by Purser, Ann
When Derek returned, Lois greeted him anxiously. “Was she all right? I mean, really all right?” she said.
He smiled. “Practically turned me out when I suggested helping her to sort out a few things. And I heard her lock the door as soon as I left. I made sure the storeroom was secure.”
“Was Matthew around?”
“Yep. At least, I think it was Matthew. Definitely a figure in a car parked down the road from the shop. Cowgill wouldn’t forget.”
“Right, then. Let’s watch a bit of telly. I can’t say I’m happy about all this. I really hope she decides to come back home tomorrow.”
Seven
True to her word, Gran was back in the Meade House kitchen at seven o’clock sharp. Lois came down in her dressing gown and asked anxiously if she had had a good night.
“Slept like a log,” Gran said. “I set my alarm, and when I remembered where I was, I shot straight out of bed to the window. It’s quite refreshing, you know, to wake to a different scene. There was not a soul about, and I was washed and dressed in no time. Had the street to myself when I walked up here. No sign of Matthew, but I expect he’d gone off duty once it got light.”
“So will you go back there again tonight? We missed you, you know.”
“Oh yes. I shall cook breakfast, clear away and generally tidy up, then I’ll be back to my flat by coffee time. Plenty there for me to do, and I shall hear life going on down below in the shop.”
Lois could see that the novelty of the whole exercise was giving a much-needed lift to her mother, and she went back upstairs to find consolation with Derek.
“It’s not that she’s that far away,” she said. “But she’s been with us, here, part of the family, for so long now, there’s a big gap. Still, I expect we’ll get used to it.”
“Give it time,” said Derek. “I reckon about two weeks should do it, then she’ll be back here in her own bed, ruling the roost over the rest of us chickens.”
*
Josie was serving a customer when Gran arrived back, her duties at Meade House completed.
“Sleep well, Gran?” she said.
“Yes, thank you, dear, and I shall be quite all right without Matthew keeping guard tonight. I’ve brought an old cricket bat with me, so woe betide any nighttime visitors!”
She disappeared up the stairs to the flat, and Josie heard tuneless whistling as Gran moved from room to room above. It was some time since Josie had lived up there herself, and she liked to hear sounds of occupation again.
“Good morning! Can you direct me to Waltonby? Satnav broken down.”
A tall, well-built man clad in casual clothes, a knotted cravat at his neck, smiled at her quizzically.
“Certainly,” said Josie, and gave him clear directions to the next village along from Long Farnden. “It’s only two or three miles. Can I get you anything while you’re here?” She looked more closely at him. He was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t pin it down.
“No, thanks, although I do have some small fliers for our travelling theatricals. I see you have a notice board. Could you put one up for me?”
“Of course. We charge a nominal sum of fifty pence per week. When is the show?”
“Well, we take it round several villages, and perform in their community halls. Altogether it covers quite a wide area. Very popular, I’m glad to say!”
Josie frowned. And through the window, she could see a neat little red Fiat 500.
“Is this what you do for a living, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Well, I shall never get rich!” He laughed. “I’m on my own, and I have an uncle in Tresham who’s always good for a free lunch. I get by pretty well. So here’s a couple of pounds. That should cover enough for the moment. I hope to call again—you’ve a really nice little shop here. Do you live up above?”
In true village-shopkeeper tradition, she failed to answer a direct question, and made a mental note to ask around her customers for further information. She looked at the leaflet left on the counter, and saw that the show was in fact a play. The Black Hand Mystery, she read, and below, a cast of names, none of which she recognised.
“Are you on this list?” she said.
“Justin Brookes, that’s me. A man of many parts!”
Josie smiled faintly, and something made her clam up. She wished him a good morning and watched him speed away in his little red car. Just like Noddy, she thought, but not from Toyland, she was sure of that.
*
The next customer was familiar. Gran’s friend Joan had come in for her weekly women’s magazine. “How are you today, dear?” she asked. “And is Elsie settling in above? Perhaps I can nip up to see her for a couple of minutes. Can’t stay long.”
“Of course,” Josie said, thinking that half the village would soon be in to see Gran in her new abode. “And by the way, Joan, do you know anything about a travelling theatre show, a play with actors? Here’s the details.” She handed the leaflet to Joan, who nodded.
“Yes, they do come round every so often. Usually very good. I think they like coming to small audiences. More intimate, like.”
“Where do they come from?”
“Oh, they come from all over. Actors get work where they can, I reckon. They usually get lodgings near to where they’re based. I expect this lot are to do with the repertory theatre in Tresham.”
“Very likely. This chap was very friendly. Fancy dresser. Well, I suppose that’s part of being in the theatre.”
“We’ll probably go to the show, Elsie and me. Why don’t you come too, Josie? They’re always worth seeing. Anyway, I’ll go up and see Elsie; then I must run. It’s the institute this afternoon, and I’m doing teas. Now, have you got any raspberry jam? I need it for my sponge cake. Remind me about the play.”
*
The Fiat gathered speed and flew up the long hill into Waltonby, its twin turbo engine making a sound more like a Ferrari as it zoomed to a halt outside the village pub. Justin Brookes got out with difficulty, unfolding his long legs as he stepped out onto the pavement. He stretched his arms above his head, took several deep breaths, and turned to go into the pub. Then he stopped. He had forgotten his fliers, and turned back.
The publican saw him, and smiled. It was the chap from the theatre lot. It’d be their play coming round again. “Mildred! It’s Justin Brookes! You know, the actor from the rep troupe. He’s always good for a free ticket. Come on through.”
Mildred came into the bar, wiping her wet hands. “Oh Justin,” she said. “Your usual?” She put a half of bitter in front of him, and smiled. “What’s this one about, then? Ooh, The Black Hand Mystery! Sounds good. We’ll go, shall we, me duck?”
Justin slid his beer money across the counter, together with a flier and a couple of tickets. “Next Monday,” he said. “Best day for you? Two for the price of one, as it’s my favourite pub. Like the car? Present from my uncle. Mind you, it means I don’t do much walking!”
“You’d do well to sell that snazzy little vehicle, and get yourself a bicycle,” said the publican. “Rushing round the countryside like a bat out of hell! We can hear you coming a mile off. No, only laughing. I reckon acting is quite a physical job? We shall look forward to the play.”
“You could be right about the cycling. But how could I part with the Fiat? She would be heartbroken, and give up the ghost. Her wheels would never move again!”
“Bollocks,” said publican Paul, and pushed a packet of crisps across the bar counter to Justin’s waiting hand.
*
“Did you notice his watch?” said Mildred, after they had seen Justin drive away with a roar.
Paul shook his head. “No, I was busy. Why?”
“Very expensive. A Rolex, I reckon. Family money, more than likely. Nice chap, though. Did you pay him for the tickets?”
“One,” said Paul. “And he paid me for the crisps.”
Eight
By the time evening came, Lois realised that Gran was not coming back
. She had left a delicious salmon salad for their supper, with a note saying she would see them at breakfast tomorrow.
“It’s not right, her being down there and us on our own in this big house,” said Lois. “After all, when we bought this place it was so’s it would have room for the kids and Mum. Look at us! Sitting here at one end of this great kitchen table.”
“So what do you suggest, me duck? Moving to a smaller house and selling this one? We’d get a decent price for it now I’ve done all the improvements. Or we could get a smaller table?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I shall get used to it. Let’s talk about something else. Did you get the eggs I asked you to collect from the shop?”
“Yep. Josie was there, and Gran came down to say hello. She looked very cheerful, and said she was expecting a friend for supper. Josie said that a smart-looking character had been into the shop, bringing fliers for the Tresham theatre company’s next performance in our village hall. He seemed interested in the flat, she said. Introduced himself as Justin something or other.”
“Ah, that chap who comes round every year with the troupe. I think he’s an actor, though probably not much of a one.”
Derek nodded. “I remember him. Quite a nice chap. Josie wondered if he might be a good one for the flat, if Gran decides against it. He would be a possible, locally based in the theatre.”
“He’s got one of those red Fiat 500s that Josie’s been on about.”
“Not much good for a family.”
“I don’t think she’s considering a family yet!”
“There’s a lot of them Fiats about now. Funny, but I looked down the street last night when it was almost dark, and saw one of ’em parked just down from the shop. I wondered if it was Matthew, and the police were economising with dinky little cars for plainclothes detectives! Mind you, the twin turbo ones can go like the wind.”
“Right. Well, Matthew has a dark-blue Toyota, nice and anonymous looking, so it wasn’t him.”
Derek yawned. “Getting late. It’s after midnight and time for bed, Lois, me duck. As your mum frequently says, tomorrow is another day.”
*
Gran’s friend had gone after supper, saying how nice it must be for her to have her own quarters, where she could entertain and do exactly what she liked, when she liked. Gran had agreed enthusiastically, but later began to feel strange. Not lonely, she told herself, but oddly alone. Something missing. Of course, it was Meade House and the family that were missing.
She shook herself, checked the locks on all the doors, put out the lights and went to bed. Sleep refused to come, and she sat up and put on the bedside lamp, then reached for her book. Maybe if she read for a while it would clear her mind.
It was approaching midnight on her little clock when she first heard a scraping noise. A moment’s panic had hit her, and she told herself not to be stupid. It was an old building, and full of mice and, as she knew only too well, rats. She had put down traps, but so far had caught nothing.
Now the scraping began again, and this time she heard a smothered sneeze coming from outside the door at the top of the stairs. She swallowed hard, and lifted the bedside phone. Derek could be down here in minutes, she reminded herself. But there was no dial tone, and she replaced the receiver with a shaky hand. Of course, they had forgotten about reconnecting the phone.
The noise had stopped, but after a few seconds, another new one started up. Shuffling footsteps on the stairs, and then a thump, as if someone had dropped something heavy.
Gran got out of bed and reached for the cricket bat underneath. She tiptoed through to the stairs door, and stationed herself beside it. Silence. The scraping had stopped, as had the shuffling steps. She put her ear to the door. No sounds at all. Then it occurred to her to look through the keyhole. She carefully slid out the key, and bent down to peer out. A dim light from the moon shone onto the stairs, and at first she could see nothing unusual. Then a shadow moved, and it looked like a man, or perhaps a boy, and it disappeared without a sound.
She turned back and crossed the room to look out into the street, but could see nothing. Then the sound of an engine firing, and a car passed underneath the window and rapidly disappeared out of sight.
What to do? Gran sat down heavily on a kitchen chair, and steadied herself. The phone was not working, and she had told Matthew he would not be needed. There was only one thing to do, and although it was well after midnight, she began to get dressed.
*
“Derek!” Lois was awakened by a loud banging on the door. “Derek! There’s someone outside knocking!”
“Don’t be daft, gel! Not at this time of night. Eh? What? I’ll go. It’s probably kids high on drugs or drink. I’ll give them what for!”
Derek struggled out of bed and hunted for his slippers. The knocking, meanwhile, continued, and then he heard a voice, a familiar voice, yelling his name. He reached the front door, and unlocked it. “I’m coming!” he shouted, and opened up, only to be confronted by a large cardboard box.
“Careful with this,” said Gran. “It’s got a bloody great spider inside, with a load of tiny baby spiders crawling round on its back.”
*
When all three were safely round the kitchen table drinking hot cocoa, they stared at the cardboard box sitting on the table in front of them. Gran had told the whole story, starting from when she heard the first noise to how she had stumbled over the box outside her door, lifted it up and looked inside. Then she had locked up and made her way home.
“Home?” said Lois, looking at her dishevelled mother. “I thought the flat was your home now?”
“Not anymore,” said Gran. “We’ll get everything back here tomorrow, and then advertise for a tenant. I’ve given it a go, and it hasn’t worked. That’s all there is to it, and I shall be glad if you don’t mention this evening to anyone else.”
“Our secret, Gran,” said Derek kindly, patting her hand. “You’re a brave lady, and we’re glad to have you back. Isn’t that right, Lois?”
“No more’n I would expect from my mum,” she said. “The thing that worries me is what are we going to do with this spider? Or should I say spiders?”
Gran picked up the box and took it to the back door. There she left the box, with a brick on top to secure it, and then turned to Lois. “Up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire,” she said. “Tomorrow’s another day.”
Nine
It was as if Gran had never thought of taking on the shop flat. She was up with the lark as usual, and good smells of frying bacon floated up the stairs to Lois and Derek, as they drank an early morning cup of tea.
“So we don’t mention last night’s adventure to anyone?” said Lois. “We’ll have to take the spider back to the zoo—if that’s where it came from. I’ve looked it up on the internet, and it looks like a female wolf spider to me. Rather sweet, really, carrying its babies on its back. But it’s not sharing my house, so I’ll nip in with it first thing this morning. Then I’m calling in at the police station to see Cowgill. I’ll ring him in a minute, to make sure he’ll be there. This whole thing has got out of hand, and it’s got to be stopped. Spiders’ bites can be lethal, and God knows what’s coming next.”
Derek frowned and looked closely at her. “And is this going to be another ferretin’ case for Lois Meade? Be careful, me duck. I agree with you that it’s serious, but I’d rather the police handled it without your help.”
“Yes, well. Time to get up and be nice to Gran.”
*
Cowgill had arrived only shortly before Lois’s call came in.
“A wolf spider, did you say? Very alarming, I’d say. But I’ll have to check whether they’re lethal. Please be very careful. I’ll be here when you’ve finished at the zoo. Oh, and please bring the cardboard box back with you. Without the spider. Police request, if the zoo argues. Are you sure you wouldn’t like Matthew to collect the spider and return it to the zoo?”
“Quite sure,” said Lois. “It’s not just the spi
der, is it. There’s been the snake and a toad, possibly a rat, and a squashed frog. I want to have a good look around there, and talk to a few people. I’m sure you will be doing the same, but I’m going right now. See you later.”
Cowgill swallowed what he was about to say. She was very special to him, and he was going to repeat his warning. He took a deep breath, and tried to concentrate on the morning’s stack of papers. After a few minutes, he gave up, and asked his assistant, Chris, to get the Tresham Zoo on the phone, but first to come in and tell him what she knew about it.
“Zoos are not my cup of tea,” he said, as she appeared at his door. “But come in and tell me all.”
“We used to take my nephew and nieces there,” she said, sitting opposite Cowgill and opening notebook and pen. “It’s about a mile on the north road out of Tresham. A big mansion-type house, with land and gardens that are open to the public. The zoo is privately owned, and the owner, Robert Pettison, lives in the house. Cameroon Hall, it’s called, and he’s a bachelor. Lives on his own, and is a bit of a recluse, apparently. The zoo started with a few rare-breed sheep, but it’s grown to quite a size now, with all kinds of animals. Reptiles and insects are a specialty. They are open seven days a week, and do very well with locals as well as visitors from abroad. Pettison has made quite a name for himself, breeding rare species.”
“Well done, Chris. So is he on our books for any reason?”
“Robert Pettison has never to our knowledge broken the law. Regular inspections from vets, and all that. I remember it as clean and pleasant, and if wild animals must be locked up in cages, then it’s four-star accommodation. And lastly, there’s been a call from one of the girls at the zoo, reporting a lost spider.”
