Intrigue in the Village (Turnham Malpas 10) (22 page)

Maggie went to answer it. It was Sheila.

‘I’m not late, am I? The Misses Senior said nine o’clock, but Ronald would keep talking. Oh, there you are.’ She nodded a greeting to the two sisters.

‘No, you’re not late. You know it’s five pounds?’

‘Yes. Here you are.’ She handed over a five-pound note, which was so dirty it looked as though it had spent most of its life down a mine. ‘Sorry it’s a bit of a mess, I found it in an old purse. Where shall I sit?’

She sat down and began to chatter. Maggie had to interrupt. ‘Please, no talking, it upsets the spirits.’

Sheila’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh! Sorry.’

When everyone had arrived, Maggie began. It felt more difficult to get the atmosphere conducive to calling the spirits when there was no fire to make dancing patterns on the walls, but eventually the right feeling was established and Maggie solemnly put a forefinger on the base of the wine glass and nodded to them to join her. Seven was a mite too many for a small wine glass but they all managed to find space for their fingers.

Now what?

The glass rocked and flirted about a little, but when Maggie asked if there was anyone out there with a message it began to move with purpose: b-e-w-a-r-e-h-e-w-h-o-m-a-k-e-s-t-h-i-n-g-s-b-e-t-t-e-r-m-a-k-e-s-t-h-i-n-g-s-w-o-r-s-e-.

Venetia whispered, ‘What does that mean? Who makes things better and then worse?’

‘I don’t know,’ Maggie replied.

Venetia clapped her hands as the meaning dawned on her. ‘I do. That’s Mr Fitch. He’s made the Blisses’ cottage better and it’s making things worse. Think of the protest the other night. That’s it, I’m sure.’

‘S-hh.’ Maggie replaced her finger on the glass and so did the rest of them. E-v-i-l-e-v-i-l-e-v-i-l- . . .

Sheila giggled. ‘Its needle’s got stuck!’

‘S-hh,’ Maggie repeated.

The glass moved again, then it began spelling out jumble, which no one could piece together to make sense. Next it said b-i-g-h-o-u-s-e-t-r-o-u-b-l-e-h-c-f-h-c-f-t-r-o-u-b-l-e . . .

Venetia became very agitated. ‘Oh, my good Lord. H.C.F. That’s Mr Fitch.’

They tried again. The glass was almost bucking as it
sped along spelling out d-e-a-t-h-d-e-a-t-h-d-e-a-t-h-t-oh-c-f.

Maggie picked up the glass, and flung it into the empty fireplace, where it should have smashed into a thousand pieces, but didn’t. It simply bumped against the logs she’d put there so the fireplace didn’t look so empty, and rolled to the edge of the grate, balancing precariously, as though making up its mind whether or not to smash itself to death on the tiled hearth. All eyes were on the glass, waiting for it to crash.

Maggie was trembling. Venetia was horrified. The others tried to come to terms with what the wine glass had spelt out for them.

‘
Is
HCF Mr Fitch?’ asked Sheila in a frightened voice, her usual ability for vacuous social chit-chat entirely deserting her.

Venetia nodded her head. ‘Yes, he’s Henry Craddock Fitch.’

‘You seem to know a lot about him,’ commented Greta Jones.

‘I’ve worked long enough for him.’

‘But in what capacity?’ Greta asked slyly.

Venetia blushed. ‘In charge of leisure activities for the students.’

Sheila Bissett laughed. ‘Oh! Yes.’

None of them noticed that Maggie was almost hysterical.

‘Shall we rescue the glass and start again? See what it says next?’ asked Linda, always eager for a bit of drama.

Maggie was rigid with fear and didn’t offer to pick up the glass, so Sheila, being the nearest, got up to get it. As her fingers touched it, the bulb in the table lamp flashed
and went out. She screamed, the others followed suit and pandemonium reigned.

None of them gave a thought to Maggie.

Pitch black though it was, they managed to grab their belongings and flee helter-skelter out of the house and down Church Lane, as though the very devil himself was after them.

Maggie began to sob. Deep, searing sobs, which tore at her lungs, and made her shriek as she drew in her breath.

It must have been fully five minutes before Maggie remembered her glass of vodka. She switched on the main light, opened the cupboard and knocked back the remains of her drink in one go. Filled the glass again and drank it down neat. Things swam a little as it hit her stomach, but she poured another one and downed that too. She went to sit in her easy chair by the fireplace, frightened to death.

Just what had happened? She could swear on the Bible that she hadn’t pushed the glass. It had moved of its own volition and spelt out d-e-a-t-h. She allowed her eyes to slide around to look at the glass, now lying so innocently on the edge of the grate. Grandmother or no grandmother, that glass had to go. But where? She couldn’t face looking at it in her bin, it would be a week before the bin men came again. Should she bury it in the garden? No, not on her own property. Definitely not. Then she remembered the litter bin on the spare land behind Linda Crimble’s house. Of course, she’d put it in there and be rid of it. Now? In the dark? She couldn’t sleep with it in the house, but in her present state she didn’t fancy crossing the little footbridge to reach the bin. It was dark outside, the wind was getting up and the trees on the spare land would be rustling and stirring, and it was blasted dark
among the trees with no lamps. No, the dark
and
rustlings wouldn’t do.

Then she thought of the big wheelie bins at the school. Of course. One of them was already half-full. That was it. She’d go now, right now and put it in there. Her legs felt like jelly at the thought of going out in the dark, but she put her rubber gloves on – she couldn’t bear to touch the damn thing with her own skin – found a newspaper, picked up the glass by her fingertips and hurriedly wrapped it in the paper, with lots of Sellotape so it couldn’t escape.

Without pausing to lock her door, she dashed down Church Lane, round into Jacks Lane, crossed the school yard, heaved up the lid of the half-full wheelie bin, and flung it in. By the sound of it, it still hadn’t broken.

‘Maggie?’

Sweat broke out all over Maggie’s body.

A light shone on the wheelie bin.

Her legs went to jelly again.

‘Maggie! What are you doing?’

What a relief. She knew that voice. Her mouth was so dry her tongue was sticking to the roof of it.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Kate!’

‘Yes?’

She wet her lips again. ‘Tell him. Warn him.’

‘Who?’

‘They’ve said he’s going to die.’ Maggie grabbed Kate’s arm to steady herself, and in the light of Kate’s torch she was surprised to see she was still wearing her pink rubber gloves.

‘Maggie! You’ve not been holding a seance again, have you? Honestly!’

Maggie nodded.

‘In the school? Surely not? Not in my school.’

Maggie shook her head. Still clutching Kate’s arm, she said, ‘I mean it, he isn’t safe.’

‘Who isn’t safe?’

‘Your hubby. Mr Fitch. The spirits said so, tonight. They spoke of death.’ An unearthly groan came involuntarily from her lips.

Kate began to laugh. ‘Honestly, Maggie, I’ve never heard such nonsense. It’s absolutely ridiculous. You can’t possibly think it’s true.’ But in the light of her torch she saw how frightened Maggie looked, felt the intense grip of Maggie’s hand and knew she meant it.

‘Look here, I’ll walk you home.’

‘Thank you.’ Maggie tottered by the side of her, now overcome not only by fear, but by the vodka she’d drunk so rapidly.

The door was wide open, just as she’d left it. Kate suggested she’d wait until Maggie was safely in bed and then she’d leave.

‘No, no, I’ll be all right.’

‘I insist. I shall worry if I don’t know you’re safely in bed. I’ll sit here and wait. Take as long as you like.’

She sat in Maggie’s favourite chair beside the fireplace and looked around, expecting to see something strange after the seance. But there was nothing. The room looked perfectly normal. Couldn’t have been more normal, in fact, except for the odd collection of chairs around the dining table, and the letters of the alphabet scattered across the table. Seven chairs. Maggie had had a busy night. Kate
heard footsteps in the room above her head and the thump as Maggie flung herself into bed.

From the foot of the stairs she called out, ‘OK, Maggie? I’ll go now.’

She heard a muffled, ‘Right. Thanks,’ from the bedroom.

‘We’ll talk in the morning at school. God bless. I’ll lock the door. Sleep tight and don’t worry. It’s all nonsense and you know it is.’

Maggie put her head under the blankets and longed for Dave to be there to give her a cuddle, and soothe her fears. But he wasn’t and he wouldn’t be, ever. Great tears rolled down her cheeks, crept over her jawline, trickled down her neck and settled on the pillow. There was one thing for certain: she wasn’t holding another seance meeting as long as she lived. Like Angie had said the other night, it was dangerous.

Kate had gone home after leaving Maggie’s to find Craddock pacing the floor.

‘Where have you been? I was just about to come to find you.’

Kate flung down her bag and keys, and flopped down in a chair. ‘I was at the school catching up, that’s all.’

‘It’s half past ten. Surely you don’t need to work until then?’

‘I’ve been doing the brochure for the celebrations. It’s beginning to look quite good. I’m rather pleased with it.’

‘I’ve a perfectly good computer in my office. You could work there and then I would know you’re safe.’

‘Craddock! You should have rung me if you were worried.’

‘I did and there was no reply. I didn’t want to appear a fussy husband, even though I am. Give you space, you know.’

‘Thank you. I do need my space. What possible harm could come to me, though, sitting in good old Turnham Malpas School on a spring evening? None at all. I fancy tea. Want some?’

‘Yes, we’ll both make it.’

He followed her into the kitchen and while she put the kettle on, he got out the tray and put cups on it.

‘Do you know, darling, I loved that school house when I lived there. Still do. There’s something very historical about it.’

‘One hundred and fifty-some years later I expect it is.’ He smiled at her. ‘But Turnham House is even older.’

‘I know. Many births, marriages and deaths will have happened here, but there’s something special about the school house. When I finished work tonight I went in there and stood in the bedroom looking out, thinking.’

‘What?’

‘Oh! I don’t know, just thinking. I felt . . . this sounds stupid, but just for once I thought it would be good to sleep there. I nearly rang you and told you.’

‘Then the tongues would start wagging.’

‘It would be a kind of closure on my life there. To sleep there, married.’

Craddock, inclined to indulge her in his relief that she’d come to no harm, said, ‘Well, why don’t you? There’s nothing to stop you.’

Kate almost told him about Maggie, but changed her mind. As she poured the tea she said, ‘Indulge me even
further. How long is it since you slept in a tiny place like the school house?’

‘Longer than I care to remember.’

‘Then let’s both do it. For fun. Just this once. Please? I shan’t ask again. I just want to do it. You and me. In that tiny house like ordinary people.’

It was even longer since he’d done anything quite as downright giddy as this, but it felt right to indulge her, to have a silly experience with this woman he loved. ‘But what about a bed?’

‘There’s one there with clean sheets. I put them on while I was mooning about tonight. It’s a double, big enough. We could even use my car to be less conspicuous. What do you say? Please?’

‘Drink your tea and just this once we will.’

‘I love you so very much.’ Kate picked up her cup, but before she drank from it she kissed him. ‘I know I’m being sentimental and I probably won’t ever want to do it again. It’ll be like camping out, won’t it?’

‘And just as uncomfortable.’ He smiled to show he didn’t mean it.

They put their cups and saucers in the dishwasher, Craddock turned out the lights and hand in hand they set off.

At the school house they stood together, by the bedroom window where Kate had looked out earlier that evening.

‘Think, Craddock, of all those children who’ve been through this school, spread out now all over the world, busy living their lives. Lives that people sleeping in this room had the opportunity to influence. Some will never have come home again. They’ll have been buried in shell
holes, sunk to the bottom of the sea, died in far-off lands. Others came home to Turnham Malpas to die. But it’s right that they should come home, isn’t it? Where they belong.’

‘Bit morbid, my dearest. But I should like to die here where at last I’m beginning to feel I belong, with a service in the church and laid to rest under one of those big, leafy beech trees.’

Kate shivered. She placed a finger on his lips and forbade him to mention it again. It sounded too much like an echo of what Maggie had said to her earlier.