The No. 2 Feline Detective Agency (15 page)

Tilly, who had placed herself between Hettie and the giant Lazarus, stared from one to the other, waiting and hoping that they would soon be heading out onto the open road in the shiny red creature that had stolen her heart. Hettie looked into Lazarus’s face and saw an honesty she didn’t expect from a wheeler and dealer. Without any further conversation, she nodded and turned towards the motorbike. Lazarus slid back the
lid on the sidecar and Tilly – using one of the shiny black mudgards as a step – leapt into the seat which offered space for two. When he returned from his caravan with helmet and goggles, he found both cats sitting in the sidecar, excitedly waiting for their ride. ‘I brought you an extra pair of goggles in case yer wants to ride pillion,’ he said, seeing how comfortable Hettie and Tilly had made themselves in their little red bubble.

Hettie hadn’t had time to consider that she would eventually have to master the motorbike, and was quite content to sit with Tilly in the comfort of the sidecar while Lazarus Hambone put the vehicle through its paces. ‘I’m happy just to watch from here at the moment, Mr Hambone,’ she said. ‘And anyway, I’m wearing my very best mac. I think I’ll need something a little more practical if I’m to ride astride.’ Tilly giggled at Hettie’s motorbike talk, and knew that she could soon start to plan an interior revamp for the sidecar destined to become an important part of the No. 2 Feline Detective Agency.

Lazarus wheeled them out onto the road, shutting the double gates behind him, then leapt onto the motorbike and kicked it into life. With a roar, they shot off down the road, turned right into the High Street, and sped away through the outskirts of the town and out into the countryside. Hettie and Tilly clung to each other in sheer delight and shouted above the noise of the motorbike. ‘It’s just like a ride at the fair!’ screamed
Tilly, as Lazarus swung round a corner. ‘We’re going to have such fun! We could even go to the seaside in it.’

Hettie looked up at the giant, be-goggled form of Lazarus Hambone as he gave the motorbike its full throttle and wondered how long it would take her to master the art of being a biker – but that problem was for another day. ‘I think we’ll have to buy it, whatever it costs,’ she shouted to Tilly, as main roads gave way to winding lanes lined with the colours of autumn.

The deal was done by the time Lazarus dropped them at the entrance to Furcross. Hettie had been offered terms that she simply could not refuse, and Lazarus had also promised to teach her the basics of the road. He expected this aspect of the deal to take some time, and so it was agreed that Hettie would present herself at his yard every Tuesday tea time for the foreseeable future until she had got the hang of it. Tilly put herself forward as added support; the idea of being driven around country lanes in the bright red sidecar appealed to her almost as much as watching TV and – as their new mode of transport was to be kept in Hambone’s yard until Hettie was capable of driving it away – it would be her only chance to see it.

They waved Lazarus off and headed for the front door of Furcross, which was flung open long before they had even thought of knocking. Marcia Woolcoat stood on the threshold, bedecked in what could easily have been a bright orange tent had it not chosen to feature a
double row of large lime green buttons down its front. ‘Miss Bagshot! How splendid of you and your friend to honour us with your presence! Please come through to my parlour, where Marley is about to serve tea.’

By now, Hettie was more than used to Marcia Woolcoat’s fluctuating moods, but this welcome was over the top even by her standards. Feeling a little nervous, she hung her designer mac on her usual peg and followed the matron of Furcross down the corridor, with Tilly skipping along behind, straightening her best red cardigan as she went.

Marcia Woolcoat’s parlour had transformed itself into a warm, vibrant haven of colour. There was a blazing fire in the grate, the photographs had returned to the walls and mantelpiece, and several vases of chrysanthemums stood around the room in autumn shades of gold and red. The sofa that had so often been the battleground for Marcia Woolcoat’s inner demons was now occupied by a very pretty cat dressed in a blue jumper and matching trousers, with a cheerful spotted scarf around her neck. Hettie had to look at her twice to work out who she was; after all, dead cats look very different to live ones, as she remarked to Tilly later.

‘Please sit down Miss Bagshot, and your friend? Miss … er …?’

‘This is Tilly, just Tilly, and I would prefer to be called Hettie instead of Miss Bagshot,’ Hettie said, squashing herself onto the sofa next to Tilly and
Alma Mogadon. ‘It seems much friendlier.’

‘Oh, I’m so pleased. In that case, you may call me Marcia and my sister here is Alma. I feel we have known each other for years, Miss … er … Hettie, and I hope our friendship will endure. How can I ever thank you for restoring my sister to me and making me see the error of my ways?’ Marcia batted a tear away with her paw and sat down in her armchair opposite the sofa, addressing her remarks to all three cats. ‘Before Marley gets here with the tea, there are a number of things I wish to say. My sister and I have spent the week laying ghosts to rest and talking about our future, which we are very much looking forward to – but before we can embrace what is to come, I must put things right and remember whom I have to thank for pulling the scales from my eyes.’ Hettie, Tilly and Alma all leant forward, completely transfixed as Marcia Woolcoat continued. ‘When I first invited my sister to join me at Furcross, it was more from my need for a qualified nurse than a wish to indulge a family member, but, as time went on, Alma became the sister I thought I had lost. As you now know, I have been estranged from my mother for many years. She made it clear when Alma was born that she didn’t want me in her life, and I endured some terrible acts of cruelty before I decided to make my own way in the world. I missed my sister when I left, but I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t return, even if it meant never seeing Alma again. My mother found it impossible to love us both, and she had made her choice.
By the time Alma and I were reunited at Furcross, our mother had become a difficult and demanding elderly cat, and – having lavished so much love on Alma – she fully expected that my sister would look after her in her later years. I refused to take any part in this problem, and made Alma choose between us. I now realise that this was an impossible position in which to put my sister. My lack of understanding nearly cost Alma her life, and if it hadn’t been for you and your careful handling of the case on which I engaged you, I fear there would have been a very different outcome.’

As Marcia’s last remark was addressed directly at Hettie, she had no alternative but to allow her ears to blush a bright red. Tilly fidgeted on her behalf, sharing a nod of approval with Alma, who seemed to be hanging on Marcia’s every word. And the words continued. ‘I am fully aware of the outcome regarding Oralia Claw and the deception in which she encouraged my sister to take part, but I am most grateful that you have resisted revealing the full story to the papers and have somehow managed to keep Alma and Furcross out of the news. It is to your credit that you go about your business in such a way that the innocent are protected and the guilty are brought to book – but I am also guilty, which is why I feel the need to confess and make reparation to those I have hurt.’

There was an almighty crash as Marley Toke fell into the room, pushing a tea trolley laden with cakes
and sandwiches and almost unseating the samovar. ‘Oh my days, Miss Marcie! Me trolley’s lost a wheel. Dat lurched out o’ me grasp on de way from me kitchen, and it took me all me time to catch it. Den, just as me get ’ere, de front wheel go somewhere else!’ Tilly and Alma sprang to Marley’s rescue, steadying the trolley as the cook selected one of Digger Patch’s novels from the shelf and shoved it under the offending corner. Tilly couldn’t help but remember that the last time she and the trolley had been in such close contact there was a dead cat on the bottom shelf, but she was pleased to see that it was now taken up with the most delicious of teatime treats: fish paste sandwiches with the crusts cut off; small pork pies; cheese straws; crisps; a huge chocolate cake; and a mountain of iced buns in pink, lemon and white.

Marcia seemed to have lost the thread of what she was about to say, much to the relief of Alma, Hettie and Tilly, who now gathered round Marley’s trolley as she poured tea from the samovar and handed it out. The plates were distributed and piled high with sandwiches and, for the next ten minutes, the only sound in Marcia Woolcoat’s parlour was a contented, rhythmic chewing and the smacking of lips. When the sandwiches had been disposed of, Marcia led the way with the cheese straws and pork pies, and Marley – having joined in with the savouries – prepared to cut the chocolate cake, which no doubt had Jamaican origins.

The cake was a huge success and a party atmosphere
took over the small parlour. Tilly had made a firm friend of Alma, who seemed to like all the books and films that numbered among Tilly’s favourites, and who – most importantly – was the proud owner of Elizabeth Traybake’s autograph, which she had got on a train before the actress moved to Hollywood. Hettie helped Marley to load the empty cups and plates back onto the trolley, and Marcia Woolcoat – having eaten and drunk everything within reach – resumed her presentation. The gathered few settled themselves back on the sofa with the exception of Marley, who – without invitation – flopped down on the rug by the fire.

Seeing that she once again commanded their attention, Marcia continued. ‘I have come to a number of decisions regarding the future of Furcross, and my sister and I have decided to embark on a fresh enterprise in pastures new.’

‘Oh Miss Marcie, what will I do?!’ wailed Marley, covering her face with her apron as her substantial body rose and fell in giant sobs.

Marcia Woolcoat was horrified at her reaction, and quickly addressed the situation. ‘Marley – please let me finish. I am very aware of your loyalty both to me and to Alma during your time here, and for that reason I have decided to take on the lease of Oralia Claw’s premises in the hope that you will consider running a cafe of your own in the High Street.’ Marley allowed the apron to drop from her eyes and sat open-mouthed. ‘My sister and
I are happy to invest in your skills and, in exchange for your managing the day-to-day running of the venture, we would be happy to offer you a partnership and a good share of the profits. There is, I believe, living accommodation above the shop which should, in time, make a comfortable home for you. How does that sound?’

It was some time before Marley could find any words and all eyes turned in her direction, anticipating her response; when it came, it was worth waiting for. ‘Is you sayin’ dat you givin’ me a cookin’ shop? And dat you puttin’ me in charge? And dat I’ll have me own place, a proper home where day can say – Marley Toke, she live ’ere? Oh Miss Marcie! Dat sound de best ting dat ever happened to me in all me days.’

‘Yes Marley, that’s exactly what I am saying. You will obviously have to work hard to make it a success, but Alma and I think you can do it and we are both happy to help in any way we can. I have arranged with the agents to collect the keys on Monday, after they have cleared the place of Oralia Claw’s things. I suggest you go and have a look at the property and start making plans as soon as you can.’

Marley pulled herself up with the aid of the mantelpiece and threw herself into her benefactor’s arms as the sobs returned, this time of sheer joy. Bouncing off a startled Marcia, who had never learnt to hug anyone in her life, she repeated her show of gratitude on Alma, flattening her slight form against the arm of the sofa.
Hettie and Tilly looked on with satisfaction, but both were curious as to what would happen to Furcross. It hadn’t occurred to Marley to ask, and so Hettie did the job for her. ‘Where will you and Alma go? And what will happen to your guests here at Furcross?’

Marcia Woolcoat paused before answering Hettie’s question, as if waiting for Alma to speak, but her sister just smiled and nodded, encouraging Marcia to outline their plans. ‘Due to the recent problems here, most of our guests have left and those who remain are happy to make alternative plans. Miss Ledge has accepted a proposal from Mr Slack and it is their intention to purchase a cottage in the country. Miss Marilyn Repel has received some very exciting news from a film company in Hollywood. I understand that she is being offered a contract to become the senior lead in a high-profile TV series entitled
Desperate Housecats
. She has managed to procure a wardrobe contract for her daughter Cocoa, who under the … er … circumstances is happy to leave these shores for a new life in Hollywood. As for Furcross, I had a most satisfactory meeting with Mr Turner Page earlier today. He is keen to reinstate the town’s library and feels that Furcross would be an ideal building. The new venture would also include a day centre for elderly cats and a nursery for young kittens. As a condition of purchase, he has agreed to turn the burial ground into a memorial garden where cats can buy their own plots.’ Realising that she was headed for murky waters, Marcia
shot a look at Alma and moved on. ‘There will of course be no facilities for our Dignicat programme, but it’s good to know that the residents who already have their resting places in the burial ground will lie undisturbed.’

Hettie suddenly recalled with great clarity her zombie dream and wondered whether it was Turner Page who would be disturbed by the burial ground’s permanent residents rather than the other way round. Choosing to keep her macabre thoughts to herself, she pressed Marcia into revealing hers and Alma’s future plans. This time, Alma readily took up the baton.

‘Marcia has spoken of her guilt and of how she wishes to make reparation, but it is my confession that you must hear. The fault lies with me. As you are all aware, my mother has expressed a wish to spend her final years by the sea, and it was my efforts to make this happen without Marcia’s knowledge that led to the terrible mess I found myself in and the awful things I allowed to happen to Pansy, Vita and Virginia. I involved my best friend Marley in my secrets, and worst of all I put my sister through the most painful of situations, first by attempting to take my own life and then by allowing her to discover my deceit regarding our mother. The best thing to come out of this mess is that there are now no secrets, and I have you all to thank for that. The days I spent in my room, hovering between life and death, believing that I had died and was spending my afterlife imprisoned in a tomb of my
own making, have taught me that nothing is so bad that it can’t be talked about. That’s what Marcia and I have been doing all this week.’ Marcia reached out and took her sister’s paw, and Alma continued. ‘My mother is a difficult cat and can be very cruel and spiteful, but she
is
my mother and I couldn’t just walk away from my responsibilities when she has always loved me. I didn’t want to choose between her and my sister. I know that Marcia has every good reason not to see my mother again, but she is old and needs looking after.’