Vera Bird shook her head. ‘Eight dogs going missing overnight is no mean feat.’
‘It’s lucky Siggy was at the vet’s having her annual boosters or I’d have lost them all.’ Becca bit her lip and wiped under her eyes.
Vera reached across and patted the younger woman’s arm. ‘Have faith, dear. Someone’s looking after them,’ she said with a smile.
‘I can’t believe anything different,’ Becca sniffed. She pulled a tissue from her trouser pocket and blew her nose. She looked over at Siggy, who was tilting her head to the side and shaking her ear. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ Becca said, glad of the distraction.
‘Looks like an ear infection,’ Vera said. ‘Or mites. Have you checked lately?’
Becca shook her head. ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen her doing it.’
Vera Bird scooped the dog onto her lap and put on the reading glasses that hung around her neck. She lifted Siggy’s ear and prodded around for a few seconds. ‘Do you have a torch?’
Becca nodded. ‘I’ll get it.’ She wheeled herself over to one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out a small flashlight, which she passed to Mrs Bird.
‘Aha! I think little Siggy here’s got a tick,’ the old woman announced. She squinted and ran her finger along the inside of the dog’s ear. ‘Yes, it’s a big brute.’ Siggy yelped and Vera put her back down on the ground.
‘Oh my goodness, I wonder when that happened,’ Becca said, astonished that she’d missed it. ‘She’s barely been outside. Daniel took her for a walk a couple of days ago but I’ve been so focused on getting her ready for the show, I didn’t want her being out much at all.’
‘Do you have some tweezers, dear?’ Vera asked, standing up. ‘I’ll get them.’
‘In the bathroom,’ the woman replied gratefully.
Vera walked down the hallway and off to the left, returning several minutes later with tweezers, antiseptic, rubbing alcohol and cotton buds. She placed Siggy on a chair, then wedged the torch under her chin and picked up the tweezers. Within seconds she had deftly extracted the wriggling mass, pincers intact, and disinfected the area inside Siggy’s ear. The little dog rubbed her face against Vera’s hand.
‘You look as if you’ve done that a thousand times, Mrs Bird. Do you have dogs too?’ Becca was suddenly reminded of the fact that she knew very little about her neighbour.
‘Oh, I might have done it once or twice. I … my sister used to show dogs a long time ago,’ the woman said, cuddling the thankful pooch in her arms.
The back door slammed and Daniel ran red-faced and puffing into the kitchen. He lunged straight for the sink and poured himself a large glass of water, then gulped it down.
‘Daniel,’ his mother said. ‘Say hello to Mrs Bird.’
The old woman looked over and smiled at the boy.
‘Hi,’ Daniel said, still catching his breath. ‘What’s with the hospital?’
‘Mrs Bird removed a big tick from Siggy’s ear,’ Becca said, pointing at the jar that contained the critter.
Daniel peered at it and shuddered. ‘Gross. I hate ticks.’
‘Yes, well, Siggy was none too happy about it, either,’ Mrs Bird said, stroking the dog’s long ears. ‘So, dear, who’s going to parade Siggy for you at Chudleigh’s?’
Becca looked up at Vera blankly. ‘I’ll … I was planning to, but –’ Becca glanced down at the wheelchair – ‘I can’t, can I? It didn’t even cross my mind. Gosh, what was I thinking? We’ll have to withdraw.’
Daniel turned around from the sink. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought about that either.
‘Perhaps Daniel can do it,’ Mrs Bird suggested.
Becca shook her head. ‘He’s too young. They won’t allow it.’
Mrs Bird put the terrier onto the floor and clicked her fingers. ‘Off to bed, Siggy,’ the woman instructed. Siggy looked at her, then scurried across the floor to her bed in the utility room. ‘She’s such a good girl,’ Vera said. ‘Surely you have a friend who can help out.’
Daniel looked at his mother, and the pair of them looked at Vera. ‘What about you, Mrs Bird?’ Becca said.
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous,’ the old woman blustered. ‘I wouldn’t know the first thing –’
‘I could help you. We could watch videos of past dog shows, and Siggy adores you. She’s more obedient with you than she is with me,’ Becca pleaded.
Mrs Bird shook her head adamantly. ‘No, I couldn’t possibly.’
‘Please, Mrs Bird. You know it would make Mum so happy,’ Daniel said.
Vera thought for a moment. There was a part of her that wanted to shout yes from the rooftops, but what if …? ‘I’ll think about it,’ the woman said finally. She walked to the sink and washed her hands.
‘Oh, Mrs Bird, that’s wonderful,’ Becca said, smiling widely. ‘We could start practising tomorrow, if you’ve got time.’
The old woman frowned. ‘I haven’t said yes, dear.’
The telephone on the side table rang, and Becca looked at her guest apologetically.
‘Go on, I’ll let myself out,’ Vera said.
‘Daniel, can you see Mrs Bird to the door?’ Becca asked as she wheeled herself to answer the telephone. ‘Thank you for the eggs and the biscuits, and the tick.’
Vera Bird picked up her handbag and followed Daniel down the hallway and out onto the porch. He was about to close the door when he stopped. ‘Mrs Bird?’ he said.
‘Yes, Daniel?’ She turned and looked at the boy.
‘Can you please help Mum with the show? I know how much she’d appreciate it.’
The old woman sighed. ‘She’s a good person, your mother, and she certainly didn’t do anything to deserve all this,’ Vera said. ‘All right. You tell her that I’ll be back in the morning and we can start.’
Daniel Finchley’s face split into a smile. ‘Thank you, Mrs Bird,’ he said, feeling the pinpricks of tears at the back of his eyes. ‘I’ll let Mum know.’
Vera Bird smiled and turned to walk down the garden path. Thirty years had surely been long enough. No one would recognise her these days anyway, and if she couldn’t help her neighbour in need, what sort of a person had she become?
‘Isn’t that Howie’s car?’ Alice-Miranda said, pointing to the small green sedan across the road. ‘I thought she was going to visit her sister for the weekend.’
‘There must be another meeting at Mrs Parker’s.’ Sloane stuffed a flyer into Ambrosia Headlington-Bear’s letterbox. Given the number of cars in the lane, there was certainly something going on. Just as the girl finished saying so, the Parkers’ front door opened and several women spilled out onto the porch.
‘Thank you, ladies,’ Mrs Parker trilled. ‘Don’t forget our next meeting is on Tuesday evening. I want you to have put all of the things we discussed in place by then. I will speak with Miss Grimm and Professor Winterbottom this afternoon to give them the details and lock down that plan for the accommodation.’
‘Hello Mrs Parker,’ Alice-Miranda called out.
‘Oh hello dear,’ the woman replied, then promptly turned her attention back to her guests.
Alice-Miranda greeted the other committee members as they trickled down to their cars and squeezed in a quick conversation with Evelyn Pepper. She and the woman had grown close when Bonaparte and Rockstar, Aunty Gee’s prized racehorse, had become the best of friends and Rockstar had won the Queen’s Cup.
‘You’ll have to come and see us soon. Rockstar would love a visit,’ Evelyn said. ‘He hasn’t seen Bonaparte in ages.’
‘Bony would love that too. Perhaps we’ll come tomorrow afternoon,’ the child said.
‘I’ll bake some scones just in case.’ Evelyn Pepper smiled and hopped into her battered Land Rover. The woman gave a wave as she drove away.
Alice-Miranda skipped up the driveway. She wanted to ask Mrs Parker if there was anything more she and the girls could do to help with the dog show. The woman was talking to a man in a smart suit. He had a thick
head of silver hair and was one of those people her mother would have called immaculate, from his shiny shoes to the polished buttons on his double-breasted jacket.
‘Alice-Miranda,’ Myrtle warbled, ‘may I introduce you to Major Alistair Foxley? He’s the Chairman of Chudleigh’s Dog Show.’
‘Hello Major Foxley, I’m Alice-Miranda Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones, and I’m very pleased to meet you,’ the girl said, shaking hands with the man.
Alistair smiled. ‘Lovely to meet you too.’
Sloane had jogged to the end of the cul-de-sac to deliver the second-last flyer and was about to stuff the final one into Mrs Parker’s letterbox when the woman caught sight of her.
‘What on earth are you putting in there, Sloane Sykes?’ she bellowed. ‘If you have mail, don’t you think it would be easier just to hand it to me?’
Sloane looked at the page in her hand and dawdled up the driveway. ‘Sorry, Mrs Parker, I thought you were busy,’ she said sheepishly.
‘Major Foxley, this is Sloane Sykes,’ Alice-Miranda said.
‘What have you got there?’ he asked, glimpsing the photograph of the pup.
‘Yes, and did I see you girls putting something on that post?’ Mrs Parker squinted down the street.
Alice-Miranda quickly explained the situation with the lost pup.
Major Foxley looked closely at the photograph. ‘He’s a gorgeous little thing. A cavoodle, I’d say.’
‘What’s that?’ Sloane asked.
‘It’s a crossbreed, between a cavalier King Charles spaniel and a toy poodle,’ the man replied. ‘These designer dogs are very popular, and they each bring a small fortune too. Where did he come from?’
‘We don’t know,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘One of the girls found him at school. He’s really small and probably shouldn’t be away from his mother yet and Dr Davidson said that he’d covered some ground to get to us. The soft little pads on his feet were terribly cut up.’
Alistair Foxley frowned. ‘Well, I do hope you find the owner. Someone will be missing him very much, I’m sure.’
‘I trust you girls haven’t polluted the whole village with your posters. As soon as someone claims the pup, I expect them to be taken down. We can’t have the place looking unkempt, not with Chudleigh’s coming up,’ Myrtle Parker blustered.
‘We’d already thought of that, Mrs Parker,’ Alice-Miranda assured the woman. ‘If no one comes forward, Dr Davidson offered to take him, but I think Miss Grimm might let us keep him for our school pet.’
‘He’s so tiny, especially compared to the dogs the new people at the end of the road breed,’ Sloane said.
‘And what do they have?’ Major Foxley asked.
‘Afghan hounds,’ Sloane replied. ‘It says it on the sign: Nobel Kennels, Breeders of Exquisite Afghan Hounds.’
The man raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s Roberta and Barry Dankworth. I hadn’t realised they’d moved to Winchesterfield. Goodness me, Mrs Dankworth’s Citrine is the current Chudleigh’s Best in Show. I’ve never known a woman more dedicated to her dogs. You should see her come show day. She has the most comprehensive array of 1970s outfits and hairdos, which match her dogs splendidly,’ he said, visibly excited by this news.
‘We’re going to meet Mr and Mrs Dankworth tonight at a barbecue across the road,’ Alice-Miranda said. ‘You’re coming too, aren’t you, Mrs Parker?’
Myrtle pursed her lips. She was quite sure that her husband and Ambrosia had cooked up the scheme when Reginald had been helping the woman in the garden. It was not how she cared to spend her Saturday evening at all. ‘Yes, apparently we are,’ the woman sniped, ‘although I can’t imagine we’ll be there for long as I have so many things to do.’
Alice-Miranda wondered what the Dankworths had done to upset Mrs Parker already.
‘I must pop by and see them before I go,’ Major Foxley said, all aflutter. ‘And you know, Mrs Parker, if the Dankworths have any time up their sleeves, I’d be asking them onto the committee tout de suite. There are very few people with more experience of the dog show circuit than them. Roberta was born into it and Barry has embraced it wholeheartedly.’
Reginald Parker had been walking down the hallway when he heard Major Foxley talking about the Dankworths. He did his best to smother the smile that was tickling his lips.
Alice-Miranda turned and spotted him as he reached the front door. ‘Hello Mr Parker. How are you today?’ she asked.
‘Top of the world, my dear,’ he replied. ‘And what about yourself?’
She smiled. ‘Very well, thank you.’
‘Mrs Parker, why don’t you and I say hello to the Dankworths? We can see whether they can offer any assistance in the coming weeks,’ Major Foxley suggested.
Myrtle was ready and armed with an excuse. ‘I’m sure they have enough on their plate unpacking and getting the house in order,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t want to trouble them.’
‘Nonsense, Myrtle,’ her husband weighed in. ‘I’m sure Barry would be thrilled to help.’ The man knew he was treading on thin ice but, given that they were going to be neighbours, he’d much rather that the Dankworths were friends than enemies. Myrtle would just have to get over her initial misgivings.
‘Splendid!’ Alistair Foxley looked over at Reg and grinned. He wasn’t going to give Mrs Parker any time to back out.
‘I think you’ll be impressed with the Dankworths’s doghouse,’ Reg added. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it and, apparently, that television show Dog Days is going to feature it soon.’
Alistair Foxley rubbed his hands together with delight. ‘Ooh, I had always heard that Roberta had an extravagant facility at their previous home, but I never had the pleasure of visiting, so this will be a treat.’
‘I’ll get my coat,’ Myrtle Parker said, looking as if she had just sucked a lemon. The woman trundled off inside, shooting her husband quite the glare as she walked past. ‘We will talk about this later, Reginald,’ she hissed.
‘Do you girls know the Finchley lad?’ Alistair Foxley asked. ‘I think the boy would be similar in age and I suspect he goes to school here in Winchesterfield. The family moved to the area about a year and a half ago.’
Sloane shook her head. ‘We don’t have any boys at our school. Maybe he goes to Fayle or the village school.’
‘I remember Mrs Howard telling us about a terrible car accident a while ago and I thought she said the name of the family involved was Finchley,’ Alice-Miranda said, her forehead puckering.
‘Yes, it was a tragedy. Sandon Finchley was killed and his wife Becca is now in a wheelchair. Their son wasn’t with them that day, thankfully. It just occurred to me that you might know them,’ the man said.
Sloane shuddered. ‘How awful.’
‘Are they friends of yours, Major Foxley?’ Alice-Miranda asked.
‘Sandon Finchley’s father, Emerson, was one of the longest-standing and most respected canine judges in the country and a former Chairman of Chudleigh’s. He passed away quite some time ago, and I took over, but Sandon was following in his footsteps. Becca breeds cavalier King Charles spaniels and miniature poodles, though in another dreadful twist of fate, all but one of her dogs were stolen while she was in hospital,’ the man explained. ‘It’s such a pity – up until last year, the woman had won Best in Show three consecutive times.’
‘Where do they live?’ Sloane asked.
Major Foxley shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’
‘Myrtle mentioned a family that sounds like them, out past Chesterfield Downs, first house on the left. There’s just Mrs Bird after that,’ Reginald weighed in.
‘We’re honouring Sandon and his father at this year’s show with the inaugural Finchley Award for Excellence. I was hoping that Becca would present it, and I did see yesterday that she’s entered Siggy, her previous champion, in this year’s show, although goodness knows how she’s going to manage it. I’ve tried to phone her a few times this past week with no luck. And I won’t have
time to get out there this afternoon.’
‘I could go and see her tomorrow,’ Alice-Miranda offered. ‘I was going to take my pony, Bonaparte, for a ride to Chesterfield Downs. It wouldn’t take long to pop a bit further down the road. I can ask her to phone you or at least pass on the message and she can decide for herself.’
‘Are you sure? It would be wonderful if you could,’ Alistair Foxley replied. ‘I have to be on the other side of the country tomorrow to do some pre-show judging.’
‘Don’t worry, Alice-Miranda loves making new friends,’ Sloane said with a grin.
Myrtle Parker strode down the hallway with her beige handbag swinging from her left arm. ‘Come along then, Major Foxley, let’s make this a quick visit, shall we?’
‘Well, it was lovely to meet you all and I imagine I’ll be seeing you again soon,’ Major Foxley said, giving them a wave. He offered Mrs Parker his arm and the two of them descended the steps.
‘Bye, Major Foxley! See you tonight, Mrs Parker,’ Alice-Miranda called.
‘We’d better get back to school,’ Sloane said, her stomach grumbling. ‘I can almost smell that pizza from here.’
Mr Parker rubbed his belly. ‘Mmm, that sounds delicious.’
‘You could come too,’ Alice-Miranda offered. ‘I’m sure that Miss Grimm wouldn’t mind a visitor.’
The man smiled. ‘I think my school days are long past, but thank you for the offer. I said I’d help Ambrosia get the barbecue sorted in a little while, so I’ll see you all later this afternoon.’
Alice-Miranda leaned forward and hugged him around the middle.
‘Now, what’s this for?’ The man grinned.
Alice-Miranda looked up at him. ‘You’re a miracle, Mr Parker, and I’m so glad that you’re better.’
‘Me too,’ the man said. ‘I don’t think it would have been fair to keep Myrtle in that state of misery for another minute longer. And for all her huff and puff, that wife of mine has a heart of gold. It’s just the tongue of acid that gets her into trouble sometimes.’
The girls giggled.
‘I hope you find the owner of your puppy,’ Reginald said, waving goodbye.
Alice-Miranda to the Rescue Page 11
