by Ann Purser
“That’s enough, Prue,” he said. “Just bear in mind what I have said.”
♦
It was a busy evening, and both Prue and Hazel were needed behind the bar, to cope with the increased demands of a darts needle match between Long Farnden and Waltonby.
The pub was already filling up when Prue arrived, and Hazel waved cheerily, continuing her conversation with a couple of young farmers from the Long Farnden team. The two girls served beers and shorts non-stop for four hours, and then finally the victorious team made a noisy exit, followed by the more subdued Waltonby Arrows, who were boozily promising revenge.
“OK for you two girls to stay extra time to clear up?” said Geoff Boggis, winking at three of the older farmers, who had quickly enlightened the landlord on the time-honoured custom of drinking after hours in a small room at the back of the pub. They had a stack of doubtful videos with which they rounded off a jolly evening, and the girls were told to keep their eyes closed and mouths shut.
Halfway through the mound of stacking and drying, Hazel changed the subject of conversation from fanciable young farmers to her latest idea for annoying her father. “You know that Lois Meade – wife of Derek, who comes in here – at Long Farnden? Her that’s a friend of my mum?”
Prue nodded. She had chatted to Lois on the odd occasion in the pub, and had liked her. “Didn’t know she was your mum’s friend, though,” she said.
“Went to school together,” said Hazel, and laughed. “They claim they were trouble, but I reckon it weren’t much more than shopliftin’ a few sweets from Wool worths.”
“Anyway, what about Mrs Meade?” said Prue, trying not to yawn. She would not admit it to Hazel, but she was tired and thought longingly of her comfortable bed in the old schoolhouse.
“Starting a cleaning business, isn’t she,” said Hazel. “My mum’s going to be one of the cleaners. Heard her telling Dad. He hit the roof, of course, but she means to do it. The thought that she might bring a bit of extra into the house smoothed him down.”
“And?” said Prue, thinking that all this was pretty boring.
“And I’m thinking of doin’ it too. Dad’ll be furious,” Hazel added happily. “He wants me to go to college, or get a proper job. The usual thing. But I reckon it’d be really interesting, going to other people’s houses and that. Mum’s always made me clean up, so I know how. And I could fit in working here as well. What d’you reckon?”
This question was a formality, of course. Hazel did not rate Prue’s advice on anything, and in any case had quite made up her mind. She had good reasons for wanting to stay around locally, not least because she was not at all sure what would happen to her mother if she left.
Prue said she couldn’t think of anything worse than cleaning up other people’s mess, and advised Hazel that she’d much better go to college and get some qualifications. She could hear her father’s voice in her own, and was aware that Hazel was not even listening. “Still,” she said, “I expect you’ll do what you want. You usually do. Anyway,” she added, “I must go now. Mum and Dad’ll be waiting on the doorstep. You coming?” Prue had assured her parents that Hazel would be walking with her all the way, which wasn’t much comfort to them, but better than nothing.
“No, you go on,” said Hazel. “I need to talk to Geoff about a rota and that, so’s I can fit in a new job. See you,” she smiled. “Mind how you go!”
There was no street lighting in the village of Waltonby, despite periodic forays into estimates and plans by the parish council. At intervals along the main street there were lights outside the front doors of the larger houses, and Prue had no fears about walking home alone. She was deep in thought about Hazel’s cleaning ambitions, when a tall shape loomed out of the shadows on a dark stretch of road. She stopped dead in alarm, but then a familiar voice reassured her.
“Evening, Prue, my dear,” said the major. “Isn’t it rather late for a young girl to be out on her own?”
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Six
Prue’s mother had gone up to bed early, not because she was particularly tired, but because she was anxious to avoid the inevitable rising tension if Prue was late back from the pub. Mrs Betts agreed on every point with her husband, but considered that it was up to him to handle this aspect of Prue’s growing into a young woman. She loved her daughter very much, and was intrigued to see how well she could handle her father. She supposed it was partly learned from herself. Right from the beginning, when he had been a promising fellow-student in teacher training college, she had known just how to get him in a good mood and keep him there. A mixture of flattery and acquiescence had been the recipe for success. Not forgetting, she reminded herself as she heard a car pulling up outside the schoolhouse, a powerful spicing of physical attraction.
Mr Betts also heard the car, and jumped up, pulling aside the curtains and staring out. He recognized the car. Two people were sitting there, and as he watched, the driver leaned across and appeared to kiss the person beside him. Mr Bett’s pulse quickened, and when he saw the tall figure of the major get out of the car and walk round to let out the passenger, and the passenger was Prue, he boiled.
“What the hell do you think you are doing with my daughter!” Mr Betts’ voice was harsh, and carried loudly up the garden path. Prue was walking towards him, and the major had started to get back in his car.
“Dad!” said Prue. “For goodness sake! Go on back into the house and I’ll explain.”
But Mr Betts was not going to let the major off so lightly. He pushed past Prue, stalked through the garden gate and wrenched open the car door. “You’ll be hearing from me!” he yelled. “And you’d better have a pretty good explanation ready. Too late tonight,” he added, aware that several neighbouring curtains had been drawn back. “First thing in the morning,” he added, and slammed the door shut again, provoking a dun-coloured terrier on the back seat into a frenzy of barking. The major stared at him without expression, then engaged gear and drove off.
Prue was waiting for him in the hall. “Up to bed, young lady,” he said, “I’ll deal with you in the morning too. We don’t want to wake your mother.”
“We’ll deal with it now, if you don’t mind,” said Prue, face set and hands trembling. She went into the sitting room, waited for her father to follow her, and then shut the door quietly. “Now,” she said, “you’d better calm down and listen, before you make even more of a fool of yourself.”
“Don’t you speak to me like that!” her father blustered, but Prue motioned him into his chair and then sat down herself.
“Are you ready to listen?” she said politely. Her father said nothing, but covered his eyes with his hands. Prue sighed, and began to explain. It had been a shock when the major loomed out of the dark like that, and she had felt faint for a moment. He had apologized and persuaded her to go inside his house and sit down for a minute, until she regained her balance. “He was extremely kind and gentlemanly,” she said. “Made his dog shake hands with me and got me a glass of water. Talked to me until I felt better.”
“What conversation?” growled her father.
“He told me about his time in the army,” she answered.
“Huh!” Along with most of the village, Mr Betts had strong doubts about the major’s army career.
“Yes, and he’s been to lots of interesting places. He showed me photographs. Egypt, Africa, New Zealand…”
“Didn’t know there was a war in New Zealand,” said her father, beginning to recover his wits.
“That was his holiday, Dad. Do try not to be so suspicious. The major is a nice man, and I’ve often had conversations with him in the pub. Hazel likes him, too, and her dad is just as horrible about him as you are.”
“Glad to hear Dick Reading has some sense,” said her father.
“Oh, it’s useless!” said Prue. “The man was kind, looked after me until I was OK, and then insisted on bringing me home.”
“And kissed you?” said her fathe
r, playing his trump card.
“That?” said Prue. “That was just a peck on the cheek to cheer me up, because I knew I was in for a rocket from you!” She stood up. “Well, now you know, and I suggest an apology to the major might be a good idea tomorrow. I’m off to bed now, and I just hope this stupid row has not woken up Mum.”
Mr Betts sat for a long time staring at the dying embers of the fire. Everything that Prue said sounded true, but he knew better than anyone what good liars children could be. Oh, damn it all. He’d have to tell her mother, of course, and maybe together they could find a sensible way of dealing with it. His own mother used to say that teachers made rotten parents, and he often had occasion to remember her words of wisdom. Yes, he’d tell Prue’s mother in the morning, and she’d know what to do.
He remembered Prue’s remark about Dick Reading. Much as he disliked the man, and despised him for undoubted violence towards his wife, he might go round and have a chat. See if he knew anything more about the major…Major! – a likely story!
♦
Next morning, being Sunday, the village slept late. Mr Betts was, however, awake early, and tiptoed down to the kitchen to make tea. He walked back upstairs carrying a tray, and put it down heavily on the bedside table by his wife. He hoped this would wake her, and then he could tell her what had happened. She stirred, and he leaned over to kiss her awake. “Morning, dear,” he said, just as he always did.
She opened her eyes and looked at the clock. “But it’s Sunday…” she said, protesting.
“Lovely morning,” he said, pouring out tea into two cups.
Mrs Betts’ reaction to his account of last night’s events was not quite what he had hoped for. In fact, she smiled. “What a kind man,” she said gently, sipping her hot tea. “Lots of things are said about him in the village, but I’ve always found him most polite and helpful.”
“He kissed Prue!” said her husband sharply.
“Yes, dear, but you said it was to cheer her up, knowing you’d be in a lather by the time she got in.”
“Not my exact words,” he answered crossly. “The man should not touch young girls, even if there was no evil intent.”
“Evil intent!” said his wife. “For goodness sake, don’t exaggerate. You’ll make things far worse than they are. If they are bad at all, which I doubt. Anyway, I think the best thing to do is nothing. Prue is quite safe, the major will probably know you’ve calmed down, and there’ll be no harm done.”
Mr Betts thought it was not a good idea, under the circumstances, to tell his wife of his plan to see Dick Reading, but he had not given it up. Soon after breakfast – Prue still in bed and his wife reading the paper – he got his stick, put the lead on the dog, and set off, saying he was going to take advantage of the lovely morning. His luck was in, he thought, as he saw Reading in his front garden, tying back a rose that had come loose in the strong wind. High clouds scudded across a bright blue sky, and Mr Betts found it difficult not to feel cheerful. Perhaps he was making too much of a meal of it. Still, now he was here…
“Morning, Reading,” he said. “Quite a breeze this morning!”
Dick Reading objected to being called ‘Reading’ by the village schoolmaster, but answered politely enough. “Out for a walk?” he said, and walked to the gate, leaning on it to signal he was available for the exchange of a few words.
“How’s Hazel?” Mr Betts did not quite know how to begin, but this was a start.
“Awkward as ever,” said Dick Reading. “Don’t know where she gets it from. I reckon they pick up all that cheek from the pub. Your girl works there too, doesn’t she?”
Mr Betts could not believe his luck. “Yes, indeed,” he said. “They were both there last night, and Prue got brought back by the major, of all people. Don’t know that I quite approve of…” His voice tailed away invitingly, and Dick Reading obligingly took up the subject.
“Wouldn’t trust him an inch,” he said. “Nor would you, if you knew what I know.”
Prue’s father took a deep breath. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me?” he said tentatively. “Could be important,” he added.
Dick Reading was only too happy. “The man’s a fraud,” he said. “Friend of mine knew him, years ago, when he was plain John Smith. Never been near an army uniform, but at that time he was trying to get into the Territorials. Some whiff of scandal attached, my friend says, and he was chucked out. No, I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.” He heard a voice calling from the house and turned round. “Just coming,” he shouted, and turned back to Mr Betts. “I’ve never said nothing about this,” he said, “but I wouldn’t hesitate to teach him a lesson if necessary. Just keep your eyes open, Betts, that’s my advice.” He grinned as the schoolmaster stiffened, and then disappeared round the back of his house.
Mr Betts did not move. He glanced at the next-door house, but the major’s curtains were all drawn closed. Should he go in, tackle him as he’d intended? No, he decided to let it be this once, but should there be anything, anything at all in the future, then he would act. He continued on his way, pulling the dog away from an interesting sniff, and did not notice the major’s bedroom curtain twitch a fraction as he went.
∨ Terror on Tuesday ∧
Seven
Between Long Farnden and Waltonby, off the road and through parkland said to have been landscaped by Capability Brown, stood an Elizabethan mansion, once the home of an ancient family and now recently converted into a country house hotel. Dalling Hall was reputed by the locals to be haunted, and the new owners had taken up the story with enthusiasm. But for the sake of nervous souls they had removed sightings of the old lady in a long grey dress from the staircase of the hall to the tiny old church across the park, where the Dalling family had worshipped for generations.
Lois Meade had worked as a cleaner in the hall when it was in a transitional stage, still lived in by a single family. Those people had bought the estate from the Dallings, hoping to get grants to restore the crumbling mansion, but had failed, and sold it on to a hotel consortium with plenty of money to put it back to its former glory. Lois had left the job when the family moved out, but a couple of weeks ago had received a telephone call from the manager of the hotel, saying he’d heard about New Brooms, needed some extra cleaners, and was she up and running yet? She’d not wanted to turn him down, and so decided to say yes, do the job herself for a while, and see how things went.
This Tuesday morning, a Tuesday she was to remember, she parked well out of sight of the main building. All the other cars were BMWs, or Bentleys or Rollers. “Don’t worry,” she’d said to the manager, “I won’t lower the tone.” She went in through the staff entrance, and asked to see the other cleaners to establish a useful timetable. This done, she took her own things and climbed the stairs. She would start on the bedrooms – only three couples staying – and work her way downwards.
It was good to be cleaning again, she decided. It gave you time to think, and she had some thinking to do. So far, she had only two definites on her team. Bridie Reading had phoned with a new and positive voice, and said she’d be keen, if Lois thought she could do it. Gary Needham was the other definite. The more she thought about him, the more she hoped she’d done the right thing in hiring him. It was risky, but she could see there’d be clients where a man going in to clean would be useful. He had charm, too, and she had to admit that she had undoubtedly succumbed.
Then there was Sheila Stratford, back from her sister’s, and ready for interview on Lois’s way home from the hall. With any luck, she’d be OK, and then Lois could go on down the list. She could even start Sheila and Gary on at the surgery straight away, if all went well. A couple of weeks previously, the doctor had looked at Jamie’s sprained ankle, and had chatted approvingly about New Brooms. He’d said immediately that he’d be her first customer, having just lost his regular woman.
Lois looked out of the window of the bridal suite and admired the view. You could be married at Dall
ing Hall, have your reception here, and honeymoon in this luxurious set of rooms, at a price. Gently rolling grassy slopes were dotted with sheep, and off to the right a wide lake, sparkling in the March sun, succoured at least forty wild duck, put there by the management and ready for execution by sporting guns in due course. Daffodils filled the garden, right up to the ditch that Lois had incredulously heard referred to by the previous owners as ‘the ha-ha’. Not far away, the ancient church, set on a small mound with a doll-size moat around it, seemed to Lois to complete a carefully composed picture.
How many ladies of the Dalling family had stood here and looked across the park as she did now? Lois tried to imagine what it would be like, but failed. Her own life had been bounded by small spaces and small concerns, the minutiae of daily existence and struggle to survive. She knew perfectly well that compared with some, she and her family were lucky, especially since they had moved into Doctor Rix’s old house. But hard work and frantic saving of every possible penny had enabled them to achieve this. The ladies of the Dalling dynasty must have taken it for granted, this huge house, the parkland and farmland that was theirs for as far as the eye could see, and beyond. Maids at their beck and call, and seamstresses putting in hours and hours of skilled work with flying fingers.
“Mrs Meade?” The sudden voice made Lois jump, and she turned round quickly.
“Goodness,” she said, “I was miles away. Hello, Hazel, what are you doing here?”
Hazel Reading smiled. “Looking for you, as it happens,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind, but the barman is a friend of mine, and he told me where to find you. I usually do a couple of hours in the bar here on the days they have weddings, so they know me.”
“Well, I have to get on,” said Lois, wondering what this was all about, and hoping it wasn’t a message from Bridie that she dare not deliver herself and had sent her daughter instead. “Is Mum all right?” she added. She supposed Hazel wouldn’t be looking so cheerful if there was something wrong.
