(9/20) Tyler's Row (22 page)

One morning, in the early part of the holidays, I was wandering happily round the garden enjoying the morning sunshine. There is something wonderful about being free and outdoors at ten o'clock in the morning, when normally one is facing decimals or life in Anglo-Saxon England.

I was admiring my sweet williams and trying to persuade myself that they would do another year without splitting them when a car drew up, and out leapt Gerard Baker.

The passenger's door opened, and to my surprise, Vanessa emerged. She was actually smiling.

'Hello,' shouted Gerard. 'I'm Aloysius-hunting.'

'Well, he's not here,' I told him, 'but how lovely to see you both. Come and sit in the sun.'

'I came along for the ride,' said Vanessa, by way of explanation. 'Gerard brought Aunt Amy a book this morning, and offered me a lift. I feel rather a fraud. I'm sure I should never be able to do research on anything at all.'

She looked with open admiration at Gerard. This was the longest speech I had ever heard Vanessa utter. Gerard Baker certainly seemed to work miracles.

'Rubbish!' said Gerard. 'You've a very good brain. I'm going to ask you to make notes on this morning's discoveries. I'm sure you'll do it beautifully.'

He spoke briskly, like a kindly schoolmaster to a dim but striving pupil. I had to admit that the treatment seemed to be working.

'We've really called for directions. Can you tell us where Tyler's Row is? And do you think the people there will let us look at the cottage?'

I told him about Sergeant Burnaby's illness, and about the Hales who would be next door.

'But you simply must visit Mr Willet in the village before you go,' I said. 'He's the real authority on Loyshus. He had to sit through hours of his poem-readings. A real case of "And did you once see Shelley plain?".'

'Does Shelley come into it?' asked Vanessa.

'A quotation,' explained Gerard. 'Shelley lived some time before Aloysius.'

'And wrote rather better poetry,' I added. 'Have some coffee.'

'Now, that's
real
poetry,' said Gerard. 'I didn't have breakfast this morning.'

'Why ever not?' demanded Vanessa, looking protective. 'It's very wrong to miss breakfast. It sets you up for the day, and burns up all sorts of toxic whatnots.'

'You,' I said accusingly, 'have been listening to Aunt Amy. I bet she's on another dieting bout.'

'She is.'

They followed me into the kitchen, Gerard giving little grunts of appreciation as he came.

'This Victorian Gothic period is really due for a come-back. The windows of your school are perfect, and I love that pointed doorway.'

'Draughty,' I told him.

'And this house! A perfect period piece. What lovely wide window-sills!'

'I had those put in ten years ago.'

Gerard was unabashed, and peered round the kitchen door interestedly.

'Oh, but you've modernised this! What a pity!'

'The Beatrice stove wore out,' I said, 'and the kitchen range needed to be burnished daily with emery paper, and black-leaded as well. Life wasn't long enough. Filling oil lamps, and trimming wicks, took more time than I could spare too.'

'Yes, I suppose so. No doubt, electricity does make things simpler.'

But he sounded disappointed nevertheless.

Over coffee, Vanessa told us that she was hoping to get a post at an hotel in Scotland in the early autumn.

'More fun than an office, and I can use my typing and bookkeeping, as well as meeting lots of people, and helping to look after them. Meanwhile, Aunt Amy says I can stay at Bent as long as I like, or I can go home. I feel terribly lazy, but better in health since I've been here.'

And in spirits, was my unspoken comment. Clearly, the middle-aged philanderer was fast being forgotten.

'You just want to find as many interests as possible,' advised Gerard, 'until you get snapped up in matrimony in about six months' time.'

Vanessa turned great soulful eyes upon him.

'I shall never marry,' she told him earnestly. 'Never.'

'Don't you believe it,' was the robust reply. 'If you aren't the adored wife of some nice young man, with a baby in a pram on the lawn, within two years, I'll eat my new Irish tweed deer-stalker.'

Vanessa shook her dark head sadly.

'Come on, my dear,' said Gerard, jumping up. 'Work to do. The notebook's waiting for you in the car, and we must be off to Tyler's Row and Mr Willet.'

'Good luck with Loyshus!' I called after them, as they proceeded, with a series of alarming reports from the exhaust, towards the village.

A day or two later, I met Mr Willet as I went to buy my groceries.

'Very nice couple you sent me,' he said, leaning over his gate. 'They thinking of gettin' wed?'

'I shouldn't think so.'

'Ah well! Might be a case of May and December, though he's a
clever
man there's no denying.'

'I'm sure you were able to tell him quite a lot about. Aloysius.'

'A tidy bit. He wanted to know what he looked like.

"Proper mess," I told him. "Gravy stains all down 'is front, and none too fragrant behind the ears." 'E never 'ad a bath, you know, Miss Read, not for months and months towards the end.'

'He might have done if he'd had a bathroom.'

'A bathroom!' echoed Mr Willet, with scorn. 'None of us had no bathrooms, but we all kep' clean. We heaved the old tub in afore the kitchen fire of a Saturday night, and got out the scrubbing brush, and a chunk of yellow soap chopped off of the bar with the coal shovel, and we fair went to town. But not ol' Loyshus, not him!'

'Did Mr Baker see his cottage, do you know?'

'Yes, Mrs Hale took him in herself. That gal of his took a shine to it. Said she'd like to live there herself.'

'I wonder.'

'Tell you what, though,' said Mr Willet, lowering his voice. 'That Mr Baker don't know a thing about gardening. I was takin' him round the vegetables, and he never knew peas from carrots. What's more, when I was talking about my Kelvedon Wonder he kept looking across at my border and saying: "Which flowers are they?" It shook me, I can tell you. Been to school, and college too, I hear, and don't recognise Kelvedon Wonder. Makes you think about raisin' the school leavin' age, don't it? I mean, if a boy don't know about Kelvedon Wonder by fifteen, when's he going to?'

I thought the subject should be changed swiftly, as I was not too sure about Kelvedon Wonder myself, and asked him to come and have a look at the school skylight some time before term started.

'I'll do that,' he assured me, 'though you knows as well as I do that that dam' skylight's let water in for nigh on a hundred years, and ain't likely to stop now, unless we takes the bull by the horns one day and boards it over. That'd settle it!'

His eye brightened at the thought of vanquishing his old enemy, and I left him to his dreams.

Diana Hale was weeding the herbaceous border which ran down the garden, against the hedge which divied Mrs Fowler's garden from her own. On the whole, it had recovered very well from the onslaught of Mr Robert's cows, and certainly the front of the border flourished.

But Diana was puzzled about the plants at the back. The tall delphiniums and lupins, the red-hot pokers and lofty Michaelmas daisies were looking decidedly peaky, and the leaves were turning brown. No doubt, Diana told herself, the old hawthorn hedge which had been there for so many years was the culprit, taking nourishment from the soil to the detriment of the newcomers. Nevertheless, it was perplexing.

As she pondered on the problem, Tom strolled through from Mrs Fowler's garden. Mrs Fowler appeared too, looking grim. Diana thought it might be a propitious time for extending the olive branch, and greeted her cheerfully.

'Lovely morning, Mrs Fowler. Are you well?'

'Mustn't grumble, I suppose,' said she, doing just that, from her tone.

'I do apologise for Tom. I hope he's not a nuisance to you. It's so difficult keeping a cat on his own premises.'

'Those of us with dogs has to,' commented Mrs Fowler tardy, 'or they gets criticised.'

She whisked indoors, and Diana resumed her weeding, very conscious that her olive branch had been thrown in her face.

Some days later, Tom was sick.

'What's he had for breakfast?' asked Peter, holding the shovel, a look of intense distaste on his face.

'Some new stuff, Pussi-luvs.'

'Well, ours doesn't obviously. I should throw the tin away. We don't get this trouble very often, thank God. The old boy's got a digestion like an ostrich's.'

A few days after this, Tom was sick again, and Diana was perturbed.

'Shall we get the vet?'

'No, don't bother him. He's obviously all right as soon as the stuff's out of the poor old chap. Has he had that rubbish again?'

'Pussi-luvs? No, just a morsel of liver this morning. He likes that normally.'

Tom's spirits certainly recovered quickly after the mishap, and nothing more occurred in the day or two before the Hales were due to set off on their brief holiday.

Kitty, their former neighbour in Caxley, was having Tom for the duration. He and Charlie could renew their friendship and their suburban hunting together.

Diana told Kitty about the mysterious attacks, but Kitty was reassuring.

'I'll watch his diet, don't worry. He probably picked up some mouse or shrew that had been sprayed with an insecticide—something of that nature. You two go off and enjoy your break. Tom will be happy enough here.'

Diana was unusually silent as they drove back to Tyler's Row. Kitty's remark about picking up something poisonous had started an alarming train of thought. Those flowers against the dividing hedge, the implacable malice with which her greetings were returned, could they really be clues to something sinister which was going on? Could anyone, even someone as spiteful as Mrs Fowler obviously was, set out to hurt an unsuspecting animal, simply because it trespassed?

Diana told herself the whole idea was farfetched, and said nothing about her fears to Peter. Tomorrow they would be off on their travels, and heaven alone knew they both needed a rest. She welcomed the thought of leaving Tyler's Row and its troubles for a few days. What a relief it would be!

Nevertheless, the doubts remained at the back of her mind, and she wondered what the future might hold on their return.

19. The Last Battle

THE Hales returned much refreshed from their few days' break. They had headed north, explored the Yorkshire Dales, and visited some of the fine towns for the first time. Richmond, in particular, delighted them, and they promised themselves a return trip one day.

It was a golden August evening as they drove down the slope of the hills which sheltered Fairacre. Already some of the fields had been harvested, neat bales of straw standing among the bright stubble, waiting to be collected.

Dahlias were out in the cottage gardens, and some tall chrysanthemums, their heads shrouded in paper bags, reminded passers-by of the Caxley Chrysanthemum Show to come before long.

'It looks autumnal already,' sighed Diana. 'I wonder how our garden's looking?'

'Grass up to our hocks, I expect,' replied Peter. 'It always grows twice as fast if you go away.'

They turned into the garage, and surveyed Tyler's Row with satisfaction. The thatch glowed warmly in the rays of the sinking sun. Sergeant Burnaby's yellow rose was in full flower for the second time, and the scent of mignonette and jasmine filled the garden.

'We've seen some heavenly places,' said Diana, walking up the path, 'but this beats the lot.'

'"Every prospect pleases",' quoted Peter, 'and only the neighbours are vile.'

'Which reminds me,' said Diana, 'I must find out about Sergeant Burnaby's plans.'

They spent the next hour or so unpacking, eating poached eggs on toast, and ringing Kitty to let her know they were back.

'By the way,' Kitty said, 'Tom's in great heart. No sickness, enormous appetite, polite to Charlie—in fact, the perfect guest. Leave him here any time you want to.'

They arranged to fetch him the next day, and Diana took a final walk round the garden before it grew too dark to see.

The plants at the back of the border looked as unhealthy as ever. What could cause their malaise? Could Mrs Fowler really be attacking them? Surely, no one would be so childish thought Diana.

She looked towards her neighbour's cottage, and was amazed to see that two large white shells, which had once stood on each side of Sergeant Burnaby's doorstep, now flanked Mrs Fowler's. Above them, swinging from the thatch, was a hanging basket which the old soldier had kept filled with scraps for the birds.

Nonplussed, Diana went to the other hedge to check that Sergeant Burnaby's possessions had been moved. As she had suspected, the shells and basket had gone and, even more alarming, a number of holes in the garden gave evidence of plants having been dug up. No doubt, those too had found a home on Mrs Fowler's side of the hedge.

Diana told Peter about these matters as they prepared for bed.

'I had my suspicions about our border before we went away. This seems to prove that she is quite unscrupulous.'