Furious Old Women

by Bruce, Leo

  “Your disagreement does seem to have gone to some lengths. It is surprising that you should have been reconciled.”

  “We weren’t, really. Things were just patched up. She never ceased to hate me. She admitted that she would like to see me dead. She believed, sincerely believed, that an avenging fire would strike me from heaven.”

  “No!”

  “Truthfully. She told her sister Flora that, on the day before she died. ‘Not long’, she said. Then changing the sex in the words, she quoted Isaiah again. ‘Woe unto the wicked! it shall be ill with her: for the doing of her hands shall be done to her.’ Then she went on, quoting correctly, ‘As for my people, children are their oppressors and women rule over them.’”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Rumble heard it and told his wife. She told me.”

  “It’s very interesting.”

  “It did not worry me. I know that kind of Calvinism.”

  “Are there many people in the parish who felt as you did about—er, ritual and so on?”

  “You really do put things in an odd way. If by ‘ritual and so on ‘you mean the Car-tholic religion, oh yes, there are a number of good folk who want to see dear Father Waddell take a firm line. The Miller-Wrights, for instance, are sound enough on vestments though they buck at a Sanctus bell. The Wilmingtons go all the way, bless them, though Moira Wilmington confided in me once that she always gets stuck on Eternal Damnation. The Skiptons we are educating nicely—they’ve got as far as Sung Eucharist and I think were coming round to auricular confession.”

  “But the working people?”

  “My old Mrs Rumble is a great comfort. She doesn’t know what it’s all about but she wants things brightened up, she says. Then have you heard of a woman known as Flo?”

  “Have I not!”

  “A teeny bit of a Mary Magdalene, I gather. Not very particular in her morals. But she has the right idea. She used to go to St Christopher’s Hoxton in the great days of Father Wemyss-Buchan. She’s been well taught.”

  “You mean she goes to church?”

  “Well, not very often. I did persuade her to attend our Midnight Mass last Christmas. (There was endless trouble with the Griggses about holding that and Father Waddell got over it by promising them a Watch Night Service on New Year’s Eve.) But I can’t pretend poor Flo is a regular communicant. I don’t think she’s a really bad woman. Just hopelessly compliant. I blame the men of the village.”

  “She seems an amiable soul.”

  “There were one or two others with the right ideas. And several more who would have been all right if the Griggses had left them alone.”

  “Tell me, what about the other clergyman? Mr Slipper?”

  “Father Slipper? Oh, he was all right. Good little chap. Did as he was told. Left all decisions to Father Waddell.”

  “Was he—er, High Church or Low? If those are the correct terms.”

  “Your education has been neglected, Mr Deene. We don’t speak of High Church. That goes back to Victorian days. As I have told you, we are Car-tholics.”

  “Is that what is meant when people speak of Anglo-Catholic?”

  “I suppose so but I don’t like the term.”

  “And Mr Slipper?”

  “All right on most things. All the Sacraments except Extreme Unction. Celibacy of the Clergy, the Assumption, the Immaculate Conception, all sound. A bit shaky on Reservation and Benediction. But his heart’s in the right place.”

  “He organizes things for the youth of the parish?”

  “Wonderful with boys. Open air, you know. Healthy. Scouting and cycling. Organizes camps in the summer. He has persuaded old Sir Marriott Gibson to let them use the swimming pool in his grounds.”

  “And in the winter?”

  “Oh, he has his Club and Scout headquarters. Always arranging something. A play or physical culture. Weight-lifting for the older ones. I hear they’re entering a team for some competition. They all walk about as though they couldn’t forget their shoulders. Waygooze, our organist, gets quite fed up with them flexing their muscles when they ought to be learning the Kyrie Eleison. But there’s no doubt Father Slipper does a lot of good.”

  “Did Miss Griggs recognize that?”

  “I think so. She gave him a subscription whenever he asked for it. It was she who bought new bell tents for them last summer. I gather she has left money in her will both to Father Slipper and his pet causes.”

  Grazia was gathering together the New Hall tea-service and putting it on the old Sheffield plate tray, with a jolly tinkle of beads and bangles.

  “Of course from my point of view it’s all very well, this youth organization, but I can’t help feeling that a priest should be a priest and not a physical training instructor or expert on cooking over a fire in the open. I should like to see more catechism and less camp for the boys. But that’s no doubt my old-fashioned point of view. I don’t say Father Slipper doesn’t get many of them to church but if they have to be induced to sing together in the choir by being allowed to sleep in tents, it doesn’t seem to me to be putting first things first.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “There’s a great deal of good in it, no doubt. But you know in a small place like this where there is sufficient labour, I’m not convinced that their bob-a-job scheme is so good. The boys hang round the cottages willing to lend a hand but most of them have very little to offer. It seems to me that Father Slipper is groping after something but never seems to find what he wants. However you don’t need to hear my views. It’s facts you’re after. What can I tell you?”

  “Mr Waddell tells me that he called to see you on the evening Miss Griggs died and that you were out.”

  “The silly man! I was nothing of the sort! I may have been having a little snooze—I often do about that time. In fact now I come to think of it I remember waking up and finding I hadn’t yet put on the lights and the tea things were still out.”

  “What time was that?”

  “It must have been nearly seven. Shocking, wasn’t it? Sloth, one of the Seven Deadly Sins. If Father Waddell had only pulled at my old ship’s bell instead of just pressing the electric one he would have awakened me.”

  “Did you go out at all that day?”

  “To early Mass, yes. Father Slipper said it that morning. We’ve managed to persuade Father Waddell to have a daily Mass though he has to call it Communion. The Griggs contingent would have a fit if he didn’t….”

  “But later in the day?”

  “Let’s see. I don’t think I did. It was cold, I remember.”

  “Not in the afternoon or evening, anyhow?”

  “I’m sure I didn’t. I always do the flowers on Tuesdays and Saturdays at the church. No. I stayed in that day. Like a dormouse.”

  “You heard or saw nothing which might be helpful?”

  “Nothing, I’m afraid. My good Mrs Rumble told me her husband was digging a grave for Chilling, I remember.”

  “You didn’t enter the church?”

  “No, Mr Deene.”

  “I don’t think there’s anything else I need ask you, Miss Vaillant. Unless you care to throw any light on one of the small mysteries—that of your reconciliation with Millicent Griggs. It does puzzle me that after years of antagonism she should have come here twice in a week.”

  “It puzzled me,” said Grazia Vaillant immediately. “But I’ve told you all about it.”

  “I haven’t yet met Miss Flora Griggs. Do you think she shared in her sister’s kindlier feelings?”

  I’m not sure that Millicent’s feelings were kindlier. If they were, Flora certainly did not share in them. She has a sort of Old Testament hatred for poor me.”

  Carolus’s eyes went back to that landscape—the only beautiful thing in the room.

  “Ah—you’re looking at my Constable,” said Grazia. “Fine, isn’t it? “She threw out her hand. “Good-bye!” she said.

  Carolus said good-bye with some relief and left Grazia Vailla
nt among her antiques.

  It was still raining and a dark night but the ship’s light over the door had been switched on and he could go quickly down the crazy pavement path to his car.

  He started the engine, but when he switched on the lights he saw someone hurrying towards him, gesticulating to indicate that he should wait.

  There came into his head absurd things like Mrs Stick’s warning—’ you oughtn’t to be hanging about after dark, either. If they can do for an old lady they can do for you’. And Commander Fyfe’s questions about people ‘hanging about’.

  When he recognized the approaching figure he remembered also Fyfe’s description of him as ‘a dangerous character, lawless, violent’. For the man who had stopped him was Mugger.

  9

  MUGGER had a thin insinuating voice. It might have been that in which Brer Fox addressed Brer Rabbit. He brought his long solemn face, with its ginger hair visible under his cap, to the window of Carolus’s car, and Carolus opened this by a few inches. The rain was pelting down on him but seemed to have no effect as though his very skin were rainproof.

  “I want to speak to you,” he said.

  “You’d better get into the car,” Carolus told him and the long thin man twined in, scarcely opening the door. There was a silence.

  “It was Rumble told me about you,” said Mugger at last, the tone of his voice not changing. “He said it would be all right if I told you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Something,” said Mugger promptly and flatly.

  Carolus with his usual patience, waited.

  “You’re not a copper, are you?” said Mugger.

  “No.”

  “You wouldn’t say anything?”

  Carolus was greatly tempted to give a promise. But he had to come out with the old prim line which sounded so odd, spoken here in half-darkness in the rain-washed car.

  “It depends on what you tell me. I’ll only promise to respect your confidence as far as I honestly can. You see, you might tell me something which would have a direct bearing on the recent murder case. What could I do then?”

  “I want to show you something.”

  “Even then, how do I know that it won’t be my duty to report it?”

  “I don’t know what to do,” said Mugger. “And I’m not a man not to know what to do. I saw you talking to Slatt the other night. Did he say anything about me?”

  “No.”

  “I give him a hard time. See, I don’t say I’m an angel.”

  “No.”

  “Nor yet a psalm-singing hypocrite. I like a bit of fun,” said Mugger lugubriously.

  “What sort of fun?” asked Carolus, falling headlong into the trap.

  “Well, not too old. Nor yet so young it’ll get you into trouble. About twenty-five or thirty with a nice big chassis who don’t open her mouth too wide.”

  “That wasn’t exactly what I asked. However, do you find your bit of fun in Gladhurst?”

  Mugger looked gloomier.

  “Of course I do. It’s everywhere, if you know how to look for it. There’s one working out at Ryley’s farm….”

  “Don’t let’s go into details.”

  “Well, you asked me. I mean, where should we be without it? You can’t have all work and no play, can you? I remember one lived in Church Cottages. You’ve never seen anyone like it. It was as though she was on fire….”

  “You had something to tell me, I believe?”

  “I was telling you about this one, lived in Church Cottages. I had to tell her in the end she’d get me into trouble if my old woman got to hear of anything. Then there was a German one came to work for some people here. Oh dear, oh dear. I shall never forget it. She was tall as I was, very near, but big-made with it. There was a lot of her. I used to say to her, there is a lot of you’, I used to say, but of course she never understood a word of English. Then when I was rabbiting one night….”

  “Look, Mugger, I’m sure your reminiscences are very interesting. You ought to write a book some day. But I’m trying to find out about Miss Griggs, not about your various adventures. If you’ve got anything to tell me, let’s have it. If not I’ll drop you off where you like.”

  “Well, I have got something to tell you but I don’t know how you’ll take it.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t give you any assurance on that. I certainly shan’t talk for the sake of talking.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Suppose I was to hint to you, no more than a hint, mind, that I might know where a bit of jewellery was to be seen?”

  “You mean? Oh, I see. Good heavens, man, you can’t keep that. You’ll find yourself charged with murder if you’re found in possession of it.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. But I’m not in possession of it. I’ve left it where I found it.”

  “What about the money?”

  “There was no money,” said Mugger and for the first time a touch of animation was in his voice. “No money, there wasn’t. Not a sausage. Jools. No money.”

  “Have you done any work since helping Rumble to dig Chilling’s grave?”

  “Work? No. To tell the truth I haven’t had time. There’s one come to live with her auntie just near the station. Just right, she is. You know, not too thin and not a big sack of potatoes either. Only thing is she won’t come out of doors. Says it’s too cold. So I have to wait till her auntie’s out.…”

  Mugger’s long face expressed nothing but gloom.

  “You haven’t worked for a couple of weeks yet you don’t seem short of money.”

  “Oh well. Got to have a bit of luck sometime. But those jools are just as I found them. Something told me not to touch them. But I want a bit out of them, mind. I’m entitled to that, for finding them.”

  “That will be up to the family.”

  “Oh. But I haven’t said where they are yet, have I? If I’m not going to get anything out of it they can go on searching. Then they’ll probably never know who did for the old girl.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being rather rash?”

  “Always have been,” said Mugger sadly. “It’s a miracle my old woman’s never tumbled anything. There was one lived two doors from us, getting on a bit, she was, but still what you might call all right. I used to see her….”

  “Yes, yes. I’m sure you’ve been most successful. But being found out by your wife is rather different from a charge by the police.”

  “I don’t worry about police. Never have. Take Slatt, for instance. He’s been after me for years.”

  “But, Mugger, this is what is called a murder case.”

  “Still, I didn’t do it, did I?”

  “I don’t know. But the police will regard your keeping the stolen jewellery hidden as at least half a case against you.”

  “I can prove I had nothing to do with it. Soon as I’d finished with Rumble that afternoon I went home to tea. My old woman can vouch for that. Then, naming no names, I had to meet someone just about the time when Slatt seems to think old Miss Griggs was done for. Just after dark, that was.”

  “I daresay you have an alibi of sorts. But not reporting your find amounts to being an accessory after the fact, or something of the sort.”

  “So you think I ought to just hand it over and perhaps never get a thank you?”

  “I’m afraid so. After all there was the money, wasn’t there?”

  “What money? I told you there was no money.”

  “I know you did.”

  “Calling me a liar, are you?”

  “Of course I am. Now, look, Mugger, don’t be silly. You’ve had your reward for finding it and as long as the bank hasn’t got the numbers of the notes….”

  “Do you think they might have?”

  “Not if they were in one-pound notes. Fivers and above they probably will have taken.”

  Mugger’s lugubrious voice seemed to rise to a more cheerful pitch.

  “Anyhow, there wasn’t any money. Want to see the jools? Then you’ll
know what’s best to be done. Though I’m not a man to ask anyone that, generally. I’m a quiet man and know how to go about my business my own way.”

  “Where are they?” asked Carolus.

  There was a long sigh from the lugubrious Mugger.

  “I suppose I shall have to tell you and chance it,” he said.

  He sat there immobile and melancholy. In the light of the dashboard Carolus could see the lantern jaws and the red hair, the expression of set inviolable solemnity.

  “Do you want a bit of fun?” asked Mugger, his voice unchanged. “Because I know where one’s just come to live….”

  “Are you going to take me to where this jewellery is hidden or not?” asked Carolus in exasperation.

  “All right, all right,” moaned Mugger. “I was only asking you if you wanted a bit of fun. No need to have it if you don’t want it. Only you won’t often see one like this….”

  Carolus made to start the car.

  “You don’t need no car,” said Mugger. “Leave it here and come with me.”

  Carolus turned up the collar of his overcoat and prepared to follow. The rain persisted although a light wind had arisen.

  “Got a torch?” asked Mugger.

  Carolus pulled one from the pocket of the car.

  Mugger led the way across the open space in front of the church and it was obvious that he was making for the lych-gate. In the shelter of this they waited for a moment.

  “This is a handy place,” confided Mugger, “if you’ve got one with you on a wet night. No one’s going to disturb you here. They keep away from churchyards after dark. I remember …”

  “Come along,” said Carolus.

  Mugger led the way by a path which passed the West door and went round by the South side of the church. They were rather more sheltered here. Carolus could just make out the shapes of gravestones as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness. Finally Mugger opened a door rather below ground level and they entered what was evidently the furnace-room mentioned by Rumble as the place where his tools were kept. It was cold enough tonight to be an ice-store. Carolus threw the light of his torch in every direction.