Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Daisy reached the Saracen’s Head at teatime. Edward the Boots informed her that Miss Sutcliffe was in the parlour.
“Oh, good. Please tell her I’ll join her shortly. Is Mr. Fletcher in?”
“No’m. He went to the p’lice station, him and Mr. Piper. That ’tec that was in the snug, he’s there today.”
Bother, Daisy thought crossly. It would be much more difficult to find out what was going on at the police station. She thanked Edward and went upstairs for a wash and brush-up, pondering Ernie Piper’s unexpected arrival. Then she headed for the ladies’ parlour.
A welcome fire burned in the grate. Isabel sat by it, alone, paging in a desultory way through a gardening magazine.
“Daisy!” She tossed the magazine onto the nearest table. “I’m glad you’re back. I’m feeling like a leper in here. Women I’ve seen at the shops, who’ve never appeared to notice my existence, keep peering in and instantly recognising me as connected with the murder. And going away again.”
“Never mind. Don’t let them stop us ordering tea. I’m parched.” She rang the bell. “I’ll tell you about what the rector and I found out, as soon as I’ve wetted my whistle.”
Sally came. “Edward said you’re back, Mrs. Fletcher. Tea?”
“Yes, please, Sally.”
“We’ve got lots in for tea, so it may be a little bit. The ladies are all going in the dining room, though. You’ve got it nice and peaceful here.”
“They’re all talking about us, aren’t they, Sally?” Isabel asked.
“About the murder, miss, yes. I’m listening out for anything about Mrs. Gray, being as I know Mr. Fletcher needs more information. That Sergeant Piper, madam, do you know him?”
“Oh yes, I regard him as a good friend. He’s staying here?”
“That he is. Seemed like a nice young man.”
“He is. And not married.”
“Oh, madam, that’s not what I meant at all,” Sally said, rosy-cheeked. “I’ll fetch your tea, ladies.”
Daisy waited till the door closed to say with a laugh, “Ernie’s made quite an impression there!”
“Do you really…” Isabel fell silent as the door opened again.
Two women came in—all the way in, and closed the door behind them. As the pair came over Daisy recognised Mrs. Turnbull.
“May we join you, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Please do. This is Miss Sutcliffe.”
“Mrs. Barnes,” the rector’s wife introduced her companion.
Everyone murmured, “How do you do.”
“I met your husband last night, Mrs. Fletcher,” said Mrs. Barnes, “and Miss Chandler also. Your mutual friend, I believe?” She looked from Daisy to Isabel.
“As is Miss Leighton, of course,” Mrs. Turnbull added. “Miss Sutcliffe, I must apologise for not having called at Cherry Trees. I was away when you moved in and then I got swamped with catching up. I’m afraid the three of you are going through a time of troubles.”
“That’s one way of putting it!” said Isabel.
“If there’s anything I can do to help or advise…”
“I don’t suppose you have any influence over Mrs. Hedger? The cleaning lady?”
“None whatsoever,” the rector’s wife admitted tartly. “She’s not an Anglican.”
“But I doubt the Congregational pastor can help you either,” said Mrs. Barnes. “She’s a thoroughly cross-grained old woman.”
Isabel laughed ruefully. “She seems to be notorious.”
“I daresay she’s done the odd job now and then for just about everyone in town. She’s a hard worker but she does things her own way. She’s not refusing to work at Cherry Trees, is she? She’s been there forever. I wouldn’t have expected her to give up one of her regular jobs like that.”
“She’s not. But I’m going to have to ask her if she’d clean up the … Well, I won’t go into distasteful detail. I doubt she’ll agree, even for extra pay. I couldn’t really blame her, but if she refuses I don’t know where to turn.”
“My dear, the Labour Exchange, in High Wycombe. These days there are so many young men looking for casual work. Since the war, you know. They don’t seem to be able to settle to anything. And some of them must have seen things as bad as … as what you need cleaned up.”
“You don’t think it would bring back terrible memories?”
“One can but ask.”
“How does one go about it?”
As Mrs. Barnes explained the system, Sally came in with tea for four. Mrs. Turnbull took on the task of pouring. Daisy handed round cups and saucers before settling herself with a plateful of watercress sandwiches.
“Mrs. Fletcher,” said the rector’s wife, “I want to thank you for shepherding Jeremy about London this afternoon.”
Daisy couldn’t very well admit she’d been motivated as much by curiosity as any benevolent impulse, the latter in any case being directed towards Vera, not the rector. She muttered something deprecatory.
“Whatever he found out,” Mrs. Turnbull went on, “has disturbed him greatly. He can’t make up his mind what to do about whatever it is.”
If Daisy correctly understood the situation, the rector had only two choices.
He could confront Cartwright himself, or he could consult the Board of Governors and make them share the dirty work.
For either alternative, he’d have to work out how to present his case persuasively, but persuasion should be a clergyman’s forte.
“I hope he decides soon,” she said, thinking of the uncomfortable position poor Vera was in.
“It’s something to do with Miss Leighton, I take it, as you and Jeremy laid your plans when she came to consult him.” Mrs. Turnbull’s tone was noncommittal, but Daisy realised she was being genteelly pumped.
“It was a great relief to Vera to be able to talk to Mr. Turnbull,” she said. “His sympathy gave her hope.” Hope of what, she didn’t specify.
“Vera’s much more cheerful since seeing the rector,” Isabel confirmed. “And I’m much more cheerful since Mrs. Barnes has told me how to hire workers to clean the cellar. Daisy, pass those Shrewsbury biscuits, would you?”
Mrs. Turnbull offered refills of tea.
Daisy took a Bakewell tart and ate a bite of the almond-paste-topped pastry before succumbing to a different kind of temptation. “Did you know the Grays?”
“Not well.” Mrs. Barnes exchanged a glance with Mrs. Turnbull. “At least, Albert Gray and Ruth, his first wife, were sociable enough, but after she died he withdrew rather, stopped entertaining and refused most invitations. As his doctor, my husband must have seen more of him than I did.”
“We were all glad when he remarried, though a woman so many years his junior … Younger than his son, in fact. Well, that was none of our business, of course.”
“When was that?”
“Two or three years ago?”
“Nearer four,” said the rector’s wife. “They didn’t get married at St. Mary’s. A registry office in London, I believe.”
Daisy instantly felt guilty for having done the same—chiefly to dodge the worst of her dowager viscountess mother’s recriminations for marrying a middle-class policeman.
“Judith Gray wasn’t at all interested in mixing with local people,” Mrs. Barnes elaborated, “not even the younger crowd. She had—has—friends in London and it’s so quick and easy to get into town from here.”
“I’m sure it was her London friends who gave her the idea of moving to the South of France,” put in Mrs. Turnbull. “A visit to Paris, then off to stay with friends in a villa on the C?te d’Azur until she finds a place to buy. Or so rumour has it.”
Daisy was dying to ask whether rumour ever spoke of the possibility of Judith Gray having deliberately hastened her husband’s end.
Assuming Dr. Barnes had been his doctor, Mrs. Barnes would surely be aware of any such insinuation.
Such a query would be crass, however, much worse than just asking whether they had been acquainted with Mrs. Gray.
How neatly they had all avoided mentioning that the subject of their gossip had more than likely been murdered!
Mrs. Turnbull regarded the scant remains of their tea with a sigh. “What an excellent tea the Saracen’s Head does, and how lucky I come here rarely. I must be going. Jeremy will be wondering where I’ve got to.”
With much goodwill expressed, the older ladies prepared to depart. Scarves were knotted, hats straightened, gloves donned, handbags gathered. As they moved towards the door, Sally entered.
“Are you going? I’m ever so sorry I didn’t come and ask did you want more hot water or anything else. We’ve been that busy, I’ve been run off my feet.”
“We had all we needed, thank you, Sally,” said Mrs. Barnes.
“And more,” Mrs. Turnbull added ruefully.
Sally saw them out, then turned back to Daisy and Isabel and started collecting the tea things.
“They’re nice ladies, aren’t they? But we got a right lot of ghouls in the dining room.
Asking nosy questions about you ladies, miss, you and Miss Leighton and Miss Chandler, and you, Mrs. Fletcher, and the chief inspector. ”
“What did you tell them?” Daisy asked.
“Not a blinking thing, madam, nor I wouldn’t have if I’d got anything to tell.”
“I’m sure you do, so thank you for keeping quiet.”
“Happy to oblige, madam.” Grinning, she picked up the tray and left them.
“She must have enjoyed foiling the busybodies,” said Isabel, adding ruefully, “Is that why Mrs. Barnes and Mrs. Turnbull were so pleasant? Just to persuade us to pass on the details?”
“I don’t think so, though it was a bit of a fencing match at times.
At least, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have asked any awkward direct questions.
Sally’s pretty sharp and she called them ‘nice.’ Remember, last night Mrs. Barnes met Willie and Mrs. Turnbull met Vera.
They realised they couldn’t possibly be murderers, so they wanted to meet you—”
“To ‘vet’ me.”
“Don’t we all vet new acquaintances?”
“True. Then you believe they really will call once we’ve got things straightened out?”
“Definitely. And with the doctor’s wife and the rector’s wife both on calling terms, the rest will soon come round.”
“I expect so.” Isabel gave a sigh of satisfaction. “I must say, it’d be nice if people smiled and said good morning when I go shopping. Escape from Coventry. Not that I’ve ever been to Coventry—I don’t suppose it’s any worse than Huddersfield.”
Daisy laughed. “I couldn’t say, I’ve never been to either. Now, let me tell you what the rector and I found out and then I’m going to lie down for a while, if you won’t think it frightfully rude.”
“You must be exhausted, Daisy. You’ve been dashing about as if you weren’t still convalescent.”
“I do feel a bit limp. It was worth it, though. Listen!” She described the visits to the two schools. “So the rector has no reason to doubt Vera’s story and Cartwright hasn’t a leg to stand on. I’m off. Tell Vera when you see her, if the rector hasn’t.”
“I will! And I can’t thank you enough—”
“Please don’t. I’ll see you later.”
On her way upstairs, Daisy met Vera coming down. She looked tired—as who wouldn’t after a day in a classroom full of small children—but as if a burden had fallen from her back.
“Daisy, I’m—”
“Dying for your tea, I’m sure. Izzie’s in the parlour. I’ll see you later.” With a wave, Daisy escaped and trudged on up the stairs.
She was pleased with her day’s work. Vera’s problem was well on the way to being solved, and the prospects for an end to Isabel’s isolation looked good. What was more, she could confirm to Alec and DI Underwood that Cartwright was a ladies’ man, with a tendency towards violence.
He had physically assaulted three women. Had he attempted the same trick with Mrs. Gray? Unlike the three junior teachers, she would have had no reason to keep quiet, so he’d have felt he had to silence her.
Alternatively, Miss Mason’s young man was mistaken and Cartwright and Mrs. Gray actually were having an affair. She might somehow have found out about his behaviour with the others, leading to a quarrel. Unless she was having an affair with Vaughn …
By this point in her musings Daisy had kicked off her shoes, put her feet up on the bed, and leaned back against the pillows. She fell asleep.