Mrs. Malory and Any Man's Death

by Hazel Holt

  I noticed that “exhausting” was the word that sprang readily to mind in the representatives of both church and state.

  “It must be horrid,” I said. “Though, if it gets too much for you, you could always retire.”

  He laughed politely. “I might just do that. But I simply couldn’t resist coming down for the Harvest Supper. Such happy memories of it in the old days—quite different now, of course. When I was a boy it was the event of the year—all the workers on the farm and their wives and children, in the big barn; a real knees-up. Well, you can imagine—all that home-brewed cider!”

  “I imagine this will be a more formal affair,” I said.

  “Is Diana coming?” Rosemary asked.

  “Something the matter with one of the horses, but she hopes to be along later.”

  “Are you down here for long?” I asked, not that I particularly wanted to know, but somehow I always found myself making this kind of all-purpose conversation with Toby, probably because I only ever seemed to see his public face, and what else could one say to that?

  “Only for a few days, I’m afraid. There’s a rather important parliamentary committee that I’m sitting on—public transport, very boring—and I have to be back for that, but I do hope to have a little time down here before the House sits again.”

  I could sense, rather than hear, Rosemary give a little sardonic snort at this and I hastened to say, “They do seem to have put on a wonderful spread—all that marvelous food and drink. And I believe Marcus Hardy—you know, he lives at Lark Hill, just outside the village—bought an old cider press last year, so we may even have home-brewed cider!”

  “Ah, but it won’t be like the old stuff. I can remember as a boy sitting with the men in the cider house passing round an enormous jar, and the cider was really rough and had bits of goodness knows what floating around in it and you had to drink it or else you’d lose face!”

  “Telling you about the old days on the farm, is he?” Annie had joined us. She turned to Toby. “Thought you were saving all those stories for when you come to write your memoirs—that’s what you politicians do, isn’t it, when you give up? Make a bit of money selling it to the Sunday papers.”

  He gave her the MP smile, a little uneasily, I thought. “Oh, I’ve got a great deal of material,” he said, “political and otherwise, but I do have a special feeling for this part of the world; after all, as I was saying just now, I’m a countryman at heart.”

  “I suppose that’s why,” Annie said sharply, “you have a London constituency.”

  The smile again. “Ah, we politicians have to take what we can get.”

  “The best of both worlds,” I said, feeling obliged to break up what seemed like a tense moment. “Aren’t you lucky!”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want to live in London,” Rosemary said. “I did when I was young. I thought it would be lovely to live where the really important things were happening. But now everything’s changed and changed for the worse.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Toby said. “London’s still an exciting place to be, though, of course, I’m fortunate to be at the center of things, as it were.”

  “None of you lot are ever there,” Annie said. “When I watch that Parliament channel on my Sky TV—I like to keep up—the place is always half empty. No, not even that, just someone speaking and one or two people round him, and then a lot of empty seats. I don’t call that a job of work!”

  “A lot of the work is done in committee,” Toby said, with an air of controlled patience. “As I was explaining earlier, I’m serving on a rather important one, on public transport . . .”

  “Will it give us a better bus service to Bridgwater?” Annie demanded. “No, I didn’t think so. Well, I can’t stand here chatting; I’ve got to get back and see what they’re up to in the kitchen.”

  “Well,” Rosemary said when Annie had gone, “she doesn’t mince her words, does she?”

  Toby laughed. “Oh, Annie and I understand each other; we more or less grew up together. In fact, I do believe that, apart from Fred and Ellen Tucker, we are the last original inhabitants still living in the village.”

  “The last of the aboriginals,” I said. “Ellen was talking about it just the other day.”

  “Of course,” Toby said, “rural depopulation is a serious matter. I hope to bring a private Member’s Bill on that very subject.”

  Since Toby was now embarked on what appeared to be a rerun of one of his parliamentary speeches, I was relieved when Rachel came up.

  “Oh, Toby, sorry to interrupt, but everything’s ready now, so if you could gather people together and say a few words. Just introduce the entertainment—they’re all ready—and then after that Father William will say a prayer and we’ll all get on with the eating and drinking, which is the main thing, really!”

  Certainly the food was marvelous. When the entertainment was over Rosemary and I, who’d been getting hungrier by the minute, filled our plates (rather greedily) and sat down at one of the tables. We’d just settled when we were joined by Jim and Mary Fletcher—not the people I would have chosen to spend the evening with, but they chatted amiably enough about the food and the entertainment we were promised.

  “Weren’t those handbell ringers from Lower Barton wonderful?” Jim said. “They’re really quite remarkable.”

  “Such an old tradition,” Mary said. “And of course we have a very fine peal in the church here; I expect you’ve heard them. In the olden days they used to muffle the bells on New Year ’s Eve to alternate the six normal rings for the New Year with six almost inaudible for the old. Isn’t that interesting—perhaps you could put it in the Book.”

  “How fascinating,” I said, with what conviction I could muster.

  “Oh, Mary will put you right,” Jim said. “Very interested in things like that—always has been. When we were living in Farnborough she was very involved with the local history society. Working in the library, you see, she was able to look up all sorts of things for them. I’m sure she could do the same for you here—she’s struck up quite a friendship with the chief librarian in Taviscombe, haven’t you, Mary?”

  “Well, of course I’d be only too glad to do what I can to help,” Mary said stiffly. “I understood that Annie was going to compile it all herself and I thought she might have been glad of a little assistance, since she’s always so busy. But, of course, I do see that a proper author, like Sheila here, would be the person to ask.”

  “I must say I thought Annie was doing it all,” I said, recognizing umbrage when I heard it. “But apparently she expects me to do more or less the whole thing, which I really hadn’t bargained for. So I’d certainly be most grateful if you could spare the time—there’s a great deal to do and I’m sure, with your experience, you’d be exactly the right person.”

  “There you are, Mary,” Jim said. “I told you Sheila would appreciate your help. Why don’t you come round one morning, Sheila, to have some coffee and a chat?”

  “That would be lovely,” I said. “Do give me a ring and we’ll arrange a date. Now,” I continued, standing up, “I think I must just have a tiny slice of that delicious chocolate cake while there’s still some left. How about you, Rosemary?”

  “Oh dear,” Rosemary said when we were out of ear-shot, “do you really want to work with Mary Fletcher?”

  “To be honest,” I said, “I’ll be delighted to work with anyone who’s willing to take some of the burden—there really is so much to do and I know Annie will be badgering me if I’m not doing things quickly enough for her. No, I’ll be glad to off- load as much as she’ll take!”

  Diana, underdressed, I thought, for such an occasion in jeans, shirt and a body warmer, was pouring herself a glass of red wine at the buffet. She held up the bottle and looked at the label. “Australian merlot,” she said. “I suppose it could be worse.”

  “Oh, Australian wines are splendid,” I said, “almost my favorites.” Diana gave the impression of raising her eyebrows wi
thout actually doing so. “Though, of course,” I added, “I usually drink only one solitary glass of wine with my supper.”

  It’s odd, really, the way I always make fatuous remarks when talking to Diana. Rosemary says it’s a sort of disdain on my part, not thinking her worthy of a rational reply.

  “How’s the horse?” Rosemary asked. “Toby said one of them wasn’t well.”

  “Caught his leg on some wire when we were out last Tuesday,” Diana said briefly, “so I’ve got to put fomentations on it.”

  “Oh dear,” I said, “that’s quite a business.”

  “A blessing tonight.” She laughed. “That way I didn’t have to sit through the ghastly ‘entertainment’—last year it was those dreary handbell ringers and that grisly woman singing folk songs, or some old man telling endless dialect stories.”

  “Well, there’s still quite lot of food left,” I said helpfully. “It’s very good.”

  “I don’t really want anything,” she said. “I’ll just have a bit of quiche and some of this wilted salad. Oh, and another drink.” She drained her glass, refilled it and drank again. “Did Toby say his piece like a good little MP?” I wondered just how much she’d had to drink before she arrived. “And I suppose dear Father William said grace, or whatever you call it—God, that man is so camp—no wonder he wanders around all the time in that frock! And all this broadcasting nonsense, so ridiculous!” She put some food on her plate with an unsteady hand so that some of the salad spilled onto the cloth. She laughed again, rather more loudly. “Oh dear, mustn’t make a mess, or that old bat Annie Roberts will never let me hear the last of it.” She picked the salad carefully off the cloth and put it on her plate. “There, now.” She lowered her voice and leaned confidentially towards us. “Now she’ll never know! Thinks she knows everything—she’s a witch.”

  “Won’t you sit down,” Rosemary said. “It’s so much easier to manage a plate and a glass.” She led Diana away to an empty table and gave me a speaking look. Interpreting it correctly, I looked around for Toby. He was listening somewhat abstractedly to Captain Prosser and seemed relieved when I drew him away.

  “I think Diana is a little unwell,” I said. “Perhaps she should go home.”

  “Oh God, not again! I don’t know what’s got into her these days; she never used to get into this state.” He looked across to where Rosemary was urging Diana to eat some of her quiche. “Oh well, I’ve done my bit here, so I suppose I’d better take her home before it becomes too obvious. Thank God she didn’t drive down here. Bless you, Sheila.”

  Their departure seemed somehow a signal for other people to go.

  “I think we might get away now,” Rosemary said. “We ought to find Rachel and Phyll and thank them.”

  “Rachel and Phyllis?” Ellen said when we asked. “I think they’re in the kitchen.”

  The kitchen, like the rest of the village hall, reflected the prosperity of the village. There was a large catering-style cooker with two ovens, as well as a microwave, a big refrigerator, a dishwasher, a gleaming double sink, ample cupboards and fitted work tops all round. Phyll was unloading the dishwasher while Rachel and Judith Lamb were helping Annie sort out the remains of the food.

  “Not a lot left,” Judith said.

  “I’m not surprised,” I said. “It was gorgeous.”

  “I’ve got a couple of boxes here,” Rachel said to Annie. “Shall I pack some stuff for each of you? It seems such a shame to waste it.”

  “I’d be glad of some of it,” Judith said. “Save me cooking for lunch and supper tomorrow. How about you, Annie?”

  “I hate seeing good food go to waste—I don’t mind using it up. This green stuff will have to go out—I thought at the time you were making too much, Rachel—and the fruit salad. It’s always a mistake to put bananas in a fruit salad; they only go brown. Pass me the rubbish bag, Judith, but don’t put it out tonight or the foxes will tear it open. There should be a collection tomorrow, but you never know with this council—useless lot!”

  I turned to Rachel. “We just wanted to say good-bye and thank you so much for inviting us; it was a lovely evening.”

  “Lovely,” Rosemary said, “and heavenly food. I’ll give you a ring and we’ll get together soon.”

  Annie looked up from tying up the bin bag. “Don’t forget, Sheila, I need to go over those letters with you sometime soon—there’s a lot to do.”

  “Yes, of course,” I said. “I’ll get the photocopies done so I can start reading them; then I can return the originals to you. Anyway, Mary Fletcher said she’d be willing to help—looking things up and so forth.”

  “That woman—she won’t be much use to you. Thinks too much of herself.” She gave the string round the bag a vicious tug. “Thought she was going to do it all. Just because she used to work in a library. I soon put her straight about that!”

  “I’m sure she’ll be a help in checking things, dates and things like that,” I said placatingly.

  “Well, don’t blame me if she makes a mess of things,” she said, seizing a cloth and vigorously wiping down the work top.

  “Well,” Rosemary said, edging toward the door, “it’s been a wonderful evening; we’ve enjoyed it so much.”

  In the car going home Rosemary said, “What on earth got into Diana? Not like her to make an exhibition of herself on a couple of glasses of wine.”

  “I rather think she’d been drinking before she came—she obviously hadn’t bothered to change after seeing to her horse. But I wouldn’t have thought she was the sort of person who’d hit the bottle. I wonder what’s wrong.”

  “Being married to that clown Toby?”

  “She’s put up with him for years and, anyway, he’s in London most of the time. Oh well, one more of life’s unsolved mysteries. And, I must say, if I have to have much to do with Annie Roberts, Diana won’t be the only one turning to drink!”

  Chapter Six

  I had the letters photocopied and rang Annie to arrange a time to see her. There was no reply so I gratefully put the matter to one side. But after a few days I thought I’d better go to call on her before she started to persecute me about them. As I drove cautiously along the narrow road to Mere Barton, I had to back awkwardly for quite a way to let an ambulance get by, so I was feeling a little flustered when I parked the car by the hotel and walked up the village street. When I approached, I saw that a few people had gathered outside Annie’s house. They were in deep conversation, but as I came up to them Judith Lamb turned and greeted me.

  “Isn’t it terrible, Sheila—have you heard?”

  “Heard what?” I said.

  “Poor Annie—oh, it’s so awful . . .”

  “What’s happened?” I asked. “Something to do with Annie? Is she ill?”

  “Very ill,” Jim Fletcher said. “Some sort of stomach upset, but very serious. They’ve just taken her to hospital.”

  “How dreadful. Was it a bug of some kind?”

  “We don’t know yet. It’s been going on for a couple of days now. Judith found her on Monday in a terrible state.”

  “She’d been so ill,” Judith said. “You know, sickness and so forth. She was really weak and still had quite a lot of pain, but she wouldn’t let me call the doctor, said it would go off, and told me not to stay. Well, you can imagine how I felt, leaving her like that, but she insisted.”

  “How awful,” I said.

  “Yes, it was. I didn’t know what to do for the best. I rang Jim here and he said leave her for a bit and then he and Mary would call the next day and see how she was.”

  “We did call,” he said, “but she didn’t let us in—just called out to say that she was all right.”

  “But she wasn’t all right,” Judith broke in. “She was dreadfully bad in the night and when I called in this morning I said I didn’t care what she said, I’d ring Dr. Macdonald, and, really, by then she wasn’t in any fit state to stop me! Well, I was just on my way into my house to phone when I saw Lewis Chapman pa
ssing in the street. He took one look at her and called an ambulance—he’s going with her to the hospital. They’ve only just gone.”

  “I passed an ambulance on my way here,” I said. “That must have been them.”

  “It was so lucky Dr. Chapman was around,” Jim Fletcher said. “If we’d had to wait for someone to come out from the surgery, we’d have been waiting still!”

  “Oh, he was so good,” Judith said. “Such a nice man, knew in a moment what to do.”

  “A real professional.” Captain Prosser, who had been silent up to now, made his contribution. “That’s what you need in a crisis. Someone who knows what he’s doing. Amateurs can sometimes make things worse.”

  “Well, I don’t think we did that,” Judith said indignantly. “We did what would could—Annie wouldn’t let us do any more.”

  “You can’t force help on people,” Jim said, “especially someone as strong-minded as Annie.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t suggesting . . .” Captain Prosser said hastily, “not for a moment.”

  “What’s the matter?” Rachel had joined the group. “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s Annie,” Judith said, and began to tell her story again.

  “How awful,” Rachel said. “It sounds really nasty. Thank goodness Lewis had the sense to get her to hospital.”

  “I did think of calling you to look at her,” Judith said, “since you used to be a nurse and so on, but Annie was so set on no one coming.”

  “Actually I wasn’t here then. Phyll and I have been down in Dorset, visiting Father’s cousin.” She turned to me. “You remember Grace, Grace Armitage—it was her ninetieth birthday so we felt we ought to be there. I’m so sorry about Annie, but I’m sure hospital is the best place for her just now.”