The Village Green Affair Read online

  ‘Got yer!’ bellowed Mac. His problem then was to hold on to them, as they wriggled and squirmed, trying to evade his grip. As luck would have it, Barry Jones arrived just then with Granddad Stubbs’s morning coffee in a thermos.

  Between the three of them they managed to control Eddie and Tone, though with difficulty. After all, they weren’t going to allow themselves to be arrested on the one morning when they’d got such a good haul so easily. But Mac rang for assistance and a police car was there within minutes, having just dropped off a witness in Penny Fawcett.

  Grandmama, worried now about Ralph and Muriel, tapped on the back door. Getting no answer, she tentatively went in. The silence in the house was unnerving but she progressed into the hall, dreading she might find the two of them lying bloodied somewhere, having been coshed by the burglars.

  But when she tried Ralph’s study door all she found was Ralph fast asleep, his head resting on his desk. ‘Ralph, dear, it’s Katherine Charter-Plackett. Is everything all right? Where’s Muriel?’

  At the sound of Muriel’s name, Ralph raised his head from the desk and stared blearily round. ‘Muriel? Muriel? She’s resting in bed.’

  ‘I’ll just go upstairs then and make sure she’s all right.’

  ‘She’s fine, thank you, there’s no need . . .’

  But Grandmama was already on her way up the stairs and was soon in the bedroom. Relieved to find her unharmed, Grandmama patted her hand and said, ‘It’s all right, Muriel, just me making sure you’re OK. And you are, aren’t you? I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Muriel looked confused but nodded her head. Katherine went back downstairs to talk to Ralph. Back in the study Ralph had pulled himself together. ‘So sorry, Katherine. Muriel’s been up a large part of the night - couldn’t sleep, you know - and I must have been catching up. Sorry about that.’

  ‘Don’t you worry. We all need a powernap sometimes.’

  Ralph smiled. ‘Is that what they call it nowadays?’ Ever conscious of good manner, he asked if she had a message for him.

  ‘Well, I did, but now I need to tell you about something else. I’m wondering if you’re all right because I surprised what looked like two burglars coming out of your back door.’

  Ralph stiffened with apprehension. ‘Two burglars? You must be mistaken.’

  ‘No, I’m not. Mac’s just gone to catch them, but they’re too far ahead of him. I don’t think he’ll have any luck.’

  ‘What about Muriel?’ Ralph asked anxiously.

  ‘She seems quite unperturbed. She’s just waking up.’

  Ralph sat down. ‘I’d better see what they’ve taken.’

  ‘Maybe nothing.’

  But when Ralph went into the sitting room to check Muriel’s ornaments he knew immediately that things were missing, although the chances of Muriel knowing what had gone were very slight.

  Down the stairs came Muriel crying, ‘Ralph, Ralph, it’s gone.’

  Ralph shook his head at Grandmama behind Muriel’s back. ‘Nothing’s gone, my darling, you’ve been asleep and you’re all mixed up. See, we have Katherine here visiting. Had we better get dressed?’

  ‘No, not till I’ve found it. I must find it. I wonder where I put it?’ Muriel wandered aimlessly about, lifting things, opening drawers, taking books off the shelves and searching behind them. ‘I don’t understand it.’ She scowled at Katherine. ‘Did you take it?’ she asked.

  This came as a surprise to Grandmama, and she tried hard not to reply sounding indignant. That would never do. ‘No, Muriel, I didn’t. Whatever “it” is.’

  Ralph whispered, ‘I’ll distract her, she’ll soon forget.’

  Taking Muriel by the arm, Ralph guided her back upstairs calling out, ‘Thanks for visiting, Katherine.’

  Grandmama decided that Ralph must be almost as muddled as Muriel, for he appeared not the slightest bit concerned that he’d been burgled. Unable to work out the complicated keys and locks on the front door, installed to keep Muriel in, Grandmama went out via the back door and bumped into Mac rushing back.

  ‘We got ’em,’ he announced. ‘Both of ’em. They’re the same ones that stole from Glebe House. I recognize ’em. Right, I’ll go in and speak to Sir Ralph.’

  ‘You’ll have to leave it for now. He’s trying to get Muriel bathed and dressed, so he could be a long time. Give me five!’ She held up her hand and Mac held up his, and they slapped them together in triumph.

  ‘We make a good pair, don’t we?’ Grandmama laughed.

  Mac agreed. ‘They could sack that lot in Culworth and just pay you and me!’

  He roared with laughter and so did Grandmama in a most unladylike manner. She felt that she’d justified her existence this morning and no mistake.

  Mac said, as he took possession of his two lamb chops, ‘I might need you as a witness. I’ll let you know.’

  As Grandmama went home, her heart broke for Muriel. Dear, dear Muriel, who’d been such a stalwart in the village all the years she’d been there. She remembered the times Muriel had tried to keep them all behaving like ladies, for instance, when the WI had suggested sponsored skinny-dipping as a fundraiser. Now it seemed that only Caroline’s Beth could get through to her. More than once Grandmama had seen Beth taking her for a stroll round the Store as part of her Girl Guide badge work, making sense of Muriel’s wanderings and treating her with such respect. Surprising how the young can have such empathy with the old, but then that was all part of Beth and what she’d inherited from her father. As for poor Ralph, at his age he must be exhausted caring for her full-time as he so obviously had to do. It was pride that kept him going and not asking for help.

  She’d go round to find Jimbo and tell him of her exploits. But, of course, he was on his gateaux stall, taking in the money like there was no tomorrow with no time for idle, non-productive chatter. So Grandmama went instead to find Harriet. Now she would be interested.

  They had a chat in the back kitchen seated in two chairs provided for the staff, drinking iced ginger beer and munching some homemade marble cake, which sold well in the Store.

  ‘. . . So I rang Mac’s number - I have his private line, you see - and he was round in a moment and off after them.’ Grandmama’s eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Why, what’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s Muriel. She’s definitely lost her marbles, believe me. She had something on her mind that was lost and she asked if I’d taken it! Me, of all people! Mind you, she didn’t know who I was. So sad, isn’t it?’ She gently wiped her eyes so as not to smudge her discreet mascara, and said, ‘Ralph must be worn out. Well, I’m going now to look round the stalls. I loathed the idea of the market at first for Jimbo’s sake, but now, well, it does seem to have some good things. All due to Titus, of course, he maintains a good standard. And I don’t think it’s made inroads into Jimbo’s takings after all, has it?’

  ‘No. In fact, last Thursday the takings were up.’

  ‘Talking of Titus, what’s the situation . . . you know.’

  ‘Well, Liz is having to move out of the flat today because the owner’s coming back from abroad. I offered her a bed but she doesn’t want to be in Turnham Malpas, too many memories, so she’s going to a guest house till she finds somewhere nice to rent.’

  ‘You see, I can’t believe that Neville would be capable of something . . . well . . . less than pleasant. Always appears to be such a gentleman, though rather cold, if you get my meaning. Do you know what happened?’

  ‘No, Katherine, I don’t. Only Neville and Titus know, beside Liz, that is. Whatever, she’s well shot of him.’

  ‘Well, sometimes I wish I’d done that very thing, divorced Jimbo’s father and got rid of him once and for all, but I adored him so, and Jimbo was too young to be fatherless. I kept hoping he’d come home and stay but he didn’t - well, not until he was dying. So gracious in the face of death, you know. Harriet, if ever I go like Muriel, will you bump me off before I become an embarrassment to myself and everyone? I�
��d hate my grandchildren to see me completely barmy.’

  Harriet could see that her mother-in-law needed a sharp word or two. ‘You’re getting very maudlin, Katherine, and it’s got to stop. Finished your ginger beer? Then you’d better buzz off before I find you a job to do.’

  It was then that they heard the cataclysmic roar of motorbikes approaching Turnham Malpas, dozens of them pouring down the Culworth Road and onto the village green. The noise was unbearable. They emerged from the Culworth Road at full throttle. It was the horrifying sound of their triumphant shouts of laughter as they poured onto the village green, which chilled everyone to the marrow.

  Chapter 17

  The crowd of bikers diverged and sped down the alleyways between the stalls, revving and thudding about, caring not one jot who or what they toppled. Pedestrians were entirely at their mercy. The smell of diesel, the rubbery reek of screeching tyres, their triumphant shouts of laughter, the screams of the terrified punters, the furious, futile protest of the stallholders and the crash of the stalls and the canopies made Turnham Malpas appear to have descended into hell. It felt to last for hours - hours of pain and fear, of shock and terror.

  In fact, the devastation lasted only minutes, but in that time substantial items of food were stolen, and Bryan the butcher broke down in tears when he saw his beautiful joints of meat being kicked and thrown everywhere.

  Having had their fun, the bikers roared off as quickly as they came, waving stolen produce from the stalls, whirling pieces of the striped canvasses around their heads, swiping plates and dishes from the food stalls, even taking great bites out of Jimbo’s gateaux and throwing them down in the dust as they swirled away. They left behind a scene of total destruction.

  There was a moment of silent shock as the bikes stormed off, then came the wails of distress from the stallholders, howls of protest from the customers, cries of pain from the wounded - and there were quite a few of those - and general confusion. From the Royal Oak came Mac, who’d been in the gents when the bikes had arrived. He flung his arms up in despair. Then Grandmama was at his side, breathing heavily, and holding a list of motorbike numbers under his nose.

  ‘See, I’ve taken these down,’ she panted. ‘Some but not all of their numbers. So you’ve something to get on with.’ The writing was uncertain but then she had been distraught at the time, not to mention knocked and nudged as the bikes streamed by.

  Mac thanked her profusely, trying hard to focus on the list and relieved he’d look efficient to that lot in Culworth. So, what had happened to the extra officers he’d been promised? So much for Mr Fitch and his promises. If Sir Ralph had arranged it, they would have been here. A single bobby couldn’t possibly have controlled what they’d experienced. Thing was, he’d an idea they were part of a different motorbike gang from those bikers he’d arrested last time. Why? he asked himself. Why? For fun, that’s what. For them, it was one great big joke. Damn them.

  Titus Bellamy was speechless. As a man of peace he was appalled at the vicious glee with which the bikers had destroyed his living and that of his stallholders. He stood with his head in his hands, trying to hold back his emotions as best he could. He gasped for breath, as though his lungs had gone into cramp. The initial opposition from the villagers was as nothing compared to this, for now the opposition was life-threatening. One unconsidered step and someone could have been killed by a motorbike, such was their speed and fury. He gasped for breath again, sucking in great draughts of air in effort to control his speaking voice before he rang the police. He pulled his mobile out from his trouser pocket, dialled nine, nine, nine. Got through, but found he couldn’t say, ‘Police, please!’ Felt the enormous pressure of something storm-like building up in his chest. He clutched his shirt-front in an effort to still the raging. Tears welled in his eyes. Still the pain escalated. He rubbed his left arm to bring it to life again, tried breathing deeply and slowly, but still he couldn’t stop this gigantic beating taking control of him.

  Silently Titus called out, ‘Liz!’ He had to see her one last time. Just once! His darling Liz.

  Then she was there. Her hand on his arm felt like a balm to his raging pain, but it didn’t still the excruciating pain in his chest. Gratefully Titus looked into Liz’s eyes, then he slumped to the ground at her feet.

  Liz tried to stop him falling but she couldn’t, and went down with him onto the grass.

  Kneeling beside him, she screamed, ‘Titus! Titus!’

  Titus could hardly hear her for the roaring in his ears.

  He struggled to say her name.

  Strove to kiss her lovely lips, so close to his own.

  Mumbled nonsense.

  Then the searing pain overwhelmed him, his heart stopped abruptly and he lay dead at her feet with her arms around him. Liz moaned and howled her despair, she hugged him, stroked him, begged him to stay with her but the desolation in her heart told her it was all in vain. Her beautiful, dearest, sweet Titus was gone forever. Her finger trailed along the line of his lips, she bestowed tiny kisses around his mouth, gently shut his staring eyes still so full of pain it seemed, she kissed his temples, smoothed her thumb along his eyebrows, rubbed his loving gentle hands hoping to bring life back to them. Life! Yes! Of course! She’d breathe life into him. Liz pumped his chest and breathed forcefully into his open mouth until she was giddy from the effort, but there was no response.

  Caroline, helping to look after the injured, came upon them both. At a glance she summed up the situation and knew exactly what must have happened. Tenderly, she pushed Liz aside and knelt beside Titus, held her fingers to his neck to search for a pulse, and tried herself to return him to life.

  After a few minutes she took Liz into her arms.

  ‘My dear, it’s all too late, I’m afraid. There’s no response at all. My dear Liz, I’m so sorry.’

  In the midst of the chaos the two of them continued to kneel beside Titus, one giving comfort, the other paralysed with shock. It was a grim, silent circle of pain, totally detached from the rest of the hectic pandemonium.

  Liz lifted her head from Caroline’s shoulder and whispered, ‘How can he have died? We love each other so much.’

  ‘That’s how life can be.’

  ‘What kind of a God can do this to us? What kind?’

  Because she couldn’t think of a single word of comfort when faced with a question like that, Caroline too began to weep.

  That was how Peter found the two of them on his way back from a visit to Penny Fawcett. Horrified, he leaped out of his car and joined them on the grass. He questioned Caroline with his eyes, and her answer was to shake her head in helpless despair. He encircled the two of them in his arms and rocked them both, murmuring words of comfort, at the same time shaken to the core by Titus’s sudden death.

  Caroline took off her cardigan and laid it respectfully over Titus’s face and chest.

  Liz shouted, ‘No! No! Don’t shut him away, please don’t shut him away.’ Tearing off the cardigan, she bent to kiss his lips again and again, but she was horrified to discover they were unresponsive and just beginning to lose the body warmth of a human being, and finally she realized that he was dead and gone . . . never more would those wonderful, tender hands caress her, those gentle, questing lips of his touch her body. No more would she feel his sweet breath against her skin, nor would she lay her head on his chest and feel the very beat of his dear, kind heart. Great, passionate tears rolled unceasingly down her cheeks. Why hadn’t she died with him? Why didn’t she fall on his chest this very second and put an end to it all? Why couldn’t she have a heart attack right now? With the sun beating down on the pair of them, side by side, out here. Not even Peter’s words of blessing could reach the thick, impenetrable wall of her grief.

  The ambulance came, called for by no one knew, and took Titus away. How Caroline and Peter managed to get Liz from the place outside the school where he’d died to the Rectory they didn’t know. It was a nightmare journey. Anyone less well built and less f
it than Peter wouldn’t have been able to do it because Liz was a dead weight. They were constantly stopped by horrified villagers, who didn’t know that Titus was dead, and they fell back in dismay when they learned the truth.

  ‘Have you any sedatives in the house?’ Peter asked Caroline.

  ‘None.’

  ‘None?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Painkillers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  They laid Liz on the sitting-room sofa, not able to face getting her up the stairs. Instead of howling with pain she’d become too exhausted to make any effort to express her grief, and lay quite still in her own desolate world. Caroline knelt beside the sofa holding her hand. She tested Liz’s forehead. ‘She’s in shock, and very cold. We need a blanket.’