He offered tea, but Lois shook her head. Vicarage tea was pretty pallid stuff in her experience, and anyway, she’d only just had a snatched sandwich at home. “Perhaps later, then,”
Father Rogers said. “Bridie left us a tray all ready, and I’d hate to disappoint her.”
What a thoughtful man, thought Lois, and wished that all her clients were so easy. Just before she’d come out, the pub had rung to say Gary had left a hot tap running in the ladies’ cloakroom, and this was the second time it had happened. What was she going to do about it? They couldn’t afford to waste hot water, and might have to think about making other arrangements. She’d promised it wouldn’t happen again, and regretted once again that she’d allowed Cowgill to persuade her to reinstate Gary Needham. His mind was not on the job, that was clear, and she hated to think where else it might be.
She forced her thoughts back to Father Rogers, who was spreading out books and papers on his desk. “You might like to browse through these,” he invited. “It could be said that the history of the Dalling family is the history of England in a microcosm,” he added, and Lois nodded politely, not having the faintest idea what he was talking about. But she tried hard to follow, and found herself becoming interested.
Through wars, early deaths, whole families of children lost in infancy, political liaisons and marriages of convenience, the Dalling family had survived. There were some still living in South Africa, said Father Rogers, and they occasionally came over to visit the ancestral home. “Nice people,” he said, “but not the quality.” She wondered what he meant, until he described the last Lady Dalling to live at the hall. She had been renowned for her good works, her care of the sick and poor in her parish. She read that the nineteenth-century Lady Dalling befriended a celebrated freak, a man with a grotesque head and body, who came to stay with the gamekeeper’s family on the estate to escape the painful sideshows where he was exhibited for money.
“We’ve lost that sense of duty and charity,” Father Rogers said, shaking his head.
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Lois, thinking about her mother, who spent long hours in a charity shop in Tresham sorting smelly old clothes and books that other people had chucked out. “Maybe it turns up in different places,” she suggested, and Father Rogers nodded.
“Quite right, my dear,” he said. “It is important to be charitable in thought as well as deed.”
Lois had had enough by now, especially if he was going to start sermonizing. “There was one thing I wanted to ask you,” she said. “Hazel told me that Dalling church isn’t used by many people. I expect you wonder if it’s worth going there?” She knew she was risking another homily, but had to get to the subject somehow.
To her surprise, he laughed. “Absolutely,” he said. “So much so, that once or twice I have completely forgotten the appointed day!”
“Oh dear,” said Lois, thinking it was just as well. She hated to think of the old boy coming across a gorilla raiding the tombs. “Was there a queue waiting for you?” she said, leading him on.
“Good gracious me, no,” he said. “It is an evening service, and Mr Betts with his key is usually the only one in the congregation.”
“Mr Betts?” said Lois. Her voice was sharp with surprise. “Does Mr Betts open up the church?”
“Oh yes, he’s the churchwarden there. He’s interested in the history and so on, and offered to take it on. Not easy to find churchwardens these days,” he added wistfully. “I have my own key, of course, but Mr Betts always brings his too, knowing my dreadful memory!”
This odd piece of information settled uneasily in Lois’s mind. She needed to think, to see if this was more than just coincidence. But she couldn’t leave abruptly. Father Rogers had been kind, and so she accepted a cup of tea, and chatted amiably for half an hour more. As she left, she thanked him with genuine warmth for an interesting afternoon, and drove back to Long Farnden at speed, anxious to be there before the children returned home.
The telephone was ringing as she unlocked the door, and she rushed to answer it.
“Lois? It’s Mum here. Just ringing to see how you are, all of you.”
“Why?” said Lois sharply to her mother. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” said her mother, puzzled. “Just a quick ring, that’s all. I often do.”
Lois subsided on to a chair. The threat to harm her kids was getting to her, hanging over her. “Right, Mum,” she said. “It’s just that I’m tired. Not thinking straight. Dick Reading’s death has…well, you know.”
They chatted for a few minutes, and then her mother said, “Look, Lois, would it help if I came over and stayed for a week or so? Just while you get back to normal? You’ve got plenty of room now, and I’d keep out of your hair. I could be there for the kids, and Derek and me get on all right. I’m sure he won’t mind. What d’you think of the idea?”
It was such a good idea that Lois felt tears of relief welling up. “When can you come?” she said.
“Next bus,” said her mother, hearing the wobble in her daughter’s voice. “I’ll be with you directly,” she added, and put down the phone.
? Terror on Tuesday ?
Twenty-Four
“Fancy goin’ out tonight, Lois?” said Derek. He had had mixed feelings about his mother- in-law coming to stay. He got on with her well enough, and over the years she had stood by the family, a pillar of reliability when Lois had asked for help. But Gran was a lonely woman, still full of energy and in good shape, and not at all the sort to sit back with her knitting. Lois being an only child meant all her interest was focussed on the Meade family, and occasionally this became oppressive. Still, he had only to drop a hint, and she backed off at once. No, all in all, Gran was a good old gel, and he was fond of her. Now she was here, he meant to make the most of it and see that Lois took some time off to enjoy herself. She’d definitely been looking peaky lately.
“Yes, you go, Lois,” said Gran. “Me and the kids want to watch that quiz on the telly, and we can do it without you and Derek fidgeting about, disapproving.”
“Right, if that’s how you feel,” said Lois, taking mock offence, “you’re on, Derek. Where shall we go?”
“Pictures?” said Derek. “There’s that new fantasy movie at the Sol Central.”
Lois shook her head. “Don’t fancy that,” she said. “How about a good laugh? There’s this daft thing on at that little theatre in Tresham…all supposed to be amateur actors puttin’ on plays. The manager at the hall saw it, and said he’d never laughed so much…”
“Blimey!” said Derek. “Doesn’t sound like my idea of a good night out…nor yours, for that matter. You got an ulterior motive again, Lois, by any chance? Somethin’ connected with your precious inspector?”
Lois was about to cave in, but her mother interrupted.
“Yeah,” she said, “there was a woman at the Oxfam shop had seen it. Said it’s a real scream. Her daughter’s in it.”
“Wonderful,” said Derek. “Amateurs playin’ amateurs. Should be a night to remember.” He was silent for a few seconds, and then shrugged. “Well, if that’s what you want, Lois, we’d better do it. Your treat, supposed to be, and I can always have a snooze.”
But the whole thing turned out to be a pleasant surprise for Derek. The entire evening, with all its joke stage effects and really good acting – acting bad acting – was a riot. The audience was mopping its eyes by the end, and Derek held Lois’s hand for support. “Come on, gel,” he said, “let’s get a drink. That was the best laugh I’ve had for a long time.”
Lois had laughed too, but not so wholeheartedly. All the time the players were on stage, she was looking at them closely. None were familiar, except that client, Mrs Jordan, who’d known the major. She was playing the prompt, and had a real gift for comic ridiculousness. It was not until the last play – there were four short dramas – that she saw Gary. Some of the jokes in the Shakespeare skit went over her head, and she suspected Derek was the same, but he was on a roll and now couldn’t stop laughing at whatever was said on stage. And in any case, her attention was on Gary. She watched him closely, first suspecting his loony performance as Testiculo the clown was aided by something not entirely spontaneous; and then decided that he was just good at the part. I’m beginning to see drug addicts round every corner, she thought. Then right at the end, when the cast was taking the applause on stage, she caught sight of another familiar face. A stage hand appeared very briefly to release one of the curtains that had hooked itself round a chair. In those few seconds, Lois knew for sure that it was Mr Betts.
“Could’ve been him,” said Derek, on the way home. “He’s the sort, isn’t he. Schoolmaster, an’ that. They like that kind of thing. Anyway, so what? I don’t see it’s all that important.”
“Seems you liked that kind of thing too,” said Lois, leaning over and giving him a quick peck on the
