Read The New Rector (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
The New Rector (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (13 page)
‘Extremely well. Suzy Meadows is excellent and we are all dovetailing in very nicely indeed. She was an inspired choice. While Muriel has been ill, Suzy’s been playing the
piano for us. It’s early days yet, but I know the children will benefit.’
‘Good, I’m glad. Thank you for your help this afternoon.’
Peter made his way out across the playground, smiling at the children and throwing a ball back to someone, but the children would have none of his overtures. He went into church to meditate for a while.
As he stood before the altar wrestling with his conscience he heard firm footsteps approaching and turned to see who had come in. It was Betty McDonald.
‘Thought I might find you here, Rector. Seeing as you’ve been communicating with His Nibs, perhaps you’ve decided to change your mind about Stocks Day?’
‘No, indeed I haven’t. I still feel it’s wrong.’
‘Well, you’d better think again. Who the hell do you think you are? Have you any idea how much money we shall lose in the bar if you don’t do it? Stocks Day is one of our busiest in the whole year. We can’t afford to lose money. You’re all right, it won’t affect your pocket but it will affect mine and Mac’s.’
‘Whilst I would not wish any harm to come to your business, I’m afraid that your public house is not my responsibility.’
‘I dare say, but I’m damned if I’m going to let the village suffer just because of your conscience.’ She advanced another step and prodded Peter in the middle of his chest.
‘You come here with your posh ways and more money than you know what to do with, and think you can dictate what we do. We may not have been to Oxford but we do know what’s right and it’s time you did too. Take my advice, play the Devil in the procession, and do it with your fingers crossed behind your back then it won’t matter, just
like we did when we were telling lies when we were kids. Do it you will, or else I shall want to know the reason why.’
She stormed from the church like a ship in full sail. Peter groaned and said, ‘Now, Lord, what do I do?’ He went out of the church, crossed the green and stood in front of the stocks. Ancient though they were, they were complete. He’d often seen them in other villages and only the bottom half remained, but Turnham Malpas stocks stood as they had done for hundreds of years. He tried lifting the top half and found it was possible to move it sufficiently to put his own legs and hands through and he decided to sit in the stocks for a moment. The strangest feeling came over him as he sat there. He didn’t feel like himself at all; he almost became someone else. He looked round the village and observed that the houses facing the green were just as they had been for centuries. That vagrant must have looked out through the pain of his plague symptoms and seen the village more or less as it stood today.
Here and there a new sign could be seen. The tasteful Turnham Malpas Stores of Jimbo’s, and the new sign above his restaurant and tearoom were perhaps the only changes. Peter only intended sitting there for a moment but he became wrapped in his thoughts and drifted away in time. He could see that woman Caroline had pretended to be who’d lost her parents, two sisters and three of her children in the plague. She would have joined the procession in a desperate effort to ward off its return, in case any more of her family died from it. The rector himself must have prayed for it never to return because of the burden he would have had to carry comforting the bereaved and burying the dead. History stretched out before him and behind him, and Peter saw himself as part of a pattern in which he felt compelled to participate. He decided to agree to do the
Blessing; it was only right.
Peter extricated himself from the stocks and went off home satisfied he was doing the right thing. ‘I must not let Betty McDonald think she’s persuaded me – that would be the end!’
Peter sitting in the stocks had not gone unnoticed. Pat Duckett had seen him on her way to close up the school, Muriel had seen him from the window of Harriet’s Tearoom, and so had Suzy Meadows as she set off to collect Pansy and Daisy from afternoon school. Her heart missed a beat as she saw him, for she still found him tremendously attractive. It wouldn’t be long now before he knew. She couldn’t disguise her situation many more weeks; she’d never been as big as she was this time. Maybe he already knew, perhaps Caroline had told him about seeing her in the clinic, but she felt he didn’t know. He wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from speaking to her about it. God knew she didn’t want this baby. She’d offer it for adoption. Surely people who adopt a child would cherish it. She quite simply didn’t want it. No way. No way.
Thank goodness Peter had decided to do the Blessing. Muriel wasn’t superstitious, but she had a sneaking feeling that if he hadn’t, all kinds of dreadful things would have happened in the village. Death and destruction, that’s what. The costume, hanging up on its hanger from the door frame, blew gently in the breeze from the garden. The hot weather still persisted. Because her plants were so dear to her she’d managed to get over her fear of the water butt, but
she shuddered each time she used it. Those weeks in the hospital had gone by in a blur but they still struck terror in her heart. She’d only to see Scott in school and the horror came flooding back – but she mustn’t dwell on it. There were so many exciting things happening to her these days. The part of the week she liked best were Wednesdays and Fridays, when she went to the tearoom. She hadn’t realised what a gregarious person she was. All these years she’d taken a back seat and she shouldn’t have done.
Peter’s costume was hanging from the door frame as well. The mask and horns had had to be seriously renovated but she’d taken great joy in the task. How sensible he was to accept what had to be. He and Caroline were the best thing that had happened to the village for years. They’d brought such light and joy to everyone, and in such a practical way, too. If only they’d had a family. Peter’s children would have been beautiful indeed, and Caroline would have made such a lovely mother.
She went out into the front garden to water the roses. Glancing up, she saw Betty McDonald going past.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs McDonald.’
‘Why do you always insist on calling me Mrs McDonald? Everyone but you calls me Betty. Go on, say it – Betty.’
‘Well, Betty then.’
‘That’s better. It was me made the rector change his mind, yer know.’
‘I should think that Pe— the rector made up his own mind.’
‘Oh no, he didn’t. I went to see him in church. Praying, he was. Said he didn’t agree with it, but I told him. “Cross yer fingers” I said, “and pretend you’re liking it.” It did the trick – I knew it would. Just needed someone to tell him what was what.’
‘I don’t expect he took any notice of what you said.’ Muriel said this politely but firmly.
‘See ’ere, I’m telling you it was me what made him change his mind. I told him good and proper. “Mac and me ’ull lose money if the Blessing doesn’t go ahead,” I said. I told him he’d have me to answer to if he didn’t. Next day he’s doing it.’
‘I see.’
‘Time you unbent a bit, yer too stiff and starchy. Come in the bar tonight and I’ll treat you to a drink. Mind what I say, I shall expect you.’
Muriel had never been in a public house unescorted in all her life. She dismissed the idea and carried on watering her plants. Pericles dug about in the borders and got under her feet in that annoying way he had when he was wanting to go for a walk. Finally she gave in and got his lead. They wandered down to the beck and met Lady Bissett out with her Pomeranian. The two dogs greeted each other like long-lost comrades so Muriel and Lady Bissett joined forces and chattered about this and that as they walked by the beck.
‘I’m to be the Angel this year you know, Muriel.’
‘I didn’t know that. We usually have a – well, a younger person to be the Angel.’
‘Yes I know, but the committee said they would choose me on account of all the work I’ve done in the past for the Village Flower Show and things. It is an honour. I’ve hired an angel costume from the costumiers in Culworth. Ron … aid has gone to collect it this afternoon.’
‘Do you think that’s wise? After all, it’s only a simple village affair.’
‘I know, but you must raise standards, don’t you think? And what with the Press being there as well, you have to
keep up your position. Ronald is delighted. He’s the Grim Reaper this year, you know. In fact, if Peter had not changed his mind he was going to volunteer to be the Devil.’
‘The verger is the Grim Reaper, by tradition.’
‘Well yes, but he has no style, has he? Willie Biggs isn’t really suitable for such a part.’
‘The verger is always the Grim Reaper – it doesn’t matter whether he is suitable or not.’
‘Yes, it does. Things must be done correctly. I did consider paying for Peter to have a new costume. It’s still not too late. Ron … aid could go back tomorrow and get him a real smart outfit.’
‘I’ve renovated Peter’s costume. It’s the one that has been worn by the rector for something like seventy years.’
‘That’s what I’m saying – he needs a new one.’
‘Well, I disagree. We’ve all to be thankful he’s decided to do it; let’s leave it at that.’
‘It was me who persuaded him to change his mind, you know. I told him that these small-minded village people have to be humoured. They haven’t much in this life and if Blessing the Stocks makes them feel better, then who are we to argue?‘
‘I think you’re being very patronising, Lady Bissett. Just because they live in a village, it does not mean to say they are idiots.’
‘Don’t take on so. I’ll go and see Peter this afternoon and tell him I’m hiring, at my own expense of course, a brand-new Devil’s costume for him.’
‘You can’t. He’s away at a Diocesan Retreat all day.’
‘I’ll ring the company this afternoon and reserve one just in case then, and ask him in the morning first thing and Ron … ald can go in again tomorrow morning to pick it up.’
‘How dare you call me that? I’m giving the whole proceedings a bit of style, that’s all.’
‘A bit of style? If we listen to you we shall all be hiring costumes and that’s not what it’s about. Some of the costumes are dozens of years old and have been passed down from generations back.’
Muriel snatched Pericles up into her arms as he dashed by, turned on her heel and fled the scene of battle.
Hired costumes, indeed! Whatever next?
Peter declined Lady Bissett’s offer. He felt things were in such a delicate state that he daren’t trespass so far from tradition. Besides, he didn’t want to hurt Muriel’s feelings. She’d worked so hard on his costume.
On the Day he put it on over his marriage cassock and stood admiring himself in the hall mirror. Caroline joined him and they both burst out laughing.
Wiping the tears from her eyes, she turned to him and said, ‘When I promised to marry you I thought we would be at a university church or a big city church and be all posh and dignified. Now look at the two of us!’
‘So did I, but this is much more real and much more fun. I’m going to take you on the dodgems tonight – it’s years since I went to a fair. I must say, Dr Harris, you look very authentic. What have you used for the shadows on your delightful cheeks?’
‘Just a very little soot from the stove in the sitting room, mixed with some wrinkle cream. I’ve been quite artistic, haven’t I?’
‘Indeed you have. Now, where are the words I have to say? Oh, here they are in my cassock pocket. Having given
in about this thing I must do it right. I wish Arthur Furbank had been a bit taller. My cassock’s barely covered by this costume.’
‘Never mind, you look very impressive. Come on, it’s time we were off.’
They made their way to the starting point where already three-quarters of the village were waiting and the Press had their cameras at the ready. The down-at-heel local reporter stood wearily watching the proceedings for the umpteenth time. He’d been well primed by Lady Bissett with two double whiskies in her drawing room and in return he had persuaded the photographer to take pictures of her standing by the door of her house, but the feather wings she was wearing caught on the thatched roof where it curved round the porch and she had had to be extricated by Sir Ronald. The reporter forbore to take notes on the language she used as her husband rescued her.
It must have been one of the most successful Stocks Days the village had ever had. Because of Peter’s initial decision not to take part, a lot of outside interest had been aroused and the crowds watching the procession were bigger than ever. Betty and Mac had a sensational day in the bar, and the fair took more money that evening than on any Saturday night for years. The brilliant weather, of course, had encouraged the crowds. About half-past nine, Pat Duckett decided that it was time she went home, as the children had already spent most of her money. Dean was clutching a huge turquoise teddy bear he’d won on the little shooting range and Michelle was munching her way through yet another toffee apple.
‘There’s no more money left now so we’d better go home.’
‘Aw, Mum, we want to stay for Mr Charter-Plackett’s
firework display.’
‘I didn’t know he was having fireworks.’
‘Well, he is. It’s a secret but we all know at school because Flick told us. She couldn’t keep a secret, not if you paid her.’
Michelle took time off from her toffee apple to say, ‘It’s at ten o’clock, she says. Please can we stay?’
‘Well, all right then, but after that we must go. We shan’t be able to eat all week if I spend much more. Where’s the display?’
‘On the green. He started getting it ready as soon as Mr Biggs had cleared the trestle tables away.’
‘Righto then. We’ll walk round a bit longer then we’ll go and stand near the school and get a good view.’
It was almost dark when the three of them went to take their places. A small crowd in the know was already in position.
As the first fireworks went up, the crowds in the fairground came running to watch the fun. Oooh! Aaaah! they went as the huge rockets soared into the sky. Pat Duckett watching Jimbo igniting the fireworks thought how lovely it would be to have the kind of money that could afford a display of such magnitude. To have money to spend just for fun. She turned her head to watch a rocket as it flared into dozens of stars above the school. Right mess I shall have clearing the playground before school on Monday, she thought. As she glanced at the school, she noticed that a light had been left on.
‘That’s funny – there’s a light on in the school. You two stay here and don’t move. I’ll just go and see everything’s all right. Do as I say, now.’
Pat dug around in her bag for the school keys. There they were right at the bottom with her fags. ‘Have to clean this bag out some time,’ she muttered. She put the huge key in
the lock of the main door and to her surprise found it was already undone. The rows of pegs in the narrow corridor leading to the main hall were free of the children’s coats and they looked quite forlorn. She pushed open the door into the hall. Only the lights at the far end were on. She walked forward to the bank of light switches and kicked against something on the floor.
She looked down to see what she had kicked. She was so distraught she didn’t know she was screaming at the top of her voice. Her hand clamped to her mouth, she ran from the hall and out into the playground. The fireworks were still exploding with massive bangs and no one could hear her screaming above the explosions. She ran to the edge of the crowd and found Willie Biggs.
For once in her life she couldn’t speak. She grasped his arm and, still screaming, pulled him towards the school.
‘’Ere, Pat, what’s up? Now then, now then, go steady.’
Pat Duckett pushed him through the main door of the school and then stood outside sobbing and gasping for breath. She couldn’t bear going inside again.
Willie pushed open the door into the hall and saw what had frightened Pat Duckett. Lying on the floor at his feet was Toria Clark, so badly beaten about the head that she must have died instantly. She still wore the bright red shirt and the close-fitting black trousers she’d put on for going to the fair. Her dark hair was blood-soaked and her face almost unrecognisable from the beating she had taken. By her hand lay the keys which Willie recognised as belonging to the school. He ran outside, turned Pat Duckett’s key in the lock, thrust it into her hand for safe keeping and set off for help.
He knew the police sergeant was on fairground duty and he ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He found him at the entrance talking to some boys from the next village.
‘Sergeant, you’ll have to come to the school. There’s been a … well, a tragedy. Come quick!’
It was the same sergeant who had come when Suzy Meadows’ Patrick had been found dead. The news of Toria Clark’s death flashed round the crowd in a moment. The babble of sympathy and curiosity grew in volume as the sergeant arrived. A crowd had gravitated from the finale of the fireworks to watching the activity around the school.
Pat Duckett was being revived with a timely nip from Sir Ronald’s hip-flask.
‘Terrible sight it is. I shall have to have another nip, my nerves is all shot to pieces. She’s laid there dead as a doornail. Can’t believe it, always such a nice person she was, nothing too much trouble. There’s all that blood. Oh dear, I’m going to faint.’
She slid sideways off the school wall where Sir Ronald had sat her down and fell with a resounding thud onto the pavement.
The sergeant hastened up to the front of the crowd. ‘Evening, Rector. Sounds nasty. Thank you for keeping the school locked, Mr Biggs. Can’t have everyone tramping on the evidence. You have the keys, sir? Thank you. Stand aside, please.’
Caroline arrived on the scene. ‘Sergeant, it’s Dr Harris here. Can I help?’
‘Would you come in with me, Doctor, please? By the sound of it we’re much too late but I should be glad of your opinion.’
‘Of course.’
They entered together. Caroline left Toria Clark lying just as she was. She felt for a pulse and listened for any signs of breathing but there were none.
