The Case of the Missing Morris Dancer

by Cathy Ace

  Again Tudor shook his head, but this time he added, ‘I’ve been thinking about it a lot. And talking about it with Annie. But I haven’t come up with any bright ideas. Sorry. I wish I could. I told her I’d phone her if I do think of anything … or would you prefer me to phone you?’ he asked of Mavis.

  She could tell by his eyes he was hoping she’d reply in the negative, so she did. ‘No, you and Annie are building a rapport. Use her as your contact.’ Although she wanted to use different words and a different tone, she judged it better to stick within professional parameters. ‘But, if that’s all …’

  Tudor took his cue, rising from his seat. ‘Would it be alright with you if I took the Morris equipment with me? I’ll keep it safe, under lock and key all the time, at the pub.’ He looked nervously from Mavis to Althea.

  ‘It is neither mine nor the dowager’s to give,’ said Mavis simply, ‘but it seems to make sense that you keep it for now, since you are the one who will be using it on Saturday. We’ll have to see how things stand after that to know what to do with it then.’

  Tudor nodded his agreement, packed everything up, scooped it all into his large arms and bade a good evening to the two women.

  Alone again, Mavis said to Althea, ‘Out with it then. The Morrises at the Morris farm. Who’s this missing girl, d’you think?’

  ‘Well, that’s just it, I have been thinking, and I realize I can’t be positive. I know there were two brothers and a sister. One brother inherited the farm, the other – Aubrey’s grandfather – moved away. I believe the sister stayed and she married. As I recall she herself had a girl. Yes, that’s right – the two sons had sons, the sister had a girl.’ She looked across at Mavis and smiled her bright smile. ‘Funny that. Anyway, it sounds like it’s that girl, Aubrey’s father’s cousin Netta Roberts, Carol met at the Morris farm. If that’s the case then we can infer, from what Carol told us, that it’s her daughter that’s missing, as well as Aubrey. Maybe she is Boudica.’

  Mavis nodded. ‘I think we can also infer Netta Roberts married a man with a temper, who won’t be pleased if his daughter has disappeared, and possibly eloped, with Aubrey – who would be … what? Her great-cousin? Her grand-cousin? Her cousin once, or maybe twice removed? I’ll admit I’ve never been very clear on what they’re called when they’re not just first cousins. Is it second cousins?’

  Mavis noted her friend’s excited expression. ‘Now that’s where I can help. Marrying into a family like this, one has to be up on all that sort of stuff. It helps everyone to know how far back bloodlines go, just to avoid any nastiness when it comes to marriages – you know, recessive genes and all that. Mind you, most of the people in Britain with a title are related if you go back far enough, in the same way that almost everyone in the world with a European heritage is somehow related to Charlemagne. Now, if you say “removed”, that means that you’re talking about different generations. Aubrey and this unknown girl would be the same generation as each other – their grandparents being of the same generation too. So they’d theoretically be second cousins, because they had the same great-grandparents as each other, but …’

  ‘So they’d be able to marry, no problem,’ said Mavis. ‘Henry VIII sorted that out, didn’t he? Making sure cousins could marry.’

  ‘But they aren’t,’ said Althea.

  ‘They aren’t what, dear?’ asked Mavis, a little confused.

  ‘They aren’t consanguineous,’ said Althea triumphantly. ‘If that’s who this girl is, who we think is missing.’

  Mavis grinned. ‘Now I think you’re poking fun at me a wee bit, aren’t you, dear? We’ve already established my only knowledge of Latin is that which I’ve picked up in my medical career, so, let me see if I can beat you at your crossword-solvers game. “Sanguine” comes from the Latin root for “blood”, so I’m going with “consanguineous” meaning of the same blood. Would I be right?’ Althea nodded graciously. Mavis continued, ‘So you’re saying that they wouldn’t be related? But how could that be?’

  ‘Aubrey’s grandfather’s sister wasn’t a blood sister. She was evacuated from London during the war. To the Morris farm. Now I know this is all long before my time, but I seem to recall something about all her family being killed in the Blitz, so the Morrises adopted her, and she stayed. She didn’t marry a Morris, so her daughter, and therefore her granddaughter, wouldn’t have Morris blood either.’

  Mavis sat for a moment and studied her hands in her lap. ‘So why would the father be so angry if she was carrying on with Aubrey Morris? He seems like ideal son-in-law material; a steady man with a good business. And, if this is the same girl to whom he was writing as Boudica, it seems they had a great deal in common in terms of their knowledge of languages, if nothing else, before romance bloomed. It’s very puzzling.’

  ‘Dinner is served, Your Grace,’ said Edward loudly from the doorway. ‘Shall I escort Your Grace to the dining room?’

  The heads of both women shot up. Shaking her head at the butler, the dowager said quietly, ‘Mavis and I shall walk in together, thank you Edward.’ Mavis noticed that Althea leaned heavily on her cane as she rose from her seat, then her friend said, ‘I hope it’s not a long dinner. I’m missing McFli.’

  Taking the dowager’s arm Mavis steered and tried to hide the concern she felt. ‘I know Ian’s gone across to the Dower House to make sure they are fully aware of what’s happening with us this evening, but I agree that I hope it’s not a lengthy meal. Speaking for myself, I could do with a relatively early night. How about we miss the dessert, however tempting it might be, and get away as quick as we can?’

  Althea’s relieved expression told Mavis she’d made an acceptable suggestion, so they moved off together.

  Passing through the great hall toward the dining room, Mavis noticed a bright light shining through the glass panes of the front doors. ‘What on earth is that?’

  Althea looked toward the light. ‘Looks like someone’s trying to drive up the front steps. Edward? Edward!’ she bellowed. Mavis was amazed at the strength of her tiny friend’s voice.

  Edward appeared, looking calm, as usual. ‘Yes, Your Grace?’

  ‘Something’s happening out there. Take a look, would you?’

  With a courteous ‘Certainly, Your Grace,’ Edward moved toward the door. Mavis couldn’t help but think how the man seemed to skim the surface of the floor, rather than walking properly.

  A moment later Edward rejoined the two women, holding a long, narrow box in his hands. ‘This was on the front steps, Your Grace, and a motorcycle was leaving at a great rate of speed. It is addressed to His Grace. It was ringing a moment ago, but it has stopped now.’

  ‘It was what, Edward?’ Althea sounded puzzled.

  ‘Ringing, Your Grace. As a telephone would ring.’

  Althea looked at Mavis with a twinkle in her eye. ‘This sounds like it might be fun. Let’s take it to the table with us. You’ll bring it, Edward, thank you.’

  Mavis smiled as she saw how gleeful the package had made Althea, and the two women hovered beside Henry as he opened the box. Inside was a mound of tissue paper with a mobile phone nestling in it.

  ‘Someone has sent me a telephone?’ said Henry. ‘How very odd. And the box seems a little on the large side for it, too.’

  ‘There must be something in the tissue paper, Henry,’ said Althea excitedly. ‘Root about a bit.’

  Henry threw his mother a withering glance, which Mavis saw the woman completely ignore. Pulling back the papers Henry said, ‘Well that’s decidedly odd.’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Stephanie, finally joining the others to peer into the box.

  ‘It’s an arm!’ shouted Henry, pushing the box away and leaping out of his seat in horror.

  ‘An arm?’ said Stephanie, leaning to get a better look. ‘It can’t be an arm, there’s no hand. Look – it’s … oh no! It’s a sleeve. One of the sleeves off my wedding dress!’

  ‘It’s what?’ blustered Henry, then he dropped the lid
of the box he’d held onto with a start as the telephone began to ring. He looked at the three women surrounding him, as well as his sister and her nurse. ‘I’m not answering it. It can’t be for me.’

  Mavis noticed his eyes turn toward Edward who was hovering inside the door of the dining room. ‘Ach, give it to me,’ she said, picking up the phone. Pressing the button to accept the call Mavis said, ‘Aye? Who is it, and what do you want?’

  She noticed all eyes were glued to her as she listened. She put down the phone when the person at the other end hung up.

  ‘What? What is it? Who was that? Why is the sleeve of my dress in this box – and where’s the rest of my dress? It’s supposed to be at the dressmaker’s workshop in Bridgend,’ wailed Stephanie. Mavis was quite alarmed by how unhinged the girl seemed to have become in just an instant.

  ‘A young man with a thick Welsh accent informed me he has the rest of the dress, and will deliver it here, in time for the wedding, if you pay him five thousand pounds,’ said Mavis without drama.

  ‘Preposterous,’ exclaimed Henry. ‘Why would we do that? It’s just a dress. It cannot be worth that much. Besides, how do we know he has it?’

  Althea looked at Mavis with pleading eyes, and she knew she had to step up. ‘I would suggest he delivered, or sent, the sleeve to prove he has the rest of the dress, and I can only imagine your bride-to-be would very much like to get married in the gown she’s chosen and had fitted to her body for the occasion. Would that be right, Stephanie?’

  Stephanie nodded dumbly.

  ‘Very well, then,’ said Mavis, ‘I shall contact my team and we will begin an immediate investigation into what I have no doubt my esteemed colleague Annie, who enjoys giving our case files alliterative names, would refer to as “The Case of the Severed Sleeve”. Stephanie, if you’d be so kind as to furnish me with the telephone number of your dressmaker, I’ll make some enquiries. I shall return for a plate, if you would be so good as to keep something warm for me, Edward.’

  TWENTY-TWO

  Wednesday, February 26th

  Speaking to Annie on the telephone, Carol used every euphemism she knew for ‘fine’ when she emphasized to Annie that she would be it. She was thrilled to hear that there was a ‘new’ investigation in hand, and agreed with Annie when she told her that Mavis had thought Carol’s skills might come in handy.

  Seeking escape in the downstairs loo from an annoyingly over-solicitous David, Carol had to admit she’d been lucky – in more ways than one. Of course she was happy she’d been sent home from the hospital with a completely clean bill of health for her and Bump, but she was also delighted she’d been able to move the case ahead just a little. David had banned her from speaking to Mavis for the entire day, but had relented insofar as she was to be allowed to visit the church on Thursday morning to help with the flower arranging for a few hours. She’d made it quite clear she’d sit down frequently and would avoid any and all areas that might be even a little damp underfoot. But, other than that, she knew she’d have to sit things out at home for the whole of Wednesday ‘resting up’. And she wasn’t looking forward to it. David had also made it abundantly clear during their drive from the hospital that he thought she shouldn’t return to work at all before the birth of the baby.

  ‘You alright in there?’ David was knocking at the door.

  ‘Yes,’ she snapped, ‘I’m fine. I’ve only been in here two minutes.’

  ‘Five. You’ve been in there for five minutes.’

  Carol flushed – unnecessarily – then flung open the door. ‘I won’t have you timing me in the toilet, David. It’s ridiculous. It’s demeaning. I’m a person, you know. Not a child, a grown-up person. I’ll go do-lally if you watch over me every minute of the day.’

  ‘I’m worried about you,’ said her husband, sounding exactly that.

  Carol marched into the kitchen and plonked herself on a chair beside the large, round scrubbed oak table. ‘We need to talk,’ she announced. ‘Sit yourself down.’ She pulled out another chair, into which David insinuated himself, looking cowed.

  Carol sat quietly for a few moments, and David waited with an apprehensive look on his face. She could see his knee jerking up and down beneath the table. Gazing around the room Carol found she wasn’t comforted by her collection of cat-themed knick-knacks, and decided she’d have a big clear-out of all the items not specifically featuring calico cats very soon. Nothing that bore no resemblance to Bunty would be allowed to stay.

  Almost as though she knew she was being thought of, Bunty jumped onto Carol’s lap and presented herself for petting, nuzzling Bump and pawing at Carol’s leg. Carol stroked her beautiful fur, upon the dazzling whiteness of which was distributed the perfect balance of black and tan patches – the black patch over one eye giving Bunty a distinctly piratical look. Carol allowed Bunty’s purring to rumble through her own body for a moment, and she felt instantly more calm. Just when she judged her husband couldn’t take any more silence she said, ‘I can’t do it, David. It’s not natural. I can’t go on like this.’

  David looked panic-stricken. ‘What do you mean?’

  As Carol continued to stroke Bunty she looked at her darling husband’s tousled light-brown hair, tired amber eyes and pale complexion and said, ‘We are about to be parents. Bump is as important to me as it is to you. Never forget that. But I cannot disappear as a person for possibly the next few weeks until Bump reveals itself, and you have to understand that. I’m pregnant, not ill. Millions of women all around the world are pregnant right now, and they are leading full, active lives. I am healthy. Bump is healthy. You cannot imprison me in this house just because I am pregnant. I had a little fall. We took all the necessary steps to make sure I am well, and I am. So, please, stop it, David. If you don’t get a grip, this child could be born to a divorcing couple. There. I’ve had my say. Now it’s your turn.’

  David looked shocked. Carol hadn’t seen him look that way since the day she’d first asked him out for dinner. On that occasion the shock had changed to delight, this time it turned to a wobbly chin and a threat of tears. Sympathetic hormonal changes?

  ‘I know you’re right, but I can’t help myself,’ whined David, running his hands through his hair. ‘I tell myself off as I hear the words come out of my mouth, but out they come anyway. It’s like I’ve become completely irrational. And you’re right, it’s getting worse. I’ve got to get a grip, but don’t joke about divorce, love. That’s not funny. If my being like this is that much of a problem, well, I’ve got to come to terms with it. I’ll … grow up, as you put it.’

  Carol sighed with relief. ‘Thank you. That’s all I needed to hear. You’ll make the best father in the world, once you come to terms with the fact that you won’t be able to wrap Bump in cotton wool for life. Now, with that sorted, I am warning you that Annie will be here soon with something for me to work on. I won’t leave the house, but I will be doing something with my brain. I’ll keep my feet up when I can – though you need to understand that’s not very comfy for me at the moment, not unless I’m flat out.’

  Half an hour later, having managed to shoo Annie away with many assurances that she would take it easy, and she was just fine, Carol was sitting with a mobile phone in one hand, a box with a torn sleeve in it on the table in front of her, and the knowledge that she could be of real help to Stephanie who, unsurprisingly, was very upset that her dressmaker had allowed her wedding dress to be stolen from her workroom.

  She began her task by making some notes, set up two laptops, her mobile phone, and pulled a thumb-drive from a little cat-shaped box in which she kept precious things; in this instance, an enviable contact list she’d developed during her years in the City.

  Now to work, she thought to herself. She examined the phone that had been delivered in the box, found the model, barcode and serial number, and consulted her list of contacts. Her first email went off to the head of IT for a telephone manufacturer in Singapore she’d met during one of the networking lunch
es she’d attended in the City. Knowing the man was a complete workaholic who owed her a big favor, she wasn’t surprised to get a response from him within a couple of hours.

  He then put her in touch with a logistics supremo in Hong Kong who said she was able to take the data gathered so far and would follow through with various shipping companies she knew and to get back to Carol as soon as possible with the final link in the chain.

  Despite the fact she’d kept her promise to David and had, indeed, taken it easy and put her feet up as often as possible, Carol felt quite satisfied with her accomplishments for the day.

  TWENTY-THREE

  After dropping off the box containing the sleeve and the phone to Carol, Annie realized she needed a couple of packets of Fisherman’s Friends to give to her dad when he arrived; they were his favorites, and she knew he’d appreciate the thought. She nipped across the green to the shop to see if they had any. When she entered the shop the little bell rang out, but there was no sign of Sharon. Odd, thought Annie. ‘Sharon?’ she called. ‘Shar?’ Nothing.

  She peered behind the counters of both the shop and the post office parts of the store, then ventured to the doorway that led to the rest of the building. Sticking her head through the multicolored plastic ribbons that formed what couldn’t really be called a privacy curtain, she shouted, ‘Sharon?’ again, and waited, listening intently.

  ‘With you in a minute,’ she heard from a distance.

  ‘Alright, doll,’ replied Annie.

  ‘Sorry about that. It was my dad on the phone,’ said Sharon rushing into the shop. ‘There wasn’t anyone in here when you came in, was there?’ She looked about the place in a state of panic. ‘I shouldn’t have left but my mobile packed up and he wanted to talk to me about doing something for Saturday. Goodness knows what he’s up to.’

  ‘Do you mean he’s doing something at the wedding?’ Annie had no idea what Sharon meant.

  Smiling, Sharon replied, ‘Not as such. Marjorie Pritchard’s been on at him to come up with some sort of device that will hold multiple layers of daffodils for either side of the chancel steps.’