A Village Feud (14 page)

Dottie saw this as a definite challenge and lunged at it, but she missed her footing, almost fell off the bed and had to grab the shelf to save herself. All Beth’s papers and her drawing pad and box of pastels cascaded down, along with the spider. It escaped across the duvet and Dottie captured it in her duster, rushed to the window to tip it out. ‘Nasty thing. Go on, find somewhere else to live.’

She picked up the drawing pad first, which had fallen open as it landed on the carpet. When she saw Beth’s drawings she was horrified. Oh, my word. Oh, my word. Dottie went white with shock. She was no psychiatrisk but only a fool could not guess at Beth’s state of mind. One grotesque drawing was of a soldier with gun raised, and a girl kneeling in front of him, hands held as though praying, head down … waiting to be shot? Another was even more horrifying: a lurid black and white picture depicting the girl struggling to undress and just the barrel of the gun pointing straight at her from the edge of the page. Only the girl was in colour. It was obviously a school uniform dress she wore, but dirty and dishevelled. The face could only have been Beth’s, with those rounded cheeks, the deep-blue eyes, so like her real mother’s, and the ash-blonde hair.

Dottie sat down on the bed to think. What on earth could she do about this? When she heard footsteps already halfway up the stairs she shot to her feet and put the drawing pad back. She hadn’t time to put it back exactly where it had been or to collect the papers, but she hurriedly switched on the vacuum and hoped no one saw her quick movements.

But it was Beth coming to look for the novel she was currently reading. Dottie switched off the vacuum. It must have been the look of furtiveness and anxiety on Dottie’s face at having been caught out, and the papers spread about the floor, that made Beth stare at her. Her eyes flicked up to the top shelf, registering the disturbance to the drawing pad. Neither of them spoke a word but looked for a long moment directly into each other’s eyes and each knew the other knew. Beth’s eyes were large with remembered horrors, Dottie’s tormented and narrowed.

‘I – I was trying to catch a spider and I had to climb on the bed and I almost fell and had to grab the shelf and everything came toppling down. I know you don’t like them, spiders, you know. Sorry.’ She bent to collect the papers.

Beth ignored her apology. ‘Did you catch it?’ Her voice was throaty and strained.

‘Yes, it’s out the window now.’

‘Good.’ Beth glanced up at the shelf again and then looked again at Dottie and silently put a finger to her lips, and walked out without her book.

Dottie shouted, ‘It’s here! The one you’re looking for.’

Beth had gone.

But she was waiting in the hall when Dottie was about to leave. ‘Would you come into church with me, Dottie? Please? I’ve been promising myself I’d do it but I can’t, not by myself. I will, if you will.’

‘Yes, of course. If you want me to. What about your mum though? Wouldn’t she …’ Dottie’s throat was dry as a bone and she dreaded what might happen next.

‘I want to go with
you
. Won’t be long, Mummy.’

‘Very well, darling.’

The church felt damp and cold. Beth thought what a contrast it was to the heat of Africa. The sweat and the flies. The burning sun and the dust and the restless nights.

Dottie remembered the last time she’d been in church was at her mother’s funeral, and she felt weak and giddy.

Beth sat down in the back pew and tapped her hand on the pew cushion, inviting Dottie to sit down beside her. ‘Not a word to anyone about the drawings, please,’ she said. ‘No one knows about them not even Alex. I didn’t really intend anyone seeing them. You won’t tell, will you? Cross your heart and hope to die?’

Dottie nodded and did as Beth had said, crossing herself fervently and damning spiders at the same time. She found her voice. ‘But why? What made you draw such ghastly pictures with you in them of all things?’

There was a long silence with the two of them gripping hands, until Beth burst into tears, gut-knotting tears which Dottie could not bear, so she wrapped Beth in her arms like a mother would and hugged her tightly, saying, ‘Hush, hush, hush. There, there, there.’ They rocked back and forth, but nothing could console her.

‘Does your mum know about this, about what happened when they couldn’t find you?’

‘No! She mustn’t know. No one must.’

‘Why not? That’s what mothers are for. For crying and telling, they’re the best.’

Beth lifted her head from Dottie’s shoulders and shuffled about, trying to rescue a hankie from her skirt pocket. Dottie got her a tissue from her bag and dabbed her cheeks and dried her eyes. ‘Who are you going to tell? You’ve to tell someone. You musn’t keep it all bottled up. Better out than in.’

Beth grimly shook her head. ‘Alex says we mustn’t tell anyone. Not anyone.’

‘But your mum, she’d want to know. I know I would if you were my girl.’

‘I could tell Dad.’

‘But he’s not here till next July. You can’t keep it bottled up till then, you’ll never get better at that rate.’

Beth shook her head.

‘That soldier with the gun; he’s real, isn’t he?’

Beth nodded.

‘I expect a girl of your age, nowadays, knows all there is to know about what goes on between men and women, making babies and that.’

Face hidden against Dottie’s shoulder, Beth nodded.

‘He didn’t do it to you, did he? You must tell if he did.’

To Dottie’s great relief Beth shook her head. ‘No, he didn’t.’

‘And that picture you’ve drawn with you …’ Dottie took a deep breath, fearing to trespass, ‘taking your dress off – did you have to undress completely for him? Did he touch you? Anywhere at all?’

Beth jerked violently at the memory. ‘Almost.’ She rested against the back of the pew and stared at the altar. ‘I just wish Daddy was here. He’d understand. I could tell him, because you can tell him anything at all and he isn’t angry or embarrassed or judgemental. He always has the right words to say and solves your problems. He sees straight through to the truth of it all, you see. But I’m not saying any more, not now. Thank you for being so understanding. I don’t know why, Dottie, but I can talk to you about almost anything. It’s such a relief and that’s funny because I’ve never really known you.’

Grateful, Dottie kissed her cheek and said, ‘Thank you for that, it feels like a real compliment.’

Beth gave a watery smile and took hold of Dottie’s hand again. Dottie stroked Beth’s hand while she thought of what to say next.

‘I’m not clever, Beth, far from it. Perhaps you know what I’ve been in the past … but … anyway, I’ve seen a lot of life and people and that. Maybe that’s why you can talk to me. Talk to me any time. Whenever, if you need someone. I shan’t let on to a living soul, right? But I’d feel happier if your mum knew about them drawings.’

Beth stood up, wanting to go.

Dottie stepped out into the aisle to make room for her to leave the pew. ‘Show them to her when you can. She needs to know, for she loves you more than life itself.’

‘I know. But that’s why she must
not
learn about what happened,
because
she loves me and Alex so. It would hurt her so much.’

‘Are you sure, you know about, well about … sex, you know? I mean, he didn’t, did he? You’re not just shutting it away? Are you? Because it won’t actually make it
go
away if that’s what you’re doing. You know you’d need tests and things, in case. That is, if he did.’ Dottie looked up at Beth, staring directly into her eyes and trying to analyse her state of mind, but Beth’s eyes gave away none of her secrets.

Beth began to tremble from head to foot. ‘No, I’m not shutting it away. He didn’t.’

‘Thank God for that, then.’

They walked slowly down the aisle and stepped out onto the path to find the sun shining and everywhere looking its beautiful, almost-winter best, so different from the agony they’d experienced inside the church.

Beth let go of Dottie’s hand and said, ‘I can manage to get home by myself. Thank you, Dottie, for talking to me. You’re full of common sense and so very very honest. You say what needs to be said outright, no messing. You’ve helped, more than any sermon would.’ She gave Dottie a faintly wicked grin and turned to go home. ‘Stay there till I get in the house. Please?’

Dottie stood watching her, suddenly afraid she might not be able to keep Beth’s secret. It was such a weighty burden. If she didn’t have to undress completely, what on God’s earth happened next? If only the child would tell her mother, Caroline would have the wisdom to know how to deal with it. That was for definite. Much better than her, that old bottom-of-the-class, good-for-a-laugh, cheap tart called Dottie Foskett, for whom no one had any respect … except Elizabeth Harris. Bless her.

But of course they’d been seen. What else could she expect? Nothing, but nothing, could go on in this village without someone peeping through their net curtain, or hearing in the Post Office queue, or overhearing on the bus. So when Dottie went into the Store after waiting for Beth to get back into the Rectory it was already the talk of the village.

‘So. Privy to a lot of secrets, are you, Dottie? We saw you talking to Beth. Have you found out why she isn’t going to school, then? Because we’d all like to know,’ asked Greta Jones, who was just leaving for home.

Dottie put a finger to her lips and said, ‘Shush! I’m not telling, I’ve given my word.’

‘Spoilsport. You haven’t been at that Rectory more than a few weeks and already you’re just like Sylvia. Not a word passed her lips. You know we all want to know why.’

‘I dare say you do but I’ve promised her I won’t discuss it. She’s one of the very few, if not the only one, in this village who has some respect for me, and that counts for a lot. Anyway, I bet you’ve got hotter news than me. I understand Jimbo’s had another letter and it mentioned blackmail.’

Greta Jones propped herself against the stationery shelves and told all. ‘It arrived this morning at the house by hand. Well, I say this morning, certainly some time in the night, because it wasn’t there when they went to bed. Threatened to blackmail him over something or other that happened years ago, but I wasn’t near enough to hear absolutely everything. Anyway, Harriet and Grandmama have advised him to go to the police. Right to-do there was. I was in the mail order office so I couldn’t hear clearly, but that’s what he’s decided on. Apparently,’ she got squeezed up against the packs of pens as someone tried to get past, ‘hold on a minute, I’m moving, there’s no need to crush me. Honestly, some people they’ve no time. Where was I? Oh, yes. It’s to do with something that happened before Jimbo came here. Something happened that didn’t do his reputation any good, I expect, and this poison pen person knows all about it.’

Dottie absorbed all she had to say and drew the conclusion it couldn’t be anyone in the village then, could it? For who knew Jimbo all those years ago?

‘You wouldn’t think so,’ Greta agreed. ‘It could be any Tom Dick or Harry, couldn’t it? Might be a woman, I suppose. It could be, yer know, woman scorned and all that. Anyway, I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Must go. I’ve a casserole to put on for Vince and Paddy. Bit of kidney in it to make it rich. Tasty, that’s what.’ She bustled out of the door without a minute to spare.

Dottie arrived home with a tailpiece of smoked haddock Jimbo had let her have at half-price. Nice chap, Jimbo. Pity he was having this trouble. But she’d enough trouble of her own without going looking for it. Poor Beth. Could she hint to the doctor about it? No, she couldn’t, because Beth had been so stern when she’d said no. She couldn’t break faith with her.

It was true the poison pen letter had threatened blackmail. Money was definitely the one thing which would motivate Jimbo to take steps. It was no longer an irritating little joke; it was way past that. The blackmailer was wanting a regular payment of £200 a month in notes, until they decided when it was to stop. As Harriet said, they’d soon get greedy and start upping the amount every year. Their demands would be limitless.

‘So, what was it about, darling, this thing they feel sure they can blackmail you over?’

‘Some trivial thing I can’t even remember. You notice they’re too clever to say what my misdemeanour is, or was.’

‘I believe you know, but don’t want to tell me. And I feel hurt about that. I thought we shared everything.’

‘We do. But not this, right? Matter closed.’

‘Are you going to the police?’

‘I might.’

‘You might?’

‘That’s correct.’ He took off his boater and stroked his bald head.

‘If you don’t go I shall.’

‘You won’t.’

‘I will. If not me, your mother will.’

Jimbo swung round. ‘She’s not to know.’

‘You don’t honestly believe that you can keep this a secret? They all know and if they don’t by now they will by tonight, so she’s bound to find out.’

‘You’re not to tell her, please.’

‘Well, I’m not hanging around when the balloon goes up, believe me. Oh! She’s here. I do believe she has more bounce in her step.’

‘Is that possible?’

Grandmama entered the house in triumph. ‘Jimbo, my dearest boy, thank you so much for the massage. I’ve never had such an excellent time. I’ll have another for Christmas if you think it a good idea.’