Chapter Eleven
ELEVEN
‘Was that meant to be a threat?’ asked Iris. ‘Because I don’t respond well to those.’
‘Where you’re standing,’ said Mrs Dorter, pointing with her blade.
‘You shouldn’t be in that patch. That’s spurge.
It’s an irritant. Get any of the sap on your skin and you’ll be very sorry you did.
I recommend you scrub those boots before you go back into the house.
There’s a pump over by the barn with a brush hanging from it you can use.
Then leave them in the boot room when you come in. ’
‘Ah,’ said Iris, stepping away from the weeds. ‘Thanks for the warning. I’m not as up on my irritants as I should be. So. You called me Miss Sparks just now. How long have you known?’
‘You looked familiar when I saw you at dinner, but I couldn’t place you,’ said Mrs Dorter.
‘It wasn’t until I bumped into you at midnight that I recognised you.
It was seeing you in the doorway like that that jogged my memory, just like that night at the Pickards’ mansion, although I still couldn’t remember your name.
I had to dig up my diary from back then to find it. ’
‘I’m impressed that you went to all that trouble.’
‘You showed up at my establishment under an alias.’
‘As do most of your clientele.’
‘But I know all of their real names,’ said Mrs Dorter.
‘It guarantees my privacy and theirs. If you and Mrs Bainbridge were merely here to have a liaison away from the prying eyes of London society, then I couldn’t care less.
But you brought up that ludicrous connection to Lucinda Pickard, and that raised my suspicions, Miss Sparks. Why are you here?’
‘To speak to you about that night at the Pickards’ mansion. To find out what happened to Nancy Spurlock.’
‘Why? Why now, after all this time?’ snapped Mrs Dorter. ‘She’s long gone. So is Kevin, so is Bruce. Who cares about any of them any more?’
‘Three other people were there that night,’ said Iris. ‘You. Me. And Tony Danforth.’
‘Tony went off to Singapore sometime in the late thirties,’ said Mrs Dorter.
‘He came back recently,’ said Iris. ‘And someone tried to kill him almost immediately. It may have had something to do with what happened to Nancy that night. You’re the only one who can tell me about it.
That’s why I’m here. This is as private a place and time as any. Nobody else is around. Tell me.’
‘You’re still the same silly little self-important girl, aren’t you?
’ sneered Mrs Dorter. ‘You think you can show up out of nowhere at my house and make demands? All dressed up with your fake specs like you’re something out of a girls’ detective novel.
I bet if I knocked those stupid glasses off your face you could see just fine. ’
‘And I bet that if you tried you’d be floating in that pond before you ever connected,’ Iris replied. ‘Let’s keep things peaceful, shall we? I only came to talk to you.’
‘How did you know I’d be out here this time of day?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Iris, holding up her book. ‘I was looking at the neighbourhood beetles. It’s a hobby of mine.’
‘Beetles?’ replied the other woman incredulously.
She looked down by her feet, where a brightly metallic one was crawling along.
‘What’s that one?’ she asked, pointing at it.
‘Oh, that’s a nice one,’ said Iris. ‘A jewel beetle. Aphanisticus emarginatus. It’s fairly common around—’
She stopped as Mrs Dorter stepped forwards and crushed it with the toe of her boot.
‘All these years here, I never knew what any of them were called,’ she said. ‘Nor do I care.’
‘That wasn’t necessary,’ said Iris.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ said Mrs Dorter. ‘Nor is this conversation. This is my property and I’ll do as I damn well please on it.
Now, I’m going to finish collecting my herbs and greens.
Breakfast is at seven thirty, Miss Sparks, or Miss McTague, if you wish to continue the charade. It makes no difference to me.’
She turned and walked away, stopping abruptly to bend down and savagely slice off a clump of greens and throw them into her basket before disappearing into the woods nearby.
I hope those aren’t poisonous, thought Iris.
She looked down at the lifeless beetle, then trudged back to the house. She stopped by the pump and rinsed off her wellies, scrubbing them with the brush as well as she could. She saw Ernie watching her dolefully from the ramp leading to the coop.
‘You could have warned me,’ she said to him.
He didn’t reply, which she was beginning to see as the theme to the trip.
She tossed her wellies into the boot room, then padded up the stairs to her room. Gwen sat up in bed as she came through the door.
‘Breakfast?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Soon,’ said Iris. ‘But I may have scotched everything in the meantime.’
‘You’ve accomplished that before breakfast? While I was still sleeping?’
‘Apparently.’
She recounted her conversation with Mrs Dorter while Gwen dressed and brushed her hair.
‘I agree, that doesn’t sound very promising,’ said Gwen.
‘Any ideas?’
‘Not at the moment. Let’s see if I can do better on a full stomach.’
But breakfast, while filling, was not enough to inspire either of them.
‘I doubt that she will take kindly to being accosted by the both of us,’ said Gwen afterwards. ‘How would you feel about my distracting her while you sneak into her room and find her diary?’
‘We’re not in London, so I don’t think we can rely upon the local constabulary to be as sympathetic to my trespassing with intent to snoop if I get caught,’ said Iris.
‘Well, if we hang about looking for opportunities, we’ll only put her on higher alert,’ said Gwen. ‘So I suggest we engage in some normal touristy behaviour. You’ve had enough beetling for the moment?’
‘My mood for that was spoiled.’
‘Then let’s walk into town, see the sights and perhaps an idea will strike us. If none does, then maybe we should embrace our failure and return home empty-handed. Or empty-brained.’
Half an hour later, they stood on the threshold of the Tithe Barn. Gwen consulted her guidebook while Iris peered inside.
‘Who did this belong to?’ she asked.
‘The nuns of Shaftesbury Abbey originally,’ said Gwen. ‘Most of this area was given to support them.’
‘Ten per cent of the local crops to support nuns,’ marvelled Iris. ‘For which the peasants received what? Prayers? Divine intervention?’
‘I suppose,’ said Gwen. ‘And a place to send their superfluous daughters. It might have been my fate had I lived then.’
‘You would have been plucked from your cloistered life to wed the local lord,’ said Iris, stepping inside and looking up. ‘While I probably would have been burned at the stake for some minor misunderstanding or other. I do like that vaulted ceiling, I must say. I wonder how much of it is original.’
‘It says they started restoring it during the Great War,’ read Gwen. ‘They’ve replaced most of the rotted beams. It belongs to the Ministry of Works now. They’ve been renovating it over time, depending on when the funds come in. There’s a collection box over there for contributions.’
Iris walked over to the stone threshing floor and stomped on it experimentally.
‘Nothing but chaff this trip,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry I’ve wasted our time and your money.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Gwen. ‘I’ve rather enjoyed spending a weekend with you. Do you realise this is the first time we’ve travelled together?’
‘So it is,’ said Iris. ‘Maybe we could try it again when there isn’t some crime involved.’
‘I’d like that,’ said Gwen. ‘Let’s go into the town proper. There’s something I want to check.’
She dropped a couple of shillings into the collection box.
Then they walked to the centre of the town, stopping to view the Town Bridge across the river.
Gwen made certain to photograph the Bradford Gudgeon that surmounted the weather vane on top of the old two-cell town lockup.
Iris expected her to hunt for souvenirs for Ronnie, but instead her partner stopped in front of the estate agents and perused the listings pinned to a bulletin board behind the front window.
‘You’re not thinking of buying a place here, are you?’ asked Iris.
‘Not at all,’ said Gwen. ‘There. Look at this.’
She pointed to one for a grange house with buildings and grounds.
‘Not my style,’ said Iris. ‘And well beyond my means.’
‘I know,’ said Gwen. ‘It looks to be a similarly sized property as our inn. Now, say you had been working as a housekeeper for twenty years or so. Do you think you’d be able to save enough to afford a place like this on that salary?’
‘I don’t know how much housekeepers get paid.’
‘I do,’ said Gwen. ‘I’m paying for one now, and I’m paying her well. Yet even if the Pickards paid Mrs Dorter even more handsomely, I would still guess that this inn would have been too costly for her.’
‘She would have bought it in ’36 or ’37,’ Iris pointed out. ‘The slump would have made things more affordable back then.’
‘Even so, the place has been renovated extensively,’ said Gwen. ‘The furniture and the decor are first rate. Money has been spent. And you know as well as I do that the banks are not exactly forthcoming with loans for a new business when a woman is running it.’
‘You think she knew enough about what happened to blackmail the Pickards?’
‘I think it’s a plausible explanation.’
‘Very plausible,’ said Iris. ‘But it doesn’t solve how we’re going to get the information out of her.’
‘No, but I think we’re on the right track. We’ll have to come up with a more effective approach.’
‘You don’t suppose a simple bribe would work, do you?’
‘I didn’t bring bribe money with me, alas. Let’s get some lunch.’