Secrets on Saturday (8 page)

“Yes, right, well, I must get on. Thanks for the tea. I’ll be in my office for half an hour or so. Thanks, Derek,” she added, and patted his shoulder. “Now, don’t you forget, me duck,” he said. “No telling your pal Cowgill about that badger, else I shall end up looking for you in the woods one of these dark nights.”

In her office, Lois sat down at her desk and shut her eyes. At once, a perfectly detailed picture of the badger formed in glorious technicolor, and she opened her eyes quickly. She had to get the horror out of her head somehow, and tried to concentrate on New Brooms matters. Sheila and Floss seemed to be getting on fine, and Hazel was as efficient as ever in the Tresham office. Enid was happy at the vet’s house and an elderly lady’s tidy cottage in Fletching. And Gran had said Miss Beasley was still pleased with Bill.

Miss Ivy Beasley: one of Lois’s most tricky clients. She lived alone in Round Ringford, had lived there all her life, and very much resented being old and not capable any more of keeping her house up to the spotless standard she required. She had stipulated that Bill Stockbridge was to be her cleaner. He had a way with sheep and cows, and the vet valued his assistance, but, more importantly, he also had a kindly charm which went down very well with old ladies. Ivy Beasley considered herself proof against such wiles, but lately Bill had been asked to sit down for a minute or two after he’d finished. “Just for a
quick chat,” Ivy had said, and half an hour later he’d had to ease himself politely out of the front door.

It might be worth calling on old Ivy, Lois thought. She’s bound to know something about the Cox farming family. And possibly about Herbert Everitt. She was reputed to have second sight, but Lois knew that she was just a nosey old woman who had spent her life disapproving of what went on around her. “Meat and drink to Ivy,” her friend Doris had said.

“Going over to Ringford to check all’s well with Miss Beasley,” she said to Gran, as she went through the kitchen to her van.

“I just told you she’s very pleased!” Gran was irritated, sure that Lois was up to something again. “There’s no need for you to go out now.”

Lois stopped. “Mum,” she said, “I run my own business, and it’s doing well. And that’s because I know what I’m doing. So don’t worry—shan’t be long. Bye.”

“That’s put me in my place,” muttered Gran. But she knew she was right. Lois was telling the truth, she was sure, but only so far. She got that from her dad. He’d been a genius at it.

M
ISS
B
EASLEY
’
S DOOR WAS SHUT AND LOCKED FIRMLY
, as usual, and Lois walked round to the back door. The old thing was quite deaf now, though she hotly denied it, and did not always hear the door bell. Lois could see her in her usual chair, next to the range, her back to the window. A tap on the glass pane might make her jump, so Lois knocked lightly on the door.

She could see Ivy struggling to her feet, reaching for her stick, and advancing towards the door. “Who is it?” Her voice was harsh and peremptory.

Lois moved to the window and shouted, “It’s Mrs. Meade. Can I come in for a few minutes?”

After bolts were drawn and the lock turned, Ivy Beasley stood looking at her. “Oh, it’s you,” she said. “You’d better come in, now you’re here. Though I’ve no
complaints. Bill is doing very well, now I’ve got him trained. You’re not going to take him away from me, are you?” she added with a touch of anxiety.

Lois shook her head. “No, no, Miss Beasley, nothing like that. I’ve really come to ask for your help, you being the most knowledgeable person on local history and that.”

Ivy frowned. “I’m not a gossip, Mrs. Meade,” she said, and Lois gulped. Ivy Beasley, in her time, had been the biggest and cruellest gossip for miles around, and though somewhat mellowed in old age, her wits were still razor-sharp. “What is it you want to know?” Ivy asked grudgingly.

“It’s to do with my business,” lied Lois. “There’s been talk of old Mr. Cox—William Cox—who farms in Farnden. Seems he’s getting too old to manage, and I wondered if I should call on him and offer some help. I give a very reduced rate to people who really cannot cope, but want to stay living in their own home.”

Ivy Beasley was on her in a second. “So why don’t
I
get a reduced rate?” she snapped, and added, “Not that I would accept it. I can still pay my way, and don’t want no favours. Anyway, you want to know about the Coxes?” Lois nodded. “You’d better sit down, then,” Ivy began, settling back in her chair. “I know quite a bit about that family. My mother and old Grandmother Cox were good friends. Mother didn’t have many friends, but Ethel Cox seemed to like her. They were two out of the same basket. William was older than me, but sometimes we were left to play together while the women put the world to rights over a cup of tea.”

“Was he an only?” Lois said, and Ivy glared at her.

“If you’re going to interrupt all the time, you might as well get going. My time is precious, you know.”

Doing what? thought Lois, but apologized, and promised to be quiet.

“And, since you asked, yes, he was the only one. And thoroughly spoilt, as a result. He got the farm in due course, and worked it well. Always had a bit of a chip on
his shoulder, and married beneath him. No children turned up, and his wife died a long while ago, never having made much of a mark on the rest of us. He’s a tetchy old man now, and he’ll probably set the dog on you. If you ask me, it’d be best to stay away and let him get on with it.” She paused, and Lois judged it would be safe to ask a question.

“How’d he get on with other farmers? Couldn’t some of them give him a hand?”

“Hah! Not them!” Ivy replied. “Especially them that go hunting. And that’s most of them. Why? Because he banned the hunt from his land. Every year the Master would go and see him, butter him up and hope to change his mind. But he’d just smile and shake his head. If you ask me, he got a kick out of banning ‘em. Claimed he was fond of foxes, and used to sit in his old Land Rover in the woods, watching the cubs play around in the evenings. Foxes got used to him, I reckon.” Ivy’s head drooped back on her cushion, and she closed her eyes.

Old bag! thought Lois, who knew perfectly well that this was an unsubtle way of getting rid of her. But she was happy with what had been said, and got up quietly. Ivy’s eyes shot open. “You going?” she said. “I’ll shut up behind you. And mind you look after that Bill. He’s a good lad.” Lois assured her she would, and walked quickly away.

As she drove off, she realized nothing had been said about Herbert Everitt. Ah well, another time. She knew Ivy too well to hope for anything more today.

“M
ORNING
, M
UM
. A
ND YOU CAN LEAVE THAT DOG
outside on the hook. It’s what it’s there for.”

Lois marvelled at how like herself Josie had become. “Less of the sharp tongue, Josie,” Lois said, picking up Jeems. “Or I shall be taking my custom elsewhere.”

“There is nowhere else,” said Josie. “Unless you get in your van and go off to Tesco for a box of matches.”

“I haven’t come for a box of matches. Look, here’s a list, and I’ll pick up the stuff at lunchtime.” It was a long list, and Josie blew her mother a kiss.

“I love you really,” she said.

“Ditto.” Lois laughed and left the shop. She put down Jeems, and they set off at a cracking pace towards the edge of the village. Some way past the last of the council houses, Lois turned into a footpath across a field and released the puppy from her lead. She tore off at speed towards what Lois could now see was a bunch of sheep up ahead. “Damn!” Lois yelled after Jeems, but she was deaf to everything but the call of her instinct to chase anything that ran. Lois set off, running as fast as she could, and caught up as the sheep began to panic. “Come here, y’ little devil!” Lois put on a final spurt and caught the runty tail just in time.

“Bad dog!” said Lois sternly, and re-fixed the lead. “Phew, I’m knackered,” she told the unrepentant dog, and perched on the edge of a dilapidated brick edifice sunk into the ground. It was not very comfortable, and Lois looked at the rusty pipe coming from one end, guessing
that it contained a water tank. Well, I’m more than glad to see it, uncomfortable or not, she thought, and after getting her breath back, she walked on.

“That’s your walk for today,” she cautioned Jeems, as they reached home. “I’ve got an errand this afternoon and it definitely does not include you.”

L
OIS PARKED HER VAN AT THE ENTRANCE TO
W
ILLIAM
Cox’s house, and cautiously opened the gate. At once, the sheepdog sped towards her, barking frantically. She stood her ground, and it stopped, grovelling towards her on its haunches.

“Come ‘ere, y’ bugger!” It was Cox, hobbling across the muddy yard, scowling at Lois.

“Afternoon, Mr. Cox,” Lois said, holding out her hand. “Mrs. Meade, from the village. Can I have a word?”

“Have as many as you like, s’ long as you don’t bother me,” he grunted, and turned away.

“I shan’t keep you long,” persisted Lois. She followed him towards the house and into the kitchen, where she got a surprise. It was clean, tidy, and smelt of bleach. A saucepan simmered on the old range, and the kettle steamed gently beside it.

“Don’t remember asking you to come in,” Cox muttered. “Still, now you’re here, you’d better have a cup o’ tea. Sit down.”

Lois wondered how she could refuse, but decided that if the mugs were as clean as the rest of the kitchen, she’d come to no harm. She chatted about the weather, and the sheepdog, and received grunts in reply. He made the tea, and set a large, clean mug in front of her and sat down opposite. “So what d’you want?” he said. “I ain’t having one of them home helps.”

Lois shook her head. “No, no. I’m not from Social Services,” she said. “I run a cleaning business, but I can see you don’t need me and my team. No, I wondered if you could help
me
,” she added, and smiled appealingly at him.

“Get on with it, then,” he said.

She turned to look out of the window, also clean and clear. “Those are your woods, aren’t they?” she said. “D’ you often go into them? My Derek could come and help you with wooding, if you like. Must be a bit much for you now. He could come at the weekend …

William Cox did not answer her questions. “That’s not asking me for help,” he said. “You’re offering, not asking.”

Lois laughed. “I’m getting there,” she said. “I really want to know about the woods, because they’d be great for taking my dog for walks. She’s a terrier—”

“I know, I’ve seen her,” he interrupted as his eyes narrowed. “Plenty of open space for walking dogs. Why d’ you want to take her in the woods?”

“Oh, you know,” Lois said lightly. “Terriers love woods, rootin’ about, picking up scents and chasing rabbits. But if it’s not convenient …”

“Who says it’s not? If you want t’ take the little blighter in there, you’re welcome. But just watch out,” he added. “Don’t go too far in. Stick to the edges, and if the dog goes off, wait until she comes back. They always do, unless they get stuck down a rabbit hole, which ain’t likely.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Lois said, draining her cup of tea. “Better be getting back, now. And don’t forget, if you need help, New Brooms is always ready with the mop and bucket.”

Suddenly a broad smile crossed Cox’s face. “Right y’ are, then,” he said. “And if you’re walking in the woods, call in for a cuppa. Any time. And don’t worry about Rosie. I’ll chain her up.” He hobbled after her to the gate, and as she drove off she could see his hand was raised in farewell.

“Well, that was a doddle,” Lois said, coasting down the hill into the village. “Tomorrow, to the woods!”

T
HE NEXT DAY
,
A MONSOON SEEMED TO HAVE SET
tled over Long Farnden. Nobody in their right minds would take a puppy for a walk in the downpour. A break in the rain halfway through the afternoon looked promising, but Lois was keeping an appointment with old Ellen Biggs, who lived in the small Victorian lodge at the gates of Ringford Hall. The now frail ex-cook at the big house had no cleaning complaints, but she was another one reluctant to accept help, and had finally been persuaded by a deal with Lois. Ellen would allow a cleaner to call, provided that once a month she baked a rich chocolate cake, and Lois called for a generous slice with a cup of tea. Although Ellen was well-liked in the village, and Ivy Beasley and Doris Ashbourne came to see her most days, there were still hours and hours when nothing happened and she had no one to talk to. She missed the hustle and bustle up at Ringford Hall, and loved to talk to Lois, who always arrived well-primed with gossip from the other villages to entertain her.