by Clara Benson
Angela shook her head quickly in alarm, and Freddy remembered himself.
‘Oh, no, I’m terribly sorry, of course that was someone else,’ he said hurriedly.
‘We drink very little in this house, Mr. Pilkington-Soames,’ said Lady Cardew grandly.
Mrs. Hunter beamed in approval.
‘Quite right,’ she said. ‘I myself occasionally take a glass of blackcurrant wine after Harvest Festival, and a little sherry at Christmas, but other than that Stephen and I generally abstain. I have seen only too well the effects alcohol can have on people. They have the right idea in America, don’t you think, Mrs. Marchmont?’
Angela made some polite reply and Freddy spent the rest of his visit entertaining them with anecdotes of his life as a reporter for the Clarion, although he was unable to tell his best stories for the benefit of Mrs. Randall, who seemed really bloodthirsty, since he was unwilling to upset Lady Cardew.
Eventually he took his leave, saying that he had to go and write up his story about the fête.
‘Why don’t you come with me, Angela?’ he said. ‘You can tell me all about it from the point of view of the lady detective. Don’t you know you’ve got a celebrity here?’ he said to the other ladies. ‘If I mention her name in the story that will be a sure-fire guarantee of its being read. Why, the whole country will know of the wild success of the Banford Green church fête!’
With that he left, taking Angela with him.
‘I say,’ he said as they walked out, ‘your sister-in-law is rather hard work, isn’t she?’
‘Perhaps a little,’ admitted Angela.
‘I wonder if she’s ever had any fun in her life.’
‘I rather think she has fun by not having fun,’ said Angela. ‘She’s not a bad person, you know, just a little—inflexible, let’s say.’
‘She’s nothing like her mother at any rate,’ said Freddy. ‘Or her sister.’
‘Oh, you’ve met Kathie, have you?’ said Angela.
‘Yes. Lovely girl, isn’t she? I gather she’s engaged to the main suspect in the murder of Tom Tipping.’
‘Is he the main suspect now? I wondered how long it would take before they fastened upon him.’
‘It was bound to happen. Family members are always the most obvious suspects,’ said Freddy. ‘Of course, that puts Kathie in the picture as an accomplice.’
‘Which is clearly nonsense,’ said Angela with something like a snort. ‘I should as soon believe I’d done it myself as suspect her.’
‘But doesn’t she have a motive if she’s engaged to him?’
‘She’s not engaged to him. She told me so herself. And I’m pretty sure she’s not in love with him either. Everyone thinks they’re going to get married, but I don’t think she’s entirely convinced of the idea.’
‘It’s a shame she gives Norman Tipping an alibi, then, since he’s such an obvious suspect,’ said Freddy. ‘I mean, if he did it, then she must have been in on it. Otherwise he can’t have done it.’
‘Unless the murder didn’t happen in the way we think it did,’ said Angela.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m just wondering at random. I’m not supposed to be detecting, as Humphrey doesn’t approve of it much, so I suppose I ought to stop thinking about it.’
They were now crossing Tithes Field. The weather was dull and chilly and Freddy shivered.
‘What rotten weather for the middle of summer,’ he said. ‘If it’s going to be cold it might at least go the whole hog and rain too. It must be rather a change from Italy, what? I say, I’m rather jealous of your holiday. I’ve always wanted to go there myself. Tell me about Venice. What was it like?’
Angela made some reply and tried to change the subject, but she was too hasty in doing it and he immediately became suspicious.
‘That’s twice you’ve done that to me,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you want to talk about Italy? Were you fleeced of your life savings by a taxi driver or something?’
‘Of course not,’ she said with a laugh.
But Freddy was by no means stupid. He regarded her closely and understanding dawned on his face. He stopped.
‘Oh, I see,’ he said with something like triumph.
‘What?’ she said, stopping also.
‘I thought I recognized that look of yours,’ he said. ‘I ought to have realized the other day.’
‘Which look? I haven’t got a look,’ she said.
‘Yes you have,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen it enough times before. It’s one part sheepishness to two parts pure mischief, and it invariably means only one thing. Who is he?’
‘What are you talking about?’ said Angela fearfully.
‘Come on, there’s a man, isn’t there?’ said Freddy. ‘So that’s why you’re looking so sleek and self-satisfied—you’re in love! How thrilling! Tell me, would I approve? He has very good taste in jewellery, I must say.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said, trying to laugh, although she was inwardly horrified at having been so easily seen through. She was struggling with very mixed feelings about her Italian adventure—not the least of which was guilt—and the last thing she wanted was an inquisitive reporter asking questions and digging the whole thing up.
‘You can’t deny it,’ said Freddy. ‘You know I’ll find out one way or another.’
‘But there’s nothing to find out,’ said Angela.
She was saved, much to her relief, by Corky Beckwith, who turned up just then looking exceedingly pleased with himself.
‘What have you got to be so happy about?’ said Freddy. ‘Have you arranged for someone to be run over by a train in front of you, just so you can get the story?’
‘Of course not,’ said Corky. ‘Although I shall make a note of that thought and save it for a slow day.’
‘I wasn’t trying to give you ideas,’ said Freddy. ‘Come on, what have you got?’
‘Oh, I suppose it can’t do any harm to tell you,’ said Corky smugly, ‘since I’ve already telephoned in my story and it’s too late for you now. As a matter of fact, I have been questioning the farm-hands at the Tippings’ farm.’
‘Do you mean they were prepared to speak to you?’ said Freddy. ‘I should have thought they’d be more interested in getting that jacket off you and putting it on a scarecrow. Goodness knows, it frightens me enough.’
Corky gave a little appreciative snicker.
‘No, no, young Freddy,’ he said. ‘One day you, too, will learn the art of getting information out of people. It’s easy enough if you’ve the wit. I was thinking of offering a correspondence course on the subject. Of course I’d give you a special rate, since we’re old friends.’
‘Oh, I see, you bribed them, did you?’ said Freddy.
‘But what have you found out?’ said Angela impatiently, for it was evident that Freddy and Corky could spar for hours in this fashion if left to themselves.
Corky turned to her and gave her a mouthful of teeth.
‘Madam, I live only to serve you,’ he said. ‘I have found out that Tom and Margaret Tipping were not on the best of terms. In fact, I might go so far as to say that the love had long gone from their marriage, and that they were living together on sufferance. It pains me to say it, but such is the case. I am going now to speak to someone who has promised to tell me all about it. I believe I am hot on the scent. Look out, young Freddy—I should say the Herald is about to steal a march on the Clarion.’
‘You ass,’ said Freddy. ‘You’re far more likely to ruin things. Why, you’re the sort of fellow who’d go and gawp at a dead body just for the fun of it and trample on all the clues while you did it.’
Corky looked sulky.
‘It’s all very well for you,’ he said. ‘You’ve got an “in” with the inspector. How did you manage to get so pally with him, anyway?’
‘Sheer, native charm,’ said Freddy. ‘I realize it’s more difficult for you, being an imbecile and all that, but you nev
er know—perhaps he’ll take pity on you and throw you some scraps.’
Corky sniffed, then turned his full attention on Angela.
‘Mrs. Marchmont, I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind about helping me with my story? I simply won’t believe you aren’t tempted by the prospect of seeing your thoughts on the case in print. Come, now, I shall write something anyhow, so you may as well do it. I have it on the word of my editor that we can give you two whole columns on page four. How can you refuse such an offer?’
‘I don’t know the answer to that any more than you do, Mr. Beckwith,’ said Angela, ‘but it appears that somehow I can.’
‘Oh, very well,’ said Corky, unperturbed. ‘Mind, I shall keep trying.’
He went off, and Freddy scowled.
‘Bother,’ he said. ‘Now I shall have to solve the mystery before he does.’
‘Can’t you just leave it to the police?’ said Angela.
‘What, when my honour and reputation are at stake?’ said Freddy. ‘Never!’
He was about to hold forth at length on the utter unfitness of Corky Beckwith to be allowed anywhere near a pen and paper, when he felt a tug at his jacket and looked down.
‘Hallo!’ he said in surprise. Looking up at him was a small child of perhaps three. She had tangled hair and a very grubby face. ‘Where did you spring from, young lady? What’s your name?’
The child giggled.
‘Dordina,’ she said.
‘Does your mother know you’re here?’ said Angela.
‘Mama’s gone out,’ said the child.
‘Well, Georgina,’ said Freddy. ‘I don’t think you ought to be out by yourself, so you’d better show us where you live.’
The little girl took their hands quite happily and allowed them to swing her all the way to the bottom of the field and across the road. They appeared to be heading for Church Lane, but it took them a while, for each time Georgina spotted anyone she insisted on stopping and shouting, ‘What’s him?’ and then laughing uproariously. Eventually they arrived at what was presumably her home, which Inspector Jameson would have recognized as Alice Hopwell’s house. Georgina stopped.
‘What’s him?’ she said, pointing at Angela.
‘Him is a her,’ said Freddy, amused. ‘Is this your house?’
Just then Alice Hopwell came out, accompanied by two or three curious children.
‘Georgina!’ she snapped. ‘What have I told you about not running out? Thank you,’ she went on to Freddy and Angela. ‘I just slipped out for a moment and when I got back she was gone. She will keep wandering off.’
‘Mama! It’s the nother man!’ said Georgina, pointing at Freddy.
‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Hopwell. ‘Now, come indoors.’
Georgina ran to her mother without a backward glance, and the Hopwells all went inside, leaving Angela and Freddy to continue their walk.
They returned up the lane and entered the village. Angela was anxious to prevent Freddy from resuming his tormenting of her, and so she said:
‘Do you think Corky was telling the truth, then? I mean, about Tom and Margaret Tipping’s not being on the best of terms?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Freddy. ‘Normally I should say that everything that comes out of his lips is a downright lie, but he seemed so jolly pleased with himself that I shouldn’t be surprised if he was on to something.’
‘But do you really think the farm-hands would talk for money?’
‘You’d be surprised at what people will do for money,’ said Freddy darkly. ‘It never ceases to amaze me. Why, only last week I had one young lady offer to give me her views on her own parents’ divorce so long as I was prepared to stump up the ready. Naturally I declined.’
‘Goodness!’ said Angela. ‘Still, though, just because people are prepared to talk, it doesn’t mean that what they say is true, does it?’
‘No,’ said Freddy. ‘In fact I should say that if money is concerned in the matter then one can’t guarantee anything at all.’
‘And even if it is true, and the Tippings didn’t get on, it still doesn’t mean she killed him. As far as I know, Margaret Tipping was helping at the fête all day, up until the moment Norman came and fetched her to tell her what had happened.’
‘Ah,’ said Freddy, ‘but can we be sure she was there all the time?’
‘Well, I haven’t heard Elisabeth complaining, which I’m pretty sure she would have done if Mrs. Tipping had disappeared at any point,’ said Angela.
‘I imagine she would, yes,’ conceded Freddy.
‘Then of course there is the question of the weapon. It’s all very well saying that Mrs. Tipping might have slipped away and shot her husband, but where did she get the gun?’
‘Yes, I must admit the question of the weapon is something that has been bothering me,’ said Freddy. ‘Of course, people wander about with shotguns all the time around here, but the two people with the strongest motive don’t seem to have been anywhere near a gun at the fatal moment.’
‘No,’ said Angela thoughtfully. ‘And don’t you think it’s odd that there have been no reports of people with shotguns wandering around the place on Saturday?’
‘Perhaps everyone is so used to seeing them that they don’t think anything of it,’ said Freddy.
‘I dare say you’re right,’ said Angela.
They had now entered the village proper, and as they crossed the green they saw Inspector Jameson emerge from the police station. He approached them and greeted them cheerfully.
‘Aha,’ said Freddy. ‘Our man on the inside. Come on then, inspector, tell us which of the Tippings did it.’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Jameson, ‘and I shouldn’t tell you even if I did.’
‘I thought as much,’ said Freddy. ‘I fear my scoop must wait.’
‘Mrs. Marchmont, is your sister-in-law at home?’ said the inspector. ‘Is it too late to call on her, do you suppose? I should like to ask her one or two questions.’
‘I shouldn’t have thought so,’ said Angela. ‘She was entertaining the vicar’s wife when we left. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you.’
Freddy sniggered at this and Inspector Jameson looked at him suspiciously, but before he could remark they were joined by Kathie, who was carrying a basket of eggs.
‘Hallo, Kathie,’ said Freddy. ‘Where are you taking those?’
‘I said I’d take them to the vicarage,’ replied Kathie, as Inspector Jameson wondered how Freddy had managed to get on first name terms with her already. She lowered her voice. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve had to come the long way round, because I saw Mr. Norris by the church, and I thought it better not to get caught up in conversation with him, given the circumstances.’
‘Very wise,’ said Freddy. ‘I gather he’s a difficult character at the best of times, but I expect things must be even more awkward at present. Is he still waving that shotgun of his around?’
‘No, he didn’t have it with him today,’ said Kathie. ‘I don’t know why.’
‘Perhaps the recent events have taught him a lesson,’ said Angela.
‘More likely he thinks he’s won the war now that Tom Tipping is dead, and so he doesn’t need to carry it any more,’ said Freddy without thinking, then caught himself as he saw Kathie’s face. ‘Oh, I say, I am sorry, Kathie. That was dreadfully crass of me. Do forgive me.’
‘It’s quite all right,’ said Kathie. ‘I was rather thinking the same thing myself.’
‘Still, if he had any finer feelings at all, he’d keep out of everybody’s way for a while,’ said Freddy. He glanced at his watch and gave an impatient click of the tongue. ‘I hate to desert you all,’ he said, ‘but I promised I’d telephone old Bickerstaffe at six o’clock and let him know of developments. He likes to keep a sharp eye on what his reporters are doing. It’s terribly provoking, but I’d better go. Angela, you might thank Lady C. for me. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the pig,’ he said as an afterthought, as he sloped off.
‘What was that about a pig?’ said the inspector.
Angela sighed, while Kathie giggled delightedly and explained. As she did so, Angela noticed that Jameson was gazing at Kathie as though slightly stunned. For a moment she was puzzled, but then the truth dawned on her and she had a similar revelation to that experienced by Freddy a few minutes earlier with regard to herself. She raised her eyebrows.
‘Well, well,’ she thought.
Had she not been personally involved in the story of the pig she might have gone off there and then and left them to it, but of course it would have looked odd if she had, so she merely stood and observed them both covertly as they smiled and talked to one another as though she were not there. Jameson’s feelings were evident enough, and although Kathie was more cautious, her glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes spoke volumes. Angela, who liked both Inspector Jameson and Kathie very much, hoped that something might come of it, but was determined to say nothing to either of them since it was quite clearly none of her business. In any case, the situation was rather delicate—firstly because of Norman, and secondly because of the murder. She would leave them to themselves, she thought.
At length, Kathie took leave of them and left. Inspector Jameson watched her go. Angela immediately forgot her resolution not to interfere and decided to give him a little encouragement.
‘She’s terribly sweet, isn’t she?’ she said.
‘Hmm?’ said Jameson, reluctantly tearing his attention away from Kathie’s retreating figure.
‘Kathie, I mean,’ said Angela.
‘Er—yes, I suppose she is,’ he said uncomfortably.
‘They’re not engaged, you know,’ went on Angela. ‘Not yet, at any rate.’
He stared at her. He had not realized he was being so obvious.
‘I see,’ he said.
There was a short silence, then she smiled at him.
‘You’d better hurry if you want to speak to Elisabeth,’ she said. ‘They dine early at Two Tithes. I’m going for a walk. I dare say I shall be late for dinner, as usual.’
And with that she walked off, leaving him standing there, deep in thought.
