Evil Angels Among Them (8 page)

Fred grinned, hugely pleased with himself that he should be the first to tell her. ‘Turns out that Lou isn't a he – he's a she, if you know what I mean.'

She wasn't sure that she
did
know what he meant. ‘A she?'

‘A woman. You know.' He gestured expressively, sketching a pair of oversized breasts with his hands. ‘Seems we've got us a pair of queers in Walston. Lesbians – isn't that the word?'

Becca stared at him. ‘Oh!'

‘Enid Bletsoe had them over for dinner last night, and she wasn't half furious that they'd tricked her like that. Letting her think all this time that Lou was a man.' He chortled with glee. ‘She stopped in here earlier to get a big bottle of Dettol to soak her dishes in, so she wouldn't catch anything from them. I've never seen her so upset. Eyes near popping out of her head with rage. To think, she said, that she'd even invited the other one to join the Mothers' Union. Can you imagine it? People like that in the Mothers' Union?'

Becca approached Foxglove Cottage shyly. She didn't think she'd ever met any lesbians before and wasn't quite sure what to expect, though Gillian had seemed perfectly nice and not unusual in any way.

Bryony answered the door. ‘Mummy!' she called. ‘It's the Rector's wife. She's all wet, and she's got flowers.'

Somehow Becca found herself within a minute or two drying out in the cosy kitchen, sitting at the table with a cup of herbal tea in front of her. Her dripping coat, steaming gently, was draped over the Aga to dry, and Gill fussed over her in her own quiet way. ‘You'll catch cold if you're not careful. If you do, you must let me know and I'll brew you up something for it.'

‘Lou won't drink Mummy's brews,' Bryony confided. ‘She says they're poison.'

‘Oh, you haven't met Lou yet, have you?' Gill addressed her daughter. ‘Darling, will you please go to Lou's office and tell her that the Rector's wife is here?'

The girl went off on her errand, returning a moment later with Lou. ‘Hello,' Lou said warmly, putting her hand out. ‘The Rector's wife, is it? I'm glad I was warned – now I know I have to be on my best behaviour. No swearing in front of the Rector's wife. I'm sure Gill sent Bryony to warn me on purpose, so she wouldn't have to be ashamed of me.'

‘Oh, Lou, you're terrible.' Gill's slow smile didn't indicate that she meant it.

‘Welcome to Walston,' Becca said sincerely. ‘It's so nice to have you here.'

Walking back home under the shelter of her umbrella over two hours later, her coat and hair dry again, Becca thought about how much she had enjoyed her afternoon with the two women. Gill was quiet and deliberate while Lou was warm and funny and talkative, with expressive hands that never stopped moving. Once she was there with them, it had never occurred to her that there was anything unusual or strange about their relationship: they treated each other with affection and respect, rather like a married couple.

It was going to be nice having them in Walston. They might become real friends, and that would be wonderful. Stephen was right – they'd have to invite them round for a meal quite soon. Perhaps they should have Cyprian Lawrence as well – he must be lonely, living on his own like that, and snubbed by everyone in the village.

Suddenly she realised, with a jolt, that she'd been enjoying herself so much that she hadn't given another thought to the phone call. As she went up the lane her apprehensiveness returned, like an old familiar dark cloud settling back on top of her.

But the car was in the drive, which meant that Stephen was home and she would be safe.

Stephen was waiting for her at the door, frowning. ‘Where have you been?' he demanded with uncharacteristic intensity.

‘I've been paying a call at Foxglove Cottage,' she began. ‘And they're—'

‘Well, I've been worried witless about you! You weren't here, but your handbag was in the hall, and there wasn't a note or anything. What was I supposed to think?'

Becca clapped her hand to her mouth, stricken. ‘I'm sorry. I didn't think.'

‘And the telephone was off the hook! I know I've mentioned this to you before, Becca, but it's very important that you don't leave the phone off the hook. I'm the Rector, in case you've forgotten, and people are always needing to get in touch with me. It's very careless of you to do that.'

It was the first time her husband had ever spoken to her sharply, or indeed with anything but tenderness. ‘Yes, Stephen,' she said, swallowing hard. ‘I'm sorry.' She turned her head away quickly so that he wouldn't see the tears.

CHAPTER 5

    
And why? their communing is not for peace: but they imagine deceitful words against them that are quiet in the land.

Psalm 35.20

By the time of the service on Sunday morning, there wasn't anyone at St Michael's, or indeed in Walston, who didn't know about Gillian and Lou – their unorthodox living arrangements and how they had deceived Enid Bletsoe. But as none of them save Enid – and Becca – had actually seen Lou, there was a good turnout for the service in the hope that the women would put in an appearance.

They didn't disappoint. Both of them were there, along with Bryony, oblivious to the fact that they were the most scandalous – and talked-about – thing to hit Walston in a good many years. Sitting near the front, they were unaware, in fact, that they were being shunned by the good folk of Walston by unspoken common consent.

After the service they were not entirely left to their own devices; Becca Thorncroft spoke to them, of course, especially as she had determined to go ahead with her plans for a dinner party the following weekend, and she couldn't wait to issue the invitation.

‘It sounds a lovely idea,' Gill assented. ‘But what about Bryony? You won't want her to come, and we haven't been here long enough to know any babysitters.'

It was a problem which Becca hadn't even considered. ‘Oh, I suppose it would be all right if you brought her along,' she said doubtfully.

‘Good Lord, no – you wouldn't want this little horror in your house,' Lou laughed, ruffling Bryony's hair with affection.

Enid, who had been lurking within earshot talking to Doris and Marjorie but with her back pointedly turned towards the offending women, spun around and put on a semblance of a friendly smile. ‘I couldn't help overhearing,' she began. ‘Perhaps I could help – I'd be more than happy to look after dear little Bryony for you.'

With no reason to suspect that Enid, of late their firm friend and champion, was now their sworn enemy, Gill smiled her gratitude. ‘That's very kind of you, Enid. Thank you very much. Would you like to come to our house or would you rather have her over with you?'

‘Please, Mummy,' interjected Bryony, with visions of the chocolate biscuits and sugared drinks which had been forthcoming whenever she visited The Pines, ‘may I go to Mrs Bletsoe's house? I like to go to her house.'

Enid beamed. ‘Yes, of course, my darling. You may come to my house.'

‘Thank you so much,' Gill reiterated.

‘Yes, it will be wonderful to have an evening without the little horror,' grinned Lou. ‘You can have her any time you like.'

They walked away with Becca, making arrangements, and Enid turned back to her friends. They were aghast at what she'd done. ‘How could you?' gasped Doris. ‘And after the way they've treated you!'

‘It's taking Christian charity a bit too far,' added Marjorie indignantly.

‘Oh,' said Enid with a mysterious smile, ‘I have my reasons. You'll see. And as I said to you yesterday, Doris, it's not fair to punish dear little Bryony for what her mother is. She's a victim of her mother's wickedness as much as any of the rest of us.'

Marjorie Talbot-Shaw shook her head and observed their retreat over the tops of half-moon glasses which were secured round her neck with a gold chain. ‘I can't imagine what the Rector is thinking about, allowing his wife to invite people like that to dine. Not the done thing. My dear late husband Godfrey would never have sanctioned having people like that at his table.'

‘Neither would Father Fuller,' Doris stated. ‘Father Fuller would have been shocked. He's probably turning over in his grave right now.'

‘And,' Marjorie added with a sniff, ‘even if those women weren't . . . unsuitable, it hardly seems proper for the Rector's wife to invite newcomers like that on the occasion of her first dinner party.
I
haven't been invited to dinner at the Rectory, and they've been married for months now.'

‘Nor have we!' Doris realised indignantly. ‘And after all Ernest has done for this church for so many years! Churchwarden, clerk to the trusts – I mean, where would the Rector be without him? He does more work than both of the churchwardens combined!'

They were joined by someone else, a woman called Flora Newall. She was not actually one of their circle as she was some years younger than them and employed full time as a social worker. She lived in Walston, and had done so for several years, though her work carried her to a number of the surrounding towns and villages: Upper Walston, Walston St Mary, Nether Walston and even farther afield in the direction of Norwich. Her involvement at St Michael's was enthusiastic though limited in scope; she was a member of the Mothers' Union and had been known to help with the flowers and even with the Harvest Supper.

Allowing Flora Newall to join the Mothers' Union was a point of pride with Doris, under whose leadership the invitation had been proffered and accepted. It showed how broad-minded and inclusive they were: not only was Flora Newall not a mother, she had never even been married.

She looked, in fact, the very stereotype of the middle-aged English spinster, thin and bony with a pale face that was plain rather than unpleasant, pale, slightly protuberant eyes, large teeth, and hair of an indeterminate hue and nonexistent style. Her personality was inoffensive and her manner was jolly without being pushy.

‘You'll never guess,' she announced as she joined their party. ‘I've just seen the Rector's wife, and she's invited me to dinner next weekend!'

‘Oh!' Marjorie Talbot-Shaw inspected her over her glasses with increased interest. ‘She has, has she?'

‘Why her, do you suppose?' Doris whispered to Enid.

‘Making up numbers, I imagine.' Enid didn't bother to whisper. ‘I heard her say she was inviting that Cyprian Lawrence, so presumably she needed another woman.'

‘Cyprian Lawrence!' hissed Doris, her eyebrows shooting up. ‘It's just as well she didn't invite me and Ernest then! We wouldn't set foot in the same house as that unspeakable man!'

The subject was continued over the well-done joint of beef at the Wrightmans' lunch table.

‘I can't understand why she's invited that Flora Newall when she's never asked us to a meal,' Doris said to her husband, spooning peas on to his plate.

Ernest reached for the gravy. ‘I thought that Flora Newall was a friend of yours.'

‘Oh, she is. At least, a sort of a friend,' she qualified. ‘But she has no personality, no spirit. Not like me or Marjorie, or even like Enid. Flora wouldn't say boo to a goose – I just don't know why the Rector's wife would want to invite her.'

‘Is that so?' Ernest, who had begun wielding his knife at a slice of beef, stopped and looked thoughtful.

Doris droned on through the meal, not noticing that Ernest was unusually quiet. Nor did she notice that, while she did the washing-up, her husband was in the hall using the telephone.

The week went quickly for Becca as she planned her menu and shopped for food. The former was complicated by her discovery that Flora Newall was a vegetarian, but she managed to find a recipe for stuffed aubergines which Stephen assured her would be acceptable to all.

The phone calls didn't stop entirely, but they seemed less frequent, perhaps because she was out rather more than usual during the day and Stephen's evening meetings were light that week. Without knowing the cause, Stephen was cheered to find his wife in a much better frame of mind; she seemed less nervous and jumpy, which he attributed to the influence of her new friends, and the sudden interest she had developed in cookery and entertaining.

The most momentous event of the week, though it might not have seemed so at the time, was a meeting which took place one evening between Ernest Wrightman and Flora Newall. It happened at Flora's cottage, by Ernest's request, and lasted no more than half an hour.

‘Would you like a cup of tea?' she offered nervously when she'd taken his coat. ‘Or some coffee, perhaps?'

‘A cup of tea would go down a treat.'

Flora had been baffled when Ernest phoned asking to see her; she was no more enlightened now that he had arrived and was ensconced in her tiny sitting room waiting for his tea. She switched on the kettle, put a few biscuits on a plate and covered her battered old tea tray with a clean white cloth.

‘Here we are,' she said brightly, carrying the tray into the sitting room, settling it on a table and pouring the tea. ‘Nothing like a good cup of tea, I always say.'

‘I couldn't agree more.' Ernest leaned forward to spoon sugar into his tea, then offered her the sugar bowl.

Flora giggled nervously. ‘No, thanks. I always use artificial sweetener.' She produced a dispenser and dropped a small white tablet into her tea, then, at a loss, looked at Ernest.

There was no point in drawing it out, he decided. After a sip of tea he began. ‘You're probably wondering what this is all about.'

‘Yes . . .'

Sensing her apprehension, Ernest gave a high-pitched laugh. ‘Nothing to worry about, my dear lady,' he assured her.

‘Then what . . .'

‘I'll come to the point. I was wondering if you'd ever thought about being churchwarden.'