to do…”
Lois had heard a hint or two that Nurse Surfleet leaned a little towards her own sex, but she’d always dismissed it as malicious nonsense. “I reckon I can tell,” she’d said to Derek. “You get to recognise a sort of glint in the eye.”
“Fancy you, then, does she?” Derek had teased her.
Lois had been defensive, said that she knew very well how to put off any advances of that sort. Now she looked at Nurse Surfleet sitting there in the kitchen, her solid body well controlled, her considerable bosom propped up on her folded arms, and could see no glint. No, it was more likely she’d been one of those whose career had come first and then, when she put her mind to men and marriage, thought it was too late. The most she got now was probably being grabbed by the lecherous old codgers in the senile ward at Tresham General.
“Didn’t she have any mates, you know, girls together and all that?”
“Didn’t seem to,” said Gillian Surfleet dismissively. “She’d go away occasionally and ask if I’d keep an eye on the house. She trusted me, of course. Very cosy inside that cottage, Lois.”
Lois nodded encouragingly. “Go on, then,” she said, her curiosity now thoroughly awake.
“Like a fill-up, dear?” said Nurse Surfleet irritatingly.
They had second cups, but Gillian Surfleet was saying no more on the subject. Soon she stood up, brisk as ever. “Now, we’d better get moving,” she said, making it quite clear that their chat was at an end. “Those Barratts must be up by now,” she added, “so I’ll see you tomorrow, my dear.” Lois put on her coat, said thanks for the tea, and walked off down the street towards the Barratts’ house, her thoughts churning. She passed Gloria Hathaway’s gate and looked up towards the cottage. The curtains were drawn and a policeman stood outside, not exactly on sentry-duty, but keeping a sharp look-out. Lois stared and saw that it was the constable who’d given her the heave-ho. She felt anger rising again. Smug prat! She quickened her step, not looking at him. Then she changed her mind. He was like an Aunt Sally, a sitting target. “Hiya!” she shouted, smiling broadly. “Caught any good crooks lately?”
He pretended not to hear her, and she walked on, feeling a great deal better. After all, if they had taken her on, she might have been stuck outside Miss Hathaway’s front door, whilst excitement was developing behind lace curtains and in private conversations. As it was, she had the perfect job for picking up information here and there, a word overheard, a quarrel with too much said in anger. These were the everyday occurrences of her work here in Farnden, and she suddenly realized that with the murder of poor old Gloria she had a unique opportunity for a bit of detective work of her own. No reason why I shouldn’t, she told herself. Seems a shame not to take the chance. In truth, she knew that it was a chance for getting one-up on Keith Simpson and that policewoman…and the entire police force. Her anger was surfacing again, and was still
bubbling when Malcolm Barratt greeted her with a glance at his watch.
“No need to check on the time, Professor,” she said, stepping into the hall. “I was here on time, but you were all asleep…or something. Bolted and barred. Had to go all round the village before I could find out what was going on.”
Malcolm subsided like a pricked balloon, and stood aside. “You’ll have heard, then,” he said mildly.
“Yep,” said Lois shortly. “And no doubt I shall hear some more. Meanwhile, I’ll make a start, if you don’t mind.”
Now Rachel emerged, looking pale. “Morning Lois,” she said. “Would you mind doing the breakfast things? We’re a bit behind schedule…” She tailed off, looking at Malcolm for guidance. He took her arm and they wandered into the sitting room, looking lost. Lois began clearing the table, happy to be in the kitchen. It was as good a place as any to pick up scraps of conversation. Then she could follow the Professor when he went to his study. Chat him up a bit…but not too much! Don’t want to end up like old Gloria…victim of a sex maniac! Her mood improving rapidly, Lois tackled the kitchen with a will.
“Would you mind not whistling, Lois,” said Rachel, emerging from the sitting room. “My head’s splitting…and so is Malcolm’s. Thank you,” she added with an effort as Lois grudgingly stopped. “And if you could keep the vacuuming to a minimum today, we’d both be grateful.”
Great, thought Lois. I shall hear everything they say. And I’m just part of the wallpaper to them.
∨ Murder on Monday ∧
Ten
Lois’s noisy car heater broke down halfway home, and with her mind still taken up with Gloria Hathaway, it was some time before she realized that the fan was blowing freezing cold air into her face and around her icy feet. By the time she reached home, she was shivering and her hands were stiff with cold. Even so, she noticed the holly wreath on the door, cheerful with its gilded fir cones and bow of scarlet ribbon. Nice of Derek to think of that! As she put her key in the lock, she realized the door was open, and going through to the kitchen she saw Josie.
“What are you doing here? Skiving again? Or are you ill?”
Josie smiled placatingly at her and explained she had the afternoon off. “Teachers’ meeting,” she said, and Lois decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Josie noticed her mother’s blue hands, filled the kettle and took out two mugs. “Did you see the holly wreath?” she said. It seemed Derek had not been the benefactor. “It was Melvyn,” Josie said, desperately casual. “He gave it to me after school this morning. Said his brother bought two by mistake, and did we want one.”
“How much?” said Lois swiftly.
“Nothin’. It was a present. Melvyn said to tell you and Dad he was sorry about that time when I came home a bit rocky.”
“He could’ve waited with you and said he was sorry,” said Lois. “Instead of scarpering like that. Who is he, anyway? Does he live round here?”
Josie shook her head. “Dunno where he lives,” she said. “Don’t know him all that well, really. He goes around with the crowd. Oh, and Mum…”
Here it comes, thought Lois. Nothing’s for nothing. “Well?”
“There’s this Christmas Disco at the club…”
“Club!” said Lois. “What club?”
“It’s where the crowd goes – all except me,” said Josie. “Melvyn said he’d look after me, and – ”
Lois interrupted her. “Just who is this crowd? And how old are they? And will Melvyn whatever his name is look after you like he did last time? No, Josie. This is a definite no!” Lois knew she was being unreasonable, and should allow Josie more time to explain, but all the morning’s tension in Farnden still clung to her, and her first thought was that if such a gruesome thing could happen there, who knows what might go on in some disreputable club in town?
“I shall ask Dad, then,” said Josie, close to tears. “At least he’ll listen. You’ve never got time for any of us, with your rotten cleaning and special cops, and…and…” She rushed out of the room, banging doors on her way up to her bedroom, where she cried angrily, loud enough for her mother to hear in the kitchen below.
It was not the first time the kids had made this accusation, but the cleaning jobs were a necessity to make ends meet with a growing family. Lois’s ambition to be a Special had not been in any way a necessity, of course. Not only was there no money in it, but it would probably have cost her in the end. It had been for Lois alone, something that she wanted for herself to prove that she could do it, something that took her away from everlasting cleaning up after other people. Selfish, really, some would say. Kids expect you to be there, to listen, to put them first. If you have them, this is what you have to do, thought Lois. After all, look at me, still taking for granted that my mother will be there when I want her, put us and our needs before hers.
Lois rinsed out the cups in the sink and put them upside down on the drainer, noticing that tea stains had turned the unglazed edges dark, tobacco brown. They need a good scrub, she thought, but did not attempt to do it. She could not get Gloria out of her mind. Who would want to kill a pathetic creature like that? Ignoring the slowly diminishing sobs from upstairs, she rummaged in the kitchen drawer for an unused notebook she had put in there weeks ago. A few pages for each of her clients, she thought. That should organize the evidence enough for a start.
Barratt – Rachel and Malcolm, she wrote. Day One. She then added snippets of their conversation over coffee and the fact that they had both looked so shell-shocked. She noted down Rachel’s presence at the village hall, safely seated with the other women, at the time of the crime. Also Mary Rix. But Malcolm Barratt? Where had he been? Something to check. She turned to the back of the book and wrote down Alibis, then a list of the names of her clients.
“But it could be anybody in Farnden, not just one of your people,” objected Derek, when he came in for lunch. He’d looked stunned at the news about Gloria Hathaway, but collected himself quickly. “Could‘ve bin’ me, or you…” he’d said, with a weak smile.
“Or the Pope!” said Lois crossly. “I’ve got to start somewhere,” she added, and resolved not to tell Derek any more about it. He was clearly not taking her seriously. And anyway, where had he been when Gloria snuffed it?
“Right here, with you and the kids, you dope. For God’s sake, Lois, this is getting ridiculous.” Lois thought otherwise, but decided to drop the subject.
A pile of ironing took her attention for most of the afternoon. She usually listened to the afternoon play while she ironed, but Josie had pop music going full blast in her room, triumphant because Derek had said he’d think about her going to the club. He hadn’t looked at Lois, knowing her view, but asked Josie more questions to which she had given very vague answers. He’d dodged out, back to work, before Lois could tackle him on the subject, and now Josie had taken his ‘think about it’ as a yes.
Picking up a school shirt and starting on the collar, Lois looked at the radio, thought of telling Josie to turn down the music, but decided against it. I’ll just let my thoughts wander, see where they take me. What do I know about the late Gloria Hathaway? She cast her mind back over the time she’d been working in Farnden, and realized that Gloria had surfaced in one way or another quite often. There had been the time she had banged on the doctor’s door halfway through the morning, crying and carrying on, saying she was seriously ill and nobody believed her. Lois had let her in, shown her into the surgery and called the doctor from upstairs. He hadn’t looked too pleased, but had gone in to see Gloria, shutting the door firmly behind him. The crying and shouting soon ceased, and Lois, dusting the picture frames in the hall outside the surgery door, had heard their voices murmuring. Gloria had emerged a while later, eyes red and cheeks tear-stained, and had marched out, head in the air, away down the path. The doctor and Mrs Rix had had words then, though Lois had caught only a few accusations and sharp advice from Mary that the doctor should treat the silly woman like everyone else. Lois distinctly rem
embered her saying, “The more you let her get away with, the more she’ll take!” The doctor had slammed out of the house himself after that, and Lois had remembered this particularly, because he was usually such a gentle soul.
Lois folded the shirt neatly, and took a second one from the pile, reminding herself that all doctors have difficult patients, ones who take up far more time than they are entitled to. Still, the doctor had seemed very angry.
And what else? Lois did a mental walk up Farnden High Street and into the gallery. Any connection between Gloria and the gallery? No, she’d never been near, not while Lois had been around. You’d expect her to be the arty-crafty type, but nothing had ever appeared with Gloria Hathaway’s name on it. Mind you, Evangeline was very particular. She could easily have turned down Gloria’s artistic efforts, and then…ah, hang on, there had been something…Lois ran the iron swiftly over the shirt front to finish it off, and took a third from the pile.
It had been the week Evangeline was away in Devon collecting paintings and pottery for the gallery. Dallas had had time off and was filling in for his wife. So far, he told Lois, he’d sold nothing. “She’ll be pleased,” he’d said, explaining that Evangeline loved to think nobody else had her gift for bringing off a sale. “You’ll see,” he’d added, “if I sell a picture for four hundred, she’ll be livid.” Lois had thought privately that he was just being nasty, but said nothing. The gallery bell had rung then, and he’d gone off to look after the customer. It had been Gloria Hathaway, and she wasn’t buying but selling. She’d had a clutch of little water-colours of children, carefully done, and nicely framed, but not, Dallas told Lois on his return, Evangeline’s cup of tea. “Shame, really,” he’d added. “She looked so disappointed. Said she had some prints we might be interested in, so I said I’d call in and take a look this afternoon. I might surprise Evangeline with my enthusiasm for the job!” Lois couldn’t remember any more about this occasion, except that when Evangeline returned, there’d been an icy atmosphere in the house for a week or two.
