by Leo McNeir
“Having visitors?” said Molly.
“No,” said Anne. “We’re setting off on a cruise.”
“In this weather?”
“Actually, it’s not bad as long as you dress properly,” said Marnie. “The forecast is cold and dry.”
“But won’t you freeze on the boat?”
“Sally Ann’s got central heating,” said Anne. “She’s lovely and cosy.”
“And we’ll be dressed for skiing,” Marnie added. “I’m not sure purists would find that acceptable, but it’s the best way to travel at this time of year.”
“So you’re stocking up for the journey,” said Molly.
“Have you any more ground coffee?” Anne’s voice came from the far end of the shop. “We’ll need two tins.”
“I’ve got some Original Blend in the stock room. Anything else while I’m out there?”
“You don’t seem to have any eggs. We’ll be needing a dozen.”
“Ah, no. I’ve ordered more from George Stubbs. He was in here just now on his way home. Can you wait till tomorrow?”
“We’re not going till the day after,” said Marnie. “That’ll be fine.”
“But I’ve got a huge list of things to do tomorrow,” said Anne. “I’d rather get all the shopping done today rather than leave it till the last minute.”
“He said he had plenty,” said Molly. “I’m sure he’ll be able to let you have some if you want to call round. You know where to go.”
Marnie glanced at her watch. “I’ve got one or two phone calls to make.”
“Don’t worry,” said Anne. “We can load everything into the boot and you can get back while I go and fetch the eggs.”
“We can go in the car,” said Marnie.
“Not if you want to be home in the foreseeable future. You know how Mr Stubbs likes to chat to you, Marnie.” Anne raised a seductive eyebrow. At least it was as seductive as a thin, waif-like sixteen year-old could manage. “Anyway, I wouldn’t mind a bit of fresh air.”
Marnie looked at Anne. She was right. You could not tell if she was pale or not, especially in this season. A brisk walk back to Glebe Farm would bring some colour to her cheeks.
*
Anne always enjoyed walking through the village. The cottage gardens along the high street were sleeping now, only the odd clump of Brussels sprouts and winter cabbage protruding from the cold dark soil. She took deep breaths and felt the warmth in the condensation on her cheeks as she exhaled.
At the other end of the street, at right angles to the road, stood The Old Farm House, owned by the Stubbs family for generations. It had stood there for nearly three centuries, a fine building in spacious grounds with stables and barns all in the same honey-coloured stone. Anne turned into its drive and walked past the dormant herbaceous border, trimmed back for the winter, past the heavy oak front door of the main house and along the stone pathway leading to a cluster of outbuildings.
Through a drawing room window she caught a glimpse of light coming through from the kitchen and turned round the corner to approach from the rear in true country fashion. There was Mrs Stubbs busy with pans steaming on the dark blue Aga, stirring with a wooden spoon. Anne thought of all the Christmas preparations that had gone on in that place over the years, all those turkeys and hams, all the baking and boiling. She was looking forward to the time when she and Marnie would have their kitchen ready in the main house at Glebe Farm and hoped they would be able to have an Aga, too. Mrs Stubbs looked up and smiled. She ran the back of a hand across her forehead as she came to the door. Her cheeks were pink.
“Sorry to trouble you, Mrs Stubbs. I’ve come for some eggs.”
“No trouble, Anne.” She had a voice that was instantly recognisable as upper class. “You’ve come at just the right time. Mr Stubbs is round the back at the moment.” She lowered her voice and smiled again conspiratorially, woman to woman. “I’ve given him a job to do, keep him occupied and out of the way so I can get on.” Anne had always felt welcome in the village, probably because of her reserved manner with strangers. But since the summer, when she had been instrumental in resolving the mystery of the church tower and its two murders and had narrowly prevented a third at risk to her own life, she knew she was universally regarded with real affection.
“Round the back,” she repeated.
“Yes. You’ll find him in the butchery.”
“Thank you.” Under her padded jacket, Anne the vegetarian shuddered as she made her way along the path. She knew that Mr Stubbs kept his free-range eggs in the small stone barn with its scrubbed workbenches, the building that for long had been the village butcher’s. He still used it for storing meat and cutting it into joints, but at least it was no longer used for slaughtering. The only remnant of those days was the tin plaque nailed over the door, bearing a skull and cross-bones, placed there by Mr Stubbs himself as a boy in the 1940s. Despite the cold fresh air, she still felt slightly dizzy and could well do without a visit to the butchery.
Standing under the plaque, Anne banged twice on the heavy door with her fist. No sound came from inside, and she waited patiently. Snuggling inside her jacket, she looked round at the garden, at the clumps of heather giving winter colour, the borders of evergreen shrubs and the neat flower beds dug over to wait for the first shoots of spring. Behind her, Anne heard the door ease open and turned to greet Mr Stubbs. Her eyes were drawn to his hands, to the short-bladed knife he was holding and the stains on his hands and arms, the deep red stains reaching up beyond his wrists. He smiled in recognition.
“Anne, my dear, what can I …”
Without warning, the girl crumpled in a heap on the ground before he could move to catch her.
*
Marnie made a note on the pad. “Yes, of course it’s convenient. I can pick you up from the pool of Little Venice at three and we can go on to Camden Lock together. No problem.” She flicked on the desk lamp. It was nearly four o’clock and dusk was descending quickly. In the background she was aware of a car pulling up outside the office barn and guessed it was Alan, the postman, with a late delivery. “Fine, that’s agreed then … I’m looking forward to it. See you on the eighteenth … Okay. Bye now.” She entered the date and time in the filofax. It seemed strange to write in such famous names, somehow unreal. She got up to meet her visitor and was surprised to find George Stubbs coming to the door.
“Hallo, George. That’s a strange coincidence. Anne’s gone to see you at home.”
“Marnie, good afternoon. Actually, she’s in the car.” He looked worried.
“What’s happened? Is she all right?” They went outside. Anne was just swinging her legs down from the high bodywork of the Range Rover. Seeing Marnie, she smiled ruefully. George went to help her down.
“Passed out at my place,” he said. “On the doorstep, so to speak. Didn’t say a word, did you, my dear? Gave me quite a shock, I can tell you.”
“I am sorry, Mr Stubbs.” She held his arm and Marnie was surprised that she allowed herself to be assisted into the office.
“I don’t usually have that effect on the ladies, at least not any more!” He guffawed so strongly that Anne had to hold on to avoid becoming overbalanced. She sat down and undid her jacket. “You’ll have to take it easy, young lady. Don’t you think she looks rather pale, Marnie?”
“Oh, she’s always …” Anne glared at her. “Well, yes, actually, she does look pale. It was very good of you to bring her home, George.”
“Least I could do, my dear. Hope she’s not going down with anything nasty.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.”
“Oh, I was forgetting! Just a moment.” He scuttled out.
“What happened?” said Marnie. “Are you really feeling bad?”
“I’ll tell you afterwards,” said Anne, nodding at the door. Seconds later, George Stubbs came in carrying two packs of eggs. Marnie reached for her bag, but George held up his hand.
“No, no. These are a get-well
present from me. Help build up your strength.” They thanked him warmly and he set off with more admonitions to take care.
“What was all that about?” said Marnie, standing in the doorway to wave him off. Anne sighed.
“It was so embarrassing, Marnie. You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Try me.”
“Well, I went for the eggs and had to go round to the butchery barn to collect them from Mr Stubbs. His wife said she had him doing a job to keep him from being on top of her in the kitchen.”
Marnie pulled a face. “Now there’s a sobering thought.”
“You know what I mean. Anyway, when he came to the door he was holding this knife and his hands and arms were covered in blood, at least I thought it was blood. Usually I’m okay when I go round there, but this time it was such a shock, I just, well, keeled over. One minute I was waiting for him to come to the door, next thing he was picking me up from the ground. There was this sweet kind of smell and I realised he’d been doing something with … beetroot.” Her voice trailed away.
“Beetroot!” Marnie laughed. “You passed out because of beetroot?”
“Honestly, Marnie, it looked just like blood. I must’ve imagined all sorts of things going on in there.” She giggled.
Marnie became serious. “You’re sure that’s all it was, really?”
“Of course. I feel fine now, just a total idiot.”
“What about that performance when you came in holding onto George’s arm? You looked like Little Nell!”
“Well, I felt I had to see it through. I didn’t want him to think I was a complete wimp.”
“You know what he’s like. He’ll be phoning up for progress reports next. He’ll set up an account with Interflora. It’s a good job we’re setting off the day after tomorrow, that is if you’re up to it.”
“Of course I am, Marnie. I’m absolutely fine.”
*
That night they were reading in bed, Marnie in the sleeping cabin, Anne on her camp bed in the saloon. Sally Ann was warm and snug.
“Anne?” Marnie called out.
“You’re not going to ask me if I’m all right, are you?”
“No. I meant to tell you. I’ve made arrangements for the Little Venice carol singing. I did some phoning while you were getting the eggs.”
“Good. That’s great.”
“Also, Ralph rang up.”
“Oh yes?”
“He reminded me he’d like you to come over to Murton for a day at Christmas.”
“Super! When?”
“He thought the twenty-seventh, so you’ll have Christmas Day and Boxing Day with your family.”
“That’ll be smashing. I’m dying to see his cottage.”
“You’ll love it. It’s beautiful.” They settled back to their reading. After a while, Anne closed her book and switched off the lamp.
“G’night, Marnie.”
“Good night. Sleep well.”
“Marnie?”
“Mm?”
“You haven’t asked me how I’m feeling.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Don’t ask.”
3
Thursday 8 December
Marnie was putting the phone down as Anne returned to the office barn, walked briskly over to her desk and crossed through another item on her checklist. Her usual energy had returned. Outside, it was now daylight, just after nine o’clock.
“How cold is it out there?”
“Not bad,” said Anne. “Above freezing and no wind. Okay if you keep moving. I saw Jill and Alex on my way out. Told them we’d be away from tomorrow. They said they’ll be happy to feed Dolly and we should come over for a drink when we get back before Christmas. I’d better put that in the diary.”
“That’s nice. Did they say anything about the radiator in the bathroom?”
“Oh, yes. It just needed bleeding, like you said. Alex said it’s fine now and he knows what to do in future.”
“Any other problems?”
“I asked them if things were all right and Jill said they were blissful.” She chuckled. “I’ve put the last lot of our clothes on Sally. Anything else you need to do?”
Marnie looked at her own list. “I’d be clear already if you didn’t keep adding things. Anyway, we’re nearly there.”
“Did you remember to ring Frank Day and warn him we wouldn’t be moving into number two as planned? They were due to bring the furniture from storage next Tuesday.”
Marnie hesitated. “All under control.”
“Good. Shall I go and connect up the new gas bottle on Sally Ann before we have coffee? I want to polish the mushrooms too, get Sally looking her best for the trip.”
“Good idea.”
Marnie waited a few moments after Anne left before looking up the phone number of Days of Yore, furniture removers. Yore was a village a few miles up the road towards Northampton. Luckily, there was no-one in the office and she just left a quick message on the answerphone, because Anne was back seconds later.
“We’ve got visitors, Marnie. There’s a car coming down the track. I don’t recognise it. A white Escort.” She stood at the window, craning to see who was coming. “It’s a man, oldish, white hair. I think I’ve seen him in the village. Oh, I know! It’s the temporary vicar.”
“Mr Fowey,” said Marnie. “He came to see me in hospital.”
The old man got out of his car and stood beside a cement mixer among the farm buildings. Most of the complex was a construction site, with heaps of stone, scaffolding and stacks of materials dotted about. It was orderly and business-like, but gave no clue as to where the office was located. Anne stepped outside and waved. The vicar began making his way cautiously over the cobbled yard. Now over seventy, he had been brought out of retirement to look after the parish of Knightly St John while a new vicar was being chosen. The Bishop and Rural Dean wanted the village to have a period of calm before a new permanent incumbent arrived, following the death of the previous vicar, Toni Petrie, in the summer, only a month after she had arrived. Jim Fowey was a safe pair of hands.
Marnie stood up to welcome him. “Come in Mr Fowey. Nice to see you. Can we offer you a cup of coffee?”
“Oh thank you. That would be nice. I hope I’m not intruding. I should have phoned first, but I won’t be long. Molly in the shop said you were going away on your boat for a while and I wanted to see you before you left.” He accepted a seat while Anne put the kettle on.
“That’s fine,” said Marnie. “We’re not busy at the moment. What can we do for you? Is the porch okay?” She had been involved in works on the church, the building project that had first brought her into contact with Toni.
“As far as I know. It seems all right. I just wanted to have a word about the new vicar.”
“Has one been appointed?”
“Not exactly, but I think it’s clear that the village is likely to have another woman vicar and I‘m telling everyone who ought to know, so that there are no surprises this time.”
“Well that’s thoughtful of you, Mr Fowey. Do you think there’ll be any problem with that?”
“Frankly, I don’t think so. I believe Toni’s death had a very profound impact on the village and I’ve tried to settle things down here. As for the replacement being a woman, the fact is, at the moment the majority of new candidates for ordination are women. We have several women curates and any one of them would be first class.”
“It’s kind of you to take the trouble to come and see me like this,” said Marnie. “But I’m sure you know that I’m not a churchgoer.”
“Of course. But you were a good friend of Toni’s.” He turned his head towards Anne, who was pouring coffee. “You were both good friends of Toni’s and I wanted you to know the situation. I didn’t think of trying to persuade you to come to church. That’s entirely a matter of personal conviction. I respect your views. But you both played an important part in what happened here in the summer. Without you, goodness knows how things would hav
e turned out.”
Anne set cups down in front of the vicar and Marnie and went back to fetch sugar and cream. Marnie was glad to focus attention on the coffee. She found thoughts of the events surrounding Toni’s death and her own nearly fatal injuries still painful. The vicar went on.
“There was one other thing I wanted to say. The fact that you don’t attend services doesn’t mean that we in the church do not regard you as a good friend … both of you. We all prayed for your recovery, Marnie, while you were in hospital, and for Anne after the terrifying ordeal she suffered. I wonder if you're both aware in how much respect and affection you're held in this community.”
Marnie and Anne exchanged glances. Neither of them was prepared for this kind of interview. The old vicar drank his coffee.
“I really don’t know what …” Marnie began.
“There’s nothing you need to say,” said the vicar. “And I didn’t wish to embarrass you. This coffee is extremely good. What a pity you’re not regular churchgoers. I could come and see you more often to talk about parish matters.”
*
“You won’t believe this, Marnie.” It was mid-afternoon and Anne sat back in her chair.
“I’m not easily shocked. Try me.”
“I’ve completed everything on my list.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“Told you.”
“We’d better go before you start writing another one. Actually, I’ve only got one or two bits and pieces to do and I’ll have done all my jobs. We can look forward to a few days of peace and quiet.”
The phone rang. “Ralph, hi!”
Anne left Marnie to her call while she took the two brass air vents, known as ‘mushrooms’, back to the boat. They had been thoroughly polished and shone brilliantly, and she carried them in separate bags so as not to scratch them. The spinney was silent apart from the crisp leaves crackling underfoot and she could see Sally Ann and Thyrsis, Ralph’s boat, through the tree-trunks now that there was no undergrowth to block the view. Dolly, their sturdy black cat, was hopping along behind her, probably on the off-chance of food. As they drew nearer, Sally Ann looked good, her paintwork washed and shining, the windows cleaned, a tub planted with fresh herbs on the roof. On board, Anne gave Dolly a saucer of milk and made a final tour of inspection. The clothes were in their respective lockers; the galley store cupboards were filled to capacity; there was a mixed case of wine in the ‘cellar’ under the workbench. Anne kneeled down to check the pilot light under the gas fridge and Dolly butted her head in friendly fashion.
