Chapter Fifteen
“It’s Doug Newman’s funeral next Friday,” Mrs. Billings said to me, taking off her coat and hauling biscuits out of her bag. “Are you going?”
As much as I’d wanted to go to Lennie’s funeral, I felt repulsed by the idea of going to Mr. Newman’s. Maybe it was because I’d already seen Jo Newman, accepting sympathy at the Bone Bonanza, and Meg looking like her world had ended, and I knew the havoc we had wreaked. But Mrs. B continued.
“I think you should. I know Doug and Lord Langley had their ups and downs, but the Newmans have been linked to this hall for generations and they’re good village people. Lord Ashbury went to old Mr. Newman’s funeral. Wouldn’t be right not to pay your respects.”
“I’ll speak to James,” I said.
And so it was that, on the Friday of that week, we donned black outfits—I’d had to buy mine especially, not having had anything in black. I’d spent ￡3,000 in the shop, then finished it off with a flower made from a stripey tea towel—and made our way down to the village church.
“Just keep your mouth shut,” James said. “Unless anyone speaks to you. We’ll go to the service and have a couple of sandwiches at the reception, then we’ll make tracks.”
In the pews, I looked around to see who was there.
All of the village, it seemed, but the faces I was really looking for were those of Parker and Khan, here to see if they could spot the perpetrator amongst the mourners.
I couldn’t see them in the rows to our left, I couldn’t see them in the rows to our right, I couldn’t see them in the rows behind, and I couldn’t see them in the rows in front.
Then, just as the organist began and it was all about to start, the main door opened once more and Parker and Khan snuck in.
It was standing room only by then, so they stayed at the back, watching us all as the coffin was carried down the aisle, followed by the family, including Meg, who sat beside it for the whole service.
I slumped into my seat, hoping not to be seen, and once the service was over, I shuffled along in the middle of the congregation, keeping my head lowered, as we made our way out to the graveside, where Meg gave a loud howl as the coffin was lowered into the ground.
I covered my ears. Everyone covered their ears.
“Piercing, isn’t it?” said Khan’s voice beside me as the howl died down.
“I love dogs,” I said, although I didn’t really have strong feelings about them. If I did I’d probably have owned one; I had the time and the space. I preferred donkeys.
Khan didn’t say anything else. She just nodded at James, then she and Parker headed over to the King’s Head for the buffet.
There, she chitchatted with everyone, as if she were part of the community.
I assumed the whole performance was specifically to menace me.
In defiance of both her and James, I turned my attention to the food and piled my paper plate up until it nearly folded back on itself with sandwiches and sausage rolls and prawns and mini scones and crisps.
“Looks like you haven’t been fed for a week, Lady Langley, love,” Mrs. Billings said, although she knew that not to be the case. “Not eating for two, are you?”
“Yes, me and James,” I said. He was standing by the bar with just a whiskey and—I did a double take—DS Khan. Mrs. B gave a little chuckle and moved on as I stood watching James and the detective, trying to guess what they were saying.
“Thank you for coming.” I jumped as Jo Newman appeared by my elbow, Meg standing next to her. “I know things were a bit strained toward the end.”
“That’s OK,” I said. The proximity to her made my guilt surface and the hand holding my plate started to wobble.
“All water under the bridge.” I had a flashback to the day we had floated Lennie’s body under the bridge, down the river, and into the path of Mr. N, and I shook a bit more.
“In a manner of speaking,” I said and Jo nodded vaguely.
She took a deep breath. “You know, we’d still like to keep the farm on; this doesn’t change that.
The boys are nearly ready to start running it themselves, and we’ve got Pete and Greg while they get on their feet.
” The boys were the older adult children from Mr. N’s first marriage, who had been trained from childhood to one day run the farm.
Pete and Greg were the farm foreman and manager.
“It’d be a tragedy to cover all that good farmland with warehouses. ”
I did a slow nod up and down. I agreed, but business was business, according to James, and the warehouse people had made a higher bid.
“Doug had life assurance,” Jo said. “We might be able to match the other offer.” I nodded again.
One of the younger children was calling for her, so she left it there before I had the chance to tell her that James made all the financial decisions.
All the decisions, in fact, including where to hide the bodies. My views were irrelevant.
A moment later I was wishing she’d stayed to chat as DS Khan approached and said, “Moving service, wasn’t it?”
In truth, apart from the harrowing sight of Meg, it had been pretty dull, but maybe Meg was what she had meant, so I nodded.
“We didn’t know if we’d see you and Mr. Dixon here,” she said. “With you not being on best terms with the deceased.”
“What did James say about Mr. Newman?” I asked them, remembering what I’d said at the end of my police interview and feeling hopeful for a moment that they were hot on the trail of a vendetta between James and Mr. N and that I was to be treated as an innocent bystander.
“What do you think he said?” DS Khan asked. I heard myself sigh, but I rallied and humored her. “That he wanted to kick the Newmans off the farm and sell it for warehouses,” I said.
She nodded, so I assumed that was what he said.
“When did that happen?” DC Parker asked.
“I can’t remember,” I said. “It was going to and fro for a while. I wasn’t really involved.
” Khan stared at me; she made me nervous and that made me pile more crisps on my plate.
It was so full they started falling off, but she was still staring at me, so I carried on.
“What do you think happened? Suicide?” I asked eventually, crisps raining down onto the carpet.
“What? He battered himself around the head, and when that didn’t work, he drowned himself? We don’t think it was suicide,” DS Khan told me. “We’re between accident and foul play. Your husband’s just been saying you have quite a temper when you’re riled. He said you’re known for it in the village.”
“Not really,” I said. “That’s not the first thing people would say about me.” Wondering what was the first thing and not liking the ideas that popped into my head: recluse, peculiar, impulsive maybe. Poisoner.
Khan looked at me, blinking, but not speaking, goading me into saying something.
“When do you think it happened?” I asked.
“If you think he was attacked, don’t you want our alibis?
The reason I ask is that it’s just come back to me that, around that time, James started taking evening strolls through the fields, which is something he never did before.
Then the strolls stopped, just as suddenly as they’d started.
I thought at the time it was strange, James suddenly going out for walks he never used to take, then stopping. ”
“People begin health kicks that only last a few days all the time,” Khan said, and she walked away, leaving me wondering why James’s word always seemed to carry so much more weight than mine. Or was she the other way round with him?
I watched as James finished his whiskey and clapped some peasants on the back. Then he took my plate from me—“How much?”—put it on the end of the table and led the way out. I grabbed a slice of Victoria sponge as I went.
***
The novelty of the archaeologists wore off and Mrs. Billings went back to her usual days, Monday and Thursday.
It was a relief. I realized I had liked it better when no one came here most of the time, and I was just the hermit of Langley Hall.
So, I was less than pleased when, on a Monday morning, there was a knock at the door more than half an hour before the Billingses were due.
I was upstairs and my car was in the garage, so no one could tell whether I was in or not, but the window was open, so I could hear whoever it was, as well as spy on them.
I peered down from behind the curtain. A young woman was standing outside the house. She was wearing combats, with a yellow T-shirt that was just the wrong shade for her pink hair; I felt my retinas start to burn. Once again, she had a camera around her neck: Emma Beddoe.
I ignored her. She knocked again. I ignored her again.
I was still wearing pajamas, so I went to get washed and dressed to take my mind off it all, while I waited for Emma to give up and go away.
But when I came back, wearing a dress fashioned from two ponchos, it was to the sound of tires on gravel and Emma asking Mr. and Mrs. Billings if Lady Langley was in.
“Should be, love,” I heard Mrs. Billings say. “Follow us round.”
I watched as Emma trailed their van to the back of the house and headed down to meet my fate.
“Morning,” I said to them all as I opened the back door and Mrs. B walked in. “Come in,” I said to Emma. “Come one, come all.” What else could I say? I was going to invite Mr. B as well, but he was already off to his shed.
I took three cups from the mug tree, a Poirot, a Death in Paradise, and a Midsomer Murders, and set the kettle to boil, with extra water for our guest. I looked at Emma, feeling a headache coming on as she settled herself down.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Billings stared hard at our new companion until she told her, “My name’s Emma Beddoe; I work for The Western Bugle Online,” and handed her a business card.
Mrs. B looked at it for a long time. “Have you come to do one of those ‘day in the life of the rich and famous’ articles?” she asked her.