The Lavender Lady

by Faith Martin

  Effie smiled, and spotting an attractive glass jar filled with colourful bath salts, tied up around the lid with a beautifully executed ribbon bow, she quickly purchased it for her imaginary friend’s birthday and after a few more minutes of idle chatter, made her excuses and left the shop.

  But behind her, Jasmine watched her go with a thoughtful and still faintly puzzled look on her face.

  * * *

  What had started out as a game, designed to help her pass a bad night, didn’t really amount to anything. How could it?

  Briefly, very briefly, she flirted with the idea of going to the police. But just a few moments’ thought about that quickly had her changing her mind. After all, Claudia’s death had never even been regarded as suspicious. Her own doctor had been satisfied, and had signed off on her death certificate without a qualm. And Effie wasn’t even a member of the family. So just supposing that she went to the police station and told them that she was part of a team investigating a possible ‘haunting’ in the house where an elderly lady had recently died. Right from the moment that she opened her mouth, she’d be held in derision. Or regarded as a crackpot. Or worse! And she doubted very much that pointing out how many people had gained by Claudia’s death would impress them much, either. After all, family inherited stuff from their deceased relatives all the time. And so what if Clive Carteret would have known how to distil some form of digitalis from foxgloves? Could he have made a batch of fake St John’s wort pills in his sister’s laboratory one night when she was out, and, as he had access to the house, switched them with Claudia’s original bottle? Perhaps he could have, in theory. But what did any of that actually prove?

  No. It sounded fantastic and convoluted, even to Effie.

  Just the thought of the look of amusement or impatience on some disinterested police officer’s face made her shudder in embarrassment. It was one thing to talk of such things to Penny, but even that had made her feel slightly foolish. And Penny had more or less scoffed at the idea of someone getting away with murder anyway.

  It was just that she kept on feeling obliged to do something about it. It was the same instinct you had when you were driving along the road and noticed a car had run into a ditch. It looked deserted, and you were almost sure that nobody could possibly be lying injured or hurt inside. That someone else must surely have witnessed the accident and called for help. Even so, you just had to go and check, because you knew that if you didn’t, and you later heard some poor soul had lain in the wreck with a broken leg or worse for most of the day, you’d feel wretchedly guilty.

  But really, what could she do? Going to the police was out. Going to Isabel with her suspicions would just be cruel, and would probably lead to all sorts of family rifts and ructions that might have some serious ramifications. And Isabel might then ask the C-Fits to stop their investigation and Corwin and the others didn’t deserve that.

  No. Effie shook her head, and started to walk back towards her car. She was just being silly. She had amused and indulged herself enough — it was time to call it a day and forget . . .

  And then she had a thought that stopped her dead in her tracks. A wave of horror swept over her. And just like that, doing nothing ceased to be an option.

  * * *

  ‘Oh hello, love, it’s you back again, is it?’ the old woman greeted her happily. ‘Wanna come in?’

  The unexpected and abrupt invitation took Effie by surprise, but she eagerly accepted. Then, as the old lady showed her into a small, crowded but clean little front room, she supposed that Mary was probably glad of any visitors nowadays, regardless of how little she knew them.

  Everyone knew that loneliness in the elderly was an ongoing problem, and so it wasn’t surprising that Mary spent her days outside by her gate, watching what little village activity there was passing her by, hoping for some human contact.

  ‘Cup of tea, love?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Effie said, then added guiltily, ‘but please don’t go to any trouble. Would you like some help in the kitchen?’

  ‘No, you just sit. I’m not so senile or decrepit yet that I can’t make a body a cup of tea,’ the old lady shot back spiritedly. ‘And I made some shortcake. Would you like some?’

  Effie wouldn’t — she knew how much butter went into them — but nodded quickly, too intimidated by Mary’s ferocious scowl to decline. Instantly, the old lady smiled beatifically and shuffled off.

  She was probably only gone five minutes, but to Effie, who was feeling increasingly desperate, it felt more like five hours. But instinct told her that it was no use trying to hurry someone like Mary. She might just shut down completely and go stubbornly silent, just when Effie really needed her to be her usual, garrulous self.

  So she sat up and thanked her effusively when she returned with a tray bearing some lovely Spode teacups and saucers, decorated with a bright floral design. She even took two pieces of shortbread and nibbled on one, before letting it join its twin, balancing on the edge of her saucer.

  ‘So,’ Mary said, with a bit of a grunt as she lowered herself into the armchair opposite her. ‘Has old Claudia been walking the floor again, rattling her chains?’

  Effie smiled. ‘Don’t tease. And no, she hasn’t.’

  ‘Pity,’ Mary said with a sigh, and picking up her own cup, blew across the top of it before taking a cautious sip. Effie, seeing that her own tea was still steaming away, decided it would be too hot to drink yet, and nervously twisted her hands in her lap.

  ‘So, what can I do for you then? By the way, what’s your name again? My memory’s not what it was.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. I’m Effie James. I didn’t mean to intrude, but there was one thing I needed to know, and I didn’t want to bother Isabel with it.’

  Now Effie was being somewhat economical with the truth there. She hadn’t gone to Isabel seeking information because she wasn’t at all confident that she’d have been able to pull it off without their client wondering what it was that Effie was really up to.

  ‘Well, if I can help,’ Mary said, with what sounded very much like mock modesty. And when Effie looked across at her, the little old lady was indeed looking at her with a twinkle in her eye that told her she wasn’t being fooled for a moment.

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing really,’ Effie insisted, giving what she hoped came across as a bright, casual smile. ‘It’s just that I’ve been looking around for some time for a daily woman to help me out in the house for a few days a week. You’d be surprised how hard it is to find someone suitable nowadays,’ she heard herself say, sounding, much to her dismay, like an appalling snob.

  ‘Oh, ah, well, I dunno that I can recommend anyone, either,’ Mary Coles said at once, glancing around at the crowded front room complacently. And it wasn’t hard to see why — for as stuffed with occasional tables, ornaments and various other knick-knacks as it was, there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. ‘I always do for myself.’

  Effie flushed, feeling absurdly guilty and lazy, even though nowadays she did her own housework too!

  ‘Oh no, I didn’t necessarily mean that you would know of someone from personal use,’ Effie demurred quickly. ‘But I understood from Isabel that Claudia had a woman who used to come in and do work for her, and I just wondered if, now that she might be out of a job, she might be free. Does she live locally by any chance?’

  ‘Oh, you mean Annie Darville,’ Mary said at once. ‘Yes, she just lives down the village a ways. Carry on down the street,’ she pointed vaguely out of the window, ‘cross over at the end, as if you’re heading to the church, then turn off up Rickyards Lane. Just off there, there’s this little nest of houses the council built just after the war. She’s in one of them. Can’t think of the number right off, but I know she’s in the one with the bright plum-coloured door. I remember my niece telling me about her husband painting it last summer. She said it was a hideous purple, but then, some people just don’t have any taste, do they?’ Mary observed with a small sigh. ‘Another biscuit?�
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  Some twenty minutes later, Effie finally managed to pry herself free from Mary, and was walking swiftly towards the church. She found the little cul-de-sac of houses easily enough, and one of them did indeed have a rich, plum-coloured front door.

  As she opened the garden gate and walked up the path, Effie found herself wondering again just what on earth she was getting herself into. And half of her still wanted to turn tail and run. She had no idea how she was going to go about getting what she needed from a woman she had never met before. The potential for making a fool of herself — not to mention getting summarily ejected from someone’s home — had to be sky-high.

  But she knew her conscience wouldn’t leave her alone if she simply went home and washed her hands of the whole affair now. Because, if by any chance at all Claudia Watkins’s supply of St John’s wort tablets had been substituted for something with digitalis in it, then it was imperative that nobody else should take them, lest they fall ill or die as well.

  And she could clearly remember Isabel telling her that her mother’s supply of the pills had been passed on to her daily help.

  And then Effie had another awful thought. What if the poor woman had already started taking them? But if that was the case, they clearly couldn’t be doing her any harm, for surely Mary would have said if Annie Darville had been ill recently.

  Before she had even lifted her hand to press the doorbell, the door in front of her abruptly opened, catching her totally wrong-footed. So far, she hadn’t managed to formulate a plan, whereby she could ask about the St John’s wort without sounding . . . well . . . totally out of her mind.

  Now, abruptly, and without any warning, she found herself looking at a small, neat, grey-haired woman in her early sixties. Big brown eyes looked at her with a vaguely curious expression.

  ‘Yes? I saw you coming up the path from the window. You don’t look the kind to be trying to sell me anything and Jehovah’s Witnesses usually come in pairs, don’t they?’

  ‘Er, yes, I suppose they do,’ Effie agreed faintly. Then added, a shade helplessly, ‘You are Annie Darville, I hope? Mary Coles told me where to find you.’

  ‘Yes, I’m Annie. We’ve not met, have we?’

  ‘Oh no. I’m a . . . er . . . friend of Isabel. Claudia Watkins’s daughter? I was hoping you might have time to have a quick word?’

  ‘Yes, I know Izzie,’ Annie said, turning to one side. ‘Please, come on through.’ Evidently, she had decided Effie looked harmless, and the mention of mutual acquaintances had probably been enough to reassure her.

  Effie was therefore shown into a large room, with big double-glazed windows framing a view out across the neighbouring estate. Unlike Mary Coles’s room, there wasn’t a knick-knack in sight. No doubt a woman who dusted other people’s ornaments for a living didn’t want to come home and do it all over again. There was a dark grey carpet (which presumably hid the dirt well) and a large, somewhat lumpy sofa with two matching armchairs.

  ‘Please, take a seat.’

  ‘Thank you. My name’s Effie James,’ Effie began, sitting down and wondering just how on earth she was supposed to set about steering the conversation to this woman’s supply of medication.

  But when she looked across at her, Annie Darville suddenly smiled. It lit up her neat, unremarkable features like a firework going off.

  ‘Oh, you’re one of the ghost people!’ she said with obvious pleasure. ‘We’ve seen you around, coming and going.’

  ‘Yes,’ Effie confirmed. And then had to give a mental double take. She had just admitted to that without a moment’s thought or qualm. But if someone had told her, just a month ago, that that would be the case, she’d have thought they’d gone mad. Even more so if they’d told her she’d find herself actively investigating a possible murder case!

  Either way, it just went to show how your life could suddenly change, without so much as a by your leave or any prior warning.

  ‘I was hoping to run into one of you people,’ Annie further surprised her by saying. ‘We’re all so eaten up with curiosity! Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘Oh, no, thank you. Mary made me one just twenty minutes or so ago and I’m still full.’

  Annie nodded. ‘She’s a bit of a character, our Mary, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, she certainly is,’ Effie agreed with a smile.

  For a moment there was one of those awkward silences whereby neither party had any idea quite what to say next. Effie, because she still didn’t know how to broach the subject that was uppermost in her thoughts, and her hostess because Annie had no idea what had brought Effie to her door.

  ‘So, I was just wondering, what are your thoughts about Claudia?’ Effie heard herself say. ‘I mean, everyone who knew her has been telling us that she was a very . . . well, strong-minded sort of woman.’

  Annie smiled faintly. ‘That she was a bit of a tartar, you mean?’

  Effie shrugged, not sure how to respond to that, since she wasn’t sure how well Annie had got on with her former employer. If she hadn’t much liked Claudia, then agreeing that Claudia had sounded an awful sort of person to work for might well help her establish some sort of rapport. But if, on the other hand, Annie had been fond of her, or still felt loyal, then it would only antagonize her.

  ‘I never met her,’ Effie temporised. ‘Which is why I was hoping that someone who knew her well might . . . er . . . clarify a few points for me. Always supposing you don’t mind talking about her, that is. I understand that you were the one to find her?’ she added gently. ‘That must have been so shocking and distressing for you, so if you don’t want reminding of it, I do understand.’

  Annie nodded and took a deep breath. ‘It’s all right. There’s no need to dance around with me. I’m not made of china. And Mrs Watkins might not have been the easiest of my ladies, but she was real quality, you know what I mean?’

  And with that simple statement, Effie suddenly felt herself to be on much surer ground. She could sense that this unremarkable woman had probably felt an odd sort of pride in working for someone that the rest of the village still regarded with respect — even if it was of the grudging variety.

  ‘Yes, I do. And I’ve been thinking much the same thing. From what I’ve learned about her, she must have been a very strong woman, a woman with an iron will. I do wish I’d known her.’

  Annie nodded. For a moment, her lips wobbled a bit, and her eyes became suspiciously bright. Then she visibly pulled herself together. ‘I was with her for nearly thirty years. Can you imagine? Started doing for her when my kids were young. It feels odd, I can tell you, not to be going up to the house every morning and getting her breakfast.’

  ‘I can imagine. You were fond of her?’ Effie said, with genuine sympathy.

  ‘Yes, I was — though some might have wondered why. A lot of people didn’t like her, see. I say that they just didn’t understand her. Mind you, it took some doing. Understanding her, I mean. She had a heart of gold about some things. But she could get fixed ideas too, about the oddest of things, and then nothing would budge her.’

  ‘Like her gardener having to retire?’

  Annie gave a brief grin. ‘Yes. Poor old Geoff. Mind you, he was like me — he knew how to handle her. He just kept on turning up and doing the work no matter what she said, and she kept paying him, because she hated to feel beholden to anyone. It was writ in stone with her that if you did a good and honest day’s work, you got a good and honest day’s wage. Of course, she would swear each time that it would be the last time that she would knuckle under, and if he kept on coming, she’d just ignore him and not pay him a penny more. Of course, we all knew she wouldn’t be able to do it.’

  Annie shook her head and sighed. ‘Not that she was soft or anything. And sometimes she did mean exactly what she said. She could be tough, and hard-headed when she felt riled enough. It was more a question of learning when that was, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Yes, I think I do,’ Effie said. ‘There were t
imes when you took her ways with a pinch of salt, and times when you knew you’d better pay attention.’

  Annie beamed at her as if she were a particularly bright student in a class of dullards. ‘That’s it! And I reckon there were one or two people who learned the same lesson, but the hard way,’ she added meaningfully.

  ‘Oh?’ Effie asked gently.

  Annie nodded. ‘Like that Vince Bagshott, for instance.’

  Effie shook her head. ‘I don’t know him.’

  ‘No reason why you should. He’s one of our local county councillors,’ Annie said flatly. ‘Mrs Watkins had him round to tea . . . oh . . . about two weeks before she died. Nothing unusual in that — Mrs Watkins was very active in the local parish and knew a lot of people on the county council as well. She didn’t like this proposed new housing development over near Bloxham, and she was determined to scupper it if she could. And she might have done too — she had a lot of power, between you and me,’ Annie said, without rancour. ‘But then, rich people often do, don’t they?’ she added matter-of-factly.

  Effie nodded.

  She was perfectly happy for Annie to talk as much as she liked, since it gave her more time to come up with some kind of excuse to leave with Claudia’s bottle of St John’s wort. If the worse came to the worst, she could always ‘confide’ that she’d been suffering from depression recently, and perhaps Annie would just offer them to her. She seemed kind-hearted enough. The only problem with that was, how could she be sure they’d be Claudia’s and not Annie’s own supply?

  ‘And Mrs Watkins knew people in high places, as they say,’ Annie swept on. ‘And what’s more, many of them owed her favours. You know what I mean?’

  ‘Yes, she was a woman of some influence, I understand,’ Effie said vaguely.