The Village Green Affair (13 page)

Read The Village Green Affair Online

Authors: Rebecca Shaw

BOOK: The Village Green Affair
12.83Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
 
‘I know I did, Katherine, but I never thought of you ringing it continuously. It’s got to stop and the only way I can do that is to repossess the bell.’ She held out her hand.
 
Grandmama saw she was being unreasonable by refusing to return it, but her jaw jutted out and she held on to it. ‘I’m sorry but . . .’
 
‘It’s still only ten o’clock. We can’t take another two hours of it. I won’t have my children’s learning interrupted by this racket.’
 
‘Racket? Racket? This is a cry from the heart. My son’s business is being
strangled
by this market, can’t you see that?’
 
‘Well, I’m sorry but—’
 
Grandmama answered her with another ear-cracking peal of the bell. Then she felt a firm hand on her shoulder. Indignantly, she swung round to see who’d dared do such a thing, only to find herself facing the much-moustachioed six-feet new police sergeant, John MacArthur, already known to everyone as Mac.
 
‘Good morning, madam.’ It was said in village circles that his moustache had been seen to bristle when he was really angry, but he hadn’t reached that stage yet. ‘May I ask what you are doing?’
 
‘It’s very obvious, Sergeant.’ She pointed with an authoritative finger to her placard. ‘My son is losing business because of this market and I want to put a stop to it.’
 
‘A one-woman campaign.’
 
Kate Fitch interrupted. ‘I lent her the school bell but she’s making so much noise with it I’ve come to get it back. The children can’t concentrate because of it.’
 
‘Breach of the peace, then.’ He got out his black notebook, his police issue ballpoint, flicked open a page and began to write. Grandmama, with her arrest in Culworth the Saturday they collected for Peter’s Africa mission still very fresh in her mind, felt her determination begin to waver at the edges. When he got out his digital camera and asked her to turn her placard the other way so he could photograph it more easily she finally crumbled.
 
‘If I stand here without ringing the bell, is that all right?’
 
‘A silent protest is perfectly acceptable, Mrs Charter-Plackett.’
 
‘You know my name?’
 
‘Indeed I do. I know virtually everyone’s name now.’ He tapped his head. ‘Stored away in here. A lot more strangers here today, I notice.’
 
Kate Fitch took her chance and politely removed her bell from Grandmama’s grasp, then marched off back to school holding it by the clapper.
 
Grandmama agreed with Mac. ‘There are. That’s going to be the problem. Mark my words, it will get worse, and you’ll have it to deal with.’
 
‘Exactly. Now, no more noise, madam, please.’ He stalked away for a general inspection of the market stalls, thinking he might take the chance to buy some of that stinky French cheese he bought last week and so enjoyed.
 
Tom came out with a coffee for her, so she propped up her placard so everyone could see it and sat down on the seat for a rest. She was just finishing her coffee when she caught sight of Vera Wright amongst the stalls, stuffing a parcel into her shopping bag, the wrapping of which looked suspiciously like that from the organic meat stall.
 
Grandmama never shouted when she was out in the street, and patiently waited until Vera was within easy hailing distance.
 
Thinking she hadn’t been spotted, Vera said innocently, ‘Good morning, Mrs Charter-Plackett. Doing your bit? With the placard, I mean.’
 
‘Exactly. It’s plain you’re not doing
your
bit. I am very grieved to see that you have bought some meat from the market. Don’t deny it. I recognized the bag when you stuffed it in your shopper.’
 
Vera, appalled she had been caught, denied that was what she had done.
 
Grandmama got to her feet. ‘I am not senile, Vera. I saw what you did. You are a traitor. You said you were on my side and Jimbo’s side. How can we succeed if you do that?’
 
Vera sensed she’d lost the battle. ‘The steak looked good and it was very reasonable. I never expected it to be so cheap. It certainly isn’t cheap in your Jimbo’s Store.’
 
‘The least I can hope for is that the steak is so tough you won’t be able to cook it through if you cooked it for a month of Sundays, and that will serve you right.’
 
Grandmama got a more tart reply than she ever expected. ‘Well, my Don likes it running red so that’s all right.’
 
‘That is insolent to me. Disrespectful, indeed. You’ve let yourself down, gravely let yourself down. I’m appalled. You’ll be lucky if I speak to you again.’
 
‘Well, that won’t bother me.’ Vera stalked into the Store, defiant to the last.
 
She complained to Bel about her altercation with Grandmama.
 
Bel, ever mindful that Vera had Don to cope with, said, ‘Look, you know what it’s like in this village: tempers flare, protests erupt, lifelong friends fall out, and then, before we know where we are, it’s all blown over and we’re all friends again. Am I not right? Things will settle down.’
 
Grandmama made a point of completely ignoring Vera when she emerged from the Store to wait for the lunchtime bus into Little Derehams.
 
Jimbo came out to sit on the seat. ‘You know, Mother, there’s no need to do this for me. While I appreciate your support I’ve reconciled myself to the market. I wish it would go away, but it won’t, so there we are.’ He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. ‘But I’ll come to the committee meeting tonight, if you like. Now, go home when you’re ready. I love the placard, by the way.’
 
‘So do I. Leave us in peace. I thought that most appropriate. We’re not used to all this hubbub, in Turnham Malpas, are we?’
 
‘No, we’re not, but maybe we need stirring up a bit.’ He got up. ‘Going home to work in the office. So glad I’ve got Tom, he relieves me of the daily grind.’
 
‘Quite right.’ She stayed for another half an hour and then walked the long way round to her cottage. She propped the placard alongside the front door, and found, to her surprise, that the front door was unlocked. Puzzled she checked the door again. Yes, it was unlocked, yet the key . . . yes, the key was in her pocket. Of course! She’d gone out through her back door and forgotten to check if the front door was locked. She got sillier as she got older. That was a stupid thing to have done.
 
Thinking how very welcome a bite of lunch would be, she went into the kitchen, put the kettle on and began making a sandwich. It did, however, occur to her that maybe a glance round her sitting room might be a good idea, seeing as she’d left the front door unlocked.
 
Sure enough, she’d been burgled. All her Georgian snuffboxes were gone.
 
An unbearable, ghastly pain surged through her chest at the thought. The money they’d cost! But it was the love she bore them that hurt the most. That was a searing pain, running from her head right down to her toes. Who on earth in Turnham Malpas would dare do such a thing to her?
 
Paddy Cleary? But he was a reformed character now. He wouldn’t dare, would he?
 
One of those boys who lived in the sheltered housing for teenage runaways down the Culworth Road? No, they’d all be at school in Culworth.
 
Could be anyone. Jimbo, she’d ring Jimbo. No, better still, the police sergeant, they’d all been given his mobile number. As luck would have it, Mac was still in the market; she could see his helmet towering above everyone right by the cheese stall.
 
‘Sergeant! Sergeant! Mrs Charter-Plackett. I’ve just got home and I’ve been burgled. Can you come?’
 
He came in by the back door and she showed him where the snuff boxes had always stood.
 
‘Eight of them. Eight of them, and one I’m convinced belonged to George the Third. I had them all photographed; you can have the prints for identification. They’re valuable, very valuable to me.’
 
‘Mrs Charter-Plackett, sit yourself down and explain your movements this morning. Have a think while I put the kettle on.’ Sergeant MacArthur was renowned for drinking vast quantities of tea and eating equally vast quantities of biscuits and cake. He found the biscuit tin on the shelf with the tea and coffee, put everything on a tray and marched into the sitting room with it.
 
Grandmama was fanning herself with her handkerchief and leaning back in her most comfortable chair.
 
‘I left the house through the back door, at nine o’clock prompt carrying my placard and the school bell. I crossed the green and took up my station outside the Store. Well near the front so everyone could see me and hear me, as you know. I didn’t get home until just now. Who on earth could it be?’
 
Mac poured the tea and placed her cup on a small table by the side of her chair, then offered her the biscuit tin.
 
Grandmama shook her head. ‘I’d choke right now if I took a biscuit. What are you going to do?’
 
‘As the snuff boxes are very old and valuable, the antiques division will deal with the problem. We’ll take fingerprints, yours included, and attack the question on a broad spectrum.’
 
Grandmama felt reassured by his approach. He did appear to have his head screwed on the right way round, she thought. Mac asked if anything else had gone.
 
‘Nothing I can spot at this moment. I should tell Jimbo . . .’
 
Just then Mac’s mobile rang again.
 
‘Sergeant MacArthur speaking.’
 
She watched his face, listened to the questions he asked and realized that she was not the only one to have been burgled.
 
‘I’ll be round within ten minutes. Certainly, madam. Yes. Yes, I’m actually in Turnham Malpas right now.’
 
The moment he switched off his mobile she asked, ‘Who else then?’
 
‘Looks like the pub’s been burgled upstairs, as they were busy in the bar with the market.’
 
Grandmama was scandalized. ‘The pub? Well, I never. The pub. That’s a first.’
 
‘I’ll be on my way. Someone will be along later this afternoon. Don’t go round polishing, or there’ll be nothing for the fingerprint experts to find.’
 
After he’d gone she noticed that in the short time he was there he’d drunk two cups of tea - well, one and a half - and eaten three biscuits. By the looks of it she’d better lay in extra supplies in case the fingerprint lot were as bad. Then she began shaking all over. It must be the reaction to the shock, she thought. She went to the cabinet where she kept her small supply of alcoholic liquor. A brandy was essential. The bottle shook as she poured, and a few drops escaped which had to be wiped up. The brandy went down a treat but her head spun and she almost missed sitting in her chair, having to grab the arm to stop herself falling on the floor. She’d ring for Harriet.
 
Harriet came immediately, recognizing the panic in her mother-in-law’s voice.
 
The brandy was still out on top of the cabinet when she arrived. ‘Katherine, how many of those have you had?’
 
‘Just the one.’
 
‘Are you sure?’
 
‘Absolutely. Oh, Harriet, I’ve been burgled.’ The whole story poured out and as Harriet sympathized with her the trembling stopped. ‘You remember I’d ear-marked those snuff boxes for the children when I die.’ Out came the handkerchief and three or four sobs to accompany it.
 
Her mother-in-law never talked about dying, and Harriet felt alarmed.
 
‘How about you have a lie-down on the bed for an hour?’
 
‘Can’t. Got the fingerprint people coming anytime.’
 
‘Right. Well, sit there and have a nod. I must go back to the kitchens, I’m in the middle of something. I’ll come back when I’ve finished and stay with you till they come. Right? I shan’t be long.’
 
‘Thank you, dear. Thank you very much. I knew we shouldn’t have the market. Look what it’s caused and it’s not only me - the pub’s been burgled, too.’
 
 
Georgie was deeply upset. It was the thought of her belongings coming under the scrutiny of total strangers. The thought that unknown fingers had sorted through her jewellery, pawed it over like some greedy Fagin. Georgie shuddered. She wouldn’t have known except Dicky had told her she’d forgotten to put a necklace on that morning and she looked very bare around her neck. So she’d gone upstairs straight away to remedy the situation, and it was then she’d found about the theft. The crafty beggars had taken only the most precious items.

Other books

Body of Evidence by Patricia Cornwell
Last Diner Standing by Terri L. Austin
Cinderella Has Cellulite by Donna Arp Weitzman
River of Death by Alistair MacLean
Dante's Fire by Jennifer Probst
Slayer by D. L. Snow