Read Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (14 page)
‘We’d prefer to move you to another house. Is there anywhere local like Penny Fawcett or …’
‘My married daughter lives in Little Derehams but their cottage is full. They’ve two babies, you see, we’d get no peace and Ron isn’t at all well. We don’t want to go a long way away because Ron’s still having treatment.’
‘In that case we’ll do as I first said and you can have a police officer here at all times.’
Panic set in and Sheila began to tremble. ‘I’m not at all well myself and now you’ve frightened me. I don’t know if I can cope with anything more.’
‘There’s no need to worry, it’s just a precaution.’
‘But I am worrying. Why on earth do you think we need someone here? Are they going to come back?’
‘As I said, it’s just in case.’
‘What have Tom and Evie done?’
‘Tom and Evie?’
‘Yes. You’ve got to come clean about this. It was them not us they were after, wasn’t it?’
Superintendent Proctor got to his feet. ‘The less you know the better.’
He left behind a charming woman officer, who looked too fragile to prevent a manikin attacking them never mind a gang. ‘Are you sure she’s … capable?’
‘Judo black belt.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘She’ll give you the run-down on what to do. Take care, Lady Bissett. My regards to Sir Ronald.’
‘For how long do you think?’
‘Few days.’
Sheila struggled awake. ‘What? What?’
‘A cup of tea. I’m having such a bad night, you’ve no idea.’
‘Oh, I have! You keep grunting and shuffling about.’
‘I can’t help it, love. I’m sorry. I’m just so uncomfortable.’
She flung back the duvet and found her slippers by shushing her bare feet about the carpet till she located them. ‘Right. I’ll have one myself. Don’t go to sleep, will you? I won’t be long. On second thoughts, I’ll put my bedside light on, it’ll keep you awake.’
‘Fat chance I have of falling asleep.’
Sheila wended her way downstairs, filled the kettle, got out the small tray with the Portmeirion pattern on it, and laid it elegantly. If a job’s worth doing, she thought. While she waited for the kettle she went into the sitting room and stood by the window looking out. It was so good to be home. So very good. She loved the view from her window. The stocks, the pond, the old oak tree … at the height of the summer the tree somewhat obscured her view of the church but she didn’t mind because it was so beautiful. She smiled to herself about the old legend, if the oak tree dies so too will the village. A likely story. Take more than a dead tree to finish this village off.
The deep silence of the middle of the night was broken
by the sound of a car. Who on earth could that be at this time? Surely not the – Oh, God! The car was coming round Stocks Row past the pub. And no headlights. Dawn was just beginning but it still wasn’t light enough to drive without … They were stopping! Outside Tom and Evie’s! Oh! Not another beating up. Sheila froze. But they wouldn’t stop right outside, would they, if they were up to no good? The driver got out. By craning her neck she could see him open up the boot, then the sound of a door, then … surely not! It was. Tom and Evie! He had his arm round Evie’s waist and a case in the other hand. Another man appeared out of the car and then the case Tom was carrying was put in the boot. Evie seemed close to collapse and was shaking her head in refusal. It appeared to take all Tom’s efforts to persuade her to get in to the car. He shook his head at one of the men as though despairing and then they all got into the car and drove away. Poor Evie! Poor Tom! Had they been kidnapped? No, they went easily enough in the end and the men weren’t forcing them in. She was sure Tom would have put up a fight, even if it was only for Evie’s sake. But perhaps they had guns and he’d no alternative! They were in a hurry because the car engine had never even been switched off. They were expected, because the case was already packed. Such haste. And what for?
Ron’s tea! She made the tea and rushed as fast as she could to tell Ron. Half-way up the stairs she remembered the policewoman. Some good having her in the house, lying there fast asleep and all this happening. Sheila put the tray on her bedside table saying to Ron ‘Let it brew. I won’t be a minute.’ She scurried along the landing to the policewoman’s bedroom.
‘Yes?’
‘Tom and Evie have been taken away in a car. Do you think they’ve been kidnapped?’
Claire sat up with a start. ‘Have they? Are you sure?’
‘I saw them being driven away.’
‘God help us!’ She fished under her pillow for her telephone and dialled a number, waving Sheila away as soon as she made contact. Quite put out Sheila closed the door thinking, I expect she didn’t want me to hear her getting a dressing-down for being asleep when she should have been on the
qui vive
. Still, she couldn’t keep awake twenty-four hours a day, could she? They should have sent someone else to relieve her. No, they shouldn’t, thought Sheila, I don’t want the entire police force in residence when not even one is necessary.
Ron had sat himself up in bed and was waiting patiently for his tea. ‘It took a long time. Did you forget to switch the kettle on?’
‘No, I didn’t. Here, get hold of it tight, we don’t want tea all over the bed. You know what a long way even a drop can go.’ She gingerly climbed back into bed, remembering how the slightest wrong twist or turn could cause her pain. ‘No, it’s Tom and Evie, they’ve been taken away. In a car.’
‘Sheila!’
‘It’s true, I saw them.’
‘God! What next? Bang goes the quiet-English-village-where-nothing-happens theory.’ He sipped his tea. ‘Maybe the policewoman is a good idea after all.’
‘Fat lot of good she is fast asleep.’
‘Well, at least she’s reassuring.’
‘I suppose so. Make sure the duvet’s pulled well up, we don’t want her embarrassed, she might come in with a message.’
Each one of Sheila and Ron’s visitors the next day went away with a dramatised version of the great escape of the Nichollses.
‘I saw them with my own eyes. Believe me, they were hustled into the car, Evie’s feet barely touching the ground. You should have seen! Terrified she was! Weeping heartbroken. What I should like to know is who were they and why were they removing Tom from the scene? Tell me that. Of course the police will tell me nothing. We might as well not have this Claire Thingummy here, complete waste of time she is. The only thing she’s useful for is answering the door and saving me getting up out of the chair. Strict instructions we have,
don’t answer the door
. In fact after the last time Ron answered it I don’t think I want to answer it ever again. Well, would you?’
That second night when they guessed Claire would be asleep, Ron quietly opened the front door and went for a stroll. A very careful, guarded stroll, one foot placed slowly in front of the other, one hand clutching the side where the worst of the kicking had been, breathing in the fresh air in deep gulps, appreciating it all the more after the clinical smells of the hospital and enjoying the peace of the midnight hour. Thank God for it, thought Ron, I’d go mad if I didn’t get out, and that damn bossy Claire wouldn’t hear of it, but he needed it for sanity’s sake.
It clamped down, gripped him fiercely and a voice whispered, ‘What are you doing out?’
His heart went completely out of control, thudding so erratically he was convinced his chest would explode. When he found his voice he said, ‘Taking the air. Who are you?’
‘Police. Shushhhhh! Home, if you please.’
Disgruntled at having been found out like a small schoolboy misbehaving, Ron grunted, ‘All right, all right. But why can’t I take a walk?’
‘Because. Here, let me help you.’
‘I can’t hurry. It’s the bruising, you know.’
The two of them turned round and started back home to Orchard House. Squatting in the front of the Royal Oak under the window of the lounge he spotted a shadowy figure and he could just make out someone else standing behind Jimmy’s fence in the shade of his chicken house. My God, the place was full of police. Wait till he told Sheila.
Terry didn’t bother to lock his car it being, as he well knew, quite valueless and anyone wanting to steal it was welcome to it. ‘Where’ve you been?’
Kenny replied, ‘Ask no questions get told no lies. Got yer key?’
Terry put his hand on the front door to steady himself while he put the key in the lock only to find that the door swung open of its own accord. ‘That’s funny. You must have left the door open yesterday.’
‘I never did.’
‘Oh, God! Damn and blast it! We’ve been burgled!’
He could hear Terry howling in the kitchen about some discovery he’d made then his footsteps racing up the stairs to view his bedroom. It was the same all over the house. Their possessions thrown about in a cruelly systematic search.
Kenny scrambled down the stairs and slumped down in his big leather armchair to think. Think what? Who? Why? What for?
Terry asked in anguished tones why their house had been picked on.
Kenny looked wryly at him.
Terry exploded with an idea. ‘Ring the police!’
‘For God’s sake, Terry! Sorry, Mr Plod, but our house has been done over and we can’t think why. Oh, yes!
They’d love that, wouldn’t they? They’d be laughing all the way from the station.’
‘Who’s done it then?’
‘Use yer brains, Terry. Who do you think? Them what have toes that we’ve trodden on.’
‘What d’yer mean? Who did it to us?’
Kenny looked scornfully at his brother and wondered how he’d managed to be burdened with such a fool. ‘Turkish Delight?’
Terry paled at the thought. ‘Oh, God! It’ll be ’im, you’re right.’
‘We’d better stay low for a while. He’s given us a warning, that’s what this is all about. If he’d found our money …’ He gestured at the mess. ‘This is ’im telling us he knows. This is only for starters is this warning.’
Terry laughed, but there was a tremor in his voice when he replied, ‘You and me! Come on, us compared to them! You’ve got ideas above your station you ’ave. You and me a threat to ’im? That’s a laugh! Why should Turkish Delight bother with us? We’re small fry in comparison.’ He sat down in the more meagre chair allocated to him by Kenny.
‘’Cos he’s heard about our activities up in town and he’s not having us trespassing. Safest thing we can do is get the money and make a fast exit for a while.’
Terry sat up abruptly. ‘You mean leave Turnham Malpas? Go somewhere new? Leave everything behind?’
Kenny mocked him. ‘Yes! Next time we might be at home when they come.’ He blanched at the thought of their narrow escape. ‘I’m not into violence and that’s what it’s going to be if we aggravate old Turkish Delight any more. Violence with a capital V.’
‘Just when we’re building up a good business. Blast it. I’m never going to make it big, am I?’
‘We will, one way or another. We’ve been too cocky trying this. We’ve watched enough serials on telly about drug-dealers being buried in concrete overcoats to know when to do a bunk.’ Kenny shuddered. ‘I’m going to church. Right. Won’t be long. The money’s not safe there anyway with Tom gone. Willie’s not so … amenable.’
Terry, scared though he was, sneered at the word ‘amenable’. ‘You mean you ’aven’t got a hold over him.’
Kenny gestured at the chaos around his feet. ‘That’s right. Tidy up, OK? Shan’t be long. I want to leave it spick and span. Don’t want Sir Ralph upset with us.’
‘Won’t matter if he is, we shan’t be here.’
‘Just do as I say. See yer.’ He left then came back in again. ‘While I’m gone pack a couple of bags for us, and put my new clothes in mine and don’t forget your toothbrush, if you can find it that is. And don’t forget to rescue the white stuff from under the shed.’
Willie was devoting his time to a thorough cleaning of the memorial chapel. He’d just got used to his freedom and here he was back again doing the verger’s job. Poor Tom. Still it was enjoyable, made yer feel needed, and the money would be useful for their holidays. Who’d have thought it, him, Willie Biggs, swanning off to outlandish places like Minorca? He only did it for Sylvia’s sake, or pretended he did. Let’s face it, he thought, as he wrung out his cloth in the bucket, I enjoy it as much as she does. The hot sun, the new sights, the company, the hotel. Yer came back renewed. He got up from his knees and settled himself on a
chair facing the altar to ease his cramped legs for a moment, to his left the huge carved memorial screen shielding him from the main part of the church, in front of him the altar where the Rector said his prayers each day.
Times had changed and not half. He looked at the names on the brass memorial tablet beside the altar, and tried to imagine what the village must have been like all those years ago when things like beatings for no reason at all simply didn’t happen. A cart track into Culworth, no TV, scarcely even a telephone. A motor car, he supposed, up at the Big House. No washing-machines. No videos. Nor this new-fangled Internet they all talked about.
As he sat there thinking, the opening of the church door barely touched his consciousness. He belonged to the history of the village. Two of his uncles on the memorial plaque and there’d been Biggses living in his cottage since … well, heaven knew how long, certainly a hundred years but in the long life of the village that was a mere moment. Domesday Book they’d been mentioned in. He’d seen it in a book. And them Roman ruins up at the Big House before … What was that?
A strange noise he couldn’t relate to anything. It didn’t sound like visitors: they usually whispered loudly and crept noisily about. He cautiously stood up and moved towards the screen. Finding a hole through which he could see into the main body of the church, Willie put his eye to it. By turning first right then left he had a view of most of the church. The only bit he couldn’t see was the font right at the back. His scalp prickled and he felt as though his hair was standing on end for, as he looked towards the Templeton tomb, he saw someone rise up from the narrow
end of it. They’d actually come from inside it. A ghost, was it? A ghost like he’d always said! He’d been right, it was haunted. Had he gone completely mad? Then the world righted itself and he saw it was Kenny Jones standing there. Grave robbing! Whatever next?
Willie leaped out of the memorial chapel like a man possessed, his desert boots making no sound as he pounded down the aisle. ‘Kenny Jones! What you up to? Eh? Tell me that!’
Kenny looked up, startled out of his mind: dusty and dishevelled, in his hand a Tesco’s carrier-bag.
‘What’s that you’ve got there, you thieving runt, you? Grave robbing! Whatever next!’ As he reached Kenny, Willie met Kenny’s fist head on. It smacked him straight between the eyes and he fell on the stone floor unconscious, blood pouring from his nose. Breathing heavily, Kenny carefully replaced the marble end panel of the tomb, dusted himself off and headed for home, his car and anonymity.
Willie regained consciousness very slowly. First he couldn’t think where he was, till he felt the chill of the stone floor penetrating his sweater. Then he realised his face felt peculiar and when he tenderly tested it with his fingers he found blood everywhere and he remembered. Kenny Jones! Kenny Jones had hit him. Willie sat up, his head throbbing. Curiously everything appeared to be in order yet he could have sworn … Yes, he was right, Kenny had been interfering with the tomb. He pulled himself up by the tomb using the foot of the marble knight laid atop of it. He could tell just by looking that the end panel had been
moved. Robbing a grave. How could he? Surely it was a criminal offence.
Willie struggled up the aisle determined to get to the Rectory. He locked the main door so no one could interfere with his evidence, and with a handkerchief pressed to his face as his nose was still dripping he hammered on the Rectory door.
Peter knew instantly who it was as Willie always knocked in that way even if what he had to say was something quite innocuous.
Peter gasped when he opened the door. ‘Heavens! Willie! What on earth has happened? Come in.’
Willie’s voice was thick and unrecognisable. ‘No, I won’t, thank you, sir. It’s Kenny Jones what’s done it. Hit me he did. I caught him grave robbing.’
‘Grave robbing? Kenny Jones? I don’t believe it! Whose grave?’
‘The Templeton tomb in the church. Come and see for yourself. Come on.’
‘Shall we wash your face first and inspect the damage? It looks incredibly painful.’
‘No. We need the police. Come and see, I caught him red-handed.’
Peter locked the Rectory door behind them and followed Willie into the church. ‘But what did he steal?’
‘I don’t know, but he had a plastic carrier-bag in his hand with something in it and he was dusty.’
‘I can’t see Kenny being keen on opening up a tomb, can you?’
Willie took the handkerchief from his face and said ‘Look, there you are.’ He pointed to the panel that had been
replaced. ‘It was open when I saw him and then he socked me one and when I came round he’d gone and the panel was back in place. I tell you he deserves all he gets. Will you phone the police or shall I?’
Peter inspected the panel, observed it wasn’t quite, just not quite, fitted back correctly and he looked at the fine particles of dust on the floor. ‘Better not touch anything.’ Peter straightened up and dusted his hands together. ‘It does seem extremely odd. What on earth is he thinking of? I’ll phone the police.’
‘Muriel told me he’d started coming into church, but being Muriel, kindly like, she thought it was to pray. Fat chance. It was something to do with this ’ere tomb. It gave me a fright I can tell yer.’
In the bar of the Royal Oak that night the attack on Willie was the sole topic of conversation. The man himself had returned from Casualty with Sylvia at eight o’clock and insisted on a meal in the dining room and then a drink afterwards.
By then his face was black and blue, and the strips of plaster they’d used to hold the lacerations together while they healed, created an interesting criss-cross pattern on it. There was also considerable swelling, one eye being closed and the other just a slit.
Sylvia patted his arm. ‘You’re not well enough to go out, Willie. You look a real sight.’
‘That Kenny Jones isn’t keeping me away from my ale. ’Elp to dull the pain it will. Come on. You need feeding too as well as me.’
‘All right, then, but it’s madness. Here, take my arm, because I’m blessed if you can see a thing.’
A cheer went up as they entered.
‘Come on, Willie, let’s see the damage.’
‘My, that Kenny can punch.’
‘You’ll be a fortnight before you’re right.’
‘Break yer nose, did he?’
‘They’ve phoned Mike Tyson to let him know you’re available!’ This last was greeted with hilarious laughter.
‘Must have given you a shock, Willie, ’im dressed all in white stepping out of a tomb! You’ve always said it was haunted.’
Willie laughed off the teasing as best he could. He wasn’t feeling quite so full of life as he had been, and the pain felt to be getting worse. Truth to tell, it was bravado which had got him into the bar, and he didn’t know if it would carry him through the rest of the evening.
Two people got up to go, saying as they shrugged on their jackets, ‘We’ll go play spot the policeman.’ This witticism was greeted with another outburst of mirth.
A chap sitting at the bar shouted, ‘No wonder the rates keep going up. It’s to pay for that lot hanging about doing nothing all night.’
‘They wouldn’t do it if they didn’t think it was necessary.’
‘But just what are they expecting to see? That’s what I would like to know.’
‘But just think, that Kenny opening up a tomb.’ The speaker shuddered. ‘What on earth must it be like after two hundred years.’
‘Is it that long since it was opened up then?’
‘Says so on the side. Eighteen hundred and one.’