Weeping on Wednesday lm-3 Page 2

  “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.

  “He,”’ said Lois, with a dramatic flourish that made Hazel laugh, “lives over in Fletcham and shares a cottage with his partner. Comes from up north, and is number four in a family of seven. Not a bad letter – here, Sheila, pass it round.”

  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.”

  “Cathanger, did you say?” said Lois, concentrating now. “Was the name Abraham, by any chance?”

  “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.

  “Rogers,” said Bill. “Her uncle’s the vicar.”

  Of course. The vicar was chairman of the school governors, and would have put in a good word for her. They’d got a new headmistress now, since old Betts had gone, and according to Sheila Stratford, it was much improved. So, a farmer’s son with a bit of imagination, and a vicar’s niece. It all seemed very respectable and suitable for New Brooms.

  ♦

  “Right,” said Lois. “I’ll let you know in a day or two. But I will just say this. My team of girls is a good one. They work well together, and I’d expect you to do the same. Everything open and fully discussed at our meetings, and if there’s trouble with any of the clients, I expect to be told straight away. And no gossip, not with clients, nor anywhere else. I need to know everything that goes on, but nobody else does. All right?”

  Bill nodded. He’d not been expecting anyone like Lois. An efficient woman, yes, but Mrs Meade was different. And quite fanciable, too. But he knew without being told that chatting up Lois would be out of the question. Well, it all seemed very promising, and he whistled happily to himself as he shut the door behind her.

  ♦

  Heavy black clouds had drifted over the earlier clear sky, and Lois wished the car heater worked. Ah well, as soon as she had enough in the bank, she planned to invest in a shiny white van with New Brooms – We Sweep Cleaner emblazoned on the side. Now she pulled her coat collar up, and wondered if it was going to snow. As she approached Cathanger Mill the road narrowed, and trees hung over it, making a natural tunnel. In summer this patch was truly beautiful, with dappled sunlight coming through the leaves, and a small bridge over the mill stream. Lois’s boys biked from Long Farnden and joined others hanging over the water and dipping for minnows. Well, Douglas was too cool for
that now, she smiled to herself. But Jamie and his friends would be back for perhaps another summer. Now, with no leaves on the trees and the bare branches interlaced over the road like arthritic old fingers, it was a dark place, full of shadows, and Lois shivered. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to have a quick look round Cathanger before meeting Enid Abraham.

  She almost missed the turn to the mill, and had to reverse back into a field opening a few yards beyond. It was not that the road was unfamiliar. She had been this way more times than she could remember, but had never had reason to give the mill more than a glance. In fact, as she’d said to Derek not so long ago, she always accelerated along this stretch, especially in winter. It was a silly fancy, he’d said. Everybody locally said it was one of the prettiest places for a picnic by the stream. So Lois kept her feelings to herself, but now she remembered, and felt reluctant to get out of the car. Still, she’d better get on with it. Her appointment back at home with Enid Abraham didn’t give her much time, and it would look strange if any of the Abrahams caught her snooping around the mill now.

  She closed the car door quietly, and sauntered back up the road, trying to look as if out on a casual stroll. An icy wind whipped her scarf back from her throat, and she tied it more tightly. The mill house stood back from the road, and was approached by about two hundred yards of narrow, twisting track. Grass grew down the centre, and ruts and potholes abounded. Not exactly a warm welcome, thought Lois, as she walked on past. She glanced back at the house through a hole in the overgrown hedge. It was so dark now that even though it was the middle of the day, a passing farm vehicle had its lights on. But there were no lights coming from the house, and she could see nobody about. A dog barked suddenly. It was a frantic, hysterical bark, and then Lois heard a gruff shout: “Shut up! Down!”

  That’s quite enough of that, Lois told herself, and walked quickly back to her car. She drove off with as much speed as the twisting lane would allow, and was glad when she came to the Long Farnden sign. She cruised along the High Street at an obedient thirty miles an hour to her own gate, and drove in with a feeling of relief. Why relief? She could not have said. All farmers shouted at their dogs. Enid and her mother could have been out shopping. And the brother wouldn’t be there. He’d done a runner, hadn’t he?

  ♦

  “You were a long time,” said Gran, as Lois walked in. “Any good? Bill Whatsisname?”

  “Stockbridge,” replied Lois, sniffing the clean warmth of the kitchen, and bubbling beef stew on the Rayburn. “Yep, he was really nice. Fanner’s son from Yorkshire. Girlfriend teaches in Waltonby village school. Cottage clean and tidy, and no problems that I could see.”

  “Why does he want to be a cleaner?” said Gran, going for the jugular. Lois shrugged. “Maybe he’s heard New Brooms is the place to be? No, but seriously, I think he may not last long. He’s been working at the hospital for a while, since he came down to be with his Rebecca. Now he says the idea of going round the villages, being on the move, appeals to him. He didn’t really say, but I bet it’s not that easy to get farm work these days. All done by computers.”

  Gran laughed. “Don’t you mean robots?” she said. “Anyway, I know what you mean. Bloody great machines in the lanes and whizzing over the fields. Men not needed, not like they were in the old days.”

  Lois could see a rambling tale about picnics in the harvest fields coming up, and so excused herself, saying Miss Abraham would be here in half an hour, and she just needed to organize one or two things. Gran muttered on about another missed meal, but Lois said she was looking forward to beef stew for tea, and meanwhile she’d have a cup of coffee.

  “Coffee!” humphed Gran. “That’ll do you no good…” But Lois was already in her office, checking phone messages, and preparing to receive Enid Abraham, spinster of the parish of Waltonby, writer of good letters, and probably totally unsuitable for the work Lois was offering.

  ∨ Weeping on Wednesday ∧

  Five

  Gran went to open the door. She loved to do this. What some would call nosy, Gran regarded as healthy curiosity.

  “Good morning!” she said brightly, looking approvingly at the neat figure in front of her. Well-cut grey coat, sober scarf.

  Miss Enid Abraham, clutching a well-worn black handbag in both hands, said nervously, “Is this right for Mrs Meade? I have an appointment…” Her voice trailed off apprehensively.

  Lois came out of her office and took over. This maid-of-all-work act of her mother’s irritated her, and she knew exactly why she did it. She liked to be kept informed, did Gran, and it never occurred to Lois that she herself might just be a chip off the old block.

  “Come in, Miss Abraham, please,” she said, leading the way into her office. “D’you want to take your coat off? It’s quite warm in here, and you’ll not feel the benefit when you go out again.”

  Enid Abraham’s face broke suddenly into a broad smile, miraculously transforming her colourless features. “Oh, goodness,” she said, “I’ve not heard anyone say that since my grandmother died! Oh yes, thank you, I’ll just put them on the chair.” She slipped quickly out of her coat, and folded her scarf. “It is really cold now, isn’t it,” she said, turning back to Lois and sitting down in the chair by Lois’s desk.

  Lois nodded and smiled. Perhaps it was going to be easier than she had expected. She felt slightly uncomfortable, like some upper-class dame who’d inserted an ad for a mother’s help in The Lady. Well, she wasn’t, and the sooner they got things on to the proper footing the better.

  “Now, Miss Abraham,” she said firmly. “I’m looking for a cleaner. Someone who’s not afraid of hard work. We don’t gossip, and the girls are used to taking orders. We operate as a team, and you’d have to be happy to be out in all weathers and all times of day. You do drive, don’t you?”

  None of this had wiped the smile off Enid Abraham’s face, and she replied mildly, “I drove here, Mrs Meade.”

  “In your letter,” continued Lois, still in the stern, no-nonsense voice, “you said you could fit in ‘to some extent’. What did you mean exactly?”

  Enid Abraham shifted in her chair. “I’d prefer not to be out after tea…that is, supper…as Mother is a bit nervous about…well, if it could be any time before fiveish…”

  “How about early in the morning?” said Lois. Some of her clients liked their homes or premises to be sparkling before the working day started.

  “Oh, yes…that would be fine. Father is always up early…we have a few beasts in the barn. They’re in for the winter. Summer, of course, they’re in the field…Anyway,” she added swiftly, “I could certainly be available as early as you like.”

  “Beasts?” said Lois incredulously, remembering The Creature from Cathanger Mill.

  “Oh, that’s just the old country word for cattle,” said Enid Abraham. “Mother and Father were both country people. Father’s family had land in Norfolk, but he wanted to do something different. Neither were Scottish, of course, but he’d seen an advertisement for a business for sale in Edinburgh, and they went up there soon after they were married.”

  She was silent for a moment, and Lois said, “So what happened?”

  “Well, the first business failed…and the next. He lost heart then, and ended up a school caretaker. He was happier when we moved down here, back to farming in a small way. Until, of course, Mother…” All at once the smile was gone. Her mouth shut tight, and she looked down at her hands.

  “Why didn’t you want me to come to the mill?” said Lois. She had forgotten this, in the unexpected pleasantness of talking to Miss Abraham. Now she waited. It was quite a wait, and Lois could hear Gran clattering about in the kitchen, offended that she’d been sent packing to the nether regions of the house.

  Finally Enid Abraham looked up. “It’s Mother,” she said. “She’s a bit nervous about people coming to the house. Nothing serious, but we humour her if we can, you know. We’re a bit isolated at the mill, anyway, so it doesn’t make much differ
ence to us.”

  “Who is us?” said Lois. She had to ask. “We saw you on the telly…about your brother. You didn’t mention a brother in your letter.” She hesitated, seeing all traces of colour drain away from Enid Abraham’s face. “It’s no business of mine, of course,” Lois added quickly. “But it must be common knowledge now, after the news, an’ that…”

  “Yes,” said Enid Abraham quietly. “I didn’t want them there. The television people came down to the mill, and I talked to them so they would go away quickly. Mother, you know…”

  “And your brother? Are you worried about him?” This was chancing her arm, Lois knew, but then the private lives of her cleaners were her concern. She had learned that the hard way.

  “I’d rather not talk about him, if you don’t mind, Mrs Meade,” was the reply. “He has always been difficult…though when we were children…Anyway,” she added quickly, “between you and me, Mrs Meade, it would be such a relief to me if he could make a life somewhere else.” Then she sat upright and the shutters came down, and she was the neat, remote, single woman of unblemished character once more.

  There was a lot more to say about Edward Abraham, as Lois was to find out, but for the moment the subject was closed.

  ♦

  “What a nice woman,” said Gran, when the visitor had gone. “Did you take her on?” Enid Abraham had smiled wistfully as Lois said she would let her know.

  “Not without thinking about it,” said Lois abstractedly. It was going to be difficult, this one. She felt, like her mother, that Miss Abraham was a nice, gentle and clearly well-educated woman. She seemed completely without side, and her neat, clean appearance boded well for the job. There was no reason, on the face of it, why she shouldn’t hire her. But then, what about the brother, and the mother, and the gruff father, and the dark and dismal mill house…?

  When Derek came in for his tea, she had made a decision, and was not at all sure whether Derek would agree with it. Not that it mattered, she told herself defensively, but another point of view was always useful.