Chapter Twenty
Twenty years later, I knew all James and I really had was a shared mania for founding a family line.
How long it had taken me to work that out, I couldn’t really say, but if I was being honest with myself, it hadn’t taken twenty years.
One year? Or two? Sooner than that? Maybe the moment he showed me his insane family tree.
But I told myself that was what I’d wanted, so why was I complaining?
Regardless, eventually it dawned on me that, when James met me all those years ago, he didn’t see someone he wanted to share his life with; he saw someone who was naive, isolated, and struggling. He saw someone he could control.
And he did: He took my money when he invested the funds from my house, then he took me to Langley Hall, away from the village, out of sight and out of mind. All I had left was Mrs. Billings, and I kept the worst of it from her.
Meanwhile, James constantly dangled the carrot of children and how much better life would be when I’d fulfilled my side of the bargain. And I waited for them to come.
Over the years, I became inured to the slights and the daily disappointments.
I made myself believe that sewing and whodunits were all I needed, along with Langley Hall, my ancestral home.
And I waited. Whenever I thought about making a change, I remembered the poverty I’d been living in when I met him, the misery of choosing between the utilities and food, and the constant fear of a new bill I couldn’t pay.
At least then I’d had a roof over my head; if I left now, I’d have nothing.
I forgot that I’d ever had a choice, as I waited for something to change.
And when nothing changed, James took away everything else. He halved my allowance, he canceled my streaming subscriptions, he moved into his own bedroom. Finally, I understood that waiting would bring nothing but more waiting, until I realized I was waiting for the end of the Ponzi scheme.
Now something was going to change because James was trying to set me up for an accident that was his fault as much as—no, more than—mine, and a murder that was entirely down to him.
After all, if we’d done it my way, dialed 999 and shown remorse, maybe Lennie could have been saved and I could have a suspended sentence.
If that. This could have been little more than a bad year.
Lennie could be out of hospital, he could’ve put in a good word for me, and maybe I could have had even less than a suspended sentence.
Then, we would never have been by the river for James to attack Mr. Newman. Mr. N would still hate us and want to stop us selling the farm for warehouses, but he would be alive and well and we could fight that fight through nonviolent means. And with any luck, lose.
With thoughts of Lennie and Mr. Newman, I returned to the forum. Against my better judgment, I clicked into it.
All the usual suspects were there: most of the village, plus AllEars, still digging for gossip, and NoseyParker. James, as BigDreams, was doing his worst.
People think they know Daisy because she’s lived in the village all her life, he wrote. But she’s been shut away in Langley Hall for a long time, does anyone really know her? What does she do all day?
Isn’t there a lot of work in running a big house like that? Mrs. Faulkner asked.
Yes and no, Mrs. Billings said. There would be, but she doesn’t really do it. They live in a few rooms on the first and second floors. I look after all that area for them. The rest has gone to rack and ruin.
There was a pause. I had thought it was an open secret that Langley Hall wasn’t what it once was, but it seemed to be news to some people.
They should be strung up! a pseudonym said. Beautiful house like that left to rot.
I fought the urge to explain that that was James more than it was me.
We should start a fund, Mrs. Chambers said.
We haven’t finished collecting to replace the bell yet, Betty, the vicar said.
This seems more urgent, Mrs. Chambers said. We’ve been managing without the bell for seven hundred years.
BigDreams brought them back round to the original question. If she’s not doing what she should be, what is she doing?
Doesn’t she have a job? Mrs. Thorpe asked.
No. Why would she?
Does she paint? Mrs. Thrussell asked. Or play an instrument? Or garden? Something creative.
She sews, Mrs. Billings said. Good little seamstress, as good as Lorna.
There you go, then.
You can’t sew all day every day, BigDreams said.
Actually, you can. But I didn’t correct him on that.
What do you think she does? Mary Bishop asked BigDreams.
Well, I don’t know, but I know their marriage has gone stale.
How would you know something like that? Mrs. Billings asked.
I think she’s having an affair, BigDreams said, ignoring the question.
Who would she be having an affair with? Mrs. Faulkner asked. With an arse the size of hers?
Really! Is that relevant? I typed. Fatter women than me must have had loads of affairs. And men. But I didn’t press Post. I deleted it and kept a dignified silence.
Wouldn’t surprise me, Mrs. Thrussell said, but didn’t elaborate on why.
I think there’s more to it than just an affair, BigDreams said.
Such as? Mrs. Faulkner asked.
Well, it’s not really for me to say, but it can’t have escaped your notice the police were searching Langley Hall for quite some time.
The forum went quiet while they digested that. Then, Are you saying she had an affair with Lennie Green? AllEars was back.
That’s not what I was thinking, but it could have been him.
What were you thinking?
There was a pause before BigDreams wrote. This has to stay between us all. I’m only putting this out because we’re all from the village here. It has to be secret, let the police do their job and all that. Do you promise?
Promise.
Cross my heart.
Scout’s honor.
I think she was having an affair and Lennie Green found out. I think the affair was with Doug Newman.
Never!
I don’t believe it!
This will break Jo.
It will break Meg.
Meg won’t care.
Meg probably knew. They should get Meg to sniff Lady Langley and see how she reacts.
I’m not sure she’s keen on dogs, she’d probably react by saying “get off me,” Mrs. Billings said.
How Meg reacts, to see if she recognizes Daisy.
It would work.
Doesn’t Meg know Daisy anyway, just from being around here? Mrs. Thorpe asked.
I don’t know that she does, Jo Newman replied. We hardly ever see Daisy out in the fields, and we don’t tend to go up as far as Langley Hall ourselves.
That allayed any fears that the experiment would be compromised.
I think it’s a very good idea, Mrs. Chambers said.
It’s miraculous what dogs can do, Mrs. Thrussell replied.
BigDreams got the gossip back on track. I think Lennie was going to tell their spouses, so they killed him.
The forum fell silent and I fumed. I’d previously been wary of entering the fray, but now, disguised as LooseEnds, I made my first foray.
That theory has more holes than a box of Cheerios, I wrote. For a start, how did they know Lennie? He was from Great Beadington. And why would he care? Why would he tell anyone about it?
Yes, Mr. Chambers said. If they were having an affair, isn’t it more likely that James Dixon found out and killed Doug Newman?
Thank you!
So, where does Lennie Green come into it? Mrs. Faulkner wrote.
Collateral damage.
But how? And why?
I waited a while to see what the response to that would be, but BigDreams seemed flummoxed. The forum went quiet and I logged off. I needed some aspersions of my own to cast.
***
If James was going to plant evidence to make me look guilty, he was going to find that two could play that game.
Clearly, I couldn’t shove something into the plumbing and get the police round to find it as he had, that would unravel in seconds, but I had a secret weapon: Mrs. B.
And so, before she arrived, I went to the priest hole and from Lennie’s bag, I took the inhaler.
I went to James’s room, wiped my fingerprints from it, and left it on his bedside cabinet.
James was not asthmatic, I didn’t know if Mrs. B knew that, but I hoped the sight of a new medication would attract her curiosity anyway.
We went through the usual tea and biscuits routine and I learned from her that Archie Thorpe, son of Mrs. Thorpe from The Two Ts teashop, had a new job in America and would be leaving here within the next few weeks.
Once we’d finished marveling over that, Mrs. B went to make a start on the cleaning and I put out a paperweight for her to take.
Then I retreated to my sewing den and waited for her to go into James’s room and make her discovery.
I waited, until…
“Toodle-oo, Lady Langley, love. I’ll be off now,” and I heard her making her way down the grand staircase.
I’d expected her to come to alert me to the critical evidence I had planted; it wasn’t like her to keep something like that to herself.
Irked, I made my way out of my sewing room to see what I could see.
The first thing I saw was the paperweight, exactly where I had left it. I stared at it for a moment, then, with a sinking feeling, made my way to James’s room.
The inhaler was gone, and the top of the cabinet was clear.
Admittedly that had been the plan, but the presence of the paperweight and the lack of commentary on the finding convinced me that Mrs. B had taken the inhaler for all the wrong reasons.
It wasn’t definitive; she could be taking it straight to the police without telling me, and they could be sending it off for forensic tests later today.
But in my heart, I knew the truth. Oh, that perfidious woman!
I would kill her, if I hadn’t already made the decision not to do that.