Intrigue in the Village (Turnham Malpas 10) (26 page)

The Senior sisters shook their heads and whispered hoarsely, ‘No. No. We’d have to tell her.’

‘You’re right, the Rector wouldn’t take kindly.’

‘But what can we do?’ Terrified that another death in the village might be laid at the Turners’ door, Angie knelt down beside Maggie and patted her cheeks. ‘Maggie. Maggie. Come on, love. Maggie. Wake up!’

But Maggie didn’t respond.

‘Now what can we do?’

Venetia dashed for the kitchen, coming back with a jug of water in her hand, which, without further ado, she emptied over Maggie’s face. The effect was instantaneous. Maggie sat up with a jerk, shaking her head and spluttering. Linda found a teatowel and gave it to her to wipe herself.

Maggie shouted, ‘What the hell?’ Then she remembered their conversation and began to whimper. ‘What have we done? Oh God! What have we done?’

‘We haven’t done anything,’ protested Angie. ‘But I tell you one thing, I’m not coming any more. Here, let’s get you up, Maggie.’ Being tall and having two exceptionally lively twin boys to deal with, she was able to heave Maggie up on to a chair with the greatest of ease. ‘There, that’s you sorted, and don’t take on about this. You didn’t make Don die, now did you? That’s if he
is
dead.’

Maggie shuddered. ‘Don’t come no more, any of you. That’s it. Final. No more. I’ve done with it.’ She glared round the group, then buried her head in her hands.

They all crept out, in one way disappointed but in
another glad, because things were getting far too dangerous. They were dabbling where they shouldn’t.

Not one of them slept properly that night, least of all Maggie. She was so distraught she allowed Tabitha to sleep in her bed, glad of something warm and comforting and normal to hold on to. If only she’d told them all not to come! Well, she hadn’t and now this had happened. Poor Don. Poor Vera. Maybe Vera wouldn’t want to live in that flat any more and she’d want her house back. Then where would she go? Maggie covered her face with her hands.

Tabitha took her chance, slid quietly out of bed and headed off downstairs to her cat flap, hoping to get a bit of peace and quiet out in the garden under the shed because she certainly wasn’t getting any sleep where she was, with Maggie squeezing her tightly all the time. But the slap of the cat flap as it shut on Tabitha’s tail alerted Maggie. Her only connection with normality had gone off into the night. She was in such confusion in her mind that she raced downstairs and went out through the front door calling, ‘Tabitha! Tabitha!’ That blasted cat; she was never there when you needed her.

Then she forgot the cat and began looking to escape the evening’s events; anywhere would be better than being in bed alone, and she ran, utterly confused, calling out, seeking sanctuary.

Bedroom lights turned on, windows were opened, people shouted, ‘What’s up? Who is it?’

But they got no reply and more than one imagined they were seeing a ghost, something white in the pitch black.

In her panic, Maggie remembered the Rector. He’d know what to do. She’d seen him talking to Vera the day
of Don’s accident, he’d known what to say then. It took a while of knocking on the Rectory door before the lights went on and she heard someone running down the stairs. ‘Rector! Rector!’

She was still banging on the door and shouting when it opened and she almost fell into his arms. ‘Oh, Rector, help me, please.’ The relief of finding another human being whom she knew could help her was too much and Maggie collapsed in a heap on the hall carpet.

‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ Caroline headed for the kitchen. Peter helped Maggie to stand up and followed Caroline into the kitchen, supporting Maggie, who was by now almost legless with fear.

Seated at the kitchen table with her arms resting on it to keep herself upright, Maggie said, ‘It’s Don. He’s dead, isn’t he?’

‘Is he? Well, he regained consciousness this morning, I saw him about five o’clock this afternoon and was delighted with his progress. Vera sat with him this evening and rang me when she got back to say he’s improving by the hour. Have you heard differently?’

Maggie’s eyes slid from one to the other of them, wondering how much she could tell them and what she should keep to herself. That cup of tea was a long time coming. She felt she’d been here hours. ‘No, well, yes, in a way. Well, no, I haven’t actually but . . .’

Caroline came straight out with it. ‘You’ve been holding a seance again? Is that it?’

Maggie looked up at Caroline and decided that Peter was a better bet. Looking him in the eye across the kitchen table, she said, ‘Doctor Harris is right. The spirit I pretend to be in touch with said she was going to welcome him in.
Whoever it was. So someone was on the brink of death but it wasn’t Don.’ She reached into her nightie sleeve and pulled out a tissue and wiped the sweat and tears from her face. ‘I’m never holding another one as long as I live. It started as a joke, kind of, but now it’s getting serious and I’m frightened and the blasted cat ran out and left me alone and I couldn’t bear it.’

Peter asked, ‘What were you using, a Ouija board?’

Maggie shook her head. Then she nodded, laid her head on her arms and wept.

‘Here’s your tea, Maggie. Sit up and have a sip, it might do you good.’

The cup clattered in the saucer when Maggie picked it up and the tea spilled down her chin as she sipped. Caroline handed her a piece of kitchen towel and she caught the drops before they fell off her chin.

‘You see, being a widow I have to watch the money a bit careful like and doing the seance helps out. I never meant no harm, but all of a sudden I seem to be doing it proper and I’m frightened to death. They’ve all gone home thinking I’m genuine but I don’t believe I am. Am I? What can I do? I’m terrified about what might happen next. At least if Don’s OK, that’s something.’

Peter took her hand and held it comfortingly. ‘So you can’t really be doing it if you thought Don was dead and he isn’t.’

Maggie said, ‘Of course I can’t, can I?’ But she began shivering uncontrollably.

Caroline, who was not best pleased at being woken up just two hours after having gone to bed, offered her a bed for the night. ‘It’s in Sylvia’s old room. I always keep it
made up, just in case. No one will harm you here. Believe me.’

‘I’ll never sleep. Never again.’

‘You will when I’ve given you a sleeping tablet.’

Maggie looked up gratefully. ‘Would you really give me one?’

‘Just this once. Emergency and all that. Have you locked your door?’

Maggie thought for a moment. ‘No, but that don’t matter. I’ve nothing to steal.’ She opened her mouth to speak, daren’t, changed her mind, tried again. There was a silence while they waited for whatever it was that was on the tip of Maggie’s tongue. Eventually, in the smallest of voices, she asked Peter, ‘Am I damned?’

Peter smiled at her. ‘If you are truly sorry for what you’ve done, no, you are not damned. But it’s a matter between you and God. I’m not an intermediary.’

‘He’ll,’ Maggie pointed to the ceiling, ‘forgive me, then? Fresh start like?’

‘I’m certain. You’ve actually done no harm, have you, apart from venturing where you shouldn’t?’

‘That’s right. But I feel desperate inside. Black and ugly. It was the money, you see. I’ve still got the washing machine to pay for. That’s the worry.’

Peter advised her to find more work. ‘A casual job, Saturdays or something, until you’re straightened out.’

Maggie’s face brightened. ‘I could, couldn’t I?’

Caroline said rather firmly, ‘I’ll show you the bedroom. You’ve got your nightgown on so I don’t need to lend you one, do I?’

Surprised to find herself sitting in the Rectory wearing her nightie, Maggie shook her head.

‘Get into bed and I’ll bring you a glass of water and the sleeping tablet. There’s a bathroom next to the bedroom if you need to use it.’

They climbed the stairs together, Caroline’s arm around her waist, and Maggie felt grateful for the caring touch of another human being. She could hear Peter rinsing her cup under the tap and she envied the two of them passionately. Her Dave, lovely as he was, never rinsed a cup out for her in his life. These two had something special and she wished, how she wished she had a share of it. At least he’d promised her she wasn’t damned to hell. The big lump of fear in her chest was beginning to dissolve, at last.

Caroline came in with a glass of water and a tablet in a small plastic cup. ‘Here we are.’ She stood watching. ‘Who else was there tonight? Are they frightened too?’

‘Not as much as me. If Don’s all right, who did we get the message about?’

‘Look, you and I know it isn’t true, don’t we? You haven’t really been in touch with spirits.’

‘Well, I don’t know about that. I was right about Angie Turner and the lottery, wasn’t I?’

‘Considering how many times Angie and Colin put money on the lottery I suppose they’re bound to win some time, aren’t they?’

Maggie agreed.

‘That’s the only thing you’ve actually got right, isn’t it? You haven’t actually
made
anything happen, have you?’

Maggie shook her head.

‘Then lie down and go to sleep.’

Caroline pulled the duvet up for her and impulsively bent to kiss her goodnight.

Maggie caught hold of Caroline’s hand. ‘Thank you for being so kind. I’m beginning to feel better.’

‘Good. I’m glad.’

‘Just got scared.’

Sleep caught up with Maggie in no time at all but as she was finally dropping off, a thought crossed her mind. They’d been wrong once and got the wrong man. If it wasn’t Don then it might be someone else. Maggie tried to work it out, but fell asleep thinking how quickly the tablet had worked. She could do with a few more of these.

It was left to Kate to open up the school next morning because Maggie, still sleeping in the Rectory attic, couldn’t be roused. On her way to the surgery, Caroline had rung Kate on her mobile to explain.

‘She won’t be in until lunchtime, I imagine. Got herself thoroughly scared so I gave her a sleeping tablet and it’s knocked her out.’

‘Well, we had our bit of drama too, last night. About half nine Jeremy Mayer had another heart attack and had to be rushed to hospital. He was so determined to keep fit he overdid the swimming and collapsed as he got out of the pool. Craddock drove him and Venetia to the hospital. We all feared the worst, but he’s still holding his own this morning. Thank goodness.’

‘It all happens here, doesn’t it?’

‘Absolutely.’

While she waited at the main traffic lights in Culworth, it struck Caroline that Maggie might have got the wrong man but she had got the right idea and at about the right time too . . .

There was a loud impatient toot from behind and she
realized the lights had changed to green. As she sped on she told herself off for being gullible. Heaven help her. What on earth the village would make of this she dreaded to think.

That morning in the Store, Jimbo was fuming. They were all keeping their heads down. Mrs Jones in the mail order office hadn’t even emerged for her morning cup of tea and the staff working in the kitchens dreaded the thought of him coming in to find fault. They all knew the reason and realized that the axe could fall anywhere today.

Jimbo was unaware they knew he was angry, because he was making strenuous efforts to disguise it. But he most definitely was. He’d been studying his overheads last night and had discovered that Linda Crimble was on his payroll again, quite regularly too. She was only waitressing, but just the same, he was paying her good money when he’d vowed he would never employ her ever again, no matter how tight the staffing. Tom had slipped seamlessly into the Post Office work and didn’t make one quarter of the song and dance about it that Linda had.

He glanced at his watch. Pat Jones was coming in for their weekly discussion and he couldn’t wait for the moment. Ten minutes and she’d be here.

‘Coffee, Tom?’

‘Thanks, yes, I will.’

After Jimbo had given Tom his coffee he went into the back office to brood. Seated in front of his computer he
checked out how many times Linda Crimble had worked since he’d sacked her: ten times. He’d give that Pat Jones something to think about when she came. He couldn’t believe it. Ten times she’d worked for him and he hadn’t realized. His accounts person wasn’t to blame; all he did was pay their wages each month. So finally Pat Jones was the one to blame. He heard her voice in the Store, as she passed the time of day with Tom.

She came through and he knew the instant he saw her face that something was wrong.

‘Pat? How’re things?’

‘Sounds serious about Jeremy, doesn’t it? Don’t like Venetia but you can’t help feeling sorry. Apparently Maggie Dobbs at the school said the spirits had told her. Scared to death she was, running about like a headless chicken at midnight in her nightie, and the Rector took her in.’

‘I know, they’ve all been on about it this morning. But that’s not what you’re worried about, is it?’

‘How do you know I’m worried?’

‘Your face gives you away.’

Pat nodded. ‘Remember the night of the party for the rugby club in Culworth?’