“But couldn’t they get a nanny for Rose and have you pitch in occasionally?” I asked.
Mrs. Malloy shook her head. “George was definite about wanting me full-time. Said my room’s already fixed up a treat. I suppose it should have warmed the cockles of me heart. And I did do me bloomin’ best, Mrs. H., to sound like I was bubbling over with enthusiasm. Like” —pointing a finger at the Aga cooker— "that there kettle’s doing.”
“Bother!” Leaping across the kitchen, I collided with the stepladder, to the annoyance of Tobias, who had been dozing on the top rung. I’d forgotten I’d put the kettle on for another pot of tea. Peering at Mrs. Malloy through a cloud of steam, I asked why she had to live with George and Vanessa. “Wouldn’t it work just as well if you were to have your own little place close by?”
“You think I didn’t suggest that?” She sat back down and closed her eyes. “Me own telly and bits and bobs? And who knows, perhaps some fellow I’d meet at the fish-and-chip shop who’d come along of an evening to help me hang curtains and fill up one of the easy chairs. But it’s no good dwelling on all that!” She heaved a broken sigh. “Why George wants me under his roof is a bit of a puzzle. But there it is.”
“I’m sure he’s devoted to you,” I proffered. “But, all the same, he and Vanessa are newly married.”
“I can’t stay rooted to this chair." Mrs. Malloy recovered sufficiently to eye me severely as she got to her feet. “You’ll need to get going on your spring cleaning, and I’d best be off to have a word with Trina McKinnley. She’s offered to keep an eye on me house till I decide if it’s best to sell up or let it to someone who’ll keep up the garden.”
“You will come again before you leave to say goodbye to the twins?”
“If I can face it. I did bring you something to remember me by.” So saying, she reached into her bottomless bag and brought forth one of her cherished china poodles. “This is one of me favorites. It’s a money box, as you can see if you look close. Won it I did, off a hoopla stand on the front at Margate years ago.”
“Thank you!” I took the garish thing in my hands.
“I can tell from the expression on your face you’re overwhelmed, Mrs. H., but there’s no need to feel overly beholden. I don’t know of no one as would take better care of Fifi.”
“I’ll treasure it always.” My eyes misted and it took me a moment to see that Mrs. Malloy was in an even worse state. Tears were pouring down her face, eroding the makeup that seemed to be the only glue holding her together. I knew she didn’t want me to hug her, so I simply touched her arm before she turned and walked to the door.
“I’ll do like I said about having a word with Mrs. Large about taking you on, Mrs. H. And now ta ta!” My incomparable Mrs. Malloy walked with the barest totter and not a backwards glance out the door and down the steps into the pale sunshine. Her heels clicked away down the path. The sun shone. Birds sang. And I was left with a china poodle in my hands and more memories than there were jobs waiting to be done in this season of new beginnings.
Chapter 2
With a broom and dustpan, remove all dust from the floor. Then with a wall brush, sweep the ceilings and walls and doors.
“I wish you’d forget about spring cleaning, Ellie. It’s not as though we live in squalor.”
Ben looked impossibly handsome, his dark hair rumpled and the morning sunlight bringing out flecks of gold in his blue-green eyes. We were in our bedroom getting dressed and, silly as it sounds, I still had occasional flashes of shyness with him. Something—a word or a glance—would sweep me back to the first time we met. Then I had wished fervently that a fairy godmother would appear to turn me into the sort of woman who would make this gorgeous man’s heart pound the way mine was doing.
Now he cupped my face in his hands and gave me a lingering kiss before reaching into the wardrobe for a navy-blue sweater. “You’ve got enough on your plate,” he said, “With the children constantly on the go and Jonas not up to snuff.”
“But there’s something primal about spring cleaning,” I explained, “the urge to spruce up the nest every once in a while. To throw out the old twigs and bring in the new.
“And do some redecorating?” Ben’s voice was muffled by the sweater he was pulling over his head.
“The urge has come upon me,” I admitted. While buttoning my floral dress and bundling my hair into a loose knot, I glanced about the bedroom with its wallpaper of pheasants strutting about a silver-grey background. I was tired of the heavy mahogany furniture and the burgundy-velvet curtains and irritated that neither showed signs of wear. But like most men, Ben needed to be led gently by the hand when it came to making household changes.
“Wouldn’t you like a new desk for your study?” I asked.
“No.”
“But the drawer sticks.”
“That’s its best feature. I go to write a letter, can’t get to the paper, and have to give the whole thing up. And now, my darling”—he moved towards the door—”I have to be going.”
Restraining a sigh, I trailed after him. “Ben, you always run off to work when I talk about spending money.”
“Do I?”
The forced attempt at lightness in his voice made me quicken my steps. “Is something wrong at the restaurant? You haven’t told me much lately. Even Freddy has been unusually closemouthed.” My cousin continued to dream of life as a rock star while working for Ben at Abigail’s Restaurant and living in what had been the caretaker’s cottage at our front gates.
“Business has been down.” Ben leaned against the banister railing overlooking the hall. “The dreaded mad cow disease put a lot of people off eating beef ever again. And of course vegetarianism has practically become a national epidemic.”
“Don’t people bend the rules when eating out?”
“Not so as you would notice at Abigail’s. Just when we learn eggs aren’t as bad for us as we’ve been told all these years, I can’t give away an omelet. Never mind.” He flashed me a convincing smile. “Things will turn around.”
“Absolutely,” I agreed. “I remember a couple of years ago having to wait ages to be served in Mrs. Dovedale’s corner shop-cum-post-office. A whole queue of people had boxed up their mink coats and beaver jackets and were sending them off to the headquarters of some anti-fur group for a ritual burning. And that fad passed. One of the women guests at the wedding, when Mrs. Dovedale married Sir Robert Pomeroy, was wearing a rabbit jacket. What’s important to remember is that Abigail’s is a wonderful restaurant. People have always raved about the food, the service, the ambience, everything. I have complete faith you will be back in high gear in next to no time. Still”—I hesitated, afraid of wounding his pride—”perhaps I should try and economize. No redecorating for a while. And I can tell Mrs. Large we won’t be needing her. She was meant to come for the first time today, but I’ll try to catch her in time to put her off.”
Ben moved away from the banisters. “Sweetheart, you need someone to replace Mrs. Malloy, and we can afford it.”
“She can’t be replaced.”
“Perhaps not, but you can give this Mrs. Large a try.”
“I suppose.” I gave him the smile I knew he wanted to see.
“And you won’t worry about Abigail’s?”
“Not if you promise to tell me the absolute truth about how things are going.” I took my husband’s hand and we went along to the room where our children were building a tower with wooden blocks on the rug between their little white beds. So far I hadn’t experienced a burning desire to update the nursery. I still loved its daffodil-yellow curtains, the cow jumping over the moon on the ceiling, and Mother Goose painted on the toy chest Jonas had made for the twins before they were born.
But as Abbey scrambled up, oversetting the tower in her enthusiasm to climb into Daddy’s arms, and Tam raced across the room to get his coloring book to show us his latest masterpiece, I knew I had to accept the fact that the twins were getting too big to be sharing a room. But no
new furniture. There were plenty of offerings from the past to be found in the attic.
Tam and Abbey and I stood at the front door and watched Ben climb into the car and drive off. It was a glorious day, with the sun shining gold in a robin’s-egg-blue sky and a breeze blowing in from the sea. The trees showed that first lovely haze of green, like young girls standing around in gossamer slips, waiting for their mothers to iron their summer frocks. A sparrow stopped pecking around the base of a rosebush to flit onto the path and peek cheekily up at Tam, who had ventured out onto the stone step.
“Look, Mummy”—my son’s eyes widened— "he’s wearing a black bib.”
I was tempted to say that our feathered friend was clearly on his way to a funeral, where he would be a pallbearer in company with a couple of robins, a chaffinch, and a woodpecker—all close friends of the deceased. But my children were still at that impressionable age, so I settled for telling Tam that little boy sparrows tended to slop their morning cereal, which was why the mummy sparrows had them wear the little black bibs.
Tam bounded back through the front door and looked me squarely in the eye. “Actually, I already knew that.”
Abbey’s lip quivered. She hated being left out, but as she reached for my hand, the sparkle returned to her eyes and her elfin curls shone in the sun. “We saw a fairy in the garden the other day, didn’t we, Mummy?”
“Didn’t!” Her brother banged the front door shut, making the two suits of armor by the stairs jump, before he stomped behind us down the flagstoned hall.
“Yes, we did.” Abbey added a couple of skips to her walk. “It was a real fairy and her was sitting on a frog stool.”
“Toadstool,” I corrected automatically, pushing open the kitchen door to find Jonas already seated at the table. The room was still in a state of disorder, with the step-ladder blocking the pantry door, the mop resting by the sink, and the china and glassware I had removed from the cupboards for their annual bath taking up every inch of working surface. I should have been ashamed at how little progress I had made, but it was Jonas who occupied my thoughts. I felt a twinge of alarm, realizing how much he had aged over the course of the winter. Today the impression was heightened by a tall, gaunt figure who strongly resembled the Grim Reaper looming over his shoulder.
“Hi, Ellie.” My cousin Freddy’s cheerful grin broke through his scraggly beard, which along with his lank ponytail and skull-and-crossbones earring bespoke the free spirit. “I’m being a boy scout, cheering up my old mate here.” He patted Jonas’s balding head and received a growl for his trouble.
“You came looking for breakfast, Freddy,” I retorted as the twins raced across the floor whooping with delight.
“How you do wrong me, dear coz.” He swooped up both children and tousled their hair. “Thoughts of mooching a plate of bacon and eggs never crossed my mind. I merely ambled over to see how you all were. And lucky I did, because what do I find but dear old Jonas sunk in gloom at the prospect of some woman by the name of Mrs. Large having the cheek to think she can come here and fill the hallowed void left by our beloved Mrs. Malloy.”
“We must adjust to change.” Feeling righteous, I heated water for boiled eggs and popped bread in the toaster. “We’re going to love having Mrs. Large here.” I bustled the twins into their seats at the table. “Isn’t that so, my darlings?”
“Aren’t Mrs. Malloy never coming back?” Abbey dug her knuckles into her eyes, whereupon Tam piped up knowledgeably: “I s’pect she’s dead.”
“Of course she isn’t,” I said. “She’s up in London looking after her baby granddaughter. Most people don’t die until they are really, really old.”
“Is you very old, Jonas?” Abbey scrambled off her chair to climb on his lap, putting her arms around his neck and pressing her rosy cheek to his lined one.
“I’ve seen a good many springs, my fairy.” His moustache twitched and his gnarled hand trembled as he stroked her bright hair. He was looking towards the kitchen window, through which it was possible to catch a glimpse of the copper beech. Our favorite tree in the garden was also beginning to show its age; Ben had begun to talk regretfully of having it cut down.
“Jonas, I don’t want you to go to that place where the dead people live.” Tam scowled fiercely, his way of trying to hide that he was close to tears. “‘Least not till you’re two hundred. You’ve got to show me more stuff that Mummy”—a condescending glance at me as I took the top off his egg and set his plate in front of him—”and even Daddy don’t know. Like how to put the wheels back on my train when it gets broke.”
“Sounds to me, Jonas, as though some toys of your own might help you feel young again.” Freddy lounged over to the table and flopped onto a chair. “How about getting one of those exercise bikes manufactured by Mrs. Malloy’s son? Do you a world of good. And George, poor blighter, is bound to need every penny coming his way. Marriage to Vanessa has to mean bills mounting like the Empire State Building.”
“Exercise!” Jonas sucked in his already-hollow cheeks. “Next thing, young fellow, you’ll be after me to become one of them bloomin’ daft vegetarians!”
“I don’t think so.” Freddy caught my eye and it occurred to me that perhaps he hadn’t forced himself into a two-minute trudge from the cottage motivated only by the hope of cadging breakfast. Did he want to discuss the drop-off in business at Abigail’s? Feckless though he might be in many ways, Freddy was sincerely appreciative of all Ben had done for him.
This, however, was not an opportune moment for discussing the fate of the restaurant. The twins’ ears were flapping like sheets on a line and the clock on the wall indicated that Mrs. Large was due to arrive at any moment.
I passed Jonas a boiled egg and several slices of buttered toast. “I want you to eat every morsel. Freddy will show you how it’s done.”
“Ellie, you do spoil us.” My cousin gave his egg a mighty whack with the back of his spoon and began chipping away at the shell.
“Reckon as I should keep my strength up,” Jonas growled. “A woman by the name of Large is n’owt to tackle on an empty stomach.”
“She’ll be lovely, and I’m sure very professional, as befits a leading light of the C.F.C.W.A.” I wiped Abbey’s eggy face, poured the orange juice, and while making a pot of tea, provided what little information I knew of the elite organization.
“I hope the rules don’t prohibit gossip,” said Freddy.
“Probably.”
“But not strictly enforced perhaps.” He topped off his juice glass. “After all, you say Mrs. Malloy was a member, and she was never backwards in coming forward with a juicy tidbit about this person or that.”
“I’m not bothered about other folks’ lives.” Jonas was nibbling the edge of a piece of toast.
“What! You don’t want the scoop on those two women with the dogs who moved into Tall Chimneys? Something dodgy about them.” Freddy shook his head. “One looks as though her parents tried to drown her at birth and other is too hearty by half. Vienna and Madrid Miller, supposedly sisters. Although my guess is they’re bank robbers on the lam.”
“Perfectly respectable women,” I asserted. “They’re having the next meeting of the Hearthside Guild.”
“And then there’s that woman who looks as though she just left the nunnery and is afraid to cross the road without getting permission from Rome.” Freddy was in full flood. “You know the one I mean, Ellie. She bought that cottage on Hawthorn Lane, just around the corner from the vicarage.”
“Clarice Whitcombe, and she’s doing wonderful things with the garden. Some flowers but mostly vegetables. All very organic.”
“Wonder what she uses for fertilizer?” Freddy smirked. “The body of the bishop who refused her request to be allowed to hitch her habit above her knees while weeding? And what about that odd little man? The one who bought the house a couple of miles down The Cliff Road toward Bellkiek?”
“Tom Tingle,” I said, “recently retired from the family shipping firm in
London.”
“Probably a pirate.” Freddy helped himself to more toast.
“He looks more like a gnome.”
“A real one, Mummy?” Abbey bounced in her seat.
“No, dear, just an ordinary man with a big head on a small body.”
“It strikes me”—my cousin settled back in his chair-- that there is something decidedly sinister about this influx of newcomers. Could they be members of some gang? I ask myself. Bent on setting up bingo halls or ice cream parlors as a cover for their illicit operations.”
“Why not make them white slavers?” I suggested, putting a cup of tea in front of Jonas, who blinked his eyes and looked abashed at having nodded off. “Please, Freddy, do not hound Mrs. Large for information. She may not work for any of the new people. Mrs. Malloy told me the Misses Miller had hired Trina McKinnley. Anyway, Mrs. Large is going to have her hands full helping to get me organized, without feeding your fantasies.”
Unwilling to be ignored any longer, Tam turned his eggshell upside down in its cup, stuck out his chin, and said, “I wefuse to eat my egg.” This was a favourite game, and having invented it, I knew my lines.
“Oh, you naughty boy!” I scolded, face solemn, hands on hips. “Whatever would Daddy say if he knew I had gone to all the trouble of making you a nice breakfast and you haven’t taken a tiny bite? Well, no mid-morning snack for you. Only good little boys get a chocolate biscuit.”
“Tricked you, Mummy!” Tam triumphantly turned the eggshell back over to display the empty inside. “I fool you every time, don’t I?”
Assuring him he was a master trickster, I gave him a hug, which he returned along with a smacking kiss on my cheek before bounding off to join his sister, who was busily engaged in emptying the toy box. Again my eyes went to the clock. It was now almost ten past nine. Mrs. Large was late. Something surely against the rules of the Magna Char. I was just pouring myself a cup of tea when there was a knock at the garden door and in she walked.
The Spring Cleaning Murders Page 2
