Intrigue in the Village (Turnham Malpas 10) Page 17

  During the night she’d consulted Dave and told him, wherever he was, that she was doing no more of this seance business. ‘You see, Dave,’ she’d said, ‘it’s getting dangerous. Too real for words. I began to think I really was a medium. Which I’m not, you know that. I’m going to go to church to make a clean start. Wipe the slate clean, as you might say. I shall miss the money but there you are. Goodnight, love, God bless.’

  So when the first person she met when she was in the Store choosing some packet soup, just right for a woman alone, was Mrs Jones, she was at a loss to know what to say.

  ‘Hello, Maggie. All right? By heck! We had a bad scare last night, didn’t we? It was ages before I got to sleep. Tell yer something I bet you don’t know, my Vince came home late last night from the Legion and he says, and I’ve no reason to disbelieve him, that the light was on in the bedroom in the house and there was someone in there.’

  This piece of news brought Maggie to life. ‘Did he? Was he sure?’

  ‘Absolutely. The curtains weren’t drawn and the light was on. He could see a man and a woman standing at the window.’

  As Maggie’s mind tussled with the dilemma of not letting on she’d seen Kate that night at the school, she remembered the rose on Kate’s desk and the whole situation became clear as crystal. She was having an affair, she must be. Married only weeks and having an affair! She’d come out of the school house with her torch, and not from the direction of the school building. My God! So, who was in the school house with her?

  ‘Maggie?’

  ‘I’ve not gone deaf.’ Maggie flattened herself against the tinned soups, as someone struggled to get by. ‘This is strictly between you and me, right? She had a rose put on her desk the other week. A single red rose with a card. First thing. It was there when I opened up.’

  Mrs Jones’s brown eyes widened.

  ‘Now it wouldn’t be old Fitch, would it?’

  ‘From what we know of him, no.’

  ‘Heart of stone.’

  Mrs Jones nodded. ‘Can’t imagine him as a romantic husband. So who was it in the school house with her?’

  ‘It stands to sense it wouldn’t be old Fitch.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  Mrs Jones heard Jimbo cough significantly and had to leave this interesting piece of speculation. ‘Coming, Mr Charter-Plackett, coming. It’s not quite nine. You didn’t read the card then?’

  ‘Of course not. What do you take me for?’ Maggie grinned. ‘In any case, it was stuck down so I couldn’t even if I’d wanted to.’

  Mrs Jones nudged her and laughed and they parted friends, but Maggie knew she should have said she wasn’t having another seance, thank you very much and sorry like. But she hadn’t, so she still had that hurdle to jump.

  The rumour circulated the village in no time at all and reached Kate by the end of the school day.

  A mother who freely admitted that each of her three children had different fathers, and who openly declared she was always on the lookout for a new stud to warm her bed, told Kate what she’d heard, while searching for her son’s coat in the coat room. ‘You’re a dark horse! Mind, I’m not surprised, it can’t be any fun married to someone as ancient as Craddock Fitch! God help us! Still, you do right, get it where you can I say. Eureka!’ She triumphantly held up the missing coat and raced out to catch up with her boy, leaving Kate in a devastated state of shock.

  How she managed to drive home after school she had no idea. Common sense told her it was quite simply malicious gossip, which in another day or two would be supplanted by some other piece of juicy speculation, but it hurt and frightened her just the same. What was it based on? A rose on her desk? Bedroom lights noticed when they’d slept together in the school house? Who knew about both those incidents? Maggie Dobbs. So now one couldn’t even sleep where one wanted with one’s own husband without tongues wagging. Things had come to a pretty pass.

  With Craddock in Sweden, she ate her evening meal alone, and half an hour afterwards fetched it all up, kneeling sweating and distressed beside the lavatory in her bathroom. Finally, her stomach raw with retching and the foul taste of bile in her mouth, Kate crumpled down against the bathroom wall, hammered her clenched fists on the floor and wept.

  Chapter 12

  If Craddock Fitch thought that two nights away in Sweden would allow the situation with Mrs Bliss and the improvements to her home to blow away with the wind he was quite mistaken. In his absence every single householder in Little Derehams wrote to him asking for work to be done on their own houses, mentioning minute details such as ‘loose brick on path to bin in back garden’ or large improvements such as ‘new bathroom’, installation of ‘gas pipes’ and ‘connection to main sewage system’. His land agent dreaded his return but no more than Kate, who knew she had to tell him about the gossip and hated the thought of upsetting him.

  But to her surprise, he roared with laughter. ‘What will they come up with next?’

  ‘It was the rose on my desk and the lights in the school house bedroom that night. They can’t believe that you’d be so romantic, thus it couldn’t possibly be you.’

  ‘Heart of stone and all that?’

  Kate nodded. ‘Exactly. But then they don’t know you like I do.’

  ‘No, they don’t. It’s so good to be back. Lovely to think about coming home to you.’

  ‘You’ve no idea how glad I am to see you back.’

  He picked up on the odd tone in her voice. ‘What do you mean? Is there something you haven’t told me?’

  Kate hesitated and then admitted her momentary fears for his safety. ‘It’s just Maggie’s seances. I know it’s all ridiculous, but what with her saying that and then finding out about the rumours, I was at a very low ebb. It all kind of mushroomed.’

  ‘Kate, it is a pathetic attempt to gain some notoriety. It’s all rubbish and anyone who believes it is a fool.’

  ‘I know that, but she’s been right once or twice apparently, and people believe it now.’

  ‘Well, we’ve no need to, so don’t worry yourself about it any more.’

  Kate sighed. ‘I won’t then, if you say so.’

  ‘I do. My main problem is all these idiots in Little Derehams wanting huge improvements to their houses.’

  ‘Let’s face it, Craddock. They know they’ve made the most tremendous mistake selling their houses to you and paying a nominal rent during their lifetimes. But looked at another way, any improvement is bound to improve their value to you.’

  Craddock blew a smoke ring into the air and with eyes half closed he muttered, ‘You’ve got a point there. I could make a token gesture to shut them up, couldn’t I?’

  ‘They’ll never be off your back if you don’t.’

  ‘Wise. That’s what you are, wise. I might well do just that.’ He began to think of improvements he could make without massive financial outlay.

  Kate watched the way he smoked his cigar. There was such style about the way he did it. ‘What made you start smoking cigars?’

  ‘My father smoked them.’

  ‘Do you know that’s the first time you’ve ever mentioned your father.’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yes. Are you like him?’

  ‘In looks, you mean?’

  ‘No, well, in anything.’

  ‘Not a bit.’

  ‘You are allowed to talk about him to me.’

  He looked angry and got to his feet. ‘I’m for bed.’

  ‘I’ll be up in a while. Thank you for laughing.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Those rumours. You know I haven’t done anything like that, don’t you? If I did, which I wouldn’t, I’d tell you.’

  ‘You’d tell me?’

  ‘Of course. You’d need to know.’

  ‘That’s frank to say the least.’

  Kate shrugged. ‘That’s how I am.’

  ‘I see. Thank you for letting me know, anyway.’ He’d said on his wedding night that she was full of surprises
and apparently he was right.

  The next morning Craddock was in Little Derehams the very first thing. He went armed with a hammer and was to be seen apparently testing walls and tapping concrete paths, knowing full well he’d be enticing an irate tenant out before too long. Sure enough, out came the tenant who’d complained of dampness in the side wall of his house.

  ‘What are you doing banging on my wall at this time in the morning?’

  ‘Just testing for the damp you say you have.’ Mr Fitch straightened his back and made a note on a piece of paper. ‘Needs fresh mortar.’

  ‘And what about that loose brick in the path to the bin, eh? Going to wait till I break my ankle on it?’

  ‘Certainly not. While the chap’s here he can take a bit of mortar round and fix it.’ He ostentatiously made another note on his paper. ‘Right. Gas you were thinking of? That right?’

  Taken aback, the tenant could only nod.

  Another note was added to his list. ‘Gas. I’ll look into that.’ He smiled and took his leave.

  A similar procedure was acted out at each house until he came to Mrs Bliss’s. She was gardening out at the front and he leaned on her new gate. ‘Good morning, Mrs Bliss!’

  ‘Good morning.’ She walked slowly towards him, giving him time to notice the improvement in her.

  ‘The garden’s beginning to shape up.’

  Her thin, angular face almost broke into a smile. ‘Yes. I enjoy gardening.’

  ‘Can I see the work that’s been done? I like to know my orders have been carried out.’

  ‘Of course.’ Mrs Bliss opened the gate for him and he followed her into the house. He admired the new kitchen, took notice of the redecoration, sniffed the air and found it clean and sweet, so the septic tank must have been attended to satisfactorily, went upstairs to check the damp patches in the bedrooms, inspected the new bathroom and came downstairs beaming. ‘Are you pleased with what’s been done?’

  ‘Of course. Who wouldn’t be? Thank you.’

  He also wanted to talk about the paucity of furniture in the place, and searched for the right words. ‘I’m pleased. I now feel as if I’ve done my bit for this cottage. Now, this is very personal, Mrs Bliss and you mustn’t take offence, but it appears to me that a few more sticks of furniture wouldn’t go amiss.’

  Mrs Bliss spread her hands. ‘I’m more than grateful for what you’ve done, but no money means no furniture.’

  ‘I see. He isn’t giving you maintenance, then? Wherever he is.’

  ‘He can’t. He’s . . . dead.’

  Mr Fitch put out a hand to touch hers as it lay on the table. ‘I’m so sorry, I’d no idea. But if you’re in such deep financial water, are you not qualified to take a job of some kind?’

  Mrs Bliss stared at him blankly.

  ‘There must be something in the village you could do, surely?’

  ‘Before I married I was in IT support. Degree, that kind of thing. But now I’ve no clothes to wear, even to go for an interview. It takes me all my time to feed the children and they’re always growing, so they always come first where clothes are concerned.’

  Mr Fitch tapped on the table with his fingers, beating a kind of tattoo while he thought. ‘You know, it costs me a small fortune to get someone up from London to see to our computers at Turnham House. Fees for this, expenses for that. You would be doing me a good turn if you did it for me. It wouldn’t be full-time, only a couple of days here and there, but if we could call on you at a moment’s notice, that would be worth a packet to me. What do you think? It might be a start.’

  Tears trickled, then ran down her cheeks. She pulled out a tissue from her skirt pocket and dabbed at her eyes. Shaking her head she muttered, ‘I don’t think so. My confidence has completely gone. I’ve taken on board everything life’s thrown at me, kept going for the sake of the children, dragging myself up by my shoelaces day after day, month after month, stealing to feed them. How low can one sink? You’re kind, but no thanks.’

  ‘What did your husband do?’

  ‘He was an explorer.’

  Mr Fitch delved into his memory. ‘He wasn’t! What was his name . . . not . . . Oliver Broakes-Bliss? The Oliver Broakes-Bliss?’

  When Mrs Bliss nodded, he replied, ‘I so admired him. That trek across the North Pole went so wrong but he did do it, against all the odds. Truly magnificent! Such courage. You must have been so proud of him.’

  A gleam of satisfaction came into Mrs Bliss’s eyes, but they soon clouded over. She blew her nose, tucked her tissue away and said, ‘I was, but at what cost?’

  ‘Surely he got sponsorship?’

  ‘He did for that expedition, but his next one . . . at the South Pole . . . when he froze to death . . .’

  ‘Of course, so sad.’

  ‘Catastrophic. For us all.’

  ‘But I seem to recall that a clothing firm financed him?’

  ‘They made a lot of ballyhoo about it, but it no way covered anything like the costs and unknown to me, he took out a second mortgage. When he died, we lost the house. So not only had we no home but we had massive debts.’ Mrs Bliss tried to steady herself by taking in an enormous breath, but it didn’t work and she broke down in tears again.

  ‘But he was such a brave man, so dedicated, so imaginative in what he tried to do. I can’t believe his widow was left destitute. The media were round him like flies. He appeared very successful. And his book! Surely that brought in some money?’

  ‘It didn’t sell very well, and he’d spent the advance before he left on that last expedition.’ Cynically she added, ‘Even his death didn’t boost the sales.’

  ‘Look, you must take this job I’m offering. Think about it and ring me. OK? I mean it.’

  ‘I’m sorry for telling you my life story. I’d made up my mind when we moved here that I was leaving Oliver behind and here I am . . .’ She wiped her face again and got to her feet. ‘I’ll see you out.’

  Mr Fitch tapped her arm. ‘Think seriously about that job. I need someone like you.’

  ‘I don’t know who you are. Where do I ring?’

  He handed her his business card. ‘Ring Turnham House, I’ll get the message even if I’m not there.’

  Mr Fitch left her cottage glad at heart. At least he was making a difference in a place where his own finances were not at the core of his intention. Though it would be good if she’d do the IT work.

  He sat in the car outside her house studying the list of repairs he’d made for the other cottages. He stood to make, at the very least, double or even triple the money he’d paid to buy them, and he was getting modest rent for them all in addition, so anything spent on maintenance would be money well used. For once, his land agent might actually have a smile on his face. Fancy Oliver Broakes-Bliss! How he’d admired him. Though he did seem to have been a fool with money, and that was never a good idea.

  He was about to set off back to Turnham Malpas when Peter drew up in his car and got out.

  ‘Good morning, Craddock. How’s things?’

  On a weekday, Peter in full cassock with that whacking great silver cross tucked into his broad leather belt always unnerved Mr Fitch. He felt that gear was best kept for Sundays. Feeling at a disadvantage, he got out of his car. But that didn’t do much good either for he was almost a head shorter than Peter and still had to look up at him.

  ‘Things are fine, thank you. Just been visiting my tenants. They’re a grand lot.’

  Hearing such sentiments from Mr Fitch astounded Peter. ‘They are?’

  ‘Yes. They are. Seen Mrs Bliss’s improvements?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘You’ll be surprised. She’s beginning to look better herself, too. Which is all to the good. Sad life she’s had. Needs helping along the way. Nice to see you, Peter.’ He made to get back into his car, then remembered something else. ‘Kate’s working away at the anniversary celebrations for the school, you’ll be glad to hear. She’s getting a lot of support from old pupils and previou
s headteachers. Two previous heads and their wives are coming. Remember Michael Palmer, nice chap, but lacked guts? He’s coming with his wife and daughters. It’s going to be a good weekend.’

  ‘Indeed, I expect it is. Kate’s good at that kind of thing.’

  It was as he put his car into third gear and was charging down the High Street that the terrible recollection struck Craddock. My God! Mrs Palmer, the wife of the headmaster, was that Suzy Meadows. He wondered if Kate knew the story.

  Peter made up his mind on the spot that he wouldn’t go to sleep that night until he’d told Caroline about Suzy. Obviously the entire village must know but they’d had the discretion not to mention it to Caroline, knowing the hurt it would cause. Well, he couldn’t shirk his responsibilities any longer. Tell her he must.

  He knocked on Mrs Bliss’s door, opened it and called out, ‘It’s Peter, from the Rectory.’

  It was time for bed before Peter had plucked up the courage to tell Caroline. ‘Darling, you know this anniversary for the school?’

  ‘People talk about nothing else, apart from Kate’s romance with an unknown man and Mr Fitch visiting Mrs Bliss far too often.’

  Peter frowned. ‘No one’s mentioned that to me.’

  ‘That’s what they’re saying. But it’s not true.’

  ‘I’m glad. There is something that is true though.’

  ‘Oh? What’s that?’

  ‘Kate has invited previous headmasters to the Saturday celebrations.’

  For a long moment there was no reaction from Caroline and she continued flicking through the church magazine as if searching for the article he knew she’d contributed. But it didn’t fool Peter. She looked up at him. ‘She hasn’t accepted?’

  ‘I haven’t asked, but it sounds like it.’

  Caroline flung the magazine across the sitting-room floor. It shot under the television and they both sat watching it, as though waiting for it to make the next move. Neither of them had mentioned her name but they both knew to whom she referred.