“The name rings a bell,” said Bridie, “but you don’t see anybody about down there, except an old man out in the yard sometimes. Keep themselves to themselves, folk say.”
“Spooky place,” said Hazel. “I’ve been by there at night, and there’s never any lights. This Miss Abraham sounds all right, though…bit old-fashioned…”
“Do you know them, Sheila?” said Lois, and wondered why she looked uncomfortable. Sheila had lived in Waltonby, the nearest village to Cathanger, all her life and was the most likely to be forthcoming.
“Yeah, I know them.” Sheila stopped and bit her lip.
“Well?” said Lois, frowning.
“There’s four of ‘em,” Sheila said hesitantly.
“Three, don’t you mean?” said Lois.
“No, four, the old man and his wife, the daughter, Enid, and a son.”
“A son?” said Lois. “She doesn’t mention having a brother. Are you sure?”
“Sure as eggs is eggs,” said Sheila firmly. “He worked with Sam on the farm for a bit. Didn’t last, though. Funny bloke. Something happened, and he left. Haven’t seen him since. Edward, his name was, and wouldn’t answer to Ted. Sam said he thought himself too good for the job. They didn’t get on…”
“Mm, well, I’ll have a word with her,” said Lois. “Worth a word, do you reckon?” She looked at Bridie and Hazel, and they nodded. They weren’t really bothered one way or the other. It was the bloke on the list that interested Hazel, and Bridie’s thoughts were on her next job, her favourite, cleaning at the vicarage for Reverend Rogers.
Three other women were dismissed as not flexible enough, or without a car, and one had no telephone. “Why do they apply?” said Hazel.
“Some don’t read the ad properly,” said Lois, picking up the last applicant’s details. “Now, this one is twenty- two, working at present as a nursing auxiliary and likes the idea of going out and about round the countryside.”
“Where does she live?” said Sheila.
“
Fletcham was a village of about the same size as Long Farnden and Waltonby, with which it formed an irregular triangle. The villages had been known for some years as the lucky three, since none of them had lost valuable young men in either of the two Great Wars. Lois had had one or two enquiries for help lately from Fletcham, and was keen to sound out the lad.
“What’s his name?” said Hazel.
Lois knew that if there was any dirt sticking to this one, Hazel would know of it, and answered in some trepidation. She liked the sound of him, and didn’t want to be put off. “William Stockbridge,” she said firmly. “Likes to be called Bill, thank goodness.” Sheila Stratford nodded approvingly.
She had always said that Edward Abraham was no good – anybody who’d rather be Edward than Ted was a stuck-up twerp, in her opinion.
To Lois’s relief, Hazel shrugged. “Don’t know him,” she said. “Never come across him – does he say what his partner’s name is?”
Lois shook her head. “Read the letter, Hazel. I think you’ll agree he’s worth a try.”
So it was settled, and after the others had gone, Lois sat in her office with a plate of Gran’s sandwiches in front of her, and made the necessary telephone calls. Enid Abraham had answered herself, and insisted she came to see Lois in Long Farnden. She would explain, she said, why that would be more convenient.
A pleasant girl’s voice answered Bill Stockbridge’s number, and made the necessary arrangements. Tomorrow at ten thirty would be fine. Bill would be off duty then, and would look forward to seeing Lois. And, by the way, her name was Rebecca.
¦
“How’d it go, gel?” Derek sat in front of the television, watching the local news.
“How did what go?” said Lois.
“Your meeting – the list of possibles, all that,” he said, his eyes still fixed firmly on the screen.
“OK,” said Lois. “What’s that you’re watching?”
“The news – some bloke’s disappeared. Seems he owed a lot of money around here, and he’s done a runner or something. They had his sister on a couple of minutes ago, and she looked frightened to death. Dodgy story, if you ask me.”
“What was the name?” asked Lois idly. Her mind was still on the interviews she had set up for tomorrow.
“Can’t remember,” said Derek. “They come from over Waltonby way…Cathanger…you know that rundown old mill house? It’s outside the village, in the middle of nowhere.”
“
“That was it,” said Derek, and then the penny dropped. “Oh my God,” he said, “that’s the woman you got a letter from, isn’t it? Must’ve been her on the telly.”
He got up and turned to Lois. “Now listen to me, young woman,” he said, and put both hands on her shoulders. “You can forget all about Miss Enid Abraham. Before we know it, we’ll be right in the middle of another bloody mystery, and Sherlock Cowgill will be round here pumpin’ your brains and makin’ use of us all. So no, no way, Lois, and that’s an order! I don’t want you havin’ nothing more to do with that slimy cop. If he gets in touch, tell him a definite no!”
This was a long speech for Derek, and Lois hadn’t the heart to tell him that the last call she had received in her office had been from Detective Inspector Cowgill, and it had been about the Abrahams.
? Weeping on Wednesday ?
Four
Bill Stockbridge was first on Lois’s list, and she felt confident and cheerful as she knocked at the cottage door. The garden, she noticed, was neat and tidy, and the windows were clean. As the door opened, a pleasant smell of washing powder greeted her. This was important. Lois had formed many an accurate judgement of clients from the smell of their houses. The vicarage at Waltonby, for example, had wafted old cabbage and damp all over her when she first called on the Reverend Rogers. Now that Bridie had taken over, lavender wax polish and freshly made coffee cheered up the elderly cleric twice a week.
“Hello! Come in, please.” The door opened wide, and a stocky young man stood grinning at her. Sandy-haired, with a dense crop of freckles over his nose, Bill Stockbridge looked fit and strong, as if he’d been out for a run over the moors before breakfast. His light blue eyes smiled too. Yep, this was more like it.
“It’s not a usual job for a lad,” said Lois, thinking she might as well get this one out of the way at once. “I have had a male cleaner before, but it didn’t work out in the end. Why do you want to do it?”
Bill Stockbridge laughed heartily. “Rebecca says she knows what my dad will say,” he said. “He’s a farmer in Yorkshire. Tough as they come. Could turn his hand to anything. That’s why I fancy this job. On the farm we did everything and anything. Mum pitched in all year round, and if she got sick, we did her jobs around the house too. Scrubbing and polishing is nowt new to me!”
This piece of information was certainly new to Lois. All the farmers she knew – and Sheila Stratford had told hair-raising tales – were of the ‘Y’don’t keep a dog to bark yerself variety, and wouldn’t dream of boiling an egg for themselves, let alone get busy with a duster.
“What does Rebecca do?” she asked. Was this one of those role reversal partnerships?
“Teacher,” said Bill. “Takes the infants’ class in Waltonby village school. Loves it, luckily. She’s always lived round here. That’s why I followed her south; we met at a party, and I could tell I’d have to get in there fast to stand a chance. She’s very pretty,” he added, with a proud smile.
“What’s her surname?” said Lois. It wasn’t really relevant, but you never knew when such things would come in useful.
