and up to her ankle.
“Damn!” Lois steadied herself and retreated up the bank. The white cloth still flickered tantalizingly in the water, but now Lois could see it had a scalloped edge and traces of embroidered flowers in one corner. A lady’s handkerchief, then? A quick flash of alarm sent signals to Lois’s ready imagination. She took a deep breath, told herself it could have belonged to anyone, any passer-by who leaned over the bridge to look into the flowing stream.
She pushed her way out of the bushes which grew thickly at the edge of the wood, and followed the path of the stream out into the field. It was pasture, and she could see cows – she hoped they were cows and not bullocks – in the distance by the hedge. They were lying down, a sure sign of rain, Gran said.
Lois plodded on, putting up her hood now that the sun had disappeared and heavy drops were falling steadily. Something quick and reddish rushed into the wood and disappeared. A hungry fox. Lois shivered, and not entirely because of the drop in temperature. She stopped and looked around. The stream was in open country now, and she reckoned nothing would have happened out here, without cover or shelter. Perhaps now she’d sleep more easily.
A small spinney, planted by the farmer as a sop to saving the environment, came into sight. The stream ran through it, and either side mossy banks proved slippery in the rain. Lois decided she’d go to the other side of the spinney, and then call it a day. She’d come a good mile now, and considered that would be a limit to whatever might have been possible that night.
She saw it then, and in terror missed her footing, ending up on her back in dripping undergrowth. Close to the stream, where the soil was soft and manageable, was a patch of fresh, bright green growth. Grass and water plants had grown much more thickly here, nourished by something nameless.
Rising up from all this lushness, something whitish, thin and bony stuck out. Lois struggled to her feet, her heart thumping. She peered closer, saw what it was and gagged. A hand, somehow risen to the surface, and showing quite clearly a wedding ring, washed clean by the falling rain. Lois was gulping deep draughts of air, desperately trying to stop herself vomiting. Finally she allowed herself to turn and have another look. So that was it. That was where Enid’s mother had ended up. It
“Mrs M? What the devil…?” She whipped round and saw Bill. She had never been so glad to see anyone, and mutely pointed in the direction of the hand.
“My God!” Bill stared, and without thinking put protective arms round a very damp Lois. He had been on his way to the cows, helping out Seb Charrington with a call from the local farmer. He’d seen a figure in the spinney and had come to investigate. Now he’d found more than he had bargained for, and realized he had no idea what to do next.
But Lois had recovered. She disentangled herself gently from Bill’s arms, and said, “Thanks, Bill. Now, if you can stay with me for a minute or two, I’ll decide what we do now.”
? Weeping on Wednesday ?
Forty
Hunter Cowgill was humble and apologetic. “You were right, Lois, and I was wrong,” he said simply. “Must be getting slack in my old age.” He sat uncomfortably on a kitchen chair and looked at Lois. Far from triumphant at the success of her hunch, she was desperately worried. Now she knew that Enid was in the hands of a killer.
Lois said, “From what Gran and me gathered from Enid, it was the mother who called the tune, and Edward along with her. His mum adored him, and I reckon he grew to hate her. Blamed her for everything that went wrong for him.”
After she’d reported to Cowgill what she had found, the police had gone swiftly into action, and then he’d turned up at the door asking to talk to her and Derek. “All official now, Lois,” he’d said. “We’ll be interviewing around all the villages, and as Enid worked for you, you’re naturally on the list. We’ve pulled out all the stops, and they’ll not be hidden for long.” She didn’t ask him what they’d found when they started digging. She knew.
“I’ve got good news…of a sort,” Cowgill said, sitting on the edge of a kitchen chair.
“You know where she…” Gran stopped when she saw Cowgill shaking his head.
“No,” he said, “but we’re pretty sure we know who sent those letters.”
Derek stiffened. “Tell me who the bugger was, then,” he said angrily.
“We have obtained specimens of handwriting of Edward and Enid – not difficult, when you have the resources – ”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Lois. “And?”
“They are virtually identical. And match your letters. But an expert has picked up a quirk in the way the capital ‘A’ is formed in one of them, and it looks like Edward was your correspondent.”
“Why the hell should he want to stir up trouble here?” said Derek.
“I reckon I know,” said Lois, and looked at Cowgill. “Desperate to bust up my work with you. Much too close for comfort.”
“Right,” said Cowgill. “Anyway, it’s another to add to his list of offences. And it’s always a relief to know who sends anonymous letters.”
“Thanks,” said Derek, and held out his hand awkwardly. Cowgill, with considerable dignity, shook it. Nobody said anything for a moment or two.
Then Cowgill cleared his throat. “So now we’re on the move, following up several leads, and it shouldn’t be long,” he continued, getting to his feet.
He meant to be reassuring, but Gran looked doubtful. Lois had spent hours on the telephone, ringing round chemists and schools in Edinburgh, but with no success. Staff had changed several times in the shops, and schools were closed. She had found nothing, and began to wonder if Enid’s story of their early life in Edinburgh had been true.
Gran, too, had had no luck with the WI. She’d spoken to several of the older women, but no one seemed to know. They had forgotten that Mrs Abraham had been a local girl. It seemed that once the message had got about that the family were reclusive and did not welcome callers, the Abrahams were ignored.
“Lois did some ferretin’,” said Derek, “but nuthin’s come up.”
Cowgill gave Lois a wintry smile. “Thanks for trying,” he said. He recoiled though as she snapped back at him, “I wasn’t trying for you! Enid’s on my team, and is in real danger! That bugger Edward is a killer. I’m sure of it.” She saw Gran fighting back tears, and stopped. “Don’t, Mum,” she said. “We’ll get her back.” She turned to Cowgill. “Mum was a friend for Enid. Her only friend, probably.”
“Better get goin’, mate,” said Derek, standing up. “Sooner we catch up with ‘em the better.” He showed Cowgill to the door, but just as he was leaving, Lois yelled out for him to wait.
“Thought of something?” said Cowgill hopefully.
“No,” said Lois. “I just wondered…well, I expect it’s too soon to say…but d’you know how she was killed?”
Cowgill shook his head. “Not yet, Lois. We don’t even know who ‘she’ is yet. But it looks like it might well be Mrs Abraham. Still, I don’t have to tell you all to keep anything I say to yourselves. And Lois,” he added, and risked putting a gentle hand on her arm, “we’ll be doing everything we can. And that’s quite a lot these days. I’ll keep in touch.” He turned away then, and they followed him to the door. He waved a hand in farewell, and left them standing silently in the hall.
? Weeping on Wednesday ?
Forty-One
“Mrs Meade? It’s Rosie Charrington here. I just wondered if you’ve heard anything more about Enid Abraham? There’s been a lot of activity round here today – police and dogs, and the police helicopter too. The children have been so excited! Seb went down to look…they were all round the bridge…but it was all
