The New Rector (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (11 page)
Read The New Rector (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
Caroline locked the house and sped home to Peter. She told him all her findings.
‘Someone must have access to her house. Perhaps they’ve had access for quite a while and have intended frightening her with these mysterious tricks.’
‘She did say this morning she’d lost her keys.’
‘That’s it, then! She’s lost her keys and someone has found them, said nothing and has been going in and out when they’ve known she wouldn’t be there.’
‘Caroline, the only way to put a stop to this is to have new locks put on her doors, then the keys will be useless.’
‘Absolutely, but we also need to find out who is so malicious as to want to frighten her – and don’t forget, they also have a vendetta with Jimbo Charter-Plackett because they deliberately drowned his cat.’
‘You make it sound as if we have a pathological killer in our midst.’
‘This kind of thing is only the beginning. We very well could have.’
Peter made a decision. ‘First thing in the morning I shall get the sergeant to go with me to the house. Give me the keys and I’ll put them on the hallstand ready for tomorrow.’
The sergeant had no answers for Peter but he agreed that it was obvious someone was getting in, and there were no signs of a forced entry. He suggested speaking to Muriel about changing the locks, but Peter said he would go and
see her about it. A police sergeant arriving could well do more harm than good.
It was two days before Peter had time to call at the hospital. He took the keys with him.
‘God bless you, Muriel, I’m here again.’
‘Who are you? I don’t know you.’ Muriel turned herself so she couldn’t see Peter’s face.
‘Yes you do, Muriel. It’s Peter from St Thomas à Becket at home in Turnham Malpas.’
She refused to answer.
‘I have something to show you. Will you turn round and have a look?’
Curiosity got the better of her and she half-turned to look.
‘In my hand I have the keys to your house. Look.’ He opened his hand and let her look.
‘I’m not going home.’
‘No, I know you’re not. When you lost your keys, how did you get into your house again?’
‘I used the spare keys I hid in the garden, till the others turned up again.’
‘Oh, so they turned up again then? Where did you find them?’
‘Mr Palmer found them in the piano stool.’
‘So where are your spare keys now?’
She looked furtively round the ward and then whispered, ‘Under the pot with the hydrangea in it in the back garden.’
‘Does anyone else know they’re there?’
‘Only you.’
‘I see. If I changed the locks on your house, that would mean that no one could get in, wouldn’t it?’
‘What would I do with all those keys? I wouldn’t know which ones to use.’
‘We would throw away these keys and you could use the new ones.’
‘It wouldn’t stop me doing silly things.’
Muriel switched off and Peter could do no more. He debated about changing the locks and decided to go ahead.
A few days later he was sitting in his study reading a book entitled
Why Follow Christ
? when Willie Biggs knocked urgently on his door. He always knew when it was Willie knocking because he didn’t give two or three knocks like everyone else. It was always nine or ten, as if his message couldn’t wait to be delivered.
‘Mr Harris, sir, I’ve come to report that there’s someone living in the churchyard shed.’
‘Living in the churchyard shed? Whatever for?’
‘’Cos they’ve got no ’ome, I ’spect.’
‘Who is it?’
‘If I knew that I’d ’ave chased ’em off, sir. Can’t catch ’em, yer see. I keep finding crisp bags, tins, a tin opener, a plate and a cup, biscuit packets … one thing after another, but I can’t catch ’em. When I do I’ll beat the living daylights out of ’em.’
‘I don’t think that would look very good in the headlines, Willie. “
Verger beats hell out of homeless boy
.” Of course, it might be a girl, which would look even worse.’
‘I’ll keep watch. If I sat on that seat in Miss Hipkin’s garden by her rose arch, lovely roses they are, yellow with a fleck of pink, I could keep an eye from there right grand and they wouldn’t see me. What do yer think, Rector?’
‘I think it’s a brilliant idea, but you could be there for ages.’
‘I don’t care and it won’t be upsetting Miss Hipkin, her not knowing, like.’
‘Very well, sir.’ Willie tapped the side of his prominent bony nose. ‘And mum’s the word, sir. It’s between you and me. Bet Mrs Rector likes the garden a bit better now. I haven’t let on it’s me who’s been doing it, yer know.’
‘No – and neither have I. That’s another secret we have, Willie.’
‘I’ll be off then. Wonder who I’ll catch?’
Willie had a shock when he recognised the person wandering casually up to the shed. Sitting under Muriel’s rose arch he’d contemplated who it might be. The children from the Big House were well known for bringing their town ways to the village. Smoking in the bushes down by the beck and shoplifting if Mr Charter-Plackett didn’t keep a sharp eye out … more than likely it would be one of them, he thought. Several times he’d caught them wandering round the church, but the rector – old Mr Furbank, that is – insisted that the church must be open for private prayer, and also for tourists to visit and admire the ancient murals and the Templeton family tombs. Willie had kept everything locked that he possibly could. No sense in inviting trouble, he’d thought. This new rector, Mr Harris, wanted the church to be freely available too. Sometimes, the verger of St Thomas à Becket wondered which century these men lived in. What had done before didn’t do for now. From the corner of his eye he watched Scott McDonald walking quietly between the tombstones – an unlikely occupation for such a one as he. Willie kept entirely still and waited. Scott approached the shed, went
past it and climbed the wall into Muriel’s garden, Willie, hidden by the lush growth of the climbing rose, bided his time.
From his pocket Scott took some keys and went to Muriel’s back door. He put one key in the lock with confidence, then found it wouldn’t open the door. He tried the other key, rattled the door knob and stood puzzled as to why he couldn’t get in. Willie crept up behind him.
‘Got you, my lad!’
Despite his years Willie was very nimble and with the shock of his discovery and the idle life Scott made sure he lived, Willie had him by the collar before he could make an escape.
‘We’re going straight round to see the rector. One word from you and I’ll cuff you one.’
‘Willie Biggs, what do you think you’re doing? Leave me alone. Wait till my dad hears about this.’
‘Yes, just you wait. If he doesn’t give you a hiding, I shall. Upsetting old ladies – whatever next.’ Willie marched him to the Rectory and rattled on the door.
‘Here we are, sir. I’ve found him trying to get into Miss Hipkin’s house with his own key.’
‘You’d better come inside, young man, and sit down in my study.’ Peter led the way. Scott by now was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Visiting the rector’s study was not something he did from choice. He was completely out of his element.
‘I didn’t do nothing, Mr Harris,’ he whined. ‘It’s the first time I’ve—’
‘First time, my foot,’ Willie shouted. ‘I could see you knew exactly what you were doing. You’ve been in there before.’
‘Just a moment, Willie. We’ll let Scott speak first.’
‘It was our Sharon. I found the keys that day old Muriel—’
‘Miss Hipkin to you, Scott,’ Peter interrupted.
‘Well, Miss Hipkin then, that day the dog got out and she raced out of school to catch him. Took ’em home I did, and told our Sharon. She took them into Culworth and got new keys cut. Cost her a packet it did, but she said it was worth it to see the old bat’s face when she realised someone was getting into her house. What I did served her right. Told me off she did more than once, the daft old faggot. Why won’t the key fit? Always did before.’
‘Because I’ve had the locks changed. Do you know that Miss Hipkin is a friend of mine just as she is to lots of people in the village? We all like her very much.’
‘Like her? She’s an old bat, a miserable old bat, and it serves her right.’
‘What have you done in Miss Hipkin’s house?’
‘Only daft little things to frighten her. Pinched a cake, moved the cutlery about in the drawer, drank the sherry, switched her ornaments around, things like that.’
‘What about the cat?’
‘What cat?’
‘The cat she found drowned in her water butt?’
‘Well, Mr Harris, I don’t know nothing about a cat. That’s not me. I like cats.’ His face suddenly changed as if something had dawned on him which he wouldn’t be prepared to talk about. Peter realised Scott had made a guess as to who was responsible.
‘Well, Scott, Willie and you and I are going to go to your house to see your parents.’
Scott sprang to his feet. ‘Let’s keep this to ourselves, Mr Harris. I won’t go there no more, I promise. I give you my solemn promise, cross my heart and hope to die. I’ll swear on your Bible. Honest to God I will. I won’t go there any more if you promise not to tell my mum.’
‘It’s too late for making bargains, Scott. The tricks you’ve played on Miss Hipkin have made her very ill. She could prefer charges, you know. Stealing, trespassing – you name it. Your mum and dad are going to have to be told. You’ve done it not once but several times and we must get the matter straightened out. Come along.’
Peter stood up, took hold of Scott’s hand, led him from the Rectory and marched him to The Royal Oak, with Willie following eagerly in his wake. The public house stood prominently on the corner of Stocks Row and Royal Oak Road. Scott resigned himself to the inevitable. There was nothing he could do; Peter was too strong and too big for him to wrestle with.
The bar was open and crowded; his mother was busy serving:
‘Two ploughman’s name of Coster, here we are then, plenty of pickle like you— And what do you want with our Scott, Rector? Put him down, if you please.’
She and not Mac was the licensee for some reason unknown to the villagers, though frequently hinted at. She stood nearly six feet high and was built on Amazonian proportions. Her jet black hair was piled high on top of her head in a beehive design. Mac had once ventured to say he liked it that way and that way it had stayed. The heat of the bar on this humid afternoon had heightened the usual flush on her face. Her low-cut Lurex blouse exposed rather more
of her figure than one wished to see. Her dark eyes glared furiously at Peter.
‘Let him go then, Rector. There’s no call to hold him like that.’
‘Good afternoon, Mrs McDonald.’
‘Everyone calls me Betty.’
‘Good afternoon, Betty. I wonder if we could go somewhere quiet. We need to discuss Scott’s behaviour.’
‘Been messing about in your church, ’as he?’ She brought her arm back and smacked Scott hard on his face. He ricocheted against Peter’s legs.
‘Well, no, not in the church.’
‘Well then, you’ve no call to be holding him like that. Let him go.’
Peter held firmly to Scott. ‘Betty, I really feel you would prefer to hear this in private.’
‘I haven’t the time, can’t you see we’re busy? Out with it.’
‘Very well. We have been concerned for some time because someone has been using the churchyard shed. Willie here went to keep watch to see who it was and caught Scott attempting to enter Muriel Hipkin’s cottage with a key. He has told us that he’d had the key cut and had been using it for some time.’
Apart from Peter speaking, the whole bar had frozen in anticipation of Peter’s news. It was as if someone had pressed ‘Pause’ on a video machine.
Betty McDonald was totally nonplussed. She glared first at Peter, then at Willie, then at Scott. Before she could say a word, however, the whole bar erupted.
‘It’s you then that’s frightened her.’
‘Been stealing, have yer?’
‘Might have known it ’ud be him.’
‘What about Jimbo’s cat, how about that then?’
‘Time you got him under control, Betty.’
Their advice incensed Betty. She rose to her full height, brought her arm back and hit Willie a savage punch right on the nose.
‘That ’ull serve you right, sneaking about spying on people. A harmless little boy and two grown men frightening him to death.’
Poor Willie sat down in a chair someone put behind him as his knees buckled. Blood streamed down his face. Someone got him a brandy, someone else found some tissues and tried to catch the blood.
Mac came out from the other bar. ‘Betty, that’s enough! You lay one hand on the rector and you’ll be done for. Mind what I say. Man of God and all that.’
Scott crept quietly upstairs out of the way. He’d seen his mother like this before.
‘Man of God? I’ll give him man of God, picking on a poor innocent little boy!’
‘“Poor innocent little boy”? Come off it, Betty,’ someone in the bar shouted.
Peter stood quietly watching the scene, hoping she wouldn’t hit him because there was no way he could defend himself against a woman of her size, not when he was wearing his dog collar.
‘Mrs McDonald, Scott has caused Muriel Hipkin a great deal of pain. In fact, he is the reason why she is in the psychiatric ward in hospital! You had no cause to hit Willie in that manner. He was only doing his duty by trying to protect church property. It was incidental that he found Scott trying to enter Miss Hipkin’s house.’
‘If he couldn’t get in then he can’t have had the right keys, so it can’t have been him.’
‘More fool him. He should have kept his mouth shut.’
‘That is not the advice a responsible parent should be giving.’
‘Are you telling me I’m not a resonsible parent?’
‘No, I was just saying—’
‘Betty! In the back, if you please.’ Mac finally made his voice heard.
Betty turned to look at him, and he jerked his head in the direction of the back room. She flounced behind the bar counter and left the field. Willie’s nose had almost stopped bleeding. The crowd round him congratulated him on his success as a sleuth.
‘Well done, Willie.’
‘Serves him right, the little sneak.’
‘Muriel will be glad.’
‘Drinks on the house!’ Mac shouted above the noise. ‘What will yours be, Rector?’
‘A whisky please, Mac, and the same for Willie. He really deserves it.’
When the hubbub had quietened, Peter asked Mac for a word.
‘Here I am, Rector, fire away.’
‘Sharon helped Scott, you know. He didn’t do it entirely on his own. She went to the key-cutters in Culworth with Muriel’s keys and got copies made. I think only Scott went into the house but she definitely aided and abetted him.’
‘I am extremely sorry about all this, Rector. The trouble is we’re so busy with the bar that the children are left to their own devices too much. We’ll have to make a better effort. You know what it’s like with teenagers nowadays, they’re
that headstrong. Our Sharon’s like a grown woman and has been for years. You can’t say no nowadays.’
‘Do your best, Mac. Muriel has the right to press charges, you know, and I wouldn’t blame her if she did. I shall have to tell the police, because they came to have a look round the house when we realised someone was getting in. So they might call in here to speak to you even if Muriel doesn’t go ahead with a prosecution.’
‘I really must apologise for our Betty’s behaviour. Sharon takes after her mother – acts first, thinks afterwards.’
It took all of two weeks before Muriel felt able to come home. Caroline took her to the hairdresser’s in Culworth and made her feel a million dollars by encouraging her to have a perm at Caroline’s expense. Peter presented her with her new keys, which gave her the confidence to go home. Someone suggested a party to welcome her back but then they all agreed she’d feel better just quietly sliding back into her own routine.
Jimbo had restocked her kitchen cupboards for her, popping specialities of the house into her fridge as well. Sir Ronald had taken Pericles for a shampoo and a hairdo at the dog parlour and bought him a new lead and collar, bright red and glossy. Lady Bissett had arranged a bouquet of flowers for the middle of Muriel’s little dining table and the mantelpiece was filled with ‘Welcome Home’ cards. Willie had been keeping her garden watered and the grass cut so that when she went home her world was gloriously restored.
Her confidence, however, was only partly restored but she felt that time would heal that. A few days after getting home Peter called with Scott in tow.
Muriel began trembling. Seeing Scott brought back all her anxieties.
Scott wriggled free of Peter’s restraining hand.
‘He says I’ve to apologise. And I will, but I didn’t do the cat, Miss Hipkin – that wasn’t me. I like cats. But I did the other things, and I’m sorry I made you poorly.’
‘Well, thank you, Scott.’ Muriel held back the tears and turned away, hoping Peter would take him away.
‘Good afternoon then, Miss Hipkin. Say good afternoon, Scott, please.’
‘Good afternoon, Miss Hipkin.’ They both went out and Peter closed the door quietly behind them.
A day or two later there was another knock at the door.
‘Why, come in, Mr Charter-Plackett! I intended coming into the shop to thank you for your kindness in filling my kitchen with food. I can never thank you enough, and also thank you for my birthday cake. Do you know, it was the first birthday cake I’d ever had?’
‘Only too glad to see you back home again. We’ve all missed you very much. Can I sit down for a moment?’
‘Of course, how remiss of me. Here, sit in this chair, it’s the most comfortable.’
‘I’ve come because I’m in a bit of a dilemma.’
‘Oh dear, how can I help?’
‘Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve got the restaurant opened now. We’ve called it Henderson’s.’
‘After Phyllis? What a lovely idea!’