Intrigue in the Village (Turnham Malpas 10) (20 page)

Sheila sat down again, her pride restored by Muriel’s observations. ‘Very well then.’

Kate smiled broadly in relief, having visions of the entire committee resigning en masse. ‘Very well then, leave the platform to me. I’ll sort something out. Agreed?’ She smiled in turn at everyone on the back row, one of her dazzling smiles, which were hard to resist. There was a general air of agreement.

Before Kate closed the meeting she remembered to mention the souvenir programme she was planning. ‘I thought we’d charge two pounds for it, something to take home, you know, with photos and history. What do you think?’

Everyone appeared to like the idea, except the newly elected head of car parking. He snorted his disgust. ‘Two pounds! That’s far too much. Far too much. Seventy-five pence at the most, or even fifty pence. Who can afford two pounds? That’s daft.’

Sheila Bissett took her chance to get her own back and declared, ‘Two pounds will barely cover the printing expenses. Two pounds it is. Hands up all those who agree.’ She looked fiercely round at everyone from her seat in the centre of the front row. ‘Well?!’

A volley of hands went up and Sheila’s decision was ratified.

Sylvia suggested a list of headteachers right from the beginning would be interesting.

Muriel said, ‘We must have photos of them too, if that’s possible. Well, the later ones.’

‘Lovely. I’ll make a note. I’ll be in touch with each of you before the day, you can be assured of that. Goodnight. Thank you.’

Gratefully, Kate went home, wishing she’d not brought her car, because a walk home up the drive would have helped to blow away her anxiety. She’d no idea how difficult the villagers could be. Most of it was caused by old feuds, some long-forgotten insult or incident, which still rankled. As she rounded the bend in the drive and saw the old house, she thought of the tales this house could tell if only it could speak.

As Kate had said, they all knew in Little Derehams what was going on in the cottage that had once belonged to that witch Simone Paradise. They’d watched gardeners from the estate tackling the wilderness that passed for a garden, seen the septic tank chaps sorting out the smell of sewage – and a right week that had been, disgusting it was. They weren’t too sure about what was happening inside but someone had seen a new bathroom suite being delivered and it wasn’t a cheap, secondhand one either. And another person had seen what she thought was a new cooker and new cupboards for the kitchen going in. But Greenwood Stubbs, the head gardener at Turnham House, coming down to watch over the proceedings, had definitely given the game away. No prizes for guessing who was footing the bill – high and mighty H. Craddock Fitch, no less.

When cans of paint were carried in and the odd-job man from the estate marched through the newly replaced garden gate, wearing white overalls and carrying a ladder, then they knew for certain that a complete facelift was going on. Lucky Mrs Bliss. Lucky, silent Mrs Bliss, who never exchanged a word with her neighbours beyond good morning. What had she done to deserve all this
special treatment? Well, it wouldn’t do, they could all manage very nicely with a new bathroom suite, to say nothing of the double glazing she’d had installed.

Turnham House Properties had a very busy week fending off demands from the other cottagers. They were sorry Mrs Bliss didn’t speak to any of them because they’d have had an opportunity to give her the sharp edge of their tongues. Talk about favouritism. As it was, the property office didn’t give a toss about their requests, and instead it was they who received the sharp edge of the land agent’s tongue.

The build-up of resentment carried further afield than Little Derehams. Having no public house of their own (the Monk’s Hood Arms had been converted into a house thirty years ago), drinkers used the Royal Oak as their hostelry.

Consequently, one night when Vera Wright had gone in there in an attempt to alleviate her dread of the fact that Don was still hovering between life and death in Culworth Hospital, the matter of the renovations at the Bliss cottage was the subject of conversation. Opinions varied. The attitude of the Turnham Malpas residents was, why not? Little Derehams residents came down on the side of injustice.

‘We’ve got some damn great holes in our winda frames. Don’t matter how big yer fire, the wind don’t harf blow some blasted great draughts round yer ear’ole in the winter. We’ve told the agent but o’ course he’s under strict instructions.’

Vera asked, ‘Instructions? From who?’

‘That bug—’

Vera interrupted swiftly. ‘Mind your language in here. You know how strict Dicky is.’

‘Mmm. Fitch. Lives in luxury up there with his fancy piece and leaves us to get rheumatics ’cos he’s such a skinflint.’

‘How long is it then since you sold out to him?’

‘Old Fitch bought it from us ten years back.’

Vera leaned forward and tapped the table. ‘And you’ve paid only a moderate rent this last ten years, I’m told. You were glad enough to accept his money when it suited. In Turnham Malpas we didn’t sell, well, one person did but she was in dire straits at the time. The rest of us decided to keep our independence. Every one of you daft lot sold out to him. More fool you. If you’ve any sense you’ll fit your own double glazing in with the money he paid you for the cottage.’

‘Eh? Yer what?’

‘You heard.’

‘Why should I? He owns it, not me.’

‘I know he does. But if you want a bad draught round the back of your neck, well . . . it’s up to you.’

‘Of course you’re on his side, stands to reason, you’re an owner same as ’im.’

Surprised it was common knowledge that she owned Maggie Dobbs’s cottage, Vera retorted sharply, ‘Whatever. Yer can’t have both the bun and the ha’penny in this life.’

Similar arguments were being conducted on the much coveted table next to the settle, on the tables close to the log fire and especially in the wider part where several tables were close enough to allow eavesdropping on other conversations. The bar hummed with the topic and soon everyone had taken sides. In the main, Turnham Malpas
residents were in sympathy with Mrs Bliss, and the Little Derehams people were against.

After closing time came, the argument was carried on outside in the road. Eventually people living in the village went home shaking their heads over the stupidity of the Little Derehams people selling their homes to someone like Mr Fitch, and they felt smug in their wisdom. While they had houses worth thousands now that property prices had risen so steeply, those in Little Derehams had nothing. Not a few chuckled to themselves as they snuggled down in bed under their very own roofs.

But the resentment against Mr Fitch festered and bubbled until it burst forth in a protest. A crowd of about thirty villagers from Little Derehams collected quietly outside Turnham House main door early one evening, knowing for sure that Mr Fitch was there – they had friends among the domestic staff at the Big House – and they unfurled their banners, waved their placards and chanted a song they’d made up at a meeting earlier in the week.

The land agent came out first to listen to their demands but he made no progress at all. ‘We want Mr Fitch! We want Mr Fitch!’ they all chanted.

So the agent returned inside and went to ask Mr Fitch to come out to speak to them. Boiling with temper – he had feared this might happen – Craddock stalked outside, in no mood to be placatory.

Holding up a hand to hush the chants, he began by saying, ‘I hear what you ask. If I do the improvements to your houses that you demand, then your rents will have to go up to pay for them. I’m not a charitable institution, I’m running a business, and the rents you pay now will
nowhere near cover the costs of double glazing or anything else. So, what shall we do? It’s up to you. You could of course always buy back your houses from me, but you’ll get a shock when you hear how much they have increased in value since you sold them to me.’

‘How much then? Go on, how much?’

‘At the very least double what I gave you for them. Could be more.’

A gasp of horror went round the crowd. Jaws dropped, fists were raised, and Kate, who was watching from an upstairs window, became anxious.

‘You’re bloody well off then!’

‘You’re doing it for that Bliss woman, why not us?’

Kate couldn’t believe her ears. Doing it for that Bliss woman?

‘You’re a thief. You bought ’em for a song then.’

‘I paid the fair market price at the time, which you agreed to.’

‘Forced our hands more likely.’

‘I didn’t make you sell your houses to me. On the contrary, you couldn’t wait to get your hands on the money.’

Grumblings rumbled around the crowd. Someone shouted, ‘But why’s that Mrs Bliss getting everything done for
her
? Tell us that, if you can.’

‘What favours has she done you, eh?’

A loud guffaw went up, and there was much elbow-nudging, smirking and knowing winks.

Craddock almost boiled over. He could have taken a whip to them all. It was what they needed; a whipping, handcuffed to a wall, until the blood ran and they’d no thought for anything else but their own pain. All the
pleasure he’d taken at owning practically the entire village, improving the footpaths, placing flower tubs at strategic points, improving the lighting with decorative lamps, restoring the tiny medieval prison cell still standing in their high street, and renovating their market cross, turned sour in his mouth. And Kate was listening to this! And the students here for a week’s training! So much for not letting his right hand know what his left hand was doing. So much for trying to keep, albeit secretly, in Kate’s good books. Damn them all to everlasting hell. A plague on their houses.

Then he said the one thing that played straight into their hands. Because it occurred to him that they might take the initiative to get back at him through Mrs Bliss he shouted, ‘Don’t anyone here dare take out their anger at me on Mrs Bliss. This,’ he made a sweeping gesture with his arm, ‘is not her fault.
I
chose to improve her house, at my own expense. She’s not to be threatened in any way. You understand?’

A roar went up, a great roar of mocking laughter, which made his blood run cold. He spun on his heel and went inside, slamming and bolting the door behind him. The crowd stood angrily arguing among themselves, not knowing what to do next. But within minutes they retired down the drive to plan their next move.

Craddock stood behind the door, shaking with emotion. For Kate to even think . . . The students were standing at every available window at the front of the house, watching and commenting. A hush fell over them when Kate brushed past and ran down the stairs to meet Craddock, who was now standing, fists clenched, red-faced and quietly swearing in the middle of the hall.

When he saw Kate coming towards him Craddock drew in a deep breath.

‘Craddock! Come up to the flat. Please.’

‘My office.’

‘OK.’

He unlocked the door, went straight to the drinks cupboard and poured himself and Kate a glass of brandy. ‘I don’t like brandy, Craddock.’

‘Drink it. Drink it.’

‘But I . . .’ She felt his hand shake as he handed it to her and decided not to cross him. It tasted foul to her, but at the same time she welcomed its warmth and hoped it might settle the queasiness that had afflicted her when she’d heard that mocking laughter. Too terrible to describe was the appalling sensation of unease that had almost overcome her when they’d mocked him. It was a kind of concerted, primeval bellow, which boded nothing but ill. Perhaps if she’d gone down and stood beside him that might have diffused the anger. But hindsight was all well and good, she hadn’t.

Craddock went to sit in one of his big leather chairs, cradling his glass in his hand. ‘My God! I seem to be doing a lot of apologizing lately and it’s not in my blood to do so. You listened?’ Kate nodded. ‘Of course you did.’

‘You’re repairing her house then?’

‘Every stick and stone of it. Look where it’s got me. Threatened on my own doorstep.’

‘They’ll calm down. You’ll see.’

‘It’s been like this before but with our villagers. That lot tonight seem evil to me.’

‘They’ll have calmed down by tomorrow, you wait and see.’

Kate watched the unnatural colour in his face settle to its usual pallor.

‘I don’t need to say this to you, but there is
nothing
between Mrs Bliss and me. All I wanted to do was to please you.’

‘I feel ashamed that you feel the need to reassure me. Of course I know there isn’t, it never crossed my mind. But I’m grateful that you are attending to her house. It will make such a difference and I love you for it.’

‘I didn’t mean you to know until it was finished. You see, when I went to the house and saw . . . Anyway, that’s for another time. If there’s something you’d rather be doing, I’ll sit here a while longer.’

‘If it’s all right, I’ll stay with you.’

There was nothing more to say on the matter without repeating herself so she sat silently, thinking. That he’d done as she asked amused her. Secretly repairing the house without telling her was, in its own way, an acknowledgement that he had heeded her good sense and her compassion. But there was something more behind it, a further reason to do with his past perhaps, the past he didn’t feel able to tell her about.