‘Maybe I would.’ Cressie pointedly scraped the gilding off another piece of chicken.
‘It also minimizes any guilt feelings because you not only can’t get the ingredients these days, you’ve never heard of most of them. For instance, hartshorn shavings, eringo root, China root, balsam of Tolu – but the zinger is: “eighteen snails bruised with the shells” …’
‘Correction,’ Cressie said. ‘I don’t even want to bathe in it.’
‘How do you bruise a snail?’ Macho wondered.
‘After that, it gets pretty tame,’ Freddie said. ‘You’re supposed to boil it all up with real milk. Then the invalid is supposed to drink half a pint in the morning and half a pint at night.’
‘And it didn’t kill them?’ Cressie’s eyes were wide.
‘Our ancestors were a hardy lot,’ Macho said. ‘They had to be, what with the leeches and blood-letting and all. Not to mention the amateur herbalists who got it wrong.’
There was a sudden loud crash from the other half of the house.
‘The Jackleys are back, are they?’ Macho looked towards the wall. ‘I haven’t seen them around the village.’
‘Nor have I.’ Freddie shrugged. ‘They must be lying low for some reason.’
‘You mean you don’t really know who you’ve got living next door?’ Cressie seemed apprehensive.
‘Jack and Karla are,’ Freddie said.
‘But, if you haven’t actually seen them, it could be anyone. They might have sublet. You’re awfully trusting. There are a lot of strange people around these days.’
‘You’re not in the city now. We all know our neighbours here. We may not like them very much – ’ Freddie glared at the wall as another muffled thump shook it – ‘but we know who they are.’
‘Stop that!’ Cressie bellowed suddenly. Roscoe had crept into Macho’s lap and was eating the chicken at the side of his plate.
‘You knew he was doing that!’ She turned her fury on Macho. ‘You were letting him do it!’
Macho gave her a cold stare and deliberately hand-fed Roscoe another choice sliver.
‘That does it! If you don’t throw him out, I will!’ She charged around the table and snatched Roscoe from Macho’s lap. Roscoe protested violently, twisting in her grasp and clawing out.
Had-I went over to investigate and unwisely stepped into her path. Cressie lashed out with her foot.
The shrieks came simultaneously: Lorinda’s, as she rushed from the table to rescue Had-I; Cressie’s, as a claw caught in her forearm and raked it, leaving a long scratch that began welling blood.
Roscoe dropped to the floor and raced into the living room. Had-I, shocked and bewildered, nestled into Lorinda’s arms – no one had ever treated her like that before.
‘I’m bleeding!’ Cressie shrieked.
‘Bleeding nuisance!’ Macho muttered, not quite under his breath.
‘Here, sit down.’ Freddie pushed a chair towards her. ‘I’ll fix it. It’s just a scratch.’
‘No, you don’t! You’d probably poison me with one of those old recipes of yours!! You’re crazy!’ Cressie wrenched open the back door and darted for home. ‘You’re all crazy!’
In the silence, Freddie returned to her place at the table, sat down and buried her face in her hands. Her voice was muffled: ‘There’s nothing like a nice quiet dinner with friends.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Macho apologized. ‘She’s upset.’
‘I’m sorry, but that’s just not good enough!’ Lorinda was still furious. ‘That woman is a menace. You’ve got to get rid of her before – before she kills all our cats!’
‘She wouldn’t do that. Well, she would, if she could,’ Macho admitted. ‘But I won’t let her.’
‘You haven’t done a very good job so far,’ Lorinda said. ‘Poor Roscoe is – ’
‘I know, I know.’ He rubbed his forehead.
‘Macho …’ Freddie raised her head and stared into his eyes. ‘This has gone too far. Let’s have the truth: are you married to that woman?’
‘God, no!’ Macho shuddered.
‘Then why don’t you get rid of her? What hold does she have over you?’
There was a long silence.
‘Macho …?’ Lorinda asked.
‘Oh, all right.’ He caved in. ‘I guess the project is well enough along now to tell you. We … we’re collaborating on a new book. Something different for both of us.’
‘How different?’ They waited.
‘We’re using my knowledge of history and her, er, cutting edge and we’re writing Anne Boleyn Is Missing!’ He sat back and looked at them with a faint air of triumph – and some relief.
‘You mean you’re writing alternative history?’ Lorinda was dubious. ‘Like, Anne Boleyn went missing before she got involved with Henry VIII?’
‘No, no, it’s completely modern. Up-to-date.’ Macho drew a deep breath. ‘The concept is: Someone is Stealing the Stately Ghosts of England. One by one, they’re all disappearing from their, er, accustomed haunts, the stately homes and historic sites.’
‘You mean someone is spiriting away the spirits?’
‘If you want to put it like that.’ Macho did not appreciate Freddie’s levity. ‘I’m providing the solid historical background and Cressie is doing all the, um, sex scenes.’
There was another long silence.
‘Sex … with ghosts …?’ Freddie got a faraway look in her eyes. ‘But – ’
‘Oh, get your mind out of the gutter!’ Macho snapped.
‘The ectoplasm, actually,’ Freddie drawled.
The telephone began to ring. ‘That will be Cressie.’ Macho flinched. ‘I ought to be going. Where’s Roscoe?’
‘Why don’t you let me take care of him tonight?’ Lorinda suggested. ‘I think it might be … better.’
‘Yes, yes, you’re right. She’s in a filthy mood – and he did scratch her. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d be most grateful.’
‘No trouble at all,’ Lorinda assured him truthfully. Roscoe had often been an overnight guest … before Cressie.
‘You could always pack that book in.’ Freddie tried again. ‘And then you could send her packing.’
‘No, I couldn’t.’ Macho moved abjectly towards the door, as the telephone continued ringing. ‘You don’t understand.’
‘But – ’
‘It’s too late. We’ve already got a six-figure advance from New York for it!’
Chapter Seventeen
‘No!’ Lorinda looked down in horror at the offering at her feet. ‘Oh, no! You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t!’
But-Known looked up at her brightly. If she were a dog, she would have wagged her tail. She was proud of herself – just look what she’d brought home.
‘No, no, no!’ Lorinda closed her eyes but, when she opened them again, the offering hadn’t gone away.
A weather-beaten, bedraggled, miniature teddy bear still lay at her feet.
‘Tell me you didn’t raid the shrine,’ she said hopelessly, knowing it was the only explanation. ‘Please, tell me you didn’t.’
‘Prrrymmph,’ But-Known said proudly. This was the most interesting thing she had found in ages – and far nicer than the blood-leaking mice and birds Had-I brought home. She waited expectantly for the praise that was her due.
‘Yes, darling, yes, yes.’ Lorinda bent to bestow the expected caresses. ‘Good girl, clever girl. You weren’t to know. Oh, heavens, what am I to do?’
Nothing until darkness had fallen, obviously. Then she’d have to try to put it back, hoping no one had noticed it was missing. And that was another worry: had anyone seen But-Known dragging her booty home?
Had-I strolled past and glanced disparagingly at her sister’s offering. Not even edible! Her look promised Lorinda something much juicier as soon as she had a chance to go hunting.
‘Don’t bother,’ Lorinda told her. ‘Please don’t bother.’
Dampness was in the air and a rising wind was sending clouds scu
dding across the face of the quarter-moon when Lorinda opened her front door and surveyed the territory before venturing outside.
The coast seemed to be clear. She had carefully waited until Gemma had finished walking her dogs, which usually marked the end of the evening’s activities along the High Street.
She was alone as she reached the shrine. Automatically, she glanced around before taking the little teddy bear from her raincoat pocket. From past experience, she would not have been surprised to find Betty Alvin lurking nearby.
The light from the lamp illuminated the sad offerings tied to the post. She tried to spot the place from which But-Known had removed her bloodless prey. If she put it back in the wrong position, the person who had originally tied it into place might notice. Or was Betty the only person still paying close attention to the shrine? And why was she so concerned about it?
For that matter, why was Betty always on foot these days? What had happened to the rather rattly little car she usually drove about in?
Lorinda frowned as the implications of that thought struck her. Betty? Never! No, it wouldn’t do to start suspecting one of the most useful members of their little community. What would any of them do without Betty? Good secretarial services were not otherwise available in this area.
And yet … it was worth remembering that Adèle was not the only person who might have hated Opal. From what Professor Borley had said, both Opal and Adèle had harassed poor Betty almost to the point of a nervous breakdown. And Opal had been living in the same building, with far more opportunity to waylay Betty and attempt to suborn her. Backed up by Gemma, of course. It would not be altogether surprising if Betty, nerve-racked and exhausted, had seen Opal with the dogs and given way to a deadly impulse, or perhaps she only meant to frighten her.
Only … it was the child’s shrine Betty was haunting. Surely, Betty couldn’t have been responsible for that. Yet most of the same conditions applied: exhausted, harassed, badgered, rehearsing her grievances as she drove along … a moment’s inattention … and then the panic and instinctive rush to escape. It was possible … it was only too possible …
Lorinda was stooping to replace the teddy bear in what she hoped was the correct spot when she heard the roar of a motor. She looked up to see a car bearing down on her, seeming to aim itself straight at her.
Caught between the car and the lamp post, she threw herself to one side and went sprawling.
Brakes screamed and a car door slammed. Dazed, Lorinda lay still, unwilling – she hoped not unable – to move.
‘Are you all right?’ Adele Desparta held out a hand to help her up. ‘What on earth did you do that for?’
‘I tripped,’ Lorinda said, feeling silly
‘You panicked,’ Adele corrected. ‘Has Dorian been spreading tales of my dangerous driving?’
‘Not at all.’ What was it Dorian had said? Front right bumper. Lorinda tried to take an unobtrusive look. Sure enough, there was a large dent in it.
‘Dorian’s a fool!’ Adèle snapped. ‘Oh, I know what he’s been saying. He couldn’t resist letting me know that he knew my “guilty secret”. And, in view of the way Dorian operates, I’m probably the last to know! That damned bumper was dented when I picked up the car! I was furious about it, but it was the only car available and I needed one immediately.’
‘Umm …’ Lorinda could not think of a suitable response, not that Adèle gave her time enough.
‘And now I can’t use it! I wanted to go up to Derbyshire, to Hardwick Hall, just to walk around it again and absorb the atmosphere. Now I can’t leave this stinking village – or everyone will think I’m running away!’
‘Oh, surely not,’ Lorinda murmured.
‘No?’ Adèle strode back to the car, pulling Lorinda with her, and opened the door to the passenger seat. ‘Get in!’
‘Er …’ Lorinda held back. It was one thing to be willing to give Adele the benefit of the doubt but … to the extent of getting into the car with her and driving off into the unknown? Especially when there was no one to witness her departure?
‘You see?’ Adèle said grimly.
‘No, really, it’s not that,’ Lorinda protested. ‘It’s just that I have to feed the cats before …’
‘Before what?’ Adele challenged. ‘Before you let me kill you?’
‘I didn’t say that!’
‘You didn’t have to. It’s what you’re thinking. It’s what everybody in town is thinking!’
Lorinda could not deny it, but she tried frantically to do so. ‘Oh, not – ’
‘Not everybody? Oh, no? And they’re all such fools! Opal’s death was the last thing I wanted! Do you know what’s happening now?’ Adèle was working herself into a monumental fury. ‘Back in the States, they think I’m the one who died! The news reports of Opal’s death just identified her as “the author of the popular Bess of Hardwick series”. My series is much better known than hers – and the stupid moronic bastards think it’s me!’
‘Oh, dear. I know a lot of the fans identify us with – and by – our characters, but that’s a bit much!’ (How many times had people referred to her as Miss Petunia on her tour? And enquired earnestly as to the health of Lily and Marigold? It had been quite disconcerting at times. Downright creepy at other times.)
‘You work your butt off to get published,’ Adèle continued bitterly. ‘You get a fan base and begin to think you’re established – and then you discover that nine out of ten of the stupid semi-literate bastards don’t even know your name. And the tenth thinks you’re dead already!’
‘It can’t be that bad.’
‘Can’t it? They’re posting tributes on DorothyL. We’ve just stopped an obit being run in Publishers Weekly. And even my publishers have been on to my agent to ask where they should send flowers. With some of the covers I’ve had over the years,’ she added, with increasing bitterness, ‘I always knew the Art Department couldn’t read, but I did hold higher hopes for Editorial.’
‘I know just what you mean.’ Lorinda nodded glumly. ‘Only three books ago, my – ’
‘Oh!’ Lorinda turned to find that the startled voice belonged to Hilda Saint. ‘Good evening. I didn’t expect to see anyone else out at this hour.’
‘It’s only eleven thirty.’ From the way Adèle looked at her, she might have arrived from a different planet.
‘Yes, I know. But we’re “early to bed, early to rise” people around here. Usually.’
‘Adèle, you’ve met Hilda Saint, haven’t you?’ Lorinda said quickly. ‘She has the best guest house in town.’
‘But you’re Dorian’s guest, aren’t you?’ Hilda’s tone was chilly, giving the distinct impression of bread having been snatched from her mouth.
‘Naturally. We’re old friends,’ Adèle said, with equal chill.
‘So I understand.’ Hilda’s gaze slid over the front bumper, not quite surreptitiously enough.
‘It was like that when I collected it!’ Adèle ground out between clenched teeth.
‘Oh, yes, I’m sure it was.’ Hilda smiled falsely. ‘So unreliable, some of these car hire firms.’
‘And what are you doing out and about at this hour, Hilda?’ Lorinda reversed the attack. ‘I thought you’d be in bed and asleep by now.’
‘Ordinarily, I would be.’ Hilda sighed deeply. ‘But, when one has the builders in, one’s life isn’t one’s own. I’m almost sorry I started the extension now. An extension seemed like a simple project when I first thought of it, but the complications …’
‘You should compare notes with Cressie.’
‘Yes, I know. I’ve read her book. It’s made my experience seem like a case of déjà vu – right down to the nasty little notes slipped under my bedroom door to tell me how much the price of something has gone up, because he hasn’t the nerve to tell me face to face.’
‘Ripping you off, are they?’ Lorinda sympathized.
‘To say the least of it, but what can you do? It seems they’re all alike. Although I
must say the pressure has eased slightly since they’ve found themselves a place to stay down here. At least they show up earlier.’
‘They’re not staying at your place?’
‘Never! I know enough not to mix business with business. Which is more than they do. I’m sure they’re sneaking off to work at the new housing development on the other side of the hill when they disappear for hours at a time during the day.’
‘Perhaps Cressie could give you a few hints about handling them – ’
‘You obviously never read her book! She was battling with hers constantly and, every time she complained, they did something terrible to the foundations or the utilities. Mind you, reading between the lines, I think there was more going on between her and the head builder than she was admitting. A degree of personal spite seemed to be involved. And, of course, I don’t really think mine would act like that but – ’
‘But you wouldn’t put it past them,’ Adèle finished for her.
‘Well, possibly not.’ Hilda shifted uneasily and moved a little farther away, obviously uncomfortable to find herself agreeing with Adèle about anything.
Adèle smiled nastily and deliberately moved closer. She had noticed Hilda’s instinctive withdrawal, which was now repeated, as was Adèle’s advance. Lorinda watched bemused as the two women edged their way around the lamp post in a complete circle, winding up where they had begun. Hilda was beginning to develop a nervous twitch at the corner of her mouth.
It might have been laughable, were it not for the fact that Hilda was illustrating all too clearly the attitude of the villagers towards Adèle. It was so much more comfortable to believe that a stranger was responsible than to think that one of them might have done it. A newcomer, a stranger and a foreigner – Adèle fitted the requirements perfectly. And her own attitude wasn’t helping matters.
She bared her teeth at Hilda now. Hilda gasped and took another step backwards. No, Adèle wasn’t doing herself any favours at all.
‘Adèle …’ Lorinda advanced a step of her own, blocking Adèle’s path and cutting off another circuit of the lamp post. ‘Why don’t we all go back to my place and have a drink?’
Please Do Feed the Cat Page 15
