Chapter Twenty-Two
It had been a while since I checked in on the forum.
When I did, I found Mrs. Billings regaling them all with the news that James and I had separate rooms, which she may well have told them before, and that apart from James, and her to clean, no one had been in my husband’s bedroom for a very long time.
It was humiliating and it fed into the earlier theory I was having an affair. Subsequently, the idea of the Meg-test, whereby Mr. Newman’s dog, Meg, would be brought to sniff me to see if she recognized me, was gaining support.
I didn’t much care for that line of gossip.
Jo Newman was only a couple of years older than me, and she bucked the trend at school by sometimes being quite kind.
There had been occasions on which it was a relief to get onto the school bus and see her move her bag so that I could sit down and be sheltered for a little while by her popularity.
She deserved better from me than an affair with her husband.
We’d all been surprised when she married Mr. N.
He was widowed and already had sons who were well on their way to adulthood, so it was an age-gap relationship.
But marry they did and Jo stepped into the role of farmer’s wife, up with the lark and out in the fields.
Rather her than me. And if I’m being honest, rather her than me for Mr. N as well.
However, I was starting to see the lie of the land in the forum, and the idea that James had killed Mr. N in a fit of jealous rage was gaining traction.
Could I tolerate Jo Newman’s animosity for the benefit of staying out of prison?
It was a sacrifice I was sorry to make, but I thought I could do it.
I heard Daisy likes older men. I cringed as I wrote, but it worked and they began to dig in on their new favorite subject once more.
Probably because she didn’t have a male role model when she was growing up, Mrs. Faulkner wrote. It’s a common thing.
She made a pass at my dad once, Samantha Saunders said, and I gasped because that was an out-and-out lie.
But it was greeted with No! and Really? and When?
and Where? Samantha, however, didn’t answer their questions.
Because she couldn’t. Unfortunately, her dad was now on the other side, so we would need a séance to clear my name.
Jo, you really should get over there with Meg, Mrs. Chambers wrote. That would settle things.
I don’t know that I’d want to stir up trouble, Jo wrote.
But don’t you want to know? said Samantha, who very much did want to stir up trouble. Jo didn’t answer.
I’d want to know if it were me, Mrs. Thrussell said. And in this case, it could lead to a conviction.
The idea of justice for Mr. N helped to tip the scales in that direction.
The Meg-test wasn’t the most scientific research I could think of, but it seemed to be the gold standard amongst the witchfinders of Upper Iffley. I gave them one final shove:
Dogs never forget a person, I said, and nothing more was needed; they were already on the scent.
They decided to come to the house as a group, with Meg, on Friday and catch me by surprise.
They would ask if I could spare a bit of change for the church bell fund, seeing that the final target was nearly in sight.
I added chicken to the shopping list and stitched some extra pockets into a patchwork dress.
Sure enough, Meg was all over me when I answered the door that Friday, pieces of chicken stuffed into every pocket.
The squad were so astonished by the sight, they almost forgot their cover story and we were there for quite some time before they babbled it out.
While I was out of view, fetching my purse, I took a piece of the chicken from a pocket; it seemed mean not to let Meg have some when she’d done such a good job for me.
“Alright if I give her this?” I asked, emptying what cash I had into their collection bucket and handing the chicken to Meg. There was a collective gasp and recoil. “What?” I asked. They continued to stare at me. I realized why. “Wait there,” I said.
The chicken was chargrilled and packaged ready to eat. I fetched the packet and showed it to them. “I had no part in the preparation,” I said, and they walked away, shaking their heads and muttering about an innocent animal.
As they went, I noticed that these days Meg was walking with her head held high, a spring in her step, and a wag in her tail. It looked like Meg was making her way through the bereavement process and was recovering from the loss of Mr. Newman.
***
Is Meg well? Mrs. Chambers posted on the forum a few hours later. No stomach upsets?
She’s fine, but she loves Daisy more than she loves me! Jo Newman moaned.
And so did Doug, Mary Bishop said, but most people said that was uncalled for and I was just his bit on the side.
The verdict, however, was unanimous: Meg knew me very well indeed, Mr. Newman and I were having an affair, and the finger for his death was pointing more and more firmly at James.
I looked at the list down the side to see if AllEars was listening in, but she was busy stirring trouble elsewhere.
Never mind, she could pick it all up later. NoseyParker was there.
Do you think she still called him “Mr. Newman” when they were in flagrante? Samantha asked, but no one cared to speculate on that.
I could’ve done with some crisps, but of course, the priest hole was mine no more. I decided to keep the Jaffa Cakes he’d missed for another day.