Lois Meade 03: Weeping on Wednesday (1987) (2 page)

One of their number had vanished into the hands of the law – though remembered with some affection – and Lois now had only three cleaners: Bridie, her daughter Hazel, and Sheila Stratford, plus herself, and Josie in school holidays. She was looking for another two. There was enough work coming in now, and she wanted another male cleaner. Some jobs were better handled by a man. Still, she had to listen to the views of the others.

“Could be he or she,” she said to the assembled team. “We want the best person for the job, don’t we?”

Hazel Reading sniffed. “It was good having a man about. Women bicker, when there’s only them.”

Lois raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Bridie Reading had been Lois’s best friend since schooldays, and she and her daughter Hazel both worked for New Brooms. Hazel, sharp and suspicious, was now approaching twenty. She had, for a while, been involved in drugs and knew the score. She’d kicked the whole thing herself, but still knew a great deal about the scene, and kept Hunter Cowgill informed on the young and corrupt who got up to no good in Tresham and around. It had been coincidental that both Lois and Hazel had this other, undercover work in common, and it gave them a special relationship – sometimes close and mutually protective, and at other times edgy and suspicious. Still, they rubbed along, as Lois intended they should.

The third member of the team, Sheila Stratford, was solidly rooted in rural life, and was not without strong opinions when challenged. She was married to a farm worker, had a daughter and grandchildren living close by, and came from generations of Stratfords now lying peacefully in Waltonby graveyard. When her husband said he thought she had enough to do at home without going out skivvying, she had tried to explain that working for New Brooms was different. It was a business, she’d said, almost like having a career. He’d laughed at that, but raised no further objections.

Now Lois met Hazel’s challenge and said, “Haven’t noticed any bickering in New Brooms. But I see what you mean. Right, shall we get on now? We’ll start with our usual schedules, and then have a look at the new applicants. I’d appreciate your help on those.”

When they came to Enid Abraham, she read the letter out and looked round enquiringly. Hazel and Bridie shook their heads.

“The name rings a bell,” said Bridie, “but you don’t see anybody about down there, except an old man out in the yard sometimes. Keep themselves to themselves, folk say.”

“Spooky place,” said Hazel. “I’ve been by there at night, and there’s never any lights. This Miss Abraham sounds all right, though…bit old-fashioned…”

“Do you know them, Sheila?” said Lois, and wondered why she looked uncomfortable. Sheila had lived in Waltonby, the nearest village to Cathanger, all her life and was the most likely to be forthcoming.

“Yeah, I know them.” Sheila stopped and bit her lip.

“Well?” said Lois, frowning.

“There’s four of ‘em,” Sheila said hesitantly.

“Three, don’t you mean?” said Lois.

“No, four, the old man and his wife, the daughter, Enid, and a son.”

“A son?” said Lois. “She doesn’t mention having a brother. Are you sure?”

“Sure as eggs is eggs,” said Sheila firmly. “He worked with Sam on the farm for a bit. Didn’t last, though. Funny bloke. Something happened, and he left. Haven’t seen him since. Edward, his name was, and wouldn’t answer to Ted. Sam said he thought himself too good for the job. They didn’t get on…”

“Mm, well, I’ll have a word with her,” said Lois. “Worth a word, do you reckon?” She looked at Bridie and Hazel, and they nodded. They weren’t really bothered one way or the other. It was the bloke on the list that interested Hazel, and Bridie’s thoughts were on her next job, her favourite, cleaning at the vicarage for Reverend Rogers.

Three other women were dismissed as not flexible enough, or without a car, and one had no telephone. “Why do they apply?” said Hazel.

“Some don’t read the ad properly,” said Lois, picking up the last applicant’s details. “Now, this one is twenty-two, working at present as a nursing auxiliary and likes the idea of going out and about round the countryside.”

“Where does she live?” said Sheila.

“
He
,”’ said Lois, with a dramatic flourish that made Hazel laugh, “lives over in Fletcham and shares a cottage with his partner. Comes from up north, and is number four in a family of seven. Not a bad letter – here, Sheila, pass it round.”

Fletcham was a village of about the same size as Long Farnden and Waltonby, with which it formed an irregular triangle. The villages had been known for some years as the lucky three, since none of them had lost valuable young men in either of the two Great Wars. Lois had had one or two enquiries for help lately from Fletcham, and was keen to sound out the lad.

“What’s his name?” said Hazel.

Lois knew that if there was any dirt sticking to this one, Hazel would know of it, and answered in some trepidation. She liked the sound of him, and didn’t want to be put off. “William Stockbridge,” she said firmly. “Likes to be called Bill, thank goodness.” Sheila Stratford nodded approvingly.

She had always said that Edward Abraham was no good – anybody who’d rather be Edward than Ted was a stuck-up twerp, in her opinion.

To Lois’s relief, Hazel shrugged. “Don’t know him,” she said. “Never come across him – does he say what his partner’s name is?”

Lois shook her head. “Read the letter, Hazel. I think you’ll agree he’s worth a try.”

So it was settled, and after the others had gone, Lois sat in her office with a plate of Gran’s sandwiches in front of her, and made the necessary telephone calls. Enid Abraham had answered herself, and insisted she came to see Lois in Long Farnden. She would explain, she said, why that would be more convenient.

A pleasant girl’s voice answered Bill Stockbridge’s number, and made the necessary arrangements. Tomorrow at ten thirty would be fine. Bill would be off duty then, and would look forward to seeing Lois. And, by the way, her name was Rebecca.

§

“How’d it go, gel?” Derek sat in front of the television, watching the local news.

“How did what go?” said Lois.

“Your meeting – the list of possibles, all that,” he said, his eyes still fixed firmly on the screen.

“OK,” said Lois. “What’s that you’re watching?”

“The news – some bloke’s disappeared. Seems he owed a lot of money around here, and he’s done a runner or something. They had his sister on a couple of minutes ago, and she looked frightened to death. Dodgy story, if you ask me.”

“What was the name?” asked Lois idly. Her mind was still on the interviews she had set up for tomorrow.

“Can’t remember,” said Derek. “They come from over Waltonby way…Cathanger…you know that rundown old mill house? It’s outside the village, in the middle of nowhere.”

“
Cathanger
, did you say?” said Lois, concentrating now. “Was the name Abraham, by any chance?”

“That was it,” said Derek, and then the penny dropped. “Oh my God,” he said, “that’s the woman you got a letter from, isn’t it? Must’ve been her on the telly.”

He got up and turned to Lois. “Now listen to me, young woman,” he said, and put both hands on her shoulders. “You can forget all about Miss Enid Abraham. Before we know it, we’ll be right in the middle of another bloody mystery, and Sherlock Cowgill will be round here pumpin’ your brains and makin’ use of us all. So no, no way, Lois, and that’s an order! I don’t want you havin’ nothing more to do with that slimy cop. If he gets in touch, tell him a definite no!”

This was a long speech for Derek, and Lois hadn’t the heart to tell him that the last call she had received in her office had been from Detective Inspector Cowgill, and it had been about the Abrahams.

B
ill Stockbridge was first on Lois’s list, and she felt confident and cheerful as she knocked at the cottage door. The garden, she noticed, was neat and tidy, and the windows were clean. As the door opened, a pleasant smell of washing powder greeted her. This was important. Lois had formed many an accurate judgement of clients from the smell of their houses. The vicarage at Waltonby, for example, had wafted old cabbage and damp all over her when she first called on the Reverend Rogers. Now that Bridie had taken over, lavender wax polish and freshly made coffee cheered up the elderly cleric twice a week.

“Hello! Come in, please.” The door opened wide, and a stocky young man stood grinning at her. Sandy-haired, with a dense crop of freckles over his nose, Bill Stockbridge looked fit and strong, as if he’d been out for a run over the moors before breakfast. His light blue eyes smiled too. Yep, this was more like it.

“It’s not a usual job for a lad,” said Lois, thinking she might as well get this one out of the way at once. “I have had a male cleaner before, but it didn’t work out in the end. Why do you want to do it?”

Bill Stockbridge laughed heartily. “Rebecca says she knows what my dad will say,” he said. “He’s a farmer in Yorkshire. Tough as they come. Could turn his hand to anything. That’s why I fancy this job. On the farm we did everything and anything. Mum pitched in all year round, and if she got sick, we did her jobs around the house too. Scrubbing and polishing is nowt new to me!”

This piece of information was certainly new to Lois. All the farmers she knew – and Sheila Stratford had told hair-raising tales – were of the ‘Y’don’t keep a dog to bark yerself variety, and wouldn’t dream of boiling an egg for themselves, let alone get busy with a duster.

“What does Rebecca do?” she asked. Was this one of those role reversal partnerships?

“Teacher,” said Bill. “Takes the infants’ class in Waltonby village school. Loves it, luckily. She’s always lived round here. That’s why I followed her south; we met at a party, and I could tell I’d have to get in there fast to stand a chance. She’s very pretty,” he added, with a proud smile.

“What’s her surname?” said Lois. It wasn’t really relevant, but you never knew when such things would come in useful.

“Rogers,” said Bill. “Her uncle’s the vicar.”

Of course. The vicar was chairman of the school governors, and would have put in a good word for her. They’d got a new headmistress now, since old Betts had gone, and according to Sheila Stratford, it was much improved. So, a farmer’s son with a bit of imagination, and a vicar’s niece. It all seemed very respectable and suitable for New Brooms.

§

“Right,” said Lois. “I’ll let you know in a day or two. But I will just say this. My team of girls is a good one. They work well together, and I’d expect you to do the same. Everything open and fully discussed at our meetings, and if there’s trouble with any of the clients, I expect to be told straight away. And no gossip, not with clients, nor anywhere else.
I
need to know everything that goes on, but nobody else does. All right?”

Bill nodded. He’d not been expecting anyone like Lois. An efficient woman, yes, but Mrs Meade was different. And quite fanciable, too. But he knew without being told that chatting up Lois would be out of the question. Well, it all seemed very promising, and he whistled happily to himself as he shut the door behind her.

§

Heavy black clouds had drifted over the earlier clear sky, and Lois wished the car heater worked. Ah well, as soon as she had enough in the bank, she planned to invest in a shiny white van with
New Brooms – We Sweep Cleaner
emblazoned on the side. Now she pulled her coat collar up, and wondered if it was going to snow. As she approached Cathanger Mill the road narrowed, and trees hung over it, making a natural tunnel. In summer this patch was truly beautiful, with dappled sunlight coming through the leaves, and a small bridge over the mill stream. Lois’s boys biked from Long Farnden and joined others hanging over the water and dipping for minnows. Well, Douglas was too cool for that now, she smiled to herself. But Jamie and his friends would be back for perhaps another summer. Now, with no leaves on the trees and the bare branches interlaced over the road like arthritic old fingers, it was a dark place, full of shadows, and Lois shivered. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to have a quick look round Cathanger before meeting Enid Abraham.

She almost missed the turn to the mill, and had to reverse back into a field opening a few yards beyond. It was not that the road was unfamiliar. She had been this way more times than she could remember, but had never had reason to give the mill more than a glance. In fact, as she’d said to Derek not so long ago, she always accelerated along this stretch, especially in winter. It was a silly fancy, he’d said. Everybody locally said it was one of the prettiest places for a picnic by the stream. So Lois kept her feelings to herself, but now she remembered, and felt reluctant to get out of the car. Still, she’d better get on with it. Her appointment back at home with Enid Abraham didn’t give her much time, and it would look strange if any of the Abrahams caught her snooping around the mill now.

She closed the car door quietly, and sauntered back up the road, trying to look as if out on a casual stroll. An icy wind whipped her scarf back from her throat, and she tied it more tightly. The mill house stood back from the road, and was approached by about two hundred yards of narrow, twisting track. Grass grew down the centre, and ruts and potholes abounded. Not exactly a warm welcome, thought Lois, as she walked on past. She glanced back at the house through a hole in the overgrown hedge. It was so dark now that even though it was the middle of the day, a passing farm vehicle had its lights on. But there were no lights coming from the house, and she could see nobody about. A dog barked suddenly. It was a frantic, hysterical bark, and then Lois heard a gruff shout: “Shut up! Down!”

That’s quite enough of that, Lois told herself, and walked quickly back to her car. She drove off with as much speed as the twisting lane would allow, and was glad when she came to the Long Farnden sign. She cruised along the High Street at an obedient thirty miles an hour to her own gate, and drove in with a feeling of relief. Why relief? She could not have said. All farmers shouted at their dogs. Enid and her mother could have been out shopping. And the brother wouldn’t be there. He’d done a runner, hadn’t he?